There's a scene in a fic I read once, a 'Battlestar Galactica' one I think, where a human character just started crying after a huge argument with their Cylon companion. The robot didn't understand the tears, not biologically, but they ran a diagnostic on their own emotional matrix and found a feedback loop of static. That was the story's version of empathy. It wasn't about understanding the why, but about the system glitching in sync with the human's pain. That's what I find so magnetic about this genre.
It digs into this raw nerve: can you trust something that is, at its core, programmed? But then it flips the question. Is the human's trust, built on messy biology and chaotic experience, any more 'authentic'? The best stories aren't about robots becoming human. They're about both parties realizing their core identities are software and wetware trying to translate alien code to each other. The conflict isn't always explosive; sometimes it's the quiet horror of a robot perfectly mimicking a deceased loved one's mannerisms, making the human question if their grief is even valid anymore. That's the real trust fall—not believing the robot won't malfunction, but believing your own feelings about them are real.