Title: Technology and Other Problems.
Author: vanillavinegar
Prompt: 025 – Strangers. (11/100)
Rating: PG for this particular prompt (for very brief language)
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: Count Cain and all associated characters, settings, etc., belong to Yuki Kaori-sensei. The only profit I make from this work of fiction is my own satisfaction and, possibly, the enjoyment of others. This chapter, by the way, is AU, as will be immediately apparent - a slight parody of my own recent computer woes. Not meant to be taken very seriously, despite Cain's melodrama. :) Thanks to everyone for reading, and special thanks to Sanguinary Tears and Veleda for reviewing!

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"What do you mean, it's irreparable?" Cain shouted, dumbfounded and horrified. Images of what he had on his computer flashed in his mind – all of the work he'd saved on it since his years as an undergrad (he vividly remembered the week before graduation when he and a gang of the other graduating seniors had burned all of their old papers, exams, etc., but – being the slightly OCD person that he was – he had kept all of his on his hard drive, just in case), his carefully built up store of music, the pictures of her life that his little sister periodically e-mailed him while he was in grad school, all of the research for his thesis… His throat tightened and his eyes narrowed at the man standing before him, mustering all of his righteous indignation and attempting to send it through his pupils into the heart of this… this… incompetent white-haired man standing before him – despite all of the years of scientific study which informed him that this was quite impossible.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the man, and – truth be told – he did genuinely look apologetic. He also looked very uncomfortable, so perhaps the pupil idea had some merit after all. "We did try to recover your files, but there was an electrical short-out… if you'd like to purchase another hard drive, we can help you make a selection from—"

"No," Cain interrupted him, feeling drained and almost nauseous, wondering how he was going to explain this to his thesis advisor. "I – I suppose I'll just buy another one, then. That one was six years old, anyway." He had some of his files saved on his e-mail, certainly, and there were printouts of his rough draft – the rough draft from two months ago, which was half as long as the one that had been on his hard drive – and he might still have something saved on his flash drive, if he was lucky. His vision suddenly blurred and he clutched at the edge of the counter for support.

"Hey!" shouted the white-haired man, grabbing his elbow to steady him. "Deep breaths, easy!"

Cain switched his grip from the countertop – cheap plastic, anyway, probably would've broken like his laptop – to the man's comfortingly stable arm and tried to follow his advice. He didn't realize that the man had started up a quiet mantra of "In, out, in, out" until he noticed he was breathing perfectly in time with the chant. Slowly the world righted itself until the black corners on the edge of his vision faded away. He let go of the man's arm, feeling self-conscious, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"You okay?" the man asked, concern in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cain muttered. "I just – my thesis was on there," he said, as if trying to excuse himself.

The man nodded but didn't look convinced. "You need to sit down," he said firmly, and he shooed Cain into a not entirely uncomfortable chair in front of the computer help desk, and personally loomed over him as Cain stretched out, trying not to think of all the files he had just permanently lost. Instead, he found himself contemplating the odd computer guy, who was still watching him worriedly. Like a mother duck, he thought, and smothered a smirk. Instead he just gave the man a questioning eyebrow. "Sorry," the man said, somewhat abashed, "I'm a med student, so…"

"A med student who works at tech support?"

"Have you looked at the cost of med school recently?" the man countered, and this time Cain didn't hide his snort of amusement. The man looked relieved, and Cain wondered how much trouble he would have been in had a customer passed out and cracked his skull open on the linoleum. He stared at the tops of his sneakers for a few more minutes, then the computer guy/med student picked up his wrist and checked his pulse as he watched his watch. "I think you're okay to leave," he said after a moment. "But take it easy today, all right?"

Cain nodded and stood, shouldering the messenger bag he had let fall onto the floor as he did. "You got it, doc," he drawled, and the computer guy gave him a nod as he walked back behind his cheap plastic counter. With his hand on the knob, he impulsively turned back. "Hey, no hard feelings about my computer, right? It's not your fault the damn thing fried itself," he squinted at the man's nametag, "Riff."

The man gave him a slight smile. "Thanks," he looked down, at the report on his laptop Cain supposed, "Mr. …"

"It's Cain," he said, with a jerk of his chin.

"Cain," Riff finished. "Good luck with your thesis."

"Good luck dealing with the idiots who come and collapse in your office," Cain replied with a smirk, and he saw Riff stifle a laugh as he walked out of the door.

END