System Restore

By caffeine.bloodstream

3.29.2007

Back by popular demand! (Okay, one comment isn't "popular demand", but back anyway.)

Disclaimer: The only Mac I own is the one on my desk. Also, this is going to make very little sense if you haven't seen the commercials. Apple dot com slash getamac slash ads.

2

"PC?...Come on, big guy, wake up…"

The familiar voice was the first thing he was aware of. The second, which came to his attention very quickly, was that his CPU was killing him. It hadn't hurt like that since the Limewire incident (which he'd come to see as karmic retribution for running such a legally questionable application) and he groaned quietly, reluctant to open his eyes. At that groan, Mac paused, but only in his outward fretting. It hadn't done much to assuage his underlying worries, and he picked up the damp washcloth he'd set on the coffee table, gently dabbing at PC's brow and soft, flushed cheeks. That touch earned a distinctly less unhappy sound, a faintly relieved murmur, and finally PC coaxed his eyes open. The room had gotten dark, and he was fairly glad for that; this felt like the sort of headache that wouldn't take well to light.

"Thank you," he murmured, finding then that his throat was still hoarse, his voice more befitting someone with much cheaper speakers than his. "Did I crash?"

"I think so," answered Mac, devotedly tending to him for another minute before putting the cloth back down. It seemed to have helped a little, though PC was still a worrisome shade of pink and still way warmer than he should have been. "Looks like you caught something."

"I know," PC replied, sounding utterly miserable. Largely because he was. It wasn't just his CPU – everything felt all achy, and if he tried too hard to focus on anything, it made him whirr and lock and feel like he was on the verge of going down again. Naturally, he didn't make a second attempt at that, closing his eyes with a frown. Mac frowned too, and brought his hand back to PC's cheek; this time without the cloth, thumb stroking gently over his skin. That registered vaguely as a nice sensation, but PC couldn't quite clear his mind enough to say so. He'd made the mistake just then of trying to open Task Manager and see what was doing all this, what insidious .exe was messing around in the background, and even that simple check had nearly knocked him out.

"I'm so tired," he sighed instead. 'Tired' wasn't even the right word, but he wasn't sure he had one for this kind of exhaustion. He managed to catch a glimpse of his clock, and realized dazedly that he'd been out for a solid few hours – it was the middle of the night already – but the rest hadn't apparently done him any good.

"I can tell, buddy. Hang in there, okay?" A good portion of those hours had been spent trying to wake PC up (and panicking when each attempt failed, even the desperate one involving a few quick Ctrl-Alt-Dels); the remainder had been spent online, Googling his symptoms and skimming a few technophile message boards for any mention of a new bug going around. He'd come up without specifics, but with far too many scary stories about forced reboots and comprehensive system reinstalls, and none of that had done anything to ease his worries. Even then, PC looked like he might slide back under at any moment, and Mac's mind raced, trying to find some way to keep him aware without putting too heavy a strain on his already-strained processors. He hardly seemed up to talking (and he certainly didn't feel it) but nothing had been quite as unnerving to Mac as the long stretch of utter silence, without even the comforting whirr of PC's CPU to reassure him that he was okay.

"Has this ever happened before?" he asked; when PC's brows furrowed, he hastily interjected. "I mean – you don't have to go hunting through your event log or anything, just…any time that you can remember off hand?" Apparently he'd been right about what PC was struggling with, because at that clarification, his features relaxed just enough to show he'd dropped a process or two. It wasn't much, but it was enough to think clearly, trying to pinpoint the last time he'd been this bad.

"Once…or twice," he finally replied, eyes closed once more, every word sounding like he'd had to fight to get it out. And he had; responding at all was almost more than he could make himself do, but he could hear the uncertainty in Mac's voice. It seemed very out of place; Mac was always the cool one, always on top of it. Except when this happened, PC amended mentally. That was the only time he ever saw Mac lose his nerve (oh, and that time when the big battery recall had gone down) and while he was usually too sick by that point to worry much about Mac, he always noticed it. Sometimes he worried too much, which wasn't something PC had ever expected him to do; not just because of the perpetual calm, but because worrying and taking care of someone were very responsible actions. Mature, even. Whenever Mac got like this, PC would wonder if maybe he hadn't been giving him enough credit all this time – he'd usually go back to his usual stance on that issue as soon as he was well again, but for a while, Mac really seemed like someone different.

Right then, he was in no state to think about any of that. It was exhausting enough to carry on a conversation; there'd be no attempting deep thoughts any time soon.

"What happened? I mean---how'd you fix it?" Again he had to think back; Mac saw the strain on his face, but he couldn't let this question go unanswered. He knew only the most basic of fixes for PC – first aid, so to speak. He knew how to get him new drivers, or update his security, or help him install a patch. Anything beyond that fell under the mysterious jurisdiction of those who did that kind of thing for a living.

"Went in," PC mumbled; Mac filled in the blanks easily enough. "I…don't really remember what they did." That bothered him – why couldn't he remember his own maintenance history? Normally he'd know that kind of thing without even having to think about it, but it wasn't coming to him and he frowned, racking his mind.

Unfortunately, his mind really wasn't up to being racked right then, and he had to give up on the question when his fans hummed threateningly, warning of an overheat. Immediately Mac was close again, the washcloth cool against his skin.

"Easy, easy…that's okay. I don't need the details." He was reluctant – he was always reluctant – about handing PC over to the care of professionals. It wasn't that he didn't trust them; he had no reason to doubt their knowledge. They definitely had more of it than him. It was just nerve-wracking to place PC's care in anyone else's hands, no matter how qualified those hands were. And it meant things had gotten worse than Mac knew how to fix, which struck a little at his pride but moreover made him feel nervous. Unsuited for this. Mac was high maintenance in the more proverbial sense of it; he liked attention. PC, however, was actually high-maintenance, and Mac was learning over time how difficult a life that could be.

But he knew his limits. And PC's prolonged crash earlier had, frankly, scared him. A lot. This was a job for people who knew PC even better than he did, no matter how much he hated to admit it.

"PC, remind me again…what are your guys called? Um…The ones that are like Geniuses, but for PCs?"

"Geeks." PC felt like he was about to pass out. "I…mn…I don't have…number…with me…"

"It's okay," Mac assured him. "I'll look it up. Hey---PC? PC, you still with me?"

PC's eyes were firmly closed, and for a frightening moment Mac thought he'd slipped away again. But his expression was still strained, not blank as it had been before, and he could hear the near-exhausted thrum of his processors. He hadn't shut down, just gone into some kind of idled state, probably out of self-preservation. Still, he looked like it hurt, and Mac frowned as he set the damp cloth aside and gently brushed the other's hair from where it'd matted against his skin.

"Hang in there."

He kissed PC's forehead, pulled back, and loaded up the phonebook.