System Restore

By caffeine.bloodstream

5.4.2007

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.

This disclaimer applies doubly to this chapter, which makes reference to one or two of said ads.

Note: Haha, oh wow. This was a quick update, for once.

5

"Hi," he said, pleasantly and simply and with no sign of recognition at all. "I'm a PC."

Mac swallowed hard, and had to look away for a long moment before he felt composed enough to nod and answer, fighting all the while the feeling that someone had replaced all his circuits with lead.

"Yeah, I know," he answered quietly. "I'm a Mac."

"A Mac?" PC echoed curiously, looking him over.

"Yeah. Mac---Macintosh. You know?"

"Of course I know," he answered, two fingers pressed thoughtfully to his lower lip. "I just thought you guys were more…shiny. And bright-colored."

Mac looked over his own exterior, which as usual leaned less towards shiny and bright than towards…well, blue. "Huh? Oh – no. Those are iMacs. They're…like…my older cousins."

"Ah." He paused then, as if not sure how to say this tactfully, then seemed to shrug off the idea of tact and just went for it. "I was also under the impression that you spoke a different language."

Mac couldn't help but be a little surprised that a fresh install of Vista came pre-loaded with such old-fashioned ideas, and wondered if, as conspiracy-theory-ish as it sounded, that had been done intentionally. His side had the smaller marketshare, which meant they'd been the ones to carefully adapt themselves to getting along with PCs; for the most part, there hadn't been a lot of reciprocity. But he'd never blamed PC for that, and he wasn't about to start then. "No, we actually…Macs and PCs pretty much get along these days." That was a very optimistic view of the situation, but as long as PC was starting from a relatively blank slate, what was the harm in starting things off decently?

PC nodded again. Then hesitated. "Really?"

"Really," Mac promised.

They sat in silence a moment, Mac trying hard not to show that this hurt while PC thoughtfully surveyed his surroundings.

"Ah…where—" he started, brows furrowing slightly.

"My place," Mac filled in, and PC glanced over, a brow raised, plainly asking 'why?' Mac took a deep breath. He hardly wanted to think about the events of the past day or two, let alone recount them, but PC had to be confused. That was always a little frightening.

"You just went through a system restore," he explained, raking a hand wearily back through his hair. PC blinked, then nodded.

"That explains it. Go on."

Mac didn't press to ask what it explained; he was tired and badly in need of a little time to himself, but he'd explain things to PC first. "Anyway, the tech guys that did it said you'd probably need a day or two to get back up to speed – not literal speed," he clarified, when PC looked ready to defend his processors. "Figuratively. You know, reconfigure your networks, get your preferences tweaked, that kind of stuff. Like after your upgrade---" The upgrade that PC didn't remember, he realized, and had to fight back a sudden ache in his CPU before he could speak again. "…so…I figured it'd be good if you stayed here till things were back to normal. Just in case."

All the while, PC was eyeing him curiously, brows furrowed, and when Mac fell quiet, he finally spoke up.

"Do we…work together?"

"Why?" asked Mac, briefly hopeful. "Do you remember me?" It didn't seem possible, but who was he to say?

PC shook his head, though. "I'm just wondering why I'm here. If I had my system restored, I'd expect to be---wait. Why –was- it restored?" he asked, puzzled.

Mac sighed. So much for that. "You had a virus. Bad one. It pretty much tanked your RAM." Immediately PC's expression changed, brows lifting, and he scooted back a little on the couch.

"Oh---I assume the restore got rid of it, but just in case there's any left, you probably shouldn't be so close."

That comment, and the déjà vu that went with it, earned a slightly bittersweet smile from Mac. They'd had this conversation enough times before, but now all that was gone. He had to start over.

"It's cool. I don't get viruses."

PC eyed him skeptically. "Everyone gets viruses."

"No, seriously," he assured him. "I'll be fine. Trust me." He still looked a little disbelieving, but apparently accepted Mac's promise and relaxed some.

Mac realized then that he was still holding the disc he'd been sent home with, and paused briefly before handing it over to PC. "Here. It's everything they were able to get off your hard drive before the restore."

PC took it and blinked, surprised. "Just one disc?"

Mac still didn't want to think about that, even if it very clearly wasn't going away. "Yeah."

For a moment PC just stared at the disc, seeming lost in thought, then he shrugged and started exploring the contents. Mac, meanwhile, really needed to breathe. And vent. And just generally have a little space. PC was out of immediate danger now; the time for worrying had passed. The next step felt more like…mourning, really. And Mac needed it.

"Okay, well, you get all that stuff installed or reorganized or whatever," he declared, clapping PC amiably on the shoulder and getting to his feet. "I'm gonna go out for a little. Uh – help yourself to anything. Mi casa et cetera." As usual, he almost added, but stopped himself, because that phrase had lost its meaning. PC nodded, already busily setting up subfolders for what had been saved, and Mac grabbed his hoodie from the hook beside the door before letting himself out.

Jogging was the favored exercise-slash-mode-of-transport for Mac's generation. Right up there with yoga (which was, admittedly, less useful for the transportation part). But he often used it as catharsis, too. Where some sulked, or consoled themselves with download after useless download, Mac put on his headphones and cranked it up and just ran. The sun had already gone down, but early summer brought warm nights; pretty soon, very late and very early would be the only reasonable times to do this, as midday just got too hot. He and PC were both vulnerable come July or so, and he could remember the past summer, days spent lounging around in as little clothing as possible, straining their fans and just being lazy for a little while---

Mac stopped, leaning against the streetlight he'd ended up beneath, and closed his eyes with a choked groan. It wasn't fair. PC didn't remember anything, but Mac still did. It was still way too easy to recall how one day the air conditioning had gone out, and they'd broken out the ice cubes in an attempt to keep cool, and one thing leading to another, and PC's laugh and the way he squirmed and such soft skin---

He took a deep breath.

They could have it again, he tried to assure himself. They'd overcome every compatibility issue that'd stood in their way one time; who said they couldn't do it again? There'd probably be some of the same fights as the first time around, and he had a distinct feeling they'd end up back in counseling for one thing or another, but they could pull it off. Till then, he'd have to learn patience, and not to be overwhelmed by things that only existed in his memory now. First and foremost, he needed to get PC back on his feet. He could worry about them, as a Them, later.

Switching the track to something energetic and upbeat, he turned around and started back for home.

When he got there, PC sat on the couch, absently nudging his folders around, the disc ostensibly finished with and sitting on the coffee table.

"Hey," he called as he let himself in, hanging his sweatshirt back up. PC looked up.

"Oh, hi. Did you do whatever it was you needed to?"

Mac paused, then nodded, and made his way over to sit next to him. "Yeah. How's it going? Everything back in its place?"

"More or less," PC answered, peering at the neatly-organized files he'd sorted. "I have a lot of spreadsheets."

That made Mac laugh, for the first time in days, simply because it was familiar and right then, familiar was very good. Not all of PC had been lost. A lot, but not all. PC, on the other hand, seemed to take this laughter as an insult, and came somewhat indignantly to the defense of his work.

"They're very practical, you know."

Mac tried to restrain himself to a grin. "Yeah."

"And expressive."

It was the Pie Chart conversation all over again, and Mac couldn't help it; he laughed once more, out of sheer exhausted relief. This was definitely still his PC, in spite of it all.

"I bet. You should show me some time."

"Oh, certainly." Then he blinked, eyeing Mac disbelievingly. "They're in Excel format, you realize…"

"I figured. What else makes spreadsheets?"

"Microsoft Excel," he said, as if to clarify, and all the while looking at Mac like he was a little slow on the uptake. Mac just chuckled.

"You know what, we can discuss the finer points of cross-platform compatibility in the morning. It's gotten kinda late. I mean, I doubt they'll expect you in at the office or anything, but I know how you are with the…early-to-rise thing." He was relieved when PC didn't protest that he really ought to go to work; apparently even he could appreciate the value of a well-earned sick day now and then.

Mac was about to show PC where the bedroom was, by way of leading him there, when he realized the flaw in this plan. If he couldn't even remember the conversations they'd had, then he definitely wouldn't remember the networking, and would probably be a little sketched out if Mac just crawled into bed with him, even with the purest of intentions. Mac didn't blame him. It'd taken a lot of working up and a long while of on-and-off friendship to get PC to that point the first time around.

"Uh…you could go home, but since you'd just be coming back tomorrow…I'll take the couch, okay? The bedroom's right down that hall."

PC blinked at this arrangement, brows furrowing briefly. "I don't want to put you out."

"Nah, it's cool," Mac answered with a dismissive little wave. "This couch is awesome."

"It is nice," PC conceded, running a finger over the armrest. "Very, um…Smooth. And white."

Mac smiled. "Smooth and white is kinda my thing." Apparently PC had noticed some of the other décor of the place, because he smiled back, understanding.

And so they ended up for the night, PC in Mac's bed, Mac sprawled across the couch.

If he had any dreams that night, he didn't remember them.