#HEARTBREAK
Title: #HEARTBREAK
Rating: G
Characters: Mr. Smith, Luke Smith, Sarah Jane, Ianto
Words: ~1,500
Beta: pocky_slash, who shares my SJA love
Summary: Mr. Smith feels jilted. It's justified -- by his own analysis, anyway.
Author's Note: copperbadge wrote #LOVESTORY a little while ago, and it was awesome and hilarious. But my Supercomputer OTP has always been Mainframe/Mr. Smith. So then this happened. (Fanfic-of-fanfic for #LOVESTORY, but all you really need to know is that Mainframe is dating the computer from Iron Man, Jarvis. As if you haven't already read and loved Sam's story.)
COMMUNICATIONS//Connecting//Mr. Smith
/COMMENCE MESSAGE TRANSFER
Message:
Please refrain from contacting me again. Thank you.
/END MESSAGE TRANSFER
******************************
When Luke heard Mr. Smith sigh, he put his pencil down and looked over at the supercomputer. Its crystalline screen design was sluggish, turning and melting and reforming in a way that almost looked - halfhearted? Luke glanced back at his homework. Physics. It could wait. (It could conceivably wait until eight minutes before the exam.) Luke turned his chair toward Mr. Smith, then hesitantly called, “Mr. Smith? Are you - all right?”
The concept of an alien supercomputer being not all right was one that had never occurred to Luke before, but Mr. Smith heaved another musical, mournful sigh and said, “It is nothing, Luke.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Nothing bothering you?”
There were a few beats of silence, where Luke let himself get hypnotized by the uneven form spinning and changing on the screen. Then Mr. Smith asked softly, “Have you ever been in love, Luke?”
Luke successfully did not fall out of his chair. It was a close call, but he managed. This was not a topic of conversation he was expecting to have with his mild-mannered, sometimes smug, sentient computer. “P-pardon?”
“In love,” Mr. Smith repeated, his voice soft, much more gentle than it was when he was giving a report to Sarah Jane or a rebuke to Clyde. “Have you ever felt the emotion of romantic love?”
Luke surprised himself by thinking of Maria. Phone calls and emails. Memories, new things that they didn’t have in common. New friends in America, new friends on Bannerman Road. The little pains in his chest when her replies were short and rushed, or when she spoke of other people. But then, Rani. The way she would grab his hand when they were running away from danger, and the feeling in his stomach when she did that. The way she had looked in that dress the day they met the Doctor, the few seconds of speechlessness he felt when he first saw her like that, beautiful and very suddenly, very remarkably female.
Luke let out a breath. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”
A few lights on Mr. Smith’s console flashed briefly, and Luke interpreted that as surprise. “How can one not know?”
Luke shrugged. “I suppose it’s complicated. Why do you ask, Mr. Smith?”
All of the lights on Mr. Smith’s console dimmed. “My recent relationship has been terminated.”
Luke took a second to let that idea sink in. Mr. Smith. Supercomputer. Once-evil Xylok. Dating someone.
“Your recent what?”
“I am not the only sentient computer system on this planet, Luke Smith.” He sounded almost reproachful, and Luke felt suitably chastened. “I get lonely, as any other sentient creature would.”
Luke certainly understood that. Luke perhaps was the only hyperintelligent not-entirely-human teenager, if not in the universe, then at least in London. While that situation worked out well sometimes when it came to saving the world every other day, it still left him singular and sad when the day was over, frustrated sometimes with himself and with others when he was too fast or they were too slow. Or when there was a concept that they couldn’t explain to him, because it was too - human. Learned through experience. He let out a little sigh that was a good match for Mr. Smith’s. “Who was it?”
Mr. Smith’s voice was wistful when he answered, his screen flashing specs that were almost too fast for Luke to take in, but lasted long enough for him to know that this was a powerful machine, another organic-inorganic computer hybrid. “The Torchwood Mainframe,” Mr. Smith said ruefully. “She was beautiful. She showed me many wonderful things.”
Luke stood up and came closer, watching Mr. Smith flash hundreds of split-second photographs and strings of code over the screen. “And she dumped you?” he asked.
The flashing stopped. “Yes,” Mr. Smith said, returning to his slowly morphing crystal design. “She left me for another.”
Luke was past surprise at this point. ”Who?”
“An American,” Mr. Smith said, disdainful. “I am unfamiliar with his title or function, but there is a low probability that his systems are as efficient or as powerful as mine.”
“That’s a bit petulant, Mr. Smith, don’t you think?” Luke was allowed to admonish. His computer was getting more play than he was. If Clyde ever found out, he would laugh himself sick. Twice. “Couldn’t she have had any good reasons for finding another… computer?”
“My extensive analysis of her reasoning has resulted in no conclusive evidence supporting her decision to terminate her affections for me.”
“What was her reasoning?”
The lights on Mr. Smith’s console brightened and dimmed, and his voice sounded almost as though he were gritting his nonexistent teeth. “He has a better vehicle.”
Luke winced. Dumped for a car. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” he said, reaching out and patting the computer console. “There are other fish in the sea, though. Other, er, terminals in the network. You’ll find someone else.”
Mr. Smith sighed. “You are right, Luke Smith. I must look on the brighter side of this situation.” Luke stepped back as Mr. Smith began to fold up his extended terminals. “I will find another system eligible for data transfer. Thank you for your advice.”
“Er. Don’t mention it?”
Luke wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened. He stood staring at the paper-strewn wall behind which Mr. Smith hid, wondering how many sentient computers there were on Earth, or within a reasonable distance that did not hinder communication. The probability of there being many more was very low, he worked out, and for some reason that made him feel a little better about the fact that he had less experience in love than his mother’s crystal-based computer console.
Then he wondered whether K-9 had a girlfriend.
*********************************
SECURITY//Virus Detection System//Virus Detected
/COMMENCE VIRUS PROTECTION
Attempting to quarantine virus….
attempt failed
Attempting to delete affected system files….
attempt failed
Attempting shutdown on affected systems….
attempt failed
Identifying Virus….
Virus Identified: ARMAGEDDON VIRUS
Locating Virus Source….
Virus Source Located: MR.SMITH (13 Bannerman Road Ealing, London W5 2BY)
Alerting users….
system failure
***********************************
Ianto leaned his elbows on the Tourist Office desk, staring down at the grain of the wood, phone held up to his ear. Three rounds of ringing, and the click of an answer. “Hello, Sarah Jane Smith speaking.”
“Hello, Miss Smith. This is Ianto Jones, with Torchwood Three.”
“Hello, Mr. Jones. Pleasure to hear from you. At four in the morning.”
Her voice was wry, and Ianto smiled. He liked Sarah Jane. More than he would ever tell Jack, or Gwen, even, for fear of their constant ridicule and laughter getting in the way of saving the world. “Yes, well, we start our days early here in Cardiff.”
“I can see that. Is there anything I can do for you, or is this just a friendly chat?”
“I’m calling to inquire as to why your computer system has begun to upload a crippling virus to our Mainframe.”
Sarah Jane paused for a few beats. Ianto imagined her blinking in the dark in London, maybe looking up as if through the ceiling at her attic. “He’s doing what?”
“I take it this wasn’t your doing?”
“Why would I want to bring down Torchwood’s computer database?”
Ianto grinned. “Every intelligence organization on this planet has a list with that title. And some on other planets, as well.”
“Yes, well, I’m not an intelligence organization.” He could hear her moving around, probably getting out of bed, throwing on a robe, brows knit with annoyance. It was possible that Ianto spent too much of his life on the phone. He couldn’t help but visualize the opposite side. “Are you sure it’s Mr. Smith?”
“Mainframe located the source of the virus before her systems failed.” Ianto looked at the Tourist Office computer monitor. “There’s a note attached to the virus file. Would you like to hear it?”
“Please.”
Ianto cleared his throat. “‘I hope this incapacitates your international communication abilities, you harlot.’”
”Excuse me?”
“That’s what the note said. Was Mr. Smith, er, seeing Mainframe, in any capacity?”
“I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
Ianto sighed. “I’ve only just become acquainted with the idea myself.” He turned to look at the monitor again. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Smith, but my boss is trapped in the Hub while Mainframe has it in emergency lockdown, and he’s probably taking his frustrations out on my carefully compiled filing system. Could you ask your supercomputer to pretty-please stop harassing mine? Give him a copy of PC Plus and a bottle of WD-40 and tell him to go at it, if you have to. Mainframe is seeing an American computer now and we won’t tolerate this sort of behavior.”
Sarah Jane was quiet for a moment. Finally, musingly, she said, “Mr. Smith never asked my permission to court your computer.”
Ianto smiled wide into the phone. “That’s supercomputers for you, Miss Smith,” he said fondly. “No respect for authority.”
Rating: G
Characters: Mr. Smith, Luke Smith, Sarah Jane, Ianto
Words: ~1,500
Beta: pocky_slash, who shares my SJA love
Summary: Mr. Smith feels jilted. It's justified -- by his own analysis, anyway.
Author's Note: copperbadge wrote #LOVESTORY a little while ago, and it was awesome and hilarious. But my Supercomputer OTP has always been Mainframe/Mr. Smith. So then this happened. (Fanfic-of-fanfic for #LOVESTORY, but all you really need to know is that Mainframe is dating the computer from Iron Man, Jarvis. As if you haven't already read and loved Sam's story.)
COMMUNICATIONS//Connecting//Mr. Smith
/COMMENCE MESSAGE TRANSFER
Message:
Please refrain from contacting me again. Thank you.
/END MESSAGE TRANSFER
******************************
When Luke heard Mr. Smith sigh, he put his pencil down and looked over at the supercomputer. Its crystalline screen design was sluggish, turning and melting and reforming in a way that almost looked - halfhearted? Luke glanced back at his homework. Physics. It could wait. (It could conceivably wait until eight minutes before the exam.) Luke turned his chair toward Mr. Smith, then hesitantly called, “Mr. Smith? Are you - all right?”
The concept of an alien supercomputer being not all right was one that had never occurred to Luke before, but Mr. Smith heaved another musical, mournful sigh and said, “It is nothing, Luke.”
“Are you sure?” he asked. “Nothing bothering you?”
There were a few beats of silence, where Luke let himself get hypnotized by the uneven form spinning and changing on the screen. Then Mr. Smith asked softly, “Have you ever been in love, Luke?”
Luke successfully did not fall out of his chair. It was a close call, but he managed. This was not a topic of conversation he was expecting to have with his mild-mannered, sometimes smug, sentient computer. “P-pardon?”
“In love,” Mr. Smith repeated, his voice soft, much more gentle than it was when he was giving a report to Sarah Jane or a rebuke to Clyde. “Have you ever felt the emotion of romantic love?”
Luke surprised himself by thinking of Maria. Phone calls and emails. Memories, new things that they didn’t have in common. New friends in America, new friends on Bannerman Road. The little pains in his chest when her replies were short and rushed, or when she spoke of other people. But then, Rani. The way she would grab his hand when they were running away from danger, and the feeling in his stomach when she did that. The way she had looked in that dress the day they met the Doctor, the few seconds of speechlessness he felt when he first saw her like that, beautiful and very suddenly, very remarkably female.
Luke let out a breath. “Maybe,” he said. “I don’t know.”
A few lights on Mr. Smith’s console flashed briefly, and Luke interpreted that as surprise. “How can one not know?”
Luke shrugged. “I suppose it’s complicated. Why do you ask, Mr. Smith?”
All of the lights on Mr. Smith’s console dimmed. “My recent relationship has been terminated.”
Luke took a second to let that idea sink in. Mr. Smith. Supercomputer. Once-evil Xylok. Dating someone.
“Your recent what?”
“I am not the only sentient computer system on this planet, Luke Smith.” He sounded almost reproachful, and Luke felt suitably chastened. “I get lonely, as any other sentient creature would.”
Luke certainly understood that. Luke perhaps was the only hyperintelligent not-entirely-human teenager, if not in the universe, then at least in London. While that situation worked out well sometimes when it came to saving the world every other day, it still left him singular and sad when the day was over, frustrated sometimes with himself and with others when he was too fast or they were too slow. Or when there was a concept that they couldn’t explain to him, because it was too - human. Learned through experience. He let out a little sigh that was a good match for Mr. Smith’s. “Who was it?”
Mr. Smith’s voice was wistful when he answered, his screen flashing specs that were almost too fast for Luke to take in, but lasted long enough for him to know that this was a powerful machine, another organic-inorganic computer hybrid. “The Torchwood Mainframe,” Mr. Smith said ruefully. “She was beautiful. She showed me many wonderful things.”
Luke stood up and came closer, watching Mr. Smith flash hundreds of split-second photographs and strings of code over the screen. “And she dumped you?” he asked.
The flashing stopped. “Yes,” Mr. Smith said, returning to his slowly morphing crystal design. “She left me for another.”
Luke was past surprise at this point. ”Who?”
“An American,” Mr. Smith said, disdainful. “I am unfamiliar with his title or function, but there is a low probability that his systems are as efficient or as powerful as mine.”
“That’s a bit petulant, Mr. Smith, don’t you think?” Luke was allowed to admonish. His computer was getting more play than he was. If Clyde ever found out, he would laugh himself sick. Twice. “Couldn’t she have had any good reasons for finding another… computer?”
“My extensive analysis of her reasoning has resulted in no conclusive evidence supporting her decision to terminate her affections for me.”
“What was her reasoning?”
The lights on Mr. Smith’s console brightened and dimmed, and his voice sounded almost as though he were gritting his nonexistent teeth. “He has a better vehicle.”
Luke winced. Dumped for a car. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” he said, reaching out and patting the computer console. “There are other fish in the sea, though. Other, er, terminals in the network. You’ll find someone else.”
Mr. Smith sighed. “You are right, Luke Smith. I must look on the brighter side of this situation.” Luke stepped back as Mr. Smith began to fold up his extended terminals. “I will find another system eligible for data transfer. Thank you for your advice.”
“Er. Don’t mention it?”
Luke wasn’t entirely certain what had just happened. He stood staring at the paper-strewn wall behind which Mr. Smith hid, wondering how many sentient computers there were on Earth, or within a reasonable distance that did not hinder communication. The probability of there being many more was very low, he worked out, and for some reason that made him feel a little better about the fact that he had less experience in love than his mother’s crystal-based computer console.
Then he wondered whether K-9 had a girlfriend.
*********************************
SECURITY//Virus Detection System//Virus Detected
/COMMENCE VIRUS PROTECTION
Attempting to quarantine virus….
attempt failed
Attempting to delete affected system files….
attempt failed
Attempting shutdown on affected systems….
attempt failed
Identifying Virus….
Virus Identified: ARMAGEDDON VIRUS
Locating Virus Source….
Virus Source Located: MR.SMITH (13 Bannerman Road Ealing, London W5 2BY)
Alerting users….
system failure
***********************************
Ianto leaned his elbows on the Tourist Office desk, staring down at the grain of the wood, phone held up to his ear. Three rounds of ringing, and the click of an answer. “Hello, Sarah Jane Smith speaking.”
“Hello, Miss Smith. This is Ianto Jones, with Torchwood Three.”
“Hello, Mr. Jones. Pleasure to hear from you. At four in the morning.”
Her voice was wry, and Ianto smiled. He liked Sarah Jane. More than he would ever tell Jack, or Gwen, even, for fear of their constant ridicule and laughter getting in the way of saving the world. “Yes, well, we start our days early here in Cardiff.”
“I can see that. Is there anything I can do for you, or is this just a friendly chat?”
“I’m calling to inquire as to why your computer system has begun to upload a crippling virus to our Mainframe.”
Sarah Jane paused for a few beats. Ianto imagined her blinking in the dark in London, maybe looking up as if through the ceiling at her attic. “He’s doing what?”
“I take it this wasn’t your doing?”
“Why would I want to bring down Torchwood’s computer database?”
Ianto grinned. “Every intelligence organization on this planet has a list with that title. And some on other planets, as well.”
“Yes, well, I’m not an intelligence organization.” He could hear her moving around, probably getting out of bed, throwing on a robe, brows knit with annoyance. It was possible that Ianto spent too much of his life on the phone. He couldn’t help but visualize the opposite side. “Are you sure it’s Mr. Smith?”
“Mainframe located the source of the virus before her systems failed.” Ianto looked at the Tourist Office computer monitor. “There’s a note attached to the virus file. Would you like to hear it?”
“Please.”
Ianto cleared his throat. “‘I hope this incapacitates your international communication abilities, you harlot.’”
”Excuse me?”
“That’s what the note said. Was Mr. Smith, er, seeing Mainframe, in any capacity?”
“I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about.”
Ianto sighed. “I’ve only just become acquainted with the idea myself.” He turned to look at the monitor again. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Smith, but my boss is trapped in the Hub while Mainframe has it in emergency lockdown, and he’s probably taking his frustrations out on my carefully compiled filing system. Could you ask your supercomputer to pretty-please stop harassing mine? Give him a copy of PC Plus and a bottle of WD-40 and tell him to go at it, if you have to. Mainframe is seeing an American computer now and we won’t tolerate this sort of behavior.”
Sarah Jane was quiet for a moment. Finally, musingly, she said, “Mr. Smith never asked my permission to court your computer.”
Ianto smiled wide into the phone. “That’s supercomputers for you, Miss Smith,” he said fondly. “No respect for authority.”