More Things In The Multiverse - PG-13
Title: More Things In The Multiverse
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I for dang sure don't make a penny off of them.
Notes: For fluffyllama. I apologize for the delay! And the angst - I think they both stem from being buired at work. My eternal thanks to khavi for the excellent beta; I do believe she could make lemonade out of lemons that had actually passed through someone's digestive system already.
The scene was not a new one. Ace had seen this set of bunks, one messy and one neat, repeated endlessly across the multiverse. It never seemed to change in its fundamentals, just details. However, this was definitely one of the more interesting permutations he had run across. In terms of the details, this ranked right up there with that little 'detail' that the bloke in the dress at the Minian bar had revealed at the end of the night. About the time Rimmer found out he was a bloke. "I don't understand." He cringed as a little bit too much Rimmer came through in his voice.
A languidly raised eyebrow was the only response. Ace's confusion was briefly overwhelmed by disgust as the owner of that eyebrow took a swig of lager, belched, and picked a crisp out of the folds of the filthy comforter he was lying upon. After a brief examination, the crisp was mashed in a set of teeth that had not been scrubbed any time recently.
Ace sighed and folded his arms, his gold spacesuit crinkling slightly. He resisted the urge to scratch his itchy wig. Not a very heroic action. Not that wearing a wig was, either, but - oh, smeg it all. "You see, where I come from..." He shook his head, lacking words for this.
The man in the bunk grinned, clearly enjoying Rimmer's discomfiture. "Yer kidding me. So, where ye come from - him and me aren't... I mean, we..." He pointed to the other, much tidier bunk, and made a vaguely complicated gesture.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean - you know smegging well what I mean!" The Rimmer had definitely been loud and clear in his voice right there. Not that it really mattered, in the present company. Ace sighed and sat down in a chair after sweeping a few empty tins off of the seat. "This..." he coughed, schooling his voice back to haughty Ace-ness, "this isn't cricket, my old fire-belcher."
An annoying giggle grated on Ace's nerves. "It's funny, you know? I mean, who'd have thought, in another universe, me and him wouldn't be like we are here."
"No," Ace replied with a sigh. He looked at the grotty bunk, and the clean one that stood in almost defiant contrast, practically sneering at the grotty bunk and its occupant. However, beyond all the sneering - "I suppose - as long as the opposites wind up together, the universe is in some kind of perverted balance."
"Together?" A cavernous pair of nostrils flared over the lager can.
"Yes," Ace replied. "It's just the way things sort out. In every universe I've ever been to. All of the Rimmers and Listers."
A pair of hazel eyes widened in shock. "No. Wait - shagging?" The grotty Rimmer's face was somewhere between bemused and aghast. "Me an'... that stuck-up prick?"
Ace frowned, a very nasty thought coming into his head. The filthy version of himself was not feigning confusion and shock. "Well, where I come from, you.. I mean, I... I mean, we're the stuck-up prick, but..."
"Smeg!" the alternate Rimmer gasped. "I mean - I don't think I could even get me willy up his arse, it's so tight!" He took a pull of lager, shaking his head. Then his eyes narrowed. "If you two were shagging, then why did ye leave?"
Ace had thought about this a time or two, over the millenia. "I - well, I wondered, back then. Wondered if it was normal. All right. Acceptable."
"'Up the ziggurat, lickety-split'?" the other Rimmer said, his tone mocking. "Lister's always on about that." He shook his head. "Good on you, mate, but I'd rather shag a leech-GELF."
"Never say never, my old whiffle-fart," Ace sighed. But doubt nagged at his mind. This was one. One universe, out of the twelve thousand or so he had visited, where the Rimmer and the Lister were not shagging. This threw the whole calculation into disarray. It meant there was a chance that - well, that what he had got up to with Lister was simply not right.
Ah, Ace knew all too well that what feels good is not always right. That was the essence of being a hero, wasn't it? Doing what was right, no matter how good doing what was not right (such as running away from a battle and hiding under his bunk) felt. So no matter how good it felt to have Lister's monster willy in his mouth - and yes, after so many centuries, he still remembered that vividly - or to make those sloppy, lager-flavored kisses all night - no, it was not the case in every universe. So he would not go back. No, and what would be the point, after so long? Lister was long dead by now. He was not an immortal smegging hard-light hologram - too cowardly to die, but with little enough reason to live.
"Ye all right?" that alternate, grotty Rimmer asked.
"Yes," Rimmer sighed. He dug deep in the Ace persona as he stood, straightening his gold flightsuit. "Smoke me a kipper, my old crisp warehouse. I'll be back..." he ran out of steam. "Or not."
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I for dang sure don't make a penny off of them.
Notes: For fluffyllama. I apologize for the delay! And the angst - I think they both stem from being buired at work. My eternal thanks to khavi for the excellent beta; I do believe she could make lemonade out of lemons that had actually passed through someone's digestive system already.
The scene was not a new one. Ace had seen this set of bunks, one messy and one neat, repeated endlessly across the multiverse. It never seemed to change in its fundamentals, just details. However, this was definitely one of the more interesting permutations he had run across. In terms of the details, this ranked right up there with that little 'detail' that the bloke in the dress at the Minian bar had revealed at the end of the night. About the time Rimmer found out he was a bloke. "I don't understand." He cringed as a little bit too much Rimmer came through in his voice.
A languidly raised eyebrow was the only response. Ace's confusion was briefly overwhelmed by disgust as the owner of that eyebrow took a swig of lager, belched, and picked a crisp out of the folds of the filthy comforter he was lying upon. After a brief examination, the crisp was mashed in a set of teeth that had not been scrubbed any time recently.
Ace sighed and folded his arms, his gold spacesuit crinkling slightly. He resisted the urge to scratch his itchy wig. Not a very heroic action. Not that wearing a wig was, either, but - oh, smeg it all. "You see, where I come from..." He shook his head, lacking words for this.
The man in the bunk grinned, clearly enjoying Rimmer's discomfiture. "Yer kidding me. So, where ye come from - him and me aren't... I mean, we..." He pointed to the other, much tidier bunk, and made a vaguely complicated gesture.
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean - you know smegging well what I mean!" The Rimmer had definitely been loud and clear in his voice right there. Not that it really mattered, in the present company. Ace sighed and sat down in a chair after sweeping a few empty tins off of the seat. "This..." he coughed, schooling his voice back to haughty Ace-ness, "this isn't cricket, my old fire-belcher."
An annoying giggle grated on Ace's nerves. "It's funny, you know? I mean, who'd have thought, in another universe, me and him wouldn't be like we are here."
"No," Ace replied with a sigh. He looked at the grotty bunk, and the clean one that stood in almost defiant contrast, practically sneering at the grotty bunk and its occupant. However, beyond all the sneering - "I suppose - as long as the opposites wind up together, the universe is in some kind of perverted balance."
"Together?" A cavernous pair of nostrils flared over the lager can.
"Yes," Ace replied. "It's just the way things sort out. In every universe I've ever been to. All of the Rimmers and Listers."
A pair of hazel eyes widened in shock. "No. Wait - shagging?" The grotty Rimmer's face was somewhere between bemused and aghast. "Me an'... that stuck-up prick?"
Ace frowned, a very nasty thought coming into his head. The filthy version of himself was not feigning confusion and shock. "Well, where I come from, you.. I mean, I... I mean, we're the stuck-up prick, but..."
"Smeg!" the alternate Rimmer gasped. "I mean - I don't think I could even get me willy up his arse, it's so tight!" He took a pull of lager, shaking his head. Then his eyes narrowed. "If you two were shagging, then why did ye leave?"
Ace had thought about this a time or two, over the millenia. "I - well, I wondered, back then. Wondered if it was normal. All right. Acceptable."
"'Up the ziggurat, lickety-split'?" the other Rimmer said, his tone mocking. "Lister's always on about that." He shook his head. "Good on you, mate, but I'd rather shag a leech-GELF."
"Never say never, my old whiffle-fart," Ace sighed. But doubt nagged at his mind. This was one. One universe, out of the twelve thousand or so he had visited, where the Rimmer and the Lister were not shagging. This threw the whole calculation into disarray. It meant there was a chance that - well, that what he had got up to with Lister was simply not right.
Ah, Ace knew all too well that what feels good is not always right. That was the essence of being a hero, wasn't it? Doing what was right, no matter how good doing what was not right (such as running away from a battle and hiding under his bunk) felt. So no matter how good it felt to have Lister's monster willy in his mouth - and yes, after so many centuries, he still remembered that vividly - or to make those sloppy, lager-flavored kisses all night - no, it was not the case in every universe. So he would not go back. No, and what would be the point, after so long? Lister was long dead by now. He was not an immortal smegging hard-light hologram - too cowardly to die, but with little enough reason to live.
"Ye all right?" that alternate, grotty Rimmer asked.
"Yes," Rimmer sighed. He dug deep in the Ace persona as he stood, straightening his gold flightsuit. "Smoke me a kipper, my old crisp warehouse. I'll be back..." he ran out of steam. "Or not."