Red Dwarf - David Lister - 025: Strangers
Title: Strangers
Fandom: Red Dwarf
Characters: David Lister, Arnold Rimmer, Cat, Kristine Kochanski
Prompt: 025: Strangers
Word Count: 686
Rating: G
Summary: Wherein Lister has a serious case of Deja Vue, and realizes something important about Rimmer.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for season VIII.
Boy, this sure is a little damn table!"
It was by far the stupidest argument Lister had ever experienced. Rimmer had just come up to him in the exercise yard, and accused him of having stolen his socks.
“Rimmer,” he’d said, “I’m not wearing your socks. I’ve got my own socks, prison issue, same as yours. They’re all dull medium grey, cotton, and fall apart when you touch ‘em. Why would I want any more?”
“Who knows why you do anything, you goit,” Rimmer had replied. “all I know is, my socks were there yesterday evening, and this morning they are not. Now kindly tell me where you’ve stashed them.”
“How can you even tell? We keep them in the same drawer!”
“Oh, don’t play stupid with me, Mr. third technician!” He’d emphasized the “third” as though it indicated an embarrassing and painful skin-condition which Lister had unfortunately fallen victim to. “I know you’ve discovered my secret stash.”
“You have a secret stash,” Lister had marveled, “of socks?”
“Honestly, it’s embarrassing listening to your pathetic acting. Come on, give it up! I had them all indexed and catalogued, you know, so there’s no point in denying it.”
Lister had looked Rimmer up and down, trying to figure out whether he was joking or not. Then it had occurred to him that this wasn’t the Rimmer he’d spent years traveling the universe with, this was Rimmer as he had been all those years ago, and that Rimmer was always serious. Dead serious. Still, he had given it one last try. “You’re not serious?”
“Serious?” Rimmer had scoffed, “Of course I’m serious! I know you, I know how your filthy mind works. You’re probably thinking that stealing from a fellow prisoner is a-OK, that it doesn’t matter what you do, because - hey - you’re in jail anyway, right? Well think again, you scouse git; because I’m jolly well going to report this!” And with that, he had turned on his heels, saluted one of the guards overseeing the yard, and headed straight towards him.
And so Lister was left alone, stunned and confused. As he sat there, wringing his locks in his hand, and restlessly shaking the other about for want of something to do with it, the Cat sauntered up. He looked worried, or maybe just confused. Most human interactions tended to confuse him, except when it came to those rooted in the baser emotions, which he rather enjoyed.
“You OK, buddy?” he asked, sitting down next to Lister on the crude bench, which looked like it had been made by one of the more mentally challenged prisoners during metal shop.
“Did he use to be like that?” Lister put one lock in his mouth, and started chewing, absent-mindedly.
“Like what?”
“Like an anal-retentive goit without a single clue about basic human social interactions? Like all he lives for is to make other people as miserable as he is? Like a complete and utter…”
“Smeghead?” The Cat shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Lister shook his head. “How could I stand to be around him? I mean, he was bad enough in the end, but seeing him as he was back then… He changed, man.” He paused, as realization struck him. “He changed. I didn’t notice, but he changed.”
The Cat shrugged again, as though this didn’t matter. “Once a smeghead, always a smeghead,” he said, easily. “I don’t see why it should bother you that much.”
“Yeah, well you never liked him anyway. I did. I grew to like him. He’s not my Rimmer, and my Rimmer is never coming back.” He sighed. “I miss him.”
The Cat gave him a disgusted look. “You’re sick man! I’m getting out of here, ‘cause whatever you’ve got I’m not catching it!” He jumped up, and, in the way of all felines, was gone before Lister could even retort.
Lister sighed again, and leaned back. As he did, he felt a light, friendly pressure on his shoulders. Turning his head all the way back, he looked up into the sadly smiling face of Kristine Kochanski.
“Now you know how I feel,” she said, and patted him gently on the cheek.
Fandom: Red Dwarf
Characters: David Lister, Arnold Rimmer, Cat, Kristine Kochanski
Prompt: 025: Strangers
Word Count: 686
Rating: G
Summary: Wherein Lister has a serious case of Deja Vue, and realizes something important about Rimmer.
Author's Notes: Spoilers for season VIII.
Boy, this sure is a little damn table!"
It was by far the stupidest argument Lister had ever experienced. Rimmer had just come up to him in the exercise yard, and accused him of having stolen his socks.
“Rimmer,” he’d said, “I’m not wearing your socks. I’ve got my own socks, prison issue, same as yours. They’re all dull medium grey, cotton, and fall apart when you touch ‘em. Why would I want any more?”
“Who knows why you do anything, you goit,” Rimmer had replied. “all I know is, my socks were there yesterday evening, and this morning they are not. Now kindly tell me where you’ve stashed them.”
“How can you even tell? We keep them in the same drawer!”
“Oh, don’t play stupid with me, Mr. third technician!” He’d emphasized the “third” as though it indicated an embarrassing and painful skin-condition which Lister had unfortunately fallen victim to. “I know you’ve discovered my secret stash.”
“You have a secret stash,” Lister had marveled, “of socks?”
“Honestly, it’s embarrassing listening to your pathetic acting. Come on, give it up! I had them all indexed and catalogued, you know, so there’s no point in denying it.”
Lister had looked Rimmer up and down, trying to figure out whether he was joking or not. Then it had occurred to him that this wasn’t the Rimmer he’d spent years traveling the universe with, this was Rimmer as he had been all those years ago, and that Rimmer was always serious. Dead serious. Still, he had given it one last try. “You’re not serious?”
“Serious?” Rimmer had scoffed, “Of course I’m serious! I know you, I know how your filthy mind works. You’re probably thinking that stealing from a fellow prisoner is a-OK, that it doesn’t matter what you do, because - hey - you’re in jail anyway, right? Well think again, you scouse git; because I’m jolly well going to report this!” And with that, he had turned on his heels, saluted one of the guards overseeing the yard, and headed straight towards him.
And so Lister was left alone, stunned and confused. As he sat there, wringing his locks in his hand, and restlessly shaking the other about for want of something to do with it, the Cat sauntered up. He looked worried, or maybe just confused. Most human interactions tended to confuse him, except when it came to those rooted in the baser emotions, which he rather enjoyed.
“You OK, buddy?” he asked, sitting down next to Lister on the crude bench, which looked like it had been made by one of the more mentally challenged prisoners during metal shop.
“Did he use to be like that?” Lister put one lock in his mouth, and started chewing, absent-mindedly.
“Like what?”
“Like an anal-retentive goit without a single clue about basic human social interactions? Like all he lives for is to make other people as miserable as he is? Like a complete and utter…”
“Smeghead?” The Cat shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Lister shook his head. “How could I stand to be around him? I mean, he was bad enough in the end, but seeing him as he was back then… He changed, man.” He paused, as realization struck him. “He changed. I didn’t notice, but he changed.”
The Cat shrugged again, as though this didn’t matter. “Once a smeghead, always a smeghead,” he said, easily. “I don’t see why it should bother you that much.”
“Yeah, well you never liked him anyway. I did. I grew to like him. He’s not my Rimmer, and my Rimmer is never coming back.” He sighed. “I miss him.”
The Cat gave him a disgusted look. “You’re sick man! I’m getting out of here, ‘cause whatever you’ve got I’m not catching it!” He jumped up, and, in the way of all felines, was gone before Lister could even retort.
Lister sighed again, and leaned back. As he did, he felt a light, friendly pressure on his shoulders. Turning his head all the way back, he looked up into the sadly smiling face of Kristine Kochanski.
“Now you know how I feel,” she said, and patted him gently on the cheek.