Fic: Who? - R/L (imp) - PG
Title: Who?
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still don't own Red Dwarf. Still don't make money from it.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: roadstergal wanted to know what Lister was thinking when he fought against Rimmer in SMAC. I wrote it to fit in with her If, which I hope she doesn't mind. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
When me gran said that one day I was gonna be someone's knight in shining armor, I doubt this was what she had in mind. Still, I'd like to think she'd've been proud all the same. She was a tough one, my gran was. You wouldn't have liked her. Much as you don't like me, so why the smeg am I doing this? Ah, but I do know. It's a chore I've taken upon myself. Because the thing is, someone has to like you, Rimmer.
Someone has to look out fer you; wonder what kind of a mess ye'll get yerself into next time. Someone has to ask 'what about Rimmer' when the others vote to get the hell out of the Simulant-packed derelict before it blows; and to hell with any coward who let himself get captured by them because he tried to sell us out.
Someone has to listen to yer goiting awful boring stories, and watch ya playing RISK with the scutters, and yerself now that there's no scutters fer you to boss around. I'm not gonna play with ya; I'm bored out of my skin here, but I'm not that far gone yet! No, but I'll watch, and leer, and distract ya so you'll forget what a lousy, crummy thing it is to have to play a board game with yerself.
Someone has to be the one to tell you the truth (except... but we won't dwell on that) when you get drunk, or sad, or lonely, and start wondering what people really think about you. Someone has to be honest; say what they really mean. Even if by doing that, they are mean! I bet you didn't get that. I bet you thought I was just being a bastard. Fine. I don't mind. I'm just doing what needs to be done.
Like now. Here's the opportunity of a lifetime staring ya in the face, and what do you do? Give up, that's what. Yeah, if I'd let ya, you'd do what you always do; let opportunity slip away, then complain about it for the rest of yer miserable life. I know you. I know ya too damn well. Guess what, though; I'm not gonna let ya slink away this time.
Do ya even know how ridiculous you look? Ace, now, Ace can pull that look off. Ace could come in here naked, armed with just a toothpick and a smile, and have me disarmed and helpless on the floor within seconds. And that there is inside of you too, 'old iron balls', if ye can just find it - see who you really are. And I have to help ya find it, because nobody else will. I'm all you have, Rimmer. Who would be there for you, if it wasn't fer me? Ever think of that? I do. All the time, man. I'm yer best friend, and I don't even like ya. How sad is that? That's no life fer a man, is it?
Now, I just bet ya, if ye'd told Cat and Kryten; 'oh, Dave is gonna throw a heapin' big sword around with Rimmer,' they'd've started planning yer funeral. And I wouldn't blame 'em. You did me some wrong turns up through the years, and as I lift this thing (heavy bastard, really) part of me tries to nudge my arm just that little bit more to the left, just so I'd nick yer arm; swing just a little more to the right as you turn, so I could hit you with the flat of the blade and leave a few bruises. If you can get those. Make you hurt, anyway. I don't like ya, but I have to; it's the only decent thing to do. Yer a smeghead, but yer a human being, and that's why I don't stab this thing into yer side, pinning yer clothes to the floor, the edge of the blade just about ripping the outer layer of whatever passes for skin on yer body, leaving you helpless and trapped, so I can... I don't do that, yeah? Wouldn't be right.
Still, I can't say it doesn't feel good to do this. To smack you around a bit, even if it is just pretend. Get some of that tension out. It's been a few years, and for most of those, I couldn't even touch ya. Now though... Feels stupid to use this sword, even. I could just toss it aside, wrestle yours from ya, and we could settle this like men, you know. Bare fists. I'd take my gauntlets off. Or maybe you'd like that? I've seen the way you look at me. It makes me nervous. It shouldn't be like that between us. That's not us. This is us; fighting. Just with metal this time instead of words.
Oh, and now you run. I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. In fact, I'm not; I know ya too well, like I said. I knew you'd run, that you'd pick up that bazookoid, that you'd shoot me with it. I didn't know how hard even those blanks would hit though. Hurts like hell, like my chest and stomach is on fire. I'm taking a bullet for ya, man, and ya don't even know it. One? Smeg, that was hardly just one. Just as well ya left running right away, else you'd've heard me wheezing and spluttering on the floor, because I couldn't hold it in fer all that long. Yer still taking no chances. Good. Even heroes have to make sure they don't die. Be a shame for ya to die now, after all this. I'd feel. You know, like a failure.
There's a thing now. Fancy that. I might not even find out, ever.
You might die alone.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Still don't own Red Dwarf. Still don't make money from it.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: roadstergal wanted to know what Lister was thinking when he fought against Rimmer in SMAC. I wrote it to fit in with her If, which I hope she doesn't mind. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
When me gran said that one day I was gonna be someone's knight in shining armor, I doubt this was what she had in mind. Still, I'd like to think she'd've been proud all the same. She was a tough one, my gran was. You wouldn't have liked her. Much as you don't like me, so why the smeg am I doing this? Ah, but I do know. It's a chore I've taken upon myself. Because the thing is, someone has to like you, Rimmer.
Someone has to look out fer you; wonder what kind of a mess ye'll get yerself into next time. Someone has to ask 'what about Rimmer' when the others vote to get the hell out of the Simulant-packed derelict before it blows; and to hell with any coward who let himself get captured by them because he tried to sell us out.
Someone has to listen to yer goiting awful boring stories, and watch ya playing RISK with the scutters, and yerself now that there's no scutters fer you to boss around. I'm not gonna play with ya; I'm bored out of my skin here, but I'm not that far gone yet! No, but I'll watch, and leer, and distract ya so you'll forget what a lousy, crummy thing it is to have to play a board game with yerself.
Someone has to be the one to tell you the truth (except... but we won't dwell on that) when you get drunk, or sad, or lonely, and start wondering what people really think about you. Someone has to be honest; say what they really mean. Even if by doing that, they are mean! I bet you didn't get that. I bet you thought I was just being a bastard. Fine. I don't mind. I'm just doing what needs to be done.
Like now. Here's the opportunity of a lifetime staring ya in the face, and what do you do? Give up, that's what. Yeah, if I'd let ya, you'd do what you always do; let opportunity slip away, then complain about it for the rest of yer miserable life. I know you. I know ya too damn well. Guess what, though; I'm not gonna let ya slink away this time.
Do ya even know how ridiculous you look? Ace, now, Ace can pull that look off. Ace could come in here naked, armed with just a toothpick and a smile, and have me disarmed and helpless on the floor within seconds. And that there is inside of you too, 'old iron balls', if ye can just find it - see who you really are. And I have to help ya find it, because nobody else will. I'm all you have, Rimmer. Who would be there for you, if it wasn't fer me? Ever think of that? I do. All the time, man. I'm yer best friend, and I don't even like ya. How sad is that? That's no life fer a man, is it?
Now, I just bet ya, if ye'd told Cat and Kryten; 'oh, Dave is gonna throw a heapin' big sword around with Rimmer,' they'd've started planning yer funeral. And I wouldn't blame 'em. You did me some wrong turns up through the years, and as I lift this thing (heavy bastard, really) part of me tries to nudge my arm just that little bit more to the left, just so I'd nick yer arm; swing just a little more to the right as you turn, so I could hit you with the flat of the blade and leave a few bruises. If you can get those. Make you hurt, anyway. I don't like ya, but I have to; it's the only decent thing to do. Yer a smeghead, but yer a human being, and that's why I don't stab this thing into yer side, pinning yer clothes to the floor, the edge of the blade just about ripping the outer layer of whatever passes for skin on yer body, leaving you helpless and trapped, so I can... I don't do that, yeah? Wouldn't be right.
Still, I can't say it doesn't feel good to do this. To smack you around a bit, even if it is just pretend. Get some of that tension out. It's been a few years, and for most of those, I couldn't even touch ya. Now though... Feels stupid to use this sword, even. I could just toss it aside, wrestle yours from ya, and we could settle this like men, you know. Bare fists. I'd take my gauntlets off. Or maybe you'd like that? I've seen the way you look at me. It makes me nervous. It shouldn't be like that between us. That's not us. This is us; fighting. Just with metal this time instead of words.
Oh, and now you run. I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. In fact, I'm not; I know ya too well, like I said. I knew you'd run, that you'd pick up that bazookoid, that you'd shoot me with it. I didn't know how hard even those blanks would hit though. Hurts like hell, like my chest and stomach is on fire. I'm taking a bullet for ya, man, and ya don't even know it. One? Smeg, that was hardly just one. Just as well ya left running right away, else you'd've heard me wheezing and spluttering on the floor, because I couldn't hold it in fer all that long. Yer still taking no chances. Good. Even heroes have to make sure they don't die. Be a shame for ya to die now, after all this. I'd feel. You know, like a failure.
There's a thing now. Fancy that. I might not even find out, ever.
You might die alone.