Fic: Getting Sirius - R/L - PG-13
Title: Getting Sirius
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own Red Dwarf or make any money from this. Who knew?
Spoilers: Psirens.
Notes: Written for zekkass, and the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
“Sir, when you have a moment...”
Lister nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the mechanoid's voice. His shift had been particularly boring, due to the fact that Cat was off sick, and they were doing single person shifts until he got better. Kryten was happy to pulls shifts with anyone, but he got nervous leaving Lister by himself, and had ended up a nervous wreck every time they'd tried. When he was with Lister, he worried about getting his meals ready on time. No one had even suggested that Rimmer and Lister team up. “What is it, Krytes,” Lister sighed.
Despite the fact that they were alone in the cockpit, Kryten huddled close, whispering conspiratorially into his ear. “It's Mister Rimmer, sir.”
There was no escaping the man, apparently. Well, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? Living in such close quarters was aggravating their antagonism to the point where they could hardly stand to be in the same room as one another anymore. In his darker moments, of which there were more and more these days, Lister sometimes wondered what would happen if they never found Red Dwarf again. “What about Mister Rimmer?” It had been a long day, and all Lister really wanted was to go to bed. Mealtimes were nothing to look forward to anymore; it wasn't exactly a case of filet mignon and lobster alternating on the menu. More like minging filet of something or other and red-shellacked space-weevil.
Kryten shifted uncomfortably. “I'm... worried about him.”
Lister turned the chair abruptly, nearly knocking Kryten off balance. “You what?” Rather than reply, Kryten revealed a little grey box he had been holding behind his back.
“It's one of Mister Rimmer's AutoScribes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know I wasn't supposed to, but it was lying open when I was cleaning his quarters, and...”
“Just give it here, Krytes,” Lister rolled his eyes, grabbing it. Turning it on with the optional, physical button, seemingly endless lists of odd-looking names ran up and down the now lit-up screen, followed by tiny symbols. “What's this?” He clicked his way through the pages. “Drahvins, Vorcarian, Tectonese, Minbari, Mor-Taxians...” Lister frowned at the list. “It's all a load of gibberish!”
Kryten shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid not, sir. It would appear Mister Rimmer is compiling a list of alien races.”
“Aliens?” Lister snorted. “There's no such thing as aliens!”
“Indeed not, sir. This,” Kryten pointed to the AutoScribe, “is a list of fictional aliens.”
“Fictional aliens?” Lister chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He didn't know what to make of this. It was hardly a sane thing to do, was it? Then again, could any of Rimmer's past-times be considered sane? “There's loads of 'em though. Kromaggs, Nietzscheans, Kzinti...VUX?” he looked up at Kryten, questioningly.
“From a 20th century video game. I believe the acronym stands for 'Very Ugly Xenoform'.”
It went on and on. Lister rubbed his brow, not wanting to read further, but it was all morbidly fascinating. “This is mental,” he mumbled. “What are these little symbols?”
“I can't be entirely sure, sir, but I think they are some sort of rating system.” Kryten looked about as uncomfortable as Lister felt.
“He's rating them?”
“Yes, sir. In terms of how likely they would be to...” odd metallic clunking sounds erupted from Kryten's throat, as though his voice synthesizer was refusing to cooperate. “...give him a new body.”
Lister's mind tried to take this in, but the result was near physical pain. This wasn't just normal gittish tediousness. This was insane. “He's gone off the deep end.”
“Base-jumping without the aid of a parachute,” Kryten agreed. “I think you should talk to him.”
“Me?” Lister spluttered. “Have you gone daft too?”
“Who else do you suggest, sir?” Kryten sounded pleading, almost desperate. Lister had to admit he had a point. Who else was there? Cat? Even if he had been up and about, Rimmer was more likely to heed the advice of a rubber plant. And that was assuming Cat would agree to go near him in the first place. Still...
“Can't you go?” Kryten didn't have to reply for Lister to realize the folly of that suggestion. If there was anyone on the ship Rimmer had less respect for than the Cat, it would have to be Kryten. At least Cat could and would defend himself, sometimes even before he'd been attacked in the first place. Kryten, however, was made for servitude, and thus, as Rimmer seemed to see it, was there to be ordered around and looked down on. “All right, all right. I'll go. Take over for me, would ya?”
Looking relieved, Kryten positioned himself at his usual console, leaving Lister's chair unoccupied, the way he liked it. Lister smiled, patting him on the shoulder as he left. As he reached the doorway, however, a thought occurred.
“What if I can't get through to him, though? Are we just gonna leave him be?”
Kryten shook his head gravely. “We can't take that risk, sir. If you can't snap him out of it, and he keeps getting worse, we'll have to shut him off. He could be dangerously disruptive and harmful to morale.”
“But that'd be killing him,” Lister protested.
“It wouldn't have to be permanent,” Kryten said, but his tone was unconvincing. “Just until we find someone that can...” he trailed off embarrassedly.
“What; cure him? Find him a new body?” Lister snorted. “Yeah. See ya, Krytes.” Stalking out into the mid-section, Lister willed the day to go to fast forward, and end. Just end.
He finally found Rimmer sitting on his bunk in his quarters. The door was open, which was in itself unusual. Stopping at the threshold, Lister peered inside. The clean and sterile room always made him a little nervous. In fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever actually been inside. Finally, Rimmer noticed him, and looked up from the book he was reading. “Erm... hi.”
“Listy.” He sounded sane enough. There was that usual snarky edge to his voice, and his face was contorted in its accustomed mask of mild displeasure.
“What...” Lister took a few, tentative, steps inside. “What'cha reading?”
Rimmer sighed deeply and agonizingly. “Nothing you could possibly understand, matey. Turn,” he added, addressing the auto-reader.
Lister walked just a little closer, peering at the title, which was suspended in pseudo-holographic letters above the little metal reader. “The Sirius Mystery, eh? Any good?”
“Absolutely fascinating,” Rimmer replied, his eyes not leaving the book screen.
In the middle of the room now, not wanting to enter the rather impressive zone that was Rimmer's engorged personal space, Lister settled for shifting his weight from one foot to another. “What's it about, then?” He was expecting a dismissive reply, but instead, Rimmer looked away from the screen, and stared off vacantly into the space just above Lister's left shoulder.
“Everything, Lister. It's about everything. Did you know that ancient astronauts visited Earth?”
“What?” Lister looked over his shoulder to see if he was missing anything. There was nothing there. “Like Neil Armstrong?”
Rimmer grimaced in irritation. “No! Aliens! Highly advanced beings from other worlds. They visited the ancient cultures of Earth - the Sumerians, the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Arabians. Gave them the knowledge that made their civilizations what they became - vast and powerful!”
“Yeah, but they're not around anymore, are they?” Lister observed.
“What?” Rimmer looked up, sharply, fixing him with an icy stare.
Lister shrugged. “I'm just saying, none of those empires are around anymore, are they? If they had such powerful extraterrestrial knowledge, how come they're not still around?”
Abandoning his reading in irritation, Rimmer got up and began to pace. “Typical. What a typical small-minded attitude that is, Lister. Obviously the aliens didn't give them all their powers. They needed to protect their own interests, didn't they? Couldn't have little upstart planets farting about in space, trying to usurp them.” He grinned disconcertingly. “No... They just gave them a little bit. Just a taster, so they'd be hungry for more. Then they left clues for future generations to decipher. Future generations like me!”
Sighing, Lister walked over to the little rickety table that was the only furniture in the room apart from the built-in bunk, and sat down on it, wincing as it creaked in protest. “Rimmer. There's no such thing as aliens.”
The change in Rimmer's mood was so abrupt and startling that Lister nearly fell of the table. The hologram swiveled round, pointing an accusing finger right at Lister's chest, and nearly screamed, “you don't know that, miladdio!”
His hands clutching the plastic table edges, Lister tried to calm himself. This was bad. Thank god he hadn't convinced Kryten to do this; the mechanoid would have shut him down in an instant. “Oh, eh,” he mumbled. “Settle down, man. It was just an observation.”
Rimmer just stood there, shaking, his incorporeal body heaving with breaths it didn't have to take. Then, slowly, his finger dropped. “Yes. I suppose... yes.” He turned again, facing the wall, and was silent.
After a moment, Lister felt it was safe to get off the table. He had to find some angle, he thought. Something that would shift Rimmer's focus away from this obsession, and onto something that could distract him back into near-sanity. “You...” he began, standing at a safe distance. “...you miss having a body, don't ya?”
“What sort of stupid question is that,” Rimmer told the wall in a hollow voice. “Of course I smegging miss it! Think of all the things I can't do!”
“Yeah,” Lister agreed, moving just a little closer, “tons of things, aren't there?”
“Yes.” Was there a sniffle? If so, it was very quiet.
“Like touching people.”
There was definitely an edge to Rimmer's voice this time. “Yes!”
Moving closer still, Lister whispered into Rimmer's ear. “Like touching me.”
Jumping at the unexpected closeness of the voice, Rimmer spun around, startled. “What?”
Lister grinned, looking the hologram up and down, making sure not to break the barrier of light that was the borders of Rimmer's body. It was close though; they were nose to nose. “Ye can't touch me.”
“No, of course not,” Rimmer said with indignation. “Why would I want to?”
“I don't know,” Lister replied cheekily, “why would ya?” And with that, he snaked out his tongue, licking his lips in one long swipe, before sticking it out and just penetrating the beams of light that formed the edge of Rimmer's mouth. Faint static electricity tickled him, making him want to giggle.
For a moment, Rimmer was stunned, his mouth hanging open. Lister could see the outline of a holographic tongue in there, twitching uncertainly. The lips surrounding it quivered impotently, as though they had forgotten how to move properly. “You...” he spluttered finally. “You twonking sicko!”
Taking a step back to enjoy the full view of Rimmer's expression, Lister giggled happily. “Oh come on, I wasn't touching ya, was I?”
“You sicko,” Rimmer repeated, brushing at his face with his hands. “You pervy, smegging sicko! You'd want to kiss me?”
“Why not?” Lister grinned. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Nothing...” Rimmer looked as though someone had suggested that a little cannibalism between friends never hurt anyone. “Men don't kiss other men, Lister! And even if, even if,” he waggled a finger, “I was to kiss another man - I dunno, because I'd gone temporarily insane or was hit by a gay ray or something - it certainly wouldn't be you! I mean, by god, it would practically be bestiality, wouldn't it?”
“Maybe so,” Lister crossed his arms and winked at Rimmer, “but I guess we'll never know now, will we? Seeing as how you don't have a body and all.”
Several expressions crossed Rimmer's face in rapid succession. Surprise seemed to have the upper hand, and eventually wrestled the others to the ground, knocking them out. “Yes,” he acquiesced. “I suppose we won't!” And straightening his uniform, he gave Lister a curt nod, and hurriedly left the room.
Left to his own devices, Lister stuck his tongue out, and waggled it experimentally. He could still feel the tickle of that electricity. He hummed a little, feeling bored. His gaze trailed the tedious, undecorated grayness of the walls, landing finally, on Rimmer's bunk, where the book was lying, forgotten. He smiled. Maybe it hadn't been that bad a day after all.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Guess what? I don't own Red Dwarf or make any money from this. Who knew?
Spoilers: Psirens.
Notes: Written for zekkass, and the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
“Sir, when you have a moment...”
Lister nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of the mechanoid's voice. His shift had been particularly boring, due to the fact that Cat was off sick, and they were doing single person shifts until he got better. Kryten was happy to pulls shifts with anyone, but he got nervous leaving Lister by himself, and had ended up a nervous wreck every time they'd tried. When he was with Lister, he worried about getting his meals ready on time. No one had even suggested that Rimmer and Lister team up. “What is it, Krytes,” Lister sighed.
Despite the fact that they were alone in the cockpit, Kryten huddled close, whispering conspiratorially into his ear. “It's Mister Rimmer, sir.”
There was no escaping the man, apparently. Well, that was part of the problem, wasn't it? Living in such close quarters was aggravating their antagonism to the point where they could hardly stand to be in the same room as one another anymore. In his darker moments, of which there were more and more these days, Lister sometimes wondered what would happen if they never found Red Dwarf again. “What about Mister Rimmer?” It had been a long day, and all Lister really wanted was to go to bed. Mealtimes were nothing to look forward to anymore; it wasn't exactly a case of filet mignon and lobster alternating on the menu. More like minging filet of something or other and red-shellacked space-weevil.
Kryten shifted uncomfortably. “I'm... worried about him.”
Lister turned the chair abruptly, nearly knocking Kryten off balance. “You what?” Rather than reply, Kryten revealed a little grey box he had been holding behind his back.
“It's one of Mister Rimmer's AutoScribes,” he admitted sheepishly. “I know I wasn't supposed to, but it was lying open when I was cleaning his quarters, and...”
“Just give it here, Krytes,” Lister rolled his eyes, grabbing it. Turning it on with the optional, physical button, seemingly endless lists of odd-looking names ran up and down the now lit-up screen, followed by tiny symbols. “What's this?” He clicked his way through the pages. “Drahvins, Vorcarian, Tectonese, Minbari, Mor-Taxians...” Lister frowned at the list. “It's all a load of gibberish!”
Kryten shook his head sadly. “I'm afraid not, sir. It would appear Mister Rimmer is compiling a list of alien races.”
“Aliens?” Lister snorted. “There's no such thing as aliens!”
“Indeed not, sir. This,” Kryten pointed to the AutoScribe, “is a list of fictional aliens.”
“Fictional aliens?” Lister chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. He didn't know what to make of this. It was hardly a sane thing to do, was it? Then again, could any of Rimmer's past-times be considered sane? “There's loads of 'em though. Kromaggs, Nietzscheans, Kzinti...VUX?” he looked up at Kryten, questioningly.
“From a 20th century video game. I believe the acronym stands for 'Very Ugly Xenoform'.”
It went on and on. Lister rubbed his brow, not wanting to read further, but it was all morbidly fascinating. “This is mental,” he mumbled. “What are these little symbols?”
“I can't be entirely sure, sir, but I think they are some sort of rating system.” Kryten looked about as uncomfortable as Lister felt.
“He's rating them?”
“Yes, sir. In terms of how likely they would be to...” odd metallic clunking sounds erupted from Kryten's throat, as though his voice synthesizer was refusing to cooperate. “...give him a new body.”
Lister's mind tried to take this in, but the result was near physical pain. This wasn't just normal gittish tediousness. This was insane. “He's gone off the deep end.”
“Base-jumping without the aid of a parachute,” Kryten agreed. “I think you should talk to him.”
“Me?” Lister spluttered. “Have you gone daft too?”
“Who else do you suggest, sir?” Kryten sounded pleading, almost desperate. Lister had to admit he had a point. Who else was there? Cat? Even if he had been up and about, Rimmer was more likely to heed the advice of a rubber plant. And that was assuming Cat would agree to go near him in the first place. Still...
“Can't you go?” Kryten didn't have to reply for Lister to realize the folly of that suggestion. If there was anyone on the ship Rimmer had less respect for than the Cat, it would have to be Kryten. At least Cat could and would defend himself, sometimes even before he'd been attacked in the first place. Kryten, however, was made for servitude, and thus, as Rimmer seemed to see it, was there to be ordered around and looked down on. “All right, all right. I'll go. Take over for me, would ya?”
Looking relieved, Kryten positioned himself at his usual console, leaving Lister's chair unoccupied, the way he liked it. Lister smiled, patting him on the shoulder as he left. As he reached the doorway, however, a thought occurred.
“What if I can't get through to him, though? Are we just gonna leave him be?”
Kryten shook his head gravely. “We can't take that risk, sir. If you can't snap him out of it, and he keeps getting worse, we'll have to shut him off. He could be dangerously disruptive and harmful to morale.”
“But that'd be killing him,” Lister protested.
“It wouldn't have to be permanent,” Kryten said, but his tone was unconvincing. “Just until we find someone that can...” he trailed off embarrassedly.
“What; cure him? Find him a new body?” Lister snorted. “Yeah. See ya, Krytes.” Stalking out into the mid-section, Lister willed the day to go to fast forward, and end. Just end.
He finally found Rimmer sitting on his bunk in his quarters. The door was open, which was in itself unusual. Stopping at the threshold, Lister peered inside. The clean and sterile room always made him a little nervous. In fact, he wasn't sure if he'd ever actually been inside. Finally, Rimmer noticed him, and looked up from the book he was reading. “Erm... hi.”
“Listy.” He sounded sane enough. There was that usual snarky edge to his voice, and his face was contorted in its accustomed mask of mild displeasure.
“What...” Lister took a few, tentative, steps inside. “What'cha reading?”
Rimmer sighed deeply and agonizingly. “Nothing you could possibly understand, matey. Turn,” he added, addressing the auto-reader.
Lister walked just a little closer, peering at the title, which was suspended in pseudo-holographic letters above the little metal reader. “The Sirius Mystery, eh? Any good?”
“Absolutely fascinating,” Rimmer replied, his eyes not leaving the book screen.
In the middle of the room now, not wanting to enter the rather impressive zone that was Rimmer's engorged personal space, Lister settled for shifting his weight from one foot to another. “What's it about, then?” He was expecting a dismissive reply, but instead, Rimmer looked away from the screen, and stared off vacantly into the space just above Lister's left shoulder.
“Everything, Lister. It's about everything. Did you know that ancient astronauts visited Earth?”
“What?” Lister looked over his shoulder to see if he was missing anything. There was nothing there. “Like Neil Armstrong?”
Rimmer grimaced in irritation. “No! Aliens! Highly advanced beings from other worlds. They visited the ancient cultures of Earth - the Sumerians, the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Arabians. Gave them the knowledge that made their civilizations what they became - vast and powerful!”
“Yeah, but they're not around anymore, are they?” Lister observed.
“What?” Rimmer looked up, sharply, fixing him with an icy stare.
Lister shrugged. “I'm just saying, none of those empires are around anymore, are they? If they had such powerful extraterrestrial knowledge, how come they're not still around?”
Abandoning his reading in irritation, Rimmer got up and began to pace. “Typical. What a typical small-minded attitude that is, Lister. Obviously the aliens didn't give them all their powers. They needed to protect their own interests, didn't they? Couldn't have little upstart planets farting about in space, trying to usurp them.” He grinned disconcertingly. “No... They just gave them a little bit. Just a taster, so they'd be hungry for more. Then they left clues for future generations to decipher. Future generations like me!”
Sighing, Lister walked over to the little rickety table that was the only furniture in the room apart from the built-in bunk, and sat down on it, wincing as it creaked in protest. “Rimmer. There's no such thing as aliens.”
The change in Rimmer's mood was so abrupt and startling that Lister nearly fell of the table. The hologram swiveled round, pointing an accusing finger right at Lister's chest, and nearly screamed, “you don't know that, miladdio!”
His hands clutching the plastic table edges, Lister tried to calm himself. This was bad. Thank god he hadn't convinced Kryten to do this; the mechanoid would have shut him down in an instant. “Oh, eh,” he mumbled. “Settle down, man. It was just an observation.”
Rimmer just stood there, shaking, his incorporeal body heaving with breaths it didn't have to take. Then, slowly, his finger dropped. “Yes. I suppose... yes.” He turned again, facing the wall, and was silent.
After a moment, Lister felt it was safe to get off the table. He had to find some angle, he thought. Something that would shift Rimmer's focus away from this obsession, and onto something that could distract him back into near-sanity. “You...” he began, standing at a safe distance. “...you miss having a body, don't ya?”
“What sort of stupid question is that,” Rimmer told the wall in a hollow voice. “Of course I smegging miss it! Think of all the things I can't do!”
“Yeah,” Lister agreed, moving just a little closer, “tons of things, aren't there?”
“Yes.” Was there a sniffle? If so, it was very quiet.
“Like touching people.”
There was definitely an edge to Rimmer's voice this time. “Yes!”
Moving closer still, Lister whispered into Rimmer's ear. “Like touching me.”
Jumping at the unexpected closeness of the voice, Rimmer spun around, startled. “What?”
Lister grinned, looking the hologram up and down, making sure not to break the barrier of light that was the borders of Rimmer's body. It was close though; they were nose to nose. “Ye can't touch me.”
“No, of course not,” Rimmer said with indignation. “Why would I want to?”
“I don't know,” Lister replied cheekily, “why would ya?” And with that, he snaked out his tongue, licking his lips in one long swipe, before sticking it out and just penetrating the beams of light that formed the edge of Rimmer's mouth. Faint static electricity tickled him, making him want to giggle.
For a moment, Rimmer was stunned, his mouth hanging open. Lister could see the outline of a holographic tongue in there, twitching uncertainly. The lips surrounding it quivered impotently, as though they had forgotten how to move properly. “You...” he spluttered finally. “You twonking sicko!”
Taking a step back to enjoy the full view of Rimmer's expression, Lister giggled happily. “Oh come on, I wasn't touching ya, was I?”
“You sicko,” Rimmer repeated, brushing at his face with his hands. “You pervy, smegging sicko! You'd want to kiss me?”
“Why not?” Lister grinned. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Nothing...” Rimmer looked as though someone had suggested that a little cannibalism between friends never hurt anyone. “Men don't kiss other men, Lister! And even if, even if,” he waggled a finger, “I was to kiss another man - I dunno, because I'd gone temporarily insane or was hit by a gay ray or something - it certainly wouldn't be you! I mean, by god, it would practically be bestiality, wouldn't it?”
“Maybe so,” Lister crossed his arms and winked at Rimmer, “but I guess we'll never know now, will we? Seeing as how you don't have a body and all.”
Several expressions crossed Rimmer's face in rapid succession. Surprise seemed to have the upper hand, and eventually wrestled the others to the ground, knocking them out. “Yes,” he acquiesced. “I suppose we won't!” And straightening his uniform, he gave Lister a curt nod, and hurriedly left the room.
Left to his own devices, Lister stuck his tongue out, and waggled it experimentally. He could still feel the tickle of that electricity. He hummed a little, feeling bored. His gaze trailed the tedious, undecorated grayness of the walls, landing finally, on Rimmer's bunk, where the book was lying, forgotten. He smiled. Maybe it hadn't been that bad a day after all.