She - Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister
Sorry for spamming - stop me when you get bored!
Title: She
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I still don't own Red Dwarf, or make money off of. It. No.
Notes: Companion piece to "He". Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
She wasn’t his Krissie.
They didn’t look the same. His Krissie was brown haired and green eyed, with a smile that lit up like a pinball machine awarding a high score. This Krissie had blue eyes without even a hint of green, and when she smiled he couldn’t help thinking of a hyper-market slot-machine that was out of order, all of its digital read-outs flashing the same, garish “error” sign in red and white. Besides, no one should have teeth that straight. They were fixed for sure, even seeming to glimmer in the poor lighting of Starbug’s cockpit. And those outfits? Krissie never cared what she wore off-duty. She was happy to throw on any old thing and look stunning. She’d have never asked the Cat for tips on how to wear shoulder pads to make the best of her cerise dinner jackets. She probably wouldn’t even have known what cerise was.
They didn’t act the same. His Krissie would share a curry with him in bed, laughing at his jokes, pretending to like the stupid songs he wrote her and played on his guitar. She didn’t read fashion magazines or complain about cottage cheese. She liked going out for a beer and a laugh. This Krissie didn’t even seem to understand what he was saying, half the time. She’d talk about art and literature like it was something he should be interested in, and get this odd, frowny look on her face when he got bored and wandered off. He and his Krissie liked the same movies, the same kind of music. He’d played Rasta Billy Skank for this one, and she’d said she’d never heard it before, and wouldn’t care to hear it again any time soon, thank you very much. Then she’d suggested watching Citizen Kane, seemingly trying to gauge his reaction. She’d been disappointed when he refused, probably failing once again to live up to his holographic counterpart.
At first he’d wanted her to be like his Kochanski, the one he’d loved, so badly that he was willing to ignore all the obvious differences. He tried to tell himself it was just details, that really they were both the same person. Besides, he’d been longing for Kristine Kochanski for so long that anyone even remotely resembling her in any way whatsoever became instantly attractive. And yeah, let’s face it, he was a bloke. A bloke who’d been alone in space for years without a woman, and here, all of a sudden, a woman had appeared. Of course he wanted her. He was human.
She’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested though, even after she’d come to terms with the fact that she’d probably never see her Dave again, ever. She’d tried for a little while, to give her credit, but they’d both been pretending really. Nowadays the best he could hope for was a friendly nod across the breakfast table, which was usually her lunch-table. He didn’t blame her. What was he to her, after all? It wasn’t him she’d spent years traveling the universe with, fighting GELFs, avoiding swirly things, fighting for survival; it’d been someone else. Someone he could never be.
He wasn’t jealous of his other self, not really. He was jealous of her. When she’d survived the accident she’d gotten not a whining, cowardly bastard, not just a companion, but a friend. Someone she grew to love. He missed Rimmer, god knows he missed him even now, but love? Friendship? Those required reciprocity, and Rimmer was too full of neuroses and self-doubt to be able to return anything of the kind. So even if Lister loved him, which he didn’t, what could he ever hope to get in return? Well, he’d never know now, would he, because the bastard had gone. The smeghead had left him. What did that leave him with? What had she been left with?
She was watching him now, and he pretended not to notice her, pretended to still be dozing off in his seat in the cockpit, looking at nothing. She seemed to worry about him. Sometimes he worried about her too, on those days when she wouldn’t leave her quarters, and he heard muffled sobs behind the thin dividing walls. He wished he could love her, but she isn’t his Krissie. That Kristine Kotchanski died long ago, and even if she’d crash into their ship in a shuttle tomorrow with some miraculous explanation for being alive, all pinball smile and dazzling eyes, he wasn’t sure he’d love her even then. He’d changed.
Behind him, Kotchanski clears her throat discreetly, and prepares to speak. He smiles a little. She does try, bless her. But when it comes down to it, she’s not his Krissie.
There’s no such thing as his Krissie anymore.
Title: She
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I still don't own Red Dwarf, or make money off of. It. No.
Notes: Companion piece to "He". Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
She wasn’t his Krissie.
They didn’t look the same. His Krissie was brown haired and green eyed, with a smile that lit up like a pinball machine awarding a high score. This Krissie had blue eyes without even a hint of green, and when she smiled he couldn’t help thinking of a hyper-market slot-machine that was out of order, all of its digital read-outs flashing the same, garish “error” sign in red and white. Besides, no one should have teeth that straight. They were fixed for sure, even seeming to glimmer in the poor lighting of Starbug’s cockpit. And those outfits? Krissie never cared what she wore off-duty. She was happy to throw on any old thing and look stunning. She’d have never asked the Cat for tips on how to wear shoulder pads to make the best of her cerise dinner jackets. She probably wouldn’t even have known what cerise was.
They didn’t act the same. His Krissie would share a curry with him in bed, laughing at his jokes, pretending to like the stupid songs he wrote her and played on his guitar. She didn’t read fashion magazines or complain about cottage cheese. She liked going out for a beer and a laugh. This Krissie didn’t even seem to understand what he was saying, half the time. She’d talk about art and literature like it was something he should be interested in, and get this odd, frowny look on her face when he got bored and wandered off. He and his Krissie liked the same movies, the same kind of music. He’d played Rasta Billy Skank for this one, and she’d said she’d never heard it before, and wouldn’t care to hear it again any time soon, thank you very much. Then she’d suggested watching Citizen Kane, seemingly trying to gauge his reaction. She’d been disappointed when he refused, probably failing once again to live up to his holographic counterpart.
At first he’d wanted her to be like his Kochanski, the one he’d loved, so badly that he was willing to ignore all the obvious differences. He tried to tell himself it was just details, that really they were both the same person. Besides, he’d been longing for Kristine Kochanski for so long that anyone even remotely resembling her in any way whatsoever became instantly attractive. And yeah, let’s face it, he was a bloke. A bloke who’d been alone in space for years without a woman, and here, all of a sudden, a woman had appeared. Of course he wanted her. He was human.
She’d made it pretty clear she wasn’t interested though, even after she’d come to terms with the fact that she’d probably never see her Dave again, ever. She’d tried for a little while, to give her credit, but they’d both been pretending really. Nowadays the best he could hope for was a friendly nod across the breakfast table, which was usually her lunch-table. He didn’t blame her. What was he to her, after all? It wasn’t him she’d spent years traveling the universe with, fighting GELFs, avoiding swirly things, fighting for survival; it’d been someone else. Someone he could never be.
He wasn’t jealous of his other self, not really. He was jealous of her. When she’d survived the accident she’d gotten not a whining, cowardly bastard, not just a companion, but a friend. Someone she grew to love. He missed Rimmer, god knows he missed him even now, but love? Friendship? Those required reciprocity, and Rimmer was too full of neuroses and self-doubt to be able to return anything of the kind. So even if Lister loved him, which he didn’t, what could he ever hope to get in return? Well, he’d never know now, would he, because the bastard had gone. The smeghead had left him. What did that leave him with? What had she been left with?
She was watching him now, and he pretended not to notice her, pretended to still be dozing off in his seat in the cockpit, looking at nothing. She seemed to worry about him. Sometimes he worried about her too, on those days when she wouldn’t leave her quarters, and he heard muffled sobs behind the thin dividing walls. He wished he could love her, but she isn’t his Krissie. That Kristine Kotchanski died long ago, and even if she’d crash into their ship in a shuttle tomorrow with some miraculous explanation for being alive, all pinball smile and dazzling eyes, he wasn’t sure he’d love her even then. He’d changed.
Behind him, Kotchanski clears her throat discreetly, and prepares to speak. He smiles a little. She does try, bless her. But when it comes down to it, she’s not his Krissie.
There’s no such thing as his Krissie anymore.