Fic: Smell - Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister (implied) - G
Title: Smell
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. Still! And no money is made from this.
Spoilers: None, AFAIK
Notes: This one made me cry as I was writing it. Erm. That shouldn't happen, should it? I'm such a sap. I try to write fluff, honestly, but instead all that seems to come out is angst. Maybe I need a hug? Oh well. ;) Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Even years later, when he’d gotten back to Earth, had got his two children, wife and horse-farm; even then, he would still wonder.
It wouldn’t be on a day like this, of course. Not when the sun was shining, and Jim and Bexley were racing one another across the newly mowed lawn, the horses grazing in the distance, and Krissie, sitting beside him, giving him “that” look; the one that signified they’d be asking the GELF couple next door to look after the kids tonight.
And not later, when the sun had just set, and he’d sneak out of bed, and onto the veranda with a beer, silently watching as the stars came out, although often, quite often, that’s how it would start. Tonight though, the stars were only pretty points of light, evoking nothing but the memory of other nights like these, and he’d toast to them in silence, with a smile.
Most of the time, this was paradise.
There was a beautiful beach just a stone’s throw away from the house; he’d picked the spot quite carefully when they’d built it. Or rather, Kris had designed it, with him doing most of the actual building, for which he was glad. It would’ve fallen down a long time ago if he’d drawn it up himself. They’d go on picnics there, watch the waves, and occasionally even go swimming. The warm breeze would mess up Kris’s hair, and she’d look absolutely heart-breaking. Seeing her like that made all other thoughts go away, and he’d be fine for another evening. In fact, when it was summer, and fair, and warm, he was usually fine. The worst thoughts came in winter.
He didn’t know which continent they were actually on, as they’d shifted quite a bit, plus he’d never been one for geography. Nevertheless, he’d made sure to settle in the temperate zone, not too cold, not too hot. He’d tried for Fiji, but couldn’t find it, and thought he’d miss the winters, in a way. Now he wished he hadn’t been so hasty. It didn’t get too cold, but there was snow, enough for the boys to shape into awkward-looking snowmen, and throw at one another in fits of glee. Often, he would join them, because he felt better outside, because doing something with the kids kept his mind occupied. Nevertheless, he’d catch himself looking at Jim, or Bexley, catching their eye when they stopped for a quick breather, snow on their eyebrows and roses in their cheeks, and think “what if”?
And when Kristine had gone to bed, having first tucked in the boys, he’d sit in the lounge, wrapped in blankets, trying not to look at the fireplace. No force in the world could keep his mind from going to those deep, dark places then, even when there was no smoke or fire in the room. He should have realized; should have acted on it long ago, but by the time he’d come to terms with what he felt, it had been too late. Something between them had been broken. He’d seen it in his eyes, after the hard-light drive, when Lister had approached him, carefully, gauging his reactions. There was no trust there. No connection. And because they were guys, because they were stupid smegging bloody-minded guys, they’d never talked about it; just pretended nothing had ever been there in the first place. But it had - it had! He could have fixed it; he could have made it right, if only he’d gotten over himself and just talked to him. He could have had a different life altogether.
It was funny really; he’d discovered it quite by accident. Earth had changed a lot since he’d been there last, and although there was still grass and horses and trees and fish, they were different, even if in just small, subtle ways. There was a small, herring-like fish with a long silver tail that tasted almost exactly like salmon. The grass was faintly blue, and the berries growing on the bushes outside looked like tiny, purple watermelons, but tasted like bananas. He’d thought the trees growing at the back of their house had been birches; unusual for this climate, he’d mused, chopping several up for firewood. And when Kristine came down in the middle of the night, worrying about him, she’d invariably find him asleep and shivering in the cold room, and would throw some of those logs in the fireplace, making a nice, big fire. She’d tuck him in, and then return to bed, making him wake, soon afterwards, to the unmistakable smell of burning camphor-wood.
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf. Still! And no money is made from this.
Spoilers: None, AFAIK
Notes: This one made me cry as I was writing it. Erm. That shouldn't happen, should it? I'm such a sap. I try to write fluff, honestly, but instead all that seems to come out is angst. Maybe I need a hug? Oh well. ;) Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Even years later, when he’d gotten back to Earth, had got his two children, wife and horse-farm; even then, he would still wonder.
It wouldn’t be on a day like this, of course. Not when the sun was shining, and Jim and Bexley were racing one another across the newly mowed lawn, the horses grazing in the distance, and Krissie, sitting beside him, giving him “that” look; the one that signified they’d be asking the GELF couple next door to look after the kids tonight.
And not later, when the sun had just set, and he’d sneak out of bed, and onto the veranda with a beer, silently watching as the stars came out, although often, quite often, that’s how it would start. Tonight though, the stars were only pretty points of light, evoking nothing but the memory of other nights like these, and he’d toast to them in silence, with a smile.
Most of the time, this was paradise.
There was a beautiful beach just a stone’s throw away from the house; he’d picked the spot quite carefully when they’d built it. Or rather, Kris had designed it, with him doing most of the actual building, for which he was glad. It would’ve fallen down a long time ago if he’d drawn it up himself. They’d go on picnics there, watch the waves, and occasionally even go swimming. The warm breeze would mess up Kris’s hair, and she’d look absolutely heart-breaking. Seeing her like that made all other thoughts go away, and he’d be fine for another evening. In fact, when it was summer, and fair, and warm, he was usually fine. The worst thoughts came in winter.
He didn’t know which continent they were actually on, as they’d shifted quite a bit, plus he’d never been one for geography. Nevertheless, he’d made sure to settle in the temperate zone, not too cold, not too hot. He’d tried for Fiji, but couldn’t find it, and thought he’d miss the winters, in a way. Now he wished he hadn’t been so hasty. It didn’t get too cold, but there was snow, enough for the boys to shape into awkward-looking snowmen, and throw at one another in fits of glee. Often, he would join them, because he felt better outside, because doing something with the kids kept his mind occupied. Nevertheless, he’d catch himself looking at Jim, or Bexley, catching their eye when they stopped for a quick breather, snow on their eyebrows and roses in their cheeks, and think “what if”?
And when Kristine had gone to bed, having first tucked in the boys, he’d sit in the lounge, wrapped in blankets, trying not to look at the fireplace. No force in the world could keep his mind from going to those deep, dark places then, even when there was no smoke or fire in the room. He should have realized; should have acted on it long ago, but by the time he’d come to terms with what he felt, it had been too late. Something between them had been broken. He’d seen it in his eyes, after the hard-light drive, when Lister had approached him, carefully, gauging his reactions. There was no trust there. No connection. And because they were guys, because they were stupid smegging bloody-minded guys, they’d never talked about it; just pretended nothing had ever been there in the first place. But it had - it had! He could have fixed it; he could have made it right, if only he’d gotten over himself and just talked to him. He could have had a different life altogether.
It was funny really; he’d discovered it quite by accident. Earth had changed a lot since he’d been there last, and although there was still grass and horses and trees and fish, they were different, even if in just small, subtle ways. There was a small, herring-like fish with a long silver tail that tasted almost exactly like salmon. The grass was faintly blue, and the berries growing on the bushes outside looked like tiny, purple watermelons, but tasted like bananas. He’d thought the trees growing at the back of their house had been birches; unusual for this climate, he’d mused, chopping several up for firewood. And when Kristine came down in the middle of the night, worrying about him, she’d invariably find him asleep and shivering in the cold room, and would throw some of those logs in the fireplace, making a nice, big fire. She’d tuck him in, and then return to bed, making him wake, soon afterwards, to the unmistakable smell of burning camphor-wood.