Fic: Square - L/Koch, R/L (implied) - PG-13
Title: Square
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just write it, which makes me no money.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Kochanski kicked the console hard, and erupted into a series of what was presumably expletives in a language Lister had never heard before. Trying not to laugh as she whimpered and cradled her foot, he put down the book he was pretending to read, and swiveled his chair towards her.
"Is it not behaving, then?" he said with a grin. She glared back.
"As a matter of fact, no. It isn't," she grumbled, brushing her hair away from her face. "It's so stupid. I replaced the recoil oscillator just this morning. It should be fine."
"Recoil oscillator," Lister sniggered. "Get real! There is no such thing!"
Kochanski gave him a look. "And how would you know? How many navigational consoles have you repaired?"
"None," Lister admitted, "but I've seen Kryten fix a fair few." He gestured towards the offending machine. "D'you mind if I have a look at it?"
"If you like," she grumbled, "but I don't see what good it would do."
Lister slid out of his seat, and walked the short distance to the console which, admittedly, he only barely knew how to work, much less repair. Rimmer had always been the one using it. Now, the ageing metal front had slid open to reveal a mess of multi-colored wires, like a nest of particularly festive spaghetti. He poked a vivid yellow wire experimentally, and Kochanski raised an eyebrow. She was standing very close indeed - he could feel the warmth radiating from her body through her tight red PVC trousers. She'd dumped the top, and was now wearing only a thin, white cotton t-shirt, or whatever it was. Lister wasn't entirely familiar with the jargon of women's clothing. "So where's the orbit resonator?"
"Recoil oscillator. It's over there." She leaned over, her breasts brushing lightly against his shoulders, and pointed to somewhere within the framework.
Desperately trying to appear unaffected, Lister narrowed his eyes to try to see what she was indicating. Somewhere in the middle of the wirey jumble was a small, square-ish indentation, into which had been placed a device shaped like a smooth, rounded pancake with blinking lights. "Seems to be working," he ventured.
Kochanski shook her head, looking tired. "You have no idea what it even does, do you?"
"Don't be like that! I'm not stupid, you know." Lister straightened his back, summoning every ounce of dignity in his being.
"I'm not saying you're stupid, I'm just saying there's no shame in admitting you don't know anything about nav-consoles." She put a light hand on his head, which made him feel about ten years old.
Partly to get away from her touch, Lister put his head back inside the console. "I've lived on this wreck for ages, Kris. I know how to make it work. It's not brain-surgery."
"Careful," Kochanski fretted, as he came a little too close to the circuitry. Her hand came back to rest on the back of his neck. She slid her fingers in underneath his dreds; he gave a little shiver as their coldness registered on his bare skin. It had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. He wasn't sure what he felt about it. Sort of numb, actually. Trying to think of something else, he concentrated on the re... Whatever it was. Up close like this it was pretty clear that something wasn't right. Suddenly he saw it; glaring at him, as though daring him acknowledge its existence.
"Hang on," he exclaimed; getting excited. "No wonder you're having trouble with this thing! It's so obvious!" He couldn't stop himself from giggling a little. How could it have taken him so long to notice? Why on Earth hadn't Kris noticed?
"What?" She craned her neck to see.
"This thing," he indicated the whatsit, hoping Kris wouldn't ask for a name, "it's round, yeah?"
"Yes?" Her fingers were moving slightly up and down his neck. It tickled a little.
"But the hole it's sitting in, well, that's square! You get all these bits around the corners that don't connect to anything; it doesn't fit!"
Lister felt more than heard Kochanski sigh. "Don't be silly, Dave."
"Eh?"
"It doesn't matter what shape the socket is. It doesn't matter what shape the oscillator is, so long as you can connect the pins." She kneeled down beside him, her hair falling down in front of her eyes again. Pushing his arm politely, but firmly away, she pointed to a number of connector pins on the oscillator, each in a vivid primary color corresponding to the wires surrounding it. "Here, here and here. And this one."
Lister frowned. “But there’s all that space around it. It doesn’t fit.”
“Of course it fits.” The irritation in Kochanski’s voice reached new and hitherto unexplored levels. “You don’t see it falling out, do you? And the pins are clearly connected. That is not the problem.” The last sentence she enunciated slowly and carefully as though she were addressing a mentally handicapped child. She’d been using that voice a lot lately.
“Well fine; don’t ask for my help then.” Lister rose, feeling defeated.
“I didn’t ask for your help; you volunteered! I specifically said I didn’t think it would do any good!” Kochanski rose with him, looking him square in the eye, stretching herself to look taller, almost shouting.
“You never give me any smegging credit, do ya?” Lister fumed. “Just give me a break; one sodding break - a teensy weensy bit of respect, eh? Would that be too much to ask?”
“What rubbish! I…”
“There you go again! Just listen to me for half a second, would ya? As in actually take the words that come out of my mouth and let ‘em pass through yer brain on the way out yer other ear; could ya do that for me?” Lister was shouting too now; a tiny drop of saliva spurting out of his mouth and landing on Kochanski’s cheek, unnoticed.
“You’re asking ME to listen to YOU?” Kochanski seemed ready to slap him, her entire body leaning towards his as though ready to strike, her nose almost butting against his mouth, like a sword of righteous vengeance.
“Yeah, I am! I’m sick and tired of being treated like second best, just because you happened to know another version of me that you think is superior.”
“I don’t think he’s superior,” Kochanski said, somewhat taken aback, “Just…” She paused, apparently at a loss for words.
“Just what? Just better? Just smarter? Just not smegging Dave space-bum Lister? God, yer so transparent! Ye think yer all superior; ye think ya know me just because I look like yer stupid dead boyfriend, don’t ya?”
“You leave him out of this,” Kochanski yelled, the anger back in her eyes. “It’s not he’s fault he did something with his life and you didn’t!”
“SHUT UP,” Lister almost screamed, “Just SHUT the FUCK up, Rimm…”
He didn’t know why Kochanski chose that moment to kiss him. He did notice she was crying, but he didn’t care. He was angry. Angry as hell, and smegging horny, and he didn’t know which was the stronger drive. She didn’t protest when he tore those ridiculous trousers open, tearing them in the process. She only moaned weakly when he shoved her onto that goited console, and proceeded to rip his own belt off, and when he entered her, roughly and without ceremony, she just closed her eyes and pulled him closer. And when he came, feeling only release and brief reprieve from anger and frustration, she just let go, sliding off the dusty top, picking up her torn clothes from the floor, and left.
The next morning, Lister told Kryten to remove the oscillator. When the mechanoid protested, saying he was sure he could get it to work, Lister just shook his head sadly. And because Kryten wanted to make Lister happy, which was getting harder and harder these days, he removed it, leaving behind a gaping, empty, square hole.
Pairing: Lister/Kochanski, Rimmer/Lister (implied)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just write it, which makes me no money.
Spoilers: Stoke Me A Clipper
Notes: Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
Kochanski kicked the console hard, and erupted into a series of what was presumably expletives in a language Lister had never heard before. Trying not to laugh as she whimpered and cradled her foot, he put down the book he was pretending to read, and swiveled his chair towards her.
"Is it not behaving, then?" he said with a grin. She glared back.
"As a matter of fact, no. It isn't," she grumbled, brushing her hair away from her face. "It's so stupid. I replaced the recoil oscillator just this morning. It should be fine."
"Recoil oscillator," Lister sniggered. "Get real! There is no such thing!"
Kochanski gave him a look. "And how would you know? How many navigational consoles have you repaired?"
"None," Lister admitted, "but I've seen Kryten fix a fair few." He gestured towards the offending machine. "D'you mind if I have a look at it?"
"If you like," she grumbled, "but I don't see what good it would do."
Lister slid out of his seat, and walked the short distance to the console which, admittedly, he only barely knew how to work, much less repair. Rimmer had always been the one using it. Now, the ageing metal front had slid open to reveal a mess of multi-colored wires, like a nest of particularly festive spaghetti. He poked a vivid yellow wire experimentally, and Kochanski raised an eyebrow. She was standing very close indeed - he could feel the warmth radiating from her body through her tight red PVC trousers. She'd dumped the top, and was now wearing only a thin, white cotton t-shirt, or whatever it was. Lister wasn't entirely familiar with the jargon of women's clothing. "So where's the orbit resonator?"
"Recoil oscillator. It's over there." She leaned over, her breasts brushing lightly against his shoulders, and pointed to somewhere within the framework.
Desperately trying to appear unaffected, Lister narrowed his eyes to try to see what she was indicating. Somewhere in the middle of the wirey jumble was a small, square-ish indentation, into which had been placed a device shaped like a smooth, rounded pancake with blinking lights. "Seems to be working," he ventured.
Kochanski shook her head, looking tired. "You have no idea what it even does, do you?"
"Don't be like that! I'm not stupid, you know." Lister straightened his back, summoning every ounce of dignity in his being.
"I'm not saying you're stupid, I'm just saying there's no shame in admitting you don't know anything about nav-consoles." She put a light hand on his head, which made him feel about ten years old.
Partly to get away from her touch, Lister put his head back inside the console. "I've lived on this wreck for ages, Kris. I know how to make it work. It's not brain-surgery."
"Careful," Kochanski fretted, as he came a little too close to the circuitry. Her hand came back to rest on the back of his neck. She slid her fingers in underneath his dreds; he gave a little shiver as their coldness registered on his bare skin. It had been a long time since someone had touched him like that. He wasn't sure what he felt about it. Sort of numb, actually. Trying to think of something else, he concentrated on the re... Whatever it was. Up close like this it was pretty clear that something wasn't right. Suddenly he saw it; glaring at him, as though daring him acknowledge its existence.
"Hang on," he exclaimed; getting excited. "No wonder you're having trouble with this thing! It's so obvious!" He couldn't stop himself from giggling a little. How could it have taken him so long to notice? Why on Earth hadn't Kris noticed?
"What?" She craned her neck to see.
"This thing," he indicated the whatsit, hoping Kris wouldn't ask for a name, "it's round, yeah?"
"Yes?" Her fingers were moving slightly up and down his neck. It tickled a little.
"But the hole it's sitting in, well, that's square! You get all these bits around the corners that don't connect to anything; it doesn't fit!"
Lister felt more than heard Kochanski sigh. "Don't be silly, Dave."
"Eh?"
"It doesn't matter what shape the socket is. It doesn't matter what shape the oscillator is, so long as you can connect the pins." She kneeled down beside him, her hair falling down in front of her eyes again. Pushing his arm politely, but firmly away, she pointed to a number of connector pins on the oscillator, each in a vivid primary color corresponding to the wires surrounding it. "Here, here and here. And this one."
Lister frowned. “But there’s all that space around it. It doesn’t fit.”
“Of course it fits.” The irritation in Kochanski’s voice reached new and hitherto unexplored levels. “You don’t see it falling out, do you? And the pins are clearly connected. That is not the problem.” The last sentence she enunciated slowly and carefully as though she were addressing a mentally handicapped child. She’d been using that voice a lot lately.
“Well fine; don’t ask for my help then.” Lister rose, feeling defeated.
“I didn’t ask for your help; you volunteered! I specifically said I didn’t think it would do any good!” Kochanski rose with him, looking him square in the eye, stretching herself to look taller, almost shouting.
“You never give me any smegging credit, do ya?” Lister fumed. “Just give me a break; one sodding break - a teensy weensy bit of respect, eh? Would that be too much to ask?”
“What rubbish! I…”
“There you go again! Just listen to me for half a second, would ya? As in actually take the words that come out of my mouth and let ‘em pass through yer brain on the way out yer other ear; could ya do that for me?” Lister was shouting too now; a tiny drop of saliva spurting out of his mouth and landing on Kochanski’s cheek, unnoticed.
“You’re asking ME to listen to YOU?” Kochanski seemed ready to slap him, her entire body leaning towards his as though ready to strike, her nose almost butting against his mouth, like a sword of righteous vengeance.
“Yeah, I am! I’m sick and tired of being treated like second best, just because you happened to know another version of me that you think is superior.”
“I don’t think he’s superior,” Kochanski said, somewhat taken aback, “Just…” She paused, apparently at a loss for words.
“Just what? Just better? Just smarter? Just not smegging Dave space-bum Lister? God, yer so transparent! Ye think yer all superior; ye think ya know me just because I look like yer stupid dead boyfriend, don’t ya?”
“You leave him out of this,” Kochanski yelled, the anger back in her eyes. “It’s not he’s fault he did something with his life and you didn’t!”
“SHUT UP,” Lister almost screamed, “Just SHUT the FUCK up, Rimm…”
He didn’t know why Kochanski chose that moment to kiss him. He did notice she was crying, but he didn’t care. He was angry. Angry as hell, and smegging horny, and he didn’t know which was the stronger drive. She didn’t protest when he tore those ridiculous trousers open, tearing them in the process. She only moaned weakly when he shoved her onto that goited console, and proceeded to rip his own belt off, and when he entered her, roughly and without ceremony, she just closed her eyes and pulled him closer. And when he came, feeling only release and brief reprieve from anger and frustration, she just let go, sliding off the dusty top, picking up her torn clothes from the floor, and left.
The next morning, Lister told Kryten to remove the oscillator. When the mechanoid protested, saying he was sure he could get it to work, Lister just shook his head sadly. And because Kryten wanted to make Lister happy, which was getting harder and harder these days, he removed it, leaving behind a gaping, empty, square hole.