Fic: Spring - Rimmer/Lister (implied), Cat/Kochanski - PG
Title: Spring
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), Cat/Kochanski
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own it not; it makes me no money. Red Dwarf, that is. In case you wondered.
SPOILER WARNING: Contains MAJOR spoilers for the book Last Human, revealing major plot points, as well as aspects of the ending.
Notes: In this story, I use the pronouns "xe" and "hir" to refer to non-gendered beings. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
David Lister sat resting under the shade of the poison apple tree when he saw he unmistakable shape of Arnold Rimmer walking slowly towards him from the direction of the little farmstead where Lister’s family had made a home for themselves. Rimmer looked about thirty-five years old, slightly sun-tanned, his white cotton shirt half open. It was a lovely late-summer’s day, without a cloud in the sky, and as he moved closer, Lister could see the sweat gleaming on Rimmer’s forehead. There was no “H” there, but lower down his weirdly green eyes reflected the contented smile he was wearing. There was laughter and happiness in his face; there was love. As he came closer, ever closer, Lister could see he was wearing rather worn blue jeans that were torn in just the right places, contrasting oddly with his devotedly polished boots. Those boots kept moving until they were only inches away from Lister’s outstretched feet, where they stopped; the head on top of the figure blocking the sun from Lister’s view with its sun-bleached dark-blonde curls. Lister smiled up at the sight in front of him.
“Hello, Re.”
Reketrebn sagged visibly, and said, in Rimmer’s voice; “How did you know it was me?”
Lister tore up a bunch off grass from where his hand was laying, and started playing idly with it. He smiled. “Not a lot of other people it could have been, is there?”
“I suppose not.” The GELF didn’t change, but sat down cross-legged, looking at nothing in particular.
“Who put you up to this then?” There was only curiosity in Lister’s voice, albeit tinged with an odd sort of placidness.
“Michael.” Despite hirself, Reketrebn blushed with Rimmer’s cheeks.
Lister nodded. “You two been seeing a lot of one another lately, then?”
Reketrebn hesitated, but Lister just looked back calmly. “Yes, we have, rather.”
“That’s good.”
“You think so?”
Lister laughed gently. “Told you about him and me, did he?”
“No, Michael didn’t,” Reketrebn said, reproachfully. Lister didn’t rise to the bait though. “He didn’t have to.”
Lister shook his head. “I suppose everyone knows, yeah?”
“I think even Kryten knows, although he pretends not to.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“How’s Kris?” Reketrebn suddenly asked.
“Good, I think,” Lister said quickly. “I hear the Cat’s moved in.”
“Oh.”
“That’s good though. He’ll do her good. And the kids like him, even though he’s mostly confused by them.” He looked up at Reketrebn’s worried face, which was Rimmer’s face, and flashed a quick grin. “Hey, it’s OK! We had at least one lifetime together, me and her. It was time for a change.”
“Are you going to move in with Michael?” Reketrebn asked quietly, looking intently at a blade of grass in hir hand.
“No,” Lister said, simply. “Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s alright.” Lister closed his eyes. He turned his face towards the sky, and felt the sun warm his skin. The bark of the tree felt rough and sort of cool against his back. He sighed. “Him and me… It wasn’t right, yeah? We both knew that. I just need some time alone.”
There was no reply. Eventually, Lister opened his eyes again, and found he was looking straight into two kaleidoscopes of green and brown. “The offer is there,” Reketrebn said shyly, in Rimmer’s voice. “It would be a pleasure, and nothing less than what you deserved.”
Lister bit his lip. Something deep inside him stirred, and he almost reached out to grab what his eyes and all his senses except his reason was telling him was Arnold Rimmer, but in the end, reason won. “Thanks,” he managed, “but that’d be no better than me and…”
“Michael,” Reketrebn said softly. “Alright. Let us know if you need anything though,” the Rimmer-not-Rimmer voice told him. Lister could only nod, and watch as the form that was not his Arn walk away and disappear on the horizon.
Lister looked up at the apples almost ready to drop from the branches above him. Ever since they’d found that the apples here could be poisonous to human beings, due to a quirk of nature they did not yet fully understand, Kryten had suggested eradicating all apple trees with an airborne, specially tailored toxin. Thankfully, he and Kris had managed to talk him out of that, but the mechanoid still mercilessly chopped down any apple tree that set root close to the settlement. This tree was Lister’s carefully guarded secret. He didn’t quite know why he’d done it, other than to obey his natural inclination to defy rules and whatever authority Kryten could be said to have in this area; but somehow the tree made him feel safe. They were such pretty apples; red and white, gleaming. He reached out, not really knowing why, and picked one. It loosened easily, and rolled into the palm of his hand as though it belonged there. He held it in front of him for a long while, thinking. He missed the taste of apples. And after all, what would it matter if… Something caught his eye.
Around the base of the tree, ants were busily rushing to and fro. Presumably, their home was somewhere underground, possibly beneath the tree itself. They were carrying little twigs and leaves, which was normal behavior for an ant, and placing them in some sort of pattern on the ground next to Lister’s knee, which was not. The little creatures adjusted this leaf, and turned that twig just so, and Lister dropped the apple strait onto his groin with a yell of agony when they moved and the letters D O N T appeared on the ground. As the pain subsided, he became aware of a single, small-ish ant carrying a tiny pebble. Slowly, it worked its way over the “T”, dropping the pebble in place neatly between that and the “N”. Some ways away, another ant was carrying what Lister now realized must surely be a full stop. He looked at the perfectly formed word, then at the apple in his lap, and back again. Finally, with some resolution, he grabbed the white and red orb firmly in his hand, got to his feet, and threw it as far as it would go.
“I don’t get it,” the Cat said, sitting at Kristine’s kitchen table, sipping a glass of room-temperature milk. “Doormouse-cheeks is acting all kinds of crazy.”
“Is he now?” Kristine said, watching him contentedly, stirring honey into her tea.
“It’s weird. One minute he’s just sulking, won’t talk to anyone, just hanging out by himself, the boom! He’s all over the place, working the fields, throwing that big, brown egg-thing around with those short guys…”
“…Playing football with the kids,” Kristine interjected.
“Right; and this morning I saw him sawing down a tree!” He finished his milk, and put the glass down with determination, pointing an elegant finger at Kris. “And that’s not the worst of it. I mean, why does he go swimming all the time?”
“Not everyone is afraid of water, you know.” She regarded him over the top of her mug.
“I ain’t afraid of nothing, woman!” The Cat exclaimed, looking insulted. “But messing around in that big blue thing…”
“…Lake.”
“Right, right; messing around alone in that at least once a day? It’s not natural! And when he comes out, he always has this mad grin on his face, like he’s just…” He paused, trying to place the facial expression. “…Something.” He shuddered. “He’s not right in the head.”
Kristine looked thoughtful for a moment. “He says Arnold is out there.” She looked out the window at the cherry-tree, flowing over with pink blossoms. For some reason, this one had bloomed much too late, but Mike had said that could happen sometimes with trees, just like with people. She smiled.
“And that makes him happy?” This shocked the Cat to the extent that he had to take off his soft-pink tuxedo jacket with fake ermine trim and wide lapels, fold it neatly over the back of his chair - so that he was wearing only a sleeveless white silk shirt - and start washing his arms thoroughly. Grooming himself always calmed him down. “I don’t get you monkeys and your rrrrelationships,” he mumbled. The word still gave him trouble; he didn’t like it, or the concept.
Kristine watched the sleek feline with amusement, and grabbed his free hand suddenly. “What would you call what we’ve got, then?” She planted a kiss in his palm.
He grunted. “I’m working on that.”
With a laugh, Kristine let his hand go, and turned back towards the window. A wind was starting up, and it seems like the petals were finally falling from the tree. Maybe it would have time to bear fruit after all? The wind ripped the pink fragments apart from one another, and whisked them away. Some stuck to the window, which was still slick with rain. This went on for some time. As Kristine was about to clean and put her mug away, she frowned, looking at the ever-increasing petals on the window. They seemed to be forming a pattern. She nudged the Cat, and soon they both sat mesmerized, they eyes narrowing, trying to make out what was appearing on the window. It was, apparently, a sentence. It would, perhaps, not have taken so long to show up, had the originator not taken great care to use correct spelling and punctuation. The message said, in white and light red:
“K E E P S M O K I N G T H E K I P P E R S ; I ‘ L L B E B A C K B Y S P R I N G!”
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), Cat/Kochanski
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own it not; it makes me no money. Red Dwarf, that is. In case you wondered.
SPOILER WARNING: Contains MAJOR spoilers for the book Last Human, revealing major plot points, as well as aspects of the ending.
Notes: In this story, I use the pronouns "xe" and "hir" to refer to non-gendered beings. Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
David Lister sat resting under the shade of the poison apple tree when he saw he unmistakable shape of Arnold Rimmer walking slowly towards him from the direction of the little farmstead where Lister’s family had made a home for themselves. Rimmer looked about thirty-five years old, slightly sun-tanned, his white cotton shirt half open. It was a lovely late-summer’s day, without a cloud in the sky, and as he moved closer, Lister could see the sweat gleaming on Rimmer’s forehead. There was no “H” there, but lower down his weirdly green eyes reflected the contented smile he was wearing. There was laughter and happiness in his face; there was love. As he came closer, ever closer, Lister could see he was wearing rather worn blue jeans that were torn in just the right places, contrasting oddly with his devotedly polished boots. Those boots kept moving until they were only inches away from Lister’s outstretched feet, where they stopped; the head on top of the figure blocking the sun from Lister’s view with its sun-bleached dark-blonde curls. Lister smiled up at the sight in front of him.
“Hello, Re.”
Reketrebn sagged visibly, and said, in Rimmer’s voice; “How did you know it was me?”
Lister tore up a bunch off grass from where his hand was laying, and started playing idly with it. He smiled. “Not a lot of other people it could have been, is there?”
“I suppose not.” The GELF didn’t change, but sat down cross-legged, looking at nothing in particular.
“Who put you up to this then?” There was only curiosity in Lister’s voice, albeit tinged with an odd sort of placidness.
“Michael.” Despite hirself, Reketrebn blushed with Rimmer’s cheeks.
Lister nodded. “You two been seeing a lot of one another lately, then?”
Reketrebn hesitated, but Lister just looked back calmly. “Yes, we have, rather.”
“That’s good.”
“You think so?”
Lister laughed gently. “Told you about him and me, did he?”
“No, Michael didn’t,” Reketrebn said, reproachfully. Lister didn’t rise to the bait though. “He didn’t have to.”
Lister shook his head. “I suppose everyone knows, yeah?”
“I think even Kryten knows, although he pretends not to.”
They sat in silence for a while.
“How’s Kris?” Reketrebn suddenly asked.
“Good, I think,” Lister said quickly. “I hear the Cat’s moved in.”
“Oh.”
“That’s good though. He’ll do her good. And the kids like him, even though he’s mostly confused by them.” He looked up at Reketrebn’s worried face, which was Rimmer’s face, and flashed a quick grin. “Hey, it’s OK! We had at least one lifetime together, me and her. It was time for a change.”
“Are you going to move in with Michael?” Reketrebn asked quietly, looking intently at a blade of grass in hir hand.
“No,” Lister said, simply. “Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“It’s alright.” Lister closed his eyes. He turned his face towards the sky, and felt the sun warm his skin. The bark of the tree felt rough and sort of cool against his back. He sighed. “Him and me… It wasn’t right, yeah? We both knew that. I just need some time alone.”
There was no reply. Eventually, Lister opened his eyes again, and found he was looking straight into two kaleidoscopes of green and brown. “The offer is there,” Reketrebn said shyly, in Rimmer’s voice. “It would be a pleasure, and nothing less than what you deserved.”
Lister bit his lip. Something deep inside him stirred, and he almost reached out to grab what his eyes and all his senses except his reason was telling him was Arnold Rimmer, but in the end, reason won. “Thanks,” he managed, “but that’d be no better than me and…”
“Michael,” Reketrebn said softly. “Alright. Let us know if you need anything though,” the Rimmer-not-Rimmer voice told him. Lister could only nod, and watch as the form that was not his Arn walk away and disappear on the horizon.
Lister looked up at the apples almost ready to drop from the branches above him. Ever since they’d found that the apples here could be poisonous to human beings, due to a quirk of nature they did not yet fully understand, Kryten had suggested eradicating all apple trees with an airborne, specially tailored toxin. Thankfully, he and Kris had managed to talk him out of that, but the mechanoid still mercilessly chopped down any apple tree that set root close to the settlement. This tree was Lister’s carefully guarded secret. He didn’t quite know why he’d done it, other than to obey his natural inclination to defy rules and whatever authority Kryten could be said to have in this area; but somehow the tree made him feel safe. They were such pretty apples; red and white, gleaming. He reached out, not really knowing why, and picked one. It loosened easily, and rolled into the palm of his hand as though it belonged there. He held it in front of him for a long while, thinking. He missed the taste of apples. And after all, what would it matter if… Something caught his eye.
Around the base of the tree, ants were busily rushing to and fro. Presumably, their home was somewhere underground, possibly beneath the tree itself. They were carrying little twigs and leaves, which was normal behavior for an ant, and placing them in some sort of pattern on the ground next to Lister’s knee, which was not. The little creatures adjusted this leaf, and turned that twig just so, and Lister dropped the apple strait onto his groin with a yell of agony when they moved and the letters D O N T appeared on the ground. As the pain subsided, he became aware of a single, small-ish ant carrying a tiny pebble. Slowly, it worked its way over the “T”, dropping the pebble in place neatly between that and the “N”. Some ways away, another ant was carrying what Lister now realized must surely be a full stop. He looked at the perfectly formed word, then at the apple in his lap, and back again. Finally, with some resolution, he grabbed the white and red orb firmly in his hand, got to his feet, and threw it as far as it would go.
“I don’t get it,” the Cat said, sitting at Kristine’s kitchen table, sipping a glass of room-temperature milk. “Doormouse-cheeks is acting all kinds of crazy.”
“Is he now?” Kristine said, watching him contentedly, stirring honey into her tea.
“It’s weird. One minute he’s just sulking, won’t talk to anyone, just hanging out by himself, the boom! He’s all over the place, working the fields, throwing that big, brown egg-thing around with those short guys…”
“…Playing football with the kids,” Kristine interjected.
“Right; and this morning I saw him sawing down a tree!” He finished his milk, and put the glass down with determination, pointing an elegant finger at Kris. “And that’s not the worst of it. I mean, why does he go swimming all the time?”
“Not everyone is afraid of water, you know.” She regarded him over the top of her mug.
“I ain’t afraid of nothing, woman!” The Cat exclaimed, looking insulted. “But messing around in that big blue thing…”
“…Lake.”
“Right, right; messing around alone in that at least once a day? It’s not natural! And when he comes out, he always has this mad grin on his face, like he’s just…” He paused, trying to place the facial expression. “…Something.” He shuddered. “He’s not right in the head.”
Kristine looked thoughtful for a moment. “He says Arnold is out there.” She looked out the window at the cherry-tree, flowing over with pink blossoms. For some reason, this one had bloomed much too late, but Mike had said that could happen sometimes with trees, just like with people. She smiled.
“And that makes him happy?” This shocked the Cat to the extent that he had to take off his soft-pink tuxedo jacket with fake ermine trim and wide lapels, fold it neatly over the back of his chair - so that he was wearing only a sleeveless white silk shirt - and start washing his arms thoroughly. Grooming himself always calmed him down. “I don’t get you monkeys and your rrrrelationships,” he mumbled. The word still gave him trouble; he didn’t like it, or the concept.
Kristine watched the sleek feline with amusement, and grabbed his free hand suddenly. “What would you call what we’ve got, then?” She planted a kiss in his palm.
He grunted. “I’m working on that.”
With a laugh, Kristine let his hand go, and turned back towards the window. A wind was starting up, and it seems like the petals were finally falling from the tree. Maybe it would have time to bear fruit after all? The wind ripped the pink fragments apart from one another, and whisked them away. Some stuck to the window, which was still slick with rain. This went on for some time. As Kristine was about to clean and put her mug away, she frowned, looking at the ever-increasing petals on the window. They seemed to be forming a pattern. She nudged the Cat, and soon they both sat mesmerized, they eyes narrowing, trying to make out what was appearing on the window. It was, apparently, a sentence. It would, perhaps, not have taken so long to show up, had the originator not taken great care to use correct spelling and punctuation. The message said, in white and light red:
“K E E P S M O K I N G T H E K I P P E R S ; I ‘ L L B E B A C K B Y S P R I N G!”