Fic: And - R/L - R (AU)
Title: And
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, despite my feverent wishes to the contrary. Ditto for making money off this.
Spoilers: Out of Time
Notes: Because I'm weird, I've tried to make roadstergal's "Gone" better. It's what I do! Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. Rimmer had to keep telling himself that the sight presenting itself before his eyes was impossible, because if it was, in fact, possible…. Well, that would lead to a whole host of things he’d carefully trained himself to ignore over the centuries. The small, silver box standing on the rickety table in the derelict they were exploring - that he could handle. That was just a holographic projection unit; they saw them all the time. It was clearly a more sophisticated model than the ones they usually encountered, but even so. He liked the silver box. He concentrated on it, because it was so clearly real and possible. He tried not to look at the small, metal ball seated next to it. He tried not to remember that he knew that it was a self-contained, self powered light bee; that he had seen broken ones before, and that Kryten had reluctantly, in as few words as possible explained to him how they worked; that it would allow them to project another hologram indefinetly. He hadn’t needed telling what that would mean. He stood very still, for a very, very, long time trying particularly not to think about what that would mean. When Kryten finally came to see what had happened to him, the look that passed between them didn’t speak volumes as much as entire libraries.
Back when things had mattered; back when their lives, or non-lives, had meaning, Lister had teased Kryten endlessly for keeping an up-to-date holographic recording of him on Starbug as well as Red Dwarf. Even after they had lost Red Dwarf, he’d felt the constant uploading of his memory to the clunky, second grade ship’s computer a pointless exercise, endured only to please Kryten. Now, the android’s hands shook like Starbug’s hull during a difficult landing as he pressed the buttons necessary to download Lister’s personality into the small, round-ish housing. Rimmer had not exchanged a single word with the android since the discovery, but that was not much of a change. They had not spoken much for the last millennia or so. What had there been to talk about? Soon though… Soon, the bee containing Lister’s essence would spring into life, and… And. Kryten’s eyes found Rimmer’s, his finger resting on the button which would begin the transfer. The look in them was indescribable, yet Rimmer knew exactly how he felt.
“I can’t tell him either,” Rimmer admitted. His voice did not feel rusty, as he had no vocal chords to fall into disuse. Kryten merely nodded, moved his hand, and started typing something on a different keyboard.
“Ship’s log,” he said. Rimmer understood. An additional bar of information was added to the ones already present on the screen, and Kryten, not asking permission this time, silently or otherwise, initiated the download.
There was only the outline first; shimmering, unclear, but so familiar it made Rimmer’s non-existent heart stir; it was still too afraid to soar. The figure was five centimeters short of his height, stockier, somehow more… Solid; more real than should be possible for an object made entirely out of light. Five rasta plaits slithered down its back like absurd snakes. Fully formed now, Lister shivered as he sprung to life, hugging himself, disorientated, trying to come to terms with his surroundings. For the briefest of seconds, he smiled as he caught Rimmer’s eye, but at the same moment, the ship’s log, embedded in his mind as fake memories, seemed to catch up with the rest of his him, and his expression warped into one of frozen horror. He curled up as though he had been punched in the stomach, and a sound halfway between a gasp and a shriek escaped his throat as he ran from the room to puke his holographic guts out loudly and violently in the next room.
He slept for days. Rimmer found himself pacing up and down outside Lister’s room (he hardly slept anymore himself), looking at the chronometer what turned out to be every five minutes or so. Kryten left him alone, except for brief intervals when he’d emerge from the cockpit triumphantly, and babble on about some adjustment he’d been able to make to the projection unit, which would enable Lister to have some benefit or another. Rimmer merely nodded, and kept pacing.
When Lister finally emerged, groggy and pale, looking like he’d been through one of Kryten’s heavy-duty spin-cycles, the newly minted hologram walked straight past Rimmer, and tried his best to emulate a non-corporeal hug with the mechanoid. Kryten laughed, and held his arms around the thin, light-filled air that was Lister now, assuring him that he looked wonderful, and honestly, if it wasn’t for that rather fetching letter on his forehead, no one would even dare to think he’d been dead for two thousand years. He realized immediately that this had been the wrong thing to say, as Lister’s expression went from milky pale to olive-green, and hurriedly asked if Lister had slept well. This lead to Lister feigning incomprehension at having slept for thirty-six hours, making stupid jokes that shouldn’t have made the android laugh as long and hard as they did. Rimmer couldn’t help but smile at this, understanding Lister’s strategy. Making a big deal out of a few days of sleep meant he didn’t have to deal with the knowledge that he’d been dead for longer than the span of many major civilizations. Eventually, Lister disappeared back into what was now clearly his quarters, having given nothing so much as a nod in Rimmer’s direction. Rimmer didn’t react to this. There were very few things he allowed himself to feel, on the whole.
Hours later, Kryten was busily re-programming the nav-console to take voice-activated commands, as it had done when Rimmer had been soft-light, and Lister had still not re-emerged. Rimmer had tried to busy himself with various tasks, but he found himself drawn to that closed door, knowing what was behind it. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t make himself knock on it, or merely enter. All he could do was stand and stare at it, at a polite distance. For the moment, that was enough. But as even more time passed, and Kryten excused himself - something he hadn’t done for as long as Rimmer could remember now - and went off to re-charge, Rimmer started to get restless. He took two steps towards the door, then two or three steps back. He cleared his throat, then cleared it again, knowing that he didn’t really need to do it at all. Finally, he gave up entirely, and went into the cockpit as though in a daze. Someone had to man the stations anyway. Especially now.
He tried not to react when he heard a voice behind him, as someone had clearly walked up to his chair on feet that weren’t actually there, and thus made no sound. “Well. Two thousand years, eh?”
“Yes.”
Rimmer heard a sort of sloshing sound, and turned to see Lister finishing a can of simulated lager. When the can was empty, quietly dissolving into thin air, he shrugged, and simulated himself another. Rimmer could only stare. Simulated drinks didn’t taste much of anything. How could Lister seem to enjoy them so much? “I always did say death wasn’t much of a handicap, didn’t I?” He was grinning. Actually grinning. “I’m sorry for snubbing ya earlier, but I had to get my head together, yeah? I couldn’t break down in front of Kryten; it’d finish him, wouldn’t it?”
“The Cat’s dead,” Rimmer said, before he could stop himself. His conversational skills weren’t exactly what they used to be.
Lister nodded sadly. “I know. I had a good cry about it earlier.” His smile grew fainter, but didn’t go away entirely. “I’ll probably cry about it again later. You mourn your friends when they die, you know, that’s the proper way of things.” He gave Rimmer an earnest look. “But you don’t stop living.” He stopped, seeming confused. “Or... You know, stop not-living. Whatever, yeah?”
It was too much. The smile, the voice; the keenly earnest, curious eyes; the sheer, defiant aliveness of him; everything that screamed ‘David Lister’ - it was all too much. Rimmer’s head slumped back in his chair, feeling all semblance of control leaving him, his body convulsing in deep, heavy spasms. Was this crying? He’d forgotten what that felt like. “Dave,” someone said, in a voice that sounded entirely unfamiliar, high and weak and desperate, a pathetic croak.
Lister looked down at him, worry and helplessness converging in his face. “I can’t touch you, man,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry...”
Summoning the last remnant of his sanity, Rimmer switched to soft-light, and reached out to Lister with a red-clad arm. And Lister, because he was Lister, rather than grabbing it, fell to his knees and embraced him so tightly it seemed absurd. Rimmer must have said something, because he heard a whispered reply in his ear;
“Just tell me what you need. Just tell me, Arn.” But Rimmer couldn’t tell Lister what he hardly knew himself, so Lister just held him until he stopped shaking, then let go, and looked into his eyes. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.” When Rimmer didn’t reply, a strange look came over Lister’s face, and he licked his lips. Without warning, he then placed those lips firmly on Rimmer’s own, simulated softness on simulated softness. It was only a fleeting kiss, but Lister, breaking away, said sheepishly; “You can hit me now, if ya like. I had no right to do that.”
Overcome with the forces of emotions he couldn’t hope to control, Rimmer swallowed, and leaned forward, mumbling only “more...” His eyes half-closed.
Lister, his eyes shining, lunged forward, mashing lips against lips, somewhat awkwardly at first. Rimmer didn’t care. And when he felt the tip of Lister’s tongue feeling carefully along the thin line of his mouth, he opened up eagerly, pulling Lister towards him, forgetting he was soft-light, and melting slightly into his chair, but not caring, not caring. “Need you,” he managed, and Lister put his hand on those stupidly tight trousers, which were even tighter now in certain areas, and felt his way up Rimmer’s thigh, but not fast enough; not fast enough! Sliding his leg downwards until Lister’s hand rested on his groin, Rimmer’s brain felt ready to explode with want and need and aching pleasure.
“I’m here,” Lister said again, undoing the clasps of Rimmer’s uniform jacket, running his hand up and down the older hologram’s chest, while the other gripped Rimmer’s almost painful erection through the stretchy red fabric. Had he stopped to think, Rimmer would have dematerialized his clothes, but he was far beyond the point of rational thinking now.
“Want…” Rimmer breathed, but there were no words to describe what he wanted. He felt Lister pull down his trousers, and something inside Rimmer snapped. Grabbing Lister under the armpits, he hoisted the younger hologram onto his feet, pushing him towards the only barrier that would resist them going through it; the wall. It wasn’t quite like touching a solid object, but JMC security measures did prevent Lister from floating off into space when Rimmer turned him around and slammed him against the gritty surface.
Lister said nothing as Rimmer tore his overalls apart, then split his long johns sideways. He kept quiet as Rimmer ripped off his underpants, entering him with a ferocity and madness that would have scared Rimmer had he been conscious of his own actions, and when Rimmer came, after precious little time, Lister just stood there, taking it, sliding to the floor as Rimmer finally went limp and collapsed.
Rimmer’s mind swam in blissful confusion for several minutes as he sat on his knees, trying to keep level with the deck, but then his eyes fell on Lister’s crumpled, panting form, and all his non-existent internal organs sank. “Oh god…” He managed, hugging himself, not daring to look at the other man; the horrors of years of loneliness creeping back down into his psyche, topped with the certainty that he had assaulted; practically raped the one man who could save him from complete despair.
But Lister, ah, Lister lifted himself up on his elbows, turned towards him, and turned Rimmer’s head around with a shaking hand. His smile was weak, but it was his smile; Lister’s smile, the smile that had entered Rimmer’s head in the middle of the endless, sleepless nights, and made him all the lonelier for the lack of it. “So that’s what you needed,” Lister said, his voice only slightly quavering. “No big thing.” And he winked, and Rimmer threw himself at him, clutching the smaller body to him like a lifeline; muttering non-words, trying to absorb the other man into himself, as though that would heal him; would make him whole. And Lister laughed, in short, breathless bursts. Lister laughed.
Later, much later, as they lay, spent once again in one another’s arms in what was now their shared bunk, Rimmer stroked Lister’s hair as Lister talked animatedly, chattering on and on about finding a way to make him hard-light, and getting Red Dwarf back sooner, and finding a way to bring the Cat back to life, and finding Earth, and… And Rimmer breathed in and out, pointlessly, and knew that even if it none of his lover’s crazy plans worked, even if there would just be more of this, he could easily make it for 2000 years more.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: R
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, despite my feverent wishes to the contrary. Ditto for making money off this.
Spoilers: Out of Time
Notes: Because I'm weird, I've tried to make roadstergal's "Gone" better. It's what I do! Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
It couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be. Rimmer had to keep telling himself that the sight presenting itself before his eyes was impossible, because if it was, in fact, possible…. Well, that would lead to a whole host of things he’d carefully trained himself to ignore over the centuries. The small, silver box standing on the rickety table in the derelict they were exploring - that he could handle. That was just a holographic projection unit; they saw them all the time. It was clearly a more sophisticated model than the ones they usually encountered, but even so. He liked the silver box. He concentrated on it, because it was so clearly real and possible. He tried not to look at the small, metal ball seated next to it. He tried not to remember that he knew that it was a self-contained, self powered light bee; that he had seen broken ones before, and that Kryten had reluctantly, in as few words as possible explained to him how they worked; that it would allow them to project another hologram indefinetly. He hadn’t needed telling what that would mean. He stood very still, for a very, very, long time trying particularly not to think about what that would mean. When Kryten finally came to see what had happened to him, the look that passed between them didn’t speak volumes as much as entire libraries.
Back when things had mattered; back when their lives, or non-lives, had meaning, Lister had teased Kryten endlessly for keeping an up-to-date holographic recording of him on Starbug as well as Red Dwarf. Even after they had lost Red Dwarf, he’d felt the constant uploading of his memory to the clunky, second grade ship’s computer a pointless exercise, endured only to please Kryten. Now, the android’s hands shook like Starbug’s hull during a difficult landing as he pressed the buttons necessary to download Lister’s personality into the small, round-ish housing. Rimmer had not exchanged a single word with the android since the discovery, but that was not much of a change. They had not spoken much for the last millennia or so. What had there been to talk about? Soon though… Soon, the bee containing Lister’s essence would spring into life, and… And. Kryten’s eyes found Rimmer’s, his finger resting on the button which would begin the transfer. The look in them was indescribable, yet Rimmer knew exactly how he felt.
“I can’t tell him either,” Rimmer admitted. His voice did not feel rusty, as he had no vocal chords to fall into disuse. Kryten merely nodded, moved his hand, and started typing something on a different keyboard.
“Ship’s log,” he said. Rimmer understood. An additional bar of information was added to the ones already present on the screen, and Kryten, not asking permission this time, silently or otherwise, initiated the download.
There was only the outline first; shimmering, unclear, but so familiar it made Rimmer’s non-existent heart stir; it was still too afraid to soar. The figure was five centimeters short of his height, stockier, somehow more… Solid; more real than should be possible for an object made entirely out of light. Five rasta plaits slithered down its back like absurd snakes. Fully formed now, Lister shivered as he sprung to life, hugging himself, disorientated, trying to come to terms with his surroundings. For the briefest of seconds, he smiled as he caught Rimmer’s eye, but at the same moment, the ship’s log, embedded in his mind as fake memories, seemed to catch up with the rest of his him, and his expression warped into one of frozen horror. He curled up as though he had been punched in the stomach, and a sound halfway between a gasp and a shriek escaped his throat as he ran from the room to puke his holographic guts out loudly and violently in the next room.
He slept for days. Rimmer found himself pacing up and down outside Lister’s room (he hardly slept anymore himself), looking at the chronometer what turned out to be every five minutes or so. Kryten left him alone, except for brief intervals when he’d emerge from the cockpit triumphantly, and babble on about some adjustment he’d been able to make to the projection unit, which would enable Lister to have some benefit or another. Rimmer merely nodded, and kept pacing.
When Lister finally emerged, groggy and pale, looking like he’d been through one of Kryten’s heavy-duty spin-cycles, the newly minted hologram walked straight past Rimmer, and tried his best to emulate a non-corporeal hug with the mechanoid. Kryten laughed, and held his arms around the thin, light-filled air that was Lister now, assuring him that he looked wonderful, and honestly, if it wasn’t for that rather fetching letter on his forehead, no one would even dare to think he’d been dead for two thousand years. He realized immediately that this had been the wrong thing to say, as Lister’s expression went from milky pale to olive-green, and hurriedly asked if Lister had slept well. This lead to Lister feigning incomprehension at having slept for thirty-six hours, making stupid jokes that shouldn’t have made the android laugh as long and hard as they did. Rimmer couldn’t help but smile at this, understanding Lister’s strategy. Making a big deal out of a few days of sleep meant he didn’t have to deal with the knowledge that he’d been dead for longer than the span of many major civilizations. Eventually, Lister disappeared back into what was now clearly his quarters, having given nothing so much as a nod in Rimmer’s direction. Rimmer didn’t react to this. There were very few things he allowed himself to feel, on the whole.
Hours later, Kryten was busily re-programming the nav-console to take voice-activated commands, as it had done when Rimmer had been soft-light, and Lister had still not re-emerged. Rimmer had tried to busy himself with various tasks, but he found himself drawn to that closed door, knowing what was behind it. But no matter how he tried, he couldn’t make himself knock on it, or merely enter. All he could do was stand and stare at it, at a polite distance. For the moment, that was enough. But as even more time passed, and Kryten excused himself - something he hadn’t done for as long as Rimmer could remember now - and went off to re-charge, Rimmer started to get restless. He took two steps towards the door, then two or three steps back. He cleared his throat, then cleared it again, knowing that he didn’t really need to do it at all. Finally, he gave up entirely, and went into the cockpit as though in a daze. Someone had to man the stations anyway. Especially now.
He tried not to react when he heard a voice behind him, as someone had clearly walked up to his chair on feet that weren’t actually there, and thus made no sound. “Well. Two thousand years, eh?”
“Yes.”
Rimmer heard a sort of sloshing sound, and turned to see Lister finishing a can of simulated lager. When the can was empty, quietly dissolving into thin air, he shrugged, and simulated himself another. Rimmer could only stare. Simulated drinks didn’t taste much of anything. How could Lister seem to enjoy them so much? “I always did say death wasn’t much of a handicap, didn’t I?” He was grinning. Actually grinning. “I’m sorry for snubbing ya earlier, but I had to get my head together, yeah? I couldn’t break down in front of Kryten; it’d finish him, wouldn’t it?”
“The Cat’s dead,” Rimmer said, before he could stop himself. His conversational skills weren’t exactly what they used to be.
Lister nodded sadly. “I know. I had a good cry about it earlier.” His smile grew fainter, but didn’t go away entirely. “I’ll probably cry about it again later. You mourn your friends when they die, you know, that’s the proper way of things.” He gave Rimmer an earnest look. “But you don’t stop living.” He stopped, seeming confused. “Or... You know, stop not-living. Whatever, yeah?”
It was too much. The smile, the voice; the keenly earnest, curious eyes; the sheer, defiant aliveness of him; everything that screamed ‘David Lister’ - it was all too much. Rimmer’s head slumped back in his chair, feeling all semblance of control leaving him, his body convulsing in deep, heavy spasms. Was this crying? He’d forgotten what that felt like. “Dave,” someone said, in a voice that sounded entirely unfamiliar, high and weak and desperate, a pathetic croak.
Lister looked down at him, worry and helplessness converging in his face. “I can’t touch you, man,” he said apologetically. “I’m sorry...”
Summoning the last remnant of his sanity, Rimmer switched to soft-light, and reached out to Lister with a red-clad arm. And Lister, because he was Lister, rather than grabbing it, fell to his knees and embraced him so tightly it seemed absurd. Rimmer must have said something, because he heard a whispered reply in his ear;
“Just tell me what you need. Just tell me, Arn.” But Rimmer couldn’t tell Lister what he hardly knew himself, so Lister just held him until he stopped shaking, then let go, and looked into his eyes. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.” When Rimmer didn’t reply, a strange look came over Lister’s face, and he licked his lips. Without warning, he then placed those lips firmly on Rimmer’s own, simulated softness on simulated softness. It was only a fleeting kiss, but Lister, breaking away, said sheepishly; “You can hit me now, if ya like. I had no right to do that.”
Overcome with the forces of emotions he couldn’t hope to control, Rimmer swallowed, and leaned forward, mumbling only “more...” His eyes half-closed.
Lister, his eyes shining, lunged forward, mashing lips against lips, somewhat awkwardly at first. Rimmer didn’t care. And when he felt the tip of Lister’s tongue feeling carefully along the thin line of his mouth, he opened up eagerly, pulling Lister towards him, forgetting he was soft-light, and melting slightly into his chair, but not caring, not caring. “Need you,” he managed, and Lister put his hand on those stupidly tight trousers, which were even tighter now in certain areas, and felt his way up Rimmer’s thigh, but not fast enough; not fast enough! Sliding his leg downwards until Lister’s hand rested on his groin, Rimmer’s brain felt ready to explode with want and need and aching pleasure.
“I’m here,” Lister said again, undoing the clasps of Rimmer’s uniform jacket, running his hand up and down the older hologram’s chest, while the other gripped Rimmer’s almost painful erection through the stretchy red fabric. Had he stopped to think, Rimmer would have dematerialized his clothes, but he was far beyond the point of rational thinking now.
“Want…” Rimmer breathed, but there were no words to describe what he wanted. He felt Lister pull down his trousers, and something inside Rimmer snapped. Grabbing Lister under the armpits, he hoisted the younger hologram onto his feet, pushing him towards the only barrier that would resist them going through it; the wall. It wasn’t quite like touching a solid object, but JMC security measures did prevent Lister from floating off into space when Rimmer turned him around and slammed him against the gritty surface.
Lister said nothing as Rimmer tore his overalls apart, then split his long johns sideways. He kept quiet as Rimmer ripped off his underpants, entering him with a ferocity and madness that would have scared Rimmer had he been conscious of his own actions, and when Rimmer came, after precious little time, Lister just stood there, taking it, sliding to the floor as Rimmer finally went limp and collapsed.
Rimmer’s mind swam in blissful confusion for several minutes as he sat on his knees, trying to keep level with the deck, but then his eyes fell on Lister’s crumpled, panting form, and all his non-existent internal organs sank. “Oh god…” He managed, hugging himself, not daring to look at the other man; the horrors of years of loneliness creeping back down into his psyche, topped with the certainty that he had assaulted; practically raped the one man who could save him from complete despair.
But Lister, ah, Lister lifted himself up on his elbows, turned towards him, and turned Rimmer’s head around with a shaking hand. His smile was weak, but it was his smile; Lister’s smile, the smile that had entered Rimmer’s head in the middle of the endless, sleepless nights, and made him all the lonelier for the lack of it. “So that’s what you needed,” Lister said, his voice only slightly quavering. “No big thing.” And he winked, and Rimmer threw himself at him, clutching the smaller body to him like a lifeline; muttering non-words, trying to absorb the other man into himself, as though that would heal him; would make him whole. And Lister laughed, in short, breathless bursts. Lister laughed.
Later, much later, as they lay, spent once again in one another’s arms in what was now their shared bunk, Rimmer stroked Lister’s hair as Lister talked animatedly, chattering on and on about finding a way to make him hard-light, and getting Red Dwarf back sooner, and finding a way to bring the Cat back to life, and finding Earth, and… And Rimmer breathed in and out, pointlessly, and knew that even if it none of his lover’s crazy plans worked, even if there would just be more of this, he could easily make it for 2000 years more.