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[cestlavieminako.livejournal.com]

Title: Little Lamb
Rating: PG
Pairing: implied Lister/Rimmer
Notes: I guess this could almost be considered a Valentine's 'fic, even though it's a day late.
Summary: Rimmer discovers that Lister's been reading his diary again, and he's not too happy.



It had always irked Rimmer when he realized that Lister had read his diary. Hell, he suspected that Lister did it just because it irked him.

Years had passed since the last time Rimmer had come into the room he and Lister shared and found his diary either laying open on his bed, or hastily half-shoved beneath his mattress in a poor attempt to return it to its hiding place.

So now, on Starbug, Rimmer did not at all expect to find his diary, open to a random page that lay face down on the bed.

He panicked briefly. Had Lister seriously taken up this appalling habit again? Even after he'd opened his heart to the little smegger? All Lister had to do was ask, and Rimmer would tell him of his childhood, dreams...anything. There had been a few nights where they'd just laid in bed and traded stories till the wee hours.

So why was Lister so suddenly disregarding this level of trust they had?

Rimmer paled. He hoped that Lister hadn't found the one entry he'd hidden in the back of the diary, about that elaborate little fantasy he'd had where he was tied up, and Lister had the holowhip, and...

Rimmer fought the urge to start pacing or chew on his knuckles. He really needed to throw out that bloody book, it wasn't like he ever wrote in it anymore...

Reaching a decision, he strode over to his bunk and picked up the diary, deciding then and there to toss it into the waste disposal. End of problem!

He pulled open the disposal door, and held out the diary...

He frowned. That wasn't his handwriting on that page.

Rimmer took a closer look at the page. After a moment's pause, he let the disposal door clang shut.

He vaguely remembered this. His first "death-day" celebration, when he'd gotten so drunk, he'd blubbered on about how no one had ever loved him, and told Lister about the song he'd never be able to share with anyone.

"That was going to be out song...but I never found anyone to share it with," Rimmer had confessed, before moaning in self-pity until he passed out.

Now, years later, the words of that ridiculous song were scrawled in his diary. In Lister's handwriting.

Rimmer bit his lips. It was almost cheesy, in a way, but it was nearly moving him to tears.

Maybe he would hold on to the stupid book after all.

Comments

[elaineemily.livejournal.com]

oh bless, that is lovely. aww.