Fic: Sentinel PG-13
May. 25th, 2008 02:22 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
hazeltea.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashPairing: Rimmer/Lister, Rimmer-as-Ace/flavor of the week
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of gore and implied sex
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself. Odd, AU-ish idea I was playing with.
The women Rimmer brought back to the Wildfire these days weren’t as beautiful as they used to be. He still had his pick, of course, but these days a nice rack and trashy undergarments weren’t as important as someone who was willing and able to change a few nappies and only expected him to stay awake for several minutes after sex. He’d discovered that the women he encountered who were merely pretty seemed to fit the bill better than the haughty princesses, and frankly, pretty was good enough for him. He’d sworn off princesses entirely since the last one had scratched Bexley’s cheek with her tacky acrylic manicure.
The girl he was with tonight would have been beautiful if not for a few flaws. Her blue eyes were slightly uneven, one being just slightly higher on her face than the other. Really, if you were to tilt your head just so, you wouldn’t notice at all, he thought.
“Are they… yours?” she asked, peering into the makeshift crib curiously. Rimmer nodded; he would answer questions gladly but seldom offered information on his own. If there was one advantage to the Ace bravado, it was that it allowed him a certain aura of mystery, hence, privacy. The twins were his responsibility; let the girl draw her own conclusions so that he wouldn’t be forced to explain the hellish ordeal yet again. She’d be gone in the morning, anyway.
“…and their mother?” the girl asked, looking between him and the sleeping boys.
“Dead.” He replied, quietly. That much was true, at least. He stared at a single screw in the wall panel, not daring to close his eyes to perform what Ace had called “grounding and centering” to settle the raw emotion the single word stirred, for fear that his mind would conjure images of that day, not so long ago.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
The distress call had sounded while he was battling the last of a bloodthirsty simulant crew, and his heart had jumped just a tiny bit in his chest as the Wildfire sensed the call from a JMC ship. It had been months since he’d encountered a Lister of any sort, and the last one had been somewhat of a disappointment, treating him with a polite respect and detachment, wearing Kochanski’s ring in oblivious, self centered contentment. If this was another Red Dwarf, if it was another sort of Lister, perhaps he’d have better luck this time.
He pulled back on the controls of the Wildfire, aiming with graphed precision at the simulant vessel, a second wind overtaking him. Target practice, he laughed to himself. Whatever was after Red Dwarf would soon face Ace Rimmer at the top of his game, and then, then he could see if there was a reward to be had. Rimmer felt a throbbing ache between his legs as he fired the plasma cannon’s fatal shot. He would finish this bit quickly and hurry to Lister’s rescue, and then the desperate, shaken Scouser might let him pin him against the cold steel of the ancient ship and kiss him, stroke him, invite him to bed. Rimmer always used careful judgment when extending that offer, out of habit, although as Ace, he had never been refused by anyone. He let out a low, soft groan as he remembered the few times a Lister had agreed, growing increasingly impatient.
The simulant ship shattered into scorched fragments of refuse.
“Ace, darling, you were magnificent.” purred the Wildfire, as he scanned for survivors and found that his mission was complete.
“Chart a course to the source of the JMC distress call.” He responded, ignoring the ship’s manufactured fawning.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
“You must have loved her very much.” The girl said softly, resting her delicate hands on his shoulders and massaging them gently.
“Love of my life.” Rimmer confirmed, in a quiet tone. Love of his death would be more accurate; in life, Lister had been antagonizing, irritating, immature… often, he’d heard, it takes something terrible, something life altering and traumatic, to pull two people together irrevocably. Something like death. He wondered if Lister felt the same. It was odd how he was always too shy to ask him outright, even when there was alcohol involved to make them both braver. It was so easy, so cathartic, to pour out his soul to this complete stranger, even though he was telling a censored truth. What existed between himself and Lister, his Lister, was too precarious to threaten with such questions, and so he would never know.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
He had come expecting a battle, but there was none to be had. There was no explanation other than the obvious, terrible realization that he was too late. Bits of the ship had been stripped away, only enough for someone who knew the ship inside and out to notice. His eyes fell to a docking bay where the metal was warped, pulled away by force. Red Dwarf had been raided by a smaller vessel, but the ship was largely unarmed… His heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, he docked the Wildfire, ignoring its pleas to be careful and safe, and darted down the familiar corridors. His hopes diminished with each door that had been kicked in or overridden. Smeg it all, he hadn’t even been questioned when he’d docked…
“Holly!” he called, as he ran. Please answer. “Holly, can you hear me?” He was well within Holly’s reach, and the only lights illuminating the corridor were lit by the back up generator. If Holly was offline, or worse…
Blood. There was so much blood… This is my fault. I’m never late for anything! The thought was absurd, but there it was. He took a shaking breath, reminding himself that he was Ace Rimmer, and he could smegging well do this, because Ace could do anything. Anything, save turn back time. He followed the trail of blood to where he knew it would end, to the two freshly slain bodies of his crewmates. Not my crewmates, he reminded himself, desperately trying to detach himself emotionally from the murder scene. Alternates. It didn’t make the sight any less hellish. The Cat was sprawled at his feet, shot down in mid lunge. Lister’s broken jaw was slack, his eyes rolled back in his head. Shuddering, he carefully closed their eyes, the Cat first, and then Lister, and wept.
A full Space Corps funeral, he decided. Even if it was only him there to do it, even if he had never worked the crematory, he would have to try. Rimmer had only witnessed one funeral while serving on Red Dwarf, but he knew the details. In the event of an officer’s death, the remains were contained in a metal chamber and incinerated in the ship’s engine. A worrying thought occurred to him. Without Holly, who had presumably been dismantled by the invaders, there was no one to command the power to the now dead engine. He would have to sort it out somehow, perhaps by redirecting the backup generator… His form shimmered briefly as he became soft light, and reached into the panels of the drive room, feeling for anything he could access in Holly’s absence, and there, he felt the code that Holly had downloaded last. Doors. Emergency lockdown. Full security… except they weren’t the doors for this floor. Had Holly botched everything by securing the wrong area? No, not even Holly was that dense. He solidified and reached for his gun. Cautiously, he made his way up the back stairs one floor, typed his security code into the console, hoping that his alternate had favored the same password. The doors slid open, and he held his breath and his pistol tight.
A shrill cry greeted him, followed by another, equal in pitch and misery. Rimmer holstered his gun, feeling ill. The twins, he realized. He was someplace that was very much like the past. If there was any bright side to this nightmare at all, it was that his alternate was dismantled with Holly, and that was why there was no light bee to be found. He had suspected that his alternate had abandoned them when he’d found the bodies, but at least now he had the guilt of only one Rimmer to bear.
He gathered one of the twins into his arms; Bexley, he noted, seeing the small birthmark on the boy’s left palm. It was a strange sensation to change a set of nappies instead of dictating how it ought to be done. When he was soft light, he had spent months reading up on pregnancy and the care of young children, only to see his expert knowledge mangled in Lister’s clumsy hands. This was probably the first time the children had the luxury of wearing nappies that weren’t lopsided.
They would be hungry as well, he realized. He found a stash of formula and set the timer to heat it to a lukewarm temperature, double checking it with the thermometer he knew his other self had kept nearby, and had scolded Lister for using his wrist in lieu of. Had it been that way for those two as well? It certainly seemed so. Here lay an unfinished bit of knitting, the lumpy yarn still on Lister’s favorite needles. He ran his fingers over the colorful rows of stockinette stitching. Maybe it was going to be a blanket, but then again he thought that about most of Lister’s creations. Now, though…
With a sigh, he set about feeding the grumpy twins. They seemed calmed by the food and his hard light touch, and their protests slowly died down to small noises of contentment. “That’s better, then.” He said, sinking into Lister’s soft chair with the twins against his chest. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and there was still the funeral arrangements, and… "What are we going to do with you, miladdio?” he murmured, stroking Jim’s hair thoughtfully. The infant gazed back at him with Lister’s eyes, and rubbed his snotty nose against his jacket. In that moment, he knew that the answer was that he would do all that he could.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
“I’m sorry.” The girl replied, kissing his forehead, and lowering her kisses to his lips. Yes, he could trust this one with the twins as he offlined after sex, as long as the Wildfire kept watch. When it all came down to it, the Wildfire was the only one he truly trusted, like Holly, she would protect the twins as long as she was operational, shielding them when he couldn’t.
He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. He had been avoiding battles that involved the Wildfire directly, but he couldn’t do so forever. He considered giving the twins to Lister, but what if the same thing happened as last time? What if his jumping was all that was keeping them their right age? Lister would be devastated. Lister might hate him. Rimmer could still remember the terrible sound of Lister’s sobs as he mourned for his lost children, when he thought that no one could hear him through closed doors. No, he could never hurt Lister like that again.
Rimmer forced his thoughts back to the girl before him, and fumbled in his pocket for a condom. Surely, if Ace could see him now, he would be laughing, the bastard.
Rating: PG-13 for a bit of gore and implied sex
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself. Odd, AU-ish idea I was playing with.
The women Rimmer brought back to the Wildfire these days weren’t as beautiful as they used to be. He still had his pick, of course, but these days a nice rack and trashy undergarments weren’t as important as someone who was willing and able to change a few nappies and only expected him to stay awake for several minutes after sex. He’d discovered that the women he encountered who were merely pretty seemed to fit the bill better than the haughty princesses, and frankly, pretty was good enough for him. He’d sworn off princesses entirely since the last one had scratched Bexley’s cheek with her tacky acrylic manicure.
The girl he was with tonight would have been beautiful if not for a few flaws. Her blue eyes were slightly uneven, one being just slightly higher on her face than the other. Really, if you were to tilt your head just so, you wouldn’t notice at all, he thought.
“Are they… yours?” she asked, peering into the makeshift crib curiously. Rimmer nodded; he would answer questions gladly but seldom offered information on his own. If there was one advantage to the Ace bravado, it was that it allowed him a certain aura of mystery, hence, privacy. The twins were his responsibility; let the girl draw her own conclusions so that he wouldn’t be forced to explain the hellish ordeal yet again. She’d be gone in the morning, anyway.
“…and their mother?” the girl asked, looking between him and the sleeping boys.
“Dead.” He replied, quietly. That much was true, at least. He stared at a single screw in the wall panel, not daring to close his eyes to perform what Ace had called “grounding and centering” to settle the raw emotion the single word stirred, for fear that his mind would conjure images of that day, not so long ago.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
The distress call had sounded while he was battling the last of a bloodthirsty simulant crew, and his heart had jumped just a tiny bit in his chest as the Wildfire sensed the call from a JMC ship. It had been months since he’d encountered a Lister of any sort, and the last one had been somewhat of a disappointment, treating him with a polite respect and detachment, wearing Kochanski’s ring in oblivious, self centered contentment. If this was another Red Dwarf, if it was another sort of Lister, perhaps he’d have better luck this time.
He pulled back on the controls of the Wildfire, aiming with graphed precision at the simulant vessel, a second wind overtaking him. Target practice, he laughed to himself. Whatever was after Red Dwarf would soon face Ace Rimmer at the top of his game, and then, then he could see if there was a reward to be had. Rimmer felt a throbbing ache between his legs as he fired the plasma cannon’s fatal shot. He would finish this bit quickly and hurry to Lister’s rescue, and then the desperate, shaken Scouser might let him pin him against the cold steel of the ancient ship and kiss him, stroke him, invite him to bed. Rimmer always used careful judgment when extending that offer, out of habit, although as Ace, he had never been refused by anyone. He let out a low, soft groan as he remembered the few times a Lister had agreed, growing increasingly impatient.
The simulant ship shattered into scorched fragments of refuse.
“Ace, darling, you were magnificent.” purred the Wildfire, as he scanned for survivors and found that his mission was complete.
“Chart a course to the source of the JMC distress call.” He responded, ignoring the ship’s manufactured fawning.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
“You must have loved her very much.” The girl said softly, resting her delicate hands on his shoulders and massaging them gently.
“Love of my life.” Rimmer confirmed, in a quiet tone. Love of his death would be more accurate; in life, Lister had been antagonizing, irritating, immature… often, he’d heard, it takes something terrible, something life altering and traumatic, to pull two people together irrevocably. Something like death. He wondered if Lister felt the same. It was odd how he was always too shy to ask him outright, even when there was alcohol involved to make them both braver. It was so easy, so cathartic, to pour out his soul to this complete stranger, even though he was telling a censored truth. What existed between himself and Lister, his Lister, was too precarious to threaten with such questions, and so he would never know.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
He had come expecting a battle, but there was none to be had. There was no explanation other than the obvious, terrible realization that he was too late. Bits of the ship had been stripped away, only enough for someone who knew the ship inside and out to notice. His eyes fell to a docking bay where the metal was warped, pulled away by force. Red Dwarf had been raided by a smaller vessel, but the ship was largely unarmed… His heart sinking into the pit of his stomach, he docked the Wildfire, ignoring its pleas to be careful and safe, and darted down the familiar corridors. His hopes diminished with each door that had been kicked in or overridden. Smeg it all, he hadn’t even been questioned when he’d docked…
“Holly!” he called, as he ran. Please answer. “Holly, can you hear me?” He was well within Holly’s reach, and the only lights illuminating the corridor were lit by the back up generator. If Holly was offline, or worse…
Blood. There was so much blood… This is my fault. I’m never late for anything! The thought was absurd, but there it was. He took a shaking breath, reminding himself that he was Ace Rimmer, and he could smegging well do this, because Ace could do anything. Anything, save turn back time. He followed the trail of blood to where he knew it would end, to the two freshly slain bodies of his crewmates. Not my crewmates, he reminded himself, desperately trying to detach himself emotionally from the murder scene. Alternates. It didn’t make the sight any less hellish. The Cat was sprawled at his feet, shot down in mid lunge. Lister’s broken jaw was slack, his eyes rolled back in his head. Shuddering, he carefully closed their eyes, the Cat first, and then Lister, and wept.
A full Space Corps funeral, he decided. Even if it was only him there to do it, even if he had never worked the crematory, he would have to try. Rimmer had only witnessed one funeral while serving on Red Dwarf, but he knew the details. In the event of an officer’s death, the remains were contained in a metal chamber and incinerated in the ship’s engine. A worrying thought occurred to him. Without Holly, who had presumably been dismantled by the invaders, there was no one to command the power to the now dead engine. He would have to sort it out somehow, perhaps by redirecting the backup generator… His form shimmered briefly as he became soft light, and reached into the panels of the drive room, feeling for anything he could access in Holly’s absence, and there, he felt the code that Holly had downloaded last. Doors. Emergency lockdown. Full security… except they weren’t the doors for this floor. Had Holly botched everything by securing the wrong area? No, not even Holly was that dense. He solidified and reached for his gun. Cautiously, he made his way up the back stairs one floor, typed his security code into the console, hoping that his alternate had favored the same password. The doors slid open, and he held his breath and his pistol tight.
A shrill cry greeted him, followed by another, equal in pitch and misery. Rimmer holstered his gun, feeling ill. The twins, he realized. He was someplace that was very much like the past. If there was any bright side to this nightmare at all, it was that his alternate was dismantled with Holly, and that was why there was no light bee to be found. He had suspected that his alternate had abandoned them when he’d found the bodies, but at least now he had the guilt of only one Rimmer to bear.
He gathered one of the twins into his arms; Bexley, he noted, seeing the small birthmark on the boy’s left palm. It was a strange sensation to change a set of nappies instead of dictating how it ought to be done. When he was soft light, he had spent months reading up on pregnancy and the care of young children, only to see his expert knowledge mangled in Lister’s clumsy hands. This was probably the first time the children had the luxury of wearing nappies that weren’t lopsided.
They would be hungry as well, he realized. He found a stash of formula and set the timer to heat it to a lukewarm temperature, double checking it with the thermometer he knew his other self had kept nearby, and had scolded Lister for using his wrist in lieu of. Had it been that way for those two as well? It certainly seemed so. Here lay an unfinished bit of knitting, the lumpy yarn still on Lister’s favorite needles. He ran his fingers over the colorful rows of stockinette stitching. Maybe it was going to be a blanket, but then again he thought that about most of Lister’s creations. Now, though…
With a sigh, he set about feeding the grumpy twins. They seemed calmed by the food and his hard light touch, and their protests slowly died down to small noises of contentment. “That’s better, then.” He said, sinking into Lister’s soft chair with the twins against his chest. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and there was still the funeral arrangements, and… "What are we going to do with you, miladdio?” he murmured, stroking Jim’s hair thoughtfully. The infant gazed back at him with Lister’s eyes, and rubbed his snotty nose against his jacket. In that moment, he knew that the answer was that he would do all that he could.
∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙∙
“I’m sorry.” The girl replied, kissing his forehead, and lowering her kisses to his lips. Yes, he could trust this one with the twins as he offlined after sex, as long as the Wildfire kept watch. When it all came down to it, the Wildfire was the only one he truly trusted, like Holly, she would protect the twins as long as she was operational, shielding them when he couldn’t.
He wasn’t sure how long he could keep this up. He had been avoiding battles that involved the Wildfire directly, but he couldn’t do so forever. He considered giving the twins to Lister, but what if the same thing happened as last time? What if his jumping was all that was keeping them their right age? Lister would be devastated. Lister might hate him. Rimmer could still remember the terrible sound of Lister’s sobs as he mourned for his lost children, when he thought that no one could hear him through closed doors. No, he could never hurt Lister like that again.
Rimmer forced his thoughts back to the girl before him, and fumbled in his pocket for a condom. Surely, if Ace could see him now, he would be laughing, the bastard.
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no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 11:08 am (UTC)It's such a sweet, sad idea. I have to say, I feel sorry for the twins! I can't imagine Rimmer being the best parent ever :) I like Rimmer wanting to do a proper funeral, I can really see that. And I like that he would research parenting like crazy and be all annoyed at Lister for doing it wrong.
My one little thing would be that I think 'nappy' would be more appropriate than 'diaper', as that's quite American. Still, good stuff! Thanks for writing it.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-26 03:02 am (UTC)I can't imagine Lister being the sort to block his work. Right now that blanket is a rolled up sheet of wool lol
Poor Rimmer is coping as best as he can, but it really is a mess. I think that between him and Lister, they could have figured the parenting stuff out, but either one of them is hopeless alone.