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reddwarfslash2008-06-18 08:11 pm
hazeltea.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2008-06-18 08:11 pm
Fic: Trepidation PG-13
Title: Trepidation
Pairing: Lister/Rimmer
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself.
This comes after the following:
Function
Static
Love
Release
Reunited
Byway
Weaknesses
There were shades of memories that were permanently ingrained in Rimmer’s psyche, which could never be fully contained, such as the fear of a father that thought nothing of cuffing his child’s jaw when he was unable to solve an equation, or, failing that, perform his piano recital piece without flaws. From this vantage point, the world seemed troublesome indeed, filled with sadistic brothers, cruel headmasters, and a seemingly never ending cast of military personnel, each one nipping at his heels so that the only sane thing to do was to attempt to rise in their ranks, to the point where none of them could hurt him.
Lister was familiar with this neurosis that permeated every fiber of Rimmer’s being, and the memories flitted around the edges of his mind, a jumpy white noise. Lister eased into the anxiety carefully, bristling slightly as though it were a particularly itchy turtleneck sweater. He found that he could pull back the edges of the barrier code, perhaps enough for Rimmer to get by. Rimmer was almost there, and Lister looked down, almost shyly, not wanting to meet the other’s eyes after kissing him, especially not when he had such a demanding task ahead of him. Rimmer paused for a moment before him, gathering his determination, perhaps. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t meet those eyes.
“Go.” Lister said. “I’ll be fine. I won’t interfere more than I have to.”
Lister was beginning to wonder if he would be fine. He was beginning to wonder if he would even survive. There was something lurking just beyond the walls, searching out his presence. His skin was beginning to prickle, as though something was lying in wake, ready to attack him. To his relief, Rimmer was not put off by curt orders, and nodded. He watched as Rimmer braced himself, ready to sprint through the gap that Lister was making by holding back the trickle of cold panic that was threatening to become a burst dam. He watched Rimmer until he could no longer see the hologram through the solidified code, and turned his focus inwards, hoping to find something akin to the eye of the storm from which he could manipulate the chaos around him.
Keeping his word to Rimmer about not interfering would prove to be difficult, since there were so many things that he didn’t want Lister to see. Rimmer didn’t want him to know that he had taped his photograph into the cockpit of the Wildfire, that he’d sometimes talk to it quietly under his breath, so softly that not even the Wildfire could hear; locking eyes with the image and promising it that he would be brave, and that he would someday make him proud. The Polaroid had become ragged and faded over time and missions, but Rimmer had repeated this ritual so often that Lister could see his own dark eyes staring back at him, and barely noticed how muted the colors had become.
Most of all, Rimmer did not want him to see his final moments as Ace, a memory that harbored more shame than his original demise, for Rimmer had broken his vow to himself and to Lister, unbeknownst to the other until now. He had not been brave. He had barely been coherent. Lister cried out involuntarily at the memory of the simulant leaning in for the kill, his grimy face twisted into a grotesque mask of pleasure at another’s pain.
When the trigger was pulled, Rimmer had closed his eyes tight, and screamed. His life and death did not pass before his eyes. There was no time to consider a poignant last thought or to issue a witty, defiant retort to his murderer’s taunts. There was only that terrified sound, part scream, part whimper that was his name. Lister paled, feeling ill. Rimmer’s last thought had not been of himself. He hadn’t cried out for his parents, or for Nirvanah, or for a merciful God to protect him. It had been his instinct, his dying wish, to simply be delivered to Lister’s side, one last time, and as quickly as the want was uttered, the bee was shattered. In that moment, Lister despised himself with a ferocity he hadn’t thought possible. The simulant’s trigger finger might as well have been his own. “I’m sorry.” He choked out. “…oh, darlin’… I’m so sorry.” He didn’t push the memory away. He deserved this pain, he told himself, for sending this man away to die, yet again, by himself.
Another memory, this one his own, conjured from the depths of his despair. It’s such a delicate thing… yes, that is what he had thought when gazing at the ruined light bee that he had cradled in his palms for countless, hopeless hours, and found himself both amazed and grateful that the bee had survived partially intact instead of being twisted and melted beyond recognition like the girders that had taken the brunt of the blast, yet had not done enough to save him.
He could feel himself struggling now, fighting against the riptide of despair that was sucking him down into its murky depths, competing with the ever present anxiety that was clawing at his chest and gripping at his throat. He needed to calm down, for both of their sakes. If he could not hold this back, then Rimmer would never escape intact. He focused on getting through this, on reality, on Starbug, where they belonged. Kryten would be worried sick, no doubt, and Kris… he would need to thank Kris, somehow, when this was all over. Kris, his superior, with her humorless, cold green-blue eyes, who Lister lusted after mindlessly, would surely realize what a waste reviving him had been. She would have him turned off once it became apparent how utterly useless he was… his superior, he would have no choice but to obey her orders and surrender his life, and his love. Only… he couldn’t be turned off, could he? He was alive. Lister’s head began to spin. The eye of the storm had become unstable, and it was difficult to tell where Lister ended and where Rimmer began, and if he was feeling resentment or a muted lust for Kris, and which one of them was the lust radiating from, anyway?
Lister, and perhaps a bit of Rimmer, realized that he couldn’t do this for much longer. His blood was pounding, his chest constricting, his breathing too rapid to focus. When he felt himself lose balance and lurch forward, there was nothing he could do but fall. A strange sensation overtook him, as he hurtled downwards, while his organs seemed to be rising. The world seemed to dissipate around him, and suddenly, the rest of his body followed a painful tug, ever upwards.
Pairing: Lister/Rimmer
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, and I do not profit from this. I just do this to amuse myself.
This comes after the following:
Function
Static
Love
Release
Reunited
Byway
Weaknesses
There were shades of memories that were permanently ingrained in Rimmer’s psyche, which could never be fully contained, such as the fear of a father that thought nothing of cuffing his child’s jaw when he was unable to solve an equation, or, failing that, perform his piano recital piece without flaws. From this vantage point, the world seemed troublesome indeed, filled with sadistic brothers, cruel headmasters, and a seemingly never ending cast of military personnel, each one nipping at his heels so that the only sane thing to do was to attempt to rise in their ranks, to the point where none of them could hurt him.
Lister was familiar with this neurosis that permeated every fiber of Rimmer’s being, and the memories flitted around the edges of his mind, a jumpy white noise. Lister eased into the anxiety carefully, bristling slightly as though it were a particularly itchy turtleneck sweater. He found that he could pull back the edges of the barrier code, perhaps enough for Rimmer to get by. Rimmer was almost there, and Lister looked down, almost shyly, not wanting to meet the other’s eyes after kissing him, especially not when he had such a demanding task ahead of him. Rimmer paused for a moment before him, gathering his determination, perhaps. It was hard to tell when he couldn’t meet those eyes.
“Go.” Lister said. “I’ll be fine. I won’t interfere more than I have to.”
Lister was beginning to wonder if he would be fine. He was beginning to wonder if he would even survive. There was something lurking just beyond the walls, searching out his presence. His skin was beginning to prickle, as though something was lying in wake, ready to attack him. To his relief, Rimmer was not put off by curt orders, and nodded. He watched as Rimmer braced himself, ready to sprint through the gap that Lister was making by holding back the trickle of cold panic that was threatening to become a burst dam. He watched Rimmer until he could no longer see the hologram through the solidified code, and turned his focus inwards, hoping to find something akin to the eye of the storm from which he could manipulate the chaos around him.
Keeping his word to Rimmer about not interfering would prove to be difficult, since there were so many things that he didn’t want Lister to see. Rimmer didn’t want him to know that he had taped his photograph into the cockpit of the Wildfire, that he’d sometimes talk to it quietly under his breath, so softly that not even the Wildfire could hear; locking eyes with the image and promising it that he would be brave, and that he would someday make him proud. The Polaroid had become ragged and faded over time and missions, but Rimmer had repeated this ritual so often that Lister could see his own dark eyes staring back at him, and barely noticed how muted the colors had become.
Most of all, Rimmer did not want him to see his final moments as Ace, a memory that harbored more shame than his original demise, for Rimmer had broken his vow to himself and to Lister, unbeknownst to the other until now. He had not been brave. He had barely been coherent. Lister cried out involuntarily at the memory of the simulant leaning in for the kill, his grimy face twisted into a grotesque mask of pleasure at another’s pain.
When the trigger was pulled, Rimmer had closed his eyes tight, and screamed. His life and death did not pass before his eyes. There was no time to consider a poignant last thought or to issue a witty, defiant retort to his murderer’s taunts. There was only that terrified sound, part scream, part whimper that was his name. Lister paled, feeling ill. Rimmer’s last thought had not been of himself. He hadn’t cried out for his parents, or for Nirvanah, or for a merciful God to protect him. It had been his instinct, his dying wish, to simply be delivered to Lister’s side, one last time, and as quickly as the want was uttered, the bee was shattered. In that moment, Lister despised himself with a ferocity he hadn’t thought possible. The simulant’s trigger finger might as well have been his own. “I’m sorry.” He choked out. “…oh, darlin’… I’m so sorry.” He didn’t push the memory away. He deserved this pain, he told himself, for sending this man away to die, yet again, by himself.
Another memory, this one his own, conjured from the depths of his despair. It’s such a delicate thing… yes, that is what he had thought when gazing at the ruined light bee that he had cradled in his palms for countless, hopeless hours, and found himself both amazed and grateful that the bee had survived partially intact instead of being twisted and melted beyond recognition like the girders that had taken the brunt of the blast, yet had not done enough to save him.
He could feel himself struggling now, fighting against the riptide of despair that was sucking him down into its murky depths, competing with the ever present anxiety that was clawing at his chest and gripping at his throat. He needed to calm down, for both of their sakes. If he could not hold this back, then Rimmer would never escape intact. He focused on getting through this, on reality, on Starbug, where they belonged. Kryten would be worried sick, no doubt, and Kris… he would need to thank Kris, somehow, when this was all over. Kris, his superior, with her humorless, cold green-blue eyes, who Lister lusted after mindlessly, would surely realize what a waste reviving him had been. She would have him turned off once it became apparent how utterly useless he was… his superior, he would have no choice but to obey her orders and surrender his life, and his love. Only… he couldn’t be turned off, could he? He was alive. Lister’s head began to spin. The eye of the storm had become unstable, and it was difficult to tell where Lister ended and where Rimmer began, and if he was feeling resentment or a muted lust for Kris, and which one of them was the lust radiating from, anyway?
Lister, and perhaps a bit of Rimmer, realized that he couldn’t do this for much longer. His blood was pounding, his chest constricting, his breathing too rapid to focus. When he felt himself lose balance and lurch forward, there was nothing he could do but fall. A strange sensation overtook him, as he hurtled downwards, while his organs seemed to be rising. The world seemed to dissipate around him, and suddenly, the rest of his body followed a painful tug, ever upwards.
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Were it not for my knowledge of the fact that you have a life, I'd be pounding on your back and demanding more.
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I really like the way you had Lister starting to incorporate elements of Rimmer's mind at the end.
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You always have the sweetest icons.
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Thanks! That one was made by
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*goes off to blow nose and have a cup of tea*
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