Fic: Heroes, part 2 of 2 (PG)
Aug. 1st, 2008 01:10 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}
reddwarfslashSome multiverse fun some years after Sentinel
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister implied
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Multiverse, Jim and Bexley centric
Disclaimer: Obviously no characters or settings are mine, I am doing this to amuse myself.
By his second cup of tea, Rimmer’s hands had stopped shaking, by his third, the lattice of burns on his shoulder had begun to fade in intensity, causing a numb, vaguely itchy sensation that reminded him that he was not quite alive. He stood, peeling away his ruined flight suit, and watched the transformation. It didn’t knit itself together like human flesh would, but faded in intensity under a faint blue haze, so slowly that it was barely noticeable. Vaguely, he wondered if there would be a scar. Several times, he had been wounded and left with a scar, only to have it disappear once his mind had become occupied with other things, briefly reappearing upon close examination, as though it were a hologramatic glitch of sorts. His physical form upon death seemed to be set in stone, no matter how hard he tried to forget his uncooperative hair or his ridiculous ears, for example, but postmortem changes were constantly in flux with his mind and memory. He summoned a military gray jumpsuit from memory, similar to those he’d worn on Red Dwarf, and sat with a sigh.
Ace had never abandoned a mission before. Rimmer knew that he should feel some form of defeat or shame at this thought, but his mind was focused on Jim and Bexley, and how close he had come to losing them. His tea had long since gone cold, and he pushed it away. He tried to dismiss the day’s events as an unlikely, unfortunate act of imitation any children were bound to try once or twice, but acidic worry gnawed at his gut. This was only the beginning, it said. They are getting older, it insisted. Things are only going to get worse. His right leg fidgeted of its own accord, and he regarded the dark rings left on the inside of the neglected teacup. Maybe a fourth cup was in order. The warmth would be a comfort.
Rimmer ran his thumb gently over the photograph of Lister that he kept beside him in the cockpit. Lister was young here, barely a boy, he mused. He guessed that the picture dated from his early days on the Dwarf. How had he changed in the years since they’d parted? It didn’t bear thinking about. It was bad enough that his train of thought took a turn for the worst case scenario when he imagined his Lister in his current state. If he imagined Lister eking out a miserable existence alone, or if he was long since dead, the thoughts broke his heart; yet imagining Lister living happily without him, somehow finding a woman and rebuilding the human race on a farm with sheep and horses set his blood boiling in seething jealousy.
Now, it was difficult to gaze at the young Lister’s image because he could see so much of the boys in him; in a few short years they would be his very image. What had happened that had made the past fourteen years pass so swiftly? How could he keep the twins close to him, and safe? A terrifying, unfamiliar feeling, one of aching, fear, and loss of control had come with the realization that he had somehow allowed himself to love someone more than his own existence; something that was against every Rimmer Directive for survival. Yet how could he not, when the twins were so eager to embrace him, when their little lives depended on him, and they returned any show of affection tenfold? He’d been lost within weeks. They were the only ones that had never looked down on him, never been cruel or snide. They admired him. They were, he suspected, far more than he, even disguised as Ace, deserved.
Would Lister approve of the job he’d done, he wondered for perhaps the millionth time. Would Lister have thanked him for raising his sons, these wonderful, brilliant children who looked so like him, yet spoke without a trace of scouse? Would he have understood his reasons for telling the boys about him (neglecting the bits that were of particular shame to himself), or would he have laughed, or, worse yet, be appalled and disgusted that Rimmer fancied himself their father and spoke of him with such tenderness, knowing that, coward that he was, Lister would never know? Would Lister he have found fault in their upbringing, raining down criticism on him as cruelly as he did to himself?
Rimmer ached for reassurance, and his instinct was to find another Lister at once, one that he could seduce and hold close, whispering things that he’d never say to his own Lister, before leaving the other in his doppelganger’s enraged, reluctant hands. It was selfish, he knew, but he rationalized that he was doing himself a favor by breaking the ice, so to speak. It would have eased his nerves, if only he could bring himself to leave the Wildfire. As it stood now, he began to fear that he’d never be able to leave the boys out of his sight again.
Still, he was Ace, wasn’t he? He could handle the boys. He could do anything. Just as long as he remembered that he was Ace now, and not Arnold.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister implied
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Multiverse, Jim and Bexley centric
Disclaimer: Obviously no characters or settings are mine, I am doing this to amuse myself.
By his second cup of tea, Rimmer’s hands had stopped shaking, by his third, the lattice of burns on his shoulder had begun to fade in intensity, causing a numb, vaguely itchy sensation that reminded him that he was not quite alive. He stood, peeling away his ruined flight suit, and watched the transformation. It didn’t knit itself together like human flesh would, but faded in intensity under a faint blue haze, so slowly that it was barely noticeable. Vaguely, he wondered if there would be a scar. Several times, he had been wounded and left with a scar, only to have it disappear once his mind had become occupied with other things, briefly reappearing upon close examination, as though it were a hologramatic glitch of sorts. His physical form upon death seemed to be set in stone, no matter how hard he tried to forget his uncooperative hair or his ridiculous ears, for example, but postmortem changes were constantly in flux with his mind and memory. He summoned a military gray jumpsuit from memory, similar to those he’d worn on Red Dwarf, and sat with a sigh.
Ace had never abandoned a mission before. Rimmer knew that he should feel some form of defeat or shame at this thought, but his mind was focused on Jim and Bexley, and how close he had come to losing them. His tea had long since gone cold, and he pushed it away. He tried to dismiss the day’s events as an unlikely, unfortunate act of imitation any children were bound to try once or twice, but acidic worry gnawed at his gut. This was only the beginning, it said. They are getting older, it insisted. Things are only going to get worse. His right leg fidgeted of its own accord, and he regarded the dark rings left on the inside of the neglected teacup. Maybe a fourth cup was in order. The warmth would be a comfort.
Rimmer ran his thumb gently over the photograph of Lister that he kept beside him in the cockpit. Lister was young here, barely a boy, he mused. He guessed that the picture dated from his early days on the Dwarf. How had he changed in the years since they’d parted? It didn’t bear thinking about. It was bad enough that his train of thought took a turn for the worst case scenario when he imagined his Lister in his current state. If he imagined Lister eking out a miserable existence alone, or if he was long since dead, the thoughts broke his heart; yet imagining Lister living happily without him, somehow finding a woman and rebuilding the human race on a farm with sheep and horses set his blood boiling in seething jealousy.
Now, it was difficult to gaze at the young Lister’s image because he could see so much of the boys in him; in a few short years they would be his very image. What had happened that had made the past fourteen years pass so swiftly? How could he keep the twins close to him, and safe? A terrifying, unfamiliar feeling, one of aching, fear, and loss of control had come with the realization that he had somehow allowed himself to love someone more than his own existence; something that was against every Rimmer Directive for survival. Yet how could he not, when the twins were so eager to embrace him, when their little lives depended on him, and they returned any show of affection tenfold? He’d been lost within weeks. They were the only ones that had never looked down on him, never been cruel or snide. They admired him. They were, he suspected, far more than he, even disguised as Ace, deserved.
Would Lister approve of the job he’d done, he wondered for perhaps the millionth time. Would Lister have thanked him for raising his sons, these wonderful, brilliant children who looked so like him, yet spoke without a trace of scouse? Would he have understood his reasons for telling the boys about him (neglecting the bits that were of particular shame to himself), or would he have laughed, or, worse yet, be appalled and disgusted that Rimmer fancied himself their father and spoke of him with such tenderness, knowing that, coward that he was, Lister would never know? Would Lister he have found fault in their upbringing, raining down criticism on him as cruelly as he did to himself?
Rimmer ached for reassurance, and his instinct was to find another Lister at once, one that he could seduce and hold close, whispering things that he’d never say to his own Lister, before leaving the other in his doppelganger’s enraged, reluctant hands. It was selfish, he knew, but he rationalized that he was doing himself a favor by breaking the ice, so to speak. It would have eased his nerves, if only he could bring himself to leave the Wildfire. As it stood now, he began to fear that he’d never be able to leave the boys out of his sight again.
Still, he was Ace, wasn’t he? He could handle the boys. He could do anything. Just as long as he remembered that he was Ace now, and not Arnold.
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Date: 2008-08-01 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-02 05:19 am (UTC)No, you don't think about it too much! It just makes for really interesting fics! ;)
no subject
Date: 2008-08-03 04:22 am (UTC)Ooh. This detail is oddly touching.
Rimmer ached for reassurance, and his instinct was to find another Lister at once, one that he could seduce and hold close, whispering things that he’d never say to his own Lister, before leaving the other in his doppelganger’s enraged, reluctant hands. It was selfish, he knew, but he rationalized that he was doing himself a favor by breaking the ice, so to speak.
Is it sad that I can see this happening a lot? Poor alternate!Rimmers.
Awesome story.
no subject
Date: 2008-08-04 10:08 pm (UTC)I can see it happening a lot, too. I don't think Rimmer ever got into the selfless part of the hero role.