Fic: Powerless (PG-13)
Oct. 22nd, 2008 12:27 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}
reddwarfslashPairings: Lister/Rimmer (imp)
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Terrorform
Disclaimer: Of course I have no legal stake in this.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kahvi
Rimmer curled in on himself, clutching the covers close in the spare bunk. Lister was the last person that he wanted to see after what happened, and so he had retreated to the back cabin, which was barely larger than a broom closet, and by far the most depressing quarters he had ever inhabited. The ventilation was weak, the lights dim, and the pipes were loud and exposed. In a way, the gloominess of the room reflected his own inner state, and he tried to focus on that instead of on the nagging thought that he was alone when he was quite likely to have a terrifying nightmare. Oddly enough, it was a comfort of sorts to be in a place as miserable as he was. He would have felt somehow unwelcome in cheerier surroundings.
Having exhausted the cycles of depression and anger, at least for the time being, he lay pressed against the wall, feeling less than numb, but less of everything in general than he had in the past few hours. A dull burning in his stomach kept him focused on the hatred that he had focused inwards on himself, and outwards to the others, although it had changed from a stabbing pain to a diffused ache over time.
To think he had wanted to believe the things that Lister said! To think that he wanted anything at all from that deceitful bastard. He had let himself fall into the same trap he’d been snagged in his entire life, taking the bait of a kind word or deed, only to be cruelly mocked once he’d given his trust. He’d somehow believed that Lister was different. He had been sure of it. He had wanted it to be true so much that it stung now, having given more of himself than he ever had, years of his death, years of embarrassing secrets confessed in the darkness. Lister had always listened. It had made him oddly… happy.
Here, in deep space, with the last living human his enemy, with a mechanoid that was fonder of the scum accumulating on the lip of the toilet, and an evolved Cat that made no secret of his distain, Rimmer was far from popular. He was, to put it gently, despised. This was not new to him, but it had never felt quite so lonely before. When he was alive, there was always the dim, foolish hope that he could somehow, someday, command a bit of respect and goodwill.
Rimmer’s finger rested lightly on the light bee’s latch. He could turn himself off, he mused idly. It would be easier than when he was alive. There would be no pain, no blood, no complications, just a click, and then a welcome, dark oblivion. It was tempting, yet something stopped him, as it often had in life. He had always attributed it to sheer cowardice, yet now he had nothing to fear. Still, somehow, the instinct of self preservation sustained its dim flame in his psyche, although he was now certain that there was no true place for him in all of the universe, and no hope for the future. He knit his brow, attempting to make sense of it all.
If he turned himself off, it would likely be days before anyone noticed. When they did, no one would care. Lister would discard his disk and use the empty husk of the light bee to recreate Kochanski, to realize that idiotic dream of his. His eyes narrowed in anger as he imagined Lister, his grotty tongue trailing a slimy path across female flesh, hard light energy which rightfully belonged to him. Disgusting. No, he would never give Lister that satisfaction. He could live alone until the day he died, as alone as Rimmer himself was. Let the human race be done, and good riddance.
With a fresh wave of rage, he decided that he would never give up possession of the light bee, even if he had to suffer decades outliving the others before finally flicking the switch. There was power in anger, after all. It was the only power he had left.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Terrorform
Disclaimer: Of course I have no legal stake in this.
For
kahviRimmer curled in on himself, clutching the covers close in the spare bunk. Lister was the last person that he wanted to see after what happened, and so he had retreated to the back cabin, which was barely larger than a broom closet, and by far the most depressing quarters he had ever inhabited. The ventilation was weak, the lights dim, and the pipes were loud and exposed. In a way, the gloominess of the room reflected his own inner state, and he tried to focus on that instead of on the nagging thought that he was alone when he was quite likely to have a terrifying nightmare. Oddly enough, it was a comfort of sorts to be in a place as miserable as he was. He would have felt somehow unwelcome in cheerier surroundings.
Having exhausted the cycles of depression and anger, at least for the time being, he lay pressed against the wall, feeling less than numb, but less of everything in general than he had in the past few hours. A dull burning in his stomach kept him focused on the hatred that he had focused inwards on himself, and outwards to the others, although it had changed from a stabbing pain to a diffused ache over time.
To think he had wanted to believe the things that Lister said! To think that he wanted anything at all from that deceitful bastard. He had let himself fall into the same trap he’d been snagged in his entire life, taking the bait of a kind word or deed, only to be cruelly mocked once he’d given his trust. He’d somehow believed that Lister was different. He had been sure of it. He had wanted it to be true so much that it stung now, having given more of himself than he ever had, years of his death, years of embarrassing secrets confessed in the darkness. Lister had always listened. It had made him oddly… happy.
Here, in deep space, with the last living human his enemy, with a mechanoid that was fonder of the scum accumulating on the lip of the toilet, and an evolved Cat that made no secret of his distain, Rimmer was far from popular. He was, to put it gently, despised. This was not new to him, but it had never felt quite so lonely before. When he was alive, there was always the dim, foolish hope that he could somehow, someday, command a bit of respect and goodwill.
Rimmer’s finger rested lightly on the light bee’s latch. He could turn himself off, he mused idly. It would be easier than when he was alive. There would be no pain, no blood, no complications, just a click, and then a welcome, dark oblivion. It was tempting, yet something stopped him, as it often had in life. He had always attributed it to sheer cowardice, yet now he had nothing to fear. Still, somehow, the instinct of self preservation sustained its dim flame in his psyche, although he was now certain that there was no true place for him in all of the universe, and no hope for the future. He knit his brow, attempting to make sense of it all.
If he turned himself off, it would likely be days before anyone noticed. When they did, no one would care. Lister would discard his disk and use the empty husk of the light bee to recreate Kochanski, to realize that idiotic dream of his. His eyes narrowed in anger as he imagined Lister, his grotty tongue trailing a slimy path across female flesh, hard light energy which rightfully belonged to him. Disgusting. No, he would never give Lister that satisfaction. He could live alone until the day he died, as alone as Rimmer himself was. Let the human race be done, and good riddance.
With a fresh wave of rage, he decided that he would never give up possession of the light bee, even if he had to suffer decades outliving the others before finally flicking the switch. There was power in anger, after all. It was the only power he had left.
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:12 pm (UTC)You think? I'm not so sure. I honestly think it's part of his fundamental make-up. But I do agree that it gets strengthened by his behavior, and that part of it at least ends up working like a defense-mechanism.
He's interesting.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:28 am (UTC)Thank you for this. :) I've always been fascinated with how Rimmer copes with extreme emotion. And Terrorform... You know, in one story (I think it may have been Recalled - told you I don't remember what I write myself),
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Date: 2008-10-22 11:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 12:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-22 09:50 pm (UTC)