Proximity (Part 2/?)

[tsukinobun.livejournal.com]

Second part of the fic "Proximity". Hope you like!

Proximity (Part 2/?)
Pairing: Lister/Rimmer
Spoilers: Legion
Synopsis: Lister's reaction to Rimmer's hardlight is unexpected.
Notes: Angst, and a bit of low!rimmer shining through...will probably become moreso with each part.

In the medi-bay Lister awoke disoriented. His head felt heavy. He reached his hand up to feel the bandages around his tender skull, and groaned.

“Ah, sir! You’re awake,” Kryten said warmly. Then softer, to himself, “Panic circuits: disengage.”

“Krytes, wha’ ‘appened?” Lister asked, not wanting to try sitting up just yet. He was dizzy enough after just moving his eyes toward his companion’s geometric head.

“You hit your head, sir, and suffered a concussion. That much is known. For the last twenty-four minutes you have been in a coma-like state, not responding to stimuli. I had begun to wonder if you were suffering from an intracranial hemorrhage in addition to the sizeable wound I dressed on the right side of your…”

Lister cut him off unceremoniously by vomiting. The room span, and the lights were too bright. Why couldn’t someone turn the smegging lights off? Couldn’t they see his retinas burning, glowing and pulsating like stars about to supernova? Surely they could hear the dangerous hum of electricity emanating from the room’s walls, an undercurrent whispering angrily to him in a voice he couldn’t quite understand.

Something became clear to him, then faded away before he had grasped it.

“Rimmer...,” he stated, pleadingly, before clamping his eyes shut and whimpering as a vicious headache made itself known.

Kryten moved forward to wipe away the bile from Lister’s lips and cheek, then assist the man with rinsing his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, sir, I should have thought to mention that you may experience some nausea and sensitivity. So thoughtless of me. There are other symptoms you may experience, such as confusion, disorientation, headache, etc. You should rest.”

“…the lights…” Lister managed to hiss while he felt his brain swell and contract painfully with each pump of his heart.

“No prob, Bud,” the Cat responded from a side of the room Lister had as yet not ventured to investigate (nor did he much care to now). The lights went out. “The dark can only improve your face right now, though it’s a shame my new jacket is wasted on such dim lighting. If I’d known this would happen, I might have made it glow-in-the-dark.”

Lister’s head was thankful for the small mercy of explosions no longer detonating behind his eyes. He let out a sigh and carefully tried opening his eyes again.

“Is he out of the woods, yet?” Rimmer’s voice asked calmly from a corner of the room behind Lister’s bandaged head.

“I am cautiously optimistic, sir. He will need to be monitored for a while, but I do believe he will return to full health,” Kryten replied.

“…Rimmer…didn’t know ya cared…,” Lister chided, the hint of a cheeky grin on his lips. Now that the lights were off he was able to focus on the words being spoken around him. And as long as he didn’t move too quickly, he found that he was feeling better by the minute.

“Of course I care!” Rimmer responded. “If you died, these two backstabbers would turn me off faster than a blind date with the Queen Mum! They would trade me out for you as ship’s hologram without question, the thoughtless beggars, and the epic ballad of Arnold J. Rimmer would be silenced-- replaced by the inane, pop jingle of Dave Lister, played on a guitar with three “G” strings, accompanied by rhythmic flatulence.”

“Smeg… your whiny voice is doing nothin’ for me head right now. Shut it, would ya? Unless you’ve got somethin’ nice to say, I don’t give a toss…” Lister spoke dismissively.

“Oh, classic!” the hologram declared, “Being told to shut up after I’ve sat vigil at your bedside this entire time. Well, it goes to show you that loyalty is unrewarded.”

“Vigil? For half an hour? Get a grip on reality, Rimsy, I’ve sat longer vigils for leftovers in the microwave,” Lister retorted, a bit of strength coming back into his voice.

“Right! And anyhow, this was probably your fault, Goalpost-Head,” the Cat interjected.

“Mr. Lister, sir, we were hoping you could recount the events that led up to this...accident. Mr. Rimmer has been less than forthcoming with the facts,” Kryten stated, his voice implying he suspected foul play.

“No I haven’t, you toilet-brush technician, I told you exactly what happened: Lister went space-crazy. That’s all there is to it. End of story. Dénouement. Fin,” The hologram insisted, speaking rather quickly and stubbornly.

Kryten ignored him and turned to the man lying on medi-bay gurney. “Sir?” he inquired.

Lister thought about it and his head began to hurt worse. The last thing he remembered was…was what? Krissie? No…Rimmer on the observation deck? Something to do with…with fingertips? Or the cold of the metal kitchen table…Or holding Jim and Bex ? He had no idea what fell where in a linear track of his life, and pieces were missing. Nothing added up. In short, he had no idea how to answer the question.

“I haven’t a clue.” He admitted, disturbed and frustrated, after several minutes of thinking.

“I see,” Kryten responded in that tone of voice which meant he was about to have a theory. “Allow me to ask you a few further questions, sir.”

“Okay,” Lister agreed amiably.

“Who are you?”

“ Don’t insult me man, I know who I am. Dave Lister.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m…,” He paused, surprised that he had no idea. “I’m…over drinking age.”

“Yes. Hmm. And where are we?”

“Starbug.”

“And where is Red Dwarf?”

“…I don’t know. I feel like that’s a trick question?”

“Alright. Now, who are we?”

“Kryten, Cat, and Arnold Judas Rimmer.”

Rimmer scowled in the corner.

“And how long have you known us?”

“Erm…awhile.”

“Where is the rest of the Red Dwarf crew?”

“…I think…they’re dead. Is that right? God.”

Lister’s eyes welled up before he could rationalize the grief away. Krissie, Peterson, all of ‘em. Gone. To him, in this moment, it might have happened only yesterday. He had no way of knowing when, only that it was true. He let out a sob.

The other three in the room were each disconcerted by this reaction, but showed it in different ways. Cat spun around and headed out the door with his signature, “Oww!” to seek better vibes elsewhere. Kryten handed Mr. Lister a Kleenex and engaged his guilt chip for causing this reaction. Rimmer let out a sigh and muttered something that sounded like, “…ridiculous…smegging git…how does he think it feels…actually be dead.”

 

 

Lister pulled himself together a bit after a few minutes. Kryten continued, in a soft voice.

“What is the last thing you remember, sir?”

“I’m not positive, but I think it’s to do with a tractor beam. Did we get pulled in by something?”

There was a fertilized pause, swaying with the prospect of morning sickness.

“Indeed we did, sir. But that was several days ago,” Kryten answered levelly. He turned to speak to Rimmer, “I believe Mr. Lister is suffering from a concussion-induced amnesia. It is not altogether uncommon. He may have limited recall right now of events both recent and long past. It is difficult to say without further questioning. The good news is that this should be temporary.”

“Wha’ are you sayin’, Kryten? I’ve lost me memories? For how long?” Lister was starting to panic.

“This symptom is ordinarily short-term, sir. I would advise you to avoid worrying yourself over it, as your emotional state is already taxed. Most persons who suffer a concussion or head injury recover fully within a few weeks.”

“Weeks?! Forgive me for being on the verge of a major wobbler, but how am I supposed to deal with the loss of my memory for a few *weeks*?”

“Well, sir, it could be worse. It appears your semantic memory is intact. That is the criterion of memory that accounts for your knowledge of general long-term facts, like the fact that you recognize me, that you remember how to speak, and that you recall Mr. Rimmer is a Smeeeee Heeeee.” Kryten took a moment to compose his features, quietly congratulating himself on his rather brave attempt at insult. “The area of memory that is damaged seems to be episodic memory, which accounts for the placement of memories in time, and specific events. For example, you may not remember any specific time you sat and played the guitar, but you will still be able to pick it up and strum away as well as ever.”

“That’s not saying much,” Rimmer chirped in.

“If you’ll excuse me, sirs, I must return to the cockpit to check our course. I left it on automatic pilot to see to Mr. Lister. I will check in with you again very soon. Mr. Rimmer, do try to be of assistance if Mr. Lister needs anything. He is vulnerable right now.”

With that, Kryten exited the room.

Rimmer knew. He really, well and truly knew that he shouldn’t push the buttons of an injured man. Yet the word “vulnerable” rang so clearly in his mind, like a siren’s call to action. Lister. Vulnerable. Amnestic. And Rimmer. Tangible. Curious. In Control.

He walked around to face the man on the gurney.

Lister looked shocked.

“Rimmer? What are you doing here?”

The plan fell aside.

“What?”

“You. Have you been here long?”

“…Yes. The whole time. Listy, …” he leaned over to rest his palms on the end of the gurney before continuing, “are you sure you’re alri…”.

“Holy smeg, Rimmer! You can touch?!”

Lister sat up quickly, then regretted it as his head protested. He ignored the pain.

“Since when?!”

“…Since recently,” Rimmer replied, curious that Lister seemed so interested.

“Wow,” was all the verbal response he gave, as he reached out to grab one of those hands.

Rimmer nearly recoiled with shock, but forced himself not to react, trying to figure out how he could regain control of the situation. Lister picked up his hand and turned the palm upward, then traced the edges of each finger unabashedly. Rimmer felt it as a tickle, and managed to hide the shiver it sent down his body.

“It feels real,” Lister commented, in an awed voice, and then pulled the hand toward his face to hold it against his cheek. This forced Rimmer into an awkward position, half-reaching across the makeshift bed.

“Lister, I’m not really sure you…”

“Rimmer?” Lister asked, looking pensive, pulling Rimmer’s hand back down from his face and simply holding it casually between both of his own. “The way this feels…it seems familiar to me. Why?”

A million possible answers filtered through Rimmer’s mind. First of all the snarkiest comments, then the most embarrassing to Lister, then the more subtle ones, with a higher stake but a bigger payoff.

Lister closed his eyes and swayed a little to the side, grabbing onto Rimmer’s hand tighter for stability. His sense of balance was off and he was momentarily dizzy again. Vulnerable indeed, thought the hologram, and the flame within him which hungered for power made his choice for him.

“Why, Listy?” He asked in a low tone, dripping with manipulative sincerity. “Because it is. Let’s see if we can’t jog that memory of yours…”

And he pulled Lister forward to him, crushing their lips together in a warm jolt.

Lister was suddenly lightheaded, and pulled back to lie down, but Rimmer held him tightly upright. When the feeling passed, his lips still tingled pleasantly and he sought out another kiss.

Rimmer smirked as he let the other man kiss him. It was a pretty kiss, but his thoughts were ugly. .