Proximity (Part 4/7)

[tsukinobun.livejournal.com]

Proximity Part 1
Proximity Part 2
Proximity Part 3

Proximity (Part 4/7)
Rated PG-13 or R for dark subject matter
Lister/Rimmer
Notes: A dream within a dream, and the reason Lister was terrified of being touched. Pretty dark. Apparently my mind is a confusing and twisted place. Guess I should also warn for psychological non-con.

Nothing made sense, but dreams were often that way. Lister’s body twitched and convulsed while he slept, tiny beads of sweat on his temples, his hands scrunched into fists. Back in his own bed, deep into REM, his mind fought to unravel the knotted mess of his memories.

It was stressful work for an overtaxed mind, and nightmarish. Blurry half-formed ideas merged with barely-recalled images, and spun on quickly to the next disjointed concept. It felt like the world was rolling and halting abruptly, without any sense of rhythm. His head swayed side to side in a natural reaction, trying to shake himself loose from the sickening vertigo of his battered brain’s trajectory.

            Rimmer had been sent to wake him up and check he was still alright (Kryten, being overly-cautious with the last human’s life, had extended the critical sleep-interruption period to 48 hours). He was now guilty of shirking this duty, and watching Lister writhe in his dream-fever for the past half hour. Arms crossed, eyes tight in thought, he considered the strange happenings of the past two days and how to proceed.

            Lister whined something incomprehensible as his head turned again. Rimmer raised and eyebrow and bit his lower lip, enjoying the sensation, as the sleeping man moaned and sweated out his sickness.  

It didn’t bear thinking about, but one couldn’t help but be drawn into the question: Why? Why was he doing this…thing to Lister? And what was it exactly that he was doing? Well, it might be easier to start with why, he reasoned, because what held a lot of answers he was sure not to like. He was doing…whatever he was doing, to Lister, because…well, to teach him a lesson. The goit would regain total recall very soon and would have to finally treat Rimmer with a bit of respect – even if it was born of embarrassment and fear.

He’s going to hate you, said a tiny voice in his head.

“So smegging what?!” Rimmer responded aloud, before gasping and holding in a hologrammatic breath. But Lister had not woken. He released the breath, his lungs letting go of their illusionary air.

Rimmer stood a moment watching the other man’s eyelids flutter and sweaty palms grab for something that wasn’t there. He made a sound like a wounded dog. The hologram supposed he should wake the poor bastard up and report back to Kryten, lickety-split. He walked forward and was about to do so, when Lister’s lips parted and his voice rattled out two words of supreme interest to his voyeur.

“…Rimmer…don’t…”

He considered waiting and listening for further insights into this nocturnal anecdote, but grew impatient after only a couple of minutes.

“Lister?” he ventured, softly, and lay a hand on the man’s forehead.

The reaction was violent, though the sick man still did not wake. His body pulled away from the touch so quickly he hit his head against the wall (Rimmer cringed, hoping it wasn’t the same place he’d hit and gotten concussion). A pained sound filled the small room as unbidden tears smeared the sleeping man’s visage. His knees pulled up toward his chest and his hands shook in the effort of holding them tightly closed. The moron was going to make his palms bleed, Rimmer thought, trying to stay detached and practical in the face of this unsettling display.

“…Don’t hurt  …me…” were the muffled words, barely audible, that choked out of the frightened, cowering man. Whatever nightmare rode him, it was keen on the threat of physical harm.

“Hurt you?” Rimmer replied, torn between disgust and amusement.

Sobbing was the response to this, and then quickened breaths leading up to a full-blown scream.

            Rimmer watched, eyes wide, his light bee ticking away hologrammatic heartbeats fast as it was able. No use trying to hide it, that scream had scared him. Seconds later, of course, he was dreadfully abashed of his fear. So stupid, to be afraid for a man who was dreaming. So smegging stupid. And look! The git hadn’t even woken himself up. He was still trapped in the nightmare, now whimpering rather than screaming bloody murder.

            Ha. Served him right, this suffering. Served him right!

            This sentiment resounded so much within him that he voiced it.

            “Serves you right, Lister!” He forced a smirk onto his face, though, still shaken, he’d much rather have worn a frown or wince. “You deserve everything you get.”

            He said the last in a tone that rather begged the question of whom he was trying to convince.

            Lister flinched at the words from behind rapidly twitching eyelids and layers of dreamscape. Rimmer wanted nothing more to do with this nonsense, and decided to leave and give a false, positive report to the mechanoid (quickly, before another scream shook his resolve and broke his power-tripping stride).

            If his games were really harming Listy, he didn’t want to know. No, to be precise, he didn’t care. That was right. Satisfied with his mask of indifference, he left the room now filled with the kind of tortured sounds that any other person, besides Arnold J. Rimmer, would not have been able to ignore or abandon.
~~~~~~~

Lister didn’t know he was dreaming. He didn’t know much of anything except he was uncomfortable, and it was dark.

Blips of light and sound that puzzled him further came in bursts. He wished it would all just stop. He wanted to rest in a quiet place, but something wouldn’t let him reach it.

A solitary voice made the cacophony recede. He couldn’t make sense of the words, but they brought with them a clear image – the first clear picture to be recalled from his damaged memory.

It was Rimmer. He stood alone, the only point of light in the darkness, with a dangerous look in his eyes and something hidden behind his back. He couldn’t understand why, but this vision terrified him. He knew it meant something bad. He knew it meant pain. He knew he had to escape – only there was nowhere to go.

He knew he had to make sure that an unnamed “something” didn’t happen.

“Rimmer…don’t…” He couldn’t say what not to do. He didn’t know what it was.

The suspicious man in front of him grinned cruelly.

            Flashes. Flashes of full color, of the bunk room, of another Rimmer, of a streak of blue that snapped as it stung…then gone.

            Disoriented, Lister saw only the blackness, and the single figure in front of him again. He felt there had been something more, but could not grasp it, and focused again on the malicious entity about to do him harm. He could sense it. This felt familiar.

            “Lister?” The man said softly, disarmingly. Then suddenly from behind his back a streak of blue leapt forward, scorching his head. It burned, first hot and quickly, then loud and cold on the other side of his skull. Lister felt to his knees and reeled from the pain.

            Flashes. Bunk room. Tied down. Helpless. Dark. Screaming for help. The feel of his clothes being removed.

            Gone again. Blackness. Rimmer.

            Fear gripped him. It was happening. That thing. The nameless thing that had to be averted. The thing that could never happen. The thing that he had to be careful of. The thing he knew he wouldn’t survive.

            “…Don’t hurt  …me…” he pleaded.

            “Hurt you?” The man replied with a sinister grin on his face.

            He’s playing with me, Lister thought. He’ll play with me and then he’ll…

            Flashes. Brighter now. Clearer. Trapped. Clothes tangled. Rimmer reaching around to grab his cock. The press of something from behind. Crying out. No no no no no….a pain worse than anything that he’d felt before. Rimmer’s arms holding him down.

            Then gone.

            He had been screaming. He couldn’t remember why.

            He was back in the dark place, only now there was a blurry background superimposed over it. Like he sat in the doorway between two worlds.

            He looked down. He saw himself, separate from himself, lying on the floor. He was being violated by a shadowy version of the man who still stood in front of him. Wait, who was where, and where was he, and what did it mean?

            The man spoke, with venom, his eyes on the shadowy rape unfolding below.

            “Serves you right, Lister!” He looked up at the real Lister, his expression unmoved. “You deserve everything you get.”

            The dark environment disappeared, and the shadows cleared. Confused dreaming gave way to valid memory. Lister recognized where he was. The Hologram Simulation Suite on Red Dwarf.

            He was here to watch Rimmer’s dreams. He often came here when he wasn’t drunk enough to sleep yet and had nothing better to do. It was fascinating, really. To see all the little thoughts that made up the neurotic mess he affectionately thought of as Smeghead.

            This dream, though, as it played on the screen, had his adrenaline pumping.

            It wasn’t strange for Rimmer to have dreams about him. He’d seen quite a few, but none like this.

            He watched, stunned, as his likeness was tied down, raped, holo-whipped, beaten, and subsequently left for dead in their bunk room by none other than Arnold Judas Rimmer.

            This was no simple dream, this was a personal vendetta. The man was a smegging maniac. Lister felt abused, to be thought of this way, even in a dream. Rimmer was psychotic, obviously. This wasn’t normal. He had to guard his own safety. He had to turn off the projection unit, shut Rimmer down.

            His hand on the lever to cut power to the hologram, he paused to consider. Intentions aside, the man couldn’t harm him. Not really. He didn’t have a body. If he was alive, that’d be another story. He’d be a danger, he’d have to be quarantined. But as a projection of light? He was harmless. It would be silly to shut him down now. Cowardly. Lister managed to convince himself of this after careful deliberation.

            Smeg, it was just a dream, he told himself. He was safe. He released his hold on the lever and got up to leave. His interest in this room had been diminished somewhat.

            The memory became fainter, though the feeling of terror did not.

            Another memory bubbled up from the depths of his subconscious, this one less clear.

            Rimmer approaching him…an intense fear…dizziness in his head…falling down…knowing that if the madman touched him, he would surely re-enact his dark desire…hands on him…and the words he woke up repeating, over and over again.

            “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me…”

            Eyes open, Lister surveyed his premises, thankful to be alone.

            In trying desperately to merge his recovered memories with reality, he was sure of only one thing. He felt certain he’d been taken advantage of.

            What had Rimmer done to him?

Comments

[dauphkantus.livejournal.com]

*gurgles and mouths and gasps like a newly caught and suffocating fish*
ARGH MIND FUCK WHAT? x_x;

[tsukinobun.livejournal.com]

yeah, 'mind fuck' is a very apt description of what's going on here. this chapter was always gonna be a strange one. now it's over, the rest should start to fall into place.

*should*.

...I hope.

^_^'

[dauphkantus.livejournal.com]

*gives you a heart balloon for hope*

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3