reddwarfslash | Fic: Fore! PG-13

Title: Fore!
Rating: PG-13, for implications
Disclaimer: I don't own the concepts and characters of Red Dwarf, and I profit nary a cent from writing about them.
Spoilers: Up through VI
Notes: I had to write one of the scenarios referenced in Living Memory, by

kahvi.
Beta: The inimitable

kahvi.
Summary: Another day, another leak in everyone's favorite doll...

Rimmer strode down the corridor, his back straight, his head up, his hair gelled into firm, unalterable place. His right arm swung purposefully at his side; his left held a small cardboard box, creased and battered, but intact.

Once he reached the tiny room at the back of the 'Bug, he slapped the Close switch and waited for the door to hiss shut. After looking around the room, peering into the few nooks it offered, he set the box down in the middle of the dank, grimy floor, and lifted the lid. The mound of plastic inside was initially shapeless, but as he huffed into the small tube inset into one side of it, it began to take shape. He mentally congratulated himself for keeping his non-essential breathing muscles toned by heaving deep, disapproving sighs around Lister.

Once it was fully inflated, the missile-tip breasts and wide-mouthed stare complete, he closed the tube and stood. An ever-so-slight flatulent noise came from the doll, and he gave it a reproachful glance before looking into the murky water of the tank. He flared his cavernous nostrils at it; the water had been recycled far too many times, and had far too much lager in it. But this was his only option.

He dunked the doll into the tank, and a stream of brown bubbles immediately revealed the puncture. He put one finger over the hole in her side, and the stream stopped. His vulture smile faded, however, as he noted a smaller, but steady, stream coming from the vicinity of her foot.

"Smeg!" he ejaculated, exasperated. "Stupid smegging smegger lager-swilling smeghead..." He pulled Rachel out, brown water running out of her many crevices, and stared at her willing mouth. Two punctures, and only one patch left in the repair kit. What to do?

"Man," Cat sighed, "This water is disgusting." He set the glass back down, glaring at its utter lack of water-like transparency.

"Yeah, that's why I just drink lager," Lister replied, popping the top on the can. He licked off the foam that collected around the tab, then took a deep, satisfying draught.

"We need to find more," Cat said, leaning back grumpily with his arms crossed. "That's been recycled more times than the prezzie goalpost-head gives you for Christmas, Easter, and your birthday."

"It's not just the urine," Lister sighed. "It's the plastic."

"Say wha?"

"Rimmer uses the water tank to find punctures." Lister shook his head, thinking about Rachel and what, other than plastic, might be leaching into the water supply. "I've told him a million times, but he always sneaks off and..."

"Punctures in what?" A look of horror crossed Cat's face, and he quicky added, "Never mind. Don't tell me." He shook his body, as if bad thoughts could be shed like water. Maybe they could, for Cat, Lister pondered. "Man."

"I'm gonna get back at him, though," Lister said, grinnning. "He's going to hook up to the main computer tonight to transfer over the new pile he got at the last derilict..."

"Pile?" Cat asked. "I can get him one. Two. Twenty."

"Nah, not that kind," Lister corrected. "I offered to take a dump in his bee meself, but then Kryten told me all about this thing. It's a little pack of atoms, see, and they run around with their noses in the air like a bucha little Rimmers, making power for his bee. They last a good long time, but Kryten said this new one has more... neuteronomys, and lasts longer. Anyway - while he's hooked up, I'm gonna..." He looked around the room, then motioned to Cat and whispered in the feline's ear.

Cat shook his head. "You monkeys are strange."

Rimmer felt a particular spring in his step as he strode, manfully, his boots ringing against the metal of the deck with a pleasing tone. He could feel the extra energy of the new atomic pile - quite fitting, he decided. Certainly, Kryten may try to tell him it was all in his mind, and the new pile would simply last longer rather than delivering any extra energy - but what would a cleaning droid know about atomic piles, anyway? Rimmer was certain he had read somwhere that better piles delivered more energy, so he transferred that energy to the manliness of his walk, and was pleased.

"Oi, smeghead!" Lister said, leaning against the door to his quarters. A smile was dancing at the corners of his mouth.

"Hello, Listy! Notice anything different?"

"Erm... yeah, man, I sure do." The smile had spread, now, and was in full gerbil-cheek mode. Lister was not normally one to admire Rimmer's more regimental qualities, but perhaps the man was changing for the better? Perhaps the added energy of the new pile lent Rimmer a certain authoritative glow?

Rimmer tugged his shirt down. "How could you not? Very impressive, don't you think?"

"Mm.. a bit. Something I hain't seen before, that's for sure."

Rimmer suddenly noticed something. Lister was not meeting his eyes. His gaze was creeping upwards, more towards Rimmer's forehead, and Rimmer knew what that meant - Lister was planning a prank. Smeg, Lister must have done something to Rimmer's room while he was offline! Well, the smegger wasn't going to succeed; Rimmer would see to that. "Lister... I know you're up to something."

"Ye do?"

"I do, and let me tell you, miladdio - that's simply not going to work." Rimmer leaned in closer. "I'm on to you."

Lister still would not meet Rimmer's eyes. "Yep," he said to the vicinity of Rimmer's H, "I know ye are."

Rimmer stomped back to his room, double time. He checked under his bunk - no strange GELF animals waiting to snap at his heels. He checked his sheets - no mousetraps hidden at the end of the bed. He opened his precious cedar chest, the one he found on the wrecked cruise ship and kept his most valuable possessions in, and tenderly retrieved Rachel (reparied on the side with a rubber patch, and at the heel with duct tape). He noted that she was structurally sound, and her face had not been replaced with that of his own mother. Rimmer looked at the minature figurines on his table; none had been dunked willy-nilly in paint, none were engaged in obscene acts with their neighbors.

Rimmer looked around the room again, not seeing anything out of place or remotely resembling a trip-wire. What was Lister's trick this time?

He rubbed his forehead, and his hand hit something unexpected.

With a growing sense of horror, Rimmer ran into the small bathroom he only used to perfect his hairdo, and stared, openmouthed, at his reflection. His penis dangled limply from his forehead, resting on his testicles (as smooth as two fresh eggs - he had just shaved that morning), the trio protruding with a sad attempt at majesty from just above the crossbar of his H.

"Total... smegging..." Rimmer staggered back out into his room, his mind whirling. He sat down at his desk. What could he do? How could he remedy this? How could he cope with the fact that Lister had seen him... something somewhat like naked? And he had been limp, which made him look smaller than he really was, which was none to large to start with...

Frustration overcame his common sense, and Rimmer slammed his head down onto his desk in despair.

Up in Starbug's kitchen, Cat paused in his rifling of the cupboards and cocked his head, wondering at the source of the high-pitched howl that drifted through the ship.