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reddwarfslash2010-06-27 08:46 pm
kahvi.livejournal.com) wrote in reddwarfslash2010-06-27 08:46 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Dear John - R/L (imp) - PG - Part 2/?
Title: Dear John
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), other
Rating: PG, for this part
Disclaimer: I don't even own the fictional series IX and X of Red Dwarf. I make no money from this fannish venture.
Notes: This is part 2/? - part 1 is here. Dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
smaych, who is both an Arnold and a John. <3
John Julius Rimmer, the station’s records showed, had been recruited from Space Corps science division specifically for the hard light project. His innovative and unconventional work in the field of experimental physics had caught the attention of the project’s managers; representatives from a group of various corporations, some medical, some biotech, some from industries Lister had never even heard of. Rimmer’s brother had been cherry picked and relocated shortly after the project's inception. That was the point at which Lister had stopped reading, though Rimmer remained hunched over the printouts Kryten had provided, his brow furrowing almost in on itself.
"You realize what this means?"
Rimmer ignored him, burrowing further into the printouts.
"The Space Corps only operates within the solar system! If they could get John..."
Rimmer looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"...relocated from wherever he was, it had to have been close enough that he could get from there to here without going into stasis!"
Pulling the final sheet out of his mouth and biting it cleanly off, Kryten nodded. "Not an unreasonable assumption, sir."
"Well, do ya get what this means, man?" Turning the wastepaper basket over and jumping on top of it, Lister grabbed the top of Kryten's head, giving it a big, wet kiss. "We're getting closer! We're still on route!"
"Oh, for smeg's sake," Rimmer grumbled, shifting so he faced the wall.
"Earth, man!" Jumping down, Lister leaned down to whoop into Rimmer's ear. He was rewarded by nothing more than an irritated shiver.
Kryten smiled conspiratorily. "I've managed to locate the kitchens, sir. They were virtually fully stocked. I know it's only Monday, but might I suggest..." He wiggled his lack of eyebrows meaningfully.
"Curry night?"
Waking from his slumber at Lister's feet, Cat rose, abruptly. "Tonight? But I didn't bring anything that goes with Masala!"
"I could make it Vindaloo, if that would help?"
Wordlessly, as Cat rushed off muttering something about cumin, Lister embraced the mechanoid in a hug.
It really wasn't such a bad nightclub, all things considered. Before they'd found Kryten, and while Cat was still vary enough to startle and run away the odd time he came across the humans, Lister would spend much of his free time - which was more or less all of his time - at Parrot's, Red Dwarf's enlisted men's bar. Parrot's was the sort of place you went because you had absolutely nowhere else to go, and everything about it reflected that fact, from the tacky décor to the piss-poor selection of beer, which, as Petersen had pointed out, also was an indication of its flavor. It made sense; with no need to lure in customers, why make more than a minimum of effort with anything?
The three of them had started out in the communal restaurant, Kryten taking over the kitchens and cooking a three course Indian meal. Rimmer had stayed behind, refusing to budge from the printouts and reports he was pouring over. Lister hadn’t wanted to press the issue; this was probably Rimmer’s way of dealing with the sudden reminder that his brother was dead. Yeah, he’d known all along, but it was like his father all over again, wasn’t it? Knowledge at the back of your mind is one thing; an actual, tangible reminder quite another. Give the man some time to deal. This place wasn’t going anywhere.
Partway through dessert, Cat had bored of the proceedings, and wandered off. Lister had dragged a weakly protesting Kryten here, where the mechanoid had promptly shut down after two high quality mechano-shots from the robot bartender. It was just a mechanical arm mounted on the bar, which was probably why it was still working. No, this place was nothing like Parrot’s. For one thing; the glasses they gave you were still relatively clean after three million years, while Parrot’s barely managed ‘see-through’ on a good day. This place was class.
Downing his seventh neon-colored drink, Lister licked his lips thoughtfully. He’d taken Kris to Parrot’s, on one of their first, and by nature of their relationship also last, dates. It hadn’t been an unmitigated success; a dead-drunk Petersen had attached himself to them by the end of the evening, and ended up throwing up over Lister’s shoes. Could have been worse though. Could have been Kris’s shoes. And anyway, it hadn’t put her off. That’s the sort of lady she was. Class. The sort of person who belonged here, in this club; on this station. There was no way a place like this would even let Petersen in the door, or Lister, for that matter. No, this place belonged to people like Kris. Like Rimmer’s brother.
Lister frowned, looking into his mysteriously empty glass. It had been full a moment ago. He wanted to order another, but there were far too many consonants in the items on the menu swimming in front of his eyes. Rimmer’s brother. Now there was a thing. You couldn’t deny them being related after seeing that face of the vid, but that just made it all the weirder. How could anyone related to that smegpot be considered a desirable employee, much less an asset valuable enough to be headhunted specifically for a project? Sure, Ace had said it was just a matter of missed opportunities, but even so. The guy in the vid had looked mellow, amicable; almost attractive. Letting the glass roll quietly to the floor, Lister got up. He’d clearly had at least one too many. Time to find a place to crash for the night.
They had taken a brief tour of the residential area before heading out to eat; it would take more than a day to stock up, and in any case the facilities here were much better than what the ‘bug had to offer. Even Rimmer had agreed they would be better off sleeping here, though Lister suspected he would have agreed to anything to be allowed to keep his eyes glued to those reports just a little while longer. Smeg knew what he thought he could find in there; maybe he was hoping the experimental drive had some advantage to his own. He’d be out of luck there; Kryten had told Lister that the last time the drive had been tested, the resulting explosion had accidentally excavated a space in the rock walls large enough to build a brand new laundry facility.
Intent on enjoying the rare luxury of being able to avoid Rimmer, Lister tried to give the office the hologram was holed up in a wide berth, but all the little rooms looked exactly the same. He was starting to think he'd doubled back on himself when he was shoved, violently, against the corridor wall. Lister turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of blue metallic uniform disappearing around the corner. Still reeling from the blow, the alcohol in his system not helping, he took a few uncertain steps in the direction Rimmer had stormed off.
"Rimmer?"
No reply came. Lister bit his lip. Rimmer never got angry. Not actually angry; he got exasperated, he bristled; he got irritated and annoyed. But actual, blind rage? That was new. And this had been rage. Even from that brief encounter, you could almost smell it. Slowly, Lister turned his head in the opposite direction, expecting anything from a herd of slavering GELF-dogs to cleaning robots gone mad following, but there was nothing. Not even a whisper. No, actually, there was a whisper. He followed the sound, nervously.
"Hello?"
"…is dangerous to muck about with, but what do you expect from the lab monkeys they employ in this place? I couldn't tell you how many times..."
Sniggering, Lister turned the corner. Of course; the vid was still running in John's office! The sound was on now though. Curious, Lister stepped inside, settling into the almost-comfortable chair. He spent a few minutes fiddling with the on-screen controls before finding the timer, fast forward and reverse. The tape had been running for just under an hour. Well. Whatever had produced that reaction from Rimmer would be worth sitting through. Lister pressed the auto-rewind button, fished the emergency can of lager he’d taken at the restaurant out of his pocket, and leaned back in anticipation.
Twenty minutes later, he was starting to rethink the idea. So far, the diary had been nothing but vague ramblings about calculations, rants about other researchers and their work routines, the occasional cursing of something or someone called “Schrödinger”, and speculations about why their latest test had failed. John’s rants were never as vitriolic or childish as Rimmer’s, and he seemed to have a sense of humor and a good helping of common sense, but despite the age difference, the physical resemblance was uncanny. The vid was not, as Lister had first expected, a research diary - this became evident when John began an entry with a long diatribe about someone named Saunders who evidently kept messing with the margins of the actual research diary, apparently a physical document. He was on about this again now, staring angrily at the camera, nostrils flaring in an eerily familiar fashion.
“It’s a legal document! Keeping it up to date is part of our jobs, not that Saunders ever read his actual job description. I saw him working on it the other night, and he was using a non-standard ruler! We’re provided with standardized rulers; there’s a reason for that, which I tried to explain, but he just laughed at me.”
John smiled, startling Lister, who had been expecting a snort or a scathing comment.
“Smeg, listen to me, going on. It’s so easy to get hung up on the little things when you’re stuck in here.” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “Despite the excellent selection of restaurants and leisure facilities.” John laughed, softly, running his hands over his short-cropped hair.
Lister shook his head. Unbelievable. How were these two even related?
“We’re supposed to be making scientific breakthroughs, and I’m here complaining about people not keeping the contents page up to date, and crossing things out. Though crossing things out is really unacceptable in lab diaries, and I feel I’ve a right to complain about it. It's like being back in school, for smeg's sake; next the lab techs will be putting my ruler in liquid nitrogen to make all the centimeters smaller. Not that I'm bitter.” John laughed, a slightly desperate tone sneaking into it, then banged his head against the keyboard repeatedly. For quite a while, he just lay there, and Lister was beginning to worry that he’d actually died. That would have explained Rimmer’s reaction. Eventually, however, an arm rose up to turn the camera off. The screen blinked, and a new entry started up.
“Even negative results are useful.”
John’s face, suddenly looking older, though the time-stamp noted it was the following day, regarded Lister with tired eyes.
“That’s what I keep telling myself. Negative can be useful. So I suppose the fact that we’ve melted three prototypes to a state beyond repair, permanently damaged the auxiliary power supply and blown up parts of the actual station should have some sort of benefit.” John sighed, resting his head in one hand and drumming the fingers of his other on the table. “I don’t know. I’ve never been one of nature’s optimists.”
Lister giggled.
“McCole keeps pushing for what she calls 'human trials', but frankly, I don't see the point. We'd have to embed the personality simulation in the bee, and if things go belly up again, that's one ridiculously expensive personality construct wasted. I mean, even the discs are a couple of dollarpounds shy of my yearly salary."
Remembering Kryten's words, Lister grit his teeth in sympathy. They must have tried anyway, and whichever poor hologram had been in there at the time had been fried like a Scottish snickers bar.
"Though I suppose if they want to waste their money, so be it. It's not like an actual person is involved."
Ouch. Lister grimaced. That would have set Rimmer off, certainly, but hadn't he always said his brothers didn't like him? Surely this would only be some perverted extension of that. No, Lister thought, leaning in closer, taking another sip of his beer, there had to be something more...
He fast-forwarded through some segments that were mostly John going over the same calculations again and again, using a digital blackboard. Not all of the entries had been recorded in the office; in some, the background showed a small table and a couple of rickety chairs, a fake window, and even a meticulously made bed with pristine sheets. In some of those recordings, like the one running now, Lister could sometimes see movement around the edges of the picture. Someone was in the room with John. Lister stopped the tape, staring at the silhouette.
Curious, Lister pressed 'play' once again, pressing his face close to the screen. When the silhouette suddenly flashed into the foreground, Lister nearly fell off his chair.
"You still going, then?" It was a broad, cheerful face, eyes light blue and grinning. It looked into the camera, pushing John playfully away.
"Smeg off, Saunders."
This was Saunders, then. Lister quirked a smile. There was something refreshingly familiar about this situation.
"John has to go to bed now," Saunders told the camera, fending the still-struggling John off. "He's been up 'til 4 AM every night for the last week, and some of us actually enjoy sleeping."
"I'll use the subvocalizer. You know I do."
"I can still hear you pacing!"
"It's work, you twonk; it's more important than your beauty-sleep!"
That tone of voice made Lister laugh out loud; it was exactly the one Rimmer used to wake him when he was late for a shift! Small universe, wasn't it?
"I'm turning the camera off."
"Like smeg you are!"
Grinning from ear to ear, Lister followed the on-screen scuffle, shouting out advice and not really knowing who to root for. John was putting up a good fight, finally managing to pin Saunders's hands behind his back. Recognizing the look on Saunders's face, however, Lister didn't think he was home free just yet.
"There. Now give up, like a good little boy."
For a moment, it looked like Saunders was about to do just that. Then, just as John opened his mouth, presumably to declare victory, Saunders shot forth and kissed him, roughly.
Lister's lager fell to the floor with a dull 'clank'.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister (implied), other
Rating: PG, for this part
Disclaimer: I don't even own the fictional series IX and X of Red Dwarf. I make no money from this fannish venture.
Notes: This is part 2/? - part 1 is here. Dedicated to
smaych, who is both an Arnold and a John. <3John Julius Rimmer, the station’s records showed, had been recruited from Space Corps science division specifically for the hard light project. His innovative and unconventional work in the field of experimental physics had caught the attention of the project’s managers; representatives from a group of various corporations, some medical, some biotech, some from industries Lister had never even heard of. Rimmer’s brother had been cherry picked and relocated shortly after the project's inception. That was the point at which Lister had stopped reading, though Rimmer remained hunched over the printouts Kryten had provided, his brow furrowing almost in on itself.
"You realize what this means?"
Rimmer ignored him, burrowing further into the printouts.
"The Space Corps only operates within the solar system! If they could get John..."
Rimmer looked up, one eyebrow slightly raised.
"...relocated from wherever he was, it had to have been close enough that he could get from there to here without going into stasis!"
Pulling the final sheet out of his mouth and biting it cleanly off, Kryten nodded. "Not an unreasonable assumption, sir."
"Well, do ya get what this means, man?" Turning the wastepaper basket over and jumping on top of it, Lister grabbed the top of Kryten's head, giving it a big, wet kiss. "We're getting closer! We're still on route!"
"Oh, for smeg's sake," Rimmer grumbled, shifting so he faced the wall.
"Earth, man!" Jumping down, Lister leaned down to whoop into Rimmer's ear. He was rewarded by nothing more than an irritated shiver.
Kryten smiled conspiratorily. "I've managed to locate the kitchens, sir. They were virtually fully stocked. I know it's only Monday, but might I suggest..." He wiggled his lack of eyebrows meaningfully.
"Curry night?"
Waking from his slumber at Lister's feet, Cat rose, abruptly. "Tonight? But I didn't bring anything that goes with Masala!"
"I could make it Vindaloo, if that would help?"
Wordlessly, as Cat rushed off muttering something about cumin, Lister embraced the mechanoid in a hug.
It really wasn't such a bad nightclub, all things considered. Before they'd found Kryten, and while Cat was still vary enough to startle and run away the odd time he came across the humans, Lister would spend much of his free time - which was more or less all of his time - at Parrot's, Red Dwarf's enlisted men's bar. Parrot's was the sort of place you went because you had absolutely nowhere else to go, and everything about it reflected that fact, from the tacky décor to the piss-poor selection of beer, which, as Petersen had pointed out, also was an indication of its flavor. It made sense; with no need to lure in customers, why make more than a minimum of effort with anything?
The three of them had started out in the communal restaurant, Kryten taking over the kitchens and cooking a three course Indian meal. Rimmer had stayed behind, refusing to budge from the printouts and reports he was pouring over. Lister hadn’t wanted to press the issue; this was probably Rimmer’s way of dealing with the sudden reminder that his brother was dead. Yeah, he’d known all along, but it was like his father all over again, wasn’t it? Knowledge at the back of your mind is one thing; an actual, tangible reminder quite another. Give the man some time to deal. This place wasn’t going anywhere.
Partway through dessert, Cat had bored of the proceedings, and wandered off. Lister had dragged a weakly protesting Kryten here, where the mechanoid had promptly shut down after two high quality mechano-shots from the robot bartender. It was just a mechanical arm mounted on the bar, which was probably why it was still working. No, this place was nothing like Parrot’s. For one thing; the glasses they gave you were still relatively clean after three million years, while Parrot’s barely managed ‘see-through’ on a good day. This place was class.
Downing his seventh neon-colored drink, Lister licked his lips thoughtfully. He’d taken Kris to Parrot’s, on one of their first, and by nature of their relationship also last, dates. It hadn’t been an unmitigated success; a dead-drunk Petersen had attached himself to them by the end of the evening, and ended up throwing up over Lister’s shoes. Could have been worse though. Could have been Kris’s shoes. And anyway, it hadn’t put her off. That’s the sort of lady she was. Class. The sort of person who belonged here, in this club; on this station. There was no way a place like this would even let Petersen in the door, or Lister, for that matter. No, this place belonged to people like Kris. Like Rimmer’s brother.
Lister frowned, looking into his mysteriously empty glass. It had been full a moment ago. He wanted to order another, but there were far too many consonants in the items on the menu swimming in front of his eyes. Rimmer’s brother. Now there was a thing. You couldn’t deny them being related after seeing that face of the vid, but that just made it all the weirder. How could anyone related to that smegpot be considered a desirable employee, much less an asset valuable enough to be headhunted specifically for a project? Sure, Ace had said it was just a matter of missed opportunities, but even so. The guy in the vid had looked mellow, amicable; almost attractive. Letting the glass roll quietly to the floor, Lister got up. He’d clearly had at least one too many. Time to find a place to crash for the night.
They had taken a brief tour of the residential area before heading out to eat; it would take more than a day to stock up, and in any case the facilities here were much better than what the ‘bug had to offer. Even Rimmer had agreed they would be better off sleeping here, though Lister suspected he would have agreed to anything to be allowed to keep his eyes glued to those reports just a little while longer. Smeg knew what he thought he could find in there; maybe he was hoping the experimental drive had some advantage to his own. He’d be out of luck there; Kryten had told Lister that the last time the drive had been tested, the resulting explosion had accidentally excavated a space in the rock walls large enough to build a brand new laundry facility.
Intent on enjoying the rare luxury of being able to avoid Rimmer, Lister tried to give the office the hologram was holed up in a wide berth, but all the little rooms looked exactly the same. He was starting to think he'd doubled back on himself when he was shoved, violently, against the corridor wall. Lister turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of blue metallic uniform disappearing around the corner. Still reeling from the blow, the alcohol in his system not helping, he took a few uncertain steps in the direction Rimmer had stormed off.
"Rimmer?"
No reply came. Lister bit his lip. Rimmer never got angry. Not actually angry; he got exasperated, he bristled; he got irritated and annoyed. But actual, blind rage? That was new. And this had been rage. Even from that brief encounter, you could almost smell it. Slowly, Lister turned his head in the opposite direction, expecting anything from a herd of slavering GELF-dogs to cleaning robots gone mad following, but there was nothing. Not even a whisper. No, actually, there was a whisper. He followed the sound, nervously.
"Hello?"
"…is dangerous to muck about with, but what do you expect from the lab monkeys they employ in this place? I couldn't tell you how many times..."
Sniggering, Lister turned the corner. Of course; the vid was still running in John's office! The sound was on now though. Curious, Lister stepped inside, settling into the almost-comfortable chair. He spent a few minutes fiddling with the on-screen controls before finding the timer, fast forward and reverse. The tape had been running for just under an hour. Well. Whatever had produced that reaction from Rimmer would be worth sitting through. Lister pressed the auto-rewind button, fished the emergency can of lager he’d taken at the restaurant out of his pocket, and leaned back in anticipation.
Twenty minutes later, he was starting to rethink the idea. So far, the diary had been nothing but vague ramblings about calculations, rants about other researchers and their work routines, the occasional cursing of something or someone called “Schrödinger”, and speculations about why their latest test had failed. John’s rants were never as vitriolic or childish as Rimmer’s, and he seemed to have a sense of humor and a good helping of common sense, but despite the age difference, the physical resemblance was uncanny. The vid was not, as Lister had first expected, a research diary - this became evident when John began an entry with a long diatribe about someone named Saunders who evidently kept messing with the margins of the actual research diary, apparently a physical document. He was on about this again now, staring angrily at the camera, nostrils flaring in an eerily familiar fashion.
“It’s a legal document! Keeping it up to date is part of our jobs, not that Saunders ever read his actual job description. I saw him working on it the other night, and he was using a non-standard ruler! We’re provided with standardized rulers; there’s a reason for that, which I tried to explain, but he just laughed at me.”
John smiled, startling Lister, who had been expecting a snort or a scathing comment.
“Smeg, listen to me, going on. It’s so easy to get hung up on the little things when you’re stuck in here.” He raised a mocking eyebrow. “Despite the excellent selection of restaurants and leisure facilities.” John laughed, softly, running his hands over his short-cropped hair.
Lister shook his head. Unbelievable. How were these two even related?
“We’re supposed to be making scientific breakthroughs, and I’m here complaining about people not keeping the contents page up to date, and crossing things out. Though crossing things out is really unacceptable in lab diaries, and I feel I’ve a right to complain about it. It's like being back in school, for smeg's sake; next the lab techs will be putting my ruler in liquid nitrogen to make all the centimeters smaller. Not that I'm bitter.” John laughed, a slightly desperate tone sneaking into it, then banged his head against the keyboard repeatedly. For quite a while, he just lay there, and Lister was beginning to worry that he’d actually died. That would have explained Rimmer’s reaction. Eventually, however, an arm rose up to turn the camera off. The screen blinked, and a new entry started up.
“Even negative results are useful.”
John’s face, suddenly looking older, though the time-stamp noted it was the following day, regarded Lister with tired eyes.
“That’s what I keep telling myself. Negative can be useful. So I suppose the fact that we’ve melted three prototypes to a state beyond repair, permanently damaged the auxiliary power supply and blown up parts of the actual station should have some sort of benefit.” John sighed, resting his head in one hand and drumming the fingers of his other on the table. “I don’t know. I’ve never been one of nature’s optimists.”
Lister giggled.
“McCole keeps pushing for what she calls 'human trials', but frankly, I don't see the point. We'd have to embed the personality simulation in the bee, and if things go belly up again, that's one ridiculously expensive personality construct wasted. I mean, even the discs are a couple of dollarpounds shy of my yearly salary."
Remembering Kryten's words, Lister grit his teeth in sympathy. They must have tried anyway, and whichever poor hologram had been in there at the time had been fried like a Scottish snickers bar.
"Though I suppose if they want to waste their money, so be it. It's not like an actual person is involved."
Ouch. Lister grimaced. That would have set Rimmer off, certainly, but hadn't he always said his brothers didn't like him? Surely this would only be some perverted extension of that. No, Lister thought, leaning in closer, taking another sip of his beer, there had to be something more...
He fast-forwarded through some segments that were mostly John going over the same calculations again and again, using a digital blackboard. Not all of the entries had been recorded in the office; in some, the background showed a small table and a couple of rickety chairs, a fake window, and even a meticulously made bed with pristine sheets. In some of those recordings, like the one running now, Lister could sometimes see movement around the edges of the picture. Someone was in the room with John. Lister stopped the tape, staring at the silhouette.
Curious, Lister pressed 'play' once again, pressing his face close to the screen. When the silhouette suddenly flashed into the foreground, Lister nearly fell off his chair.
"You still going, then?" It was a broad, cheerful face, eyes light blue and grinning. It looked into the camera, pushing John playfully away.
"Smeg off, Saunders."
This was Saunders, then. Lister quirked a smile. There was something refreshingly familiar about this situation.
"John has to go to bed now," Saunders told the camera, fending the still-struggling John off. "He's been up 'til 4 AM every night for the last week, and some of us actually enjoy sleeping."
"I'll use the subvocalizer. You know I do."
"I can still hear you pacing!"
"It's work, you twonk; it's more important than your beauty-sleep!"
That tone of voice made Lister laugh out loud; it was exactly the one Rimmer used to wake him when he was late for a shift! Small universe, wasn't it?
"I'm turning the camera off."
"Like smeg you are!"
Grinning from ear to ear, Lister followed the on-screen scuffle, shouting out advice and not really knowing who to root for. John was putting up a good fight, finally managing to pin Saunders's hands behind his back. Recognizing the look on Saunders's face, however, Lister didn't think he was home free just yet.
"There. Now give up, like a good little boy."
For a moment, it looked like Saunders was about to do just that. Then, just as John opened his mouth, presumably to declare victory, Saunders shot forth and kissed him, roughly.
Lister's lager fell to the floor with a dull 'clank'.
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Love it! Very intrigued as to what happens next.
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I hope you'll like the rest of it too. :)
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That is all.
I am looking forward to more of this.
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