Fic: Home - R/L - PG-13
Apr. 30th, 2006 08:44 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
kahvi.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashTitle: Home
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG, but very dark indeed
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, despite the time I spend working with it. And no money made from it either! *am sane, am sane*
Spoilers: Pretty much everything. Set post series VIII
Notes:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
roadstergal posted "Worlds", and well, what could I do? The plot came to me quite easily, but I'm not entirely sure about the implementation. Concrit makes me happy! Written as part of the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.
“You can’t fix everything, Dave. That’d your problem. You see something you think is wrong, and you dive in nose first; trying to make it all better. But life doesn’t always work like that, you know.”
They were sitting in Starbug’s cramped cockpit. Krissie’s hand was on his cheek, and Lister wished with all his painful, hurting guts that she would just take it the hell away, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. He couldn’t think, except in broken, frustrated fragments. His body still felt numb from the stasis they’d been in for who knows how long; decades probably. At least they were safely away from Red Dwarf. If only they knew where they were headed, now. If only he knew where he was headed.
“I’m honored that you chose to tell me this; obviously you’ve been keeping it holed up inside for too long.” She smiled, not the pinball smile he’d so loved in her alternate self, but a cheap, DollarPound Shop replica that made him slightly ill. “But even if he isn’t dead he went off to be Ace for a reason, Dave. Let him be. This doesn’t need you fixing it.”
Yeah, he thought. You think you know, do you? I wonder if you’d be so wonderfully loving and understanding if you knew even the half of it. He’d told her about Rimmer being Ace because he’d been brooding, and she’d asked. It was only an honest answer to an honest question, albiet not a complete one. He grunted, noncommittally.
Kristine moved even closer, her intent sparkling clearly in her eyes. Lister turned his head, and started picking at the loose synthi-leather covering of the joystick in front of him. Kris coughed a little, seeming almost startled. “Yes, well,” she mumbled. “It’s been a long day.” Straightening her top in a way that was almost painfully familiar, she got up, looking rather dignified. “Just think about what I said, will you?” A hand reached out to touch his shoulder, but everything in Lister’s body-language screamed ‘no fucking way’, and Kristine, being an intelligent woman, most of the time, let it fall, limply. Instead, she sighed. “I know the two of you had something… A friendship, whatever. But he’s gone, Dave; this is getting ridiculous. From what Kryten says you two didn’t get along any better than that jerk we left back on the Dwarf! I mean, honestly, don’t you think that…”
“I smegging LOVED him, you stupid cow!” Lister turned, his eyes laser-beams of rage and hurt. “I LOVE him!” He was shaking; trembling, only half-aware of what he was doing, as he jumped out of the seat, advancing towards her as though in a drunken daze. Kristine, shock and confusion on her face, made a sort of yelping sound, and backed awkwardly towards the exit, and god only knows, Lister often thought when remembering this incident in later years, what might have happened had not the all-too-familiar sound of a Dimension Jump engine emerging into being at that point boomed across the cockpit.
Lister couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the airlock. He must have ran, because he was panting even before the door opened; even before he had time to think anything at all. He was sweating, his mouth dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth like a stubborn, tasteless liquorish allsort. Kristine must have given permission to dock, because soon air started hissing out of the airlock door, and a figure in a bacofoil flight suit emerged, looking quite dazed.
Lister’s face fell. It wasn’t his Rimmer. This face was leaner, unflatteringly so, and there was no glimmer of recognition in those too-brown-not-green-enough eyes. Moreover, Lister noticed, his wig was on crooked, leaning lop-sided to the left. Lister swallowed. This wasn’t his Rimmer. But that could only mean…
The Ace coughed nervously. “I’m not…” He began, in a voice not-quite Arnold J., not quite Ace.
“He’s dead, isn’t he,” Lister managed, feeling nothing. It was hard enough just trying to think. He stared at the other man, this parody of his, his… Arn, daring him to speak.
“I… We…” Ace fumbled in his pockets, coughing again. Finally, he seemed to find something, but he kept his hand inside, as though uncertain what to do with whatever it was. “That is, Dave and I, my…” He seemed to sample the word. “…Dave, thought you might want this.” He eased his hand out of the pocket very carefully. It was clenched shut, and Lister thought for a moment there was nothing inside; that this was some sort of bizarre, unfunny joke, until Ace opened it, revealing a broken light bee.
The bee lay there, as an offering, balancing neatly in Ace’s somewhat unsteady palm. Lister found he couldn’t take it. His arms hung impotently at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching as though kneading invisible dough.
“The computer wanted me to re-program the ‘home’ button,” Ace mumbled, filling the silence. “But Lister hit it with a wrench and threatened to yank out its voice-circuits if it didn’t take me here first.” He glanced at the bee, then at Lister.
The small, metal casing shook a little as Ace moved, and Lister instinctively reached out to grab it, to stop it from falling. He cupped his hands and moved them slowly towards himself, the realization of what he was holding striking him mercilessly. It was so light. It felt like nothing. Why was it so light?
Ace seemed to notice his wig, and blushed slightly, tugging at it with one hand, only managing to skew it the other way. “I should be leaving,” he said, quietly.
“Why didn’t you put it with the others?” An ocean of Rimmers. Millions of lives and multiple deaths stretching out into a sad, beautiful eternity. How many Listers had stood like this, he wondered, carrying the useless shells of what could have been their lovers in their hands?
The hapless Ace scratched the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable in his ill-fitting clothes. “From what Dave told me, this seemed like the right thing to do.” He paused. “You can take him there, later, if you want. It just… Wasn’t for us to do.” He started walking, uncertainly, back into the airlock. Suddenly, he stopped, his face unreadable. “I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but… He wanted to go home, you know.”
Lister’s eyes didn’t leave the dead metal in his hands. “What?”
“There was a button; co-ordinates all pre-programmed, just needed pushing. It’s how I got here, like I said.” He smiled, sadly. “Not that it was easy to make out what it said; it was more worn down than an adolescent’s sex-sim joystick.”
Lister didn’t reply. What could he say? The bee lay stubbornly still in his hands, not cold nor hot to the touch. He looked up at Ace long enough to nod, and tried to express a ‘thank you’ without words. The other man nodded in kind, and turned around. He too, stared at the bee, expressions jostling for a place on his desperately trying-to-remain-blank face. Something rose in Lister, and he yelled out; “Hey!”
“Yes?” Ace paused, his hand on the airlock button.
“Make sure you program yerself one of them buttons, right? And use it, mind! Don’t…” He closed his hands around the bee that had been Arn, and swallowed. “Don’t do what he did, yeah?”
Ace gave another nod, his lips tight. For a moment, he seemed about to say something, but the doors closed before Lister could hear what it was, or if, indeed, he said anything. Then, there was only silence.
Lister had known that Kristine had been standing behind him for some time. “Don’t you dare say anything,” he fumed, without turning around.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I’m not going to suggest you or Kryten try to fix it. I know he’s dead.”
“I…”
“And don’t say ‘he’s been dead a long time’ – I know that too!”
“Yes, I…”
“I don’t want you looking at it! I don’t want you telling me there might be something we can do!”
“Listen, Dave…”
Lister spun around, furious now. “I just want to be left alone! Just leave me the hell alone!” And Kristine, because she was, quite honestly, a rather intelligent, if stubborn woman, stood aside and let him storm past her.
Lister lay on his bunk, clutching what was left of Arnold Judas Rimmer to his chest, looking at nothing, thinking nothing, and desperately, desperately wanting to feel nothing. He didn’t want to feel the wetness in his eyes, because then he’d start to realize why it was there. He didn’t want to feel the numbness in his legs for lying in the same position too long, because he didn’t want to get up. He particularly didn’t want to feel the odd pulsation near his chest, because he’d only imagine it was something other than his heartbeat; that something else was making it, because the thing he could allow himself to feel least of all was hope. And so he just lay there, ignoring the odd, crackling, stinging pulse hurting his hands, getting more insistent by the minute. He’d deal with that later. Right now, all that mattered was that Arn was here. That whatever else he may be, he was safe.
He was home.
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Rating: PG, but very dark indeed
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf, despite the time I spend working with it. And no money made from it either! *am sane, am sane*
Spoilers: Pretty much everything. Set post series VIII
Notes:
roadstergal posted "Worlds", and well, what could I do? The plot came to me quite easily, but I'm not entirely sure about the implementation. Concrit makes me happy! Written as part of the fanfic100 challenge - my table is here.“You can’t fix everything, Dave. That’d your problem. You see something you think is wrong, and you dive in nose first; trying to make it all better. But life doesn’t always work like that, you know.”
They were sitting in Starbug’s cramped cockpit. Krissie’s hand was on his cheek, and Lister wished with all his painful, hurting guts that she would just take it the hell away, but he didn’t have the energy to do so. He couldn’t think, except in broken, frustrated fragments. His body still felt numb from the stasis they’d been in for who knows how long; decades probably. At least they were safely away from Red Dwarf. If only they knew where they were headed, now. If only he knew where he was headed.
“I’m honored that you chose to tell me this; obviously you’ve been keeping it holed up inside for too long.” She smiled, not the pinball smile he’d so loved in her alternate self, but a cheap, DollarPound Shop replica that made him slightly ill. “But even if he isn’t dead he went off to be Ace for a reason, Dave. Let him be. This doesn’t need you fixing it.”
Yeah, he thought. You think you know, do you? I wonder if you’d be so wonderfully loving and understanding if you knew even the half of it. He’d told her about Rimmer being Ace because he’d been brooding, and she’d asked. It was only an honest answer to an honest question, albiet not a complete one. He grunted, noncommittally.
Kristine moved even closer, her intent sparkling clearly in her eyes. Lister turned his head, and started picking at the loose synthi-leather covering of the joystick in front of him. Kris coughed a little, seeming almost startled. “Yes, well,” she mumbled. “It’s been a long day.” Straightening her top in a way that was almost painfully familiar, she got up, looking rather dignified. “Just think about what I said, will you?” A hand reached out to touch his shoulder, but everything in Lister’s body-language screamed ‘no fucking way’, and Kristine, being an intelligent woman, most of the time, let it fall, limply. Instead, she sighed. “I know the two of you had something… A friendship, whatever. But he’s gone, Dave; this is getting ridiculous. From what Kryten says you two didn’t get along any better than that jerk we left back on the Dwarf! I mean, honestly, don’t you think that…”
“I smegging LOVED him, you stupid cow!” Lister turned, his eyes laser-beams of rage and hurt. “I LOVE him!” He was shaking; trembling, only half-aware of what he was doing, as he jumped out of the seat, advancing towards her as though in a drunken daze. Kristine, shock and confusion on her face, made a sort of yelping sound, and backed awkwardly towards the exit, and god only knows, Lister often thought when remembering this incident in later years, what might have happened had not the all-too-familiar sound of a Dimension Jump engine emerging into being at that point boomed across the cockpit.
Lister couldn’t remember how he’d gotten to the airlock. He must have ran, because he was panting even before the door opened; even before he had time to think anything at all. He was sweating, his mouth dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth like a stubborn, tasteless liquorish allsort. Kristine must have given permission to dock, because soon air started hissing out of the airlock door, and a figure in a bacofoil flight suit emerged, looking quite dazed.
Lister’s face fell. It wasn’t his Rimmer. This face was leaner, unflatteringly so, and there was no glimmer of recognition in those too-brown-not-green-enough eyes. Moreover, Lister noticed, his wig was on crooked, leaning lop-sided to the left. Lister swallowed. This wasn’t his Rimmer. But that could only mean…
The Ace coughed nervously. “I’m not…” He began, in a voice not-quite Arnold J., not quite Ace.
“He’s dead, isn’t he,” Lister managed, feeling nothing. It was hard enough just trying to think. He stared at the other man, this parody of his, his… Arn, daring him to speak.
“I… We…” Ace fumbled in his pockets, coughing again. Finally, he seemed to find something, but he kept his hand inside, as though uncertain what to do with whatever it was. “That is, Dave and I, my…” He seemed to sample the word. “…Dave, thought you might want this.” He eased his hand out of the pocket very carefully. It was clenched shut, and Lister thought for a moment there was nothing inside; that this was some sort of bizarre, unfunny joke, until Ace opened it, revealing a broken light bee.
The bee lay there, as an offering, balancing neatly in Ace’s somewhat unsteady palm. Lister found he couldn’t take it. His arms hung impotently at his sides, his hands clenching and unclenching as though kneading invisible dough.
“The computer wanted me to re-program the ‘home’ button,” Ace mumbled, filling the silence. “But Lister hit it with a wrench and threatened to yank out its voice-circuits if it didn’t take me here first.” He glanced at the bee, then at Lister.
The small, metal casing shook a little as Ace moved, and Lister instinctively reached out to grab it, to stop it from falling. He cupped his hands and moved them slowly towards himself, the realization of what he was holding striking him mercilessly. It was so light. It felt like nothing. Why was it so light?
Ace seemed to notice his wig, and blushed slightly, tugging at it with one hand, only managing to skew it the other way. “I should be leaving,” he said, quietly.
“Why didn’t you put it with the others?” An ocean of Rimmers. Millions of lives and multiple deaths stretching out into a sad, beautiful eternity. How many Listers had stood like this, he wondered, carrying the useless shells of what could have been their lovers in their hands?
The hapless Ace scratched the back of his neck, seeming uncomfortable in his ill-fitting clothes. “From what Dave told me, this seemed like the right thing to do.” He paused. “You can take him there, later, if you want. It just… Wasn’t for us to do.” He started walking, uncertainly, back into the airlock. Suddenly, he stopped, his face unreadable. “I don’t know if I should be telling you this, but… He wanted to go home, you know.”
Lister’s eyes didn’t leave the dead metal in his hands. “What?”
“There was a button; co-ordinates all pre-programmed, just needed pushing. It’s how I got here, like I said.” He smiled, sadly. “Not that it was easy to make out what it said; it was more worn down than an adolescent’s sex-sim joystick.”
Lister didn’t reply. What could he say? The bee lay stubbornly still in his hands, not cold nor hot to the touch. He looked up at Ace long enough to nod, and tried to express a ‘thank you’ without words. The other man nodded in kind, and turned around. He too, stared at the bee, expressions jostling for a place on his desperately trying-to-remain-blank face. Something rose in Lister, and he yelled out; “Hey!”
“Yes?” Ace paused, his hand on the airlock button.
“Make sure you program yerself one of them buttons, right? And use it, mind! Don’t…” He closed his hands around the bee that had been Arn, and swallowed. “Don’t do what he did, yeah?”
Ace gave another nod, his lips tight. For a moment, he seemed about to say something, but the doors closed before Lister could hear what it was, or if, indeed, he said anything. Then, there was only silence.
Lister had known that Kristine had been standing behind him for some time. “Don’t you dare say anything,” he fumed, without turning around.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“I’m not going to suggest you or Kryten try to fix it. I know he’s dead.”
“I…”
“And don’t say ‘he’s been dead a long time’ – I know that too!”
“Yes, I…”
“I don’t want you looking at it! I don’t want you telling me there might be something we can do!”
“Listen, Dave…”
Lister spun around, furious now. “I just want to be left alone! Just leave me the hell alone!” And Kristine, because she was, quite honestly, a rather intelligent, if stubborn woman, stood aside and let him storm past her.
Lister lay on his bunk, clutching what was left of Arnold Judas Rimmer to his chest, looking at nothing, thinking nothing, and desperately, desperately wanting to feel nothing. He didn’t want to feel the wetness in his eyes, because then he’d start to realize why it was there. He didn’t want to feel the numbness in his legs for lying in the same position too long, because he didn’t want to get up. He particularly didn’t want to feel the odd pulsation near his chest, because he’d only imagine it was something other than his heartbeat; that something else was making it, because the thing he could allow himself to feel least of all was hope. And so he just lay there, ignoring the odd, crackling, stinging pulse hurting his hands, getting more insistent by the minute. He’d deal with that later. Right now, all that mattered was that Arn was here. That whatever else he may be, he was safe.
He was home.
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 07:01 pm (UTC)Oh!
Perfect ending, m'dear! Just perfect.
“I smegging LOVED him, you stupid cow!” Lister turned, his eyes laser-beams of rage and hurt. “I LOVE him!” He was shaking; trembling, only half-aware of what he was doing, as he jumped out of the seat, advancing towards her as though in a drunken daze. Kristine, shock and confusion on her face, made a sort of yelping sound, and backed awkwardly towards the exit, and god only knows, Lister often thought when remembering this incident in later years, what might have happened had not the all-too-familiar sound of a Dimension Jump engine emerging into being at that point boomed across the cockpit.
Yikes! Yes, Lister is a man of passions - which is good, most of the time...
Lister’s face fell. It wasn’t his Rimmer. This face was leaner, unflatteringly so, and there was no glimmer of recognition in those too-brown-not-green-enough eyes. Moreover, Lister noticed, his wig was on crooked, leaning lop-sided to the left. Lister swallowed. This wasn’t his Rimmer. But that could only mean…
*sigh*
"That is, Dave and I, my…" He seemed to sample the word. "…Dave"
Yes, Arn, that's the word...
Good for other-Lister on dealing with the computer!
It was so light. It felt like nothing. Why was it so light?
Oh! :(
“Not that it was easy to make out what it said; it was more worn down than an adolescent’s sex-sim joystick.”
Heh. ;)
That whatever else he may be, he was safe.
He was home.
*sob*
I only have two minor grammar nits. Emailed.
no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 07:07 pm (UTC)How many Listers had stood like this, he wondered, carrying the useless shells of what could have been their lovers in their hands?
Oh, yes. That is what always killed me about Stoke. Perfect.
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Date: 2006-04-30 07:33 pm (UTC)I feel a little bad for what I do to Kochanski in this; it's not like it's her fault, really. But Dave couldn't help it, poor thing... He was in quite a state.
Thank you! :D
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Date: 2006-04-30 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 07:25 pm (UTC)One of you's had better write something happy now. Another gestalt fic perhaps?
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Date: 2006-04-30 07:37 pm (UTC)Something happy, eh? Well, there's always my Rimmer/Lister/Cat thing, but that's far from done.
Another gestalt fic perhaps?
Don't tempt us...
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Date: 2006-04-30 08:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 08:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 09:31 pm (UTC)...And that's all I'm gonna say about that. ;)
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Date: 2006-05-01 12:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 12:34 am (UTC)*coughs*
atsomepointintime'causeIknowyou'vegototherstufftodoandallthatandyeswell...
*hides*
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Date: 2006-05-01 12:36 am (UTC)Drat! I really need to run to work! *runs to work*
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Date: 2006-05-01 12:42 am (UTC)*inner Lister perks up*
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Date: 2006-05-01 12:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 01:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 08:40 pm (UTC)Well done, mate.
*wanders off and has a little cry*
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Date: 2006-04-30 09:28 pm (UTC)Thank you though. :)
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Date: 2006-04-30 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 09:30 pm (UTC)There must always be balance. ;)
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Date: 2006-04-30 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-04-30 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 02:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 02:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 10:37 am (UTC)Thanks for feeding back!
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Date: 2006-05-01 07:55 pm (UTC)And you'd think there wouldn't be that many problems you could have if you're already dead...
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Date: 2006-05-01 10:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-01 09:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-05 02:31 am (UTC)It is a beautiful, powerful read.
I hope one day you'll be inspired to write a sequel to this fine piece. The ending definitely brings with it a hope I had not expected.
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Date: 2008-03-10 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-08 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-03-10 07:50 pm (UTC)I do like the whole 'make this angsty story better' challenge that I and