Back. PG. R/L implied.
May. 31st, 2006 09:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
roadstergal.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
reddwarfslashIt's too long for a drabble, but too short for a proper fic. It's an interlude between Kahvis' Return and a fic we're currently writing. Spoilers for Stoke Me A Clipper, Terrorform, and Marooned.
"All those Rimmers..."
All of them dead. Millions, billions; I don't know if it would be possible to count them all. Every little blinking red light one more smashed light bee, one compressed pellet of cremated ashes. Or possibly a little note to the effect that not enough remains were found to bury. Were they all prodded, tricked, manipulated by an endless arc of Listers, smirking over and over across the dimensions?
Every one of them died alone. That, then, was the chain that you were worried about breaking. Not the chain of Aces running off to be heroic; the chain of Listers, free of leechlike, needy, neurotic Rimmers, hologrammatic or living. The chain of millions of Listers who were finally free to pursue their millions of Kochanskis, to seek out their millions of Fijis on which to live out their millions of lives.
Lord, yes, I was tempted to break the chain. That creaking, stinking grease-stain of a ship, much as I whinged about it, and much as I whinged about Kryten and Cat and you, was a home, of sorts. More of a home than I have ever had before - not that it's saying much. You had become home, as well, with your filthy habits, torturous guitar playing, and morning breath that killed the goldfish I found in stasis on that derelict and revived to brighten up the midsection. Some part of me prodded at my innards when you hugged me, telling me to stay; to pull off the wig, call down the charade, and go back to companionable bickering in the midsection at changeover. Or escape altogether, all of us; this DJ ship could have caught Red Dwarf in seconds, and we could have gone back. Back to our old rooms, bunking together, living together.
You seemed to agree, didn't you? You pulled me close, both hands at the small of my back, tightly enough for me to smell the heady scent of Lister that dwelt under the pall of nicotine and tumeric that hangs around you. Love shone in your deep brown eyes when you pulled back, and I almost believed it. But I remembered those same big eyes and earnest stare as a gloved hand found my thigh. I smelled camphorwood.
Smoke whatever you like. I won't be back.
"All those Rimmers..."
All of them dead. Millions, billions; I don't know if it would be possible to count them all. Every little blinking red light one more smashed light bee, one compressed pellet of cremated ashes. Or possibly a little note to the effect that not enough remains were found to bury. Were they all prodded, tricked, manipulated by an endless arc of Listers, smirking over and over across the dimensions?
Every one of them died alone. That, then, was the chain that you were worried about breaking. Not the chain of Aces running off to be heroic; the chain of Listers, free of leechlike, needy, neurotic Rimmers, hologrammatic or living. The chain of millions of Listers who were finally free to pursue their millions of Kochanskis, to seek out their millions of Fijis on which to live out their millions of lives.
Lord, yes, I was tempted to break the chain. That creaking, stinking grease-stain of a ship, much as I whinged about it, and much as I whinged about Kryten and Cat and you, was a home, of sorts. More of a home than I have ever had before - not that it's saying much. You had become home, as well, with your filthy habits, torturous guitar playing, and morning breath that killed the goldfish I found in stasis on that derelict and revived to brighten up the midsection. Some part of me prodded at my innards when you hugged me, telling me to stay; to pull off the wig, call down the charade, and go back to companionable bickering in the midsection at changeover. Or escape altogether, all of us; this DJ ship could have caught Red Dwarf in seconds, and we could have gone back. Back to our old rooms, bunking together, living together.
You seemed to agree, didn't you? You pulled me close, both hands at the small of my back, tightly enough for me to smell the heady scent of Lister that dwelt under the pall of nicotine and tumeric that hangs around you. Love shone in your deep brown eyes when you pulled back, and I almost believed it. But I remembered those same big eyes and earnest stare as a gloved hand found my thigh. I smelled camphorwood.
Smoke whatever you like. I won't be back.
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no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 05:51 pm (UTC)*siigh*
That was just my favorite; I loved it all. In Trek fandom we call fics of this length vingnettes, and this is a beautiful one. Beautiful.
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Date: 2006-05-31 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 06:26 pm (UTC)Smoke whatever you like. I won't be back.
It's short and simple, but oh, so heartbreaking.
Beautiful fic. Or whatever you call it.
Sad now.
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Date: 2006-05-31 06:28 pm (UTC)Something nice better happen though, or I shall be very cross with you both.
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Date: 2006-05-31 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-31 08:53 pm (UTC)Try again:
I'm quoting exactly what Kat did:
But I remembered those same big eyes and earnest stare as a gloved hand found my thigh. I smelled camphorwood.
Wah! :( That was heartbreakingly sad. Short, sad but sweet. *hugs you* Nice one, matey.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-01 07:22 am (UTC)