Fic: Red Dwarf: Someone to Watch Over You
Title: “Someone to Watch Over You”
Writers: metalkatt and veronica_rich
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chars: Lister/Rimmer, Cat, Kryten, Kochanski 2.0, Holly, Ocs
Disclaimer: Boy, we wish we did, but we don’t own them. Property of Grant Naylor, BBC, the entirety of the UK, God, Zeus, Buddha, Vishnu, Ra - but not our property.
Summary: Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8
A/N: Thanks to the dedicated betas who went above and beyond to read through this monster, which is in excess of 70,000 words, and make suggestions - missflibble, cheezdanish, and kahvi. Any mistakes or errors are still our own.
Feedback and concrit: Yes, please!
"Wait - how close do we have to sit together?" Kochanski’s eyes bugged at the tiny living quarters: two bunks, neither very large, a small sink and shower area that rotated into the wall opposite a cold-food unit, and a short, squat corridor. She looked back at Ace, who was a full-six-foot if he was an inch. "How do you get around in here?"
"It's going to be a tight squeeze. Part of the reason we'll need to do several shorter hops is to give us time to stretch out on dry ground while the next set of calculations are made."
"Looks nice and cozy to me," Cat put in. "Not my fault you monkeys never curl up to nap."
Kochanski looked down at him, sideways. "It's good you feel that way. Suits won't fit in here."
"Sir," Kryten spoke up, "if you have a storage unit in the rear, you could deactivate me and disassemble me in there until we arrive at the Red Dwarf."
Rimmer smiled winningly. "That’s the spirit, old bolt. You can dream of an entire Dwarf needing your services: dust on everything, a sock basket that needs a Geiger counter, and likely simply flushed into space. If that's still the sort of thing you like," he added.
"That might be a bit impractical," Lister pointed out. "I know space is at a premium, but you'll be needing relief pilots, won't you? Cat's an ace - don't mind the pun - but Kryten's the only other one with reflexes to handle this kind of craft." He gestured between himself and Kochanski. "I'm not sure either of us could handle it - can you?" he asked her.
"I'm a passable pilot," she demurred. "As for this - I'm not sure we need several pilots, do we? I mean, if Ace here is just going to jump across time and space, would it necessarily take days or hours to do, aside from stops to recharge?"
"There looks to be just enough room for us to fit, as well as at least half of my suits," Cat opined. "You said we were going to stop here and there to get out, so if we just cuddle up in a nap pile, I don't see the problem."
Kochanski arched a brow. "I don't do nap piles," she informed the fangy tom. She left off breaking the news about his suits to him, for now.
Cat rolled his eyes. "Not a sex pile, Officer Bud-Babe, a nap pile. Anyone with half a nose can tell you're not in heat this week."
"You are not the only male around here." She gave Dave a cursory inspection, then swung her attention back to Cat. "You are the one I'd have to watch the closest, though."
"Look-" Lister held up his hands. "Just wait." He turned to Ace; they were both still up on the raised platform at the front of the ship, while Cat and Kris were getting ready to climb down to get a second look inside. "How long, exactly, is this going to take?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't think more than a few days, a week at most."
"A WEEK?" Lister resisted the urge to chew on the end of a dreadlock. "A week; I'm not sure we'll all survive that long unscathed."
"At most," Rimmer gritted, his patience beginning to wear thin. He pressed his fingers into his temple, taking a deep breath. "Look, I can leave you all here to die of asphyxiation in three days at the maximum like most other not-Aces would do, or we can cram into the Wildfire while we find a safe place to be. I'm not asking any of you to ride outside the ship, here. If I didn't need to pilot, I'd deactivate myself to save space, but it's just not possible. I would really prefer to see all of you alive and well, considering the entire reason I was in prison with you all in the first place was to keep you alive. So please, for your lives and my sanity, would you all just quit your bitching and decide whether you want to live or die?"
Everybody shut up and stared at him. The Cat and Kryten seemed almost aghast; for some reason, Kochanski was smiling, but looking like she was trying not to and hiding it poorly, a hand over her mouth and clearing her throat into the side of her fist.
Lister, for his part, was surprised, but not offended. He'd wondered if the Ace Program had room for normal human emotions like irritation or exasperation, or maybe Rimmer had just had a more profound impact on the overall makeup of later Aces than he'd previously speculated. When the Cat started to make protesting sounds, Lister talked louder. "He's right, guys - now, let's just ignore for the moment how we got this damage in the first place-" He couldn't help looking back at Ace; his honesty was terminal, he couldn't help it, even at the risk of offending What-A-Guy - "but, it was an accident, and we DO have a way out, at least.”
"Thank you," Rimmer said. "Cat, as for your suits, I could probably fit five of them in my wardrobe closet. I only have a few left. Kris, I apologize for having to cram you into a small space with all this testosterone, but I'm not leaving you behind just because you're a woman."
Lister was studying Kryten. "Are you sure you want to be deactivated? It just seems ... I dunno, like ignoring you exist, to me."
"Mr. Lister, it is the most practical solution, wouldn't you say? It will provide more space for those of you who can't - or shouldn't-" he nodded at Ace - "be turned off. I would really have no duties to keep me occupied, and if I'm needed to pilot for some reason, why, Mr. Ace can power me up for that duration."
Lister shrugged; what could he say to logic?
A bright light flashed in Rimmer's mind. "Kryten, are there any AR games on Starbug? Portable ones? I remember, there was a company that made them with headsets and gloves, at one point."
"AR games?" Cat asked. "What for?"
"If I can hook them up to Nona, she can run you on games to keep you from feeling uncomfortable while we're jumping."
"But won't that interfere with the power needed to create the dimension jump conduit, sir?"
"I don't know, Kryters. I don't know the power drain it causes. I'd have to find the rating and check it out. It'd only be the hats and gloves; we'd be leaving the groinal attachments behind, and if I remember, those take the most energy. Right now, I'm just trying to come up with ideas that might work to keep you at least occupied until we're at a point to stop and get out, since you all seem to be negating every single option here."
Kryten hurried to apologize. "Oh, I'm perfectly happy to be powered down! Why, I never meant-"
"Hold your oil, Kryten, he wasn't referring to you." Lister held up a hand to stop him, then turned to face the pilot, crossing his arms. "It's called a discussion. It's what we do." He leaned in, having to crane his head back further to look up at the guy, dropping his voice even as he kept his tone firm. "We all have to come to a compromise we're willin' to live with, Ace. It's been a rough six months, and an even rougher few hours."
"I don't deny it." Rimmer closed his eyes; he needed to figure out a way to get Lister to give the order, since it seemed not even Ace was enough to get them all to take action to save their own lives. "I'll tell you what - we have about a day and ten hours before things become dangerous, providing the seals hold. You can head up to the common room if you like, have a beer, talk it out, and I'll start work on the damage to the Wildfire. When you've decided what you'd like to do, come let me know."
*****
It was a sensible solution, on the surface. Of course, in practice, it was more difficult to get everyone to agree - about the only sure decision was that Kryten could be disabled and would be completely cool with it. Lister decided the reformulated NAFTA debates had been more agreeable. Finally, he stood up at the table and threatened to chug liquid curry until everybody shut the hell up and agreed they were going. He'd managed to listen for almost two hours before losing it, which had to be a record as far as he was concerned.
While the Cat slunk away to nap and Kochanski took the Starbug's watch, he went off to find Ace and deliver the verdict. He found him nowhere else, so he assumed he was with his ship. Not seeing him immediately, he descended to where there was barely room to move under it, and peeked up into the open hatchway. "Ace, man, you here?" he called, without climbing up.
"Up in here, Skipper," Rimmer called. He'd pulled out the box of cheroots he rarely used and lighted up, needing something in his mouth to play with as he examined damaged circuitry and equipment.
Climbing up, he followed the deep voice through the narrow corridor up to the cockpit, which was too narrow for two people. Ace was on his back, head under the control dash, puffing on a cheroot before putting it aside into a makeshift ashtray and pulling at something or other. Lister felt odd standing so far over him, so he hunched down in the tiny corridor and sat beyond the pilot's feet. "It's all worked out. As worked out as it gets with us, I guess."
"And what has the Council of Trent decided?" Rimmer asked idly, reconnecting wires that had been charred.
"I threatened them with explosive diarrhea if they didn't smegging well shut up and get on the ship." He dropped his head forward and shook it. "Not my proudest moment, but sometimes - whatever works, I've learned."
Rimmer couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up and out at that, dropping his hands and letting it roll through him. "Well, that's one way to deal with them, I suppose." The smile was audible, and he slid out enough to shoot Lister an amused look. "Let me guess - curry and Super-Lax?"
"Yeah." He'd given up wondering how Ace knew, putting the specific memories up to Rimmer’s programming, since Lister hadn’t pulled that trick in prison. Either that, or there were a lot of really unoriginal David Listers out there in the multiverse. "I can't move people quite as elegantly as I've seen you do, but after a fashion, it gets done, mostly. I guess." He picked at the sole of his combat boot, which had been threatening to peel away for the last two years.
"From the memories I see, you can be pretty inspiring at times," Rimmer allowed. "Charisma comes in different flavors; you have one all your own." He sat up and scooted back, resting against the console as he crossed his legs and faced Lister. "Besides, you're a natural leader. Not a conventional one, but a natural one."
Lister scoffed at that, still paying attention to the boot sole. "The best job I ever had was on that mining scow. Pay was a lot more than I'd expected, I had minimal hours and free booze - even if my shift leader was a complete smeghead." He paused, grinning. "The best I ever did on Earth was a dog walker for this rich neighborhood. That's what I was doing when I got so drunk I ended up on Mimas with some bag lady's passport. Not hardly a résumé that assures one of the Prime Ministership."
"You'd be surprised how many politicians started from not much," Rimmer chuckled, his eyes tracing over Lister’s round features. "And the things some of them have done would put Cat to shame for hedonism, you to shame for alcohol intake, any Rimmer to shame for repression, and Kryten to shame for being possessive."
"Oh, I know. It's a shame I never wanted to go into that line of work, what I always thought," he explained, tone cheeky. "But I'm not sure 'leader' is the right word." He raised his eyes, face still tilted down. "Sometimes we've gotta do what's necessary, is all."
Rimmer couldn't help but notice Lister's eyelashes as they swept in front of his eyes. He stifled a sigh, and sent a firm mental command to his self-control. "Yes, what's necessary. Of course, everyone has a different definition of 'necessary,' which is where we all get screwed up. My definition used to be 'whatever would keep me alive.'" He picked up the cheroot and took a long draw, letting the smoke escape draconically through his nostrils. "It's changed; being out there really shifts your perspective. Now, it's whatever it takes to keep alive the ones I want to keep alive." He took a cigarette case from his leather jacket hanging on a nearby console dial, offering Lister a smoke. "It's a bit mercenary, I suppose, but it seems to work."
Lister took the small cigar and turned it over in his fingers before feeling around his pockets and producing his own lighter, waving away Ace's. The small cigars were not the cigarettes he was trying to quit, and he'd been craving some nicotine, any, to get him through this logistical headache. "I just can't get over it," he admitted, lighting up and taking a few puffs. "You remind me so much of my Rimmer - well, not MY Rimmer, the one from our ship. You look like him, sometimes you act like him - sort of. But then you do something completely unlike what I'd expect out of him."
"We may have diverged at a later point," Rimmer hedged. "It's not just early decisions, it's every decision. For example, there is a you who let me light his cigarette. There is a you who waved off my offer. It's every decision ever made."
Lister took a couple of puffs, wondering briefly if it mattered that this wasn’t his dimension’s Rimmer, but he knew it did. He'd like to talk to that one, maybe shed some guilt for pushing the guy out of the nest, but he also knew life didn't come preprogrammed with easy decisions for which you'd be absolved even if it turned out you'd made the right one. He realized it didn't bear asking. Surely if this was Rimmer, he would've said so; even being Ace wouldn't have tempered his modesty enough to keep quiet about it for so long now. "I'd always heard about parallel universes, but it just seemed too odd. What does it matter if I put milk in my tea or not today?"
"All has ramifications. Perhaps the milk has gone off. If so, and you drink it, you might end up sick. One thing I've learned, the universe is a giant Rube Goldberg machine, with the simplest little bullsmeggy things sometimes making the biggest difference."
"I guess that's a point." Lister drew in another sweet plume of tobacco and released it presently, closing his eyes and savoring the departure from his usual stale cigarettes.
"Why, I could spring up and snog you, bear you to the ground right here." Ace shrugged, keeping his expression even. "Each and every possible reaction you might have, from accepting it to kneeing me in the bollocks, will spawn a new Lister, each with a different memory and a different tree of possibilities." It was a risky example, but there was something in him that insisted he test out the man's reaction to the idea. It was probably a futile endeavor; after all, what would Lister do with him when he had Kochanski, his symbol of everything good and wonderful and wanted?
"That's all very true, I suppose." Lister shook his head. "But you wouldn't; your ship'd get jealous," he grinned.
"Knowing her, she'd monitor and nag me later about technique." He snorted, eyes twinkling. "Fancies herself a sort of expert on the subject."
Lister leaned back against the wall, relaxing almost to the point of sleep. It had been a while since he'd had reason to smile. Sure, they were facing a tough travel and uncertain outcome, but it was doing something different. And that big, ugly rust bucket of a mining ship was at the end of this line. Odd how it seemed nostalgic now. "When are we leaving?"
"About three hours." He gestured behind him at the console. "Need to repair a couple of these relays so we don't turn inside out when we go through a dimension barrier, and see if there's anything I can leave behind to give us some more space."
Nodding, Lister leaned over to stub out the end of the cheroot in the ashtray; when it cooled, he'd tuck the rest in his hat for later. He watched Ace put his smoked stub in the tray and slide back under the console, fiddling with the wires. His eyes followed the hands, the arms, tried to pick out the parts of what Ace was doing that he could understand. His eyes grew heavier, though, and he finally sagged back against the wall, head against it, and slipped into the land of Nod.
Rimmer heard a soft snore and slid out a bit, spending several long moments watching Lister in his sleep. He smiled, waiting for the sinuses to get going, realizing he'd missed this noise more than he'd thought. He felt a warmth in his light bee; Lister still felt comfortable enough in his presence to pass out. His grin broadened and he slid back under, working with enthusiasm.
Writers: metalkatt and veronica_rich
Rating: NC-17 overall
Chars: Lister/Rimmer, Cat, Kryten, Kochanski 2.0, Holly, Ocs
Disclaimer: Boy, we wish we did, but we don’t own them. Property of Grant Naylor, BBC, the entirety of the UK, God, Zeus, Buddha, Vishnu, Ra - but not our property.
Summary: Ace Rimmer may have waited too long to go home again, but with some help, he might just get the happy ending none of his predecessors did. Set in and after Series 8
A/N: Thanks to the dedicated betas who went above and beyond to read through this monster, which is in excess of 70,000 words, and make suggestions - missflibble, cheezdanish, and kahvi. Any mistakes or errors are still our own.
Feedback and concrit: Yes, please!
"Wait - how close do we have to sit together?" Kochanski’s eyes bugged at the tiny living quarters: two bunks, neither very large, a small sink and shower area that rotated into the wall opposite a cold-food unit, and a short, squat corridor. She looked back at Ace, who was a full-six-foot if he was an inch. "How do you get around in here?"
"It's going to be a tight squeeze. Part of the reason we'll need to do several shorter hops is to give us time to stretch out on dry ground while the next set of calculations are made."
"Looks nice and cozy to me," Cat put in. "Not my fault you monkeys never curl up to nap."
Kochanski looked down at him, sideways. "It's good you feel that way. Suits won't fit in here."
"Sir," Kryten spoke up, "if you have a storage unit in the rear, you could deactivate me and disassemble me in there until we arrive at the Red Dwarf."
Rimmer smiled winningly. "That’s the spirit, old bolt. You can dream of an entire Dwarf needing your services: dust on everything, a sock basket that needs a Geiger counter, and likely simply flushed into space. If that's still the sort of thing you like," he added.
"That might be a bit impractical," Lister pointed out. "I know space is at a premium, but you'll be needing relief pilots, won't you? Cat's an ace - don't mind the pun - but Kryten's the only other one with reflexes to handle this kind of craft." He gestured between himself and Kochanski. "I'm not sure either of us could handle it - can you?" he asked her.
"I'm a passable pilot," she demurred. "As for this - I'm not sure we need several pilots, do we? I mean, if Ace here is just going to jump across time and space, would it necessarily take days or hours to do, aside from stops to recharge?"
"There looks to be just enough room for us to fit, as well as at least half of my suits," Cat opined. "You said we were going to stop here and there to get out, so if we just cuddle up in a nap pile, I don't see the problem."
Kochanski arched a brow. "I don't do nap piles," she informed the fangy tom. She left off breaking the news about his suits to him, for now.
Cat rolled his eyes. "Not a sex pile, Officer Bud-Babe, a nap pile. Anyone with half a nose can tell you're not in heat this week."
"You are not the only male around here." She gave Dave a cursory inspection, then swung her attention back to Cat. "You are the one I'd have to watch the closest, though."
"Look-" Lister held up his hands. "Just wait." He turned to Ace; they were both still up on the raised platform at the front of the ship, while Cat and Kris were getting ready to climb down to get a second look inside. "How long, exactly, is this going to take?"
"I don't know. I wouldn't think more than a few days, a week at most."
"A WEEK?" Lister resisted the urge to chew on the end of a dreadlock. "A week; I'm not sure we'll all survive that long unscathed."
"At most," Rimmer gritted, his patience beginning to wear thin. He pressed his fingers into his temple, taking a deep breath. "Look, I can leave you all here to die of asphyxiation in three days at the maximum like most other not-Aces would do, or we can cram into the Wildfire while we find a safe place to be. I'm not asking any of you to ride outside the ship, here. If I didn't need to pilot, I'd deactivate myself to save space, but it's just not possible. I would really prefer to see all of you alive and well, considering the entire reason I was in prison with you all in the first place was to keep you alive. So please, for your lives and my sanity, would you all just quit your bitching and decide whether you want to live or die?"
Everybody shut up and stared at him. The Cat and Kryten seemed almost aghast; for some reason, Kochanski was smiling, but looking like she was trying not to and hiding it poorly, a hand over her mouth and clearing her throat into the side of her fist.
Lister, for his part, was surprised, but not offended. He'd wondered if the Ace Program had room for normal human emotions like irritation or exasperation, or maybe Rimmer had just had a more profound impact on the overall makeup of later Aces than he'd previously speculated. When the Cat started to make protesting sounds, Lister talked louder. "He's right, guys - now, let's just ignore for the moment how we got this damage in the first place-" He couldn't help looking back at Ace; his honesty was terminal, he couldn't help it, even at the risk of offending What-A-Guy - "but, it was an accident, and we DO have a way out, at least.”
"Thank you," Rimmer said. "Cat, as for your suits, I could probably fit five of them in my wardrobe closet. I only have a few left. Kris, I apologize for having to cram you into a small space with all this testosterone, but I'm not leaving you behind just because you're a woman."
Lister was studying Kryten. "Are you sure you want to be deactivated? It just seems ... I dunno, like ignoring you exist, to me."
"Mr. Lister, it is the most practical solution, wouldn't you say? It will provide more space for those of you who can't - or shouldn't-" he nodded at Ace - "be turned off. I would really have no duties to keep me occupied, and if I'm needed to pilot for some reason, why, Mr. Ace can power me up for that duration."
Lister shrugged; what could he say to logic?
A bright light flashed in Rimmer's mind. "Kryten, are there any AR games on Starbug? Portable ones? I remember, there was a company that made them with headsets and gloves, at one point."
"AR games?" Cat asked. "What for?"
"If I can hook them up to Nona, she can run you on games to keep you from feeling uncomfortable while we're jumping."
"But won't that interfere with the power needed to create the dimension jump conduit, sir?"
"I don't know, Kryters. I don't know the power drain it causes. I'd have to find the rating and check it out. It'd only be the hats and gloves; we'd be leaving the groinal attachments behind, and if I remember, those take the most energy. Right now, I'm just trying to come up with ideas that might work to keep you at least occupied until we're at a point to stop and get out, since you all seem to be negating every single option here."
Kryten hurried to apologize. "Oh, I'm perfectly happy to be powered down! Why, I never meant-"
"Hold your oil, Kryten, he wasn't referring to you." Lister held up a hand to stop him, then turned to face the pilot, crossing his arms. "It's called a discussion. It's what we do." He leaned in, having to crane his head back further to look up at the guy, dropping his voice even as he kept his tone firm. "We all have to come to a compromise we're willin' to live with, Ace. It's been a rough six months, and an even rougher few hours."
"I don't deny it." Rimmer closed his eyes; he needed to figure out a way to get Lister to give the order, since it seemed not even Ace was enough to get them all to take action to save their own lives. "I'll tell you what - we have about a day and ten hours before things become dangerous, providing the seals hold. You can head up to the common room if you like, have a beer, talk it out, and I'll start work on the damage to the Wildfire. When you've decided what you'd like to do, come let me know."
*****
It was a sensible solution, on the surface. Of course, in practice, it was more difficult to get everyone to agree - about the only sure decision was that Kryten could be disabled and would be completely cool with it. Lister decided the reformulated NAFTA debates had been more agreeable. Finally, he stood up at the table and threatened to chug liquid curry until everybody shut the hell up and agreed they were going. He'd managed to listen for almost two hours before losing it, which had to be a record as far as he was concerned.
While the Cat slunk away to nap and Kochanski took the Starbug's watch, he went off to find Ace and deliver the verdict. He found him nowhere else, so he assumed he was with his ship. Not seeing him immediately, he descended to where there was barely room to move under it, and peeked up into the open hatchway. "Ace, man, you here?" he called, without climbing up.
"Up in here, Skipper," Rimmer called. He'd pulled out the box of cheroots he rarely used and lighted up, needing something in his mouth to play with as he examined damaged circuitry and equipment.
Climbing up, he followed the deep voice through the narrow corridor up to the cockpit, which was too narrow for two people. Ace was on his back, head under the control dash, puffing on a cheroot before putting it aside into a makeshift ashtray and pulling at something or other. Lister felt odd standing so far over him, so he hunched down in the tiny corridor and sat beyond the pilot's feet. "It's all worked out. As worked out as it gets with us, I guess."
"And what has the Council of Trent decided?" Rimmer asked idly, reconnecting wires that had been charred.
"I threatened them with explosive diarrhea if they didn't smegging well shut up and get on the ship." He dropped his head forward and shook it. "Not my proudest moment, but sometimes - whatever works, I've learned."
Rimmer couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up and out at that, dropping his hands and letting it roll through him. "Well, that's one way to deal with them, I suppose." The smile was audible, and he slid out enough to shoot Lister an amused look. "Let me guess - curry and Super-Lax?"
"Yeah." He'd given up wondering how Ace knew, putting the specific memories up to Rimmer’s programming, since Lister hadn’t pulled that trick in prison. Either that, or there were a lot of really unoriginal David Listers out there in the multiverse. "I can't move people quite as elegantly as I've seen you do, but after a fashion, it gets done, mostly. I guess." He picked at the sole of his combat boot, which had been threatening to peel away for the last two years.
"From the memories I see, you can be pretty inspiring at times," Rimmer allowed. "Charisma comes in different flavors; you have one all your own." He sat up and scooted back, resting against the console as he crossed his legs and faced Lister. "Besides, you're a natural leader. Not a conventional one, but a natural one."
Lister scoffed at that, still paying attention to the boot sole. "The best job I ever had was on that mining scow. Pay was a lot more than I'd expected, I had minimal hours and free booze - even if my shift leader was a complete smeghead." He paused, grinning. "The best I ever did on Earth was a dog walker for this rich neighborhood. That's what I was doing when I got so drunk I ended up on Mimas with some bag lady's passport. Not hardly a résumé that assures one of the Prime Ministership."
"You'd be surprised how many politicians started from not much," Rimmer chuckled, his eyes tracing over Lister’s round features. "And the things some of them have done would put Cat to shame for hedonism, you to shame for alcohol intake, any Rimmer to shame for repression, and Kryten to shame for being possessive."
"Oh, I know. It's a shame I never wanted to go into that line of work, what I always thought," he explained, tone cheeky. "But I'm not sure 'leader' is the right word." He raised his eyes, face still tilted down. "Sometimes we've gotta do what's necessary, is all."
Rimmer couldn't help but notice Lister's eyelashes as they swept in front of his eyes. He stifled a sigh, and sent a firm mental command to his self-control. "Yes, what's necessary. Of course, everyone has a different definition of 'necessary,' which is where we all get screwed up. My definition used to be 'whatever would keep me alive.'" He picked up the cheroot and took a long draw, letting the smoke escape draconically through his nostrils. "It's changed; being out there really shifts your perspective. Now, it's whatever it takes to keep alive the ones I want to keep alive." He took a cigarette case from his leather jacket hanging on a nearby console dial, offering Lister a smoke. "It's a bit mercenary, I suppose, but it seems to work."
Lister took the small cigar and turned it over in his fingers before feeling around his pockets and producing his own lighter, waving away Ace's. The small cigars were not the cigarettes he was trying to quit, and he'd been craving some nicotine, any, to get him through this logistical headache. "I just can't get over it," he admitted, lighting up and taking a few puffs. "You remind me so much of my Rimmer - well, not MY Rimmer, the one from our ship. You look like him, sometimes you act like him - sort of. But then you do something completely unlike what I'd expect out of him."
"We may have diverged at a later point," Rimmer hedged. "It's not just early decisions, it's every decision. For example, there is a you who let me light his cigarette. There is a you who waved off my offer. It's every decision ever made."
Lister took a couple of puffs, wondering briefly if it mattered that this wasn’t his dimension’s Rimmer, but he knew it did. He'd like to talk to that one, maybe shed some guilt for pushing the guy out of the nest, but he also knew life didn't come preprogrammed with easy decisions for which you'd be absolved even if it turned out you'd made the right one. He realized it didn't bear asking. Surely if this was Rimmer, he would've said so; even being Ace wouldn't have tempered his modesty enough to keep quiet about it for so long now. "I'd always heard about parallel universes, but it just seemed too odd. What does it matter if I put milk in my tea or not today?"
"All has ramifications. Perhaps the milk has gone off. If so, and you drink it, you might end up sick. One thing I've learned, the universe is a giant Rube Goldberg machine, with the simplest little bullsmeggy things sometimes making the biggest difference."
"I guess that's a point." Lister drew in another sweet plume of tobacco and released it presently, closing his eyes and savoring the departure from his usual stale cigarettes.
"Why, I could spring up and snog you, bear you to the ground right here." Ace shrugged, keeping his expression even. "Each and every possible reaction you might have, from accepting it to kneeing me in the bollocks, will spawn a new Lister, each with a different memory and a different tree of possibilities." It was a risky example, but there was something in him that insisted he test out the man's reaction to the idea. It was probably a futile endeavor; after all, what would Lister do with him when he had Kochanski, his symbol of everything good and wonderful and wanted?
"That's all very true, I suppose." Lister shook his head. "But you wouldn't; your ship'd get jealous," he grinned.
"Knowing her, she'd monitor and nag me later about technique." He snorted, eyes twinkling. "Fancies herself a sort of expert on the subject."
Lister leaned back against the wall, relaxing almost to the point of sleep. It had been a while since he'd had reason to smile. Sure, they were facing a tough travel and uncertain outcome, but it was doing something different. And that big, ugly rust bucket of a mining ship was at the end of this line. Odd how it seemed nostalgic now. "When are we leaving?"
"About three hours." He gestured behind him at the console. "Need to repair a couple of these relays so we don't turn inside out when we go through a dimension barrier, and see if there's anything I can leave behind to give us some more space."
Nodding, Lister leaned over to stub out the end of the cheroot in the ashtray; when it cooled, he'd tuck the rest in his hat for later. He watched Ace put his smoked stub in the tray and slide back under the console, fiddling with the wires. His eyes followed the hands, the arms, tried to pick out the parts of what Ace was doing that he could understand. His eyes grew heavier, though, and he finally sagged back against the wall, head against it, and slipped into the land of Nod.
Rimmer heard a soft snore and slid out a bit, spending several long moments watching Lister in his sleep. He smiled, waiting for the sinuses to get going, realizing he'd missed this noise more than he'd thought. He felt a warmth in his light bee; Lister still felt comfortable enough in his presence to pass out. His grin broadened and he slid back under, working with enthusiasm.