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!
"Ace?"
"Hmm? What is it, Nona?" Rimmer closed the little game of solitaire he'd been playing on the panel while the others slept, and turned his attention to the instruments that glowed in the dim light.
"We're almost to the last jump, but I don't like what I'm getting through the sensors." She displayed the dimensional schematics of the system they were in, and he frowned at them. "There's a planet here in this dimension, but in our target-"
"An asteroid belt," he finished, glancing over the readouts. "And, it's not like we're going to be playing hide-and-seek like normal-"
"We'll have to worry about G-forces," she agreed, and he could hear the tinny buzz that was starting to creep into her voice system. "No reason we can't still have a little fun, but more than two or three on them, and they'll black right out."
He snorted. "You'd think the JMC would put a little more training into their crew members, but I know what you mean." He petted the console absently. "How much longer before we jump?"
"Ten minutes. And before you ask, the next closest safe jump point is six weeks away. Arnold, I'm begging you, don't make me go through six more weeks with them. I'm not even sure I can last the five hours it should take to get from the entry point to the big ship." He heard her sigh, and he ran his fingers over her soothingly. "This is what you missed? Are you serious? The tension level is so high in here that it's a wonder it doesn't overcome my hull integrity. And you lived with these people in tight quarters for all that time?"
"Not Kochanski," he corrected. "And, it's all down to space. You are beautiful, Nona, but you are a little tight to fit four people and a mech in the boot. Even on the 'Bug, we had more space than this. The only time I've ever seen them this insane is when I got sick and locked them up in quarantine." He shook his head. "Damned holoviruses. Lucky I've never come across another one. It'll all be over soon, I promise."
"And then I get to rest, right? You promised. At least a month while you fix me, and if we can't stay there, then we're going somewhere I can sleep and clean my cache." She sounded so heartbreakingly guarded that Rimmer wished he could hug her.
"I promise. A month to fix all the bad connections no matter what, and then if they run us out, we'll find a nice, sunny planet somewhere, and both go offline for awhile." He gave a soft, sad smile. "Might need you to clear out my caches, too, make me forget who I was, who I am, if that happens."
"I really would prefer not to do that, Arn. I like you this way. You're not an annoying, hypersexual prat."
"Are you speaking ill of the squillions of dead, Nona?"
"No, speaking highly of the one dead-alive," she huffed. "Go wake up the others and get out the harnesses."
He hummed at her as he turned the chair, stroking the yoke on his way by. "Don't worry, baby; we're still going to play."
It took him some time to get the others to wake up - Kochanski glared and growled, and Cat actively tried to shred him. Lister was the only one who didn't seem to be too put out at being roused, and Rimmer instructed them how to put the cots up so they could secure themselves on the seats that folded up under them.
"How come you didn't pull these out before?" she asked, clicking the leads of her safety harness into place in the padded metal chair.
"Trust me, the cots are far more comfortable. These'd break your back if you use them for casual sitting - they're specifically designed to keep you in a certain position to minimize damage."
"Damage?" Cat tried to stand so he could whirl around, but Rimmer guided him back into place with a very firm push on the head.
"Sit," he instructed. "We're jumping into the middle of an asteroid belt. We get to go for a bit of a run."
"But, that's dangerous!" Kochanski snapped. "Don't you know-"
Rimmer leaned over to put one hand on the back of her seat, and one on its arm. "Do you want to be stuck here for another six smegging weeks while we get to another jump point? Do you think I want to? Do you think any of us wants to? Do me a favor - sit down in your chair and hang on. Contrary to what you may have heard about me, or remember from your dimension's version of me, I do know what I'm doing, and I'm perfectly capable of doing it." He paused. "And be very glad I'm not Ace right now, or you would be on the receiving end of a very long, deep snog." He turned, making sure the Cat and Lister were secure before checking hers and heading back up. "And, do try not to scream," he called back to them. "I don't like having to turn off my ears."
******
The jump was fairly smooth this time, and Rimmer was relieved not to hear any sort of retching coming from the back. He jumped in his seat as an asteroid barely missed the Wildfire's nose, and then grinned. He interfaced with the ship, and a heads up display appeared in his left eye, feeding him information about proximity, targeting, and a host of other factors useful in combat--or, in this case, playing with asteroids. "You ready, babygirl?" he purred, taking hold of the yoke.
"Fly me, sweetness."
She didn't have to tell him twice. They were off like a shot, rolling between asteroids with the ease of longtime teamwork. At first, she had taken him to small asteroid fields to get used to piloting in changing conditions, but Arnold had pleasantly surprised her by taking to it quite naturally. She had continued to step up the challenges, and he had continued to learn, excelling at the gentle - and sometimes not-so-gentle - movements it took to guide her around in such situations. Eventually, it had become a game; they slipped about in tight belts, twisting, spinning, looping, hitting forces that would have killed a normal human several dozen times over.
He'd already largely forgotten about the passengers he carried, Lister's whoops, Kris's yelps, and Cat's battle roar all distant background. They dove and spun, back-looping and fore, twisting to fit the wide, flat profile of his beautiful ship among the moving rocks. He laughed with exhilaration; he'd always loved flying. He'd just never been allowed to do it until well after his death because of his low rank. He could hear Nona laughing with him, and he loaded her energy-based armaments, grinning madly. There was no sound as the energy weapons ripped flashily into the rock around them, creating smaller debris he had to dodge.
"Over to the left!" Nona called, and Rimmer responded, rolling gracefully before shooting the obstacle to dust. Another loop and he bore up on a rather large piece above them, the ship shuddering as she spat pulses of pure energy to blow it up as well. "Right under us!" He took them straight up, giggling darkly. It was just his ship, his manic glee, and himself now, and he pouted as Nona braked to reduce their acceleration.
"Nona, what are you doing?" he demanded, changing direction abruptly to avoid another fast-moving object.
"We have people on board?"
"Spoilsport," he huffed, nostrils flaring, the green of his eyes seeming to grow deeper from the rush.
They finally lifted out from the plane of the belt, and he set the ship to autopilot as he leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. "That was brilliant, love," he sighed. "Just brilliant." He slapped his hands on his thighs and swiveled the chair, looking back. "Everyone tickety-boo?"
"Rimmer, what the smeg was that?" Lister was looking at him in open-mouthed astonishment. "You could've gotten us killed!"
"I've always been good at flight-sims," he replied with a shrug. "And that? Pfft. That was one of those old playhouses with bouncy balls. I've flown far thicker and denser ones."
Lister growled, but was cut off by Kochanski. She giggled, then laughed, the tension from the ride bubbling out. "You're just upset because he could take us through an asteroid field, and you couldn't navigate a comet tail."
"I am not!"
"Hey, comet tails are tricky," Rimmer confirmed. "The little tiny dust can jam your sensors and really mess you up."
"Yeah!" Lister nodded firmly in agreement. "What he said."
They were all interrupted by a strangled moan. "Cat!" Rimmer was on his feet in a flash. "Cat, are you all right?"
The feline moaned and rolled his head to look up at Rimmer. "Get this off me, Missing-Goalpost-Head! If this damn thing puts my tackle out of commission, I'm going to take it out of your hide, now that I can claw it."
Rimmer laughed and undid the buckles, helping him out of his seat while he folded it down and kicked it back into place. "Lister has a bigger dick than you do, and you don't see him bitching." Another chuckle. "You really are a smegging pussy, aren't you?"
Lister guffawed as he tried to unbuckle himself. "How do you know?" Kochanski taunted. She was finding the seat rather comfortable, but then again, she didn't have any dangly bits to get in the way of things.
"Kris, we're guys. We’re not like you women; if we have to share close quarters, we don’t put up curtains to change." He finished helping them all get loose and bring the cots down into place, and helped Cat sit very gently upon one before stowing the gear away again. "That was the last hop. We're in our home dimension. Nona says it'll take about five hours for us to get to the small rouge one, and then we can spread out and have as much space as we want."
Five hours, Lister thought. Might as well be five years, but something not-quite-heaven and much better than hell was waiting for them, and he found he suddenly didn't give a smeg if it were five centuries, as long as he got there.
*******
By the time Fiona and Rimmer had traced all the dimensional threads back to the large abandoned mining ship, nearly nine days of too much togetherness had passed. Upon disembarking from the little craft, everybody trudged in the same general direction, up the lift, down a few corridors - and then promptly fanned out to as many corners as they could reasonably get away from one another without so much as a “see you later.” Tempers long since sparked and flared had subsided, frayed, and gone into hiding, so not even a “smeg off” or “fuck you” slipped out past the yawns and nearly inaudible grunts.
Lister found his old belongings near the parallel cabin he’d last inhabited on his original Dwarf. There was a thick layer of dust; he gave the upper bunk and pillows a quick shaking-out before shedding everything but undershirt and boxers and crawling up into the mostly gunmetal-colored cocoon. He figured he might have trouble sleeping, but didn’t even realize he’d gone to sleep until he woke up much, much later with an urge to empty his bladder. It wasn’t until he came out of the small bathroom that he noticed the telltale softly nasal whine emanating from the lower bunk.
Rimmer. He sighed, crossing his arms and watching the hologram sleep for a couple of minutes. He hadn’t been there when Lister fell asleep, he was reasonably certain - the last he’d seen Rimsey, he’d been heading toward the drive room to interface Holly back with the ship’s mainframe. He wondered if the man had even attempted to choose other quarters - by the brown leather jacket tossed onto the table, the watch on top of it, and knee-length boots slumped near one of the chairs, he guessed not. Quietly, Lister climbed up into his bunk. Five minutes later, bored and temporarily unable to get back to sleep, he rolled onto his stomach and scooted to hang his head over the edge of the bed.
Sprawled on his back, Rimmer slept hard, still partly dressed in a dark green t-shirt that bared most of his arms and brown velour trousers, not unlike the blue ones that had become part of his self-styled uniform before he’d left. He wondered when Rimmer had abandoned the wig; he’d definitely let his hair go in the six months since they’d all been together. Lister estimated it was perhaps an inch, inch and a half longer, just enough so that what stuck straight up reached even more verticality. Bits of dark gingery-brown curls and waves shot in various directions; Lister wondered with no small amusement what the old Rimmer would have had to say about the effectiveness of Ace Rimmer, correlated with lack of a proper military haircut.
And then he was asleep again, because eventually, he woke up. Laying there a moment, he assessed that he was starving, but took another five minutes to actually slither down from the bunk, whereupon he realized why he was hungry: A steaming plate of something was on the table!
Actually, it was two steaming plates, but Rimmer had already started on his, yawning every so often as he chewed. He glanced over as Lister’s feet hit the floor, giving a small nod as greeting, and returned his attention to filling his fork. Lister took the chair to his right, his back to the bunks. As he sat, Rimmer swallowed and jerked a thumb back behind him. “Aren’t you going to wash your hands first?”
“I’m not planning to stick my fingers in it.” He lifted the cover, heartened to find what looked like curried chicken and poppadoms. He made a little noise of triumph and pumped his left fist right before picking up his own fork and going to work.
Time passed much like one of their quiet dinners in the Tank, saying almost nothing except to gesture at the other’s plate once or twice with a full-mouth noise that might mean anything from “does it taste good?” to “found the meaning of the universe yet?” It wasn’t much different than their time together years ago, either, except for Lister’s rather worrying tendency to occasionally want to reach over and use his thumb to rub something sauce-like off of Rimmer’s upper lip; that was definitely new.
They were almost finished when the door buzzer sounded. “Come in,” they muttered just slightly out of unison, mouths full.
Cat was the first to dance in, humming to himself and taking a quick visual inventory of the room, eyes ending on Lister’s nearly-empty plate. “Yep, B.B., it’s curries,” he reported unnecessarily to Kochanski, who stood in the doorway.
Lister swallowed his mouthful. “I haven’t had any in a while!” he protested, draining another sip of Leopard Lager. He wondered how much of this was in storage. “Kryten?” he wondered, pointing at their plates.
She nodded. “I guess so. I didn’t see him, but the smell of chicken woke me up.” She sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “And cottage cheese. With pineapple.”
“I told you.” Rimmer stabbed his fork into the air, smirking, and continued eating.
“Oh, that’s right.” The Cat paused, as if trying to remember something. “Ice Cube Head said for us all to meet near the lift when you two are done chowing down.”
“He say why?”
“Probably. But I found a crease. Didn’t hear all of it.”
Less than thirty minutes later, the four presented themselves to the mechanoid at the lift, where he had propped open its door and was giving a good cleaning to the interior seats. “Oh, sirs, ma’am, it’s good to see you up and about again. The ship has been so quiet with just Holly for conversation.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Holly appeared on the small lift monitor. “I’m good company, I am. Not everyone with an IQ of six thousand would float around discussing comparisons of household cleaning fluids.”
Kryten shook his head, visibly ignoring it. “We need to do an inventory of basic supplies. Holly and I could complete it ourselves, but it would take approximately four months nonstop just for that. If the four of you were to participate, it would take only approximately two-thirds of that time, and Holly and I could better spend our time taking inventory of non-basic supplies, such as cigarettes and ice cream.”
“Hey, who says those are non-basics?” Lister wanted to know.
“Ah, very good, Mr. Lister, sir. You do wish to volunteer.” He looked to the other three, who glanced around at each other and shrugged, nodding. “Most excellent. I believe you should begin in the morning, with clipboards and pens, and work in teams of two. I have calculated that the maximum work would be achieved by splitting you thus: Mr. Lister and the Cat together, and Mr. Rimmer and Ms. Kochanski working as the other team.”
“Kryten,” Kochanski interrupted, “how do you figure that’s the best use of our capabilities? I mean …” She looked pointedly at Lister and the Cat, then thought better of whatever she was going to say.
“What?” Lister demanded. The Cat, checking out his hand mirror, said nothing. Rimmer smirked.
“Neither of you are what one would exactly call productive, and together, you’re likely to feed each other’s worst goofing-off tendencies,” she answered without hesitation. There was a reason she was an officer.
“Ah, but I believe you and Mr. Rimmer will make up that energy with your parts of the effort,” Kryten pointed out. “You see, in my observations, Mr. Lister and the Cat mostly have a smooth relationship and don’t often clash over differing opinions or worldviews. And you and Mr. Rimmer should work well together, because you are the superior officer and he will respect your authority.” A small sound like a choked laugh interrupted them; they all turned to look at Rimmer, who put his fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. He said nothing, though, and nodded for Kryten to continue. Lister could swear he saw a twinkle, of all things, in Rimmer's eyes. “I cannot put you with Mr. Lister, ma’am, because he would spend the entire time ‘mooning’ over you, and besides, I believe Mr. Rimmer would try to de-fur the Cat within the first two hours. And as for putting Misters Lister and Rimmer together.” The mechanoid approximated a shudder. “Well, that series of arguments doesn’t even bear contemplation.”
“Fine, fine.” Kochanski waved her hands at him. “We’ll try your assignments first. Tomorrow morning, oh-nine-hundred.”
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!
"Ace?"
"Hmm? What is it, Nona?" Rimmer closed the little game of solitaire he'd been playing on the panel while the others slept, and turned his attention to the instruments that glowed in the dim light.
"We're almost to the last jump, but I don't like what I'm getting through the sensors." She displayed the dimensional schematics of the system they were in, and he frowned at them. "There's a planet here in this dimension, but in our target-"
"An asteroid belt," he finished, glancing over the readouts. "And, it's not like we're going to be playing hide-and-seek like normal-"
"We'll have to worry about G-forces," she agreed, and he could hear the tinny buzz that was starting to creep into her voice system. "No reason we can't still have a little fun, but more than two or three on them, and they'll black right out."
He snorted. "You'd think the JMC would put a little more training into their crew members, but I know what you mean." He petted the console absently. "How much longer before we jump?"
"Ten minutes. And before you ask, the next closest safe jump point is six weeks away. Arnold, I'm begging you, don't make me go through six more weeks with them. I'm not even sure I can last the five hours it should take to get from the entry point to the big ship." He heard her sigh, and he ran his fingers over her soothingly. "This is what you missed? Are you serious? The tension level is so high in here that it's a wonder it doesn't overcome my hull integrity. And you lived with these people in tight quarters for all that time?"
"Not Kochanski," he corrected. "And, it's all down to space. You are beautiful, Nona, but you are a little tight to fit four people and a mech in the boot. Even on the 'Bug, we had more space than this. The only time I've ever seen them this insane is when I got sick and locked them up in quarantine." He shook his head. "Damned holoviruses. Lucky I've never come across another one. It'll all be over soon, I promise."
"And then I get to rest, right? You promised. At least a month while you fix me, and if we can't stay there, then we're going somewhere I can sleep and clean my cache." She sounded so heartbreakingly guarded that Rimmer wished he could hug her.
"I promise. A month to fix all the bad connections no matter what, and then if they run us out, we'll find a nice, sunny planet somewhere, and both go offline for awhile." He gave a soft, sad smile. "Might need you to clear out my caches, too, make me forget who I was, who I am, if that happens."
"I really would prefer not to do that, Arn. I like you this way. You're not an annoying, hypersexual prat."
"Are you speaking ill of the squillions of dead, Nona?"
"No, speaking highly of the one dead-alive," she huffed. "Go wake up the others and get out the harnesses."
He hummed at her as he turned the chair, stroking the yoke on his way by. "Don't worry, baby; we're still going to play."
It took him some time to get the others to wake up - Kochanski glared and growled, and Cat actively tried to shred him. Lister was the only one who didn't seem to be too put out at being roused, and Rimmer instructed them how to put the cots up so they could secure themselves on the seats that folded up under them.
"How come you didn't pull these out before?" she asked, clicking the leads of her safety harness into place in the padded metal chair.
"Trust me, the cots are far more comfortable. These'd break your back if you use them for casual sitting - they're specifically designed to keep you in a certain position to minimize damage."
"Damage?" Cat tried to stand so he could whirl around, but Rimmer guided him back into place with a very firm push on the head.
"Sit," he instructed. "We're jumping into the middle of an asteroid belt. We get to go for a bit of a run."
"But, that's dangerous!" Kochanski snapped. "Don't you know-"
Rimmer leaned over to put one hand on the back of her seat, and one on its arm. "Do you want to be stuck here for another six smegging weeks while we get to another jump point? Do you think I want to? Do you think any of us wants to? Do me a favor - sit down in your chair and hang on. Contrary to what you may have heard about me, or remember from your dimension's version of me, I do know what I'm doing, and I'm perfectly capable of doing it." He paused. "And be very glad I'm not Ace right now, or you would be on the receiving end of a very long, deep snog." He turned, making sure the Cat and Lister were secure before checking hers and heading back up. "And, do try not to scream," he called back to them. "I don't like having to turn off my ears."
******
The jump was fairly smooth this time, and Rimmer was relieved not to hear any sort of retching coming from the back. He jumped in his seat as an asteroid barely missed the Wildfire's nose, and then grinned. He interfaced with the ship, and a heads up display appeared in his left eye, feeding him information about proximity, targeting, and a host of other factors useful in combat--or, in this case, playing with asteroids. "You ready, babygirl?" he purred, taking hold of the yoke.
"Fly me, sweetness."
She didn't have to tell him twice. They were off like a shot, rolling between asteroids with the ease of longtime teamwork. At first, she had taken him to small asteroid fields to get used to piloting in changing conditions, but Arnold had pleasantly surprised her by taking to it quite naturally. She had continued to step up the challenges, and he had continued to learn, excelling at the gentle - and sometimes not-so-gentle - movements it took to guide her around in such situations. Eventually, it had become a game; they slipped about in tight belts, twisting, spinning, looping, hitting forces that would have killed a normal human several dozen times over.
He'd already largely forgotten about the passengers he carried, Lister's whoops, Kris's yelps, and Cat's battle roar all distant background. They dove and spun, back-looping and fore, twisting to fit the wide, flat profile of his beautiful ship among the moving rocks. He laughed with exhilaration; he'd always loved flying. He'd just never been allowed to do it until well after his death because of his low rank. He could hear Nona laughing with him, and he loaded her energy-based armaments, grinning madly. There was no sound as the energy weapons ripped flashily into the rock around them, creating smaller debris he had to dodge.
"Over to the left!" Nona called, and Rimmer responded, rolling gracefully before shooting the obstacle to dust. Another loop and he bore up on a rather large piece above them, the ship shuddering as she spat pulses of pure energy to blow it up as well. "Right under us!" He took them straight up, giggling darkly. It was just his ship, his manic glee, and himself now, and he pouted as Nona braked to reduce their acceleration.
"Nona, what are you doing?" he demanded, changing direction abruptly to avoid another fast-moving object.
"We have people on board?"
"Spoilsport," he huffed, nostrils flaring, the green of his eyes seeming to grow deeper from the rush.
They finally lifted out from the plane of the belt, and he set the ship to autopilot as he leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. "That was brilliant, love," he sighed. "Just brilliant." He slapped his hands on his thighs and swiveled the chair, looking back. "Everyone tickety-boo?"
"Rimmer, what the smeg was that?" Lister was looking at him in open-mouthed astonishment. "You could've gotten us killed!"
"I've always been good at flight-sims," he replied with a shrug. "And that? Pfft. That was one of those old playhouses with bouncy balls. I've flown far thicker and denser ones."
Lister growled, but was cut off by Kochanski. She giggled, then laughed, the tension from the ride bubbling out. "You're just upset because he could take us through an asteroid field, and you couldn't navigate a comet tail."
"I am not!"
"Hey, comet tails are tricky," Rimmer confirmed. "The little tiny dust can jam your sensors and really mess you up."
"Yeah!" Lister nodded firmly in agreement. "What he said."
They were all interrupted by a strangled moan. "Cat!" Rimmer was on his feet in a flash. "Cat, are you all right?"
The feline moaned and rolled his head to look up at Rimmer. "Get this off me, Missing-Goalpost-Head! If this damn thing puts my tackle out of commission, I'm going to take it out of your hide, now that I can claw it."
Rimmer laughed and undid the buckles, helping him out of his seat while he folded it down and kicked it back into place. "Lister has a bigger dick than you do, and you don't see him bitching." Another chuckle. "You really are a smegging pussy, aren't you?"
Lister guffawed as he tried to unbuckle himself. "How do you know?" Kochanski taunted. She was finding the seat rather comfortable, but then again, she didn't have any dangly bits to get in the way of things.
"Kris, we're guys. We’re not like you women; if we have to share close quarters, we don’t put up curtains to change." He finished helping them all get loose and bring the cots down into place, and helped Cat sit very gently upon one before stowing the gear away again. "That was the last hop. We're in our home dimension. Nona says it'll take about five hours for us to get to the small rouge one, and then we can spread out and have as much space as we want."
Five hours, Lister thought. Might as well be five years, but something not-quite-heaven and much better than hell was waiting for them, and he found he suddenly didn't give a smeg if it were five centuries, as long as he got there.
*******
By the time Fiona and Rimmer had traced all the dimensional threads back to the large abandoned mining ship, nearly nine days of too much togetherness had passed. Upon disembarking from the little craft, everybody trudged in the same general direction, up the lift, down a few corridors - and then promptly fanned out to as many corners as they could reasonably get away from one another without so much as a “see you later.” Tempers long since sparked and flared had subsided, frayed, and gone into hiding, so not even a “smeg off” or “fuck you” slipped out past the yawns and nearly inaudible grunts.
Lister found his old belongings near the parallel cabin he’d last inhabited on his original Dwarf. There was a thick layer of dust; he gave the upper bunk and pillows a quick shaking-out before shedding everything but undershirt and boxers and crawling up into the mostly gunmetal-colored cocoon. He figured he might have trouble sleeping, but didn’t even realize he’d gone to sleep until he woke up much, much later with an urge to empty his bladder. It wasn’t until he came out of the small bathroom that he noticed the telltale softly nasal whine emanating from the lower bunk.
Rimmer. He sighed, crossing his arms and watching the hologram sleep for a couple of minutes. He hadn’t been there when Lister fell asleep, he was reasonably certain - the last he’d seen Rimsey, he’d been heading toward the drive room to interface Holly back with the ship’s mainframe. He wondered if the man had even attempted to choose other quarters - by the brown leather jacket tossed onto the table, the watch on top of it, and knee-length boots slumped near one of the chairs, he guessed not. Quietly, Lister climbed up into his bunk. Five minutes later, bored and temporarily unable to get back to sleep, he rolled onto his stomach and scooted to hang his head over the edge of the bed.
Sprawled on his back, Rimmer slept hard, still partly dressed in a dark green t-shirt that bared most of his arms and brown velour trousers, not unlike the blue ones that had become part of his self-styled uniform before he’d left. He wondered when Rimmer had abandoned the wig; he’d definitely let his hair go in the six months since they’d all been together. Lister estimated it was perhaps an inch, inch and a half longer, just enough so that what stuck straight up reached even more verticality. Bits of dark gingery-brown curls and waves shot in various directions; Lister wondered with no small amusement what the old Rimmer would have had to say about the effectiveness of Ace Rimmer, correlated with lack of a proper military haircut.
And then he was asleep again, because eventually, he woke up. Laying there a moment, he assessed that he was starving, but took another five minutes to actually slither down from the bunk, whereupon he realized why he was hungry: A steaming plate of something was on the table!
Actually, it was two steaming plates, but Rimmer had already started on his, yawning every so often as he chewed. He glanced over as Lister’s feet hit the floor, giving a small nod as greeting, and returned his attention to filling his fork. Lister took the chair to his right, his back to the bunks. As he sat, Rimmer swallowed and jerked a thumb back behind him. “Aren’t you going to wash your hands first?”
“I’m not planning to stick my fingers in it.” He lifted the cover, heartened to find what looked like curried chicken and poppadoms. He made a little noise of triumph and pumped his left fist right before picking up his own fork and going to work.
Time passed much like one of their quiet dinners in the Tank, saying almost nothing except to gesture at the other’s plate once or twice with a full-mouth noise that might mean anything from “does it taste good?” to “found the meaning of the universe yet?” It wasn’t much different than their time together years ago, either, except for Lister’s rather worrying tendency to occasionally want to reach over and use his thumb to rub something sauce-like off of Rimmer’s upper lip; that was definitely new.
They were almost finished when the door buzzer sounded. “Come in,” they muttered just slightly out of unison, mouths full.
Cat was the first to dance in, humming to himself and taking a quick visual inventory of the room, eyes ending on Lister’s nearly-empty plate. “Yep, B.B., it’s curries,” he reported unnecessarily to Kochanski, who stood in the doorway.
Lister swallowed his mouthful. “I haven’t had any in a while!” he protested, draining another sip of Leopard Lager. He wondered how much of this was in storage. “Kryten?” he wondered, pointing at their plates.
She nodded. “I guess so. I didn’t see him, but the smell of chicken woke me up.” She sighed, a faraway look in her eyes. “And cottage cheese. With pineapple.”
“I told you.” Rimmer stabbed his fork into the air, smirking, and continued eating.
“Oh, that’s right.” The Cat paused, as if trying to remember something. “Ice Cube Head said for us all to meet near the lift when you two are done chowing down.”
“He say why?”
“Probably. But I found a crease. Didn’t hear all of it.”
Less than thirty minutes later, the four presented themselves to the mechanoid at the lift, where he had propped open its door and was giving a good cleaning to the interior seats. “Oh, sirs, ma’am, it’s good to see you up and about again. The ship has been so quiet with just Holly for conversation.”
“What’s so bad about that?” Holly appeared on the small lift monitor. “I’m good company, I am. Not everyone with an IQ of six thousand would float around discussing comparisons of household cleaning fluids.”
Kryten shook his head, visibly ignoring it. “We need to do an inventory of basic supplies. Holly and I could complete it ourselves, but it would take approximately four months nonstop just for that. If the four of you were to participate, it would take only approximately two-thirds of that time, and Holly and I could better spend our time taking inventory of non-basic supplies, such as cigarettes and ice cream.”
“Hey, who says those are non-basics?” Lister wanted to know.
“Ah, very good, Mr. Lister, sir. You do wish to volunteer.” He looked to the other three, who glanced around at each other and shrugged, nodding. “Most excellent. I believe you should begin in the morning, with clipboards and pens, and work in teams of two. I have calculated that the maximum work would be achieved by splitting you thus: Mr. Lister and the Cat together, and Mr. Rimmer and Ms. Kochanski working as the other team.”
“Kryten,” Kochanski interrupted, “how do you figure that’s the best use of our capabilities? I mean …” She looked pointedly at Lister and the Cat, then thought better of whatever she was going to say.
“What?” Lister demanded. The Cat, checking out his hand mirror, said nothing. Rimmer smirked.
“Neither of you are what one would exactly call productive, and together, you’re likely to feed each other’s worst goofing-off tendencies,” she answered without hesitation. There was a reason she was an officer.
“Ah, but I believe you and Mr. Rimmer will make up that energy with your parts of the effort,” Kryten pointed out. “You see, in my observations, Mr. Lister and the Cat mostly have a smooth relationship and don’t often clash over differing opinions or worldviews. And you and Mr. Rimmer should work well together, because you are the superior officer and he will respect your authority.” A small sound like a choked laugh interrupted them; they all turned to look at Rimmer, who put his fist over his mouth and cleared his throat. He said nothing, though, and nodded for Kryten to continue. Lister could swear he saw a twinkle, of all things, in Rimmer's eyes. “I cannot put you with Mr. Lister, ma’am, because he would spend the entire time ‘mooning’ over you, and besides, I believe Mr. Rimmer would try to de-fur the Cat within the first two hours. And as for putting Misters Lister and Rimmer together.” The mechanoid approximated a shudder. “Well, that series of arguments doesn’t even bear contemplation.”
“Fine, fine.” Kochanski waved her hands at him. “We’ll try your assignments first. Tomorrow morning, oh-nine-hundred.”