FIC: "No Other Blue" - R/L - 3/3 - (PG-13)
Title: No Other Blue (part 3 of 3)
Rating: PG-13 pre-slash (Rimmer/Lister)
Authors notes: Commissioned by and written for the lovely laurenmitchell. The fic begins here
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf (although it would be amazing if I did...)
I'm sure you lot will also recognise the less-than-subtle nod to Back to Earth... ;-) But that scene always gets me *sniff*
It was inevitable really.
With the bottle of wine depleted, Rimmer decided to sample the mini bar at a swift but necessary pace - moving on to consume the miniatures of Jack Daniels, Smirnoff, Archers and many more wondrous variants, one by one. The tiny discarded bottles made a rather pretty pattern on the bedspread, with Rimmer in the centre of this new, strange solar system of his own devising.
That same scene, those same seconds of action, played and replayed themselves on the screen before him under the strained duress of the remote control. It was an act rather reminiscent of the time loop they’d once been stuck in before they’d lost Red Dwarf; perhaps an adventure that their creator, writer, whatever, had deemed unworthy for the audience of this dimension.
Each replay drew forth new reactions on a spectrum he’d never thought feasible. At first, he’d felt useless, slowly drowning under a wave of helpless sorrow. The more he dwelled on the frustration of the situation, the more he found himself being overcome with a raging sense of injustice - the anger flaring through his body as if he were being consumed by flames. The surge of synthetic hormones sent him on a downward spiral of base arousal, and he was soon bringing himself to an orgasm that was frustratingly empty. Now, he was just hollow, spent, and blank - lying silent and still in the eye of the storm.
The hysterical laughter of the audience still rang fresh in his ears and he felt a surge of humiliation. For them it was one big joke - an act that was the epitome of ridiculousness. Rimmer’s eyes sank closed in comprehension. Of course it was. For them, his whole life was one great joke - the very reason why he’d been created.
His mind burned with the conundrum. If Lister’s feelings were indeed mutual, was it an act of free will? Or was it the surreptitious act of an unfeeling creator, drawing them unknowingly together to a fate of his own choosing? Rimmer pressed his hands against his eyes until red patterns swirled in the darkness. This was giving him one cracker of a headache.
An idea suddenly hit him. If the creator had known he would eventually draw them together, then surely he’d have woven in the steps towards their destiny in the earlier part of their lives, the earlier series? Rimmer hauled himself onto unsteady feet and staggered across to the telephone. He had to know.
The phone only rang once before it was answered.
“Good evening, Reception. How can I - ?”
“Simon? I need to borrow your Red Dwarf DVDs.” Rimmer blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice. His words were a tad more slurred and desperate than he’d thought they’d be.
There was a shocked pause before Simon spoke again. “Of course, Mr Barrie.” He coughed politely. “Um - which one were you lookin’ to borrow?”
Rimmer glanced across to the TV screen which flickered with the frozen, silent image of Lister - eternally caught in his moment of panicked realisation.
“All of them.”
******
Simon was upstairs within five minutes, armed with a bundle of DVDs under one arm and the requested second bottle of wine under the other. He’d very kindly offered to watch them with him, in order to provide an authentic fan commentary as it were. The offer had been, understandably, declined.
Inserting the Series I disc into the DVD player, Rimmer clumsily poured himself another large glass of wine before settling into the mussed sheets ready with the pad and pen - each emblazoned with the Hotel Shangri-La emblem - from beside the phone.
Ever the anally-retarded man he’d always been, even when it came to affairs of the heart, Rimmer decided that he was going to detail anything and everything that had occurred between them over the last seven years that belied mutual hidden desire.
He began to meticulously watch each episode in turn, scoping out clues - missed sideways glances, scenes and conversations he’d never featured in or was privy to - anything to convince himself that what he’d witnessed was definitely more than just a dream.
But as the second bottle of wine gradually disappeared, he was no longer restricting himself to watching the episodes in any structured order. Instead, they had become a random selection of events, inspired by the onslaught of old, dusty memories.
The once-detailed notes had disintegrated into desperate, drunken scrawl, clearly no longer a careful, detailed collection of supporting evidence. Much like the diseased rot that began to set in during his experience in the game Better Than Life, this list before him had mutated into a cruel, mocking list of obvious signs and missed opportunities.
He’d only just realised how concerned and comforting Lister had been when he’d been upset about his father’s death. How oddly close the relationship was between their ‘high’ selves. Rimmer swallowed. How powerfully aggressive the sexual tension was between their ‘low’ incarnations.
It was only now that he even considered how Lister had saved him from his Self-Loathing beast, his clones...himself.
In the neat collection of perfectly edited adventures, where all the darkness and depression and uncertainty had been stripped away in deference to the ironic comedy of their lives, the proof was all there, plain as bloody day. The unspoken connection, the mutual understanding, the rescues, the comfort, and the sacrifices.
It was as if the dark blanket of uncertainty had been lifted. And in the brilliant light of the exposed truth, Rimmer found himself sobbing.
David Lister and Arnold Rimmer were flip sides of the same coin; a clash of two forces of nature. They couldn’t live apart, but they couldn’t live together either. Of course they could never be friends. It had to be all or nothing - locked together in a furious battle of words, or a passionate, all-encompassing tangle of lips and limbs.
And just as they’d reached the plateau, dangling precariously on the precipice of revelation, he’d walked away.
Stupidstupidstupidstupid.
The token wig long discarded, Rimmer tangled long thin fingers in the curls of his hair and tugged. Oblivious as they were to the distant audience watching them, he still couldn’t shake the cruel irony that, as usual, he’d discovered his opportunity for a happy ending far too late.
“I'm going for it, Rimmer. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t get many shots at happiness,” mused the Lister on the screen. “So when you do, you go for them all.”
Rimmer’s light bee gave up the ghost. Faithfully replicating the effects of a dedicated alcohol binge, his eyes fluttered closed in a dizzying spin and he sank back into the pillows.
Thankfully, they were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness.
******
It struck him almost immediately how quiet and still the air back on Starbug was.
Perhaps it had always been that way, and he’d never noticed it when he’d been stuck here all those years ago. Or perhaps it sat in stark opposition to the gunfire and shouts and explosions of the life he now lived. Whatever the distinction, the atmosphere felt surreally calm and silent.
Rimmer’s quivered as he stood in the doorway to the cockpit. Sure enough, Lister sat in his usual white pyjamas, honey-brown legs crossed on the dashboard as he stared out into space, as if searching forlornly for something.
“Hello, Listy.”
The pilot seat swung back to face him, startled. Even from where he stood, Rimmer could make out the universe’s infinite depths in those dark eyes, as if the image of the eternal blackness had been branded onto them.
“Smegging hell - ” Lister breathed. He stood uncertainly, his gaze darting between the figure in the doorway and the midsection beyond. “How did you - ? I didn’t think you’d - ? What are you - ?”
Rimmer hushed him with a raise of the hand. “Wait,” he implored gently, “don’t say anything. Just let me speak - please?”
Lister’s chest heaved visibly, an unsteady hand snaking out to hold onto the seat. “But - ”
“The others still don’t know,” he reassured quickly, “I know that.” He dropped his voice low. “And they don’t ever need to know that I was here if necessary.”
Rimmer mopped his face with the palm of his hand, steeling himself. “I need to ask you something - something I really hope I’ve got right. But if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll leave right away, you won’t ever need to see me again. Okay?”
At first, he thought he could also make out the reflections of the stars in Lister’s eyes as they stared back at him. But as they flitted left and right, searching his own, he realised they were the flickered beginnings of tears. He nodded wordlessly.
Rimmer wetted his lips unknowingly. “In your dreams,” he asked slowly, “did you kiss me?”
A small breath caught in Lister’s throat. He opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it again, nodding a second time.
His chest began to hammer insistently, pounding a rhythm that spurred him on. Rimmer dropped his gaze to the floor before glancing back up at him under the lashes of his eyes. “Was it good?”
He watched as Lister grazed his teeth almost imperceptibly against his lower lip. “I’m not sure,” he conceded eventually, causing Rimmer’s stomach to lurch. He shifted awkwardly on bare feet, before quietly venturing - “Perhaps you could remind me again?” Lister’s mournful eyes flitted down to his lips before returning to Rimmer’s gaze. “Just once?”
With a shuddered breath, Rimmer’s eyes sank closed. In returning to the ship and proffering the question, he’d come as far as he could. As always, it would have to fall to Lister to make the final move to close the gap. This time it was Rimmer’s turn to nod his silent consent.
Eyes still closed, he could hear Lister’s gentle footsteps as he approached. And in the surreal paradoxical moment that he felt Lister’s warm breath brushing lightly against his lips, Rimmer stopped breathing altogether.
******
The harsh banging on the hotel door wrenched him from the dream, and he sat bolt-upright. The darkness had now drawn back to the harsh reality of the day - the morning sunlight piercing its way through the open curtains. He hadn’t even bothered to close them last night.
“Oi - excuse me in there?” came the muffled call from behind the door. “You awake?”
Rimmer exhaled heavily, as if he’d been holding onto the breath for far too long. The eternal loop of static on the TV screen signalled that he must have rolled over onto the DVD remote during the night - silencing the memories in one form to relive them in another. He rubbed his eyes.
The jangle of keys sounded almost a petulant annoyance as the door was finally unlocked and opened. A tall, scrawny figure - no older than eighteen - peered his head around the doorway.
“’Ere - checkout was at 10am, bruv. You need to get gone.”
Rimmer blinked slowly. Judging by the irritable gestures with a toilet brush, he’d probably come to clean the room. He pulled up the sheets, suddenly aware of how painfully hard he was.
“Sorry, of course,” he muttered incoherently, all traces of his ‘Ace’ voice long gone. “Give me two minutes.”
After splashing some water on his face, smoothing down his jacket and re-donning the wig, Rimmer wandered out sheepishly into the corridor. The lanky teenager was still there, accompanied by a similarly-sullen young girl who was embarking on blowing a large bubble from her gum, watching him with barely-concealed distaste.
Mumbling further apologies, Rimmer slinked off down the corridor. He could just about make out distant whispers behind his back - a question he didn’t have to interpret judging by the teenager’s snaky reply.
“Dressed like that? Probably crashed here after a gay orgy.”
Rimmer winced. He really had to get round to changing his outfit.
******
The ground in the forest was still wet from yesterday’s rain, the morning dew clinging to his boots as he walked. He cursed inwardly. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to pay more attention to where he’d left Wildfire before he wandered off. Still, judging by the familiar tree patterns it had to be around here som -
OOF!
Rimmer staggered back, dazed. Okay, now that had hurt. Somehow, instinctively, he knew she was listening.
“Invithibhility field?” he called out as calmly as he was able, grasping his throbbing nose.
“How did you know?” the computer replied smoothly, her words echoing silently in his mind.
“Call it a hunch.”
******
“Where are we heading now?”
There was only one place he could go now after witnessing what he had. As much as it hurt to admit it, things back in his home dimension had moved on without him. Indeed, there was still one final series that he couldn’t even bring himself to watch last night for fear of what it would churn up. He now realised it was what Noddy had kindly been trying to keep from him.
“Any idea of which dimension you fancy next?”
He’d been tired for a long time. For months, years, he’d told himself that he couldn’t return to his old life. Things had gotten too complicated between them. He’d needed distance. He’d needed time to think. And in leaving to become the hero, he’d instinctively known that a fundamental part of him hadn’t changed. He was still a coward.
“We could go check out the theta sector again - make sure everything’s ticking over there alright.”
Just as important as the responsibility that came with being Ace, a part of him had been scared about the important act of transition - choosing a suitable version of himself to take the baton and carry on in his footsteps.
Rimmer glanced across to the lone DVD that sat beside him. An image of a man stared back up at him with his trademark scowl - devoid of an ‘H’ and dressed in a purple prison smock. And instinctively, he knew where he was going to find it.
This time, he was damned sure that he would take charge of his own destiny. His own finale. His own happy ending. He typed in the coordinates that had been branded on his memory.
“Ace - where are we going?”
“Home,” he muttered - quietly, but with a conviction he’d never known before.
Rating: PG-13 pre-slash (Rimmer/Lister)
Authors notes: Commissioned by and written for the lovely laurenmitchell. The fic begins here
Disclaimer: I don't own Red Dwarf (although it would be amazing if I did...)
I'm sure you lot will also recognise the less-than-subtle nod to Back to Earth... ;-) But that scene always gets me *sniff*
It was inevitable really.
With the bottle of wine depleted, Rimmer decided to sample the mini bar at a swift but necessary pace - moving on to consume the miniatures of Jack Daniels, Smirnoff, Archers and many more wondrous variants, one by one. The tiny discarded bottles made a rather pretty pattern on the bedspread, with Rimmer in the centre of this new, strange solar system of his own devising.
That same scene, those same seconds of action, played and replayed themselves on the screen before him under the strained duress of the remote control. It was an act rather reminiscent of the time loop they’d once been stuck in before they’d lost Red Dwarf; perhaps an adventure that their creator, writer, whatever, had deemed unworthy for the audience of this dimension.
Each replay drew forth new reactions on a spectrum he’d never thought feasible. At first, he’d felt useless, slowly drowning under a wave of helpless sorrow. The more he dwelled on the frustration of the situation, the more he found himself being overcome with a raging sense of injustice - the anger flaring through his body as if he were being consumed by flames. The surge of synthetic hormones sent him on a downward spiral of base arousal, and he was soon bringing himself to an orgasm that was frustratingly empty. Now, he was just hollow, spent, and blank - lying silent and still in the eye of the storm.
The hysterical laughter of the audience still rang fresh in his ears and he felt a surge of humiliation. For them it was one big joke - an act that was the epitome of ridiculousness. Rimmer’s eyes sank closed in comprehension. Of course it was. For them, his whole life was one great joke - the very reason why he’d been created.
His mind burned with the conundrum. If Lister’s feelings were indeed mutual, was it an act of free will? Or was it the surreptitious act of an unfeeling creator, drawing them unknowingly together to a fate of his own choosing? Rimmer pressed his hands against his eyes until red patterns swirled in the darkness. This was giving him one cracker of a headache.
An idea suddenly hit him. If the creator had known he would eventually draw them together, then surely he’d have woven in the steps towards their destiny in the earlier part of their lives, the earlier series? Rimmer hauled himself onto unsteady feet and staggered across to the telephone. He had to know.
The phone only rang once before it was answered.
“Good evening, Reception. How can I - ?”
“Simon? I need to borrow your Red Dwarf DVDs.” Rimmer blinked in surprise at the sound of his own voice. His words were a tad more slurred and desperate than he’d thought they’d be.
There was a shocked pause before Simon spoke again. “Of course, Mr Barrie.” He coughed politely. “Um - which one were you lookin’ to borrow?”
Rimmer glanced across to the TV screen which flickered with the frozen, silent image of Lister - eternally caught in his moment of panicked realisation.
“All of them.”
******
Simon was upstairs within five minutes, armed with a bundle of DVDs under one arm and the requested second bottle of wine under the other. He’d very kindly offered to watch them with him, in order to provide an authentic fan commentary as it were. The offer had been, understandably, declined.
Inserting the Series I disc into the DVD player, Rimmer clumsily poured himself another large glass of wine before settling into the mussed sheets ready with the pad and pen - each emblazoned with the Hotel Shangri-La emblem - from beside the phone.
Ever the anally-retarded man he’d always been, even when it came to affairs of the heart, Rimmer decided that he was going to detail anything and everything that had occurred between them over the last seven years that belied mutual hidden desire.
He began to meticulously watch each episode in turn, scoping out clues - missed sideways glances, scenes and conversations he’d never featured in or was privy to - anything to convince himself that what he’d witnessed was definitely more than just a dream.
But as the second bottle of wine gradually disappeared, he was no longer restricting himself to watching the episodes in any structured order. Instead, they had become a random selection of events, inspired by the onslaught of old, dusty memories.
The once-detailed notes had disintegrated into desperate, drunken scrawl, clearly no longer a careful, detailed collection of supporting evidence. Much like the diseased rot that began to set in during his experience in the game Better Than Life, this list before him had mutated into a cruel, mocking list of obvious signs and missed opportunities.
He’d only just realised how concerned and comforting Lister had been when he’d been upset about his father’s death. How oddly close the relationship was between their ‘high’ selves. Rimmer swallowed. How powerfully aggressive the sexual tension was between their ‘low’ incarnations.
It was only now that he even considered how Lister had saved him from his Self-Loathing beast, his clones...himself.
In the neat collection of perfectly edited adventures, where all the darkness and depression and uncertainty had been stripped away in deference to the ironic comedy of their lives, the proof was all there, plain as bloody day. The unspoken connection, the mutual understanding, the rescues, the comfort, and the sacrifices.
It was as if the dark blanket of uncertainty had been lifted. And in the brilliant light of the exposed truth, Rimmer found himself sobbing.
David Lister and Arnold Rimmer were flip sides of the same coin; a clash of two forces of nature. They couldn’t live apart, but they couldn’t live together either. Of course they could never be friends. It had to be all or nothing - locked together in a furious battle of words, or a passionate, all-encompassing tangle of lips and limbs.
And just as they’d reached the plateau, dangling precariously on the precipice of revelation, he’d walked away.
Stupidstupidstupidstupid.
The token wig long discarded, Rimmer tangled long thin fingers in the curls of his hair and tugged. Oblivious as they were to the distant audience watching them, he still couldn’t shake the cruel irony that, as usual, he’d discovered his opportunity for a happy ending far too late.
“I'm going for it, Rimmer. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you don’t get many shots at happiness,” mused the Lister on the screen. “So when you do, you go for them all.”
Rimmer’s light bee gave up the ghost. Faithfully replicating the effects of a dedicated alcohol binge, his eyes fluttered closed in a dizzying spin and he sank back into the pillows.
Thankfully, they were the last words he heard before he lost consciousness.
******
It struck him almost immediately how quiet and still the air back on Starbug was.
Perhaps it had always been that way, and he’d never noticed it when he’d been stuck here all those years ago. Or perhaps it sat in stark opposition to the gunfire and shouts and explosions of the life he now lived. Whatever the distinction, the atmosphere felt surreally calm and silent.
Rimmer’s quivered as he stood in the doorway to the cockpit. Sure enough, Lister sat in his usual white pyjamas, honey-brown legs crossed on the dashboard as he stared out into space, as if searching forlornly for something.
“Hello, Listy.”
The pilot seat swung back to face him, startled. Even from where he stood, Rimmer could make out the universe’s infinite depths in those dark eyes, as if the image of the eternal blackness had been branded onto them.
“Smegging hell - ” Lister breathed. He stood uncertainly, his gaze darting between the figure in the doorway and the midsection beyond. “How did you - ? I didn’t think you’d - ? What are you - ?”
Rimmer hushed him with a raise of the hand. “Wait,” he implored gently, “don’t say anything. Just let me speak - please?”
Lister’s chest heaved visibly, an unsteady hand snaking out to hold onto the seat. “But - ”
“The others still don’t know,” he reassured quickly, “I know that.” He dropped his voice low. “And they don’t ever need to know that I was here if necessary.”
Rimmer mopped his face with the palm of his hand, steeling himself. “I need to ask you something - something I really hope I’ve got right. But if I’m wrong, I promise I’ll leave right away, you won’t ever need to see me again. Okay?”
At first, he thought he could also make out the reflections of the stars in Lister’s eyes as they stared back at him. But as they flitted left and right, searching his own, he realised they were the flickered beginnings of tears. He nodded wordlessly.
Rimmer wetted his lips unknowingly. “In your dreams,” he asked slowly, “did you kiss me?”
A small breath caught in Lister’s throat. He opened his mouth to speak but promptly closed it again, nodding a second time.
His chest began to hammer insistently, pounding a rhythm that spurred him on. Rimmer dropped his gaze to the floor before glancing back up at him under the lashes of his eyes. “Was it good?”
He watched as Lister grazed his teeth almost imperceptibly against his lower lip. “I’m not sure,” he conceded eventually, causing Rimmer’s stomach to lurch. He shifted awkwardly on bare feet, before quietly venturing - “Perhaps you could remind me again?” Lister’s mournful eyes flitted down to his lips before returning to Rimmer’s gaze. “Just once?”
With a shuddered breath, Rimmer’s eyes sank closed. In returning to the ship and proffering the question, he’d come as far as he could. As always, it would have to fall to Lister to make the final move to close the gap. This time it was Rimmer’s turn to nod his silent consent.
Eyes still closed, he could hear Lister’s gentle footsteps as he approached. And in the surreal paradoxical moment that he felt Lister’s warm breath brushing lightly against his lips, Rimmer stopped breathing altogether.
******
The harsh banging on the hotel door wrenched him from the dream, and he sat bolt-upright. The darkness had now drawn back to the harsh reality of the day - the morning sunlight piercing its way through the open curtains. He hadn’t even bothered to close them last night.
“Oi - excuse me in there?” came the muffled call from behind the door. “You awake?”
Rimmer exhaled heavily, as if he’d been holding onto the breath for far too long. The eternal loop of static on the TV screen signalled that he must have rolled over onto the DVD remote during the night - silencing the memories in one form to relive them in another. He rubbed his eyes.
The jangle of keys sounded almost a petulant annoyance as the door was finally unlocked and opened. A tall, scrawny figure - no older than eighteen - peered his head around the doorway.
“’Ere - checkout was at 10am, bruv. You need to get gone.”
Rimmer blinked slowly. Judging by the irritable gestures with a toilet brush, he’d probably come to clean the room. He pulled up the sheets, suddenly aware of how painfully hard he was.
“Sorry, of course,” he muttered incoherently, all traces of his ‘Ace’ voice long gone. “Give me two minutes.”
After splashing some water on his face, smoothing down his jacket and re-donning the wig, Rimmer wandered out sheepishly into the corridor. The lanky teenager was still there, accompanied by a similarly-sullen young girl who was embarking on blowing a large bubble from her gum, watching him with barely-concealed distaste.
Mumbling further apologies, Rimmer slinked off down the corridor. He could just about make out distant whispers behind his back - a question he didn’t have to interpret judging by the teenager’s snaky reply.
“Dressed like that? Probably crashed here after a gay orgy.”
Rimmer winced. He really had to get round to changing his outfit.
******
The ground in the forest was still wet from yesterday’s rain, the morning dew clinging to his boots as he walked. He cursed inwardly. Perhaps it would have been a good idea to pay more attention to where he’d left Wildfire before he wandered off. Still, judging by the familiar tree patterns it had to be around here som -
OOF!
Rimmer staggered back, dazed. Okay, now that had hurt. Somehow, instinctively, he knew she was listening.
“Invithibhility field?” he called out as calmly as he was able, grasping his throbbing nose.
“How did you know?” the computer replied smoothly, her words echoing silently in his mind.
“Call it a hunch.”
******
“Where are we heading now?”
There was only one place he could go now after witnessing what he had. As much as it hurt to admit it, things back in his home dimension had moved on without him. Indeed, there was still one final series that he couldn’t even bring himself to watch last night for fear of what it would churn up. He now realised it was what Noddy had kindly been trying to keep from him.
“Any idea of which dimension you fancy next?”
He’d been tired for a long time. For months, years, he’d told himself that he couldn’t return to his old life. Things had gotten too complicated between them. He’d needed distance. He’d needed time to think. And in leaving to become the hero, he’d instinctively known that a fundamental part of him hadn’t changed. He was still a coward.
“We could go check out the theta sector again - make sure everything’s ticking over there alright.”
Just as important as the responsibility that came with being Ace, a part of him had been scared about the important act of transition - choosing a suitable version of himself to take the baton and carry on in his footsteps.
Rimmer glanced across to the lone DVD that sat beside him. An image of a man stared back up at him with his trademark scowl - devoid of an ‘H’ and dressed in a purple prison smock. And instinctively, he knew where he was going to find it.
This time, he was damned sure that he would take charge of his own destiny. His own finale. His own happy ending. He typed in the coordinates that had been branded on his memory.
“Ace - where are we going?”
“Home,” he muttered - quietly, but with a conviction he’d never known before.