Fic: Not Like Howard - PG-13
Title: Not Like Howard
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Howard Rimmer/OMC
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Red Dwarf. Nor do I make any money from this fannish venture.
Notes: For madlovescience, who was my internet angel in an hour of need. As always, concrit is thoroughly welcome!
Summary: 13-year old Rimmer goes home for the summer, and has a rather disturbing experience involving a family member.
Despite always dreading the yearly trip back home over summer break, Rimmer took some comfort in the fact that at his parents house, nothing ever changed. Despite the fact that Rimmer always seemed to have grown an inch since last time, hence everything appearing, rather absurdly to have shriveled in Io's artificial summer heat, nothing was new. Usually, that was.
The summer of Rimmer's thirteenth year, something had changed. Rimmer could tell the moment he set foot inside the house; would have been able to do so even without the finely honed paranoia he had been forced to cultivate at Io House. Even the most obtuse child would have noticed the forced cheerfulness in his mother's demeanor (cheerful? A woman whom Rimmer had never thought capable of anything but glaring); the eerie, quiet way in which everyone seemed to avoid one another. Even Frank and John settled for throwing half-hearted insults at him, which was almost a little frightening. It was the first time on a visit like this that Rimmer had been able to take clothes off in the evening that were as whole and clean they had been as when he'd arrived. While it was wonderful to be left alone, it was also deeply disturbing not to know what was going on. Rimmer didn't sleep much that night; afraid that someone would come yank him out of bed and tell him that it was all some bizarre psychological experiment. His father had nodded to him! Usually, he would pretend his youngest son was simply not there, obscured like a trompe d'oreille by the blind spot in his eye. And where, Rimmer noted with a mounting sense of despair, was Howard? When he eventually drifted off into a half-sleep, it was just a few hours to dawn.
Rimmer woke early, rushing off to use the bathroom before anyone else. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, just in case this had anything to do with lack of proper hygiene. They were always harping on at school about how important that was, and in Rimmer's world, 'important' meant 'need for constant vigilance and discipline'. Just as he was finishing drying himself off with the dry, gray flannel his mother seemed to keep around just for him, he heard the muffled sound of hushed voices, and footsteps, moving up stairs. Burglars! Was Rimmer's first panicked thought, as he threw himself against the bathroom wall, closing his eyes, and clutching the towel.
The walls between the rooms up here were rather thin. His mother had told him it was to discourage 'goings on', which had rather confused Rimmer at the time. After all, everything you did was something that 'went on'. When she refused to elaborate, even boxing his ears for asking, he had simply started to feel guilty about everything he did in his room, praying that his parents or his brothers would not hear it when he turned the pages of books, or glued model space-shuttle parts together. To his horror and bewilderment, the voices outside seemed to be getting closer. He could almost hear what they were saying... and then they opened the door to Howard's room - which was, he realized with a sinking heart, the room behind the wall he was leaning up against - and he could hear them loud and clear.
"Oi, Howard, won't they hear us?"
Rimmer didn't know that voice. It sounded young and reedy, though definitely male, and constantly on the verge of giggling.
"Nah, mum and dad sleep across the hall, and she snores hard enough to block out any other noise. And it's hardly gone five in the morning. Even mum won't be up at least another hour."
That was Howard's gruff, leering baritone. Rimmer swallowed, feeling something in between relief and utter confusion. Why was Howard bringing a strange boy into the house at five in the morning? He debated just going back to his room, but then he remembered how thin the walls were. If Rimmer could hear Howard and his friend, they could surely hear him, and Rimmer rather enjoyed the feeling of not being beaten up, and wanted it to last as long as possible. And so, he leaned back against the wall harder, trying not to breathe.
He could hear his brother and his friend moving about, laughing and giggling and shushing one another. Rimmer wondered, idly, what they were doing. Then there came an eerie sort of hush. Rimmer almost thought something had happened to them (gas? Ninja assassins sneaking in through the window? Would it hurt him too? How could he get out??) but then the giggles started up again, along with odd little noises that Rimmer couldn't quite place. There were moans, and little sighs, and at one point, that reedy voice cried out "Howard," loud enough to make Rimmer jump. It all seemed to go on for rather a long time, and as he listened, Rimmer found himself sort of... relaxing. Maybe it was the fact that whatever they were doing, they were so clearly enjoying it. People rarely enjoyed themselves around Rimmer. If they did, some form abuse to Rimmer's person was usually involved. Hearing Howard laugh when his boot was not in Rimmer's face, his hands not in Rimmer's hair, pulling, was somewhat unreal. Absurd.
Howard's sighs and grunts (grunts? Were they wrestling?) was not the most interesting thing though, to Rimmer's spinning mind. That... other voice; the one he'd never heard before. Who was it? Rimmer found himself trying to imagine, his eyes closed, what this mysterious person looked like. He'd never met any of Howard's friends before. Maybe they were just like Howard, all lean muscles and square jaws. Or maybe he was all different - an opposite. Maybe he was short; stocky... lost in thought, Rimmer didn't notice that the noises had stopped. He didn't hear Howard's door open, and by the time he heard the bathroom door, it was too late.
A tall, skinny body was standing in the doorway, naked from long, black, lanky-haired top to naked bottom, which Rimmer thankfully did not see. Rimmer's eyes stuck on the boy's hand, which was gripping his crotch protectively. When he finally looked up, green eyes were glaring angrily at him. "Who the smeg are you?"
Seated at the breakfast table that morning, Rimmer was still not sure how he had managed to get out of that one in one piece. Oddly enough, rather than going after Rimmer, Howard had shown up to yank his friend away from the door, hissing some words into his ear, after which they'd both rushed off, just as Rimmer heard the door to his parents bedroom across the hall creak open. Howard had not even come back to glare at Rimmer, who had hightailed it back to his room, barricading it with every movable piece of furniture he could find, and waiting, heart in throat, for three hours before daring to go back out. And now? Everyone, Howard included, was engaged in a deadly serious game of non-card Happy Families. For the first time in years, Rimmer was given toast that had not been burned to a crisp, or first rubbed onto some amusing surface by one of his brothers. John and Frank were seated, pointedly, on opposite ends of the table from Howard, who - in turn - very pointedly did not look in Rimmer's direction. One by one, his brothers excused themselves, hurrying out the front door with mumbled 'goodbye's. Grunting, his father joined them, leaving Rimmer with his mother.
With a delicate chink, Rimmer's mother put her tea-cup down on its saucer, looking at nothing in particular, and certainly not at her youngest son. "You know Rimmer," she said, dropping her spoon into her cup, "you're a huge disappointment to your father and me, and a failure at everything you do, but at least you're not like Howard." Then she turned her head slightly, and flashed him a humorless smile.
Stunned, all Rimmer could do was nod, open-mouthed. From that moment on he was determined to never, ever become like Howard. No matter what, he would do his utmost - and Rimmer could be terribly determined when he wanted to be - to keep from doing any of the clearly terrible, horrible things Howard had done. Maybe he couldn't be successful, but he could at least keep himself from becoming what Howard was.
Whatever that was.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Howard Rimmer/OMC
Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned Red Dwarf. Nor do I make any money from this fannish venture.
Notes: For madlovescience, who was my internet angel in an hour of need. As always, concrit is thoroughly welcome!
Summary: 13-year old Rimmer goes home for the summer, and has a rather disturbing experience involving a family member.
Despite always dreading the yearly trip back home over summer break, Rimmer took some comfort in the fact that at his parents house, nothing ever changed. Despite the fact that Rimmer always seemed to have grown an inch since last time, hence everything appearing, rather absurdly to have shriveled in Io's artificial summer heat, nothing was new. Usually, that was.
The summer of Rimmer's thirteenth year, something had changed. Rimmer could tell the moment he set foot inside the house; would have been able to do so even without the finely honed paranoia he had been forced to cultivate at Io House. Even the most obtuse child would have noticed the forced cheerfulness in his mother's demeanor (cheerful? A woman whom Rimmer had never thought capable of anything but glaring); the eerie, quiet way in which everyone seemed to avoid one another. Even Frank and John settled for throwing half-hearted insults at him, which was almost a little frightening. It was the first time on a visit like this that Rimmer had been able to take clothes off in the evening that were as whole and clean they had been as when he'd arrived. While it was wonderful to be left alone, it was also deeply disturbing not to know what was going on. Rimmer didn't sleep much that night; afraid that someone would come yank him out of bed and tell him that it was all some bizarre psychological experiment. His father had nodded to him! Usually, he would pretend his youngest son was simply not there, obscured like a trompe d'oreille by the blind spot in his eye. And where, Rimmer noted with a mounting sense of despair, was Howard? When he eventually drifted off into a half-sleep, it was just a few hours to dawn.
Rimmer woke early, rushing off to use the bathroom before anyone else. He scrubbed himself thoroughly, just in case this had anything to do with lack of proper hygiene. They were always harping on at school about how important that was, and in Rimmer's world, 'important' meant 'need for constant vigilance and discipline'. Just as he was finishing drying himself off with the dry, gray flannel his mother seemed to keep around just for him, he heard the muffled sound of hushed voices, and footsteps, moving up stairs. Burglars! Was Rimmer's first panicked thought, as he threw himself against the bathroom wall, closing his eyes, and clutching the towel.
The walls between the rooms up here were rather thin. His mother had told him it was to discourage 'goings on', which had rather confused Rimmer at the time. After all, everything you did was something that 'went on'. When she refused to elaborate, even boxing his ears for asking, he had simply started to feel guilty about everything he did in his room, praying that his parents or his brothers would not hear it when he turned the pages of books, or glued model space-shuttle parts together. To his horror and bewilderment, the voices outside seemed to be getting closer. He could almost hear what they were saying... and then they opened the door to Howard's room - which was, he realized with a sinking heart, the room behind the wall he was leaning up against - and he could hear them loud and clear.
"Oi, Howard, won't they hear us?"
Rimmer didn't know that voice. It sounded young and reedy, though definitely male, and constantly on the verge of giggling.
"Nah, mum and dad sleep across the hall, and she snores hard enough to block out any other noise. And it's hardly gone five in the morning. Even mum won't be up at least another hour."
That was Howard's gruff, leering baritone. Rimmer swallowed, feeling something in between relief and utter confusion. Why was Howard bringing a strange boy into the house at five in the morning? He debated just going back to his room, but then he remembered how thin the walls were. If Rimmer could hear Howard and his friend, they could surely hear him, and Rimmer rather enjoyed the feeling of not being beaten up, and wanted it to last as long as possible. And so, he leaned back against the wall harder, trying not to breathe.
He could hear his brother and his friend moving about, laughing and giggling and shushing one another. Rimmer wondered, idly, what they were doing. Then there came an eerie sort of hush. Rimmer almost thought something had happened to them (gas? Ninja assassins sneaking in through the window? Would it hurt him too? How could he get out??) but then the giggles started up again, along with odd little noises that Rimmer couldn't quite place. There were moans, and little sighs, and at one point, that reedy voice cried out "Howard," loud enough to make Rimmer jump. It all seemed to go on for rather a long time, and as he listened, Rimmer found himself sort of... relaxing. Maybe it was the fact that whatever they were doing, they were so clearly enjoying it. People rarely enjoyed themselves around Rimmer. If they did, some form abuse to Rimmer's person was usually involved. Hearing Howard laugh when his boot was not in Rimmer's face, his hands not in Rimmer's hair, pulling, was somewhat unreal. Absurd.
Howard's sighs and grunts (grunts? Were they wrestling?) was not the most interesting thing though, to Rimmer's spinning mind. That... other voice; the one he'd never heard before. Who was it? Rimmer found himself trying to imagine, his eyes closed, what this mysterious person looked like. He'd never met any of Howard's friends before. Maybe they were just like Howard, all lean muscles and square jaws. Or maybe he was all different - an opposite. Maybe he was short; stocky... lost in thought, Rimmer didn't notice that the noises had stopped. He didn't hear Howard's door open, and by the time he heard the bathroom door, it was too late.
A tall, skinny body was standing in the doorway, naked from long, black, lanky-haired top to naked bottom, which Rimmer thankfully did not see. Rimmer's eyes stuck on the boy's hand, which was gripping his crotch protectively. When he finally looked up, green eyes were glaring angrily at him. "Who the smeg are you?"
Seated at the breakfast table that morning, Rimmer was still not sure how he had managed to get out of that one in one piece. Oddly enough, rather than going after Rimmer, Howard had shown up to yank his friend away from the door, hissing some words into his ear, after which they'd both rushed off, just as Rimmer heard the door to his parents bedroom across the hall creak open. Howard had not even come back to glare at Rimmer, who had hightailed it back to his room, barricading it with every movable piece of furniture he could find, and waiting, heart in throat, for three hours before daring to go back out. And now? Everyone, Howard included, was engaged in a deadly serious game of non-card Happy Families. For the first time in years, Rimmer was given toast that had not been burned to a crisp, or first rubbed onto some amusing surface by one of his brothers. John and Frank were seated, pointedly, on opposite ends of the table from Howard, who - in turn - very pointedly did not look in Rimmer's direction. One by one, his brothers excused themselves, hurrying out the front door with mumbled 'goodbye's. Grunting, his father joined them, leaving Rimmer with his mother.
With a delicate chink, Rimmer's mother put her tea-cup down on its saucer, looking at nothing in particular, and certainly not at her youngest son. "You know Rimmer," she said, dropping her spoon into her cup, "you're a huge disappointment to your father and me, and a failure at everything you do, but at least you're not like Howard." Then she turned her head slightly, and flashed him a humorless smile.
Stunned, all Rimmer could do was nod, open-mouthed. From that moment on he was determined to never, ever become like Howard. No matter what, he would do his utmost - and Rimmer could be terribly determined when he wanted to be - to keep from doing any of the clearly terrible, horrible things Howard had done. Maybe he couldn't be successful, but he could at least keep himself from becoming what Howard was.
Whatever that was.