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He was running, of that Rimmer was very certain, and he was running rather fast, too. Unfortunately, he was too distracted with dodging the scattered debris and gigantic potholes strewn across the otherwise barren concrete wasteland to figure out exactly where he was running to.
They’d landed--or, to be more accurate, crashed--a good seven hours previously on what appeared to be some kind of manmade, or indeed alienmade, moon. Rimmer had, of course, immediately informed the other members of the Starbug’s motley crew that the planet was in no way safe enough to explore. With no way to track, scan, or otherwise monitor the moon’s surface, all that they’d been able to make out was that it was more or less a ball of empty, featureless rock, with a synthesized, breathable atmosphere but absolutely no sign of life-- intelligent or otherwise. Rimmer had announced that attempting to explore the supposedly abandoned planet would do nothing but waste time that would be better used repairing the Starbug in order to return to Red Dwarf-- which they had relocated just a few weeks previously, only to crash and get stuck on this smegging faceless rock.
Immediately following Rimmer’s announcement, the Red Dwarf crew had exited the Starbug armed with low grade bazookoids and empty sacks (in case they did manage to find something of interest out there) and began their long trek across the moon’s smooth surface. Rimmer had protested, and refused to join them. Ten minutes later, he sprinted out after them, Starbug’s warning alarm still going off and driving him absolutely mad. All four of them wandered across the concrete slab of open space, Rimmer complaining all the way. When all else failed, he knew, complaining was without a doubt the best way to convince people to listen to you. After a while their patience would wear thin, and they would either give in and do what you wanted, or punch you out. Usually, Rimmer fell victim to the latter of these two scenarios, but he was certain that someday complaining would work out the best for him.
That particular moment wasn’t a very good example of such an event occurring, for Rimmer was too busy running away from the roaring, manic caterpillar the size of the Titanic that had risen out of the ground and was now pursuing them.
He’d told them it was a bad idea to explore the moon’s surface, he had told them. He hadn’t exactly been expecting a fire breathing caterpillar to pop out of the ground and chase them back to the wrecked ship, but he had been absolutely right that leaving the Starbug had been in no way beneficial to any of them. He leaped over a large crack in the ground that had formed from the caterpillar’s vicious rise out from beneath it. Each of the beast’s steps brought on heavy tremors from within the moon’s core, which was keeping the ground below them shaking almost perpetually.
It was perhaps the most terrifying event of Rimmer’s entire afterlife.
If there was ever a time when Rimmer was a graceful, swift, and brilliant person, it was when he was completely out of his mind with terror. His feet did all the work getting him back to the ship, dodging the occasional shrapnel and waves of flames secreted by the beast behind him, while his mind was hurriedly calculating the most likely chance they had of getting off the planet in one piece. The hull had been moderately damaged in the crash, but there hadn’t been a breach, and the engines hadn’t exploded on impact, so presumably they were still workable. Now if only there was some way to reset the core processors from inside the cockpit--
“AH-GAK!” the odd sounding cry, followed by a thud that wasn’t quite rhythmic with the steps of the caterpillar, jolted Rimmer out of his thought process long enough for him to risk casting a glance over his shoulder as he ran. Cat was the closest to him, with feline agility and elegance making his trip back to Starbug seem like more some kind of fast-paced dance than a desperate attempt at escaping certain death. Kryten was the farthest behind, his mechanoid body not designed for high-speed chases such as these. Lister was--
Oh, Jesus smegging Christ, the goit had fallen down!
Groaning internally, Rimmer skidded to a halt, staring at Lister’s body, which was in the fetal position after tripping on some or another piece of shoebox sized rubble. Of course, the git had managed to klutz his way into another certain-death situation. Why was he surprised? Only Lister, King of Smeg, Keeper of the Idiot’s Guide to Surviving Intergalactic Travel via Pure Dumb Luck, would be running away from a fire breathing caterpillar six times the size of Metro Station, and trip over his own feet. Any second now Rimmer knew he would leap back up, adrenaline pumping fast enough through his body to stall the pain in his foot, and continue running all the way back to…
…Only he wasn’t getting up.
He wasn’t moving at all.
At least, from Rimmer’s standpoint, as far as he could tell Lister was now sitting Indian style and waiting for the caterpillar to catch up to him and snatch him up for next Sunday’s barbecue!
Momentarily forgetting the fact that he himself was in danger, Rimmer turned around and began running back towards Lister. Cat yelled something as he ran past, but Rimmer didn’t catch it, focused on getting to the grotty space bum taking a nap in front of a mammoth insectoid before he was set on fire by it. By the time he reached Lister’s side, he realized that he wasn’t in fact waiting to be their pursuers next meal, but had--for smeg’s sake--managed to get his foot trapped in a crack in the concrete, and was struggling in vain to pull it out.
Rimmer grabbed Lister’s shoulder and Lister nearly threw him back, turning to face him with a completely baffled expression.
“Rimmer? What’re you doin--” He started, but the rest of his question was blocked out by the deafening roar of the caterpillar now only a few thousand feet behind them.
“I’m getting you the smeg out of here, you gimboid,” Rimmer told him, hooking his arms beneath Lister’s armpits and pulling as hard as he could. Lister’s foot, however, refused to leave the crevice, and Rimmer swore, joining Lister in his efforts to dislodge it.
“How the smeg do you manage these things?” Rimmer demanded, although he didn’t actually expect an answer. By that time, Kryten had reached them, bending down to survey the trapped appendage.
“Oh, Mister Lister,” Kryten exclaimed, “Whatever did you get your foot caught in this hole for?”
“I didn mean to, Kryten,” Lister sighed in exasperation, “can ya get me out of this?”
“Why certainly, sir,” Kryten said. He wedged his robotic hands between the two sides of the crack and, with very little apparent effort, forced them far enough apart for Lister’s foot to wriggle out.
“Now, let’s get the smeg out of here,” Rimmer said. Lister scrambled to his feet, then let out a cry of pain, falling to one knee.
“Oh Jesus,” He gasped, his face twisted with pain, “I think it’s broken.”
“Smeg!” Rimmer swore again. The caterpillar roared behind them. Rimmer and Kryten helped Lister to his feet, one of them on either side, and started running. However, with the added weight, the lack of a smooth path, and Kryten’s perpetually slow and jerky movements, it took Rimmer all of eight seconds to realize that there was no way in hell they would reach the Starbug before the caterpillar reached them.
It was there, in the distance. He could see it, a little green speck on the horizon. He could probably reach it on his own, with enough time to start up the engines, get out of there on his own--
“We gotta hurry!” Lister shouted, as if they hadn’t already noticed that there was a giant monster chasing after them. This stupid smegger, Rimmer thought, with his bad hygiene and stupid Liverpoolian accent and annoying, gerbil-faced smirk. If I don’t let him go, I’m going to die.
And if I let him go, he’s going to die.
Rimmer pushed Lister’s arm off his shoulders, his weight falling away. Lister nearly collapsed, Kryten barely managing to catch him before he hit the ground all the way.
“Oi! Rimmer, what’re you--”
“Take him back to the ship,” Rimmer ordered Kryten, and ran--away from the Starbug. He slid to a halt a mere four hundred feet in front of the monster, twisting his bazookoid out of its holster on his back and gripping it tightly in his hands. It was so massive that even at that distance, Rimmer couldn’t see the top of it without craning his head almost ninety degrees upwards. He swallowed tightly, his heart thudding in his chest, as he cocked the bazookoid and faced it at the monster.
“Come and get it, you fire-breathing good for nothing smegger!” Rimmer spat at it. He fired.
What should have happened was the shot missing by a great distance, and the caterpillar diving down to fry and devour Rimmer, hologram or otherwise. It should have destroyed Rimmer’s light bee and ended his afterlife. Because Arnold Rimmer, with all his faults and shortcomings, was a very, very unlucky person.
But Arnold Rimmer was also a coward. And what he did in that moment, running after the monster in order to protect his comrades, risking his own life--albeit a holographic life--to save them, was something unequivocally, undoubtedly, unbelievably brave. Perhaps that was why whatever fate, karma, or god that ruled the universe decided to give him his first lucky break in thirty-six years of existence.
The shot ran straight into the monster’s eye, through its brain, and out the other side, killing it instantly. For half of a second, Rimmer gaped in wonder at the towering beast he had just destroyed. Then his luck promptly ran out and the bug fell on top of him, rendering him unconscious.
--
When Rimmer finally came to, he was lying face up in Red Dwarf’s sickbay, with a pounding headache and a feeling like sawdust in his mouth. He attempted vertical alignment by sitting up in bed, but ended up collapsing in a huff, his arms too weak to lift him up. With extensively limited energy and motivation, he let out a soft, pitiful moan.
“He’s awake!” Suddenly Lister was hanging over him, his grimy dreadlocks waving like eager seaweed in Rimmer’s face. He was beaming, one of the brightest smiles Rimmer had seen on his face in a while. Cat and Kryten quickly joined him, all three grinning down at Rimmer triumphantly.
“Is this my execution?” Rimmer croaked, his voice barely audible.
“You made it!” Kryten exclaimed. “I honestly didn’t believe that you would, sir.”
“Wasn’t sure if I’d make it?” Rimmer coughed, glaring up at him. “Kryten, I’m a hologram, I already haven’t made it.” He struggled to sit upright once more. He found himself supported, surprisingly, by Lister’s hands gliding gently down his bandaged back and propping him up.
“Yes, but when that giant caterpillar landed on you, I was quite certain that it would crush your light bee,” Kryten explained, “It seems as though I was mistaken! What wonderful news!”
“You’ve got more lives than I do, buddy,” Cat told him, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. Rimmer let out a pained yelp at the sharp slap on his bruised skin. A hand--Lister’s hand, he realized--resting on his waist tightened almost protectively. Rimmer craned his neck to look up at him, surprised that being in such close proximity to another human being after so long--much less David Lister--wasn’t making his flesh crawl. Perhaps, tingle a bit.
“You were really brave out there, man,” Lister told him, his thumb running tiny circles along the groove of Rimmer’s waist. Rimmer subconsciously settled against Lister’s chest, the sensation weirdly comforting.
“Ah yes, that would be another thing I would like to ask of you, sir,” Kryten nodded sagely. “You were, in fact, quite brave. Which, if you won’t mind me saying, sir, is very usual for you. I’d like to run a third degree diagnostic on your light bee as soon as possible, to make sure there aren’t any unusual readings from an undetected molecule in the moon’s air.”
“Wait, you’re saying that this is the first time I’ve ever done something brave, and your immediate assumption is that my personality core has been damaged?” Rimmer protested, affronted.
“Er, of course not, sir, I just thought--”
“Well I’m thinking I want all of you to get the smeg out of my room while I recover from the devastating wounds I received saving all of your arses,” Rimmer snapped.
“Yes, sir. My apologies, sir,” Kryten apologized hurriedly, backing out of the sickbay. Cat followed soon after him, no more interested in their monkeylike interactions than a shiny thing that didn’t jingle when it was played with.
It was just Rimmer and Lister in sickbay then, and Lister’s arm was still resting casually around Rimmer’s waist.
“Uh… Lister…?”
“Is it alright if I hang out in here with you a while?” Lister asked. Part of Rimmer--the self preserving, somewhat dickish part of him--wanted to say no. Instead he found himself nodding. Lister sat at the foot of the bed once he was certain that Rimmer would manage sitting upright without his help.
“I wanted to thank you,” Lister explained to him. Rimmer’s surprise must not have been hidden very well, because Lister shrugged, smiling wanly. “Fer savin me life, I mean.”
“Er, yes, I assumed that.” Rimmer stared blankly at him. “…sorry, I’m not quite sure what you want from me.”
“Eh?”
“I mean, if you’re expecting… something, some kind of explanation, I don’t have one,” Rimmer reiterated, although his reiteration seemed to make even less sense to Lister than the original statement.
“You think I want an explanation fer why you saved me life?”
“To be honest, I don’t have the slightest clue as to what you want.” Rimmer watched Lister’s hand rest on the thin blanket barricading it from his pantless calf. He knew the motion should bother him. Touching had always bothered him before. Even casual handshakes made him unnecessarily nervous and uppity-- more so than he commonly was. But Lister’s hand on his leg felt… okay.
Welcome, even.
“You could have left me,” Lister said. “Me an Kryten. You could’ve gotten back to the Starbug, fixed it up--”
“Oh yes, because I know exactly how to fix a wrecked space shuttle,” Rimmer protested. Lister raised his eyebrow.
“Oh really? So when you realigned the Time Drive on the last alternate us’s ship in forty-six seconds flat, that was just a fluke?”
“I prefer to think of it as a happy accident,” Rimmer deadpanned. Lister laughed obnoxiously.
“We’ve been travelin through space for the last four years, Rimmer, do ya really think I have no idea how capable you are with engines?”
“I… I was under the impression you still thought I was useless,” Rimmer mumbled, feeling unusually small. He always felt small, actually, but very rarely around Lister. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt sincerely inferior to the space bum. Lister’s hand, which he now realized had been caressing his leg, stilled. Rimmer turned his gaze back up to face his bunkmate, finding something not quite expected in his eyes; disappointment.
“I never thought you were useless, Arn,” Lister told him. He shrugged awkwardly, feeling embarrassed that the discussion had taken an unwanted turn towards his many insecurities. He had absolutely no interest in opening one of the countless cans of worms that Lister always seemed overly eager to poke at.
“I’d go so far as to sayin yer the most useful crewmember aboard this ship,” Lister continued conversationally. Rimmer snorted aloud.
“Clearly,” He said snidely.
“Why else would Holly have brought you back as a hologram instead of any of the other eleven thousand people on this ship?” Lister asked, sliding closer.
“Because I’m the only one that can put up with you for more than an hour,” Rimmer said, waving him off, “I’m the one that can keep you sane and at the same time keep hold of my own.”
“Yeah, yer the most valuable person on this ship,” Lister repeated calmly.
“To whom, may I ask?” Rimmer said. He looked into Lister’s deep brown eyes. They looked massive. It took Rimmer a moment to realize that that was because the man’s face was barely a finger’s breadth away from his own.
“To me,” Lister whispered. Rimmer’s gaze skittered downward, focusing on Lister’s soft, brown lips. He bit his own soundlessly as Lister ran his tongue along his bottom lip, Rimmer’s synthesized heart rate kicking itself up a few notches.
“Do ya mind?” Lister asked quietly.
“Wha… what? Oh, um, no,” Rimmer mustered, his eyes flicking back to Lister’s. Lister leaned forward slowly, his lips pressing chastely against Rimmer’s as he tried to remember how to function, how to keep his body from spasming and latching onto Lister and never, ever letting him go.
Lister reached to grasp Rimmer and tug him closer, and Rimmer broke the kiss, letting out a gasp of pain.
“Agk-- be gentle if you don’t mind, Listy,” Rimmer gritted through clenched teeth, fingering the bandages on his side cautiously.
“Oh, eh, sorry bout that, Arn,” Lister apologized. Lister’s fingers joined his, massaging the sore spots so gently it made Rimmer lightheaded.
“Arn…” He mumbled, dazedly.
“Wassat?” Lister replied, looking up from their hands.
“Have… have you always called me that?” Rimmer asked, his spare hand knotting into Lister’s shirt while he wasn’t looking.
“Erm, no. I was wonderin if it’s alright if I start callin you Arn, though; just once in a while, maybe?” He asked quietly. Rimmer leaned forward, pulling Lister’s gaze back up from his hands.
“Only if I can keep calling you Listy,” he said. Lister kissed him again, one hand resting soothingly on his hip, the other cradling his jaw delicately. Lister tasted unbelievable, a combination of flavors that Rimmer was so unfamiliar with yet so used to, after years of space travel with them surrounding him at every angle. He could taste curry and cigarettes and engine oil and lager; he could taste Lister’s soft, savory humanness, and it was miraculous. It was ground-breaking. It was fan-smegging-tastic.
“Maybe my light bee was damaged,” Rimmer mumbled into Lister’s mouth, and he felt Lister’s warm laugh vibrate deep within himself. He was all tingly-- was that even possible, for a hologram? Clearly it was, but it made absolutely no logical sense whatsoever. Though, to be fair at that moment nothing made sense, because Rimmer was laying spread out on a bunk in sickbay with Lister kissing him passionately, the third technician’s capable hands both alleviating the dull pain all over Rimmer’s body and exciting him terribly. It felt so good, so right, so unlike anything Rimmer had ever experienced before.
He pulled back from Lister’s warm touch remorsefully, turning a suspicious eye up at the engineer.
“What?” Lister asked, faintly flushed and pupils blown wide. Rimmer’s light bee seemed to buzz with appreciation at the sight. Rimmer, on the other hand, was slightly more doubtful.
“Am I dead?”
“Er, ye have been for a while, man,” Lister reminded him, chuckling, but he looked confused. Uncertain.
“I know that, Lister-- I mean why are you doing this?” Rimmer said. “It’s kind of… unbelievable, to be entirely honest, I don’t see what prompted you to come down here to visit me in sickbay then proceed to map the inside of my mouth with your tongue.”
Not that I’m complaining, Rimmer thought, but refused to say so aloud.
“Well the whole savin me life from a fire breathin monster is kinda a turn on,” Lister pointed out, grinning. Rimmer rolled his eyes; people saved other people in life-risking adventures all the time, especially on Red Dwarf (for some ungodly reason). Said rescuees didn’t tend to repay their saviors with heavy petting and deep, soulful eye contact; that only happened in ridiculous Hollywood clichés, as far as Rimmer knew.
“It’s just that you never showed any interest in me before,” Rimmer explained. Lister raised an eyebrow at him.
“Eh?” He asked. “’Course I have.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I call ya cute all the time!” Lister protested.
“Well yes, but you’re just joking around then!” Rimmer replied. Lister’s classic ‘what the smeg are you talking about’ face stared back down at him. Of course he called Rimmer cute, but not seriously; he wasn’t actually interested in--
Oh.
OH.
“Oh,” Rimmer gasped, as Lister dove back down at him to steal another kiss.
“Rimmer,” Lister sighed, “Yer such a smeghead.”
“Fine, good, just kiss me,” Rimmer begged, pulling him back down, “please just kiss me forever. Jesus Christ Lister, if you wanted to kiss me all this time you should have just gone and done it.”
“Well I know that now, don’t I?” Lister replied cheekily. Rimmer flicked him in the arm, pouting.
“Yes, you do. Good. Erm… does this mean we’re, you know… an item?” Rimmer asked hesitantly. Lister bit his lip. It looked suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh at him.
“I’d like that, yeah,” Lister told him. Rimmer let out a relieved sigh, nodding vehemently.
“Good… I mean, good as in it won’t be awkward between us, since we’d be dating and doing all that romantic smeg you like, like eating dinner by candlelight and cuddling and watching It’s a Wonderful Life together-- er, I mean that’s just an example, any movie would do really, I mean it’s not like I know that’s your favorite Christmas film… that would be rather embarrassing for me, wouldn’t it?” Rimmer chuckled sheepishly. Smooth, Rimzy, he thought, very smooth.
“Yer such a sap, Arn,” Lister told him, kissing him dutifully. Rimmer decided, rather definitively, that he would really have to start doing brave things more often.