Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dimension 8974, he decides, is a fluke. One in a billion billion trillion or however smegging many. It’s just his luck that his ship chose it for their very first jump together.

Slouched on one of the steps that lead to the sleeping quarters, he watches the pair through the fringe of his wig. A first glance might show two men seated side by side at the dining table, chatting quietly over coffee. Upon closer inspection, however, the observant would notice the gentle rubbing of a foot against a velvet-clad leg. To the especially keen (or bored, as he is), the message in Lister’s eyes is obvious: No one but you.

He can’t see into his counterpart’s eyes from this angle, but judging from the nods of his curly head, they are most likely broadcasting something similar.

Dimension 437828/B differs from 437828/A in that the latter has a female Cat. When a Holly Hop Drive malfunction hurls 437828/A’s crew into 437828/B, Ace arrives to lend a hand. He sincerely hopes that no one will shag their double this time; in addition to being repugnant, it could have disastrous (and heartbreaking) consequences, as he well knows.

He is struck by how young they all are. Both Rimmers are soft-light (perhaps for all time — who knows?), and their frustration is evident in their behaviour.

Cat A prefers sparkly dresses to suits and is far more mature and introspective than Cat B. Once or twice, Ace sees her with chin in hands, looking wistful.

“Cat, could you chuck us that screwdriver?” She obliges with the careless grace befitting her species, but blushes to the roots of her hair when Lister A winks and says “Thanks, darlin’.”

Ah. Ace’s suspicions are confirmed when Cat A lays a gentle hand on his arm and asks if she can have a word.

“Mr Ace - ”

“Call me Ace, I insist.”

“Ace, then. Listen, you’re well-versed in…” She casts a furtive glance over her shoulder. “…matters of the heart, yes?”

“Er - ” Ace chokes down his real voice. “I suppose so.” He hasn’t yet got around to studying the records of his predecessors’ romantic exploits. “I’d be glad to be of service - er, I mean, if it’s advice you need.” Shit. Smeg. Shit.

The Cat notices his wrongfootedness and raises a perfectly-shaped eyebrow, but she doesn’t pry. “You see, Ace, I wondered how other dimensions were in terms of…relationships.”

Ace grimaces internally; he knows what’s coming. “Which relationships specifically, love?”

“Have you ever been to a universe where a Cat and a Lister were together?”

Even though he was expecting the question, he is a little shocked at the frankness. Never in a million years has he thought that he would feel sympathy for a Cat. “I…really couldn’t say, Cat,” he replies lamely. “Got to concentrate on my work, you know. Can’t spend too much time being nosy.”

“Right.”

He wants to bite his fist; it’s obvious that Cat A is not convinced by his Ace act. Before she leaves the room, she pauses and murmurs, “I just don’t understand what Dave sees in Rimmer.”

In Dimension 16674, Ace passes his first real test. The simulant ship that attacks Red Dwarf is small but extremely well-equipped; were he not a hard-light hologram, he would have had both legs blown off. With the help of the crew, which features a Hudzen 10 instead of a Kryten, he manages to finish off the enemy.

During the celebratory dinner, he learns that the Rimmer of this dimension is alive. Unlike Ace, he did not blow himself up after he went back in time to try to become the inventor of the Tension Sheet.

“No sssmegging use, anyway,” Rimmer slurs, nursing his eighteenth glass of white wine while the others talk animatedly about smeg knows what.

“What do you mean, Arn?”

“’M just a toy. Just his bit on the side until…” Rimmer shakes his head despondently. “’Til we find the love of his life.”

Ace feels his eyebrows disappear into his wig. “You mean you and…”

“Here I am, have been - for twenty-odd years. His best friend. His only friend ’part from that ssstupid cat.” Rimmer waves his goblet expressively. “I would do anything for him, but he doesn’t have the decency to…to…”

“I think it’s time you turned in, Arnie.” Ace doesn’t want to hear any more of this, nor can he bear the heartbreak written on his double’s face. “Here, take my arm — there’s a good chap.”

“Thinks he can use me…”

By his ship’s estimate, Ace has been with her for about ten Earth years. She speaks favourably of his accomplishments, but she is puzzled by his relatively unchanged personality.

“You’d just got used to smug gits,” Ace tells her resentfully when she broaches the subject. “I wanted to be a different Ace, and I’ve been very successful there, thanks so much.”

“There’s no need to be rude, Ace.”

“Sorry, love.”

“Quite all right.”

“While we’re on the subject…”

“Yes?”

“I wondered…if there was a possibility that…” Ace bites his lip nervously. He may be an intergalactic space hero, but he is scared to death of offending his ship.

The AI sighs. “I know what you’re going to say.”

He flinches. He should have guessed. “Y - you do, do you?”

“I know everything, Ace. You should know that by now,” the ship chides.

During his travels, he has met countless Arnold Rimmers and Dave Listers. Some, like the first pair he met as Ace, are passionately in love. Others keep up an impressive stream of bickering from dawn to dusk; some take it to such an extreme that their crewmates forcibly separate them for days at a time, but they always go back to each other to argue more. Others are best friends. Still others have connections that are fraught with complications. He has met Listers who compose love songs about their oblivious Rimmers, Rimmers who watch in silent pain as their Listers pine after or carry on with someone else. On a few occasions, he has ended up in a dimension whose Rimmer has already joined the ring of coffins; every one of them left behind a Lister to grieve for him.

The question of how he fits into the pattern has been following Ace around for years, and it seems to him that there is only one way to find out.

------

Lister sits alone in the drive room, running routine system checks on the ship. He neither sees nor hears the transporter beam; he assumes that the footsteps that come up behind him are Cat’s.

“Hello, Listy.”

He turns, startled, to face the source of the voice.

“Rimmer!”

The dreams always begin this way, but something about this one feels different. For one thing, Rimmer doesn’t launch into his “I got fed up with adventuring” speech. Instead, he gazes silently at Lister, his eyes searching for something.

Lister stands and steps closer. Tentatively, he reaches for one of the furry lapels on Ace’s suit. It certainly feels real. Rimmer looks real — a little older, a bit more weathered, and a lot…happier?

Finally, Rimmer opens his mouth. “I’m home.”

Those are the last words Lister lets him say for a long time.