Chapter Text
Kryten’s right leg stopped dead over the threshold of the sleeping quarters. Like most of the rest of him, it couldn’t decide how to proceed, and so stayed frozen in mid-air. Only his eyes worked, zooming in on the pile of brightly coloured yarn on the table and the two knitting needles sticking out from the top.
“Ah, Kryten. Just the man.” Rimmer gave him a big, soppy smile, and the sight was so unnatural that Kryten stayed still for a moment longer than necessary. “I’ve decided to learn…er…this.”
Kryten’s foot planted itself on the floor, and his mouth moved. “Knitting?”
“Yes, that.”
“Those are Mr Lister’s yarn and needles.”
“Well, I mean.” Rimmer tipped the double magnum in his hand toward Lister’s bunk. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, it was at least three-quarters empty. “I’m sure he won’t mind. ’Tis the season and all that. The Christmas spirit.”
“It’s not Christmas anymore, sir.”
“Whatever. The point is, I need to learn. For my health.”
“Oh?”
“Helps slow the aging of the brain.”
Kryten’s fingers itched to clear away the mess of yarn and scrub out the drops of champagne on Rimmer’s shirt. “Sir, you’re a hologram.”
Rimmer only nodded with great conviction. “First thing I’m gonna make is a hat.”
“For Mr Lister, you mean?” Kryten’s guard fell immediately at the thought. “Oh, sir, what a lovely idea.”
“No, for your head. Your big, stupid, pink head,” Rimmer averred, waving his bottle dangerously in the direction of said head before tipping his own head back to take a large gulp. “Then a…then…a suit for Cat.”
“Sir, I don’t think suits are generally - ”
“Shurrup. I’m gonna make a suit.” Rimmer picked up both needles with his free hand. “Now, how’s this work?”
Someone was singing. It was a strange sort of song. Sounded remarkably like his name being chanted in his ear, in fact.
“Oh, Rim-mer?”
“Smeg off, Lister,” Rimmer said automatically. A second later, it occurred to him that he had even more cause to be irritable than usual. “It’s the new year. I am hungover, you are hungover. Leaving me to sleep it off would be beneficial to both of us.”
“It’s time for your lesson, though.”
“What?”
“Your knitting lesson.” Through Rimmer’s bleary eyes, Lister looked extremely awake. Gleeful, even. It was beyond his comprehension. “Look.”
Rimmer squinted at the piece of paper; it seemed to be a printout, beginning with a paragraph with a signature at the end, followed by a timetable. He tried to muster up the mental acuity to read the text, but Lister was already reciting it in a singsong voice.
“As one of my resolutions for the new year, I, Arnold J Rimmer, hereby pledge to receive regular knitting lessons from Dave Lister, the frequency thereof to be determined at the latter’s discretion. Your signature, right there.”
“I don’t remember signing this! You forged it!”
“Nope.” Lister grinned, then turned toward the vid screen. “Play recording.”
“What the smeg are you doing?!”
Lister’s exclamation rang out like a war-cry. He strode past Kryten and went right up to Rimmer. “What have you done with my stuff?” he demanded.
Rimmer blinked innocently up at him. “I’m going to learn how to knit. I need to, for the…brain…things. Will you teach me?”
“Is this one of your ideas? Is it supposed to make him shut up for five minutes?”
“Absolutely not, sir.” Kryten drew himself up, slightly offended at the suggestion. “Mr Rimmer is just being silly, like humans often are before they welcome a new year.”
“I wanna leeaaaaarn,” Rimmer insisted, dragging out his syllables as he would never do while sober. “You haaaave to teach me, Listy.”
Lister folded his arms. “Well,” he said after a brief silence, “if it’s so important to you.”
“Good!”
“Sir, are you sure?”
“Hey, new year, new beginnings, right? I reckon the first thing we should do is make a timetable. Two hours per day, every day — that’s a good schedule for a beginner.”
Kryten got the full blast of Lister’s smile; Rimmer missed it entirely, as he was examining a clump of yarn he’d speared on one of the needles. “You’re the expert, sir.”
As he crafted the written resolution, conscientiously confirming the wording of each phrase with a happy Rimmer, Kryten entertained the idea of making a new year’s resolution of his own. Was “Clean the inside of Mr Lister’s wardrobe until it really sparkles” too lofty a goal, rather like the knitted suit? No, surely not. He could write his pledge down as well, hold himself accountable. Ah, humans and their ideas — many of them were odd, but not all were completely useless.