Chapter Text
It was late, and Lister was a bit drunk. Okay, maybe more than a bit drunk. Very drunk. He’d spent the night at the bar with Petersen and Selby, drinking, trying to get Kochanski’s attention, failing, drinking some more, and trying to forget he had to work on Z-Shift tomorrow. A night like any other for Dave Lister.
From his spot on his bunk, sprawled out like a dead man, he could see Rimmer across the room. Reading something - likely revising, it was the right time of year - perpetual scowl lit up by the faint pink glow of his study lamp.
“Why’d you always look so grumpy?” Lister asked. The words didn’t get a chance to filter through his brain before they left his mouth, something that happened an unfortunate amount when he was tanked up.
“Hm?” Rimmer hummed absently, eyes not leaving his astronavigation textbook.
“I’ve bunked with you for half a year and I’ve never seen you happy. That’s like, weird. You’re weird,” Lister rambled, not sure where he was going with this train of conversation.
“What are you drivelling about, Lister? I’m trying to revise.”
Lister hopped off the bunk, wobbling dangerously for a moment as he tried to stand “I bet you-” He cut off to burp. Rimmer didn’t mask his revulsion. “I bet you I can make you laugh by the end of the week,”
“I highly doubt it. You evoke about as much joy as experimental bowel surgery,” Rimmer sniped.
“Bet,” Lister repeated.
Rimmer raised an eyebrow “Alright, what are your terms?”
Lister wondered for a minute. So many embarrassing and painful possibilities. He’d have to be vague “If I win, you have to do something for me,”
“Oh, ‘do something’, very specific, Lister.” Rimmer snarked. Lister ignored him,
“If you win…” Lister trawled through his inebriated brain for something tame “You get to keep your title as the most miserable bastard on this ship,”
Rimmer made an exaggerated show of thinking it over “Well, sounds like a hoot, Lister.” He said, sarcasm thicker than should’ve been possible “A productive and worthy way to spend time,”
“You in?”
Rimmer let out a long-suffering sigh “What the smeg, sure. You’re on.”
“Rock and roll!” Lister said emphatically, trying to head back to his bunk but nearly falling on his face with the sudden movement. The room spun like a fairground ride, and Lister blinked as he tried to ground himself.
“I didn’t realise it was possible to fail at walking in a straight line, but Listy you never cease to amaze me,” Rimmer jibed
Lister spun around to face him again, regretting the movement as soon as he’d made it “Yeah, well I didn’t think it was possible to fail the astronavigation exam more times than everyone else on Z-Shift combined, yet you’ve managed it,”
Rimmer scowled.
Lister chuckled, finally making it onto his bunk with a heavy creaking sound “You’re too predictable, Rimmer. This is gonna be a piece of cake,”
---
It was not, as Lister soon found out, a piece of cake. With the toneless grey walls and sickly fluorescent lights of the many corridors of Red Dwarf, coupled with the fact that he had a hangover that could make even Petersen squirm, Lister wasn’t in much of a laughing mood come Monday.
“Snack dispenser one hundred and fifteen, in working order,” Rimmer dictated shrilly, far too shrilly as far as Lister was concerned. When he didn’t get an answer, Rimmer huffed, putting his hands on his hips “Lister, would you pay attention? We’ve only been on shift for ten minutes and you’ve already started to stare into space and dribble,”
Lister rubbed his eyes, leaning against the wall for support and groaning “Rimmer, man, my head feels like it’s being put through the waste disposal unit. Gimme a break,”
“That’s what happens when you get pissed out of your brains on a Sunday. Now, snack dispenser one hundred and fifteen, in working order.”
Moaning and whining as he did it, Lister pulled out the clipboard and reported the dispenser ‘functioning’, headache seeming to intensify as his eyes scanned the list and he realised they were only on their third dispenser out of fifty. How did he get here? How did he go from parking trolleys in Liverpool to stuck in deep space, away from anyone and everyone, reporting the functionality of chicken soup machines with the most pretentious, charmless, petty smeghead he’d ever had the displeasure of meeting?
His thoughts roamed as he languidly pushed the trolley and watched as Rimmer leant down to inspect the next dispenser. From this angle he didn’t look too bad. If he let go some of the tension in his shoulders, wore less overstarched and military-neat clothing, and lost the perpetual grimace, Rimmer could be quite handsome.
Perhaps this was a weird train of thought to be having about Rimmer of all people. Then again, he’d probably thought worse.
“What?” Rimmer said suddenly.
Realising he was staring, Lister snapped back to reality “Huh?”
Rimmer sighed, standing up straight “Lister, if you want to fall into a drunken stupor on duty, potentially sabotaging the soup quality of hundreds of officers in the process, go ahead, but could you please direct your gormless stare somewhere else?”
Lister felt redness rise in his cheeks and, alarmingly, saw the flustered response mirrored on Rimmer.
“I dunno, you seem to be enjoying the attention,” Lister joked as he watched Rimmer’s reaction with bemusement, delighting at the way Rimmer’s face morphed into the pissy glare he’d become all so familiar with as soon as he said it. Lister considered himself good at reading people anyway, but Rimmer was like a neon sign. Pressing his buttons was a skill and an art form, and Lister had it down to a T.
“Right, that’s it, I’m putting you on report,” Rimmer snapped, breaking Lister out of his thoughts for the second time.
“What for?” Lister asked incredulously.
Rimmer scribbled in his notebook, reading aloud as he went “Third technician Lister, David. Offense, attempting to pull a senior officer-”
“You what?” Lister laughed, disbelieving.
“Offending party repeatedly stared at Second technician Rimmer, Arnold, BSc SSc, and when questioned made an inappropriate comment about Second Technician Rimmer’s enjoyment of the staring,”
“Rimmer, I was just zoning out!” Lister cried. Well, it was a little more complicated than that, he’d admit, but what Rimmer didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.
Rimmer finished the report and returned the book to his shirt pocket with a smug flourish “Now, where were we? Ah, here we are, snack dispenser one hundred and sixteen, in working order.”
Lister pointedly banged his head against the wall with a groan. Rimmer pointedly ignored him.
---
Most of the time, Lister liked Todhunter - at least, more than he liked the rest of the senior officers - but this was not one of those times.
“This is ridiculous. We give you two the most basic, menial jobs on the ship and somehow you still manage to mess them up every time? How do you even manage that?” Todhunter ranted, looking frazzled and slightly manic.
They hadn’t even done anything that bad, nothing life-threatening, Lister just may have made a jab about finding Rimmer’s inflatable friend in the wardrobe again which might have possibly prompted Rimmer to remove a vital and rather pointy component of the machine he was fixing to attack Lister with. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Rimmer straightened his back in the way he always did when he was trying to suck up to authority and Lister cringed, bracing himself.
“I was performing my duty as expected, sir. It’s Lister’s fault,”
Todhunter sighed “Two weeks painting the ship, both of you.”
Rimmer looked outraged, nostrils flaring “But sir-”
“Shut up, Rimmer.” Todhunter said flatly, turning on his heel and heading away down the corridor.
“With all due respect, sir, you’re a total smeghead,” Lister said to his retreating back
Lister was sure he hadn’t imagined the corners of Rimmer’s mouth quirking upwards at that, just for a moment. Maybe this would be easier than he’d thought.