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In many ways, being a soft light hologram wasn’t much different for Rimmer than being a living human being. After all, he could count on one hand the number of times anyone had touched him in a remotely pleasant way in the entirety of his life, and he’d have a finger and a thumb left over to pinch himself on the arm. His whole life, and his whole death, he wondered what was so hideous about him. With the state of his mind, he never fell short of answers. If he did, Lister or Cat or even Kryten (when he was feeling bold or when Rimmer was being particularly odious) would be sure to supply him with some. At least, when his soft light holographic form meant that he couldn’t touch nor be touched by anything, Rimmer had an excuse for it. But, still, his simulated bones ached with tremendous, familiar agony, with a longing to feel something – a hand gripping his arm, fingertips brushing against his cheek, a pair of lips planted on his own...
When Legion finally modified his light bee, it gave Rimmer the opportunity to touch again – to be touched – but, well, it did nothing to change the fact that few people wanted to touch him if not to slap him across the face. And, with the few people/cat humanoids/mechanoids/computers he was stuck with, he seemed to be out of luck. Since he’d been able to touch things again, the best he could hope for was the occasional clap on the shoulder from Lister, which was a gesture he loathed yet mystifyingly savoured. As startling and forceful as it could be, the firmness of the albeit fleeting touch was almost nice. Embarrassingly, and he would never admit it, it took a great amount of restraint for Rimmer to not mewl at the contact.
Of course, he didn’t want the Cat to grope him or Kryten to kiss him on the forehead. Rimmer wasn’t even sure there was anyone left who could give him what he craved. Though, for all the time he spent fantasising about vague touches from ambiguous, faceless sources, he wasn’t entirely sure what exactly he craved, nor who could satisfy those cravings.
It was yet another night where Rimmer couldn’t sleep for no reason in particular. Most maddeningly of all, he couldn’t even blame Lister and his infernal snoring, as Lister hadn’t yet staggered to bed. With a huff, he exited the sleeping quarters. Besides the mechanical hum of Starbug, it was silent. The stillness of everything ought to have been calming, but it only served to make him all the more restless. So, he continued his midnight stroll. If he was being honest with himself – which he wasn’t – a sad little part of him hoped to stumble upon Lister, who was sure to disturb the oppressive silence in the way he did best.
When he entered the cockpit, Rimmer had to pretend to be annoyed that Lister was already there, a can of lager in his hand, of course. Lister peered over the back of his chair and grinned lazily at him.
“Alright, Rimmer?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
An almighty huff escaped his perpetually flared nostrils. He opted to stand in the doorway, arms folded tightly over his chest.
“Isn’t it past your bedtime?”
Although he was capable of coming up with better comments than that, Lister was satisfied enough with his remark. He tipped back his can and gulped down its contents.
“I’m glad you’re able to amuse somebody, even if it is only yourself.”
With a relishing exhale, Lister pulled the can away from his lips and went back to watching Rimmer over the back of the chair.
“You’re allowed to join me, y’know. As long as you try not to be a total smeghead.”
Lister sent him a wink. Rimmer tutted, but he sat down anyway, settling in Cat’s usual seat. He didn’t look comfortable in the least. His back was as straight as a rod, his shoulders were tense, and it was almost as though his limbs were made of wood.
“Can’t sleep, then, I take it?” Lister asked.
Rimmer sighed.
“No. I don’t know what it is. I’ve been lying there for no short of three hours.”
“Well, if I ever can’t get to sleep, looking at that sends me right off. It’s dead relaxin’, y’know. Almost hypnotic, like,” Lister replied, gesturing with the bottom of his can to the window ahead of them. Then, he flashed Rimmer another grin. “Failing that, a few of these’ll do the trick.”
He shook the can yet again. The faint sloshing of lager against metal suggested he was nearly out. Rimmer rolled his eyes and puffed out another sigh. With all the sighing he did, it was a wonder he wasn’t always short of breath.
For a few minutes, neither one of them said anything in one of their rare silences. The pair of them stared ahead at the boundless sea of stars. Something about the familiar sight… the vast emptiness of Space, his own faint reflection staring vacantly back at him – it caused a lump to form in the back of Rimmer’s throat. Before he knew it, he was blinking away tears. But, Lister didn’t notice. Not until Rimmer sniffled. Then, when Lister turned his head a little and watched him out of the corner of his eye, Rimmer scrunched his face up in annoyance at himself for getting caught in such a pathetic state.
“Mate…”
Lister directed his full attention to Rimmer and scanned his features, which were etched with fatigue and melancholy.
“I’m not crying.”
His unprompted retort, croaky, wobbly voice and the way his eyes glistened with tears indicated otherwise.
“I don’t care if you cry, y’know. I’m not one of those backwards sort of blokes.”
“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”
Lister sighed and fidgeted in his chair.
“I know I take the piss ‘n all that, but you can talk to me. At the end of the day, we’re mates, yeah?”
Even with all of their bickering, the back-and-forth tormenting, they were ‘mates’, as Lister said. Yet, it was so much more than that and they dared not speak it. For better or worse, they were bound.
Rimmer considered it for a moment, but ultimately he shook his head.
“What’s the point? You wouldn’t understand.”
Lister shrugged.
“I can try.”
Rimmer shook his head again, more vigorously this time. Lister glanced down at Rimmer’s folded arms as he clutched himself tighter. Anyone else might have missed the subtle shift, but Lister didn’t. Rimmer could never get much past Lister. Meanwhile, Rimmer stared straight ahead of himself, forcing himself to look out at the profoundly bleak view. It was easier than looking at Lister.
“You don’t know what it feels like – the dreadful, wretched…”
He trailed off, too overwhelmed to finish the sentence.
Lister’s gaze flickered between Rimmer’s face and where he was looking. He couldn’t help but linger on the view, the familiar sight that in just a glance took on a whole different, but not new, meaning with how Rimmer was looking at it – with utter despair. The knot in Lister’s chest, the one that had been loose and slack (in part thanks to the can in his hand, and the can that came before it) was pulled taut. Just when he’d managed to forget about it.
“Loneliness?” Lister tried, voice barely above a whisper.
The uncharacteristic softness prompted Rimmer to finally look at Lister, who was now gazing out hopelessly at the endless universe like he had been doing moments ago. The sight of Lister so despondent was unnerving – unbearable, even.
“I ought to be past feeling sorry for myself by now,” Rimmer said with a shake of his head. “It’s my lot in life. In death, too. There’s no use in crying about it.”
Yet, he did. Tear drops spilled down his cheeks, and he swiftly swiped them away with the backs of his hands.
“I get it, like,” Lister insisted. “It’s hard not to feel like that when all you can see is nothin’ ‘n a few stars – ‘n y’know that’s all there really is…”
“It’s not just now. It’s not even just the past few years we’ve been in this situation. My whole life, I’ve been an outcast, a pariah. It always felt like something was wrong with me, perhaps everything. There’s got to be, if everyone detests me so thoroughly. I don’t know if it’s some innate deficiency or – I don’t know… Whatever it is, I’m alone. I’ve always been alone. Irretrievably alone.”
“I know. I get that, too. I really do. Trust me.”
Lister wasn’t just saying it to make Rimmer feel better. As a kid, he was always left behind. Abandoned at a pub when he was just a baby. His adoptive parents and his grandmother all died. When he was back on Earth, drinking himself stupid – stupider – in bustling pubs, his mates cheering and patting him on the back for downing his eighth pint in three seconds flat, it’d hit him harder than the booze ever had. What did any of it mean? When he joined the Space Corps, most nights he found himself staring vacuously at the void that was Space, because something about it felt very apt in a way that made him want to scream. But, you know what they say about Space and screaming. When he was with Kochanski, he hoped that was it – that it was over and he’d be fine and he’d outrun whatever curse had been put on him – but then it wasn’t long until she left him, like his parents had. Now, after a lifetime of drifting, he was the last man alive, abandoned by the entire human race in an empty universe. It was some kind of cruel cosmic joke.
It seemed that the only thing left from life as he knew it – besides Rimmer, of course – was that sinister feeling that had chased him for all these years. Fewer distractions. Fewer people to convince himself he wasn’t alone. Deep down, though, he knew it: everything else had always been fleeting, and the only constant had ever been himself. He didn’t like to think about that too much, so he tried not to.
“I really do…” Lister repeated.
Another pause. It ought to have given Lister a moment to think, but he likely wouldn’t have done what he did next had he thought about it. Without a word, without even sparing a glance at Rimmer, Lister reached across the space that separated them. Rimmer eyed Lister’s outstretched hand with caution, his brows pinched in confusion. But, something stopped him from making a snide comment. Even with Rimmer’s hesitation, Lister didn’t budge. Rimmer must not have thought about it either, when he met Lister’s touch, wrapping his long, slender fingers around his hand as though letting go meant plummeting to his death. Cold and warmth intermingled until it didn’t matter what belonged to who.
It was probably in some strange, collective imagination of theirs that there was a shift, as though the chasm of Space shrank just an inch.