Archive of Our Own

On the whole, Lister thought, it was a pretty mid day.

He couldn’t tell when exactly it started going sideways though. Sleep was nice, and he woke up snuggled up deep in the blankets, trying to catch the last bits of the comforting rainy streets from his dream. Turned to the wall and ignored the customary ear-splitting "RISE AND SHINE, LADDIE, BIG DAY IN FRONT OF US, UP, UP, UP!!" coming from somewhere slightly leftwards, then considered calling in sick just not to deal with who was standing slightly leftwards and have a bit of a lie-in instead. As good of a start as any, really.

He jumped down, stretched a bit and looked for his boots, trying not to stumble into the white jumping jacks blur nearby. Something rumbled unpleasantly, and Lister suddenly remembered he hadn't actually got much of a dinner in him since he lost most of his kebabs betting Petersen to hold a handstand 6 pilsners in last night. Yawning, he shuffled out of the room too look for some scran and returned a few minutes later with a plate in each hand and a bottle of chilli oil in his teeth.

"What is this?" His bunkmate stared down the contents of the plate Lister put down of their sole small grey table with so much disgust you'd think it was a personal affront to cuisine all around Solar system.

"An omelette," Lister answered, then sniffed his plate just to be sure, "I think?"

"I can see it's an omelette, you witless twonk," Rimmer growled, "I mean, what day do you think it is?"

Trick question. He checked for how hungover he was feeling at the moment. "...Wednesday?"

"Exactly. It's Wednesday. Not 'greasy fry up'-day, not 'let's drown our intestines in cholesterol'-day, not-"

"It's just egg with cheese and milk, man, I'm not handing you a stick of butter with a side of lard."

"You might as well," Rimmer blisters, "and it doesn't matter because it's still not that kind of day."

"Felt to me exactly that kind of day. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Of course it felt to you, Lister, but it does not feel so for the rest of us civilised people who give at least a smidgeon of a damn about our health."

Ignoring him, Lister pulled a chair from under the table and plopped down. Looking back, maybe this was one of the signs something was funnier than usual, but it was a rare day that Rimmer didn’t start a scene over some smeg or other, so you couldn’t blame him really.

"Look, I didn't have anything in mind and the dispenser turned up these, right?" He poured a generous amount of chilli oil over his own plate and took his first bite. "You could've said if you wanted something specific. I'll let you strut up the corridor to get your own breakfast next time then."

"The nutritions chart is hanging right there on the damned door!" Rimmer jabbed a finger across the table to the colour-coded and illustrated monthly meal plan hanging on the door to their quarters. "Forgive me for thinking you'd peel your eyes open for two seconds and check in if you're getting meals for both of us."

Lister sighed. When he first decided he'd have better chances getting home by working aboard a ship rather than trying to save up for a ticket back, he didn't exactly envision this. Yeah, there was always going to be a possibility he wouldn't gel with everybody, but for an easy-going guy like him keeping peace wasn't usually a problem.

Sure, it was a little bit suspicious that pretty much everyone he exchanged introductions with right after getting aboard sent him a sympathetic look, winced and promised it didn’t have to be for long or straight up laughed in commiseration, but he chalked it up to the fact that he'd be the last ranking person for a while and thought nothing more of it.

A few weeks later Arnold J. Rimmer was the sole reason he considered just handing it all in, dropping off at the next port and trying his luck catching a ride to Earth on a different ship.

Shaking his head, he poured a bit of chilli oil right into his mouth and sighed in contentment. It did get better with time. Slightly, almost imperceptibly, but Lister could swear the twat started talking to him now, instead of mutely reporting him straight to the captain any time Lister asked more than one question at once. Now he would actually answer with increasingly specific threats, followed by a tantrum, followed by the report, and that Lister could work with.

Careful, he inclined himself towards Rimmer and clasped his hands in the best 'Please, Charles, be reasonable' pose he could pull. This would either de-escalate the situation quickly or bring forth a massive eruption - a win-win either way. Plus he could always swap some of the positions in the meal plan later for stress relief too.

"Look, man, will it literally kill you to forget about your grits and yogurt, or whatever it is you drain the energy out of in the mornings, and eat out of schedule just this once?"

Rimmer's eyes, which were previously drilling a hole through his head, jumped to his own plate quickly, accessed the offending dish in full, jumped back to Lister, did a few more somersaults and then finally settled back on the scouser with a look the visual definition of 'You forced my hand into a crime'.

"No," he 'hmph'ed out a clear 'Yes'. "Fine. Have it your way. No point wasting time going back for an appropriate meal now, we've got to be at level 125 by 9.00 sharp."

"What, anything serious?"

"No, just some small, petty chores here and there- Yes it's serious, you troglodyte!" The shrill tones ricocheted from one grey wall to the other. "We're not here to dilly-dally, just for your notice, we're maintenance personnel and this isn't Miranda Interplanetary," Rimmer's back straightened out under the immense importance he was laying upon his own shoulders. "There are multitudes of precious machinery here in need of constant upkeep!"

"Mhm," Lister managed between mouthfuls of egg and chilli oil. Not too long ago he overheard Hollister in the canteen, ranting to one of the officers about how hard it was to come up with shit to do to get Rimmer off his back without a fight sometimes, so sue him for not getting too reverent about the Z-shift dailies. It was sort of comforting, he had to admit, that everyone on this ship, regardless of rank or seniority, was in the same boat when it came to the bastard.

"So what is it?"

"The lights have been flickering out." Rimmer deflated, but quickly gained back the gravitas. "Over the whole floor. Can you imagine carrying cargo through there and the lights give out on you suddenly? Or, much worse," he switched to a whisper, "on an officer?"

That floor would probably see an officer walking through it once a year, if it's lucky.

"An officer, completely lost, in total darkness?" Each point was underscored by a fork sharply pointing at Lister over a barely touched omelette.

"No, God forbid. We better get right to it then, right, Rimmer, sir?" Batting his lashes innocently, Lister leaned in closer to the older man, causing him to pitch back and almost tumble backwards.

"Yes,” he cleared his throat and glared back, “That's exactly what I'm saying. Lickety-split now."

Gobbling up the last of the cheesy eggs, Lister pointed to the other plate, three quarters full still. "Are you going to finish this?"

"...No," the response was soft-spoken and low. "No. You can have it. We won't have time to go to the refectory today, so get your energy in while you can." He pushed the plate towards Lister, snatching his hand back right after. "...Glutton."

Lister sent him an incredulous glance, but Rimmer had already got up for their jackets.

·········

The shift started out alright too, he thought.

They arrived at the 125th floor 5 minutes before 9 o'clock, so minor breakdown averted. Walking out of the lift, Lister looked around to access the damage. Or the complete lack of it.

"Seems just fine."

"You won't get out of this, squire, we're still checking everything out. Square by square, if need be."

Walking up to the wall, Rimmer sat down near the electrical panel and motioned for Lister to bring the trey closer over his shoulder.

"Wouldn't dream dodging that," Lister rolled his eyes and followed.

"And don't give me lip, or you'll end up on report faster than one of your bozo drinking mates on the floor on Friday night."

It would be great if it was Friday night, wouldn’t it? Right now the floor sounded substantially more gripping than the possibility he’d just spend the day watching Rimmer grapple with some fuses.

As if sensing his blues, a light went out above them for a few seconds just then.

"Aha!" Rimmer pointed his screwdriver above, having finally wrangled the lid on the breaker box open. "Ye of little faith. Now, let's see here..."

He looked back into the panel, checking it over for a few moments. And then another few. Then peered up at the ceiling, as if just watching the lights would give him a hint, after which it was right back to the staring.

Lister watched along, wondering if this would maybe turn into an interpretive dance or something if he just let it play out naturally. It got old quick though, so he decided to just get it over with and ask.

"Where are we supposed to start then?"

"Right, well... Have to check there's nothing funny with the connectors first." Rimmer dispersed his wisdom without snapping away from the box. His hand raised over a few of the breakers and froze there, just a few inches away from actually touching them. Suddenly switching strategies, he dived nose deep into the panel, checking if any of the breakers were beginning to slip out at eye level.

"Nope, all good here." He drew backwards and narrowed his eyes, likely trying to shame the switches into giving up and fixing whatever was wrong with the lights speedily. Lister sighed.

"That rules the contacts out, okay," he tried once more. "What else might it be?"

"It might be the bulbs themselves." The lightbulbs received a sneer they didn't quite deserve, in Lister's personal opinion. "Might be many things, and we won't know which one it is until I isolate the issue. So kindly stop gibbering in my ear now and let me think."

Rolling his eyes, Lister moved a bit closer to the panel and reached into it. Rimmer lurched sideways and glared at his hand.

"Maybe I can try and help? Please?"

Nonplussed, Lister hit him with his best smile. An indignant bark later, Rimmer was seizing him up in that incredulous, sniffy way, as if Lister just asked him whether he could maybe help the grown ups out with their serious adult tasks.

"Don't even think about it!” He waved his hand, like the idea was so preposterous and silly it had to be shooed away out of the corridor. “You're too green to try and program a soup dispenser. I'm not letting you anywhere near electrical."

God, it would be so easy to haul the gimboid up by his stupid starched lapels and just give him a proper shake.

"But I'm not gonna try solder or reroute anything though," Lister tries again instead, "I jus' want to actually do something fucking real, physical with me actual smegging hands! How am I supposed to get experience if you haven't let me so much as touch anything so far?"

"Ah-ah-ah, not tricking me into anything, I wasn't born yesterday," Rimmer tutted, obnoxious smile wholly indifferent. "I'm the one responsible for all tasks carried out within this shift, and I have no desire to let the efficiency of our operation slip, nor collect reprimands when you get in over your head and inevitably end up in some kind of ludicrous tizzy."

He could take him, he could take him so easily, but he was also the bigger man here, unfortunately. So Lister stared him down instead. Rimmer didn't budge an inch until he had to grudgingly step away and lean back on the opposite wall.

"Learn by example, Lister. Watch me closely and try to actually retain information. You will rise to hands-on work eventually.” The git drew back into the panel, his tone practically bleeding disbelief. “If you don't mess that up, of course."

Lister could hear the white noise steadily rising in pitch in his head. It wouldn't be worth it. He had to remember it wouldn't be worth it. There was always a more productive way, like sneezing into the arsehole's spare undershirts. And filling up his boots with Sugar Puffs. And maybe chucking his notebooks into unsanitary places.

"Alright then, while you're here deep into the diagnostics," he cut with a small scoff, "could I at least go and see if I can catch any flickering further across the floor? Train my observation skills, yeah?"

"Ah." Rimmer looked him up and down, worrying with his lower lip. "Right, well, if you're quite tired of bleating in my ear - scurry off, by all means." With a nod, he returned to his staring contest with the panel. "Not too far though, I'm keeping my eye on you, laddie-o!"

"Aye-aye, sir." Thank the heavens. Lister put a ciggie in his mouth, and started jogging down the right side of the corridor as speedily as he could.

It wouldn't be nearly, he thought several turns down, nearly so infuriating if anyone genuinely blamed Rimmer in the case Lister mucked up a repair on accident. Except, of course, that scenario existed in Rimmer's head only. From what Lister saw of the other shift's day-to-days so far, everyone just addressed each other like normal, sane people who happened to work together. It would have to be a huge, serious cock-up for anyone to start throwing out grievous reprimands.

Just his luck he was stuck with an overweening toss-up who thought that fixing a door and calibrating the air recyc are ought to be handled with the exact same degree of importance. Now he had to sneak away and get a look in at a different panel just not to have the shithead breathing down his neck while he tried to actually get something done. The bunking situation he was slowly getting used to, but this, this inability to busy himself with, well, anything was driving him bonkers.

It’s not like he was dreaming to work his arse off everyday or something, but in a long grey corridor even tinkering with a vending machine was an improvement on just gawking around and dying of boredom.

Sighing, Lister turned another corner to a poorer lit part of the corridor. The further down he went, the faster lights were blinking in and out sporadically. Another breaker box had to be at the end, and as he got closer to it something cobalt shimmering in the distance caught his eye.

"Oh, hey you guys!" He waved at the three scutters standing near the charging station on the far wall. "About to recharge?"

One of the scutters, who went simply by ‘Bob’, shook his claw-head up and down in cheery acknowledgement.

"That's rad. We're down here to check out the flickering situation. Veeery important, as you might guess." Lister waved his hand in a sloppy quarter-circle and slapped himself on the forehead, setting the bots chittering with laughter. "Yeah, just got away to think on a clear head. It's like pulling teeth with him, I swear."

The other two service droids, Pinky and Perky he thought they were called, nodded in solemn understanding. Lister's eyes snapped back to the outlet close by on the wall behind them.

"Guys, have you been coming here to charge a while now?"

The scutters all bobbed up and down in unison, making a series of complex gestures and indicating at the corner around them.

"It's been your lunch break spot for weeks?"

They nodded again. Damn. If he was right then it made this worse.

"Mind if I try something?" He reached over to the panel near the outlet and flipped the safety switch powering the station off. After a bit, the light that was having a major fit a few feet farther up the corridor slowly calmed down. Smeg it.

"Sorry, guys, but I'm afraid you'll have to find a different place now." He pulled his deerstalker lower over his eyes when the little bots whirred at him in surprise. "Pretty sure this floor's a smidge overloaded and the charging station's tipping it into power fluxes now. 'S probably why the lights went all flickering."

All three scutters turned their claws upwards at him in the best impression of puppy eyes a three-pronged appendage could muster. It really was majorly, majorly unfair.

"You know I wouldn't want to put you out, guys. But Rimmer's not going to leave until the lighting's fixed and I think he's already loosing the battle of wits with the circuit breakers about now."

Bob stared at him a bit longer then hanged his claw dejectedly and motioned for the others to pack the station up.

"See you later?" Lister waved hopefully, but the skutters were already marching towards the nearest maintenance shaft with a sad clickity-clack. Shaking his head, he turned around and started on his walk back up the corridor. It was heartbreaking. It was plain mean. It was also the least bloody solution to the problem. If he could save the little guys from a doctrinal lecture on how service droids were 'supposed to recharge at designated spots at specific times 3 times a week only' then he would.

When he returned to the lifts, Rimmer was deep in the process of scowling at the "JMC Red Dwarf Electrical Systems Companion for Engineering and Maintenance Personnel Vol. 1" with ferocious intensity. He would stare at the same spot on the page, transfixed, then snap out of it and turn to the breaker box for a minute, closing his eyes and muttering something scathing under his breath. After a while he’d return back to the same page and start it all over again.

Yeah, Ok, no point waiting for him to snap out of it on his own probably.

"Hey, uh, so about the lights-"

"AAH!" Rimmer leaped a whole foot up, swung around and snapped straight to the wall behind him, putting a few feet between Lister and himself. "God, are you out to give me an attack?!" He yelped, shooting a hand over his heart with the flair of a seasoned stage performer.

"I've been standing here a few minutes now, guy," Lister smiled, almost stifling a chuckle successfully. "The electrical map is sure proving itself a wicked tactical genius, eh?"

"Tee-hee-hee." Rimmer dusted himself off and bent down to pick up the manual. "Unlike you, Lister, I am actually experienced with the troubleshooting process and was just getting into the guts of it. You, on the other hand,” he pointed an accusatory finger at Lister, seething, “have been slithering around somewhere doing God knows what."

"Yeah, about that," Lister almost reached for another cig but stopped himself. "I think it's fixed now."

"What?" Evidently this was not the expected response. "Are you... sure?" Rimmer's eyes flicked from one side of the corridor to another searchingly.

"Pretty sure. Whatever you've done must have been it. Haven't seen a flicker in, like, ten minutes now."

"Ah." Rimmer stared up at the ceiling for a minute, noticing that everything was indeed flicker-free. "Right! Of course." He straightened up automatically, pushing his long pretentious nose up with an air of smugness not ought to belong to a man who was visibly shaken over an electrical panel just moments ago.. "You've missed me working out the kinks while you were lollygagging out there."

Oh, the horror. "Sucks, yeah. I'll be sure to catch it next time." And maybe get him to actually do something while he's at it.

"You better not stray off too far, I do keep track of your shirking, by the way." Rimmer got up and turned sharply on his heel towards the lifts. "Now don't dawdle, there's a malfunctioning speaker on Q-deck."

Taking another ciggie from his deerstalker, Lister pulled the trey behind him and made sure to breathe as much smoke into the other man's back as he could. 

·········

He’d thought the rest of the shift would maybe at least be easy, if just as mindnumbing. But the longer it went on, the slower Rimmer got with the repairs. The jammed closet door on floor 146 'needed' to be tested ten consecutive times, Lister counted. They were at re-stocking the few machines on S-deck for about two hours because Rimmer re-checked some of them three-to-five times each. When they had to pry open a vent cover to check if something got lodged in there, Lister needed to physically snap the man out of whatever repetition trance his head was in so that he wouldn't hurt himself with the knife.

By the sixth time Rimmer pulled and then put down the same screwdriver and spanners consecutively while fixing a PALEO coffee machine it started just getting kind of weird and Lister found himself blurting out, "Do you need any help, man?"

"Hm?" The second technician didn't break away from the tools.

"With the spanners? It's just, you've been picking 'em up and putting ‘em down. And picking ‘em up. And putting ‘em down," Lister looked over Rimmer's shoulder at the tools in question, “an awful lot, really.”

"I have?" As if just noticing his actions, Rimmer put the screwdriver down, then picked it up again a few moments later. "Right, yes, I have. No help required though, everything's going accordingly."

"Right. This is definitely so much more efficient then letting me actually do something."

"Once more with you. I told you, you're not ready yet."

"Uh-huh."

"Just watch and learn, Lister," he drawled on, hands blazing between the instruments. "Surely you can manage that much?"

"Yeah, ‘cause I'm learning invaluable technique with you today. Like how to secure a cable for sure after plugging and un-plugging it 20 times."

"Safety," Rimmer shot him down and finally wrangled himself away from the tools, snapping towards the vending machine's front casing. "It's about safety. Look, just don't prattle over my shoulder, I cannot concentrate with you trilling on and on and on-"

"Right," Lister sighed. After a bit Rimmer finally opened the front and started checking the insides.

"If I might chip in, sirs, I'm pretty sure the problem is with the solid state relay-"

Snapping, Rimmer threw his eyes towards the voice. "Excuse me, who's the trained professional here?" He picked the waste bucket out and chucked it roughly in Lister's direction.

It hurt how fast the brightness was extinguished out of PAL's voice. "...You."

"And who's the vending machine?"

"Me."

"Right again. So could you be so kind and shut your smegging circuits while I'm providing you the servicing, hm?"

"...Just wanted to help." The AI chirped dejectedly and switched off as Rimmer finally reached for the power button. Turning off the safety switch for good measure, he stepped back into the casing and started to wrangle with the topping holders.

"You're sure servicing them great, man, yeah." Lister bit out under his breath. He was right on the tip of being done now. He didn't even have time to say anything supportive before PAL turned off, and it wasn’t smegging fair.

"Lister, ONE more sound from you."

"And what?"

He expected a string of curses, vivid descriptions of awaited dismemberment, at the very least a murderous look, anything. Instead Rimmer just shook his head silently and continued on with the disassembly.

"What, Rimmer? Come on, you're not a man of few words, this is so unlike you."

The shithead pretended not to hear him, leaving Lister to stew in annoyance all by himself. Great, just another totally enchanting day spent doing fuck all and watching a man re-enacting some localised Groundhog Day loop. He searched the corridor for a clock, and life evidently took pity on him because it was finally the end of their shift.

Right, that's it. He wasn't obligated to be here any longer. Ungluing himself from the wall, he turned round and started towards the lifts. After a minute a raised voice trailed behind him.

"Hey! Get back here, we aren't finished with this one yet! Lister!" The voice grew louder. “LISTER!”

"Wha, you mean you aren't finished with this one yet? The shift's over, man, and I'm not in the guts of a vending machine,” he pointed out sardonically. “Ciao."

The rest of the way to the lift was quiet. Rimmer wouldn't be able to say anything to him on that and he knew it. Whatever. At least Petersen, Chen and Selby could be trusted to be better company. The day wasn't over yet.

·········

Petersen, Chen and Selby couldn't be trusted for anything. By the time he got down to the bar, Petersen had already got completely blasted and was whisked away somewhere by a date, Chen got completely blasted on the new absinthe frappes they were trying out at the bar, and Selby had to help him back to their quarters, as he was only marginally blasted in comparison.

Thus the evening found Lister sitting alone on the squeaky barstool, quickly losing any sort of excitement over his warming lager and trying to spot any familiar faces on the dance floor. He didn't go out on his lonesome often, not really. The posse was formed almost immediately after his commission started, and they rarely went out to drinks separately, so he wasn't used to being at the Copa by himself. Not that he had any difficulty chatting people up, but today the reminder that he didn't yet know many people onboard bloomed melancholic somewhere in his ribcage. Times walking along poorly lit streets, the rain's dreary beat drumming out everything else in the unfamiliar part of town, stuffing his face into pubs and finding no one he knew or who'd even seen him before, dredged up from his memory, unwelcome.

Right now he was on a cold and rickety bucket of bolts the size of a city muddling through space, a city consisting solely of coworkers, people who didn't stick together for longer than a mission or two in most cases, a place he only got on to get back to somewhere familiar, somewhere he at least spent 23 years learning his way around and--

"Alone today?" A pleasant voice asked from somewhere around his left shoulder, mercifully putting a stop to that track of thought.

"Todhunter! Hey!" Lister smiled warmly. Todhunter was the captain's second officer, a rare instance when power didn't make someone any bit haughty or guarded, and a fact which Rimmer got some choice opinions about if you ever brought it up near him. They shared a few conversations before, although the majority of them were from back when the man was showing him around the ship as part of the initiation. "Yeah, 's just me today. Thought I'd have some me time, y'know, just hang around by myself a bit..."

"That can be nice too, yeah." His amused smile was already doing wonders for Lister's mood. "And we're off duty, it's Frank, come on. I've told you before. You've been here for a while now anyways."

"Right, but you've gotta call me Dave too then. No 'Lister's, I've got enough of that during the day."

"Sure, Dave." Frank joined him at the bar, sipping some of his Cosmopolitan through the customary silly straw. "He's not giving you too much trouble, is he?"

"No, just the regular amount." Lister snickered into his own beer sardonically. "I get why you couldn't get anyone to switch back to Z-shift now. Thought it was because of all the night shifts at first, to be honest."

"He's a deterrent worse than any possible sleeping regime disruption, that's true enough." The man chuckled ruefully, then leaned closer to him with a conspiratorial air. "Not to be a gossip, but I think some of the guys from the other shifts have started a bet on how long you'll last before transferring upwards to join them now."

"Really?" Was it seriously that surprising? "I don't know man, I mean he'd drive a Buddhist monk to bloodshed but I'm not quite there yet, y'know?"

"Hey, keep that energy, some of them are betting on you too," Frank patted him on the shoulder. Both of them giggled for a bit longer and settled into a pleasant silence.

"Seriously though, if he is being nastier than usual - send me a message,” he told Lister, looking dead serious. “You don't have to take that kind of behaviour, Z-shift or not."

"Nah, forget him. But thanks, really." He didn’t need to think about the git outside of his shift too. And here was a perfect chance to salvage this day somewhat.

"So, you wanna grab another bev and see if the dance floor really is as jammed as it looks like?"

At this Frank's smile lost it’s mirth and gained an apologetic touch. "I was actually already on my way out. Just wanted to check in, you know. It's pretty rare to see you by yourself."

"Aww."

"Sorry, Dave,” and, bless his heart, he sounded like he meant it too, so Lister couldn’t even get too mad about being shanked like this. “I would take you up on the offer, but I gotta be up disgustingly early for the cargo check tomorrow."

"Nah, you're alright." Lister mirrored his smile. "Thanks for saying hi, really."

At that, Todhunter finished the rest of his cocktail and stood up. "Good night," he threw him one last glance and dispersed in the surrounding crowd as suddenly as he appeared before that, leaving Lister once again adrift in a by a sea of people.

Weird how you could feel so isolated when all around you music was blasting, limbs were thrown in every sort of direction and cheers would consume any attempt at a moderate volume conversation. He'd like to join in, would be with them most other days, but right now the club atmosphere was making him feel trapped, suffocated. People he barely knew yet, people whose faces he couldn't put a name to were close, too close, everywhere the eye could land on, with no means of retreat in sight-

Finishing the lukewarm beer, he span on the stool, jumped down and dashed towards the exit, almost knocking into several people on his way out.

It would seem this day’s only hope of getting better was if it was over. 

·········

By the time Lister returned to the quarters he was more than ready to just hit his scratchy standard-issue bed sheets and clock the smeg out.

Wrangling his left boot off, he hobbled towards the bunks when a faint noise caught his ear. He paused, trying to tune in better in the quiet. It wasn't quite a wheeze, more like a balloon releasing air very slowly. Getting closer to the ladder, he tried to find where it could be coming from, which was sort of hard in nearly total darkness.

"Lights!"

Illuminated by the sudden harsh fluorescent, a curled shape could be seen in the lower bunk. A curled shape that must have been his bunkmate covered up from head to toe by his single grey blanket. The noise definitely came from round there, even though the blanket was so still one would be forgiven for thinking it was a bunch of pillows covered up very thoroughly.

"Rimmer? Are you alright there man?" Receiving no response, Lister crouched lower to be on the same level as where he assumed Rimmer's face was. "Rimmer? Look, I wouldn't ask, but you're kinda breathing in a concerning early stages of an asthma attack sort of way. Do you need help?"

He reached out his hand to shake the man a bit and realised it was a mistake as soon as his fingers grazed Rimmer's back.

The ball of blanket and limbs instantly shot up and scrambled away to the farthest right corner of the bunk. Upon looking up, Rimmer must have recognised him because the next moment he was trying to rise and give him an unconcerned smile - an effect not quite achieved due to the fact that he almost fell flat on his face, tangled up in the sheets, then regained his footing and injected himself further back into the corner with a quaver, eyes not leaving Lister.

“Woah, steady there!” What the hell was up now? Rimmer was gawking at him, a truly alarming approximation of an ‘Everything's fine!’ smile stretched across his face, and it woke Lister up quicker than a fire alarm on Monday night.

It'd be hard to mistake the man for doing 'fine' even if you were completely unaccustomed with human emotion, seeing as right now Rimmer was paler than his usual ashen ghost, his irises were so blown they were very close to drowning in the whites and his hair was doing a very good impression of an only partially combed through highland sheep.

Now that he's noticed it, this was the first time in the months Lister has spent on the ship that he saw Rimmer's hair as it must be naturally, wild curls running away from their gelled confinement. Despite the rest of Rimmer's state, it actually made him look... nicer? More natural, less like a cut-out from a corporate dress code PSA.

He tried to inch closer to the bunk, which made Rimmer violently move further away in an attempt to merge with the wall.

"Okay, okay, I'll stay right over here, man, don't worry." Lister put his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture and stepped away. "See? Staying over here. How about telling me what's wrong now, yeah?"

Rimmer continued to stare at him like a deer caught in the crosshairs of a sniper's rifle. The tense smile thankfully left his face, but he didn't move in any other way.

"Man? What happened, should I be worried about something? D' you need something?"

Rimmer blinked at him several times.

"...Rimmer?"

He had to give it to him, it was a dead solid imitation of one of those Cathedral gargoyles. Hunched pose, vacant stare, mouth contorted into a grimace. A thought finally materialised in his mind.

"Ya can't talk right now, can you?"

An incredibly drawn out minute later, the question seemed to finally register in the older man's brain and he nodded.

"Oh."

Breaths seeping out as if his throat was a slightly untightened pressure valve, Rimmer appeared to concede with his point. 'Oh.'

Seriously, it was plain disconcerting to see him like this. Gone was any trace of whatever had made the man, well, Rimmer. If Lister was pissed right now, he'd definitely think a different man got into their room by mistake and fell asleep on the lower bunk, and the only reason he was this rattled was due to sheer confusion. But no, this was definitely Rimmer - a strange, shaky version of Rimmer that almost seemed scared of him, instead of getting incensed at his mere sight.

Lister scratched his cheek. "Well, 's alright. Just nod and shake your head in response then, yeah?" He tried to smile encouragingly. "Alright?"

After a moment, he saw Rimmer's head jolting up and down. "That's it, yeah, just like that." Happy at the small progress, he raised his thumbs up and thought of his next question.

"Okay, are you hurt then? Do we need to call medical?” He glanced at the black screen above the sink. “Do I call Ho-"

Rimmer’s whole body twitched as he hurled shushing motions in his direction, eyes blowing wider by the minute.

"Alright, I won't!" Lister put his hands up again. "Won't call anyone, I'll trust you. But if anything actually hurts, you have to show me. Okay?"

He looked into the man's eyes sternly until he received a reluctant nod.

"Boss. Okay." Okay. Alright. He seemed to hear and see Lister just fine, so at least there was that. Raking his memories for crisis help tactics, Lister thought back to the one trick that got him through those nights when sleeping in a locker got to be a bit beyond his endurance.

"Right, are you willing to try something?" Rimmer’s eyes instantly snapped back to him, which didn’t stop being unnerving as hell. "You might be having a panic attack, right? From the looks of it."

He blinked at Lister owlishly.

"We could try a few things to get you out of your head, yeah?"

After a minute of complete silence there was a barely visible nod.

"Yeah, alright, that's the spirit, guy!" Lister beamed at him. "Let's start with this: I'll breathe in and out at a slow pace, right, and you just have to follow me. Sounds good?"

At that moment Rimmer seemed to grow more conscious of his measured but haggard breaths and started trying to get them under control himself. His inhales quelled down, exhales trying follow suit but exploding out in a gust of air instead, almost choking. Okay, no, that was much worse, he had to stop the guy before he starts a full-blown fit now-

"Hey, no, man, c'mon, just focus on us here, yeah?" He pointed to himself. "I know it's tough but you can do it."

Still trying to rein it all in, Rimmer blinked rapidly, turned to Lister, turned away from him, then heaved. Un-heaving in the next moment, he faced him once more and gave a few sharp nods.

"See? What'd I tell you. Ok, just repeat after me then - breathe in slowly and count to four." He demonstrated by very slowly getting in some air through his nose and raising a finger at a time until four was reached. "And then hold it in just as long." Closing the fingers back one by one, he exhaled carefully. "Then breathe out on the same measure". The words came out slowly in time with his breath, four fingers raised again by the end.

Rimmer took it all in vehemently, mirroring his breathing in no time. "In," Lister continued to narrate slowly, "and out. Just like that, yeah".

After around five minutes of slow-paced inspiration Lister thought he saw Rimmer's overall tempo even out and relax slightly. "You're doing great, guy, keep going just like this. Do you feel any better, what'd you say?"

The older man shuffled around a bit under his blanket, uncoiling from his hunch bit by bit. He looked inordinately focused on keeping to the pace Lister set for his breathing, but that was probably an improvement. After a few moments Lister saw a curly-headed nod.

"That's 'brill, man! D' you feel like talking yet or is it too soon?" A janky shake. Too soon then. "That's alright, we've been doing fine like this too."

He took out the chair out from the table and put it a bit aways from the bunks but right in front of Rimmer. This was probably not over yet. He looked the guy over again – still way too tense, but at least he loosened the vice grip over his knees. He couldn’t expect him to immediately feel better though, a bit of time had to pass before you calmed down, if Lister judged by himself at least.

"Would you wanna chat a bit?" Rimmer's eyebrows pulled down in an apprehensive knot. "I mean I'd talk, of course. You can just keep nodding or shaking your head in response,” Lister smiled sheepishly. “You always say me chatter is too distracting and what not, eh?"

Regarding him curiously, Rimmer breathed in and out with almost mechanical precision. Whatever was going through his head, in the end he seemed to decide it was worth a shot and Lister saw the auburn curls bob in confirmation once again.

"Yeah? Alright. Shake your head twice if you want me to change the topic or something, alright?" Two consecutive nods. "Brutal. Hm... Oh, me and the boys were arguing about who crushed it harder this season a few days ago. You've seen a Zero-G game, right?"

Lister might have as well just asked if he was particularly interested in the 1950s Spanish soap operas if his face was any indication.

"Oh give over, you've never seen a single match for real? I thought you were pulling my leg before!" How could someone not knowing about Zero-G football, in the modern day and age? It was everywhere, fuck's sake! You'd have to avoid most drinking places on this ship to manage without catching a live game.

He glanced back at Rimmer. Right, this was a guy who could only be lured into a bar if there’d be unsuspecting officers he could present with ‘proof’ of his 'promising upward mobility'.

"Eh, don't worry, it's not rocket science," Lister shrugged, "and you don't need to know much to see that clearly Jim Bexley Speed continued to wipe the floor with everyone else throughout the season."

Craning his head to the side, Rimmer didn't seem especially impressed.

"Wha' you lookin' at me like tha' for? It's undisputable, that's what it is, a simple fact,” Lister huffed. “That Ljungberg guy has nothing on him, no matter what Petersen says", Lister scoffs.

A soundless laugh escapes* from the bunk, Rimmer's breathing still doggedly kept at the measure Lister demonstrated for him earlier.

"Alright, alright, I know I get easily excited about it. Y'know, I've even got to meet the man himself once, the absolute unit!" He smiled at the unbidden memory. "Have a pic to prove it and everything. The Jets flew by Merseyside that year, I was so stocked I couldn't sleep for a week!"

That was just a year or so before he hit his 23d birthday too. God, hopefully he could catch them live at least one more time, without having to go all the way to London. Although even London was better then deep space, he supposed.

"There's this great little place not too far from Anfield too, y’know," Lister continued. "Had absolutely mean gujia. The guys over at catering make good samosas, like, but it's not the same, right? Banging gujia, those, with pistachios and almonds and everything.” He licked his lips. “You could take several chutneys as a side too".

Rimmer raised an eyebrow.

"It really ain't the same though, man, like, samosas are savoury and bulky," he drew a triangle with his fingers to aid the point, "And gujia are sorta like small empanadas, but sweet. You gotta try one sometime if you happen on them, there’s gotta be a proper Indian place somewhere on one of these smegging moons.”

Although it really wasn’t the same, who was he kidding. He missed proper Earth baking.

“Maybe I could convince Chen to fry everyone some pakoda one of these days..."

He was glancing up at the photos covering the wall of his bunk and that’s when long fingers amidst fistfuls of curls got caught in the corner of his eye.

"Oh, hey, hey, no, man, c'mon!" He jumped out of his chair and instinctively went to physically stop Rimmer from pulling his hair out, but caught himself. Touching Rimmer right now was probably a bad idea - he could freak out even harder and start doing something worse.

"Hey, man, Rimmer?" He settled on asking louder and waving his hands a few feet away from the distraught man's face.

"Rim-mer? Please stop?" No answer. Rimmer pushed his nose further into his knees, tugging at the hair. He tried clapping a few times to get his attention, but that just made the man flinch and tug harder.

This was careening towards worse, fast. In the heat of the moment and starting to freak out a little himself, Lister went for the first thing that could probably still work.

"Hey, Arnold? Arn? Look at me?"

A still overcame the bunk immediately, shocked eyes rising up to finally stare at Lister with confusion and disbelief.

"Sorry!" Lister pulled his hands up non-threateningly for whichever time this evening. "Sorry. It got you to stop though, didn't it?" He smiled at Rimmer apologetically, then stood up and walked up to his locker, rummaging about until he found the thing.

"Here." Holding a small round squish stress toy up between two fingers, he let Rimmer look it over and then gently tossed it up to the left side of lower bunk. "If you need to grab at something, just torture that, okay? Don't pull out your hair man, that looks proper painful."

Rimmer stared at the toy beside him, frozen, and then snatched it not unlike a frightened wild animal, squeezing the thing within an inch of its life immediately. Lister smiled a little despite himself.

"Yeah, like that," he sighed. "You can also drop the breathing thing if it isn't helping, you know."

Chest rising and falling in spastic bursts, the man looked at him with disbelief.

"It isn't, right? It looks like it's way harder now.” Lister shrugged, earnest. ”Sorry, I promise I thought it would help."

No reaction, and then big heaps of air started bursting out all at once, bringing Rimmer into hyperventilation at full speed. It looked way, way worse but Lister hoped it at least felt slightly better.

Hoping was the only thing left, really, because at this point he was just grasping at straws. They’d been at this for a good while now, and what he mistook for progress turned out to be Rimmer feeling even worse. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Lister couldn't touch him, couldn't let him talk it out or cry or something, couldn't even normalise his breathing for smeg’s sake. What options were even left, short of calling medical, which he promised not to and which would get the guy worked up even more by the looks of it. The squishy would only help so much. How do you help someone without any of the crisis help staples? Should he just put one of those silly Hammond records on and wait?

Another distraction was a solid idea in theory, if there had been any good ones he could actually think of. What did Rimmer even like? He's been living with the man for months now and couldn't remember anything the guy actually did for fun. It was always either work, work-adjacent activities or what Rimmer called 'bettering himself', ergo staring blankly at a textbook for hours, drawing up meticulous timetables or watching "Esperanto: Beginner level" tapes on repeat. Lister was certain the man didn't even own an article of clothing outside of his uniforms and boilersuits.

He could chalk it up to not knowing Rimmer outside of work, except they lived together and he knew Rimmer scarcely left their quarters after the shifts. It's always him who had to leave. He'd hope the guy would fuck off somewhere more than just a handful times a month, at the very least to catch a much needed shag or something, so Lister could practice his guitar without a bloodbath being sworn. But no; despite his casual and pretty iffy claims of being a 'perfectly active male', Rimmer wasn’t out on the prowl much and didn’t seem too broken up when whoever he tried to ‘snare’ in ran for their lives instead. Which was most of everyone, because even being easy on the eyes like that couldn’t cover for, well, everything else going on with the man.

Really, when you added the facts up together, it wasn't all that surprising he was snappier than an A string; Rimmer barely had any stress relief going in his life.

Looking around the room, Lister's gaze snagged up on an unassuming box in the corner by the door. Oh, he forgot that was there. It was filled with small parts from various different machinery all across the Dwarf, the kind that you'd find descriptions for only in the manuals from the manufacturer. He wouldn’t even notice the thing, tucked in a corner in one of the random maintenance closets as it was, but the moment Rimmer caught sight of it he called bagsies and hastily insisted it was akin to a rare treasure, because obviously all these spare bits and bobs were invaluable and would definitely come in handy in a repair one of these days, so they simply had to take the whole box with them. Lister’s back still protested, because of course it wasn’t the git who carried it back all the way to the quarters. Who in smeg even got that genuinely happy about finding a box of useless spares...

Lister paused. He glanced back at Rimmer, who was still torturing the squishy and trying not to asphyxiate, then back at the box. Eh, he didn't have any other ideas at the moment, so anything was up by now.

Hauling the box closer to the bunk, he upturned it over the floor so that the doodads could all be accosted simultaneously. Rimmer looked down at the sight warily, eyes following Lister's every movement.

"Remember these? I thought, since none of us are going to sleep for a while either way, we could maybe figure them out?"

He shuffled the parts into a sort of pile, and before long Rimmer's long fingers were reaching for the cogs as if on their own, retracting as suddenly and worrying with the hem of his shirt instead for a while. Eventually, he carefully slipped down to the floor and joined Lister near the pile.

"Yeah, see, it'll be fun!" He couldn't believe he was saying this. It was a really weird evening. "I don't, like, really have an idea on how they ought to be sorted though?" He tried to smile encouragingly at his skittish bunkmate anyway. "I'll follow your lead, El Capitán."

Missing the jib, Rimmer reached for a cog and put it little ways apart from the big pile. Another cog with a similar number of teeth lied right atop the pile, so he picked that one out and put it near the first one, getting fast ensnared into the process.

Lister decided to follow his lead and pick them out by type. He had to admit, it was weirdly calming, in a way. Extremely boring, but peaceful. Maybe this was what knitting felt like, just slow repetitive actions engaging enough to keep your mind off of tough thoughts for a bit. Rimmer definitely seemed completely engrossed by the process, his breathing still shallow but noticeably more stable. Giggling at the absurdity of it all, Lister brought up one of the weirder-shaped widgets and waved to get his attention.

"Hey, you've got a pile for these ones yet? Haven't seen any like this one before, I don't think."

Rimmer looked the part over with scrutiny and motioned at a spot on the floor free from any piles yet.

"Oh, so I found a new one, let's go! Team Lister!" He pumped a fist up in the air, hyping himself up half-seriously.

Sensing the fast-forming competition, Rimmer nabbed a different, even weirder thingy from the pile and stuck his tongue out at him petulantly.

"Oh-ho-ho, you're not one to be undone, huh? Come on, come on, move over-"

They spent the next 15 minutes sifting through the bits and bobs haphazardly, trying to find designs each more archaic than the previous one. A few times Rimmer would get caught up in picking and putting down some thingamajig or other into different piles, working himself up again, but then Lister would show him some even weirder piece and he’d quickly get distracted. Really, Lister ought to thank the box because in a few minutes it managed to achieve something he was struggling with all evening. By the end most doodads were shuffled into piles by their type and size accordingly, his bunkmate looking peaceful for the first time this hour.

Settling down from the sudden boost of adrenaline their mock sorting fight brought him, Lister almost didn't notice a quiet voice slicing through the silence.

"Lister."

"Woah!” He startled. “Oh hey, your voice returned! Congrats, man!"

"Yes. Finally." His laugh was suspiciously free of mirth.

"Does that happen often or..?"

"Not especially. Haven't happened in a while, I think."

"Oh."

"Good idea. With the sorting, I mean." Rimmer flumped down on the lower bunk and started straightening the bedding out. "It did need sorting. I almost forgot about the box..."

Looking him over, Lister decided to poke the elephant in the room. "Do you know what triggered you?"

"...Not really." He crossed and uncrossed his arms, moving a little ways off from the younger man. "I mean, if a bloke doesn't want to speak for one evening he should be entitled to that, no? Is that so crazy?"

"Doesn't want to speak?" What the actual hell was with him? "You looked like you witnessed somebody torturing people live, mate, it's not the speaking that was the problem! You had me proper worried for you there!"

"Well, forgive me for ruining your evening." Cold spite sank back into Rimmer's sharp features instantly. "No one forced you to tackle me. You could have just climbed up to your personal waste disposal and fallen asleep, unbothered."

Why did he even try, really? Okay, he had to remember this was still Rimmer. He was most definitely humiliated getting caught in the middle of an attack like that, and by him of all people. Lister never saw him as much misty-eyed before today. This had to be approached with the same patience one shows towards an especially bitey rescue.

"That's not what I meant, man," he goes once more, rubbing his eyes, "I just want to know in case something like this happens again. So you can get proper help?"

"Oh." Rimmer's animosity evaporated as quickly as it appeared. He didn't look truly prepared to hear that.

"Yeah. Like, what do you do when this happens usually? Lie down and wait?"

Rimmer blinked at him. Sweet Lord, why did he even wonder. Of course he just lied there in silence and took the severe anxious fit as it was. Lister wouldn't even have noticed him having one, probably didn't notice several times before, just because he'd be sleeping or smashed or both by the time he got to the bunks.

"Ok," he exhaled. "Don't think about that. Tell me what was triggering today."

"Right. I, uh... That's to say, I don't..." He sighed, putting his head between his hands. "Know. I don't know."

"You don't? Oh... 'S alright, panic attacks can happen without much trigger too-"

"No, I just... It wasn't sudden. More like, the whole day started off tits up."

Lister tilted his head. "How?"

"It's just... I don't know, it's just been wrong. Woke up wrong, breakfast was wrong-" Something growled loudly in the rough direction of Rimmer's stomach.

"Hold that thought, I'll be a mo'." Lister shot up and darted out of the room, leaving a confused Rimmer behind.

He came back with two plates, one with a few poppadoms and some tamarind-chilli chutney, another with an assortment of slightly stale sweet pastries.

"Got these here." He plopped down on the bunk a bit away from Rimmer and pushed the second plate towards him. "The dispenser nearby only had the breads left, so I hope you don't mind too much."

Regarding the puffs and scones with a sniff, Rimmer reached out for one hesitantly, as if they’d jump him down if he got too close. After taking the first bite his eyes changed instantly and he started scarfing down one puff after another.

"Don’t think I saw you eat anything much since breakfast, and all that samosa talk got me hungry, so I thought, why not?" Lister smiled through his poppadom.

"Eat with your mouth shut, Lister, please." Rimmer bit out through his own mouthfuls of custard. "It's like they raised you in a pen."

"Anyways, what were you saying about the day bein' bad?"

"Wrong. Woke up wrong, breakfast was wrong, then I got stuck interpreting the electrical layout for that floor when you come waltzing back in, already having fixed the issue-"

"You figured it was me?"

"I'm not braindead, Lister, the lights have stopped flickering right by the time you returned, so it was between you and the Almighty."

Lister scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Didn't mean to put ye' out though."

"Yes, ta muchly." Rimmer sniffed and looked down upon his gangly knees. "The point is, I haven't done a single thing to plan today." Any remnants of energy drained from him then, leaving behind something hollow and wrung out.

"Sometimes things don't go to plan." Lister tried, gentler. "Sometimes you just have a tough day man, no point working against yourself."

"Right, and when are you supposed to get anything done then? Life doesn't suddenly stop and pat you on the back, 'Aaaw, you poor daft thing', just because you have your head stuck down in some loopy, meaningless shite."

His tone was snide and mocking, just short of looking for a fight, as per usual, but his eyes betrayed it; he'd been waiting for Lister to finally throw in the towel and tell him all of this was utterly pointless indeed. Like there wasn't much hope or sense in helping him out in the first place.

Good for him, then, that Dave Lister wasn't one to step down that easy.

"I know, man. I've had panic attacks before, they suck something rotten."

Rimmer looked up at him with a disbelieving upturn of an eyebrow.

"Wha? 'Course I have! How do you think I knew about that breathing pattern?"

Rimmer narrowed his eyes.

"Oh, give over,” Lister huffs, “I know I'm a radiant guy but c'mon, do you actually figure I haven't got any problems ever?"

"...No." To his credit, Rimmer did look a little bit abashed. "No, it's just, you're always so... chirpy. I figured you have really thick skin."

"Har-har, man, could've came up with something new by now," Lister chided, but his heart wasn't in it. "Got myself into a right story one time and came out with claustrophobia, actually."

He peeked out of the small porthole on the side of their room, the inky blackness suddenly cold and disquieting. Times like these he really, really wished there’d be some ground under his boots, even thought it only marginally helped against being suffocated in a tight space. Feeling safe was still easier when you knew you could at least step outside and not get instantly blown up to bits.

"Oh."

"Yeah. Maybe I'll tell you about it sometime."

"...I didn't know."

"Now you do." He turned back, sticking his tongue out. "Back to you now though. Is this why you kept re-doing things over and over today?"

"Ah,” Rimmer startled a bit and looked away, a blush creeping onto his cheeks. “You've noticed that, then."

"Was hard not to. I'm not trying to say it's weird or anything, man, it's jus-"

"Well, why not? Say it," he dared, smile bittersweet and gloating, as if they were just sharing a morbid joke at someone's expense, except the expense was completely his own. "No point dancing around it."

"It's not, man, I'm just trying to get it, like, why? You must be doing it for a reason."

"I don't..." Caught off-guard, Rimmer tried to recover. "I don't know if I can explain. So that you'd understand."

"Try me," he answered patiently. "C'mon, I gotcha through the rough of it, no? What makes you think I'll start laughing at you now?"

Rimmer stared at him, deep and searching, so that Lister almost started feeling a little self-conscious. Maybe he overstepped after all? Although opening up after getting caught in the throes of an attack had to be easier, even for him.

"I don't even notice it most of the time,” Rimmer started, voice a far cry from its usual piercing registers. “It's always there, but most days it'll be something small. Resetting a thing here and there, repeating words in my head." His right leg jiggled up and down. "It feels wrong. If I don't, I mean. Today was just... wrong-er, I guess. Nothing was right."

Watching him, careful not to miss a word, Lister mulled it over. Some time passed probably, because soon Rimmer was glancing back at him nervously and shaking his head.

“I told you you wouldn’t get it-”

“No, no, I’m just thinking on it", he raised a palm up. “Like… it doesn't count the first time when you do something?"

"Yes. It doesn't feel right. Physically. And if I don't do it right, it will stay wrong." He looked Lister in the eye. "I know it sounds priggish, like I'm finding fault just to be a bastard. But it feels wrong."

Rimmer did tend to nitpick to a ridiculous degree, he wasn’t going to deny that. But it always seemed like there was maybe something else to it besides being a prick. Nobody re-arranged their room ‘in accordance with Feng Shui’ in multiple configurations over and over just because they had particularly high standards.

"I'm not thinking that, man, but like... can't you just let it stay wrong though?"

“Of course, how did I not think about that before?” Rimmer slapped himself on the forehead. “Because I just love feeling like I’m about to snuff it constantly, really, there’s nothing else quite like it!”

"Okay, okay, I get it, simmer down. Shit. Is it really that bad?

“Yes. I wish it wasn’t, believe you me, but it’s not exactly easy to stop”.

“Sounds unfair, ‘s just all.” Lister conceded. Rimmer seemed surprised by that, so he tried to elaborate. “’Cause you're not actually doing anything wrong, yeah?"

"Well... no?"

"You just feel like it's wrong. Right?"

"Right," Rimmer echoes.

"Yeah, that just sounds dead tiring. I’m exhausted just imagining that, really.” He shuffled around a little. “Maybe you can, like, sorta let go anyway? If you see that everything's fine the first time over, it probably means your feeling wrong is, er, wrong, and you can give it a rest, no?"

Lister could practically see the computations that were going behind Rimmer's eyes.

"No need to tire yourself out with this, like, right this moment though," he said and was suddenly overtaken by a deep yawn. "’S getting late. Think this is all I have in me for today, man.” He looked up at his own bunk longingly. “D’ you think you’re gonna be okay if I go hit the hay now?"

"Don't be absurd, Lister, I'm not some fine china," the man scoffed. "Go clunk out in peace. It's still Thursday tomorrow."

"'K, but you wake me in case we actually need to call medical after all," he was one leg up in bed already. "Promise?"

"Alright, fine, you wet hen. Go to sleep now." Rimmer clapped twice. "Lights!"

Snuggling deeper, Lister wanted to say something else but the moment the lights dimmed he was drifting right off. The evening really took it out of him, the whole day before that forgotten in the agitation.

"G'night, smeghead..." And with that he was gone, snores starting to bubble forth just a few minutes later.

Below him Arnold J. Rimmer, Technician, 2nd class 12 years into his service aboard the JMC mining vessel Red Dwarf, peered at the roof of his bunk and allowed himself a rare hope that maybe, just maybe, this time around, with this bunkmate, it could be different. 

"Good night... Dave."