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Lister was sitting on the floor of someone's living quarters. The beds were still made and the crew's possessions were scattered about on the table and a few stray shelves. A poster for a band Lister didn't know hung next to the port hole, opposite to three picture frames of who Lister presumed to be the crew members’ families.
He was drunk, cold and miserable. It wasn't as if he couldn't ask Holly to turn up the heating on the normally unused deck, but expanding resources just so he could be more comfortable while brooding felt wrong. Instead, he sat there, shivering and alone in the dark time capsule of a room. Whoever lived there was long dead, just like everyone Lister ever knew. No friends, no family, no home. Just him, sitting alone in dead men's quarters with nothing but empty beer cans and the faint rumbling of engines to keep him company.
There was no telling how long he stayed there. Lister missed the days when light passing through a window was all he needed to guess the time. These days, he was only greeted with nothingness. Lister didn't know why this was the thought that brought him over the edge, yet he found himself choking back sobs. In a way, it made sense. He had mourned his Peterson, Selby and Chen, he had mourned Kochanski, he had mourned London, he had mourned his storage locker back on Mimas, he had mourned Fiji and his MegaMart trollies, but he hadn't yet mourned the sky. Eventually, the tears dried like they always do, and Lister was once more left sitting on the floor of an empty memorial.
He was broken out of his trance by the sound of swift footsteps in the adjoining corridor, and for a fleeting moment, Lister thought that it must be Todd Hunter here to reprimand him for slacking off. He wanted to revel in that thought, desperately wanting to cling to the illusion of normalcy, but the bubble was soon burst by Arnold J. Rimmer parading into the room.
“There you are!” he exclaimed, voice grating Lister's already frayed nerves. “Holly told me I'd find you here; do you have any idea how long you've been gone?!”
Lister fought the urge to deck him where he stood.
“Get out.”
Rimmer scoffed. “Me? Get out? I come out here looking for you from the good of my will and that's how you greet me?”
On second thought, beating the hologram up would require getting up. Scrunching his eyes closed, he could already feel the headache coming.
“Rimmer. I said get. The. Smeg. Out,” he growled.
“Oh no you don't, buckaroo. Why are you out here anyway? And are you drunk?? It's two in the afternoon, Lister!”
He marched over to the corner Lister made his home and carefully nudged him with his Space Core issued military boot.
“Up you get you big monkey, you need a goddamn shower. C'mon, up!”
Lister groaned, burying his face into his knees. Maybe if he ignored the problem, it would magically go away.
Rimmer sighed. Lister expected him to leave now, his mission to rile Lister up unsuccessful. Instead, he heard shuffling as the 2nd technician sat down next to him.
“What was it this time,” he asked, voice quiet.
“The sky,” Dave whispered. “I miss the sky.”
Arnold hummed. There was nothing else to say.
Gently, he lay his head against the younger man's shoulder. No words were spoken when Dave laced their fingers together and none were said when Arnold gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. She ship remained quiet, save for the faint hum of the engines below.