Author: Roadstergal.
Title: Flying.
Censor: PG
Pairing: Rimmer/Lister
Commentary: Please. roadstergal@gmail.com
Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me, and I make no money off of them.
Note: The Flying Dutchman, Red Dwarf style.
Daaf Licher looked anxiously up at the roiling clouds obscuring the sky of Rotterdam. It was far too early in the spring to be making this trip, he thought. Storms could spring up unexpectedly when you cast off in the fairest of weather, and this was far from the fairest of weather. Wind tugged at his close-cropped, wiry hair, and the air was heavy with the scent of impending rain.
He watched two deckhands carry another load of Spanish silver up the gangplank to stash belowdecks.
"A fine day for sailing!" a commanding voice called out behind him.
"A day to be safely inside and out of the storm," Daaf retorted. "Wait one more day for the storm to clear. One day will hurt you little, and may save your life." He looked out over the lashing waves, his back still to the speaker.
A lean, long-fingered hand rested on his shoulder. "One more day? I may as well toss half of the silver overboard! We sail directly."
Daaf sighed and turned to face Captain Roemer. His lean face was split with a vulture-like smile, and Daaf knew that smile. He knew better than to argue. When the lust for profit and the promise of adventure called together, Aernoudt was a lost man. "You'll never make it, my friend," he warned.
The smile slipped. "The devil take you all! We've sailed through worse. I will make it if I have to sail until Judgment Day."
Daaf cringed, knowing the Captain's overloud voice would be heard by the shoremen. The Captain had a reputation already, from both the speed of his trips around the Cape and his general irreverence. The townsfolk were sure he was in league with the Dark One. He had not helped the cause by giving his ship a pagan name - The Miners of Jove. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, the exiting shoremen starting to mutter darkly to one another.
Daaf slapped the captain on the shoulder with false heartiness. "I will see you again, my friend." He did not truly believe it. Every time Aernoudt set sail, Daaf was sure it would be the last time. Both of them knew this.
The Captain did not let Daaf go, but put his other hand on Daaf's other shoulder and pulled him closer. "My friend, indeed. What do we care for them?" The Captain flicked his eyes towards the curious onlookers standing at the shore. "I promise you," and here, a rare, true smile lit the Captain's face, "when I have left this earth and this body behind, and am naught but light, we will meet again among the stars." The Captain squeezed and let go.
Licher disembarked, and started to walk home. Before he left the dock, he looked back, and saw the Captain walking along the deck, barking orders to the sailors, his unruly curls flying out behind him in the stormy gale.
This, indeed, was the last time Daaf ever saw him. The townsfolk made much of the fact that no wreckage was found, and rumors started to circulate. That Captain Roemer was not dead, and that he yet sailed, attempting to meet his boast and round the Cape in a ghostly ship. Some even claimed to have seen him come ashore, guiding an incorporeal crew.
Tripe, Daaf thought. The sea is broad and vast, and there is more than enough room to swallow a ship loaded with silver and spit nothing back out. His heart ached for his friend, but Kristine was pregnant, and the business of being a husband, later a father, drove the thoughts of his dead friend to the back of his mind. They only resurfaced when he would listen to townspeople at the pub tell the story of dead Captain Roemer, who continued to sail, seeking redemption for his sins in life. Daaf would merely shake his head and sip his ale.
A crewman who heard voices was considered psychologically disturbed, and was required to make an appointment with a Designated JMC Personality Quality Assurance Associate for potential (and potentially lethal) therapy. Arnold J. Rimmer was therefore happy that he did not hear voices. He only heard one voice.
Not all of the time. It only came to him when he was drunk, or had taken stimulants and revised for a week without sleep. He always took it to be the voice of his father; he could never quite make out the words, but the voice seemed upset, and that made his father a reasonable guess. It is a pity, because for him, the voice reinforced his father's petty dictates in his own mind. It was, in fact, shouting in strong opposition.
They did grudgingly agree on the whole swimming certificate business, however.
It was quiet and dark in Starbug's cockpit. That suits me fine, Lister thought as he settled at the front joystick with a hot cup of tea and a comic. The standard lighting for the cockpit was the dull green glow of the OKs. The only time the cockpit was well-lit was when it was illuminated with explosions and electrical fires. Their encounter with the simulant had made him heartily sick of excitement and adventure. He needed some time to unwind, and Kryten needed some time to come to terms with who he was and the... er... death of his... er... brother. For once, the universe was cooperating, not throwing any more strange creatures or anomalies at them, giving them a long down time. Very long. Lister would estimate that it had been years - although he had no desire to check. He just wanted to sip his tea and read his comic. He disabled manual controls and put his booted feet on the inside of the joysticks, settling back with a contented sigh.
He heard quiet footsteps behind him, and cringed. The down time that was so soothing to him and Kryten was not quite so relaxing for Kochanski. She seemed to take the dullness as a personal insult; it gave her more time to brood on her better dimension and her better Lister. Her list of the differences between the two was becoming very detailed, and despite his randiness, Lister was half-afraid that she might finally give in and sleep with him simply to make the list comprehensive. He picked up his tea and took a long sip as he heard her walk in and sit down at the console behind him, not speaking a word. Lord, she must be in a mood.
"There's something special about this dimension, Listy."
Lister jumped an inch in the air. His teacup fell out his fingers, spilling hot tea all over the crotch of his jumpsuit. He yelped and knocked the cup to the ground, grabbed the crotch of his jumpsuit and fanned it to cool it off, tossed the comic onto the console, and spun around to face a ghost.
Rimmer sat at his old post, leaning on the console with his arms folded, wig tossed aside. He was more comfortable in the gold flightsuit than Lister remembered him being; he was giggling at Lister's reaction. Lister grimaced.
"Whatinhell are you doin' here, mate?" Lister paused. They had all looked the same – was this Smeghead Rimmer? ‘His’ Rimmer? "Er, I dunno quite how to ask this, but are you..." he trailed off.
"The same Rimmer from before? Yes." Seeing some doubt on Lister's face, he screwed up his own face and muttered, "Selfloathingbeast...whitehole...twelveminutes...clones...Rachel..." he tapped his fingers on the console.
Lister grinned. "OK, it's you, you smegger! How have you been?"
Rimmer shrugged. "Not bad. I think I'm getting the hang of this Ace business. Saving small innocent villages from evil threats, righting wrongs, rescuing beautiful dictators from evil princesses. That kind of thing."
Lister laughed. "Go on..."
Rimmer smiled. "No, really!" He began to go into details, telling the stories of the last two adventures. Lister's grin would not go away. It was a little strange, but highly satisfying, to talk with Rimmer so comfortably. The smeghead had indeed changed, but not into the Aces that Lister had met before, who awed and impressed him. This was, as he had predicted, a different kind of Ace; less smug, more easygoing. It was, he realized, simply Arn without the neuroses.
"...sort of a insect-like thing, about waist-high, with big gossamer wings and this odd ichor seeping out from its joints. Yellow stuff, smelled awful - like the old mess tapioca. Anyhow, they were all drones, so all you had to do to destroy the nest was to kill the queen, you see? And..."
Lister leaned forward and put his hand on the console. "Rimmeh..." Rimmer stuttered to a stop. "Do you want me to get the others? They'd love to see you, man."
Rimmer frowned slightly. "They'd love to see Ace. I wanted to see you first."
Lister nodded. He thought back to the first thing Rimmer had said, when he had been distracted by a scalded crotch. "Hey, Rimmeh, man, what's so special about this dimension?"
Rimmer sat back and made odd hand gestures that utterly failed to illustrate what he was talking about. "There's a certain... well, it has nothing to do with gravity, but I guess it's best to put it in that terms... gravity towards this dimension? An attraction. Jumpers tend to move towards this dimension. It's very slight - it won't take you off course if you're shooting for a different dimension - but it's there. And it's not just because this is my home dimension - the ship's computer says it was the same for all of the other Aces."
Lister's brow furrowed. "Whot does that mean?"
Rimmer shrugged. "I don't know. I think the computer does, but she won't tell me." He grimaced. "She's not as silly as she makes herself out to be. I wonder if it's... somehow... the original timeline. The one that all of the other dimensions are splits off of."
"Whoa - so I'm the one, the only, the real Lister?" This made Lister feel much better. The oh-so-improved Lister of Kochanski's was just a freak accident, not the real article. Let Ace tell her that!
"Unfortunately..." Lister growled at that, and mock-punched at Rimmer's face. Rimmer laughed and pushed his hand out of the way. His face grew serious again. "Well - whatever the computer knows that I don't, she said I have to come back here every seven years. That's why the other two Aces came here."
Lister had heard many odd things in his time, but this certainly went on the Very Odd List. "Every seven years? Whot? Why?"
"Just another thing she won't tell me," Rimmer growled.
Lister nodded. "So you didn't come just to say hi." Oddly enough, this bothered him.
Rimmer looked down at his hands. "I wasn't sure you'd want to see me again. Nothing worse than the prodigal son coming home after he's been sent off with everyone's blessings, after all."
"Don't be daft," Lister said. "It's great seeing you again, man."
Rimmer looked up, a smile quirking the edge of his mouth. "Really?"
Lister grinned, as he had been doing, goofily, for most of this odd meeting, and nodded. Rimmer smiled fully, now, and stepped forward to grab Lister in a bear hug. Lister stood up to meet it. He never thought it would feel so good to see Rimmer.
But it still felt a little odd to be hugging such an old friend quite so tightly, so he stepped back. Rimmer had apparently had the same idea, because he stepped back, as well, chewing on his lower lip, his arms dangling at his sides.
"So..." Lister felt a need to fill the awkward silence that was starting to fill the dingy cockpit, "how long do you have to stay?"
Rimmer looked up. "I don't need to stay at all, actually. The computer said I just needed to hit the dimension; I could have jumped right back out again."
"Aww, stay for a little, man," Lister said. Seeing Rimmer again felt almost - homey. The fact that he was no longer such a smeghead did not hurt, either. He just wanted to talk with the man, he realized; he couldn't really talk to Cat like another human, and they had gone through so much more together than he and Kochanski...
Rimmer was looking at him almost too intensely now, Lister thought, and shifted nervously from foot to foot. "You want me to stay, Listy?"
"Yeah... I've missed you, man," Lister admitted.
Rimmer walked towards him and put one hand on his cheek. The hard-light hand was warm, and if it made Lister's fillings buzz, he wasn't sure if it was some projection oddity or his own reaction to what was happening. The hug had been a sincere, mately gesture, while this cupping of his cheek, along with the oddly direct stare...
"Dave..." Rimmer breathed, and leaned in to kiss Lister.
Lister was stunned into silence as soft lips caressed his own. His mouth was half-open, and he merely stood there as Rimmer tentatively pushed his tongue inside, a warm, slick, oddly dry hard-light tongue. Lister's reaction was visceral, his own hand moving up to Rimmer's cheek, moving his lips on Rimmer's, his tongue dancing...
Wait. Dancing with Rimmer's.
Hold the boats. He was kissing Rimmer.
Lister pushed with his hand and pulled with his head, breaking the kiss. "Rimmer... man... what the smeg are we doing?"
Rimmer's face was flushed, and he was breathing heavily. He looked back at Lister, the former intensity in his eyes changing to confusion, and then, quickly, to horror. He took two steps backwards, his mouth open, working, not saying anything, his eyes still fixed on Lister's. Then he turned, grabbed his wig, and ran.
Lister slumped back, his buttocks resting on the arm of the chair. What the hell. What the smegging hell. He had just...
He sat for a moment, considering. He licked his lips.
Too fast. This was all happening too fast.
And Rimmer was leaving.
This thought stirred Lister into action. He tore through the midsection, along the corridors, towards the landing bay. He heard shuddering and a woosh. He pounded his way into the launch bay just as the doors were closing, and the bay was refilling with air. He staggered to the viewport, gasping for breath in the thin air, just in time to see the red spaceship flicker into unreality as it Jumped.
"Rimmeh!" he cried. But the other man was gone.
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