Promotion
Rimmer/Lister, rated T, no real content warnings to speak of. Pre-accident fic. Rimmer gets a promotion and drives Lister absolutely bonkers. (This is a repost so you can read while AO3 is down/for further archival purposes.)
Dave Lister's life was hell.
Alright, maybe it wasn't hell, but it was pretty damn close now that Rimmer'd actually somehow gone and managed to cheat his way past the engineering exam. Just like that, everything Lister had worked so hard for the past two years was gone. For months he'd been slowly replacing those stupid little newspaper clippings with his own parody versions, and Rimmer hadn't even noticed as he'd shoved everything he owned into a baby-vomit green rolling suitcase, happy as a smegging clam. Now, the cup full of mold Lister'd been painstakingly feeding and watering served no purpose except occasionally giving him pneumonia.
His new bunkmate was mind-numbingly boring, which was saying something considering Rimmer had an aglet collection. Aglets. As in, the little hard bits at the ends of your shoelaces. Lister hadn't ever even given them a second thought before he'd moved in with Rimmer, and now every time he looked down at his scuffed old boots all he saw was double-punched brass-plated smegging aglets.
His bunkmate didn't even really have a proper name, because Lister couldn't remember it for the life of him. He was a completely average-looking guy, a little pudgy, with a round face and a mop of dark hair up top that he didn't bother combing in the morning. Well, relative morning. Lister and his roommate worked opposite shifts, so they only ever saw each other two hours a day. That meant there wasn't anyone to complain when Lister brought out his guitar, because good old Fireman Sam was off auditing the fire suppression systems or some such boring thing.
It also meant Lister had a lot of alone time. Lots of time to think. To ponder how he was wasting his youth slaving away for JMC, how once this tour was over, he wouldn't even have enough saved up for the plane ride to Fiji, how he'd be stuck here for thirty more years if he wanted a decent pension.
God, Rimmer, look what you've done, he thought bitterly. I could be cutting nipple holes in all your uniform shirts, and instead I'm thinking about me future. He couldn't bring himself to torment the new guy, not when he seemed like a nice enough sort of bloke. Or, at least, mumbled "have a good shift" from the pile of blankets in the bottom bunk as Lister pulled on his boilersuit, which was nicer than anything his previous bunkmate had ever said to him.
The bunkroom stuff was all a bunch of minor gripes, though, compared to what his work life was like now. Because, see, Rimmer wasn't just a technician anymore. He was an engineer. That meant he was bound to turn up right as Lister was finishing up his normal maintenance routine- smacking the vending machine up on five-oh-two with a spanner until it worked- and insist on reprogramming the thing for four hours.
Worst, now that Rimmer was an engineer, it actually meant something when he handed citations up the chain, because Chief Engineer Callaghan didn't tolerate disruptions. Lister thought Rimmer was off his rocker, but after a disciplinary meeting with old Callaghan, he'd learnt a new definition of wrath. So, sure, maybe Rimmer still didn't actually wield any of his own power yet, but as long as he still had his boss backing him up, he had Lister under his thumb.
"Why is it you've got to keep botherin' me, anyway? You can't tell me you get assigned to the exact same machines as me, every day."
"I don't see you every day. Thursday last week, we didn't cross paths at all." Rimmer crossed his arms. "Besides, I'm not the one bothering you. If anything, you're disrupting my work."
"I'm just saying, when it was you and me there weren't any engineers hovering around, towering over us like a giraffe in a goat pen."
"If that's a jab about my neck, Third Technician…" Rimmer clicked his pen with the sort of zeal only a bona fide maintenance engineer could muster.
"Write me up, Scotty," Lister sighed, not looking forward to the beet red bulldog jowls he was going to have to face tomorrow morning. Smeg, he couldn't even make a joke anymore. Not even a remark. Life was hell. Absolute hell.
---
Friday night was still a night for the boys, and Lister was all set to drown his sorrows in a few pints of lager and a few more pints of lager and one or two after that. If Lister was really lucky, he'd meet a nice girl tonight and Fireman Sam would have the room all to himself. More likely, he'd get sloshed beyond belief and wake up on the floor wedged in Petersen's bosoms again. Whatever else happened, he was certain of one thing: Friday was magic, it was sacred, it was blowing off steam after the horrid week and it was the only soothing ritual he had left, besides cutting up his nudie magazines and making Franken-porn.
"Why the long face?" Chen asked him as he sat down. "Ya look hungover and it ain't even Monday mornin' yet." This earned a collective chuckle from Selby and Petersen.
"It's just work," Lister said. "I don't wanna talk about it, let's get plastered."
That was the thing- when he said that, they all started drinking and carrying on like normal, but Lister couldn't quite enjoy himself. Maybe a few Fridays ago, he'd have been living in the moment, right, not thinking about the consequences, the future being the farthest thing from his mind, but… well, now all he could think about was that Friday was fleeting and in a few hours it would be Saturday, and mere hours after that it would be Monday and he would wake up, get ready, quiet as so not to disturb his bunkmate who'd just gone to bed, and wander the corridors wheeling a heavy trolley until the biggest tool on the ship decided to show up.
"Hello, Listy," someone said in his ear, and he jumped, scared out of his skin that he'd somehow summoned Monday three days ahead of schedule.
"Oh, smeg off." He had to restrain himself from taking a swing at Rimmer's smug grin. "What are you doing here?"
"Well, I don't have exams to prep for anymore, and since I'm not your direct superior, it's no longer unethical for me to come over and have a drink with you, is it?"
"Yer nose is unethical," Selby started, but Lister motioned for him to stop.
"Just don't," he hissed, afraid that angering Rimmer would make things even worse.
"Why?" Petersen asked helpfully in that slow, deep Danish drawl of his. "You like him all of a sudden?"
"No, look-"
"Well, if ya like him so much-" God damnit, Chen. "-how's about you marry him, then?" Guffaws from the whole table.
"Just leave him alone, alright?" He turned to Rimmer. "And, you. Can't you give me one evening of peace? I mean, I have to spend fifty hours every week with you, I'd think that's enough quality time for the both of us."
"Right, but that's work. This is leisure time." Rimmer grabbed a chair from a nearby table where a woman had just gotten up to get peanuts, shoving his way into the group. "So. I imagine you've all heard that I finally made engineer, haven't you?"
"Tell the truth, I thought you died," Selby admitted. "Lister said he got a new bunkmate, so I figured you spaced yourself or pulled a Mad Jonesy and ran off to live on the diesel decks."
"I- no, why would I do either of those things? No, our friend Lister here has completely misrepresented the situation. I passed my exams, became a well-respected engineer, and now I can finally move on to other conquests, like friendship."
"Conquests," Petersen laughed, but Lister's stomach was starting to sink as he realized what was happening.
He was Rimmer's friend. Rimmer's only friend. Rimmer wasn't his friend, but he was Rimmer's. He was the only person Rimmer had probably ever spoken to for more than five minutes who hadn't immediately made an excuse and left the room.
God, he was doomed.
"Rimsy," he said in a strained voice. "Could you an' I take a little timeout for a sec?"
"Oh. Well, I suppose. You haven't properly congratulated me on my promotion, anyway."
"Oh, yeah, Listy," Selby said with his big fat mouth. "Better go congratulate him."
"Congratulate him so good," Petersen added, and Chen's chittering laughter followed.
"Smeg off," Lister snapped, and he headed for the door, not bothering to check if Rimmer followed him out.
"Finally. I don't understand why you spend time with those brutes, Lister. You simply shouldn't put up with that relentless bullying-"
"You know why they're bullying me?" he asked, exasperated. "They're picking on me because of you."
"What? But I'm an engineer now. If anything, that should rocket your social status right to the tippy-top."
"No, exactly. That's what they think is hilarious, that right there."
"That… that I'm an engineer?"
"That you think bein' an engineer suddenly makes you a cool guy," Lister said, exasperated. "No matter what you do, what your rank is, you're always going to be Rimmer. And I know it, and they know it, but you somehow can't get it through your thick head. That's what's hilarious. And now you've decided to hang off me arm like a barnacle with abandonment issues-"
"But- I- But this is the best we've gotten on in years," Rimmer protested, eyes cemented on his shoes. "I genuinely thought it was because you were beginning to respect me."
"It's because if I do anything out of line, you rat on me to Callaghan, and all of a sudden I've got a chief engineer up my arsehole and all my video privileges revoked for six months!"
"I… see." Rimmer took a deep, fluttery breath, the kind you took when you were trying really really hard not to burst into tears in front of your mates. "I suppose I'll see you Monday, then," he mumbled.
"S'pose you will," Lister said, and he stormed off down the hall, not even in the mood to drink his sorrows away.
---
The weekend had been a total bust. Lister hadn't properly blown off any steam whatsoever. Monday morning came around, and he just laid uselessly in bed, listening as the doors whooshed open and Fireman Sam came in.
He undressed in the dark, doing everything quietly so as not to wake Lister, and then snored softly in the bottom bunk. He was so considerate that way- no Esperanto-lessons-while-you-sleep tapes, no practicing his Schalmei horn at odd hours (come on, Lister, it's not any different than your guitar) and no rambling, one-sided conversations that started just as Lister was finally beginning to drift off. If Fireman Sam had been his bunkmate from the beginning, maybe Lister wouldn't have been so sleep-deprived all the time.
Not that it made any difference now. Lister had spent the night tossing and turning, mourning his ruined weekend, hoping beyond hope that somehow he would close his eyes and open them and that the alarm clock would read "SA" instead of "MO."
It wasn't meant to be.
Evidently their little row had gotten Rimmer wound even tighter than he was normally, and Lister had to pay extra attention to what he was doing.
"It's the wrong screwdriver," Rimmer insisted.
"Yeah, the screw's stripped. I have to use the flathead."
"Well, what about the square drive?"
"That's going to make it worse," Lister muttered, but he picked up the square drive and gave it a half-hearted try.
"Come on, Lister. If you can't get this panel cover off, I'm not going to be able to reprogram the temperature controls. Cold showers for the whole floor, Lister, is that what you want?"
"I-" God, he couldn't. "No, sir." He bit his tongue and kept turning the square drive until the center of the screw was completely hollowed out.
"Well, now you've gone and done it," Rimmer scoffed. "Give me the flathead, I'll fix it myself."
"Yes, sir."
"Don't give me cheek, Lister, or I'll write you up. I'm not in the mood."
"All I said was 'yes, sir!'"
"Right, but it's the way you said it. It's about basic decency and respect."
"I am being respectful."
"All I'm saying is, you could say it in a nicer tone, couldn't you? Service with a smile and all?"
Lister was about to burst. Seriously, he might explode right here and now. He wasn't sure what was going to happen next. Either he was going to peel Rimmer's skin off and start eating him alive, or he was going to shove the square drive up his own nose until it reached his brain.
"There we are. See? It's so easy to solve our problems when we use the correct tools, isn't it?"
Thwack.
Lister's knuckles hurt, and he realized too late that he'd punched Rimmer in the face.
"I- Christ, mate, I didn't mean to- I mean- look, you don't have to-"
"Lister," Rimmer said, oddly cool, though his eyes were watering and there was a definite bruise forming on his cheekbone. "Get the first aid kit."
"Y… yes, sir," he said, certain now that he could say goodbye to the next three weekends, at least.
There was something strange about Rimmer today, as evidenced by the fact that he hadn't clicked his pen and damned Lister to thirty-plus hours of janitorial purgatory yet.
"Here's the medical kit," Lister said, unsure what to make of the whole thing. Rimmer shook his head, patting the spot next to him on the floor.
"Sit."
"What, why?"
"You broke it, so you're the one who's going to fix it."
Lister couldn't argue that. Well, he could, but he really didn't want Rimmer to write him up for this. So he sat down cross-legged next to the prick and opened the box.
"I'm not missing any teeth?" Rimmer asked, curling his lips back.
"No, no. I didn't think I hit you hard enough for that."
"You hit me pretty damn hard."
"Yeah. Sorry."
"Oh, come now. You shouldn't apologize unless you mean it, and I know you don't."
"How's that?"
"You hate me. Of course you're not sorry. You hate me just like all the others, maybe more. No- definitely more." Rimmer smiled weakly. "Right, then. Put the ointment on."
Lister handed him the ointment, confused when Rimmer didn't accept it.
"You put it on."
"Rub this on your face?"
"Yes."
"With my hand?"
"Good point. Clean those things first."
"But can't you do this yourself?"
"It's called a power play, Lister. I gave you an order, so do it, or I really will report you for punching a senior officer."
Hm.
Hmm.
Alright.
Lister rubbed some sanitizer over his fingers first, then squeezed some of the topical cream out of its tube. This was the good stuff- he'd used it plenty of times after his own scrapes. Probably, Rimmer would wake up tomorrow morning righter than rain, no soreness, no discoloration. Like it'd never happened. And Lister would still have Friday night.
It was odd, though, smudging paste on Rimmer's swollen cheek, sort of a strangely tender moment. Like they were in the trenches in some old war movie, and he was dressing Rimmer's wounds with the kind of care you reserved for the guy you'd gone through hell with. Nevermind that Rimmer was the hell.
"Excellent," Rimmer murmured when he'd finished. "There's just one more thing I want from you before you pack it up."
"Okay?"
"Kiss it better."
"What?"
"Well, not like that."
"Yeah, an adult man kissing another adult man on the cheek. S'the most heterosexual thing I've heard all week."
"It's meant to be like a mafia kiss. You kiss the ring as- as a show of fealty, you know, a sign of respect."
"But I don't respect you."
"You'll have to, now."
"But if I don't respect you, and I don't mean it, then it's just a gay kiss, isn't it?"
"What sort of logic is that?" Rimmer shook his head. "You're not squirming out of this one. I want you to show me I'm the boss, and it's this or licking the soles of my boots."
Lister considered it very, very, very hard.
"Oh, grow up."
"Fine, I'll give you the smeggin' gay kiss. But in exchange, I want a week off. No threats, no hoverin' over my shoulder, no showing up on my days off."
"You're not in any position to bargain," Rimmer started, but before he could decline the deal Lister put his lips to Rimmer's cheek.
Sure, he could've gone the easy route, given him a second-long peck and been done with it. But this was a prime opportunity to mess with Rimmer, his only opportunity in weeks, and Lister'd been going through withdrawals.
So he lingered a second or two too long, nuzzling Rimmer's cheek with his nose and suppressing a laugh when he felt it go red-hot with embarrassment.
"How's that for respect?" Lister said softly, still only about a centimeter from Rimmer's massive head. "Prick."
"A week," Rimmer nodded hurriedly. "A week is great. Fine."
---
Those first four days might well have been heaven. Work went smoothly without Rimmer around to sabotage things, and Lister actually finished his tasks ahead of schedule most days, with plenty of time to bum around. When Rimmer did show up, which wasn't often, he was quiet and avoided eye contact. It suited Lister just fine. And that seemed to confirm what he'd suspected- Rimmer didn't actually need to stalk along his route every day, and had been doing it out of either straight up sadism or desperation for social contact.
Lister still couldn't enjoy his Friday night.
To be fair, it had started out fine. The four of them- the boys, him, Chen, Selby and Petersen, terrors of the disco- were on the pull, eager to make up for last week's disappointment. And there was a new face in town, an decent-looking astro surveyor with curly dark hair down to her waist, and Lister had managed to talk her into a dance somehow.
They swayed along to the noise from the speakers- some artificially nostalgic 70s cover of a 40s cover of a song from the 2090s- and Belinda, or Brittany, Berta, whatever it was, wrapped her arms around Lister's neck.
"Thanks for the warm welcome," she smiled, and kissed Lister's cheek, her fingers flitting across the side of his neck.
"I need the toilet," Lister blurted. He tore her hand away and made a run for it, leaving the poor woman standing in the middle of the dance floor, utterly confused and probably a bit insulted.
Goddamn Rimmer. Smegging Rimmer. He couldn't even leave Lister in peace for one week, had to go and ruin something as lovely as a kiss on the cheek.
Yeah, so maybe it was Lister's own fault that the ghost of Rimmer past was haunting him tonight, but that didn't mean he couldn't get mad about it. He stared in the mirror at the lipstick mark on his left cheek. It looked a bit like a bruise.
He wasn't going back to Brenda's tonight, was he.
---
"There," Lister sighed, checking his watch. "The week's officially up. You can torment me again."
"Good, because I've been dying to remind you that you can't use your pliers as a hammer. You'll ruin them that way."
"Fine, so you try fitting a hammer between these supports."
"I'm not going to do your job for you. Just try to hit it at an angle."
"What angle? Me arm's inside the smegging wall!"
Rimmer clicked his pen.
"Alright, alright," Lister muttered, picking up the hammer.
"Alright…?"
"Yes, I heard you, I'm doing it."
"That's not how you speak to your superiors."
"Alright, sir," he grumbled.
"Better." Rimmer hovered closer. "You know, I think you and I could possibly learn to get along. Reach a sort of… common ground."
"What is this about?" Maybe the week of silence had made him lonely.
"No need to sound so suspicious. All I'm asking for is a little cooperation. I scratch your back, you scratch mine."
"Is this more fake mafia nonsense? Are you going through one of your phases?"
"No, Lister, I'm proposing a ceasefire. I'm sure you had a rather restful week, and I'd like to extend that privilege to you again. One more week, in exchange for…" He struggled with the next words, and they came out in a jumble. "Another kiss."
"Hmm." Lister put the hammer down. "Well, I'd be crazy not to take a deal like that. Even if you chargin' a protection fee for a problem you created is mad shady."
"There's a catch." Rimmer stared down at his clipboard, lips tight, toying with the metal clip. Snap. Snap. Snap. "I want it on the mouth this time."
"Ah."
"Of course, one could argue that leveraging my power over you for- for romantic-adjacent means could be taken as unethical. So. If you took this deal, the reports to Callaghan would naturally have to stop for fear that you would report me back."
"Oh, naturally," Lister parroted.
"It would be a stalemate. You and I would be on equal terms again."
"You must be desperate to kiss somebody."
"It's not like that! This is- it's an equalizer, you understand. It's quid pro quo. It's a non-zero-sum situation."
"You must be desperate to kiss me."
"No- it's a- it's a pawn sacrifice in our little battle of wits. It's just to- it's to level the playing field, it's a tactical move-"
Rimmer went on like that for a few more rambling sentences, giving Lister a moment to mull it over.
The prospect of another week was tempting, but more than that… he wanted to take him up on another kiss, didn't he? There was a pretty sizable part of him that got all tingly at the thought of pressing Rimmer against the wall of the corridor, showing him who was boss. That'll teach you, telling me not to ruin my pliers. Mwah.
At the same time- he'd turned down the opportunity to spend the weekend in bed with a beautiful, smart, funny woman with huge cans. If this continued, Rimmer was probably going to ruin him. Probably had done.
"Well?" Rimmer asked, gripping the clipboard so hard his fingers had turned white.
"Okay," Lister said, against his better judgement. "You've got a deal."
---
Of course as soon as they'd shaken on it, the once-empty corridor had come alive with the bustle of miners and technicians hurrying down the hall on their lunch break.
"Look, come to my quarters after your shift," Rimmer had murmured below the chattering crowd, pressing a scrap of paper into Lister's hand. "I have a single now. Engineers get single rooms." Oh, smegging engineers.
It was a nice room, though, only a little smaller than the one they'd shared. With some amusement, Lister noticed the fake clippings he'd made were sitting in the bin- how long had it taken Rimmer to notice? Although there wasn't a window, there was a nice armchair bolted to the floor near the foot of the bed, which would be perfect for all the pretending to read Rimmer did. There was an angled desk with some nice-looking diagrams of something clipped onto it, which Lister understood absolutely none of. Dots and lines. He realized Rimmer had drawn it after a few moments of squinting- there was that telltale block lettering, almost perfect except for the squashed O's and unfinished R's. Huh. It made a twisted sort of sense that he'd be good at this. Rimmer had always liked taking a ruler to a perfectly good piece of paper and turning it into a schedule from Satan's nightmares.
Other than that, the room wasn't that interesting. Lister had done all the snooping he wanted to do, and twenty minutes later Rimmer was nowhere to be found. And sure, Lister knew Rimmer was a bit of a flake any time he needed to do something that involved even the tiniest bit of bravery. He waited until the last minute to get any of his shore-leave vaccinations, or didn't leave the ship at all. It was just- did he expect to be able to avoid his own bunk forever? Did he expect Lister to give up after a half-hour, go home, and pretend nothing had happened?
Lister laid back on the bed, shoes still on, smudged with grease, and made himself comfortable. Rimmer wasn't going to go back on this, not with a week of total blissful solitude on the line. Lister had no issue waiting it out. Actually… he looked around the room one more time. Like Rimmer'd said, they were equals again. Lister opened two of the pens sitting in a tray at the bottom of the desk and swapped the ink chambers. It was a lame prank, but he knew Rimmer would get disproportionately angry about it when he realized the black was writing in red and vice versa.
There was a hesitant knock on the door, and Lister jumped, diving back onto the bed.
"You- er- you're here," Rimmer gulped as he opened the door. "I halfway expected you wouldn't be."
"It took you long enough to get here. I thought you'd stood me up in your own room."
"They had me working on something down in the diesel decks," Rimmer sighed. "It took me ages to get there and back. To think, I got into this job because I didn't want to commute."
"I thought your dad forced you to sign up."
"It was a joke, Lister, I thought you enjoyed those."
Maybe Rimmer'd forgotten all about their deal, because he sat down in the armchair and took off his boots like it was just a normal day.
"Anyways, you wouldn't believe who I ran into down there. Do you remember that skutter- the one that was a shade of blue different than the others? The mispaint?"
"No way. Thunder's still around?" Lister couldn't contain his smile. "He was my favorite. Always let him bum a cig off me."
"You mean you used it as an ashtray," Rimmer scoffed.
"No, I swear the little bugger smoked 'em!"
"Well, from what I understand, they had to pull it apart to clean all the ashes out. But-" A smile tugged at the corners of Rimmer's mouth. "They didn't end up removing that little lightning bolt you drew on him. It's still there, if a bit chipped."
"You had a fit," Lister reminisced. "Defacing company property an' all."
"Well, it- yes. It's still a punishable offense. But, I don't know, seeing it now was a… moment of reprieve from an otherwise miserable sort of day."
There was a second or two there, Rimmer smiling to himself, where maybe Lister would have kissed him without any strings attached. No- this was still Rimmer, after all. They were only getting along because they'd finally had the opportunity to spend time apart. As soon as the smothering began again, Lister would be back to hating him.
"Let's get this over with," he insisted. "I've got things to do."
"You're so right, Listy. I wouldn't want to keep you from curing cancer or building the galaxy's first quantum engine." Rimmer twirled into the spot next to him on the bed, fingers picking at the seam of his crisp uniform pants. "Get to it, then," he said quietly.
Lister took Rimmer by the chin, tilting his head so that they were face-to-face. It felt uncomfortable. Rimmer clearly had no idea where to look, his eyes flitting from meeting Lister's gaze to his mouth to his forehead.
"Close your eyes, alright?"
"I'll keep them open, if it's all the same."
"That's unnatural. Just close 'em."
"I don't trust you. You're going to do something weird, I just know it."
"Maybe I would normally, but I want a week of peace an' quiet. Close your eyes and relax." Lister put his hands on Rimmer's shoulders, lowering them by a few inches, and Rimmer sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. Much better.
It wasn't as difficult to kiss him as Lister had thought it would be.
Obviously he'd been stuck on the first one for a week, but he thought for sure there'd be some sense of disgust when it happened for real. Rimmer would do something off, and he'd wake up and realize he was snogging the human equivalent of queuing at the post office, and that would be that.
Instead, Rimmer's lips felt like… lips. By some miracle, his hands made their way to the sides of Lister's neck and jaw, and his breath was warm on Lister's cheeks. He knew how to kiss, which was a pleasant surprise, even if it was a little unsteady, and his lips clung to Lister's, alternating top and bottom, softer than expected. He smelled good- kind of sweaty, yeah, considering the belly of the ship could get miserably cold or miserably hot depending on what section you were in. But it was a good smell. Soapy.
Lister hadn't noticed they'd been kissing for so long, too wrapped up in the experience, and he quickly pulled away.
"That's one week," he said. Rimmer had definitely noticed.
"Yes. One week, as promised." Rimmer paused. "Of course, we- we could do it in bulk."
"Bulk?"
"Get another one out of the way, while you're here. I doubt you'll want to come all the way back here again come next Monday, will you?"
"You have a point," Lister agreed. He didn't. He didn't have a point, not really, but at this point any excuse to just stay in this weird warm spot was a good one. "Two weeks."
"Two weeks," Rimmer nodded, and he leaned in.
Lister scooted forward, throwing his arms around Rimmer's neck like they belonged there. Comfortable. Something about this was comfortable.
This kiss was a lot shakier than the last, as though whatever courage Rimmer had plucked up was quickly faltering. That was alright- Lister stroked the soft hairs on the back of his neck, satisfied when Rimmer shuddered. It was so easy. It felt so easy.
"Th- three?" Rimmer stuttered after they'd separated.
"Yeah. Three."
---
It was only eighteen hours into the month and a half Lister'd earned when Rimmer came to bother him again.
"What's this about?" he groaned.
"You know damned well what this is about," Rimmer said, holding up two pens.
"Ah, c'mon, man, you left me alone in the room. You knew the risk."
"I'm not angry," Rimmer lied through his teeth. "I just want you to fix it."
"Can't you do it yourself? You're not holdin' up our agreement."
"I can't, Lister, it's the principle of the thing. You broke it, you fix it."
"Ohhh." Lister put down his tools. "You can't, can you?"
"It's the principle of the thing," Rimmer repeated.
"You're a big bad engineer, and you can't figure out how to take a pen apart."
"Just fix it, alright?" he squeaked, shoving the pens at Lister.
Lister laughed and pulled the ends off, swapping the cartridges easy as anything.
"Thank you," Rimmer said tersely. "Touch my things again, by the way, and I don't care about our agreement- I can and will disembowel you and use your entrails as a jump rope."
"Sure, Rimmer," Lister smiled. "Anything else you need?"
"I… well, no, that was it. I suppose I should bid you adieu."
"Yeah. Guess you should."
They stood in silence for a moment.
"Actually-" Lister pointed at the mess of wiring inside the junction box. "You're killer at organizing things. You could help me with this mess."
"Well, Lister, I'm a very busy man, and I have a lot on my plate, but… for old time's sake, maybe I could slot it into my schedule."
"Thanks," Lister said, stepping aside and slipping Rimmer a handful of connectors. "So, the travellers are the real problem…"
---
"You seem a lot less depressed." Selby nudged him. "C'mon, don't hold out on us. What's her name?"
"What d'you mean?" Lister laughed. "I can't just be happy for no reason?"
"You?" Chen shook his head. "You're a gloomy fucker in between relationships."
"Ja. You always have this look like a puppy kicked you," Petersen added.
"I think it's 'like a kicked puppy.'"
"I'm happily single," Lister insisted, nursing his pint glass. "Maybe work's gone better than usual."
"So, what? They fired Rimmer?"
"No. We're just- we get on now, y'know?" This line of conversation was really dangerous. Lister doubted the boys cared a lick if he kissed a bloke- it was more the fact that he'd kissed Rimmer that would make him into an instant pariah. Well. Not a pariah, but he'd never hear the last of it, never ever. "Er- yeah, I think us not being stuck together day and night makes it easier not to toss him down an elevator shaft."
"How's bunking with Tillery? I heard he's a total bore."
"Who?" It took Lister a second to realize they were talking about Fireman Sam, and the next second the nickname had sent the group into a fit of laughter.
"That's just perfect!" Chen chittered like a hyena. "Spot on!"
"Look, he's a nice guy. I just don't get to have a lot of-" Lister's eyes caught a figure standing awkwardly in the middle distance. "Ah, hey, I've got to use the head. Watch me beer, yeah?"
"Too much spicy food," Petersen scolded him. "I told you to stay away from those vending machine curries."
"Right, shame on me," Lister said, making a quick escape.
"Rimmer, what are you doing here?"
"Not- I wasn't here to bother you," he said frantically. "I didn't even know you'd be here tonight. I was just- trying something different."
"No, it's good to see you out. I always said you needed to get your nose out of those boring war books and make some friends." Lister gingerly grabbed his elbow, steering him towards an alcove where they'd be less likely to be seen by his group.
"Unsurprisingly, I'm not having any luck in that pursuit. As it turns out, you were right about not many people being impressed by my status." He sighed. "This was sort of a last attempt, before I go back to studying for the astronavigation exam. At least as an officer, I'll command some sort of respect-"
"What? But you're a brilliant engineer."
"I- no I'm not?" Rimmer's confusion was genuine. "You think I'm a good engineer?"
"I've seen those drawings you did. Those were really good, I think. I mean, I didn't know what any of it meant, but it looked good."
"Oh." He looked pale and shaken, like Lister had just told him how he was going to die.
"Anyways-" Lister glanced back towards the table. Petersen had drank his beer pretty much immediately after he'd left. "I should get back to my boys, but… I dunno, I'll see you Monday?"
"Next next Monday," Rimmer nodded.
"Well- yeah, next next Monday." It was what Lister'd earned, after all.
---
It felt like forever until the next time Rimmer asked him for a kiss. At some point, Lister had given in and taken to fantasizing about him- those soft curly hairs on the back of his neck, the way his breath stank of regulation toothpaste, the little tremors in his breath when they pulled apart.
It was the day today, and Lister couldn't help but feel nervous despite himself. There was absolutely a non-zero chance that Rimmer wasn't going to ask him. Maybe he'd changed his mind, or met someone, against all odds. Maybe he would chicken out, like always, and he wouldn't even show up to work.
He did the unthinkable and showered, scrubbing everything clean, brushing his teeth furiously until all he could taste was mint and blood. He put on his least ratty boilersuit, cursing the fact that he hadn't done his laundry in a week.
"Mmrph," Tillery grunted from the bottom bunk as the door slid open, leaching fluorescent light into the dark room.
"Sorry, man," Lister whispered. "You get some rest."
"You look… nice," Rimmer said stiffly. "Surely you didn't gussy up for my sake."
"Have a date tonight," Lister lied on impulse, and he immediately wanted to shoot himself out an airlock for that one.
"Oh." A pause. "So you probably don't want to-"
"No, we can. We can." He set his wire strippers back in the tool cart, giving up the pretense of working. "This floor's kind of deserted, right, I mean- it's just all cargo bays and machinery-"
"So you think you'll just get it all out of the way now, and go about your day." Rimmer was angry! His arms were at his hips, jaw squared, angry, and Lister hadn't realized how much he missed this expression.
"If you don't want to-"
"No, Lister, I do. Let's. Let's go behind the pallets of astronaut diapers. I can't think of any better place to do it."
"Look, if-"
"Come on," Rimmer snapped, and he briskly made his way into the labyrinthine supply stacks. Lister followed, unsure if he'd smegged the whole thing up yet or not.
Bam.
Rimmer grabbed him by the collar, pushing him against a large metal crate, and Lister hated what that did to his downstairs.
"Oh, Rimmer," he sighed, smirking when Rimmer turned bright red.
"You- Just so you're aware, I'm changing the price."
"You what?"
"I think a whole week is too cheap. You're getting far too bold, knowing you can just banish me for months at a time. So-" He loosened his grip, unsure- "One day."
"A day?" Lister tried to seem irritated. "Only a day, for all this?"
"It's- it's just what's fair. I'm not a lowly technician anymore, and I'm re-evaluating myself."
"Alright, well, can we still do it in bulk?"
"Fine."
"Then I'm gonna do a month. Get it out of the way."
"What?" Rimmer froze. "Here?"
"Mhmm," Lister hummed, pulling Rimmer forward by his tie.
The first kiss was electric, brilliant, and Lister could feel all the tension in him release. When Rimmer started to pull away, he tugged the tie again, biting his bottom lip gently. Stay there.
This wasn't going to be a quick process. He was going to keep Rimmer's mouth on his mouth all shift. He was going to get way behind on repairs.
Lister didn't let Rimmer get a word out before the second kiss happened. This time, Rimmer's tongue slipped between his lips, awkward, and their teeth clicked as he pushed Lister back up against the container, and it was sloppy and messy and a little gross and absolutely perfect.
And then the third kiss…
---
Dave Lister was in heaven. Or, close to it.
He didn't mind his job so much. At least, it was sort of satisfying building things, fixing things, and he was good at it. Every Friday night, he went to one of six bars with his boys and got absolutely sloshed. And then, Saturdays.
Saturdays he spent in Rimmer's fancy single room, because they'd gotten caught a few times kissing in the corridor or in whatever corners they could find, so it was far more practical to just come over to Rimmer's and do it there.
And sometimes he stayed over, and it turned into Sunday.
"Wait," Rimmer said as Lister climbed into his bed one evening. "I don't think we can keep doing this."
"What?"
"Well- we're returning to Earth in a week. I don't want to owe you."
"You won't owe me, Rimmer, if anything you'll be sticking to the agreement. I mean, if you're up here and I'm down there, you won't have any problem avoiding me the whole day." They often had to re-do days or even weeks. It was sort of a flimsy excuse at this point.
"Right, but it's… I don't know. I suppose you're right."
"Hey. Don't look so gloomy."
"It's our last Saturday on the same assignment."
"I'm here now," Lister said, and he earned himself another day, pressed it gently against Rimmer's lips.
"You're still dead set on going back to Liverpool?" Rimmer asked when they separated.
"Yeah. I've been away from home long enough. Four years, and the place is probably all paved over."
"As it should be," Rimmer clucked. "I don't see what's so great about Liverpool. It's a slum compared to Io."
"There's tons to love about it."
"Name one good thing that ever came out of that blasted city."
"The Beatles?"
"Well-" He struggled. "So what? That was two hundred years ago."
"You like me well enough, and I came from there." Lister stroked Rimmer's cheek, delighted when he turned pink.
"A whole town full of Listers." Rimmer made a disgusted face.
"You'd love it. We have trees there, real ones, not like that bio-engineered crap you have on Io. It's historical, too, you could learn all about your world wars and trains and ships and things."
"Historical, how would you know? You've never been in a museum in your life."
"Been to the Beatles museum."
"Oh, of course you have."
"I'm serious," Lister continued. "You'd be happy in Liverpool, you know. I mean, it's a welcoming place. They need maintenance engineers everywhere, and you could get a cute little flat above a shop somewhere, make some friends who aren't half-mad from spaceship fumes…"
"I'd walk down the street and have a panic attack. There's no routine there, you know. People just walk around willy-nilly doing whatever they want."
"Sure there's a routine. It's just not enforced by anyone, y'know, it's like the city breathing in and out. There's real days there, people follow the sun. And I'd be in town. I'd help you figure it out."
"A week to move my entire life from outer space to England isn't enough time," he protested.
"Your entire life is about two lockers worth of stuff. And anyways, you could stay with me at my gran's old place for a couple weeks. I wouldn't mind."
"It's been abandoned for four years. It's probably caved in and full of vermin."
"So help me fix it up. And I'll owe you."
Rimmer leaned in, kissing the corner of Lister's mouth. Twelve hours.
"Lister," he said softly. "What happens when you get off this ship and you aren't stuck with me anymore?"
"I guess you'll be stuck with me instead, then, won't you?"
Rimmer went quiet for a moment, glancing away.
"I… I'll think about it."
They went back to necking without any further discussion.
And as much as Lister loved this new sense of desperation, the way Rimmer dug his fingers hard into his back, the soft moans Rimmer might have usually suppressed, he couldn't help the brick of disappointment that sank heavy to the bottom of his stomach.
---
The shuttle was mostly empty. Really just Lister and Selby. Chen was going to stay on another few days while the ship was docked with that blonde bird he'd been seeing, Petersen was signed up for another tour.
It had been sad, saying goodbye to this great red beast that had let Lister squirm around in its belly for a whole four years.
He'd said goodbye to Holly, and the vending machine that always gave him double rations ever since he fixed its intake valve. He'd tried and failed to find Thunder to smoke one last cig together, and settled on leaving a few scattered around the diesel decks where he thought no one would immediately find them.
He'd given Tillery a long, tight hug, much to Tillery's vague confusion, told him he'd been the best bunkmate ever, decided against telling him who'd started the now ship-wide Fireman Sam nickname.
And he hadn't heard anything from Rimmer.
He hadn't heard a single word since two days ago.
And it made sense- Rimmer hated change, and he hated getting jabbed with needles, and he hated the idea of leaving his comfortable, seasonless spaceship, with everything planned out for him for the next decade, down to the hour. He was a coward. And that was fine. Lister hadn't really expected him to change. He hadn't actually thought for more than a minute that Rimmer would run away to Earth with him. But smeg, he couldn't even have said goodbye after they'd been not-dating for a whole year?
"You alright, man?" Selby asked, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Fine. Just- y'know, feeling a bit down leaving this place. Might even be a bit homesick."
"Yeah. It was a good gig."
"It was a good gig," Lister nodded back.
FINAL CALL FOR BOARDING… PLEASE ENSURE ALL CARRY-ON LUGGAGE IS SECURED PROPERLY… the speakers blasted across the docking bay.
"Wait!" someone shrieked from outside.
"Look at that," Selby chuckled, but Lister wasn't in the mood to do anything but sulk. "No, look. Rimmer the engineer's out there, trying to haul around five suitcases."
"What?"
"Yeah! How does he think he's gonna fit all of that in the shuttle?" Selby laughed. "Typical- where are you going?"
Lister had unbuckled already, all-but-diving out the shuttle door.
"Oh, you smegging idiot, you dimwitted bastard of a man," he huffed, grabbing one edge of Rimmer's stupid heavy wooden trunk.
"Sorry," Rimmer wheezed. "The clerk told me I couldn't bring half of this on the shuttle- so- I had to complain at him for twenty minutes-"
"Yeah, they've got a cargo hold! You're s'posed to check this sort of thing!"
"And risk scuffing my father's trunk?" Rimmer said incredulously as they managed to get it across the threshold. Rimmer set down the rolling suitcase, large military backpack, and duffel bag he'd been carrying, and Lister immediately threw his arms around him, squeezing tight.
"You came. I didn't think you were going to come," he murmured into Rimmer's neck.
"I nearly didn't, thanks to the luggage clerk." Rimmer's fingers slid up Lister's back.
"Wait a second! You two- I knew it!" Selby hooted. "Oh, I fuckin' knew it! Oh, Chen owes me fifty dollar-pounds…" His excitement faded as he realized he was about to spend the better part of six hours stuck in a cramped shuttle with them.
The shuttle doors snapped shut and sealed with a hiss, and Lister reluctantly let go of Rimmer, grinning like a madman as he fastened himself back into the chair.
"You'd better be right about this," Rimmer muttered, glancing at Selby, red with embarrassment. "I can't believe I've derailed my entire life and career for you."
"Yeah, horrible decision on your part. But we'll figure it out, together." Lister smiled, sliding his fingers around Rimmer's hand, and in the next moment the shuttle roared to life. "Promise."
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