Categories > TV > Red Dwarf > Appliance
"I mean - you didn't really feel that, deep down, I'm an OK sort of bloke; I'm not such a bad old stick once you get to know me. You didn't really mean any of that, did you?"
Lister just stared at Rimmer. He looked at that stupid daffy grin that sat like a sagging lump of putty under his H. That bloody H. The hologram was smiling like something lovely had happened; like they all had not just been stuck in that morass of self-loathing that was his mind, likely to die if they didn't spit out that tripe about loving him. Loving him! Dear lord, loving Rimmer!
Yeah, Arnold, Lister thought; you are such a bad old stick. Take a look around. You turned what should have been your dream - a physical presence - into some nightmare torture S&M scenario. And now you want us - the lowliest, grottiest technician in the Space Corps, a domestic house-cleaning android, a self-obsessed creature that evolved from old preggie Frankenstein - to justify your existence. You're looking at us like we all hold the key to yer heart. You need the three of us to make all of it better, somehow. Well, we ain't gonna, you daft smeghead.
Lister tapped his fingers on the joystick, looking at the grin, and at the H that meant he could not touch it. He was startled at the anger that was roiling up in him. He had touched Rimmer, back on that psi-moon; he had touched him for the first time since the other man had died. For all of the times that he had wished Rimmer were corporeal, so he could strangle the goit for all of his whinging and anal-retentiveness and cowardice and... to just put a stop to that annoying nasal voice, he found that once he had the ability to, he had wanted, instead, to do something so far from choking Rimmer as to be positively obscene. He had put his hand on the smeghead's leg, feeling, for the first time, the soft velour, knowing there was soft skin underneath. He brushed a sleeve and a leg against the other man's as he leaned in, tightening his grip. Lister had forgotten that Rimmer had a pulse, had warmth, had the smell of soap and that godawful aftershave he had slathered on himself when he was alive.
I could have, you know, Lister thought, still staring at the hologram's hopeful face. I could have gone higher. I could have hooked my fingers into the waistband and yanked, ripping the cloth off of you, using me knife if I had to. I would have relished the startled look you would have given me before I spun you around and bent you over the storage boxes in the cargo bay, then licked that tight insecure ass of yours, Cat and Kryten be damned. But no, I had to worry about /launching/. About getting us off of the bloody moon before we were sucked down and killed by your own damn insecurity. It didn't have to have been that way, you bastard. It was all up to you. If only you were a little more secure. A little happier. I could have taught that lust-monster of yours a thing or two and sent it home whimpering. But you just wouldn't be Arnold Judas Rimmer if you let anything good happen to you. Me. Us. That wouldn't be Rimmer enough, would it? You'd rather drag us all down than let me feel a bit of pleasure with you.
"No," Lister said, staring right into Rimmer's eyes. Hoping, somehow, that the self-loathing beast would give one final howl and reach up, pulling the Bug back into the mire of Rimmer's subconscious. Make that H vanish. Give Lister another chance to do this... properly.
The stupid grin dropped off of Rimmer's face. He sucked his lower lip in, looking down, and then looked back up at Lister. Whatever he saw on the other man's face, it made him turn around and walk back into the cargo hold.
Back at Red Dwarf later that night, Lister stared at the ceiling, feeling the empty bunk below him, wondering when it would be filled again. He knew, somehow, that it would be a very long time.
Lister just stared at Rimmer. He looked at that stupid daffy grin that sat like a sagging lump of putty under his H. That bloody H. The hologram was smiling like something lovely had happened; like they all had not just been stuck in that morass of self-loathing that was his mind, likely to die if they didn't spit out that tripe about loving him. Loving him! Dear lord, loving Rimmer!
Yeah, Arnold, Lister thought; you are such a bad old stick. Take a look around. You turned what should have been your dream - a physical presence - into some nightmare torture S&M scenario. And now you want us - the lowliest, grottiest technician in the Space Corps, a domestic house-cleaning android, a self-obsessed creature that evolved from old preggie Frankenstein - to justify your existence. You're looking at us like we all hold the key to yer heart. You need the three of us to make all of it better, somehow. Well, we ain't gonna, you daft smeghead.
Lister tapped his fingers on the joystick, looking at the grin, and at the H that meant he could not touch it. He was startled at the anger that was roiling up in him. He had touched Rimmer, back on that psi-moon; he had touched him for the first time since the other man had died. For all of the times that he had wished Rimmer were corporeal, so he could strangle the goit for all of his whinging and anal-retentiveness and cowardice and... to just put a stop to that annoying nasal voice, he found that once he had the ability to, he had wanted, instead, to do something so far from choking Rimmer as to be positively obscene. He had put his hand on the smeghead's leg, feeling, for the first time, the soft velour, knowing there was soft skin underneath. He brushed a sleeve and a leg against the other man's as he leaned in, tightening his grip. Lister had forgotten that Rimmer had a pulse, had warmth, had the smell of soap and that godawful aftershave he had slathered on himself when he was alive.
I could have, you know, Lister thought, still staring at the hologram's hopeful face. I could have gone higher. I could have hooked my fingers into the waistband and yanked, ripping the cloth off of you, using me knife if I had to. I would have relished the startled look you would have given me before I spun you around and bent you over the storage boxes in the cargo bay, then licked that tight insecure ass of yours, Cat and Kryten be damned. But no, I had to worry about /launching/. About getting us off of the bloody moon before we were sucked down and killed by your own damn insecurity. It didn't have to have been that way, you bastard. It was all up to you. If only you were a little more secure. A little happier. I could have taught that lust-monster of yours a thing or two and sent it home whimpering. But you just wouldn't be Arnold Judas Rimmer if you let anything good happen to you. Me. Us. That wouldn't be Rimmer enough, would it? You'd rather drag us all down than let me feel a bit of pleasure with you.
"No," Lister said, staring right into Rimmer's eyes. Hoping, somehow, that the self-loathing beast would give one final howl and reach up, pulling the Bug back into the mire of Rimmer's subconscious. Make that H vanish. Give Lister another chance to do this... properly.
The stupid grin dropped off of Rimmer's face. He sucked his lower lip in, looking down, and then looked back up at Lister. Whatever he saw on the other man's face, it made him turn around and walk back into the cargo hold.
Back at Red Dwarf later that night, Lister stared at the ceiling, feeling the empty bunk below him, wondering when it would be filled again. He knew, somehow, that it would be a very long time.
Sign up to rate and review this story