The message had come at the worst possible time.

Lister was, for all intents and purposes, doing exactly what he had wanted to do for... well, god, how long had it been now? If he thought about it, it had been if not his top waking thought then at least made the top five for the last ten years – maybe a little more – and was now coming to a reality right before his very eyes, tongue, lips and hands. Her scent was assuaging him at every turn, a mix of perfume and a powdery smell that tickled within his nostrils in a way that wasn't so much unpleasant as just strange... then, that was understandable. He'd spent so much of his adult life surrounded by men that the very aroma of someone who was far and beyond the most feminine creature he'd experienced in a good long while made him easily heady, blurred the edges of his senses and made him fumble that little bit more, stumble that little bit extra.

As his hand reached up to cup her eagerly responsive breast within his open palm, Lister looked down at the writhing body of Kristine Kochanski and knew that he was definitely the luckiest man on board this ship at that moment in time, if not the luckiest in his universe. Here he was, poised stark naked over this gorgeously, amazingly perfect woman, himself sporting an erection he might as well have been carrying since he was twenty-five and about to finally revisit the long-desired experience of Real Life Sex – and not just sex, oh no. This was sex with The Woman He Had Dreamed Of, the one woman who had been on his mind day in, day out since he could remember... yep, this was something truly special. An auspicious day. He was about to shag the living daylights out of Krissie and, holy hell, if he didn't do it soon he was going to -

"Mr. Lister, sir? May I come in?"

A low growl escaped Lister's throat; Kristine giggled quietly beneath him, her hands splayed out on her stomach as she stared up at him with wide eyes. He grinned at her, shaking his head at the mechanoids terrible timing. "Not really, Kryten, I'm er... I'm a bit busy at the mo. Could you come back in, say... forty minutes?"

"Forty? Is that a promise?" Kochanski whispered teasingly, skating the back of her knuckles against his strained hard-on. He took in a sharp breath, leaning down and quickly capturing her lips in what could only be described as a perfect kiss; it was as if her lips had been made to mould against his own.

Having shushed her, Lister heard the awkward shuffling of the mechanoids hesitation outside the door as if he were already in the room.

"Oh, of... of course sir, not a problem at all."

Lister nipped at Kochanski's lower lip. "Good."

The awkward shuffling did not stop.

"...sir?"

Another growl bubbled out of his throat, deep and frustrated. "What, Kryten? I really am kinda busy right now, you get me?"

"Well, of course I understand the notion of being busy sir, it's just..." Kryten seemed to get a little louder, clearly leaning into the door to make his point – whatever the hell it was. "I just received a message, and it seemed quite important."

Shutting his eyes momentarily, Lister found himself counting to ten slowly under his breath – it was something he had not had to do for some time, an exercise he had picked up mostly when Rimmer had still been on board and particularly grating. He didn't want to get angry at the mechanoid, yet he was very much in the middle of something – or definitely about to put himself in the middle of something – and it was the kind of thing that didn't react well to interruptions. Even as he counted quietly to himself he could feel the atmosphere in the room start to change, the heat of the air beginning to cool ever so slightly and the feel of Kristine's silken skin seeming to vibrate as she shuffled lightly underneath him.

"Mr. Lister?"

Lister opened his eyes. "Can't you just... tell me what it is later?" He stared down at Kristine with a pleading look doused with an extra helping of an apology, very obviously begging for her not to give in to the burgeoning awkwardness. She rolled her eyes, turning her face to the side as her teasing smile of before became slightly smaller, slightly less warm.

"I... it's just that..."

"Yes?"

Kryten's voice rose in pitch. "It's regarding Mr. Ace, sir, and I thought you'd want to know straight away -"

It took less than five seconds for Lister to leapfrog over Kochanski – bypassing her slight noise of hurt and disappointment without a second thought – and barrel over to the door, hastily grabbing his t-shirt and pants and pulling them on before commanding the door to unlock. The look on Kryten's face as the door slid open was enough to berate Lister for making the poor mechanoid wait; both worry and confusion seemed to battle for prime emotion on his square-edged face, his feet shuffling in a way that only made Lister's heart beat that little bit faster in fear as his hands wrung themselves together in front of his stomach.

Barely taking a glance into the room at the very-naked Kristine who was currently hastily covering herself up, Kryten shook his head as Lister stepped out beside him.

"I'm very concerned, sir, and I want you to hear this and judge it for yourself before we make any decisions."

"Right you are," Lister agreed without hesitation, walking a little ahead of Kryten as he made his way to the drive room and settled himself down into his chair with a gentle groan, all thoughts of sex forgotten. "Is it all ready for playback?"

"Yes sir," Kryten replied, touching a few buttons on a control pad near him and then standing back so as not to shield the screen opposing them, a screen which was now filling rapidly with pixels to form what could only be described as a severely well-built man in the deep purple outfit of the Law Men in this part of the universe; the man was unmoving for a few moments before sound began to filter through and his lips began to move.

"This is a message to the JMC transport vessel Red Dwarf, specifically a Mr. David Lister; we recently came across a partially destroyed vehicle on the eastern moon of Gretna 10 – looks to have been in the Gretna/Aklan war zone nearby, likely shot out of atmo by a series seven Starblaster vehicle."

Lister shrugged impatiently, his fingertips drumming against the back of his chair as he stared at the man. "This means bugger all to me, Kryten – did you know anything about any war?"

"Yes, sir, I was aware of the war but not of its relevance which, I promise you, is about to be revealed," Kryten assured him, his hands still wringing frantically in front of his abdomen.

The message continued.

" - one survivor of the crash, a Mr. Arnold 'Ace' Rimmer. Myself and many of my team have dealt with Ace on many occasions and can therefore assure you that he is within safe company and being treated in one of the best hospitals in this sector."

Eyes sliding out of focus slightly, Lister found himself standing and walking to be nearer to the monitor. "Kryten..."

" - currently seems unable to speak much of anything, only so far saying his own name and that of a Mr. David Lister."

Lister swallowed. "He said my name."

"That's right, sir," Kryten said in an oddly quiet voice, his tone gentle. "Mr. Ace appears to be asking for you."

" - sending you the details. If you wish to rescind responsibility for the patient then please contact ="

Shutting off the message and turning to walk to the middle of the drive room, Lister found himself gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip as his mind raced over the information they'd just received. He worried away at the skin with his teeth, finding comfort in the action yet being aware in some faraway place in the back of his mind that he was close to making himself bleed.

Not that it mattered. None of that mattered, whatever 'that' was. A thousand and one thoughts were flooding his mind, questions thrown around like rubbish and answers finding themselves unable to attach themselves to anything; there was one question in particular that continued to bubble at the surface, ringing through his brain until he could bear it no longer.

"Kryten, d'you think…"

"Sir?"

Lister hesitated. "Do you think it's the Ace we know?"

Kryten looked at him for a moment as if trying to assess his meaning. "You mean the one that visited us when Mr. Rimmer -"

"Yeah."

Nodding, his hands stopping their wringing for a moment, Kryten's voice was certain as he replied, "Absolutely, sir. I have no doubt that Mr. Ace is the one we have come to know over the years."

More than you know, Lister thought to himself wryly. "Then we don't really have a choice, do we?"

Kryten shook his head. "No, sir. I think we're very much on the same wavelength here. Shall I prepare Starbug?"

A curt nod. "Get her prepped and get the info from the message. I'll let Krissie and Cat know what's going on and I'll meet you there in five minutes."

"Of course. Five minutes."

Bright lights… and pain. So much pain. The screaming in his head was somewhat dimmed now, hazy at the edges from what he could only assume was due to some drug or somesuch, yet it was still there, occasionally slipping into a whine that broke his heart into pieces over and over until he was so certain there was nothing left but dust, coursing through his veins at each simulated thump of the organ that was never really there in the first place, not for a long while. There were voices around him, that much he knew, but no one could touch him – or was it that no one wanted to? Did they know, were they aware of what he had seen, done, lived through? Lived through… lived. He had not lived. He was not alive. He was dead, dead as spam, barely comprehending anything and definitely, one hundred percent as dead as anything he had ever experienced.

Rimmer was dead yes, but here he was. Here he was forced to be without being allowed the choice. Funny how now that he wanted nothing more than to be switched off and left to rot in a damp corner of hell, he could not even communicate it.

He had tried to tell them when they had found him, found his pathetic form cowering in the wreckage of his beloved Wildfire, but he'd been able to only say two things – his now achingly useless identity and the name of one other, the one who he had watched die before his very eyes at his own hands, the one who he had tortured and murdered without the ability to stop himself… he had been sure at the time that it was not his fault, that he had been pressed and pushed and cajoled by a mind that was not his own yet he had seen his hands grasp the whip with terrifying tangibility, felt the spray of blood attach itself to his skin as binding as glue, the warmth of it bitter on his tongue as he screamed alongside the man who was now dead. Deader than spam. Dead as he was dead yet not conscious. Not like he was conscious. Not like him. Not at all.

David Lister was completely, utterly dead.

And it had been him who killed him.

He shut his eyes as a moan escaped his lips, his body curling into itself as he reached out with his large, damaged hands to grasp at the blankets beneath his body – but no, he couldn't grab them, couldn't touch them and drag them around him to suffocate as he so desperately wanted. Was this another cruel trick, a hallucination brought on by desperation and fear? He was struggling to remember things, that much was true, so it was entirely possible that this mind had rebelled and was telling him that he was safe, warm, in a room of people who had helped him out of the wreckage and brought him into a place that tasted of chemicals and cleanliness. The moan grew in size and volume, hacking into a laugh that was not of his own making, a laugh so deep and wet and cold that he could not help but lift his hands to grasp pointlessly at his own throat, so desperate he was to rip the sound from his oesophagus and destroy it –

"Ace, Ace, stop that now…"

A warm voice, a sweet voice, female and gentle – so much like the computer that had spoken from the helm of Wildfire in riddles and confusion for the past sixteen days since the crash – and then movement, a woman sitting on the edge of his bed and looking down at him with pity… oh, god, so much pity that it ravaged him deeper than anything from before. He groaned, moaned, whimpered as she patted the blankets around him but – as the others before her – refused to touch him.

"Ace, you're safe now, all right? We're looking after you. Your friends are coming to get you." She peered at him through her pale hair, the strands shimmering underneath the harsh lights. "Do you understand, Ace? You're safe, you're in the hospital and you have people coming to collect you and take you home."

Home… that was a funny notion, wasn't it? The hacking laugh screeched from him again, his head shaking and hands continuing to grasp as his own body as if he could actually make a difference. "Harghuugh… harughhhh…"

Distress flipped across her features. "Please, Mr. Rimmer, I… I promise you that everything is going to be all right now. Please understand me, I don't want you harming yourself, you understand? You can hear me, yes? The doctor is coming -" She turned, her whole aura seeming to pulsate with desperation as a tall man in a typical white labcoat walked towards them, " – he's coming to talk to you, he'll explain everything that he can."

"Harghhugh…"

"Mr. Rimmer?" The doctor was now at his bedside, looking down at him in that impassive way that only doctors could manage. It was oddly soothing, more so than the woman's wheedling. "Mr. Rimmer, I'm Dr. Hartley and I want to ask you some questions. Do you think you can answer?"

The strange laughter stopped, noise completely eradicated from this one question. Rimmer stared up at him, blinking slowly.

Dr. Hartley cleared his throat. "Mr. Rimmer, we found you amidst the wreckage of your ship. Do you remember that? Can you recall being found?"

Movement behind the man distracted Ace, dark bodies moving en masse – arms flailed, voices were raised. The doctor moved so that he was the only thing within Ace's vision.

"Do you remember what happened? Can you remember being shot down?"

Of its own accord, Rimmer's head began to shake. No… no, he didn't remember that part. He didn't remember that part at all. Most parts were an inconsequential blur.

The doctor gave him a small smile, a sort of reward perhaps for his attempt at communication. "All right. Thank you. Do you remember what happened before that, before you crashed? Can you tell me? Can you speak to me, Mr. Rimmer?"

So many damned questions… no, he could not speak. His voice had broken, hadn't it, from his screaming? Yes, it was broken, torn from him in his echoing fear and resentment – his head shook again, manic in its movement, though this time it was not in denial. He remembered, yes. He remembered that part. He remembered what happened before then. In great detail. So much detail.

"Mr. Rimmer…"

"I have a feeling you're about to ask a poignant question. Doctor, and quite frankly I'd like to hear the answer myself," another voice joined the fray, another body – this one heavy, well-built, not as tall as the doctor but not as short as the woman who was still looking at him as if he were a dying kitten. It grated on him. Mottled hazel eyes cast themselves quickly, erratically over the new man in their midst, taking in the colour of his uniform and alerting him somewhere in the back of his mind that this had been the man to find him – oh, a Law Man. He was a Law Man. The badge on his chest, the gun at his hip… a Law Man.

And he had a question he wanted answering.

"Mr. Rimmer," the doctor continued, leaning down slightly and looking intently at Rimmer as if he could sniff an answer from him before he'd even asked the question, "I need to ask you about what we found in your vessel."

No, no, no…

"There was a body in there, Mr. Rimmer," the Law Man said, his voice deep, deeper than any voice he'd heard before. "We found a body in your ship. Can you tell us who it is? Do you know who he is?"

No, no, no… no, he could not. His voice was no longer there, and even if it was he was sure he could not bring himself to say the words. A deep groan rumbled in the back of his throat, sounding far too much like a warning when in fact it was a plea, begging not to ask that question when he had no idea how to answer it.

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Rimmer, if you could just nod or shake your head if you're still having problems speaking…?"

"Is that likely to be an effect of the medication he's had?" the Lawman asked, frowning. "Is it going to wear off anytime soon? We'd really like to talk to him."

"I can't say," the doctor admitted, plucking what must have been a clipboard from the end of Rimmer's bed. Rimmer followed the movement with slow eyes. "You saw him when you first picked him up, god knows what's been done to him. This isn't a man who got shot in the shoulder during wartime, Officer Juke; he's undergone serious -"

Rimmer began to tune him out, a numb sort of relief spreading through him as the doctor seemed to distract the Lawman – Officer Juke – from his questioning, not even remotely interested in hearing what Dr. Hartley had discovered upon examining him. What did it matter?

The two men moved away, leaving only the woman by his side; she began to talk softly to him, comforting words, not that he was listening to them or taking any notice of what information she could offer him. The men had moved enough that he could see the reception desk to his far left, see the group of people who were still flailing arms and talking in loud, determined voices. They were familiar… were they familiar? His brain was so heavy, so tired, comprehension was nearly impossible, yet he was sure that he recognised the timbre of the voice demanding answers, almost certain that the shape of the creature beside him was someone he had once known if not still knew. He craned forward slightly, the movement silencing the woman and causing her to look in the direction that he was focusing on – she leapt up, walking quietly and quickly towards the door and out into the hallway, interrupting the man who was so animated with a few words and an extended hand.

Closing his eyes, Rimmer slowly began to feel himself drift. The screaming was not so loud now, the distractions of the group and the woman seeming to dull the sound considerably. He rested his head back, wishing he could feel the cool metal underneath his head and wishing equally hard that the pain that had somehow began to return would dull all of his other senses so that perhaps he could pass out for a while. That would be nice. Being unconscious was a much more preferable option to being awake.

Footsteps approached his bed. Warmth… he couldn't feel it, but he knew it was there. Unspeakable warmth. Familiar warmth. Wanted, needed, the kind of warmth you'd die for.

A voice.

"Rimmer? Er… Ace?"

There was so much pain behind that voice, so much agony… oh god, why was that voice even here? Why wasn't the screaming enough, why couldn't he just be left alone by that godforsaken voice?

"Ace, can you hear me? It's… it's Lister, Ace. We're all here, Cat, Kryten, me, we… we're here to take you to Red Dwarf. We're taking you home, Ace." A small sound, the swallowing of emotion mixed with a sob. "We're taking you home, Rimmer."

His eyes flew open and fixed upon the face.

NO.

Screams ripped from his throat and deafened him to the voice, blinded him from seeing the man he had killed, screaming, screaming, screaming until he felt nothing and saw no one, slipping into the unconsciousness he had so desperately wanted…

Into silence.