AN: After getting some feedback about script fics, I've decided to replace my original fic with a version in regular format. Hopefully this will make it better and easier to read. Thank you to those of you who took the time to give me feedback; it's always appreciated.

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, and I'm not making any money from this, so please don't sue me.

Second Childhood

Lister had just sat down in the drive room with a hot plate of beef vindaloo when Cat came walking in.

"How'm I looking?" Cat asked no one in particular. Lister had learned a long time ago to ignore Cat when he asked appearance-related questions; Cat didn't want an answer from anyone but himself.

Cat pulled a mirror out of his coat pocket and answered his own question. "I'm looking nice! Oww!" He danced over to the vending machine.

"Make a selection, please," the vending machine said.

Lister swallowed his forkful of food. "He'll have fish."

Cat turned to Lister, looking indignant. "Hey! Let me order my own meal!"

"You always have fish," Lister said. "Every day it's the smegging same."

Cat shrugged. "So I like fish. But it's always a different kind of fish. And I don't always have fish—sometimes I have chicken. I'm too classy to eat the same thing two days in a row. Unlike some monkeys."

"Yeah, yeah," Lister said.

The vending machine felt the need to remind anyone within earshot that it was waiting. "Make a selection, please."

"Fish," Cat said. Lister rolled his eyes and tucked into his dinner.

"Today's fish is salmon with dill," the vending machine said as it produced Cat's meal for him. "Enjoy."

Cat took the fish and danced to the other unoccupied seat in the drive room, singing his usual mealtime song. "I'm going to eat you, little fishie…I'm going to eat you, little fishie…"

Luckily, to save things from getting completely boring, Rimmer entered the Drive Room. Lister knew Rimmer hated it when anyone ate in the Drive Room; Rimmer hated it when anyone did anything in the Drive Room. Come to think of it, Lister wondered if maybe Rimmer hated it when anyone did anything, just to save time that would've otherwise been used deciding what to hate and what not to hate.

Rimmer folded his arms and looked displeased. "Has this room turned into a cafeteria without me realizing it?"

"Weren't you notified?" Lister asked with his mouth full. "It changed last Monday."

"Very funny," Rimmer said, looking not at all amused. "Why are neither of you working?"

Cat looked offended. "Work? With my good looks? You must be joking."

"You worked under Queeg," Lister reminded him. Sometimes Cat's memory was a little too focused on the short-term.

"Yeah, and I almost ruined the knees of my good pink suit! Never again," Cat said, bending forward to eat his fish.

"That doesn't excuse you, does it, Lister?" Rimmer asked.

Lister smiled at his hologrammatic—friend was too nice a word. Acquaintance? Crewmate? Arch-nemesis? "Well, maybe you want to pick me up and drag me to the hallway so I can scrub the floor."

Rimmer, as usual, wasn't fond of being reminded that he was a hologram. "Oh, that's right. Rub it in. Eat in front of me while you make jokes about me not being able to touch anything. Splendid fun. It must be Hologram Appreciation Day; I'm having such a good time."

Cat rolled his eyes, collected what was left of his fish, and left the room. Lister wasn't surprised; if he weren't involved in the conversation, he'd want to leave too. "Do you know how?"

"How to do what?" Rimmer asked.

"Have a good time," Lister said, trying to picture Rimmer at a pub with friends or at a disco. It wasn't an easy task.

"Of course I do," Rimmer said, sounding a touch defensive, as if he had something to prove. "I spent years of fun collecting pictures of telegraph poles."

Lister looked at Rimmer to see if he was serious, but he seemed to be. "That's not what I mean. I mean actual fun. You know, something that doesn't involve boredom."

Rimmer looked baffled. "What's boring about telegraph poles?"

Lister knew he was making a sour face, but he couldn't help it. "Nothing, if you're a telegraph pole."

"Well, I still have the upper hand as far as verbal jollity is concerned, Lister," Rimmer said, "because, as I'm sure you haven't forgotten, you are still pregnant."

Lister banged his head against the back of his chair. "Oh, smeggin' hell!"

These days, when Rimmer was losing an argument with Lister, Rimmer always mentioned Lister's pregnancy as a final blow to win the argument. Unfortunately, most of the time, it worked. Lister was incredibly embarrassed and nervous about being pregnant. Getting pregnant wasn't anything he'd ever considered in much detail, and now he was being forced to take a good look. Frankly, it scared him. He was sorry Rimmer had to know about it at all.

Rimmer, for his part, looked extremely self-satisfied. "That's right. Now, granted, it's only two months and you're not showing yet, but that very fact should keep me in witty repartee for ages to come."

Holly's face appeared on the viewscreen. "Emergency. There's an emergency going on."

"What is it, Hol?" Lister asked.

"We're approaching a major asteroid belt," Holly said. "The asteroids are big enough to take out all life support if one hits us in the wrong place."

Rimmer gestured for more information. "And?"

Holly thought about it for a minute. "And I thought I'd try to wiggle around 'em."

Lister didn't like the sound of that. "What about us? Have we got any back-up plan?"

Holly shook his head. "No."

Rimmer smiled insincerely. "Well, there you are. Silly me. I was thinking we might actually be underprepared."

Lister envied Rimmer in circumstances like these. Sure, he was dead, but if asteroids did hit the ship, the loss of life support wouldn't affect him at all. But maybe there was a way to make up the difference. "Can you upload my memories, Holly?"

Rimmer looked as if he felt nothing but pity for poor, stupid Lister, but Holly nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

Rimmer turned to face the computer. "And mine as well?"

"You're already a hologram. Why do you need your memories uploaded?" Lister asked.

"Haven't you ever heard of a back-up disk?" Rimmer asked.

"All right," Holly said. "Memory upload about to commence. Just so you know, it'll go quicker for Arnold because he's already computerized. Put on your sensory helmet, Dave."

Lister complied, putting on the sensory helmet. He had his doubts about some of the equipment on Red Dwarf, including the sensory helmet, which looked like a bicycle helmet painted silver. But if it worked, he didn't care what it looked like. Lister sat back and tried to relax as the helmet turned on and began humming.

"Memory uploading," Holly said. "Oh, look, an electrical surge."

"A what?" Lister said, leaning forward.

Sparks shot from the navicomp and control panels, and Lister went flying. He hit the ground and blacked out.