Hey, happy middle-of-the-night! I've had this piece written for a while, it's just a little one-shot, no real plot or substance whatsoever but hey ho. Basically, I was writing to try and get the characters down, see if I have a possible actual RD story in me. So feedback is appreciated, thanks :).
Also, 'tis my first fanfiction. So hooray and all that. Although I now hate it, having read it through so many times. Ah well.
Oh, a note about spelling and such- I typed this on my phone, relying a little too much on autocorrect. I've proof-read it, but if I've missed anything do let me know so I can fix it.
######
Rimmer turned toward the inside of his bunk, eyes closed tight and pillow folded firmly around his head in an attempt to drown out the raucous laughter from around the table.
Lister was having a party- if slobbing around with your three best friends, drinking enough lager to kill a herd of fully-grown elephants and playing a girlish game of Truth or Dare could really be considered a party. Rimmer had done everything in his power to stop it from going ahead (which, admittedly, wasn't all that much), but here they were anyway.
He might have joined in- Lister had even invited him to, albeit grudgingly- but there was no way he was drinking the night before an exam and certainly not with these miscreants. They were vile, immature, imbecilic, bullying maniacs and he would have no part of it. For a future officer, a bright, young, up-and-coming lad like himself, it was just unthinkable to consort with such types.
Even if it did sound like it might, possibly, maybe be the tiniest, littlest bit fun.
Another round of uproarious laughter. Rimmer pressed the pillow tighter into his ear. It didn't help. Tiredness itched at his eyes and a surge of bitterness overtook him.
No wonder he was still a nothing. Did Napoleon have to put up with this? Alexander the Great? That Conqueror bloke (Harold, wasn't it?)? How could he be expected to achieve when he couldn't even sleep in his own bunk without morons standing in his way? It was all Lister's fault- everything.
Chanting now. Thumping on the table. Stomping feet. More oh-so-hysterical laughter.
His hands balled into fists...
"Will you shut the smeg up?!" Rimmer roared, sitting bolt-upright. His forehead collided with the bottom of Lister's bunk and silently he cursed him for that too.
Manoeuvring more carefully, Rimmer extracted himself the structure, face reddening at the jeers from the men around the table as he blinked rapidly against the bright light.
"Rimmer, man, calm down," Lister slurred, grinning along with his friends.
The would-be officer's anger rose with the colour in his cheeks.
"I most certainly will not!" he spluttered indignantly. "I'm trying to sleep here, you drooling mass of slug excrement!"
His insult was met by another round of giggles and jeers. Peterson mumbled something incoherent, but the tone was mocking. Rimmer's eyes (he liked to think) burned with ferocity as his gaze settled on the Dane.
"I'm afraid," he said hotly, "I don't listen to babbling lunatics with drool on their chin!"
At this, Peterson rose threateningly. Before Rimmer could even consider the most effective way of cowering from his anger, Lister followed suit, laying a placating hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Jus' leave it," he advised calmly. "It's not worth it. Come on, guys. Let's get out of here."
"Yes, that's right, off you go. Get out."
"Shut up, Rimmer," Lister retuned wearily. "We were goin' soon anyway."
Rimmer stood smug and tall as the group traipsed out, flinching when Peterson made as if to lunge at him on the way past. When, finally, he was left with peace and quiet, he climbed back into his bunk and called for the lights to dim. He fell asleep right away, still with that smug grin in place.
######
Although he didn't know it, it was the sudden darkness that woke him. He sat up on the edge of his bunk, rubbing at his eyes which were swollen shut with sleepiness. It took him a moment to prize them open and a further moment after to get his bearings. The glowing digits on his wrist indicated one minute past four in the morning. One minute past the Sunday morning curfew. It was a court-marshalling offence to be out of your quarters between then and the six AM mandatory wakeup call.
And Lister wasn't back yet.
Standing, he peered through the darkness at Lister's bunk, just to be sure. The empty sheets told him the same story as the lack of snoring had a few seconds earlier. A nasty grin spread across his features.
"Oh dear, Listy," he said to himself, clasping his hands together in delight as he imagined the trouble his bunkmate was in. Serves him right, he though savagely. That'll teach him to have friends.
Hang on.
Bunkmate?
The grin trickled from his rapidly greying features.
Oh, smeg.
As bunkmates, they would be held equally accountable. A stupid rule, supposedly designed to promote teamwork. Rimmer suspected it was more to do with paying fewer night-watch wages.
"Oh, smeg," he said, out loud this time. Without a moment of hesitation, he had his uniform on and was out the door.
Where to look first?
He dredged up a memory, focusing intently on it. He had been 'revising' (staring blankly at a page of equations and screaming internally). Lister had been blathering on about the best places to drink on the ship, naming twenty or so bars. Rimmer could remember two of them.
He wasn't at the first. Now quite panicked, Rimmer hurried to the other one, moving as quickly as he dared and careful not to make too much noise. It would be just his luck to get caught whilst Lister went undiscovered.
When he rounded the last corner, fate, luck, karma, God... Whatever it was, it shined on him.
There he was!
There he was on the floor!
There he was on the floor, passed out, not moving.
For goodness' sake.
Rimmer's lips pressed themselves into a thin line as he edged nearer. The danger of being caught, the possibility of someone rounding the corner and apprehending them both made his insides writhe in some kind of nervous jig.
How to wake him?
Certainly not suddenly, lest he scream. It would have to be gentle.
"Listy?" He cooed softly, wishing that instead of crouching down and shaking his shoulder he could deliver a swift kick into the goit's side and be done with it. "Come on, Listy. That's not your bunk, is it?"
Thankfully, Lister stirred. At least he wasn't comatose. Well...
"Im-er-at-choo?"
"Excellent, Lister- as coherent as always."
"Yeshshoo," Lister mumbled. "Uh-joo-wa?"
"What do I want?"
"Mmm."
"I want to get you into bed. That's what I want."
Lister spluttered, seemingly sobered, or perhaps just more awake. "Y'what?!"
Rimmer shushed him desperately. "Not like that, you single-minded gimboid," he hissed. "It's after lights out. Now get up before anyone comes."
He pretended not to notice the smirk that quirked on Lister's lips as he helped him up. Walking proved a challenge for the Scouse, who didn't seem to be able to stay upright without something to hang on to. They made slow progress, silent aside from the odd huff from Rimmer whenever Lister stumbled into him. After what felt like the millionth time of Lister seizing handfuls of his shirt and almost knocking him over, he gave in, supporting the younger man with an arm around his waist.
"Thanks, man," Lister slurred. Rimmer didn't respond, nose wrinkled with utter disgust. Not only was he touching and smelling Lister, but he was now taking a good half of his weight. Being exhausted already, he was less than pleased at this turn of events.
"If I get court-marshalled, Lister," he growled at last, right in the Scouse's ear, "you're dead."
"Yeah, listen man, I'm really-"
Rimmer shushed him violently. His voice was much too loud.
"Just shut it," he snapped.
######
Three million years later, Rimmer couldn't sleep again. Only this time, he couldn't sleep because it was too quiet.
He'd read about this. About people who shared a room with a snorer. At first it kept them awake, but over time they adapted, acclimatised, until the absence of the sound disturbed them instead.
He couldn't sleep without Lister.
Fan-smegging-tastic.
Like it wasn't bad enough that, as a hologram, he wasn't even technically real. Now, as well as needing Holly to take care of his appearance and the skutters to be his hands, he needed Lister there in order to fall asleep.
Might as well kill himself now...
...If he weren't already dead.
He turned over with an angry groan. Could life get any worse for Arnie J.?
Well, probably. And it probably would, and all.
He was tired. Or a computerised, accurate-to-the-nth-decimal-place variant of it anyway. Besides, he wanted to sleep. Anything to escape the desperate helplessness of the whole being-dead situation.
There was nothing for it. He sat up on the edge of his bunk. Or, more specifically, hovered a millimeter above it.
"Holly?"
The computer blinked to life.
"What d'you want now?"
"Oh, that's a fine greeting for the highest-ranking officer on the ship! Where's Lister?"
"By the lifts on C-Deck, passed out."
"Passed out?" Mild alarm, reign it in. "Alcohol?"
"'Course." Holly nodded. Or, well, bobbed about a bit. "Can I go now?"
"Yes, yes, dismissed," Rimmer said vaguely, already out of the door.
######
"WAKE UP LISTER, YOU USELESS, SCUMMY, USELESS HEAP OF ROTTING, FETID MEAT!" Rimmer bellowed, his mouth a mere inch away from Lister's ear. Lister, predictably, lurched awake, his head passing through Rimmer's as he sat up.
"The smeg?" he moaned. Not as paralytic as the last time, it seemed, bit still rather out of it. "What d'you want? Leave me be."
"It's after lights out, Listy."
"So? There's no one here to punish us, Rimmer."
It's also only half one, Rimmer thought.
"Rules are rules, Lister. Now come along."
"Fine," Lister conceded grumpily, rubbing his eyes. "Anything to make you leave me alone."
Rimmer waited not-so-patiently, right foot tapping a rhythm on the floor. Well, it would be if he were solid. Lister struggled to stand, fell back against the wall, tried again and failed just as miserably.
"Give us a hand, would'ja?"
"I can't," Rimmer said, somewhat self-pityingly. "I'm a hologram, remember?"
"Oh yeah, forgot 'bout that."
How nice for you, Rimmer thought bitterly, watching as Lister clawed his way upright. He could almost see the slobby, alcohol-soaked sweat trails the space-bum's grubby hands left along the wall.
When they were both upright, Rimmer marched off wordlessly. Only partway down the corridor did he turn and realise Lister wasn't following. Casting his eyes back down to the lifts, he saw his bunkmate was sprawled out on the floor again. On closer inspection, his eyes were closed. He'd passed back out.
'Unbelievable," he muttered, partly annoyed and partly astonished. His astonishment wasn't, of course, at his bunkmate's behaviour- no, he had come to expect this sort of thing. It was more to do with the fact that this was (in all likelihood) the last human being alive. All those millions of years and this was what it had been leading up to, the grand finale- an overweight beatnik drooling curry and breathing fumes of pure liquor. Amazing.
Shaking his head, the hologram circled the unconscious Lister. He crouched down, attempting bawling in his ear again. No reaction. He tried again- same result. Now his throat was raw (or maybe it wasn't, maybe it just felt raw because he expected it to- whichever. Now was hardly the time to ponder how his program worked) so he considered another course of action.
Briefly, he thought of the skutters, but by the time he found them, it would probably be morning. Same with the Cat. Besides, he doubted any of them would help him, especially at this hour.
"Holly," he called grimly. The screen by the lifts flashed into life.
"What?" The head demanded irritably. "I need sleep too, y'know."
"No you don't," Rimmer responded matter-of-factly. "Now listen. I want you to sound the loudest klaxon you've got."
"Why?" Curiosity crinkled Holly's brow. "Is there an emergency?"
"No," Rimmer replied patiently, not bothering to point out that it was the computer's job to keep track of that kind of thing. "But there will be if you don't do what I ask. That is, if you count a sleep-deprived hologram going doo-lalley and drawing a goatee on each and every one of your screens as an emergency."
Holly gasped. "You can't do that! Not the goatee! That's my second least favourite type of facial hair!"
"Then hop to it, lickety-split."
A loud wail cut through the silence. It was louder than Rimmer could have imagined, such a volume he thought his eardrums would burst under the pressure of such a solid wall of noise. He clapped his hands over his ears, knowing it was impossible but fearing it all the same. Glancing down, he saw the edges of his image blurring, his projection shifting as the rise and fall of the klaxon disrupted it. It made him feel quite sick.
"Alright, Holly! That's enough!" he yelled, but his voice was lost in the din. "I SAID THAT'S ENOUGH!"
As suddenly as it began, it stopped. The silence was merciful, although to Rimmer the ship seemed somehow emptier now, the shock of all that quiet eerie.
Remarkably, Lister hadn't stirred. In fact, his mouth had fallen open and he'd begun to snore. A thick line of drool hung from the corner of his mouth, pooling a little on the metal floor.
"Did you want anything else, Arnold?" Holly inquired, and Rimmer thought he sounded more polite than before. Perhaps the threat of an embarrassing goatee had really worried him. Good.
"No, that's all, Holly." A hesitation. "Thank you."
The screen went blank. Rimmer sighed. He was suddenly very tired, drained. He supposed he could head back to the sleeping quarters and wait for exhaustion to take him, but the idea of once more journeying alone through the lifeless ship wasn't that appealing. And Lister's snores were lulling him strangely into sleepiness.
Well, he thought wryly, if you can't beat them...
And so he curled up in between the wall and Lister, defeated. Dimly, he wondered how to break this abhorrent reliance on Lister's snoring. In spite of the uncomfortable conditions and his dread at what Lister would say upon finding him should he wake up first, he was asleep before he could come up with an answer.