To say that Lister was feeling a bit tense would be like saying that London was a little bit drizzly.
After two weeks with no cigarettes, the scouser was genuinely in the mood for brutally murdering the living being who asked him how his day was going. He was more tightly wound than an old-school alarm clock, and he was bound to go off himself at any minute.
Right now, he was lying on his back underneath a vending machine at the local B&Q, and he was really doing his best not to swear too much. Letting off steam was one thing. Saying every single bad word you can think of in front of customers traveling with small and impressionable young children was another.
While he worked on repairing the circuitry, Rimmer stood off to the side, going through some papers and passing the odd tool when necessary. It was his job to handle the finances as well, so he was just going over that while he let Lister work.
Nine years in the business had allowed Lister to pick up the basics of vending machine repair, and he usually did a good enough job, but with out any nicotine in his veins, he was finding concentration to be a fickle mistress.
After his fourth attempt to reconnect a circuit board, he finally gave in and let out a hissed, "Smeg…"
Rimmer didn't even look up. "Having trouble?"
Lister slowly pulled himself out from underneath the troublesome machine. "It's useless. I can't focus. My mind's going to completely off-kilter."
"Ohh, it can't be that bad…"
"Rimmer, last night I was having a meaningful conversation with the notable and respected actor Conrad Jarvis, and then I realized that he's been dead for six years and I was actually talking to some tramp on the sidewalk. I can't focus on fixing a machine right now. Can't we swap?"
Rimmer raised an eyebrow at him. "Lister, I am working on our finances right now. At least if you break that machine, it can still be repaired or replaced. If you screw our funds up, we're suddenly unemployed with no home and living in a cardboard box with Conrad Jarvis! Just keep at it."
Lister wearily stood up and walked around the room a bit massaging his temples and trying to keep his temper under control. "It's the damn nicotine cravings. They're screwing up my concentration."
"Why don't you get a nicotine patch?"
"Oh, those things never work, and even if they do, they take off half your arm hair in the process. I'd rather do this naturally. No, actually, check that – I'd rather not do it at all."
"Yes, well, staggering around a store ranting about it is sure to make it all better. Now come on and get back to work. We have three more stops after this one."
Lister groaned pathetically and banged his head against the vending machine, staring at the criminally overpriced sugary and salty treats inside. He just stood there, pressing his forehead against the see-through plastic window, wallowing in self-pity.
"Listy?"
"What now?"
"Listy, are you okay?"
"No, I'm not smegging okay! I'm living in a nightmare!" Lister exclaimed, feeling another rant coming on. "I'm stuck in this miserable dead-end job, working for some overpaid jerk, putting up with people I don't care for, working on machines I can't stand to look at, and I'm stuck sharing a flat with you, you smegger! No, I am not bloody okay!"
"Really?" Rimmer sounded surprised.
Taken off-guard by the response and its tone, Lister finally turned to face his coworker.
It wasn't Rimmer.
Well, it technically was Rimmer, but not as Lister knew him.
Well, that technically wasn't true either.
The Rimmer standing before Lister was wearing some sort of sleek blue uniform with a gold badge, a belt around the waist and strange-looking boots. But most noticeable about him was that his forehead was emblazoned with a metallic H. He was looking at Lister with a confused and concerned expression, standing up instead of sitting down, and the papers had been discarded on the floor.
Lister blinked slowly. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Now Rimmer was back in his usual clothes with no H and was picking up the discarded papers with some irritation, muttering to himself as he tried to reorganize them.
"What just happened?" Lister asked, still reeling from this turn of events.
Rimmer scowled at him. "Don't get all irate. I just dropped the papers. Nothing to get all huffy about."
"But… But you were just…," Lister started to explain, but then he trailed off in confusion. His head was really feeling a bit swimmy right now. He leaned against the machine tiredly. "I need a cigarette," he muttered.
Rimmer rolled his eyes as he resumed his work. "Why don't you just smoke one and then eat a curry immediately afterwards so she won't know?"
Lister shook his head. "Trust me, man, Krissie knows my mouth. That tongue of hers is like a probe. It can find anything."
Rimmer grimaced. "Charming… You know, if you're really this tweaked, you should probably go see a psychiatrist anyway. It might help you figure out why you're wound so tight."
Lister stood in contemplation for a moment. "How much do you think that would cost?" he said at last.
Rimmer shrugged. "I dunno. Talk to Kochanski. Maybe she can help you. Big city lawyers love helping out country bumpkins like you, don't they?"
Lister rolled his eyes. "I'm not asking Kris for money."
"But she wants to help you get better. If she cares about you that much, she'll help you out."
Lister sighed. He didn't like asking people for help with personal problems. He never believed a problem told was a problem shared. He believed a problem told was a problem spread all over town. He always tried to solve these things on his own, and more often than not, things cleared up and went away, in one way or another.
But then again, this was Kochanski they were talking about. His beloved Krissie, the only person he truly trusted in this day and age. She was always there for him no matter what. The only reason she wanted him to cut out cigs was for his own well-being. Maybe she'd help him cover the costs of a shrink as well.
"…I'll ask her tonight," he decided.
There was electricity crackling in the next room. Flashes of light threw terrifying shadows against the far wall.
Lister, however, was very much uninterested in this at the moment, as he was currently dangling upside-down from the ceiling, wrapped in the sturdiest chains he'd ever been tied up in.
Not that he'd been tied up in chains that many times, of course.
He'd stopped struggling half an hour ago. All the blood was rushing to his head, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.
Then there was a horrifying screeching noise coming from the next room, and a haze of sparks flew through the air, bouncing off the wall.
Lister wished he could plug his ears, but he couldn't, so he settled for just closing his eyes as tight as he could, hoping that would somehow save his precious eardrums.
Finally, the noise stopped.
Lister held his breath.
And then he heard footsteps. Slow, tantalizing footsteps that made his pulse race with anxiety.
The simulant appeared in the doorway, smiling at him like a used car salesman. In his hands was a long thin thing with a large handle on the end.
Lister could feel the sweat dripping off the top of his head.
The simulant spoke in a warbly sort of voice – "Try to guess which end gets inserted in first."
Lister stared at the long thin thing with the large handle and swallowed. "I'm more interested in which part of me it's getting inserted into," he said at last.
The simulant shrugged. "Oh, it makes no difference to me. After all, there are at least seven viable options in your head alone. Let's see… Where to choose?"
Lister squirmed some more, the raging fear he felt giving him some strength back. He struggled with all his might, trying to loosen the chains that held him.
But this only served to amuse the simulant. "Actually, I can think of a much better location to start, shall we say, drilling." And with a demonic chuckle, he began his approach.
For the briefest of seconds, Lister enjoyed that feeling of confusion and ignorance before his mind finally put two and two together, and he realized what he meant, and it brought a chill to his soul.
"NO!" he screamed.
And suddenly, he felt himself jerk forwards, and he nearly got a face full of dashboard.
He was in Rimmer's car.
And his coworker was looking at him in shock as he slowly took his foot off the brake and resumed the drive home. "Another nightmare?" he asked after a pause.
Lister gripped his armrest frantically as he took in his surroundings. He nodded as he gasped for breath. It took half a minute for him to reassure himself that he wasn't going anywhere, and this was indeed reality.
"Smeg…," he said through an exhale. "That was a bad one."
"Was I in it?"
"No."
"Good."
Lister shook his head and leaned back in his seat. "I hate nightmares. Sleep is supposed to be the one reprieve we have from the cold dank that is our failed lives. Sleep is the only time we can truly relax and forget about reality for a while. If you can't escape from reality in your sleep, you truly have nowhere to go. You're in hell 24/7. You go mad."
Rimmer considered this. "Well, look on the bright side," he said at last.
Lister stared at him. "What bright side?"
"Oh, I have to think of a bright side to your miserable life? Come on, Listy, show some initiative."
Lister growled and stared out the window determinedly.
Rimmer sighed and thought for a moment. "Okay, how about this," he suggested. "You…have a place to go everyday."
That didn't seem to elicit a response, so he tried again.
"You…have a place to live."
Still nothing.
"…You…have…," he said as slowly as he could, stalling for time. Then it occurred to him. "You are in a relationship with a woman you don't deserve."
Lister regarded him incredulously. "What do you mean, I don't deserve her?"
Rimmer smirked; glad to be back in familiar territory. "Listy, Listy, Listy, face it – Kochanski is a successful business woman. You're a vending machine repairman. Do the math. The odds have been against you since day one. The fact that you've managed to make it work all this time is nothing short of a miracle."
Lister glared at him. "Smeg off."
"There's been a pool going around the building for when you two break up."
"You what?"
"Don't worry. I haven't taken part in it."
"Oh… Thanks, man."
"Oh, it's not because I have faith in you, don't misunderstand. It's because you two are such a rarity, I'm not taking any chances. Cat, though – phew! He lost a bundle on you two."
Lister sighed disparagingly, searching the highway ahead for the building.
Kochanski's flat was actually much nicer than Lister and Rimmer's, thanks to her profession. It was much more spacious and was painted a much nicer shade of white.
Needless to say, Lister preferred it much more than his own.
They were sitting at the kitchen table having some dinner. They had already stumbled their way through the small talk and were now just eating in silence.
After awhile, Kochanski couldn't stand the silence and spoke up. "So, have you given anymore thought to seeing a psychiatrist?" she asked.
Lister's forkful of shami kebab stopped a mere centimeter from his open mouth for a few seconds before he registered the question and jammed it in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment before he swallowed and arranged an answer.
"Yeah…"
He proceeded to gather up more supper on his fork before Kochanski realized he wasn't going to continue voluntarily.
"And…?" she prompted.
Lister sighed as he swallowed again. "Well, I'm not sure I could afford to see one. I mean, I'm only on minimum wage, and it would cost a lot, probably."
"Dave, you really should try and see one soon. I'm worried about you."
"I know, I know… It's just…I've got other things to pay for too, you know. I've got rent, I've got groceries, I've got petrol…"
"You pay for petrol? You don't have a car."
"Rimmer and me split it. The point is I just can't afford to get psychiatric help. My best would be talking to the HR counselor at work, and he's only supposed to help with work-related problems."
Kochanski blinked. "Well, if lack of money is the only thing holding you back, then I could help you with that."
Now it was Lister's turn to blink. In fact, he took an extra one and blinked twice. "You serious?" he asked, not quite believing it.
"Well, sure, if your masculinity will allow your girlfriend to help you pay for it, I'd be happy to help you."
Lister thought for a moment. "How much help?"
Kochanski shrugged. "Oh, I dunno… Half?"
"Wow. That much?"
"Sure, why not?"
Another moment for thought processing went by and Lister felt himself grin. "What the hell? Might be worth a try. You know what's best."
Kochanski smiled and leaned forward to kiss him on the nose. "Good boy."
