There are an almost infinite number of alternate universes out there. In one of them, Lister had done as he usually did – enabled Rimmer's behaviour by crawling after him and pretending to grovel until the pouting ended and he was forgiven. In another, for all he knew he still on Red Dwarf getting drunk with Petersen and the others, probably pining for some girl way out of his league.

But in this particular universe, he was adamant he had done nothing more than he usually did, which had always been fine in their day to day life, and he saw no reason to change his behaviour just because Rimmer had his knickers in a twist over a bunch of relatives he barely knew, never saw and, if memory recalled correctly, he had actively divorced.

"Not that I don't feel bad," he assured Mr. Rimmer. Even if the old man had been listening, he wouldn't have cared. The party was dying down, the food was mostly gone, and the only thing he had in common with his son's boyfriend was the hollow feeling of hunger. He snapped finally, "Man cannot survive on finger food alone."

"Smeg, tell me about it. I'd kill for a kebab right now." His eyes lingered on the last few pathetic cucumber sandwiches and limp lettuce cups. Too much green, not enough red. Chilli sauce, masala curry, harissa paste, smeg even ketchup. Bloody flavour man. Flavour and bulk, that's what food needed.


"This might be a push, but any takeaways around here?" was met with another confused frown. There were two types of people Lister was encountering – Cassandra's friends and family and Rimmer's friends and family and the two weren't easily identifiable, apart from the obvious laryngeal prominence in the Rimmer men and the sucked-on-a-lemon puckering of the Rimmer women's lips.

Rimmer's lot did not know the area and were unhelpful, though Lister couldn't help but wonder if they would be even if they did, and Cassandra's group were appalled at the idea of takeaways. Fetch food for oneself? Ghastly.

In the end, Lister made the slow, hungry march back to his room. Facing Rimmer with an empty stomach wasn't ideal.


Rimmer was clearly awake but words weren't exchanged when Lister keyed his way into the room. In hindsight, it had been a bloody good idea to have two keycards, though Lister had initially protested. Two cards meant the possibility of being apart, which meant the possibility of being alone, which meant no protection from the possibility of Rimmers.

There was a quiet commotion of clothes finding a nearby chair (because he wouldn't hear the end of it if they were on the floor in the morning) before Lister slipped under the covers.

"Aren't you going to brush your teeth?"

Lister sighed, "Why? We're not going to do anything."

"You're disgusting. Don't think I'm going to be paying the dentist bill when all your rotten teeth have to be pulled out."

"Hey, one good thing about no teeth," said Lister tapping his lips, "better suction."

Rimmer rolled over with an almighty huff. "Is that all you think about?"

"Do you EVER think about it?"

"I have higher things on my mind."

Lister couldn't argue with that. Telegraph poles were pretty tall. Rimmer flopped back over to face the wall, clinging tightly to the edge in annoyance, relaxing only when Lister shuffled over and nestled chastely against his back.

"Sorry."

Lister sat up and began to rummage in the bedside cabinets.

"What are you doing?" asked Rimmer.

"Looking for a notebook. You just said 'sorry' and I want to write it down because I'm not going to believe it actually happened come morning."

"Very funny," he retorted moodily but Rimmer stopped sulking when Lister returned to his rightful place as the big spoon. "I just have a lot on my mind and… I want this weekend to go better than it is."

"Why? It's just your brother's wedding. It's his panic, not yours." Lister stole a playful nip to Rimmer's nape.

"Right… yes. Um…"

"Hn?"

"Time for sleep. Early start tomorrow." He checked his watch. "Today rather. Go brush your teeth." Lister shuffled reluctantly out to the dismal cold bathroom, but found Rimmer's reception upon his return to bed blissfully warm and 100% more kissable.


Rimmer studied his reflection in the bathroom mirror. There were at least three of the bastards and it was all Lister's fault. "Dave, there's at least three of the bastards and it's all your fault."

Lister admired his handiwork, or rather lipiwork. "All you said was stay below the collar line and above the chest. Not much to work with, mate."

"I look like a leper."

"You'll be fine once your tie's all done up. How do I look?"

Rimmer's tongue flicked out over his lips as he drank in the vision of Lister in a three piece. "You scrub up nicely."

"That's as good a compliment as I'll get, innit?"

"For now," said Rimmer, and there was a tone to his voice that Lister had been longing for all weekend. This wedding couldn't be over quick enough.