A/N: Holy *crap* it's been a long time since I updated ... so long that I'm no longer writing fic under the same name! But I decided I wanted to continue this sucker, so if you're picking it up again after all this time - wow! Thank you! I really appreciate your patience and understanding of the stupid that is my life.
In Darkness: Redux
Lister found his brain tortured by mental images and the memory of sounds that he hoped he'd never hear again. He rolled over in bed, trying to banish the thoughts from his head. That he'd had a scare today was certain … that he'd gone through things that no living person should be forced to reckon with, that much was sure. But the places of today that his brain had decided to dwell in were growing increasingly more disturbing by inches.
He rolled over again and punched his pillow a few times, trying to force it into a more comfortable shape, as though physical discomfort were what was keeping him awake rather than the images which had apparently been etched into the backs of his eye-lids.
HAD that come out of Rimmer's sick, twisted brain? Really? Was that what lurked in the dark side of the man that regularly slept in the bunk beneath him?
Lister thought of his own dark side and found himself suddenly very glad that the others hadn't had to interact with it all that much. The blackened teeth, the deranged giggling, the rapacious expression …
If Rimmer knew that his dark side had interacted with him the way it had, he'd probably be horribly embarrassed.
He thought of his dark half, and he thought of Rimmer's dark half – because he'd found it impossible to stop thinking about Rimmer's dark half for very long in the past hour or so as he'd tried to find sleep – and he couldn't help but wonder whether or not they, well, got on.
"I'm going to lash you to within an inch of your life," he heard Rimmer's voice breathing lustfully in his head, "and then … I'm going to have you."
He felt a shiver run up and down his spine. The holo-whip. God. And the fishnets. Fishnets? And the leather … what was that? A corset? A leotard? Whatever it was, it was leather. Uh. Tight leather. It looked like something out of Rocky Horror Picture Show …
.. which was an image his brain did not need to supply. Great. Rimmer as Tim Curry? What was next? Rimmer as Madonna?
… oh God. Stupid imagination.
Was Rimmer gay? The thought had never occurred to him before this incident, but then, he didn't know much about gay men, excepting Bent Bob of course.
"Rimmer?" he said.
No answer. It was probably just as well. How in the world would that conversation go? 'So, Rimmsy, erm … have you ever, y'know, wanted to sleep with another man?'
Was there *any* way he could ask this question without it sounding like a come-on?
'Are you, in fact, gay?'
What kind of question was that?
Was Rimmer a *dom*? That seemed to Lister the more important question. His own dark side's representation had been disturbingly accurate, with the meaningless sex and the violence … although maybe not the sadistic insane giggling, but maybe …
'Have you ever wanted to pour hot wax on me at all? Er … possibly fantasized about chaining me to the bed and lashing me in a, y'know, erotic way?'
Maybe that was what had been up with that time he'd tied Lister to the bed with his hair … although that didn't explain the fire-alarm.
No. That was ridiculous. And anyway, it didn't matter … Rimmer was a hologram, in that he wasn't solid in any way, and so there was little risk of getting sexually assaulted by him at any point in the foreseeable future.
And Rimmer probably wasn't gay, either. He certainly seemed to like women a great deal, in a very physically-oriented way that had little to do with emotional fulfillment as far as Lister could tell. Rimmer wasn't socially capable enough to understand about interacting with women on a level that progressed beyond the shallow.
But maybe he was bisexual?
That was worthy of more consideration. But bisexuality as far as Lister understood it was all about being open to new possibilities, to changes and to new ways of expressing the age-old human desire to fuck things 'til fucking them was simply no longer an option for you.
Lister considered himself a modern, enlightened man for his time and he was perfectly okay with his roommate being a dead bisexual, but it was the sort of thing he would have liked to know beforehand … he thought of everything that they had shared together and wondered if Rimmer didn't think of it as some kind of prolonged courtship ritual.
"Rimmer?" he said again. "Rimmer, are you awake?"
"What do you want, Lister?" Rimmer mumbled into his pillow.
He was half-asleep. Lister could probably get away with asking any sort of question now and conceivably get a semi-coherent answer. But then again, the sort of question Lister had in mind to ask was probably the sort of question that would bring Rimmer to full alertness in a hurry.
"Uh …" he said. "D'you remember today, with the better halfs and the worsers?"
Rimmer sighed audibly beneath him. "Lister, this is not the sort of thing I will be able to forget in a hurry."
"Do you think the lows … do you think they were really us? You know, the way we really are inside of ourselves when you take away all of the, you knows, uppers?" Lister said.
"I don't know, probably. I can't think of another explanation," Rimmer said.
Lister stared at the ceiling. He couldn't help but agree but it made him nervous. He thought about his representation on the "low" ship. The part of him that wanted all his friends to fail … the part of him that lusted after meaningless sex … was his low any better or worse than Rimmer's?
"Uh … Lister?" Rimmer said, sounding much more awake. "Why are we talking about this?"
Lister didn't answer at first. 'I was wondering if you were actually gay' seemed to lack finesse somehow. "Dunno," he said. It lacked a certain something but it didn't require being honest with his friend.
Friend?
Lister couldn't think of another word for Rimmer. He did feel sorry for him, he really did. There wasn't much else that you could feel for Rimmer, other than annoyance or disgust. He dug himself into such mental and emotional holes … and Lister really had done some horrible things to him over the years. Friendship might have been a strong word, but then again, it might not have been … he certainly knew Rimmer better than he had known anyone in his entire life, possibly even better than he knew himself.
"Can I go back to sleep now," Rimmer asked, "or are we going to continue to be philosophical for no known reason?"
"I was just wondering if those guys really were in us," Lister said.
"Somewhere. They had to come from somewhere," Rimmer said.
"I would never do that to anybody," he said.
Rimmer made an exasperated noise. "Lister!" he said.
"What?"
"Did you see the highs?" Rimmer said. "If that was in us, think of how deep the triplicator would have had to dig to shovel it out. Did you hear what the Cat's said to him?"
Lister felt suddenly reassured. If the demons were buried that deep, what sort of bearing could they have on their actual lives? "You're right. It was stupid," he said.
"What brought this on?" Rimmer said, sounding confused.
"Nothing," Lister said. "It's just that yours seemed quite *gay*."
"Oh," Rimmer said.
"You made advances," Lister said.
"I did?" His voice seemed to have gone flat.
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"It was a little off-putting. You were a bit of a dominatrix."
"Can men do that?"
"You managed it."
"Oh."
Silence fell. Lister rolled over in bed again and closed his eyes. The weight was off his chest, and now it sounded like Rimmer was going to worry about it instead. Heh. Served him right, him and his stupid psyche.
His stupid *gay* psyche.
In Darkness: Redux
Lister found his brain tortured by mental images and the memory of sounds that he hoped he'd never hear again. He rolled over in bed, trying to banish the thoughts from his head. That he'd had a scare today was certain … that he'd gone through things that no living person should be forced to reckon with, that much was sure. But the places of today that his brain had decided to dwell in were growing increasingly more disturbing by inches.
He rolled over again and punched his pillow a few times, trying to force it into a more comfortable shape, as though physical discomfort were what was keeping him awake rather than the images which had apparently been etched into the backs of his eye-lids.
HAD that come out of Rimmer's sick, twisted brain? Really? Was that what lurked in the dark side of the man that regularly slept in the bunk beneath him?
Lister thought of his own dark side and found himself suddenly very glad that the others hadn't had to interact with it all that much. The blackened teeth, the deranged giggling, the rapacious expression …
If Rimmer knew that his dark side had interacted with him the way it had, he'd probably be horribly embarrassed.
He thought of his dark half, and he thought of Rimmer's dark half – because he'd found it impossible to stop thinking about Rimmer's dark half for very long in the past hour or so as he'd tried to find sleep – and he couldn't help but wonder whether or not they, well, got on.
"I'm going to lash you to within an inch of your life," he heard Rimmer's voice breathing lustfully in his head, "and then … I'm going to have you."
He felt a shiver run up and down his spine. The holo-whip. God. And the fishnets. Fishnets? And the leather … what was that? A corset? A leotard? Whatever it was, it was leather. Uh. Tight leather. It looked like something out of Rocky Horror Picture Show …
.. which was an image his brain did not need to supply. Great. Rimmer as Tim Curry? What was next? Rimmer as Madonna?
… oh God. Stupid imagination.
Was Rimmer gay? The thought had never occurred to him before this incident, but then, he didn't know much about gay men, excepting Bent Bob of course.
"Rimmer?" he said.
No answer. It was probably just as well. How in the world would that conversation go? 'So, Rimmsy, erm … have you ever, y'know, wanted to sleep with another man?'
Was there *any* way he could ask this question without it sounding like a come-on?
'Are you, in fact, gay?'
What kind of question was that?
Was Rimmer a *dom*? That seemed to Lister the more important question. His own dark side's representation had been disturbingly accurate, with the meaningless sex and the violence … although maybe not the sadistic insane giggling, but maybe …
'Have you ever wanted to pour hot wax on me at all? Er … possibly fantasized about chaining me to the bed and lashing me in a, y'know, erotic way?'
Maybe that was what had been up with that time he'd tied Lister to the bed with his hair … although that didn't explain the fire-alarm.
No. That was ridiculous. And anyway, it didn't matter … Rimmer was a hologram, in that he wasn't solid in any way, and so there was little risk of getting sexually assaulted by him at any point in the foreseeable future.
And Rimmer probably wasn't gay, either. He certainly seemed to like women a great deal, in a very physically-oriented way that had little to do with emotional fulfillment as far as Lister could tell. Rimmer wasn't socially capable enough to understand about interacting with women on a level that progressed beyond the shallow.
But maybe he was bisexual?
That was worthy of more consideration. But bisexuality as far as Lister understood it was all about being open to new possibilities, to changes and to new ways of expressing the age-old human desire to fuck things 'til fucking them was simply no longer an option for you.
Lister considered himself a modern, enlightened man for his time and he was perfectly okay with his roommate being a dead bisexual, but it was the sort of thing he would have liked to know beforehand … he thought of everything that they had shared together and wondered if Rimmer didn't think of it as some kind of prolonged courtship ritual.
"Rimmer?" he said again. "Rimmer, are you awake?"
"What do you want, Lister?" Rimmer mumbled into his pillow.
He was half-asleep. Lister could probably get away with asking any sort of question now and conceivably get a semi-coherent answer. But then again, the sort of question Lister had in mind to ask was probably the sort of question that would bring Rimmer to full alertness in a hurry.
"Uh …" he said. "D'you remember today, with the better halfs and the worsers?"
Rimmer sighed audibly beneath him. "Lister, this is not the sort of thing I will be able to forget in a hurry."
"Do you think the lows … do you think they were really us? You know, the way we really are inside of ourselves when you take away all of the, you knows, uppers?" Lister said.
"I don't know, probably. I can't think of another explanation," Rimmer said.
Lister stared at the ceiling. He couldn't help but agree but it made him nervous. He thought about his representation on the "low" ship. The part of him that wanted all his friends to fail … the part of him that lusted after meaningless sex … was his low any better or worse than Rimmer's?
"Uh … Lister?" Rimmer said, sounding much more awake. "Why are we talking about this?"
Lister didn't answer at first. 'I was wondering if you were actually gay' seemed to lack finesse somehow. "Dunno," he said. It lacked a certain something but it didn't require being honest with his friend.
Friend?
Lister couldn't think of another word for Rimmer. He did feel sorry for him, he really did. There wasn't much else that you could feel for Rimmer, other than annoyance or disgust. He dug himself into such mental and emotional holes … and Lister really had done some horrible things to him over the years. Friendship might have been a strong word, but then again, it might not have been … he certainly knew Rimmer better than he had known anyone in his entire life, possibly even better than he knew himself.
"Can I go back to sleep now," Rimmer asked, "or are we going to continue to be philosophical for no known reason?"
"I was just wondering if those guys really were in us," Lister said.
"Somewhere. They had to come from somewhere," Rimmer said.
"I would never do that to anybody," he said.
Rimmer made an exasperated noise. "Lister!" he said.
"What?"
"Did you see the highs?" Rimmer said. "If that was in us, think of how deep the triplicator would have had to dig to shovel it out. Did you hear what the Cat's said to him?"
Lister felt suddenly reassured. If the demons were buried that deep, what sort of bearing could they have on their actual lives? "You're right. It was stupid," he said.
"What brought this on?" Rimmer said, sounding confused.
"Nothing," Lister said. "It's just that yours seemed quite *gay*."
"Oh," Rimmer said.
"You made advances," Lister said.
"I did?" His voice seemed to have gone flat.
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"It was a little off-putting. You were a bit of a dominatrix."
"Can men do that?"
"You managed it."
"Oh."
Silence fell. Lister rolled over in bed again and closed his eyes. The weight was off his chest, and now it sounded like Rimmer was going to worry about it instead. Heh. Served him right, him and his stupid psyche.
His stupid *gay* psyche.