Hollister swept out of the room. She nearly ran into Lister and his parole officer coming out of the opposite chamber. She shot the other officer a quick, mocking salute, said, "Howdy, Moron," and was gone around the corner.
Marone yelled after her, "It's MARONE, Hollister! How many times do I have to tell you?"
"Whatever!" came the response from far away. Marone made a funny gurgling sound in the back of his throat and stormed off the opposite direction.
Lister and Rimmer exchanged glances. Lister was the first to break the silence.
"So, how'd it go?"
"Splendidly," sneered Rimmer, sarcasm dripping from his voice. The two men made their way down the corridor and out the exit. "First, I insulted her outfit."
Lister bit his lip, then nodded nodded. "Yeah, that get up was a bit bizzarre." Rimmer eyed Lister, who was currently wearing his leather deerstalker and the t-shirt that said, "Sit on my face." Rimmer rolled his eyes and continued.
"To top that off, I called her mentally unstable, criminally insane, and refused to talk to her. And finally, she's Captain Hollister's niece. Who, apparently, failed a couple of her exams. They made her an officer anyway." Rimmer paused for a moment at the entrance to the TurboLift, and turned to Lister. "I'm doomed, aren't I?"
In response, Lister grinned. "Not necessarily. It could have been worse. You could have given her a cloth and hair eating virus." Rimmer groaned. Another point against him, there. Lister continued, "Beides, at least she's sane. Marone is many cards shy of a full deck."
"Sane?!?" exploded Rimmer. "She's absolutely starkers! She let me get electrocuted!"
"No way, get outta town!"
"I'm serious! She neglected to warn me about the current running through the finger clamps. I looked like a deranged marionette on meth."
"Yeah, but does she crochet?"
"I highly doubt that that girl has the mental capacity or motor skills to tie her own shoes," sneered Rimmer.
"You sound like you love her, man."
"Give me five minutes alone with her and a bazookoid. Please, God, that's all I ask!" prayed Rimmer, his head tilted to the ceiling. They entered the TurboLift and swept downwards towards their quarters.
Lister gasped.
The room he was in was quite dark. He could hardly see an inch in front of his face, but he was sure that Kochanski had just pulled away from their kiss and had bent her head downwards. Intent upon. . . exactly what Lister didn't know, but he sure as hell was eager to find out.
He felt a strange, warm sensation spread across the front of his boxers. And Kochanski was the source of that warmth. At least, he hoped that she was. After a moment, it faded away, to be replaced with the sensation of Kochanski's mouth upon his again. Lightly, softly, as if she didn't want to break him. He ran his tongue over his lips after she pulled back.
"What the hell was that?" he managed to gasp between ragged breaths.
"A warm fuzzy," came the husky reply.
"Good name!"
"Isn't it, though?"
She pressed her nearly naked body up against his, snuggling her head into the soft area where his arm met his shoulder. At that moment, Lister felt as if he would float away into the inky depths of space, to fly and soar among the stars. Life was GOOOOOD!
He and Kochanski had been at it now for about 6 hours. It had begun innocently enough, when Dave had come to her to invite her to lunch. After a quick recap of his time in "Interrogation Room B" and Marone's off kilter insanity, he'd planted a small, feather light kiss on the back of her neck. Which was her absolute, no-kidding, take-me-now-you-stud spot, and he knew it. This tender gesture had resulted in the two of them blowing off their work shifts (Kochanski was due at Navigation, Lister at technician HQ, which was really the abandoned broom closet at the end of corridor 42), and heading to Kochanski's quarters for a long day of lovemaking, interspersed with the occasional potty break and once to fetch back a couple of chicken vindaloos from the nearby dispensor.
They hadn't spent a day like this in over three million years, and instead of it seeming tired and samey, it seemed sparkling and brand new. Kochanski was continually amazed at the intensity of the feelings surging through her. The Dave from her home universe had never been this obsessed, this utterly devoted to her. She had never been with a man who really loved her, loved her to the point that he would walk across molten lava just to fetch her back her favorite hair scrunchie. Metaphorically speaking, of course. This devotion on Lister's part made for an amazing aphrodisiac. Her passions were fanned by this single minded persuit of her happiness.
She realized, of course, that this wouldn't last. Lister would pull the typical guy thing and say, "I need my space, and by 'my space' I mean I want to boff a teenager for the next few months." She also knew that this obsession of his was fueled by nearly 10 years (by his subjective time) of utter, mind-numbing, and impossible lonliness. However, she could live with that. It wasn't nescessarily a bad thing. It had startled her to understand the level of his obsession. She had never thought of herself as an object for a foolish and lust crazed fixation. She knew she was no great shakes. For one thing, she was picky. And career oriented. And spoiled, sometimes. But Lister loved her even more for all of that. She suddenly realized what a fool she was not to have started this relationship earlier, when they were trapped on the 'Bug, and no bureaucratic officers would interfere with their happiness. Well, maybe one neurotic droid... By now, they would be firmly entrenched in love (or at least very strong lust), and their parole officers would take that into account, and they wouldn't have to sneak around like a couple of hormone addled teenagers.
But she hadn't, and they didn't, and now they had to.
It was only three weeks now. Since they were "Officially Going Out." Two weeks before their sentences were up, they had shared one magical evening together, crammed in a spare linen closet, kissing, groping, maddened to heights of sweeping desire by the smell of laundry detergent and cool cotton sheets. The next morning had been hard, but they had eventually gotten past the awkward phase and moved right into the giggly stupid snoggy phase. And it was great. Small doubts still nagged at Kochanski's late night thoughts, but she usually ignored them. Like the, "I need my space," thought.
She sighed slightly and snuggled closer to Lister's warm body. She put all thoughts of the future out of her head, and lived for the now.
Lister, on the other hand, had his eyes closed and was trying not to get too aroused. Again. He was continually amazed at how lucky he was. Here she was, Kristine Kochanski, in the warm, squirming and soft flesh. In bed with him. She was, without a doubt, the most desirable, fantastic, beautiful woman in the history of mankind, (at least, in his eyes...) and she had chosen him to share her bed, her life, her love.
Oh, yes, life was very good. Except for the sneaking around part. He didn't want to quarrel with her (perish the thought!), but the idea that he had to hide his love for her pricked at his pride.
But, what the hell, if it made her happy, or more comfortable, or whatever, then it was hunkey-dorey by him.
"Kris?"
"Yeah, Dave?
"What'cha thinking 'bout?"
Kochanski loved it when Dave slurred his apostrophies. "Us."
"Yeah? Me too. Anything specific?"
"You're very single minded. And you know what you like. And we mesh well that way."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, lady."
"I know. It already has."
This remark led to the two of them tickling, nipping, licking, removing all underclothes and being disgracefully noisy.
For about three minutes.
Rimmer put down the book he had been reading, entitled Officerhood; Not All It's Cracked Up To Be. It depressed him something awful. It was now 2330 by the ship's chrono. Lister had dissapeared after their appointments, promising Rimmer he'd be back later to discuss the day's events. That had been 12 hours ago.
Rimmer wondered idly where the smeghead was at.
He hated to admit it, but he was very lonely. So lonely, in fact, that he'd seek out Lister's company. It wasn't the company he really wanted, however...
Firmly putting that little blonde bitch out of his mind, Rimmer swung his lengthy legs off the bunk, and went in search of Lister. Now, where were Kochanski's quarters again...? Maybe she would know...
Lister and Kochanski were quite distracted when the door swooshed open and a masculine voice snapped, "Lights!" Lister and Kochanski swam and struggled in the sheets, eyes slowly adjusting to the brightly lit room and the form of Rimmer standing shocked in the open doorway.
"RIMMER!!" roared Lister. "Get the smeg out of here!"
Kochanski got into the act by flinging a pillow at the tall man, while she fumbled to cover her bare breasts with the blanket.
Rimmer stared at the two lovers for the briefest of moments, turned a shade of pink that should be physiologically impossible and fled.
The door swooshed closed behind him. Lister and Kochanski turned to each other, eyes flashing, mouths agape. They didn't know what to say. What could they say? This was bad.
Then it got worse. A small, tenative knock came at the door.
Kochanski looked at Lister and said, "Oh, we're in trouble. I'm willing to bet you one hundred dollarpounds that that's my parole officer."
"How do you know?"
"Women's intuition. Quick, you need to hide!" And with that, she jumped up, grabbed Lister's hand and shoved him, butt naked, into her storage locker. It was a tight fit, and Lister almost got his nadgers caught in the door. Standing in the dark, Lister was very afraid of capture, simply because being caught stark raving naked in a female superior officer's storage locker was, while not exactly against the rules, definitely frowned upon. Suddenly, the locker door opened again. For a brief, happy moment, Lister thought that he and Kochanski were in the clear. But she reached past him, grabbed a light bathrobe and slammed the door again. He groaned softly. He was in big trouble.
Kochanski, meanwhile, pulled the robe on, tied it tightly, swept a towel off the floor and wrapped it, turban style, round her head. She called out, "Coming!" and moved to open the door.
It was Rimmer again. He said, with a big grin, "Don't get dressed on my account. Where's Lister?"
She stared at him for a moment. Then, she stormed across the room and flung open the locker door, revealing a very surprised and chilly Lister. She stalked back to Rimmer and did something very out of character.
She slapped him full across the face. She shouted, "Next time, knock, you smeghead!" Then she huffed off to her shower, and slammed the glass partition, nearly breaking it.
Rimmer stood there for a moment, rubbing his cheek in shock. Lister emerged from the locker, with a stuffed toy placed strategically across his groin. The men looked at each other for a moment, then averted their eyes, embarrassed beyond words.
Well, Rimmer was. Lister was murderously angry.
"I'm. Going. To. KILL. You. Rimmer." Lister growled, and crossed to the bunk, picking up his boxers. He turned his back on Rimmer, mooning him, and pulled on the shorts. Rimmer couldn't say anything to this, he just moved to the table and sat down, still rubbing his offended cheek.
After a pause, Rimmer said, "Sorry."
"Sorry! You barge into Krissy's quarters with no warning and all you say is sorry? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't punch you in the gob."
"Because it would hurt?"
Lister pulled back a fist.
"And because she already did, practically." said Rimmer hastily. "Besides, I had no idea that was going on! She just told me last night that you two weren't an item. How was I supposed to know?"
Lister lowered his fist. There it was, out in the open. The very reason that he hadn't wanted to hide his affair with Kochanski. Ignoring Rimmer's excuses, he crossed the room and opened the glass door to the shower, wanting to talk to Kochanski.
She was crying.
Without hesitation, Lister moved to her and grabbed her in his arms. She shoved him away, and continued her heaving sobs. Sobs? No, giggles! She was laughing!
"Oh, Dave, I'm so sorry," she finally managed to say between gasps for air. "The look on your face. . .!"
Lister stood for a moment, blinking stupidly. Then, he said, "Well, at least you find it humourous."
"If I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying. And you know it."
"I thought you were crying," Lister admitted. "You've got a really whacked out sense of humour, you know that, right?"
Kochanski ran her sleeve across her nose, very much like a little girl at that moment. Then, her pinball smile lit up the stall and she threw her arms around Lister's neck. They held each other for a moment, and then she pulled back and said, "Dave, you were right. Let's not sneak around anymore. To hell with our parole officers!"
Lister whooped for joy. "You mean it, Kris?"
She grinned at him in answer. With that, Lister swept her up in his arms and swung her around the stall, during which he banged her head against the nozzle. "OW!!" He swung her back down and made little cooing noises over her while he kissed her forehead repeatedly. She blushed prettily, and gave back as good as she got. He's really very sweet, she thought, although a bit like an over-excited puppy dog. . .
"Heh-HEM!" came an annoyed grunt from the other room. "You do have company!"
"C'mon." Lister took Kochanski's hand and led her out of the shower. "I really would have it otherwise, but Rimmer can be the first to know."
"I think he already does."
"What ever gave you that idea?" said Lister with a grin.
Rimmer eyballed the two lovers. His eyes were slits of hazel, his already big nostrils flared to gargantuan proportions. He was breathing in and out, in and out, an almost Zen-like trance decending upon him. He swiveled his gaze towards towards his hands. No new information there... Finally, defeat in his eyes and voice, he said, "I fold."
"Ditto." said Lister.
"Excellent! Come to Mama!" Kochanski swept her arms out, pulled the bright chips into a pile and gathered them in her lap. "And I was bluffing on a busted flush. Really, you boys are too trusting. Now, who wants to give me more money?"
The three of them sat round a table. They were playing poker. Kochanski was over her mad, and Lister had explained the situation to Rimmer, who, after a moment of crestfallen silence, had agreed to play chaperone for them. He had only agreed to do it for the blackmail opportunities, of course... So, to forgive and forget the slapping, Kochanski had suggested an impromtu round of poker. Lister had voted for the strip variety, and Rimmer had enthusiastically seconded the motion. They were outvoted by Kochanski, by means of superiority. Lister shrugged it off, but resolved to get her drunk at some point and ask her again.
At Kochanski's brag, Lister snorted and drawled, in a bad American accent, "Ante up! Five card draw is the name of the game. One eyed Jacks and red duces wild."
Kochanski shrugged. "You really must like losing to a girl, eh?"
Lister ignored her and delt the cards as he did everything else; sloppily. At one point, Kochanski had to stand up and cross the room to fetch a runaway card. To bad it landed face down. . .
Finally, the hand was delt. Rimmer began his poker ritual, as Kochanski and Lister groaned in unison.
Now, a quick word as to Rimmer's poker ritual. Rimmer played poker like he did everything else; anal retentive and perfect. First, he organised his cards into color, then suit, then number. Then, he folded his cards shut and re-fanned them, spacing them all exactly 1 cm apart from the next. This part went on for about three to five minutes. Meanwhile, Kochanski and Lister would just take the opportunity to do some light snogging, or they would clean their nails, or they would compose a funny limerick about Rimmer, trying to find a rhyme for "Goit". Rimmer would ignore them. Finally, after squinting at the cards for several minutes, and ignoring the occasional, "Get ON with it!" from Lister, Rimmer would lay down ALL of his cards and say, "Five please."
Therein followed a debate from Lister that in five card draw you COULDN'T put down all your cards, the limit was four. And Rimmer would come back saying that if the game was called FIVE card draw, he jolly well could draw five cards. Lister would then point out politely that the "five" only came into it because that was the number of cards you could have in any given hand. Rimmer would then ripost that if those were the rules, then Lister should have said that at the beginning of the game. Lister finally would call Rimmer a total smeghead, and Rimmer would call Lister a jammy goit, and Lister would wave the rules pamphlet at Rimmer and Rimmer would grab it, crumple it into a ball and throw it across the room. Kochanski would get sick of it, reach over, take the deck, snippily count out five cards and toss them at Rimmer. Rimmer would then go through his card counting ritual again, while Lister would give Kochanski her new cards and he'd take his own, all the while grumbling about Rimmer's total smeggy gittiness.
Somehow, it never occured to them to not allow Rimmer to be to Dealer's Right. Or to let Kochanski deal. They would do this every time.
But what the smeg? When you're in space, no one can hear you bicker.
Lister, to allivate the tension while Rimmer pondered his cards, made the offhand remark of, "So, has Hollister come a-calling on you yet, Rimmer?"
Without looking up, Rimmer said, "I don't want to talk about it."
Now, this is exactly the sort of thing you should never say to David Lister, because he will run with it like a footballer. Especially if you're Arnold Judas Rimmer giving him the ball.
"I don't see why not," began Lister innocently. "I mean, just because she's obviously imbalanced while at the same time being incredibly violent, that shouldn't mean you don't like her."
"Shut up and call, Lister."
"You know, she's actually quite attractive, in a psychotic and unstable sort of way."
"Lister!" interjected Kochanski.
"Aw, she doesn't hold a candle to you, honey." Kochanski looked mollified. "But still, eh? Wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean? Rimmer, you should ask her out on a date."
"Shut up, Lister, and call. . ."
Kochanski spoke up. "Actually, Rimmer, that's probably not a bad idea. I'm sure you two would get on famously, after the scars from the initial beatings had healed."
Rimmer said nothing to this last. After all, it was Kochanski... but Rimmer's face got a little more purple.
Lister pulled his cigarette out of his ear and lit it up. "Seriously," he giggled around a mouthful of butt, "she's a real piece of work! And, hey, she's the captain's niece. That'd be aces for your career!"
Rimmer said nothing for a long moment. The purple of his face spread down to his neck and his hands began to tremble. Lister and Kochanski watched with fascinated wonder, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
It never came. Instead, Rimmer closed his eyes and sighed. The purple receded and the shaking stopped. Then without warning. . .
"Lister, either call the smegging hand or fold already."
Lister was impressed. He'd never seen Rimmer stem the rage before. This was an intreguing turn of events. So Lister, being himself, decided to push the envelope just that little bit further.
"Oh, I fold. But only if you tell me what you honestly think about Hippo Hollister."
"HER NAME IS HIPPOLYTA! NOT HIPPO!!!" screeched the infuriated Second Technician. Lister and Kochanski jumped at the intensity of the scream. Rimmer was purple again and the shaking had returned. "Her name is not Letty, or Polly, or Heply or any other combination of silly nicknames you can think up, you rabid piece of parrot droppings!"
Rimmer stood up and threw his cards down on the table, sending them scattering over the room. Lister could only watch as Rimmer threw a major wobbly. Rimmer continued.
"Yes, she's the smegging captian's smegging niece! And yes, she's very attractive." He was pacing the room, and stopped with his back to the door. This was unfortunate, because the door opened at that very moment to reveal the woman that Rimmer was ranting on about. There she stood in the doorway, and Rimmer was oblivious to this simple fact. So the next few words out of his mouth were equally disasterous.
"Rimmer. . ." began Kochanski. Rimmer cut her off.
"I don't want to hear anything out of you! You've got your man, so what the smeg do you care about me?!?!" Kochanski sat there, stunned. Rimmer had just totally blown their cover, right in front of an officer. Kochanski slumped down in her chair, wishing she were invisible.
"Erm, Rimmer man. . ." began Lister. Rimmer sliced a hand through the air to silence him.
"As for you! I want you to know that I would never go out on a date with "Hippo" Hollister! She's my parole officer! She couldn't give a flying rat's arse about me. She's cruel, she's sarcastic, she's foul tempered, she has a career, and by god if she doesn't have the ugliest personality I've ever encountered!"
"Rimmer!" exclaimed Kochanski in a panic. She was looking directly at Hippolyta, who was simply cocking an eyebrow skywards, her eyes two storm grey slits, fixed directly on Rimmer.
"With all due respect, ma'am, shut UP!" shouted Rimmer. "I mean to have my say, and you two will smegging well listen!" He leaned forward across the table and hissed at the two lovers, "My love life is none of your business. Keep your filthy noses out of it! Yes, I may have something for her." At this remark, Hippolyta's eyebrow went up even further, but her eyes widened instead of narrowed. "Even though she's a bitch." (Narrow eyes.) "But it will never go anywhere. She'd tear my heart out and feed it to rabid hedgehogs before she'd be caught dead with me." (Wide eyes.) "So I'd appreciate it if you two lovebirds, with all your coy sneaking around and being all snoggy, just left me alone!"
And Rimmer spun around. He wanted to leave the room. But his way was blocked by the petite blonde form that he'd only met 15 hours earlier and had caused his heart to palpitate repeatedly in the intervening time.
They stared at each other for a very long moment.
"Well. You certainly know how to put your foot in it, don't you?"
And with that remark, she spun on heel and left the room.
And he sank to the deck, his mouth open, making slight moaning noises in the back of his throat. Oh my God. What have I done? he thought to himself. He began to cry, not caring that Lister and Kochanski saw.
Lister and Kochanski could only stare at him.
Moments passed. The door swooshed open again. Rimmer looked up, half hoping, half dreading that it would be her, that she'd come back to demand an explanation, to abuse him, to hold him. Anything. But it wasn't her.
It was Kryten.
The mechanoid took in the scene, and said, "I'm sorry, sirs, ma'am. Is this a bad time?"