Rimmer spent days racking his brains in his hotel room, pacing up and down, trying to come up with something brilliant. His usual way of thinking around problems – the 'What would Napoleon do?' approach – had left him with nothing; as had the 'What would Julius Caesar do?' approach. Eventually he had been forced to recognise that no amount of military tactical know-how was going to help Dave; since when he'd been a little stuck.

The bulk of the problem, the real kicker, wasn't how to get him out of the brothel. He had a million ideas on that score; ranging from climbing out of a window, to marching in there and mowing everyone down with a shotgun. The real problem was what would happen afterwards. Dave would need money and a place to go, and so far Rimmer hadn't come up with a way of providing either of those things. He was starting to get worried.

His novel lay half-open and unfinished on the bedside cabinet. He hadn't picked it up since his first night with Dave. Brad and Michael could go hang; Rimmer had found something a hundred times more wonderful and exciting, even if the only sex that took place was in his head. He almost suspected that might be half the problem.

His feelings for Dave had become so intense that he wondered if it might be hindering rather than helping his thought process; that perhaps he was overlooking some important factor that could change everything because of the way he felt about him. It was also putting him under enormous pressure. In most areas in his life Rimmer had been a failure. In his social life, his work, his relationships; let's face it, before he'd come here, he'd even sucked at being gay. But now, suddenly, failure was not an option. He could not blow this. He could not let Dave down. In his mind, there was no alternative. He had to make this work. And he didn't know how.

He was plodding his way sorrowfully down the street to see Dave on Friday night, both angry and ashamed at himself that he would have to admit to him that he still hadn't thought of anything, when a poster caught his eye. He stopped. And stared. That was it! It was so obvious he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before!

He ran back to his hotel room to grab his camera and a pad of paper, and this time as he walked down the street, he was practically dancing.

As he was waiting in reception to see Dave, he heard a commotion upstairs. There seemed to be a lot of banging around and shouting going on. Rimmer and the others milling around, including the woman at the reception desk, looked up, perturbed. Suddenly there was a yell and a half-naked man came crashing headfirst down the stairs. He lay moaning at the bottom of the steps, but struggled up onto his feet as he heard footsteps coming down. A broad-shouldered stubbly man stomped down the steps and the naked customer leapt at him, growling angrily. Two swift punches to the stomach left him crumpled on the floor again and the burly guy picked him up and dragged him without ceremony to the double doors that led up to the street. He came back a few minutes later dusting his hands. The blonde woman beamed at him, "Thank you, Charlie." The man nodded and stomped off again without a word.

Rimmer let out his breath. So that was Charlie. He decided to make a point of not doing anything that might piss that guy off. It occurred to him that the guy causing trouble might have been with Dave and he waited anxiously for a few minutes until he was sent up.

Dave was sitting cross-legged and fully-clothed on the bed, and seemed unharmed. "Are you okay?" Rimmer checked anxiously, "I saw a guy being thrown out downstairs..."

"Oh, I'm fine. It was nothing to do with me," Dave said, "I was out of the way in the kitchen having something to eat. I think he was with one of the girls and started getting a bit rough. No harm done." Rimmer sighed with relief,

"That's good."

Panic over, he smiled. "I've got a request for you tonight."

"Is that so?" Dave raised a wary eyebrow.

"It's nothing bad," Rimmer promised, taking his hand and pulling him gently off the bed and over to the wall, "I just want to get a picture of you."

"A picture?" Dave shrugged, "Hell, it's not the weirdest request I've ever had. Clothes on or off?"

"Most definitely on, I think," Rimmer told him. He got him to stand in front of the wall, so it formed a white background and took a few shots. He viewed them on the back of the camera and nodded satisfied, "One of these ought to do it..."

"Do what?" Lister asked curiously, peering over his shoulder to see the pictures.

"I don't want to tell you just yet," Rimmer said guardedly, "In case it all goes wrong. But I think I've got a plan."

Dave seemed astounded; "Seriously?"

"Seriously," Rimmer confirmed, "But I need to know a few things first." He pulled out his notepad and pen. "What's your date of birth?"

"I don't know." Rimmer looked up,

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I mean I don't know," Lister replied testily, "My parents abandoned me when I was a baby. They left me in a pub. I don't know when my real birthday is."

Rimmer was horrified, "That's awful!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Lister muttered, "Anyway, they worked out that I was probably born sometime in mid-October. Say the fourteenth. 2155."

Rimmer did the sums in his head, "You're 24?"

"Yep."

Rimmer jotted it down, "Place of birth Liverpool?"

"Far as I know."

"Great," Rimmer pocketed the pad and pen with a triumphant smile, "That should just about do it."

Lister tipped his head to one side, "Are you sure you're not going to tell me what this is all about, man?"

"Not yet," Rimmer was adamant, "I don't want to get your hopes up. If all goes well, I'll be able to tell you next week."

Lister shrugged, "Fair enough. So what d'you want to do now then?"

Rimmer knew very well what he wanted to do now, but he wouldn't let himself. "Just sit and cuddle for a while, I suppose," he said. He couldn't stop a treacherous hint of sadness creeping into his voice. Dave gave him the look of slightly bemused affection he was becoming used to, "You know, man," he told him seriously, "Wanting to have sex with another guy doesn't make you a bad person. You don't have to do this to yourself. This is my job, after all. And I know you want to..."

"Yes," Rimmer admitted, "And I know you don't. Really, it wouldn't be any good for me anyway, knowing that you weren't enjoying it. It's enough just to be with you."

"Is it?" Dave challenged softly.

"Yes," Rimmer replied determinedly, "When you love someone that's enough."

Dave looked touched, but a little unhappy; "I'm guessing you've never seen Moulin Rouge, have you?"

"No," Rimmer said. Just a few weeks ago it was the sort of thing that would have sent him screaming from a room, disgusted at the sappiness of it all. Now he wasn't so sure. "Maybe you should. Bad things happen to guys who fall in love with prostitutes," Dave warned sadly.

"I guess you've never seen Pretty Woman," Rimmer retaliated, and the smile that lit up Dave's face made him feel like the most incredible person who'd ever lived. "Anyway, I can't stay very long tonight. I have to go put the plan into action," he said, squaring his shoulders manfully; he was still floating on the life-affirming boost of Dave's laughter.

"Okay."

It might have been wishful thinking on Rimmer's part, but for a moment he thought Dave looked disappointed.