Also, I happened to read today over at www.reddwarf.co.uk that Chris Barrie, on occasion, does indeed read "Various Fan Sites."
Mr. Barrie, if you are reading this, I would like to take the opportunity to say...
I'm so sorry. ;-)
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The corridor of a spaceship is, by necessity, a cramped thing. For every inch of human living space, there must be a corresponding foot of tubes, pipes, wiring, and so forth. The business of keeping one frail and morose human alive in space is something of a technophobe's nightmare. With the advent of computers, everyone involved in various industries thought, "Well, bollux to this! I'm off to the pub to have a pint and let the bloody computer take care of stuff!" This, of course, is so far from the truth as to totally come round the other side. Lies by circumnavigation. Did we learn nothing from Murphy and his Law?
Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong, you prat. Duh.
Computers only made the Law expand a bit, as opposed to negating it totally. Which is what some programmers, rather naively, thought. "Hey!" they'd proclaim optimistically, "Look at what we've got here! A machine to think for us! Beauty! Anyone for a quick game of bocci ball?" What most programmers forget is that most programmers can't even think for themselves enough to make the machine understand their instructions. Garbage in, garbage out. You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. You can't make a computer understand how utterly important it is to not go down at a vital time.
Vital? Urgent? Important? Those are human emotions, my friend. The amazing thing is not that the bear waltzes, but that he does it so well.
The computer on the Starbug XX was a moron, compared to Holly's (erstwhile) impressive IQ. Run the biofeedback. Make sure the plumbing doesn't break. Artificial gravity, check, oxygen, check, temperature, check, lights, check. Of course, in order to maintain all these systems, there had to be back up systems, redundancies, auxiliaries. Two life support systems, double the drag on the ship, yeah, but also double the chances of a crew's survival. Not two, but three distinct and separate plumbing systems. Intake, output, recyke. They all three relied on each other to take up slack, get water from here to there and back again smoothly. There was even, most surprisingly, a small hydroponics unit in the lowest level of the hold. The 'Bugs had been designed with the idea that they should be as complete as any mother ship they happened to be stationed upon. The temperature of the engines supplied the warmth, so the delicate plants wouldn't freeze. Light was supplied by expensive lamps, the electricity for which was eked out of the rotation of the self-generating engines. Water? Recyke took care of that.
The hydroponics bay was a haven of sorts for Hippolyta. Upon discovering it, she had locked it off to anybody else on the ship with the simple expedient of a voice override password. The password was Ayn. She hid it by the simplicity of it's obviousness. She had dragged an excersize mat down there, and a punching bag, suspended from one of the ivy-choked planters bracketed to the ceiling. She would work out there on an almost daily basis. She had no intention of letting herself slip into obesity again. She would shudder at remembering her pre-bording-school weight. She still carried the reminder of it on her bottom. Well, her former bottom, in any event.
So as Hippolyta stumbled her way through the cramped corridors of the 'Bug, snarling at jutting pipes that barked shins and bruised knees, she headed for the only place where she could have true privacy anywhere on the ship. The computer would tell the rest of the crew where she was, of course, but no amount of pleading or finagling would get her to open the bay doors. She could live off the legumes and tubers there for the entire three weeks if needed.
Hippolyta may or may not have passed Kryten in her migration, but she was too upset to notice her immediate surroundings. Which was too bad, considering it was her job to notice things.
Indeed, if she had been paying a bit more attention, she would have noticed a small puddle below one of the plumbing tubes directly port of the 'ponics bay. That meant a leak. A small thing, to be sure. A leak about the size of a period. But even a leak of that size would be enough for impurities to get in, for mold and sludge to grow in the plumbing system. Which would endanger the crew. Even if they got a fresh water supply immediately, flushed all the old stuff out, it would take weeks for the system to be decontaminated.
The section of the computer regulated to this particular pipe sent out an error report. The report left that section, and made it to the main core, where it would alert the crew to the leak. However, the main core was disconnected from that area of the ship because of Hippolyta's underhanded tampering, due to her need for absolute privacy.
But that's the way it is. Humans get emotional and miss important things. Computers get buggy and miss important things.
The obvious parallel here won't be elucidated on. Ok?
Rimmer wobbled for a few moments after Hippolyta's dramatic exit. He gulped a few times for good measure. He even managed to get his eyelids to blink rapidly.
Automatic systems all go, captain. Permission to cry like a little girl?
Permission granted.
A few tears slid down Rimmer's flushed cheeks, unhampered, unnoticed. He sunk down on his bed, nearly cracking his head on the upper bunk. He didn't notice. He wouldn't have noticed a garbage cannon going off near his ear. He buried his face in his hands and let flow all the anger and frustration that had been building up for the last twenty-four hours. A howl escaped his throat, tearing it, making it raw and itchy. He stood violently, swinging his arms in sloppy arcs, as if had erasers on his fists and wanted to rub out the last day with them. Everything that he had come to rely upon in the last six weeks was gone. She was his entire universe. She gave him the reason to keep sucking air in and out. Well, no. That wasn't entirely accurate. He had managed just fine for over thirty years to do that without her presence in his life. Granted, it wasn't the happiest existence, but he managed. He had his goals, his career. Even though he was a hopeless incompetent, a fact that was rubbed in by every single soul he ever encountered. He grabbed the back of a chair, picked it up, swung it behind his back... and lowered it again, slowly. No, the wholesale destruction of their quarters wouldn't help a damn thing. It wouldn't even make him feel better about his bruised male ego.
He continued his pacing, his cry, determined to go after her, holding back and fearing her wrath, wanting to apologize, wanting to demand an apology from her.
His wild, roving eyes fell upon one of her shirts, discarded in the corner. He had always teased her about the lack of care that she took in her clothing. She didn't seem to care too much if a hastily removed article ended up tossed in the bin or the floor. Her excuse was always that Kryten would be more than happy to clean up after her.
His tears slowing their pace, Rimmer bent forward and retrieved the shirt from its corner. It was lavender in color, much like the rest of her wardrobe. Lavender was her favorite color, he recalled. And her favorite food was pasta, and her favorite author was Ayn Rand...
This, of course, brought on a fresh paroxysm of tears, as his memory brought forth the astonished and frightened look on her face as he heaved that book at her head.
He wasn't sure what had caused him to do that. It was as if his arm was possessed. Somebody else had thrown that book. It wasn't him. He had had no rational control over his limbs when he'd done it.
But no. That was the cowards way out. He had done it. Nobody else to take the blame, not this time.
Rimmer was caught once again by the absolute that, no matter what, everyone must deal with the consequences of their actions. He was no different from the rest of the universe. It was his fault she was gone. His fault. Forever his fault. And if she died aboard that derelict three weeks from now, there would be nothing to absolve him of her death.
He lifted the shirt to his nose, inhaled softly, taking in the scent of what her living presence had imbued in that shirt. He could never quite place the smell of her. It wasn't perfume, as he had found out shortly after their first night together. He had asked her what scent she wore, and she had responded with a throaty laugh. She had confided in him that she never wore perfume, only soaps and shampoos. Since then, he had tried to guess what her scent reminded him of. Tied for first place now was the beach and lavender.
Lavender clothes, lavender soap. If he was into that sort of nonsense, he'd say her entire aura was lavender. But that was silly. No, she was as undefinable as her smell. Intransigent, passionate, willful, smart, beautiful and so much more than the sum of those traits.
Rimmer came to the realization that she couldn't be serious. She wasn't going to leave the ship. She wasn't going to vanish into the vastness of space without him. Yes. He was going to get her to change her mind.
But how?
This was beyond an ordinary lover's squabble. He had threatened her physically! He could not imagine her taking that sort of nonsense lying down. In fact, he was damn lucky that she hadn't just broken his neck. As a friendly warning.
Wait, why hadn't she killed him? Could it be that she couldn't bring herself to do it?
Rimmer, for the billionth time, felt like a total heel. She could have kicked his ass with one hand tied behind her back and not broken a sweat. She hadn't. While he, being the raging asshole that he was, had stayed at a safe distance and lobbed Objectivism at her.
Any court would hang him.
An interesting sensation began in his stomach. It was more than cowardice, more than guilt, more than rage. It was all of these things together, with an undercurrent of resentment thrown in for flavor.
Yes. She had indeed had a bad night. But did that give her the excuse to shut him out?
He lowered the shirt from his face, and his eyes clouded over, thinking of things that she had done over the last six weeks that would drive any self-respecting man to the brink of abuse. Of course, Rimmer wasn't too long on self-respect, but that was neither here nor there. She was manipulative, cold, abrupt. Any whim of hers, he bowed to. And her temper! Rimmer had found himself shocked one evening upon hearing her cuss a blue streak a mile wide. She had gotten in a tiff with Kryten, and she called the mechanoid names that Rimmer, in his long years as a spacer, had never even heard. And mercurial! Holy smeg, the girl changed her mind faster than she changed her socks. He wondered why she had ever been commissioned. Even Frank Hollister should have seen these traits in her.
His hands began worrying the blouse. He felt the fabric give just a little bit, begin to tear, but didn't really notice.
Just who the hell did she think she was, anyway? Why was he so worried that she was going to leave? Good riddance to the little bitch!
He heard a faint buzzing, but put it down to the overhead lamp. Damn fluorescent bulbs!
A tiny kernel of himself remained true, however, and railed against this line of thought. No! No, not her! Me! All me! All my fault!
The shirt under his fingers was suddenly in two pieces, giving way with a distinct, loud tear.
The buzzing of the lamp got louder suddenly, and he felt his shoulders hump against the noise. He stood staring at the ruined shirt for some time, lost in the "hows" of the act. How in the smeg did he find the strength to rip a shirt in half like that? And how did he not notice it was happening?
It was in this posture that Lister found him.
Lister didn't even bother to knock on the door to Rimmer's quarters, a habit from the old days aboard the Dwarf. He realized his mistake immediately upon seeing the expression on Rimmer's face.
Lister had come up here to see if he could have a few private words with Hippolyta. He really needed to know if he was going to get his period in the next three weeks.
"Sorry, Rimmer. Is this a bad time?"
Rimmer didn't respond right away, just stared at Lister for a long moment. Lister shifted his feet uncomfortably. Then, Rimmer dropped the... thing... he was holding and took a hesitant step towards Lister.
"You could say that, yes."
Lister saw the madness in Rimmer's eyes and took a quick step backwards. Again the femaleness of his current body made itself known, and some instinct told him that to be near this man at the moment was not conducive to good health. He heard the overhead light buzzing gently, and was vaguely annoyed by it.
Rimmer moved forward again, lurching like the monster that Hippolyta had thought he was just minutes before. He almost looked like he was drunk. Or was suspended by a puppeteer's strings. His limbs had that same disjointed quality to them.
"Well, I'll come back later, then. I was looking for Hippolyta anyway..." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Lister knew that they were exactly the wrong thing to say.
"OF COURSE YOU WERE! Everybody is always looking to her, looking for her, or looking at her!" Rimmer was screaming, his eyes bugging out, his face flushed with rage. "Been with us for a smegging six weeks, and you're all infatuated with her! She's MINE, do you hear me? MINE!" Rimmer leapt forward, closing the distance between himself and Lister easily. Lister tried to back off even further, but Rimmer was too fast. Rimmer grabbed Lister around his fragile shoulders. Lister tried to twist away, amazed at Rimmer's sudden brutality.
Where the smeg is Hippolyta? Lister thought frantically.
Rimmer hauled Lister bodily into the cabin, and the automatic doors swooshed shut. To Lister, it was the sound of doom. He couldn't even begin to tap the reserves of strength that Hippolyta's body had. He had no idea how. He suddenly regretted that he hadn't spent more time on keeping himself fit.
The buzzing of the lamps got even louder.
Rimmer bent his face inches away from Lister's. "You may look like her, but you're not her. Didn't you know that I'd be able to tell?" Rimmer's hand flew back and delivered a stinging slap to Lister's face.
Lister's head snapped around from the blow, his cheek stinging, his eyes beginning to tear up from the pain. This isn't happening! he thought, disoriented. Amazingly, he felt Rimmer's grip on his shoulder loosen, then release.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me, Hippolyta!"
Holy shit.
Before Lister could really process the idea that Rimmer thought he was Hippolyta, Rimmer wrapped his arms around him. He lowered his face and said in a whisper, "I love you."
And kissed him.
It was beyond shocking. Rimmer had his tongue down his throat! He tried to struggle. He slowly came to the horrific realization that his body was responding to this kiss. Those wonderful gushy sensations, those fabulous tingling moments, were becoming more and more persistent because Rimmer was kissing him!
Lister was in mental agonies. To fight it off? To give in? He honestly couldn't make any sort of rational argument for either, at the moment. To hell with rationality then!
Lister's knee came up in a spasmodic jerk, and nailed Rimmer right in the groin.
Rimmer's mouth snapped shut, nearly taking Lister's lips off. Rimmer's arms released their grip on Lister's waist, and Lister used that opportunity to jump backwards. Rimmer slowly sank to his knees, his hands clutching his crotch, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.
The buzzing stopped.
The two men stared at each other for a long moment, both poised to flee. Rimmer took in a deep, shuddering breath and said, "Holy smeg, Lister. What the hell just happened?"
Lister started forward cautiously, still staying out of Rimmer's immediate vicinity. "I was hoping you could tell me, man." Lister gave a small nervous chuckle.
Rimmer sat down on the floor, then slowly measured his length across the floor. He laid on his back, eyes shut, hands cupped over his joy department. Lister shuffled timidly forward, still making sure his legs weren't within reaching distance. Eventually, he stood right next to the prone man, and seeing no evidence of movement, he crouched next to him.
"I'm sorry, man. But you were..."
"Kissing you. I know. Let's never speak of it again." Rimmer did not open his eyes while he said this.
"Well, you're not a bad kisser or nothin'..." said Lister sheepishly. "You're just not me type, ya know."
"Lister, are you trying to tell me that you're not that kind of girl?"
Lister snorted. "Are you gonna be ok?"
"I'll live. You pack a mean wallop, Lister."
"Yeah, well, I never thought that I'd ever kick a fellow man in the balls for protection from rape." Lister realized the absurdity of the entire situation, and began laughing. Softly at first, then louder, then his body was shaking, and soon he was laying next to Rimmer, howling with laughter.
Rimmer managed a soft chuckle, then winced as his stomach reminded him that he'd just been kicked in the jimmy. He finally managed to open his eyes, and turned his head to look at the Scouse bastard who happened to be wearing his lover's body. He tried to remember why he thought it was Hippolyta in there, but his motivation was ebbing away, lost in his immediate pains.
"Did you just say I was a good kisser?"
Lister stopped laughing suddenly, and blushed furiously. "Yes," he mumbled, sitting up.
Rimmer smirked. "Lister, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you enjoyed me shoving my tongue down your throat."
"Shut up, Rimmer. Wait till you're a woman, then we'll talk!"
"Well, unless I happen to switch bodies with Kochanski..."
Lister groaned. "Don't even think that, man. Isn't this enough trouble for one lifetime?"
Rimmer nodded, slowly sitting up next to Lister. They sat for a moment, trying their very hardest to repress all memory of tonight's encounter.
"Rimmer, I really did come here to talk with Hippolyta..." Rimmer winced at Lister's reminder.
"I have no idea where she is, Lister. We had a bit of a fight, and..."
"Oh. Smeg. Well, we better go find her."
They stood, Lister giving Rimmer a hand up. They moved to the door, to try and hunt down the woman who was supposed to be in that body. Neither commented on what had happened in this room tonight. It was the silence of mutual fear and disgust.
But Lister was remembering The Dream, where he had kissed Rimmer, and was amazed to discover that he had enjoyed it when it happened for real...
Being a woman could take the smeg.
"Bastard!" Thwack. "Jerk!" Whump. "Smarmy, stuck up, incompetent..." Swish "crap" ploof "ASSHOLE!"
Hippolyta was struggling to get Lister's body to work properly. She had been amazed to discover that Lister couldn't even do ten lousy crunchers! And his arms! They had no tone, no aim, no power! His fists were like jelly, his legs like tapioca pudding. The man was beyond a wreck.
She shuddered to think what he would do to her body in three weeks.
So she'd started small. She didn't push too hard, but she didn't stop at the first sign of discomfort either. If she was stuck as a man for three weeks, then bigod, she would get it into shape! She had to be ready for anything. And that meant that she would have to start over from the beginning. This body had over thirty years of bad habits. She could feel a small twinge in her knees, and knew that if Lister didn't lose a few pounds, he'd have arthritis in them by the time he was forty. His gut was enormous. And all those vindaloos!
But most frightening of all was the total lack of control that Hippolyta had trained into her... former body. If she didn't concentrate, her gut would stick out, her spine would slump, and her feet would turn outwards.
NOT the best fighting posture in the universe.
After the first set of sit ups, (a grand total of ten reps, which left her sore and shaking...) she did a few push ups to see what his arms were capable of. Not a damn thing. She felt her triceps buckle under the weight after the first six. She tried to keep going, and found that, for the first time in over a decade, she simply couldn't make her body obey her.
She pounded her fists on the mat in an impotent rage, screaming incoherently. She tried bouncing to her feet, to kick a few things while she was at it, and found that she was sent back to the floor when her thighs and back protested vehemently. She screeched again, forcing herself into a standing position after several long seconds. She started in on the bag that hung from the ceiling, hoping for a release there.
Lister couldn't even make a fist properly.
"AAAAAARGH!"
So with the heel of her palm, she went at the bag, and her expletives weren't aimed solely at Rimmer...
Finally, with an exhausted whimper, she sunk to the mat and hugged her knees. She rocked back and forth on her haunches, nearly crying with frustration.
She realized she must have looked a total fool, a grown man (sort of) sitting and whining because she couldn't excersize properly. She exhaled sharply and got to her feet again. She reached for her bottled water that she had left on the side of the nearest planter.
It was gone.
She spun about, wanting to make sure that she was alone, that the bay door was closed. The door was indeed closed, so that wasn't it. She stopped moving for a moment, not breathing, straining to hear any sort of give away movement.
There. Behind that other planter. Slowly she crept forward...
She burst through the overgrown ferns, her hands grabbing a silk collar of magenta...
"Cat! What the smeg do you think you're doing in here?" she asked as she let go of the suit.
The Cat stood up sheepishly, his hands automatically smoothing out his lapels. "I came in the usual way." He gestured at a vent about six feet off the floor on the other side of the room.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. "The usual way? You mean to tell me that you've been in here before?"
"Hey! This is my number one, primo napping spot! Just 'cuz you need to get your Rambo on once in a while..."
Ah, of course. He'd found a "Sunny Windowsill" after all. She threw her hands in the air. "You've watched me work out in here?"
The Cat grinned at her in way of response.
She put her hands on her hips, remembering her habits. Oh, God, please, no... "Cat, sometimes I don't wear a whole lot while I'm in here..."
"Don't I know it!" The Cat waggled his eyebrows at her. "Blondie, you're lucky that I'm not a jealous creature, otherwise I'd have to kick your arse for being the most beautiful creature on this ship!"
She stood there looking at the Cat, her mouth open, not able to process it.
"You utter bastard," she whispered finally. Then, her face cracked an insane grin and she said louder, "You utter, complete, totally and without a doubt bastard! You snuck by me! You're the first to do that in a long while!"
The Cat grinned happily, not realizing his immanent doom.
She continued grinning. "If you do that again, I'll rip your nutsack off with a plastic spork and force feed it to you stuffed in a raw space weevil. THEN I'll get angry. Understood?"
The Cat's grin froze in place. His eyes widened. Then he mutely nodded.
"Good. I'm glad we came to that little understanding." She turned her back on the Cat and said, "And don't take my water again. I need it."
The bottle magically reappeared. "I'll just be going now..."
"Nah. Stay. I don't mind if you come in here, Cat. Just let me know you're coming, ok?" She sat on the mat, grabbing her water bottle and taking a deep swig. She patted the mat next to her. "Have a seat."
The Cat glanced around nervously.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, sit the smeg down. I'm not really mad, Cat. Honest. You just startled me, is all."
The Cat blinked a few times, then sat down reluctantly next to Hippolyta. He moved like a cat, of course, and seemed to melt into a casual lounging sprawl. Hippolyta was trying to get her legs into the lotus position, but finally gave it up and settled for a W-seat.
"Has Lister always been this hopelessly out of shape?"
"Chipmunk Cheeks? Oh my God, you have no idea. Once I saw him get winded just getting out of bed!"
She shook her head. "Well, as long as I'm Lister, I might as well give him the benefit of my 'Rambo' as you so aptly put it."
The Cat wasn't really listening, of course. His eyes were roving the bay, and happened to land on her book that lay reverently on a nearby watering tube. "What's that?"
She raised an eyebrow again. "It's a book."
The Cat scoffed. "I know that, Blondie! I mean, what book is it?"
"Atlas Shrugged."
"May I?"
Hippolyta smirked and shrugged. "Go for it." The Cat reading Ayn Rand? The universe could only handle so much...
The Cat grabbed the thick hardcover tome, grunting at it's weight. He opened the book to a random page and read out, "Dagny let the paper slip to the floor. She sat, bent over, her head on her arms. She did not move, but the strands of hair, hanging down to her knees, trembled in sudden jolts once in a while. The great chords of Halley's music went on, filling the room, piercing the glass of the windows, streaming out over the city. She was hearing the music. It was her quest, her cry." He closed the book and looked at Hippolyta with a sneer. "You like this?"
Hippolyta didn't answer right away. She was hearing the fictional music in her mind. The swooping grandeur of the greatest composer ever to walk the earth. Unreal. Totally false. She slowly looked over at the Cat, tears rolling down her cheeks, the first she had managed to produce since becoming a man. They burned hotter than any other tears in her life. "Her quest. Her quest is to find the man that she loves, you know."
The Cat quirked his mouth, and put the book down. He was very uncomfortable around tears, being totally incapable of shedding them himself. I mean, really! How uncool! Crying made your eyes all red! And red with this suit? Hell no!
Besides which, seeing Lister cry, even if it was really Hippolyta, was enough to make anyone freak out.
"Look, if you're gonna snivel, I'm outta here!" The Cat was on his feet, the book dropped, and was up and out the vent before Hippolyta could say another word.
She let the tears continue, not caring that she had lost it in front of the Cat. The book lay just inches from her, so she bent forward and grabbed it up, and opened it to another random spot. She tried to read through the tears, but just couldn't manage it. A fat tear slid down her nose and splooshed on the page. She wiped it away, only to be rewarded with a slight smear of ink and more wet on the book than before. She closed the book and lay it down gently. She was still hearing Halley's fictional melodies ringing in her ears. Many minutes passed, and she didn't even notice the numbness spreading through her legs from too long in that position.
Somebody started pounding on the door.
She jerked upright, wiping the tears away with her sleeve. She knew that they would find her eventually, but she hadn't expected it to be this soon. She guessed that the Cat had ratted her out. Stupid thing! Wondering if there were indeed any sporks on board, she called out in a shaky voice, "Who is it?"
"It's me, Hippolyta." It was Lister. She gave a quick sigh of relief, and tried to stand to open the door, forgetting her promise to herself to open it for no one. Her legs were tingling, having fallen asleep a while back. She limped painfully to the door and opened it.
There was her body, in all it's glory. However, standing in the shadowed corridor just beyond was someone that she didn't want to see at all.
"Go away, Rimmer."
"No." He stood with his arms crossed, a look of pure anguish on his face. Her heart almost melted, then she remembered his attack on her.
"I'm dead serious, Rimmer. Fuck off."
"No."
She took a warning step forward, intent on strangling him, when she felt a hand on her forearm. Lister looked up at her with her own blue eyes and said, "Let's go inside. He doesn't have to come with us."
If Rimmer thought about protesting, he obviously thought better of it, for his mouth opened and shut with a snap. Hippolyta nodded. She and Lister moved into the bay, and the automatic door shut behind them. Rimmer couldn't come in now, not unless he guessed her password. And even then, the moment he set a foot in the room, Hippolyta would gut him.
"What happened?" asked Lister with his characteristic bluntness.
Hippolyta crossed to a planter box and sat on the edge. "He threw a book at my head. So I told him I was leaving."
"Leaving? Are you mad? Where the hell would you go?"
She shrugged. "Take that old derelict..."
Lister burst out laughing. "You're joking! That ship would never be repaired enough to be space worthy!"
Hippolyta sighed. She hadn't been serious, really. But Rimmer threw a book at her head! So she struck back in the only way that Rimmer would understand. With cutting, hurtful words. Empty threats and vague denials of his love for her.
Smeg. Lister, damn his eyes, was right.
"Fine. I won't leave. But I'm sure as hell not hopping back in his bed anytime soon! Even if I were a woman again. He's in deep smeg, Lister, and no amount of weasley toadying and brown nosing and apologizing will get him back in my good graces!"
"Yeah, well, I don't think Rimmer is all there at the moment, Hippolyta. I wouldn't be so quick to judge him."
She stood from her perch, anger flaring. "You like him so much, you go jump in the sack with him. You're equipped for it now."
Lister blushed and looked away so quickly that Hippolyta jumped to the obvious conclusion.
"Oh, sweet Jesus God, you didn't..."
"No!" he blurted out. "No! Not that!" He shuddered involuntarily, remembering his arousal.
"Then what, Lister?"
Lister looked at the floor and mumbled, "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, fine. Hunt me down, get all cryptic, then shut up. Way to play hard to get, Lister! You've been a woman for a day and you've got the hardest lesson down," she barked sarcastically.
"Look, I came down here for another reason, Hippolyta. When was the last time you had your period?"
Hippolyta, totally nonplussed by this question, couldn't react right away. Then, she rolled her eyes up and started counting on her fingers. "Two weeks ago. Why?" Then, comprehension dawned. Her eyes widened. "Oh, smeg."
She started to giggle.
Lister crossed his arms in annoyance. "It's NOT funny, Hippolyta!"
"Yes it is!" She was having trouble breathing now. "The curse of womanhood, descending full force on David Lister!" Tears were streaming down her face again, for a totally different reason than before. "I'll get you some Midol and a ton of chocolate!" She collapsed on the floor, laughing her ass off.
Lister waited until the laughing jag had run it's course, then squatted down next to her. "Yeah yeah. Laugh riot, Hippolyta. Did it occur to you that I could really hurt this body? I mean, I have no idea what to do. I could make your body sick. It's been known to happen."
This sobered Hippolyta immediately. "That is true. I hadn't thought of that." She sighed. "All right. Time for a lesson in comparative anatomy. Strip."
Lister blinked, his turn to be totally nonplussed. "Now? You mean, like, right this second?"
"No time like the present, Lister. Besides, this room is even more private than the loo. Nobody's gonna come in." She glanced at the grate above their heads. "Oh, wait, hold on." She removed Lister's flannel shirt and draped it over the vent. "Ok. Now nobody will see anything either."
Lister came over shy all of a sudden. "But, um. I mean..."
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Lister. That is my body, after all."
In the face of this impeccable logic, Lister couldn't argue. He began to remove his clothes. After a few moments fumbling with things, he stood fully naked in front of Hippolyta. It was an odd feeling, seeing his own eyes on the body that he wore. She seemed to be oblivious, however, and she took a deep breath.
"I assume that you know what everything is called, right?"
"Mostly," mumbled Lister, not able to really cope with this sudden nudity.
She gestured towards the mat. "Siddown. We're going spelunking." Lister had to grin at her obvious euphemism. He obeyed her wishes, and sat down on the mat. She crouched over him, laying a hand on his. "Now, I'm gonna guide you as to where the tampon should go. We'll do another rehearsal, mmm, tomorrow, with a real one so you can get used to it when the time comes, ok?" Lister simply nodded, and remained mute.
She grasped Lister's hand and guided it toward his crotch. He felt something wet and warm and realized exactly where his fingertips were. "That's what you want to aim for. Keep the tampon vertical, perpendicular to yourself. With one finger on the bottom half of the tampon, guide it inside you gently. Don't force it, and try to stay relaxed. Then push up with the finger on the bottom half. You'll know you've done it right when you can't feel a thing inside you. Ok?"
Explained clinically like this, Lister found his embarrassment vanish, to be replaced with fascination. "That's it?"
"That's it," she answered, standing up. "There's an instruction manuel in the box too, with pictures and everything."
Lister stood up, bouncing with the movement. "That's all there is to it? Honestly?"
"Yep. You'll be fine. Just don't gorge yourself on too much salty foods, ok? I get the worst cravings for salt when I've got my period."
"Hippolyta, you're a lifesaver!" Without thinking of his nudity, Lister grabbed Hippolyta in a fierce hug. She blinked in confusion, and slowly hugged Lister back.
Lister seemed to realize the awkwardness of the situation just a moment too late. He pulled away from her, looking up into his own eyes.
"Sorry. Don't know what came over me..." He was a handsome bastard, that was for sure! He tried to shake away the attraction he felt for the big strong man that was in front of him. This was outrageous! First Rimmer, now his own self! He'd be the slut of the galaxy if he kept this up.
Hippolyta stared at Lister, her nostrils flaring, her hands clenching into fists at her side. She felt a curious tightening in her trousers, and her entire body seemed to be very insistent that she pay attention to her crotch right now! How ridiculous. Getting aroused by her own body! She wondered if this was the ultimate in egotism. Or narcissism. She had the unique opportunity of being able to love her own self...
Gah! No no no! This was LISTER! She was in love with RIMMER! And it was her body!
Buzzing... over there, subtle, insidious.
Hippolyta gulped, and felt her entire body begin to throb in time with her hammering heart.
She bent down, and gently laid a kiss on Lister's mouth.
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AN: Hehehehehe. God, am I evil or what?
TO BE CONTINUED...
