Author's note: Wow, do I hate this fic. Hate it. HATE IT!

"Same time next week?"
ZK hopped down from the table and nodded. She hated her weekly medicals – they were so demeaning. And pointless. Her condition wasn't going to change no matter how much medication she was allocated. She picked up the small tub of pills from the side and looked at them unhappily.
"How much?"
The doctor hesitated for a moment, "On the house."
ZK frowned and dug into her pocket, then dropped ten dollarpounds onto the counter.
"Keep the change," she mumbled and shuffled out, slamming the door behind her and dropping the pills into the nearest bin. Her premonitions had become stronger and more frequent since she'd been put on those damn pills, so she refused to take them. She'd just tell her mum that the doctor hadn't given her any medication this time.
She hated premonitions. She had them most nights now, and most of them were ghastly, like the one she had had in the weeks running up to moving to Red Dwarf – she kept seeing herself squeezed into a tiny cardboard box (which she assumed represented the claustrophobia on board) and kicked away from her friends by her mum's boss (easily explainable as that was exactly what had happened). But the worst one she'd ever had – and kept having – was the one about those two girls. Bex's death always seemed so…real, which was weird as most of her premonitions were representative in some way rather than true-to-life. She clung on to the hope that Bex's awful death was representative of something else…maybe her pet bunny giving birth or something. Anything.
"How did it go?" her mum asked as she walked in the door.
"Fine. I don't have to take those pills any more," ZK replied mock-brightly, though inside she felt terrible.
"Oh, brilliant! We'll have chicken noodles tonight to celebrate."
At this, ZK really did brighten up.
"What time?"
"Seven-ish?"
"OK, I'll be out then."
She ran off to her room and turned on her beloved computer to chat to the friends she'd left back on Pluto. Nothing much had changed with them – if only she could tell them how much she had changed since leaving them…

Lister could barely concentrate on his work. Belinda was being all…womany, and it was driving him insane! Especially the little hair flick she did every now and again.
"Could you pass me a Fourteen B, Lister?" she asked with her husky voice.
Lister froze. He could swear he'd had this conversation before.
"A…a Fourteen B?" he asked, stalling for time as he fumbled through the boxes looking for a Fourteen B.
Why do they all look the bloody same?
"Hurry, Lister," Belinda said urgently, struggling to stop oxtail soup from spilling all over the floor.
"Yeah, just a second."
After looking fruitlessly for a few moments – and cursing Rimmer that he hadn't taught him the difference between Fourteen B and Fourteen F while he'd had the chance – he groaned in frustration. Belinda seemed to be getting aggravated, too.
"Try looking in the box labelled 'Fourteen B'!" she yelled.
"Oh, they won't be in there," Lister stated, as though it was obvious.
"Why the smeg not?"
"Because I'm an idiot," he muttered, more as a punishment for himself than a reason for Belinda.
"OK, then just give me any old pipe-cleaner," she said resignedly.
Lister handed her a Twelve C and leaned on his trolley.

"Ssssooo…" he said, after the ensuing silence had lasted almost five minutes, "How long've you been a technician?"
"Not long," Belinda replied, flicking back her blond hair, "It's only a stepping stone, really."
"Oh, right. What do you want to do?"
"Model."
"Well, you could make it, believe me!"
Belinda smiled, "Thanks."
She got up after finally clearing the nozzle, "All my jobs have been stopcaps, really."
"Me too," Lister agreed.
"Office work…" said Belinda.
"Car-park attendant…" said Lister.
"Checkout girl…"
"Mechanic's assistant…"
"Porn films…"
"Supermar-…WHAT?"
"Porn films," Belinda repeated bluntly.
Lister was speechless; he had to date this woman! He just had to!
She mistook his silence for disgust, "Well, I had to do something! I barely had enough money to buy food, and the agency said I…I had a certain something."
"Yeah, well, obviously," he said, unable to stop his eyes wandering to her cleavage. Something in his brain suddenly clicked, "Wait a sec…B-Buxom Belinda?"
"Oh, so you saw my video, then?"
"Of cour-…no! No, I, er, walked in on my old roommate watching it," he turned away to hide his blush.
"Who's your old roommate?"
"Rimmer," Lister said automatically.
"Rimmer?" she said slowly, "Isn't he that guy who got involved with that Adler family? The daughter died in a crash, or something."
"Y-yeah," he replied, not entirely comfortable with the change of direction the conversation had taken.
"Hmm. Well, anyway," she said lazily, checking her clipboard, "What's next? Ah, Green Corridor, machine 134."
She turned and started to make her way. Lister watched her go, her perfectly shaped hips swinging saucily from side to side, her hair bouncing on her shoulders, her arm tucked gracefully into her side. He smiled dreamily.
"Come on, Lister!" she called.
He snapped out of his daze and ran after her, all the while distracted by the gleaming tan on her legs.