Five weeks later…
Rimmer walked into the sleeping quarters, a paper slip in is hands. He was silent as he approached and sat down at the metal table, putting the slip down on its surface. Lister glanced up from the cat book he was reading and looked at he hologram as he sat wordlessly. Putting down the book, he slipped out of his bunk and walked up to Rimmer, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So, how did you go?"
The second technician drummed his fingers on the table. He didn't look at Lister as he spoke. "Depends on what your definition of 'go' is."
Lister rolled his eyes playfully and pulled up a seat next to Rimmer. "Just tell me, smeghead."
All his life (and non-life) Rimmer had been working to achieve his goals, which often seemed so far away he'd never reach them. He'd tried to be perfect, to be on the ball, to be witty and resourceful and hard working. He'd made every effort to push himself up those damn ranks that always teetered just above his head, precariously taunting him in a way that tore at his emotions so deeply that half of the time he couldn't even express his anguish and frustration, because it was too complex and twisted for even himself to fully comprehend. He had been persistent and fairly resilient through his incessant failures and downfalls, even though most of them cut him severely. He knew that it was the fault of many things, the circumstances, his psychological state, his motivation, his neurosis, the voice of his father constantly berating him in his head and the noise of his brothers' jeering laughter in the background. He knew it was the atmosphere, and the setting, and the people around him. He knew it was the lack of sleep, the lonely, drunken nights, and the infinite anxiety. Deep down he knew that he was destined to fail, but also that the failures were not only his own fault. They were a combination of hazards and distractions and depressions all melded into one crippling entity that could only be described as a monster of pure self-loathing and self-depreciation. He knew this and he knew it well.
It was a source of great satisfaction and relief then when he had gotten the slip of paper back from the results machine. But, strangely, not as exhilarating as he thought it would be. Yes, it made him happy beyond belief, but no, it didn't make him feel any closer to his goal, or any more accomplished. And now that he had finally done what he had set out to do, he felt he could admit that he was actually okay with that. With this knowledge in his mind, he permitted himself a smile and turned to Lister calmly. "I passed," he answered in a level tone.
The third technician beamed and stood from his chair, jumping on the spot happily. "That's great! You finally did it!" He bent down and gave Rimmer a congratulatory kiss. As Lister stood back up he noticed Rimmer's apparent indifference and cocked his head to the side, puzzled. "Aren't you happy?"
Rimmer nodded, then stopped himself and shook his head instead. "Yes and no," he replied. "I'm happy that I passed, but it hasn't given me any great fulfillment like I thought it would. I've done what I wanted to do for so long, but I guess I've finally reached the point where I actually don't need it to be happy anymore."
Lister pulled a hand out of one of his pant pockets and scratched his temple in thought as he tried to process what Rimmer was telling him. "So what, you don't want to be an officer anymore?"
The hologram let out an incredulous laugh. "I guess not!"
Try as he might, the third technician was still confused. As long as he had known Rimmer it had been his one ambition to become an officer and make a name for himself; it had been his dream, his raison detre. And now the smegger was sitting here telling him that he didn't care about that any more? It made no sense. It was all Lister could do to ask his next question; because it was about the only thing he could say in his current state of perplexity. "Why?"
"I realised," Rimmer started, "that all the aspirations I had to be an officer were not for the fact that I wanted to be an officer, or that I particularly liked engineering or astronavigation, but because I wanted to prove myself to other people; to my father, to my brothers, to my acquaintances. And I wanted to prove myself to get respect and fame, but mostly, to get recognition as an okay sort of guy, somebody who was actually decent and had a good job and was attractive in at least some way. I wanted to become an officer so people would like me; that was the ulterior motive behind most of my goals." Rimmer stopped there. He felt a wave of emotions overcoming him, but they were good emotions for once.
"So what happened then? Why the sudden change?" Lister prompted, taking a seat once again.
Rimmer smiled, a genuine smile he had not displayed for what felt like years. "Now I don't have to become an officer to get people to like me, because I have somebody who likes me just the way I am." A warm feeling started to build in the holograms stomach and he looked at Lister, shooting the spacebum a lopsided smile.
Lister raised an eyebrow. "And who might that be?" The spacebum wasn't really known for his common sense, it really was a shock any time he exhibited any sort of intelligence or wisdom.
"I'm talking about you, you goit!" Rimmer snapped playfully, with a slight bit of frustration added in.
The information finally clicked in Lister's head and he grinned unrestrainedly. "Are you sayin' I changed your whole perspective on life?"
"Don't get too smug," Rimmer backhanded. "Remember, I'm a officer now, I could whip your arse down to the level of the cleaning droids if I wanted to."
"I'm sure you like whippin' my arse, hey Rimmer?" Lister guffawed at Rimmer's mortified expression. "Calm down, I'm only messin' with yeh'. But seriously, you're not goin' to start pullin' rank on me again are you?"
"Only when necessity calls for it Listy," Rimmer answered honestly, standing from his seat for the first time since he had entered the sleeping quarters.
Lister watched as Rimmer walked around the table towards him. "So will I have to start callin' yeh Officer Arnold J. Rimmer then?"
"Oh god no," Rimmer stuck his tongue out in mock disgust, "It makes me sounds like a twat."
"So you admit you're a twat then? Ow!" Lister rubbed his head in the spot Rimmer had whacked him. "That was uncalled for."
"You never call your superior officer a twat Listy."
"I thought you were only goin' to pull rank when it was necessary."
"That was necessary."
"No it wasn't."
"It was completely necessary Listy."
"Oh shut up!" Lister stood up and brought Rimmer's head down into a passionate kiss, thereby cutting the conversation off. Both men smiled into the kiss, delighted to share each others warmth. "I hope you really do feel happy now," Lister remarked as he broke away from the kiss.
"I feel better than happy," Rimmer answered, wrapping his arms around Lister's waist. "I feel loved."
That night Rimmer found his small brown diary and wrote and entry for the first time in three-million-years. It wasn't particularly long or extravagant, but it was important. Unlike all the previous entries that were filled with angst and frustration and depression, this one was finally filled with joy and hope. It went something like this:
September 18th, some time three-million-years after my last entry
Dear Diary,
I know it's been a while – over three-million-years to be exact and I apologise. Quite a few things have happened to me during this time, but I'm not going to go into them because it would take far too much time and effort, and frankly I can't be smegged. What I will tell you is that I have learned a lot over this time period; dying does that to you – yes, I died and I'm a hologram, don't act so surprised, the rest of the crew died as well, well, except for Lister that is.
About Lister, he's still the worst human being I've ever met. Even after all these years he's still a slob, he's still a slob, he's still infuriatingly irritating, he still eats nothing but curries and he still insists on listening to Rastabilly-skank even though I'm sure it's singlehndedly responsible for causing brain hemorrhages. Most of all he's still an idiot, but something has happened recently to sort of make up for all his faults; he treats me like a human being, like a person with feelings, he actually cares now like nobody bothered to before. He's made me see things from a different perspective. Like I said, he's still an idiot, but he's my idiot.
That's right diary, I love him, and he loves me. At least I'm pretty sure anyway. I feel so much better about the world now. And you know what I've come to believe?
Love makes you bulletproof.
Signing off,
Officer A.J. Rimmer
