The first thing he saw were Lister's hands, extended towards him in a long-forgotten gesture to pull himself free of the tunnel. With his head bowed, eyes closed and mouth half-open, he barely looked conscious. In the eerily milky haze of the water, he looked horribly ghost-like.
Rimmer did what came naturally to him. He panicked. His body jerked back, as if stung, in an explosion of bubbles; a combination of his silent yell and flailing limbs that had seemingly forgotten how to co-ordinate themselves into an effective stroke. Eventually, he managed to surface, half-gasping, half-hyperventilating as the shock shook him to his core. What had happened down there? Was he dead? Unconscious?
Quickly, the reality of the situation managed to grasp him by the crown jewels and he hurriedly dived back down to Lister's inanimate frame once more. Grabbing Lister's left arm, he tugged desperately to bring him up to the surface, but something held him fast. Confused and panicked, Rimmer leant his weight backwards to allow his boots to meet the wall beside the tunnel's entrance, took the strain against Lister's arm, and pulled as hard as he could.
The acute pain in his left shoulder yanked Lister back to the edge of consciousness, and his blurry vision met with Rimmer's pale and terrified expression. He seemed to hover in mid-air before him, before turning to float away and out of sight. He was vaguely aware of a distant, yet persistent feeling of panic, but the warm fuzzy cotton wool that his mind had become deemed it of little importance right now. The hot, white ball in his lungs burned for release, threatening to overwhelm him. With something wonderful or something terrible, Lister was unsure as he closed his eyes.
Rimmer broke the surface of the water once more, sobbing desperately. His head whipped round in all directions as he treaded water, frantically seeking out someone or something to help that he may simply have missed before. Finding nothing, he was left to face his orchestra of crazed, rambling thoughts and tried to conduct them into some form of coherent plan. He needed time to think, time that neither he nor certainly Lister had. What the hell had trapped Lister in the tunnel? Whatever it was, he had no time to determine. He needed to buy Lister some time. And only one thing could buy him the precious seconds he needed. Despite the severity of the situation, Rimmer still had time to turn his head to the unseen heavens.
"I really hate you," he spluttered.
Rimmer drew in as much air as his burning lungs would allow and dropped under the surface once more. His chest felt close to bursting from the pressure as he swam back down to his companion, and he fought the instinct to exhale. Finally meeting him face to face once more, he grabbed hold of Lister by the cheeks with both hands and shot him a look of daggers. He'd better be smegging infinitely grateful for this.
Wrenched from the hallucinations of his childhood days with his stepdad on Southport beach, he felt Rimmer grab his face with both hands, sporting a strangely familiar expression. His furry mind giggled inwardly, thinking he must be trying to kiss him. He wasn't wrong. Their lips suddenly crushed together, teeth clashing against one another, and he felt a huge rush of air hurled into his lungs. It was hot and thin on oxygen, but it seemed to cool and slicken his mind, as the cogs started to turn once more. Stuck, he remembered with a sudden rush to the head. He was stuck.
His right arm reached back to his legs, and he felt the thick weeds tangled around his right boot. He could see that Rimmer had also spotted the problem but looked decidedly pale, and he watched with a strange mixture of panic and fury as Rimmer pushed himself away and up out of his line of sight.
Even before Rimmer hit the surface once more, his mind was racing. He had to find something sharp enough to cut through the weeds and release Lister's foot. His exhausted mind tossed him the only pathetic suggestions it could determine from the bleak situation. Even conversing with his own mind, Rimmer couldn't hold back the snidiness.
Scissors?
Great idea, genius, I'll just pop down to B&Q and buy a pair shall I? Try again.
A rock?
Not a bad shout, I'll admit. But I can't see any flint-like rocks a decent enough size to work. Try again.
How about the knife?
Psch. Yeah right, which knife?
The knife from your boot, you smeghead. Ha! Now who's the genius?
His subconscious, clearly in on the idea, tossed him an image from that morning in a flash of light. He could even see that gerbil-faced grin on Lister's face as he waggled the knife he'd used as a makeshift screwdriver in front of his eyes. Surely if Lister had been issued with one, then..?
Rimmer sank under the water slightly as his left arm ceased paddling, his hand scrabbling over the surface of his boot. Snapping open the catch, he slid out the small black knife from its sheath and hauled it above the water in inspection, just to double check in case some cruel twist of fate the JMC had decided to furnish him with a mini-ruler or something equally frustratingly useless. But no, it was indeed a tiny, but oh so precious knife. A small amused cough spluttered from his lips. Genius indeed.
Gulping in another lungful of air as he clutched the knife in his hand, Rimmer sank back down into the dark depths. He could see that Lister had been struggling with the weeds around his ankle and had even managed to release a few knots. However, three thick tight loops still encircled his boot, and he was fast running out of air. Rimmer squirmed. It had been far simpler to give Lister the kiss of life when he wasn't fully conscious. But now, as he stared at him in the face with desperately wide dark brown eyes, Rimmer felt a wrench of embarrassment. Grasping Lister's face once more, he closed his eyes as their lips met and he hurled as much air he could into Lister's lungs, imploring his brain to conjure up a far nicer scenario that somehow involved Yvonne McGruder wearing nothing but a thong and a peep-hole bra. Hell, it could have been a male Alsatian with saliva that tasted of dog food and testicles for all he cared. Anything better than locking lips with David smegging Lister.
Breaking away, he thrust the knife into Lister's grateful hands and watched him saw desperately at the final weeds ensnarled around his boot. Three left...two left...
A dark, fuzzy cloud began to creep inwards from the edges of Rimmer's already blurry vision as the lack of oxygen in his system slowed his mind and the inevitable exhaustion slowly crept in. His eyes fluttered closed to the now naked Yvonne as she beckoned to him from his warm, comfy bunk. A hot glowing sensation spread through him as his lungs sighed. He could spare another twelve minutes...
Suddenly, he felt arms clasping him around the chest wrenching him away from Yvonne and he snapped open his eyes in shock. Lister had managed to free himself from the tunnel, spotted he was in trouble and grabbed hold of him in a tight grip. Locked together, they became a tangle of limbs as they kicked, pulled and dragged themselves to the surface.
Gasping, they wrenched in as much air as their now ragged lungs would allow as they paddled, exhausted and desperate, back to dry land. As they hauled themselves out of the water, their uniforms heavy and dripping, Lister coughed up an arc of water, his shoulders heaving with the effort. Exhaustion overwhelming them, the pair sank to the floor and sprawled themselves on the hard stone ground.
They lay there for several minutes, panting visibly like spent fish. At first the ripple lights on the ceiling above them danced wildly, echoing the water's recollection of events. As the water eventually calmed, the dancing slowed to a faint wave, shifting left and right, almost imperceptibly. The air was now almost silent, save for the faint ripple and trickle of the water.
"Rimmer - "
"Don't. Just, don't."
Despite his shaking arms, Lister managed to pull himself up to his knees, and cast his gaze over to Rimmer who still lay on his back, limbs sprawled outwards. His tone had been less humble, more irritable.
He frowned, confused. "But - "
Rimmer silenced him once more with an audible growl. "Are you deaf as well as suicidal you idiotic gimboid?" he spat. "I meant drop it." He pulled himself to his feet, unsteadily but with undeniable determination, still refusing to look Lister in the eye. He laughed bitterly, but there was no mirth, as the water from his curls of hair slowly trickled down his face.
Coughs racked Lister's body as more water escaped his lungs. "Why are you being like this?" he wheezed painfully.
"Trust me, you said." Rimmer elaborated, as if loathed to have to explain himself. He shook his head before rounding on Lister, all confidence shattered. "Trust you?!" he cried almost hysterical, as he wrapped his arms across himself, visibly shaking. His features hardened into a defensive snarl. "Fuck you."
Lister recoiled. That had stung.
"Rimmer, man, I don't get it," he pleaded weakly. He turned his head down towards the rippling depths, and a sudden wave of nausea hit him. "I could have died down there, but you - "
Rimmer threw his head back in exasperation. "What the hell do you mean, 'you could have died down there'?" he interrupted quickly, his voice devoid of all sympathy. He pulled his head upright, staring Lister straight in the eye. "We are going to die down here." His voice cracked, his words interwoven with fear and hatred. He threw his arms up, wildly. "I mean, in case you hadn't yet noticed, we've left one set of caves, and landed in - oh yes, I do believe it is - another set of caves," he cried, punctuating every word with all the malice he could muster. "Out of the frying pan, and into the same smegging, bloody identical frying pan!"
Their charged stares remained interlocked for what seemed like an eternity before Rimmer swallowed heavily and tore his gaze away. He turned slowly with a groan, rubbing his aching face with his hands, and walked away, his boots squelching sadly.
Lister, still too weak to stand up, watched him go. "Rimmer," he pleaded, helplessly.
"Just leave me alone," came the quiet, mournful reply, as he disappeared into the dark.
Too miserable to try calling after him again, Lister's watery eyes sank back to the floor. All alone himself now, he absently bowed to instinct. Reaching out, he slowly dragged the backpack towards him, unzipped its waterproof cover, and fished out his Zippo and box of cigarettes. Drawing out one of the three remaining sticks with his lips, he was distressed to find that his usual ability to trick flick the Zippo alight seemed to have deserted him. With trembling hands, he attempted to strike the wheel with his thumb but still struggled to light up. He growled to himself, and tried again. And again. Exasperated, he gave up, hurling the cigarette into the water with a loud, frustrated cry that echoed around the cavern. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them and shivered.
************
Rimmer wasn't sure how much time had elapsed and didn't much care. The tears of shock, frustration and sadness had long since gone, marked by the dried salty rivers that cut lines down his dusty cheeks. Cradled by his crossed arms, his chin rested on his knees as he sat in the stillness of the dark, staring absently into the black void. His warm breath tickled his fingers with each exhale as he sat fixed in the reassuring cycle of repetitive nothingness.
In the back of his mind, he'd been trying to piece together his angry reaction to Lister. Yes, the cramped rumbling emanating from his belly constantly reminded him that he hadn't eaten for almost two days and his swimmy head was most certainly from their lack of water. But it had been something deeper than that. Something more primal to Rimmer than breathing in and out. He'd slowly begun to realise that in that flash of panic under the water, he hadn't wanted to continue the cycle of death and rebirth. The caterpillar and the butterfly. As a Rimmer, he'd learnt that Death seemed to follow him around like a bad smell; a thought that had terrified him ever since he'd learnt of his predecessors. But equally, he hadn't wanted to play the hero either. He didn't want to become anything or anyone. Just to be left to be himself. And he was afraid.
A beam of light thrust its way through the calmness of the dark and Rimmer blinked, shielding his eyes. The beam lowered, revealing Lister's tired and worn face as he stood over him. After a moment of contemplation, perhaps attempting to seek the right words, Lister simply bent down and extended his right hand out to Rimmer. Wordlessly, Rimmer clasped his hand around Lister's wrist and allowed himself to be slowly and carefully pulled to his feet. The act didn't need words. It was a silent exchange of apologies and acceptances that both men understood.
Accompanied only by the sound of their boots slowly crunching over grit and rock, the two of them stumbled on, together.
