Fighting Back

First of all I’d like to apologize for this ungodly delay. What can I say, writer’s block is a bi*ch. I won’t make excuses I’ll just make fanfics :P

Secondly I’d like to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart. If not for your feedback I’d probably never got an impulse to fight the block and finish this chapter. You all have a special place in my heart. THANK YOU!!!!!! *skips around serving cookies and tomatoes*

Now, to the ficcie.

WARNING! Graphic description of severe violence, and child abuse ahead. This fic isn’t R for nothing! Gore mode on! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!

Chapter 5

If Lister didn’t know for sure that he was currently occupying some patch of neurons in Rimmer’s not-really-existing brain, he would have sworn that he had been put into stasis again. While his internal clock claimed that only few seconds had past between the time he’d opened the door and stated his threat, for him it felt like hours. Even there, standing in the doorway, his hand still gripping the handle, he knew he’d remember every single detail till the end of his life… which, considering the circumstances, could be not that far away after all.

Rimmer’s ‘father’ (God, how he loathed to call this man like that, even in his own mind), was standing above the crouched figure, the anger… no FURY… twisting his face into an indescribable parody of human features. When Lister burst in, the man’s head turned in the direction of the intruder and he made a low, surprised sound. It was that exact moment that Lister noticed three things that turned the blood in his veins into liquid ice. First of all, the older man was holding a cane and, secondly, that the hand that was grasping it froze halfway between the air and a whimpering boy, that, quite obviously, was a receiver of those blows. The boy himself was that third thing, the very same that made Lister understand the saying ‘to see red’. Lister knew, there was not a single doubt about it, that this child was Rimmer and that he was being… he struggled to find a right word… beaten up… no, battered!

Some part of his brain protested, repulsed, rejected this image, screamed at him that things like that were *not* possible, things like that were *not* happening, at last not in the twentieth third century and that he should flee. It was too late though, the edge had been crossed, Lister didn’t listen to the voice of reason anymore, he couldn’t because he didn’t hear it. For him the only sound in the entire universe was the quiet whimpering of the boy that one day was suppose to become the smeggiest, the most annoying dim-witted git that this world had ever seen but now was nothing more than a terrified seven-year-old.

No one that had ever met Lister could describe him as a violent man. Actually, when it came to it, word ‘violent’ was as far on the end of the list of his attribute as ‘open-minded’ on Hitler’s. Even among the thousands of people aboard Red Dwarf he had been known as the calm, patient one, mostly because of the fact that he had shared his room with Rimmer and, somehow, the second technician had never shown on duty with a black eye or any visible bruises. He didn’t want to harm, he didn’t understand how could anyone enjoy causing pain to a living creature but now, he was sure that he would laugh while pulling this guys nails off.

“Who are you? What do you want? Get out of my house now!” Despite the fact that Rimmer’s father spoke loudly and angrily Lister felt like the each word had been wrapped in a cotton and put in a jar of jelly before they reached him but still, it was enough to stir him up and break that strange state of suspension he was in. He blinked and slowly shifted his gaze from the boy and onto the father. There was still the evident rage and surprise in the other man’s posture that seemed to obscure anything else but Lister wouldn’t be who he was if he didn’t know how to read emotions, even those hidden deeply. For him it was enough to glance once to know that under all that fury was uncertainty and… fear?

If his teeth weren’t so tightly clenched together Lister would laugh. He was alone and unarmed, in a strange house and yet, this supposedly military trained man was afraid of him. He didn’t have to be a tactical genius to know that if Rimmer’s father launched himself at him and hit him with that cane he would be flat on his ass quicker than it took Cat to find a mirror, so he was quite grateful, that, beneath it all, the older man turned out to be nothing more than a typical abusing coward.

“I said, leave him alone or I will kill you, you sick son of a bitch” he repeated slowly, a small smirk appearing at the corner of his mouth. Gone were both rage and fright, he was beyond those, he had reached another level of distress- a cold equanimity. It was that stage of self-control that seemed almost unnatural, like if all the brain cells had suddenly decided that it was time to put an end to all that nonsense with ‘feelings’ and ‘emotions’ and just do the job properly for once. The highest priority now, was to get Rimmer away from this lunatic.

Not taking his eyes from the older man and his still lifted cane, he spoke finally, trying to make it sound both forceful and comforting “Rimmer, come here, all right?”

“I’m not going anywhere, you punk. Leave my house now or I’ll call the police” Lister’s confusion lasted only for a second. Of course that this man thought he’d been speaking to him, in this time and place he was Mr. Rimmer and Rimmer was, well, amongst other things, he was Arnold. He decided to ignore the man and slowly shifted his gaze onto the weeping figure, this time addressing him directly “Arnold, come here, It’s going to be all right, I came to help you.” Again, there was no response and Lister wondered did Rimmer was acknowledging that someone was in the room with him or was he gone so far in his misery, that he didn’t realize even that.

Lister bit his lower lip in frustration, trying to figure out someway to convince Ri… Arnold to come with him and, at the same time, avoid the physical confrontation with *Mister* Rimmer. As usually in the situations like that, wishes and actions quickly became two different things. Using the fact that Lister had became distracted, Rimmer’s father launched at him, years of self-inflicted military training finally taking over. Perhaps, if they had really met all those years ago, the older man would have no problems with gaining the advantage over Lister but, despite the fact that Lister had never gone to the gym, never jogged, never even lifted the weights if there weren’t some girls to impress nearby, he had something much more precious – his experience. Living in a permanent state of alert, disrupted only by the actual attacks of the Monster of the Month taught him much more than any trainer could. He was surprised by his own reaction when he easily dodged the attack, his eyes searching for something he could use as a weapon.

When Rimmer’s father whirled around trying to deliver another blow, Lister was already in the far corner of the room, grabbing the only thing that seemed to have any use against the cane that the frantic man was trying to hit him with- one of the golf clubs that stood in a bag next to the wall. Before he could use it, he had to avoid two more strikes but it was all too easy. The older man was clearly panicking now, his aim was sloppy and the fact that Lister was both quicker and younger wasn’t helping his case.

Lister was determined to end it, the more time he spent here, fighting, the less time he’d have later to… he had no idea to do what but that didn’t change anything, ‘now’ was always the right time to finish something. He clench his teeth hard and waited. The next time Rimmer’s father lifted his hands to deliver another blow, he took the opportunity and swung the club right into his unprotected belly. The man gasped in surprise and pain, and bent in half, the cane finally falling from his hands. If the circumstances were different Lister might have considered letting him go but the threats he made earlier, the sight that greeted him was still too fresh. He raised the club, involuntary mimicking the way that Rimmer’s father had done it with the cane not so long ago and, targeting the head, swayed it down, rapidly.

The sound of a cracking skull almost made him loose the whole contents of the stomach but he grinded his teeth even harder, allowing the instincts to take over. Rimmer’s father was a threat, a huge, smegging pebble in his shoe and he had to get rid of him before going further. He had to be… eliminated.

“It’s not real, not real” he kept muttering to himself again and again, while delivering another blows. After the fourth hit the older man stopped moving and it took Lister all the self-control he had left to stop. It would be too easy to just abandon himself in that madness, to surrender to his anger, fear and frustration but he remembered why was he here. He came here, out of his own free will, knowing fully the consequences, to save a man who annoyed him for the every day of his life since they had met. He wasn’t here to play hero or angel of vengeance, he was here to be a friend, a companion, a teammate, massacring the said man’s father could have felt good in that sick, surreal sort of way but it couldn’t get him any closer to his target.

He allowed the golf club to fall from his hands and he turned around slowly, to finally face the boy that was the reason of his presence here. Arnold was kneeling on the floor, exactly in the same position that Lister saw him in for the first time but he wasn’t sobbing or crying anymore, he was staring silently at the motionless shape that lay at Lister’s feet.

Lister moved a bit to obscure this gruesome view from his (future) colleague and approached Rimmer slowly. The boy still didn’t move or shift his gaze and Lister could only guess that he was in a state of a serious shock, he reminded this frozen even as Lister crouched down next to him and put an arm on his shoulder. He expected a flinch at least, this quietness was unnerving.

“Hi, my name is David” he begun gently, surprised by the unsteadiness and weakness of his own voice. He knew that he had to be more confident and reassuring if he wanted to achieve anything. “Can you hear me?” he asked, carefully controlling the tone of his question “Are you in pain? I came to help you.” Once again, he received no answer. He tried to determine what to do next, after all, of all the things he expected to see or do, murdering Rimmer’s fa…

The realization hit him harder than any stick could. He had murdered this man, illusion or not, he had done it in front of this man’s own son and a part of him enjoyed it and wanted more. He took a deep, calming breath, praying for more of this equanimity that seemed to fill him only few minutes back. He couldn’t risk a break down, not here, he had a mission to accomplish, his and Rimmer’s lives depended on his ability to compose himself, no matter the circumstances. He had to be strong, for the both of them. If he lived, he’d have plenty of time to grieve, to feel remorse and to have all guilty conscience he’d want to but in this moment, the only thing he should be worried about was Rimmer and his safety.

He forced himself to smile, though he suspected, it looked probably as fake as Pamela Anderson’s boobies “I’m going to pick you up now, Arnie, ok? I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to take you someplace less” corpsed “gloomy.” He lifted Rimmer easily, careful not to cause him any additional pain, feeling relieve when the boy didn’t put up a fight. “It’s going to be all right Arnie,” he whispered in, what he hoped, was his most soothing voice, “you are safe, nobody will harm you again.”

He’d left the room not glancing behind even once but, at the same time, remarkably aware, that, everything he left there, would be with him for the rest of his life.

Tbc…