This is a slash story that has been sat on my computer for a while now. The ending isn't done yet, but you may as well catch the beginning and middle. There isn't much more than three chapters left of story.

Basic plot; Rimmer and Lister have already met as in the book series (not the TV series) when Lister gives Rimmer (disguised as Todhunter) a lift to an androidbrothel. Lister pretends to be Rimmer's friend in order to grab free booze but Rimmer's mother mistakes them for partners.

Author notes; This was really a fic exploring Rimmer's past and family. They're rather animated people with their own personalities which I hope comes through. This has mostly stemmed out of my own hatred for my family. In a way, I'm Rimmer, my father is John and my mother is Mrs Rimmer, my eldest sister is Mr Rimmer and my other sister is Frank, but the similarities aren't great. On another subject - strokes aren't really funny. But Mr Rimmer was just a great laugh to write.

There is something about receiving a letter that makes you feel special. Privileged to have received a piece of paper from another human being. When you're young, you don't care if it's a bank statement or a 'Beano' subscription offer. It's a very grown-up thing to receive a letter. As you grow older, you lose some of the enthusiasm, especially if you recognise the handwriting as being your Aunt June's, who likes to write and tell you not to panic - she finally passed that kidney stone and what a whopper it was too, and that it has been put in the envelope along with the doctor's confirmation that it was indeed "a whopper" by medical standards.

Rimmer turned the letter he had received that morning about in his hands. It was from his mother definitely. Which worried him. She only wrote if there was important - and most likely bad - news. She had used the good stationary to write upon; the one with slightly yellowed and textured paper and matching envelope with golden gilding. He ran his fingernail worriedly along the folded edge. He might as well get it over and done with. He tore the corner. He smoothed the corner back down. He peeled it back, and folded it down again. Whatever the letter was about it couldn't be that important, surely? His mother would have called him personally. No, your mother avoids you as much as she humanly can, he reminded himself. He opened the letter. There now, he told himself, that wasn't so difficult. He unfolded the crisp paper and began to read:

Dear Arnold,

We heard you were around Jupiter this week. Come by for the weekend - your brothers are stopping by as well and we'd love to hear how you're doing. We've got some good news to share with you all. Bring a guest if you like.

Mother

Arnold, not Rimmer? Love to hear from me, not yours faithfully? Mother, not mater? Disturbingly affectionate of her, he scoffed. Oh, I'm sure my brothers will all have a great laugh when they see me arrive all alone and with no change to my rank on ship. 1,067 people and no one will even share a room with me, that's how popular I am. Just as he was thinking this, Todhunter knocked on the wall beside his doorway and informed Rimmer that all the rooms on ship were full and that he would have to share with the new third technician.

"Wonderful," said Rimmer. "Nice chap?"

"Oh definitely."

"So I'll get on with him, then?"

"Heavens no," he replied with a grin. "David Lister, this is Arnold Rimmer. Have fun!" He pushed a bedraggled, young man into the room. Rimmer stared at him for a short while trying to place his face. He recognised him somehow. Oh no...

"Alright there, Todhunter? I must say that restaurant you recommended was great. Shaved your 'tache?"

"You little smeg! How on Io did you get a job here?"

"Same way you did. I applied and no one else wanted the job so they give it me."

"Gave it to me," Rimmer sniffed. "England gave you a language, kindly use it." Lister rolled his eyes and threw his boots onto the bottom bunk. "That's my bunk. You sleep up top."

"Yessir!" Lister saluted mockingly, giving twelve full circles of his hand. He removed the offending footwear and threw them onto the top bunk. "Where's the bar? I'm dead thirsty." Rimmer shook his head in disbelief. "It's 11 o'clock in the morning. The bar doesn't open for hours."

"Bloody hell, where do I get alcohol from then?"

"You don't. Not until 1700 hours." Lister counted the time on his fingers. Five o'clock. That certainly put a damper on his afternoon plans. "Can't I buy any before?"

"Nope. Only alcohol bought from shops can be kept and consumed in the quarters." Lister sat down on the metal chair and began to tune his guitar (what he thought was tuning, but was actually un-tuning) and strummed softly. "What is that ghastly sound?"

"Me guitar. I used to be a famous musician in Liverpool."

"Famous as in...?"

"Well, I know at least me ex-girlfriend bought our CD. Actually, I bought the CD for her and she dumped me a week later, but we did technically sell one CD." Rimmer rolled his eyes and reread his letter. Bring a guest, his mother said, hoping he might have finally found a friend. That was a joke. He decided he would grab the next shuttle to Io and get the humiliation over and done with. His brothers would be there too. John, no doubt with a girl hanging from each arm; Frank with his gorgeous French wife; and Howard the sensible one who didn't waste his time with girlfriends and just had strings of one night stands. Bastard. He, Arnold - who had less sex with women than an asexual all alone on a desert island - would once again be the subject of continuous taunts and virginity jokes. Fortunately they didn't know how right they were and that he really was a virgin. He didn't even like to admit it inside his own head. "His name was Rimmer, he was a smeghead," Lister warbled to the tune of 'Lola', "with sticky-out big lugs and a really ugly mug." He dodged the ball of paper Rimmer threw at him. "Be useful and put that in the bin." Lister opened it up and read Mrs Rimmer's letter. "Not going to see your family?"

"Ha."

"That's a no, then?"

"Ha, again. And don't read my mail, it's very impolite." Lister caressed the paper thoughtfully. It was good quality stuff. "Are you, er... I mean, is your family well off?"

"Why?"

"Nothin', nothin'. Any good pubs on Io?"

"What are you suggesting?" Lister closed the door and gave Rimmer back his letter. "I'm guessing you're not exactly Mr Popular on the ship. And I think you don't want to go home coz you've got no mates to bring with you."

"Not at all. I don't want to go home because my family are gimps."

"Shame really, I'd have loved to check out the pubs on Io. Go on a total bender - brilliant!"

"There aren't any pubs. Just bars."

"Bar crawl, pub crawl: makes no difference so long as there's booze. And I can grab some from an off-license and bring it back. But I can't afford to get a shuttle down there."

"And yet you can afford to drink enough alcohol to poison an elephant, I'll wager."

Lister shrugged, "Guess you're right. Compared to me even the smeggiest of smegs would seem like the perfect bloke." Rimmer hit upon an idea. If he could persuade this arse of a man to pretend to be his friend and show him to his parents then they would realise that Rimmer was by far the better person. They'd praise the day the angels bestowed him and not Lister upon them. All he had to do was dip into his savings and pay for a return shuttle ticket. "Tell you what Lister, I'll give you a personal tour of Io's finest bars if you'll do me the teensiest of favours."

"What's that?"

"Meet my parents tomorrow. Oh and, be yourself."