Delusional –
Chapter 1: The Start of Something Bad
Summary: James T. Kirk is continuously is having vivid dreams with a reoccurring feature: he's living life in the future as a Space Cadet. It's a bit hard to word it to people, but the dreams continue to get harder and harder discern from the reality of his life, even if dreams are polar opposites of his life. Eventually people start to get worried; it's more than just a dream. It's becoming his life. His obsession.
Pairing: In this he's still a womanizer so many different OC's and Spirk that's going to be denied up until the end.
Warnings: Mental disorders are discussed and misdiagnosed, if this bothers you I would prompt you to move on.
"No, look—you aren't listening to me!" Jim protested as his friend took a few steps away, laughing in disbelief.
"No, no, I am. You just sound completely batshit," Chanders said, trying to pull himself together so he could respond without sounding like an asshole; and failing.
"Fuck you, Merrill," Jim snapped out, walking past him towards the main university dining hall.
It took him a moment, but once Chanders recovered from the fact that Jim actually knew his middle name he hurried after his peeved friend at a jog, trying to explain what he'd meant. "Come on! That was uncalled for first off, second, you're trying to tell me that you've been having this weird dream that's set in the future and it's got all these details and shit. Dude, you sure you're not trying to just tell me a story or something? Because that's what it sounds like." He said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to slow down a bit to keep pace with him.
"Shut up, Chanders. Jesus, I'm not making this up. I really dreamed this—." He tried, only to be spoken over by his moron of a friend.
"No, you see the part of this dream that really makes me think you're making this up is that you constantly get laid in it. Like, what the hell? You don't even know what a pickup line is." Chanders said, grinning some more at him.
With that smooth line, 'Merrill' earned himself a hard punch to the gut as they walked through the door that lead to the dining hall. "Yeah, alright. Lacey Merrill, how about I go make sure all those frat brothers of yours know that your driver's license says Lacey Merrill Chanders? How about that?"
"Whatever mate, no need to get defensive. Anyway, see you back at the dorm, alright?" Chanders said, brushing him off with just that. To be honest, the British exchange student didn't care if people knew his name was Lacey or Merrill. It would be annoying for a bit, but after a few weeks it would die down and Jim would have to find something else to bother him about. Though, it wasn't as if there wasn't enough material to work with. Lacey was a rather awkwardly built guy, he was around 6'4, had long gangly arms, and hair that was nearly black that almost always looked sort of greasy. On top of that, the Environmental Health student at the University of Washington, was as skinny as a rail But it wasn't as if his face was unattractive, he was actually doing pretty well with the women for once (American girls had lower standards he supposed), better than Jim at least. You see the main difference between Jim's relationships and his own was that Lacey knew how to keep a girl for more than just a day. Wow, if girls knew you weren't a player then you had a better chance, who knew? (Obviously Jim Kirk didn't.)
"Yeah, okay then…" Jim said, waving at his back before mumbling, "Fuckin' Brit…"
Jim made his way through the buffet style cafeteria, filling his plate as he went. 'Gotta eat your colors', something he remembered being told as a kid. The thought brought a smile to his face as he headed towards a table to sit down and eat.
It wasn't long before Leonard McCoy, a 6th year MD, showed up and plopped down into the chair next to him with a plate as well, just less filled. He glanced over at Jim's plate before snorting. "Eat that much fatty food and you're going to get diabetes."
"Way to start the morning with a health comment, Leonard." Jim mumbled, shoveling another forkful of pancake smothered in syrup into his mouth, making sure to savor the moment as he ate it, being sure to moan at the taste of it and everything.
Ignoring the noise, Leonard went ahead and poured ketchup on his eggs, he stirred them together with a fork, just when he was about to take a bite of them he looked up and noticed Jim's disgusted face.
"Are you seriously going to eat that?" A nod from Leonard. "That's disgusting."
"You don't hear me commenting on your disgusting eating habits." He said, frowning at him as he took a bite of his food.
"Actually, I'm pretty sure you did as soon as you sat down, asshat," he snorted, shaking his head as he returned to eating his breakfast.
After a moment of silence Leonard shrugged and stirred his eggs a bit more. "Anyway, what's the deal with you? You look like you've been out all night and then some." After a moment, "I know it wasn't like you were getting any, so what's up?"
"Wow, thanks. Glad you know nothing about my sex life," he said, laughing halfheartedly before rubbing at his eyes. He knew he wasn't looking like the most well rested person in college, but at least he didn't look like he'd stayed up all night partying. "I've just been having trouble sleeping recently. Weird dreams and all that."
"If you're popping pills, that's what happens—" Leonard commented nonchalantly.
"I'm not doing drugs! What the hell, do you ever not relate your Major to every day conversations?" He asked, getting a bit annoyed with the Med student.
He'd met Leonard in the dining hall, there hadn't been any open tables and he'd sat down commenting on how unhealthy what he was eating was. Ever since then Leonard McCoy had joined him for meals and became a sort of health guru for him, telling him what was good to eat and what wasn't. Always predicting an early death for him, always assuming the worst about anything he told him.
"Changingggg topics," Jim finally said, looking up from his food to see Leonard giving him a disbelieving look as he slowly chewed his food. "How was that party on Friday night?" He asked, hoping that he'd guessed correctly about him going to the party he'd spoken about a last week.
If it was any hint by the groan he received from Leonard, he'd guessed right. And so for the next 15 minutes he had to deal with the fact that he'd guessed right, getting lectured about drinking and what could happen if he got blood poisoning and how he wouldn't save him if he found him passed out on the floor. When finally they were in silence, Leonard having returned to eating, Jim looked around, looked at his wrist then let out an 'aw'.
"Man, look at the time. Gotta head out. . ." With that, he stood to take his tray and put it up. Leonard waved him off as he continued his meal, Jim nodded and headed out. Enough depressing talk of people dying because of alcohol poisoning.
"We are receiving a distress signal from the USS Kobyashia Maru. The ship has lost power and is stranded. Star fleet command has ordered us to rescue them," came the snide report from Uhura NoFirstName.
Jim paused, thinking a moment, before rotating his chair away from her to face the large monitor in front of him as he drawled, "Star fleet command has ordered us to rescue them. . . Captain."
He ignored the eye roll from McCoy in favor of ignoring what else he had to say. He already knew it, as well. The test didn't vary too much; it didn't need to because it worked. There was no way to beat it. Supposedly. "Two Klingon vessels have entered the neutral zone and are locking weapons on us," McCoy informed, responding to the alert his station had just given him.
Jim leaned back in his chair, smiling like a child who knew a joke that no one else did. (Well, actually he did, but that wasn't the point.) "That's okay."
McCoy turned to look at him, giving him an incredulous look, ""That's okay,"?" He questioned, to be sure he heard correctly or something. The guy worried too much.
Nodding, he replied in a voice that some (Uhura) would consider (more than) a bit cocky, "Yeah, don't worry about it." That comment earned him a few scoffs from around the room. It wasn't until then that everything came into focus.
The control panels and stations everywhere, the readouts the screens were giving that were obviously simulated, even the screen showing what was supposedly outer space. It was almost comical, really.
"Three more Klingon Warbirds decloaking and targeting our ship," McCoy noted, leaning in closer to his monitor before leaning back and turning halfway in his chair to look at Jim. He then felt it was necessary to add a bit of him pessimism to the situation by adding, "I don't suppose this is a problem either—." He gestured to the screen as another report was made following the fake noises of phasers being set off.
"They're firing at us, Captain." Ah, Captain. He liked the sound of that. Onto more pressing matters though;
"Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship." He said, ignoring the turned heads of the crew and the disbelieving stares he was receiving. He was the Captain. They'd simply have to trust him on this—Oh and the fact that he could see the judges standing up there watching him and judging him as he did this only made it better. He was about to rock this without even having to try.
Uhura, being the devilishly foxy woman that she was found it necessary to also point out in a most sarcastic manner, "How do you expect us to rescue them when we're surrounded by Klingons, Captian?" She practically spat Captain, and it was simply wonderful.
"Alert medical," He said in a soft voice, as if talking to a child. She honestly looked like she was about to breath fire as she jabbed at her screen with her index finger, it was adorable.
"Our ship is being attacked." The crew was in action now, checking this and that, while Jim was feeling pretty happy about all this. His plan was going to run without a hitch—. "Shields at 60%." Why was it always 60? Couldn't they just up the power of the shields so they wouldn't drop down to 60% every time they got hit?
"I understand," he almost sighed, sounding, if anything, bored.
"Should we, I dunno, fire back?" McCoy asked, sounding annoyed as he waved a hand around. Sometimes he questioned if he was really from Michigan, or if he was from Italy. No knowing with that guy. He sounded like he was from Michigan though.
Jim pulled out an apple and shrugged, giving a simple, "Nah," as an answer before taking a bite of his apple. McCoy muttered something to himself about Jim before looking at his monitor, a confused look going across his face.
Except it wasn't just his screen, the power/the screens in the entire room nearly powered down and flickered, the blue lighting that signaled if everything was running fine turning red for a split second, before everything came back up as if nothing had happened.
"Hm, arm photons and prepare to fire on the Klingon Warbirds," He said, waving his apple as if it made him all the more commanding. Ah, yes. Earth fruit.
"Jim, there shields are still up!"
"Are they?" He asked, staring mysteriously at his apple. The very picture of innocence as he bit into it.
McCoy glanced back at his screen, frown appearing as he looked over the screen, "…No. They're not." He said over the bleeping of his screen.
"Fire on all enemy ships! One photon each should do, let's not waste ammunition."
The one guy who actually responded and who was manning the weapons seemed really excited by all this considering he was most likely in his late 30's taking orders from a to be third year graduate. "Target locked an acquired on all Warbirds," A small pause, "Firing." The sound of the photons powering up was music to his ears.
'Eat your heart out McCoy,' he thought as he mimicked shooting down the ships with a finger gun.
"All ships destroyed, Captain."
"Begin rescue of the stranded crew. –So. We've managed to eliminate all enemy ships, no one on board was injured, and the successful rescue of the Kobayashi Maru crew is. . .Underway." He looked at his apple before taking a bite (that was getting a bit old, it looked the same at every angle).
He looked up at the viewing platform, only to make eye contact with a rather pissed off man who looked almost Asian. But no, he was too tall and his eyes weren't squinty enough. –He had some weird ears too. Right, right. What were those called—Vulcans. He looked up to see a Vulcan staring at him with a pissy look on his face. As he turned away—
Jim jolted awake, sucking in a deep breath as he sat bolt upright, looking around. He'd fallen asleep outside on a bench. When had he even gone outside again?
Hell, he didn't remember, but the face of that man was still seemingly imprinted on the back of his eyes. What the hell, these dreams just kept getting weirder and weirder. . . The clarity of some of them were unreal as well. He shook himself, trying to wake himself up. The last thing he remembered was eating breakfast with Leonard. Which was troubling because he the time on his phone read 12:13. How long had he been asleep for?
Ah, shit. He had Statistics at 12:15. Shit, shit, shit, fuccckk.