Chapter Title: And so She Cast Him Out
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Gender issues, (this chapter only) passing mention of blood
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own any of the trademarked characters herein. I am making absolutely no profit of any kind. This is all just for fun, kids!
Summary:James T. Kirk is a man's name. It always has been and always will be, regardless of the fact that James T. Kirk has just woken up as in a female's body. Jim is particularly uncomfortable with his unexpected transformation and struggles, with the help of his friends and his partner, to come to terms with his new physicality. Follow the adventures of the Enterprise as he re-discovers his who he truly is on the course of the five year mission.

James T. Kirk. It's a man's name, Jim thinks as he looks in the mirror. James Cook. James Bond. James Armistead. It's a strong name that doesn't fit the face staring back at him. He runs a hand over his eyes and then through his cropped hair. He can't be sure what's caused the change. He came back from a quick landing on a Calder II, where they had landed with the intention of making contact with the Federation outpost, when hailed by the Admiral. They left the Calder II's orbit immediately and were en route when Jim started to feel awkward. Not quite ill, but certainly not right.

He can remember his heart hammering in his chest, sweat running down his forehead and a faint murmuring in his ear. McCoy led him to the sickbay, and when Jim woke, he was greeted with a new body. It didn't seem right, waking up and feeling suddenly lighter. His weight was centered in a different place; his chest felt lighter and heavier at the same time. His arms felt weaker and his jaw smaller. Something, Jim knew upon rousing, was extremely wrong. Bones looked at him with a mix of shock and horror on his face, some sort of cross between sympathy and confusion. Jim slid a faltering hand over his face, down his neck and stopped just short of his chest.

"Bones," he choked - his voice suddenly high and inappropriate. "What the hell happened to me?"

The doctor waved a scanner in front of his face. "Are you surprised that I can't explain it, Jim? You passed out, I ensured you were in stable condition, and left to fill some reports. When I came back, this is how I found you."

"We need to go back to Calder II as soon as possible," Jim said, making a quick decision and slipping into the only façade he felt capable of maintaining. "We'll complete this mission and head back immediately after."

"Jim, that won't be for at least another 10 days."

"That's fine. Duty first," Jim swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. "I'm going to my quarters."

"Damn it! I haven't finished doing half of your required tests. There could be something seriously wrong with you."

"There is something seriously wrong with me." Jim pushed the scanner away with a small hand. "I just need…I need to be alone for a while, okay? You can do all the tests you want tomorrow."

"I'm holding you to that!" Bones shouted at Jim's retreating female form.

A short trek brought Jim to where he now finds himself, staring at a woman – himself – in the mirror. Something in the air on Calder II must have turned him, and only him, into a female. His distaste isn't the result of an unattractive new body. Far from it: if Jim were to see a woman like the one staring back at him in the mirror, walking down the street, he would make sure to introduce himself as a Star Ship Captain. This body is a few inches shorter than his male one and a little rounder: fewer muscles and more softness. He isn't sure when Bones decided to put him into a gown, but it's for the better anyways – his old uniforms certainly won't fit this body; though his shoulders aren't as broad, his hips are wider and his chest is…much larger. Jim knows he is now what most people call "curvy".

The problem isn't that he finds himself unattractive; the problem is that he isn't himself. James T. Kirk is a man, a man who loves being a man. He likes to look at women, sure, but he's never wanted to be one. Never. He reaches out to touch the reflection, running his fingers over the cool glass of the mirror along the image of his now fuller lips. What's happened? Jim has seen a lot of strange shit in his short time on the Enterprise, but even he never would have expected something like this. He stares at himself for a moment longer, unwilling to pull away and deal with the reality of his body. As a reflection, it's easier to imagine this body belongs to someone else. It's going to be particularly difficult to manage touching this body, even if only to divest himself of the gown.

The sound of the door to his quarters sliding open startles him. He snaps his hand back from the mirror and jerks away from the counter. He doesn't respond, not wanting to hear the quiet, high voice from his own mouth. Instead, he turns and walks into the room silently.

"Captain?" Spock stands in the doorway, head tilted slightly to the side.

Jim feels a lump forming in his throat. The sensation is quickly becoming annoyingly familiar and he swallows it down angrily. He shifts his weight once while Spock comes in. "I was just about to change," he says, watching Spock settle in his usual chair. "How are things?"

"I assume you mean 'How are things on the bridge?'."

"Yes," Jim sighs, unsure if he's going to able to handle his partner's penchant for being literal.

"They are fine. I completed my shift and thought I would check on you in the sickbay. The doctor informed me that you had retired to our quarters and so I chose to come here to eat instead of joining the rest of crew."

Jim warily tugs at the collar of his med gown. "I…Spock…"

"You are uncomfortable with me seeing you naked?" Spock does a good job of hiding the hurt, but Jim senses the inflection in his voice more than he hears it.

"I don't…I'm not…" Jim drops onto the chair opposite his partner and groans, pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. "I don't know what's going on here. I'm a God damned woman. Aren't you a little thrown?" He doesn't intend for his voice to rise, but it does anyway. He hunches forward and glares at his knees, unwilling to meet Spock's eye.

"Of course, I was not aware of your…new appearance before speaking with Dr. McCoy. However, after he told me, I had the entire journey from the sickbay to our quarters to adjust my mind set. It would be senseless for me to display shock upon seeing you as I was already aware of the change."

Jim grunts. "I'm aware of it, and I'm still shocked."

"Would you prefer that I leave so you can change your clothing?"

"No…huh…no. I need to go and requisition some clothing, actually. None of my stuff will fit."

"Would you like me to stay here while you do so? Or perhaps I should go and eat with the rest of the crew as I had initially planned?"

"I want….damn it!" Jim struggles to find his words. Here in his cabin with Spock, he is unable to hide behind his rank and title. He can't seem to pretend and the mask slips through his fingers along with any semblance of control it would have given him. Jim reaches across the table and presses his hand to Spock's. Their bond is still new and he's never really been able to convey specific words through a telepathic link, but he hopes that Spock will understand his emotions and know just how badly Jim needs him.

After a few seconds, he pulls back and looks, blinking, into Spock's eyes. "Very well," Spock murmurs gently, "I will, of course, join you."

Nobody on the ship has been told about Jim's change yet, so Spock receives a few curious glances as he walks with his hand on the new woman's lower back. Jim huffs out a ragged breath when someone winks at him. Seriously? He's wearing a med gown. Spock ushers him into a turbo-lift at the end of the hallway and it isn't until the door closes that Jim notices someone else in the lift with them. He stiffens and presses back against Spock, whose hands close comfortingly around Jim's shoulders.

"Hello, Mr. Hendorff. Deck 21." Spock says.

"Who's your new friend?" the security officer winks at Jim. "Is she alright?"

Jim frowns, but Spock runs a cool, soothing hand down his arm. "There is nothing for you to concern yourself over," Spock says.

"You're awfully pretty," Hendorff says, changing his tactic and speaking directly to Jim. "You know he's not single, right? He's in a relationship, but I'm not."

Jim snarls and leans forward, curling his hands into fists. "I'm not fucking surprised, Cupcake." The security guard opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. After a moment of awkward silence, the turbo-lift comes to a stop and Spock ushers Kirk out the door before anything more can be said.

"Why do you let him upset you like that, Jim?"

Jim pulls at his collar once more and shrugs. "I don't know. He shouldn't be talking to anyone like that. It isn't appropriate."

"I think, right now, Mr. Hendorff's inappropriate comments are the least of your concerns," Spock says, walking beside Jim as they enter the supply room.

"Always nice to have you around to put everything into perspective, Spock."

Later that night, when Jim is trying to fall asleep, he can tell he's bothering Spock with all of his tossing and turning. "I'm sorry," he finally huffs, his back to his partner. "I just can't seem to get comfortable. It's this fucking body."

Spock sighs next to him and Jim can feel a cool foot run, barely grazing him, up his calf. "It is of no consequence. I am not overly tired."

"You wouldn't be in bed you didn't want to sleep."

"I will be able to wait at least another 42 hours. I will sleep after my shift, perhaps, while you are on the bridge."

Jim rolls over so that he's facing Spock and drops dramatically onto his pillow. "How am I going to work like this?"

"I assumed you would work as you always did. Do you intend to change your command style now that your gender has changed?"

"Let's get something straight, Spock. My gender hasn't changed. I'm just in the wrong body." Spock moves his arm to turn and face Jim and brushes Jim's breast, eliciting a sharp gasp.

"I am sorry. I am still acclimating to your new…dimensions."

"As am I." There's a tense silence that grows heavy between them before Jim speaks once more. "I'm serious though. How am I going to captain this ship if I can't even manage my own body?"

"I have confidence you will be able to command with no consequence, Jim. You are a fine Captain regardless of your gender."

"Thanks, Spock," Jim says, only half heartedly. "You always know how to make me feel better."

On his fourth day of having a woman's body, Jim is just getting off shift and heading back to his quarters when something twists low in his gut. He stops suddenly, leaning against the wall, and fists a hand in his shirt, but the tension passes almost as suddenly as it started. He's been experiencing discomfort similar to it for the last two days, but disregards the feeling as a result of his change. Once the feeling passes, he continues making his way to his room. He lets himself into the room, expecting to find Spock inside but the space is empty. Jim lets out a heavy sigh – half relief and half disappointment – and allows himself to sag slowly to floor.

The past few days have felt long and heavy on him. A few people made jokes, "I'm surprised you even leave your room!" "How can you keep Spock off of you?" But after Jim met them all with steely glares, they stopped rather abruptly and he hasn't heard anything more.

He was reluctant to tell McCoy just how much difficulty he was having with the change – how he was pulling away from Spock, that he could no longer meet his own gaze in the mirror, how he hated the idea of touching himself in any way. In the end, his longing for someone to talk to won over his pride and the doctor listened quietly until Jim seemed to run out of energy.

"All seems normal to me, Jim. Only 6 more days," he offered, reaching out as though to clap his friend on the shoulder. McCoy stopped short, though, pulling his hand back and Jim appreciated it.

There is another sharp twist in the muscles of his abdomen and Jim closes his eyes for a moment. He fists a hand in the fabric of his pants as the discomfort fades. Even as he releases the cloth, he stays crouched in that position, knees to chest, almost folded in on himself. He must have drifted off, because the next thing Jim knows, Spock's hands are gripping him under the armpits, carefully avoiding any contact with his breasts. "You were asleep," Spock says quietly, "I did not wish to wake you, but I believe you will want to clean yourself before returning to sleep." He's already guiding Jim to the bathroom.

"Hmmm?" Jim grumbles, still on the edge of sleep and unwilling to fully wake.

"You have blood on your pants, Jim."

"What?" He finally rouses and instinctively pats the tops of his thighs. "Where?"

"Not there," Spock says, steering him to the sit on the toilet. "Between your legs. I believe you are menstruating."

"What?" Jim presses a hand as high as he's willing, close to where his thigh joins his body. The fabric is damp and warm, though not thoroughly soaked. He pulls his hand away to find a light sheen of red on his finger tips. "How did you know?" he croaks, unsure of how to respond to his current situation. Everything suddenly feels as surreal as when he first woke, so foreign and unfamiliar: so much for acclimating to his "new" body.

"I could smell it. I will go to the doctor and request the necessary accoutrements while you clean yourself."

"What?" Jim's vocabulary seems to have shrunken an abominable amount.

"Do you wish for me to stay? Of course I can contact Dr. McCoy and have them sent here. There is no need for me to leave; I only thought you might want some privacy."

"Spock," Jim pulls angrily at the damp crotch of his pants, "I have no idea what I'm doing here! I've never had a period!"

"Nor, Jim, have I. I am unsure how I will be of any assistance to you beyond requesting the supplies."

Jim groans and angrily blinks back what feel like tears. "I don't need Dr. McCoy, need a female. Someone who can tell me what I'm doing here."

"Dr. McCoy is more than competent enough to handle your questions, Jim, I am sure."

"I don't care! I don't want McCoy."

Spock raises an eyebrow slowly, but nods after a short second. "Or course. I will request a female staff member be sent to the room. Would you like me to…stay?" Spock, who has been surprisingly calm the entire time, seems markedly uncomfortable with the idea.

"No," Jim says, rising to remove his shirt. "There's no need. I'll take a shower and then wait in here."

When Jim steps out of the shower (a 90 second sonic burst) his dirty clothes are gone and there's an old StarfleetAcademy t-shirt, a pair of shorts and white underpants folded neatly on the counter. He dresses quickly before ruffling his hair and sits, once more, upon the toilet.

It isn't long before Spock is knocking on the bathroom door. "Jim, Nurse Briony is here, if you'll see her."

"Yeah," he says, pressing his thighs together. "Send her on in." He grimaces, looking down at himself. He doesn't know if he's ever going to be able to look her in the eyes again after this.

The nurse steps in and shuts the door quickly behind herself, allowing Jim only a glimpse of a concerned looking Spock. "Hello, Captain," she says cautiously.

"Can you not call me that right now?"

"Of course, whatever you want. Is Jim alright? Or would you prefer James?"

"Jim is fine," he mutters. When he finally looks up at the nurse, she's the picture of professionalism: a polite smile on her face, looking quite smart in her medical blues. She's holding a small box under one arm, which she turns to place on the counter behind her.

"Okay, Jim. How are you feeling?"

"Humiliated."

"That's understandable. It's common for girls experiencing their first menstruation to feel that way."

"I'm not a girl, I'm a man in a woman's body."

She clucks quietly. "Your hormones are still the same as a girl, and you've got to be feeling a little emotional right now. Are you in any pain?"

Jim shakes his head. "I had some…cramps?" he looks at her for confirmation and she nods her encouragement. "Anyways, I think that's what they were. I had some cramps earlier, but other than that, no. No pain."

"Okay, well, let's just jump right in, then. The sooner we start, the sooner this will all be over." Jim nods. Nurse Briony turns to the box and clicks it open. "You've got a couple of choices when it comes to what to use, and you'll need to figure out what works best for you, depending on how heavy your flow is and how willing you are to touch yourself." Jim winces, but the nurse continues. "This is a sanitary napkin. You can stick it to the inside of your underwear by peeling off the back like this. I brought you some pretty thick ones in case that's all you want to use. Have you had intercourse in this body?"

"I…what?"

"Have you inserted anything into your vagina?"

"No!" Jim blinks at her for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. One of your other options is a tampon, but if you've never put anything into your vaginal canal, it may be uncomfortable for you." She pulls out a small yellow package and rips the paper. "This goes inside of you," she mimes the motion of inserting the tampon, "like this." Jim blanches.

"I don't feel very well," he says, leaning back heavily against the wall.

"You don't have to use one if you don't want to. Whatever works for you."

Jim stares at her for a moment, unsure of what to say.

"Okay, so I'll just leave this with you and you can decide whatever you want. Do you have any other questions?" Jim shakes his head; he really is starting to feel faint.

"Just comm the sickbay if you do, okay? No question's too out there for me. I'm here if you need anything." She reaches out and rests her hand on Jim's shoulder for a moment before turning and letting herself out of the bathroom.

Jim can hear her talking to Spock in the room as he rifles through the box. "If he's in any pain, I've brought a couple of muscle relaxants for him. He's lucky he's got the next two days off shift, he looked pretty sick."

"He does not seem to be taking this step of the transition well," Spock concedes. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Of course, anything else you two need, anything at all, just let me know."

Jim pulls one of the pink packages out of the box and rips it open before shoving his pants down. The adhesive sticks to his fingers as he adjusts it on his underpants and he lets out a loud whine of frustration before getting the pad on properly. He pulls his shorts and underwear back up in one swift movement and leans forward, pressing his hips to the counter. James T. Kirk was a man's name. He wants to scream.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"May I come in?"

"Sure." The bathroom door swishes open and Spock stands hesitantly, staring at Jim, with his hands in loose fists at his sides. There's an edgy silence between them for a few moments while Jim stares at his nails on the counter. "I did not look at you when I exchanged your clothing," Spock assures him, unnecessarily.

"I know," Jim said.

"I…do not know what to do, Jim. I do not know what you need me to do."

"Can you…you know what Spock? Can you hug me?"

"Of course I can."

"I want you to hug me." Spock steps into the bathroom, closing the distance between the two of them with one large stride and wraps his arms around Jim's torso, pressing his cheek to the back of his partner's neck.

"We'll be approaching Fendaus V in approximately 3 hours, sir," Sulu says, pressing series of buttons on his panel.

"Great," Jim shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Mr. Spock and I are going to go and change. You have the conn. When we arrive, assume standard orbit and the shore party will transport down

"Understood, sir."

Spock follows Jim into the turbo-lift. "Jim, I have requested that a dress uniform in your size be delivered to our quarters."

"Can we not...talk about this for a minute? Can we just…talk?"

"Certainly. What would you prefer to converse about?"

"I don't know. Anything."

"We have not played chess in over five days. Are you aware of that, Jim?"

"No." He looks up at Spock from where he's been staring at his boots. "Why don't we play a game when we're done with this dinner shindig?"

"I would be obliged."

"Careful, or I might think you love me or something," Jim throws over his shoulder as he exits the turbo-lift. He walks briskly down the hall and Spock hurries to catch up.

"I should hope you thought I loved you, Jim. I care very much for you."

Jim shakes his head. "I know. I'm just…a little moody, I guess."

"Is it your abnormal hormones?"

"What?"

"I have been told that the imbalance of hormones a woman experiences when she is menstruating can create –"

"God damn it! No!" Kirk turns to face Spock while they stand in front of their door. "Maybe it's the fact that you've barely touched me in the last five days? Or maybe it's that you don't even talk to me unless you have to. It's not all about my fucking bleeding cunt!" A crewman walking by stops momentarily, but speeds away when Jim snarls at him.

"Perhaps we should continue this conversation in our quarters, Jim. I was not aware that you were upset with me."

Jim keys in the sequence to open the door. "I'm not upset with you," he says, a little louder than he intended.

"You are exhibiting all of the symptoms. I am also sensing a higher frequency of emotion than I am used to you emitting."

"All right, Jesus! I'm upset. I'm angry! I feel like you don't want anything to do with me and I'm your partner." Jim swallows. "Aren't I?"

"Yes, you are. I apologize for making you feel as though I did not want anything to do with you. On the first night that you and I conversed after you had taken this form, you informed me that you did not want me to touch you. Though you have acted in contradiction to those words multiple times, I thought it best to heed your initial request until such a time that you stated you felt differently. I would very much like to touch you again. With your permission."

"Yes! Yes, you can touch me. I just want things to be like they used to be, okay?"

"But Jim, things cannot be like they used to be. You have a woman's body now."

"You know what I mean," Jim says, suddenly feeling all of the fight drain out of him. He collapses against the wall and drops his face into his hands. "You don't touch me when we sleep, you never hold my hand any more, and it's like you intentionally leave as much space between us as you can when I do initiate contact."

"I did not want to upset you. It seems that in attempting to please you, I have done that which I strove to avoid."

"Spock," Jim says, hating that he's crying. This is not a crying time. "Spock, everything is different in this body. How I eat, how I dress, how I walk, how people talk to me. Everything is different. I just need one thing to be the same. I need us to be the same. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course, Jim. I will do whatever you require of me." Spock steps forward to wipe a stray tear off of Jim's face. "You make a very aesthetically pleasing woman. It seems that, no matter your gender, you are destined to attract me." Jim smiles and presses a watery kiss to Spock's palm. Spock runs his fingers over Jim's eyebrow and down the side of his face. Jim tips his head to increase the pressure and sucks in a gasp just before there's a knock on the door.

"Captain? I've brought your uniform."

Spock snaps his hand away and grips it behind his back.

"Come in," Jim calls, his heart still fluttering in his chest.

The door slides open and an Ensign steps into the room holding a yellow dress on a hanger. "Where would you like me to put this, sir?"

Jim frowns. He doesn't want to wear a dress, but this is a diplomatic meeting with a conservative species and command has informed him that he is, under no circumstances, to allow any females on the crew to beam down wearing pants. He doesn't get to exclude himself just because he doesn't want to be a female. "You can set it on the table." The young man lays the garment down and leaves with a respectful nod to the two of them.

As the door shuts behind the Ensign, Jim leans forward, searching for Spock's touch once more. The Vulcan reaches out to run a hand through Jim's styled hair.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk," Lt. Uhura's voice comes over the intercom.

Jim lets out a huff of frustrated air before stalking over the speaker. "What is it, Lt.?"

"I've just received a communication from the ambassador, sir. He requests that formal attire be worn."

"I'm aware of that. We've got our dress uniforms ready to go."

"No, sir. He requested you wore formal attire, but not your dress uniforms."

"God damn it!" Jim pounds the wall with a fist, but pulls back immediately to massage his now throbbing hand.

"He said, and I quote 'This is a conversational dinner, not an opportunity for the Federation to parade its pageantry on my home world'."

"Get them to make me something nice and have it sent it to my quarters within the hour. You decide what it should look like."

"Aye, aye sir," she says before cutting off the intercom.

"Could this day get any worse?" Jim asks, turning to face Spock.

"I find that asking that question is often a way of receiving an affirmative answer."

Jim hums and sits down at the table, fingering the yellow fabric of his dress uniform. "So, we're supposed to be deciding whether or not Fendaus V should be a candidate for the Federation."

"Yes."

"And there's supposed to be a feast of some sort."

"There is."

"And I have to wear a dress."

"You do."

"How long do we have to stay there? I don't particularly relish the idea of walking around in a dress for hours on end."

"Common courtesy would dictate that we stay for at least an hour after we have finished our meals."

Jim lets his head drop into his hands and massages at his temples. "That's what I was afraid of."

The dress is extremely tasteful – Jim makes a mental note to be sure to thank Lt. Uhura in person. It's made of a silky, black fabric that almost feels like liquid and drapes perfectly over his body. The neckline is high without choking him and the hem just whispers over his toes. The Lt. must have requested jewelry and shoes to go with it, because they, too, were delivered. As Spock helps clasp the necklace at the nape of Jim's neck, he can't help but feel he's going to be a little over done. A cursory glance in the bathroom mirror, however, reminds him that – even if he hates being stuck in it – his female form is particularly attractive.

"You look exceptional," Spock says while straightening his own tie. He's pulled an Earth style suit out of the closet and Jim thinks fleetingly of James Bond and his girls, eating fancy dinners, driving in fast cars, shooting loud guns.

"Where am I going to put a phaser in this thing?" Jim pats his hips gently.

"This came with your dress." Spock holds up a small bag and the word clutch floats to the front of Jim's mind.

He reaches out and snatches it. "Thanks."

When they arrive in the transporter room, Scotty lets out a low whistle. "Look at you, Captain."

Jim feels himself blush, but ignores it, stepping onto the transporter pad with Spock, McCoy and two security guards. "If we don't contact you within the hour, please beam additional security to our location," Jim says, clutching his bag (and phaser) to his abdomen.

"Go get 'em, Jim," Scotty says, already energizing as he speaks.

When they re-materialize, the group finds themselves just inside of a large building which seems to be made of some sort of rock. Jim can't see the ceiling from where they are and the space is cold.

"Are you cold, Jim?" Spock asks, already unbuttoning his suit jacket.

"I'm fine," he says, watching the dignitaries approaching, "You can keep your coat on." As an after thought, he murmurs, "Thank you though."

There are three Fendauvians approaching, seated on hovering carriers and guided by people who must be their servants. When the group finally comes to stop in front of Jim, he bends slightly at the waist. "Pleased to make your acquaintance," Jim grins genially and hopes it's as charming now as it ever was. "I'm Jim-"

He's cut off by on of the Fendauvians. "Who is your Captain?"

"I am," Jim replies, trying not to show his irritation.

"No, the Captain of your ship."

"That's me."

The Fendauvians laugh loudly and it's all Jim can do not to scowl at them. "I have studied Federation Standard for a long time, young lady. A Captain is the commander of ship, no?" Jim nods. "Then you can't be the Captain. Which one of these men commands your ship?"

Jim swallows his anger. He's supposed to be creating bridges, not burning them. "The Federation allows women to Captain their vessels, sir."

The Fendauvian frowns. He looks to McCoy. "She is truly your Captain?"

"Yes," McCoy answers slowly, Jim knows his anger must be matched in his friend. "And one of the best in the fleet."

"Well," the Fendauvian lets out a surprised whistle. "Be that as it may, I'll have no dealings with a woman. Which one of you men would like to speak in her place?"

Jim lets his hand clench tightly around his clutch and breathes out through his nose. This isn't the time to be proud, and he knows that. "Mr. Spock is my First Officer. You may table with him."

"Wonderful! Why don't you follow us to the conference hall?" Their guides begin pushing them away, leaving Jim and the rest of the landing party to follow. "Women aren't usually part to our talks, but we'll make an exception this once, for you, Captain." Jim can't see the Fendauvian's face, but he's sure that he's leering.

"Ugh, what an asshole. When I lose this body, don't let me forget how shitty some guys can still be towards women." They've returned from the six hour long visit to Fendaus V and Jim is already taking off his jewelry as they exit the transporter room. He drops the offending articles into his clutch and rubs at his neck – that necklace got heavy after about half an hour. Once in the turbo-lift, he bends to remove his shoes. "How to people wear heels like this all of time?"

"I do not know," Spock says, still looking perfectly pristine in his suit. It's as though he only just put it on. "I have never had cause to wear such a style of shoe."

"And you just be grateful you haven't." The lift stops and they step out, waving good bye to McCoy as he heads for his own quarters. "We've got to file our reports, but then how about that game of chess?"

"I would be happy to join you."

The next day, after arranging a more expansive meeting with Starfleet and Federation officials, the Enterprise is leaving orbit and headed back to Calder II. Jim is trying not to get over excited at the prospect of having his male body back – he knows it's not likely going to be as simple as going back to the planet. They'll have to beam down a landing party and conduct multiple tests. Luckily, they haven't been given a new mission yet, so there aren't any pressing time constraints. Still, Jim doesn't want to spend weeks waiting for an answer.

Once the ship is en route, he leaves the bridge and calls Bones on the intercom. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing important. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Want to play a game of squash?"

"Are you okay to play a game of squash?"

Jim groans. "Would I ask if I wasn't? Just meet me in rec. room 10 in 15 minutes."

"Aye, aye," Bones says sardonically, cutting the transmission off.

After Jim changes in his quarters he hurries to the rec. room to find Bones on the court, waiting for him with a ball in hand.

"Let's see if this new body loses as hard as the old one," Bones says, bouncing the ball a few times.

"I'm gonna whoop your ass just like I always do, old man. Just spin the racket – I'm logo."

Bones twirls the racket and steps back to let it drop. "Logo down, I serve. Get ready to eat your words, little man." He hops onto the left side of the court and serves the ball. It smacks the wall with a loud pop and shoots toward Jim.

Jim rears back and volleys the ball hard, dodging as Bones jumps in front of him. It doesn't take long for his body to heat up: jumping around the court to avoid his friend and run after the ball. His blood starts rushing in his ears with the effort and by the time they reach the third game, his clothes are damp with sweat. Jim's body feels less awkward as he shoots from one side of the court to the other, arm snapping forward to hit the ball. It's as if all the muscle memory from his exercise has transferred over; Jim feels more like himself than he has in days.

By the end of the fifth game, he's in a better mood that he's been in since the change, too. He uses the back of his hand to wipe some of the sweat off of his forehead and grins at Bones' scowl. "Good game," he says, reaching out to shake his friend's hand.

"Yeah, whatever." McCoy has never been a particularly good loser. He takes Jim's hand regardless. "I want a rematch next week. I'm taking you down." He almost growls when Jim starts walking away with a chuckle.

After a shower, Jim decides to head to commissary to eat instead of staying in his quarters, as he's done the last six days. When he gets there, the room is pretty empty (it's the middle of a shift and not a meal time based on the ship's automated days) but Lt. Uhura is sitting at a table with a cup of coffee. "Do you mind if I join you?" Jim asks, while punching in a number on the replicator.

"Nope," she says, although she looks a little wary. Everyone still seems unsure of how to treat Jim when he's not in Captain-mode.

His chicken sandwich pops up and he walks over to sit across from her. "How are things?" He's unsure of what to say – while they get along fine on the bridge, he and Uhura have had a particularly strained relationship since the dissolution of hers with Spock.

"Fine," she's cautious. "I'm currently working on translating an ancient Klingon dialect which may give us more insight into their new coding system."

"I was talking more in terms of not work." Jim smiles at her.

"Oh, um. Also fine. And how are you?" She winces immediately after she says it.

"I'm adjusting, I guess," Jim says. "I wanted to thank you for taking care of my attire for the Fendaus meeting."

"Of course."

"It was beautiful dress."

She dips her head a little. "I had seen one like it on a fashion blog the day before. I thought it might look good on you."

"And it did!" Scotty's voice is suddenly heard from across the room, he's already striding towards them. "The Captain looked fierce!" He lets out a low whistle but stops short when Uhura glares at him.

Jim is blushing now, picking at the salad that came with his sandwich. He's unsure of how to respond – he knows Scotty doesn't mean to be rude, but the comment does come off as a little inappropriate.

"There's an old holo playing in rec. room 4," Scotty says, apparently oblivious to his misstep. "I was wondering if you'd like to join me?" he looking at Uhura when he asks.

"Do you want to come, Jim?" Uhura looks a little desperate, although Jim isn't sure if she's desperate for him to say no or yes. In the end, he decides he doesn't want to sit still for two hours to watch some old movie.

"Thanks for the invite, but I think I'll pass."

Uhura looks a little relieved, but when she's on her way out, she pats Jim's shoulder and lets her hand linger for a few seconds.

"ETA at Calder II is 22 minutes, sir," Sulu says, turning to glance at Jim.

"Got it. Standard orbit when we arrive. I'll be beaming down with McCoy and a science crew."

"Captain," Spock says, turning in his seat, "As I have already stated, I do not think it is wise for you to return to the planet's surface. We have no way of knowing whether the cause of your gender change will affect you again, in another – and possibly more detrimental – way."

"I appreciate your concern, Mr. Spock, and it is duly noted." Jim frowns. "I'm still going down."

"In that case Captain, I request –"

"Request denied. If something does happen down there, I need someone capable in charge of the ship."

"Understood." Spock swivels his chair around to face his console once more, and Jim can see a line of tension in his back.

Calder II seems no different than the first time they beamed down. It's temperate and comfortable, the vegetation grows freely, and there's absolutely no sign of anything that could have changed Jim's gender.

"Let's review what you did once more," McCoy says, while the science team walks off, tricorders bleeping loudly. "You beamed down at these exact coordinates and then…"

"And then I squatted down here to pick up a handful of this sand." McCoy scoops up a sample of the sand and seals it in a jar. "Then I asked Mr. Spock why he thought there was a Federation outpost here and why we had been ordered to contact it. He lauded the planet's possible boundless natural resources and then we were commed by Uhura, saying that we had to return immediately."

"That's it, you didn't do anything else? You didn't interact with any of the plants?"

Jim shakes his head. "Honestly, we might have been down here five minutes. I touched the sand and that rock." He points to a rock near the energizing point. "Other than that, there's not much I can tell you."

McCoy shakes his head. "Alright Jim, not much else you can do here. I've got the science team scanning the whole area for anything unusual or suspicious and I'll remain until they've finished. You may as well go back to the ship." Jim shrugs his shoulders – he doesn't particularly want to stay anyways.

A/N: This story was prompted by a genderswap fic about Spock struggling with his new body. I liked the idea, and wanted to see if I could develop it through the point of view of the victim. This is not particularly angsty or serious, but I did want to look at the possibility of someone taking time to come to terms with the fact that their body had really changed. I certainly did not mean to offend anyone with this - I wrote it according to how I think I would feel if I suddenly woke up with a swapped body - I just wanted to put it out there. If I have upset you, I apologize wholeheartedly.