Alright, here's my first shot at writing what I call Fem!Jim fanfic. Jim Kirk...as a girl. I've seen it done, and I was inspired by CollaneR's fantastic one-shot "Midnight In The Railroad Yard". So yeah, this one's for you, CollaneR! Here's my contrib to the niche, I hope everyone likes it. It's kinda supernatural, complete with Faerie (not Fairy) hierarchies and rules and all such fun as that, but I've had a hell of a lot of fun writing it. Jim pisses off the PTB, the High Courts, the bad guys, and their minions the This (pronounced like thesis without the -is at the end). To punish him for...whatever he's done wrong this time, the This turn Jim into a girl. Jim runs away from home and hitches a ride into town with an unsuspecting out-of-towner with plates from Illinois but an accent from somewhere else. Cue Bones! Woohoo! Some early bonding, and more fun to follow. Here's Chapter One. Enjoy, R&R, but no flames please. Jim and the boys will use them to roast marshmallows at their next camp-out.

One

Jim Kirk had been in bar-fights and dust-ups before, but it had definitely been a while since somebody put a spell on him. When he woke up the morning after a hellish night, he couldn't remember precisely what had happened, who he'd pissed off, or what he'd done to piss them off. Somebody, for whatever reason, had gotten all pissy and done something to Jim. He woke with a start and fell out of bed, which hurt.

"Ow, damn it!" he squinted at his ceiling. First sign of trouble, something was wrong with his voice. It didn't sound right. Well, at least they hadn't turned him into a dog. Someone had done that once, his mom had laughed for a week before getting someone else to turn him back. Single worst experience of his life. A week as a dog, at least they'd had the civility to turn him into something decent and Jim had been trapped in the body of a Rottweiler. Now he was trapped in something else. Human, but…what? Heaving off the floor, he staggered into the bathroom and there discovered the problem. Jim, if his reflection wasn't fucked up, was…well…not him!! Boys, as a rule of manhood, did not scream like girls. Jim screamed like a girl, and with damn good reason. He was a girl!

Ho-ly…shit! What happened to me? Who did I piss off this time? He…she wondered as she sat on the floor of the bathroom after crashing into the wall. Jim, who hated crying, sobbed. She hated crying, it was weak and it got her beat up by Frank. Frank! Oh, shit, if he woke up and found her like this, Hell would break loose! Without another thought for it, Jim got up and left the bathroom. None of her old clothes would fit anymore, so she borrowed a pair of tennis-shoes from her mom and grabbed a sweatshirt. She grabbed her wallet and raided her secret stash of credits hidden in a jar under a loose floor-board under her bed. She had to buy new clothes and find a way out of here before somebody got home. But where could she go? Who could she go to for help? Captain Pike? No, he'd never understand. He'd think she was absolutely crazy. Jim found a backpack and threw a few tee-shirts, some boxers, and another sweatshirt inside, along with an old teddy-bear and her old-fashioned mp3 music-player. Her wallet went into the front pocket. Jim could have wished to say goodbye to her mom, but with Winona off-world, again, and Sam who knows where, there wasn't much to leave behind. So, taking an aluminum water-bottle full of water and leaving her house-key under the vase on the side-table in the front hallway, Jim left behind everything. Walking to the end of her driveway, she turned onto the dirt road and headed for the highway, going west. Maybe she'd hitchhike to San Francisco? Or Denver. Anywhere to get out of Iowa. They lived fourteen miles east of town, Jim must have walked six before anyone stopped to pick her up. A hover-car passed her and pulled off the side of the highway. Jim, daring to hope, ran up to the drivers-side window.

"You goin' somewhere, kid?" the driver leaned out.

"Yeah, I've gotta get to town. Where are you going?"

"Riverside. Get in, I'll drop you off someplace." The driver looked like the very kind of person her mom had always warned her away from, and the car smelled faintly of alcohol and tobacco, but Jim had seen and experienced much worse.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Get in."

"Thanks, man." She smiled and ran around to the other side of the car, sliding into the passenger's seat and buckling her harness.

"You look like you just rolled out of bed, kid."

"I did."

"Running from something?"

"My step-dad."

"Ah." He didn't ask anymore questions. It was quiet, except for the radio which was on low. Jim didn't turn up the radio or change the station, she just took a minute to revel in her newfound freedom. And study her ride. He was probably late twenties, she wouldn't mark him thirty yet, hadn't shaved in a few days, and she realized that the smell of tobacco and alcohol was from him, not the car. The carsmelled too clean, so it was probably a rental. It occurred to her that it had i.d. plates from Illinois, but he had a distinctly southern twang. And something else, something more exotic.

"So, uh, where are you from?" she ventured.

"Hmm?"

"Your accent. You're not from around here and we don't get many outsiders."

"Charleston."

"South Carolina? Nice part of the country. Why'd you leave?"

"You ask a lot of questions, you know that?"

"Sorry." Jim blushed. When people got sharp like that, she'd asked the wrong question. She was really good at that, too. It was quiet, tense, and she refrained from humming along with the radio to fill the silence.

"Aw, hell." The driver cursed, "Sorry, kid."

"No hard feelings, mine weren't hurt. So…why'd you leave? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Nah. Can't go around taking my anger out on other people and holding grudges against strangers. The wife got a divorce and took everything in the settlement."

"Everything, everything?"

"Everything."

"Holy fuck! What'd you do?"

"Nothing."

"I thought my life sucked!" she hunkered down in the seat, "So…you've got nothin' left?"

"Nothing worth missin', anyway. What's your name, kid?"

"J.T. Don't ask what it stands for."

"Wasn't going to." She swore he smirked.

"Well, I gave it up, now it's your turn."

"For what?"

"I told you my name, you get to tell me yours."

"The name's McCoy. Leonard McCoy."

"Nice to meet you. Thanks for the ride, by the way." She smiled and shook hands with him.

"No problem." McCoy shrugged. When they got to town, he dropped her off outside a second-hand clothing store where Jim had shopped for years.

"Hey, Doctor McCoy?" she leaned through the window before he could pull away.

"Yeah, kid?"

"Thanks. Really. That was fourteen miles I didn't really want to walk."

"No problem."

"Oh, and if you're really looking for a way out, you might want to stop by Shipyard 2-1A. Ask for Captain Pike."

"Who?"

"He's the Starfleet recruiting officer, he could help." She smiled, "Good luck, old man."

"Which way to the shipyard? I hate flying, but…yeah."

"Head west out of town and go about ten miles. Just ask for Captain Christopher Pike." She pointed out the right direction, "If he asks for a reference, tell him Jim sent you over."

"Thanks, kid. Take care of yourself."

"Not a problem. Good luck!" she stepped back and waved as the car headed west again. Jim ducked into the store and gave her backpack to the clerk, according to the sign hanging above the register. Holding onto her wallet, she browsed for new clothes. She counted her credits and smiled. She bought two pairs of jeans, a pair of nice shoes, and several tops. Jim paid and left with her purchases in her backpack. She headed a few blocks west for the local YMCA, where she took a shower and changed. As she got dressed, Jim looked at her reflection, really looked at it, and sighed. If she hadn't been a guy just a few hours ago, Jim wouldn't have recognized herself at all. Her hair was long, wavy, and blonde. Her skin was tan, with freckles on her cheekbones.

I have freckles? Ugh. Jim frowned, but moved on. Her eyes were still the same, startling lightening-flash blue. She finished getting dressed and did something with her hair. Or tried to. One of the girls she was sharing the room with took pity on her.

"Having a little trouble?"

"I've wanted to cut it all off for months!" Jim hissed, wondering if she looked as frustrated as she felt.

"Sit down, honey." The woman, a large, friendly black woman, guided Jim to a chair and sat her down, "Clarabell, get my scissors." One of the other girls got the requested item and the woman introduced herself as Vivian. Jim gave them the same name she'd given McCoy and told Vivian how short she wanted to go. When she was done, Jim's hair was a good six to seven inches shorter, almost boyishly short but still feminine enough for the girl in her. Jim looked at her new reflection and smiled.

"Aw, thanks, Vivian! It looks awesome!"

"Hon, you'll be turnin' heads no matter where you go! You look fantastic."

"You're mean with those scissors." She gave her head a shake and smirked. Yeah, the boys would turn to look. Selfishly, Jim hoped she could catch the eye of one boy in particular and make his head turn. Then Vivian dragged her down to the communal dining room for breakfast, declaring that Jim was too skinny to be skipping meals. Jim loved Vivian, she just didn't know why. This big, boisterous black woman would have scared the shit out of Jim as a guy, and her fussing should have annoyed Jim because she just hated it when people fussed about her, but Vivian was nice to her. Jim sighed and found a table after following Vivian through the line, loading up with French Toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and hash-browns. Breakfast was served. Setting her tray down, Jim went back for a bowl of sliced peaches and a glass of orange juice. She was startled by a muttering outburst behind her. Someone was complaining about the food, whose only crime was coming out of a replicator. Some die-hards liked fresh, not replicated. Jim looked over her shoulder briefly and arched an eyebrow. Reaching over, she picked up a whole peach and tossed it lightly over her shoulder to her neighbor.

"I think that's fresh, it's still cold from the cryo-unit. Looks like it's from Georgia."

"Thanks, kid."

"No problem. The sausage is pretty good, and the toast to die for. Dig in, old man." She winked as she walked away, knowing he stared. At their table, Vivian was beside herself.

"Hoo, girly! Was he hitting on you?"

"I was hitting on him, Vivian. Shameless, considering how much older he is." Jim rolled her eyes. Vivian kept an eye on the former physician who had given her a lift into town that morning. He kept staring, watching her from the corner-table he tucked himself into. Seven people were chased away, he obviously wanted to eat alone.

"He shouldn't be eating alone like that, that's just criminal." Vivian declared, "A good-looking fellow like him?"

"I think he wants to eat alone, Viv. He's not really a people-person." Jim shrugged, wondering if he'd ever made it out to 2-1A or not.

"That's just a shame." Vivian shook her head sadly, "Just a real, cryin' shame." After a while, he just stopped eating and watched, chin resting on folded hands with the saddest look on his face, like he had nothing left in the world. He really didn't, Jim knew, because his ex-wife had taken everything in the divorce settlement. Just like her, she'd given up her old life for…well, something else.

"J.T., you be a good girl and go get that poor man so he don't eat alone this morning." Vivian declared suddenly, "That's just wrong to be that sad. Go on, go get him." Jim rolled her eyes but obediently got up.

"He's not going to sit with us, Vivian."

"Nonsense. Go on!"

"Fine." She steeled herself for a polite rejection and went to the doctor's table.

When Leonard McCoy had finished up business at the shipyard, he'd turned down Captain Pike's offer of lodging at a local motel where the other recruits were being billeted. He wasn't going to spend a night cooped up with a bunch of crazy, hormonal kids unless he absolutely had no other choice. If he could find somewhere else in Riverside to stay, then he would. Pike had kindly suggested the local YMCA boarding-house as an alternative. He could take a shower and get a hot meal, and a bed for the night. The shuttle left at 0800 hours the next morning, and Pike made it clear he wasn't going to sit around waiting for any stragglers. Leonard had promised to be there, and hitched a ride into town. After getting settled at the boarding-house, which was pretty nice compared to some places he'd been slumming in the last couple of months, Leonard took a hot shower and shaved. He was seriously considering burning the clothes he'd shown up in, he didn't want to wear them again. Pulling out the cleanest pair of jeans he could find in his bag and a slightly less wrinkled gray flannel button-down shirt, Leonard headed for the dining room to get that meal. Most of it was replicated, he hated replicated food. It never tasted right. The person in line ahead of him surprised him by tossing something to him one-handed.

"I think that's fresh, it's still cold from the cryo-unit." He caught the object and almost dropped it, "Looks like it's from Georgia."

"Thanks, kid." It was a peach, perfect, round, golden, and cold from the cryo-unit. It smelled like home.

"No problem. The sausage is pretty good, and the toast to die for. Dig in, old man." She winked as she walked away, leaving Leonard to stare. Sparkling blue eyes danced with laughter and mischief, her wave was saucy and familiar. But Leonard didn't know anyone here, did he? He didn't know anyone in Riverside, Iowa who was worth remembering. He thought back to the hitchhiker he'd picked up outside of town, some homeless kid running away from a bad situation. J.T. "Don't-ask-what-it-stands-for" Kirk. He'd told Captain Pike just what J.T. had told him to say and gotten a weird look.

"I drove one of them into town this morning. She said to tell you it was Jim sent me." He'd shrugged and hadn't really thought much of it since then. He was off to San Francisco tomorrow morning, how much further could he get without leaving the continental United States or leaving Earth? It was far enough for him. He saw the girl from the serving-line at a table across the dining room, laughing and chatting with a big black woman like the two were old friends. It was J.T., he just hadn't recognized her in clean clothes and with that haircut. How many girls could pull off such a short cut like that? Apparently, the Kirk girl could do it with flair. Boyish yet feminine. It showed off her lightening-flash blue eyes and freckles Leonard hadn't noticed before. She was a pretty girl, but obviously a tomboy. He had wandered off in his thoughts, ping-ponging between recollections of Joanna and reflections of the hell his life had become the last two months and a young hitchhiker looking for a way out of her own personal hell, when he was aware that someone else had approached his table. He'd run off seven people and was fully prepared to run off Number Eight before he realized that it was J.T.

"Can I…help you?" what on Earth did she want with him?

"I think you need more help than I do, Doctor McCoy." She shot back, "Come on, old man, there's room at our table and you are not eating alone."

"I don't need pity or charity, kid."

"It's not pity and it sure as hell ain't charity. Your ex-wife really fucked you up if you don't even have the civility to eat with other people."

"Was that supposed to help?" he snarled.

"Reality hurts, life hurts. Believe me, I know. I didn't spend six years trying to find a way out so my step-dad couldn't beat the shit out of me anymore for no good goddamn reason." She leaned over the table, "You are going to eat breakfast with me and Vivian, you don't have to talk if you don't want, she does enough talking for the world, but you can't sit here in a corner and feel sorry for yourself."

"Why not? It's a free country, isn't it?"

"You're not the only one who's life got fucked up beyond all recognition and any semblance of normal or happy. Come on." She pulled his tray across the table and he sighed.

"You are one very annoying and insistent creature, Kirk. Fine." He shoved back and got to his feet.

"How'd you find out my last name?"

"Pike told me."

"Figures." An eyeroll, a shrug. It was inevitable he would have figured it out sooner or later. "So, you're in?"

"Shuttle leaves at 0800 tomorrow, and I am not looking forward to it at all."

"It's not going to be that bad." J.T. rolled her eyes, but before he could launch into a tirade of everything that could possibly go wrong, she turned to him and cut him off with one hand across his mouth, "Don't lecture me on the dangers of shuttle-flight and space-faring, Doctor McCoy, my father died saving eight hundred people the same day I was born. I was one of them. He died…in space. My mom kept running away from us kids when we were growing up, she didn't want to see us, she didn't want to see me." Leonard wanted to say something, do something, but he knew it was best to just ride it out and let her talk, and talk she did.

"I reminded her of Dad, of what she'd lost and couldn't get back. You can beg and plead with your wife to see your little girl again, but I can't say I grew up in a happy, healthy household. My step-dad kicked me around for years until I ran away this morning and a bitter, divorced physician from South Carolina picked me up." J.T. let him go, shaking her head, her eyes bright with something besides their usual happiness and mischief, "Yours is not the only life that sucks right now, Doctor McCoy. Some of us have lived lives that suck every single day and will suck every single day until something changes. Now sit down and eat." She pushed him towards the table and introduced him to the lively, chatty Vivian, who really did do most of the talking. Leonard wondered if J.T. realized just how much she had opened up to a complete stranger just now, but he didn't say anything. Her bravado was just a mask, Leonard knew now, and that mask had slipped just a little a moment ago. After breakfast, J.T. dragged him out of the boarding-house and took him to the nearby second-hand store to buy new clothes.

"I'm fine, J.T., I really don't need anything."

"Oh, please. Those jeans came out of the bottom of your bag and that shirt needs ironing." She pushed him through the door, "And it's not charity, so keep your mouth shut."

"Did I say anything?"

"You were going to." She led the way to the back of the store where circular racks of men's clothes took up space. He found three pairs of new jeans, he was perfectly happy with just one but J.T. talked him into buying three pairs, and an armload of shirts. Button-downs, pull-overs, even a mock-turtleneck and sport-coat she put together as a set.

"When am I ever going to wear this?" he looked at it like it was going to come alive and bite him.

"I don't know, but a man always needs a sport-coat in his closet. Here, try this on." J.T. tossed him a casual jacket, a microsuede parka. It was actually a good fit and surprisingly comfortable. They made their purchases, tossed the bags into his small duffel, which J.T. had insisted he bring with him, and headed back to the boarding house. Despite her rough edges and cocky attitude, Leonard had to admit the girl was growing on him, which was entirely unexpected and irritating. When they got back to the boarding-house, J.T. helped him repack. His old clothes were dumped into the communal laundry for washing and donation, and his new clothes were packed up for San Francisco. Then it was time for lunch, which he took with J.T. As they ate alone, Leonard got up the nerve to ask one question that had been nagging at him.

"What's J.T. stand for, if you don't mind my asking? I know you told me not to ask, but…well." He shrugged. J.T. snorted.

"James. James Tiberius, actually." J.T. stabbed a piece of lettuce on her fork and frowned at it, "I was supposed to be a boy, but it was so crazy when I was born, they never bothered changing my name."

"What kind of name is James for a girl?"

"I don't know. That's why I go by J.T., or Jim sometimes."

"No siblings?"

"Just an older brother I haven't seen in a few years." J.T. looked at him sternly, "I never lied to you, Doctor McCoy."

"Never said you had lied to me." He frowned and folded his hands under his chin, "There's somethin' about you I just don't get, kid."

"A lot of people don't get me, Doctor McCoy, join the club." She glared at her plate, "I've been picked on and kicked around all my life, and not just by my step-dad."

"Who sounds like a real sonuvabitch, by the way."

"Yeah, he is." J.T. looked at him, "Are you superstitious?"

"Why?"

"You may not want to be my friend."

"I'll be the judge of that, missy." He waved his fork at her, "You can't possibly tell me anything weird."

"I could tell you about Faeries and spells and magic. You'd never believe me."

"Excuse me?"

"See?"

"Did you just say…fairies?"

"Ugh! No, it's Faerie. Not fairy, Faerie." She must have gotten that a lot, it was automatic.

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess we're not talking about cute little people with wings and fairy-dust and wands." Leonard didn't want to smile, but it was real hard. He liked this girl, he really liked this pushy, mouthy, odd girl he'd picked up off the side of the highway.

"Nope. Thank Walt Disney for that." J.T. rolled her eyes, "I can't fly, and I sure don't own a wand, though I know people who do. The wand part, he had that right. But only the High Faeries carry wands." For some reason, that did not freak Leonard out…at all. Probably because he had a few secrets of his own.

"So, you're one of the Fair Folk."

"One of the cakoya, if that's anybody's business but mine."

"Lucky for you. Or not." He shrugged, "You familiar with the Silogh Court?"

"The High Court of the United Kingdom." She nodded, "Not a lot of outsiders know it exists."

"I'm not an Outsider, J.T. I'm not a…taresim."

"I didn't think so, I could hear the accent in your voice." She smiled, "I should have guessed you were a Silogh Faerie."

"What about you, Lady James?" He smirked, prodding her for having a boy's name. She rolled her eyes and kicked him under the table.

"My family is Nerohi Fae."

"Which would make you nothing short of Fae royalty."

"Wouldn't know that looking at me, would you? I'm not exactly the favorite of the High Courts. Couple months ago, somebody thought it might be fun to turn the Nerohi Heir into a dog. Just for the hell of it and nothing better to do with their time."

"A dog?"

"A Rottweiler, actually. My mom thought it was the funniest damned thing. Didn't stop laughing for a goddamn month." J.T. did not think this was very funny at all, so Leonard bit his tongue. The High Courts were kind of sticks about things, he couldn't begin to imagine what possible thing J.T. had done to piss them off enough they'd turn her into a dog. Or had someone else done it? Had the This done it? That would make sense, too. The Silogh and Nerohi Courts were two of the Three Ruling Houses of Loracre, which meant both Leonard and J.T. had the right to carry wands and practice High Magic. But, for reasons of their own, they did not. And that was fine, just as long as they didn't start trailing fairy-dust everywhere, things would be just fine.