Author's Note: For those of you who have read Nebula...you might understand why I couldn't do a post-Nebula fanfic without taking a long, long time. I chose to do this instead: a pre-Nebula fic, centered on Kirk's dubious morals and ways of life before he ever joined Starfleet. The idea wormed its way into me, and I couldn't stop until it was written. It might give more insight into how much Kirk changed between his early days (now) and his post-Nebula days. I do hope you enjoy it. Please R&R!

Luck Be a Lady

Jim Kirk couldn't believe his luck.

Here he was, in the middle of a bar, surrounded by the hottest bunch of chicks he could imagine. Of course they thought he was captain of some Starfleet ship or another, but that was irrelevant. The best part about these farm girls was that they craved excitement. Any way to get away from their small-town lives was a way into the big time – and for them, Kirk was it. In their minds Kirk was a distinguished captain on leave, and they were that close to the great unknown. All Kirk had to do was spin the story for them – albeit full of lies – and they drank it up like the sweet little liquor concoctions they held in their hands.

As Kirk appreciatively surveyed the women that encircled him, he felt a surge of pride at his false identity. He took another shot of whiskey to stifle a self-satisfied laugh at his own brilliance. Him, a Starfleet captain? Never in a thousand years. It made for a good story though.

"Tell us another one, Jim," one of the girls – Candy? Mandy? Something like that – pleaded, her huge brown eyes imploring him. The circle of girls nodded in unison, and Kirk mentally congratulated himself yet again for coming up with such a story.

"Well, there was this one time when my ship landed on planet…uh…Moonstar," he began, searching the girls' faces for any sign of suspicion. Alas, he found only breathless intrigue in their hazy eyes, thanks a great deal to the alcohol in their glasses – and his fake ID, of course. He kept going. "And when the Galaxy landed, we were…"

"I thought your ship was called the Eternity?" one of the girls asked, her head tilted sideways.

"I…uh…it was. The Galaxy was my second ship." Kirk internally cursed himself for the slip, but he flashed a smile at the girls when they swooned.

"A second ship?"

"Incredible."

"Oh, you're just so amazing."

"Will you take me for a ride sometime?"

"Will you take me for a ride now?"

Kirk grinned widely, wrapping an arm around the two chicks next to him. He had just opened his mouth to invite them outside with the promise of "taking them for a ride," so to speak, when a male voice boomed from behind him.

"What the hell is this all about?" the voice thundered. "You're dominating all the girls." Kirk turned to the voice to come face to face with a fuzzy giant. Or at least that's how he looked. Kirk was pretty sure the fuzziness had to do with the amount of alcohol in his system.

"Hold on, pal. I'm not holding anyone here against their will," Kirk said easily, proud that, although his vision was more than slightly impaired, his voice was still clear. "It ain't my problem that the chicks dig me more." He tilted his head back to see the man's eyes. "Now go…lift some weights or something. I'm gonna show these girls a good time." Kirk turned back to the ring of girls, all of whom who were watching him with starry eyes. "Let's get outa here."

The girls nodded, giggling, and rose from the bar. One of them – a smokin' hot redhead – thought herself adventurous enough to plant a kiss right on Kirk's lips. Knowing it was coming, Kirk held her in place with his arms and experimented with his tongue. She was good, for a first-timer, and Kirk sensed her pulse quicken when he pulled her closer. He felt her lips, he felt her body…and then he felt a fist collide with his head.

Kirk staggered backward, his vision blurring in and out – although whether that was from the alcohol or the blow he couldn't quite tell. Either way, it was damn hard to concentrate. When his eyes finally cleared a bit, he saw the fuzzy giant looming over him, looking meanly self-satisfied. Well hell if Kirk wasn't about to fight back. Kirk curled into a ball on the floor, feigning injury, then shot out a leg and jammed the giant in the crotch.

"Asshole," Kirk growled, climbing into a standing position. His head still swam, and it didn't help matters when a few of the giant's buddies realized that the big guy had fallen.

"What's goin' on here?" one of the men boomed, stomping his way over to Kirk.

"I'm just teaching this fella to mind his own business," Kirk responded lightly.

"Well I'll…" the other man's eyes filled with rage, and he swung at Kirk. The younger man dropped to the floor, watching as the fist intended for him flew wide and struck an innocent bystander and knocked his drink all over the chick next to him. The bystander roared in fury, smashing his glass and its remaining contents on another man's head.

Soon enough the entire bar had fallen into pandemonium. Even Jerry the bartender had joined in at some point – but Kirk only knew this because Jerry had smashed a half-empty bottle of bourbon on a guy's head to save Kirk from getting hit over the head by a chair. Kirk had just stumbled outside in an attempt to escape the needless violence – the girls were gone anyway, and there was really no point in sticking around – when bright flashing lights and a glaring noise alerted him to the squad car that had just rolled up outside.

Kirk groaned. Yeah, he'd been arrested countless times, and no, it really wasn't that bad spending a night in a cell, but it was definitely not how he had imagined spending his Saturday night.

"Jim Kirk, stay where you are," a tinny voice sounded from the car, magnified by a megaphone-like contraption.

"Ah, shit," Kirk swore under his breath, recognizing the speaker at once. The figure opened the car door and started toward Kirk slowly, dramatically, making every step into a scene from a crime thriller movie. Kirk rolled his eyes and cursed his luck. It would be Sheriff Ross who responded to the scene. Great.

A tall, balding man, Sheriff Valkyrie Ross hated nearly everyone in Riverside. His golden rule was "Uphold the law like your lives depend on it. Because they do." It wasn't a very eloquent saying, and yet Kirk was still sure the words were written in the sheriff's office about a hundred times. No one was really sure why, but Ross had made it his personal mission to make everyone's lives as uncomfortable and awkward as humanly possible. All in the name of the law, of course. At the cookouts to which he was reluctantly invited, Ross could be seen standing in a corner, scanning the carefree crowds in search of any sign of "suspicious activity," as he liked to call it. Kirk remembered a birthday party he had attended as a kid for Ross's daughter, back when they were both in kindergarten. Ross had stood at the lip of the sidewalk with a breathalyzer, forcing each five and six year old to prove their sobriety before being allowed on his property. The sheriff liked to call himself a "fighter of justice" and "keeper of the peace." Kirk liked to call him a killjoy.

For some reason – Kirk never quite sorted out exactly why – Ross had taken a particular dislike to young Jim. Plenty of kids were running around, breaking the law with little misdemeanors – and some with crimes much more serious, which Kirk stayed clear of – but somehow Ross had singled out Kirk long ago as the one he hated the most. Why Kirk over other, more serious criminals? Kirk never knew, nor would he lose sleep over trying to figure it out. All he knew was that Ross hated him – and that fact was extremely inconvenient at this precise moment.

"Fancy seeing you here," Kirk greeted drily as Ross approached, his hand hovering over the gun at his belt.

"I assume you had nothing to do with this vile disturbance of the peace," the sheriff glowered, coming to a stop at what he apparently believed to be a safe distance away.

"Not a thing. Now, if you'll let me be on my way…"

"Not so fast," Ross snapped, whipping out his gun like the perfect cowboy. Kirk rolled his eyes at the theatrics. "You're not legal or sober," the sheriff triumphantly announced, pulling out a breathalyzer and holding it at arm's length. "Blow."

Kirk held back a strangled laugh. You must be good at that, buddy, he thought to himself. In another circumstance he might have said it aloud, but he was in enough trouble as it was. He cooperated for the time being, knowing the result but blowing into the contraption anyway.

"Well, well." Ross whistled through his teeth. "An 0.31. What do you know." Kirk internally grimaced. The reading was just about the highest he'd gotten caught for…and that wouldn't do him any favors. "Hands behind your back, Mr. Kirk. I'm taking you in."

As soon as the cuffs were on and Kirk was in the backseat, the lecture began. Kirk knew it would happen. It happened every time the sheriff brought him in. Still, it didn't change the fact that the lecture was as boring and haughty as ever. Kirk tuned Ross out within fifteen seconds of the start of "the sermon," as Kirk called it. He had become adept at making the appropriate agreeable, embarrassed, or understanding noises whenever Ross's sermon called for them, which allowed his focus to drift toward something else – in this case, how he'd spend his night in the cell.

Usually Rick or Greg or one of the other deputies would pick him up form whatever trouble he'd started. Those nights weren't so bad. The deputies who had taken a liking to Kirk, and they'd chat and laugh with him for hours. Sometimes they'd even let him out for a few hours to join in a couple card games. Sure, they were cops, but they were decent guys. Unlike Mr. Lawman over here, who would stare silently and condemningly at Kirk for hours upon end, judging him, before eventually leaving the kid alone.

One thing was for sure. It would be a long night.

The squad car pulled up to the station twenty minutes later. Ross ended the sermon with a foreboding "You'll learn soon enough," and kept a hand on Kirk's cuffs as he lead the younger man inside toward a holding cell. After stowing Kirk inside the cell, Ross dragged a chair in front of the bars and began the expected stare-down that Kirk so loathed.

For the first ten minutes, Kirk stared back. For the second, he mentally concocted a brilliant escape that would leave the town in shambles. For the third, he practiced every language he knew within the confines of his brain. After that, he began internally insulting Ross alphabetically in every possible combination.

Kirk had just reached his third round of P's – admittedly he was running out of ideas, as "pimply potato head" was just not up to his usual standard – when a welcome distraction happened by. The station door opened, and a slim figure entered the room. Short blonde hair grazed her shoulders in a golden halo, and Kirk thought there was something vaguely familiar about her. He couldn't stop staring at the white sundress that was long enough to be innocent but short enough to be interesting. A blue sweater covered her shoulders, and she pulled the cardigan close around her as she entered the room.

"It's absolutely freezing in here!" the girl exclaimed in a sing-song voice. She turned to Ross. "Daddy, why isn't the heat up?"

"This isn't a place to be comfortable," Ross answered shortly as the pieces clicked together in Kirk's head. Brynne Ross, daughter of Sheriff Ross, had been away at boarding school for years now. Kirk hadn't heard her name in years, and he had completely forgotten about her. He eyed her again. She sure grew up nice. "Why are you here?" the sheriff asked, turning to look at his daughter.

"I just came to say hi," Brynne said. "Mom said I could come." She eyed Kirk through the bars. "I see you're not alone."

"Not alone, no. I trust you remember Mr. James Kirk," Ross announced condescendingly.

"James Kirk," Brynne repeated, turning the syllables over in her mouth. Kirk liked how she said his name. "I remember. It's fitting that he got himself locked up in here. You always were a troublemaker, weren't you Kirk?"

Kirk said nothing, knowing that he couldn't control his infamous pickup lines around this insanely attractive girl. He had the curious sense that Brynne didn't mean what she said, though, and he could not figure out what meaning her words held. He admitted to himself that he could be imagining the whole thing – he was rather sidetracked by how the sundress accentuated her flawless curves and showed off her long, tanned legs.

"That he was," the sheriff answered for him.

"Hm." Brynne sniffed haughtily, then turned to her father. "I'll be back in a moment. I need to freshen up in the powder room." She looked once more at Kirk – a look that left him wanting to know her innermost thoughts – and turned on her heel and walked into the bathroom.

Kirk stared after her. Powder room? He hadn't heard someone under seventy years old say that. Brynne had certainly changed from the fun-loving, adventurous child she once had been. Although, still…she seemed to have that same spark. He'd always prided himself on being able to read girls like a book, but this one was hard. Although outward attitude told him that Brynne was just as offended with him as her father was, Kirk's gut told him that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Curious.

With Brynne gone, Sheriff Ross immediately reverted back to maintaining his stare at Kirk. The younger man, however, was lost in thoughts of Brynne and what she would say if he asked her for her number later. By no means did he imagine starting anything serious with her – Serious? Him? He laughed to himself at the absurdity – but he suspected that she was a hell of a lot of fun in bed.

When Brynne returned, Kirk noticed the color of her eyes. It was a vivid blue, the color of water, the kind that made him want to spend days at the beach. Maybe he would head to the beach tomorrow…

Kirk's musings were interrupted by the crackle of the radio that sat atop the sheriff's desk. Ross, always the abiding lawman, scurried to answer it.

"Hello? This is Sheriff Ross speaking." As the sheriff waited for an answer, Kirk wondered for the thousandth time why the police had not yet switched to PADDs. Why stick with the static-filled radios when it could be so much easier? Whatever. It was their loss.

"Sheriff, this is Deputy Towns from over by Heath's Bar," the voice on the other end came through. "Someone just called in about a bar fight down there. We don't have any extra hands around here, so I thought maybe you'd want to check it out."

"Of course, Deputy. I'll be right there," Ross answered immediately. He grabbed his coat and was at the door in a second, muttering about how far away Heath's Bar was and how much he hated bar fights. Just as he reached the door, Ross turned to his daughter. "You'll watch the criminal, won't you?"

"Yes, Daddy, of course I will," Brynne answered, nodding slightly.

"And you won't speak to him?" Ross checked.

"Speak to him?" Brynne repeated the words like Ross had just asked her to lick the floor. "Obviously not."

"That's a good girl," Ross nodded, stepping out the door. Kirk could have sworn he heard the sheriff mutter something about the water being contaminated, as there was no way there could be two bar fights in one night.

The sheriff closed the door behind him, and Kirk waited until he heard the squad car roll away before risking a conversation with Brynne.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he mentioned nonchalantly, throwing her a crooked grin.

"I've been at school," the girl replied shortly before looking warily up at Kirk. "And obviously you've been in jail."

"Well…not all the time." Kirk paused, grinning. "But maybe a good deal of it," he conceded. Brynne didn't answer, seeming suddenly nervous at being left alone with him. "How long are you home from school?" Kirk asked, trying to re-engage in the conversation.

"Long enough," Brynne answered, sneaking a look at the digital clock that sat on her father's desk.

"Learn anything good?" Kirk was beginning to think that this conversation might be a waste of time. But he was interested in her…so interested that it might just be worth it.

"Maybe." Brynne gave Kirk an odd look, then walked closer to the bars that held them apart. "But you've probably learned more than I have."

"Have I, now?" Kirk asked, placing a hand on one of the bars and leaning forward.

"Yes." Brynne inspected the bars. "I've never been on the inside of a jail cell before." Kirk stared at her, sure her words had a double meaning. She held his gaze, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of her quiet confidence. In that moment he knew that she was no innocent daughter of a sheriff.

"Well," he purred, leaning closer. "Who says you can't start now?" Brynne seemed to deliberate for a half a second. Then she picked up the keys from her father's desk and fit one into the lock on Kirk's cell. Before turning it, she met his eyes.

"Promise you won't escape?" she asked, the hint of a smile playing on her perfectly red lips. Kirk slid his hand through the bars and grasped hers, turning the key so that the lock popped open.

"What good is the promise of a criminal?" he returned as Brynne took a step into his cell.

"My father hates criminals. He hates you worst of all."

"So I've noticed," replied Kirk, a wry smile on his face.

"I met some old friends last night and your name came up," Brynne murmured, taking a steps toward them so she had to tilt her head to see into his eyes. "They told me you had a criminal record as long as your…well." she lowered her eyes for a moment to rest just below his belt buckle.

"I'm not one to argue with that," Kirk breathed, adrenaline coursing through him. "But then again…what's the word of a petty criminal like myself? If you want the truth," he grinned at her, fire in his eyes, "then you're gonna have to find out for yourself."

"Hm," Brynne sighed. A quick sidestep later, and Kirk was pinned against the bars. "I don't mind if I do." Before Kirk could blink, Brynne trapped his wrists against the bars with a pair of handcuffs she had plucked from her father's desk. Kirk frowned, straining against the bonds.

"I thought you wanted me to…" he was cut off as Brynne pressed a slender finger to his lips.

"I don't want you to do anything," she purred. "Not yet." Kirk's heart sped up as Brynne swiftly unhitched his belt and slid down to her knees as she pulled his jeans to the ground. As a somewhat general rule, Kirk did not wear boxers – or much of anything, for that matter – below his pants. This left Brynne able to work her magic without delay.

Kirk's eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Brynne's warm mouth encircle him. He felt weak in the knees, and his hands grasped the bars so as to keep from sinking to the ground. It had been a long time since he was not in charge. And, by the time Brynne finally pulled away, he realized how much he liked it.

"Well?" Kirk prodded huskily, as Brynne kissed him fully on the mouth. He could taste himself on her lips, and it made him want her so much more. Her fingers moved around to his wrists, teasing them with the key.

"Well what?" Brynne asked, finally unlatching the cuffs.

"Were they telling the truth about my…record?" Brynne laughed throatily.

"It seems they were."

"Good." Kirk brought his hands around to the back of her dress, slowly unzipping the white fabric. "Now let me show you what I can do with it." Brynne was undressed in less than a second, trusting Kirk to strip every ounce of clothing from her body. Kirk's eyes wandered over the tanned expanse of flawless skin, and he smiled as he saw her shiver under his gaze. He lowered her to the floor, their mouths battling each other all the way down.

He started with her neck, kissing it until he was sure he had driven her crazy enough to continue downward. Her nipples were next, and he enveloped each one with his tongue, rolling the bud between his teeth. While his mouth was busy with her breasts, his hand traveled even further downward. He felt the wetness between her legs and found himself even more aroused than only seconds ago, if that were possible. She needed him now. He knew it.

As Kirk made his way back to her mouth, he felt her tremble beneath him. He lifted his mouth for a moment, just long enough to look into her blue, blue eyes as he made his first thrust inside her. Brynne's pupils dilated to the size of quarters. She moaned once, clawing at Kirk's back, begging him for more.

And more he gave her, plunging over and over, driving deeper and deeper. Kirk's mind was in frenzy, his heart doubling, tripling in rhythm. They gasped, crying out for each other, the sweat on their bodies forming beads that ran together. They moved in unison, bucking and arching, until neither could take it anymore. Kirk and Brynne hurdled over the crest together, losing themselves in blissful ecstasy.

They lay on the hard floor for a long moment in a tangle of arms and legs, both breathing as if they had run a marathon. Finally Brynne sat up, her contented smile bringing out one of Kirk's own grins.

"That was amazing," Brynne sighed, reluctantly reaching for her dress.

"It truly was," Kirk agreed. He stood to clothe himself as well. "It's too bad you're only in town for a while."

"Well," replied Brynne, "I'll be around for a while, actually. It's summer break. That's three months that I have at home."

"In that case," Kirk grinned widely, "I hope to see you around soon."

"I wouldn't worry about that," Brynne laughed, pulling her dress over her head. "I'm sure you'll be in and out…of jail, I mean."

"I'm sure I will be," Kirk chuckled. "It's lucky your dad was called out, or we might not have had the opportunity to get…reacquainted."

"Lucky?" Brynne repeated. "What do you take me for, Mr. Kirk?" She stared at him square in the eye, her blue irises twinkling mischievously as if waiting for him to catch onto something. When he stayed silent, she pushed on. "Why was my father called away, Jim?"

"He responded to a…bar fight?" Kirk tried to remember exactly what the call had entailed. Brynne smiled coyly and leaned toward him to whisper in his ear.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, Mr. Kirk," she breathed, tickling his ear with her tongue. "There was no bar fight."

Kirk's brow furrowed as he took in her words, confused. No bar fight? Then why…oh. A slow grin began as he relived the first few moments he had seen Brynne enter the station. The look she gave him when Ross introduced them…her trip to the "powder room" to freshen up…the call to sheriff about a bar fight in a conveniently distant place…

"I see," Kirk finally conceded, smiling broadly. "You were the tip. I should give you more credit, Brynne Ross."

"Still think Lady Luck is to thank?" Brynne grinned locking her fingers around Kirk's neck. Kirk nodded slowly, his smile never leaving his face.

"Of course I do," he responded, kissing Brynne again. "You're one of the same."