A/N: A general warning, mention of noncon, nothing too specific, though.

It took the better part of the next day to locate Commander Spock's residence. Jim finally hacked into the central Starfleet database using one of the terminals he was repairing. Since searching for holes in the security was also his job, he immediately repaired the breach, but not without taking note that Spock kept a house off campus, only an hour's walk away. Once he rebooted the terminal and signed off for the day, Jim hurried back to his own basement dormitory and threw his bag onto the small bed, gathering a pair of civilian jeans and an overlarge sweater to change into before making his way into the shower. It was getting late, but with any hope he would make it back before it got too dark.

Dressed as he was, Jim didn't catch too many eyes as he walked off campus and onto the city streets. One hand was kept in his pocket, fiddling with the credit chip he had shoved there before leaving his apartment. It was most of his savings, and would take him half a year to replenish, but it gave him comfort knowing that he did not need to be indebted to this Vulcan.

The city itself held no real interest for Jim. Between the cars being much more advanced than the one he drove off that cliff so many years ago, the buildings being a mixture of pre-space exploration and post-first contact, and the people being of so many different species, he often felt lost if he paid too much attention to it all. His mind was built for different specializations, the simple task of knowing. But knowing and implementing were two totally different things in his book.

Coming to the edge of the campus sprawling, the bars and clubs put there because of the academy, Jim found himself on a street with several gated houses. The buildings were larger than an entire dormitory building, and Jim felt his nervousness growing as his stomach twisted slightly. There would be no way he would be welcomed into such a house in his current attire. Even his dress clothes would be under dressed here.

Feeling a hopeless sort of knot in his gut, Jim decided to just find the house and try to contact Spock. Since it was Saturday and no classes were held on weekends, he figured that someone should be home. When the address he was looking for came up, Jim felt his lunch try to force its way from him in a most painful manner, which he swallowed against.

The house behind the ivy covered gates was monstrous. Every resident of his home town could fit in there with room to spare. A large front door sat under four more stories of windows, each at least fifty windows across with six feet in between each window. The front drive encircled a fountain that sprayed water a good twenty feet into the air, and there were perfectly trimmed hedges lining the very front of the house.

The human failed to realize how long he stood there staring up at the house before a voice came from the intercom next to the gate. A camera turned to point directly at him as the bored sounding male droned a message to him.

"Visitors to the Vulcan Embassy are required to set an appointment with one of the ambassadors. Hours you can call are Monday through Friday, eight AM to five PM. Have a nice evening."

Jim hurried over to the intercom and pressed the talk button. "Please, I am here to see Commander Spock, is he in?"

"Commander Spock is out. May I take tell have your name so I can inform him you called?"

"Um...no. I'm sure I'll see him around."

Defeat welled up inside Jim. His hand, still around the credit chip, tightened and he felt the edges of the chip dig into his palm. One disaster after another had occurred this weekend, and he was more than prepared to walk back to his tiny dorm and wallow away the night going over his schedule for tomorrow. It was stupid of him to assume that the Vulcan would be home. He probably had a number of friends, a girlfriend, all of that. And Jim had his computers. That's where he was happy.

So the long walk back was started, and his shoes dragged over the cement sidewalk. Although disappointed, Jim was still determined to settle this debt before Spock decided to force repayment in some other way. Although it had been a long time, three years in fact, since the last person had forced repayment, and the psychological scars were still there in his reticence to be noticed by people.

It happened one night when Jim was away from home, working on one of the 'fleet ships. Programming always kept him late into the night, and he figured no one else was there. But he didn't know that one Gary Mitchell was hanging about. A week before that, Gary had helped Jim pay his rent when some unwelcome (but not completely unexpected) medical bills had drained Jim's account. Jim had promised repayment on payday. The only problem was he didn't know Gary's way of repayment.

The bigger man had pinned him against the hull of the new ship before Jim even realized he was there. A hand had ripped open his work coverall and Gary's sweaty hand covered his mouth.

"You want to repay me?" the man had hissed into his ear even as he pressed his already hard length against Jim's ass. "You can keep your money, and just let me use your body."

With a shaky breath, Jim ripped his mind away from that particular memory. It may have been years ago, but it still tore at him. And that was the beginning of Jim's distrust of the court systems, his need to not be the center of attention, his pathetic excuses to not press charges. The judges had believed Gary when he said that Jim had been willing.

Once more, Jim forced himself to focus on the present. With everything happening now, he needed to use his genius mind to work out a way to save enough money to pay for his first semester. After that, he wasn't sure what he would do. There were so many unanswered questions. If he managed to prove himself capable enough in his classes to earn a scholarship, that would save him so much trouble. But then there was the unwavering doubt that crushed him back down. What if he failed?

His mind was so distracted that Jim walked right into the busy street and was promptly surrounded by partying cadets and townies who had taken over the sidewalks as they made their way from one club or bar to another. Jim tried to press himself away from the crowds, but some of the women and not a few of the men noticed the golden haired young man as he tried to push his way through, no longer invisible in the middle of the drunken revelry that was the weekend. Jim noticed the overwhelming amount of green that was present and the shamrocks before it hit him that today was the seventeenth of March.

Several hands reached out to pinch him before Jim managed to dodge them. One stealthy cadet, however, an attractive female, laid both hands on his rear, pinching.

"You should have worn a little green," she purred into his ear as Jim went into full panic mode. The girl seemed not to notice as she slinked away through the crowd, but Jim practically melded with the brick wall, feeling sick. His arms started shivering despite the warm sweater wrapped around him.

This was the reason he stayed sequestered in his room. Even yesterday, being carried by that Vulcan, the only reason he didn't fight was because he couldn't. Now, his only goal was to flee as far and as fast as he could. But running through this group was near impossible.

Instead, Jim found himself forced along with the crowd, steadily working his way out to the street proper. He would rather be ran over by a hover car than be pinched, prodded, and groped by everyone on the sidewalks. Holding his arms tight to his chest, he pushed through people until he was forcibly expelled, right into the path of an oncoming car.

Strong, extremely warm hands grabbed his biceps and pulled him back, out of the way as the driver swerved around him. Jim found himself held against a hard chest, momentarily frozen with fear. His arms still tight against himself, Jim forced a deep breath and expelled it quickly, closing his eyes against the near death experience before turning to look at who had grabbed him and was still holding him.

Sable eyes regarded him from a face lacking all signs of emotion other than the slight quirk of an eyebrow. Jim swallowed against the lump of nausea in his throat and quickly dug into his pocket, pulling out the credit chip to press into Spock's hand.

"I-I...just wanted...There."

He turned to flee down the mostly empty street, but Spock's other hand had a firm grip on his arm, refusing to let go. Jim glanced back and felt his own panic start to ignite. The Vulcan's eyes widened slightly and he quickly let go of the human, who promptly pushed his way through the crowd and back to the campus proper.

Jim barely registered the trip back to his tiny room. Everything traveled in an indistinct blur until he fell down face first on his bed, his breathing erratic. Spock would wonder why he left in such a hurry, but Jim knew better than anyone why he couldn't be touched and not have some sort of reaction. Even being pummeled was better than being held in such a false manner.

Despite his best efforts to will his mind to calm down, restless adrenaline fueled energy coursed through Jim and he started pacing his small room. It was exactly three strides wide by seven strides long, barely large enough to pace, but big enough to give him the sense of movement. He needed to do something constructive, and Jim decided in a moment. Grabbing his ID card and his tool case, he left his dorm and headed towards one of the test buildings, intent upon fixing the simulator that had been damaged during a rather intense session. As he heard it, the student had thrown his boot at one of the consoles after he failed his objective.

Swiping his card, he let himself into the building, walking down the dark halls, his street shoes not making a sound on the hard floor. Jim walked slowly as several emotions warred for his immediate attention. One, the most obvious, was fear. He was afraid of this Vulcan he now had to repay again for saving his life.

Then there was grief. He had seen the confusion and hurt in the brown eyes when Spock had released him to flee. He had no idea why the Vulcan seemed so upset about Jim's need to depart, but he had been, and Jim was nothing if not a bit empathic as far as others went. Even if people tended to overlook him, he could still read them near perfectly.

Finally, Jim saw the small grain of something he had hoped wasn't actually there. A little bit of attraction. The Vulcan was attractive, even by human standards. But Jim was not one to harbor hopeless crushes and he brushed that useless emotion aside. It wouldn't help in now, and had no use in the future, so he would willingly ignore it.

Opening the door to the simulator, Jim moved over to the broken console and saw the obvious boot print. Sitting down on the floor and scooting underneath so he could get at the underside and remove the panel, Jim's powerdrill worked its way across the panel. Each screw fell into his waiting hands, and Jim was deaf to the world, his only focus on the sound of the drill.

Turning it off, he slid from under the console to see a shadow sitting in the chair in the center of the room, hands steepled against his chin, as he watched Jim. The human felt the blood rush from his face and he held the drill defensively in front of him. The Vulcan put him on edge to start with, but his intense eyes made Jim feel more vulnerable than Gary Mitchell ever had.

"I was wondering what I could have done to cause you such distress," Spock said as he leaned forward slightly. Jim pushed himself back against the console before standing, feeling a bit stronger while on his feet.

"Y-you followed me?" Jim asked with a slight squeak, a little undignified and unmanly, but he didn't care. All he wanted was to be out of this room. Curse his inability to teleport at will.

Spock let out a breath and tilted his head. "Not exactly. I was hear to pick something up and heard your drill. Being curious as to who was here so late, when I saw your clothing, it seemed reasonable to stay and inquire as to your general well being and why you were so offended by my person when I have done nothing to warrant such behavior."

"I-I-I..." Jim found himself unable to speak and kept his eyes focused on Spock's feet. His chest started hurting from the strength of his heart pounding against his ribs, his stomach twisted into a pretzel, and he felt his mouth go dry. Vulcans were not a violent race, preferring logic and reason. But Jim didn't trust anyone and he was not about to start with someone who could possibly manhandle him easily to the floor. Someone who could kill him without even really trying.

He heard more than saw Spock stand, his hands smoothing down his black uniform shirt. Jim kept his eyes averted from his face, but that didn't seem to deter the Vulcan as he took two steps forward and placed himself directly in front of Jim.

"I do not mean to intrude where I am not wanted, but I did think you would like this back." A hand brushed against his jeans, and Jim recoiled violently, pressing against the console behind him, eyes closed, the drill slipping from his nerveless grasp.

Spock let out a sigh. "Fascinating," he breathed before turning to the door and leaving Jim there, his breathing harsh.

It took another hour before Jim could find his way back to his room. One hot shower later he was wrapped in every blanket he owned, intent upon shutting out the world. But his own mind tended to intrude on nights like this, and when Sunday morning rolled around, Jim was woefully sleep deprived and wishing he could take the day off. But repairs needed to be made, no matter how hard a weekend Jim was having.