Author's note: Well, here we go with the second Behold Man fic :) Heavy spoilers for 2x09. Dark, heavy content as well. Not yet, though, but it will come later, so kids should not be reading this.

Oh, I almost forgot. Check my profile for the complete list of Behold Man fics. I'll admit it's not that long right now, but it's bound to get so in the long run.

Enjoy!


THESE LITTLE HORRORS, THESE LITTLE HOURS

You can only take so much. You can only take so much.
Before you turn to stone.

- Greycoats, Watchman, What is Left of the Night?

I need to talk to you RT NOW. Shit. – M.

Emma Gorbman flung her phone back onto its stand on her bedside table and fell back in bed, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her duvet. What now? What could be so freaking important that Muffy needed to wake her up at… Emma grunted and leaned over just far enough to see the time on the tiny screen of her cellphone… like nine o'clock in the morning? Jesus, she should still be playing lead female in that really hot dream she'd been having starring Shia Leboeuf.

Rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands, though, Emma reckoned she wouldn't be falling asleep again and much less have a chance to continue with Shia where they'd left off in the back of his radio-talking, yellow alien sports car. So, really, she should call Muffy and do some yelling. One simply did not end a dream prematurely when Shia was involved.

Thoroughly disgusted with Muffy, Emma lifted her damn premature alarm clock and speed-dialed. "What," she bark-rasped into it when Muffy answered as distractedly as usual. Only, as she listened, Muffy's distraught and disconnected ramblings quickly turned Emma's anger into… oh… shit. She said as much.

"I don't know what to do!" Muffy blubbered into the phone.

First things first. "Are you sure?" Somehow Emma had difficulty believing Muffy's high tale, but the genuine horror in her friend's voice gave it all credibility as far as Emma was concerned. She just needed confirmation that it wasn't just her overreacting as she sometimes did.

"I don't know!"

"Did you call the cops?"

Muffy's desperate shriek rang in Emma's ear long after it ended. "No! Don't call them, Emma, it's so embarrassing."

Emma rubbed her face. Muffy could be such a drama queen, and that was saying something.

"What should we do?" Muffy asked in a small voice several seconds later.

Well, that was a no-brainer! "You should call the cops!" But as Muffy's protests began in her ear again, Emma sighed. "What did Sasha say?" Sasha being Muffy's little thirteen year-old brother.

Pregnant silence at the other end for a long moment. "He won't talk," Muffy replied hollowly. "Won't say where he got the bruises. But I know–"

"Don't jump to conclusions," Emma replied calmly, surprising herself with her self-possessed state of mind. Since when was she such a cool head? "Okay, look, I know someone who might be able to help."

"Not the cops, Emma," Muffy insisted passionately.

Emma rolled her eyes at her friend's one-track mind. Even if she had to be excused in the moment. "Blair Waldorf."

Muffy made a quizzical noise as if to say "what are you on?"

"Remember that stuff on Gossip Girl a couple years ago about Serena at the Ostroff Centre?" Emma began, knowing Muffy would know right away what she was talking about. Of course, they'd only been obsessed with the website at the time.

"Blew up in her face," Muffy replied dismissively.

"Georgina Sparks?"

Case closed.

#

"Miss Blair? Miss Blair, someone on the–"

"Dorota," Blair's not-so-indulgent and testy morning voice grunted from amid a mountain of pillows. "I told you I have a final today. I need my beauty sleep if I want–" The eye mask was torn off her eyes, light spearing into her eyes.

Her maid's insistent, nearly imperious voice interrupted her mid-sentence, leaving her gaping comically. "Miss Blair, important call from New York. I think you want–"

But Blair had already shot up in bed and torn her cellphone out of her maid's hands by the time Dorota had gotten to "want". Of course she wanted to take that call! All thought of berating her for rudely awakening her fled her mind as she cradled the thing to her ear. Had Chuck's jet landed earlier? If so… "Chuck! You're back early."

"Er." Not Chuck's voice. Feminine. Vaguely familiar. "It's Emma Gorbman," the voice said, adding uncertainly, "The body open for business? The Dean's–"

"Niece." Blair's eyebrows knitted tightly together even as she threw her vanishing maid a death glare. Why had Chuck bought Dorota from her mother's service anyway? The woman obviously took orders from "Mister Chuck" and schemed behind her back whenever some kind male soul helped her out. Where did her loyalties lie? She'd have to have a good talk with her – if she could find her after pulling this not-so-funny stunt – and Chuck – Dorota wasn't his maid. Hers! Hers only!

"Er, hi. You wouldn't happen to call to demand I find someone to pluck your flower, would you?" Blair asked carefully. The she-devil had sure been a handful to keep in line but Blair thought she might have learned her lesson when she saw that… that tulip-ed freak.

Her young interlocutor burst out in peeling laughter. "No, no, nothing like that." Of course not. She even sounded rather more mature than before their little talk. "But… I'm not a virgin anymore if you care to know. He was no Serge."

Blair smiled at the self-deprecating humour and lack of juvenile triumph in the girl's words. Good for her. "No details, please."

"I wouldn't." Another good, mature thing. But it still didn't explain her call in the first place… unless she wanted to thank Blair for making her wait for the right guy? "Listen, I need to ask you a favour."

"Another one?" Saving her hymen hadn't been enough?

Emma hesitated on the line. "Yeah. You remember my friend Muffy?"

Uh oh. That didn't bode well. "What did she bet this time?"

Emma was quick to reply. "It's nothing like that." A pause, as if she were gathering her thoughts. "Look, I've seen what you can do on Gossip Girl."

Blair worried her lip, wondering what exactly the kid was getting at. She'd done a lot of things she wasn't that proud of. Other things… Well. Sweet revenge did taste very sweet indeed. "I'm not in high school anymore," Blair ventured carefully. Despite the fact that she did like to keep up-to-date on the happenings in New York every once in a while. Nothing wrong with knowing the people she went to social events with. She'd bet anything Chuck checked the website, too, to find out what his investors' kids could reveal about their parents' morals or lack thereof.

"Right. But you're good, Blair. You're thorough. Clean. Discreet." And that last seemed to be the most important.

Quite helpless against her natural curiosity, Blair leaned forward as though the girl was right in front of her. Belatedly she realised she was facing away from New York anyway. Whatever. "What did Muffy get herself into?"

"It's not Muffy," Emma said hollowly.

Blair rolled her eyes. Now what? The tart's friend-of-a-cousin-of-a-friend?

"It's her little brother," Emma whispered into the phone. "She thinks her stepfather's… forcing him." At Blair's silence she added, strained, "But he won't say anything and she won't call the police."

A beat passed, and then carefully, almost like an automaton, numbly, Blair picked up the notebook and pen she'd left on her nightstand, and stared at the pointed tip of her pen as she clutched it hard between her fingers. Hard enough to snap. "Give me his name," she nearly snarled. "The stepfather."

#

There was a saying about studying for an exam: one should never cram on the last day. Rather, one should steadily study throughout the weeks before the exam, and then relax on the day of, because the knowledge was already there and ready to be called to memory. Blair, as usual, had diligently recopied her notes, done all the proposed preparatory exercises, and studied more than enough to know the material by heart, back to front and back again.

She spent the few hours before her Management exam snacking lightly and researching a certain Martin Woodard, before leaving Chuck an enticing email with all her findings and Emma's number to call for details. Doing so, she checked the time one last time. He would be over the Pacific at this moment. Good. "Dorota," she called, "I'm going to my exam now. Wish me luck!"

Dorota's voice preceded her as she appeared from the kitchen, washcloth in hand. "Of course, Miss Blair. You do well now."

Blair grinned loftily. "I will," she replied matter-of-factly, because of course she would. She didn't have A's for nothing!

On the way to Yale, Blair's head swam with numbers and newspaper articles. What she wouldn't give for those three hours of examination to be over. Sighing, she took out her formula sheet – the only material besides her calculator allowed – and reviewed in her head even as she burrowed comfortably in the back of the car Chuck had offered her shortly after Dorota graced her with her helping and scheming-behind-her-back presence in her apartment. Hm. She still hadn't had that talk with Dorota. Blair filed that task away for later. First, Management exam. Then, Martin Woodard. Then, maybe she could enjoy the holidays with Chuck. And her family, of course.

Time to focus on Management.

#

A small snowfall later, Blair finally braved the creeping cold and ran all the way to the waiting car at the end of the long walkway. Mentally she noted she'd have to shop for a warmer winter coat, especially with the prospect of spending all her holidays in New York – her father and Roman would fly in for a true family Christmas a week before the day. And there was the Martin Woodard business to take care of beforehand.

"Home, Fred."

"Of course, Miss Waldorf. The exam went well?" he asked conversationally, pulling away from the snow-laden curb.

"Demanding, but I did very well," Blair replied confidently just as her waist pocket began vibrating and chirping with the arrival of a new text message. Fishing it out – Chuck would have just landed – Blair read his first communication in a few days with growing excitement.

How was exam? Sending you plane after refuel. Called Emma. We need plan of attack asap. – C

Dialing Dorota's number, Blair excitedly urged the maid to start preparing her luggage immediately, refusing to let her know where exactly she was going. Then again, Chuck had probably texted Dorota before Blair to get the maid on the ball early. Bastard.