Disclaimer: I do not own Legally Blonde. I do not own Emmett Forrest either. Sigh.

Halloo, lovelies! Happy New Year! Back to school for me. So, sorry, in advance, for delayed postings.

Before anything, thanks for the ones who reviewed the past chapters! You are all awesooome! And, thank you to my brilliant beta reader! I got so psyched when you noticed the little details I wanted you to notice. Oooh... Twin telepathy!

Anyway, enjoy!

Duty Calls

There seemed to be no rest for the weary. After the barely five hours of silence (accentuated only by tired soft snores), the room was alive again; this time with the smell of coffee wafting through the air. The blinds were still down but the light was already streaming in, making more shadows than light. Though he tried to stifle it, Emmett released a yawn and groggily stirred the contents of his mug. His clock would say it was too early to get up on such a day as that but the messages on his phone said otherwise.

This wasn't unusual, however. Emmett had never really acknowledged the weekends. All the days of the week were the same to him. When he was young, the case was different; but that was a long time ago. He rubbed his eyes sleepily before he turned to the stack of papers strewn on his tiny desk. Finishing the paperwork was one thing; delivering them was another. If it was another day, he would rather do the former and leave the latter. Yet, today, he decided to do things efficiently.

Fortunately, though he ignored the differences of weekends and weekdays, other people did not. That meant he could take his time. At least, take enough time enjoying his cup of coffee. Drinking coffee was now simply an activity of leisure. Caffeine no longer had any effect on him. There are some habits that do not die. Besides, the bitterness was a taste he found pleasing and familiar.

Growing up, he had to be accustomed to it. He had been to more cheap motels and dirty diners than he would care to remember. His mother struggled with cooking (if ever she did cook) and for the first seven years of his life, he had to endure either microwavable meals or burnt canned goods.

Emmett's cell phone buzzed and Emmett softly laughed as he thought how uncanny it was when that happens. Whenever he thought deeply of his mother, coincidentally, she would call out of the blue. She often jokingly said that it was her mother's instincts kicking in. Emmett never doubted it though he never admitted it either.

"You called," Emmett simply stated, his tone still raspy with sleep. He took another sip of coffee.

"And you didn't last night," his mother's voice was always a combination of serious and chirpy. Maybe it was because of her high-pitched voice. Or maybe because he knew too much of her mood swings to believe she can be two things at the same time. His sigh sent ripples through his coffee.

"I was working last night, Ma."

"Would it kill you to have a few minutes with your own mother?"

Despite her attack at his neglect, he softly laughed at her. He checked the time then thought he could take those few minutes she wanted.

"Okay, okay. I can talk now. What do you want to know?"

"I want to know everything. Tell me about your first week as a teacher assistant in Harvard," she said that last bit very proudly that Emmett thought he could hear her straighten up when she said it.

"Well, it was pretty..." he tried to keep in his excitement but he soon gave up, "Amazing! You wouldn't believe it, Ma..."

Then he went on to tell her about the professors and what it felt like being there to see all the "academic action" happen before him. Emmett knew his mother greatly appreciated his enthusiasm for education and law. He felt sad about that because she had so much going for her in high school. She was about to graduate when she had Emmett. During her time, it was a struggle to be young and pregnant. The doors that used to be wide open for her were instantly shut in her face. Plus, it didn't help that her high school sweetheart left her to pursue a college degree.

Emmett tried to tell everything about the week in great detail. He wanted his mother to feel as if she too was there. Also, he, himself, wanted to feel like she was there with him. The guilt brought on by his negligence to call his mother joined the pile of other things that bore down on him. There was only himself and his mother to take care of but the responsibility of raising the family from poverty remained heavy on his shoulders.

"... Then he said if we hadn't found the files in time, we would've been dead meat. Needless to say, we nailed the case," concluded Emmett, with his mouth full. He was done with his cup of coffee and was on to finishing a sandwich he had just made.

"That's great, Em!" his mother gushed, then she paused and asked, "So you're done with the case? What are you working on today?"

"Well, I checked test papers last night. I have to bring them back to the faculty today."

"But can't it wait until Monday?"

"It can," said Emmett slowly, frowning at his empty plate, as he set it down the sink, "But I can't. Anyway, I plan to do other stuff as well, so might as well do this, too."

"Oooh, personal stuff?" his mother asked teasingly. Emmett thought that his mother definitely loved imagining that he had a life other than his job and his own mom. He liked to think that, too, once in a while, but circumstances had other plans.

"Nope. Just extra teacher's assistant stuff. A student of Callahan has been missing class for awhile now. I plan to make a visit. Check if everything's fine."

"Is that really part of your job?"

"No. But, in any case, I think it should."

"You're always too sweet, Em," his mother said, both endearingly and worriedly. Then, her tone back to teasing, "I have no idea where you got that".

"I have no idea either," replied Emmett, smiling all the while. His mother laughed heartily. She seemed many years younger when she giggled like that. Emmett could almost hear the high school girl who used to dream of becoming a wealthy lawyer's wife before she became a poor junior associate's mother instead.

"Right," she said once she calmed down, "Anyway, if you plan to be so busy today – of all days – then go ahead. I won't be keeping you. But I will expect a call from you later, okay?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"G'bye, honey. Have a great day! Don't work yourself too hard."

"Sure, Mom. Bye."

With that, Emmett put down his cell, left it on top of the mess of papers on his desk, and got ready to go out. He emerged from the bathroom wearing a loose gray T-shirt and his most comfortable pair of jeans. In no hurry, he gathered the scattered test papers, inserted them in a folder then carefully put them in his messenger bag. He may be going out to work but he decided to leave the corduroy jacket. It was a Saturday anyway. That thing needed to rest.

The cycle to Harvard was easier that day. People on the road were scarce. Summer has ended but the air was still warm. By the time Emmett reached the faculty building, his skin was slightly damp with sweat. His bike was the only bicycle in the parking lot. He skipped up the stairs, pushed the glass doors open. The place seemed empty. He heard a few faint footsteps scattered about. His own strides echoed softly across the marble floors. Then, not far down the hall, he heard the usual whistling of the janitor.

"Emmett," said the old janitor, beaming at him toothlessly with a mop at one hand, "Always the early bird."

"Morning, Jimmy," said Emmett, slowing down his pace to a halt, "Just passed by to drop some test papers". Jimmy, the janitor, was skinny and tall. He had a bushy mustache that covered most of his upper lip and almost concealed his lack of teeth (except when he smiled). The creases on his face were light but many. His voice was hoarse with old age but he tried to fit his words to the times.

"Shouldn't you be in bed with a hang-over or something like that? Kids like you shouldn't be too hardworking."

"I have bills to pay, Jim."

"Sometimes," said Jimmy, leaning on his mop like a wise hermit with a staff, "I wonder who's the old man between the two of us. You'll see, Emmett. Life will move in its own pace whether you speed it up or not."

"Spoken like a true teenager," replied Emmett, jokingly, "But seriously, Jim, you're the sort of person who gets younger everyday"

"You know you've gone low when you start flattering unsuspecting old men," laughed Jimmy, breaking his laughter with a few loud coughs, "Emmett, do yourself a favor and use those pick-up lines on a girl around your age or younger. Today!"

"I thought life will move in its own pace."

"Life will, yes. But love won't. That one you have to take. And A-S-A-P."

"Well," said Emmett, sighing though he found the old janitor's romantic ideals amusing, "Maybe so. But for now, I have to get these papers to three desks".

"Go on then," said Jimmy, chuckling at Emmett's flat apathy for romance, "Watch where you step though. I just mopped near the doors"

"Okay. Thanks, Jim."

As Emmett deposited each folder of checked test papers, his mind wandered to the subject he had always tried to set aside. It wasn't that he was a cold unfeeling person. He wasn't even the serious and aloof type either. The problem, as his mother loved pointing out, was his tendency to see romance as something for the future. Love was a prize he could not (and would not) claim until he had accomplished everything he set out to achieve. If he felt something now, he would set it aside, delaying gratification. But he still yearned for it as any other man would.

After setting down Callahan's quizzes, Emmett remembered Lea, the only girl he was ever romantically attracted to. She was one of the first girls he met when he and his mother decided to settle in Roxbury. She grew up with her own share of family drama. Abusive father. Dead mother. Two half-siblings. She and Emmett, both dreaming to go as far away as possible from the slums, hit it off immediately when they met. He could still remember her long brown hair that reached to her elbows and her big round blue eyes that could cry at will. He remembered her even when he hadn't seen her since she left for New York. They never openly dated but they had a mutual understanding that they both liked each other. Emmett didn't dare ask her out though because he was afraid of spoiling their dream careers and, subsequently, any chance of a serious relationship. Surely she felt the same.

However, it has been seven years since they have seen each other. The last time Emmett heard of Lea, she was a drama school teacher in a pre-school and the fiancee of an accountant. She sent him an invitation online. She never returned home to Roxbury.

"See you around, Emmett," said Jimmy, waving a dirty rag in the air, as Emmett passed his way. Emmett smiled back and made a small salute, turning to leave the building, with his messenger back noticeably lighter than before. He unchained his bike then rode to the dorms. Strangely, he knew more people in the faculty than he did where the students were plenty. Perhaps Jimmy was right. He was getting older too soon with the company he was keeping.

He was relieved to recognize some faces from the couple of classes he assisted. Some waved at him as he cycled by. Others (very few) called out his name. All the while, he smiled and nodded back. Finally, he reached the building and after resting his bike on a wall, he entered the dorm. He had the address on a piece of paper and he checked it once in a while. He ascended a short flight of stairs. A girl in a black ponytail was going down. He stopped her and asked for a certain dormer. At first, she bluntly claimed she knew no one of the sort. He pressed on and added details: blonde hair, always wears pink, carries a dog.

"Oh, you mean Miss Barbie," the girl said flatly, "She's in that room opposite mine. The door to the right from the landing". She pointed it out to Emmett and left without hearing his thanks. He lingered awkwardly before she took her directions and knocked on the said door.

The dorm was not as noisy as he expected it to be. But then again, it was still morning. He pressed his ear on the door and heard a dog bark. He was definitely in the right place. Three knocks. Still no answer. He tried again, this time louder and more urgent. He was on to his seventh knock when he heard a loud groan from the other side. The sound of things being messily set aside escaped from the room. Rocking back and forth on his feet, he rubbed the back of his neck as he thought he might have gone too far. There was the brief sound of chains then the clinking of the door knob. The door opened a bit and there she was. Emmett smiled apologetically.

She was leaning on the door frame, her blonde hair spilling onto her cheeks. Her eyes were covered by large dark sunglasses. A bit of pink lipstick was smudged on her lips. On her feet, she wore pink fuzzy bedroom slippers that must have come together with the pink bathrobe she was wearing. Emmett, however, noticed she was wearing something not pink underneath. She was wearing a white T-shirt that seemed to be two sizes bigger than her. When she raised her arm to comb away the hair from her face, her T-shirt hitched up to reveal her pink boylegs. Emmett cleared his throat. She closed her bathrobe and kept her arms crossed across her stomach.

"Miss Woods," he began then smirked as he tried to recall the rest of her name, "Comma Elle?"

"Uh-huh."

"Um, I'm -"

"Wait!" she exclaimed, suddenly raising herself, "Ohmigod!"

Emmett blinked. She looked alarmed.

"Don't tell me I assaulted you last night. 'Cause, believe me, I didn't mean it. It was a mistake. Well, that eighth shot was a mistake. But I hope you understand that this was all a misunderstanding. I am never usually-"

"Relax," said Emmett, holding his hands up towards her, half-worried and half-amused at how fast she could speak, "We didn't see each other last night. Actually, we haven't seen each other for three days."

"Someone's been counting."

"Well, yes," he admitted, slightly taken aback by Miss Woods' comment, "I have. I'm Emmett Forrest, one of the teacher's assistants here. I checked the Professor Callahan's class record and noticed you've been absent for three days. I'm just here to check if everything's alright."

He wasn't sure if she was listening to him. Her sunglasses were so dark that all he saw was his bloated reflection on it. For a moment, he fidgeted with the strap of his bag.

"So... I know you're not from around here and that you didn't attend the orientation seminar but I assume you have the dorm brochure," he continued. Then, from his bag, he took out a glossy folded paper and showed it to Miss Woods. She slowly shook her head. He sighed then handed her his.

"Also, here are the directions for the pharmacy and the nearest hospital," he said, giving her little maps. Miss Woods took them and was looking through them one by one. Emmett couldn't see her eyes but he noticed her bite her lip and wince. Dropping his attempts at formality, Emmett decided to take the friendlier approach. He leaned closer to her and focused his gaze on her shades.

"Hey," said Emmett, adapting a softer tone and looking serious but friendly, "I know people say when you reach Harvard Law you're on your own. Every man for himself and all that. That may be true. But if someone offers help, — and mind you, that can be a bit rare — you should take it." Exchanging smiles, they seemed to have understood each other. Emmett, feeling that his message had come across, stepped back while Miss Woods moved her sunglasses to the top of her head like a headband. Her eyes looked puffy and tired but nevertheless sparkled as she beamed at him.

"Thanks, Professor."

"Please. It's Emmett," said Emmett, smiling. Then, feeling a little self-conscious, he asked shyly, "And do I really look like a professor?"

"Now," she said, noticing his shirt and jeans, "You don't." Emmett openly laughed at her frankness. She herself started giggling. The faint lines under her eyes disappeared and she looked less sleepy. Behind her, the room was dark (the blinds were down) but some light in the hallway reached her, making her look just as she was on her first day in Harvard Law.

"Anyway," said Emmett, seeing she was better now, "I better go. I'll leave you to rest. You'll need a lot of energy for Monday". Not that she lacked that, Emmett thought.

Miss Woods, surprisingly, slumped back and frowned.

"I don't think I'll go to class next week,"

"Sorry. What?"

"Tell me," she said, as if challenging him, "Why will I go to class when Professor Callahan will just kick me out?"

"Attendance?" replied Emmett, narrowing his eyes at her, not sure if she was serious, "You know, it can still affect your grade. And getting kicked out isn't considered an absence."

There was a pause as she considered this. The dorm was beginning to gather life. In the corner of his eye, Emmett saw a bunch of students climb up the stairs while somewhere, a couple of doors were opening and closing.

"I know it's none of my business," he said, briefly glancing at his watch, "But I thought you wanted to see more of Mister Huntington,"

"And I thought you were going to help me."

"I told you to read your readings," he reminded her, and when she scowled, he added, gentler this time, "And this is me helping you." She nodded and returned to smiling again. He was about to ask her if she needed anything else when, suddenly, his cellphone rang. He fished it out from his pockets and saw he received a text. Miss Woods stepped back inside her room and waited while tying the belt of her bathrobe.

"Sorry 'bout that," Emmett smirked apologetically, "But I think I really got to go,"

"Oh, no. I'm sorry," Miss Woods chirped, looking more like her usual self, "You shouldn't have come. But thanks a lot that you did. And thank you, too, for the brochures and the maps. I'm sure they'll help me. Though I'm a bit weak with maps. But I'll manage."

"No problem. So, I'll see you on Monday, Miss Woods?"

"Miss Woods? Call me Elle," she said, giggling and holding out her hand, "And yes, you can bet I'll be there. Thanks to you, of course."

They shook hands then Emmett turned to leave. Before he stepped down the stairs, he looked back and saw Elle waving happily at him. He returned the gesture with one uncertain wave of his hand. Going down the stairs, he heard a little dog bark.

"Would you look at that, Bruiser," he heard Elle say, "There are still some friendly people in Harvard. Now, honey, no more talking for a while. I'll be needing my beauty sleep. And my head is still pounding like crazy..." Her voice trailed away then she shut her door.

Emmett shook his head, finding it difficult to believe that such a girl existed in Harvard. She didn't seem to fit with anything. Not with the dull wallpaper of the buildings. Not with the serious polished floors of the rooms. Not even with the well-trimmed hedges in the campus grounds. However, Emmett had to admit: somehow, she belonged here. She got a 4.0 average in Fashion Merchandising (he was actually shocked to find out there was such a course). She passed the LSATs with flying colors. Plus (and he still could not imagine how it had happened), her entrance essay was a performance with the band and cheer team of UCLA. Several members in the faculty were barely impressed with her credentials. Emmett, on the other hand, was completely fascinated when he read it on her file. She was different and, as experience has taught Emmett, that was a great thing.

He was thinking about how diverse the student body was that school year, when he remembered to check his phone. With one hand frozen on the handle of his bike, he read the text he received. The head associates of the firm scheduled an emergency meeting. It was about to start in five minutes. Groaning about how no one ever informs him ahead of time, Emmett quickly rode his bike and cycled nervously to the firm. He seemed to be the only one in the firm without a car. People in the office appear to always forget that. Or perhaps they simply chose to ignore it. Ignore him.

TRIVIA: This was originally titled Morning Calls but because of a little confusion with the DocX and stuff, I had to change it.

So... How was it? Review if you can. :D Thanks, lovelies!

*whispers: I'm currently addicted to Spamalot. All I want to do is sing... "Where are you? Oh, where are you? Where are you, my heart's desire?"