Transference - (Jonathan Crane, Harley Quinn)

Chapter 2

Friday night rolled around and Harley showed up in Crane's classroom just like she was supposed to. She even made sure to show up thirty minutes early and knocked on the door loudly before entering.

Shockingly, the place was empty.

"Professor Crane?" Harley bit her lip and ventured a few steps into the room on tiptoe, looking around. "Professor Cra-ane?"

No answer.

Harley sighed and dropped her messenger bag onto one of the nearby chairs. It was her own fault for showing up early, she knew, but she'd figured that Crane would appreciate someone being well ahead of on time. She had imagined him sitting behind his desk, waiting for their appointment, tapping his fingers and counting the moments until she would officially be late, just to have the excuse to give her a thorough tongue lashing.

Thinking on it, though, it actually made sense that she'd been wrong. Given how exacting he was, Crane was probably the sort who thought that being early was a sign of being unable to be precisely on time just as much as being late was. He also seemed like the kind of man who didn't waste precious minutes waiting for people when he could be otherwise engaged in more useful pursuits.

Twiddling her thumbs, Harley looked up at the clock. She stared at it long enough to watch the little red second hand make one whole cycle around the clock face and blew out a breath. Well…she had twenty-eight minutes to kill. What was she going to do?

In theory, there was just enough time to get to the campus coffee shop and back, but factoring in how long it usually took to actually pry coffee from the mildly misanthropic baristas, it was better not to risk it. There was a soda machine near Crane's office down the hall, but on the off chance he was inside it (though she hadn't seen any indication that he was when she passed the door on her way in) she didn't want him to find her loitering outside.

Harley wrinkled her nose. She could always pass the time by poking around Crane's desk, but if she wasn't failing out of school now, she certainly would be if he caught her.

Still…she pressed her index fingers together as she thought, released them and then mashed them together again…she was going to be doing some kind of actual work for him, which was undoubtedly laid out on his desk. Presumably she'd be seeing his notes anyway, right? There was no harm in sneaking a peek…and if he had something blackmail worthy out in plain view, like certain other teachers she knew of, that certainly put her in a better position to change her grades for the better, right?

Craning her neck, Harley took a few steps closer to the desk. She wanted to get just close enough to see what was there, but also wanted to stay far enough away that she could jump back and claim innocence if she were caught.

Crane's desk was exceptionally well organized, unsurprisingly. Not a single paper was out of place. Even the bundle of ink pens that stood upright in a coffee mug on the corner of the desk seemed to be sorted by color—red, blue and black. Red pens greatly outnumbered the others, she noted ruefully, which certainly fit with everything she knew about Crane's teaching methods. Many times Harley found every page of her essays peppered with dozens of blood red notations in the margins, with comments ranging from corrections of fact and grammar to veiled insults.

Harley continued to scan the surface of the desk, keeping an eye out for anything remotely interesting or useful. The only items of particular note were a few file folders placed front and center, each of them closed. Though they had no labels on their tabs to give away their contents, she could see a little yellow paper peeping out from inside them.

After a moment's consideration of the risk versus the possible reward, Harley picked up her messenger bag and drew closer, close enough to touch the folders. She looked around herself to make sure she was still alone and with a "Whoopsie!" swept them right off the desk with a carefully aimed swing of her bag. They fluttered to the ground in front of her, sheets of paper flying every which way.