Work Text:
"A word, Ms. Quinzel?"
Harleen, to her credit, does not groan, although she has every reason to. All she wanted was to pack up and zoom out of the classroom with the rest of them, jumping headfirst into the welcoming arms of the weekend. And Pammy's later on. They have a date Harley's been looking forward to all day.
There's just one nuisance standing in the way of that, and its name is Jonathan Crane, teaching assistant extraordinaire. Or, as she would call him: extraordinarily demanding. He only teaches complimentary classes to her prof's course on the endocrine system, but the amount of work he requires for them exceeds that of her other courses.
Trouble is, she needs his grade, so she can't just skip out on him.
She envisions Pammy when she turns around, eyes bright and open, the hint of a smile sweetening her lips – the scowl Harleen wanted to shoot him mere seconds before vanishes as though it's never been. It wouldn't do to let him in on what she thinks of him, which is not all that flattering. (She'd respect him for his knowledge if he weren't such a mean old slave-driver. Okay, maybe not old, but still mean and a slave-driver to boot.)
"Yes, please?" she says airily, canting her hips against the table to support her weight. The "accidental" flash of thigh has become habit by now – her male teachers all appreciate the view (or most of them do, in any case), and if it's nothing more, Harleen's happy to provide. She has good legs, after all.
(A pity Crane ignores them.)
Perhaps the more responsible thing would have been to ask if there had been anything wrong with her presentation. Except, she already knows the answer. It has been too hastily slapped together to be of much academic merit at all, although her performance was rather excellent despite her gaps in knowledge. She also knows she can do a lot better, she knows, but with all the other demands eating away her time, she barely finds enough sleep as it is. Still, the rest of the class drank up her words like so much wine – as if spellbound, watching her lips move. Harleen has that effect on people. They go starry-eyed in front of gorgeous things like her.
Crane, however, is not so easily duped. If it were up to him, she should have started working on the presentation the very first week of the term, nevermind that he held his introductory class the week after. If she gave him the slightest opening, he would tear her presentation to shreds, point out all that was amiss with her approach and make her feel guilty about not living up to his standard besides.
Harleen wouldn't give him the pleasure of feeling guilty for her underachievements.
"You haven't handed in the summary of your presentation," is what he says in lieu of all the other reprimands she'd feared, returning a small, unsettling smile of his own. He often smiles like this during class, as though he thinks they're all idiots wasting their time. (Which, basically, they do, for who has any presence of mind left to sit through a tutorial on a Friday morning?)
"I'm sorry," she fakes regret. "I forgot it at home and was already running late this morning." In reality, she hasn't managed to start it yet but he needn't know that. "Can I hand it in on Monday?"
He studies her for a moment, presumably catching the lie and estimating the likelihood of Harleen adhering to the new deadline.
"I'm willing to grant you an extension until my next office hour on Tuesday, since you volunteered for cleanup duty after the faculty party. Do you think you can manage that?" When Harleen doesn't answer right away, he asks, "We can count on you tonight, can't we?"
She must look as dumbfounded as she feels. Why is this happening to her? What's become of her Friday night? Will she have no time for herself (and Pammy) this weekend? Augh!
"But of course you can. I was just... going over my schedule and realized I had a class during your office hours."
"Will that be a problem for you? You need only hand it in, unless you want comments on it. In which case you can feel free to drop it in my inbox before your class starts and come by again once it's over. I'm sure you'll find a way."
Always so accommodating, but mocking her all the same. It's infuriating. Who the hell does he think he is? Just you wait, my friend. I'll show ya.
"I will. Thank you," she chirps and shoulders her bag so as not to make the impression of being eager to stay. "Was there anything else?"
"Between the summary and the event tonight, I think I've covered everything." He smiles again, clipped and courteous, but it chills Harleen to the bone.
She doesn't dally any longer after that and flees the building.
On her way home she wonders what else she can do to get in his good graces – he certainly doesn't seem interested in her last-resort option. She's not sure she could stomach it in any case, not with him, not ever. He creeps her out too much. But it would make certain matters so much easier. His class is the only one she actually has to put in some amount of effort, and it's only a tutorial! Harleen may be used to working hard if she sets her mind to it, but this is ridiculous. However, she can't let her grades suffer because of personal vendettas, she has a scholarship to keep.
Harleen kicks at things in her path – sticks, stones, empty soda cans. She almost kicks a pug once before she notices it's not a plush toy abandoned on the sidewalk. She spends the next five minutes cuddling it apologetically despite its owner's protests. How could she have done this? Even if she's stopped herself on time, Harleen's guilt is insurmountable. She loves animals!
It's all Crane's fault. If she didn't need his grade so bad to pass the module, she would never have looked at him twice. Or be so in a knot about why he never spares her a second glance. Everyone else certainly does.
Sometimes she wonders why she still bothers flirting with him anyway.
Once, she ran into him in the cafeteria. Or rather, she occupied the seat opposite him without waiting to hear if it was still free (for who would be having lunch with an unsociable fellow like this?) and forced a conversation upon him. She must have whipped out her entire repertoire of flirtation techniques then, and not even the overly suggestive lollipop trick that usually drew eyes got any reaction out of him. No blush, no stutter, no flickering of eyes, nothing to suggest he was even remotely interested. It was like trying to seduce Pammy when she was in one of her "Go away, I'm watching this grass grow" moods – the only difference being that Pammy eventually caved.
At this point, Harleen couldn't have been more obvious if she'd asked him to please let her suck his dick. One of the many problems with that scenario, though, is that Harley has a gross dislike of male genitalia. They have neither aesthetic nor gustatory appeal (especially not that, yuck!) and Harley would wish them out of her life in a heartbeat. That is, if she were a better student and her profs not old letches who would jump at the chance of having a pretty little thing like her pleasuring them for grades.
So far the suggestion goes.
Though maybe he didn't get the hint. Harleen's a pro at being suggestive while still maintaining an air of girlish innocence, so that everyone could choose whether or not to write it off as their own oversexed imagination. Generally, they were only too happy to flirt back without her having to lay it on thick. She's gotten a bit spoiled that way.
Maybe bluntness would work better with him, tell him straight out what she wants and what she can offer. Though she's certain this course of action wouldn't get her anywhere either, unless she has majorly miscalculated him and his pokerface actually hides his desire of her.
Yeah, keep dreaming, Harls. Not everyone's in love with you. Especially not Crane.
Pammy once remarked that if Harleen spent half as much time studying as she does flirting with her teachers, she wouldn't need to degrade herself so, and Pammy could have her all to herself. That's a poor comparison in Harleen's eyes. Using her looks to her advantage comes natural to her after all, there's no element of work involved in making them fall head over heels for her, whereas studying... ugh, even the thought of it is giving her headaches.
Not everyone can be a gifted biochem student like her girlfriend. Pammy's like a plant whisperer, whose objects of study seem to whisper back. Harleen's textbooks, however, are not as forthcoming.
No, as long as Pammy can condone her machinations, Harleen wouldn't change tactics. She's not always fond of what she has to do (correction: barely ever), but it's been working out for her so far. It's her teachers' own fault for letting themselves be manipulated, although she can't blame them for getting randy over her creamy thighs – they are rather shapely. Pammy says so, too.
If only Crane would see it the same way and beg her for a taste already. He's the only one who's continually proved to be so stubborn. She hates him for that. Though if she's honest with herself, this has long ceased to be about her grade. It's become about her pride and how he's insulting it by not tripping over himself in his desire for her.
It's become a challenge.
After all the hours she's invested into this, she'd be loathe to simply give up because the desired outcome hasn't set in so far. That would be defeating. She's gonna stick to her guns, unless he's one hundred percent gay or her grades already printed.
Harleen groans when she can finally collapse against the door of the apartment. Her roommate is already gone for the weekend. Harleen tosses her keys into its designated bowl and curses herself.
The entire way home she's spent fuming about a boy's lack of attention instead of drafting the entire conversation she doesn't want to have with Pammy, explaining why she'd be unable to make it today.
She decides a shower is in order first. That way, she can scrub off any last vestiges of stupidity that has been going through her head today. Going bananas over a boy. Sheesh. She isn't some straight floozy, for God's sake!
After her ablutions, she needs a bowl of cereal first, to strengthen her nerves. This is worse than a telephone interview. The reason they agree on set times for dates is so that Pammy knows when to make time for her. She has a busy schedule and not too much patience for surprise visits of the kind Harleen sprang on her during the first months of their relationship. To have their plans suddenly thwarted like this is not going to sit well with her.
Still, Harleen hopes today is one of Pammy's "I'd rather stay with my plants" days. They've become less frequent since Harleen's made it clear that having a girlfriend means actually seeing her now and then off-campus, too. But they crop up again from time to time. Sometimes Pammy treats her hybrid experiments like a mother would sick children. Pammy would probably agree with the simile.
Taking a deep breath, Harleen rings up her girlfriend to explain the situation. As expected, Pammy's none too pleased about it.
"I'm sorry, Pammy," she whines into the receiver. "I can't make it tonight. Something came up. Yes, the faculty parted hasn't been decided yesterday. I totally forgot that I volunteered. I wanted to make a good impression. Yes, I know you had other plans before. I know! I'm such an awful girlfriend. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. I just wanted to let you know you don't have to wait up for me."
Once Pammy has been suitably mollified to let her off the hook, Harleen feels drained and sinks onto the living room sofa for a quick nap, until it's time to get ready for the event. Even if she has no real inclination to go, she's not gonna pass up free booze on a day like this.
She hops up from the sofa and twirls into her room, warbling tunes from West Side Story while deciding what to wear. She could actually choose something more daring than she would put on for class. If Crane's gonna be there too, she'll want his eyes on her this time. He won't have the excuse of being in a classroom, so he needn't be all that aloof and professional.
She picks out her favourite lipstick for the occasion, a bright vermillion that goes well with her blouse. Hello gorgeous, she tells her mirror image, you look rather tasty this evening. I could eat you up right now.
With a last glance at the clock, she packs her purse and fusses with her hair until it sits perfectly and she's ready to leave.
Once more onto the beach, or something like that.