By the time Harley had finished giving her account to what felt like a thousand people and was finally permitted to return to her office, she was furious. The door creaked and clanged to a close behind her, and without the satisfaction of slamming it properly, she felt drained. Leaning against the wall slumped in defeat she blew at a stray hair that had fallen loose from her severe bun and across her face.
Though her paid workday was over several recountings ago, and she had long since gotten through the tedious paperwork that was all they really expected of her to get done, the late afternoon sun still beat down through the bars. She stared at the dust swirling through the shaft of sunlight that drew a line in the stuffy air from her feet to the long, thin window across the top of the wall. Straightening her coat with a huff she threw the door to the hall open once more and left it gaping behind her as she strode of with a purpose. What would someone steal from her office anyway... the bolted down chairs.
The sun set in hues of burnt orange and faint pink a few hours later. Their colourful haze now shining clearly through a sparkling-ly clean pane. Harley sat, her legs splayed and straight in front of her, arms and head draping over the back of her desk chair. Her coat thrown aside, blouse sleeves rolled up, shoes... somewhere around the place. She slouched just that tiny bit too far and the little of her ass still in contact with the chair slid forward and landed on the floor with a painful "Ooof". Groaning to her feet and rubbing the offended area she sought her shoes once more. After putting her appearance back together as best she could, she stretched her arms above her head and surveyed her accomplishments.
After a few tiptoed excursions to some nearby cleaning closets every surface could now be eaten from. She wasn't sure if she was technically allowed to use company supplies freely, but for a place with several patients who may be tempted by a bottle of bleach, it sure was easy to find and completely unsecured. It wasn't like anyone would be put out by the room being cleaned for them. As far as she could tell it didn't seem anyone cleaned in here at all. At first she had only intended to tackle the smudged and cobwebby window and a few particularly vomit-esc stains on the bolted table corner. However once she scooted the dented filing cabinet to the side to sweep a determined looking spider from its shadow, she saw the colour of the rectangle of wall it was shielding. The colour the room was supposed to be. Seizing a damp cloth to test this she wrote her name on the blank stretch of wall between the door and her desk. Eww. Then the war began.
Out went a cracked plastic trashcan, dead plant, molded reference texts and faded files that once slid down the side of the cabinet. The heels discarded to better balance on a chair to reach the window. A mop, robbed of its damp tangled head and strapped with a large sponge that may or may not have belonged to a torn and rejected mattress she found reached the walls and ceiling that eluded her-on-a-chair's reach. Wandering the halls of less used areas she "salvaged" a metal wire wastebasket, a spare bookcase, a slightly less worn and more favorably coloured desk chair (red instead of might-have-been-brown-once). The staff wasn't lively enough to miss them, in fact they barely interacted at all. She found it hard to forget about the stash of nicer decor hidden behind the panic window in the late Dr Gould's office. As she finished inspecting her work her eyes fell once more on the single rose that began to wilt in the dying light.
It didn't take much to convince the only guard that noticed her on her way down to maximum security. It seemed since none of the patients red and above could leave their room or cells past dark, the guards more or less left the building in the mental sense. Some played cards, some shifted their weight from foot to foot as though counting the seconds of their shifts. No one cared about the morbid curiosity of an intern, she was not the first nor the last to wander down before leaving on their first day.
As seen through the glass of his cell, the Joker reclines comfortably as possible on his cot. Harley takes a deep breath then holds the card against the glass for him to see.
"Care to tell me how this got in my office?" she bluffs.
"I put it there." he states calmly, uninterested. Trying to return the Joker's casual attitude she fidgets with the card and waits.
"I think the guards would be interested to know you've been out of your cell." Her anger returns slightly when he gives Harley a knowing look.
"If you were really going to tell, you already would have." He suddenly springs up with such manic energy that Harley jumps back from the door, startled.
"Y'know, sweets, I like what I've heard about you." she feels like a snake being charmed as he wends his way back and forth slightly behind the glass before pressing his hands splayed wide on either side of his head "Especially the name. Harley Quin-zel."
She peers at him intently as he makes an impish face in return.
"Rework it a bit and you get Harley Quinn." Harley nods as she puts the Joker's card in her pocket.
"Like the clown character Harlequin... I know. I've heard it before."
"It's a name that puts a smile..." he covers his metal teeth with a tattooed grin on the back of one hand. "...on my face. It makes me feel there's someone here I can relate to."
Harley starts to walk away as the Joker quietly adds: "Someone who might like to hear my secrets."
She knows her step falters and her hand twitches to the journal in her pocket, she knows he noticed both. She smiles.
Brushing aside the crime scene tape on the second floor and not bothering to turn on the lights, Harley seizes her goals and hurriedly clacks down the nearby stairs to her own office. Slinging her prizes inside she locks the door and tests it, just as she would at her apartment. Locked. Just like home.