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Her legs swing slowly as she sits atop the building, a sigh escaping her lips as sorrow fills her heart. She’s lonely, yet, she wouldn’t tell a soul. It’s been about a yeah and Joker has yet to show his face again and announce his fake death stunt. Does he truly care? She thinks as she listens far and wide to the sounds of the late night town. She already knows the answer as a crow soars above her head through the cloudy lilac skies.
“What’s wrong, Harley?” A voice behind her asks. She already knows whos behind her, she doesn’t need to see the black cowl that hides his face. “You seem more glum more than usual lately.”
She sighs dramatically, though he’s patient as he walks to seat himself on the ledge of the building beside her. He trusts her, he knows there’s good inside of her, without the manipulations of the clown mumbling murder in her ear. Doctor Pamela has done her good, despite late nights such as this. He trusts that she wouldn’t push him off the ledge.
“Oh, nothing, you big ole bat,” she chuckled, though the smile on her face doesn’t reach her face. She looks as though she’s been crying. She’s thankful that he doesn’t mention it as he raises an arm and motions for her to cuddle inside the inviting space.
“There’s no shame in missing someone you once loved deeply, Harley,” it’s as though he can read her mind. It’s okay, however. The Batman has somehow become a wonderful confidant to her within the last year after Joker’s death.
“He was an awful man, Batty,” she hiccuped as she scooted into the comfort of his arms. She sighs against his warmth; she hadn’t realized how brisk the air had been tonight. “I’m thankful he died, he deserved every last painful moment of it.”
“Harley,” Bruce sighs, a hand stroking the tangles of her faintly colored hair. She’d been dying it all sorts of colors recently. He could still see patches of darker green on some spots atop her head. “How about we get out of the cold and have some soup at my place, huh?”
“I would like that a lot, Mister Bat,”