Title: Not So Overlooked.
Disclaimer: I don't own Batman TAS, I make no money from writing this, blah, blah, blah.
Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Harley (kinda, sorta, if you squint and tilt your head…)
Summary: He just didn't want her to be lonely.
Warnings: A kind of sad fluff comes from this. You may end up crying or smiling if this was successful.

Okay, I'm starting to really like this sort of writing style, since it seemed to work really well for a different fandom. I wanted to give it another try.

Brunette. Bruce walked out of the Wayne Enterprise building with the most annoyed look on his face; the umbrella that Alfred had handed him on his way in was clinging to his arm, begging to be used as the storm clouds above him gave a nasty rumble, light flickering over their undersides and illuminating their insides as they seemed ready to let out their water.

Striking platinum yellow. The first crack of thunder lit up just behind the Wayne building and the umbrella was unfurled and held above his head even before the water was let loose and hit the pavement or what little of his skin was exposed in his three thousand dollar black suit. The blue umbrella contrasted starkly against his forever colors and made him look very much like a lawyer rather than a playboy as he passed by one of the few tree filled, duck pond accessible, more or less litter free parks in this district.

Darkening blonde. His eyes, ever watchful, ever open even in the day time, caught sight of one single person sitting alone on the bench nearest the pond. A woman, with her hair let down and in a simple red cardigan and black dress, was staring out at the water, though it didn't seem as though she was looking at the pairs of ducks wading through the water. She didn't seem to really be looking at anything and that's when he actually noticed…

Glinting blue. Bruce found his eyes looking about the park to make sure the two of them were alone. And they were, the rain pouring more desperately than ever and nobody but the two of them wishing to get soaking wet.

Cardinal red. Her shoulders are shaking and, even though it is cold out, he can see it's not on account of chill. Rather, she is also making these pathetic whimpering hiccups and he knows she is hiding her face with her loose hair. Perhaps ashamed.

Browning red. The billionaire can see—he's actually walking toward her now, even if it is at a snail's pace—she is holding herself. He can see both of her hands on opposing shoulders, fingernails that had been painted now either ripped off or chipped off mere hours ago; little drops of her blood are secreting from her nail beds.

Oak brown. Bruce finds himself sitting on the opposite end of the bench, the warped wood creaking under his weight, though not theatrically. It just gives a little squeak and even that he ignores, holding up the umbrella just between them. Covering him and covering her and only when she does not feel the water anymore does she look over to him.

Like the color of Cinderella's blue dress. Her eyes glance over at him, a little angry and perhaps humiliated to be seen like this, doused like a drowned kitten; and worse, she recognizes him.

Raven's black. Her mascara has run down her face and she wipes in futility at her cheeks, trying to put on a smile for the man, "Oh, hello again Mister Wayne. What brings you out here in the rain?"

Shining white. His smile doesn't reach his eyes, but it's kind and honest, "Trying to get out of the rain, actually, Doctor Quinzelle. I think the bigger question, though," he begins, taking his red handkerchief out of his breast pocket to hand it to her, and her taking it hesitantly to dab at her mascara and puffy eyes, "Would be: What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Soggy, like paint in a drain, green. Her heels press into the grass as she braces herself to blow into the kerchief, the light weight fabric breezing in the wind and she does so again, before giving him a more real—but not nearly real enough—smile, "God, how corny. I thought a billionaire playboy like yourself would have better lines, hah."

Field mouse grey. He rolls his eyes and glances a look at the clouds, some of them scurrying across the sky and giving up their assault on the earth with their bitter tears and he closes the umbrella, smiling more genuinely at her as well. Or, as much as he can without seeming to have an agenda, "True, but I hear that that's the best one if you want a real answer."

White Oregano and pepper freckles. A quad of ducks swim around and chase each other in and out of the pond as she hands back the red and now useless kerchief to the dark man, answering in what both Bruce and Batman could confirm as truth, "Eh, I just needed to get away from my boyfriend for a little. We're in the middle of a…sabbatical, if you will, and I just needed a good cry before I did something stupid. Like go back to him and start crying all over again—yuck!"

The bottom of a puddle. A squirrel races about in a tree above their heads and before Bruce can speak curiosity about this "boyfriend"—was she leaving the Joker, had she really done it?—the little blonde woman had snatched the umbrella out of Bruce's hands. He almost asked what she was doing, until she opened it and flipped it over.

Brushfire red. The squirrel cut across a branch with a lot of leaves holding as much water as they could and Bruce finds that the drops that had fallen landed perfectly inside of the turned umbrella. It was like Alice in Wonderland and a Caucus Race, her hands holding it above their heads precariously.

Silver tongued.

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. A round of curious spontaneity that he hasn't had in what felt like years. He can't take the words back when they pass his vocals and flutter into reality and out of his head for her to hear…

"Want to forget your boyfriend entirely and have lunch with me?"

Dusty and beautiful grey. Another squirrel passes across the bench and behind them. Harley is so surprised by its appearance that she gives out a little squeak and finds her hands are letting go. The umbrella tips entirely onto Bruce and he is doused, with her apologizing like that young woman who worked in Arkham before everything got so screwed up. He's grinning for real now and asks her again, with her hands twiddling their dainty fingers in her lap. He really means it when he also says,

"I think it would be nice."

Bashful pink. She is blushing fully across her face and responds the only way she knows how, completely nervous but, not in a bad way.

"Well, nice would be a real change."

It wasn't a date, it wasn't spying, it wasn't being paranoid. But, for her it was better than going to her truly empty apartment with nothing in it but the references she had gotten from Leland so she could find a job, and for him it was better than going home to see to the few stitches he still had from a few nights ago and doing three hours of five-hundred pound weights.

That's something to start with.