Cut Me Open

French woke up sore. Her back was hurting where he had cut her, her shoulders were hurting from where he shook her, her arms were sore and she had a headache from sleeping so long. It was the first time she had slept past four hours since she had met the Joker. This worried her, maybe he took my words to heart and he's going to leave me alone, she thought, she didn't really want that to happen. So, she stood up and started looking for a way to escape. She scanned the room, a person-sized mirror, a lamp and a chair. She sighed in frustration. There were no windows. So, she started pounding on the door, "Hey!" she yelled, no one answered, "Fuck," she whispered. Then she went and sat down next to the mirror, she wanted to conserve her energy.

"You guys are good," purred the Joker, looking at Dr. Crane, Batman and the Commissioner, giving them a sinister smile, "I was wondering when you were going to catch me...again, I was starting to miss my stays here."

"Where's Harley?" Batman asked, glaring at the Joker.

The Joker giggled excitedly, "Oh, so you haven't found her yet, hmm? My new play-thing and I, decided, based on our hatred, that we couldn't use her anymore. I mean, isn't one revival enough?" he laughed.

"So you killed her?" Crane asked, pressing his eyebrows together.

"No, no," the Joker laced his hands together and licked his lips, "it wasn't me, ah, it was Little Bloody Jax, she is quite the uh, dubious one."

"Is this the girl, from your videos?" Commissioner asked.

"Oh, you remember her don't you Batty, hmm? The bank," he started laughing.

"Don't ignore Commissioner's questions," Dr. Crane told him.

The Joker looked at him with a hint of annoyance, "Yes, Mr. Commissioner she's the one from the videos."

After their interrogation, they threw him into his padded cell, he was now in a straight-jacket, "I hate these things, they are so...inconvenient," he giggled.

~One Day Later~

French sat across the room and stared at the mirror, "He wouldn't leave me locked up so long and I haven't heard him stomping around the house. Something went wrong," or he's leaving you in here to rot. She shook her head refusing to believe it and stood up in front of the mirror.

An idea crossed her mind and she took off her shirt and wrapped it around her fist, then closing her eyes she punched the mirror as hard as she could. Shatters of it fell everywhere. Then, she found the sturdiest, pointiest one and started chipping at the bottom of the door. Soon, she had a large whole knocked out, it wasn't big enough for her to crawl out yet, so she continued chipping on it.

"Oh come on Craney, why not?" the Joker giggled, giving Dr. Crane a puppy-dog stare, "Now is good enough as any."

"No," he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair, "If I let you out know, it'll blow my cover."

The Joker leaned back in his chair, groaning, "But I have my play-thing in a room at home with no food or water, I'd hate for her to die," he purred, lying, he wouldn't hate for her to die, he'd probably love it.

"We both know that's not true. Even if you had that girl in a room somewhere, you wouldn't be worrying about her health."

"True," he smiled deviously, "I guess you know me too well. Let me put it this way, I want to blow something up."

French was cussing now, sweat was dripping off of her, the hole was almost big enough. Then, by luck, a large square fell off and she was able to slip through. A splinter got stuck in her side, she pulled it out, then ran up the stairs. The Joker's room was not open, without knocking, she went in. No one was in there. The knives set, untouched and a black duffel bag was setting on the bed. Something must have happened, she bit her lip and looked at the knives, she picked out a medium-sized black one. Then, she looked at herself, she didn't have a shirt. She rolled her eyes and went to his closet. She found one of his honey-comb designed purple button-up shirts. She slid it on, it filled her nose with the comfortable smell of the Joker: nitroglycerin, grease-paint and a strange musky scent. Then, she looked through the duffel bag, it was filled with bombs and hand guns. She giggled excitedly and put a gun in her pocket. Then, carried the bag down the stairs.

A few of the goons were setting on the couch in the living room, "Did you not fucking hear me?" she asked, glaring at them, they jumped and shook their heads, "I was in there screaming and pounding on the door for fucking three hours, why didn't any of you go get me out?"

"We didn't hear you," a large goon with a bald head stuttered, she had seen him before, but the other three looked new.

"You didn't hear me?" she growled, he nodded his head profusely, "Okay, where's the Joker?"

"He got took in again," he replied.

She rolled her eyes, figures, "Did the van make it home?" she asked.

"Yeah, it's outside, who are you anyway?" a tall skinny one answered, looking at her like she was a piece of meat.

"Who the fuck am I?" she asked, pointing at herself, she pulled the gun out of her pocket and pointed it at him, "I'm French, okay? And you are not to ask me questions," she pointed the gun away from him and towards the big bald headed guy, "Tell him who the fuck I am,"

"She's the Joker's new helper," he stuttered, "She's killed eight of the goons already for not obeying that's why we had to get new ones. You don't need to fuck with her."

French laughed maliciously, "Thanks, now, you four, as of now, are under my command until we get the Joker out."

"But the Joker said to not let you out, so if he finds out you're out, he'll kill us," the largest one who didn't look to be good for anything said.

French turned the gun at him and looked straight at his beady eyes, "Are you questioning me?" she asked, cocking the gun, "Wait, wait, wait, you are the best example. Listen up, Boys, you see this fat-fuck here trying to be good and do what the Joker says? I'm sick of it. Is it because I'm a girl and you haven't witnessed my wrath, huh?" she asked him, he didn't reply, his hands were in the air and he was backing away, "Don't fucking question me again, I hate that shit. Nah, I wont even give you the chance," she pulled the trigger and watched greedily as the top of his head flew into the air, "Anyone else?" no one said anything, "Good. Now whose the fastest runner and don't fucking lie to me," the tallest skinniest one raised his hand, "Okay, whose the strongest?" the bald one raised his hand, "Great, now go get the van ready."

The skinny one just stood there and stared at her, "What am I supposed to do?"

She threw the bag at him, "Here carry this out," she didn't like him already and had to stop herself from shooting him, he was the only one still wearing the Arkham gray inmate outfits. She doubted it would fit the other ones.

They drove towards Arkham, "Hey, you," she pointed at the one in the Arkham get-up, "You go in front, alright, run ahead in front of us, now. Wait at the fire door," he nodded his head once and started running across the lawn, she handed the bald-man the duffel bag full of bombs, "Go, follow him, wait," then she looked at the tall skinny one, "Now me and you, we go and you will stay with me, alright?" he nodded and she jumped out of the van and started running towards the door. The other two were breathing heavy and had just made it up there by the time they were there.

"You," she pointed at the bald-man, "Go in, now, and run to the very top. That's where Joker is. Start now, be quiet at first, then when you get to the third floor, sprint. When you make it to the top, plant three bombs in three separate rooms, make sure Dr. Crane is safe as well as the Joker, now go, you have two minutes to make it to the second floor," he nodded once and crept through the door, she pointed at the one in the Arkham outfit, "Pass him up, run as fast as you can," she handed him a gun, "make sure they think you are a top-level patient, run them into a different direction, you have three minutes to get to the top-floor, go," he took off, "Now, you, come with me."

They went into the building quietly and slowly at first, she couldn't hear anybody walking around, so they ran to the stair well. She was glad to see the other two had taken the elevator. They started running up the stairs as fast as they could. He was only about three steps away from her. She tried not to laugh in glee, then she heard gunshots and maniacal laughter, she could tell they were almost to the top-floor. As they got closer, she could hear nurses and inmates screaming, the sounds disappeared down the stairwell across the floor from them. They met the bald-man in the middle, he was holding a detonator, "I put one next to his cell," he told her.

"Okay, where's his cell," he pointed to the fifth one on the left, "Alright, press the button."

He did and three mini-bombs exploded. She ran into the cell next to the Jokers and peeked in at him. He smiled devilishly, "Well hiya Toots, took you long enough," he looked down at his straight-jacket, "Do you mind?"

She rolled her eyes and snapped at the bald-man, "Drag him to the elevator, move it," The skinny guy and the bald-man took both sides of the Joker and started dragging him to the elevator. Then they rode down. They were both apologizing and begging for mercy the whole way. Then they ran, carrying him back to the van, the whole time, French and him both laughed murderously. They threw him in the back and hopped in. Then, she drove off, fast as she could, leaving the one in the Arkham clothes. She hoped he had at least shot a few nurses.

They pulled into the mansion and then she instructed them to drag him up to his room. He laughed insanely the whole time, after they had him in there she dismissed them and slammed the door shut, "Well, hello Sugar, nice clothes," he giggled, looking at his too big shirt on her little body, it looked like a dress, "Now, will you be a kind, little Jax and undo me, hmm?"

"No," she crossed her arms and stepped right in front of him, "It's your turn, dammit," she laughed deviously and pushed him down on the bed, "Ooh," he giggled.

She pulled the knife out of he pocket and sat on him, "You like scars, hmm?" she giggled.

"Oh you know how to treat a man, don't you, Biscuit?" he laughed.

His laughter irritated her and she flipped him over to where his face was pressed into the blankets and she cut the back of his jacket and the top of his shirt open, he giggled the whole time, then she pressed into his back with the knife and carved in the word, Sorry. He giggled the whole time, then she rolled him back over, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she demanded.

"You want the psychiatrist's explanation, hmm?" he asked, laughing madly, "they say that I'm-"

She covered his mouth, "Were you planning on leaving me in there to rot?" she demanded.

"Oh no, I would never leave my Bloody Jax somewhere to die, when it'd be so much funner to be able to see you die," he giggled, licking his lips, her outfit was full of blood, she had obviously killed another one of his goons.

She pressed the knife to his throat, "I want to see your scars," she giggled, he raised an eyebrow, not following her, then she cut sideways across where his collar-bone was. The knife easily sliced open the straight-jacket and his shirt. Then she cut long-ways the front of the straight-jacket and shirt, revealing a very scarred up but pretty toned chest. He started laughing, remembering doing that to her.

"Undo me," he told her, moving his arms up, motioning for her to undo his straight-jacket.

"Not yet," she flipped back on to his stomach and cut open the back of his clothing. It revealed millions of scars all over his back, "I like seeing your scars," she told him, bending down to kiss the one that she had just given him, he tried not to let the pain and pleasure she was giving him, faze him, but it wasn't working. He could feel it, starting in the center of his stomach, the desire. Then, she flipped him back over, she was straddling his waist, "Now," she cut open his arms and pulled the rest of the sliced up shirt and straight-jacket off, revealing his very appealing damaged top-half. His hands were free now, so she was a little weary of what he'd do.

He laughed murderously and rolled, so that she was under him and he took the knife from her, "My turn," he purred, cutting off all the buttons on his shirt that she was wearing and then he tore it sideways, revealing the mine scar. He smiled and then flipped her on to her stomach and cut open the rest of the shirt. Revealing the laughter and the liar scar. The liar scar was still pink and puckered, he knew that it probably still hurt, so he pressed his lips down against it, a little too hard. He heard her let out a soft groan of pain, mixed with a little pleasure. Then, he rolled her back around to face him. She could see the desire filling his eyes and she could feel her own in the pit of her stomach.

He pressed the knife against her neck and bent down to crash his lips against hers in a hungry kiss. His hands slid down her legs to grab her by the hips and pull her tight against him. Then he rolled, so that she could straddle him and he started undoing her jeans in a fever of lust. The knife got thrown somewhere in the middle of all the undressing and soon, he was hovering over her, she was admiring his perfectly imperfect body. Then, he entered her. It was like an explosion of pain and joy all at once. Then, after wards, they both rolled over in different directions panting. She smiled, it was the best she had ever had. He pretended not to giggle, it was the best he had ever had. She didn't complain about him being too rough and that was all he ever asked for. Someone who didn't complain, even when they started seeing blood.