Cut Me Open

The Joker looked at her lying limp on the ground, blood soaked the soft-white plush of the floor, he picked up his video camera and turned it off, laughing. Then, he turned and left the room, his hatred slightly eased. The goons looked at him, almost terrified, her blood covered the front of him. He smiled at them each, one by one, "Afternoon," he pretended to tip his invisible hat, he heard them whispering behind him, "Is she dead...He wouldn't kill her...Why does it matter?" he smiled, always keep them guessing.

He went to his office and sat at the desk and put his face in his hands. I guess I have to call scarecrow now, he rolled his eyes and picked up the phone, "Scarecrow, it's me," he said as soon as Dr. Crane answered, "Meet me outside Arkham in ten minutes." then he hung up.

The Joker didn't bother taking any of the goons and he flew to the asylum, Scarecrow was waiting outside for him, he got in and looked at the Joker, "What's wrong?" he had his scarecrow costume on, "Is it French? I saw the video. You didn't really do it, did you? Is she dead?"

"Stop asking me so many questions," he snapped, zooming around a corner.

Dr. Crane closed his mouth and leaned against the seat, he knew something was wrong. The Joker never came and dragged him away from the hospital, "I haven't heard from Ivy. You didn't kill her, did you?" The Joker mumbled to his self, annoyed at Scarecrow and all of his questions, "I'm just going to take that as a no, then."

The Joker swerved and ran over a man walking on the sidewalk, he started laughing, "Are you gonna ask me why I did that, doctor?" he sneered, looking sideways at Scarecrow.

Scarecrow didn't answer and just looked forward. The Joker pulled into the mansion's garage and hopped out. Scarecrow followed after him. The goons were still talking about French and her possible death. Dr. Crane pretended not to hear them. He followed the Joker up to a room with locks all over it. He watched skeptically as the Joker unlocked all the locks, then he pushed it open. French was on the floor, blood surrounded her. Scarecrow tried not to pull in a breath, but it happened anyway.

"Is she dead?" he asked.

The Joker rolled his eyes, "No," he growled, "now, go be a doctor."

Scarecrow pulled the potato-sack off of his head, he was in doctor mode, "I'm not really that type of doctor, I just do medicine and brain-work."

The Joker waved him forward, ignoring his talking. Dr. Crane grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse, it was at a steady beat. He tried not to look at her bleeding cheeks. Her eyelids fluttered and her eyes flew open, he couldn't help but to let out a sigh of relief, "French can you talk."

All she could taste was the blood in her mouth. He hadn't killed her. Usually when he carved people's faces, he killed them. Everyone who had the pleasure to die by his knife. In his mind no one else deserved to wear the scars he owned, but French was different, she was his play-thing. His doll-baby, "Yeah," she whispered, does Joker know he's in here?

The Joker brought in some wound-cleaning stuff and left, before French could see him. Scarecrow started cleaning the cuts on her cheeks. She didn't wince, even when it hurt. Dr. Crane bandaged her up to the best of his abilities and then left. She curled into a ball, no longer chained to the wall. Her stomach was lurching. The door opened and the Joker came walking in, he smiled at her.

He sat down next to her and put his hands under both of her cheeks and tipped her face to look at his, "Hello, Biscuit," he licked his lips, "You think you are going to behave, hmm?" she didn't respond, he saw a very deep sadness in her eyes, "Did you miss me?"

"Why?" she asked, blinking back the tears, "Why the fuck did you let him take me, are you that afraid of feeling?"

He rolled his eyes, "What is it with women, they always think that we, ah, got scared and then run away."

"You did, didn't you?"

"No," he snapped, then he laughed, "I've never hated anyone as much as I hate you, Sugar, so I had to let you go."

The words sunk in, making her feel breathless, "I-"

"Don't say anything, ah, I remember what it was like," he touched his thumb to one of the cuts, she tried not to wince, "how it..felt."

"Why didn't you kill me?"

"I hate you too much to kill you," he purred.

She looked at the ground, "Same here."

"Don't run away anymore," he instructed, "or I'll scar up that pretty face even more."

"I wont."

She submitted? The Joker tried to hide his shock, "Why aren't you looking at me, hmm?" she looked at him, "Good, now you stay here and I'll go get your clothes and stuff."

French wrapped her arms around her legs and watched as he left the room. The feeling of submission was depressing. He came back with the cart full of clothes, make up and other girlie things. She started looking through the white clothes, she found a simple white dress and started getting undressed, she didn't care that the door was open and he was standing right there. When she pulled off her bra, she heard the door shut. He was still in the room, gawking at her, "Ogling at me, huh?"

He snorted as if that was preposterous. French walked up to him, then, and pulled him tight against her, "There's my Bloody Jax," he smirked.

She ignored him and pushed his trench-coat off of him, hungrily. Then, she pulled at his vest and tie, he didn't help her, he was enjoying her forcefulness too much. She gave up and started working on her white skinny-jeans. He pulled the vest off and his honey-comb button-up shirt. When her pants were off she pulled him down to the cushion ground with her. His hands slid down her back and grabbed at her hips. He kissed her neck, jawline and shoulders up and down. Then he pressed his lips against hers, sending pains throughout her whole mouth and face. She let out a little yelp of pain. He kissed her rougher then and dug his nails into her back.

* * *

"Do you forgive me then?" she whispered, tracing the scar she gave him on his back.

He was still laying on top of her, he was almost asleep, "I forgave you a week ago," he mumbled, sleepily.

Her mouth hurt and she was tasting blood again, she looked over at the cart of clothes, absentmindedly, then her eyes caught hold of a blue box and her stomach lurched, "Holy Fuck."

The Joker jumped a little, confused, "What?"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she pushed him off of her and ran over to the cart and picked up the blue box of tampons. The Joker watched her confused, she started counting, then she said, "How long has it been?"

"Since what?" he asked.

"Since we met?"

"Two months?"

"Fuckity-fuck," then she bent over and puked all over the floor.

The Joker sat up, it hit him like a ton of bricks, "Surprise," he giggled.