Well this a little one-shot on the Joker and a hostage. This story came to me from the song "Fire Bomb" by Rihanna. When I first heard it I thought of the Joker, because he likes explosives so I listened to the lyrics more and this is what I came up with. Hope you like it and I suggest listening to the song if you never heard it before while reading the story. :)

Losing Gasoline

She woke up in a huff, uncovering her head from the pillow that suffocated her in her sleep. The room was bare as she settled back down, calming her ragged heartbeat. She felt hopeless, pitiful, and empty. She no longer had a desire to live. For her, it was too difficult to live….

She felt torn. Torn by her instinct to survive and her desire to be free. She had to fight these two different sides of her every day. She knew who she was… yet this wasn't who she wanted to be. She did not know a name which to call herself to describe her change in character.

She blamed him. He was the cause of why she could no longer live with herself. He twisted her; molded her; broke her into something she never thought she would become. Someone she did not recognize in the mirror. Yet, apart from her behavior that she could not comprehend, she loved every moment with him. The man who broke her, who threatened her life every day for the past year, had taken up the free space in her heart.

She never wanted to fall in love with this man; a monster, a menace, a fiend. That's what everyone saw him as… and they were right. The man she loved was a psychotic beast. He slaughtered people for laughs, loving the sounds of their squeals as he plunged a knife in them. He was amused by the feeble attempts of resistance and the degrading words that spilled from their mouths before their end. He thrived on the fear that tickled his ego, knowing he held their fates in his hands. It fed his blood lust and helped create chaos among society. He watched society crumble as he played his little games. He caused Gotham to run wild and put every other villain to shame.

This man could not be bought, bartered, nor reasoned with. It was his city. He held it in his hands and played with it like putty.

Sometimes he would be so generous to take her out of their stuffy old room to witness the mayhem he created. It had shocked her the first time, she watched the destruction of the city unfold before her. He had dragged her up to the roof of his hideout and made her watch as bombs exploded across the city. Her eyes brimmed with tears and as her body fell frozen as she saw the smoke fill the air.

She remembered hearing him laugh with excitement as the building tumbled down and sirens were resonating in the distance. His laughter died as his stare grew intense, watching the buildings be licked up in flames. Silence fell upon the roof top as he stood in thought, his hand holding her neck.

She had started to cry then, her emotions overwhelming her, feeling helpless as she watched his handiwork. The man's stare broke away from the burning buildings and over to her. He sickly smiled at her with his red stained lips, amusement flicking in his eyes. He loved to see her suffer.

The man, she had come to love, was sadistic and he certainly enjoyed having her. That is what he had said after all, the first time he took her completely. She was so devastated to have lost it to a madman. She hardly moved from her position on the bed for a few days, just wallowing in her own sorrow. He had only chuckled and assaulted her some more.

She glanced at all the holes in the wall, made by his fists, and took note of the ripped wallpaper hanging off the wall, as well as the faded stains of blood smeared on the walls. She lightly walked around the room taking it all in. The bed was unmade as it always was. He was never the one for neatness nor the one who liked sheets covering him when he was asleep.

Her face was well composed, feeling oddly calm and at peace with herself, as she ran her hand over the chipped dark wooden dresser they kept in their room. She gracefully left their room, having gain some freedom in all the time she spent there. She had learned to obey him to get this much access, she was no longer locked up anymore for long periods of time.

He had granted her this freedom after many painful threats if she had happened to decide to run away. But it's not like she could run away from him, it was no longer an option for her. She had nowhere to go and she didn't want to leave him.

She stepped lightly on the stairs when descending them, having passed by the multiple hallways on the top floor. The warehouse was spacious and a complete rat hole as it was abandoned and unused except for its new residents. It was a dump.

She stood in the middle of the warehouse where he and his henchmen had brought in three shabby couches, a TV set, a poker table and some chairs and tables. She took in every little detail of the room, taking in all the filth and grime of the place, searing the place into her memory where it will reside forever.

There was no one here today at the warehouse, except for him. She knew this with certainty, because of the light on in his office that illuminated behind the closed blinds. His office was just upstairs across from the stairs that she had descended upon. She looked up at the blinds that concealed his figure with contempt, yet she felt a longing to be near him. She knew the consequences she would receive if she were to disturb him. She shook her head of those thoughts as she felt disgusted and frustrated with herself. She reminded herself it was going to change. She will be free. She would free society from him.

Becoming calm again, she left to the makeshift kitchen they had downstairs. She took what she needed from the cupboard below the sink and the drawer beside the stove. She headed back to the living room determined as the contents from the jug she was carrying was spread all around the room. The fluids had no affect on her, because she was so use to the smell of gasoline. It was one of the many smells that clung to him as she remembered how she breathed him in last night. She looked solemnly up at his office one last time, half expecting him to come barging out of his office to scold her in the most harmful way possible.

She threw herself onto the couch at last, having thrown the empty jug of gasoline carelessly beside her. She took out the matches she had stolen from the kitchen drawer and resiliently lit the match. She stared at the flame, almost hypnotized to the movement until the flame was close to reaching her fingertips. She threw the match at once across the floor in front of her. The gasoline catching fire instantly and she watched as it burned fast in front of her.

It didn't take long for him to come running out of his office, clearly able to recognize the smell of fire. He examined the scene, his eyes spotting her; the cause. She sat there watching the flames come alive and burning everything wildly.

The man she loved cursed and quickly shuffled down the stairs. Upon movement, she noticed him and immediately felt her body trembled becoming frightened. He glowered at her as he came nearer to her, walking quickly through the small flames that blocked his path to her. She jumped up, wanting to instinctively flee; however, before she could, he was able to grab a firm hold of her arm.

He pulled her to him and with rough hands shook her lightly. He brought his red lips down to her ear and breathed out, menacingly, "Oh no, Sweet Cheeks. You have to finish what you started."

He dragged her with him as he made speedy steps to the makeshift kitchen. She didn't fight his hold on her even if his words brought fear to her heart. He hauled her over to the back door of the warehouse besides the makeshift kitchen before he stopped short his stride and turned towards her. He grabbed her hand, staring intensely down at her, making her skin crawl as she broke her gaze with him. He placed a gun in her hand then, and she gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Shoot it," he demanded, indicating with his thumb at the two tanks of gasoline sitting in the corner of the room. She mildly shook her head afraid where this was going. His eyes narrowed and he slipped his knife out of his coat pocket and held it to her throat, his grip on her neck tightened.

"I told you, you're finishing this, now shoot it."

With a slight nod, she aimed with shaky hands, her chin still firmly grasped by the man with the knife at her neck. The bullets hit the tanks, leaving holes, and losing gasoline. Most pleased with her, he withdrew the blade from her neck, only to pull from his pocket a lighter.

"Do it," he dared her, his eyes dark as he searched her face.

She took the lighter meekly, and flickered the flame on, yet she couldn't find it in herself to throw it. With impatience, he took it roughly from her and flicked the fire back on and threw it at the tanks.

As the fire hit the tanks, she heard his insane laughter bellow around her, scarring her brain forever as they were sent flying through the air with everything else.

Her hearing went silent for a while, until she heard the flicker of flames in the background. Her head was pounding unbearably and felt the stickiness of blood coming from her head as she touched the wound.

She slowly got up, observing her surroundings. She was outside; the whole warehouse was burning down and the explosion had only destroyed a good side of it. She saw no sight of him, and relaxed as she contently continued to watch the flames engulf the warehouse, thinking he was gone and was burning down with the rest of the warehouse. She did it. She couldn't believe she had taken out the prince of Gotham. She could rest here in the rubble content until the fire department shows up.

She leaned back on her hands, touching accidently a cool surface. Looking down, she realized it to be the gun that he had placed in her hands before the explosion. She took it in her hands, holding it carefully, and breathing slowly.

If he was gone without her, this would be her only memory of him. Although, holding this weapon only made her remember what she regretted most. Even with him gone, she would still be sent to prison for what she did.

She had gone against her own values and killed someone. She tried to rationalize that the person was not innocent himself. The goon she killed was a hooligan but… it was still immoral to kill someone. It hurt her psyche; she couldn't handle how easy it was for a life to slip away; how easy it was to end it all with a trail of blood left behind. However, this time… she killed leaving a trail of fire as she watched the warehouse that she was held hostage in for a year crumble.

The chaos in her head had settled until she heard an obnoxious sound of a horn blaring. She turned around fast and felt her heart tighten in disappointment. He could have been part of a masterpiece, to die by the hands of the one he had tortured for so long. Yet, there he was; alive as ever.

He was in the driver seat of a van, honking at her. He held a gun in his hand, pointing it at her and then pointed it to the passenger seat beside him. His eyes were solely fixated on her as she got up wary, slipping the gun behind her. She walked slowly over the rubble from the explosion to the van, preparing herself as she tried to think of a new plan.

When she got in the passenger side seat, he smirked. From this closer view, she could see his dyed-green blond hair was wildly scrawled on top of his head and his purple outfit was littered in dust and ash.

He laughed as he put the van in drive and he raced out of the neighborhood and through the streets, laughing, psychotically. He spoke he hadn't had that much fun in ages. That it was like a spicy Russian roulette. His driving was unbelievably fast as he sped pass, and cut off, almost every driver on the road at five in the morning.

"Didn't think you had it in you, Doll-Face, to pull a stunt like that," he retorted as he chuckled.

He rolled down all the windows in the van to feel wind hit against his skin.

She couldn't respond for the life of her. She found him too dangerously static and took in who he was in this moment. His hair whipped everywhere in the wind and his eyes were alight with excitement. Some of his limbs were bleeding and his suit was charred. His makeup was smeared but he seemed at ease with the current situation.

A voice from the radio soon rang out in the background as it was a news report.

"Breaking News, the Joker's hideout has been exposed and found to be on fire from causes of a gasoline leak. It has been reported that the fire was intentional. There are no dead bodies on the scene. Was this an attempt on Joker's life or was Joker merely destroying evidence? It is to be assumed, he is on the move and that law enforcement officers to stay vigilant. Anyone with any information on the Joker's location should step up immediately…"

The voice on the radio drowned out in her ears…

She had one last chance didn't she? She looked over at the claimed "Prince of Crime", the Joker, and looked out the windshield to the lit up street of the early morning. She shut her eyes for only a moment to find within herself the clarity she need as well as the courage to do what she must.

Suddenly the van was hit by something from behind, making the Joker and her jerk forward due to the lack of seatbelts the van did not have. The Joker cursed, still driving madly, but stuck his head out the window to see who bumped his car from behind. The Joker spied the slick black tanker car to be that of Batman's vehicle.

Batman aimed a machine gun weapon from his car at the Joker's van and started firing.

The Joker moved his head back inside the van, swiftly, just in enough time to avoid getting hit, but the bullets hit the side rear-view mirror taking it out. The Joker muttered incoherent things about Batman and said something like "it's time to play," as he took out a huge bazooka like gun from the back seat. He was barely paying attention to the road and swerved passed a car he barely missed. He muttered curses again and spoke to her, roughly.

"Take the wheel. I got some Bat to fry," the Joker chuckled amused as he shifted half of his body out the window.

She took control over the steering wheel and gas pedal like he asked, shifting closer over to the driver's seat and took a glance at the Joker, seeing he was about to fire.

It was now or never, she thought as she prayed silently in her head as she sharply turned the car to the left near an intersection. The turn wasn't sharp enough, leading them straight into the building; she figured they would end their life together from this impacted.

She heard him yell at the top of his lungs at her and swiftly saw where they were headed. Thinking fast was always one of his many traits as he had reached in and turned the steering wheel farther left as possible. The force he exerted on the wheel was enough to make the van slam into the building on its back end side. The impact shook them hard.

"What are you, crazy?!" the Joker shouted at her. He had received minimal damage to the car crash while she had received a greater few to go along with the other ones. "I could have had him."

The Joker dragged her weak body out of the van, pulling his knife out, placing it at her throat. The blade hardly scared her anymore. This was her second attempt at trying to end it and none of it worked. Before the Joker could do damage, he was ripped off of her by Batman.

The two enemies had a dual, Batman clearly holding back, because of his rules and every punch Joker received, he crackled saying it tickled. The Joker mocked the Batman for his rules; he tried to make Batman see the twisted logic he had used on her. She couldn't stand by and watch another person be broken by his hands and molded to his liking. She heard the sirens not far in the distance, they would be here in 5 minutes tops.

She stood up, with the little strength she had, and took a rock from the ground and threw it at the Joker, her lover. The Joker turned his head around, stopping in his tracks, and looked at her amusedly as his eyes narrowed. She quietly stood her ground. Batman watched carefully as the Joker walked away from him to he. Once he was close to her, he took her into his arms and gripped her neck.

"Got something to say, Darlin'?" the Joker drawled tauntingly as his eyes glanced back to Batman who still laid on the ground clutching the knife wound on his side.

She looked at the Joker and he stared back at her. She saw the deep inner desire he had for her in his eyes sparkle, but she knew this wasn't who she was. She nodded her head and the Joker narrowed his eyes even more, daring her.

She whipped out the gun he had given her earlier at the warehouse from her back pocket and placed it under his chin. The Joker gave a chuckle at her behavior and the hard, detached look in her eyes. Her face was blank which had always caught his appeal from the beginning.

He kidnapped her a year ago for one of his hostages' videos to get Batman to reveal himself. She was among the many, he had kidnapped that day, but her spirit had caught his interest. She became way too entertaining to kill. She was so quiet, detached, and stubborn that he wanted to see what would make her tick and he wanted to see how long till he could break her.

What surprised him most about her though, was that once he did break her, he was still amused and entertained by her. It wasn't often when he gets so much fun out of a person, besides the old Batsy he has encounters with.

The Joker smiled at her madly, enhancing his scars; it hardly fazed her. She took her last moment taking him all in.

"It's time we go out blazing, Jack," she softly said, her voice cracking from the lack of use, as she lifted herself up on her tip-toes and kissed him. The blade was pressed harder against her neck and she felt the blood trail down her chest. The Joker hummed slightly in a pleasured sigh, but she didn't focus on him as she heard the sirens coming closer. It was time, she was afraid.

She pulled back the gun from his neck, and turned her wrist. She pulled the trigger and everything went black. Her soul was set free from his grasp; although, the Joker had gotten her mind, body, and heart.

I hope I didn't screw up the Joker in this. I'm testing the waters out on writing Batman fics, because I don't want to make the Joker unlike himself. Now I know in this story, his dialogue is a little funny and probably doesn't sound like him and I'm sorry. I tried my best. Tell me what you think of the story and if I'm any good at Batman fics or not haha. I don't mind helpful criticism

Review Please :)

Disclaimer: Don't own Batman or Joker or the song "Fire Bomb" by Rihanna that this story is referencing.