A minute or so after Sweeney Todd sent his latest victim down to Mrs Lovett's bake house, he heard her scream. Frowning, he slipped his razor out of the pouch that hung from his belt, and went down the stairs, walking through the deserted pie shop to the door that led to the bake house.

"Mrs Lovett?" He called warily as he walked down the flight of stairs and into that hellish room.

Nellie Lovett was standing by the corpses of his three latest victims, one of which was clawing at her dress.

"'And me that bloody razor!" She glared at him, an unusually sharp tone in her voice.

Todd reluctantly gave it to her, watching with a mildly shocked expression on his face as she bent down and dug the razor deep into the cut he had previously made on the man's neck.

"Can't you do anythin' right?" She snapped at him as she righted herself, shaking the hand off her dress.

"I . . ." He stared at her, unused to her being the angry one – usually it was him losing his temper with her.

"Exactly!" Nellie cried, still fuming before he had a chance to even form a proper reply. "As if it wasn't 'ard enough, usin' these for meat! Now I 'ave to worry about 'em not being dead!" She strode towards him, brandishing the razor. "I swear-"

She stopped. Looking at Todd now, she remembered why she was so fond of him in the first place. He needed to be able to lash out at her and know she wouldn't get mad too.

"Mrs Lovett . . ." The melancholy look that was always in his eyes had turned to an even more sorrowful one. "I'm sorry."

"No," She shook her head, sighing slightly. "No, love, I am. You're the one who shouts, not me."

The ghost of a smile appeared on her lips, trying to reassure him if only a little as she gently placed the razor back into his hand.

He looked at her, not quite sure where this was going.

"I shouldn't 'ave gotten mad at you, love. Just a bit of a shock to come down 'ere an' 'ave one of 'em clawing at me dress."

"Never happened before . . ." He muttered.

"No, I know it 'asn't, Mr T." She took his arm and led him back up to the pie shop. "How's about a nice drop of gin?"

She reached behind the counter and poured them both a shot. He reached to take one, but she stopped him.

"One condition." That playful smile of hers was back again.

"What . . .?" He asked cautiously.

"Smile, for me?"

Todd narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. For her? Yes. . . For the woman who put up with his moods, who kept his secret and disposed of the evidence. It wasn't much for her to ask of him in return.

He smiled. It was small, and fleeting, but it was genuine. That's what mattered to her.

"To good business." He raised his glass to her.

"To good business."