"Eleanor Todd?"
The auburn-haired woman looked up from where she toyed with a scrap of parchment, idly twisting it between her fingers as she stood with her back to the wall, her other hand clenched around something that showed a tiny glint of silver in between her fingers, and an expression of worry on her pale face. Chocolate-colored eyes darkening quickly with fear, she met the doctor's gaze and swallowed hard.
Oh, no...

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Todd," the doctor said quietly and kindly, walking over to stand in front of the distressed baker. "There was nothing I could do. He's past any help I can give him."

Eleanor shook her head, refusing to believe what the doctor was telling her. "No," she whispered, swallowing past a lump in her throat. "'E can't..." She was unable to say any more, though nodded fiercely when the doctor asked if she wanted to see him. Sweeney had been sick, yes, but not this... surely not this...

Standing, the baker shakily made her way into the next room, tears prickling the backs of her eyes. "Sweeney?" Nellie whispered, sitting beside the lone bed. The man laying there struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down to the mattress, biting her lip. A momentary snarl crossed his face – a memento from his past, she wondered? - and then faded slowly as the strength in his limbs evaporated, the barber falling back to the bed under her small, guiding hand. "Nellie," he murmured, eyes closing. "Nellie... my love... you knew that I did not want you with me... when the time came."

She took a few minutes to reply, her bright eyes going over the barber's form; from his lined and pale face, to once-dark hair that was now liberally streaked with gray, to the fact that he was extremely bony; even more so, really, than when she had first met the demon barber. The baker shook her head. "You're s'posed t' know me by now," she mumbled, swiping furiously under her eyes. "Been married for thirty-two years, 'aven't we?" She managed a small, shaky laugh. "'M not about t' let you go... alone..."

Not her barber. Not her Sweeney Todd. He had always been there – he was supposed to always be there – but as she gazed sadly at the shell that had been Benjamin Barker and then her Sweeney, her Mr. T, the little auburn-haired baker saw the truth and despised herself for giving up hope so easily. Biting her lip, Nellie reached over to grasp one of his cold, thin hands, and forced back a shiver. The coldness that had seemed so natural with him had gotten even colder, if that were possible. They had both aged, she realized, a curl of her naturally red hair that had more than a few gray strands in it falling in front of her face as she shifted closer to him, stroking his own mane and that persistent streak of white that marked it.

The barber managed a small, crooked smile. "That's... my Nellie," he whispered, the returned grip on her hand slackening slowly. Tears were falling quietly from Nellie's eyes now as she realized the inevitable; he was slowly fading away before her very eyes. "No," she mumbled. "No... you can't... you can't leave me, Sweeney!" The baker burst out, rocking back and forth slightly on her perch. "We... we're s'posed to stay together forever, jus' like you said..."

He struggled to rise again, Nellie too consumed in her grief to notice. Gingerly, weakly, the barber lifted his hand to brush a tear away from her own lined face and pale, porcelain skin that would have matched his own if not for his sickness. "Eleanor, I'm... I'm sorry." As the little baker listened to his quiet words, she felt a flicker of anger at the fact that he seemed even weaker than before. But, of course, what else would she expect from a dying man?

"No, you're not!" She cried, shoving herself away from the bed and getting to her feet, suddenly angry with herself for letting this happen. "You're not sorry for me. You should be 'appy, damn it." Nellie mumbled. "You're goin' to see your... your Lucy again."

"Nellie."

This time, she looked up. There was acceptance in his dark, really black eyes; acceptance, and sadness.

"Nellie," he repeated, "I..."

But whatever he was about to say next, she never heard, for the barber stiffened slightly, and then slowly, almost gracefully fell back onto the bed, his eyes loosing their light. She let out a soft, broken cry, half laying on him as she buried her face in his shirt, trying to catch some of the barber's musky, (and to her, utterly heavenly) scent before it, too, was gone forever.

The little baker was completely and utterly broken; she opened her hand, revealing the last of his razors, the one she had kept for so long, hidden away in a drawer. She thought back to when he had sold all seven of the gleaming silver blades – or so he thought, and slowly lifted the silver up. Nellie had no life without him, she believed; and why not choose to end her life sooner rather than later? She'd be with him for eternity, wouldn't she?

But something made her stop and shut the silver, hiding it away again. Perhaps it was the doctor, coming into the room. Perhaps it was the shuffling of her son, Tobias Ragg, standing in one corner.

Or maybe it was some remnant of the barber's spirit, lingering on with her, willing her to see the boy who had become a man into his later years.

And then, when it was her time, she would join him.

When Nellie would later tell of her life with the demonic barber (leaving out certain parts, of course - mainly that they had been a murderer and partner in crime), sitting on the front porch of her seaside home in a faded blue rocking chair, a mug of tea in one hand and a sad smile on her face, she'd always end up with tears in her eyes when it came to the end of her story, and half of the time be unable to finish. And every time, like clockwork, she would finish with the same words, ones that never varied from the story, no matter how it was told.

That he had died as one person; her sweetest downfall.


Her Sweeney Todd.