A/N: This is an AU in which Toby ran into the sewers, as far away as he could; that's why Sweeney survived. It's my first try at a Sweeney Todd fic, so constructive criticism would be great! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The rights to Sweeney Todd do not belong to me.
XxX
Grieving for the Lost
There was so much blood.
Red, sticky blood, covering his hands, his shirt, his face... His wife's blood. His Lucy.
He was still trying to comprehend what he had done.
Why did it have to end this way, after all these years... After all this waiting... After all the people he had murdered to get his revenge.
Oh yes, Sweeney Todd had had his revenge. And finally, that fateful night, he had completed what he had begun. He could still see his razor glistening with joy while taking first Beadle Bamford's, then Judge Turpin's worthless lives. Sweeney could still feel the triumph surge through his veins. The triumph that he felt when the silver metal finally buried itself deep in the Judge's throat. Blood splashed everywhere, but he didn't mind. Oh, the satisfaction... To see the man who had destroyed his life lie dead at last... His vengeance was complete.
And then, a single discovery made his life fall apart a second time. This one, fateful moment when he recognised his wife, lying on the bakehouse floor. For all those years he had waited, hoped, yearned for her... And his Lucy had been alive the whole time... Even if her body had changed, even if she was wasted and dirty, he knew it was still his Lucy, his wife, with her bright blue eyes and her soft, yellow hair.
He sat there for hours, crouched next to her dead body, completely still, unable to move a muscle. He tried to lose himself in her pale, emaciated face, tried to reconstruct the long lost past within his memories... But it had been too long ago, he had already invested so much energy in order to forget these painful memories. Now they were almost inaccessible.
And, worst of all, he knew it was all his fault. After all, it had been he who had slit the beggar woman's throat without a second glance, he who had spilled his beloved wife's blood in a moment of sheer carelessness. Just another body, sliding down his chair. Just another body, missed by no-one... If he had only known back then that he would be the one missing the dead woman most of all.
Sweeney Todd did not know whether he would ever be able to do anything but grieve. Grieve for what he had lost.
He could not bear to stay in London any longer, the grey, eerie, dirty place inhabited by the vermin of the world imprisoned him.
He left, walking, running, a ghostly, haunted man, robbed of his Lucy and devoid of all hope yet again... He wasn't capable of knowing where he was going anymore. He was used to little rest and food, and anyway, how could he think about food, when he had killed the only person he could think of these days? How could he even consider going to sleep, when his yellow-haired angel was sure to linger in his dreams, beckoning, always just out of reach?
Wasn't it ironic for him to finally arrive, arrive at a place he had never liked in the first place?
The familiar smell, salty and wet and fishy caught his attention before he had even set eyes upon the shingle beach. The breakers were crashing against the rocks, carrying seaweed and small pebbles. Screeching seagulls were circling above the white, foaming crests, taking advantage of the strong breeze.
The man, known as the demon barber of Fleet Street, stood perfectly still, his face blank, dark eyes trained on the horizon.
He had never particularly liked the sea; during his years as Benjamin Barker it had always seemed too wild, too untamed to him. During his escape from Australia his dislike for the sea had intensified, the salty, unsparing water had almost cost him his life.
So why was he here, at one of the last places he wanted to be? Here, nothing was linked to Lucy; as far as he could remember, they had never gone to the beach together.
Sweeney listened carefully, he couldn't make out one sound caused by human beings. Only the thundering of the waves, the screeching of the birds and the gusty wind, tasting salty and feeling damp on his exposed skin. It was lonely here, lonely and quiet. Carefully, he stepped closer to the shore, not quite stepping onto the wet sand that had been dampened by the incoming tide just hours ago. His eyes still looked absently at something only he could see. Lucy...
Finally, he would be alone, left with only his memories. Undisturbed in his solitude, far away from all those noisy, busy people who had no right to intrude, their mere presence irritated him.
The barber stood, trying to remember every tiny detail about his wife; her graceful movements, her musical laugh, the sparkle in her eyes when she looked at him... The casual way in which she sometimes linked her arm through his when they walked down the streets of London...
All these details seemed to be fading...
He was alone... all alone... by the sea...
By the sea...
By the beautiful...
Suddenly, another voice filled his mind, not the soft voice of his wife. No, it was the voice of another, the voice of the liar, the baker who had treacherously kept the fact that his wife hadn't died all those years ago from him. He was suddenly reminded of her vivid, longing description of a life by the sea... The memory of the picnic in the park was still fresh, as if it had happened just yesterday.
No. It could not be that this woman, whose name he had vowed to forget, was still more alive in his mind than his Lucy. He had thrown her into the fire, listening to her pained screams without as much as a flinch. He hadn't felt the slightest hint of remorse while her body was consumed by the flames. He refused to even think about the person who had almost wormed herself into his confidence, only to betray him so. She wasn't worthy of his thoughts.
Lucy... with her yellow hair... not auburn and messy... Lucy had given him so much, her love, her faith, and finally their beautiful daughter. What had the baker ever done for him?
However, he couldn't quite ignore the awfully familiar voice whispering inside him,
"Yes, Mr. T, what did I ever do for you? You didn't notice, did you, me wiping the blood off the floor, cleaning your blood-stained shirts, bringing you meals every day, even though you never ate them. Too preoccupied with slitting throats to think about who had to cut up the bodies, who had to look into the faces of the dead? Too lost in your past to even consider asking about mine? Too fixed on your wife to let anyone else in? Oh yes, Mr. T, I understood you quite well, I did. Better than you think, anyways, even though you never said more than five words in a row..."
She understood him... She understood his thirst for vengeance better than anyone could have... Why?
Why was she cold enough to bake her fellow citizens and neighbours into pies? They had done nothing to her, had they? He never thought about what might be going on inside a person who could come up with the idea to sell corpses as delicacies.
"Everything I did, I did for you."
Did she? He hadn't failed to notice her advances, the way she always seemed to seek his company, the fleeting touch of her hand, the not quite subtle hints... Her rambling about a life together.
By the sea...
His thoughts snapped back into the present. Yes, he was at the seaside, but certainly not to think about her. He was here to mourn Lucy, she was dead, she would never come back... She was lost forever.
"Don't you think I'm lost too, Mr. T?" asked the irritating voice at the back of his mind. "Don't you think there's a place in hell waiting for me, after all I've done because of you?"
No. A deceitful liar and her lost soul weren't worth mourning. She didn't deserve pity.
Sweeney heard the regular sound of the rushing waves, reminding him of a large animal breathing. It sounded alive, and full of energy and strength. Tenacious, merciless, and yet beautiful, like...
No, he could not think of her as beautiful, not of her. His Lucy had been beautiful, not her. Definitely not her.
Slowly, the tide began to flow. The water rose, unnoticed and yet inexorable, coming closer to his feet.
It was creeping up on him, just as she had inconspicuously, but still persistently sneaked into his life... A constant, unceasing chatter in the background that he tried to ignore, a clean floor that had been bloody minutes ago, a tray of food that he never touched. Not exactly important enough to be considered vital, but still there, never quite forgettable.
"I did care for you. You know that, Mr. T." Yes, she presumably did. After all, she had cared enough to do all the things she had done. To no avail, for she would never be comparable to his Lucy. She should have known she was fighting a lost battle.
Sweeney sat down on the pebbles, watching the sea as if it were a wild animal that was tentatively approaching him for the first time. He did not move.
And when he finally felt the first drops of water touching his skin, the first spray dampening his hand, he didn't draw back.
He was beginning to understand why she had held this odd fascination with the sea.
It was impossible to forgive the liar. It was impossible to forgive himself as well.
Whatever Lucy may or may not have done, he could forgive her easily.
Lucy only deserved gold and diamonds.
For the baker, silver and rubies were good enough.
And honestly, that was all he had to offer.
Hesitantly he had to admit that there had been another significant woman who had cared for him beside his wife. And even if he never would have said it out loud, she did deserve at least one person who mourned her death. A person who knew her. Someone who knew that underneath her cheery facade lay a strong, if not slightly ruthless spirit, carefully hiding her vulnerability behind an unfading smile; covering herself in layers of clothing to protect herself from the world.
As Sweeney Todd sat at the shore of the sea, he grieved.
He grieved for Lucy.
And somewhere deep inside, he had to admit, he also grieved for Nellie Lovett.