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Thank you so much for the lovely things you guys say to me in the reviews, they make me all warm and fuzzy 8D, haha. Sorry for the wait, this is a long chapter as well and I wanted it to be good. I actually really enjoyed writing it, so i hope you guys enjoy reading it :3

On with the Show.
.ivory.

Chapter iv
How he Smiles

Mrs. Lovett led the two over to a stairwell that directed up to the second floor. It was thin and narrow, forcing them to follow each other single file; Nellie lead the way, closely followed by Violet, and Mr. Todd pulling up the rear.

The hair on the back of her neck rose at how close he was to her neck, she still wasn't sure as if she trusted him. He could as soon as drive a knife into her spine as ignore her completely; she hoped for the latter.

The further they climbed, the thicker the air became; the steps creaked and groaned against their weight until they finally reached a doorway. Eleanor pulled out a rung that held five separate keys; she pulled out a small iron one and fitted into the lock, grunting a little as it put up a feeble attempt to stop her.

The door swung open softly, the heavy smell of dust wafting outside, comfortable with the apprehension in the air.

Nellie entered with Violet close behind; the whole place ached with abandonment. The wallpaper might have once been honey colored, but now was peeled and ancient, revealing the wooden supports on the other side. One wall was at a forty five degree angle and was made up of a window that looked out at the cloudy sky and the tops of buildings. A large desk sat in the corner, a filthy mirror pressed against the wall behind it; an assortment of dirty bottles and pieces of paper littered it along with a small photo frame. She could only assume that they had once been full of different types of perfumes or shaving cream. A cheap metal crib sat directly by it, covered by a thick cloth. Violet wasn't sure if she wanted to know what was underneath. A short hallway branched off to the left with two closed doors on the other side.

Mr. Todd hovered outside the doorway, his black eyes curiously dead in his sorrow. So many memories must be here for the former barber; his wife was dead, his daughter captive, his home empty and ominous. Violet almost felt sorry for him.

"Come in." Mrs. Lovett said calmly, her hand on her hip. "Nothing to be afraid of, love."

He swallowed before entering, his eyes taking everything in. Violet turned away from him, taking slow steps to the window to wipe away the grime with her palm. She couldn't look at him, her heart tightening in her chest.

Nellie knelt next to the window and dug her fingers into the floor boards. "Nellie… what are you doing?" Violet asked.

She pried one of the boards loose, and reached inside the dust, producing a dark red bundle. Eleanor unwrapped it slowly, revealing a small wooden case. It was obviously very expensive, despite the age it obviously held. The wood was dark and carved with intricate designs and a gold colored latch. Violet leaned down with interest.

"That's very charming." She commented, running a finger along the top. Mr. Todd looked over at the women for the first time since entering the room and came closer.

"It's a lot more than just charming." Nellie said, tossing Violet a knowing smile. "When they came for the girl, I hid 'em." she glanced up at Mr. T, but he wasn't even looking at her; his eyes glued to the box, brows pinched together with a look of resolve. "Could have sold 'em, but I didn't." she tried again, but he ignored her.

Carefully, almost reverently, unlatching the case he flipped open the lid revealing several pairs of folded razors. They gleamed like starlight themselves, placed neatly into the velvet insides of the case; they could have been polished yesterday, untouched by the many years they have lied still. Violet gasped a little at their bewitching appearance, "They're… simply beautiful."

Mr. Todd took a split second to look up at her with appreciation, before his black eyes darted back to the blades. Though they'd known each other scarcely a day, Violet could tell the gesture was rare.

"Them handles is chased silver, ain't they?" Nellie whispered in the same reserved voice.

"Silver… yes." His voice was so soft that it was barely audible. He reached into the case and ran a finger along one of the razors before whipping it open in one smooth action, the blade unfolding with a quiet shink.

He smiled then.

The edges of his lips twisted upwards as he gazed fondly at his blades. Whether it was for the objects themselves or the memory link they provided back to his old life; he truly cared about these razors. As if they were living things.

She supposed he was a bit mad.

But then again, was she to talk?

She had cared for seemingly small and meaningless things before, hadn't she? Namely the plants she had cared for when her name was still Isabel. But they had been living things that grew and flourished; gave birth and loved. They had feelings. Her flowers had been her life, she'd cried as she dug through the dirt and told them all of her secrets, all of her troubles. And they bothered to listen to her complaints when no one else would. They made her happy. Did some people think that was as crazy as being in love with a pair of blades?

"You can move in here," Nellie said quietly, disrupting Violet and her thoughts; "you and Mr. T."

Violet suppressed a slight frown; the way she had said it suggested something intimate, as if they were moving in together. Which in fact they were, but not under the pretense of a couple or otherwise. But yes… this is why she had come here, because she had nowhere else to go. And apparently, neither did Mr. Todd. She nodded slowly.

The man in question looked up at them in annoyance, as if he'd forgotten they were there. "Leave." He said quietly, losing the smile that had only moments ago occupied his pale face.

Nellie looked disappointed at his request, but stood up all the same; Violet leaned back up to her feet as well, and the two friends left Mr. Todd alone.

They descended the stairs in silence, each wrapped in the silence of the situation.

The two former friends re-entered the parlor; it seemed like such a warm place with the fire going and the rapidly setting sun through the window. The cold conversations that had occupied the room had faded, leaving it with a feeling of comfort.

"He's so… different." Nellie muttered as she collapsed back into the arm chair, her brown eyes hollowed from that indifferent air to one of sadness. Violet nodded a little as she took her seat in the opposite chair, her pale hands clutching the folds of her dress with the emotions of the day.

Mr. Barker-… or Mister Todd, really had changed; that silent, shy man who had played with the front of his shirt and loved his wife and daughter… turned to such a dark man filled with anger.

"Love can do terrible things to people. The loss of it." Ms. Blackwell whispered quietly, the words barely audible. She should know more than others; years of sorrow had worn her down to barely a silver of her former self. She'd smiled then, not with malice or contempt; simply because she was in love. That can change everyone's appearance, make them glow. It had been a light that only Nate could coax to life, but he was gone now; and that light died with him.

Mrs. Lovett lifted the tumbler of gin that had been abandoned by the man, untouched. She downed it with a grimace of pleasure and nodded to the florist, "Want one, love?"

"No, I don't drink. You know that."

She looked up in surprise, the glass at her lips, "I forgot about that. 'Cause of your Dad, huh."

She didn't answer; instead, she asked another question. "So… where has Albert hobbled off to?" Ms. Blackwell asked, looking over her shoulder as if Mrs. Lovett's portly husband might jump out from behind the drapes.

"…'is grave." She answered, fiddling with the wedding ring encircling her finger. Ms. Blackwell froze, frowning a little; she'd been fond of the old man. There was a long silence as she didn't quite know how to respond, her displeasure quirking her mouth downwards.

"Sorry…" she said after a long time.

Nellie nodded, staring down into the distance, as if she'd heard it dozens of times. The crackling of the flames licked at the grating, sending heat towards the two around the fire. Outside, the dark gray clouds were beginning to turn an ashy color, plunging London into eventide.

"It's been lonely without you." Nellie whispered.

Violet looked up in surprise, only to see Eleanor's large brown eyes staring at her sadly. Her heart softened a little, an unfamiliar emotion spreading throughout her body. Dazed and discomforted by the unfamiliar sensation, she decided it again nostalgia, and pulled a tight smile.

"'Missed you as well, Nellie."

Eleanor kept that small smirk on her face, and fearful that Nellie would go on a long spiel on just how much she was missed, Ms. Blackwell tried, "It's getting late…"

Eleanor nodded her head, rising to her feet, "Yes…" she wrapped an arm around her flour covered waist, looking troubled. "You'll stay 'ere of course… but my bed is too small to share, and the only spare room is upstairs-"

"Oh no," Violet said hastily, shaking her head, "I couldn't disturb Mr. Todd." The idea alone made her uneasy, her stomach twisting at an odd angle. Though she couldn't place the emotion, or give it a name.

Eleanor frowned, "I guess I can make a bed on the floor, or in one of these chairs-"

"I do not mind."

Nellie jumped as the man himself appeared behind her; somehow making it down the creaky stairs as silent as a ghost. His face was empty of expression, his black eyes hollow; all of that anger, all of that sorrow, seemed to have been put away for the moment. Even so, Ms. Blackwell stared at him tentatively; why would he offer the bedstead so close to his own?

She folded her arms protectively, "It's quite alright. I'd prefer-"

"I do not mind if you take the spare room across from mine. Take it if you wish, or sleep downstairs on the floor, I don't care." He took the bottle of alcohol from the side-table and climbed back up the staircase, closing the discussion behind him.

Violet bit her bottom lip, her brows crunched as she weighed the options.

"There's a lock on the door." Mrs. Lovett said softly, guessing the woman's query. She nodded in response.

"…Alright."

After receiving a load of sheets and a homemade quilt, Violet made her way up the creaky stairs, carrying the small iron key that would fit in the door. She took a deep breath before reentering the old barber shop, lit only by the rising glow of the moon outside the window. She felt strangely alone as she turned down the hallway to the door on the left. She unlocked it and pushed it open, looking back only once at the closed room where Mr. Todd was awake. The steady pace of his shows clicking rhythmically against the wooden floor boards assured her of that.

The room that was now hers had that same smell of dust and mold that was growing behind the walls; she wondered how long it would take before the scent started to cling to her skin. Probably not that long. A rickety old bed sat against one wall, a thin mattress covered with layers of age. A window looked out above it, spilling moonlight over the peeling yellow wallpaper and the desk in the corner. A mirror sat atop it, the corner cracked, but still intact.

Lonely.

It was the only word that could come to mind as she laid the bed and stripped off her day dress. It was something she was accustomed to, something she had grown to be comfortable with. Violet curled on the bed and squeezed her eyes shut; willing sleep to come. And eventually it did, as she was lulled by the steady pacing of the man next door.

[Flashback]

"…Lovely."

"What?" she looked up from her novel, only barely hearing what he had just said.

Nate laughed at her blank look, his warm laugh adding to the atmosphere of the summer day, "I said you look lovely."

Her cheeks colored pink as she looked back at the printed pages, his compliments always seemed to surprise her; make her heart dance in her chest. He, just as the day they had met two years ago, pretended to not notice. They were seventeen now, and sitting on an old bench outside of the Court House; it was early in the morning, as they were both early risers to the day. No one was around, and total privacy was given to them; which was a rarity, especially when Nate's brother always seemed to be around.

"What's your book about?"

"It's Romeo and Juliet."

"Ah." He said, plucking the book from her fingers, "Do you enjoy it?" he flipped aimlessly through the pages.

She giggled at his interest, "Yes, I do. Apart from the over dramatized scenes, I do enjoy it."

Nate smiled, whipping a lock of his brown hair away from his eyes; "Very true. But the climax is worth the whole story."

"The tragedy?"

He nodded, "It's a satisfying ending."

Isabel mused at his interest in such a novel; there seemed to be new insights into his character at every turn. He saw her staring at him with that curious glint in her eye and took her left hand in his.

Surprised by the action, but not unaccustomed to it, Isabel breathed nervously, "So, Mr. Turpin, what does Shakespeare teach you about the whims of the heart? And of fate?"

"He informs me that you should call me Nate, Isabel."

She nodded for the thousandth time, smiling a little. There was a short silence in which he simply scanned her face as she felt the warmth of his hands, swallowing her own. Like puzzle pieces, she thought.

"Isabel?"

"Yes?" she looked up a bit, and was taken aback by how close his tawny eyes were to her own. The dust motes floating in the air stopped to watch, the sun leaning closer to the two young people seated at the bench. Hesitantly, Nate reached up a hand to cup her pale cheek; and gently he kissed her. Isabel closed her eyes and let it happen… her first kiss, given to her by Nathaniel Turpin.

Puzzle pieces, she thought again, as they sat there for an immeasurable amount of time in the morning light. And for that moment, just that one moment, everything was perfect.

Violet Blackwell awoke in a cold sweat, Nate was dead, and everything was not.

A tearless sob creaked out of her; why were the good memories as bad as the horrible ones? Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as the moonlight illuminated the unfamiliar, stuffy room. The memory had been so vivid, so real; each emotion like wildfire, intensified by the surreal edge of the dream. It was like her subconscious was mocking her.

Violet hated; hating was the only thing she was good at anymore. But hate doesn't change anything; doesn't bite back at those who had ripped her life at the seams.

Revenge did.

Ms. Blackwell swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood on the wooden floor in her bare feet and thin nightgown. It was still very late into the night. Her stomach twisted inside of her, and sleeping wouldn't put it to rights. Standing on the bed, Violet tugged on the window; knowing that if she could breathe the free air, she could calm down.

The window refused to budge, and upon further examination, she could see the frame was nailed shut. Vaguely wondering why, she searched for the key out of her room. The main window where the barber shop used to be might open. Upon finding it, Violet twisted the key into the lock and let herself out.

She stopped, for a moment, at Mr. Todd's door. Silence. He must be asleep. Satisfied, she walked down the hallway and into the main room, wondering if she could slip downstairs for a cup of water. She stopped in her tracks.

Mr. Todd sat at the desk in the corner of the room, the moonlight from the window turning his black hair silver. A bottle of gin sat before him, it looked still very full.

"Who is it?" he said lowly, not taking his eyes off of the desk; there was something in his hands, but at that angle it was impossible to tell what it was. She couldn't run, and hiding would be childish.

"Ms. Blackwell," she whispered, "Violet."

He turned, ripping his eyes away from whatever he'd been holding. He was still wearing his day clothes; Violet folded her arms self-consciously, as she was still wearing her night gown. This was against all of the rules her mother had taught her when she was young; rules on what a lady should and should not do. Being alone with a man in the night hours wearing this attire was breaking them. But… even being back in London broke all the rules altogether; so why was she thinking of them now?

But it was too late anyway, so she stepped forward into the night light, her curly hair untamed from sleep, and her knee length raiment snug around her frame; not revealing, thankfully.

"Are you drunk?" she asked wearily, thinking of her father when he was intoxicated.

"No. Did I wake you?" it seemed less of a concern for her sleep patterns, and more of a query as to why she was up at this time; disturbing him.

"No. I awoke on my own." She answered stubbornly, going to the window behind him and tearing it open. A gust of gray air filtered in, disturbing the years of grime that had grown on the sill. Remembering the dream, the sense of defiance immediately died. The rules were meaningless, but the memory of Nate was enough to make her feel guilty about being alone with a stranger in the night.

Mr. Todd flipped over what looked like a photo frame, the backside facing up. He stared at her while he took a drink from the bottle, the action itself making her twitch.

"I don't drink." She blurted automatically, he hadn't said anything, but it felt like a needed declaration. His brow furrowed; Violet couldn't tell if he was disgusted or annoyed, just an overall look of discomfort. Getting to his feet, he set the bottle down and shot her a dark look, "Tell me who you are."

"What?" she asked, caught off guard by the question.

"Tell me why you're here; why do you want the judge dead?" there was that dark edge to his words again, that double meaning. He still couldn't trust her, and she didn't blame him. She did, after all, show up at his old doorstep claiming she was here for the same purpose; the odds were unlikely. Unlikely but true.

She sighed and leaned against the window pain, she would have to tell him. Then he wouldn't be so suspicious of her, and her intentions. She pointed out the window, "See that?"

He took slow steps towards her and squinted into the city, "The Justice Building?"

She nodded, "One road down from that was where I used to live. My name, my full name, was Isabel Turpin-"

"What?" he snarled, his teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw jumping. She half expected him to jump atop of her, baring his teeth and threatening her life. Fear crawled up her throat, but she pushed it down; she had to remain calm.

"I was married to his brother."

"Explain." He said, not softening in the slightest.

"Well…" she took a deep shaking breath, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "his brother's name is… was… Nathaniel Turpin. We were married in the Spring… a-and Richard had always... been the fool that he is." Outside the moonlight hit her pale cheeks, hiding the tears that threatened to spring. It had really been so long since she'd let herself be upset, and it wouldn't start now. "About a year later, he came in the middle of the night."

The words spilled out of her, and she realized how much she needed this: to tell someone. The whole story hadn't ever been fully explained, no one had been willing to listen; writing her down as a murderer was easier. Violet fixed her eyes to the Justice Building in the distance, not really seeing anything as she drowned in her memories.

She told him everything.

"It was a warm night, the summer sun leaving the house hot even after it set. It was so hot that I was lying on top of the covers of my bed. Nate surprised me; he was supposed to be away on a call from his father. I… actually don't even remember what it was for- but he was supposed to be gone for another few days.

"He came through the front door to our bedroom; it was funny because his clothes were all wrinkled from the drive, his hair all disheveled… anyway, he went out to get something from the carriage he had borrowed and… that's when Richard came."

"I think he came in through the window in the kitchen, and into the bedroom. His face was all red and angry, despite the inane smile he wore. He... He came towards me and- and he was so cold. He tried to… but he never got the chance because I screamed. Nate ran back inside and saw his brother.

"He took out his pistol -he always had one whenever he traveled- and pointed it at Richard, yelling my name. If only I had known that would be the last time he would say it... But the Beadle came from behind and wrenched it from 'im.

"Richard twisted Nate's neck to the side," she gestured the violent action in the air, "and snapped his neck."

"The Beadle grabbed me, pulled my arms back- and even after all that, after killing Nate, he was still determined. Someone outside heard my screams and called the Bobby, and again, Richard was stopped. With the police there, he couldn't do anything to me. He told them that I had taken Nathaniel's life and arranged for me to be taken away…"

"I escaped with the help of a sympathetic guard."

The memory was plastered to the insides of her eyelids. Every time she shut her eyes, the image of Nathaniel's blank expression, his neck contorted to an unearthly angle. It was so… wrong.

He'd smiled once, he'd laughed, he'd held her and made her life beautiful; even with the mundane and disturbed past she harbored, he still cared. Told her she was special and that he'd never leave her. He had illuminated that light in her heart; it had warmed her. He'd never leave her… He'd never leave her…

But he did anyway.

There was a long silence while her breath shuttered in and out of her lungs, her heart beat the only sound in the room.

"I'm sorry."

What? Was he… showing empathy? Surely not… compassion? Her eyebrows crumpled in surprise and disbelief; he scared her more when he was calm and quiet. She looked up at him. He was staring at her; that picture frame grasped so tightly in his hands that the knuckles were white.

His face was a mask of emotions, anger, surprise, disgust clearly written.

"I believe you." he muttered.

Before she could say another word, he slammed the photo frame onto the desk and turned back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Violet stood there, the emotions of her past still roiling around inside of her; and in that moment… the two individuals trusted each other completely. Whether it was a good idea or not, she couldn't deny it.

Slowly walking to the desk, Violet picked up the old frame and scanned the image.

Lucy stared up at her, her blue eyes shining like she'd just been laughing. A baby girl sat on her lap, covered in frills and ribbons. They were beautiful, just like Nate had been.

And they were all dead.

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.ivory.