AN: Ahhh, I'm very very very sorry I haven't been updating.

There was an onslaught of schoolwork, and team practices, and I was very tired. But, it's a three day weekend, and I feel awful about never updating, so I'm updating now.

Enjoy!

"She's got her halo and wings hidden under his eyes, but she's an angel for sure, she just can't stop telling lies."

--- Under the Gun by The Killers

"Well, for a lonely soul, you're having such a nice time..."

--- Nothing in My Way by Keane

Part VII: Under the Gun

Head in his hands, Sweeney Todd is breathing fast, feeling sick, and is utterly lost.

Sitting on either side of him is Johanna and Toby, staring at the wooden floorboards of the guest bedroom, occasionally stealing glances at the man sitting between them, worried and frightened, and then, they sneak looks at one another, trying their best to communicate without saying a word.

The slightest thing could disrupt his train of thought, a delicate process, when dealing with such a delicate matter as this.

And it's especially painful; every time he even so much thinks about anything, she's there, in his mind, brown eyes full of hate and hurt, and a blind adoration that he suspects is a remnant from the old days. He hears her voice, pleading:

"Look at me, Sweeney Todd."

But looking for too long is akin to staring at the sun: he's blinded temporarily, dazed, his head pounding insistently.

Something about the way she looked at him. She had stared at him with a look he's seen in the mirror so many times, gazing at his own reflection, struggling to remember what kind of a man he was before he was Sweeney Todd.

She's going to kill him, and she'll never stop until she does.

Shaky hands run through his dark hair, and he sighs, head tilted upward to gaze at the plaster ceiling. He doesn't want to die, despite it all. He doesn't want to lie there, bloodied and bruised, gasping for air, staring up into cold eyes, spiteful and pleased.

No, if there's one thing he values, it's his freedom.

He won't let her catch him, he can't let her catch him...Standing, he begins to pace the room, a feeling of nostalgia rising as he allows his feet to carry him about the room, independent of his mind. Toby and Johanna watch as he walks, turns, and walks again, finally whirling about and speaking to his daughter.

"Johanna," he begins slowly. "I apologize but...We must leave now. Will you help us?"

She smiles and nods, and despite all that is happening, his heart swells with pride for his lovely, level-headed daughter.

"Of course, Mr. Todd," she says. Then, her face falls. "But, my parents..."

"I will tell you everything I know," he promises. "But not this time, Johanna. Someday, I promise you."

Blue eyes shining with gratitude (if only she knew), she stands, and stops at the doorway.

"I'll go arrange it, so you two pack your bags."

He follows her, grasping her small, delicate hands in his own, and whispers sincerely:

"Thank you."

She says nothing, but her look tells him she understands.

Closing the door as she exits, he waits until he cannot hear her footsteps, and then he locks the door, facing Toby.

He's looking extremely confused, as deep in his thoughts as Sweeney himself, white hair hanging in his eyes. In this moment, he looks much more like a young man than a boy, his youthful face clouded with doubt. Looking up at his guardian, eyes shining, his lower lip quivers.

"You killed 'er, didn't you?"

No sense lying now. "Yes," Sweeney Todd replies.

Toby sighs. "I figured that, a while back," he says. "But it's different, hearin' it come from you."

"She lied to me," he protests slowly, and even to him, the excuse sounds pitiful. He adds:

"About my wife. Lucy, she...The beggar woman. I killed her. You remember, don't you?"

"'Course I do. She was always botherin' mum, and--"

Toby stops, and swears loudly, mouth open.

"No. She wasn't...She...That was yer wife?"

Sweeney nods.

"So," he murmurs, "Mum lied an' told you she was dead."

"Yes."

There's a silence in the room, as Toby processes this new information, fingering his chin like a fictional detective, brow furrowed. Sweeney simply stands, back against the door.

Finally, he says:

"But, Mr. Todd, I'm sure she did it cos she knew meetin' yer wife as a madwoman woulda hurt you...Right?"

"I don't know," he snaps. "I've been thinking over that night, replaying it in my head all these five years. And I have no idea if what I did was the right thing. But it's been done..."

It's certainly too late to apologize for what he's done, and he doubts he's truly sorry anyways. He doesn't really feel guilt anymore.

"...And if she's alive...Well, let her catch me, if she can. I've killed quite a few people, Tobias, and I've certainly ruined quite a few lives. It's time to start cleaning up the mess I've made."

No more lies.

Toby bites his lip, fear practically radiating from his body. "Yer gonna kill 'er, then? Really kill 'er?"

The thought of her, another one of his victims, spattered with red, eyes wide in shock seems almost a disappointingly dull ending to her life. She deserves better than that, if he is going to kill her.

"I..."

He stops, and he looks down at the floor.

"I honestly don't know."

"She loved you, you know," Toby says, and it's almost an accusation. "But, she...she wants to kill you, Mr. Todd, and...and..."

The boy sobs, pressing his forehead to the window pane, tears streaming down his face.

"I don't know what to do either," he admits. "Mr. Todd...she's like a mother to me, Mr. Todd. But I don't...I don't want you to die...I..."

Sweeney stays silent, shifting awkwardly. He isn't sure of what to do, to comfort the boy, so he opts instead to stay still.

"I wanted us to be family, Mr. Todd. I wanted us to be happy, all three of us..."

Sweeney Todd lays a hand on Toby's shoulder, gazing with him out the window to the Venice streets below them, set in his purpose.

"I'm afraid, lad," he answers, "That that's a grave impossibility."

Toby says nothing, and they continue to look out from behind the glass in subdued silence, awaiting Johanna's return.


Nellie heaves a great sigh, shifting her legs as she waits, seated at an outdoor cafe near St. Mark's Square. After taking a good ten minutes explaining to the Italian waiter what exactly she wanted to order, she had found herself drifting back to what happened the night before.

He had looked exactly the same, but...At the same time, he had had a look of tired contentedness on his face, as he had gazed down on the musicians below.

Of course, she had to go and yell at him.

The look he had on his face when he saw her, realization dawning on him, was something to be pleased about, she supposes. That calm before a storm hits, and then...

A hurricane.

Smiling to herself at this though of his discomfort, she sips from her water glass, and gazes about the bustling street.

And then, Anthony Hope is standing at her table, eyes unclouded by that obsessive love, grinning sweetly. Bowing slightly, he gives her an apologetic look.

"Mrs. Lovett, ma'am," he says, his voice wispy and innocent, "I must apologize for my behavior yesterday. You see, Johanna was attacked a few days ago by a beggar; I have been somewhat on edge about her well-being ever since. It had been a long day of work, and I was so shocked to see you...I mean, you're supposedly dead. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me, and allow me the pleasure of joining you?"

His hand grasps the back of the chair opposite Mrs. Lovett, who, after eying him warily, decides it's safe enough to allow him to talk with her.

Placing her glass on the table, she folds her hands in a business-like fashion, and looks him squarely in the eye.

"I'm assuming you 'ave somethin' to tell me, Mr. Hope," she says coolly.

He nods. "Yes, ma'am. I always knew you to be the one who convinced Mr. Todd to agree to my keeping Johnna at his shop, and I'm eternally grateful to you for that, so I thought perhaps you'd like to know..."

At this, he stops, fidgeting with the collar of his suit, a fanciful tailored affair that doesn't suit him, especially since he so adamantly insists upon the profession of being a sailor.

"Mr. Todd has fled Venice, Mrs. Lovett. He fears you're here to kill him, so he has taken Johanna and Tobias, and he has fled for the inland wine vineyards. But...I know where he's headed, ma'am, and to repay you...I'll take you to him, Mrs. Lovett."

Typical, she thinks, simply typical. It's never easy for her, is it?

Sighing, she holds her head in her hands. Anthony sits ramrod straight, an obvious trait of being raised in a high class family, and stares politely at the table, determined.

"Very well," she assents. "Take me there."

He nods, standing and starting off down the street at a brisk pace. Leaping up from the table with a start, Mrs. Lovett raises her arm, waving for him to come back.

"Wait!" she calls, "I 'aven't gotten the coffee I ordered! Wait-- Oh, fine then."

She jogs after him, hair flying, and they set off toward the harbor.


Johanna sits at the table in their parlor (hers and Anthony's) and runs a hand over the papers that will carry Mr. Todd and Toby home swiftly. She wants to cry, but knows it's not proper, and she doesn't even know why she wants to anyway. She thinks it has something to do with last night...

Mr. Todd had stood there on the balcony, eyes wide with shock (or was it joy? relief? fear?) as a woman with reddish hair stood up on a restaurant table and yelled his name, close to tears herself. Something about the way Sweeney Todd had ran, a look of torn affection on his face as he glanced back at her, and how she had seemed so desperate, gazing up at him longingly, as if her heart was breaking...

It made Johanna want to cry, to see a love so battered and worn. It wasn't fair to Mr. Todd, or to that woman, who she had discovered was Mrs. Lovett quite quickly, from the way Toby had started screaming down to her.

It had taken a lot to maintain an image of calm, and when they had gotten home, all three of them had drifted to separate areas of the house, to mourn and brood in peace. Johanna had paced her bedroom, wondering where Anthony was, why Mrs. Lovett was on Venice (and more importantly, how she survived), and what they should do now.

It was obvious Mr. Todd thought it best to leave, and far be it from her to question his decisions; he knew this Mrs. Lovett far better than she did, and she trusted him far more than herself to make a choice on how to deal with her reappearance, but something about his strange looks, as if he himself had just had his heart torn out, made her feel that maybe, just maybe, they should stay and reunite with the former baker-woman.

As if on cue, Mr. Todd's heavy boots echo down the hallway, and he sinks into an armchair, head in his hands. She clears her throat slightly, and says:

"I have your tickets."

He nods his acknowledgment.

"Mr. Todd," she begins, then stops. "I...You don't have to leave until quarter past three. That's as quick as they come, I'm sorry I couldn't do better--"

He shoots her an intense look of gratitude, and she's shocked into silence by such a show of emotion.

"Thank you," he tells her. "That's fine."

"Why are you always so kind to me?" She whispers.

He starts to speak, and then stops, biting his lip. Shaking his head, he replies:

"I couldn't say. You are kind to me, Johanna Hope, so...It's only natural for one to be kind in return. You are the wife of the man who saved my life. That is enough."

"Do you truly know something of my parents?"

Sweeney Todd sighs, then slowly, a jack-o-lantern smile spreads on his face, and he tilts his head.

"You should ask her. She hangs onto the past so tightly, she could live in it. She'll know about your parents."

"You don't mean," Johanna says, frowning, "You couldn't mean ask Mrs. Lovett about my parents?"

"She doesn't bite," he murmurs. "Tell her...Tell her you deserve to know the truth from her. Tell her that, if you find her."

Toby appears, dressed and ready, bags packed. His hat is tipped slightly, and instinctively, Johanna reaches out an arm and straightens it so it completely conceals his white hair. He flushes under her ministrations, shoulders rising in discomfort and enjoyment. Mr. Todd rises from his chair, and bows to her.

"We shall leave now," he says. "We wouldn't want her chasing us here, but if she does show up here...Remember what I told you, Johanna. Goodbye."

Johanna bows back, and Toby, shuffling his feet, mutters a goodbye. She kisses his cheek lightly, and he smiles.

"I'll write," he promises. "We'll visit again, and we'll stay much longer. I swear!"

Nodding, she sees them to the door, and watches as they disappear into the crowds. Turning the lock, she prays for their safety, and hopes that they will meet Mrs. Lovett again.

No one should be without the one they love, after all.


Eleanor heaves a great gulp of air, pausing briefly at the crest of the hill to catch her breath, marveling at Anthony's effortless ability to traverse the pathways of Italian vineyards. He walks twenty yards ahead at a leisurely pace, blonde hair long, catching lightly in the breeze.

Groaning, she straightens up again, and continues behind him, the angry sun beating down on her pale face, a sheen of sweat on her shoulders. She long ago discarded her coat, hanging it on a grape vine, chuckling as she did so, because it's his only leather coat, and how angry would he be, to come to London (if he survives long enough to return there again), and find it's not there?

She can imagine it:

"Where's my coat?"

"Oh, I left it in a vineyard while we were in Italy, Mr. T, ha ha. S'probably been pinched by someone by now, you'll never find it again. Hahahaha."

Finding herself too short of breath to even allow the slightest of laughs, she instead takes in more air, and continues onwards behind Anthony, who's stopped at a clearing in the center of the fields, turning about to wait for her.

A large well sits in the middle of the cleared area, it's lid slid open slightly. Benches surround it, and she deduces it's where the workers take their lunch, nearby their water source.

Circling about, she whistles. The view is certainly spectacular, at least there's that.

The clear blue sky stretches on for miles and miles, and in the misty distance, she can see Venice, and the villages they passed through in the carriage. The green twisting vines go on forever in every direction, and turning back to face Anthony, she frowns.

"I don't see any houses 'round 'ere. You certain this is where they're going?"

He nods, silent, and then gestures to the well. "I'm going to have a drink of water before we carry on. Do you want one?"

She's almost suspicious, but the promise of cold, clear water is too strong, and her desire to see Sweeney Todd, splayed on the floor, blood pouring from open wounds is too tempting for her to resist. She concedes, and steps forward, watching eagerly as Anthony pulls the wooden lid off the well, and reaches inside.

Coming up to the edge, she leans over, peering into the dark depths, marveling at the coolness of the stone, as if it sits in the shade all day.

She doesn't notice Anthony Hope pull out a wooden club from it's resting place on a loose ledge in the well's interior rim. And she doesn't notice when he sidles up behind her, eyes flashing furious.

She feels only the intense pain of a heavy thing hitting her head, and two delicate hands (not raised or bred for work) rest on her back, pushing her forward, and down, down, down.

Her stomach flips as she feels a sick sensation of falling a great ways, and then there's the shocking cold splash of water, a heaviness as her clothes soak in the wet, and then, the slow eclipse of the beam of light as Anthony Hope slides the well's lid back into place.


AN: Oh god, Mrs. Lovett, why?

Nope, don't worry.

I feel like I'm paying tribute to the Ring series of movies by putting her in a well...I actually was thinking about making it one of those cylindrical containers people crush wine grapes in, but they're too shallow. Too easy to get out of, haha.

Once again, I'm so sorry for updating. I swear more chapters will come sooner than this!

This chapter was fueled by Diet Coke and pita chips.

Reviews appreciated!

Next chapter: Part VIII: The Beadle and I