All the Difference.

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Is it Safe to Dance?

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"We can dance if we want to,
We can leave your friends behind.
'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no friends of mine."

-

"Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer,
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender.
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train.
Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps …
Beating like a hammer,
Beating like a hammer"

-

"Safe" was a word Anthony liked to use a lot. As well as "happy," "free," and "hope." Even when she laid in bed, her mind was still buzzing with the image of Anthony, talking animatedly about how great things were going to be, how he was just going to get that job, he knew it, and how thing were going to look up soon. He was so sure of himself and his plans and his future, while Johanna wasn't sure of anything.

She did her best to smile and agree with him, nod enthusiastically and comfort him when he didn't get the jobs he wanted. But as much as Johanna wanted to rejoice with him, she just didn't have the heart. Actually, with the way she'd been acting lately, she was starting to think she didn't have any heart at all.

She was glad that she was finally rescued from the watchful eye and firm hand of Judge Turpin. Honestly, it was such a burden lifted off of her shoulders. The man was nothing short of a tyrant, locking her up in her room but for meals and an occasional walk in Hide Park in spring. All of his servants did her shopping and ran her errands. Getting out of Turpin's house was the best thing that ever could have happened to her.

But there were certain things that she just couldn't let go of. Things that clung and clawed onto her and made gooseflesh erupt all over her skin even while Anthony's arms were wrapped around and protecting her.

The nightmares. Most nights she avoided sleep so she wouldn't have to face her disturbed subconscious. She'd been having the nightmares ever since she was a little girl. Every night, the same kinds of dreams. Always the horrible, unbearable, and unfair dreams of her parents. What they were like, what they looked like, their names, and even the kinds of things they did (and would have done) together. And incidentally, she dreamt about what they died like.

Turpin told her that her parents died by a terrible accident, leaving her with no surviving relatives. Of course, that made Johanna always wonder how they did die. What kind of accident? Could it have prevented? Was she there when it happened?

Now she didn't have to wonder, though, how they died. She knew.

Mr. Todd saw to that.

Yet even though she knew the truth, the horrible yet confirmable truth, the dreams of her father and mother came at night while she slept, entering her mind while she wasn't even aware of them. And only to die. When she was younger, she once had the same dream for a month straight about her family going out to a park and having a picnic on a sunny summer day. But then Turpin would run up to them demanding that her parents give Johanna back to him before turning into a wolf and ripping her mother and father apart limb by limb.

Just awful things.

And Johanna would never be able to forget the nightmares about Judge Turpin. She wasn't blind. She could tell from the time she was ten that he wanted her. Of course, then she hadn't known that the strange glitter in Turpin's eye had been lust, not delight.

The mere memory of him made her stomach turn.

To think that they had once been close, like a father and a daughter.

Johanna rolled over, feeling the familiar wave of nausea roll violently in her stomach.

She had always had one fear: that Turpin was finally going to give in to his carnal desires. He was a judiciary man, and highly respected. Johanna had always taken comfort in that fact. But there were some times when she was down-right petrified that he would slip up. Give in. Get lost.

And her nightmares showed her just how awful things could have gone for her.

Johanna was grateful to Mr. Todd. Immensely. Because even though Anthony sprung her from the Bedlam Asylum, it was Mr. Todd's idea. He had cooked the whole thing up; Anthony told her so, and yet he still tried to take all the credit.

She owed more to Mr. Todd than just her life. She owed him her memories.

Johanna turned restlessly in her and Anthony's bed, and faced the window.

They were living in a small shack in Ireland. Anthony had arranged everything, using the money he had saved over the years to rent this tiny, dirty shelter until he made more money to afford a real house. He had taken a job as a blacksmith's apprentice, and the money was coming in much more slowly than they both would have liked.

Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do. With guns being made and purchased, there wasn't much need for blacksmith's nowadays. And Anthony was a sailor. He had strength in his back but his arms weren't made for blacksmithing. He had a lot to learn.

Safe…

The word echoed in her mind. How could they be safe? The ghosts were still all around her. Turpin's ghost, spying on her in the night. Her father's ghost, trapped in prison. Her mother's ghost, reaching out to her and holding her like in the picture Mr. Todd gave her.

Impulsively, she sat up and looked back at Anthony, making sure he was still sleeping. She then reached into the drawer that was beside her bed and opened it to pull out the picture.

She ran her fingers over her mother's beautiful face, marveling at their similarities. Johanna would have given anything to know her. Just to talk to her for an hour would have been the most wonderful blessing she could ever have imagined.

The closest thing Johanna had had to a mother was one of the maids that worked in Turpin's house. Her name was Marion and she cooked all of Johanna's meals and bought all of Johanna's dresses. She brushed her hair and bathed her.

Marion had been the only one who talked to Johanna, aside from Turpin. Of course, her conversations with Turpin were never enjoyable and never changed topics from the government, the courthouse, and his most recent trial. All of them were guilty. And all of them ended up dead. The very few exceptions being close, personal friends and people who Turpin said were "truly innocent, on my honour."

The head maid at least took proper care of her as a child; helping her with her studies, teaching her to sew, putting extra honey in her tea, tying her favorite pink bow in her hair, and making sure her sheets were always warm on those cold and rainy London nights. The same things her mother would have done for her, and more.

Lucy... Mr. Todd said her name was. Lucy Barker…

But she was dead. Her father was dead. She would never know either of them.

Johanna laid back down, still holding the picture tightly as she stared at the faces in the dark. A lone tear rolled down her cheek and soaked into the dirty pillow case.

Anthony rolled towards her and put his arm around her waist in his sleep.

She still had so many questions she had.

Running her finger over her mother's face one last time, she put the picture back in the drawer and closed it.

But there was only one person who could answer them.

Closing her eyes for the first time that night, Johanna made her decision firmly and vowed that some day, she didn't know when, she was going to find Sweeney Todd again and get more answers. Her mind was racing, her heart was racing, with excitement and fear, and pure adrenaline.

She had to know everything.

Everything.

-

"For the last time," Mr. Todd growled in annoyance, "I apologize, but I had no other choice!"

The unfortunate pair had been bickering for the last thirty minutes incessantly. It was hot out and they were irritable, in pain, and starting to get under each other's skin.

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" Mrs. Lovett asked, her voice high and desperate. Shrill. Her hands were spread in the air helplessly, asking him silently what to do.

Mr. Todd rolled his eyes over her dress, all used and beaten up, like them and covered in dried blood and holes. He admitted silently, the dress itself looked suspicious. It would raise attention anywhere, which was exactly what they didn't need.

Mrs. Lovett was still waiting for an answer.

He walked on past her, rolling his eyes. He probably saved her life (again) and all he received in return was verbal abuse.

"Eh? You haven't answered me, Mr. Todd," she pointed out redundantly.

He sighed, scanning the horizon hoping to see a small town, city, anything. All he could he see were empty fields of tall wheat.

"Have you tried turning it inside out?" He asked off-handedly.

Mrs. Lovett let out a shrill, humorless laugh. When he looked back, she was clutching her side in laugher, and he wondered if she had finally snapped. It was about time.

She carried off laughing ranting and raving behind him about her bloody dress and how it was already ruined and how she couldn't believe he had the nerve to actually cut off her-

Mr. Todd had had enough. He whipped around abruptly and Mrs. Lovett was only able to stop a collision when the tips of their boots collided.

"If you're quite finished, pet, I wish to be out of this field by sunset," he quietly snarled, closing his palm around the back of her neck. That familiar glistening of fear was glossing her dark eyes over. "I've apologized for ruining that other piece of cloth," he sneered in anger, and his anger seemed to spark her own as her eyes hardened back to their familiar sparkle.

Sparkle?

"And believe me when I say I took no joy what-so-ever in having to treat your wounds… there," he said, his eyes darting to her abdomen for a brief second. "But I should think that after saving you from infection and possibly death, you would show a bit more gratitude, love."

He could feel her bumpy flesh on the back of her neck and realized just how hard he was digging his nails in. As he was about to let go, Mrs. Lovett's own hand removed his. She didn't smack it away, like she typically would have done, and when he looked at her face closer, he saw… regret?

She hadn't let go of his hand yet. He looked down at their palms clasped together rather than her face. On one hand, their was an impossible warmth emitting from her fingertips. And the more he focused on this, the more it seemed to burn. On the other hand, he felt disgust. As if he would vomit.

"You're… You're right, Mr. T, I'm sorry…" She apologized.

The lace of her glove was scratchy against his hand and he looked back at her face.

"Thank you."

It was sincere. He could see that in her eyes. If he knew anything about Nellie Lovett, it was that she was a proud woman, and not one to apologize or thank others easily. He remembered that from many years ago, even before he was sent away to prison. Lucy and Nellie did not always agree and the house could get quite sour.

He pulled his hand from hers and turned around. What felt like hot sparks were shooting up his arm from his fingers and palms and he couldn't bare to look at her any longer. He felt sick, not physically but mentally. Lucy's face was clouding his vision, almost in wrath or fury.

But that was impossible. Lucy was dead and that meant she was gone. Forever. After all, Sweeney had no faith in a God, nor evidence that suggested there could be; not for him anyway. If there was… Lucy…

"What is it?"

He heard her but he pretended not to. He knew what was happening and he didn't like it. Ignore her. She's not there. Not if he didn't want her to be.

"Mr.-"

"Shut that mouth," he growled, still not looking at her, still storming ahead with determination while trying to shake the sensations from his arm.

For once, she listened. A rare treat for him and he was delighted for awhile, but he could feel her silent anger emitting from her body in heat waves. It didn't help anything, but at least he had time to think.

-

The awe-inspiring gall of that man.

She was only keeping quiet because she was already in pain and she didn't have the energy to fight with him. The last thing she wanted was to be right in the middle of an argument and faint again, risking having Sweeney Todd save her again. And consequently she was beginning to think Sweeney saving her was more dangerous than him trying to kill her.

Nellie absent-mindedly picked at her hair, removing bits of grass while she re-curled it with her finger. It was difficult to pin it all back to the way it was before but after they walked for at least a couple of hours, she felt much better about her head (though she couldn't see it.)

What was wrong with him before? Did he still find her that repulsive? Nellie glanced longingly at the back of Sweeney's head.

Perhaps it was only her imagination… the moments they had. She thought, she could have sworn that Mr. Todd was getting feelings for her. He watched her sleep, that night on the train, and kept smelling her hair with deep breaths. He held her close and for longer than necessary most of the time, so why did he act that way now?

Nellie sighed quietly so he wouldn't hear her. She deliberated silently on whether or not he was just having 'urges,' but she ruled that out. Mr. Todd was completely in control of himself. The feelings that he showed must have been true because… because…

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, Nellie yawned deeply. That light-headed feeling was coming back again.

By now, the sky was transforming from blue to orange and it was starting to get dark. Against most of her better judgment, she decided to risk speaking.

"Where are we?" She asked aloud, though not necessarily to him in particular.

"Don't know."

Better than nothing.

Nellie hesitated to answer another question. "We've been walking for awhile…"

She trailed off and peered around the side of him to try and get a glimpse of his expression, but she couldn't see anything but his cheekbones.

Wait… wait…

Abruptly, he stopped.

"I'm tired."

He dropped their bag and turned to face her for the first time in hours.

There was a more definite softness in his face, in his features. His eyes were slightly glazed with fatigue, but the fire was no longer there, the fire that was born in the bake house. His lips were relaxed, not terse, though very chapped from the wind. His face was noticeably glowing in the dark orange light.

"Oh…" She replied, a little more than shocked.

"We're still not near a town, we'll have to survive here for the night," he told her, and started opening the bag. "It's already getting cold so just do what I tell you and it will make it easier for both of us."

How could she appose him?

Sweeney was laying the thick wool blanket on the flattest surface of the field. He moved the bag to one side and then directed her onto the blanket.

"Lie down," he said softly.

Unsure of where he wanted her to go, she sat and slowly eased herself onto her elbows. He soon joined her and started folding the blanket around them.

"On your side."

That velvet in his voice was rich, but she deduced it to a need of sleep.

Nellie rolled onto her side facing away from him and she gasped and nearly shivered when she felt him mold himself to her.

"For warmth," he murmured and wrapped the last part of the blanket around them.

Nellie nodded in understanding but his words were empty. She could barely register a sound with Mr. Todd's entire body against hers.

All she could do was close her eyes and pray to make it through the night.

They drifted in and out of consciousness as it grew dark. The crickets were loud but were lulling them to sleep. Just when Nellie thought she could rest, Sweeney's arm snaked around her waist and his nose burrowed into the nape of her neck. Gooseflesh erupted all over her arms and back and chest. She was shivering but nearly sweating.

He was dead asleep already, getting ever closer, and Nellie just laid there trying to stop her heart from beating like a hammer.

-

Hello everyone! I do apologize for how long this has taken me. My little boy is keeping me busy. And I know it isn't the best or longest chapter, and I'm sure there are tons of mistakes, but I'll come back and edit later. Enjoy what's here and KNOW that more is on the way!