Hello everyone. Sorry for the wait on this chapter but I just couldn't get it right. I re-wrote it so many times. I think my Beta must have got fed up with me, I send her three different openings! So thank you Bellatrix Nellie Le-Lovett for putting up with me.

And thanks as always to my lovely reviewers, Noodlemantra, RubyRosette5, EleKat, Juliet Suffers, paigelindsey97, Helen Young, Violet, and Redejeka, you keep me writing.

Hope you enjoy and don't forget to review!

Chapter 11 – Soon love. Soon

Sweeney sighed contentedly, a smile playing on his lips. He tightened his grasp on his wife, feeling her stretch before her body once again moulded to his side. Slowly he ran his hand up her arm, his fingers brushing lightly over her shoulder making her sigh. He felt her lips curve into a smile against his chest as he traced little circles at the base of her neck and down over her shoulder. Her hair was loose and he could feel it spread across his chest, tickling him slightly.

Slowly, he reached up with the hand not running over her shoulder to push her locks away. Carefully, he combed his hand through it, frowning when he felt wiry curls and not smooth waves. Gently, he prised the tangle out before pushing it back behind her ear. A sleepy moan came from his wife, the sound making him frown. Since when had Lucy sounded like that?

Turning his head towards her, he opened his eyes only to freeze when he saw Nellie Lovett in his arms, not Lucy. It was only after a few moments that everything came back to him, right from fifteen years ago to last night. He sighed sadly; it must have been the amount he'd drunk last night that made him wake up thinking it was fifteen years earlier.

For the first time in a long while Sweeney was at a loss as to what to do. Should he wake Nellie and then have to face her? She'd undoubtedly blame him. But it couldn't all be his fault could it? They were drinking a lot the night before he supposed, gently seeing if he could remove the sleeping baker from his arm without waking her. He couldn't.

Falling back against the pillow once again, he glanced across at the woman in his arms. He should feel angrier at her than he did. Yes he was sure it was at least partly her fault and he was angry at her for that but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't make himself more angry.

Feeling her stir, he propped himself up as best he could, edging his arm out from under her as she shifted in her sleep. Finally free from her, he sat up, lifting the covers from himself as he did so. Quietly, he lifted himself off the bed and began to straighten up, freezing when he heard the baker clearing her throat behind him.

Slowly, he turned his head to face her, cursing under his breath when he saw her propped up and glaring at him. Turning his whole body towards her, he suddenly became conscious of the fact that he wasn't wearing anything. Quickly, he grabbed the throw from the end of the bed and wrapped it round his waist.

"What are yer doin'?" Nellie asked, trying to make her voice sound as confused and as innocent sounding as she could.

Sweeney swallowed and glanced down at the floor, "I woke up in here." He said quietly, "Don't really remember much of last night. Do you?" he asked, a hint of accusation in his voice as he raised his eye to meet hers.

Nellie frowned and tried to look as hurt as she could, "What are yer sayin'? D'yer think I got yer drunk an' meant fer this ter 'appen?" she asked, her voice raising as she leapt out of bed, pulling the sheet off with her and wrapping it round herself.

Sweeney shook his head and started to make his way to the door, "I don't know Mrs. Lovett. I don't remember." He said, matching her tone.

"And yer think I bloody well do?" She asked, her voice high and hurt a she stepped in front of the door to stop him passing.

Sweeney frowned and reached out, covering her mouth with his hand, "Do you want to wake the whole house woman?" he hissed, slowly removing his hand from her mouth.

Nellie shook her head slowly and frowned, "Yer don't. Ashamed o' wakin' up wi' me. S'not jus' my fault yer know?!" she hissed, stepping towards him, "Yer've got somethin' ter do wi' it at well." She said, jabbing her finger into his chest.

Sweeney grabbed her wrist and jerked it to the side, inadvertently pulling her against his chest. She gasped and looked up at him with wide eyes, her breathing heavy. Sweeney looked down into her eyes before over her parted lips and back up to her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he lend down and crashed him lips onto hers forcefully, his arm not holding her wrist snaking round her wrist to pull her closer.

Slowly he turned them around so Nellie's back was facing the bed, his lips never ceasing their assault on hers. Clumsily, he pushed her back towards her bed, the pair of them stumbling over the sheet wrapped round Nellie as they went. The edge of the bed hit the back of her knees, sending her flying backwards with a squeal. Sweeney followed and climbed over her body, kissing her hungrily before settling between her legs for the second time that night.

-x-

Sweeney fought sleep, this time he couldn't stay. The first time had been a mistake and the second time had been even more of one. He could hear Nellie's breathing evening out as she drifted off. Slowly he turned away from her, trying to keep as quiet as possible.

He let a few minutes pass and when he was sure she was asleep, he slowly pulled the sheets from him and eased himself from her bed. Running his hand over his face, he made his way round the room as quietly as he could, picking up his discarded clothing and dressing as he went. As soon as he was properly dressed, he crept over to the door and slipped out, dashing out of the parlour and up the stairs as quickly as he could.

-x-

Sighing contentedly, Nellie rolled over and stretched out her arm to find the barber. When it hit only a cold empty space, she froze, her eyes shooting open immediately. Staring straight ahead at where his body had been, she began to panic. He'd left, he'd woken up again but this time he'd run away without waking her.

Slowly she sat up and glanced around the room; his clothes were gone. There was not even a single indication that he'd been there the night before. Apart from her bodice and corset she realised as her eyes landed on the ruined garments. Rubbing her tired eyes with a cold hand she sighed. Now what could she do? The barber would undoubtedly be in a horrible mood with her. But when it came down to it, it was his fault; he had pulled her against him and kissed her. The first time would be harder to explain but she could show him her ruined bodice as proof it was his fault, she supposed, if he started to get angry.

Realising staying in bed wasn't going to get anything done, she swung her legs out over the side of the bed and slipped down onto the floor, reaching across for her nightgown slung over the back of the chair at her dressing table. Slipping it over her head, she crept from her bedroom and out into the parlour, glancing up at the clock on the mantelpiece as she passed it. Quarter past six. It was still early.

As quietly as she could, she made her way through the shop and into the kitchen where she poured herself a glass of water. Slipping it slowly, she considered what she should do. She couldn't exactly go up and pretend like nothing happened. But then she didn't want that anyway, she didn't want it to be forgotten. Sighing, she realised he only option was to confront him. She would have to go up and see him and face the consequences.

-x-

Resting the tray on her hip, Nellie brushed down her skirts and patted down her unusually tamed hair. Sighing she pushed open the door, her eyes instantly searching for the barber. She was late coming up with his breakfast and had feared that he would have a customer in with him but luckily, the room was empty bar the man himself standing by the window, staring vacantly out over London.

Clearing her throat quietly, she turned from him, closing the door behind her before making her way over to the vanity where she placed the tray. Slowly she turned her head back to face him, only to see him still looking out the window and not at her.

Gathering up her courage, she turned to face him fully before clearing her throat again, only this time louder. She watched as his head turned to regard her briefly before back out the window again.

"Mr. T?" She said, cursing under her breath for the way her voice wobbled slightly. Sweeney grunted quietly. Nellie took a step towards him and clasped her hands in front of her nervously. "We can't jus' ignore each other fer ever love." She said, hoping he would say something, anything, that would indicate he didn't blame her. Nothing. Feeling herself getting angry, she took a deep breath that didn't seem to calm her at all. "Yer can't jus' blame me yer know!" She blurted out before she could stop herself.

Quickly, she reached up her hand to cover her mouth, only to uncover it again with a fake confidence as he turned to her slowly. The look on his face scared her slightly, making her open her mouth again in an attempt to explain, "We was both drunk. Things was said. It weren't neither of our faults really, it jus' 'appened."

She watched helplessly as Sweeney bowed his head and rubbed his fingers across his forehead. She felt further away from him now than she ever had, even when he was in prison, whether he was alive or not unknown to her.

Cautiously, she took a half step towards him, before faltering when he looked up at her again. "I don't blame you Mrs. Lovett." He said, his voice strained but his words a relief to her, "I blame myself. I blame myself for what I have done to Lucy." He added.

Feeling like she'd just been punched in the stomach, Nellie covered her mouth to stop herself from crying out loud. So he really didn't care about her then. He'd slept with her the night before, twice, and all he could now think about was what he'd done to his wife.

Not trusting herself to say anything, Nellie span round to leave, only to have the door open before her, revealing a very out of breath young lad, a young lad that Nellie recognised immediately as the sailor that had come to the shop once before. Momentarily forgetting her own problems, she wondered what ever happened to his plan of bringing Joanna here after he's helped her escape. She could only assume he hadn't tried it yet, a failure surely would result in his being imprisoned.

"Mr. Todd. Mrs. Lovett Ma'am." He said, his breathing heavy.

"Anthony." Sweeney said, stepping forward towards the boy. Nellie wondered whether he was being so friendly because he was pleased to see him or because he wanted a distraction from her.

"Next week Mr. Todd. Next week I will rescue Joanna. Judge Turpin has a big case next Thursday and shall be out the house almost all day. Joanna told me herself. Next Thursday I shall rescue her Mr. Todd." He said, a giddy smile on his lips.

Sweeney frowned and turned from the boy, striding back over to the window where he began pacing. Nellie looked over at the confused looking lad and smiled as best as she could.

"Good luck love. Bring 'er 'ere won't yer? If yer need ter leave 'er anywhere fer a bit." She said, sounding less enthusiastic than she wanted to sound.

Anthony turned to her and smiled broadly, "I will Ma'am. Thank you." He said before turning and heading towards the door. Just as he was about to leave, he turned to Sweeney, the smile still firmly in place, "I can't wait for you to meet her Mr. Todd, I'm sure you two will get on brilliantly."

-x-

Slowly, Sweeney brushed down the barber's chair. One stroke at a time, brushing memories away with every hair that fell to the floor. Or at least, that was the plan anyway. Stretching further over the back of the chair, he brushed down the arm rest, picturing the arm of the last customer resting on it comfortably, an unwisely placed trust in the man that was shaving his neck.

Straightening up, Sweeney rubbed his lower back, an achy pain beginning to build from the awkward position he had just been standing in. Sighing, he turned from the chair only to catch sight of himself in the mirror standing in the corner of the room. Frowning, he looked himself up and down. What was he doing? Who was he trying to fool? His Lucy wasn't coming back to him. And killing endless amounts of people wasn't the normal way of grieving. Gritting his teeth he drew his gaze away from the mirror and glanced unseeingly down at his feet.

Surely the judge would come soon. Surely he could get all of this over and done with and forgotten about. And then he could...what? Go about his life as a normal sane human being? He couldn't see that. Start a new life? With his landlady as his wife? She'd certainly like that.

Feeling anger bubbling up inside of him, his head snapped up again, his blazing eyes meeting the reflected ones in the mirror. In two purposeful strides he was in front of the mirror and in two quick seconds his fist had met it. Sweeney watched mesmerised as cracks like snowflakes spread out from where his fist was still. In what seemed like slow motion, tiny shards began to leave the mirror, floating like rain through the air before tinkling softly as they settled over the floor below.

Slowly Sweeney withdrew his fist, his eyes latching onto the crimson stained glass underneath. As soon as his hand was gone, the shards dropped from their place and joined the others on the floor, sticking out by the smeary stain of the barber's blood.

A sharp pain in his knuckles drew his attention away from the glass on the floor. Raising his hand, he observed it with the passive interest of an outsider; much like one would observes someone else's battered hand. Flexing his fingers slowly, he barely noticed the pain of the small shard of glass sticking out from between two of his knuckles, or the coolness of the blood as it oozed more heavily from the wound.

All Sweeney could feel was a cold emptiness, more so than he'd felt since he'd been back from Australia. He had an overwhelming feeling of cracks beginning to form all around him and it was this that was making his feel slightly lost.

Taking a deep breath, he reached up with his other hand and pulled the shard from his hand, hissing slightly as the jagged piece of glass left his flesh, leaving a sharp stinging pain in its wake. Reaching into his pocket with his good hand, Sweeney pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped it awkwardly around his knuckles, tying a knot in his palm.

His eyes drifted from his makeshift bandage and to the mess on the floor. Sighing deeply, he supposed he should clear it up, just in case any customers came in. Just as he turned to retrieve the broom from the far corner of the shop, he was interrupted by the sound of the shop door opening. Turning again, a smile twitched at the corner of his lips as he watched the Beadle enter the door and stride into the room.

"Mr. Todd." He said, his nasal tones grating on the barber immediately.

"Beadle Bamford." Sweeney greeted, so focussed on the man in front of him, he didn't notice the other one hovering in the doorway before letting himself in quietly. It was only the sound of the door closing that alerted the barber to Harry Ramsgate's presence.

Sweeney's eye shot to the young lad, a look of unconcealed hatred in them, "Master Ramsgate." He said.

Harry nodded at him and smiled nervously, their previous encounter obviously still playing in his mind, "Mr. Todd." He said quietly.

Taking a step towards him, Sweeney watched with quiet satisfaction as Harry swallowed visibly and stepped backwards slightly. "To what do I owe the pleasure Sir?" he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"I came with the Beadle Sir. He was in our shop and mentioned he was on his way down to see you and when I said I was also on my way to pay a visit he suggested we should come together." Harry said. Sweeney raised his eyebrows, sure the boy would be sounding cockily proud of the fact he had come with the Beadle if it weren't for the fact that he was almost shaking with fear at the barber's stealthy approach, almost like a cat stalks its prey.

"Well you are most welcome here then." Sweeney said, finally reaching Harry so he was standing only a few feet away. Sweeney's eyes bored into the boy's for a few moments, the man enjoying the way Harry's eyes widened further with every second he continued to stare. Finally, he broke away and swept over to the chair, gesturing for the boy to take a seat. If he could get him done and out the way with, then he could have the Beadle all to himself. However, to his annoyance, the Beadle stepped forward and parked himself down on the chair.

"If you don't mind Sir. I'm in a bit of a rush is all." He said, an irritating smile on his lips. Sweeney faltered, what could he do? If he persisted in trying to get Harry in the chair first then it would look suspicious. Sighing, he resigned himself to the fact that he would have to let the Beadle slip through his fingers yet again.

With a deep, distracted sigh, Sweeney swung the sheet round his shoulders and tucked it behind his back. Turning to the vanity, Sweeney noticed with some satisfaction Harry standing in the corner of the room fiddling with something in his hands, a look of uneasiness on his face. Smiling slightly, Sweeney took the shaving cream and turned back to the Beadle, covering his cheeks and neck before giving him the closest shave he could, hoping he would come back again if he was satisfied enough.

It took every ounce of the barber's self control to stop him slitting the Beadle's throat as he drew the razor across his cheek for the last time. As soon as the blade left his skin, Sweeney turned from the man and placed the razor down on the vanity, picking up a towel for the Beadle as he did so.

"Here Sir." Sweeney said, handing the towel to the other man.

"Very good barber." The Beadle replied, wiping his face before gesturing for his young companion to take his place in the chair, "Well I must be off now." He added, thrusting the towel into the barber's chest before sweeping from the shop, the door slamming behind him.

Sweeney clenched his jaw and threw the towel into the corner of the room where it landed on the stool. Shuffling footsteps behind him made him turn slowly to see Harry hovering in the doorway. "Don't waste my time boy. Sit down or sod off." Sweeney said, picking up the razor off the vanity again and wiping it slowly on the sheet lying discarded on the chair.

Harry hesitated for a moment before reaching for the door handle, "I'm sorry Sir... I... I'm late. I must go." He said before opening the door and rushing out.

"Should have gone first then!" Sweeney yelled after him, wincing as the boy slammed the door behind him. Sighing, the barber closed his razor and placed it carefully back in the box, catching sight of his bandaged hand as he did so. Lifting it up to eye level, he cocked his head as he examined the deep red stain spreading across the handkerchief.

-x-

The night time landscape of London had always fascinated Sweeney more than the day time one. During the hours of day, people rushed around busily, no patience for anyone in their way. Everyone always looked the same under the rays of the sun, always with a destination to reach or a purpose for their outing.

In the evening however, all this changed. At night, Sweeney could distinguish every type of person that hovered under his shop window or walked the street. The most common was the drunk of course, staggering along with street, often shouting, often tripping on something, and occasionally ending up asleep at the bottom of his stairs. Then there were the prostitutes. Not as abundant as the drunk but not uncommon. Sweeney could always distinguish these girls from regular girls, not because he had been with a lot of them, although he had to admit he'd had the occasion moment of weakness, but because of their manor, the way they dressed, the way they would unashamedly approach a man and proposition him. Watching these girls always fascinated him.

Another group that would catch Sweeney's attention were the pickpockets. Usually young lads and usually out at night targeting the drunks. And it was one of these that had caught his attention this evening. He could spot them a mile off; they always had an unnatural air of confidence about them. This one had emerged from an alley a few moments ago and was now leaning on the corner of a building over the road, whistling cheerily and waiting for the ideal victim.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sweeney noticed a young man striding down the street towards the boy. His eyes flicking back to the pickpocket, the barber knew instantly that he'd clocked the man as well, his target had been spotted.

And it wasn't hard to see why. As the man walked under a street lamp, Sweeney wondered why he hadn't been robbed already. Or maybe he had. The man was wearing a brown suit and top hat and a gold chain twinkled in the light from his top pocket. Sweeney rolled his eyes as he watched the young boy leave his position on the wall and stride forward, making sure to stay in the shadows between the street lights. Wearing clothes like the man was wearing was just asking to be robbed.

Leaning closer to the window, Sweeney watched with bated breath as the man left the light part of the street and was immediately met by the lad pretending to bump into him.

The man stumbled, reaching out for the boy who surged forward and grabbed his shoulders. The man straightened himself up and brushed his suit off before patting the boy on the shoulder and continuing down the road.

Sweeney frowned, had the boy done it? It didn't look like he had. Just as Sweeney was about to give up on the boy and find someone else to watch, the lad stepped forward into the light from the lamp and pulled his hand out from inside his jacket. The barber squinted and leaned in so his face was almost touching the window, a smile creeping across his lips when he saw the lad raise the man's gold pocket watch up to the light, the clock swinging from the chain like a pendulum. The boy's yes were then drawn from the watch to a wallet in his other hand. With a lively whistle and a bounce in his step, the lad began to saunter off down the street.

Only moments after, a shouting from down the road startled the boy, making him whip round before dashing off down the round at a sprint, diving into one of the alleyways in the dark part of the street. Sweeney frowned and scanned the road, trying to see what made the boy scamper. After a few moments, the man he had robbed came jogging down the road, obviously realising he wouldn't be able to catch up with the boy. Sighing, the man rubbed his hand over his forehead, turning and pausing when his eyes landed on the shop below.

Sweeney frowned as the man made his way across the road to the shop. It was late, what could this man possibly want with those downstairs. Rushing across the shop, he dashed out the door and down the stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom, he realised the man about to knock on the shop door was none other than Harry Ramsgate. A smile spread across his face; he liked pickpockets more now than ever he realised.

"Master Ramsgate." Sweeney said, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice, "What brings you here this late in the evening?"

The young tailor turned to Sweeney and shook his head, looking very lost. "I was on the way down to the pub to get my father a pint of ale. He's not well you see and he always says a pint helps." Harry said, the fear evident in his voice earlier masked by something else, something that sounded like worry.

Sweeney frowned and looked the lad up and down, "And why were you wondering around the streets at night dressed like that?" He asked, stepping down from the last step so he was no longer looking down on the boy.

"Didn't have time to change Sir." Harry replied, stepping back from the barber, "We closed up the shop, he wasn't feeling great so I told him to go and sit down. I tidied everything away and when I went in to see him that's when he asked for the drink. And that was about 10 minutes ago."

Sweeney sighed and pushed past the boy to the front door of the pie shop. Upon finding it still unlocked, Sweeney opened the door and stepped in, gesturing for Harry to follow. Quickly, Sweeney strode across the shop and slipped in behind the counter, feeling strange in the place where the baker usually stood.

Ducking down, he scanned the shelves under the counter in the dim light, eventually finding a large metal tumbler. Standing again, he turned and filled it from the open barrel, carefully spinning back round to hand it to the shocked looking boy.

"Thank you Sir." Harry said, disbelief plastered across his face, "I'll pay tomorrow."

Sweeney shook his head and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Out." He grumbled, pleased when he saw a look of fright pass across Harry's features.

Sweeney winced as Harry slammed the front door shut behind him. Slowly, he turned to face the corridor down to the parlour, hoping no one would come out and investigate. To his annoyance, someone did. He immediately recognised the sound of Nellie's footsteps striding down towards the shop making him sigh; he wasn't in the mood to deal with her that night.

As soon as she emerged from the darkness of the corridor into the dim light of the shop, a frown passed across her face as her eyes settled on the barber still hovering by the counter.

"Thought I 'eard someone." She said, sweeping past him and down towards the kitchen. Moments later she returned with a bottle of gin and two glasses.

Sweeney raised his eyebrows as he watched her sit down on one of the benches and pour two glasses of gin. "Are you sure that's wise?" He said, thinking of the last time they'd sat down to have a drink. Nellie obviously caught onto what he meant.

"There's only 'alf a bottle left love. Nought's goin' ter 'appen on 'alf a bottle." She said, taking a swig out of her glass. Sweeney shrugged and made his way over to the bench opposite, his glass reaching his lips before he was sat down.

The pair sat in silence for a long while, both happy to just to exist in their own thoughts. It was only long after the bottle had been finished that either spoke.

"Will it work do you think?" Sweeney asked, startling Nellie who'd almost fallen asleep on her arm resting on the table.

Raising her head, she frowned at Sweeney with tired eyes, "Will what work love?" She asked, rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes.

"Joanna, getting her away from that place." He asked, eye fixed straight ahead and unseeing.

Nellie sighed heavily and picked up her empty glass, twirling it round and round between her finger and her thumb, "I'm sure it'll work dear. Anthony'll bring 'er back 'ere an' then yer can get rid of 'im an' 'ave 'er back again."

There was a long pause while a thoughtful look passed across the barber's face. "I just want to see her again." He said quietly.

Nellie sighed and smiled weakly at the broken man sitting in front of her. She so wished there was something she could do. But then even if there was she doubted he'd accept her help, he didn't seem to want anyone else's so what difference would it make if it came from her? And surely now he'd be less likely to accept help from her. Realising she needed to say something, she said the first thing that came to her head, "Soon love. Soon."

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