Water Under the Bridge

by Caelta

For her, love was not the sweet collision of a faltering pulse and the loss of rationalization - though it had certainly brought about those things, as well - but a plague like no other. For him, vengeance was no longer a part of his life. Sweenett.

11. The Unexpected and the Undetected

What can I say? Midterms. Not the most pleasurable thing in the world, but necessary. Anyway, this chapter is a little more on the positive side, considering this is Sweeney Todd we're talking about. I'm trying for a transition, and I get the feeling its going to be what we call an "epic fail." Hope you guys enjoy it! Cheers!

---

Grabbing onto his collar, she could almost feel the barber wince as the water leaked into his wound. His face was a mixture of pain and anticipation as he balanced her on his back, and Nellie could only hope that he wasn't suffering all that much. Of course, she might as well have taken a rock and thrown it in the hope that it would reach the moon for how likely it was that Sweeney wouldn't suffer with a bullet in his leg.

Close by, Anthony struggled to position Johanna in such a way as Mr. Todd had herself, and she watched as they finally managed to assemble themselves in a similar manner. She looked across at the pair and wondered if she looked any bit as ridiculous as they, holding onto the sack encasing all they had chosen to take as Johanna held onto theirs. It was very strange to be staring up at the winking stars as the water moved past her, sometimes trickling uncomfortably into her ears, as she was pressed so close to the barber who swam flawlessly beneath her. She wondered if Johanna thought the same.

Then again, Johanna had known her sailor for a grand total of a few months or so, whereas Nellie had known her barber for a good portion of her life. Love was a lovely thing, but she doubted the girl felt anything with the same depth as she. Within a few years, on the contrary, she had no doubt that Anthony and Johanna would be nigh inseparable. Time was a very judgmental object.

The Boundless was actually larger than she had expected from Anthony's earlier description, and she had to appreciate its size and beauty as they were pulled on deck. Though she'd never set foot on a ship in all her life, and the awkward swaying beneath her feet was unnerving, she looked back at the man leaning heavily against the side of the ship behind her and felt that she could survive anything – even leaving the city she'd lived her whole life in. A faint layer of fog ensconced the city that had rejected them and spat them out, and Mrs. Lovett joined Sweeney at the rail to look out at the home she may never see again, knowing that her "home" belonged not in London, but in wherever Sweeney was.

She switched her gaze to the barber, then, and he gave her a tired glance when he noticed that she was looking. Somewhere behind them, Anthony was engaged in a conversation with someone concerning directions, and Johanna was sure to be nearby. Draping an arm about Mr. Todd's back, she rubbed a few circles in between his shoulder blades in the hope that he'd actually acknowledge her, but he did very little aside from flinging the wet hair that clung to his face out of his eyes.

"Well," she said, tucking a frazzled strand of wet and frantically curling hair behind an ear, "I suppose that's it, then. We leave London and sail topsy-turvy to France, where we make the rest of our lives. …You don't suppose you'll miss it, do you, Mr. Todd?" He didn't seem very interested in the question while she asked it, but she saw and felt his shoulders hunch under her fingertips only moments after. Perhaps it was not the most plausible notion that Sweeney would miss the city that he'd cursed numerous times over, but it was at least something to break the silence.

"Miss it…?" the barber repeated back to her, twisting around to catch her in a doubting glance with raised eyebrows and a scowl. "My dear Eleanor, whatever goes on in that uncanny head of yours? Miss the forsaken city that damned me to hell and killed my wife, where beggars screech for not even a penny and resort to selling themselves to survive, where I murdered the undeserving souls of men who would likely have died in the streets? I daresay I think not!" His eyes flashed at her in his raving speech, portraying to her a seething sort of lunacy in his spiteful intensity, and he bared his teeth like an animal as he looked past her.

These were the signs that she had gone too far, that she had said too much, and it was usually the point at which his responsibility for his actions peeled away completely to show her the bent spirits of the beast Australia had festered. Unlike her expectations, though, the maddened ire subsided into a coherent anger that became visible as his eyes flashed again to squint down at the swells behind her, and he parted his lips as if to speak.

"That's all very good in its way, love, but it can't be all so terrible," she proposed, more likely than not digging her own grave with her prodding. "There ought to be some things that aren't so bad, hmm? London is where you met your Lucy, after all, and it's where you married her, too. Miss Johanna was born there, too, and it's where you had your first job – where you learned barbery, even. How about that? If I recall correctly, you even said to me once that London was very beautiful, and that it had some of the kindest people…do you remember, Mr. T?"

Absently, he nodded at her, his eyes still set on surveying the spot just above her shoulder. She fancied that maybe, he'd heard at least half of what she'd said, but it was hard to tell. In his usual manner, he didn't acknowledge her, and Nellie was inclined to give up on his ears of stone to be in more willing company. She thought about it and even made as if to walk to where Anthony stood with Johanna, but in the end she couldn't bring herself to do it.

"It's where the judge and the Beadle both met their ends," he replied, still looking past her. After a pause, his eyes travelled up to favor hers. "…and where I met you." The tone of his voice as he said it left much to be desired, but coming from him it was a blush-worthy mention. He didn't seem to notice as she felt the forgotten heat blossom in her cheeks, reminding her of days spent nearly sixteen years ago, but she thought she saw him smirk a little out towards the river as she tried to hide her ridiculous blush. Angling to face her, though not quite looking at her, he continued. "I remember that outrageous competition you had with Mrs. Mooney the day after she opened shop."

The memory brought a smile to her face, knowing Mr. Todd would even still think about things like that, when he was such a different person now. Before all of this mess, he might have looked at a man like what he'd turned into and shake his head, saying how rotten some people where just because they'd been wronged once. Now, he'd look at a man like he used to be and shake his head, saying how rotten some people were just because they'd not been wronged yet. Sighing, she watched her breath float away from her and wondered at the difference.

"You mean that horrible day where I had you and I both running about in that madhouse, and when I ran out of meat we ended up using –"

"-dead rats," he finished for her, scoffing at the deck, "from down in the sewer. I told you that you should have skinned them, first."

His eyes darted across to her when she tried to muffle the laugh that bubbled up from her throat, and she felt her heart beat for escape from the confinement of her chest as he studied her in that glance. It wasn't often that he truly looked at her anymore, and on the rare occasion that he did, it never failed to excite her as if it was something much more spectacular. Just then, the look he'd given her seemed so much more than what he usually gave her, which was something close to tolerance. It wasn't quite fondness, either, but whatever middle-ground there was gave her enough satisfaction knowing he didn't want her dead.

"I must say it was by far more comical to watch their faces when they tasted the fur, though, love. It may have lost me a week's worth of customers, but it was well worth it for such a laugh." He gave her a small nod in the way of encouragement, and she felt that she could soar at the fact that he was really listening to her. Perhaps he always at intervals that seemed appropriate, but it was too far-fetched to believe he could actually ignore her if he made such an effort. At least, this was what she chose to think. "You remember Mr. Williams, don't you?" she asked.

Sweeney scowled down at the glittering ocean for awhile, and returned to her with a grimacing uncertainty. "He's the one who's always out with his dog – that brown spotted, white piece of filth."

"The very same," she answered proudly, and he shrugged a little in his enigmatic mien. She hadn't the faintest idea why she hadn't discussed these things with him much earlier – perhaps it would have brought him closer – but the memory of his face whenever she chanced to mention his old wife gave her enough not to think on it. "I remember the day his animal got loose and came here looking for the meat, when you found it, Mr. B, and-"

Abruptly, she stopped. The name that had suddenly slipped out unbidden from her lips was not likely something he would allow, and it led her to freeze completely, as if it weren't obvious enough. Nellie had a feeling that the mistake was going to cost her a great deal, and she tried very hard not to think of how angry the barber must have been as his blank stare morphed into a frown. He turned to her with a dull expression, the frown quickly replaced with a simple quirk of the lips, and his blank eyes traced over her fearful gaping with a familiar disgust.

"Say it again," he spat, daring her to speak it twice. She didn't understand why it would have made him so disagreeable, but neither did she have room to question the matter. She'd since learned that silly explanations only delayed what was already coming from the start, and the inevitability forced her into a very tight space. Though he had no weapon, there were many things he could still do, and his brash words were usually what pained her the most. The black stare he supplied her already felt as if he'd twisted one of his razors into her chest, and it wound tighter as he continued.

"I-I said 'when you found it, Mr. T' – when you found Mr. Williams' dog," she relayed dutifully, hoping he'd believe in her subtle revision. From his face, he didn't take to well to her change, and she wished vehemently that she might not have been so careless.

"That's not what you said," he hissed through his teeth, advancing on her with a wicked urgency. She stumbled a few steps backward from his intensity, but he caught her by the wrist to stop her and pull her back towards him. Once he had her there, he lowered his voice to barely a whisper and narrowed his eyes on her as he breathed his words into her face. "Now. You will hear me. Your Mr. B is dead. He's gone. I have a new name. A different name. What is my name, Eleanor?"

The threat in his voice was clear, and she knew he would not stand for it if she made her mistake a second time. Perhaps it was the memories that had driven her to call him that name, or perhaps it was his recent attitude towards her switching frequently enough for her to wonder about his true intentions. Whatever it was, the baker felt close to sick over what the consequence for her stupidity might be, because she simply couldn't see Sweeney being anything as oddly thoughtful as he'd been before she'd gone and called him "Mr. B." The thought of losing that strange and recent side of him that seemed so much like the former Benjamin was what spread the sickness to a throbbing in her head as he seethed at her, and what clenched in her throat as her vision wavered. She cursed at the hindrance, blinking hard to vanish it and hoping that Mr. Todd didn't see, but it stubbornly leaked down onto her cheeks. She didn't dare wipe it away for fear of making it even more obvious.

"Sweeney Todd," she choked out, trying very hard not to sound like how she felt. Swallowing the tightness in her throat, the baker stood to face him with a mock-bravery, staring evenly back into his endless glare. He bared his teeth at her in his feral rage for a few moments longer before his expression faded into a discontentment, and he backed away from her to lean stiffly back onto the side of the ship. The barber took no notice of her as she looked out at the sea, down at her feet, anywhere but him, and he remained stock-still in his place as she sighed and fidgeted with her skirt. When she'd pieced together her composure a little better, she shifted hesitantly closer to Mr. Todd as he continued to ignore her, and she traced his glowering back to the city disappearing behind the fog before them.

"Mr. T…?" she asked quietly. He didn't acknowledge her save for a small glance, and she took this as a sign to continue. "Why is it that you hate that name so much?"

It may have been pushing her limits to question him, and she only half expected him to answer, but simple curiosity won over the premonition that he'd do anything brash. In fact, he took so long in making his reply that she was thoroughly surprised when he actually voiced an answer.

"Benjamin Barker," he spat, "was a fool. He was weak, and he was naïve."

Biting at her lower lip, she turned on him to study his stony face, and wished she were able to wipe away the lines she saw there, representing the years that had pulled them apart and sent both of their separate lives into a chaos they'd only made worse. If he noticed her scrutiny, he did nothing for it. She stopped herself from touching him, however much she wanted to, in favor of keeping Mr. Todd in this communicable state, and ran a hand through the back of her frazzled hair instead.

"He may have been," Mrs. Lovett reasoned, "but so was I. At that age, we had a right to be. You used to care, you know – about everything. It may as well have been better that way, what with the way it's turned out. I mean, we were happy, love…and now, there's not so much to be happy for at all, is there?"

Taking a breath that he seemed not to have taken in awhile in order to speak, Sweeney looked to her as well, and his words died on his lips. In another moment, he had them again, but he kept his eyes on her when he spoke them. "It's the way we were that's caused us to be the way we are." His tone was direct and resentful, but she couldn't help but think it seemed somehow softer.

"Well," she exhaled. His focus on her was mildly distracting, but she was glad for it. "I suppose you're right, then. It isn't always us, though, love…that bloody old judge was really the only reason you were ever taken away from the life you were happy with. I'm sure you would have learned things in time – we all do."

He appeared to grow tired of the conversation when he merely grunted, and she couldn't tell whether he agreed with her or not. More likely, he just wanted her to leave, but it was a difficult prospect to determine while he was staring at her in such a way. Just when it started to become uncomfortable, he looked away, back out towards London. In watching him, she didn't notice whatever went on behind her, but it seemed that the barber was not deaf to what went on around him. Turning to her on the spur of the moment, he paused to glance around the deck before landing his eyes back on her anticipating expression, and he opened his mouth in a question that thoroughly astonished her.

"Where's the boy?"

At once, he knew she meant Tobi, and as she scanned the deck she realized that he may have had a point. The apprentice was nowhere in sight, and she felt a slight twist in her stomach when she scanned and re-scanned, but still didn't find him. Of course, there was no reason in fretting over it until she knew for certain, and so she made a point to head towards the sailor she recognized as the one Anthony had been arguing with earlier. He looked only slightly older if not the same age as Johanna's rescuer, and he looked up at the sky in thought when asked of Tobi's whereabouts. For a moment longer he scratched his nose and thought, until at last he looked back to her and said that he could have sworn he'd seen a boy of Tobi's description following after "the blonde girl."

Exchanging a glance with Mr. Todd, she was able to get out of the sailor that they had gone below deck, and so she led the way on their own decent to find Tobi. She hadn't the faintest idea why Sweeney was trudging along after her, but she supposed that it was the unfamiliar territory that made another source of reason more appreciated. When they found the boy, he was with Johanna just as the sailor had promised, and there was also Anthony. The former showed them to their adjacent cots that they would be using for the next month or so, and Mrs. Lovett inwardly sighed at the idea of being trapped on this boat for more than a few days. As far as ships went, she supposed that it was sturdy, but the prospect of boredom was what haunted her.

Sooner than she would have thought, however, she did find things to do. These involved asking more questions than she deserved answers to of the crew, playing cards with anyone who dared to take up her challenge, and finding new and amusing ways of irritating the barber without enraging him. Most of the time, to his utter frustration, she won at cards, and this above all else seemed to irk him to the point of throwing a fit. She didn't have the heart to tease him about it outside of the game, because she knew that, for all of his threats and emotionless reactions, it truly upset him to know that she would always beat him at every card game. To annoy him, she developed a wonderful routine of pointing out every bird or fish she happened to see, and also of coddling the relationship between his daughter and Anthony. Nellie could tell that he wasn't too keen on the whole idea, and so she loved it all the more.

All things considered, it made for an interesting time. It wasn't that she found pleasure in annoying him so much as she enjoyed the attention he gave her afterwards, and it was more of a challenge to her to evade the things he thought up for retaliation. In this way, she was able to maintain entertainment enough to keep from going mad, and she was able to fly through the many days spent on the Boundless.

As they drifted closer to France on a lazy wind, a grey dusting became visible on the horizon, and it loomed closer it seemed with each hour. Sweeney was set on believing that it was a storm, but she assured him that it was just the clouds being darkened by the land beneath them, signaling that they were very close indeed to reaching their destination. By no means did he believe this explanation, but Eleanor thought that it was much better to be optimistic about things than to worry over them before they happened. She may have very well been a very large hypocrite to think it, but it only came of living by herself for so long. She had to have something to look forward to when there was nothing, and so she might as well make up her own reasons.

Simultaneously groaning and slamming down the cards in his hand, Sweeney swore at her and leaned sourly back against the wall. He glared at her as she shuffled them back into a deck, and she grinned back to him. When she told him that he was only a sore loser, he replied quite insensibly that she was cheating, and lay back onto his cot in order to glower at the ceiling. Reaching out a hand to pat his shoulder as she denied any such thing and reassured him that they could always play again, he turned on his side with his back facing her. In doing this, he didn't notice it when she rolled her eyes at him, muttering "heavens…" under her breath as she attempted to get up and sway his mood.

Before she could ask him whether or not he wanted to have another go, there was a loud shriek from Johanna, who had formerly been sewing quietly on the opposite end of the room. Her scream made both the barber and the baker start to attention, and they each moved towards her and she backed towards the corner on her tip-toes. When Mrs. Lovett inquired as to the matter, she only shook her head and pointed, wide-eyed, to a spot somewhere on the floor between them.

At first, it didn't seem that the girl was pointing at anything except for the worn floorboards. It took a large sweeping of the space between them before Mrs. Lovett focused down on a small, moving object, and a few blinks before she realized what it was. Shuffling slightly away from the creature in mild disgust, she transferred her gaze to Johanna, who was still standing horrified in the corner.

"That's the largest bleedin' rat I've seen in quite awhile," announced the baker. "You don't suppose he's gotten fat off of the food we ourselves are supposed to be eating?"

Her question went unanswered as Johanna merely wrinkled her nose and Mr. Todd looked calculatingly down at the pilfering beast. For the longest time, neither made a move, and Eleanor was quickly becoming impatient. The longer they waited, the closer the little bugger was to escape. She knew that daring glint in her Mr. T's gaze – he meant to kill. The only problem she had with this was that if he was meaning to kill it, then he'd do well to get on with it.

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" she exclaimed, making the barber and his daughter jump for a second time. The rat appeared unfazed by her sudden outburst, and it ignored her as she stomped over to her cot, grabbed a blanket, and threw it over the animal. Before it could get out of her trap, she flung herself at it as well and held it down, gathering the struggling beast into a twitching knot in her fist. Once it was secured in her hand, she disregarded the two stares she received to quickly dash the writhing knot against the nearest wall. When it was still, she turned round to hold the harmless animal at her side and shrug at the two gazes hovering over her.

A rat meant nothing to her anymore, having dealt with them and other pestiferous things for a good portion of her life. It was something that came natural to the business of baking, where food attracted all sorts of things from perfidious men to cockroaches. After she'd quietly dumped the corpse into the sea and sold off the soiled blanket to one of the sailors on deck, she came back to the barber and his daughter quite satisfied and fanning her newfound profit in the air.

Basking under Sweeney's baffled look at the money she flaunted, she packed it away with the rest of her savings and chuckled to herself at the raised-eyebrows look that Johanna was giving her. Sweeney beat his daughter to the question, however, and came to stand over Mrs. Lovett in a demanding kind of presence.

"I daresay, Eleanor, that if I let you alone with a pile of dung that you'd have a fair profit off it before the day was out." He eyed her sum distastefully and folded his arms as he looked down at her. "Should I ask how it is that you came by that with a rat in a blanket?"

She only shook her head, fighting a smile. "No, you should not," she answered, and stood up to face him. In doing so, she found herself closer than expected, and blinked into his face as he raised an eyebrow at her from his small distance. "Besides," Nellie proclaimed, "you're going to have to come up with something more worthless than dung if you want to give me a challenge." When his peculiar look increased, she broke into a laugh. "It's good for plants!"

His somber expression changed little as she leaned up on tip-toes to kiss his left cheek, and he didn't bother to move as she bent down to gather the cards she'd left on the floor and hold them up in a silent question. Something twitched at his lips as he nodded in defeat, and he snatched the deck form her with a rather forceful insist that he shuffle, lest she cheat again.

The next few days passed as usual – with Tobi sticking close to Mrs. Lovett and sometimes Johanna, Mrs. Lovett sticking close to Sweeney, and Johanna sticking close to Anthony. The dark splotch on the horizon drew ever closer, and true to Mr. Todd's prediction, the sea started to become even more tumultuous as they drew nearer. Nevertheless, this didn't keep Eleanor from being purposefully optimistic. She continued to object that the storm didn't exist, even if her hope was inwardly diminishing.

Sweeney's leg was slowly healing itself, leaving him with only a slight limp after they'd gotten the metal round out and had bandaged the wound with what little they could find. By the time they reached land, Mrs. Lovett declared, he'd be just fine and she promised him that all he'd have to show for it would be the scar. Not that he acted like he particularly cared, but she liked to think that her optimism was helping, even if it was only a little. For the most part, the barber ignored her – unless he was conjuring up his revenge for her purposeful annoyances and her winnings at cards.

The straw that pushed her over the edge would have been opening the door to a flood of water from a large barrel that had been leaned precariously against it. After that, it had been war. Not only had he flushed her with ice-cold water first thing in the morning, but he'd soaked one of her favorite dresses. There was a shortage of good dresses at the moment, and she didn't need him ruining one of the few she had. Perhaps he'd utilized the knowledge that she got up second only to him as his advantage, but there was still the possibility that he could have victimized Johanna. For that, she was ready to do more than point out fish and win at cards.

For her own act of vengeance, she made a special journey to the kitchen. It wasn't anything special and didn't have nearly the luxury of her shop in London, but she found what she was looking for. Carefully, Nellie took a knife and cut up one of the small, red peppers into minute, indivisible slices. When she tested the poison on her tongue and felt her eyes water, she knew she'd found exactly what she needed.

Taking a handful of the invisible slivers, she made sure to clean up after herself before and after she'd smeared the handful on the handle of every door applicable. That is, she didn't find many full-fledged doors on a ship, but she did so to every door handle the man was sure to touch. Mrs. Lovett also made sure to catch anyone who opened said doors and inform them not to rub their eyes any time soon, if she couldn't stop them from opening the door in the first place. Most just gave her strange looks and went on their way, but she knew they'd regret it if they didn't follow her advice.

The result she received for her trouble was a festering silence and very many glares in the time that he wasn't rubbing at his eyes. Eleanor allowed him to suffer perhaps a bit longer than necessary, but he had it coming. She didn't let it last for more than an hour, at any rate, and eventually got over her mirth enough to fetch him a cloth dipped in cold water. Before he could trifle with her over suspicions, she pushed him onto his back and hid the cloth over his eyes, scolding him by saying "Stop rubbing your eyes, you silly man, or you'll only make it worse!"

He obeyed her in reluctance, but she could tell that he wasn't about to disagree with her by the way he sighed in certain relief at the dissipation of what should have been pain. If Mrs. Lovett had allowed herself enough time to really think about it, she might not have done it for being loathe to causing him pain, but it was too late.

Stroking back his hair as she knelt next to him, she looked at her handiwork in approval. "I should think you'd be grateful," Nellie said to him. "What with the way you might have ruined my dress, I could've done a lot worse…but I didn't."

He didn't say anything, but allowed her to continue sitting at his side, brushing her fingers through his hair more times than necessary. If he was annoyed by this, he didn't show it, and so in a gradual fashion her hands found a way onto his shoulders and then his back when he sat up.

Neither took too much notice of Johanna when she stood to go look for Tobi and Anthony, but Mrs. Lovett knew what her true motive was. She was grateful for it, and winked at the child on her way out. The girl gave her a hint of a smile at this, but remained otherwise unresponsive so that when Sweeney glanced over his shoulder to find her grinning, he was sure to think it was him.

"In Australia, there was a man," he said, "who'd been accused of murdering his pregnant wife. He said he wasn't guilty, but there wasn't enough evidence to warrant a hanging. He came with a woman accused of being his accomplice, and he hated her. For six weeks, they could only think up ways to kill each other. And then he gave her a child. They say she died during the birth."

First and foremost, she couldn't believe he was talking to her – much less, talking of his past. When his words finally sunk in, she couldn't figure out why he was talking to her at all. He didn't seem to be making any sense with regards to getting out some important point, and Eleanor knew him as more of the type to simply come and say something if he had anything to say. Because of her initial wonder, she couldn't find anything to say until several beats too late.

"So he killed her, then?"

Sweeney shrugged under her fingertips and gave a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, displaying to her his indifference. Whatever source of some conversational burst of amicability was long gone, and he no longer proved to want to speak to her. It didn't look very likely that she'd find just what he'd meant by coming out with such a sudden piece of memory, but her curiosity burned at the tip of her tongue. In order to keep from pestering him, Nellie had to go to such lengths to restrain herself as biting into her lip, and her struggle was evident in her hands when she pressed them a little rougher than intended into Mr. Todd's back.

"I remembered him because of his dead wife," stated the barber. "His love for her reminded me of Lucy. It was hard to believe when I heard he was the father of the baby of the woman he hated so much. He killed himself – later that year."

He sighed and leaned back into her touch, leaving her in a right amount of confusion. When she asked what had happened to the baby, he merely shrugged once again. This kept her silent and in thought for the duration of the time until her wrists started to ache, and she'd still come up with no good reply by the time she lowered her hands and drew in a great breath. He let her lean forward to rest her chin on his shoulder, and when she glanced upwards she saw that his eyes were closed.

"So then, Mr. T…I don't suppose you know any French, do you?" He shook his head. "You don't say. Then I guess we'll have a right difficult time there if we don't learn quick, eh?" He nodded. "You know, I've heard it's a beautiful place. I mean, it will be a wonderful place for your daughter's wedding." He moved his head a fraction towards hers and opened his eyes.

"Wedding…?" The question in his repetition was unmistakable, and the look he gave her was almost comical. Mrs. Lovett couldn't blame him for his reaction, as she probably would have done something similar in his place, but his immediate inquiry to her casual mention was all too human. Whether he wished it or not, he was a father to Johanna in his behavior as well as his heritage. Eleanor might have been proud of him, had she not been so busy trying to keep her heartbeat at a steady pulse for the given circumstance.

"Of course, dear," she replied. "I mean, relatively speaking. Not anytime soon, no, but perhaps in a year or so. Really, it's only a matter of time. You've seen them, haven't you, Mr. T? They get along splendidly – like flies to horse droppings, they are. I don't think you could've asked for anything better." He gave another curt nod that gave the impression of only half listening, and she saw the movement of his throat when he swallowed. "And your daughter…she's every bit as pretty as her mother." Again, he nodded.

His head was turned towards hers over his shoulder, and his eyes were almost closed as he looked sideways at her. She might have taken the opportunity to kiss him, but instead she only dragged herself closer to set her arms about his shoulders and sigh noisily. It was difficult to tell whether this displeased him or not, because his face was entirely blank as he slid shut his eyes. Neither moved from this position for a great while, except for her to lean her cheek against his, and for him to relax enough to lean backwards against her.

Whatever it was, she knew she couldn't take it as intimacy. He looked to be thoroughly exhausted, and this was more than likely the only reason keeping him from moving as far away from her as possible.

Though her heart beat erratically and sent an itching delight throughout the rest of her body, she strained to keep the excitement to a minimum, knowing nothing could come of it. The barber was propped against her in all cryptic incomprehensibility, and she was not going to let her girlish emotions ruin a moment that was unlikely to recur. She even held her breath in the hopes that it would slow her racing pulse, but had to end up breathing through her nose when the ache for air became too strong. At last, she gave up and accepted the heady feeling that turned over her stomach, closing her eyes as well and breathing him in.

"Mr. T…?" she asked quietly.

His responding grunt of acknowledgement was so faint that Eleanor was left to smile at how helpless one of London's greatest murderers sounded. He shifted uncomfortably against her and inhaled a languid breath, his head resting heavily against her own. Opening her eyes to drink in his face devoid of all expression, she mused that it was probably the closest thing to tranquil in his ability.

"Do you ever think," Nellie said slowly, "that maybe things would have turned out differently, if just a few things hadn't happened in the way they had? If we hadn't ever met…? That it would be better…?"

He breathed in a slow, exasperated breath without opening his eyes, and answered her in a weary voice. "No, I don't. What's done is done."

It took her a few moments to let it sink in, and his words somehow gave her a sense of solace. He was as blunt as ever, but perhaps he didn't dislike her after all. It could have been a far stretch, but it was more believable when she was sitting with her chin on his shoulder and her arms about him. The barber let her do these things, and he had listened and responded to her idle talk. At least, it was comfort enough for her wandering mind.

Eleanor had not the time to even think on what he was doing as he reached up to grip her arms, and so she didn't take into account how tight his grip actually was, or how his lips were pulled back into a knowing smirk. In fact, she didn't think on any of it until it was far too late, and by then he had already secured her onto his back as he shot to his feet and spun her around in a dizzying circle. The unexpected movement had her stomach plummeting into her boots and her eyes shut at the world spinning around her, but the thrill in her surprise had her grinning into Sweeney's shoulder.

"Stop!" she laughed into him, and her voice was muffled by his clothing. "Stop it, Mr. T!"

Unsurprisingly, he didn't listen to her. On the contrary, he only spun her faster, and the result was for her to laugh even harder and shut her eyes even tighter. She couldn't tell whether he was doing it to scare her in retaliation for her latest trick, or acting on a whim. Either way, she clung to him with an iron grasp in fear of flying off, and he held onto her in much the same way. With the motion whirling in her head, she could only wait until he slowed to a stop.

Before her laughter had died and he'd stopped completely, a sensation moved the world around her that was not the man beneath her. At first, she was too disoriented to notice it or where it came from, but then the barber stumbled uncharacteristically at the unbalanced sway and she felt herself slipping. He swore as the quaking launched him into a wall, and Nellie hugged his neck as they tumbled to the floor.

Sweeney cursed again when his head was plunged into the floorboards, and Eleanor felt him go still at her side as she tried to regain her breath. When she'd got up the state of mind to wonder what had happened, she leaned up over his shoulder to ask if he was alright, and he groaned in response. They lay in silence a few moments as the pounding in her head receded and Mr. Todd turned over on his side to face her, and the ship still rocked them violently all the while.

"It's raining," he pointed out, and it surprised her how his breath played out across her face as he said it. She realized then, as she looked up to meet his gaze, how close they truly were. Their eyes locked in that moment, and somewhere in the background she could hear the rain that proved Sweeney's statement true. It sounded like a good, heavy quality, and it came down in a fast wooden thrumming from the same grey clouds that Mrs. Lovett had denied.

Something told her she should be irritated with the barber for being right about the storm, but she just couldn't find the decidedness to do so when he was lying just across from her with his eyes boring into her own. There was nothing she could see in his flint-colored gaze that reflected his thoughts, and she wished adamantly to know what he was thinking when she was probably the closest she'd ever been to him. Somewhere in all of the tumult and the rotating of her mind his arm had found its way about her waist, and there was almost no space at all between any part of them. His eyes stayed trained on hers, and there was hardly any leaning forward to be done at all when her resolve snapped. She took a hesitant moment to hold her breath, poised with her lips lightly brushing over his as she gently dragged herself backwards to check his reaction.

He watched her through a half-lidded gaze as she assessed him, and gave nothing away as he continued to stare indolently across to her. His lips were parted against her own, and she felt his light breath as he held it back. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard the rumble of the skies in an angry protest, but nothing was as prominent to her in that instant than Sweeney's trailing back towards her to seal the kiss.

"Mr. Todd…!" They heard him down the hall. Before Eleanor even had the chance to really respond to the barber's pursuit, they were each forced to move apart and get to their feet. "Mr. To – ah…Mrs. Lovett…there you are." Anthony entered the room looking thoroughly drenched, followed by Tobi and Johanna looking slightly less wet. He took a breath to collect himself in the doorframe, and then stepped in to let the others through as he continued. "If you haven't already heard, sir, there's a storm in its wake, so I don't think it would be very wise for you to go up, ma'am. We…might be driven a little off-course, you see."

The sailor looked like he wanted to say more, but he was stopped by Mr. Todd, who looked ready to burst out of rage. He clenched his fists to glower down at the floor, and Eleanor found the cause in the slight discolorment smudged about Anthony's lips in the same form of lip shade on the girl now standing timidly at his side. In order not to laugh, Mrs. Lovett had to bite the inside of her own lip as she approached the sailor to inform him in a hushed tone of his predicament, and patted him on the shoulder as she retreated. He looked between her and Sweeney in awe, then to Johanna, and then to his feet in a modest chagrin. Quietly, he excused himself, and Johanna looked after him curiously before taking to her corner where she and Tobi quickly monopolized the deck of cards belonging usually to the barber and the baker.

Without that, Eleanor was swiftly bored, and she was left to lie on her back and try to fight off the nausea brought about by every roll of thunder or jolt of the ship. Nearby, the barber was dealing with much the same boredom as he flipped open and closed one of his six remaining razors, and she wondered if the incessant giggling form the corner of the room was giving him as much of a headache as it was her. He didn't look bothered by it, but she could see the tension in his slamming his blade shut every now and then.

However much he tried to be inconspicuous, Nellie caught the subtle looks that Tobi occasionally sent her whenever the thunder clapped unusually louder, and it warmed her heart to see his concern. She wished she could have told him that she was perfectly fine, but the truth was that she felt it more likely for her insides to come pouring out of her. For a whole two or three hours, Eleanor managed to hold it back, but by the end of it every minute noise was swelled in her head to throb its way into a suffocating sensation in her throat and a churning in her stomach.

Even the tiny slaps of Mr. Todd's razor when he shut it were starting to make her more sick, and so when the thunder reverberated through her bones for the billionth time, Mrs. Lovett felt that she'd had enough. She could only take so much, and just then the heated sickness in her veins threatened to spill over. This was when she decided that she needed some fresh air, rain or no, and forced a smile as she began to get up to say she'd be right back.

Tobi watched her as she crossed the room unsteadily, feeling a relapse of the dizziness of when the barber had spun her around, but he didn't say a word. Sweeney glanced to her as she walked past him, but he just went on snapping his razor open and shut. She had half a mind to kick the infernal tool out of his hands, but felt that such a move might force her nausea over the edge. So instead, the baker simply feigned perfect health as she dragged herself out of the room, and then leant against the outside wall to steady her balance once she had made it to the outer passage.

Between breaths, Nellie could barely hear Mr. Todd making some sort of question or comment on the matter, but she only heard clearly Tobi's reply of "Oh, she doesn't like thunderstorms, sir." She might have smiled if she could have, but she only continued on her hobbling trek down the hall to find fresh air. Within two more turns into two more passages, she was within sight of her exit, but the sickness was pulsating anew in her aching skill and twisting her insides into a knot. Halfway towards her way out, the baker felt that she had to stop or she would faint.

Sliding heavily down the side of the wall, she strained to breathe as her breath came short and hot, as if the air around her had already been used up and spat back out. Her head was roaring and splitting like an explosion, and her temples were swollen. The suffocation had her lungs tight in her chest, and she rolled her cheek against the wall as if that would help. Her heart was beating her stomach up through her throat, and she felt sure that the lights flashing in her vision would leave her blinded.

She waited until the suffocation had subsided a little before she dared to trust her feet, and even then the farthest she could make it was the closest door, which she crawled through to find a small closet. There, she crumpled to the floor with her qualm and willed it to go away. Unfortunately, it did no such thing; within what seemed to be days, she was propping herself up on an elbow and loosely clutching the side of one of the buckets she found, emptying into it the contents of her stomach and what felt like more. In the time that she wasn't doing this, she was lying as still as possible in the hopes that the storm would pass.

Eleanor really had no idea for how long she stayed in this position, but it must have been for quite some time because the next thing she knew was the indistinct sound of a voice calling her name, and a confusing amount of footsteps. It was this that led her to attention, raising her head and squinting out of the doorway when she heard someone hurtle past. The illness returned in full height when she sat up, forcing her to double back over her bucket in anticipation, but nothing seemed to come out.

At around the same time, the footsteps came back and the door to her closet flew back on its hinges, flooding her with light. The baker was vaguely aware of two figures trying to shove through the doorframe in the same instance, and then of a pair of rough hands that held her firmly and kept her hair from her face as she continued to be sick. Eleanor was much too ill to try to make out the opaque world around her, but she had a fair clue of who these figures were as she felt a small hand clinging onto hers and a gruff voice on her neck. When she had finished, she gave up trying to convey that she couldn't move and allowed the owner of the rough pair of hands to smoothly sweep her up off the ground and into the air.

When her voice failed her, she was content to set her throbbing head against his shoulder and be carried to her destination. Wherever that was, it didn't seem to be too far away, and she could sense that there were several pairs of eyes on her as her carrier set her back down with more delicacy than she would have expected. Mrs. Lovett could feel someone with a damp cloth dabbing at her mouth, and then someone else feeling of her forehead. All together, there seemed to be over a dozen people buzzing around her, and this did nothing for the haze surrounding her mind. When she opened her eyes, she squinted to focus up at the flickering concern in the eyes of Tobias Ragg, and then the grim expression of the man on her other side. She tried for a smile under their scrutiny, but she wasn't so sure that it came out the way she wanted it to.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was to an empty room as far as she could tell. The storm appeared to be long gone, and so was her sickness except for a lingering soreness in her throat. When she sat up in a cautious expectation, she found her head entirely clear, and sighed in alleviation as she made to look around her. What caught her off-guard – nearly causing her to gasp out loud for the surprise – was the barber that sat just behind her, stock-still except for to breathe. He sat cross-legged with his back to the wall and his arms crossed, his head bowed in an impression of sleep. Slowly, she approached him, and looked warily at the razor held loosely in his right hand. Even more cautiously than before, she peered across at his lax expression set in a light frown and reached out towards his silver tool in a kind of fascination.

She'd hardly touched the instrument before he started violently to attention, and she drew back with the gasp that had been long-coming as he held tighter to his weapon and stared menacingly in her direction. After a moment of uncertainty, she chuckled at their rude start and saw him drop some of his guard to lean back against the wall and sigh. Drawing closer, Eleanor leaned herself forward to set him in a light embrace to the shoulders, and withdrew with a kiss on his cheek as close to his mouth as she dared.

"Thank you, love," she said, and he nodded once in answer.

A moment passed when he seemed to be deliberating something, and then he spoke. It wasn't necessarily how he said it or even what he said that stuck her as odd, but rather how he avoided her gaze as he said it. "How are you feeling?" he asked, and it left much to be desired regarding his tone. His wording was very much the mundane phrase, too, but the subtle way his fingers edged over his razor and toyed with the blade spoke volumes about the intent upon his question.

"Oh, I'd say I was alright," Nellie shrugged, trying to vanish her giddy little smile before he noticed it. "How about you, Mr. T?"

His only answer was to scoff. Glancing across to her warily, he commented on how she was probably very hungry. The barber made a show of grumbling and complaining as he started to get up to fetch her something to put in her stomach, but she stopped him in the protest that she was, as a matter of fact, not hungry at all. He didn't look like he believed her, but complied easily enough to sit back down across from her.

It was just her luck that her stomach decided to contradict her with a demanding growl to punctuate her objections. Sweeney shot her a smug look as she admitted her defeat, and he was quick to drag her off to find something edible. Much to her dissatisfaction, he would not eat anything himself, and he even refused the food that she felt justified to fling at him. Mostly, he was given to ignoring her – until she managed to adorn his cheek with a good helping of plum pudding.

When the ship at last reached the docks of Calais, it was at the most inopportune time, as such things tended to go. It was in the early hours of the morning, when the moon was still quite bright. After the ship had brushed and bumped and come to a stop, there was no one who still slept aboard the Boundless. Feeling certain that she looked something close to death, Eleanor came to stand at the deck rail at the arm of Sweeney. When she turned round and squinted, she was given the impression that she could almost see right across the channel to the cliffs of Dover. Turning back to Mr. Todd with some amount of surprise, she caught him watching her and felt something interestingly warm shift inside of her.

"Fancy that," she breathed. "All that work and time, and all we did was cross the English Channel."