Proof of Heaven

Johanna is entirely charming in the same way that most men find young women enchanting - a sweet smile, a manner of talking in that melodic voice that leaves them all enraptured and hanging on her every word - and what's more, she's entirely unaware of her own wiles. As they sit at the dinner table, listening to Anthony's tales of life on the high seas, Eleanor watches the young people carefully. Anthony, though a bit shy and bumbling, is a sweet-natured young man who would just suit Johanna.

The girl doesn't often venture outside of Fleet Street without being accompanied by someone, and there aren't many opportunities for her to meet new people. Nellie has long harbored the fear that Johanna might never find a young man who captured her fancy. Johanna has always been very critical of the opposite sex, and has never shown any inclination to even make friends with other girls her age. For as long as Nellie can remember, Johanna has been more mature than any other child - preferring to read to her dolls rather than hold tea parties with them, wanting to hold conversations with Nellie instead of gossiping about boys with girls her own age.

Eleanor has often wondered if any man would be truly worthy of Johanna's affections, or would be able to hold her attention long enough for her to become attached. However, at the moment, Eleanor doubts anyone could tear Johanna away from the sailor. Anthony is well-traveled, and Johanna, who has never been out of London, is fascinated with his descriptions of the world she has never glimpsed.

"What is Egypt like?" Johanna asks. "I've only seen pictures but it looks beautiful. I think I should like to see the Valley of the Kings most of all."

Anthony looks surprised, his brows shooting up and disappearing into the curtain of hair that never seems to stay out of his bright blue eyes. "Indeed?" He looks about the table at everyone else, as if they might not understand his surprise. Only Nellie is actually paying attention. "The Valley was the final resting place for Egyptian royalty for five hundred years. There are tombs and burial chambers everywhere." He turns his eyes back to Johanna. "Most young ladies would like to look upon the pyramids or the Sphinx."

"I am not most young ladies, sir," Johanna says, a little smile on her lips.

Smiling back, Anthony picks up his glass of milk. "Of course not, forgive me. May I ask what fascinates you about it?"

Johanna shrugs delicately, watching him take a long drink, and glances down at her own plate of food, which she has hardly touched. "I suppose for the very reason you mentioned - most people would rather see the pyramids. I've never been one for convention. I've read quite a lot about it; I'm particularly interested in the ceilings of the burial chambers - "

"The Book of the Heavens," Anthony interrupts eagerly. "Yes, they're quite exquisite."

Johanna's eyes widen, as if the prospect of having someone knowledgeable to talk to is nearly too much for her fluttering heart to bear. "You've been to the Valley of the Kings?"

When Anthony nods, Nellie quits listening, knowing the two of them are about to launch into a rather in-depth discussion about hieroglyphics and all sorts of other rubbish that she isn't the least bit interested in. Johanna has always been captivated with the world, reading about it in her books and reciting to Nellie all that she learns. Just from Johanna's studies, Nellie can list every ruler of the desert land from the last thousand years, right off the top of her head. To be perfectly honest, the thought of hearing more about Egypt and all its dynasties is enough to make Nellie lose her appetite.

Pushing her food around her plate listlessly, she glances about her, studying her dinner companions. Johanna and Anthony are oblivious to anyone else, their enthusiastic chatter filling in the otherwise strained silence. Mr. Todd has been sullen and silent throughout their meal, looking up from his plate only to glare momentarily at Anthony. Lucy hasn't been much better, still smarting from her earlier argument with Nellie. She hadn't been pleased to come home from her walk and find a new guest for dinner - though Nellie is sure Lucy is happy enough that Johanna is talking to someone other than her aunt. The blonde continues to glance up from stabbing her fork into her plate full of vegetables to cast hopeful glances at Mr. Todd, as though he will miraculously transform into Benjamin before her very eyes if she only wishes for it desperately enough.

"What is your favorite place, out of everywhere you've been?"

"Oh," Anthony laughs. "That's an easy one."

"Venice?" Johanna asks. "Peru? India?"

Anthony shakes his head, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes. "All beautiful, exotic places, to be sure. But there really is no place like London. It's the only place I feel truly at home."

Nellie looks up from her plate to gape at him, and even Mr. Todd glances up in mild interest. London? There are beggars on every street corner, the river smells of something unholy, the foul stench in the streets is enough to turn the stomach, and the upper class trample regularly over the poor and downtrodden. All the places this boy has been, the wonders he's seen, and he loves London? "Anthony," she says with a teasing sigh. "Don't say such things - makes me think you're off your rocker. I was beginnin' to think you were a decent, sane, chap."

Anthony laughs good-naturedly, pushing away his empty plate. "I will endeavor to assure of you my sanity, ma'am, in the coming days."

It's a subtle hint, but a hint nonetheless.

He wants to come back, to be a frequent visitor.

Johanna nearly glows, but her father's scowl deepens.

--

After Anthony has gone away and Johanna can no longer stand in the doorway of the pie shop and watch his retreating figure in the glow of the gas lights, she slips into Nellie's room, the most lovesick of grins on her face. Briefly looking up from tucking garments into their proper drawers, Nellie sees Johanna's expression and arches an eyebrow.

Johanna freezes in the middle of the room, watching Nellie put a hand on her hip. "What?"

"Nothin'," the baker shrugs, returning to her task. "Just don't usually see a smile like that on anyone but a clown or a besotted poet."

Blushing, Johanna turns away, clambering onto Nellie's unmade bed. "Dinner was nice, wasn't it?"

She's being evasive, but Eleanor decides to play along anyway. "It was. Everyone seemed to like that soup you made. What was it called?"

Stretching out on the bed and raising her arms above her head lazily, Johanna says, "It doesn't have a name. I was experimenting in the kitchen earlier and that's just how it turned out. I suppose I should call it something; what do you think?"

Tucking a black corset away in her wardrobe, Eleanors frowns in thought. "I don't know. Name it after yourself; you made it, after all."

"Wouldn't that be a little vain?" Johanna asks, laughing.

"Course not. People are always namin' things after themselves." Nellie walks to the end of the bed to pick up a pair of stockings draped over the footboard. "I can't count the number of men out there named after their fathers, and if that ain't vain, I don't know what is. I see no reason why you can't name soup, love."

Johanna lets out a breathless laugh. "Who can argue with logic like that?"

"If anybody can argue with me, it's you," Eleanor snips teasingly. "You love a good argument like you love a good book, dearie."

"That is entirely untrue," Johanna says, scandalized. "What a hurtful thing to say, Auntie Nell."

It's Nellie's turn to laugh. "Johanna, my dear, you are as lovely as they come and sweeter than honey when you want to be. But you an' I both know you'd pick a fight with a dog if you thought it looked at you funny."

Johanna pouts, crossing her arms over her chest and staring up at the ceiling. However, she doesn't offer any protest and Nellie goes back to her work, satisfied.

The room is silent for a moment, and if Eleanor listens closely enough, she can hear the soft, indistinct murmur of Lucy's voice upstairs. "Anyway," she says a little too loudly when she hears the low grumble of Mr. Todd's voice in reply to his wife. "Anthony certainly seemed to enjoy your soup. 'ad two helpin's." She snorts. "You certainly know the way to a man's 'eart, love."

Johanna shakes her head at Nellie's persistence, crossing her legs at the ankles. "Father didn't eat much."

" 'e never does."

Johanna frowns, turning on her side to trace patterns on Nellie's sheets with her fingers. "Yes, but he seemed upset about something. Is he angry with me?"

Eleanor rolls her eyes. She doubts Mr. Todd could be angry with Johanna even if he tried with all his might - the girl is his little lamb, his darling daughter who can do no wrong. He's the same way with his wife. It frustrates Eleanor to no end. She loves Johanna like a daughter, but even she knows the girl has her faults. She's too stubborn, for one thing. But that may be Nellie's fault. And Lucy is far from perfect - the poor man is so oblivious to her flaws that it would be funny if it weren't so bloody sad. In any case, it's something she's noticed in her silent study of Mr. Todd.

Love blinds him.

Brushing disobedient red curls away from her face in annoyance, Nellie says, " 'e was not angry with you, love. 'e was glarin' a hole through Anthony's 'ead, is all."

Johanna sits up, brow furrowed and expression frustrated. "Why doesn't father like him? Anthony saved his life!"

"And now the boy who saved 'is life is makin' eyes at 'is daughter!" Nellie says in exasperation, and Johanna colors. "No self-respectin' father takes kindly to that, my love. 'e's doin' what comes natural and bein' protective."

Looking contemplatively at the hair pins and the bottle of gin on Nellie's bedside table, Johanna says quietly, "I never thought I would know what it feels like. To have a father, I mean. It's nice."

Smiling softly, Eleanor settles onto the edge of the bed and fiddles with the lace hem of Johanna's dress. "I remember a time when you were quite convinced you didn't 'ave a father, as though your mother merely willed you into existence."

--

It has been raining every day for nearly two weeks. Puddles of water overran every street corner, splashes of it splattered against the windows and beat on the roof, flooded the gutters and soaked Nellie's hair whenever she needed to step outside. The sun has been completely eclipsed by the dark, foreboding rain clouds and Nellie had begun to have trouble remembering what a sunny day looked like.

So, on the first clear day that dries up the puddles, shines brilliantly on the shabby tables in the pie shop and puts an extra bounce in Eleanor's step, she makes Johanna put on a particularly frilly dress and drags Lucy outside with them. Both of them could use the fresh air - though for entirely different reasons. During the last two weeks indoors, Johanna has taken to hopping up and down the stairs repeatedly for hours, sometimes on one foot. Not only is the sound of her little heeled shoes clacking on wooden steps loud enough to grate on Nellie's nerves, but it makes her so anxious that the little girl will hurt herself, that she will do anything to distract her from the activity. So far, she has attempted to teach the five year old how to play hopscotch on level ground, participated in a game with dollies, discussed the tragedy of Hamlet, taught Johanna a game with cards that would horrify Lucy, and let Johanna make a rather large mess in the kitchen. If only for the sake of Eleanor's nerves, the child needs time outdoors.

Lucy, on the other hand, does nothing. When she returns from her long hours at the dress shop, she sits upstairs, and whenever Eleanor comes up to check on her or tell her dinner is ready, Lucy is always sitting by the window, the double frame of Benjamin and Johanna in her lap. Ever since that first month after Benjamin was taken five years ago, when Eleanor was forced to take action and pull Lucy out of her depression by threat of eviction, Lucy has been much better - in a sense. She no longer paces away half the night or sleeps on the settee. At night, she sleeps peacefully in the bedroom she once shared with her husband. In the mornings, she dresses for work. When she comes home, she eats the food Nellie gives her. When Johanna wants her hair put up in curls on top of her head to look like a ballerina, Lucy will pin it up without complaint. But she is only going through the motions, living her life without actually taking any part in it. Her every response, her every action, is mechanical and done without thought.

It makes Nellie want to use her rolling pin to beat something other than dough.

Walking beside her, Lucy is as silent and dejected as usual, blue eyes staring straight ahead of them even as little Johanna tugs impatiently on her hand. "Mummy? Mummy, yesterday I saw Katie climbing a tree and I told her you said it wasn't very ladylike, and she said her mummy told her it didn't matter as long as she didn't get her dress dirty! Is that true, mummy?" Johanna waits for a response, but when she looks up, her mother isn't paying her any mind. She frowns and tugs on Lucy's hand again.

Snapping to attention, Lucy looks down at her daughter, shifting the picnic basket in her other hand. "What is it, darling?"

"Can I climb a tree as long as I don't get my dress dirty?" Johanna asks again, nearly bouncing on her tip toes as she waits hopefully for an answer.

Lucy sighs, glancing away. "Of course not, Johanna. It isn't ladylike."

Disappointed, Johanna's shoulders slump for only a moment before she remembers that isn't ladylike either, and straightens her posture immediately. "But why?" Tilting her head to look up at her mother, Johanna finds Lucy no longer attending to her and sighs, turning to Nellie, who walks beside her. "Why isn't it proper to climb trees, Mrs. Lovett?"

Sidestepping a puddle in the street that hasn't quite dried up yet, Nellie looks down at the blonde little girl. "I don't know, love. Never been a proper young lady - used to climb trees all the time, I did."

Johanna wrinkles her nose, though whether it's out of distaste or jealousy, Nellie cannot fathom. "Why?"

"Because I 'ad a lot of brothers and they didn't care a whit about bein' proper either," Eleanor says, watching in amusement as Johanna avoids another puddle that seems to be more mud than water. She clutches the hem of her little pinafore away from the filth with white gloved hands. "They were quite the bad influence on my li'tle wee self."

The potential crisis of getting her dress dirty averted, Johanna turns her attention back to Nellie. "But why?"

Eleanor sighs. She supposes it's all a part of being a curious child, but the word 'why' seems permanently etched into Johanna's vocabulary. "Boys don't care for bein' proper. They're expected to be filthy all the time."

"Why?"

Huffing, Eleanor says, "Just cause. Now hush up, love."

They walk for a time in silence and Johanna does as asked, keeping quiet for the remainder of the walk. She skips happily beside her mother, clinging to Lucy's hand. The tall trees of Hyde Park are just coming into view above the grey buildings and smog when Johanna decides to speak again, her bright voice inquisitive. "Do I have a daddy?"

The words have a remarkable impact. Lucy halts immediately mid-step with a strangled gasp, her sudden stop causing her to unintentionally jerk Johanna back with her. Johanna begins to cry at Lucy's reaction, or perhaps from the shock of stumbling backward, and Eleanor whirls around to look at them both with wide eyes.

For a moment, Lucy does nothing but stare breathlessly at her daughter. Lucy does not talk about Benjamin, ever, but Eleanor knows without question that he is in her every waking thought. She pines for him daily, but he stays inside her head. It's no wonder at all that Johanna would question his existence. "Johanna," she begins in a thick voice. "Of course you do. I've talked about your father, and you've seen his pictures. What would make you say such a thing?"

"You never answer my questions about daddy," Johanna says stubbornly, crossing her arms. "And Katie says that my daddy isn't coming back, so he's not a real daddy. She says her daddy reads her bedtime stories and tucks her in!" Johanna's eyes begin to fill up again with hot tears that spill down her rosy cheeks. "I don't have a daddy. He isn't real!"

Johanna's little voice has raised sufficiently in volume and people are beginning to stare, stopping in the street to gawk at the spectacle. Lucy doesn't move, staring at Johanna through stricken eyes, her face pale. Not about to become entertainment for the curious, lingering bystanders, Nellie quickly grabs Johanna's hand and draws the little girl to her.

Stooping down to her level in the middle of the street and squinting in the harsh light of the sun, Nellie says, "Now you listen 'ere, love. Your daddy is off somewhere far away right now, but 'e loves you very much. An' you best believe if 'e was 'ere, 'e'd be readin' all the bedtime stories your li'tle 'eart desires."

Johanna sniffs tearfully and Eleanor wants nothing more than to hang that tree-climbing nit of a child upside down by her pigtails for telling Johanna such things.

"Right now 'e's just bidin' 'is time, waitin' till 'e can find a boat to bring 'im back 'ere, that's all. 'e'll come back for you one day." She stops, glancing up at Lucy, who still hasn't moved. "You and your mummy. But you need to be strong and wait for 'im until then, eh?"

Johanna nods once, sniffling.

Eleanor smiles. "That's a good girl. Now, next time that lit'le demon tells you your daddy don't exist, you push 'er in the mud for me, alright?"

Brow crinkled, Johanna says in a watery voice, "That's not ladylike either."

"Neither is Katie."

Johanna smiles, just a little, and leans close to Eleanor. "Mrs. Lovett, when is my daddy coming home?"

Biting her lip, Nellie reaches up and brushes a golden curl gently from Johanna's tear-streaked face. "I don't know, love. But 'e's out there, missin' you somethin' awful."

"How do you know?" Johanna asks, glancing down at the filthy street and furrowing her brow with disapproval when she sees the mud coating the hem of Nellie's skirts.

"Cause I know your daddy, that's 'ow," Nellie laughs, glancing up at Lucy to see her the color has returned to her face, and she's frowning. Probably because she just told Johanna to push that brat of a child in the mud.

"Eleanor," Lucy says, eyeing the people still milling about, some still watching them cautiously. "Perhaps we should just bring Johanna home. A picnic is a silly idea, anyway. The ground is still wet."

Waving her away, Eleanor says, "Don't be daft. Johanna wants to go to the park, don't you love?"

Johanna nods miserably, wiping at her cheeks with a gloved hand.

Smiling brightly at the girl, Nellie straightens, standing up. "We are most certainly not goin' to let an upset like this stop us from goin' to the park on such a pretty day, are we?" Johanna shakes her head, and Nellie turns sharp eyes on Lucy, lowering her voice. "And you. Let this be a lesson to you. You can't keep sittin' in your room, starin' at those pictures like it'll make 'im come back. You 'ave a daughter who needs you to be 'ere. Not in your own bloody 'ead."

Lucy stares at her, mouth tightly shut and lips pursed. Not one to back down, Eleanor stares right back, unblinking. She will not relent on this point, and she knows Lucy is fully aware of it. Locked away upstairs and brooding over pictures of a life that no longer exists is no way to raise a child. Lucy looks away first, turning to Johanna. Holding out her hand and smiling when Johanna takes it, Lucy says, "Come on, my darling. The park waits for no one."

--

"Katie Calvert was a terrible friend," Johanna smiles fondly. "I always regretted not pushing her in the mud."

Snorting, Eleanor looks around the bedroom at all the remainder of the garments littering the floor, draped over the backs of chairs and even one hanging precariously from a light fixture. She isn't in the mood to clean. Instead, she decides to lie back on the bed next to Johanna, stretching herself out comfortably. "Next time you'll listen to me then, won't you?"

"I always listen to you," Johanna says indignantly. "At least, I do now. That has to count for something."

"If you say so, love," Nellie says, turning on her side and propping her head up in her hand to look at the younger girl. "Now, about this Anthony lad..." She smiles, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. "Seems to be quite the experienced - "

"Auntie Nell!"

"Traveler!" Eleanor finishes, laughing mischievously. "Experienced traveler."

Johanna hides her smile in a pillow, looking flustered. "Yes, I'm sure that was exactly what you were going to say."

"Your opinion of me is staggerin', love, really." Eleanor rolls her eyes. " 'e's a bit gangly, of course. Could use some meat on his bones. But I'm sure you could whip 'im into shape over time."

"I have no intention of shaping him into anything," Johanna sighs, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Eleanor studies Johanna's face critically, unable to keep the scathing cynicism out of her voice as she remarks, "So you don't find 'im at all 'andsome? That grin on your face when you talk about 'im is entirely coincidental, then?"

"Entirely," Johanna says stubbornly.

Shrugging, Eleanor continues airily, "The way 'is 'air is always in 'is eyes - you don't find that adorable? Or 'is funny li'tle way of speakin'? Nothin'?"

"No," Johanna draws out the word slowly, mockingly.

Eleanor purses her lips. "My mistake. Per'aps you won't mind if I make eyes at 'im, then? Since you don't want 'im. It's a shame to let a young bachelor go to waste. After all, a widow's options are terribly limited." She smirks. "Do you think 'e'd mind an older woman?"

Her laugh is cut off when Johanna suddenly reaches out and swipes at her in irritation, leaving Eleanor with a mouthful of pillow. Grabbing it before Johanna can hit her with it again, still giggling, she says, "You little wench! Does your mother know you hit your elders with feather pillows?"

A self-satisfied smirk on her face, Johanna sits up to perch near the edge of the mattress, looking down at her aunt. "You've certainly made your point, Auntie Nell. And I'm sure Anthony will be happy to know how enamored you are with the way his hair falls into his eyes. I shall tell him when we meet next."

Eyes wide, Eleanor uses the pillow she's still grasping to retaliate with a yell of protest, smacking Johanna across the head with the fat cushion. Not quite ready for such a blow, Johanna teeters precariously on the edge of the bed before tumbling backwards onto the floor, shrieking with laughter. Snorting, Nellie scrambles over bed sheets and pillows, peering over the edge of the bed to find Johanna sprawled on the floor, gasping for air. "You alright, love?" She asks, biting her lip in amusement. "Don't know my own strength sometimes."

The sight of Johanna in a heap of lace and blonde curls on the floor, her face red, is too much for Nellie, and she finds herself unable to hold in her laughter any longer, clamping a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound. Johanna glares, clinging to what little dignity left to her. "Are you laughing at me? For all you know, I could be very seriously hurt! I could have sprained something!"

"By a tumble off the bed?" Eleanor laughs, pulling her hand away from her mouth. "You're more delicate than I thought, love. Just like your mother."

Johanna reacts before she can pull away, reaching out and yanking hard on Eleanor's arm, sending her over the side of the bed with a surprised yelp and a painful thump. She lands on the floor besides Johanna, who seems to find the whole thing simply hysterical. "Isn't funny now, is it?" She asks, giggling.

"Of course not," Nellie tries to be serious, but can't stop laughing long enough to pull it off. "Just wait until I tell your mother you shoved me off the bed. She'll ship you off to boardin' school, you cheeky trollop."

The complaint pushes Johanna over the edge, and tears begin to slide down her cheeks as she struggles in vain to catch her breath. The room is in a total disarray, the feathers from the abused pillow have spilled out and are floating around the room, coating everything in white, including the women on the floor, but neither seems to notice, too busy howling with laughter.

--

Making an effort is not always a guarantee that things will get better. In a perfect world, it would be. Trying would mean succeeding. Being an honest, hard-working family man would mean that the evils of the world could never pervade a perfect life. But as Sweeney Todd learned a very long time ago, a perfect world does not exist. Sometimes people try with all their might and still manage to fall flat on their face in abject failure. Sometimes, innocent men are taken from their families and transformed into cold, monstrous beings that cannot remember how to love.

In the last week, Sweeney has attempted to reach out; he's been eating all his meals with the rest of the family, and sitting in the parlor with Lucy, Johanna Mrs. Lovett. He has even memorized the way they occupy their time. Johanna reads, Lucy knits and Mrs. Lovett prods at the fire with a poker, looking bored and occasionally sighing and saying something to distract Johanna from her book.

He doesn't even mind it like he thought he would - being a part of a family. In fact, he's grown to enjoy being around them. He loves watching Johanna's face when she's so intent on the page before her, as though she doesn't see the little parlor, but another world entirely; a life far more adventurous than her own. The clicking of Lucy's knitting needles no longer grates on his nerves and he finds himself admiring the skill with which she can turn nothing but a lumpy ball of yarn into something useful. Sweeney has even grown accustomed to Mrs. Lovett's soft sighs of boredom, and the rhythm she taps on the floor with the toe of her boot.

He feels closer to the people in his life than he has since he returned, and it makes him almost content, to know that he is slowly adjusting to a life outside a barren, isolated island with no one but criminals for company - no matter how friendly he'd been with some of them. However, Lucy's demeanor has not changed. She does not speak to him often, and when she does, her voice is soft and restrained, as though she is continually holding back a flood of tears. Surely she notices the effort he's been putting forth in trying to make her happy, surely she sees that he's more comfortable here now than he has been since he came home?

How does he fix it? How does he makes things better between them? If Lucy would just tell him what would make her happy, he would do it. If she wants him to dress differently, he'll do it. If she wants him to laugh more often, he'll do his best. But he cannot change for her if she doesn't tell him what parts of him she is unhappy with. He wonders if she would tell him if he just blatantly asked her, and he toys briefly with the idea before casting it aside. His Lucy would never admit that she was not happy with him - she's too loving, too sweet-natured to admit to such a thing.

He's staring fixedly down at the open razor in his palm, trying to determine the best way to let Lucy know that he's trying to be better for her, when his wife walks out of their bedroom with bonnet and coin purse in hand.

"I was thinking I might walk over to the flower market," she says, adjusting her bonnet over golden curls. "Eleanor could use some color in the parlor. Would you like to come with me?"

For a moment, Sweeney can only stare at her. The flower market. Had he heard her correctly? His memories involving his life fifteen years ago are fuzzy at best, but being clubbed over the head in a flower market and dragged with brute force away from his wife and child is still quite vivid in his mind. That flower market is where his life had ended, it's the last place he spent a happy afternoon with his family. He wants to accompany her if it will make Lucy happier, but the idea of being anywhere near that place is enough to send shudders of revulsion up and down his spine.

He isn't ready for that. Maybe one day but not yet.

"Benjamin?" Lucy frowns at him. "Are you even listening to me?"

He blinks, sliding his eyes away from her pretty face framed in her white bonnet. "Of course."

Grip squeezing her small coin purse closer to her, Lucy's mouth tightens. "Then what did I just say?" His mouth has gone dry, and he cannot answer her. Lucy sighs patiently. "I asked you if you wanted to walk with me to the flower market." She moves forward, reaching out one slender hand to rest on his shoulder. "Please, Benjamin? You used to love going to the market with me."

Ah. Lucy hasn't spoken to him all day, and her sudden invitation makes more sense now. Just like the carnival last week, the flower market is another place he used to love when he was Benjamin. He wonders over the significance of Lucy's refusal to call him by his new name. Is it just her inability to let go, or her hope that Benjamin will reappear? Perhaps both.

Unsticking his tongue from the roof of his mouth, Sweeney says, "The flower market is the last place I want to be."

Lucy's brow furrows. "Why? There's nothing wrong with a flower market. I know you aren't fond of crowds, but don't you think you should try to overcome that instead of - "

"It's where I was taken," he snaps tersely, regretting his harsh tone as soon as the words leave his mouth. Being gruff is not going to make Lucy happy, and he hates himself for letting his emotions get the best of him again.

Lucy pulls her hand from his shoulder as if burned. "Oh," she says softly, looking pained. "I'm sorry, Benjamin. I forgot."

How could you forget?

The words echo in his head, and he doesn't realize he's said them out loud until Lucy takes a step back, swallowing tearfully. "I really am sorry."

Guilt swimming in his eyes, knowing he has failed her yet again, Sweeney only nods and struggles to focus on something besides the lump in his throat. He finds his gaze drawn once more to his razor, and he lets his eyes linger on it, knowing at least there is one thing in this world that he cannot disappoint. Staring until the blade becomes nothing but a silver blur in his unfocused vision, Sweeney doesn't hear the door to the apartment click softly shut.

When he finally looks up, Lucy is gone.

--

It has become a tradition of sorts, in the last ten days. Nearly every night, when Lucy has fallen asleep beside him, stiff and cautious of him even as she sleeps, Sweeney slips out of bed. He walks silently through their bedroom and out into the hallway, fervently hoping Johanna sleeps just as heavily as her mother.

On the stairs, he avoids the second step down and the third one from the bottom because they creak rather noisily. At the bottom of the staircase, he creeps into the pie shop, where the curtains are drawn, and fumbles in the dark to find a light. When he can see properly, he reaches behind the counter, where he knows Mrs. Lovett keeps her supply of gin, and then picks up a small glass on his way to a table.

He's been sitting up until the wee hours of the morning every night for over a week - ever since their return from the carnival. When it's time to turn in for the night and Lucy crawls into bed beside him, he tries to sleep but finds that he can do nothing but stare at the ceiling for hours, afraid to move for fear of waking Lucy. So he finds that drinking in the pie shop is a far better method to while away the hours until morning. Besides, it's the only time he can drink alcohol. Since he eats his meals with the rest of them now, Lucy would notice if Mrs. Lovett or Johanna slipped him a glass of gin. With the rest of the house asleep, two in the morning seems the perfect time to borrow a bottle from Mrs. Lovett's endless stash.

The day had not been a pleasant one. He had been in the kitchen when Lucy had returned from the flower market. Johanna had insisted on his help with making dinner, and willing to do anything to see her smile so becomingly at him, Sweeney had agreed to stir sauce while Johanna cut up onions to drop into it. He has never cooked anything, not even when he was Benjamin and he found the action so awkward that Johanna had been forced to take over again with a gentle laugh at his expense. Too relieved to not be stirring anything, Sweeney hadn't minded.

Lucy had breezed through the kitchen door with a large bouquet of pink tulips cradled in her arms. When she spotted him standing next to Johanna, she'd quickly looked away, fastening her eyes to the floor. He couldn't help but remember all those years ago, when Lucy came home from shopping. She was always so eager to show him what she'd bought - pretty new dresses, a new set of combs, a bundle of sweet-smelling lilies. Instead, she had hurried past him to arrange the tulips in a vase, without a word to him or to Johanna. He'd hated himself then, for not controlling his temper. It's something he worries he'll never master.

Pouring a generous amount into his glass and throwing it back with practiced ease, Sweeney slams his glass on the table and doesn't think about how loud it must have been until it's too late. Before long, he hears muffled noises from the parlor and then Mrs. Lovett appears in the doorway in her dressing gown, red curls tumbling over her shoulders, and wielding a rolling pin. He vaguely wonders if she sleeps with it under her pillow.

Putting a hand to her chest and leaning wearily against the doorframe, Mrs. Lovett breathes, "Mr. Todd, you gave me a fright!"

Sweeney averts his eyes to the empty glass in front of him, scowling. "I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry for waking you, Mrs. Lovett."

Mrs. Lovett smiles at him, dropping her rolling pin to hang lazily at her side. "You didn't wake me, love. I couldn't sleep either. Want me to make you some tea?"

He shakes his head, not bothering to look up.

"Are you sure? It might 'elp you get some rest."

"The gin is fine," he says.

She nods knowingly. "Only time you get it, eh?" Shifting her bare feet, Mrs. Lovett sighs. "Since you're up, I've got a li'tle somethin' to show you."

He almost expects her to pull another razor from her dressing gown, but instead, she disappears around the doorway, and he listens intently to the rustling sounds coming from the parlor. Mrs. Lovett is obviously searching for something, and he can hear her muttering curses to herself when she has trouble finding it. It takes her several moments, but she finally returns with a large bundle and a smile.

" 'ere we are," she says brightly. "Thought you might like to see these." She drops them in front of him on the table, tapping them with her fingers when he only stares blankly. "It's Johanna's baby portraits. Went to 'ave one taken every year on 'er birthday."

Suddenly entranced, Sweeney straightens in his chair, leaning over the substantial stack of portraits. The one on top is a golden-haired child, no more than two years old, in a white frock and bonnet, clutching her dolly tightly to her. Reaching out with a shaking hand, he traces the outline of the baby's chubby cheek, noticing an odd, squeezing ache in his chest.

Mrs. Lovett smiles down at the picture. " 'er second birthday, I believe. Wouldn't put that doll down for anythin' and screamed to shake the 'eavens when I tried to take it from 'er."

Sweeney stares at the picture for a long moment, wondering over how much he has missed. If he truly began to dwell on it, he's sure he would want to pitch himself from a rooftop. Glancing up at Mrs. Lovett, who stands next to him with her arms crossed under her chest, he says hoarsely, "Thank you."

Mrs. Lovett has been too kind to him since his return; she has restored one of his beloved razors to him, pushed him into getting to know his daughter again, and now she has given him pictures of all the birthdays he has missed. "Not at all, Mr. Todd. Figured you might want a peek." She begins to back away, idly fiddling with one dark red curl. "I'll leave you to it then - "

"Stay."

The word leaves his mouth before he has time to think, with just a hint of desperation, but he's almost relieved that it had managed to escape. The longer he's here, the more tired he grows of being alone with his thoughts all the time. More often than not, he craves companionship. He may not have anything to say, but to just sit in the company of another in silence is enough to sate his need for human contact. If Lucy could only realize that while he may be a different man now, he still loves her and wants her to be happy. If only she could be happy with a different man. They could have looked through Johanna's pictures together, she could have told him the story behind each birthday picture and recalled moments from Johanna's childhood that he might want to hear. As a consolation, Mrs. Lovett seems to know just as much as a mother might, and Johanna very nearly adores the air she breathes.

Mrs. Lovett stares at him in wonder, her wide, brown eyes fixed on him. He doesn't ask again, keeping his gaze on Johanna's portrait. "Alright, Mr. Todd," she says softly. "It seems that neither of us will be sleepin' for some time, anyway. Might as well keep each other company."

He can't remember ever being more grateful to another human being as Mrs. Lovett brushes curls behind her shoulder and draws a chair back from the table. Taking a seat across from him, she takes up the gin, pouring more into his empty glass before taking a swig directly from the bottle. She watches as Sweeney flips through the next several pictures, chuckling when he comes to Johanna's fifth birthday portrait.

"That was quite the ordeal," she says. "Johanna 'ad just lost 'er front tooth the day before 'er birthday, and she downright refused to 'ave her picture taken, convinced she was some sort of bloody monstrosity." Mrs. Lovett's grin widens and she leans further across the table to get a better look at Johanna's open-mouthed grin. "Finally, when Lucy 'ad given up and decided there just wasn't goin' to be a fifth birthday picture, I promised Johanna a chocolate birthday cake if she'd go and just not smile."

Sweeney frowns at the picture. "She's smiling here."

Mrs. Lovett laughs. "At the last minute, I made a goofy face and she laughed. She wouldn't speak to me all day, but she got 'er chocolate cake and I got a ruddy adorable picture."

He can only imagine a five year old Johanna's temper at being tricked in such a way, and he almost smiles to think that she'd given Mrs. Lovett the silent treatment. He cannot even comprehend either one of them being silent for very long. As he turns to the next portrait, Sweeney realizes that this is exactly what he needs. He needs to know what happened while he was gone, what his family went through, what their lives were like and all the amusing things Johanna did as a child. He wants to hear every single bit of it, soak it up like a sponge and retain all the stories and memories until he knows them by heart, until he feels as if he'd been there himself. He only wishes Lucy would be the one to share it with him.

Eyes studying the way Johanna's blonde hair grows longer with every passing year, and always arranged so neatly in gentle curls, Sweeney says, "Lucy didn't mention these."

Mrs. Lovett pulls the gin bottle away from her mouth, swallowing and he can't help but notice that she doesn't wince at the tingling burn as it slides down her throat. "Probably forgot, with the excitement of you bein' back an' all." The skepticism in his expression must be evident because Mrs. Lovett's expression softens. "She just needs more time. She's in denial, love. Doesn't want to admit that you ain't who you used to be."

He isn't. He doesn't even look like Benjamin anymore. What he finds most troubling is that Mrs. Lovett and Johanna have managed to accept the changes in him remarkably quickly, but his own wife is struggling with her affections. What makes it so much more difficult for her?

The cheerful voice of Mrs. Lovett pulls him from his thoughts, "Johanna was such a lit'le imp. Still is, really. Look at that face - so deceptively sweet."

Sweeney looks down at the picture she's referring to. Ten year old Johanna is sitting straight in a high-backed chair in a long blue gown. Her blonde hair has been arranged carefully to fall down her shoulders in perfect ringlets. Her hands are folded primly in her lap, her chin is lifted proudly and a serene smile lights up her face. She looks like an angel.

"Look at the next one," Mrs. Lovett murmurs.

He does, and it's still ten year old Johanna. This time, she is twisted in her seat as though she's looking at someone not in the picture. Her nose is scrunched up in distaste and she's twirling a finger through a blonde lock of hair, her eyes rolled heavenward. Mrs. Lovett laughs and Sweeney finds himself struggling not to join her.

"She wasn't quite ready when that one was taken," she says, smiling fondly at it. "My fault, really. Lucy 'ad the photographer take another one, but I bought that one too. It's the only picture I 'ave of 'er not sittin' all proper like a princess." Mrs. Lovett snorts. "I think Anthony'd like to see this one."

Sweeney scowls, the light feeling in his heart disappearing instantly at the thought of the sailor. Anthony has been here nearly every day since Johanna invited him to dinner last week. When Sweeney comes downstairs for breakfast, it isn't unusual to find Anthony already there, at a table in the pie shop with Johanna and Mrs. Lovett, chatting amiably.

Mrs. Lovett is only too happy to have an extra hand around the shop, sweet-talking Anthony into scrubbing dishes, sweeping the floor and carrying heavy boxes down to the bakehouse. Johanna is wholly enamored with him, speaking animatedly with him while he sweeps the floor, trailing after him as he carries things to the bakehouse, and drying the dishes while he washes them. If he thought it wouldn't upset Johanna, Sweeney would have already thrown Anthony out onto the street for looking at his daughter with such open adoration.

Noticing the dark look on his face, Mrs. Lovett smirks. "Oh now, Mr. T. Anthony's a good lad."

Mr. T. It's an echo of the nickname she used to have for him all those years ago, when she would affectionately call out a hello to "Mr. B" as he entered her shop every morning for a pie. "She deserves better," he mumbles, taking a gulp of gin.

Eyebrow raised, Mrs. Lovett glances down at her own drink, running her index finger over the rim of the bottle. "Johanna deserves better than any man yet in existence, love. But Anthony's a sweet boy, and I've been watchin' 'im with 'er. I wouldn't even think of encouragin' Johanna if I thought 'e wasn't good enough for 'er." Mrs. Lovett shrugs one shoulder carelessly, smiling a little at the tabletop. "Sort of romantic, if you ask me. The boy rescued you, and in turn, met your daughter. Quite a twist of fate, Mr. T."

Sweeney doesn't answer, scowling down at the latest picture of Johanna, from her sixteenth birthday. Her back straight, her golden hair flowing down her shoulders and dressed in an elegant gown, she looks like a younger version of her mother. Johanna is certainly a vision to behold. However, there are two things that betray the otherwise mirror image of Lucy. Johanna's smile is a simple twist of her lips that doesn't quite reach her eyes, as though she has a rather intriguing secret concerning the world itself, and she finds it terribly amusing that no one else has discovered it themselves.

The smile is Mrs. Lovett's.

Johanna's eyes are darker than Lucy's sparkling blue ones. Lucy's eyes have always reminded him of cornflower - so bright, so full of life and the warmth of summer. Benjamin never grew tired of staring into them, seeing Lucy's own affection reflected back at him. Johanna has brown eyes - the color of autumn, of murky river water in the dead of winter. Up until now, Sweeney didn't believe he'd had any part in Johanna's life, that she had grown up without even a touch of his influence or Benjamin's traits. But that isn't entirely true. He is there every time she glances inside a mirror.

Johanna's eyes are his own.

A/N - First off, thanks to one of my best pals and darling beta, Robynne. She's fantastic and she writes her own infinitely better stories. Go check out In The Dark Beside You. It's too amazing for words. Secondly, kudos to TrixieFirecracker for pointing out that I named my lion tamer in the last chapter, Fitzwilliam Lefroy, after Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy from Pride and Prejudice and Tom Lefroy from Becoming Jane! She gets a cookie. Also, check out the song I named this chapter after, and which was the inspiration for the last scene between Todd and Lovett - Trouble Sleeping by The Perishers. Thanks so much for your reviews, you're all completely amazing, as I'm sure you know by now:D

amn - Thanks for your review! I'm glad you liked the chapter. As for the reappearance of Turpin, you'll just have to be patient and see what happens:)