A/N: My deepest, deepest apologies for such a long wait. I had some horrible writer's block and needed to take a vacation from writing for a little. But I'm alive at last, and I'm full of joy! I love all of the fans of this fic, I really hope you enjoy. :)
Chapter Eleven
Tobias Ragg hadn't always believed in love. In those cold nights at the workhouse, as he curled closer into his thin mattress, clutching to the stained, shredded sheet that he had been wrapped in as a baby, breathing loudly as to block out the whimpers from the children around him- love was feigned and pretended, an artificial lie.
And as he fell into a fitful slumber each night, back sore from lashings, hands scratched from knicking himself in the factories, the boy would drift off thinking ill on those who claimed that they loved, that one could love. No one had ever offered him any sign of gratitude, affection, or respect in the ten years of living in the workhouse. So love, this frivolous feeling, was all so far-fetched. Toby had refused to consider, to deem it possible.
This was all before he had met Mrs. Nellie Lovett, of course.
It had been almost two years since he had fallen into the mud on that dreary winter evening. He would never forget the echoing laughter of the crowds around him, how they snickered and pointed at the little waif, the filthy scamp who tripped over someones extended foot. He remembered the towering top hats on the heads of gentleman, their finely pressed waistcoats, the glint of the metallic canes being nudged in his direction
Toby had been ashamed, knowing the dirt and grit that was to stain his tattered clothes wouldn't wash out soon, and he attempted to stand as he wiped some mud from his eyes.
Abashed, the boy fell once more, harshly onto his bottom, and the laughter rose in volume, making him dizzy. He shut his eyes for a moment, head bowed as he gripped his throbbing knee.
A light voice, like an angel. "Stop!"
It cut through the laughter, becoming louder. Whoever held this rare concern for the boy in the mud was angry, and she yelled over the crowd. To his weak surprise, the strong cockney accent of the woman was coated with a guilty worry.
"Cut it out, all of ya!" The woman snapped some more, and some of the crowd protested, shouting back at her. Her anger rose, and it became evident that she was struggling to keep her words clean.
Toby's knee was killing him and he tried to move it around, making him suck a quick breath through his teeth as it twinged.
"Dear? Are you alright?" Snow began to fall.
He jumped a little, startled, blue eyes flying open to see his angel kneeling beside him, clutching her floury skirts high as to not get them in the mud, a small hat pinned in her hair. This woman, his savior with rosy curls, lowered her voice to a murmur and smiled a little. "I'm not gonna hurt you, love."
Paralyzed, afraid to break his gaze upon the lady, Tobias remained still, mouth opening and closing, sound ceasing to escape.
The corners of her lips tugged downward and she turned to look over her shoulder at the irritated crowd.
"Go away, will ya?" she drawled firmly at them, brown eyes narrowed in disgust, "The boy's done nothin' to you!"
Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd thinned, all scowling at the baker who had ruined their amusement, some spitting in her direction. Not at all affected by their disapproval, the woman turned back to Toby, snow dancing around them. "Now. Let's getcha on your feet, hmm?"
The boy, still staring at her from behind some strands of dark hair that had fallen infront of his face, was only able to nod faintly. "Thank you, ma'am," he mumbled lowly, hardly able to force the words out of his mouth.
His angel grasped him firmly from under his arms and pulled him upward, and he cried out a little as his knee throbbed again. She let out a small noise of concern, looking him over, a chilly wind picking up in the air.
"Poor dear," she breathed to herself, those big eyes flickering in the light of the lamp post across the street. She met his gaze once more. "Don't listen to 'em. They're a bunch of gits, they are. Thinkin' all because they've got money and payin' jobs that they're entitled to doin' scum to folk like us," she placed her small, gloved hands on his shoulders.
Young Ragg remained still, mind still swirling, thrown off by this attention.
The pale savior looked down for a moment. "It took all of me strength not to curse at them, ya know," she looked back up, a hint of humor in her voice. "You're a lucky little lad that didn't 'appen, too. You don't want ta see me angry, it could 'ave gotten nasty."
Toby allowed himself to smile, just a little, at her words, her hands warm on his shoulders. She opened her mouth to speak again, but the wind picked up and blew the grey hat from her head and into the streets behind her. She rolled her eyes and turned from him. "Bloody thing," she hissed at it, moving quickly in the direction, clutching her skirts again.
He chose this time to leave the woman, not wanting to trouble her further, and he ran into the backstreets, hearing her call out for him in the distance.
Blinking, Toby shifted beside Bugger, eyes scanning over to the angel and her barber laying on the scorched mattress before him. The boy had propped himself up against the wall by the gaping doorway, and as the time passed, his knees bent and he slid down to sit against the ashy wallpaper. The small kitten was sleeping contentedly in the pile of his dirty clothes on the floor next to him, Toby having obediently changed into the new ones that Mrs. Lovett had handed to him.
He smiled again now, despite all of what they had recently gone through, besides the fact that the two adults resting infront of him had killed people, grinded them up, served them to London. It was now, oddly, as Toby scratched the fur behind Bugger's ears, finding that his own eyes were drooping themselves, that love was so very real.
Nellie Lovett had been awake for some time now, and yet her eyes were still closed. She remained silent, breathing deeply as she must have been when she was slumbering, quite in the state of bliss. In her sleep, she had managed to turn over and curl her face into the crook of the barber's neck, nose nuzzled by his collarbone, her hands resting against his chest. He, too, had pulled closer, the hand that was around her waist having moved upward and now gripped her neck gently, so gently.
It took all of herself not to tremble with delight, their closeness toying with her emotions. Everything else around her, all other things on her mind, had melted away. All that remained was a Mr. Sweeney Todd, he who was holding her close, warmly even. Maybe not on purpose, but it was more than okay to Nellie. Needing to calm herself, she focused on his heart beats tapping into her palm, steady and entrancing, and began to count them. One, two, three, four...
The baker was oblivious to the fact, but Sweeney Todd had been awake for some time now, too. His eyes were also closed, as they both pretended to sleep, both hiding an identical secret.
It scared him, almost, finding himself unable to move away from her, even after he heard the shifting in her breath. She was awake. He was awake. And yet they couldn't move.
He was so fatigued now, more exhausted than he had remembered being in quite some time. As exhausted as he had been in those anguished nights of Australia. This demon barber felt weak now, as if his purpose of life was now diminished.
It was diminished. The man that had wronged fifteen years of his life was dead, had died brutally under his hand. Todd couldn't grasp at why he was weak now, not prevailing. He pondered this as he buried his face deeper into sweet smelling curls. He breathed in deeply before letting out a long sigh, a hopeless breath, counting the baker's heart beats in his palm, the palm that was gently resting on the side of her neck.
The woman beside him, his bloody wonder, his pet, seemed so innocent now. She who was inhaling deeply, exhaling deeply, fully awake. How she had thrived for him those years before, and still does now, and how he couldn't understand why she stayed loyal and forgiving, even in the nights when silver was pressed threateningly to her neck.
How stubborn could this woman possibly be? It had been months now, almost a full year since he had returned to Fleet Street. Almost a full year since Todd had firmly informed her that dear Benjamin Barker had died long ago. He had made it clear that the innocent, rosy-cheeked barber of the past would cease to resurface in the monster that was now Sweeney. It was impossible.
Yet, aside from all warnings and half hearted pleads, Mrs. Lovett remained beside him to this very day. She was more loyal than Lucy had been, despite what his mind insisted. The baker hadn't left her pie shoppe for those fifteen years. All that time when she could have easily gotten married and moved to the sea, that blasted sea.
Her tenant seemed to be more important than her silly dreams of her future. Or, perhaps, her tenant was her silly dream.
Todd felt the baker's pulse quicken beneath his hand, and he suspected that she knew he was awake, too. Everything was silent, almost peaceful. And then:
"Why," he breathed, her hair tickling his lips. He felt her set her jaw, and one of the largest chills racked his body. Her eyes had remained closed, Todd knew they were, he knew his Mrs. Lovett that well.
"How could I not?" It was hardly a question, but there was such emotion, almost desperation, that he heard.
"He's gone."
Nellie inhaled. "I know."
"And he didn't love you."
Exhaling this time, as Nellie feeling that dreadfully familiar knotting in her chest. "I know."
The barber was almost angry now, her forced acceptance of their past mocking him, mocking her.
Nellie sensed his irritation, and her face grew hot. Part of her wanted to cry, but she thought against it. She sniffed, mumbling into his neck. "I need this, Sweeney."
Again there was silence, with the exception of Toby's light snoring.
It was midday, now, sunlight creeping from the windows and spreading throughout the destroyed bed chamber.
Nellie willed herself to open her eyes, her eyelashes brushing against his bloodied skin. The events of yesterday were still vivid in her mind, and she felt so guilty. The gasping face of his crazed wife and the sound of her body dropping to the floor...it was all too much to handle.
Now, laying in the arms of a killer, the accomplice slowly decided that she was to tell him of her lies, today. It had to be done. No matter how much she would rather wish to stay like this, snuggled, pressed against him, for years and years.
There was a booming crash from the front of the rickety house, echoing loudly to reach the bedroom, followed by sharp, repetitive cracks of wood, the sound of timber snapping. Then came the angered voices.
Todd had shot up so quickly from his position that Nellie almost screamed, having startled her greatly. In seconds he had a razor in each hand. Tobias, now very awake, was receiving the end of a halting stare from Sweeney. Immediately understanding, somehow, the boy jumped to his feet and stealthily moved from the room.
She was about to protest, about to yell in worry, but she was swiftly whirled upward into Todd's arms and placed onto her feet. Blinking rapidly, mouth open in fear, Nellie was shoved into the nearby closet. He slammed the door, ash billowing around her from such force, making her cough and he gave her a dreading glare from the crack in the wood. Then he was gone.
The baker whimpered, half asleep and fretting, vaguely comprehending what was happening, enveloped in the darkness of the closet. She heard yet another hammering crash from outside the room, followed by what had to be an angry bellow from Toby, and she forced herself to remain silent. A piercing wail hit the air, the wail of a man, and she heard glass shatter, things being thrown. She squealed, trembling, and quickly slapped a hand over her mouth.
Nellie struggled with the urge of cavorting from the closet and aiding them, protecting them, anything but listen to the violence from afar. She placed her other hand on her chest, tremulous now, and nearly stumbled when she heard the slow creak of footsteps enter the bedroom.
Holding her breath, the flustered baker took a few small steps back, her back hitting the wall behind her. Looking through the crack, she saw a hefty man with heavy helmet and a navy suit advancing in her direction, dark eyes narrowed. Her whole body quivered and she pressed her hand harder against her mouth, eyes shut tight, the creeping groans of the old floorboards growing louder, closer.
The footsteps ceased their creaking for a long moment and Nellie tried to imagine herself shrink in size, to blend in with the burnt wood, realizing that she was huddled between a couple of her old dresses, now charred, that she used to wear quite often as a child.
The wooden door snapped in half, a large foot having kicked into it, barely missing her elbow, and Nellie screamed in her palm. The gruff man sneered at her and kicked the rest of the doorway down before thrusting towards her, grasping her arms tightly.
Being violently pulled from the closet, Nellie screamed curses at the man who, now in the light, was obviously a part of the constabulary.
"Silence, you slag!" The man screamed in response, and she glowered at him, struggling to get away from his grasp by squirming in every other direction. Frustrated, the constable rammed her into the wall, pressing her cheek to the wood, and Nellie let out an angry yell. She had gone so far, this couldn't be happening to her. Being hung was not on her list of things to do.
The man, clenching his teeth, pulled a large pair of chained handcuffs from his belt and forced one onto her wrist, cutting into her skin. She seethed, still struggling, knowing that it would seem foolish to plead her innocence.
Desperate, Nellie closed her eyes tightly again and bellowed, "Mr. T!"
The man rammed her harder against the wall, so painful on her bruised skin, and felt the rusty chains move toward her other wrist.
Tobias Ragg then bounded into the room, nose bloody, hair askew, baring his teeth, and he jumped onto the man's back.
"Get off of her!" The boy grunted, trying to strangle him by wrapping his elbow around the constable's neck.
Now very agitated, the policeman let go of Nellie temporarily before taking a hold of Toby and throwing him down, crashing onto the floor. Kicking him, the man cursed at him in his raspy voice, and tears leaked from Nellie's eyes. She kicked the man smartly in the back of the knee and he fell over a broken chair with a low thud.
Face flushed and eyes burning, Nellie leapt to him and lifted his head before sending it violently down into the wooden floors. Again and again she rammed his skull into the ground before she was sure he was unconscious.
Cries threatening to crawl from her throat, Nellie heaved and rushed to Toby who was lying as still as the constable only a few feet away. She lifted his head, too, but cradled it this time, whispering hurriedly, "Open your eyes, dear, please. Toby, please, get up!"
The thrashing from the other room silenced and, still cradling Toby, the baker whipped her head in the direction of the doorway where a stumbling Sweeney Todd, even more bloody if possible, had appeared.
To her surprise, however, he was giving Nellie one of the most heated glares she had ever seen grace his features.
"She was alive, and I killed her!" he roared, leaning against the wall for support as he walked towards her, not caring that they had almost been caught by the authorities. Tears were in his eyes. "You hid her from me. You filthy bitch!" His voice was a growl once more.
Nellie Lovett, fighting for her coherence, overwhelmed, gaped at him, but he lifted a hand to stop her, a hand smeared with rubies. His lip curled in hatred, and as he gripped the door frame, she could tell he was struggling with something.
"Burn in hell."
And with that, her beloved barber was gone.
A/N: Before you shake your fist at me, don't worry. I plan on explaining everything in the next chapter. Excuse any typos, I'm just so eager to post this. :)