"W-what?" Mrs. Lovett stepped back. But the man followed, his eyes tracing the low neckline of her bodice. This was not what she had planned, not quick and quiet with her and Toby gone before anybody knew what had happened. She had never intended to let it last this long, to let this filthy cretin's fingers mirror the action of his eyes. Her scheme was losing the momentum it needed. She needed to remain in control. She slapped his hand away. "First you say I'm not good enough for you and now you treat me like a whore?" She stood to her full height, eyes blazing. "I will not be taken advantage of. You had better let me pass."

"Oh, pass you will, my sweet. Right out of this world." He came toward her again, his fingers pressing through the whalebone stays of her corset, moving boldly for the strings. "I can't have any loose tongues flapping in the big city. No. Not even a pretty one like yours." He leaned in suddenly, but Nellie tore away with a squeal.

"No, no. I'd never tell a thing, believe me." Toby had never seen his mother so flustered, in such fear. Even with the sinister Mr. Todd lurking upstairs, the vanishing customers, the unearthly mechanical growling in the walls of the shop, she had always been in control. His thoughts urged him to go help her, protect her.

His little fist tightened around the cleaver's handle, but as he started to stand, his wounded feelings overwhelmed him. He sank back into his crouch, bitter, recalling his own fear, the churning in his stomach as he realized what he had been eating, the heart-stopping terror that squeezed his chest as the beadle's heavy corpse fell through the ceiling, the panic he had felt as he fled from their echoing calls. Why should he pity her anymore?

"No, love, you surely won't." Mrs. Lovett shied again, but he snatched her wrist, pulling her close. Toby saw her look at him, her eyes pleading. Help her! He started up, but fell back again, defeated. Tears blurred his view of his mother's face as he sat, dropping the knife. Nellie screamed.

Still sitting in the little parlor, Jack paled at the sound, a tumbler of gin clutched in his shaking hand. "Aw, what's this now? Cold to the bones?" The porter sat down, pouring himself another glass. "These nights'll do it do you, that they will." He downed the drink in one swallow. "But that'll keep you warm enough. Oh, you're just weak-stomached. Down with it, man!"

Jack gulped it, wincing, and set down the glass. Across the little table, the doorman swayed happily in his seat, too drunk to notice that Guffie was listening intently to nothing. There were no sounds of struggle from the other room, no sign of the dark-haired man. That man had been a nightmare shadow before. Now his absence was even more unnerving.

Another scream sounded from behind the door. He flinched. He had never planned for any of this, never planned to do more than drink away his guilt after he had sold the girl. This was too much. He never thought he'd be found out, and certainly never meant for anyone to actually be hurt. Now heard muffled pleading sounds through the heavy wood. He steeled himself, shakily pouring another shot and downing it.

He cut off the porter's approving laughter by shoving the table hard into his ribs. With a startled roar, the big man fell as Guffie leapt out his chair and raced to the door.

Nellie felt her heart pounding as she struggled to break his grip on his wrist. He was too strong for her and he knew it, leering as he drew her slowly nearer. Help! The thought that he was enjoying the opportunity to overpower her only made the baker pull and twist harder. Help me!

Suddenly, they were both spinning to the floor, her arm finally free. Squirming away from her captor, she cast a wild glance over her shoulder and was shocked to see their enlisted coachman wrestling her "examiner" to the ground. Now the thrill in her blood was victory instead of fear as she stood, her eyes moving to the fireplace on the far side of the room and the poker she knew she'd find there.

Jack planted a knee in the bastard's back as he grabbed his opponent's wrist to twist his arm. Despite the advantage of surprise, and a tough life in London's slums, he was having a hard time. The last long nights were telling on him. With a mighty heave, the man on the floor managed to throw him off, turning to rejoin the fight face-to-face.

And then, with a sudden crack, his face was gone, the floor behind him spattered with his blood and brains. Leaping up in horror, Guffie saw the porter standing unsteadily in the doorway, grinning. In his waving hand was a smoking revolver. The driver started to move away with a cry, but his voice was cut off as the doorman squeezed the trigger and he felt burning lead burst through his ribs.

Mrs. Lovett turned, the poker held ready, only to find both ally and assailant bleeding into the room's luxurious carpets. What? She felt a twinge of regret as the looked over the coachman's body. Shot?

Another shot sounded, the bullet pounding into the wooden mantle behind her. Nellie froze, looking down the gun's wavering barrel.

Toby watched from behind the table as the Goliath of a doorkeeper pointed the revolver at his guardian. He was drunk, he knew, but he had already proved he was still sober enough to hit her. He saw her shocked face, heard the click as the next bullet slipped into the chamber, the porter's laughter.

With a frightened cry, he sprang into action, burying the cleaver in the porter's back. Not deep enough to kill, the wound at least caused the brute to throw up his arm as he fired, sending the shot into the ceiling.

Toby clung stunned to the knife, staring as the blood poured down his sleeve. What did I do? He stood there still, even as the roaring man twisted back him arm and fired again into the floor. "Toby, look out!" Mrs. Lovett ran across the room, the poker raised and her face filled with fear again. Fear for him. He almost felt joyful as he started to run.

His head still turned towards the boy, the porter never noticed Mrs. Lovett until she brought the poker down on his ugly head. He fell, but not before squeezing off the last of the revolver's six bullets.

Toby fell, screaming.

XXXXXXX

Sweeney ran, his footsteps crashing through the dark house like thunder. Up stairs, around corners, down long, richly decorated hallways he went, always bringing the source of the shrieks closer and closer. Each cry split his heart. He wanted to see whoever was making his daughter scream that way dead, wanted to make them suffer. He would. He was so close…

He turned another corner and now saw two men. One stood, waiting, by a doorway. The other peered through another peephole, chuckling as he turned to the guard. And from the room they were watching came the guiding cries.

Never pausing, he charged towards them, pulling Anthony's pistol from his coat and firing on the spying man. The bullet struck him in the temple, painting the wall behind him red. Sweeney dropped the empty gun and threw himself at the startled guard.

Johanna tore another wail from her raw throat, twisting madly to escape the monster pinning her. Even when he slapped her and shouted at her to stop, she kept screaming. And now she knew it was working. Outside she heard the thunder of footsteps. Soon, she would be safe. You can't have me.

The door burst open, crashing against the wall, and her attacker leapt away in alarm. Johanna was free. Half laughing and half sobbing in relief, she scrambled out of his reach, falling over the far side of the bed.

Todd froze as he entered the room, stopped dead by the sight of a strange man straddling his innocent daughter. As the filthy animal released her, turning, startled, to face him, he felt his anger boil even hotter. He charged, snarling, his dripping razor held high, but was stopped again by his collar pulled back hard against his throat. Turning, he saw the guard from the hallway clutching the back of his coat, a bleeding gash gaping too low across his throat.

Cursing his haste, Sweeney swung wildly back at him, no more successful at polishing him off. The guard only blocked, taking the blow on his forearm, but released the barber, who lunged again at the bastard beside the bed. This time his fist met the blackguard's face with a satisfying crunch as both of them tumbled to the floor. Pinning him with his free hand, he lifted his razor. The man clutched at his wrist, but he thrashed his arm like a thing possessed, finally breaking free. "DON'T YOU EVER TOUCH HER!"

His slash was thrown wide as the guard's boot struck his elbow, flinging his precious blade out of his hand to spin across the floor. Another kick caught him in the ribs before he could react, throwing him away from his quarry. Pulling a knife from his pocket, the bleeding guard leapt at Sweeney, smashing him back to the floor as she started to rise.

Mr. Todd struggled and nearly broke free, still intent on the other man, but his assailant snaked an arm across his throat and pulled him back. His other arm, dripping heavy red drops where Sweeney had cut him, held the knife high over the barber's chest. Sweeney grabbed the wrist, slick with blood, and held the glittering point away, but he knew it would be a losing fight since he needed to battle for every breath as well.

The guard, too, considered his odds while the blood drained from his arm. He would be killed without question if he had overestimated how long he could keep this up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sweeney's intended victim stand, and he knew his best option. He tossed the knife to the ground and kicked it towards the other man. "Here, help me with him!"

XXXXXXX

"Toby!" The poker clattered to the floor as Mrs. Lovett rushed to the boy's side. Groaning, he rolled on the red-stained floor, clutching the bleeding wound above his knee. She could feel the hot, sticky liquid seeping through her skirts as she knelt beside, pressing her slender hands over his. The blood bubbled through her pale fingers. "Hold still, love, it'll be okay."

"No – Oh!" Tears started to form in her eyes as she heard his pained sob.

"Hang on, dear." Looking around franticly, she scrambled back to the porter's crumpled corpse, jerking the cleaver out of its back and using it to hack a rag out of her dress. She pried his hands away and pressed the cloth desperately to the dark hole in his flesh. "I'm here. Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around…" The drenched fabric let the blood trickle out under her palms, useless.

Toby's mind drifting dizzily from anything but the searing pain in his leg, but he heart that snatch of song and his heart gave a wounded squeeze. It was his song to her. He had wanted to save her from Mr. Todd. And now she had sacrificed him for the barber if not to him. How could she say that now, when he –

He cut off the thought, not willing to even think that he might really die. But now that it had occurred to him, he knew it was true. He had seen boys die from lesser wounds in the workhouse. He felt fear run through him again, mingling with the pain.

"Come on, Toby, stay with me, love." Nellie was trying hard not to cry. He could hear it in her voice as she let one hand leave the wound to lay her fingers, wet with his blood, to his pale face. "Nothing's gonna harm you, darling, not while I'm around…"

"Stop…" His voice a croak, he weakly shook her hand away.

"W-what?"

"Don't sing that song." Tears flooded hot down his cold cheeks. "You… You don't care if I die." Mrs. Lovett looked as though she had been struck, her own tears starting to flow. "You did this to me."

"No. No, Toby." Mrs. Lovett blinked, refusing to let tears blur what could be her last look at the boy she loved as a son. "No, I never wanted to hurt you."

"You would have let him kill me. Last night. You locked me in." He clenched his teeth as his little body shook violently. "And I wouldn't be hurt…" He bit back a cry. "If you hadn't had to follow him now…"

"No…" Beneath her shaking hands, the boy twisted in pain. "You don't understand, I…" I did all that. Her tears came harder. "I…" She couldn't deny it. She would have killed him although she loved him. A strangled wail escaped her. It's true.

XXXXXXX

Johanna peeked out from her hiding place under the massive bedstead, peering under the hanging edges of its covers. On the far side of the bed, she could see two figures thrashing, wrestling on the floor. Both wore dark red stains on their sleeves like badges, tokens from some dark lady to her champions. Before them she saw only feet. They were the boots of the man she had just been delivered from. Staggering away, they stopped, turned.

"Here, help me with him!" A piece of glinting steel slid across the floor, and his hand, the same hand that had been fumbling with the buttons of Anthony's borrowed coat, came reaching down. She shied instinctively, cowering further into the darkness under the bed. It lifted away again.

After it finished with her rescuer, the hand would come back for her. It would paint her with his blood as it touched her.

But it wouldn't. It would never touch her; never taste the crimson that had already marked both of the other fighters. Don't you ever touch her! the man had said. You can't have me! That strange feeling of strength crept up in her again, bubbling out in a childish giggle as she crawled out of hiding. On the floor near the foot of the bed, silver gleamed beautifully in the red light that fell through the window. Her fingers closed around the razor, lifting it, it's bloodied blade entrancing. Its edge seemed to sing to her as she stood slowly. It sang freedom, a welcome home.

"You can't have me." She spoke in a whisper, leaning close to the friendly blade. It had a sweeter song than her blinded finches, or the silent, heartbroken larks. She almost sang back to it as she turned like a sleepwalker toward the man who held the knife. I've found a friend. Hear her sweet singing…

His back was to her as she paced silently towards him, the razor gleaming in her hand like a guide. No one can hurt me with you in my hand, my friend... It rose high, her arm moving behind it like a marionette's. My lovely friend…

The moment broke like a spell and, with a scream like a battle cry, she brought the razor down across the back of his neck. Blood sprayed across her face as the knife clattered to the floor. Now she was badged, honored like her guardian. Now it was the roaring monster that was marked for the sacrifice, not her. She would slaughter it herself. In shock and terror, the man turned to see who had hurt him and she swung again and again. Wild gashes scored his face and chest as he screamed beneath her flailing blows. Another swing slashed across his throat and he fell. Johanna let out another childish laugh as she half knelt, half collapsed beside the twitching corpse.

The guard trying to strangle him, Sweeney supposed, had been a street fighter, strong and fast, with a knife-fighter's reflexes. He probably had, too, a knife-fighter's experience of death – quick, efficient, simple. He would not be accustomed to murders like his comrade's. He had never seen a maddened soul break, never seen such instinctive, animalistic brutality. There, the barber had an advantage. He had watched it for fifteen years in Australia, had lived it both there in Botany Bay and in London. And when the guard, in horror, loosened his hold, he let those memories echo again into action.

Tearing half-free from the faltered chokehold, he swung back, ramming his elbow into the other man's jaw. He struck again, this time hitting the soft flesh of his neck. His men arm fell away from Todd's own neck as both men gasped for air. Even as he choked on the stale, perfumed air, Sweeney lost no time in rolling clear to snatch the fallen knife.

The guard was rising, but it was too late. He had already lost the rhythm of the fight. Sweeney thrust the stranger's blade up under his ribs. It was enough, but he took him by the collar and stabbed him twice more before letting him fall. Still on his knees and wheezing, he turned uncertainly to Johanna, kneeling beside her own kill, her tousled golden hair streaked scarlet.

XXXXXXX

Another surge of pain shot through Toby's body. He groaned, letting his head roll, limp. A hand was there against his cheek. It was Mrs. Lovett's. And she was crying. He forced his unfocused eyes to look back at her, his vision seeming to drift through a sudden weariness.

"I'm so…sorry…Toby!" Tears gushed hopelessly down her face, her words breaking into sobs. She meant it. His anger drained with his life, leaving no pain but the throbbing, burning wound in his leg. Why did I say that? It was true, yes. But he should have known better, should have held the struggle in his heart until both were still to save her from pain.

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Weakly, he held out a searching hand; let his fingers rest across her arm. "Please, Mrs. Lovett. I…didn't mean it."

"No, you're right, I…" Her voice was desperate. They both knew she didn't have long to make him understand. "But I never meant it. I love you… Toby…"

"I love you, too." He wanted to look at her, so she would know how much he meant it, but his eyes wouldn't focus. He was so tired. It felt like he was drowning. "Nothing's gonna harm you… Not while… I'm…"

"Toby!" Nellie shook the boy as he went limp, terrified. He's not dead yet. He's not. Mr. Todd. He could do something, he had to. He was a barber-surgeon. Where is he? "Mr. Todd!" The house was silent. Toby was silent, his face deathly pale. She flinched at the thought. No, snowy pale, pale as beach sand, or the foam on the waves. "Mr. Todd!" He had to come right now. No, she had to find him. She stood, feeling drunk. "Mr. Todd!" It was too much. Mrs. Lovett fell to the floor in a faint.

XXXXXXX

There was nothing in Sweeney's world except the girl in front of him, kneeling in blood like a princess would kneel in prayer. He edged closer, still on his knees. In her hand, his razor glistened with rubies. This was his whole life sitting before him.

He approached carefully, almost afraid. He remembered her face the night before. She had been horrified of him. Would she still be?

She didn't seem to see him, her eyes fixed vacantly on the creeping crimson stain on the floor. Slowly, a light seemed to enter those beautiful eyes as they lifted to meet his. There was disbelief in her stare, recognition a familiar kind of madness. "You…" That one word hung for a long second. Then her tear-streaked and blood-spattered face filled with a rush of emotions, too many to be recognized. With a cry that could have been fear, grief, joy, or rage, she flung herself at the barber.

The razor's back dug into his shoulder as she threw her arms around his neck. With her lips pressed against the leather of his jacket, she screamed into his chest until her cries faded into breathless, wailing sobs, her sobs into soft weeping, and that into silence as exhaustion overcame her.

Mr. Todd placed his arm gingerly across her back, moving as though he had forgotten how to hold another person, and hooked the other around her knees as he stood. Without a sound, Sweeney carried his daughter away as the sunlight spilled warm and red over the horizon.

XXXXXXX

"Mrs. Lovett." Nellie half-heard her name, sounding strange and distant as though she were under water. She groaned, shifting, but didn't open her eyes. "Mrs. Lovett." Now it was louder, and it was Sweeney Todd.

It was Sweeney Todd, who she had been going to fetch for…

"Toby!" Now she started up dizzily. No. It would be too late. What had happened? She had been calling for the barber, screaming, and then… Fainted. Her heart sank as Sweeney pushed her firmly back down. "Mr. Todd, where is he? Did you…" Did he what? He wasn't there, how could he save him? Tears started to well up again, but she blinked them back, laying her head back weakly.

She blinked again when she found herself looking up not at the brothel's whitewashed ceiling but the moldering canopy of the coach. She was propped up against one of its dirty seats, her head on its cushion. Mr. Todd was crouching in the open doorway, leaning over her. Behind him, on the seat opposite her, Johanna was sleeping a silver razor clutched in her hand.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, no. I fainted. But Toby…"

"Will live." His voice was flat, his face expressionless as ever, but Mrs. Lovett stared, unable to believe he was telling the truth. "If we get him home." She leapt up, hope giving her new life. Twisting around, she saw over her shoulder a motionless bundle, the barber's black coat wrapped around her silent assistant, lying on the seat behind her.

Sweeney watched as she turned, kneeling beside the boy. With an uncertain glance at him, she lifted the flap of leather that covered his face, folding it down past his chest. He was pale almost frighteningly so, but his chest rose and fell weakly but steadily. Nellie looked up at her tenant again, her eyes shining. He looked down, suddenly feeling out of place.

It had been strange. He didn't feel himself when he put his arms gently around another creature, even his sweet Johanna. Or when he had knelt beside the boy, deftly cutting the lodged bullet out of his leg before binding the wound carefully with strips cut from the room's fine curtains. Or when he had carried first Johanna, then Toby, and finally Mr. Lovett herself out to the coach, which he had driven back to

London. It shouldn't feel so odd, but it did. Whatever part of him it came naturally to had died with Benjamin Barker. Maybe… He reached out hesitantly to touch her arm as she beamed at him, but stopped. He let the hand fall. No. "We're in an alley off Fetter Lane. It isn't far, but you'll have to carry him. Can you…"

"Yes, of course." She wiped her glistening eyes as she turned away from the boy to face him. He couldn't remember ever seeing her so happy, ever seeing so much genuine joy all at once. And he knew it wasn't only for Toby. "You know I love you." "And Johanna?"

"I'll carry her." He moved out of the doorway, going further into the carriage's musty interior. "Climb out and I'll hand him to you."

Nodding, she quickly obeyed and turned back to look up at him, expectantly. She could scarcely believe that she still had her son, even more thrilled that it had been her beloved barber who had brought that miracle about. Now he appeared again, Toby cradled awkwardly in his arms as he knelt in the open doorway. She smiled and he frowned when their arms touched, the boy shifting heavily from his into hers. Toby felt cold against her chest, but she let the shallow movement of his robs comfort her.

The city was, as usual, shrouded with fog, and the street outside the alley's entrance was still fairly quiet. Good. All four of them covered with blood, they would make a pretty suspicious lot in plain sight. It's take a great deal of luck, still, to get back to Fleet Street undetected. But they'd manage, or think of something.

Mr. Todd appeared in the door again, this time carrying Johanna, and climbed carefully down the steps. For just a moment, he stood looking down at the girl in his arms before casting a sideways glance at Mrs. Lovett. It wasn't quite the shattered look she had seen before, but his eyes were full of uncertainty, like a new father. She smiled. He nodded. Then both crept out into the misty street, bound for home.

XXXXXXX

I owe you guys a few apologies. First for taking so bloody long with this chapter. Also for all the typos in the last chapter. I'm a little key-board retarded, I think. I need a "Hey Stupid" checker instead of a spell-checker. Many thanks to Cascaper for pointing them out.

Mostly, sorry to everybody who reviewed saying "Please don't kill Toby." You shouldn't have said anything. I just couldn't resist messing with your heads. Sorry. My muse is evil.

At least I did resist the urge to have Johanna cut her wrists instead of kill that creep.

And, of course, thanks to everyone who reviewed. :)