Okay, everybody, it's back! It took far too long to sit down and write this chapter, but colleges and school and other fanfictions have been demanding much of my attention and I only manage to slip in writing here and there. Hopefully you enjoy this new chapter.

Sweeney sat back in his chair and let out a ragged sigh, holding his head in his hands. His chest was aching dully and his heart was going through the process of attempting to decelerate (the hope that the girl was his long lost daughter had made his adrenaline surge). She was asleep again now, only having awakened long enough to dash the hopes he had of her being his daughter, be informed of where she was and who had been kind enough to take her in, and tell him she didn't have a name.

That last one infuriated Mr. Todd, for some strange reason. What kind of a person didn't have a name, for heaven's sake? Hadn't somebody ever thought to give her a name?

Though it did offer him a very valuable hint as to where she'd come from. If she didn't have a name she had either never been given one or cast hers off, making her an orphan or a runaway. And if she was a runaway, the place she had come from had to have been some sort of Hell. If it weren't, she wouldn't have run from it in her condition.

Sweeney groaned softly and ran a hand through his thick, messy black hair, looking towards the girl. His heart throbbed. She looked so very like Lucy. It was too cruel.

To keep himself sane – or close enough – he focused on the differences. Lucy's nose had been shorter, her cheekbones a little lower, and her eyes slightly closer together.

Or so he thought. The truth – horrible as it was – was that he couldn't really remember the exact features of his wife's face. Fifteen years had passed since he'd seen her last, and he'd never see her again. There was merely a feeling he got when he looked at the girl's face, a feeling that those features were different from Lucy's, because whenever he tried to look at her and picture his dead wife, it was those features that bothered him.

But she was still beautiful. Even if she was sick, pale, and drenched in sweat, even though she wasn't Lucy, he found her beautiful. Maybe he was still looking at her as Johanna. That had to be it.

Mr. Todd looked away from the girl, perplexed by the clashing emotions he was experiencing quite suddenly. He wasn't in a proper mental state to dwell upon the resemblance this girl posed to his deceased wife. For now, it would be best to stop thinking at all. Mr. Todd didn't sleep all that much, ever, but as long as this girl was here, sleep was the only escape.

So he shut his eyes and tried to forget.

Mrs. Lovett came out her room, the next morning to find the girl where she'd left her, wet cloth still on her forehead and sleeping on the couch, and – a rare sight indeed – Mr. Todd asleep in the armchair next to her, one hand cradling his head as though he'd fallen asleep with a headache and the other hand hanging limply from the armrest.

She'd never seen Mr. Todd asleep before. Smiling to herself, amused by the sight, she went into the kitchen and began looking around for food other than meat pies. She wasn't going to feed one of those to the poor child. Who knew what human meat could do to her fragile system?

After poking around in the storage cupboard, Mrs. Lovett determined she had the ingredients to make biscuits, and as she began throwing flour and other components to the recipe into a bowl, Toby came into the kitchen rubbing his eyes, followed by Mr. Todd, who was in the middle of a yawn. Toby groggily mumbled a greeting to her and Mr. Todd watched Mrs. Lovett somewhat skeptically. "What on earth are you doing?" he asked.

"Makin' breakfast, what does it look like?" Mrs. Lovett replied smoothly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I won't feed the dear girl meat pies." She threw a meaningful glance at Mr. Todd and jerked her head towards Toby – who still was unaware about the secret in her pies – and added, "Meat could upset her system."

Mr. Todd, understanding the implied human before the word meat, shrugged and turned the Toby. "Now, boy, you run down to sixteenth street. Get the doctor there and bring 'im back here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, though it came out sounding like a question. Clearly the boy understood what he was supposed to do, but was iffy on the why.

"We got a sick girl on the couch in the next room, Toby, love," Mrs. Lovett explained to him. "It's best she gets well quick and then we can figure it out from there. Hurry now and do as Mr. T says, dear." Winking at him, she added, "A nice hot breakfast in it for you."

"Right, Mum," Toby said, suddenly eager from hearing of the prospect of food, and raced out the door.

"Bless that boy," Mrs. Lovett said fondly, glancing through the window at his receding figure. "Don't know what I'd do without 'im."

Mr. Todd let out a noise of disbelief and sat at the end of the table. He sighed and shook his head. "You're really going to keep her 'ere?"

"Course, Mr. T. I'm not going to turn a sick child out onto the streets, not with people like Judge Turpin on the prowl," Mrs. Lovett said, knowing Mr. Todd couldn't dream of throwing out the girl after she mentioned the judge he hated so much.

Mr. Todd twitched slightly at the mention of Turpin. Damn, she had him. "What will you do with her once she's better then, eh?" he challenged her. "You've already got the boy to help you round the shop."

"I rather think she's old enough to decide what's next for her," Mrs. Lovett pointed out. "She's young, but I imagine she's no mere child. She came to you to bleed her, didn't she? What kind of a girl does that?"

"She doesn't even 'ave a name," Mr. Todd sighed.

"Well, she just hasn't been awake to tell us," Mrs. Lovett reasoned, jamming a spoon into the dough she'd concocted.

"She was awake. Just for a few minutes last night."

"And you didn't think I'd want to hear about this?! What'd she say?" Mrs. Lovett asked, appalled to hear the girl had even regained consciousness.

"Well, she's not Johanna," Mr. Todd said. "I told her where she was, what 'ad happened. She told me she didn't 'ave a name, asked me to bleed her for the second time, and fainted again."

Mrs. Lovett let out a long breath. "Well… that's that, I suppose. Why don't you just bleed her yourself, then?"

Mr. Todd stared at her. He didn't want to admit he couldn't, in so many words. But when he looked at her he saw her as either Lucy or his daughter, and the thought of slicing her open made him feel somewhat sick.

Mrs. Lovett seemed to understand without the words, sighing as she pulled a baking sheet out and started plopping clumps of dough onto it. "Well, then, we'll get the doctor to take care of her. And once she's well, I suppose things'll all fall into place."

"Excuse me," a weak voice said from the entrance to the hall that led to Mrs. Lovett's living room. Both Mr. Todd and the baker rapidly looked towards the voice. The girl was standing there, clutching the wall for support, ghostly pale with a green tinge to her cheeks. "I really don't want to be a bother," she continued in a voice so soft Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett had to concentrate very hard on listening to her. "I can go."

Mr. Todd had the very odd, almost overwhelming desire to leap up and carry her back to the couch, insisting she remain there until she was well again. No doubt an impulse stemmed from her resemblance to Lucy.

"Nonsense, dear!" Mrs. Lovett exclaimed, popping the tray into the oven as quickly as she could before racing to the girl's side. "What on earth are you doing up, anyway? You should be resting! Come on now, back to the couch with you!" she let the girl lean on her as she guided her back to the living room, lowering her onto the couch carefully.

"I heard voices," the girl mumbled, holding her head as it throbbed. "You both seemed a little… put-out, having me here. I really don't want to be any trouble," she added.

"It's no trouble dear, no trouble at all," Mrs. Lovett assured her, reaching into the bucket and replacing the cloth on the girl's forehead. "Now you just rest, bring your fever down."

The girl stared at her with a look Mrs. Lovett often associated with religious epiphany. "You're just as nice as I remember," the girl said. "I came into your shop once a few years ago."

Mrs. Lovett gasped. "I remember you," she said, amazed. The girl had changed quite a bit in only a few years. She hadn't had nearly the figure then that she had now. "I gave you a pie, didn't I?"

The girl nodded. "Are they still the worst pies in London?" she asked, smiling a little.

Mrs. Lovett even laughed. "As a matter of fact, dearie, my recipe is now one of the best in London."

"I'm glad for you," the girl said seriously.

Mr. Todd slipped into the room, originally having been eavesdropping on the baker's conversation with the girl in the hall.

The girl glanced at him. "I think I may have remembered my name. And even if it isn't, I still think I'd like to be called by it."

"Well, that's wonderful, isn't it, Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett asked the barber, throwing him a look that told him to be nice. "What is it, love?"

"In my dreams I thought I kept hearing someone calling to me, only they kept saying the name Rhine over and over. I kind of like the way it sounds."

"Rhine?" Mr. Todd repeated, somewhat surprised. He wouldn't have been more appalled if she'd said her name was Lucy. "Isn't that a river off Germany?"

Mrs. Lovett shushed him and turned back to the girl, smiling. "It's a lovely name, dear. Rhine. Don't suppose you pulled a surname out o' that noggin o' yours?"

The girl shook her head.

"Well, that's good enough for now," Mrs. Lovett said, nodding once. "All right, I've got to go finish up with breakfast. Mr. Todd'll keep you company for a bit, dear." She turned and went through the hall, casting a warning glance at Mr. Todd as she went.

Mr. Todd, as a matter of fact, did not want to keep Rhine company for a bit. He wanted to go upstairs, open his shop, and await unsuspecting customers. But Mrs. Lovett may just murder him if he left the girl alone, so he sank back into the same chair he'd occupied all night, flipped open one of his razors, and watched it glint in the hazy morning light.

Rhine felt he did not want to speak to her, so she didn't talk. She watched the glint of sunlight reflecting off his blade dancing on the wall behind him, wondering when the last time she saw something similar was. Not since a long, long time ago. Madame kept shiny things away from her girls, and stolen moments of sunlight were few and far between.

Her stomach rolled and Rhine grimaced, gritting her teeth to hold back to little moan of pain formulating in her throat. It still did not go unnoticed. Mr. Todd, having seen her muscles tense and her jaw clench, tore his attention away from the blade and back to her. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Rhine mumbled, letting out a long, shuddery breath. "I'm fine."

Mr. Todd didn't believe her, but ignoring her lie was more comfortable than delving into it, so he did. Rhine rolled over and curled her legs into her chest, wondering why the man with the black eyes and white stripe in his hair looked at her so coldly in order to distract herself from her throbbing head and her lurching stomach.

The thought came to her after a long while in stony silence, and Rhine rolled over, trying to ignore the way her gut felt like it was imploding, and examined her arms, looking for any tell-tale signs of having been cut open recently. Nothing. No lines, no scars, no bandages, nothing. Even after her pleas, the barber still had not bled her.

"You didn't do it," she said, staring at her arms with mingled fury and shock. "You never bled me."

Mr. Todd, unable to think of a better response, simply replied, "No."

"Why not?" Rhine demanded. Mr. Todd was somewhat shocked by the amount of force in her voice, especially in her state. He realized she was no frail, pathetic child. Struck mute, he simply shook his head. Rhine groaned and rolled over, looking away from him. She was going to be sick for days, burdening these people, since she hadn't been bled.

Mr. Todd was unable to keep himself from asking, "How old are you?"

Rhine had no record of her birth. She had no idea what her birthday was, and no way of knowing how old she was. "Nineteen, probably," she said. "Could be eighteen, could be twenty. There's no way to tell."

Mr. Todd was going to ask why, but there came a significant amount of commotion from the kitchen and Toby bolted into the room, followed by a man Mr. Todd had never seen before. The man was younger than he was, though not by too many years, with glossy black hair tied back into a ponytail in the gentlemanly style and green eyes framed by glasses.

Rhine's eyes found Toby and she stared at him. "You look familiar," she mumbled.

Toby, watching her curiously, replied, "I passed you on the street last night."

She nodded, faintly remembering, and her gaze went from Toby to the unfamiliar man. He answered her unspoken question. "Dr. William Evanson," he introduced himself, holding out his hand to Mr. Todd in greeting. "How do you do?"

Mr. Todd ignored the gesture and replied, "It's not me who's sick 'ere. I'm not sure I'm the proper person to be askin' that question."

Rhine's breath caught in her throat when she heard the man's title, and as he turned to her, humbled by Mr. Todd's candor, she bit her bottom lip, curled in on herself, and looked up at him with fear in her brown eyes. All she could see around her was the darkness of the bedroom that had become her torture chamber; all she could hear were the anticipating moans of the men who were her torturers.

"How are you feelin', Miss?" he asked her, kneeling before her and opening his black bag. He was ignorant of her terror.

Mr. Todd, however, was not. He was on his feet before even he registered what he was doing, at Rhine's side without being sure what had possessed him to go to her. "What's the matter, girl?" he asked.

"Why – why – why –?" Rhine gasped, unable to go on. She couldn't formulate any words beyond that. Her fear was causing her to shut down.

The last man had been a doctor. Why did she have to remember that now? He had been a doctor. He had brown hair. She never saw the color his eyes were; it was too dark, always, to see, and it had been early evening.

She had, in her desperation, hit him over the head with the lamp from the bedside table.

He had fallen.

He wasn't breathing anymore. There was blood coming from his head where she'd hit him. She had killed him.

"I had the boy retrieve him," Sweeney said, unsure of what was making her so terrified. "He can do a lot more for you than I can."

Something in Rhine's chest loosened and she found herself able to choke out, "But I don't want him here!" A warm, fat tear rolled down her cheek. "Please, please just bleed me yourself! Please."

"Toby!" Mrs. Lovett called from the kitchen. The boy didn't move, too busy watching the scene unfolding before him, and Mrs. Lovett marched into the room. "Come on now, love," she said softly, gripping the boy's arm and leading him to the hall. "It's a little too crowded in 'ere, don't ya think? Let's go to the market for a bit, stock up on some of the spices we're runnin' low on."

Mr. Todd didn't want to hear that. She was far better equipped to deal with a sick, crying girl apparently terrified out of her wits before a doctor. "Mrs. Lovett—!"

"You'll be fine, dear," she said hurriedly, going quickly from the room.

Leaving Mr. Todd alone to deal with comforting the girl into her senses and allowing herself to be bled by the doctor.

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh that sounded more like a hiss. "Damned woman."

Fin! Long one, guys, and how do you think Sweeney'll respond?

Okay, people, I seriously, seriously want your reviews! I only got ONE last chapter! ONE! I love you all, and I hope you love me too, so I'll show you my love by updating my story and you can show me yours by reviewing! Review!

Thanks for reading!

Phantom, out!