You could've been all I wanted
But you weren't honest
Now get in the ground
You choked off the surest of favors
But if you really loved me
You would've endured my world.

Coheed and Cambria - Welcome Home

Mrs. Lovett clenched her eyes shut and buried her head into his neck as she clung onto Mr. Todd, literally hanging on to her life. If she didn't hold on, she would easily be burning alive in the oven with her latest batch of pies.

But despite her efforts, her naked back was still exposed to the flames, and her mouth opened to emit the most bloodcurdling, bone-chilling scream imaginable. She could feel her flesh burning up through her dress, and the white-hot, searing pain felt to her what she had always imagined entering hell would be like.

However, she still knew that as much as this felt like death now, it really would be her end if she let go.

Mr. Todd roared, enraged that Mrs. Lovett was still clutching on to him. He heaved her petite body away from him as easily as a rag doll, his ears still ringing from her piercing cries.

Her nearly defeated body fell face-down on the floor, her arms and legs heartbreakingly spread-eagled. Her back, raw and full of blisters was beginning to ooze a small amount of blood as she lay on the unforgiving stone, unconscious to the living world.

Mr. Todd slowly approached her, taking in the magnificent sight of her mangled back; of her blood slowly welling to the surface, preparing himself for the familiar feeling of great relief before he finished her off…

But it didn't come. Instead, with every step he took towards Mrs. Lovett, the more that strange feeling of unease settled into the pit of his stomach. Why the hell did this one insignificant woman affect him so, why couldn't he enjoy her pain like the rest?

He sat down, looking at Mrs. Lovett's now grimy and bloody face.

It was strange to him, seeing her like this. Mrs. Lovett wasn't one to stay still; she was always up and about; doing something. Her face was constantly so animated, so expressive. It was so different, in that light, from everyone elses'. It felt horribly wrong to see her now, her eyes closed and mouth open, with a small trail of blood trickling out from the impact of her fall…

He allowed his razor to fall from the grips of his fingers. Much as he hated himself for it, he knew he couldn't kill her tonight.

But… why?

He had killed countless, meaningless men; had endless shirts ruined because of all the blood. Every person in this world has done something to warrant their death, and every time he ran his razor through another deserving neck, he was doing the damned city of London a favor.

He thought of how badly the Judge had wronged him. That disgrace to mankind had ruined three lives; he had broken apart a family that had barely had a chance to live. Mr. Todd still couldn't understand how so much corruption; so much greed could reside in just one person.

The moment he had stabbed his razor into the Judge's throat, he felt his heart could finally be at rest. He glanced at his sleeve, which was completely saturated with Turpin's blood. It brought an extremely faint shadow of a smile to his lips.

His past was finally avenged. And the proof of it was splattered all over himself.

And Lucy. His hands clenched up into fists remembering what he had done to her. How had he so easily slit her throat, sending her to the cold, unforgiving clutches of death? He brought his face into the cradle of his cupped hands, trying to remember what had happened.

He remembered slamming open the door to his shop, and seeing her standing there, muttering wildly about the Beadle. She then acknowledged his hovering presence, coming uncomfortably close to him, telling him about the "evils of this place, how Mrs. Lovett was the devil's wife…"

Her face had been mere inches from his. And still he hadn't recognized her. "Don't I know you, mister?" she had asked him, her eyes wide with madness looking into his own. He had written her statement off as lunacy when he heard Turpin running up the stairs, and… and then he killed her.

Just like all the rest. He remembered that red veil cascading down her neck before he had sent her corpse plummeting down to the bake house below.

But… she had been so close to him! Had he really forgotten her face? He punched a slightly disheveled stone in the floor as he remembered one day that Mrs. Lovett had came up to bring him some breakfast. He disliked how she was always fussing over him, but he remembered the question she asked that morning.

"Can I ask you a question, Mr. T?" she had said. He was still gazing out into the dismal streets of London, watching the people walk by, as they did every day of their lives.

"Wot?" he had uttered, irritated she wasn't just going to give him the food and leave.

There had been a moment of silence between them.

"What did your Lucy look like?" His heart fell and he remembered scrunching up his eyebrows in the attempt to remember his own wife's face. But he couldn't do it.

"She had yellow hair," he had muttered half-heartedly. Was that really all he could remember of that beautiful, lovely, perfect…

He was suddenly brought out of the deep realms of his mind by a slight sigh from Mrs. Lovett. Mr. Todd looked back at her face, and her eyes were open again; focused on him. They had a tiredness in them now, an almost… defeated quality in them.

And they remained staring into one another's eyes for what seemed an eternity, silently trying to comprehend one another until a single tear rolled down Mrs. Lovett's cheek, leaving a trail in the dirt on her face. He looked away, not prepared to see such honesty splashed across her face.

She took a few moments to try and breathe properly before she opened her mouth to speak.

"Mr. Todd…" she whispered; it was obviously hard for her to speak at all. He again met her gaze, leaning in slightly so he could hear her.

"I… am so, so sorry. I should of… told you straigh' away wot had happened… to Lucy. I… wos wrong." Her words were coming slowly, partly because she could barely breathe and partly because she was fighting back tears. Her expression of extreme apology and sadness gained a slightly confused overtone.

"Mr. T… I lied to you… I… am the reason… she's gone. Why haven't you... killed me?" Her tears were falling fast now.

"Shhhhhhh…" he said, quieting her. His eyes lingered on Mrs. Lovett's pitiable face for a moment longer before he slowly retrieved his razor from the ground. He just needed to see if this would work…

Mrs. Lovett saw him picking up his razor, and she exhaled shakily as she prepared herself to die. She was in an unbelievable amount of pain, so much she simply thought that dying would be a quiet relief…

But she knew in her heart she wasn't ready to leave this world yet. There was still so much she wanted to see and do; so much she wanted to become. She began picturing everything in her life that had truly meant something to her… She recalled peaceful evenings spent with her dear Albert, sitting in companionship by the warmth of the flickering fire glow… She remembered her mother, whispering sweet lullabies, lulling her to sleep… She remembered the day Benjamin and Lucy Barker arrived at her doorstep, desperately seeking a place to stay…

Mr. Todd came closer to her, razor in hand, but… he didn't have that bloodthirsty look in his eyes. He, instead of slitting her throat right then and there, began rolling up her sleeve. At that point she would have allowed him to do anything to her; she was too weak to fight him, but what on earth was he doing...?

He firmly gripped her thin elbow, bringing the razor up to her forearm. She felt him very slightly penetrating her skin, and then felt a small, warm trail of blood flowing down her arm.

Mr. Todd threw his razor away from him, causing it to clatter loudly against the floor. Even this small amount of blood on her arm made him feel… what was this feeling? Regret?

Well, whatever it was, it was a new sensation to Sweeney Todd.

And he wasn't sure he was okay with it.

They were both silent. Mr. Todd was fighting an inner battle- he wasn't sure of who he was; what he stood for anymore. And Mrs. Lovett was crying softly, nervously awaiting her death. Finally she spoke.

"Mr. T… please… don't… make me wait… in agony… like this." She swallowed, tasting a little blood as it went down her throat.

"Please… jus'… kill me… now. If… I'm going to die tonigh'… I'd rather… it be by your 'ands. I… am like… the rest. I… deserve… it," Mrs. Lovett whispered, knowing she had never spoken truer words in her life.

Mr. Todd blinked uncomfortably at her confessions. He flashed a quick glance down at her face and quickly looked away.

"You're not going to die tonight, Mrs. Lovett," he uttered. He still couldn't bear to look her in the face. He heard her exhale sharply, still crying…

"We need to get you upstairs. Your back needs tending to."

She smiled lightly at his words. Her heart swelled a little when she realized he was… showing her compassion? But she quickly restrained herself; she wasn't sure she should love him anymore… He was so caught up in the past, too stubborn to let it rest. And how could she trust him anymore? Constantly so unpredictable… He had tried to kill her twice in one night, for God's sake…

And yet he was going to let her live.

"I'm afraid… I'll need some 'elp… getting up those stairs," Mrs. Lovett said, somehow managing to smile through all the pain she was suffering through.

Mr. Todd hesitated for a moment before he gave placed his hand in hers and lightly placed his other hand on the small of her back to help her stand up. She did so extremely slowly, and he could see the purple bruises beginning to flower on her neck…

She held onto his shoulders for support until he picked her up like a child, and she wrapped her legs around his torso; her arms loosely draped around his neck. Mrs. Lovett turned her head into the curve of his shoulder, inhaling his intoxicating aroma.

And as they slowly ascended the stairs, she felt so peaceful in his arms; in the cool night air she could almost forget her pain…