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News that the mansion had been sold spread like wildfire in Suburbia, long before the purchaser had ever set foot in the town.

Gossip was at the heart of Suburbia. Many liked to claim it was the close knit community or the spirit of good-will that bonded neighbors. And those many were the first to dial every number within their phone-books when news reached them. Good, bad, or simply strange- it didn't matter. Mr. Peterson's daughter, involved in a car accident after a night of underage drinking, was just as important as the pair of shoes Mrs. Jenkins had the nerve to parade around in at her age, a garish shade of orange and 53, respectively.

However, every so often, a tidbit of news was more exceptional than the rest of the dribble, and warranted more speculation. And the fact that abandoned mansion atop the mountain- a place of two murders and supposed hauntings -had been purchased was one of those instances.

The young were rather creative in their musings of who the potential buyer could be: a dashing, rich bachelor lonely and eager for love; a thief in need of a little town where he might lie low for awhile, bearing the fresh spoils of his chosen trade, lonely and eager for love; or perhaps even a vampire, ancient and white, also quite lonely and eager for love.

The adults believed they were closer to mark, as Janet Lanes had a brother who was a friend of the husband of the real estate agent: an older actor, looking for a quiet town where he might settle down; a beautiful model tired of her life in the fast lane; or a newly-risen pop-idol, buying their first piece of property and, consequentially, lonely and eager for love.

The old just shook their head and gave dark looks whenever the topic was addressed in their presence.

Though some had been less far from the truth than others, none had been correct in their deductions. But, by the time the bright, yellow taxi had reached the fallen, rusted gates that marked the beginning of the path leading up to the mansion, everyone within a ten mile radius had a good idea of what the purchaser looked like, as the driver had pulled over to ask Marybeth Mavis directions, thereby giving her a chance to get a good look at the person in the backseat.

The person was a woman, reasonably tall and quite thin, as far as Marybeth could tell. Her hair was blond and cut in a sleek bob, the tips curling gently around her jaw, with a dusting of bangs sweeping across her brow. She sat with her back painfully straight, arms folded and legs crossed, with an expression of either disdain or deep thought, or perhaps disdain at the deep thoughts, playing across her features and tugging at the corners of her mouth. Over-sized sunglasses rested on the bridge of her angular nose, hiding her eyes.

The most noteworthy discovery had been the woman's attire. Her outfit was nothing Suburbia could have ever spawned, having easily beaten Mrs. Jenkins' shoes in scandalous ranking. A golden halter top shimmered even in the shade of the taxi's roof, and a fluffy, cream colored fur coat was secured around her slender shoulders. A clingy, leopard print skirt clad her lower-half, though considering it was cut above mid-thigh, perhaps 'lower half' might have been the wrong term. Black fishnets continued down her lean legs and ended in a pair of white, platform boots.

Marybeth Mavis was at her front door seconds after the taxi had started on its way again, and it was only about fifteen minutes before the new rumors had begun. It appeared their former predictions had been wrong. Suburbia was either host to a fashion-designer, an active prostitute, or the wife of a Mafia hit-man.

These speculations weren't correct either, but then, it would be some time before anyone got it right, so what did it matter?

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Miss Hedwig Robinson's generously painted lips parted and she gave a faint sigh for her own benefit, as she hadn't bothered exchanging anything more than the necessary conversation with her only companion, Bill, the taxi's driver.

Eight months, it had been.

Eight months since Tommy Gnosis and she had shared a limousine ride that ended in career death for the idol and career birth for herself.

Seven and a half months since it had been acknowledged that she deserved credit and royalties for her work, for all of her songs that Tommy Gnosis had pawned off as his own, and had used to become a sell-out, soft-rock music icon.

Seven months since the first and last album release of Hedwig and the Angry Inch.

Five months since the final performance, the final farewell to her band-mates, and her abandonment of the limelight...

It hadn't been very beautiful or wonderful, under that light, she'd quickly come to realize. It wasn't warm, comforting, or fulfilling there; it had been very cold, lonely, and empty, in fact.

She hadn't felt any more whole to know that she'd managed everything she'd set out to accomplish. It hadn't made Tommy realize the mistakes of his youth, it hadn't brought him loving and apologetic to her side, and it certainly hadn't made her any less bitter about Fate's careless handling of her life.

The once-songstress was jostled out of her thoughts as the cab eased over the broken gates that marked the edge of her newly acquired property, and she took note that she'd have to replace said gates.

Hedwig's lips twisted into the semblance of a wry smirk as the taxi wound its way slowly up the long driveway. Suburbia- a little, unobtrusive town, a good two hours drive from any major city. The irony of living somewhere that was only a slight improvement to Junction City wasn't lost to her.

But five months wasn't nearly enough time to wash away the fame that she'd achieved, or to regain her sense of self. And.. she wasn't ready to face her former band-mates. It made sense for her to take up residency in a place that would afford her privacy- and who would think to look for her here, of all places?

And, at least she could now support herself without have to resort to her old methods of income. The settlement she'd received guaranteed that regaining a gag-reflex no longer mattered.

She briefly entertained the idea of never leaving her mansion, so as to never have to interact with Suburbia's population, and found that the notion wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"Ma'am? There's a second gate, doesn't look like it can be opened."

Wordlessly, Hedwig let herself out of the taxi and retrieved her luggage, four suitcases, from the trunk. Once it had been loaded onto a small, metal pull-cart, and she had handed the appropriate payment through the driver side window to the man, she started toward the vine covered and gargoyle protected gates.

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Edward didn't know the passage of time like the residents of Suburbia might, or like anyone else on this world. Naturally, he registered the beginning and ending of the days, or noticed the growing layers of dust that coated all the unused machinery within the mansion walls, and understood that the sculpted bushes needed to be maintained, if he wished for them to keep their shape.

Seeing the passage of time, and actually feeling it were two different things. It might have been only a few months since circumstance had forced him back into solitude, or it might have been years, decades. He didn't know.

He did understand one concept very clearly, however. In order to assure his safety, things mustn't change; that was why he'd never again left the mansion and the surrounding grounds. That was why Kim hadn't come to visit him after that night.

No one had set foot on the top of the mountain after that night, except the police and the other men in uniform, and that had only been to retrieve Jim... Those men hadn't bothered going into the mansion, where Edward had hidden in the attic, watching them through the gaps in the old wood.

But, once again, after so much or perhaps so little time had passed, he found himself crouched down in the corner of the attic room, peering out over the grounds and feeling distress well up within him so that his scissor hands twitched and cut at the air and his eyes grew large and fearful.

Suitcases- one, two, three, four -were squeezed through the widest slit in the gates, followed promptly by a foot, then a leg, then a hand and shoulder and then the entire person was standing in the courtyard, moving through the snow to right her luggage on a small rack.

She had blond hair, and it made him think of Kim.. But he knew it wasn't her; it wasn't the same shade and it was far too short... And Kim couldn't come back- no one was supposed to visit.

His blades moved and scraped a little faster when he saw that she intended to enter the mansion, pausing only to admire the snow-dusted shapes of the stag, the squirrel, the hand along the way.

Edward drew back from the sight, stretching up out of a crouch and shuffling in spot when he heard the heavy front door creaking open, worried gaze darting about the room, over the ice sculptures, down to the fallen rubble of the decaying roof, and toward his little mattress tucked away in the fireplace wallpapered with articles and magazine clippings.

There wasn't anywhere to hide.

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Stepping into the spacious entrance hall and sliding off her sunglasses, Hedwig's steps slowed as she took in the sight before her.

Everything was gray. From the floor, to the walls, to the grand staircase- perhaps that was why the exterior had been so well prepared. Maybe it was the real estate agent's way of apologizing for the appalling state of the interior.

Further inspection showed that the floor was actually tiled, white and black checkers, and was only coated in a large amount of dust, which left one to wonder what the true color of everything else was.

Cobwebs were cast in thick blankets over statues and furniture, though from the looks of the work tables and neglected machinery, the mansion had doubled as a factory back in its prime.

Hedwig certainly had her work cut out for her. It would take weeks, months even, to clean and renovate. Then again, didn't she have all the time in the world?

Forgoing exploration of the ground level in favor of the bathrooms and bedrooms that made up the second floor, the musician started up the long stairwell, sighing and shaking her head at the chandelier caked with grime.

When she reached the top, she halted mid-step, setting her booted foot cautiously back to the floorboard, her body arching gracefully to stare up the second, smaller flight of stairs.

And there it was again- the sound of scissors. Snipping. The noise, faintly echoing in the background, as if there were a group of scissors all in motion, all ready to start cutting off pieces to divide among the greedy, demanding more and more until there was nothing--

Hedwig blinked rapidly, her false lashes beating like butterfly wings against her skin, and she forced a short laugh, throaty and low, even as she steadied her hands. It would definitely do her good to stay here, away from everyone, to figure out where it was that she now stood with herself. Little things shouldn't effect her so, especially not the noises of an old, run down mansion.

Head high, features relaxed into a self-chiding, hinting of a smile, she started up the stairs that led to where she'd heard the sound, to force herself to face her discomfort and find the source, likely nothing more than scraping branches against a window, or something cliche to that effect.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Even though he'd been expecting it, Edward couldn't help his cringe at the sound the woman made upon discovering him.

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This is a Hedwig and the Angry Inch / Edward Scissorhands crossover. You don't need to have seen or even heard of Hedwig to enjoy or understand this fic- if you don't know of her, it's easy to treat the character like you would any other that isn't cannon/from the movie. Her backstory, personality, etc. works into the story just as another character's would.

Anywho, please review if you've spent time reading through the chapter!

- Zangai