Notes: Still not dead. Though I did have to dig through several boxes of crap to find the original draft for this chapter... It seems longer than it should be, and yet I'm not sure if this really ends it... Your opinion?

-

A mix of desolation and prosperity sprawled out before him, dimly lit by the street lamps that lined the road. Posters peeled from the side of buildings that were long overdue for whitewashing. Judge Turpin strode through the streets with a purpose, swagger stick at his side. He had tried to contact Beadle Bamford before he left but the man was a no-show and the clock was ticking. For all he knew the boy had arrived already and the barber would be trying very hard to persuade the kidnapper to lay low at the shop rather than dash off into the night and anonymity. The boy would pay for his crimes to the full extent of the law... Or, far more satisfying, he would pay with his own flesh, the debt taken out of him with a sound thrashing. The Judge intended to break his cane upon the boy's back. And as for Johanna... If the girl had yet to learn her lesson, she would be put right back where she had come from.

The lights were off in the pie shop downstairs when Turpin arrived. The courtyard was empty. Only a slight lingering smell of pastry and meat hinted that the shop had been open at all tonight. The Lovett woman must have closed early. Very sensible, Judge Turpin agreed, no doubt the barber had told her and she had shut early to avoid a scandal.
Mr. Todd met him when the Judge was only half way up the stairs. He looked anxious, his hair even wilder than usual. For such a skilled barber, the man didn't seem to take much pride in his own appearance.

"Judge Turpin," Mr. Todd greeted him with a murmur. "The boy is upstairs."

"Thank you, Mr. Todd," the Judge replied, passing the barber on the stair. He trotted up the last few steps and opened the door, shock running through him when he saw that the barber shop was empty.

A sharp click behind him was the lock on the door turning. Judge Turpin spun on his heel to face the barber, faltering at the wild light in the other man's eyes. "What -" the Judge began, a cold shiver rushing over his skin as the barber caressed the blade that was suddenly in his hand. "What is the meaning of this?"

"You don't remember me," Mr. Todd rumbled, his voice an eerie growl. He smiled, cold and harsh, and opened his razor to admire its shine. "But I intend to be the last thing you see. You'll remember me yet, Judge Turpin, before you die."

The man wasn't joking. All Turpin had to defend himself with was his cane. He looked about for a better weapon amongst the pots and brushes but Todd had already taken all of the razors. The man had planned this, that much was obvious. For once in his life without words, Judge Turpin bolted for the door. Sweeney Todd met him in the middle with an outstretched razor and a cold grin. Pain sliced into his wrist, blood spurting. Turpin felt his fingers go limp, dropping the cane that was his only defense - Todd had cut to the bone, severing muscle and tendons. A kick pushed him back to the centre of the room. Turpin stumbled, clutching his wrist, and fell into the strangely sinister chair where all of Todd's customers met those silver blades.

"Lucy Barker," Mr. Todd growled, stalking forwards with a blade in each hand, Turpin's blood already staining one of his sleeves. "Johanna Barker." That name was a roar. "Do you remember what you did to Johanna's mother?"

A cold, icy clarity trickled through Turpin's veins, dripping out of his wrist and through his fingers to drip onto the leather chair where he sat, trapped by a madman.

"Benjamin," Mr. Todd continued, his razor slowly raising to press against Turpin's throat. "Benjamin Barker. Do you remember what you did to him?"

"Dear God," Turpin choked, recognition flooding him. Beneath the scowl, the lines on his face and the wild grey-streaked hair the remnants of Benjamin Barker peered out at him through angry eyes.

"There is no God," Todd/barker hissed, slowly sliding the razor across Turpin's throat; "Not where you're going."

Blood blossomed against skin, a slow cascade washing down the Judge's neck and soaking his clothes. The barber pulled a lever and sudden the chair was tilting. The Judge kept staring at that suddenly recognisable face even as he fell through the shaft in the floor. He hit the basement at a strange angle, cracking his shoulder rather than his head. The bone fractured, muscles screaming in pain. Judge Turpin, still aware and alive, slowly rolled his head to the side to see where he had landed.

Mrs. Lovett was standing in front of a stained wooden table in the basement kitchen of her shop, cleaver in hand as she deftly sliced the last good meat from someone's bones. Toby had disappeared into the dark maze of the sewers with a sack of guts and fat; There was too much from the Beadle to just throw down into the shallow waters beneath the shop. It needed deeper water or it would never wash away.
Mrs. Lovett was talking to herself, too used to the sound of bodies falling to even look over her shoulder. "...wonder how long it will be," she was saying. "Can't be long now, can it?"

Judge Turpin watched dumbly as the woman threw the bones into a pile by the big oven, then carried the scraps of meat to a huge metal grinder. He felt delirious. it didn't quite match up somehow, he couldn't imagine why he would have wound up here.
Mrs. Lovett bustled past, her skirts brushing his good hand. Despite his broken shoulder, Turpin latched on. Blood dripped from his neck and onto the floor as he pulled himself up a little to look at her. He tried to form words, to demand her help, but all that came out was a disgusting gurgle and a spray of blood.

Mrs. Lovett screamed. She wrenched her skirts from his grip, kicking him in the face with the toe of her boot. The Judge fell to the floor again, the edges of his vision beginning to lose focus. His hands were starting to feel numb, he could barely feel his lower half. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Mrs. Lovett still screaming.

A door burst open somewhere and Turpin watched Todd - no, Barker - enter, still covered in his blood. The man went straight to Lovett, taking hold of her arms and talking at her until she could breathe enough to say something. The baker pointed in his direction. Turpin's vision greyed. He blinked. When he next opened his eyes it was to Todd's feet right in front of him. Turpin gurgled, a rattling whisper struggling to pass his lips.

"Barker..." he said.

Then something crashed against his skull. That moment, and every moment since, Judge Turpin felt nothing.

-

Mrs. Lovett pressed a hand firmly against her chest, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. Mr. Todd stood by the corpse of Judge Turpin, looking like a man who had felt God for the first time, face tipped up towards the ceiling, a serene look upon his face.
Mrs. Lovett forced herself to move. She wiped her hands on her skirt before gripping the iron handle on the oven door. The hinges creaked a little, the door opening with a wave of heat that swept across the basement. Mrs. Lovett turned and stepped to the side, standing by the bones and the open door with one hand still on the iron, posed like she was on stage.

"Mr. Todd," she spoke softly.

The barber stiffened, turned, and regarded her with a strange look. Mrs. Lovett gestured to the open door, eyebrows raising. Mr. Todd smiled at her, his eyes glinting in understanding. Better get rid of this one quick, just in case. Just to make it final. The barber hauled the Judge up,dragging him across the room with hands under the corpse's armpits. He threw the corpse into the open oven, watching the man's hair and clothes begin to char even as Mrs. Lovett pushed the door shut. For a moment, the baker and the barber simply stared at each other, neither one with anything to say. Then Mr. Todd laughed.

He swept her up, one hand on her waist, the other grabbing her wrist, and spun her into a sudden dance. Mrs. Lovett grasped his hand in hers and laughed with him, thrilled to see him smiling at her - at her and not just some new idea. They had just completed one circuit of the room when a voice piped up from the grate in the floor.

"So is it over then?" Toby asked, rather bemused to return from his errand to see Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett spinning around the room in a dance without music. "It went well and everything?"

The pair spun to a halt, faces flushed. Mrs. Lovett patted her hair, then her dress, and finally cleared her throat. "I think we all deserve a celebration," she said, smiling at Toby. "How about we all go upstairs for some tea?"

Toby shrugged, sliding the grate back to its proper place. Tea sounded fine to him. Especially if it would keep those two from dancing again. It was one thing to know that both Mr. Todd and Mrs. Lovett were a little bit mad, another thing entirely to actually see them cantering about the room like loonies.

-

The atmosphere upstairs was different than usual. Mrs. Lovett led them both to the parlour before skipping away to put a kettle on. She returned wearing a clean apron over her blood-stained skirts and carrying a small towel for Mr. Todd's hands. "Here you are, dear," she said, "best clean up those hands of yours."

Mr. Todd took the cloth without a thought and began carefully wiping the Judge's blood from his hands. He took out his razors a moment later and began to clean them too, meticulously wiping the smears of drying blood from their shining surface. When they were clean, Mrs. Lovett took the cloth from him and tucked it into one of her pockets, offering him a fond smile. "Now this is all over," she said, looking between him and the boy, "we can forget the Judge ever existed. We could even be like a family. Move to the sea," Mrs. Lovett continued, looking wistful, "open up a lovely new shop. Or a hotel. I wouldn't mind owning a hotel..."

Mr. Todd frowned, looking at her reflection in the blade of his favourite razor. She was a dark smudge of a dress, with a splash of cream and a tumble of dark red around her face. He snapped the blade shut and looked away. He didn't want to listen to her talking like this all of a sudden. Her talk of forgetting, of a new family... Before he had even realised it, Mr. Todd was on his feet, backing Mrs. Lovett against the wall.

"You can't replace her." Todd's words reverberated throughout the parlour, his eyes glowing with a hellish light, lit from within like the oven fire that even now consumed the physical traces of his insanity. He held his now-open razor to her throat and yanked her head back by her hear, excited and yet disgusted to see the frightened look in her eyes and the shine of silver against her creamy skin. "You will never replace her." A low hiss this time, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

Mrs. Lovett was beside herself. She had feared him sometimes, her Mr. Todd, a little fear for a man like him was healthy. But she had not expected this, not now, not when the mood had been so light only seconds before. Her dark chocolate eyes were so wide that white showed all around the iris. Her mouth and throat worked to produce a sound - any sound.

"Mr. T," she gasped finally, the scrape of his razor against her throat making her voice breathy, "I would never think to replace your Lucy! We could have a life together -" a sudden sting, the razor edge pressing harder warned to her a correction "-If! If we had a life together, I couldn't replace her even then. She's in too deep there, close to your heart, she can never go away." Mrs. Lovett took a breath, feeling a trickle of blood cool against her skin. If nothing she could say would placate this fire in him she was dead, and Toby too most likely. Poor Toby, who stood by the table, frozen in horror - unable to make a move unless Mr. Todd pushed the razor through her flesh before she could be freed.

If Nellie Lovett was going to die, she had no reason not to say what was on her mind. "But would she still love you now? Can you see her, the idea of her what you hold so dear, being able to love you, Sweeney Todd?"

Mr. Todd flinched as if she had slapped him. His gaze dropped from hers, only to find himself following the small, wet, red trail of blood on her skin. The trail flowed down her neck, over her collar bone, and down towards the tops of her breasts where they curved enticingly from her bodice. His eyes snapped back to hers in defiance. Mr. Todd didn't want to notice that she was a woman, or to remember that night that he had walked in on her when she was undressing. He didn't want to imagine that somehow he might view her with any kind of attraction or admiration. He hated her, loathed her, saw her as a means to and end. He had no friends, he wanted to lovers. He had no purpose, and he wanted only... "Lucy."

"Can you remember her, Mr. Todd?" Mrs. Lovett pressed, her face strangely sympathetic for a woman about to die. Mr. Todd looked away, finding his gaze now upon the boy - an annoyance. A thorn in his side and small, trifling nuisance that made Mrs. Lovett smile. "Can you remember more than the idea of her? Would your Lucy still love a murder?" There was a long pause. The words sank through him, creating ripples somewhere inside his chest in a place where it hurt to look. "Mr. Todd... Mr. Todd, look at me."

A gentle, heavy hand as white as flour touched his without trying to push the blade form her skin. Mr. Todd turned his face back to hers, compelled by the sound of her voice, the tiny mote of reason that could penetrate his fits and strange turns of catatonia.

"Mr. Todd," Mrs. Lovett said firmly, fear, sympathy and defiance in her eyes. "I love you, you silly man."

Words penetrated the fog and the light drained from his eyes. Shoulders drooped, both arms falling limp by his sides. A light went on inside Mr. Todd's head, illuminating the uncomfortable truth that he'd sought to hide from himself. Murderer. Madman. Heartless fiend who killed without pity or remorse, delighting in the idea of death. What good was left to him? He had no warmth. A smile, a simple thing, felt alien and uncomfortable on his face. He couldn't even blame revenge anymore. The Judge was dead, but he could still feel no remorse. Mr. Todd could kill a hundred men and never so much as bat an eyelid.

Lucy Barker was dead and so was Benjamin. In his place stood a man made of stone, cold marble riddles with cracks and faults, horns hidden only by wild, untamed hair.

With nothing left, Sweeney Todd found that he couldn't even cry. "Nell..."

Mr. Todd slumped forward, his forehead brushing hers. He felt her hands as they steadied him, deceptively thin, strong arms steering him in some unknown direction. Mr. Todd couldn't recall sitting down, but when he next glanced up he was in a chair, his razor lying innocently on the top of the table before him. hr picked it up, looked at it a moment, then put it where it belonged, in its holster by his side.

It was like waking up, how he suddenly heard voices coming from the shop front and its kitchen.

"...I thought he was going to kill you!"

"Nonsense, Toby. Don't talk silly. Mr. T didn't even nick me skin, not really."

"Don't nonsense me, ma'am!" Toby replied, still sounding upset. "I saw how you was looking!"

"That's enough, Toby," Mrs. Lovett replied firmly. "Now pick up those heels. I'll be in with the tea."

Mr. Todd heard the clink of teacups and the sound of water being poured. The distinctive click of Mrs. Lovett's heels followed, alongside the softer footsteps of the boy. Mr. Todd looked up to see Mrs. Lovett coming in with a tea tray, a teapot and three cups balanced on the slightly tarnished silver. Toby followed with a plate of small sandwiches and a smaller plate of sweet biscuits.

Mrs. Lovett placed her tray down on the card table, a flush bringing colour to her cheeks. "I thought we might still have a spot of tea," she explained, "since it's past dinnertime and none of us have eaten."

Mr. Todd stared at her, his face as blank as a new piece of slate. He stared as she sat down and poured out tea into their cups, and continued staring as Toby took a seat beside her and popped a biscuit into his mouth whole. "Thank you," Mr. Todd said finally, as stiff as if he had never said the words before in his life.

"You're welcome," Mrs. Lovett replied pleasantly, offering him the plate of sandwiches.

Mr. Todd selected one, shocked by how surreal this entire scene felt to him. He took a bite without tasting what he was eating and gave his tea much the same treatment. "Mrs. Lovett," he said, pausing for a moment when he realised the both she and Toby had been waiting for him to speak. "I confess, I hadn't given much thought to what I ought to do now..."
He tapered off into silence, eyes moving back and forth between Mrs. Lovett and the boy. It struck him as strange that the boy was sitting across from him as if nothing unusual had happened. "Aren't you afraid of me?" Mr. Todd found himself asking, rather skeptically.

Toby shook his head, swallowing a good mouthful of food before speaking; "No sir. I know what you done and that you're a dangerous man, but I'm not scared of you. Not exactly. Anyway," the boy said, reaching for another biscuit, "I'm supposed to stay here and take care of Mrs. Lovett and if you kill her I'll kill you. So it's all fair I guess, isn't it?"

Mr. Todd looked at Mrs. Lovett, who was shaking her head at the boy. "Mrs. Lovett..."

Nellie Lovett smiled at him, pressing another sandwich into his hand. "We have a nice set up here," she told him, giving her opinion, "with a little bit of work this place could be real pretty. We've got a good business, money coming in regular like, if we fix up your attic room a bit we'd be looking right respectable. Pies is very saleable and this is a good location. I say we stay right here, luv. At least for now."

Mr. Todd looked down at the sandwich in his hand, unable to recall when the first had disappeared. Suddenly he felt ravenous, consumed by physical hunger that he hadn't felt in years, not since the burning hunger for revenge had crept into his mind. Such a human need made him feel slightly better about his lack of remorse. Mr. Todd couldn't say why, but it began to finally occur to him that this was who he was now. Perhaps he was cold, a killer who had lost his sanity long ago, but he was human still. Mr. Todd's lips twisted, twitching into a strange, unfamiliar smile. "Very well," he said, looking across at Mrs. Lovett, "on the condition that you sell the Beadle at half price. Nobody is going to pay much for anything so foul."

"The Beadle?" Toby said, surprising Mr. Todd with how casual he sounded. "That's all fat, that is."

"We'll put it on special," Mrs. Lovett decided, "and pretend its for some special occasion."

-

A bell sounded from the shop front, drawing the conversation to an abrupt end. "Mr. Todd?" a familiar voice called. "Mrs. Lovett? There was no-one at the shop upstairs, so I..." Anthony appeared in the doorway, stopping short at the strange domestic scene laid out in front of him. "Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Mrs. Lovett smiled, getting to her feet. "Nonsense. We were only having a spot of tea. I'll wager everyone here finds this a sight more important."

"Johanna?" Mr. Todd asked suddenly, his throat so tight that his voice came out a strange croak. Hands clenched tight without regard for tea-time refreshments, hunger immediately forgotten.

"She's in the carriage outside," Anthony replied, giving Mr. Todd a rather odd look. "I came in to tell you that we were leaving, and to thank you for all that you've done. Mr. Todd...?"

All eyes were on the barber. Mr. Todd looked as if he had slipped into another bout of catatonia. He blinked at Anthony. "I knew her father," Mr. Todd said gruffly. "Benjamin Barker. He was a barber."

Things connected for Anthony. He looked at his friend in surprise, watching Mrs. Lovett lean over to pat the barber's hand. "That story that you told me," Anthony realised, "when we first landed in London. That was about him, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Mr. Todd frowned, looking reflective for a moment. He nodded at Anthony. "He would have liked you," the barber said finally.