A/N: I both love and hate this chapter. I love it because it came out all on its own with hardly any input from me, but I hate it because at the end it's sketchier than I wanted, but then it seems right. Meh, I don't know.

Also, sorry, sorry, sorry it took so long to finish this off. Yes, this is the final chapter of Love Lies Bleeding. Don't worry, there's a sequel planned called Naivety Is Bliss, but it won't be out for a while. At least not until I'm well on with I Doubt If Anyone Would Know. Now, please read and review! See if you can spot the reference to another of my fics.

Love Used Wilfully

I walked down to the shop, not entirely sure what I was going to do, but knowing that something had to be done. In the back of my mind I toyed with the idea of even apologising to the woman, but forced myself not to acknowledge the idea entirely. Sweeney Todd never forgave, never forgot, and most certainly never apologised.

I glanced through the windows before going through the door and saw her making up the pies quite happily, even humming a tune, and I was about to turn around and go back upstairs, secure in the knowledge that she hadn't taken anything to heart, when I noticed everything about her seemed a little… strained. Frazzled. For once I actually looked at the woman, taking in everything.

Red hair. Not ginger, but a deep auburn-brown, amassed in a haphazard up do, with stray curls floating this way and that. It probably hadn't seen a brush in a while, for I'd yet to see her with it down. But then again Mrs Lovett didn't seem the sort of woman to primp. Not when there were pies to make, bodies to cut up, other jobs to do.

Eminently practical and always appropriate.

Her skin. White as milk, and lot less healthy. There wasn't even a hint of a healthy tinge to her cheeks, and the only colour on her face at all were two dark purple bags under her eyes, and a splatter of freckles across her nose.

Brown eyes. Chocolate, to be exact, and warm, yet… dulled. Hardened.

I closed my eyes for a moment and thought. Why was I taking the time to notice these things? Think, think.

Mrs Lovett. Nellie. I hadn't used her first name in so long that even thinking it seemed strange. She was… in the background. A necessary means to achieve the end I desired. She was bubbly, light-hearted – a lot of the time annoyingly so. She could never leave anything alone, but she was attentive, I had to admit, dedicated and strong. I couldn't think of another woman in London who would not only happily serve pies containing human meat to the people of London, but come up with the idea in the first place.

Benjamin Barker had considered her a good friend. What had been the reason for that?

Benjamin had thought her pretty, sat there on her doorstep polishing shoes, a spot of dirt on her nose, her hair almost charmingly tangled. He had considered her sweet, with her denial of attractiveness, and the way she had tried to see the sketch he had done of her before it was finished. That infinite curiosity.

I remembered.

An afternoon in Hyde Park. She had been watching the people go by. Benjamin had been reading. She'd asked about the book, and he'd realised she couldn't read. He'd begun to teach her.

Why?

Why did it matter? My thoughts went around in circles. I knew there was something about Eleanor Lovett that had attracted Benjamin Barker to her in the first place, something beyond simple curiosity. Perhaps if I knew what it was, I could be rid of these ridiculous feelings.

Although. I looked through the window again, hidden in the shadows. She was rolling pastry out for more pies.

She really is rather beautiful.

I shoved the thought out of my mind. I shouldn't – couldn't – be thinking like that. Lucy. Think of Lucy. Beautiful, perfect, angelic Lucy. I loved her. She was my wife. I loved her. I loved her. I loved her. If she had had any hold over Benjamin Barker, that would never have happened.

She was rather sad that night…

She'd cried, hadn't she? The night I came down after we told her. I'd not noticed, forced myself not to notice.

She'd cried. From… what?

Jealousy.

I smirked. Of course. Such a simple answer, right there all along! Now I could see it all. Benjamin Barker had approached her out of curiosity. The foolish, foolish woman. Not so practical, falling in love. Perhaps… yes, that was it! I'd known, somewhere, deep down. That was where the guilt came from, knowing how she felt, knowing that even so much as a sharp word hurt. Not that I cared. On the contrary, now I knew the source of all this, it would be so much easier to ignore. And now I knew for certain she would never back out, or anything else that might cause her to have an untimely end.

Mrs Lovett, what a charming notion, and while not so practical, in this case it is extremely appropriate. A certain guarantee.

"Love?"

I started and glanced sharply to my left, seeing Mrs Lovett there, a concerned expression on her face, her face half in shadow.

"Yes?" I struggled to keep up my normal cold demeanour, and fighting to urge to smirk, knowing her secret.

"Are you all right? Only you've been out 'ere for a good ten minutes o' more, an' you've got the strangest expression on your face."

So she'd noticed. Perhaps she was smarter than I gave her credit for.

"I'm perfectly fine, Mrs Lovett." I muttered. Then I had an idea, and a smirk did come, but I did not heed the possible warning it would give. Oh, how easy it would be to cement that guarantee even more. Just one action, and… It was perfect.

There wasn't even much feeling in it. Just a brief brush of the lips, so fleeting it was barely there. Yet it was long enough to taste. I took a second to process it, and recognised the taste from so many years ago. Herbs, and something else… something new… Ah. Bay rum. Mrs Lovett had eaten one of her own pies.

"M-Mr T?" Her eyes were so shocked I wondered idly for a moment if they would actually pop out. "W-What-?"

I cut her off neatly.

"Perfectly fine." I repeated. I felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that in some small way, even though Mrs Lovett meant almost nothing to me, I'd betrayed my wife, but I put that to rest by arguing that it had been a necessary action.

It wasn't. You know it wasn't. She was already in love with you. You didn't need to kiss her.

Shut up.

You wanted to.

SHUT UP!

I pulled away form the hand she'd laid on my arm, and climbed the stairs rapidly, ignoring the plaintive cry she emitted. It had rained earlier, I noted absently, and the scent of wet hung in the air, like fresh earth and mould – almost sweet, in a way, and not as fresh as one would expect. Water splattered the stairs, but I paid the puddles no heed.

Until one foot slipped.

Until I lost my footing before I could clutch the handrail.

Before she screamed.

Before the pain.

Before the familiar blackness.

Before the blackness she'd saved me from.

Before the death she'd prevented so I could gain what was mine.

Please save me.