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Chapter Text

"'Ere's to unrequited love,” Nellie Lovett muttered to herself as she downed another glass of gin. Tears filled her dark brown eyes as she thought about Sweeney Todd, and she tried desperately to blink them back. It pained her to think that he would never see her in the same way that she saw him. She was just his landlady and partner-in-crime, nothing more and nothing less. It broke her heart, but she knew there was nothing she could do to change his mind. He was such a stubborn man and all he ever thought about was getting revenge for Lucy and Johanna. He would barely ever say a word to her or even acknowledge her presence.

Just as she was about to pour out another glass, she frowned when she realised the bottle was now empty. "Did I finish it already?" Nellie wondered aloud to herself before turning to search the cupboards. Her frown remained on her pale features as she soon discovered that she was, indeed, out of gin. That's odd, she was sure she had another bottle left. Who had taken it?

Nellie suddenly stopped her frantic search as she thought about it; it had to be either Toby or Mr. Todd. Now she just had to find out who was the culprit. Knowing Toby was probably asleep by now, Nellie decided to go upstairs to confront the barber. Maybe this time he would actually speak to her.

"Mistah T!" She called out as she stumbled into the shop.

Sweeney Todd was immediately pulled out of his daily thoughts of revenge and Lucy and jumped in surprise at the unexpected visit. He turned to glare darkly at the woman who had just disturbed him. Nellie didn't even flinch at his burning gaze as she was very much used to it by now and instead decided to take a few steps further into the barber shop.

"What are you doing here, Mrs. Lovett?" Sweeney's voice was low and dangerous, but this still didn't scare Nellie.

"I know it was you!" Nellie accused, pointing a finger at the man in front of her.

Sweeney continued to glare at her as he quickly approached her and could instantly smell the alcohol on her breath. "I have no idea what you're talking about, you crazy woman!”

Nellie could barely keep herself upright and her vision was blurred. "Don't pretend ya don't bloody well know, ya stole my gin didn't ya?"

Sweeney narrowed his eyes on her. "If I remember correctly, Mrs. Lovett, you told me I could have it."

"Yeah, well I've changed me mind." Nellie told him as she stumbled further into the room.

Sweeney caught her by the arm as she nearly tumbled to the ground. "I think you've had enough for one night."

Nellie caught sight of the gin bottle on a desk a few feet away from her. "I highly disagree with ya on that one, Mr. T," She said as she yanked her left arm free from his grip. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm goin' to collect what's mine."

A few moments later, Nellie found herself landing on the ground with a loud thud. "Ouch! That 'urt, that did."

Sweeney watched as his landlady collided with the ground before he even had the chance to register what was happening. "Silly woman, serves you right," He muttered to himself.

Nellie suddenly burst into fits of laughter. "That was actually quite funny, Mr. T."

Sweeney only stared icily at her, seemingly annoyed by her antics.

Nellie had tears in her eyes as she continued to laugh heartily. "Oh, lighten up, will ya? Sometimes you remind me of a bloody statue."

Sweeney ignored her remark and leaned down to offer his hand out to her. "Just get up."

Nellie looked up at him and giggled. "Calm down, Mr. T, it was funny."

Sweeney could feel his patience was running very thin at this point. "It was nothing of the sort, Mrs. Lovett. Now get up."

That stern tone of voice Sweeney used meant that he was done joking around. Normally, Nellie would realise this and leave. However, as she was under the influence of alcohol, she suddenly thought up an idea and smirked to herself. "All right, all right, I'm gettin' up." She reached out to grab his hand and instead of allowing him to pull her up, using all of her strength, she yanked Sweeney down with her. Nellie erupted into another fit of laughter as she watched Sweeney tumble to the ground beside her.

Before he knew it, Sweeney found himself lying next to her on the hard ground. He certainly wasn't expecting it and was caught completely off guard. He was now glaring daggers at her and was not finding any of her drunken antics amusing in the slightest.

"You need to get some gin down ya love, maybe then you'll learn to laugh a little," Nellie said in between giggles.

Sweeney could feel his patience was running thin. "No thank you, Mrs. Lovett."

Nellie suddenly stopped laughing and slowly turned to face Sweeney with an unknown look in her eyes. Sweeney had locked eyes with her and was finding it difficult to pull away from her piercing gaze.

Nellie grinned at him. "Mr. Todd, you've been rather naughty, 'aven't ya?"

Sweeney stared at her in utter confusion. "What on earth are you going on about now?"

"I think you need to be punished for stealin' me gin, love."

"As I’ve previously stated, Mrs. Lovett, I didn't steal your precious gin! It was you who gave-" Sweeney didn't get the chance to finish what he was saying as he felt another pair of lips had suddenly and unexpectedly collided with his own.

Nellie knew very well that if it hadn't been for all the Gin she had drank earlier, never would she have had the courage to do what she was doing now. This was all the Gin's doing. It was all the Gin's fault. It wasn't hers. At least, that was what she told herself.

Nellie was surprised to discover that Sweeney had not yet pulled away, so she leaned in closer and deepened the kiss. Sweeney found himself shutting his eyes and allowing her to kiss him. He didn't know why, and had even found himself returning the kiss when he suddenly came to his senses and quickly pulled away. What would his Lucy think? He had betrayed her.

Sweeney quickly stood up and roughly pulled Mrs. Lovett up with him, not caring if he hurt her anymore. "What do you think you're playing at?!" He pulled his razor out from his pocket and held it against her throat. "Don't ever try that again."

Nellie looked up at Sweeney with fearful eyes. It was silent for a moment. "Don't deny that you didn't like it, Mr. T," She said in a soft, quiet voice.

Sweeney scowled at her. How dare she accuse him of such a thing? "Like it? I think you are highly mistaken, Mrs. Lovett. I couldn’t think of anything worse.”

Nellie couldn't hide her smirk. "Then why did ya kiss me back?"

Sweeney said nothing and only continued to glare at the persistent woman in front of him. He really didn’t know how to answer that question as he wasn’t sure why he did it either. Maybe he just desperately craved a woman’s touch after all the years he’d spent being alone.

Nellie leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Just go with the flow, Mr. T. I promise you'll enjoy it."

Sweeney shivered and could feel the sudden tightness in his trousers, but tried with all his strength to ignore it. Besides, the only reason he was aroused was because he hadn't done... that in so long. "I can assure you that I won't. And you are not my Lucy."

Nellie felt a sharp pain in her chest at these words but tried to forget about it for now. When she pressed her body against his, she knew he wanted it too. She could feel it. Literally.

"I may not be 'er, but that doesn't mean I couldn't satisfy your desires," Nellie seductively whispered in his ear again.

Sweeney froze and didn't know what to do. He knew that a part of him did want it for sexual purposes, but another part of him thought of his dear Lucy. It would be like a betrayal, whether she was alive or not. But at the same time, he didn't love Mrs. Lovett, so maybe Lucy would forgive him? After all, he would only be using the woman in front of him for his own selfish needs, not because he actually had feelings for her. Sweeney closed his eyes and tried to make a decision fast. His growing erection was becoming painful against the tight fabric of his trousers.

Nellie noticed this and slowly placed a hand over it. "I could always 'elp you out with that."

Sweeney fought back a groan and kept his eyes firmly shut. "I would prefer you to leave."

"Aww, ya don't really mean that, do ya, Mr. T?" Nellie pouted as she moved her hand over the prominent bulge in his trousers.

Sweeney gritted his teeth with his razor still clutched in his hand. "I do mean it." Honestly, who was he trying to convince? It was obvious what he wanted.

Nellie grinned and moved closer to place her lips on his neck. "Are you sure? I'm not entirely convinced that's what ya want, love," she whispered softly, as she began to leave a trail of kisses down his neck, making him shiver involuntarily.

Sweeney was finding it very difficult to focus on anything but where Mrs. Lovett's hand currently was.

"If you don't remove your hand from there, I will kindly remove it for you," Sweeney threatened, tightening his grip on the razor.

"Oh shut it, Mr. T." Nellie silenced him by crashing her lips against his again. She could feel him suddenly go completely still against her and he didn't return the kiss. This didn't discourage her, though, as she knew he was trying hard to resist her.

Nellie took the barber's hands, one of them still clutching tightly to his beloved razor, and placed them at her waist.

"You can touch me wherever ya like, deary," she whispered seductively in his ear.

Sweeney unwillingly shivered slightly again, hoping she wouldn't notice it. But she did.

"I don't bite." Nellie smirked and nipped at his ear gently. "Much."

Sweeney remained completely still like a statue, desperately wanting his now throbbing erection to disappear. Nellie could feel it pressed against her thigh and knew the dark man in front of her was just as aroused as she was.

Sweeney managed to control his breathing enough to whisper, "Leave." He winced slightly at the tone of his voice. It didn't sound intimidating at all, in fact he was even shaking a little. He seemed to have lost control of his voice. What was this woman doing to him?

Instead of answering, Nellie moved her lips back down to his neck where she began to suck on the skin there softly. As she did this, Sweeney felt one of her hands slip inside the front of his trousers and it was enough to make Sweeney drop his razor to the ground with a loud thud. He needed this, there was no denying it anymore. It had been a very long time since he was last intimate with a woman and he was craving it again now so badly. It wouldn’t be so bad if he gave in, would it? Just this once, at least.

With that thought in his mind, he wasted no time in grabbing her by the waist and pinning her against the wall. There was a lustful hunger in his eyes that Nellie had never seen before, and she had never felt so turned on in all her life.

“Are you sure you want this?” Sweeney asked her between heavy breaths. If she was serious about doing this, then he needed to know that she was definitely consenting to it.

It took a moment for Nellie to even register the question Sweeney was asking her, she couldn’t believe this was happening. Was she dreaming? Even if this was just a one off, she was going to make damn sure that she enjoyed every single second of it.

Nellie nodded. “Yes Mr. T, ‘course I do,” she answered softly. She was also struggling to catch her breath at this point.

With that being said, both suddenly wasted no time in frantically removing each other’s clothing. Nellie couldn’t quite believe it, she was starting to think maybe this was all a dream. A dream she would never want to wake up from. Once they were both fully undressed, Nellie wasted no time whatsoever in immediately getting down on her knees and looked up at the man in front of her. They locked eyes for a few moments that seemed like forever, before she took his erect and throbbing cock straight into her awaiting mouth.

Sweeney closed his eyes and couldn't help but let out a little grunt. It had been so long since he’d done anything like this and he had forgotten how good it felt. Nellie decided to start off slowly to tease him and she wanted to hear him beg for more.

She was savouring every second of this while it lasted.

“Fuck,” Sweeney muttered under his breath, while he grabbed a fistful of her hair. “Stop fucking teasing.”

Nellie suddenly stopped altogether and smirked up at him. “Now, now, Mr.T. There’s no need for that, all in good time my dear.”

Sweeney looked back at her with a glare. “Just get on with it.”

“What’s the magic word, Mr. T?”

There was a moment of silence, before Sweeney finally gave in. “Fine,” Sweeney rolled his eyes. “Please.”

“Now was that so hard, Mr.T?” Nellie asked with a wink.

Nellie wrapped her lips around his cock once more, this time picking up the pace and bobbing her head up and down as fast as she could.

Sweeney threw his head back in pleasure, letting out moans here and there. This felt so amazing and made him realise how much he missed being intimate with someone. Of course, Mrs Lovett was definitely not his Lucy, but she certainly knew what she was doing.

He tightened the grip he still had on her hair and used it to yank her back up. He wasted no time in picking her up and carrying her over to his bed.

“Hope you like it rough, Mrs Lovett,” Sweeney said as he threw her down onto the bed.

Nellie could feel her pussy throbbing just from hearing Sweeney say those words. “O-of course I do.”

“Good,” said Sweeney as he spread her legs wider than they already were, slowly inching his face closer to her aching clit. “You’re so wet for me,” Sweeney commented as he slid his tongue in between her wet folds.

“Mr. T,” Nellie moaned breathlessly as he slipped a finger inside of her. “That feels so… good.”

Sweeney was unable to reply as he still had his head pressed firmly between her legs, however he did respond by adding a second finger.

Nellie continued to let out loud moans as she squirmed around in pleasure. She brought one of her hands to his head where she ran her fingers through his hair.

Sweeney would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this. He knew this would be the one and only time with Nellie too, so he wanted to make the most of it. He would indulge just this once, but never allow himself to give in again. He couldn’t, he already felt as if he was betraying Lucy by giving in to his desires and needs.

“Sweeney…w-want you…in me, p-please,” Nellie pleaded, while struggling to even get her words out.

Sweeney smirked against her pussy, before moving away and looking down at her face.

“How badly do you want it, Mrs. Lovett?” He asked with a mischievous grin.

“M-more than anythin’, Mr. T!”

“Oh really, is that so?” He moved his cock to her entrance, slowly rubbing the tip of his penis up and down her sensitive clit.

“Please!” Nellie practically begged, her pussy aching and throbbing for his touch and to feel full. Whether this was a dream or reality, she desperately needed to feel him inside of her.

“Well, only because you asked me so nicely,” Sweeney said with a smirk and in one swift motion, he began to push himself inside of her.

Both of them moaned in unison at the feeling. It had been so long since either of them had been intimate with someone before and it felt absolutely incredible.

“Fuck!” Sweeney exclaimed, followed by a low groan as he slowly began to move in and out of her.

Nellie felt amazing, she felt so full and satisfied. She honestly never thought this day would come. Her liquid confidence really did work in the end. She was about to demand him to go faster and harder, but he did just that before she could even get the words out. Sweeney was now vigorously thrusting into her, going in as deep as he could and pulling out before slamming straight back into her pussy. He kept this rhythm going for a while, letting out groans every now and again while Nellie moaned very noisily beneath him.

Nellie placed her hands on his back, her nails digging in. “Oh my God!”

Sweeney smirked as he wrapped a hand around her throat. “I’m definitely not him.”

He continued to pound into her, putting every last bit of his energy into it. He was going to make damn sure he enjoyed this while it lasted, and he couldn’t deny that he loved hearing the sounds of pleasure she was making. Suddenly without warning, Sweeney pulled out of her and grabbed her arm, yanking her up. Before she could even ask him what he was doing, he spun her around and pushed her back down onto the bed.

“On your hands and knees, now! Face down and ass up!” Sweeney demanded with a growl.

Nellie complied straight away with his demands and let out a soft moan at the sound of Sweeney’s voice. It was such a turn on for her to be dominated by him. He landed a hard smack to her ass and she jumped a little, not expecting it. She couldn’t deny she enjoyed it though. Sweeney then grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my pet?” Sweeney purred into her ear.

Nellie felt a shiver run down her spine at his words and the tone of his voice. “Y-yes, Mr. T!”

“Well, you better enjoy it while it lasts then.” Without saying anything further, Sweeney positioned himself again and re-entered her.

It didn’t take him long before he picked up the pace again, still keeping a hand firmly gripped in her red, curly locks.

After a while, both Nellie and Sweeney could feel their orgasms building and knew it wouldn’t be long now. They were right as a couple minutes later, they both cried in pleasure as they finally came simultaneously. Nellie moaned uncontrollably as Sweeney released his full load deep inside her.

Sweeney pulled out and could feel his legs shaking. After a couple moments, he collapsed on the bed next to Nellie. No words were spoken as they both lay beside each other in silence. All that could be heard was the sound of their heavy breathing. When Sweeney finally got his breath back, he turned to Nellie to tell her to leave now but was surprised when he saw she was already fast asleep on his bed. He wanted to wake her up, demand her to get dressed and to go back downstairs, but something in him seemed to stop him from doing so. Instead, he made the decision to grab a blanket to cover up her exposed body with, before looking around the room for his own discarded clothes.

As Sweeney started to get dressed, his mind was racing with so many different thoughts. Part of him never wanted to do this again, but another part of him secretly did. He felt as though he had betrayed Lucy by giving in to his sexual desires, how could he do this to her? He felt ashamed of himself and his actions tonight. It was a moment of weakness, that’s all it was. She was offering herself so willingly to him, and he just lost control. That was all there was to it. It would never happen again. Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself over and over in his head. Sweeney began to pace back and forth, deep in his thoughts. He only came to a sudden stop when he decided he needed a drink. And a bloody strong one at that.

He poured himself a glass of gin, before sinking into his barber chair with a deep, heavy sigh. “What have I done?” Sweeney muttered quietly to himself, before taking a huge gulp of gin.

There were two things he knew for absolute certainty; he wasn’t going to get any sleep and it was going to be a very long night.

All this over some bloody gin.

Chapter Text

Sweeney didn’t remember climbing into bed after draping the blanket over her shoulders, but there he was, sitting on the edge of the mattress while the first pale light of dawn crept through the curtains. Nellie lay curled against the pillow, breaths slow and even, the rise and fall of her chest a gentle reminder of last night’s fervour, and of the walls he’d torn down in a single, reckless moment.

Sweeney’s coat lay discarded on the floor, still faintly stiff with blood and sweat. He traced the seam of her blanket with a finger, as if he could smooth away the chaos in his mind, and for a heartbeat he felt something like peace. Then the weight of what he’d done pressed back in; the heat of their bodies, the ragged whispers, the way she’d trembled against him when his walls finally fell.

He leaned closer, enough to catch the curve of her neck, the way a strand of hair had escaped her pins to brush her collarbone. His hand itched to tuck it back, to feel her warmth again, yet he kept it still, afraid to wake her and face the truth in her eyes.

Sleep had abandoned him. Instead, he sat in the hush, mind torn between regret and longing, replaying every moment until the candle guttered and the room grew grey with morning. And all the while, Nellie dreamed on, blissfully unaware that the man beside her had never known a night so fraught with both desire and dread.

He knew there was no chance of him getting any sleep after what had happened, so he had spent all night brooding on what he had done. Sweeney had many conflicted feelings and thoughts running through his mind and tried to convince himself it was just a bad dream, but her presence was proof that last night did, in fact, happen.

What have I done? How could I be stupid enough to give into my sexual desires and sleep with that woman? And most of all, why did I allow her to sleep here all night? I should’ve woken her up and told her to get back down those bloody stairs! One thing is for certain, this will never happen again and it does not mean anything. I merely used her for my own amusement and pleasure. But it is something I will not give in to again. I will pretend as if it never happened. There is and only ever will be one woman who owns my heart. Lucy. My dear, sweet Lucy. I’m so sorry I did this to you. I never meant to.

He felt sadness and anger bubble inside him at this thought. How could he be so reckless and stupid? How could he betray his dear Lucy like that? What would she think of him if she were still here? But of course, if she were still here then last night would never have happened in the first place. He hated himself and he deeply regretted his actions last night. It was a moment of weakness, an escape from his internal torment. Only now, he has to live with the regrets of his actions.

He was so deep in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice that Mrs. Lovett had stirred a little beside him.

Nellie’s eyelids fluttered against a weight in her skull, like hammers drumming. She forced herself upright, every nerve screaming from the night before’s libations. The room spun. Faint candlelight pooled on the bedside table, illuminating the sleeve of Sweeney’s coat that was damp with blood, and a quilt tucked around her legs she didn’t remember drawing up.

Ouch, me ‘ead ‘urts so much. That bloody gin! Why did I decide to drink so much?

Then it hit her like a ton of bricks as the realisation dawned on her.

What have I done? Panic flared in her chest as she touched her throat, tasting copper on her tongue. She glanced around; a straight razor lay on the chair, her discarded slippers in the corner. Why the 'ell am I in Sweeney Todd’s room? And on ‘is bed, for that matter? She tried to drag memory from the haze, his voice, his hands, her laughter… or was that delirium?

A dull ache reminded her where she was and what might have happened. Did we… sleep together? The thought was absurd and terrifying. Oh bloody ‘ell, that would never 'appen! She pressed a shaky hand to her forehead, heart pounding, as guilt and shame swirled together.

Before she could gather her wits, she noticed the man sat right beside her, not looking at her and not moving even an inch. He was as still as a statue. She was about to open her mouth to ask him what happened last night, when her memories suddenly began flooding back in her mind.

Then she saw her clothes strewn across the floor and knew that it had, in fact, happened. Despite the fact she had all the evidence she needed, she still felt compelled to ask. She hesitated for a couple minutes before clearing her throat and speaking in almost a whisper, afraid to ask. “Mistah T, what ‘appened last night?”

Sweeney remained silent for quite a while and stayed completely still, as if he was trying to pretend this wasn’t real and that she wasn’t really sitting next to him. Especially with no clothes on. But then he finally spoke, still looking directly in front of him. “Isn’t it obvious? You got what you wanted, Mrs. Lovett,” he spat, voice low and venomous. “Your cheap, whorish tricks managed to seduce me. I gave in after a moment of weakness. Just know that it will never happen again. Now, get out!” Sweeney stood up and stormed over to the window without sparing her another glance.

Nellie’s breath caught and she could feel tears prick at her eyes. The familiar warmth she’d once seen in his eyes was gone, replaced by something sharp and broken. His words were cruel and harsh, hitting her right where it hurt the most. She opened her mouth, voice barely above a whisper. “But Mistah T-”

He rounded on her in an instant, the sound of his rage crashing over her like icy water.

“I SAID GET OUT!” Sweeney screamed at her, losing all composure.

Nellie jumped out of her skin and immediately scrambled from the bed, pushing the quilt aside, panic lending speed to her trembling legs. She stumbled into her clothes, heart in her throat, tears blurring her vision. She had seen Sweeney angry many times before, but never this angry and she had never had this level of anger directed at her. Just as she was about to leave, she heard Sweeney speak again. His words were quiet once more, but filled with contempt that she had no doubt was aimed at her.

“This meant nothing to me. I purely used you for my own selfish needs. It will not happen again. Do not even dare to speak of it again to me. Now leave.”

Nellie didn’t wait to hear any more and quickly left the room, slamming the door behind her and running down the stairs with tears streaming down her face. She kept running until she finally reached her bedroom, shutting the door behind her before collapsing on her bed, unable to do anything but sob into her pillow.

Maybe ‘e’s right. I am a cheap whore. Now ‘e’s going to ‘ate me even more than ‘e already did. I was a fool for ever thinking that he might one day grow ta love me. Those are just deluded fantasies and the reality is that I am nothing but a burden to ‘im.

She paused for a moment before more thoughts clouded her mind, trying to make sense of it all.

But if ‘e ‘ated me that much, why would ‘e let me sleep in ‘is bedroom? Why didn’t ‘e just kick me out there and then once ‘e was done with me? If ‘e really ‘ated me, why did ‘e even touch me let alone sleep with me?

She shook her head furiously as more tears threatened to fall from her dark, brown eyes.

No. Don’t be ridiculous, Nellie. Stop giving yourself more false ‘ope, it never did anyone any good. It just breaks me ‘eart in the end.

Her mind screamed that he must hate her. Those cruel words, that cold dismissal, and the anger he directed at her. But at the same time, her body remembered the warmth of his touch, the weight of his presence beside her when the world was quiet. It was like his scent seemed to linger on her skin and she felt a deep ache in her chest, knowing that she would never feel that level of intimacy with him again. He had said it himself, so he must mean it. It was just a mistake to him and a moment of weakness. She could hear the echo of his voice playing like a loop over and over again in her head, and the most devastating truth of all was that the man she’d dared to hope for now wanted nothing to do with her. Well, nothing apart from being business partners, of course. There was no point in hoping that anything else would ever happen again.

But why would ‘e let me in so close, even if it was just for only one night? I admit I must’ve been quite persistent while under the influence of Gin, but he could’ve just thrown me out and shut the door. But ‘e didn’t.

She closed her eyes, the memory of his rough fingers gently tucking the blanket around her burning behind her lids. The cold fury in his voice felt like a blow, but beneath it… beneath it lay something else. Something she could no longer ignore.

Nellie pressed a trembling hand to her throat, tasting the faint tang of copper and gin on her lips. What does it mean, if 'e let me stay?

Her heart pounded with questions she couldn’t answer, and a hope she dared not name. She knew that having any kind of hope was dangerous, but she just couldn’t help but feel even the slightest bit of it. Dangerous or not, she would cling to it. Because without it, she felt as if there was nothing left to live for.

So she allowed a single spark of hope, tiny and fierce, to flicker in her chest.

The silence in the room was deafening and all that Sweeney could hear were his own thoughts and his rapid heartbeat. The light from the rising sun spilled through his window, illuminating every dusty corner, yet the room felt as barren as his thoughts. Sweeney was currently sitting in his barbers chair, morosely contemplating the events of the previous night.

How could I let that… that whore get into my head like this? How dare she barge in late last night? And somehow manage to persuade me to sleep with her? I refuse to let that woman believe that what we did meant a single thing. I do not care for her. I certainly do not love her. She is nothing more than my accomplice. Now all I need is a customer to enter so I can stop thinking about that damned woman!

He turned his head slightly and glanced at the door, wishing someone would enter shortly so he could release some of his anger by using his razor to slice their throat. He had a strong feeling he was going to be showing very little mercy to any of his customers today. He desperately needed a distraction and he needed it soon.

Sweeney’s boots whispered across the floorboards as he rose from the chair. He pushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead in frustration and began to pace the room. He was on edge and just hearing the rattling of the pie-shop sign outside was enough to make him lunge for the blade in his belt. His pulse thundered in his temples, an echo of the rage that coiled beneath his ribs. Last night’s fury at Lovett still burned hot, an ember he couldn’t smother. He needed release.

Thumb against blade, he drew it free. The steel sighed, sharp as a whisper. He raised it up high, watching as it glistened in the light. Two strokes against the whetstone, and he tasted the promise of clean, swift death.

He stood, back to the door, razor poised. The silence pressed in so heavily that it felt alive and hungry. He closed his eyes, imagining the next heartbeat of a stranger; that moment before terror truly sets in. He’d give them no mercy tonight. He had an unquenchable thirst for bloodlust.

Then there was a soft tap at the door. A hesitant knock. He froze in place. His throat had gone dry, and his stomach coiled with anticipation. He tightened his grip on his razor, listening.

Sweeney exhaled, voice low and ragged as he said the words, “Come in.”

The latch clicked, and the door squeaked as it swung open.

Chapter Text

In that moment as the door opened, he saw not a stranger but salvation; an end to the ache inside of him. The customer enters and Sweeney’s gaze snaps from door to face. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say a word.

The customer flinches when coming face to face with Sweeney. “Sir?”

Sweeney’s inner voice roars. He can’t wait. Hearing the tremble in the man’s voice and seeing his eyes widen were clear signs that he was already wary of Sweeney.

Good.

As soon as the door closed behind the man, Sweeney lurched forward almost instantly. In a heartbeat, the razor was across his throat. There was no drawn-out monologue this time and no second chances. One swipe was all it took for the man to fall to his knees, gasping for breath. Blood was spurting out over the wooden floorboards as the man fell forwards and landed face down with a hard thud . Sweeney then let out a guttural exhale once he knew the deed was done. He stood over the motionless form, chest heaving, each breath a thunderclap. The razored steel still glinted in his trembling hand; cold, merciless, alive . That was the distraction and relief he needed. At that moment, nothing from last night haunted him. No Lovett and no guilt, only the clarity of the kill. The memories of Lovett and of last night in general, faded into a distant shadow. He felt exhilarated. However, it was only short-lived and he felt like he needed more . The notion flared up unbidden, hungry, and relentless. He ran a hand through his hair, mind flicking back to the angle of the slash, the exact moment life left those eyes. But he knew it wasn’t enough. It was never enough to appease him.

He knew that there would be many more kills in the near future. And he certainly hadn’t forgotten about getting his revenge on Judge Turpin. For a heartbeat, euphoria bloomed at the thought of killing the Judge. He would have his revenge. And it would be the most gratifying kill. That, he was sure of. 

Then the beating of his skull slowed. The shop’s hush pressed in so hard it hurt. That first taste of release curdled into something else; nausea, guilt, and a cavernous emptiness that no amount of violence could fill. His legs suddenly felt unsteady as if they would give way beneath him at any moment. And somewhere in the back of his mind, a voice hissed at him.

Not enough.

A spark of craving flickered again. His incessant need to kill to release his anger suddenly bubbled up inside of him. It was an overwhelming feeling that he needed to relieve himself of.

As soon as I get to the Judge, it’ll all be over. But in the meantime, I need to satisfy my needs by slitting other men’s throats. We all deserve to die, after all. And there will be no mercy for anyone who enters my shop.

Sweeney’s mind eventually started to quieten down and he was left with nothing but deafening silence and emptiness. His mind immediately flickered back to Mrs. Lovett, reminding him that violence will never truly set him free from this conflicted torment within him.

Nellie tried to put the events of last night out of her mind and to carry on as normal as best as she could. She was currently tending to a fresh batch of meat pies in the brick oven, turning them and humming to herself. Just as she was about to test a spoonful of gravy, she heard a sudden, loud thud coming from upstairs. She immediately whipped around, bringing a flour-smudged hand to her mouth. She knew exactly what had just happened. The warmth from the oven fades as she can feel her heart hammering in her chest. The only thing she could hear now was her own ragged breaths.

He was very angry. She knew this much. Nellie slowly crept towards the bottom of the stairs, her heart pounding. Part of her wanted to stay put and another part of her wanted to rush up the stairs to see what exactly had happened. She felt torn and ultimately decided to stay where she was. She just couldn’t bring herself to go upstairs and to face Sweeney again. It was for the best that she continued making pies instead and she was doing her best to ignore Sweeney; at least for the time being.

But then, she froze in terror as she heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Nellie immediately grabbed her rolling pin and pressed her back against the wall, as she heard the sound of soft footsteps descending the stairs. She heard the door to her shop slowly opening and dared a glance upwards. There he stood, blade clean now, eyes dark as oil. Neither spoke, both eyeing each other cautiously.

Chapter Text

Sweeney remained standing in the doorway, showing no emotion. Nellie noticed that he still had his razor in his hand, which made her grip tighten on her rolling pin to the extent where her knuckles turned white. However, instead of lunging or lashing out at her as she feared, he simply nodded once towards the back room where the body of his recent murder now was. He spoke no words, but Nellie knew that this was a command from him. She exhaled, dropping the rolling pin onto the counter, and picked up an old cloth. They move in tandem, she to mop up the blood and he to seal the door, an unspoken truce born of necessity.

Once the clean up had been done and while the shop was currently empty, they now had nothing to do but face each other. They end up standing quite close to each other; Nellie was by the oven, and Sweeney stood by the counter. Neither of them felt brave enough to speak. Nellie tightened her grip on a tea towel, while Sweeney stared at an old photograph on the wall. Both were struggling to look each other straight in the eyes, scared of what they might find. The awkward silence stretches on until Nellie finally exhales softly.

“Well, at least I’ve got fresh meat now for me pies.” 

Sweeney said nothing in return, but gave a curt nod in agreement, still unable to look at the woman standing in front of him.

At the end of the day, after minimal interaction between the two of them, they worked side by side cleaning up the counter and sweeping the floors. Sweeney kept glancing over at Mrs. Lovett’s hands as she worked and couldn’t help but admire the curve of her neck. Once he realised what he was doing, he immediately looked away, feeling disgusted with himself.

Why can’t I stop looking at her? It was a mistake. A moment of weakness. She tricked me after all, didn’t she?

That last thought sparked up more anger in him. Because of her plan to seduce him, he was now unable to think of anything else and it haunted his mind. He suddenly let go of the now damp cloth in his hand and dropped it down on the counter. He could not stay there any longer.

“I’m going upstairs,” Sweeney grumbled out. He then turned to leave the room and headed back upstairs without so much as a glance towards the baker.

Nellie froze, fingers clutching the damp cloth, as Sweeney’s heavy footsteps carried him away. He didn’t look back. He didn’t even spare her a glance.

Her heart thudded so loud she thought he might hear it upstairs.

She stood in the half-light, the rag slipping from her grasp and pooling on the counter. She could smell the faint scent of soap in the air, but all she could taste was the bitter twist of shame.

What did I do?

Her hand fluttered to her throat as if to protect the very place he’d been studying. Just moments ago she had caught him watching her, his eyes drawn to her hands and her neck. Well, that was before disgust had flashed in his eyes. And now he was suddenly gone.

Her pulse hammered. She pressed both palms flat against the wood. 

'E hates me. I’m nothin' but a burden to 'im.

The words echoed in her mind, as if it were Sweeney's own harsh tone speaking.

Tears pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back. She still had a shop to lock up, pies to store, and if she was honest, a shattered heart to pick up. Carefully, she bent to scoop the cloth into the basin and began rinsing it, each scrubbing motion a desperate attempt to wash away the sting of his anger.

She scrubbed until her arms trembled and only then did she dare straighten. The shop was silent now, save for the drip of water from the cloth and her own ragged breath.

Nellie wiped her eyes on her sleeve and squared her shoulders. He’d gone upstairs to brood. To torture himself. She knew his sorrow ran deeper than his fury, and that thought tugged at her more fiercely than his anger ever had.

She set the clean cloth aside and moved to extinguish the lamps. Tomorrow, she would go upstairs and find him. She would speak. But for now, she would let the night swallow her grief. And hope that, in the dark, Sweeney’s heart might soften enough to let her in again.

Sweeney forced himself to climb, step by torturous step, but at the top he paused as another thought hit him.

I can’t bear it.

Once again, his mind went straight back to Mrs. Lovett and how he couldn't take his eyes off of her while she was busy cleaning. He remembered the way a loose tendril of hair brushed against pale skin and how her hands always moved so gracefully, whatever it was she was doing.

He winced, as if she’d struck him.

Disgusting, he told himself. You’re disgusted by her. You hate what she’s done. He paused momentarily. Or you think you do.

With a violent exhale, he trudged back up the last steps, hands clenching the sleeve of his coat. It smelled of blood and sin, and he wanted nothing more than to hide from it all.

On the landing, he pressed his back against the wall, closing his eyes. Her image appeared in his mind straight away and he could still feel the echo of her warmth. Even though he still felt angry with her, he was unable to keep certain questions from lingering constantly.

If it truly meant nothing to you, then why do you keep seeing her whenever you close your eyes and in your dreams? Why did you pull the blanket over her if you say you don’t care about her?

There was no doubt whatsoever that he was being tortured by his own mind and it wouldn’t leave him alone, no matter what he did to distract himself. The persistent questions and the constant images of Mrs. Lovett always made their way back to the forefront of his mind, especially when he was alone.

He didn’t move again until the ache in his chest drove him further into darkness; away from her and away from himself. Although deep down, he knew that there was no escaping from this.

Chapter Text

Sweeney moved through the shop in near-silence, the morning light too pale and harsh, as though it knew he wanted nothing to do with it. He carried a tray of cold porridge and tea up the narrow stairs and pushed open the barber door without a word.

Inside, he set the tray on the old worktable and sat behind the chair, hunched over. He scooped a spoonful of porridge into his mouth, the hot grain a poor match for how frozen it felt. The steam curled up around his face, but it did nothing to chase away the weight in his chest. 

He ate mechanically, bite after bite, eyes fixed on a knot in the floorboards. The tea grew cold in its cup, untouched until the last morsel of porridge was gone. Then, without looking up, he reached for it, drank off the surface, and set the cup down hard enough to make it tremble.

Below him, Nellie stirred at the bakehouse door, watching the thin line of light that slipped under. She waited a moment, her heart pounding, before she started to climb the stairs. Her knock was soft.

“Sweeney?” she called.

He didn’t answer.

She paused in the doorway, suddenly feeling extremely nervous after thinking about their last encounter when she was up here. Would he scream at her again? Or maybe he would just ignore her this time? She honestly wasn’t sure which one would hurt her more.

As she walked in, she noticed that the room smelled of boiled oats and perhaps something sharper; blood, soap, and regret. Sweeney sat straighter, but his back was still to her.

“I thought… I thought you might want some company,” she said in a small voice.

He took another slow sip of cold tea, then set the cup aside with a faint clink.

“I'm fine,” he muttered, not looking at her.

She took a hesitant step forward. “Breakfast is cold. I can-”

“Don’t.” His voice was low but firm. “It’s nothing.”

Nellie’s shoulders sagged. She moved to the table and set down a small saucer of butter and bread. “Just in case.”

He didn’t acknowledge it. She swallowed, fighting tears.

“You don’t ‘ave to go through this alone,” she said softly. “I’m ‘ere if you need me. Or if you just want someone to talk to.”

He stared at the wall, jaw clenched, as if wrestling with a thousand unspoken thoughts. Finally, he exhaled, the sound brittle.

“I..” His words caught, then he shook his head. “I need time.”

Her eyes filled. “Time,” she echoed. “I can give you that.”

Without another word, Nellie turned and slipped downstairs, leaving him alone with the echo of her footsteps. He watched the door close, then leaned forward, forehead resting on his folded arms as the room slipped back into cold stillness.

Weeks slipped by in a quiet rhythm of ovens and blood. Nellie kept her promise, letting Sweeney have all the time he claimed he needed. She rose before dawn, tended the hearth, and baked pie after pie, her hands moving almost on instinct. Customers surged through the door, drawn by the legend of Mrs. Lovett’s “secret sauce,” and not once did she press him for company.

But the clatter of so many gentlemen climbing her back stairs, and so few ever returning, had grown impossible to ignore. She counted bodies some mornings, tallying missing collars and empty coats. At least I’ll 'ave plenty of fresh meat, she reminded herself, wiping flour from her palms. Business has never boomed like this. She allowed herself a small, guilty smile every time the door jingled and a new patron stepped in.

That afternoon, the shop was bright and bustling. Nellie perched on her stool behind the counter, delicately icing a line of sweet tarts, when a lanky merchant in a coral waistcoat swaggered in. He tipped his hat with a flirtatious grin.

“Good day, Mrs. Lovett,” he drawled, leaning on the counter so close she caught the faintest whiff of cologne. “Your reputation does you credit. I’d pay handsomely to taste one of those famous meat pies… and perhaps share a moment of your company afterwards?”

Nellie’s cheeks warmed, but she kept her voice cool. “My pies speak for themselves, sir. You’ll find I'm far too busy to entertain distractions.”

He chuckled, brushing a curl from her forehead with a casual finger. “A charming rebuff. But one so lovely deserves to be cajoled.” He winked.

Hidden in the doorway, Sweeney heard the merchant’s warm laugh and the lightness in his tone, and something broke inside him. He stepped forward, boots silent on the wooden floor. The merchant straightened, noticing Sweeney’s approach for the first time.

“Mrs. Lovett,” Sweeney said, voice low and measured, “your pies are best enjoyed here, in peace.”

The merchant’s smile faltered as Sweeney closed the distance between them. Nellie’s heart pounded as she looked from his fierce eyes to the merchant’s paling face.

“I-I was merely admiring your wares,” the man stammered.

Sweeney’s jaw clenched. He didn’t reach for his razor, but the promise of steel in his stance was enough. “Then admire quietly.”

Nellie forced a polite cough. “Thank you, Mr. Todd.” She turned back to the tarts. “Per'aps you’d care to pay and take your leave?”

The merchant nodded hastily, slipping a coin onto the counter. “My apologies, truly.” He backed away and hurried out the door, hat in hand.

When the bell chimed shut, Sweeney let out a breath he hadn't realised he’d been holding. He turned to Nellie, jaw still tight.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice softer than she’d heard in weeks.

She met his gaze, surprised by the concern there. “I am,” she whispered.

He lingered, eyes dark with something she recognised now as jealousy, and underneath it, fierce protectiveness.

Nellie dipped her head. “Thank you.”

He simply nodded, then moved to her side and, without a word, reached for the pastry brush. “Let me help,” he said.

And for the first time in many mornings, they worked together, side by side, flour on his coat and warmth in his eyes, bridging the fragile distance time had wrought.

They worked in companionable silence, flour dusting their sleeves and the warm, yeasty scent of dough rising around them. Sweeney rolled out the next crust while Nellie spooned in the hearty filling, their hands moving in a practised rhythm that felt almost intimate.

Then, without warning, Nellie’s hand flew to her mouth. Her spoon clattered against the bowl as colour drained from her cheeks. 

“S-Sweeney…” she murmured, voice tight. She turned on wobbly legs and stumbled towards the back corner of the shop. “Excuse me–”

Before he could catch her, she was gone.

He froze, dough in hand, as muffled retching came from the small storeroom. Heart hammering, Sweeney set everything down and hurried after her.

Inside, the single lantern light revealed Nellie bent over a chipped chamber pot, her shawl falling from one shoulder. She pressed both hands to its rim, body shaking. For a moment he simply stood at the threshold, stunned by the sight of her so vulnerable.

“Mrs. Lovett?” he said softly.

She didn’t answer. He stepped forward, pulled a fresh basin of water from a shelf, and set it beside her. He tore a strip of linen from his coat’s cuff and held it out.

When she finally straightened, pale and trembling, he knelt and pressed the cloth to her lips. “Here,” he whispered. “Bite down if you must. Take your time.”

She took the rag with a shaky hand. He poured a little water over it, soaking the linen, then gently wiped her face when she’d finished.

“Are you well?” he asked, voice thick. “Did you eat something bad?”

Nellie swallowed, closing her eyes against the lantern’s glare. “I… I don’t know.” Her hand went to her belly, instinctively, but she brushed it away. “Just… too much yesterday.”

He stood and held out a steady arm. “Lean on me. Come sit.”

She accepted his arm, and together they moved to a small stool. Sweeney draped her shawl over her shoulders once more, his fingers lingering on her collarbone as if he could will away her sickness by touch alone.

“Me ‘ead’s spinnin’,” she admitted, voice small.

He drew a deep breath. “Then rest,” he said. “I’ll finish the pies.”

She managed a faint, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

As Sweeney returned to the counter, his mind buzzed with worry. He glanced back at her, pale and seated with her eyes closed, and realised how little he truly knew about her strength… or her fragility. And for the first time, he could feel something towards her that he’d never felt before; the raw, urgent need to protect her.

Chapter Text

It had been several days since Nellie first fell ill, and though she insisted she was “right as rain,” the truth was plain in the pallor of her cheeks and the dark crescents beneath her eyes. Still, she pressed on with her usual bravado, bustling about the shop, apron tied tight around her waist, lips painted in her usual bright smile. But it was beginning to crack.

Sweeney lingered in the back of the shop that morning, sharpening his blades with long, deliberate strokes; his eyes not on the steel, but on her. Watching. Listening. Waiting for her to stumble again.

Toby stood behind the counter, helping serve pastries to a pair of chatty women when Nellie stepped forward, tray in hand, and smiled at them both.

“There you are, dears,” she said, voice airy. “Fresh from the oven, just like I promised.”

But before either woman could respond, Nellie swayed. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the edge of the counter, her breath hitching. The tray clattered to the floor, pastries tumbling like stones.

“Mum?” Toby called, stepping around the counter just as Nellie’s knees gave way. 

She crumpled to the ground.

Toby caught her before she hit the floor completely, shouting her name in alarm. “Mrs. Lovett?!”

Sweeney was already there.

He burst through the doorway in an instant, the sharpening strop still in his hand. When he saw her limp in Toby’s arms, her face ashen and unmoving, something ice and sharp pierced through his chest.

“Out,” he growled at the gawking customers, his voice as sharp and dangerous as the blade he carried. “Get out.”

The women scattered, the bell over the door jangling wildly in their wake.

Sweeney knelt beside Toby, his hand trembling slightly as he pressed two fingers to the side of Nellie’s neck. Her pulse was there, fluttering but steady. Relief flooded through him, quickly replaced by a deep, burning worry.

“She fainted,” Toby said, still cradling her head. “She said she was fine, but… she hasn’t been eatin’. Keeps runnin’ off to be sick…”

Sweeney’s jaw clenched. “Help me get her upstairs.”

Together, they lifted her carefully. Sweeney’s arms were gentle but firm, cradling her against him like something breakable. As they carried her out of the pie shop, he caught himself glancing down at her face, peaceful now in unconsciousness, and something twisted inside him.

Something terrifying.

He wasn’t sure what scared him more; that she might be seriously ill… or that he might not be able to protect her from it.

He hadn’t realised how light she was until he carried her up the stairs. She barely stirred, her head lolling gently against his shoulder, one arm limp at her side. For a man who had lifted countless corpses in his time, this was somehow different. This wasn't death. This was something fragile, something his , whether he wanted to admit it or not.

Sweeney pushed the door open with his foot and stepped into the bedroom. The same one she’d awoken in once before, under much more complicated circumstances. He tried not to think about it.

He laid her down with surprising care, smoothing the pillow beneath her head and brushing a few wayward curls from her damp forehead. She was burning hot and clammy, her cheeks tinged with a sickly hue. He tugged the blanket up over her and sat at the edge of the bed, staring at her face as if willing her to open her eyes.

What was wrong with her? Illness? Overwork? Or something else entirely?

His gaze drifted to her belly, his brow furrowing.

Could it really be…?

He shook the thought from his mind, standing abruptly and pacing the room. He didn’t know what to do with the fear clenching his insides. He had spent so long focused on revenge, on blood and death, that he had no idea how to respond when something he cared about was at risk.

Even if that something was her.

He returned to her side and sat again, his fingers curling loosely around hers on the blanket. He told himself it was to check her temperature, to feel her pulse. But really, he just needed to know she was still there.

She was swimming through fog. 

Heat pressed down on her, heavy and oppressive. Then cool air, the whisper of sheets, the scent of leather and shaving cream–

Nellie’s eyes blinked open slowly, struggling to focus. The room came into view in soft fragments; the flickering candlelight, the dark wood ceiling, the man sitting beside her, head bowed, fingers brushing hers like he wasn’t even aware of it.

Him.

It wasn’t a dream this time.

“M-Mistah T…?”

Sweeney looked up, and something flickered across his face. Relief? Anger? Worry? She couldn’t tell.

“You fainted,” he said gruffly, letting go of her hand as if it had burned him. “What the hell were you thinking? Working yourself into the ground–”

“I’m fine,” she croaked, though her voice didn’t sound convincing even to herself.

“The hell you are.”

Nellie tried to sit up but winced, her head still pounding, her stomach turning.

Sweeney gently but firmly eased her back against the pillows, surprising her. “Don’t move.”

She stared at him, breathless, her heart skipping. His touch wasn’t rough. Wasn’t cold. There was something else there, something fragile and fleeting.

“Why’d you bring me up ‘ere?” she whispered. “You ‘ate me.”

He looked away. “I don’t.”

That was all he said. But somehow, it was enough to make her heart ache in a way she wasn’t ready for.

Sweeney hadn’t said much after she woke. Just watched her closely, jaw tight, eyes shadowed. But as he stood in the doorway later that morning, about to head back down to the shop, he paused.

“You should see an apothecary,” he muttered without turning fully to face her.

Nellie blinked from her spot on the bed. “W-what for?”

“You’ve been sick. Faintin’. Barely touchin’ your food. It ain’t normal.” His hand lingered on the doorframe, knuckles white.

She tried to speak, but he didn't wait for an answer. He simply said, “Go,” and left.

Nellie returned late in the afternoon, pale and quiet. She avoided Sweeney’s gaze all evening, keeping to the kitchen where the warm oven gave her something to focus on besides the dread curling in her belly.

Toby found her wiping down the counter long after closing. He tilted his head and frowned, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

“You all right, mum?”

She hesitated, the rag stilling in her hand. For a moment she said nothing, then sighed, and leaned against the counter.

“I–don’t rightly know, love,” she said softly, glancing toward the stairs. “I didn’t want to say nothin’ but I’ve… I’ve missed me courses. Been sick near every mornin’. Fainted in front o’ customers like some daft girl, and–and I’m always tired. Can barely eat a thing.”

Toby’s brows rose, eyes widening. “You think you’re…?”

She nodded once. “That’s what the apothecary said. Reckons I’m… expectin’.”

There was a beat of stunned silence before she forced a shaky laugh. “Can you believe that? Me. At my age.”

She didn’t mention the ache in her chest, or how her breasts had grown tender, or the way she cried herself to sleep the other night when she realised what this meant. She didn’t tell Toby any of that.

Unbeknownst to her, on the other side of the hallway wall, just out of sight, Sweeney stood frozen, the shadows swallowing him whole.

His hand reached for the doorknob to the bakehouse to retrieve a forgotten item, but the sound of her voice had stopped him dead in his tracks.

Pregnant.

The word ricocheted around in his skull. Lodged like a knife.

Pregnant. With his child.

Maybe children, he thought, with a grim, involuntary glance toward her still-flat stomach. She’d looked so small in his bed that morning, so worn.

He turned away before he could hear any more, the rag in his hand forgotten, his chest hollow and burning.

Nellie had half expected things to feel different after she visited an apothecary, like the world would shift on its axis the moment she stepped back into Fleet Street. But no. Everything carried on as it always had. The ovens still roared with heat, customers still came clamouring for pies, and Mr. Todd… well, he hadn’t said more than three words to her since she fainted.

He hadn’t even looked her in the eye.

She tried not to let it get to her and told herself he was just brooding, same as always. Maybe he was irritated that she’d been unwell. That she was slow to prep the fillings, or that she had to sit down more often, pressing a hand to her belly when the queasiness crept in. She wasn’t useless, not yet. She could still work. She had to.

But there was something in his silence that felt heavier than usual.

He kept to himself more than normal, disappearing upstairs for long stretches of time and emerging only when a customer arrived. When they worked side by side in the kitchen, he made sure to keep distance between them. Never touched her. Barely acknowledged her presence.

And Nellie felt the ache of that more than she cared to admit.

She found herself watching the clock more and more, noticing how many hours passed without a word from him. She made him tea. Left it by his chair. He never drank it.

She tried to start small conversations; a comment about the weather, a passing thought about adding new spices to the meat, but he’d just grunt in response, if he replied at all.

It stung. God, it stung.

Because he didn't know, she told herself. He didn't know what she was carrying. He didn’t know that every time he shut her out, it felt like being flayed alive. And if he did know…

No. He couldn’t.

If he did, surely he’d have said something.

She sighed and turned back to the pastry board, trying to focus on the task at hand. Her back ached. Her stomach turned. But she pressed on.

She had pies to make, and a secret to keep… for now, at least.

She thought he didn’t know.

That was almost laughable, if any of this was remotely amusing.

Sweeney sat slumped in his barber’s chair, elbows resting on the arms like he was a king atop a throne of ghosts. His straight razor lay in his palm, not for use, just… something familiar. Something cold and dependable in a world that had suddenly become unpredictable and terrifying.

He'd heard it all, clear as crystal; her soft voice telling the boy she’d missed her courses, couldn't keep a meal down, barely slept. The way her hands trembled when she said it. She hadn’t told him, of course. Why would she?

Why would she tell the man who called her a whore?

The man who threw her out after one drunken night of vulnerability, of weakness… of something that still wouldn’t leave him alone.

God, what had he done?

At first, he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his. That she’d been with someone else, that her flirty smiles and hungry eyes were proof enough that she couldn’t be trusted. He’d told himself she wanted a baby, any baby, from anyone, and it wasn’t about him.

But none of that sat right. Not when he thought of how shaken she looked. How pale. How she pressed a hand over her stomach like she was cradling something so fragile.

And not when he remembered the feel of her skin beneath his hands, the way she’d murmured his name like it meant something. Like he meant something.

He slammed the razor down on the armrest and dragged a hand down his face.

He was going mad. Absolutely mad.

He hadn’t killed a man in three days. Not because the thirst wasn’t there, it was, but because all he could think about now was the baby that Nellie was carrying. His baby. Something he’d never asked for, and something that completely terrified him. A baby that could potentially be his undoing… or his salvation.

And her. That infuriating, reckless, maddening woman who refused to stay out of his heart no matter how many walls he built.

He hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her running, crying, smiling, sick, tired, laughing. His. Maybe.

And he didn’t know what to do with any of it.

Chapter Text

Nellie had decided to revisit the apothecary again a few days later, to try to get some more information and clarification on her situation. The apothecary had been polite but clearly limited. Nellie sat rigidly on the edge of a creaky chair, heart pounding while he poked and prodded gently, listening, asking questions. When she mentioned how fast her belly seemed to be growing, the apothecary gave her a strange look.

“You’ll want to see a midwife, Missus. More experience with these sorts of… peculiar cases. Could be naught but bloating, but sometimes… well. Sometimes it’s more than one.”

Nellie blinked. “More than…?”

“Babies. Twins, maybe.”

The words rattled around in her skull the whole walk home.

Nellie closed the bakeshop early, her hands trembling slightly as she kneaded the last bit of dough. Toby was helping scrub the countertops when she finally blurted it out.

“They think… there might be two,” she whispered, not quite meeting his eyes. “Two babes. Growin’ inside me.”

Toby stared, wide-eyed. “Two?!”

“Aye. A midwife’s got to be sure, but it makes sense, don’t it? With 'ow sick I’ve been, 'ow quickly I’m showin’.”

She didn’t notice the faint creak of the upstairs floorboards. Or the man who had paused mid-step just beyond the top of the stairs, body rigid with disbelief.

Two.

The word hit him like a hammer to the chest.

He gripped the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. His lungs felt tight, throat dry. He had just begun to make peace with the idea of one child – of one mistake, one life that he might be able to understand. But two?

That wasn’t a mistake. That was a life altered. A path so far from where he’d intended to go, it felt like another man’s story.

His mind spun. Two cribs. Two mouths to feed. Two heartbeats inside her.

Inside her.

His gaze, burning from the shadows, flicked to her belly the next time he dared to look, and damn it all, he could see it now. The swell under her corset, no longer just soft or bloated. There was life there. Lives.

He turned back into the room, shut the door, and buried himself in the dark again.

Nellie knocked softly on the door to his barber shop, her heart hammering.

No answer.

She pressed her palm to the wood. “Sweeney…”

Still nothing. But she knew he was in there. She could feel it, the same way she always could.

“I thought you should know,” she said gently. “About the… babies.” Her voice wobbled a little on the last word, but she stood tall. “I’m not expectin’ anythin’ from you. Just… I thought you deserved to know.”

Another pause.

Then, quiet as breath, she said, “I still care for you, ya know. That ‘asn’t changed.”

She turned, ready to walk away again, just as the door creaked open behind her.

Nellie stopped in her tracks. She didn’t dare turn around at first, holding her breath like it might scare him off.

Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

Then his voice came, low and gravelled, barely above a whisper.

“You should get some rest, Mrs. Lovett.”

That was all.

She turned just in time to see the flicked of his coat disappearing back into the shadows of the room. 

No anger. No shouting. But no warmth either.

The door remained ajar this time, and somehow that felt like a small mercy.

Nellie couldn’t sleep.

Curled in her own bed, she stared at the ceiling and wrapped an arm protectively around her belly, whispering softly to the life, or rather, lives inside of her.

“He knows now,” she murmured, more to herself than to the babies. “He knows, and he didn’t slam the door. That’s somethin’, innit?”

It wasn’t much.

But like everything else she’d built her fragile heart around, it was enough .

For now.

Sweeney sat in silence, elbows on his knees, staring at the dimly flickering candle on the nightstand.

He could still hear her voice at the door. See the way she didn’t beg, didn’t cry, didn’t accuse him. She just… told him.

And that small truth, her quiet courage, unsettled him more than any scream or sob would’ve.

His hand twitched toward the bottle of gin.

Then stopped.

Instead, he ran a hand over his face and muttered under his breath, as though saying it to the dark might take away its power.

“Two of them.”

He let the words hang there, heavy in the stillness.

But this time, he didn’t try to drown them.

Nellie was trying to knead dough at the worktable, but the effort clearly winded her. She paused, one hand bracing her back, the other pressing to the swell of her stomach with a frustrated breath.

Sweeney lingered in the doorway. He didn’t say a word, not yet, just watched.

And then, with silent steps, he turned and returned moments later, placing a steaming cup of tea at the corner of the table.

She blinked at it, surprised.

“You should sit for a while,” he muttered, not meeting her eyes. “Tea’ll help.”

Before she could speak, before she could say thank you, or why now, he was already halfway back up the stairs.

“I’m not imaginin’ it then?” Nellie asked, half-dazed. “It really is… two?”

The midwife smiled gently, folding up her shawl. “Seems so. Fraternal, most likely. You’ll be feeling it more quickly this time ‘round. Best take things slow, Mrs. Lovett.”

She nodded numbly, placing a hand over her belly once more. Two. She could barely handle the idea of one, let alone a pair.

The moment she returned home, the air felt heavier, more suffocating. She left Toby a quick word and slipped out the door for a walk. She needed air, space, something to keep from drowning in it all.

From his perch at the upper window, Sweeney’s eyes narrowed the moment she stepped outside. He could tell by the way she walked, slow and uncertain, that something had changed again. Her belly was rounding faster. Her steps were more cautious.

She was too exposed out there.

Grabbing his coat, he descended the stairs quickly but quietly, slipping out the side door to follow.

Nellie turned down a quieter street, wrapping her shawl tighter around her. The man came from nowhere; leering, slurring something vile about her being a ripe thing, reaching out to touch her belly with a filthy hand.

“I wouldn’t do that,” came a voice, low and deathly calm.

The man spun around just as Sweeney’s blade pressed to his throat.

“Touch her again and I’ll carve off the hand that dared,” Sweeney hissed.

The man bolted before he could speak again, stumbling off into the shadows.

Nellie stood frozen, one hand on her belly, the other trembling at her side.

“You followed me,” she said, voice soft.

He didn’t respond at first. Just stepped closer, eyes burning into hers.

“Don’t go walking alone again. Not like this,” he said gruffly. “It’s not safe. You’re not safe.”

There was something raw in the way he looked at her then, not just at her, but at the swell beneath her shawl too.

She nodded, too stunned to argue.

They walked back to the shop in silence.

They sat across from each other in the dim pie shop, the only light flickering from the stove behind the counter. The silence was thick, but not uncomfortable, at least not yet. Nellie was fidgeting with her hands as she stole a glance at him.

He hadn’t looked at her since they sat down.

“Why’d you follow me?” she asked softly.

Sweeney’s jaw tensed. “Because you shouldn’t be out there alone.”

“You’ve never cared before,” she said, quieter now, not accusing, just… honest.

His eyes flicked to hers then. That same unreadable storm in them.

“You’re carrying my…” He stopped short, swore under his breath, then leaned back in his chair. “It’s different now.”

She stared at him for a moment, trying to piece him together like shards of broken glass. “You keep doin’ this,” she said. “One minute you’re kind, the next you’re cuttin’ me down like I’m nothin’. I’m tryin’ to make sense of it all, but you’re givin’ me whiplash, Mr. T.”

He looked away again, fists clenched on the table.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he muttered. “I didn’t ask for this. Didn’t expect it. And I… I can’t lose everything again.”

She swallowed. That stung, and yet, she could see the fear behind the words. “You’re not losin’ anythin’. Not this time.”

His gaze returned to her. Softer now. Tired. Haunted.

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” she said gently. “But I can 'ope.”

A long pause settled between them. Then, almost too quiet to hear, Sweeney said, “I don’t want you goin’ out alone again.”

Nellie blinked. “Is that an order or a… request?”

He finally looked at her, really looked at her.

“A plea.”

That shut her up.

The shop door clicked shut behind him, leaving only the low crackle of the stove and the quiet creak of wood settling in the floorboards. Nellie sat motionless for a moment, staring at the spot where Sweeney had just been, her tea untouched and going cold in her hands.

Her heart was still pounding, not from fear, but from the sheer confusion of it all.

One moment he was spitting venom at her, refusing to even look her way. The next… he was asking, pleading with her to stay safe. Watching her with something almost like care in his eyes. A part of her wanted to believe it. Wanted to cling to that glimmer like it was salvation.

But another part, the bruised and bitter part, whispered not to be fooled.

She looked down at her hands, curled protectively over her belly, and realised that they were no longer just hers. His too. Theirs.

“‘ow can someone ‘ate me and protect me all at once?” she murmured to no one.

Maybe he didn’t hate her. Maybe he hated what she made him feel.

That thought scared her more than his silence ever had.

Still, the way he looked at her tonight, the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t lose everything again; it stayed with her. Lingered in the corners of her mind like a stubborn scent.

Maybe she was a fool to hope. Maybe she always had been.

But something had shifted.

He had come for her. Saved her. And now… maybe he’d keep coming back.

Dangerous or not, she’d cling to that hope.

Because without it, there was only emptiness.

The room was still, yet his mind refused to match its silence.

Sweeney sat in the dark, coat draped loosely over the chair, a single candle burning low on the windowsill. He hadn’t lit the fire. The cold suited him. Matched the frost still clinging to the inside of his chest, even after all these weeks.

He could still hear her voice, soft and uncertain. You've never cared before.

He didn’t answer then. Not properly. Because he hadn’t trusted what would come out of his mouth if he did.

She confused him. Frightened him more than he cared to admit. That she could still look at him with warmth, after everything he’d said, after the things he did; that was something he couldn’t make sense of.

But she was right to be confused, wasn’t she? One moment he was brushing her off like a pest, the next he was watching her like a hawk, stepping between her and danger like it meant something.

It did mean something, he realised. That’s the problem.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, growling under his breath. “What are you doing, Benjamin...”

And that’s what this all came down to, wasn’t it? He wasn’t Sweeney when she smiled at him like that. He was Benjamin again. And Benjamin had everything ripped away. He was not supposed to feel this again. Not want. Not care. Not hope.

And yet, he did.

He hated how her absence echoed in the room now. How the silence wasn’t comforting anymore, but lonely.

His eyes drifted to the dark beyond the window, wondering if she was sleeping or still sitting alone in the shop, thinking of him.

Fool woman, he thought. But the words lacked venom now.

He didn’t know what this was turning into between them. But it was happening, and he didn’t know how to stop it. 

So he sat there in the dark, staring into the shadows, trying his absolute hardest not to think about the woman downstairs, and failing miserably.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the scent of baking drifted faintly through the floorboards, familiar and warm. Sweeney hadn’t slept much, but something pulled at him, something quieter than guilt and stronger than denial.

He stood at the top of the stairs for a moment, listening. 

There was no clatter, no hum of Nellie's usual morning humming. Just the soft creak of movement. She was working, as always. Carrying on. He didn’t know why it made something twist in his chest.

He descended the stairs without thinking, one slow step after the other.

She looked up from behind the counter, startled. He hadn’t come down this early in weeks.

Their eyes met.

Sweeney didn’t say anything at first. He crossed the floor in silence, set the tray he carried down which had two cups of tea, and a small plate of toast she hadn’t prepared herself.

“I thought,” he said gruffly, eyes fixed on the tray, “you might want something warm.”

Nellie blinked at him. She looked between the tray and his face, clearly caught off guard. 

“Oh,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

He gave a small grunt in reply, awkwardly shifting his weight, like he wasn't sure whether to sit or flee.

“You can sit, if you like,” she said, more hesitantly this time.

Another pause.

Then… he did.

They sat in silence, sipping the tea. The morning sunlight crept in through the grimy windowpane, casting long shadows between them, but the tension that usually hung in the air had dulled.

It wasn’t peace, not quite.

But it was a start.

And as she quietly spread jam on her toast, and he nursed his tea with that brooding look she knew so well, Nellie allowed herself for the first time in weeks to hope that maybe… just maybe… he wouldn’t push her away again.

Not today.

The pie shop had its usual late-afternoon hum, not bustling, but steady. Nellie moved gracefully behind the counter, her hands dusted in flour, her smile warm but tired. She laughed softly at something a customer said, the sound catching Sweeney’s attention from upstairs.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

He never did.

But then he heard it, her voice. A woman’s voice, older, cheerful, filled with knowing fondness.

“Oh, Mrs. Lovett, you’re simply glowing, my dear. I remember that look. Had it myself with both of mine. There’s nothing quite like the way a woman shines when she’s expecting.”

Sweeney froze at the top of the stairs, just out of sight. His jaw clenched. Even the customers are starting to notice now.

“I–oh,” Nellie stammered, a hand fluttering to her stomach, visibly flustered. “Well, that’s kind of you.”

“Kind, but true,” the woman insisted. “It’s unmistakable. And with how you’re carrying… I'd wager twins, if you asked me. That round little belly of yours is giving you away.”

Laughter followed. Warm. Light. Nellie mumbled something, maybe a change of subject, and moved to serve someone else, but the words had already burrowed deep under Sweeney’s skin.

Twins. So, it’s definitely twins then.

He gripped the banister, knuckles turning white.

He’d tried to ignore it, the way her waist had thickened, how pale she looked in the mornings, the way she moved her hand across her belly sometimes when she thought no one was looking.

But now… there was no more pretending. This was real, and this was happening. Whether Sweeney wanted it to or not.

And suddenly the fragile quiet they had begun to build that morning felt like glass beneath his feet, cracking with every breath.

He turned from the stairs without a word and retreated into the shadows of his shop, his heart hammering and his mind reeling.

He hadn't just left behind revenge.

He’d stepped into something even more terrifying.

Responsibility.

Family.

Love.

The lunchtime rush had finally thinned, leaving only a few lingering patrons and the gentle clink of cutlery on porcelain. Nellie moved behind the counter, wiping it down with slow, careful strokes. She was tired, bone-tired, but she kept her smile in place like armour. 

“Lovely pies as always, Mrs. Lovett,” came a voice from the table near the window. It belonged to a portly man in a pinstriped waistcoat, one of the regulars. He folded his napkin with a satisfied sigh. “And if you don’t mind me sayin’, you’re lookin’ a bit… fuller these days.”

Nellie’s heart jumped. She tried to laugh it off, brushing flour from her apron. “Well, that’s what ‘appens when you own a bakery, love.”

The man chuckled, but his eyes dropped to her rounded belly. “No need to play coy. Word is, congratulations are in order.” He leaned back in his chair, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “So, tell me then, who’s the lucky father?”

Nellie froze for a second, cloth pausing mid-wipe. The warmth drained from her face.

She forced a breath and looked up. “That’s a personal question, don’t ya think?”

“Just curious is all,” he said, raising his hands. “Bit of a mystery, innit? A lady like you, expectin’. Folks talk, y’know. Some say it’s the butcher.” He grinned. “I’ve even heard it might be that strange barber upstairs.”

Nellie’s fingers tightened on the cloth. 

“I think I’ve 'eard enough gossip for one day,” she said coolly, and turned away, walking briskly into the back room before her voice cracked.

Behind the curtain, she pressed a hand to her belly, her heart pounding. Her mind swirled with doubt, fear… and a flicker of anger.

Why couldn’t people just leave her be?

Sweeney hadn’t meant to linger on the stairs.

The creak of the third step had given him pause, and he’d frozen there, halfway between his shop and the bakery below. It was the sound of Nellie’s voice that kept him still, thin and falsely sweet, laced with an unease he didn’t like.

Then he heard the man.

“Tell me then, who’s the lucky father?”

Sweeney’s grip on the bannister turned white-knuckled.

He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could hear the leering tone in every word. That oily curiosity. That mockery. That disrespect. He imagined the bastard smirking over a meat pie, thinking he had the right to ask such things, to poke and prod into her business like it was public property.

And then… him. The man had dared to suggest him. That strange barber upstairs.

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together. A flicker of shame twisted in his gut at how the man said it, like he was some filthy little secret. But it was the way Nellie fell silent, the way her voice cooled to steel that stung worse.

She hadn’t denied it. But she hadn’t claimed him either.

The back curtain rustled as she left the room, and still he didn't move. He stood there in the half-shadow, his chest heaving with something ugly and complicated. 

Protectiveness. Rage. Guilt. A sick, gnawing ache he couldn’t name.

He could hear her breathing just past the curtain now, shaky and uncertain.

And damn it all… it hurt.

He could’ve stayed put. Just one step back, and he’d be behind the door again, safe in shadow, in silence.

He told himself it wasn’t his problem. That she could handle herself. That she’d made it perfectly clear how little she needed him.

But then he heard the customer laugh; a coarse, dismissive snort, and something snapped.

He didn't remember deciding to move. His feet were already carrying him down the stairs, fast and firm, his coat sweeping behind him like a cloak of wrath.

The man looked up just in time to see Sweeney’s silhouette fill the doorway, dark as thunderclouds and twice as cold.

“I don’t believe she asked for your bloody opinion,” Sweeney said low, his voice as sharp as the razors he kept hidden in his belt.

The customer blinked, trying for bravado. “‘Scuse me? Just makin’ conversation.”

Sweeney stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until he was nose to nose with the man. “Then let me make it clearer, get out.”

The customer hesitated, glanced towards Nellie, who stood frozen behind the counter with wide eyes, and then looked back at Sweeney. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and hurried towards the door with muttered curses under his breath. 

Only once it slammed shut did the barber exhale.

He turned to look at her.

She hadn’t moved.

Her hands were shaking.

“...Are you all right?” he asked, voice softer now, almost uncertain.

She gave a jerky nod, but wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“You didn’t ‘ave to do that,” she murmured.

He stepped closer. “Didn’t I?”

Another beat of silence passed between them, thick with the weight of everything unspoken.

Then he surprised her, surprised himself even, by gently taking her trembling hands into his own.

“Next time,” he said quietly, “you tell me if someone talks to you like that. I’ll handle it.”

And upon hearing Sweeney speak those words, Nellie finally felt like maybe she wasn’t so alone after all.

Later that day, when the shop had quieted, she found him upstairs. Sitting in the armchair, head bowed, staring at the floor like the answer might be written in the grain of wood.

Nellie stood in the doorway for a moment, unsure.

“You scared me today,” she finally said.

His eyes lifted slowly. “Did I?”

“A little,” she admitted, stepping inside. “But not in the way you think.”

He watched her.

“I wasn’t expectin’ you to do that. To defend me like that.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, almost gruffly, he replied, “He had no right.”

“No,” she agreed softly, “but… you still didn’t ‘ave to do anythin’. And yet you did.”

She sat down opposite him, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m just trying to make sense of you lately, that’s all.”

He didn’t answer right away. But when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than she expected.

“So am I.”

Their eyes met in the silence that followed. And in that brief moment, something fragile and unspoken hung between them, not forgiveness, not quite understanding, but a step closer to both.

The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable, but full and heavy with words unsaid. Nellie fiddled with her apron string, her gaze flicking over to Sweeney, who still hadn’t moved from the chair.

“I never asked for anythin’,” she said finally, her voice small. “Not really. Not even after… that night.”

He flinched. Just barely. But she saw it.

“I didn’t expect you to feel anythin’,” she continued. “Didn’t even think you’d look at me twice again. But you did. Today. You didn’t just look… you saw me.”

Sweeney’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’ve been tryin’ to stay out of your way,” Nellie said, voice trembling now. “I know ‘ow you get. You need your space. But… you’re the father of these babies, Benjamin. And I don’t want to do this alone.”

The use of his true name made his head snap up. Something shifted in his expression… pain, maybe. Guilt. Or something rawer.

“I don’t know what this is between us,” she said softly. “But I know I can’t pretend it didn’t ‘appen. And neither can you.”

He stared at her. Then finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. “I thought I lost everything. My wife, my daughter, my life. And then… you came along. Loud, persistent… impossible.”

Nellie gave a small, tearful laugh at that.

“And now… this,” he murmured, glancing briefly at her stomach before looking away. “I’m trying to figure out what I’m supposed to do. What kind of man I even am anymore.”

“You’re the kind who defended me today,” she said gently.

That struck something in him. His shoulders sagged a little. “I’m afraid, Nellie.”

“I am too,” she replied, eyes glistening. “But maybe we don’t ‘ave to be afraid alone.”

He didn’t speak again, but when she reached across the space between them, he took her hand.

And that, for now, was enough.

Chapter Text

A few days later, the bell above the pie shop door jingled as Judge Turpin stepped in, cane tapping rhythmically against the floorboards. Nellie stood behind the counter, dusting flour from her hands, her face tightening the moment she saw him.

“My, Mrs. Lovett,” the Judge said, drawing closer, eyes flicking over her. “You look… radiant. A little fuller in the face, perhaps?” His gaze dropped pointedly to her midsection, not yet obvious, but certainly less trim than before. “One might wonder if you’ve been indulging in too many of your own pies.”

Nellie forced a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Must be, M’lord. ‘ard to resist, innit?”

Turpin leaned on his cane, eyes narrowing slightly. “Or perhaps there’s another… indulgence you’ve taken to.” His tone was smooth, but his smile was sharp. Nellie froze, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. He didn’t press further, just let the insinuation hang between them before bidding her a farewell with a tip of his hat.

Nellie thought, or rather, hoped, that she wouldn’t see Judge Turpin coming to her shop again after his last visit. She didn’t dare to tell Sweeney, as she knew how angry he would get and she didn’t want to disturb this newfound peace that they had.

Unfortunately for her though, he did come back, again and again.

It began subtly, at first.

The Judge would stop by more frequently, claiming he had “business nearby.” Nellie would catch him watching and it wasn’t with idle curiosity, but with that familiar, calculating hunger she’d seen before… only never directed at her. Until now.

She tried to brush it off. Tried to convince herself she was imagining it.

But the compliments grew bolder.

“You’ve quite the glow about you, Mrs. Lovett,” he said one afternoon, lingering by the counter as she wiped flour from her hands. “There’s something… maternal about you. Gentle. Soft.” He smiled, wolfish. “Exactly the kind of woman a man of my position ought to keep close.”

She stiffened, trying not to show how much his words made her skin crawl. “I’m a bit busy, sir. If you’ll excuse me…”

Sweeney watched from the shadows of the stairwell, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles turned bone white. His gaze stayed fixed on the Judge, barely blinking. He hadn’t noticed Nellie’s discomfort at first, not in those early visits, but now he saw it clearly. How her smile faltered. How she subtly stepped back each time Turpin leaned in.

And it ignited something deep in him.

Not just fury.

Fear.

Because he’d seen this story play out before; a powerful man stealing what little light he had left in the world.

Not again.

Not this time.

The bell above the door chimed.

She turned, her breath catching when she saw him. Judge Turpin, in his fine coat and sneer, the very picture of arrogance and entitlement.

“M’lord,” she said stiffly.

He strode in with the air of a man who owned the place. “Mrs. Lovett. Still baking your little pies, I see. Though I must say… something’s changed.” His eyes roamed far too leisurely over her, lingering just a second too long at her waist.

Nellie squared her shoulders, trying to remain composed. “Business as usual, sir.” She paused for a moment, before changing the subject. “Can I get you something?”

He waved a hand. “No need. I came by to speak with you.” His eyes glinted. “You see… now that my ward has run off with that no-good sailor, I find myself in the market for… new companionship.”

She froze, her smile faltering. “I-I see…”

“Yes, well. A man like me needs comfort. Stability. A woman who appreciates what he can offer.” His gaze dropped to her belly again, lingering. “Someone in your… delicate condition might benefit from security. Comfort. Far more than what this crumbling shop, or that odd barber upstairs, can give you.”

Nellie swallowed hard, unable to speak. Every word left her feeling more exposed, like he was undressing her with veiled threats.

But what he didn’t know was that Sweeney Todd stood just out of view at the top of the stairs, listening intently.

The blood in his ears thundered louder than the Judge’s voice. Every syllable felt like a nail driven into his skull. Comfort? Security? Take her? His Nellie? His children?

No. Not again. 

He wouldn’t let the Judge steal another woman away. He wouldn’t let the past repeat itself. If Turpin so much as breathed in Nellie’s direction again, Sweeney would slit his throat from ear to ear.

Mark his words.

Nellie forced a polite laugh, though her stomach churned worse than it had during her morning sickness. 

“Well, that’s very kind of you, Your Honour,” she said, voice tight, “but I’m quite content where I am.”

The Judge smiled thinly, like a cat watching a trapped bird. “Of course. But think on it, my dear. Circumstances change. And when they do… well, my door is always open.”

With that, he tipped his hat and walked out, boots echoing off the cobblestones. The moment the door shut behind him, Nellie’s knees nearly gave out.

She gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself, heart pounding like it would leap from her chest. Her skin crawled with the residue of his gaze; invasive and predatory. No matter how she tried to shake it off, it lingered like smoke.

She looked down at her belly, cradling it instinctively.

“No one’s takin’ you away from me,” she whispered. “Not ‘im. Not anyone.”

She wasn't sure if she was talking to the babies. Or to herself.

Or maybe to the man she suspected had been listening from upstairs, the man who hadn’t come down, but whose shadow she’d seen move just before the Judge left.

And despite everything, the cold words, the cruel silences, some part of her felt safer knowing he had heard.

Because if Sweeney Todd was listening… maybe he cared.

The fire in the hearth crackled gently in the otherwise quiet parlour. Nellie wiped her hands on her apron, heart hammering as she glanced towards the stairs. She knew he was up there. He always was, brooding in silence. Except… tonight felt different. His footsteps had sounded heavier, his pacing more erratic. And the Judge’s voice from earlier still echoed in her ears like a curse.

She climbed the stairs slowly, carefully, and knocked on his door with the back of her knuckles. No response.

“...Sweeney?” she called softly, the sound of his name feeling foreign in her mouth again.

Still silence. 

She pushed the door open. He was sitting by the window, coat still on, his hands clenched in his lap. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes, something wild and dangerous and afraid, all tangled together.

Nellie hovered in the doorway, unsure.

“I saw you,” she said quietly. “Earlier. When the Judge came by. I know you ‘eard.”

His shoulders tensed, but he said nothing. 

“I just… I thought maybe you’d say something,” she continued, voice shaking despite herself. “‘e made me feel… like I was…” she trailed off, choking on the memory. “‘e looked at me like I was a thing to own. Like I didn’t matter.”

Sweeney turned his head sharply towards her, eyes burning now. “You do matter.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them.

Nellie froze. Her breath hitched.

“Then why won’t you say it?” she asked, stepping into the room. “Why do you keep pushin’ me away one minute and then… then watchin’ me like I’m the only thing keepin’ you tethered to this bloody world the next?”

He stood abruptly, the chair scraping the floor. “Because I can’t, Nellie!” he snapped. “Because if I let myself feel any of it, I might lose everything all over again.”

They stared at each other; raw, exposed, trembling on the edge of something neither of them could name.

Finally, Nellie spoke, barely above a whisper. “You’re not gonna lose me, Sweeney. Not unless you shove me away first.”

Nellie stood in the dim glow of the firelight, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her words still hung in the air, echoing louder in his mind than any of the screams he’d silenced in this very room.

Sweeney’s breath was shallow. He looked away, jaw clenched, hands shaking at his sides.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he muttered, his voice raw. “Caring. Loving. I buried all that years ago.”

Nellie took a cautious step towards him. “Then maybe… we dig it back up. Together.”

He looked at her then, really looked. Her tired eyes, the curve of her belly beneath her apron, the faint tremble in her hands. She wasn’t asking for promises or poetry. She just wanted him here, with her.

“I didn’t want this,” he said, softer now. “Not again. I thought revenge was all I had left. But then you… you went and gave me something to lose.”

Nellie blinked, tears stinging, lips parted slightly in surprise. “Then don’t lose it.”

He stepped forward at last, hand hesitant as it brushed over her shoulder. “I’m trying,” he whispered. “I just need more time.”

“You’ve got it,” she murmured, placing her hand over his.

They stood there in quiet understanding, no longer two broken pieces, but something slowly piecing itself back together.

Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows as Nellie set down a fresh pot of tea in the parlour, yawning. She hadn’t slept well, her mind spinning with last night’s confrontation.

She didn’t expect to hear the creak of the stairs.

Sweeney emerged, hair damp from a recent wash, shirt slightly wrinkled but clean. He looked like a man trying. Trying to feel normal. Trying to be something more than the shadow he had become.

He walked into the room without a word, but instead of retreating to his corner, he stepped behind her.

“Sit,” he muttered.

She blinked. “What?”

He nodded towards the chair. “Sit. You're always on your feet.”

Suspicious, Nellie slowly obeyed. He picked up the kettle and poured her a cup of tea, then one for himself. The gesture was small, almost clumsy. But for him, it felt monumental.

As she reached for her cup, his fingers brushed hers. He didn’t pull away.

Nellie looked up, eyes searching his. “Are you all right?”

He met her gaze. “No. But I will be.”

Chapter Text

The bell above the shop door chimed, its cheery ring at odds with the cold presence that stepped inside. Nellie looked up from behind the counter, her brows immediately knitting at the sight of Beadle Bamford brushing the snow from his coat.

“I’ve come on behalf of Judge Turpin,” he said, stepping closer. “He was rather taken with your charm the other day. It’s not every day a man of his station extends such an… offer. Comfort, protection. A better life, you might say.”

Nellie stiffened. “You mean ‘e wants to own me like ‘e did Johanna.”

The Beadle chuckled, the sound like oil slicking over stone. “Now now, don’t be dramatic. His Honour merely sees potential in you. With a child on the way…” He paused as his eyes flicked to her stomach. “... you must be thinking of the future.”

“I am,” Nellie said flatly, “and it doesn’t include ‘im.”

The Beadle leaned in closer. “It would be wise to reconsider. You know how… unkind the world can be to women in your situation. The Judge can offer safety. And he’s not fond of being refused.”

Before Nellie could retort, the shop door opened again.

Sweeney stood in the doorway, still as stone, his eyes immediately locking onto the Beadle. The air shifted, colder now, and heavy with tension.

Nellie’s breath caught.

The Beadle turned slowly. “Ah. Mr. Todd.”

Sweeney didn’t blink. “Get. Out.”

A silence fell, sharp as a blade. The Beadle hesitated, just long enough to let the warning simmer, then straightened his coat with an arrogant smirk. “I’ll let His Honour know you declined his generosity. Twice.”

As the Beadle disappeared into the street, Sweeney turned to Nellie. His jaw was clenched, his fists tight.

“You all right?” he asked, voice low.

Nellie nodded, but her hands trembled just beneath the counter.

“I won’t let him near you again,” Sweeney said after a beat, eyes still on the door. “Any of you.”

The shop was quiet once more. Too quiet.

Nellie stood frozen behind the counter, staring at the door long after the Beadle had vanished into the London fog. Her hands slowly unclenched, but the tremble in her fingers remained.

Sweeney still lingered by the door. He hadn’t moved an inch since the Beadle left, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice low. “For steppin’ in.”

He looked at her then, and something flickered behind his gaze. “You shouldn’t have to deal with men like that,” he muttered. “Especially not… him.”

“I can ‘andle meself, y’know,” she said, but her voice lacked conviction.

“I know,” he replied, softer this time. “But I’ll still be there.”

Nellie blinked, unsure she’d heard him right. He stepped forwards, hesitated, then set a firm hand on the counter between them. A small, grounding gesture, his way of trying to reach out without knowing how.

“I didn’t ask for ‘im to offer me anythin’,” she said quietly. “I didn’t even encourage it. ‘e just…” She paused for a moment and looked away. “...’e thinks ‘e can do whatever ‘e wants.”

Sweeney’s jaw flexed, and his hand curled into a fist against the wood. “Not this time.”

She dared a glance up at him. “Why do you care?”

He didn’t answer. Not with words, at least. His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach, then back to her face; unguarded, unsure, but no longer indifferent.

That was enough.

The Beadle stood in the Judge’s lavish study, hat in hand. Turpin sipped his brandy with exaggerated calm, but the tension in his jaw gave him away.

“She refused?” he repeated slowly, voice calm but coiled like a viper.

The Beadle nodded once. “Firmly, sir. Said her answer hadn’t changed.”

The Judge exhaled through his nose, placing the brandy glass down with a sharp clink. “So the barber’s influence remains.”

“It appears so.”

Turpin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then perhaps it’s time to remove the barber.”

The Beadle straightened slightly. “You mean… permanently?”

The Judge turned to the window, watching the fog roll in over Fleet Street. “We’ll start with an inquiry. Rumours are swirling already, too many gentlemen go up those stairs and don’t return. Let’s see what we can stir.”

He turned back to the Beadle, his expression cold. “And if that fails… I’ll take care of it myself.”

The shop was dim, lit only by the dying glow of the lantern overhead. The shutters were drawn, the doors bolted. Nellie sat at the corner table, her hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea she hadn’t touched. Across from her, Sweeney sat hunched forward, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

“I don’t know what ‘e thinks I am,” she murmured eventually. “Some prize to be won? Somethin’ to take?” She sniffed, hugging her arms around herself. “‘e looked at me like I was already ‘is.” 

Sweeney lifted his gaze to her. “You’re not.”

“I know,” she said, though her voice trembled. “But I remember that look. I saw it once before in Lucy’s eyes, after she came back from… after ‘im.”

His expression twisted, darkened. A heavy silence fell between them for a while.

“He won’t get near you again. I’ll make sure of it,” Sweeney said tightly.

Nellie gave a bitter little laugh. “Seems like the universe’s idea of irony, don't it? Me, carryin’ your child… children… and the same man who ruined your first family wants to destroy this one too.”

Sweeney stood abruptly, pacing. “He won’t.” His voice was hoarse. “I won’t let him.”

She looked up at him. “Why does it matter so much to you, suddenly?”

He turned to her, conflicted, fists clenched at his sides. “Because I couldn’t save Lucy. And I won’t fail again.”

Nellie blinked, stunned by the honesty. She reached for his hand without thinking, and surprisingly to her, he didn’t pull away.

It began as a whisper in the marketplace.

A merchant’s son who went for a shave and never made it home. A lonely nobleman last seen ascending the narrow stairs to Fleet Street’s notorious barber. Murmurs turned to sideways glances, and sideways glances grew into careful avoidance of the barbershop altogether, except by the desperate, the drunk, or those new to town.

Judge Turpin took notice.

And more than that, he fed the whispers.

“I heard,” he told the baker’s wife with a perfectly performed grimace, “that poor Mr. Ellsworth was last seen in that wretched shop. Dreadful, isn’t it? I always knew there was something odd about that barber.”

The Beadle, always just a step behind the Judge, began to “casually” ask questions. He dropped Sweeney’s name in taverns and tailors, watched expressions shift from familiarity to unease. It was only a matter of time before fear took root.

But behind closed doors, the Judge’s interest lay elsewhere.

Nellie Lovett had rejected his offer twice now. That would not do. He needed to secure her, not just for company, but to separate her from that madman before her loyalty to him became too dangerous.

So he penned a letter; flourished and formal, and he wrapped in the false veneer of care.

Dearest Mrs. Lovett,

It pains me to see you tied to a man who offers you neither protection nor comfort, and whose name, though you may not realise, is fast becoming the subject of scrutiny. My concern is genuine, and my door is open. You are with child, perhaps children, and you deserve security. Luxury, even.

I offer both.

Consider what your life might be if you were not stuck beneath that shop, haunted by the whispers that follow your lodger’s name. I can give you more than survival, I can give you safety.

Yours most sincerely,

Judge Turpin

He sealed it with his ring and handed it to the Beadle personally.

“See that it’s delivered discreetly,” he said, eyes dark. “And then… keep watch on the barber. I want to know everything.”

The letter arrived in the late afternoon, slipped beneath the bakery’s door like a serpent in the shadows. Nellie spotted it while sweeping the flour-dusted floor and froze at the sight of the Judge’s wax seal.

Her hands trembled as she picked it up, already dreading the contents before she even broke the seal.

She read the letter in silence, her brow furrowing deeper with every word. By the end, her lips curled in disgust.

“Luxury?” she scoffed, crumpling the paper in her fist. “Safety?”

She looked down at her belly, the slight swell just beginning to show beneath her apron.

“You think I’d leave ‘im… leave them… for you? ” she whispered, voice bitter. “Over my dead body.”

Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, towards the barber’s shop above. He didn’t know about the letter yet. Maybe she wouldn’t tell him. Not now. He had enough demons clawing at his mind.

But she knew one thing for certain; Judge Turpin wasn’t finished with them yet.

Fleet Street was buzzing with unease.

The Beadle leaned over a tavern counter, feigning idle conversation. “Funny, isn’t it?” he said to the barkeep. “All these men go up to that shop and don’t come back. You’d think they’d at least show their face again for a pint.”

The barkeep chuckled nervously, wiping the rim of a glass. “Can’t say I’ve noticed, really...”

“Oh, but I have,” the Beadle replied with a knowing smile. “And so has the Judge. He’s concerned for the public, you see.”

He dropped a few coins on the counter and left, his boots tapping a slow, deliberate rhythm on the cobblestones.

Meanwhile, others began to whisper.

“You heard about Wilkins? Said he was headed to Todd’s place.”

“And Smythe, too. That’s three men in the last fortnight…”

“He always was a strange one, that barber. Pale as a ghost.”

Even the brave few still visiting Sweeney began to glance back over their shoulders as they climbed the stairs.

And from the shadows, Sweeney Todd watched them all, his eyes narrowed and calculating.

They were getting too close.

Too curious.

And that meant only one thing. 

He'd have to silence the whispers before they turned into torches and pitchforks.

Chapter Text

Sweeney stood just behind the half-shuttered window of his barbershop, out of sight but within earshot. Below, two men lingered outside the bakery, speaking in hushed tones.

“They say Todd’s cursed.”

“More like he’s hiding something.”

“Don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t risk a shave up there…”

Sweeney’s eyes darkened.

So the rumours were spreading faster than he expected. The Judge and his Beadle, no doubt.

His grip on the windowsill tightened until the wood groaned beneath his feet.

Let them whisper.

Let them wonder.

But if they came too close to the truth, if they dared turn their gaze toward her, then he’d make sure their whispers were their last.

The paper was already crumpled by the time he found it, tucked halfway under the edge of the counter where Nellie must’ve tossed it aside. He didn’t mean to pry, he’d only come down to fetch a kettle, but something about the Judge’s wax seal caught his eye like blood on snow.

He smoothed the letter open, his jaw tightening with every word.

“My concern is genuine…”

“You deserve security. Luxury, even…”

“I can give you safety…”

His hands clenched together so hard it tore in two. His breath became heavy, ragged.

He could see it now; Turpin, smug and leering, daring to touch what isn’t his.

“He thinks he can take them away from me, like he did to me before…” Sweeney growled beneath his breath.

He dropped the pieces into the fire and watched them curl into ash.

If the Judge wanted to come for Nellie and the twins, Sweeney would make sure he killed the man before that ever happened.

Toby had been sent on an errand to fetch a fresh loaf of bread Mrs. Mabel’s bakery down the street. Clutching his small purse, he trotted along the cobbles, whistling softly to himself. He froze when he saw two burly coopers rounding the corner, their voices low and urgent.

“You hear? Old Wilkins never came down those stairs at Todd’s place. Went in for a shave and didn’t come out.”

“Aye. And Smythe, last week. Folk say that barber’s got a taste for fresh meat.”

Toby’s heart thudded so loud he could barely breathe. He edged past them, face burning, and the rest of the errand blurred into a daze of dough and coughs.

Back at the shop, Nellie was kneading dough when Toby slipped inside, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Sweeney was sharpening his razor in the corner, but Toby barely noticed the man’s presence.

“M-Mum?” he stammered, voice trembling. “Is it true? Are–are people disappearin' when they go to Mr. Todd for a shave?”

Nellie froze, dough pattering in her hand. She exchanged a glance with Sweeney, whose blade paused mid-stroke.

“Toby, that’s just gossip. You know 'ow people talk.” Nellie said gently.

“But why would they say 'e eats 'em? I… I 'eard 'em,” he said, voice quivering.

Sweeney set the razor down and stepped forward, noticing Toby’s fearful gaze as he looked up at him. “I promise you, Toby, no one’s ever gone missing here. Those stories are for frightened children and gossiping fools.”

Toby looked between them both, confusion and relief warring his green eyes. “But if it ain't true… why do they talk of it?”

Nellie wiped her flour-dusty hands on her apron and crouched beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. “Because fear spreads faster than the truth, love. But ‘ere, with us, you’re safe. Understood?”

Toby nodded slowly, though unease still fluttered in his chest. “You’d tell me if anythin’ was wrong, right?”

“Of course we would, son,” Nellie said softly, feeling the dull ache in her chest at having to lie to him.

Later that night once Toby was fast asleep, Nellie and Sweeney closed the shop door and drew the curtains tight. The flicker of lantern light turned the room cosy… and conspiratorial.

Nellie was the first one to break the silence.

“We can’t let those rumours spread. They’ll bring the Beadle back with more questions… or worse.”

Sweeney paced, boots thudding softly. “We need to make the gossip die. Quick.” 

Nellie leaned against the counter, flour smudged on her cheek. “What if we start plantin’ better stories? ‘Mr. Todd saved old Mrs. Cartwright’s life when she nearly choked on a bone.’ Somethin’ kind they can’t twist.”

He nodded slowly. “Positive rumours. We muddy the water.”

She tapped her fingers together. “And it that fails… maybe a small gift to the tavern owner of a quiet word to the Beadle’s clerk. Bribe ‘em, keep ‘em talkin’ about pies instead of disappearances.”

Sweeney’s jaw clenched at the word “bribe,” but his eyes were steely. “Anything to keep you all safe.” He gestured at her belly.

Nellie gave him a wan smile. “Then we do it. Stories, bribery, whatever it takes.”

He reached across the counter, taking her hand. “We’ll protect our family,” he vowed. “No matter what.”

They shared a determined glance. They were partners in flour, blood, and unbreakable loyalty. And they were ready to silence every whisper that threatened to expose their dark secret.

After they’d plotted how to drown out the gossip with kinder tales, Nellie and Sweeney lingered in the half-lit bakehouse. 

Nellie pressed her palms flat on the flour-dusted counter, eyes fierce despite her weariness. “Sweeney, we ‘ave to stop these killins’. At least for now.”

Sweeney’s blade hovered over the dough he was rolling, then stilled. He looked at her, shadows flickering across his face. “Stop? You know I can’t–”

“You can,” she interrupted, voice low but unwavering. “Every body that vanishes, every whisper that spreads, it’s driving suspicion right back to us. If you keep killin’ customers, the Beadle will find a pattern ‘e can’t ignore.”

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “But we need the meat.”

“We’ll find another way,” Nellie said, stepping close. “I’ll buy more from the market. I’ll even ‘aggle if I must. I’ll bribe the butcher if it keeps you from drawin’ any more unwanted eyes to our shop.”

Sweeney’s gaze dropped to her belly, then back to her. “You’d do that… for me?”

“For our family,” she replied, voice softening. “For Toby. For the babies.”

He set the rolling pin down, nodding once. “All right, I’ll stop. For now.”

“Sweeney, I need you to promise me somethin’.”

He met her eyes, wary. “Anything.”

“If a man comes into your barber shop tomorrow, any man, no matter what ‘e says or does,” she went on, voice firm, “you will not kill ‘im. Do you understand?”

Sweeney’s jaw clenched. He glanced at the shuttered window, as if picturing a gentleman climbing the stairs even now.

She stepped closer to him so he couldn’t look away. “If you kill again, it’ll confirm every whisper. It’ll draw the Beadle straight through that door. And I can’t lose you. Not now.”

He swallowed hard, hand curling into a fist at his side. The conflict flickered in his dark eyes; the old rage, the hunger for blood, and beneath it, something softer. It was fear. Fear for her, and fear for their children.

Finally, he exhaled, the sound rough. “I promise you.”

She reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “No matter ‘ow they provoke you. No matter ‘ow they insult you. You keep that razor sheathed.”

He nodded, voice low and serious. “I’ll hold myself back. For you. For them.”

Nellie tucked her hand into his. “Thank you. We can't let the suspicions arise any more than what they already 'ave.”

They stood together in the hush, partners bound by a desperate determination to protect their fragile peace.

Chapter Text

Nellie carried a tray of steaming meat pies inside, her breath catching as she scanned the dim room. She found old Martha, the landlady, wiping down the bar.

“Mrs. Mabel,” Nellie called, voice bright. “I thought your regulars might enjoy a treat on the ‘ouse today.”

Martha’s eyes widened. “Nellie Lovett, you’re a sight for sore eyes!” She pinched Nellie’s cheek. “Come, let me introduce you.”

Martha beckoned over two grizzled coopers, and Nellie offered each a pie. As they bit in, she launched into her carefully crafted tale.

“Y’know Mistah Todd upstairs? ‘e ‘elped old Mrs. Cartwright last night. She nearly choked on a bone after callin' for ‘is shave. ‘e rushed in, cleared ‘er throat, and then fixed ‘er ‘air free o' charge.”

The coopers exchanged surprised looks, nodding gravely. “Well, I’ll be,” one said. “That’s a rare kindness in these parts.”

Before the tavern emptied, Martha was already extolling Sweeney’s “charity and skill” to the regulars, her voice loud enough to carry into the street. Nellie slipped away, heart pounding; her rumour had taken root.

Sweeney wound up his leather strop outside the shop and called across the street to Mr. Higgins, the grocer.

“Morning, Higgins! I've got two free shaves for you and your apprentice—on the house.”

Higgins grinned, dropping his basket. “You’re too kind, Mr. Todd!”

Sweeney shrugged. “We all need a hand now and then.”

Word of the free service spread as eager market-goers lined up. While each man sat in the chair, Sweeney chatted, deftly slipping in snippets of his own character.

“I remember losing my own family once. If a fellow’s had enough sorrow, he’s bound to give others a break.”

By noon, hushed whispers drifted back to the bakery.

“Todd’s not the monster they say—he saved Cartwright’s life.”

“He’s giving away shaves like sweets. Says he owes the world.”

Nellie locked the door and leaned against the counter, watching Sweeney bring fresh water to clean his strop. 

“Well?” she asked.

He paused, his smile slow but genuine. “Martha said half the tavern’s talkin’ about my ‘generosity.’ And Mrs. Higgins offered to recommend us at her sewing circle.”

Nellie’s eyes glistened. “The rumours are dyin’.”

He reached across and took her hand. “Thanks to you.”

She squeezed his fingers. “And to you… showin’ ‘em the real you at every turn.”

Outside, a carriage rattled past. Behind it came the soft echo of laughter and talk. It was no longer edged with fear, but curiosity, even admiration.

Together, they’d turned whispers of murder into whispers of mercy. And in that, they found hope that their secret, for now, would remain safely buried.

Judge Turpin sat in his lavish study, fanning himself with a silk handkerchief despite the chill in the air. Before him lay copy after copy of the Morning Post, all featuring variations on the same headline:

“Barber of Fleet Street: From Butcher to Benefactor?”

He crumpled the paper in his fist, ivory knuckles whitening. 

How dare he? Turpin snarled. For weeks he had stoked those dark tales, fed every tavern and tailor with hints of disappearances, only to watch them die in the glow of one heroic deed after another.

He paced the length of the room, boots clicking against the marble. Generosity, they called it. Charity. The same man who butchered innocents was now lauded for saving old Mrs. Cartwright!

Turpin halted before a mirror, eyes hard. The tight curl of his lip betrayed more than irritation—it was envy. Todd was rewriting the story, and Turpin's influence was slipping like sand through his fingers.

He picked up his glass of brand and swirled it in silence, mind racing with new schemes. If dark rumours wouldn’t stick, perhaps a darker demonstration would.

Let them applaud the barber, he mused, voice low. I’ll show them the beast beneath the kindness. 

Beadle Bamford sat behind his desk in the magistrate’s office, feet propped on the ledge, ledger open before him. He scowled at the unfolded letters from Mrs. Mabel’s tavern and Mr. Higgins the grocer—all praising Sweeney Todd's “generosity.”

He jabbed a finger at the pages. “He’s masquerading benevolence as penance,” he muttered. “Convince a few customers and the whole street eats out of his hand.”

He straightened, tossing the letters aside. The Judge’s orders had been to “keep the public wary” of Todd, yet here was Fleet Street embracing him. 

Bamford rose and retrieved his cane. It tapped the floor in a staccato rhythm as he strode to the window, watching the flicker of candlelight inside the pie shop.

Charity won’t save him, he thought grimly. We need a new angle.

He turned back to his desk, flipping through the files on Todd's past customers, looking for anyone he could quietly “misplace” or a fresh scandal to revive the old whispers.

If kindness won’t slay the beast, he resolved, then fear will.

He picked up his pen and began drafting a new report.

Turpin sat rigidly at his desk, the half-empty brandy glass trembling in his hand. His gilded study felt suddenly too small—too tame for the fury swelling inside him.

“Bamford,” he rapped out as the Beadle stood in the doorway, “your… charitable interference has undone every whisper I planted.”

The Beadle bowed his head, shame flickering behind his eyes.

“Effective as Mrs. Lovett’s pie gossip might be,” Turpin continued, voice cold as a tomb, “we shall remind Fleet Street exactly what that barber’s capable of.” He set down the glass with a decisive thud. “I want the old rumours resurrected—and amplified.”

The Judge rose, pacing a measured circle. “Procure the fragment of bone they say Todd’s barbed from his victims. Place it outside the shop at dawn. Speak of discoveries on the riverbank—of bodies found butchered beyond recognition. Let fear speak for me.”

Bamford swallowed, steeling himself. “As you command, Your Grace.”

Turpin’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “And see the word reaches Mrs. Lovett’s ears too. I want her unsettled. She should have accepted my offer of security and protection when she had the chance.”

The morning fog clung to Fleet Street like a damp shroud, the stench of the city thick in the air. Nellie Lovett stepped outside the shop to shake out a cloth when something near the stoop caught her eye. A small bundle, wrapped in yellow paper, sat oddly out of place against the cobblestones. Curiosity prickled up her spine as she crouched, fingers gingerly unwrapping it—only to drop it with a startled gasp.

A human bone. Splintered at one end. Still stained.

She recoiled, heart stammering, and looked up sharply—eyes scanning the quiet street. No one lingered nearby, but the implication was as clear as the morning light. A warning. A message. Or worse—bait.

Sweeney was downstairs within seconds of her calling. He didn’t speak at first, just stared at the grisly fragment, jaw tightening, a muscle in his cheek ticking as his hands curled into fists.

“They’re tryin' to ruin us again,” Nellie whispered, shaken. “They want people to fear you, to talk, to keep the whispers alive…”

“They’ve gone too far,” he growled, lifting the bone and inspecting it like it was a declaration of war. “First, they spread rumours. Now this.”

Nellie stepped closer, gently touching his arm. “They’re not goin’ to stop, love. Not unless you make ‘em.”

He looked at her then— really looked—and the stillness in his eyes chilled her more than the bone had.

“The next time they walk into my shop…” he said quietly, voice edged with steel, “I won’t be sending them back out again.”

Nellie nodded, a flicker of fear and understanding in her eyes. “Just be careful, Sweeney.”

He slipped the bone back into the cloth with a chilling calm, tucked it away, then turned and headed upstairs—already planning how this would end.

Because it would end. Soon. 

The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a warm orange glow over the kitchen. Nellie sat curled in the armchair, her hands wrapped around a cup of tea she hadn’t touched. Sweeney stood by the window, watching the street outside with that same haunted expression he wore whenever London whispered too loudly.

“They’re not going to stop,” she said softly. “You know that, don’t you?”

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

Nellie continued, her voice barely above a whisper, “They’ll keep pokin’ and proddin’. Tossin’ bones and rumours till there’s nothin’ left of the life we’ve tried to build.”

“I know,” he said finally.

She looked at him, the shadows dancing across his face, worn and hard and tired. “If you do this… there’s no goin’ back, love.”

“There never was.” He turned towards her, voice low and steady. “I let him live once, and he destroyed everything I loved. I won’t make that mistake again.”

Nellie stood and crossed the room, placing her hand over his. “Then do it for the right reason this time. Not for revenge. Not for the past. Do it to protect what you’ve got now. Me. Toby. The babies.”

Sweeney’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, and for a brief moment, something softened in his eyes. He nodded once, slowly. 

“When he comes back… it ends.”

The dawn chill hadn’t yet burned off when whispers began drifting down the street like a foul mist. 

Mrs. Yarrow, the fishwife, passed Nellie’s pie shop on the way to the market, leaning in through the half-open door. “Morning, Mrs. Lovett,” she hissed, voice low and urgent. “Did you hear? Bodies—men—found by the riverbank last night. Worse than usual… butchered beyond recognition.”

Nellie stiffened, heart pounding. She already knew what the woman's answer would be before the words even left her mouth. "And... do they 'ave a suspect in mind?"

The fishwife’s eyes darted around, as though expecting someone to overhear. “Well, I’ve heard people saying it’s the work of Fleet Street’s own barber—Sweeney Todd."

Nellie paled instantly. She knew for a fact that they were clearly being set up, and that these rumours weren't going to just simply go away. They needed a plan. They needed to do whatever it took to protect themselves and their family.

By mid-morning, the tavern on the corner was alive with gossip. Toby slipped inside for water and pause, only to find half a dozen customers clustered by the hearth.

“Bodies on the riverbank,” one insisted. “No heads, no hands… just the carcass, skinned clean.”

“Aye,” another agreed, leaning forward. “And who else but Todd? Bitten by the vengeance bug, I reckon.”

Toby felt his face go cold. He caught the landlord’s eye, which flicked to the door as thought waiting for someone to come bustling in.

Back at the shop, Sweeney stood with his back to the mirror, razor in hand—but he wasn’t sharpening it. Nellie told him what she’d heard, voice trembling.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he closed his eyes, letting the rumours wash over him like poison. When he spoke, his voice was the calm before a storm.

“They’re spreading these rumours and blaming me,” he said softly. “They’ll come for us.”

Nellie’s breath caught. “Then what will stop 'em?”

Sweeney advanced, each footstep measured and cold. He lifted the razor—its steel edge catching the light. “I will,” he said, tone unflinching. “I’ll see Judge Turpin slashed beneath this very roof, and the Beadle’s lies will die with him.”

He pressed the razor into his palm, turning it so the handle lay warm in his hand. “Once justice is done, we leave,” he vowed. “Tonight—when their blood’s on these boards—I’ll shut this shop for good. And we’ll vanish before dawn breaks.”

Nellie met his gaze, her own fear steeling into resolve. “Together?”

He nodded, eyes hard as flint. “Together.”

And with that, Sweeney Todd—barber, butcher, avenger—prepared to write the final chapter of his vengeance before running away to start a new life.

Their fragile peace was shattered later that evening when they noticed Toby stood in the doorway to the parlour, his arms folded. His eyes darted between Sweeney and Nellie. His voice was tight, uncertain. “I ‘eard people talkin’ in the market this mornin’… sayin’ more bodies were found by the riverbank. Butchered. They’re saying it’s you, Mr. Todd.”

The room went still. Nellie looked toward Sweeney, heart thudding. He said nothing at first, only stared at the flames flickering in the grate.

Toby stepped forward, brow furrowed. “Is it true? Why would they say that? What’s goin’ on? And why do we need to run if you’ve done nothin’ wrong?”

Nellie tried to answer gently. “Toby, people love to talk. They twist things they don’t understand. You know ‘ow it is—Fleet Street’s always been filled with whispers.”

“That’s not good enough,” Toby said, eyes flashing. “They’re not just whisperin’ now. They’re pointin’ fingers. People are scared. I need to know—are we in danger? And why?”

Sweeney finally looked up. His face was unreadable, voice low and cold. “The danger isn’t just what they say. It’s what some men might do with those lies. That’s why we’re leaving. It’s not safe here anymore.”

Toby stared at him, mouth parting to speak, but he couldn’t find the words.

“We’ll explain more when the time is right,” Nellie added, placing a firm but gentle hand on his shoulder. “For now, trust us. We need to go. Soon.”

Toby looked between them, confused and uneasy—but deep down, he knew. Something dark was unravelling. And they were trying to outrun it.

Toby sat on the edge of his small bed, the worn knapsack at his feet half-packed. He stared at the floorboards, brow furrowed with worry, the echo of voices from earlier still lingering in his mind—accusations, rumours, bodies by the river.

He didn’t have all the answers. Not even half. But what he did have… was them.

Nellie appeared in the doorway, soft-eyed and quiet. “We’re leavin’ at first light,” she said gently. “You don’t ‘ave to come, Toby. Not if you’re afraid. But—”

“I’m comin',” he said, cutting her off without looking up.

She blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

He finally raised his eyes to hers, filled with uncertainty but also something resolute. “I don’t understand what’s goin’ on. And maybe I don’t want to. But you and Mr. Todd… you’re all I’ve got. You’ve looked after me. Gave me a place. A family. I’m not lettin’ that go, even if things don’t make sense.”

Nellie’s throat tightened. She stepped into the room and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Thank you, love,” she murmured.

He gave her a small nod. “I’d rather face whatever’s out there with you than be left behind wonderin’ what ‘appened to the only people I've ever trusted.”

From the hall, Sweeney stood listening, silent. And though his face remained impassive, there was the faintest flicker of something beneath—gratitude, maybe even guilt. They were running, yes. But they weren’t running alone.

Chapter Text

The fog rolled thick through Fleet Street, curling around the boots of the man who walked with heavy, self-assured steps. Judge Turpin, cloaked in black and puffed with pride, carried an envelope in his gloved hand and had an evil smirk spread across his face. He was not a man who feared dark alleys or whispered rumours.

But he should have been.

The fragment of bone left on the shop’s doorstep had been a calculated move—his warning. The stories were gaining traction, and the whispers were becoming louder. Now, all he needed was the truth. One slip. One mistake.

He glanced up at the sign swinging overhead in the breeze.

“Sweeney Todd – Barber”.

The corners of his lips twitched in amusement. Benjamin Barker. I should’ve seen it long ago, he mused.

He climbed the steps with a predator’s patience, the worn wood creaking beneath his boots as he raised a hand to knock—no, pound—on the door. But it was already ajar.

Turpin stepped inside.

The shop was quiet. Immaculate. A single chair, gleaming silver razors arranged with precision. The air hung heavy with the scent of shaving cream and something metallic that clung just beneath it—like iron. Like blood.

Then came the sound. The soft click of a door closing behind him.

The Judge turned.

Sweeney Todd stood in the shadows.

“Ah,” the Judge said, his voice thick with smugness. “So it is you. Benjamin Barker.”

There was no surprise in Sweeney’s eyes. Only fury. And something colder.

The door locked with a quiet snick behind them.

The lantern on the counter cast long, jittering shadows as Judge Turpin stepped deeper into the shop. He straightened his cloak, feigning confidence. “I trust you received my warning?” He smiled cruelly. “I know your name, and I know what you’ve become.”

Sweeney’s eyes burned. He advanced, voice low and cold. “You killed my Lucy. You destroyed my family.”

Turpin laughed, stepping toward the chair. “You’re nothing but a butcher, Barker—”

In a single, fluid motion, Sweeney's razor flashed. Turpin’s smile froze as steel met flesh. A choking gasp, a spray of dark blood across the wooden floorboards—and then silence. The Judge slumped forwards, lifeless, his final breath swallowed by stillness.

Sweeney straightened, blade dripping. He leaned into the Judge’s now lifeless body, voice low. “That was for Lucy. For Johanna. For everything you took. And for trying to take her.”

He wiped the blood from the blade on the rich velvet of the Judge’s cloak. A final act of disdain.

Then, with one hand, he pulled the hidden lever. The trapdoor beneath the chair groaned open, and Turpin’s body dropped through, vanishing into the shadows below with a full, final thud.

Sweeney stood alone, breathing heavily. He closed the razor with a metallic snap and stared down at the trapdoor. One monster gone. One more to go.

Not long after the Judge had finally been silenced for good, Sweeney heard the bell above the shop door jingle sharply, cutting through the stillness like a warning. Sweeney turned around slowly. The scent of iron still hung in the air, but he had cleared the worst of the mess.

“Mr Todd," the Beadle called out, stepping inside with his usual flair, his polished cane tapping against the floorboards. “I’m looking for Judge Turpin; I haven’t seen him in a while. He mentioned earlier about stopping by your barber shop.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “This was the last place he said he’d be.”

Sweeney offered a slow, deliberate nod. “He did come by.”

The Beadle raised an eyebrow, taking a step further in. “And?”

“He’s not here anymore.”

The Beadle tilted his head, suspicion clouding his face now. “Strange. He never mentioned where he was going after. You haven’t heard anything?”

Sweeney took a step closer, the razor still in his hand. “No. But perhaps… you'd like a shave while you wait. A bit of patience might bring you answers.”

The Beadle hesitated. Then, trying to maintain composure, he forced a tight smile and moved toward the chair. “Why not? Never say no to a tidy trim.”

Sweeney fastened the cape around the man’s neck with meticulous care, his movements smooth, practised. The blade whispered open again.

“You always did clean up other men’s messes,” Sweeney murmured, circling behind him.

The Beadle smirked. “I do what must be done to maintain order."

Sweeney leaned in close, his voice deadly calm. “So do I.”

The razor flashed—swift, merciless. Blood spilled in a hot rush, soaking the white of the neckcloth. The Beadle gurgled, his eyes wide with shock as his body jerked, then went limp beneath the cape.

Sweeney stared at him for a long moment, his heart pounding, but his resolve unshaken.

Another lever pulled. Another body vanished.

It was done.

Nellie stood in the dim kitchen, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her apron, though she hadn’t baked a thing. Her eyes kept drifting toward the stairwell, ears straining for any sound from above. The silence had grown too long, too thick with tension.

The creak of the floorboards made her jolt. Sweeney emerged, pale but composed, his coat slightly rumpled, and something unreadable in his eyes. He paused at the bottom step, gaze meeting hers.

“It’s done,” he said quietly.

She stared at him, searching his face. “Both of ‘em?”

He nodded once. “The Judge and the Beadle. They won’t come after us again.”

Nellie let out a slow breath, shaky, her hand finding the edge of a table for balance. “Then… that’s it?”

“That’s it,” he confirmed, stepping closer. “We leave tomorrow. First light.”

She swallowed hard, emotions flickering across her face—relief, fear, guilt, and something that felt dangerously like hope. “And we don’t look back?”

“Never.”

He reached for her hand, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ve paid enough for the past. It’s time we take something for ourselves.”

She nodded, blinking back sudden tears. “Then let’s go, love. Let’s disappear.”

The moon hung low over Fleet Street, casting long shadows through the shuttered windows as Nellie and Sweeney worked in grim silence. The pie shop was dark, save for the faint flicker of firelight from the furnace below.

Nellie’s hands trembled as she scrubbed the last streaks of blood from the floorboards in Sweeney’s shop, the harsh scent of iron and soap stinging her nose. She didn’t speak—there was nothing left to say. They had crossed a line there was no return from.

Below, Sweeney methodically fed the remains of Judge Turpin and the Beadle into the roaring furnace, the flames devouring every trace of flesh and bone. His face was blank, a mask of solemn resolve, though his eyes burned as hot as the fire itself.

By the time the sky began to lighten, they had rid themselves of every trace—no blood, no cloak, no hair or splatter to betray what had transpired. The shop had never looked so clean.

Sweeney finally stood in the doorway of the bakehouse, shirt clinging to his back with sweat, his gaze fixed on Nellie, who sat slumped in a chair, exhausted.

“It’s done,” he repeated, quieter this time, almost to himself.

She looked up at him with tired eyes, voice hoarse. “Then let’s leave this place before it swallows us, too.”

They didn’t sleep that night. They didn’t need to. The fire had burned more than just two men—it had consumed what was left of their old lives. Now all that remained was the road ahead.

Chapter Text

The carriage rocked gently over the rutted road as dawn’s first light crept through the mist. Sweeney sat up straight on the coach seat, cloak drawn tight around him, eyes half-closing against the chill.

After a long moment, he turned to Nellie, voice still husky from the night’s work. “Where are we heading, love?”

Nellie settled beside him, cradling her small carpet-bag on her lap. She smiled, a warm, weary curve of her lips. “To the coast,” she said softly. “There’s a little stone cottage just beyond the cliffs—I've been savin’ for it these past months. Enough for the deposit and a month’s rent, at least.”

Sweeney nodded, as though the very word seaside swept away the grime of the city. He looked out at the pale sky, already brushing pink against the horizon. “And the shop?”

She met his gaze and squeezed his hand. “It stays be’ind. We’ve paid our dues.”

From the corner of the carriage, Toby, bundled against the dawn, pressed forward eagerly. “A cottage by the sea?” His eyes were bright with excitement. “Will I get me own room? And can I ‘elp fish in the mornin’?”

Nellie laughed, the sound light and full of hope. “Your own room, and you can learn to fish or build sandcastles—whatever ya like.”

Toby beamed, leaning back into his seat as if peering already at rolling waves. “I can’t wait,” he whispered, voice trembling with happy nerves.

Sweeney’s stern features softened as he watched Nellie and Toby. The road ahead was long, but for the first time in years, it felt like the start of something good. The carriage clicked on, carrying them away from the shadows of Fleet Street towards the promise of sea-salt air, open horizons, and a new life together.

The carriage wheels crushed to a stop on the pebbled drive, the salty breeze whipping through the open door. Nellie was the first to tumble out, clutching Toby’s hand and taking in the sight of their new home—a small stone cottage with blue shutters, nestled against windswept dunes.

Toby popped out next, eyes wide. “It’s perfect!” he breathed, racing to the low fence and peering over at the surf.

Sweeney stayed seated a moment longer, letting the wind clear the last of London’s grime from his lungs. He swung his legs down and slid off the seat, coat dusting the ground. Nellie came to him and slipped her free hand into his.

“I knew you’d love it,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

He gave a small nod, gaze drifting over the weathered stone and the promise of quiet. “Let’s see inside.”

Inside, the cottage was simple but cosy: a single room with a hearth, a small kitchenette, and scrubbed wooden floors. Upstairs were two modest bedrooms and a third smaller bedroom. Sunlight spilled through the windows, illuminating dust motes that danced like ghosts of their past.

Nellie sat her carpet bag on a sideboard. “That’s where we’ll cook,” she said, running a hand over the chipped enamel sink. “And ‘ere”—she pointed to a corner shelf—“I’ll keep me pie tins.”

Toby darted past her, peering into the fireplace. “Could I sleep upstairs?”

Sweeney rumbled an assent. “One room for you, one for us, and the third will be for the babies.” He put down his bag and knelt beside Toby. “Help me light a fire?”

The boy grinned and gathered kindling. Sparks caught almost immediately, and the hearth glowed with warmth.

Nellie moved to the main table and began unpacking a few plates, a kettle, and the small tin of tea she’d brought. She placed each item carefully, as though laying claim to this place at last.

Within the hour, the cottage felt inhabited; the hearth crackled, Toby’s laughter echoed as he chased stray tumbleweeds out back, and Sweeney—no longer barber or avenger, just a man—stood at the window, watching his family.

Nellie caught his eye and held up a chipped mug of tea. He accepted it, hot steam swirling between them.

“To our ‘ome,” she said, voice thick with relief.

Sweeney lifted his mug in a silent toast. “Home.”

Outside, the sea called softly, and they all knew whatever awaited them, they would face it together in this new life by the shore.

That evening, after the last flicker of day slipped beyond the dunes, the cottage settled into a peaceful hush. Inside, the low fire in the hearth sent dancing shadows across the wooden walls. Nellie sat on the edge of their simple bed, her hand gently resting on her swollen belly. Sweeney lingered by the window, coat draped over his arm, listening to the distant crash of waves.

Nellie watched him turn, his face soft in the lantern light. “You look a million miles away,” she murmured.

He crossed the room and sank beside her, pulling her close. “I was just thinking…” His voice was rough with emotion yet steady. “When we left Fleet Street, I thought I’d always be that man—hungry for blood, trapped by my past.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “But here… with you, Toby, and our little ones… I don’t need to kill anymore.”

Nellie’s heart swelled. She traced his scarred hand with her fingertips. “You gave all that up for us.”

Sweeney’s eyes glimmered. “I did. I promised myself a new life. No more razors on necks. Only peaceful mornings by the sea, with our family safe at my side.”

She smiled, leaning into him. “That’s the only life I want, love.”

He wrapped an arm around her as they listened to the sea’s lullaby, the echoes of their old world finally laid to rest.

The morning sun filtered through the pale curtains, painting the cottage in a gentle gold. Nellie sat by the window in a rocking chair, one hand resting on the curve of her belly, now unmistakably rounding with twin life. Sweeney stood at her side, cradling a mug of tea between his hands, watching the waves crest in the distance.

Outside, Toby chased a stray seagull across the grass, laughter echoing against the clifftops.

Nellie smiled down at her stomach. “They’ve really taken ‘old this time.”

Sweeney stepped closer, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “Two little ones,” he murmured, voice full of wonder. “Can’t wait to meet them.”

She reached out, tracing his finger along the swell. “And they’ll never know… none of it. None of the darkness we left be’ind.”

He nodded, firm and resolute. “This is our fresh page. Your pies, the salt air, Toby’s silly games—even our children’s first footsteps—will have nothing to do with Fleet Street’s shadows.”

Nellie’s eyes glistened. “I want ‘em to grow up believin’ the world is kind. That their father is just… their father. Not a butcher of men’s throats.”

Sweeney pressed a kiss to her temple. “They’ll know only love. Only safety.”

She leaned into him, warmth and peace settling between them. “We built this together—blood-washed floors no longer ours to bear. ‘Ere, it’s just family.”

He wrapped an arm around her, his hand resting over hers on her bump. “A clean slate,” he promised. “For you, for them, for us.”

And as the day brightened, they sat in quiet happiness, the roar of the sea a lullaby to the new life they were about to welcome—one free from every secret, every crime, and every ghost of the past.

Chapter Text

The morning sun filtered through the thin white curtains, casting dappled light across the kitchen table. The scent of sea air mixed with fresh bread and tea. Nellie hummed softly as she kneaded dough, a growing roundness beneath her apron making her movements slower, but no less sure.

Sweeney sat by the window, sharpening a fishing knife—not out of habit, but for actual fish this time. He glanced up every so often, watching her. The lines on his face were softer here, the darkness in his eyes beginning to fade with the rhythm of peaceful days.

Toby burst through the back door with a crab in hand and sand all over his trousers, babbling about tide pools and treasure. Nellie laughed, and Sweeney cracked a rare, genuine smile.

This life was quieter. Steadier. And slowly, it was becoming theirs.

Later that evening, after Toby had gone to bed and the waves lapped gently outside, Sweeney and Nellie sat before the hearth. She had her feet up, sipping chamomile tea. His hand rested lightly against the swell of her stomach.

“They’ve been kickin’ more,” she murmured with a faint smile.

“Both of them?” he asked, voice quiet, almost reverent.

She nodded. “Little fighters, the pair of ‘em. I ‘ope they don’t in’erit your scowl though.”

He chuckled lowly and shook his head. “No promises.”

There was a pause. Then Nellie spoke, more seriously, “Do you ever wonder… what sort of father you’ll be?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering, “Every day.”

She reached over and took his hand in hers. “You’ll be better than you think, love. Because you care. And that’s already more than most.”

His fingers tightened gently around hers, and he didn’t look away when he whispered, “I want to do right by them. And by you.”

The following evening Sweeney and Nellie walked along the shore, hand in hand, the tide brushing at their boots. The sky was painted in streaks of lavender and gold.

“I was thinkin’,” Nellie said, watching the gulls fly overhead, “when the babies are ‘ere… and things’ve settled…”

Sweeney glanced at her sideways. “Hmm?”

She looked shy for once, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “Maybe we could… make things official?”

He stopped walking. “Official?”

Her cheeks flushed. “You know… properly married. Just us. Maybe on the beach. Nothin’ fancy.”

There was a long silence. Then his thumb brushed the back of her hand. “You’d want that? Even after everything?”

Nellie met his eyes, filled with something quiet and warm. “There’s no one else I’d rather grow old with. And no place I’d rather start again.”

Sweeney didn’t answer right away. But he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Let’s do it.”

A few days later, Sweeney sat in the corner of the nursery they were slowly piecing together. Wooden furniture, hand-sewn curtains, tiny clothes folded into drawers. Nellie had dozed off nearby, curled in the rocking chair with her head tilted back, hands cradling her stomach.

He watched her for a long time, eyes drifting to the soft rise and fall of her breath, then to the cradle he’d carved by hand—smoothing every edge, every detail, even as his fingers blistered.

He hadn’t held a baby in over fifteen years. And now… two.

The thought made his chest tighten and his throat ache. What if he failed them? What if darkness still lingered in him?

But then Nellie stirred and murmured his name in her sleep. Not “Mr T”. Not “love”. Just “Benjamin”.

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard, and whispered back, “I’ll protect all of you. No matter what.”

They walked slowly along the shoreline later that afternoon, the wind catching at Nellie’s shawl as she looped her arm through his. Her feet were bare, toes curling into the sand, and Sweeney had one hand gently splayed across her belly, protective without even realising it.

“What will we name ‘em?” she asked softly, watching the waves.

Sweeney was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “You once said hope was dangerous.”

“I did,” she smiled. “But I also said I’d cling to it… and I did. And now look at us.”

He gave a small nod. “Hope… for a girl, then?”

“I like that,” she said, looking up at him. “It suits, doesn’t it?”

He nodded again, then added quietly, “And if there’s a boy?”

They both grew thoughtful. After a few quiet paces, Nellie said, “What about Henry? Or Samuel?”

Sweeney tilted his head. “Henry…” he repeated. “Strong. Honest.”

“I like the sound of Hope and Henry,” Nellie said softly. “A balance of softness and strength.”

Sweeney looked down at her, his eyes shadowed with emotion. “Then Hope and Henry it is.”

That evening, back in the cottage, Sweeney was hammering the final touches onto a little shelf while Nellie folded baby clothes nearby. The room smelt of fresh paint and new beginnings.

“Do you think they’ll like it ‘ere?” she asked.

He looked up from his work, eyes gentle. “They’ll be born into a home full of love. That’s more than most.”

Nellie smiled. “I never thought I’d ‘ave all this.”

“Neither did I,” he admitted. Then he crossed the room, kneeling before her and resting his hand against her stomach. “But we’ll give them a better life. No more blood. No more darkness.”

“Just Hope… and Henry,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

Chapter Text

~Time Skip~

The rain lashed against the windows, wind howling like a banshee across the cliffs. Sweeney was downstairs, tending to the fireplace, when he heard it—a cry from upstairs, sharp and panicked. He dropped the fire iron immediately and bounded up the stairs two at a time.

He burst into the bedroom to find Nellie doubled over, one hand gripping the bedpost, the other clutching her swollen belly. Her face was pale, damp with sweat.

“Nellie?”

Her eyes found his, wide and full of fear. “It’s ‘appenin’,” she breathed. “Oh God—Sweeney, it’s ‘appenin’.”

He crossed the room in a second, steadying her as another wave of pain made her cry out. “All right, all right, breathe. We’ve prepared for this, remember?”

“I don’t think you can prepare for this,” she snapped through gritted teeth, then hissed as another contraction surged through her.

Sweeney helped her ease onto the bed, pressing a cool cloth to her forehead. His hands trembled slightly—not from fear, but from sheer awe and urgency. “I’ll get the midwife.”

“No time,” she gasped. “They’re comin’... fast.”

His heart lurched. “Then I’m not leaving your side.”

Hours passed in a blur of pain, sweat, and whispered reassurances. The storm outside mirrored chaos within—but eventually, the room began to quiet, the air shifting from desperation to something reverent.

A baby’s cry pierced the silence. Then another, moments later.

Sweeney held the first child, wrapped in a blanket, his hands surprisingly steady as he handed the tiny, wriggling bundle to Nellie. Her arms opened instinctively, and her face crumpled into a tearful smile as she looked down at the baby girl.

“Hope,” she whispered.

Sweeney stood by her side, his breath caught in his throat as he cradled the second—a baby boy, red-faced and wailing with defiance. His voice was hoarse when he finally said, “And this one… Henry.”

Nellie looked up at him, eyes full of tears. “We did it,” she said softly.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, their children between them. “They’ll never know the world we came from,” he whispered. “Only the one we built for them.”

The storm had passed by morning, leaving behind only a soft drizzle and the distance crash of waves below the cliffs. Inside the cottage, the world was hushed—a rare peace settling over the rooms like a blessing.

Sweeney sat in a worn armchair beside the fire, one of the babies nestled against his chest. Little Henry was fast asleep, his tiny breaths warm against the wool of Sweeney’s shirt. The firelight flickered across Sweeney's face, casting soft shadows, warming the sharpness of his usual expression.

Nellie stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them.

Her heart swelled at the sight—not just of Sweeney holding their son, but the tenderness in the way he did it. Like he still couldn’t quite believe this was real.

She padded over quietly, cradling baby Hope in her own arms, and lowered herself into the seat beside him. The fire popped softly, and their children stirred just slightly in response.

“I didn’t think you’d take to fatherhood again so quickly,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder.

He gave a low, thoughtful hum. “Neither did I.”

She looked at him, surprised to see the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “You look…” she hesitated, “peaceful.”

Sweeney stared into the flames for a long moment, then looked down at Henry. “It’s… strange,” he admitted quietly. “I’ve spent so many years haunted by ghosts, by rage. But now…”

He turned slightly to meet her eyes. “Now I’m just… here. With you. With them. And that’s all I want.”

Nellie’s throat tightened, tears prickling her eyes. She reached over, gently resting her free hand on top of his.

For the first time in either of their lives, there was no blood on their hands. Only warmth. Only the steady, rhythmic breathing of their newborn children—and the sound of the fire crackling in a home that finally felt like one.

The cottage was still and warm as Nellie sat up in bed, cradling tiny Hope against her chest. Her brow was furrowed in concentration and frustration. Henry had already fed easily enough, but Hope was fussier, turning her head away and letting out tiny, impatient cries.

Nellie glanced over at Sweeney helplessly. “I don’t know if I’m doin’ this right,” she said, her voice strained with worry.

“You’re doing fine,” Sweeney said quietly, sitting beside her on the edge of the bed. He watched her with an intensity that might have unnerved her once, but now only made her feel less alone.

Taking a deep breath, Nellie tried again, adjusting Hope’s tiny body as best she could. After a moment of squirming and rooting, the baby finally latched on properly. Nellie gasped softly—a strange, painful tugging sensation—but she stayed still, watching Hope’s tiny jaw begin to move rhythmically. 

“There now,” Sweeney murmured, a small, proud smile ghosting over his lips. “Told you.”

Nellie sagged against the pillows, overwhelmed with relief, exhaustion, and a fierce wave of love for the tiny life in her arms—and the man sitting beside her, steadfast as ever.

Toby stood frozen in the doorway of the cottage, his eyes wide with disbelief as he took in the sight before him—Nellie sitting on the couch, the twins in her arms, both swaddled in soft linen.

Sweeney stood nearby, arms crossed, watching the boy’s reaction with careful eyes.

“You all right there, Toby?” Nellie asked gently, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"... Can I come in, Mum?” His voice trembled as he looked at the babies with an expression of awe. He stepped forward slowly, eyes darting from her to Sweeney and back again.

Nellie nodded, emotion swelling in her chest. “Of course you can, love. Come in and meet Henry and Hope.”

Toby’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked at the babies again—then at Sweeney, who gave him a slow nod of confirmation. That seemed to ground the boy. “They’re so small,” he whispered, as if speaking too loudly might wake them.

“Would you like to ‘old one?” Nellie asked, shifting Hope carefully.

Toby’s hands shook as he reached out. “I’ve never… I mean, what if I drop ‘er?”

“You won’t,” Sweeney said firmly, stepping forwards. “Just support her head.”

Toby nodded, nerves alight, and cradled the infant with surprising gentleness. He stared down at her, eyes wide and glistening. “She’s… she’s beautiful.”

Nellie smiled. “They both are.”

Toby looked up at them, his voice small but full of certainty. “I’ll protect ‘em, y’know. Just like you both did for me.”

Sweeney met the boy’s gaze and gave him something close to a smile. “I know you will.”

The cottage was filled with the cries of two tiny, outraged babies, and Nellie, despite her exhaustion, couldn’t help but laugh helplessly as she handed Sweeney a clean cloth.

“I think you’re up first, love,” she said mischievously, nodding towards Henry, who was wailing red-faced in the crib.

Sweeney looked down at the squirming infant with a look of deep suspicion. “How hard can it be?” he muttered.

Famous last words.

Within moments, he found himself fumbling with the cloth, trying to avoid the mess and the tiny flailing legs. Henry chose that moment to deliver a well-aimed kick, sending the soiled nappy flying from Sweeney’s hands.

Nellie burst into loud laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth as Sweeney froze, a look of sheer horror on his face.

“This,” he growled, glaring at her through his hair, “is a trap.”

“Welcome to fatherhood again,” Nellie said through her giggles, stepping in to help him wrestle the cloth around Henry, who had decided to start wailing even louder.

By the time they finished—somewhat lopsided but at least clean—Sweeney was red-faced, Henry was hiccuping indignantly, and Nellie was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

“You’ll get the ‘ang of it,” she teased, kissing his cheek. “Plenty more nappies where that came from, love.”

He gave her a long, baleful look, but the way his hands lingered protectively over their son told a different story entirely.

Nellie laughed again. “You should remember ‘ow to do this, y’know. You changed Johanna’s nappies when she was a baby, didn’t ya?”

“A lifetime ago,” he muttered. “Feels like another man’s memories.”

“Well,” Nellie said brightly, “you’re that man still. Just… maybe a little rustier now.”

Despite himself, a faint smirk tugged at Sweeney’s lips. “Rusty doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Suddenly, Hope started crying for her turn to be changed next, and Nellie simply passed the second nappy to him with a wicked grin. “Your turn again, Mistah Todd.”

He groaned, but there was laughter under it—the kind of laughter that came from hope, from healing, from the possibility of a real future.

Later that night, with the twins finally asleep in their cribs, the cottage was wrapped in a rare, gentle silence. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the small sitting room. Nellie curled up on the settee, a soft blanket draped over her lap, while Sweeney sat on the floor at her feet, sharpening one of his razors in idle, rhythmic motions more for comfort than need.

After a long moment, he spoke, voice rough. “I don’t know if I can do this, Nellie. Be the father they deserve.” He stared into the flames, his brow furrowed deep with doubt. “I couldn't be there for Johanna… I don’t know if I know how to be any better now.”

Nellie reached down, her fingers tangling in his dark hair, gently coaxing him to look at her. “You are better,” she said softly. “You’re ‘ere. You’re fightin’ for ‘em. That’s what matters.”

He leaned into her touch without even thinking, the walls he’d carried for so long crumbling just a little more. “I just want them to have a life better than I ever could give before,” he murmured.

“You will,” Nellie promised, her voice thick with emotion. “We will, love. We’ll do it together.”

The morning sky was pale blue, streaked with wispy clouds, and the salty wind rolled in gently off the sea. The path along the cliffs was quiet, and the only sounds that could be heard were the distant cries of gulls and the rhythmic crush of waves below.

Sweeney walked beside Nellie, his arm gently around her waist, the basket in his other hand lined with warm blankets and holding the twins, who were tucked in safely. Hope was sleeping soundly, her tiny fist resting against her cheek, while Henry blinked slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the world.

Nellie laughed softly when the breeze ruffled Henry’s hair, and she leaned closer to adjust the edge of the blanket around them. “They’re going to love it ‘ere,” she whispered. “They’ll grow up breathin’ fresh air and ‘earin’ the sea.”

Sweeney glanced down at them, his expression unreadable, though there was a subtle shift in his eyes—something softer, something lighter. “They’ll never know the things we’ve done,” he said quietly. “They’ll have a clean slate.”

Nellie looked up at him, her hand finding his. “And so will we.”

They walked on in silence for a while, the path leading them closer to the shore, sand crunching beneath their boots. When they finally settled onto a sun-warmed rock to rest, Nellie laid her head on his shoulder, her voice barely above the wind. “You ever think we’d end up ‘ere?”

Sweeney looked out over the water, his jaw tense for a moment, then relaxed. “No,” he said. “But I’m glad we did.”

Later that evening, after settling the twins down, Sweeney returned to the bedroom—and immediately froze at the sight of small, dark droplets staining the wooden floor. 

His heart stopped. “Nellie?” His voice was sharp, urgent.

Nellie, who was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing her temples, looked up in confusion—then followed his gaze to the floor. Realisation dawned quickly.

“Oh! Oh, love, no—it’s alright,” she said hastily, standing up a little too quickly and wincing, before going over to him.

Sweeney caught her gently by the arms, scanning her body for injury. His face was pale. “You’re bleeding,” he said harshly, his eyes wide.

“It’s normal,” she reassured him, touching his cheek. “It’s just… afterbirth. ‘Appens after you ‘ave a baby, especially with twins. Body’s clearin’ itself out.”

He still looked shaken, the horror slowly leaving his face. “I thought—”

“I know,” Nellie said softly, pulling him into a hug. “I’m all right. It’s not like that. You’re not losin’ me.”

He clung to her a little tighter than usual that night, even after she’d changed and cleaned up. And when they finally climbed into bed together, he kept a protective arm around her waist as though to guard her from anything that might dare come between them.

The morning sun was just beginning to filter through the cottage windows, soft and golden, when Nellie stirred awake. She groaned lightly, every part of her aching—from giving birth, from feeding, from the endless emotions that came with motherhood.

Before she could even try to sit up, she heard the soft creak of the bedroom door, and there was Sweeney, balancing a worn tray with a cup of steaming tea, a slice of bread and butter, and a small vase with a scraggly but earnest wildflower.

“Stay put,” he said gruffly, coming over to her bedside.

Nellie blinked up at him, touched beyond words. “Love… you didn’t ‘ave to—”

“I did,” he interrupted, setting the tray carefully across her lap. “You’re not doin’ a thing today but restin’. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not a doctor,” she teased weakly, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

He leveled her with a stern look, though the corners of his mouth softened. “I’m whatever I need to be. You scared me last night.”

Nellie’s heart squeezed tight in her chest at the rare vulnerability in his voice. She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m sorry, Sweeney. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He sat down heavily on the bed beside her, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand. “You’re all I’ve got, Nellie,” he said quietly. “You, and them little ones. I can’t—I won’t lose you.”

“You’re not goin’ to,” she promised, tears prickling behind her eyes. “We’ve got a whole new life to live, remember? And you’re stuck with me now.”

A rare, small chuckle escaped him, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

As Nellie sipped her tea and the twins began to stir softly in their cribs across the room, she felt an overwhelming warmth settle over her—the unshakable certainty that whatever hardships lay ahead, they would face them together, stronger than ever.

Sweeney leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over his chest. His dark eyes softened as he watched Nellie and Toby sitting together, the twins sleeping peacefully between them.

For a long time, he said nothing—just watched.

It was a strange feeling, this tightness in his chest. Not the cold rage or grief he had lived with for so many years. No—this was something warmer, unfamiliar, something that loosened the old knots of bitterness tied up inside him.

Family.

It wasn’t the life he had once imagined, back when he was still Benjamin Barker. And yet, somehow, it felt even more precious because of everything they had survived to get here.

He caught Nellie’s eye, and she smiled at him—tired, radiant, content. Without needing words, he crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed, one hand resting lightly over hers, the other gently smoothing Toby’s unruly hair.

There were no secrets pressing against his ribs anymore, no old ghosts whispering in his ear. Just the quiet, steady beat of life moving forwards. This was his second chance.

He hadn’t believed he deserved one. But perhaps… just perhaps… he could learn how to live again.

Chapter Text

~Time Skip~

The sun was just beginning to sink, casting a warm gold over the small clearing by the cliff’s edge where the waves crashed below. There were no grand decorations, no crowd of witnesses—only the sea, the sky, and the family they had built together.

Nellie wore a simple dress of pale blue, her hair loose and touched by the ocean breeze. She held Hope on her hip, her tiny white dress fluttering. Beside her, Toby stood proudly with Henry nestled in his arms, trying to keep the squirming baby still.

Sweeney stood across from her, dressed in his best shirt and coat, looking at her as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, carrying hers in his.

A local preacher they’d befriended spoke the words softly, respectfully, understanding that this wasn’t just a marriage—it was a rebirth.

“With this ring,” Sweeney murmured, sliding a plain silver band onto Nellie’s finger, “I vow to protect you, love you, and make a life with you… no matter what has been, only what will be.”

Tears shimmered in Nellie’s eyes as she placed a ring onto his finger in turn. “I’ve loved you for longer than you’ll ever know,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “And I will keep lovin’ you, for all my days.”

Hope giggled and clapped her little hands, and Toby laughed quietly, nudging Henry who babbled in approval.

“You may kiss your bride,” the preacher said with a kind smile.

Sweeney didn’t hesitate. He leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers first, then kissed her slowly, reverently. It wasn’t fiery or desperate—not this time. It was full of everything he never thought he’d be allowed to have again.

A second chance. A new name. A quiet life.

And finally, they were now husband and wife. At last.

The cottage was quiet, save for the distant hush of the waves and the occasional soft sigh from the sleeping twins. Toby was tucked in his own room, snoring faintly, exhausted from the day’s excitement.

In their bedroom, by the soft light of a single candle, Sweeney cupped Nellie’s face in his hands and kissed her again—soft, passionate, different from any other kiss they had shared before.

“My wife,” he murmured against her lips, voice thick with wonder. 

Nellie smiled, her heart swelling to the point of bursting. “And my husband.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, his voice laced with emotion.

She turned to him, eyes glistening. “And you’re mine now. Properly.”

Clothes fell away in soft, hasty touches, and they found each other in the bed they now called their own. There was no rush, no hunger born of desperation. Instead, every kiss and caress was deliberate, reverent—a celebration of what they had fought so hard for.

Sweeney traced his hands over Nellie’s curves, her still-swollen belly from the twins’ birth, worshipping every inch of her. Nellie, in turn, ran her fingers through his silver-streaked hair, holding him to her, anchoring herself in the feel of him.

When they finally joined, it was slow, tender—an affirmation of their bond, of all the promises made earlier that day. Sweeney whispered her name like a prayer, and Nellie whispered back her love over and over.

They moved together as if they had been made for this moment, every breath and sigh syncing perfectly, until they tumbled together into a trembling, aching release that left them clinging to each other, breathless and undone.

Long after, as they lay tangled beneath the thin quilt, Sweeney pressed a kiss to Nellie’s temple and whispered into her hair, “Forever, my love. You’re my forever.”

Nellie smiled, tears prickling her eyes. “And you’re mine.”

Outside, the sea sang them to sleep, carrying their promises far into the night.

The golden light of morning spilled into the cottage, dancing across the worn wooden floors and the soft, rumpled quilts. The scent of salt and fresh bread filled the air as Nellie moved about the small kitchen, humming under her breath, Hope perched on her hip and Henry tugging at the hem of her gown.

Sweeney leaned against the doorway, arms folded, watching her with a rare softness in his eyes. His wife. His children. His home.

Toby shuffled in sleepily, hair sticking up at odd angles, rubbing his eyes. “Smells good, Mrs. Todd,” he said with a sleepy grin.

“None of that Mrs. Todd business, love—still just Mum to you,” she teased, setting a warm loaf of bread on the table.

Sweeney scooped up Henry before the little boy could crawl under the table again and lifted him high into the air, drawing a delighted squeal of laughter. Hope clapped her chubby hands at her brother’s delight, making Nellie laugh.

“All right, all right,” Nellie said, ushering everyone to the table. “Breakfast first, then you lot can run riot.”

They sat down together, the table small but filled with warmth—fresh bread, jam, a pot of tea. Sweeney reached for Nellie’s hand under the table, squeezing it gently, and she smiled at him, her heart full to bursting.

Toby tore into his bread eagerly, Henry babbled nonsense at Hope, and for a few moments, it was just laughter and soft conversation—the kind of simple, beautiful peace that Nellie had once only dreamed of.

Sweeney caught her looking at him and raised his brow. “What?” he asked quietly.

“Nothin’,” Nellie whispered back, voice thick with emotion. “Just… everythin’.”

Sweeney leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple. “Everything we fought for. And everything we’ll keep.”

And in that little seaside cottage, their new life had truly begun.

~Time Skip~

It was a breezy spring afternoon, and the scent of salt air wafted in through the open windows. Nellie was kneading dough in the kitchen while Sweeney sat on the floor nearby, playing with blocks with the twins.

“Hope’s been standin’ on ‘er own for longer,” Nellie called out. “I reckon she’ll be first.”

But it was Henry who surprised them.

With his fingers curled tightly into little fists, Henry pushed himself up from the floor and tottered uncertainly. Sweeney watched, holding his breath as the boy took one wobbly step… then another.

“Nellie,” Sweeney said quietly, “he’s—”

Nellie spun around, dough still on her hands. “Henry!”

Hope squealed and clapped as Henry took a third unsteady step straight into Sweeney’s arms, giggling.

“You clever little lad,” Sweeney murmured, catching him.

Not to be left behind, Hope crawled forwards, pulled herself up using the armchair, and, after a moment of determined squinting, took her own brave step forwards. 

The room burst into cheers, and Nellie rushed over, arms outstretched. “Oh, my darlin’s—you’re walkin’! You’re really walkin’!”

They collapsed into laughter and cuddles, the twins nestled between them, the scent of flour and sea air wrapping around them like a promise of more good days to come.

The sun had long since slipped beneath the horizon, casting the seaside village into a hush of gentle waves and whispering winds. Inside the cottage, the fire crackled low, casting a warm, golden glow across the small sitting room.

The twins slept soundly upstairs, and Toby had curled up in his little room, already snoring softly.

Nellie nestled into Sweeney’s side on the worn settee, her head tucked under his chin, their fingers loosely twined together. Neither of them spoke for a long while, content to simply listen to the pop of the fire and the distant murmur of the sea.

Sweeney gently traced circles against the back of her hand with his thumb, his mind quieter than it had ever been.

“You tired, love?” he murmured against her hair.

“A little,” she admitted, tilting her head back to look at him with a small, sleepy smile. “But I don’t want this day to end.”

He kissed her forehead, lingering there a moment. “It doesn’t have to,” he said softly. “It’s only the beginning.”

She closed her eyes, savouring the feel of him—real, solid, here. “We’re free now, aren’t we?”

He tightened his arm around her, his voice a low vow. “Free. And nothin’ and no one will ever take it from us again.”

The fire flickered low as they sat there, wrapped in each other, their hearts finally at peace. 

The past had been cruel, but the future—the future was theirs to shape, and they would shape it together.

Later that same night, long after the house had gone quiet and Nellie was laughing at some silly story Toby had told earlier, Sweeney leaned his head back against the settee and just watched her. There was a mischievous sparkle in her eye, her cheeks flushed from gin and laughter. And in his eyes, she had never looked more beautiful.

He shook his head slowly, half-smiling. “You really are a bloody wonder,” he said, voice warm with rare amusement.

Nellie blinked, then grinned wickedly, immediately catching the reference. “Oh? Fancy a pie, love?” she teased, nudging his knee with her foot.

He gave a low chuckle, the sound rare and wonderful. “Maybe not tonight,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “But… I wouldn’t mind a little priest.”

Nellie cackled, covering her mouth to stifle the noise. “Careful now, Mr. Todd. Tempt me with memories of old songs and I might just forget you’re a respectable man these days.”

“Respectable?” he muttered, feigning horror. “God forbid.”

She laughed again, and before either of them could say more, he reached out and pulled her into his arms, kissing her soundly, as if sealing a promise between them—that no matter how dark their past had been, the future could still be light, full of laughter and love.

The fire had burned low, the room bathed in a soft, flickering light. The last of the gin bottle sat abandoned on the small table, two half-empty glasses beside it.

Nellie sat curled on Sweeney’s lap, laughing against his neck as he tried to steady her squirming form.

“You’re trouble, Mrs. Todd,” he said lowly, his voice thick with affection and the faintest slur from the gin he’d had himself.

She tilted her head back to look at him, her cheeks pink, her curls wild, her grin devilish. 

“Maybe,” she purred, pressing a kiss just beneath his jawline. “But I’m your trouble now.”

Before he could respond, she claimed his mouth with hers, urgent and needy. Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, pulling him closer as if she couldn’t bear any space between them.

Sweeney groaned into the kiss, his hands finding her waist and pulling her firmly against him. Nellie laughed breathlessly against his lips, emboldened by the gin and the safety of their secluded world.

“You gonna make an honest woman outta me again?” she teased, nipping lightly at his lower lip.

He growled low in his throat, flipping them so she lay beneath him on the old settee, her skirts tangled around her knees.

“I plan to,” he rasped. “Again… and again… and again.”

Nellie let out a delighted giggle, threading her fingers into his hair, pulling him down to her once more and kissing him fervently as she raced to undo the buttons on his shirt. She felt a sense of urgency for him to be inside her and wasted no time in assisting him with removing all of his clothes. Sweeney reached under her dress and gripped the sides of her underwear, hurriedly pulling the fabric down her legs as if his life depended on it. He threw it aside to join the other items of discarded clothing that were now spread out on the floor. Sweeney moved to position himself between her legs, already feeling how wet she was for him. 

She emitted a sharp gasp as soon as he entered her, dragging her nails down his back.

“Sweeney,” she whispered breathily, “take me.”

That was all he needed to hear. A growl left his lips as he wasted no time in pounding into her relentlessly, drawing loud moans from her with every thrust. He covered her mouth with his hand.

Sweeney smirked down at her. “Shh, my love. You don’t want to wake the children, do you?”

Nellie shook her head and bit her lower lip as he slammed into her again, her hands gripping tightly onto the settee.

She certainly didn’t want that to happen. She wanted to enjoy this for as long as she could.

His thrusts soon turned frantic, hitting that sweet spot inside her over and over again. He curled his hand around her neck, not squeezing too tight but just enough to make her come undone.

Sweeney could see how close she was and leaned down to kiss her to muffle the sounds from her explosive orgasm. Nellie moaned into his mouth, arching her back as she moved her hips against his, riding out the intense pleasure that was coursing through her body.

He wasn’t too far behind her and with one last deep thrust, he came hard, whispering her name over and over as he finished inside of her.

And in the flickering light of their little home, surrounded by peace they’d fought so hard to earn, they reminded each other again and again that night why they’d chosen this life together.

Sunlight streamed weakly through the thin curtains of their bedroom, casting a golden glow over the worn wood floors and the tangled mess of sheets on the bed. Sweeney stirred first, blinking against the light, then groaning softly at the dull ache in his back—a pleasant enough reminder of the night before.

Nellie lay sprawled half across him, her hair a wild tangle, her breathing slow and even. But when he shifted slightly, she stirred, snuggling closer with a contented hum.

“Mornin’, respectable Mr. Todd,” she mumbled against his chest, her voice thick with sleep and amusement.

He huffed a dry laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “If I’m respectable, then the world’s gone mad.”

She cracked one eye open and grinned lazily. “It went mad long before us, love.”

Sweeney smirked, trailing his fingers down her back. “You were a terror last night. Had your way with me, like a bloody pirate.”

Nellie let out a soft snicker. “Blame it on the gin,” she teased. “I seem to lose all control when I’ve had a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Just a bit?”

She slapped his chest playfully, laughing again, and he caught her hand, lifting it to kiss the back of her knuckles with rare tenderness.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he murmured. “I just can’t resist you.”

Nellie’s heart gave a happy little flutter, and she tucked her head beneath his chin, a warm, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

Toby clattered noisily into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning wide enough to make his jaw crack. He dropped himself onto a chair, looking half-asleep and rumpled, his hair sticking out in all directions.

Moments later, Nellie shuffled in, still barefoot, her cheeks pink and her hair hastily pinned up. She was humming under her breath—a rare thing these days—and wore a dreamy little smile that she didn’t seem to be quite aware of.

Toby, sharpening up a little at the sight of her, narrowed his eyes in mock suspicion.

“You’re lookin’ awful cheery this mornin’, Missus T,” he said, grinning slyly. “All flushed too. You catch a bit of a fever or somethin’?”

Nellie froze for half a second, then busied herself unnecessarily with tidying the already-clean table.

“Just… a bit warm, that’s all,” she said, far too quickly.

From the doorway, Sweeney coughed into his fist—though it sounded suspiciously like he was hiding a chuckle.

Toby smirked and folded his arms. “Maybe Mr. T oughta fetch the doctor,” he said, winking. “Wouldn’t want ya fallin’ ill.”

“I’ll be just fine, thank you very much,” Nellie said tartly, but her cheeks only grew redder.

Toby, apparently satisfied he’s gotten a rise out of her, reached for a crust of bread, grinning mischievously.

Meanwhile, Sweeney crossed the room with slow, measured steps, placing a hand lightly on Nellie’s lower back as he passed—a small, secret touch only she seemed to feel.

She glanced up at him under her lashes, her heart giving a little flip, and despite herself, she had to bite back a laugh.

If only poor Toby knew just why she was flushed and glowing this morning.

The twins were napping, Toby was out gathering firewood, and for once, the little cottage was blessedly quiet.

Nellie was tidying the sitting room, humming lightly under her breath, whens he felt him behind her—that familiar presence that made the fine hairs on her neck stand up. Before she could turn, Sweeney’s hand came down with a playful smack on her backside, making her yelp and whirl around in mock outrage.

“Oi, Mr. T!” she scolded, but there was laughter in her voice. “You cheeky devil!”

He only smirked, eyes dark with mischief. “Just givin’ you a bit of encouragement,” he said, voice low and gravelly.

“Encouragement, is it?” she retorted, folding her arms and trying to look stern—and failing miserably.

Sweeney stepped closer, towering over her in that way that always made her knees feel a little wobbly. His mouth curled into a rare, true smile, and he leaned in so that his lips brushed behind her ear.

“You’re the one who opened that bottle last night, Mrs. Todd,” he murmured. “You made sure you had your way with me… didn’t even give me a chance to catch my breath.”

She gasped—half scandalised, half delighted—and shoved at his chest playfully. 

“You enjoyed every minute of it, love,” she quipped, lifting her chin with mock pride. “And don’t you dare pretend otherwise!”

Sweeney chuckled, deep and rough, and caught her by the waist, pulling her flush against him.

“Never said I didn’t,” he said, before capturing her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless all over again. 

The chores were long forgotten after that.

Chapter Text

The sky had turned amber and lavender, painting the sea with a golden sheen as the sun began to dip beyond the horizon. The waves lapped gently at the shore, and the cool breeze was touched with the scent of salt and wildflowers from the cliffs above.

Sweeney sat on a driftwood log, one arm loosely around Nellie, who had curled against his side with Henry asleep on her chest. Hope dozed quietly in the little basket at their feet, undisturbed by the lullaby of the sea. 

The calm was rare and delicate, like glass that might shatter with too sharp a word or movement. Sweeney didn’t speak. He simply listened; to the waves, the sigh of Nellie’s breath, and the occasional gurgle of a sleeping child.

Then, from across the beach, a boat approached, small and slow-moving. Sweeney’s gaze sharpened. Nellie noticed it too, lifting her head with a faint frown.

As the boat reached the shore, a familiar figure leapt down into the surf and turned to help someone else—a girl with long golden hair, her dress modest, her smile soft.

Nellie sat up straighter. “That… is that Anthony and Johanna?”

Sweeney stood without a word, his body tense but composed. He stepped away from Nellie, who quickly bundled Hope into her arms and kept Henry resting against her chest, watching quietly as Sweeney walked down the beach.

Anthony spotted him first. “Mr. Todd?” he called out, uncertain.

Sweeney’s voice was quiet, cautious. “You got her out.”

“Yes,” Anthony said, protective, his hand subtly moving towards Johanna’s. “We’re… married now.”

Johanna’s eyes widened slightly as she stepped forwards, peering at the man before her. “You’re the barber from Fleet Street,” she said softly. “You helped Anthony… didn’t you?”

Sweeney nodded slowly. “You look well. Both of you.”

There was a moment’s silence between them, wind brushing through their clothes and hair. Then Johanna’s brow furrowed. “The Judge… what happened to him?”

Sweeney looked down at the sand, choosing his words carefully. “He won’t be bothering you again.”

“You mean…?”

“He’s dead,” Sweeney said. “So is the Beadle.”

Anthony looked startled. “How?”

Sweeney had to think up a lie. And quick.

“There was… an accident. No one knows exactly what happened. They both disappeared not long after you fled London.”

Johanna’s eyes lingered on his face. “I see,” she said finally, her voice quiet. There was a flicker of suspicion there, but it softened as her gaze shifted to the edge of the beach.

She saw Nellie then—the woman standing with two children in her arms, watching from the dunes with a gentle protectiveness, bathed in the gold of the setting sun.

“Is that your wife?” Johanna asked, a strange kind of wonder in her voice.

Sweeney turned to look. Nellie gave a small smile when his eyes met hers. “Yes,” he said simply. “That’s my family.”

Johanna didn’t question it further. After a moment, she smiled softly. “I’m glad you have one.”

As Anthony led her back to the boat, Sweeney stood still for a long moment, watching the tide roll in. Then he turned and made his way back up the beach to Nellie, whose arms were full of their future.

Without a word, he wrapped his arm around her again and sat beside her. The past may have brushed their doorstep—but for tonight, it hadn’t dared cross it.

The babies had been put to bed, and the cottage was wrapped in the hush of twilight. Only the low crackle of the fireplace filled the silence, painting flickering amber across the walls. Sweeney sat in the armchair, his eyes distant, chin resting against steepled fingers. Nellie sat cross-legged on the worn rug, a cup of tea cooling in her hands, watching him with quiet patience.

“You ‘aven’t said a word since we came back,” she said softly.

Sweeney’s voice was low and rough. “There’s nothing to say.”

“There’s plenty to say,” she countered gently. “You saw your daughter today, Sweeney.”

He didn’t look at her. “She doesn’t know who I am.”

“She deserves to,” Nellie said, her voice a little firmer. “She deserves the truth.”

At that, he looked at her—not with anger, but with a haunted kind of hesitation. “And what good would it do her? To know her father is a murderer, and her mother drank poison after being broken by the very man who raised her.”

“She deserves to know that she was loved,” Nellie said, setting her tea down. “She deserves to know that Lucy didn’t abandon ‘er. That you didn’t abandon ‘er.”

Sweeney stared into the fire, his brow furrowed. “She has a life now. She’s free. She’s happy.”

“She’s still missin’ ‘alf the story,” Nellie whispered. “And it’s eatin’ you alive. I can see it. You barely looked away from ‘er face today.”

He closed his eyes. “What if she hates me for not telling her sooner? For the blood on my hands?”

Nellie stood, crossing the room and kneeling before him. “Then you take it. You take whatever anger she gives you. But you give ‘er the chance to know where she came from. Who she came from. You owe ‘er that. And of course… you don’t need to tell her everythin’. Some details are best left unsaid.”

He didn’t answer right away. Nellie reached out and took his hand in hers, her thumb brushing along the scarred knuckles.

“I watched you with ‘er today. You softened. You felt somethin’. You can’t bury that.”

Sweeney’s jaw tensed, but his eyes burned faintly as he whispered, “She looks like Lucy.”

Nellie nodded, tears threatening in her lashes. “I know.”

Silence settled again, but this time it felt heavier with meaning. Eventually, he lifted his gaze to hers.

“If I tell her… will you come with me?”

“Of course I will,” she said without hesitation. “You don’t ‘ave to face this alone. Not anymore.”

He looked down at their joined hands and gave the slightest nod. “Then… I’ll tell her.”

Nellie smiled faintly, holding onto him as though anchoring him to something real.

And for the first time in years, Sweeney Todd—once Benjamin Barker—allowed himself to consider not just the future, but the healing of the past.

The next morning was pale and overcast, the kind of grey that blurred sea and sky into one endless stretch. Johanna had gone for a walk along the tide with Anthony and Sweeney was watching them from a distance, feeling hesitant to approach them.

“I’ll just be over there,” Nellie said softly, nodding towards a bench tucked under a gnarled tree. “You take your time, love. I’ll be right ‘ere if you need me.”

Sweeney gave her a short, tight nod. Nellie brushed her fingers across his knuckles before stepping back, giving him the space he needed.

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Fear, guilt, hope—they all warred within him. But then he forced one foot in front of the other, until he was standing a few paces behind Johanna and Anthony.

“Johanna,” he said, voice rough as gravel.

She turned around, blinking in surprise. “Mr. Todd…?”

He gave a faint nod. “I was hoping… we might speak. Alone.”

Anthony hesitated nearby, protective as ever, but Johanna touched his arm and nodded. “It’s all right. I’ll be just a minute.”

Sweeney waited until Anthony had wandered out of earshot before speaking. “I know you may not remember me… not really. It’s been many years.”

She tilted her head, something flickering in her eyes. “You sound familiar.”

He swallowed thickly. “My name… isn’t Todd. Not really. It’s Benjamin Barker.”

Johanna froze. Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“I was your father,” he said softly. “ Am your father.”

Her breath hitched, a tremor running through her. “No… that can’t… My father—he was gone. They said—”

“They lied,” Sweeney said gently, barely above a whisper. “Judge Turpin had me sent away on false charges. Took you. Took your mother.”

Johanna’s eyes widened, glassy with unshed tears. “Mother… they said she went mad.”

Sweeney looked down, jaw clenched. “She was broken. By what was done to her. She took poison.”

She staggered back a step, a hand to her mouth.

“I didn’t know what had happened until it was too late. I came back… to find you both. And everything had been torn apart.”

“And the Judge?” Her voice cracked. “He raised me. But it never felt right. I was just… a thing to him. A possession.”

Sweeney nodded and looked into her eyes. “He’s gone now. You don’t need to worry about him ever again.”

Johanna covered her face with trembling fingers, and for a long moment, she didn’t speak. Then, she said quietly, “Why are you telling me now?”

“Because I couldn’t let you go without knowing the truth,” he said. “Not again. I thought… you deserved to know you were loved. That your mother loved you. And I did too.”

Her eyes filled, a tear trailing down her cheek. “You left me.”

“I didn’t want to,” he said. “I tried to come back. I tried.”

She was silent again, torn between pain and compassion. Slowly, she stepped forwards—unsure, cautious—and Sweeney did the same. There was a moment of suspended air, and then Johanna reached up and tentatively touched his sleeve.

“I don’t know what to feel,” she whispered.

“That’s all right,” he said. “Take all the time you need.”

She nodded faintly, and then after a moment she did something neither of them expected—she hugged him. It was fragile and hesitant, but it was real.

And Sweeney—Benjamin—closed his eyes and wrapped his arms gently around the daughter he thought he had lost forever.

Nellie watched from afar, a smile trembling on her lips, tears in her eyes.

Finally, finally, he had begun to heal.

Nellie rose from the bench once she saw Sweeney returning to her, his steps slow but lighter somehow. Without a word, he reached her, and she opened her arms instinctively. He buried his face against her shoulder, breathing her in, letting her warmth steady him. 

“How did it go, love?” she asked gently, running her fingers through his hair.

He pulled back slightly to look at her. There was a tightness around his eyes, a rawness—but also something new; a quiet, fragile hope.

“She listened. She didn’t run.” He exhaled. “She hugged me, Nellie.”

Nellie’s heart twisted, and she cupped his face in her hands, smiling through the prick of tears. “Oh, love…I’m so ‘appy for you.”

A silence passed between them, rich with meaning. Then Nellie spoke again softly, “You did the right thing.”

“I didn’t know if I could. But… you were right. She deserved to know.”

“And you deserved to tell ‘er.”

Sweeney gave a faint nod. “I told her about Lucy. Not everything… just enough.”

She leaned into him, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m proud of you.”

Then Sweeney pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist as the early afternoon breeze whispered past them.

Johanna sat with Anthony on a quiet stretch of the shore, the waves lapping gently at the sand as the sun dipped behind the horizon. She twisted her hands in her lap, gathering her thoughts, feeling the weight of what had transpired earlier that day.

Anthony watched her, patient as always, his hand lightly resting over hers. “You look troubled, my love,” he said softly. “What happened with Mr. Todd?”

Johanna inhaled deeply, tasting the salt air.

“He told me everything,” she said quietly. “About who he really is, that he’s my father… about what Judge Turpin did to my mother… and to him. About how I was taken from them.” Her voice trembled, but she steadied it, feeling Anthony’s hand tighten reassuringly around hers.

“He… he lost everything because of the Judge. And when he came back… he wasn’t the same man. But he still loved me. He never stopped.”

Anthony’s expression darkened at the mention of Turpin, but he said nothing, allowing her to continue.

“I could see it in his eyes, Anthony,” Johanna whispered, tears glistening. “The regret. The pain. But also the love.” She shook her head slowly. “He thought I’d hate him if I knew.”

Anthony pulled her gently into his arms, resting his chin against her hair.

“You could never hate him,” he said firmly. “Not after everything. He was trying to survive, Johanna. Just like you were.”

She closed her eyes, allowing herself to breathe, to lean into his warmth.

“I forgave him,” she murmured. “I had to.”

Anthony kissed the top of her head. “You did the right thing. And now that you’ve discovered he’s your father you can build something new… together.”

The soft sounds of the sea drifted through the open cottage windows as Johanna and Anthony stopped inside, hesitant but curious. Toby greeted them first, his face bright with excitement, but it was the sound of giggles from the corner that drew Johanna’s attention.

There, nestled on a blanket on the floor, were two small bundles of life—a little girl with dark curls and bright eyes, and a boy with a softer, lighter tuft of hair, both babbling and reaching for one another with chubby hands. 

Nellie, sitting cross-legged nearby, smiled warmly and beckoned them over.

“Come and meet ‘em,” she said softly. “This is Hope… and that’s Henry.”

Johanna’s breath caught as she knelt down beside them, her heart swelling with emotion she hadn’t expected. Hope stared up at her with wide, curious eyes before breaking into a gurgling giggle, while Henry tried to crawl forward, determined but clumsy.

“They’re beautiful,” Johanna whispered, reaching out tentatively. Hope immediately latched onto her finger, tiny and strong.

Anthony crouched beside her, a rare, soft smile crossing his face as he watched the twins. “You’ve built a real family here,” he said quietly to Sweeney, who stood a few steps back, arms crossed but not unkindly.

Sweeney’s expression softened as he looked at his children, then at Johanna. “Aye,” he said roughly. “A second chance… for all of us.”

Hope let out a delighted squeal as Johanna tickled her tummy, and Henry clumsily grabbed onto Anthony’s sleeve, refusing to let go. Anthony laughed under his breath, lifting Henry carefully into his arms.

“You’ve got your hands full,” he said, grinning at Sweeney.

Nellie chuckled from where she sat, watching the scene with misty eyes. “Wouldn’t ‘ave it any other way.”

And for the first time, Johanna felt not the weight of the past, but the bright, hopeful pull of the future stretching warmly before them.

Later that afternoon, after hours spent playing and laughing with the twins, the little cottage settled into a warm, drowsy quiet. Hope and Henry, worn out from all the excitement, lay curled up in a tangled heap on the blanket, their soft breathing almost in sync. Johanna sat on the floor beside them, gently stroking Hope’s dark hair. 

Nellie watched from the doorway of the small kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth, a tender smile on her face. Sweeney stood a little apart with his arms folded while observing the scene, feeling a strange ache in his chest.

“Looks like they’ve worn you two out almost as much as themselves,” Nellie teased gently, drawing a soft laugh from Johanna.

“We don’t mind,” Johanna said, her voice full of quiet wonder. “They’re… perfect.”

Hope stirred slightly, sighing in her sleep, and Anthony smiled down at her, his expression unusually tender.

Sweeney exchanged a glance with Nellie, something unspoken passing between them—a recognition that despite everything, despite the shadows of the past, they had somehow created something good and pure. Something worth holding onto.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting the room in a golden glow, and for the first time in a long time, they all allowed themselves to simply be. Together.

As the twins slept peacefully and the golden afternoon light began to deepen towards the evening, Nellie smoothed down her apron and glanced at Johanna and Anthony with a hopeful smile.

“You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you?” she asked, her voice casual but warm. “It’d be lovely to ‘ave a proper family meal with all of us.”

Johanna’s eyes brightened instantly. “We’d love to,” she said, glancing at Anthony, who gave an approving nod.

“It would be nice,” he agreed, looking over at Sweeney. “Feels like home here.”

Sweeney gave a rare, small smile and shrugged one shoulder. “Aye. Suppose it is.”

Nellie beamed and clapped her hands lightly. “Brilliant. You can ‘elp me peel the potatoes, missy,” she said, tossing a wink at Johanna, who laughed.

“Only if Anthony helps too,” Johanna teased, nudging him gently.

“Anything for a warm meal,” he replied with a grin.

The easy banter, the smell of roasting meat, the soft giggles of the twins even in their sleep—it all wove together into something Nellie had longed for her entire life. A family, a home, a future.

And she truly believed it was theirs to keep.

The small cottage kitchen was filled with the comforting smells of a home-cooked meal. The table was set simply, with mismatched plates and silverware, but the warm candlelight made everything feel special. Hope and Henry, freshly awoken from their nap, were placed in highchairs at either end of the table, their faces lighting up as they saw their family gathered.

Sweeney, though not often one for words, looked pleased in a quiet way. He sat at the head of the table, his eyes flicking between Nellie and the others, feeling the weight of the past lifting just a little more with each passing second.

Nellie served the food, her hands moving with practised ease, and she caught Johanna and Anthony’s appreciative smiles as they each took their share. She sat down beside Sweeney, taking his hand briefly before reaching for her own plate.

“So,” Johanna began, cutting her meat carefully, “this place… it’s so quiet and peaceful.” She smiled at Nellie, glancing over at Sweeney. “You both look so… content.”

Nellie laughed softly, a slight flush touching her cheeks. “Content, yes. It’s been a long time comin’, but it feels right.”

Anthony, now holding Henry in his lap as the boy played with a small toy, nodded. “We’re glad you two found it. You’ve built something real here.”

Sweeney shifted slightly in his seat, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips. “Yes, I suppose we have.” His gaze softened as he looked at the children. “This is what matters now. They don’t need to know about what came before them. Only what we make for them now.”

Hope babbled, reaching out for a slice of bread, and Henry made a noise that sounded almost like laughter. The family around the table laughed softly, the sound of it filling the room with warmth. For once, there was no tension, no fear of the past catching up to them. Just the simple joy of being together.

They ate in companionable silence, the kind that only comes from shared understanding. The sun set slowly, the soft glow of twilight spilling through the windows, bathing them all in a peaceful light.

As the meal drew to a close, Nellie placed her hand on the table and gave a satisfied sigh. “I don’t know when I’ve felt so… full,” she said, glancing around at the others, her voice soft with affection. “Full of food, full of family.”

Sweeney nodded, his gaze lingering on the twins, his heart lighter than it had been in years. “Aye. Full.”

Toby, who had been unusually quiet during the meal, looked up at them all, his wide eyes filled with curiosity. “Do you think we’ll stay ‘ere for good, Sweeney? For real?” 

Sweeney looked down at him, his voice low but steady. “Yes, Toby. We’ll stay. This is our home now.”

Johanna smiled softly, her hand brushing against Anthony’s. “We’ll be here too,” she said. “As long as you need us.”

The room settled into a quiet, comfortable hum, and Sweeney leaned back in his chair, letting the weight of the evening sink in. He truly believed in their new life.

The past was behind them, and the future—though still uncertain in many ways—felt brighter.

And as the night stretched on, the family remained seated around the table, sharing stories of days gone by and dreams for tomorrow, the cottage was filled with the soft sounds of a new beginning.

No longer haunted by what had been. Only hopeful for what was yet to come.

After a quiet evening at the cottage, full of laughter and warmth, Anthony and Johanna made their way back to the boat, the soft sound of water lapping against the hull accompanying their footsteps. The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silvery light over the boat as they stepped onboard, the soft creak of the wood beneath their feet sounding oddly comforting.

Johanna leaned against the mast, watching the stars above. She’d grown used to the tranquility of the seaside, the stillness that enveloped the small cottage, but her heart still ached for the open horizon, for the promise of adventure. Her fingers played with the hem of her dress as she thought about the choice they were about to make.

Anthony, standing at the edge of the boat, stared out at the dark water, lost in thought. “It’s strange,” he said after a moment, his voice low. “The idea of staying here… it’s almost like a dream. I never thought we’d have something like this.”

Johanna stepped closer to him, her eyes soft. “I know. But after everything, after all the running and the uncertainty… maybe this is what we need. Maybe we can stay here for a while, build something stable. A place for us to truly be… to be together, with no distractions, no worries. At least for now.” 

He looked down at her, his eyes filled with affection. “But the sea… it calls to me. It’s been our life, hasn’t it? The unknown, the freedom. I never imagined staying in one place for long.”

Johanna’s smile was a quiet one, but her eyes held the same restlessness he felt. “I know. And I won’t ask you to stay if you can’t. But what if we make a deal? What if we give it a year? We stay here, help Sweeney… my father and Nellie, see what this life is like. And then after that, we can go. The world’s still out there waiting for us.”

Anthony considered her words, his gaze moving from the dark horizon to the gentle rocking of the boat. “A year,” he said slowly, as if testing the sound of it. “I can do a year. And if after that… if we’re still yearning for more, we’ll go.”

Johanna nodded, her hand brushing against his. “A year. We’ll build something here, together, but with the promise that we’ll continue our journey. There’s still so much left to see, Anthony.”

He smiled, the weight of the decision settling into his chest. “All right, Johanna. A year. And then we’ll sail whenever the wind takes us.”

They stood together for a moment, the cool night air surrounding them, and for the first time in a long while, Johanna felt at peace with the choices they’d made. There was no rush anymore, no pressure to choose one path over another. For now, they could be present in the moment, savouring the quiet of their new life, before setting sail once more.

Anthony pulled her into a soft embrace, the world around them quiet and still, as if holding its breath.

“I’m glad we have time to figure it out,” Johanna whispered, her cheek resting against his chest. “We’ve got time.”

“For now,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For now, we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.”

The next afternoon, as the sun bathed the little seaside cottage in warm light, Johanna and Anthony returned from their boat, a quiet certainty in their steps. Sweeney and Nellie were sitting outside, Nellie knitting absently in a rocking chair while Sweeney leaned against the porch rail, a rare look of ease softening his features.

Toby was skipping stones by the shore with the twins toddling nearby, their giggles carrying sweetly on the breeze.

Anthony cleared his throat lightly, drawing their attention. Johanna smiled, her hand resting on Anthony’s arm as she spoke. “We’ve decided we’re going to stay… for at least a year.”

Nellie’s needles stilled in her hands, her face lighting up with joy before she quickly composed herself, smoothing her skirts. “Oh, love… that’s the best news I’ve ‘eard in ages.” She stood up, beaming, and pulled Johanna into a hug. “You’ll see, it’ll be good for all of us. This place… it’s a real fresh start.”

Sweeney’s reaction was subtler, but no less sincere. A slow, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gave Anthony a firm nod. “You’re welcome here. Both of you.” His voice was gruff but carried a warmth that hadn’t been there back in London.

Anthony clapped him on the shoulder in return, a silent understanding passing between the two men.

Johanna pulled back to look at Nellie, her eyes shining. “We thought… we could help out, around the cottage. Maybe find some work in town.”

Nellie laughed, wiping at the corner of her eye. “You’re family now, sweet’eart. No need to rush into anythin’. Let’s just… enjoy this, for a while.”

Sweeney glanced towards the twins as they tottered after Toby, who was showing them how to skim stones. His chest tightened at the sight—life was now simple, and it was good.

“A year,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. He looked back to Nellie, who slipped her hand into his without hesitation.

“A year,” she echoed softly, squeezing his fingers. 

And Sweeney allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, they deserved this bit of happiness.

That evening, the little cottage was full of a warm, golden glow, the smell of roasted chicken and fresh bread filling every corner. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, and the sound of quiet laughter and clinking cups made the place feel truly alive.

Nellie moved about the kitchen with easy grace, dishing out generous portions onto the mismatched plates they’d collected since moving here. Sweeney helped her silently, passing her utensils and reaching up to snag the twins as they toddled dangerously close to the fire. Hope squealed in delight as her father swooped her up, while Henry gave a stubborn little frown that only made Nellie chuckle.

At the table, Johanna and Anthony were already seated, Toby wedged between them, eagerly eyeing the food. It was a far cry from the dark, grim nights back on Fleet Street—here, the walls seemed to breathe with life and hope.

“Sit down, love,” Nellie said to Sweeney, giving his arm a light tap as she placed the final dish on the table. “You’ve done enough work today.”

Sweeney allowed a small huff, but he obeyed, settling Hope onto his lap as Nellie took the seat beside him, Henry tugging at her skirts until she lifted him into her arms.

They ate heartily, conversation flowing easily—talk of the village markets, of the sea, of the twins’ newest words and Toby’s endless adventures down by the water. Anthony shared a few funny stories of their travels, and even Johanna laughed, a sound that made Sweeney’s heart clench with quiet pride.

After dinner, they moved back to the fire, the plates left to be dealt with later. Hope dozed in Sweeney’s arms, her head tucked under his chin, while Henry was curled up against Nellie’s chest. Toby sprawled on the rug, his eyes heavy with sleep but stubbornly trying to stay awake to hear the adults’ chatter.

For a long while, they simply sat there, soaking in the comfort of it all. No threats, no fear, no blood on their hands. Just peace.

Sweeney’s eyes met Nellie’s across the fire, and she gave him a soft, knowing smile—the kind that said she understood exactly what he was feeling.

This was what they had fought for. This was what they had bled for.

And here, in this tiny cottage by the sea, surrounded by laughter, family, and hope—they had finally found it.

Chapter Text

Later, when the cottage was wrapped in the hush of night, they found themselves in bed, limbs tangled and laughter lingering between them.

Nellie grinned wickedly as she pushed Sweeney down onto the mattress and straddled his hips. His eyes widened slightly in surprise—though he certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Nellie…” he rasped, voice already thick with need.

She leaned down, her hair tickling his face as she smirked.

“You ‘ad your turn the other night,” she whispered against his ear. “Tonight’s mine.”

With a slow, teasing roll of her hips, she drew a low growl from deep in his chest. His hands found her thighs, gripping tightly, but he let her lead—for now. Watching her like this, wild and free and so utterly his, was a sight that stole the breath right from his lungs.

“God, woman,” he murmured, “you’ll be the death of me.”

“And you’ll be smilin’ when I do,” Nellie whispered back wickedly before leaning in to kiss him with a fierce, consuming hunger that promised a long, unforgettable night ahead.

The following morning, a sudden knock at their bedroom door startled them both.

“Mum?” came Toby’s voice, muffled through the wood. “You all right?”

Nellie groaned and buried her face against Sweeney’s chest, her cheeks flaming red. Sweeney let out a low chuckle, running a hand through his messy hair.

“We’re fine, Toby!” Nellie called back quickly, her voice a bit too high and strained.

There was a pause.

“I ‘eard screamin’ last night,” Toby said innocently. “Thought maybe you was ‘urt or somethin’... There were all sorts o’ noises.”

Sweeney turned his face into Nellie’s hair to smother his laugh, his shoulders shaking.

Nellie, mortified, threw on her dressing gown and cracked open the door just enough to peer out at the boy.

“Oh, that?” She said hastily, waving a hand. “Just… stubbed me toe, didn’t I? It ‘urt like bloody murder.”

Toby frowned. “Sounded like you stubbed a lot more than your toe.”

Sweeney barked out a laugh behind her, quickly turning it into a fake cough when Nellie shot him a murderous look.

“Never you mind, Toby,” she said firmly, ruffling his hair and steering him away from the door. “Now go get dressed—we’ll make some breakfast soon, all right?”

Still looking vaguely suspicious, Toby trudged off towards the kitchen. Nellie shut the door and leaned back against it with a groan.

Sweeney smirked lazily from the bed. “Stubbed your toe, did you?”

“Shut it, Mr T,” Nellie muttered, but she couldn’t help the shy little smile tugging at her lips as she crawled back into bed beside him.

He pulled her close again, nuzzling into her messy curls.

“I think we might have to be a bit quieter next time,” he murmured against her ear, voice rough and teasing.

“Or we just send Toby to the market for the day,” Nellie whispered back, laughing under her breath, before stealing a kiss from his lips.

The little kitchen smelled of frying bacon and fresh bread. Nellie hummed as she bustled about in her dressing gown, flipping pancakes while Sweeney sat at the table, sipping black coffee and reading the local paper with a scowl—though it was more habit than true annoyance now.

Toby sat at the table swinging his legs while Hope and Henry babbled happily in their high chairs, clapping their sticky hands together. 

“Is it ready yet?” Toby asked, peering hopefully at the pan.

“Patience, love,” Nellie said, plating a stack of golden pancakes and setting them on the table with a flourish. “There. Eat up before it all gets cold!”

Sweeney folded his paper, set it aside, and helped Hope by cutting her pancake into tiny pieces, while Nellie handed Henry his sippy cup.

“You’re spoilin’ em, you know,” Sweeney muttered as Hope smeared syrup all over her face.

“And I’ll keep spoilin’ em,” Nellie said cheerfully. “They deserve a little sweetness in their lives.”

Sweeney grunted something that almost sounded like agreement. His hand brushed Nellie’s under the table, a small, secret touch that made her heart flutter.

Later that day, when the twins were supposedly napping and Toby had gone outside to kick a ball around, Nellie and Sweeney stole a rare private moment in the parlour.

Nellie had perched herself on Sweeney’s lap, one arm around his neck, her fingers teasing at the loose collar of his shirt. Sweeney growled low in his throat, gripping her hips firmly as he pulled her even closer.

“As I’ve said before, you’re nothin’ but trouble, Mrs Todd,” he murmured against her neck, kissing the spot that always made her shiver.

“And you love it,” Nellie giggled, tugging playfully at his hair.

Things were heating up quickly—Nellie was just starting to unbutton his shirt—when the door burst open without warning. 

“Mum! Mr T!” Toby’s voice rang out, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet.

They both froze mid-clutch, wide-eyed like guilty teenagers.

Toby stood gaping in the doorway, Hope clinging to his hand and Henry toddling after him.

Nellie shrieked and scrambled off Sweeney’s lap, trying to straighten her skirts, cheeks burning scarlet.

“We was lookin’ for you!” Toby said, blinking innocently. “Hope wanted a cuddle.”

Sweeney cleared his throat roughly and stood, adjusting his clothes with an air of great dignity—or at least attempting to. “Next time, knock,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

Nellie scooped up Hope with trembling arms, laughing awkwardly. “Right, cuddle time, then!”

Toby looked a bit suspicious but wisely chose not to comment further as they all settled down in the parlour for a much less passionate family cuddle.

As Sweeney held Henry on his knee and Nellie tickled Hope until she squealed with delight, he caught Nellie’s eye over the children’s heads.

A private smile passed between them, full of laughter, love—and the promise to find another moment alone. Somehow. 

The house was finally quiet again—Toby was reading a book in his little room, and the twins had at last worn themselves out and fallen asleep.

Sweeney was sitting in his favourite armchair by the fireplace, a whiskey in hand, still brooding slightly about the earlier interruption. Nellie came over, wrapping herself in a soft shawl, and flopped dramatically into the armchair opposite him, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Well,” she said, grinning at him, “that was quite the show we put on earlier, weren’t it?”

Sweeney grunted and took a sip of his whiskey. “Could've been worse,” he muttered, though his ears still turned a little pink at the memory.

Nellie leaned forwards, resting her chin on her hand. “Never thought we’d be caught carryin’ on like a pair o’ teenagers, Mr Todd.”

He gave her a look, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards despite himself.

“And you…” Nellie continued in a mock-scolding tone, wagging a playful finger at him, “you’ve got no idea the trouble you’re in for later.”

Sweeney raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

She smirked, rising slowly from her chair and sauntering towards him, one hip swaying enticingly. She leaned down close, her lips brushing the shell of his ear as she whispered, “I’ll make sure I get my ‘ands on you later, love. Properly this time. No interruptions.”

Sweeney’s hand shot out and caught her around the waist before she could step away, tugging her down onto his lap. Nellie let out a little gasp, laughing softly as he buried his face against her neck.

“You’d better keep that promise,” he murmured against her skin.

Nellie giggled, threading her fingers through his hair. “Oh, you can count on it, sweet’eart.”

For now, they’d behave—just barely. But the night was still young.

And Nellie Todd was nothing if not determined when she set her mind—and her hands—to something.

Chapter Text

Once the whole house was asleep and quiet again, Nellie made good on her promise.

She slipped into their shared bedroom, the door clicking softly behind her, and found Sweeney already sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt loosened, hair mussed from running his hands through it—waiting for her.

Without a word, she sauntered over, her eyes dark and full of intent. Sweeney opened his mouth to say something, but the look she gave him stole the words right out of his throat.

Nellie knelt before him, slowly, deliberately, the skirt of her nightdress pooling around her. She set her hands on his knees and nudged them apart just slightly. Sweeney’s breath hitched in his chest.

She kept her gaze locked on his, her fingers nimble as they made quick work of the fastening on his trousers. Sweeney tensed, a low growl of anticipation in the back of his throat as she tugged both his trousers and underwear down, revealing him fully to her.

A wicked smile played at Nellie’s lips as she leaned in, her breath hot against him. “Told you I was gonna get me ‘ands on ya, didn’t I, love?” She teased in a voice like silk.

Sweeney barely managed a grunt in response, his hands tangling in her wild hair as she began to show him exactly how serious she had been.

Later—much later—they would tumble into bed together, tangled up in each other, with Nellie straddling him, reclaiming every inch of him that she’d missed in the chaos of earlier.

That night, Nellie Todd made sure there were no interruptions.

And Sweeney Todd didn’t get a moment’s peace—not that he minded one bloody bit.

They collapsed together, utterly spent, the candlelight flickering warmly over their tangled limbs. Nellie lay draped across Sweeney’s chest, their breathing in slow tandem.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of their hearts beating side by side.

Sweeney pressed a rare, tender kiss to the crown of her head, his hand lazily tracing circles on the bare skin of her back. “You’re somethin’ else, my girl,” he murmured gruffly against her hair.

Nellie smiled sleepily, nuzzling into him. “You’re stuck with me now, love. No escape.”

He let out a low chuckle—a genuine sound, rare and beautiful—and pulled her closer. “Wouldn’t bloody want one,” he said, voice rough but full of a fierce affection that made Nellie’s heart flutter.

They drifted off like that, still tangled together, finally feeling like they were exactly where they belonged.

The next evening, after the house had gone quiet again and the twins had finally settled in bed, Sweeney took it upon himself to properly thank Nellie for the night before.

She had barely sat down on the bed, starting to undo the buttons of her nightdress, when Sweeney appeared before her—dark eyes smouldering with intent.

Without a word, he gently but firmly pushed her back against the pillows, trailing kisses down her neck, her collarbone, and lower still.

“Nothin’ you need to do, love…” Nellie murmured, breathless already from the heat in his touch.

“Oh, but there is,” Sweeney rumbled low against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.

He disappeared beneath the hem of her nightdress, lifting it up with strong, calloused hands. Nellie gasped as he spread her thighs apart with confident hands, settling himself between them with a deliberate slowness that made her whimper.

Sweeney took his time, worshipping every inch of her with his mouth—determined to undo her, to have her writhing and crying out his name with no chance of teasing him about it afterwards.

He worked her over with slow, devastating patience, never taking his eyes off her face when he pulled back briefly, his mouth slick and glistening, voice rough as he said, “Mine. All mine.”

And Nellie—trembling, desperate, lost in him—could only nod, her hands fisting in the sheets as he dragged her into sweet, overwhelming bliss.

Sweeney lay back against the pillows, still catching his breath, while Nellie sprawled atop him—her head nestled against his chest. His arms cradled her there protectively, as if daring the world to even try to disturb them.

For a while, they just basked in the afterglow, Nellie lazily tracing little shapes over his chest with her fingertips.

Finally, she broke the silence with a mischievous grin. “At this rate,” she murmured, voice thick with teasing, “we’ll end up like bloody rabbits. Can’t keep our ‘ands off each other lately, can we?”

Sweeney let out a low, rumbling chuckle from deep in his chest, tightening his arms around her. “Can’t say I’m complainin’, Mrs. Todd.”

Nellie giggled, lifting her head just enough to meet his gaze. “You keep on like this, love, you’ll end up puttin’ another baby in me.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Sweeney froze. His dark eyes widened slightly—an actual flicker of panic flashing across his normally unreadable face.

“You’re serious?” He rasped, his voice hoarse.

Nellie burst out laughing, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “No, love. Only teasin’. Well… mostly.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, enjoying the rare sight of him looking genuinely startled.

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at her, but there was a faint, fond smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Bloody woman’s gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, grabbing her and rolling her over so he hovered above her again, tickling her sides until she squealed with laughter.

They ended up tangled together once more, laughing and breathless—and for once, the past was forgotten, and only the golden, giddy joy of the present remained.

Sweeney lay stretched out beside Nellie, his fingers lazily running through her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. For a while, neither of them spoke—simply content to listen to each other breathe.

But then Nellie, her voice sleepy and quiet, murmured, “Y’know… I weren’t entirely jokin’ earlier.”

Sweeney stilled his hand for a moment. “About… more children?” he asked, his voice low, cautious, but not closed off.

Nellie nodded slightly, her hair tickling his skin. “Never thought I’d get this, love. You, me… a proper family. Sometimes I wonder if we’re allowed to want more. After everythin’.”

Sweeney was silent for a long time. Then he turned slightly, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “If it’s what you want…” he said gruffly, “then maybe… someday. When the time’s right.”

Nellie smiled against his chest, feeling a lump of emotion in her throat. “Someday,” she echoed softly, closing her eyes as his arms wrapped around her tighter.

They both knew life would never be without its challenges. But for tonight, there was nothing but the peace of hope and the quiet thrum of possibility lingering in the dark.

The morning sun spilled gently into the little seaside cottage, catching the dust motes in the golden light. Sweeney sat at the table, a cup of tea growing cold in his hands, his gaze fixed on Nellie across the room.

She was humming quietly to herself, cradling Hope on her hip while Henry toddled around her skirts, clutching the hem of her dress. There was a warmth in the scene that made Sweeney’s chest ache—a simple, ordinary sort of happiness he had thought he’d forfeited long ago.

His throat tightened. He set the cup down with a small clink and rose to his feet.

Nellie looked up, smiling, but her smile faltered a little when she saw the strange look on his face—something raw and vulnerable.

“Sweeney?” she asked softly.

He crossed the room in a few strides and gently took Hope from her arms, settling the little girl in her cradle nearby. Then he turned back to Nellie, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her face. 

“I need to say this,” he rasped. “Before I lose the nerve.”

She frowned in confusion but said nothing, letting him speak.

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice rough with emotion. “For the way I spoke to you back then. For every cruel word. For callin’ you things you didn’t deserve.” He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing along her cheek. “You’re not a whore, Nellie. You never were. You’re… you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Nellie blinked fast, trying to hold back the sting of tears. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

“You were broken, love,” she whispered finally, her own hands rising to cover his. “I knew it weren’t really you. I always knew.”

Still, the shame in his eyes didn’t lessen. He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured. “You… the twins… any of it.”

“You do,” she whispered fiercely. “You do, Benjamin Barker. You deserve every bit of love you get.”

And just like that, he kissed her—not with the frantic heat of passion, but with a deep, trembling reverence, as though trying to memorise the feeling of being forgiven, of being loved despite all his sins.

The twins babbled nearby, the morning light glowing around them like a blessing. Sweeney allowed himself to believe that maybe he hadn’t damned himself entirely after all.

Chapter Text

The cottage had finally fallen into a hush, the only sounds the soft crackle of dying embers and the steady breathing of their sleeping children. Toby had been carried to bed hours ago, Henry and Hope tucked safely in their shared cradle near the window, the faint moonlight bathing them in silver.

Sweeney stood by the window for a while longer, arms crossed loosely, staring out at the darkened sea. It was calm tonight, a gentle lullaby of waves brushing the shore. Behind him, Nellie moved quietly about the room, folding away a stray blanket, smoothing down the worn quilt on their bed.

“You’ll wear yourself out standin’ there broodin’, love,” Nellie said lightly, though her voice was soft with affection rather than teasing.

He turned towards her, the faintest hint of a smile touching his mouth. Without a word, he crossed the room in a few long strides, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close. She sank into him easily, her hands sliding up his chest to rest over his heart.

For a long moment, they simply stood like that, breathing in each other’s warmth and presence. 

“Never thought I’d have this,” he murmured against her hair, his voice rough with emotion he couldn’t fully hide.

Nellie tilted her head back to meet his eyes, her thumb brushing over the rough line of his jaw. “You deserve it,” she whispered fiercely. “All of it. After everything… you deserve to be happy, Benjamin.”

He closed his eyes briefly at the sound of his true name—the one he hadn’t heard in kindness for so many long, bitter years. When he opened them again, there was a softness here that only she could coax from him. 

“We’ve got a family now,” Nellie continued. “And nothin’... no ghosts from London, no past… nothin’s gonna take that from us.”

He lowered his forehead to rest against hers, the tension in his body finally easing as he breathed her in. “I’ll never let anything harm you,” he vowed quietly. “Or them.”

“I know,” Nellie said with a small smile. “And I’ll keep you safe, too, love. Always.”

They stood there for a while longer, wrapped in each other, before finally climbing into bed, their fingers entwined even as sleep slowly claimed them.

The first soft light of dawn crept into the room, turning the whitewashed walls of the cottage a pale gold. Sweeney stirred first, blinking blearily as the warm weight of Nellie remained nestled against him, her head on his chest, her breathing deep and even.

For a few blissful moments, he simply lay there, feeling the peace that had once seemed so impossible. Then—

A soft, gurgling giggle broke the silence.

Sweeney turned his head to see Hope standing in her little crib, chubby hands gripping the edge, her dark curls a wild mess. She squealed happily upon seeing him awake. Beside her, Henry gave a hearty babble of his own, bouncing clumsily on unsteady legs.

Nellie shifted at the sound, smiling sleepily as she nuzzled against Sweeney’s side. “Mornin’, love,” she mumbled before cracking one eye open. She laughed softly when she saw the twins. “Well, someone’s ready to start the day.”

Sweeney groaned low in his throat, but there was no real annoyance in it. He sat up, gently untangling himself from Nellie, and padded barefoot across the floor to lift Hope into his arms. She giggled and patted at his face with tiny, enthusiastic hands.

Behind him, Nellie rose and scooped up Henry, who immediately buried his face in her shoulder, still a little sleepy.

“Suppose this is our life now,” Sweeney said, his voice low and oddly tender as he kissed the top of Hope’s head. 

Nellie smiled, brushing a kiss to Henry’s forehead. “Could be worse, eh?”

He chuckled—an actual, soft chuckle that still felt strange to him—and crossed the room to kiss Nellie, his free hand brushing her hair back. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”

Outside, the seaside village began to stir to life, but within the little cottage, it was just them—a family, stitched together through pain and healing, stronger now than ever.

And the future was no longer something they feared.

The smell of fresh bread and coffee soon filled the cottage, blending with the salty air drifting in through the open windows. Nellie moved easily around the small kitchen, humming softly as she placed warm loaves and jam on the table, Henry perched happily on her hip.

Toby was already seated, still yawning and rubbing his eyes, but grinning nonetheless. Hope sat in a little chair beside him, banging her wooden spoon against the table in gleeful excitement.

Sweeney poured steaming cups of coffee, setting them carefully down before Nellie and Toby, then ruffled Toby’s hair in a rare show of affection as he passed.

“Ta, Mr. T!” Toby said brightly, accepting the drink.

“Call me Sweeney,” he corrected gruffly, but there was no real bite to his words. Toby simply beamed, buttering a slice of bread for Hope, who squealed when he handed it to her.

Nellie slid into the chair beside Sweeney, Henry now sitting snugly in her lap. She watched the scene unfold—the twins giggling, Toby chatting animatedly about the strange old man he’d spotted by the docks the day before—and her heart ached with a tender kind of happiness.

She looked beside her at Sweeney, who caught her eye. No words needed to pass between them; the look was enough. This—messy, simple, peaceful—was the life they’d fought so hard for.

“More jam, please!” Toby called out, laughing as Hope reached greedily for the pot herself.

Nellie grinned, handing it over. “Only if you mind you don’t end up wearin’ it, love.”

Henry babbled loudly in agreement, slapping his hands on the table, causing the others to laugh.

Outside, the gulls cried and the waves lapped the shore, but within the cottage, everything was warm and alive, filled with the sounds of a family finding its rhythm—and finally, a sense of belonging. 

After breakfast, with the twins bundled up against the cool morning breeze, Nellie and Sweeney stepped out onto the small patch of grassy dune behind the cottage. The sea stretched endlessly before them, glittering under the pale sunlight.

Nellie cradled Henry against her chest while Sweeney carried Hope, the little girl’s fists clutching the lapel of his coat tightly. They stood side by side in the sand, the salty wind tugging at their hair and clothes, watching the endless dance of the waves.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Nellie broke the silence, her voice low and full of quiet wonder. “Can you believe it, love? After everythin’... we’re really ‘ere. Safe.”

Sweeney shifted Hope carefully in his arms, pressing a kiss against her soft, dark curls before looking at Nellie. “I never thought we’d get a second chance,” he said gruffly. “Let alone this.”

He reached for Nellie’s free hand, his fingers weaving through hers. She squeezed back, tears prickling her eyes.

“Our little family…” she whispered, glancing between the twins with a soft smile. “They’ll grow up knowin’ nothin’ but love. Not darkness… not fear.”

Sweeney nodded, his throat tight with emotion he rarely allowed himself to show. “They’ll never know what we were,” he said. “Only what we’ve become.”

Hope let out a delighted shriek as a gust of wind brushed her face, and both Nellie and Sweeney laughed, their hearts lighter than they had felt in years.

Hand in hand, children in their arms, they stood at the edge of their new life—a future shaped not by the bitterness of their past, but by the love they’d built from the ashes.

The cottage was unusually peaceful that afternoon, sunlight pouring through the open windows as a gentle sea breeze fluttered through the curtains. Nellie sat on the floor near the fireplace, folding a small pile of freshly laundered baby clothes, while Sweeney paced the room with Henry perched on his hip.

The little boy was unusually fussy, wriggling and whining, his tiny hands grabbing fistfuls of his father’s shirt.

“What’s the matter with you, hmm?” Sweeney grumbled, bouncing him gently, though there was a rare softness to his voice. “You’re not usually this much trouble, lad.”

Nellie smiled to herself at the sight. “Maybe e’s just missin’ ‘is mama,” she teased. “Or maybe e’s thinkin’ you need a good bit of ‘umblin’, Mr. Todd.”

Before Sweeney could roll his eyes or offer a retort, Henry let out a tiny hiccup—followed by a sudden, startling gush of warm, milky vomit that sprayed straight onto Sweeney’s shirt and down the front of his waistcoat.

For a moment, there was only stunned silence.

Sweeney froze, his mouth slightly open in horror as he looked down at the dripping mess covering him. Nellie clapped a hand over her mouth, trying in vain to stifle the snort of laughter bubbling up—but it was no use. Within seconds, she was howling, doubling over in fits of uncontrollable giggles.

Sweeney shot her a glare, though it lacked any real venom. “Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself,” he muttered dryly.

Nellie wiped a tear from her eye, still laughing. “Oh, love… you look a right state!” she gasped between giggles. “Maybe next time you’ll let me ‘andle the fussy ones, eh?”

He sighed heavily, lifting Henry away from the mess with stiff arms. “Remind me again why we thought two of these was a good idea?”

Nellie finally caught her breath, pushing herself up and stepping over to him, grinning fondly. “‘Cause life’d be a lot duller without ‘em. And,” she added cheekily, plucking Henry from his arms. “‘cause you look very ‘andsome covered in baby sick.”

Sweeney huffed but there was a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes as he peeled off his soiled shirt, muttering curses under his breath. Nellie just shook her head fondly and went to fetch a clean cloth, still chuckling to herself.

Their life might have been chaotic and messy, but in moments like this—full of laughter, love, and even a bit of vomit—it was exactly what they had both always needed.

Sweeney had finally cleaned up and changed into a fresh shirt, though he’d worn a scowl for much of the afternoon, especially every time Nellie looked at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye.

As the twins took an afternoon nap, Sweeney sat in the armchair as he flipped absentmindedly through an old book. Nellie curled on the nearby sofa, watching him over the rim of her teacup.

“Y’know,” she said, her voice thick with suppressed laughter, “for a man what used to slice throats for a livin’, you really were taken down by a bit o’ baby sick quite spectacularly.”

Sweeney glowered at her over the top of the book. “Not a word more, woman,” he growled lowly.

But Nellie only grinned wider, utterly unbothered. “Come now, love. I think you should be proud. Henry’s first victim,” she teased, raising her teacup in a mock toast.

Sweeney huffed and snapped the book closed. “If you laugh about it once more, I’ll set him loose on you next time his stomach turns.”

Nellie chuckled as she set down her tea and crossed the room to him. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, smiling tenderly. “I wouldn’t mind, so long as I get to watch you deal with it again.”

Despite himself, Sweeney caught her around the waist, pulling her down gently into his lap. “You’re wicked,” he muttered against her hair. 

“And you love it,” she whispered, resting her forehead against his. 

That night, after the twins had been tucked into their little cribs upstairs and Toby had gone to bed yawning loudly, Sweeney and Nellie sat by the fireplace, a low fire crackling warmly before them.

Nellie was curled up on the settee with her legs tucked under her, a knitted shawl draped around her shoulders. Sweeney sat nearby, polishing an old pocket watch that had somehow survived after all these tumultuous years.

For a while, they simply enjoyed the rare, uninterrupted peace—no danger looming, no secrets weighing heavy on their hearts. Only the sound of the fire and the occasional crack of the timber walls shifting in the cool night air.

Nellie broke the silence, her voice soft with affection. “Y’know, Mister T… I don’t think I ever dared to dream we’d ‘ave nights like this.”

Sweeney looked up, his mouth curving into a rare, faint smile. “Neither did I.”

He set the watch down and crossed the short distance to her, sinking down beside her on the settee. Nellie leaned into him without hesitation, resting her head on his shoulder.

“We’ve earned it, ‘aven’t we?” she murmured sleepily.

Sweeney kissed the top of her head. “More than earned it, my love.”

They sat there for a long while, wrapped up in the fire’s warmth and each other.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after a leisurely breakfast, Johanna and Anthony arrived at the cottage with bright smiles and a mischievous glint in their eyes.

Anthony stooped to scoop Hope up as she toddled towards him with a delighted giggle, while Johanna cradled Henry on her hip.

“We were thinking,” Johanna began, exchanging a grin with Anthony, “you two could use a night off.”

“A night off?” Nellie echoed, blinking in surprise.

“Yes,” Anthony said. “We’ll take the twins and Toby onto the boat for a little sailing trip this afternoon and into the evening. Even have them overnight if you’d like. Give you two some proper time together. You deserve it.”

Sweeney arched a sceptical brow. “You sure you’re up for the chaos?”

Johanna laughed. “Positive. Toby’s more help than trouble, and we’ll be fine.”

Nellie glanced at Sweeney, then grinned wide. “Well… ‘ow can we say no to that?”

A few hours later, with the little ones safely aboard Anthony’s boat, Nellie and Sweeney found themselves alone in the cottage once more.

After a quiet dinner and a bottle of gin they hadn’t touched in months, they found themselves sprawled on the rug before the fire, laughing far more than they should have been.

Nellie nudged Sweeney playfully with her foot, a tipsy grin on her face. “See, love… blamed it on the gin once before, didn’t I?”

He gave a rare chuckle, pulling her closer until she was practically sitting on his lap. “And I let you,” he murmured against her ear.

Their laughter melted into kisses, and soon the rest of the world—and the gin—was forgotten completely.

Nellie’s giggle was swallowed by Sweeney’s mouth as he kissed her deeply, his hands sliding along her waist and pulling her closer still. The firelight flickered against his sharp features, casting them in soft gold and shadow.

Nellie’s fingers tangled in his dark hair, tugging lightly as she kissed him back with growing fervour. “You’re trouble, you know that, love?” she teased breathlessly against his lips.

“And you,” he growled lowly, voice thick with desire, “are even worse.”

Without warning, he lifted her into his arms, causing her to yelp and then laugh harder, clinging to him as he carried her towards the bedroom.

The door slammed shut behind them with a bump of Sweeney’s foot. He laid her down carefully on the bed, following her down without hesitation, his body pressing against hers in a way that left no questions of his intentions.

Their clothes were shed between kisses and hurried touches, laughter giving way to a deeper need—a need born of survival, of the countless times they’d almost lost each other, and the newfound hope they finally dared to embrace.

Sweeney’s touch was reverent, worshipful even, as if he was trying to memorise every inch of her, now that he knew they had the time to savour it. Nellie met him with equal devotion, murmuring his name in broken whispers between kisses.

“I love you,” she said into the crook of his neck, her voice trembling with emotion.

“I love you, Eleanor.”

The words—raw and unguarded—sent a shiver through her, and she pulled him even closer, needing to feel every heartbeat, every breath.

Their bodies moved together slowly at first, then with more urgency, passion burning between them until it spilled over and left them gasping, clinging to each other in the dim candlelight.

Afterwards, they lay tangled together beneath the worn quilt, Sweeney tracing lazy circles over her bare shoulder as Nellie dozed against his chest.

For once, there were no nightmares waiting to steal the peace from their sleep—only dreams of the future they had fought so hard to win.

The morning sun streamed through the windows far too brightly for Sweeney’s liking. He groaned, burying his face deeper into the pillow, while Nellie muttered something unintelligible and pulled the blanket over her head.

Both of them were suffering the consequences of their gin-fuelled celebration.

A knock sounded at the cottage door, loud and persistent. Sweeney grumbled under his breath, swinging his legs off the bed and wincing as the world tilted slightly.

“Remind me never to let you talk me into drinking that much again,” he said, casting a half-hearted glare at the mound of blankets that was Nellie.

She just gave a muffled snort of laughter from under the quilt.

Dragging himself to the door, Sweeney opened it to find Anthony, looking amused, holding a very energetic Henry in his arms. Beside him, Johanna stood with Hope perched on her hip, and Toby grinned sheepishly behind them.

“Morning,” Anthony said, far too cheerfully for Sweeney’s liking. “Figured we’d bring your lot back before they wore us out.”

Hope squealed when she saw her father and wriggled in Johanna’s arms. Henry clapped his hands, and Toby looked between them all, stifling a laugh.

“You two look terrible,” Toby blurted with a wide grin.

Nellie stumbled into the room then, her hair a wild mess and clutching her head dramatically. “That’s Mum and Sweeney to you, Toby, and thank you very much,” she said with mock dignity, before catching sight of her babies and lighting up despite her hangover.

Sweeney took Hope into his arms, feeling his heart squeeze at the way she immediately cuddled into him, while Nellie scooped up Henry, peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“We might be dyin’,” Nellie said with a playful wink, “but at least we ‘ad a good night.”

Johanna laughed softly, exchanging a warm look with Anthony. “You both deserve it,” she said. “We’re just glad you finally got to have a little fun.”

As the family crowded into the cosy kitchen, Nellie managed to cobble together some strong tea and toast, despite her pounding head. The cottage was soon filled with the sound of children’s laughter and the comforting clink of cups and plates.

It wasn’t perfect—the pain in their heads reminded them of that—but it was theirs. And life was beautifully, wonderfully simple.

Later that morning, after the chaos of breakfast and after Nellie had managed to corral the twins into a nap, Sweeney found Anthony and Johanna lingering near the front porch, ready to head back to their boat.

For a moment, he just stood there in the doorway, arms crossed loosely, watching them. His usual sharpness softened by the remnants of exhaustion—and something rarer still… gratitude.

“Wait,” Sweeney said, his voice low but firm.

Anthony and Johanna turned, a little curious.

Sweeney cleared his throat, almost uncomfortable, but he pressed on. “I… appreciate what you did. Watching over the little ones.” He hesitated, then added gruffly, “Means more than I can say.”

Johanna smiled warmly, the resemblance to Lucy even more striking now that Sweeney dared to see it.

“They’re a joy,” she said softly. “We love them already.”

Anthony nodded in agreement. “You and Nellie deserve a bit of peace. And we’ll always be here to help.”

There was a beat of heavy silence, heavy but not uncomfortable.

Then, in a rare display, Sweeney offered his hand to Anthony, who took it without hesitation.

“Thank you,” Sweeney said again, quieter this time.

Anthony smiled. “Family sticks together.”

Johanna stepped forwards too, squeezing Sweeney’s hand between both of hers for a fleeting second. No more words were needed.

Sweeney watched them walk away down the path towards the harbour, feeling a tightness in his chest he hadn’t expected. Not grief. Not anger. Something else.

Something closer to hope.

Sweeney lingered at the doorway even after Anthony and Johanna disappeared down the winding path, the sea breeze ruffling his hair. He barely heard Nellie’s quiet footsteps behind him until her arms slipped around his waist, her chin resting lightly against his back.

“Well, well,” she said in a playful murmur, “look at you, standin’ there all soft and sentimental.”

He huffed a low breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

Nellie grinned against his back. “Too late. I think it suits you, love.”

Sweeney turned in her arms, his rough hands finding her waist, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly in that rare, hidden smile he saved only for her. “You’re insufferable,” he muttered affectionately.

“And you love it,” Nellie teased, tilting her head up for a kiss.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he kissed her slow and deep, letting the moment settle between them like a promise—one of many they’d keep in this strange, peaceful new life they’d built.

When they finally parted, Nellie beamed up at him and said, “Come on, Mr Todd. Let's get on with our day before the twins wake up and cause a riot.”

Sweeney chuckled low in his throat—another sound he hadn’t known he was capable of before her—and let her lead him back inside, the door swinging gently closed behind them.

Outside, the sun rose higher over the waves, and the little cottage by the sea remained filled with laughter, love, and the quiet, hard-won hope that they had fought so long to find.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled softly in the hearth, painting the small sitting room in a flickering amber glow. Outside, the sea murmured against the shore, the steady rhythm a lullaby to the quiet night.

Nellie sat on the old, overstuffed settee with Hope cradled in her lap, the little girl half-dozing against her mother’s chest. Beside her, Sweeney lounged with Henry curled up against his side, tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his father’s thumb.

Toby was sprawled on the rug before the fire, a worn book open in front of him, though he seemed more interested in telling the twins little stories in a low, animated whisper. His voice rose and fell, and now and then, Henry would giggle or Hope would smile sleepily at some silly part of the tale. 

Sweeney caught Nellie's eye across the tops of their children’s heads. Her smile was small but full of something deep and rich—contentment, maybe, or gratitude for this fragile, beautiful thing they’d built together.

For a long time, none of them spoke. They simply sat together, safe and warm and whole, the firelight reflecting in their eyes and the slow, steady beat of the ocean beyond their windows anchoring them to this new, precious life.

At last, as the twins drifted off into true sleep, Nellie whispered, “This… this is everything I ever wanted.”

Sweeney leaned over, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. “Me too,” he murmured, and for once, there was no shadow in his voice.

Toby, sensing the tenderness of the moment, smiled to himself and pulled the blanket tighter around the twins before quietly settling back down. He wouldn’t say it aloud, but he knew, deep down, he was exactly where he belonged. 

And in that small cottage by the sea, with all their dark yesterdays behind them, they let the fire burn low, and the night wrap them up in peace.

The twins were heavy with sleep by the time Nellie and Sweeney carried them upstairs. Hope stirred only once as Nellie tucked her into her little bed, pressing a kiss to her warm forehead. Henry grumbled a little as Sweeney lowered him down, but a gentle hand on his back and a soft murmur soothed him almost immediately.

For a moment, they both just stood there in the dim light of the small bedroom, watching their children breathe in the quiet.

Nellie slid her hand into Sweeney’s, giving it a small, meaningful squeeze. He looked down at her, his eyes softer than she’d ever thought possible when she’d first known him—the man who once lived for nothing but revenge, now finding life in the small beating hearts they’d made together.

Silently, they crept from the room, leaving the door ajar behind them.

Downstairs, the fire had burned low to embers, bathing the cottage in a cosy hush. Nellie settled into the settee, pulling her shawl around her shoulders, while Sweeney disappeared into the kitchen for a moment. When he returned, he carried two mugs of tea, setting one down before her and taking the seat beside her.

For a time, they said nothing, simply sipping their tea, letting the quiet settle deep into their bones.

Then Nellie tilted her head onto his shoulder, sighing softly. “I still can’t believe it sometimes,” she whispered. “‘Ow far we’ve come.”

He pressed a kiss to her hair. “Neither can I,” he said gruffly.

“And no matter what ‘appens,” Nellie murmured, her hand finding his again, “this… this will always be ours.”

Sweeney turned his head, brushing his nose against her temple, his voice low and rough with emotion. “Always.”

In the safety of their small seaside home, with their little ones asleep above them and the future finally unwritten before them, they sat together—two souls who had lost so much but found each other again, against all odds.

There was honestly no place that they would rather be.

The peace of the night didn’t last.

It started with a small whisper from upstairs—Hope’s thin cry echoing faintly down the staircase. Nellie stirred first, lifting her head from Sweeney’s chest where she’d fallen asleep. He grunted lowly as she moved, blinking blearily towards the sound.

“You stay,” she whispered, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw as she slipped off the settee and padded up the stairs barefoot.

Hope was sitting up in her little bed, cheeks flushed and eyes watery. Nellie pressed the back of her hand to the girl’s forehead and immediately frowned. She was burning up.

“Aw, love,” Nellie murmured, scooping her up. Hope burrowed her face against her shoulder with a soft, miserable whine.

By the time Nellie returned downstairs with the little girl sniffling against her, Henry had begun fussing too.

Sweeney had already risen, standing with a grimace as he heard the second wail begin. “I’ll get him,” he muttered, tugging on his shirt sleeves. 

Henry, too, was feverish, his small body hot and squirmy as Sweeney picked him up. He clung tight to his father’s shirt, his cries tapering into tired whimpers.

They spent the rest of the night in a tangle of blankets and restless little bodies on the settee. Nellie rocked Hope in her arms while Sweeney settled Henry against his chest, stroking his tiny back slowly. 

Every so often, they’d exchange a tired glance over the heads of their children—exhausted but uncomplaining. 

“This is it, then,” Nellie murmured around a yawn as the first weak light of dawn crept into the room. “S’what real life looks like.” 

Sweeney looked down at Henry’s sleeping face, then over at Nellie, cradling Hope with such infinite tenderness.

And despite the ache in his back and the exhaustion heavy in his bones, he found himself smiling—a rare, true smile.

“Aye,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “Wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

The morning light had turned soft, but the peace was still elusive. Hope and Henry remained restless, their little bodies barely able to settle. They were burning with fever, too warm even for the usual layer of blankets they loved to snuggle beneath.

Nellie, still holding Hope in her arms, paced gently around the cottage, trying to lull the little girl back to sleep. Sweeney was seated on the armchair with Henry curled up on his lap, the child half-conscious, drifting in and out of sleep. They were both exhausted—both from the sleepless night and from the weight of responsibility that came with being parents. 

Sweeney’s movements were slow, deliberate, as he gently rubbed Henry’s back. The little one was too sick to protest and seemed comforted by his father’s touch.

Nellie glanced at him over her shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips. She could see the worry in his eyes, despite the calm façade he tried to keep up.

“Do you think it’s just a fever?” she asked, her voice light, but the question carried the weight of concern.

Sweeney’s brow furrowed. “Could be. They’ve got the sniffles… but the fever’s a bit high for just that.”

She nodded, the tightness in her chest not easing. “We should send for the doctor,” she said, more to herself than to him, but Sweeney had heard her all the same.

“We’ll be fine,” he assured, his voice surprisingly soft. He kissed the top of Henry’s head, the small action almost a whisper of his own affection for the boy. “I’ll stay with them. You… go take a rest, love. You’ve had your share of worry tonight.”

Nellie smiled faintly but shook her head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’re in this together.” She kissed the top of Hope’s head, still nestled against her chest.

Just then, a knock at the door interrupted the moment, and the soft sound of footsteps followed. A familiar voice called from the threshold.

“It’s us!” Johanna’s voice rang through, cheerful as always, but with a touch of concern. “We brought some supplies.”

Nellie went to the door, carefully nudging it open. Johanna and Anthony were standing on the other side, a basket of herbs and remedies in hand, their faces both showing a combination of sympathy and determination.

“I heard from the neighbours about the children,” Johanna said as she entered the cottage. She immediately went to Hope and examined her, her brow furrowed in motherly concern. “How long has she been this way?”

“Since last night,” Nellie said, still holding Hope. “Henry too.” She let out a sigh. “I can’t ‘elp but feel ‘elpless.”

Johanna smiled, though it was gentle, knowing. “It’s all right. They’ll pull through. It’s just a bad cold and a fever. Anthony and I brought some chamomile. If we make them a little tea, it’ll help.”

“Thank you,” Sweeney murmured from the chair, his voice rough from exhaustion.

“We’ll help you both out,” Anthony said, already kneeling down to grab the tea supplies. “You’ve done so much for us, letting us be part of your family. It’s our turn to give back.”

Johanna placed a hand on Nellie’s arm, her eyes soft. “It’s hard, I know. But you’re not alone in this.”

Nellie nodded, fighting back the sting of unshed tears. It meant so much to her, hearing those words. The past felt like a distant nightmare now, but moments like this were her reality—and she was trying, so hard, to give her children a future full of love and hope.

The afternoon drifted by in a blur of tea, quiet murmurs, and the occasional soft cries from the twins as they rested in their parents’ arms. Anthony and Johanna stayed with them until the evening, helping as best as they could, offering comfort and reassurance.

By the time the evening settled in, the twins seemed to show signs of improvement. Hope’s fever had broken, and Henry was no longer as flushed, his tiny hand gripping tightly onto Sweeney’s finger.

Nellie sat beside Sweeney, her head resting gently against his shoulder. Despite the chaos of the day, despite the worry that had plagued them, the small, sweet sounds of their children now falling into peaceful slumber was enough to ease the knot in their chests.

“Thank you,” Nellie whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “For everything. For staying with them… with me.”

Sweeney squeezed her hand gently. “Always, love. I’d do anything for you and our children.”

He looked down at the twins, his face softening. “We’ll make sure they never have to face what we did. They’ll have a life of peace.”

Nellie smiled, and the weight of their shared past seemed a little less heavy.

“Together,” she said, her voice steady and warm.

“Together,” Sweeney repeated, his heart full as they looked down at their family, a family they would do anything to protect.

Chapter Text

The next few days were a mix of peaceful routine and anxious anticipation. As Hope and Henry slowly recovered, Sweeney and Nellie took solace in the quiet. The twins’ occasional laughter and sleepy murmurs were a sweet melody in their ears. The air in the seaside cottage had an unspoken sense of safety, of renewal. The couple, despite their past, had built a small sanctuary here. Even Toby had found comfort in the familiarity, helping around the house and laughing with the children.

One afternoon, as the twins napped peacefully in the corner, Nellie and Sweeney took the rare moment of calm to sit by the fire. The air was chilly, and the glow of the flames offered warmth to their hearts.

“I think they’re going to be all right now,” Nellie said softly, glancing over at the twins.

Sweeney nodded, his eyes still full of that protective tenderness. “They’re strong. Like you.” His voice was filled with admiration.

Nellie smiled, her fingers gently brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I never thought we’d get ‘ere,” she said, her words barely above a whisper.

“We did,” Sweeney said firmly, his eyes dark with something deeper. “We will protect them. I won’t let anything take them from us.”

As the day began to fall into dusk, they prepared for another night, hoping for a peaceful sleep. Little did they know, peace was a fleeting visitor.

--

The next morning, as they were preparing breakfast, the familiar sound of footsteps echoed from the dirt road outside. A tall, lanky figure appeared at the door, and Nellie froze. The last person she expected was standing there, adjusting his weathered coat with a polite smile—a figure who had once been a part of their life in a different, darker time.

It was a local man from the town who worked as a trader, and although his business was never directly tied to the Judge or the Beadle, he had once worked on commission for them, delivering reports on the various happenings around the city.

“Morning,” the man greeted, his voice deep and neutral.

“Morning,” Sweeney replied, his tone sharp as he wiped his hands on a rag, taking in the man’s appearance. “Can I help you with something?”

The man hesitated for a moment, his gaze flicking over Sweeney and Nellie, noticing the twins in the corner of the room. “I’m just looking for a bit of information, if you don’t mind.”

Nellie’s heart skipped a beat. She could feel the tension rise in the air, and the unspoken weight of his presence pressed heavily upon her.

“Information?” Sweeney asked, his voice low and cold.

“Not much, just curious,” the man continued, not seeming to notice the sudden change in the atmosphere. “I heard a bit of gossip down by the dock. The sort of gossip you don’t like hearing. They were saying that the Judge and the Beadle had disappeared a long while ago. Real strange, you know?”

Sweeney’s grip on the rag tightened, and Nellie could see the tension in his jaw. His body had stiffened, but his voice remained steady.

“People talk,” Sweeney said, his words clipped. “They’re always looking for something to gossip about.”

The man leaned in, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s just… strange, right? I mean, it’s like those two just vanished without a trace. The townsfolk are talking. They’re saying people like you, people who deal in… well, certain ways, might have had a hand in it.”

Nellie felt her throat tighten, the silence hanging thick in the room. She knew this was a dangerous moment. The man’s question was not innocent; it was probing, digging deeper.

“I think you might be mistaken,” Sweeney said, taking a step forward, his eyes locking with the man’s. “People disappear all the time.”

The man nodded, as if satisfied with that response. But there was something in his gaze, something that lingered a little too long. “I suppose. But some stories are harder to swallow than others.”

Without another word, the man turned and left, his footsteps slowly fading away. 

Nellie was quiet, but her mind was racing. “Do you think… ‘e knows somethin’?”

Sweeney’s jaw clenched as he stared out the window, watching the man disappear into the distance. “I don't know. But if people start asking too many questions, they might find something they weren’t supposed to.”

–-

The days following the visit were filled with a nervous undercurrent. They couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching, waiting for a slip-up. Though they kept to their routines—walks along the beach, tending to the twins, and even the occasional trip to town for supplies—every knock on the door made them uneasy.

Sweeney wasn’t one for fear, but Nellie could see the subtle signs—the way he kept his hand on his razor a little more often again now, the way his eyes would narrow every time a cart rumbled by.

And then, one fateful morning, it happened.

The town constable, a stout man who had been part of the community for years, appeared at the door, his hat low over his brow. His boots scraped against the floorboards as he entered, his face serious.

“Morning,” he said, his voice heavy with tension. “I’m afraid I’ll need to ask you some questions. Might be about the Judge and the Beadle, you see… It's been rumoured that there’s been some… funny business going on around here. And the people talk. They can’t help it.”

Nellie’s breath caught in her throat. She exchanged a quick glance with Sweeney, but there was no denying the suspicion in his eyes. This was no coincidence. 

The constable’s eyes flicked to the twins, playing in the corner, but he continued, unfazed by the sweet innocence of the children. “We’ve heard stories of them being seen with certain people in the past. The sort of folk who aren’t well liked… people who’ve been involved in the wrong kinds of dealings. And these… disappearances. Can’t ignore it.”

Sweeney stepped forwards, his stance firm. “You’re wasting your time,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

But the constable only shook his head, taking another step forward. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just trying to get to the truth. Now, have there been any odd happenings recently or in the past that might’ve gotten people talking?”

Nellie’s heart raced, and she could see Sweeney’s hand subtly flexing near his razor. This wasn’t just a simple enquiry; they were being cornered. It was only a matter of time before the past came back to haunt them.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the visit from the the trader and the town constable, and while Sweeney and Nellie had hoped the incident would fade into the background, they couldn’t shake the growing unease that had settled over their peaceful life. The stillness of the seaside cottage seemed to be unravelling with each passing day. 

Sweeney and Nellie had just finished breakfast one morning when a knock echoed through the door. Nellie’s heart skipped. It was too early for casual visitors. She exchanged a wary glance with Sweeney, but before he could move to the door, a tall, well-dressed man in his mid-forties appeared at the threshold. He wasn’t a regular from the town; Nellie had never seen him before, which made her instantly suspicious.

“Good morning,” the man said in a calm, measured voice, tipping his hat slightly as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

Sweeney’s expression was unreadable, but Nellie could see the tension building in his posture. “What can we do for you?” Sweeney asked, his tone sharp but polite. 

“I’m afraid I’m looking for some answers,” the man replied, his gaze shifting between the two of them. He paused as though weighing his next words carefully. “I've been asking around, and some of the folk here seem to think that you two might have some insight into… certain disappearances.”

Nellie’s stomach turned. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. Sweeney didn’t flinch, but Nellie could see the flash of irritation in his eyes.

“Disappearances?” Nellie echoed, trying to sound casual even though her heart was pounding. She took a small step closer to Sweeney, as though bracing herself.

The man nodded, unperturbed by the atmosphere in the room. “The Judge and the Beadle,” he said, his voice almost too casual for the topic. “They’ve been gone for months now. People are starting to wonder if they simply walked off or if something a bit… darker happened. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Sweeney’s eyes narrowed, and his hand instinctively moved towards the razor that he had been keeping in his pocket as of late. Nellie caught his wrist gently, a silent reminder to stay calm.

“No, I don’t know anything about that,” Sweeney said slowly, his voice ice-cold. “And frankly, I don’t know why you’d be asking us about it. If it’s the gossip you’re after, I suggest you find it elsewhere.”

The man’s gaze softened, but there was something calculating in his eyes. “I’ve been speaking with some of the townsfolk. They’ve heard rumours that you’ve had run-ins with the Beadle and the Judge. It’s just strange that they disappeared around the time that you arrived… don’t you think?”

Nellie’s chest tightened. She could feel the walls closing in on them. This wasn’t just a random visitor—he was fishing for answers, asking questions where he knew there would be answers he didn’t like.

Sweeney took a step towards the man, his expression darkening. “You seem to have a lot of interest in matters that don’t concern you.”

The man didn’t back down. “I’m just trying to make sense of things. People around here are talking. And there’s no harm in getting a few things straightened out.”

“People talk too much around here,” Nellie said, her voice colder than she intended. She took another step forwards, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sweeney. “If there’s nothin’ else, I suggest you take your business elsewhere.”

The man’s eyes flicked briefly to Nellie, but there was no fear in his gaze. “Perhaps I’ll do that. But know this; if I find any connections between you two and their disappearances, there will be questions to answer.”

With that, he turned on his heel and exited the cottage, leaving Sweeney and Nellie standing in stunned silence.

After the visit, a chill lingered in the air, and the unease that had been creeping in now settled in full force. Sweeney was never one for fear, but the sight of the stranger had rattled him. It wasn’t just the man’s questions—it was the implications behind them. Someone was looking for answers, and they were getting too close.

Later that afternoon, while Sweeney went out to check on the property, Nellie walked into the town to pick up supplies. As she passed by the tavern, she overheard hush whispers from a group of local men sitting outside, enjoying their drinks. Their conversation stopped abruptly when they saw her, but the quiet murmurs lingered in the air.

“I told you,” one of the men muttered low enough for only the others to hear, “something’s off about that couple. Have you noticed the way people disappear after they show up? Not just the Judge and the Beadle. More than a few folk have vanished.”

“Didn’t the Beadle look into it?” another voice asked, skepticism lacing his words. “Where did ‘e get to, eh?”

“Funny, that,” the first man said, tapping the table with his fingers. “Real funny. Same time as those two arrived here.”

Nellie’s heart sank as she overheard them. They were asking questions, just like the men who had come to their door looking for answers. And the more they asked, the more likely it was that someone would put the pieces together. They couldn’t afford to wait for that moment to come.

--

That night, after dinner, Sweeney and Nellie walked along the shore together, the sound of the waves crashing softly against the rocks.

“We can’t keep runnin’,” Nellie murmured, glancing up at Sweeney. “The longer we stay ‘ere, the more questions will be asked. People are already startin’ to notice. It’s only a matter of time before someone pieces it together.”

Sweeney gripped her hand tightly. “Then we move again,” he said, determination in his voice. “If we have to. If the past keeps coming for us, we’ll outrun it.”

“But where do we go?” Nellie asked, her voice soft but firm. “‘Ow many times can we keep runnin’?”

“We don’t stop,” Sweeney answered, his voice low and resolute. “As long as we’re together, we keep going. We’ll stay one step ahead of them. Always.”

Nellie nodded, trusting him with all her heart. But as they walked in the fading light, the weight of their past—and the uncertainty of their future—loomed over them.

–-

The next morning, as Sweeney and Nellie began their day, they found another note at the door. It was unsigned, but the handwriting was unmistakable. Someone was following them, still trying to get to the truth.

The note read:

We know what you’ve done. And we’re coming for you. The truth is out there. You can’t hide forever.

Sweeney’s eyes burned with fury as he crumpled the note in his hand, tossing it into the fire.

“We can run,” he muttered under his breath, “but we’ll never outrun this.”

Nellie stood next to him, her face pale but determined. “Then we fight.”

–-

It was a week after the visit from the man in the town that things began to feel more tense, even in the quiet seclusion of the seaside. The sun still set in the same beautiful way over the water, but the serenity of the cottage was beginning to crack. Every time someone from the village came by, every time a stranger glanced too long, Sweeney’s instincts flared. His muscles tightened, his grip on his razor growing harder as the feeling of being hunted dug under his skin.

Nellie felt it too. Their peaceful life, the fresh start they’d worked so hard for, was now overshadowed by the looming question of how long it could last.

–-

One evening, as they sat around the dinner table, Toby, Johanna, and Anthony’s unease became too obvious to ignore. Johanna had been quiet for most of the meal, and even Anthony’s usually bright demeanor seemed dimmer. The tension in the air was palpable.

“Toby, what’s wrong with Johanna?” Nellie asked softly, concerned.

Toby shifted uncomfortably in his seat, glancing at Johanna. “She’s been quiet lately,” he said, then turned to Johanna. “You all right?”

Johanna didn’t meet their gazes, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. After a long silence, she looked up, her eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Has something happened?” Anthony asked, his voice unusually serious.

Johanna sighed, glancing briefly at Sweeney and Nellie. “I’ve been thinking a lot… about things. About why we’re here, why we left the city, why we’re so… disconnected from everything.”

Toby looked at her quizzically. “We’re far from the city. It’s good. We’re safe ‘ere.”

Johanna nodded, but her gaze was distant. “But are we? Safe, I mean?” Her voice dropped low, like she was unsure if she should be saying what was on her mind. “The people in the town… they’re starting to talk. There’s whispers about missing people, about the Beadle and the Judge, and there’s no way to avoid it anymore. People ask about us. And Sweeney…” Her voice faltered for a moment, but she pushed on. “I’ve been wondering… if the Beadle and the Judge weren’t just… lost.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed as he processed her words, but before he could speak, Toby cut in, his voice tinged with anxiety.

“We’ve all ‘eard the rumours, Johanna,” Toby said, his eyes darting between Sweeney and Nellie. “But there’s no reason to think… well, you know.” He trailed off, but his unease was clear. He didn’t want to say the words, but they hung in the air between them like a storm.

Johanna said nothing and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

Sweeney’s eyes narrowed slightly, his hands tightening on the table. Nellie could see the tension mounting, the way his entire body was rigid, ready to snap.

“Stop.” His voice was cold, but not unkind. He looked at Johanna, his tone blunt. “You’re overthinking it. There’s no reason for you to get involved in those rumours. They’re just that—rumours.”

Toby hesitated before speaking up again. “But... why did we leave so quickly? Why so far from London? And why do people look at us the way they do?”

Nellie’s heart began to race. She shot Sweeney a quick look, but he said nothing, only stared at Toby. His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched in anger. He was already furious, his patience wearing thin.

“You don’t understand,” Sweeney said finally, his voice low and menacing. “There are things you don’t need to know. You’re safe here, that’s all that matters. You don’t need to question it.”

Johanna’s eyes were filled with a mixture of curiosity and fear. She opened her mouth to speak, but Nellie cut her off, her voice soft but firm.

“We’re a family ‘ere,” Nellie said, her gaze flicking between Sweeney and the others. “And we will protect each other. That’s all you need to know.”

There was a long, tense silence, and the conversation faded. The unease lingered, but for the time being, no one spoke any further.

Later that night, Sweeney and Nellie stood by the window, the moonlight casting soft shadows across the room. The breeze from the sea was light, but the weight of the conversation still hung heavy in the air.

Sweeney clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he stared out the window. “People are asking too many questions,” he muttered, his voice low and dangerous. “I’ve had enough. If they get too close to the truth…” His voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.

Nellie’s heart pounded as she watched him. She stepped closer, her voice barely a whisper. “You won’t kill again, Sweeney. Not for them, not for anyone.”

Sweeney turned, his eyes burning with a dangerous fire. “You think I’m above it? You think I can just sit here and let them ruin everything we’ve built?” He took a step towards her, his tone rough. “They want the truth? I’ll give it to them. And if it means protecting you, the children, and everything we’ve worked for, I won’t hesitate.”

Nellie’s heart raced at the fury in his voice. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the heat of his anger. She knew Sweeney had killed many times before, knew what he was capable of. But this was different. This was her family, their family, at risk.

“You don’t ‘ave to do this,” Nellie said, her voice trembling. “We can run again. We’ve outrun it before. We’ll outrun it again.”

Sweeney’s gaze softened slightly, but the anger was still there, flickering beneath the surface. “I won’t keep running, Nellie. Not this time. If they try to take this from us, I will fight for it. I will kill again if I have to. For you. For the children. For us.”

Nellie took a deep breath, her mind racing. She had always known that Sweeney was capable of extreme things when it came to protecting the ones he loved, but hearing him say it out loud brought the weight of their past crashing into her once again. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid or reassured by his words, but she knew one thing; there was no turning back now.

As the night wore on, they held each other in the quiet cottage, but the shadows outside seemed to grow darker, and the future more uncertain.