A Time and Place for Us

Pain Makes People Change

A/N: Things will get worse before they get better...

"Did you enjoy yourself, pet?" he asked her maliciously, enjoying the way she squirmed under his piercing gaze.

Anger was an understatement to describe what Sweeney was feeling. When he returned to the pier intent of escorting Nellie to their cabin, stupid Marjorie Denton told him she had already boarded with an "acquaintance" but refused to elaborate. Panic had coursed through him, since it was very unlikely she'd found a friend on the same ship. Maybe an old patron from Fleet Street? Perhaps he or she had recognised Nellie, invalidating the whole tale circulating in the press about the barber and the baker being amongst the fallen of what they believed to be an accidental fire while baking pies—though the most sensationalistic newspapers dared to speculate the participants were celebrating a satanic orgy in order to explain the large volume of calcinated corpses, which had elicited some giggles out of the dark couple.

In any case, he had to find her. He searched for her around the ship as worry ate him alive, only to finally find her more than well, getting herself acquainted with an old fat cat with a Pirelli moustache and more gold on his suit than they had in their purse. He watched with disgust as Nellie fawned all over him, nodding enthusiastically as he regaled her ears with God knows what nonsense, his perverted eyes feasting on her bosom the whole time. He'd seen them enter the grand dining saloon where they were served course after course of delicious meals, so much more appetising that the apple and the bread he'd procured for her. His heart dropped as he dealt with the sinking feeling of impotence, knowing that even if he'd saved all they had, he still couldn't afford such attentions for his wife.

But his sadness soon gave way to anger. He was trying, he was trying his damn best to be a good man for her, and all she seemed to care about was money. The way Sweeney saw it, she was basically prostituting herself for some fancy food. Back in Fleet Street, he'd angrily watched as she seduced men for higher tips or to entice them to go up to his parlour for a shave. While he hadn't complained about the latter as that made the kill more satisfying, he always made a point to tell her off, to which she always replied "relax, my love, it's just harmless teasing. The only man I'm shagging is you."

Well, by the looks of it she wasn't above shagging this man old enough to be her father. The way she moaned as she sampled those dishes, the way she dabbed on his mouth with the napkin when some sauce began trickling down his poorly-shaven chin, and how their eyes never left each other's as they raised their weird-coloured drinks for a toast. He was raging mad at her, but also at himself. Why had he been so naïve as to expect her to change her wicked ways when they "married"?

He had to exert all his self-control not to walk up to them and slit that throat. But Sweeney was aware that would only complicate things, for he did not want to be arrested when they'd been fortunate enough to avoid the law so far. Thus, he returned to his cabin to wait for Nellie. A conversation between him and his "wife" was long overdue, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Once in cabin 237, he promptly noticed the electrical lightbulb was fused and he wasn't surprised, pretensions of modernity were nothing but that, pretensions. There was a reason they'd been using oil lamps for centuries so why changing what's not broken? Yet Sweeney wasn't bothered, he rather liked the darkness. He sat on an armchair in the corner to sharpen his razors, becoming one with the shadows as he bid his time until she eventually came to him. His anger in crescendo the longer she stayed away from him as he imagined all the things the two could be doing behind his back...

He didn't know how long it had passed before she finally entered the cabin, which he'd purposely left unlocked. Despite the dimness, his eyes easily focused on her, sneering at her obvious distress. He could tell she was scared, whether of the darkness or facing him he didn't know, but he hoped it was the latter. Over time, he'd learned that the only way to be respected was to be feared. Letting the moment build, he'd sadistically enjoyed how she fussed about the room in search for a switch. Unlike him, a nocturnal creature, Eleanor was all light to the marrow of her bones despite her proclivities... and maybe that's why they just clicked, they complemented each other. That he managed to have those realisations in the midst of its anger did not ease it. They could be so perfect together, and she was ruining everything!