Archive of Our Own ^beta

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A/N When I thought of this, it was supposed to be short. Oh well. :) This could be seen as a TddLovett fic, but I never really intended it to be that way. Pardon any OOCness, I did the best I could with my little idea. Enjoy!

Mrs. Lovett's was contently seated in her large armchair in front of a fire, the shop had closed up hours ago. She had stayed up cleaning everything and preparing some pies to be baked once she woke in the morning. Another reason she was half-asleep in her chair rather than in bed, was that Mr. Todd had yet to come down.

In fact, she forced her eyes open, she couldn't even hear him. He was always pacing when there weren't any customers, and she had gotten quite used to the sound. She was even learning to judge his mood by the rhythm to which he walked. Sudden stops between the steady thump of his feet indicated he was frustrated, and best left alone.

Not that he could be left alone for too long, or he wouldn't eat or rest. Actually, Mrs. Lovett had never seen him sleep, but always assumed he got around to it eventually. No one could run on no sleep at all, not even Mr. Todd.

Smiling, she pushed herself up from her chair and headed for the door. Maybe today she could catch him in the act of rest. Toby would be sound asleep, so it was unlikely that she would be missed. Her feline smile grew as she climbed the stairs up to his barber shop.

Opening the door she quickly removed her smile. Mr. Todd was very much awake.

He was facing the door, standing aside the chair and actually clutching it's arm with both his hands. She thought he must have been deep in thought, but his eyes snapped to her the moment she appeared in the door.

She let out a soft 'oh' but all he did was stare at her.

The staring match continued until Mrs. Lovett decided to close the door, thankfully breaking eye contact. "So, staying up late Mr. T?"

Sweeney continued to stare, and she began to wonder if he actually knew she was in the room. "Hello?" She asked loudly. His blank stare immediately turned into a scowl. "Oh, so you is awake."

"Of course." His voice was snappish and quick, but he quickly grimaced, making his tone softer. "Mrs. Lovett-"

"Oh!" She put her hands on her hips. "Now he comes to say it." Not seeing the confusion on his face, she kept talking. "I've done everything I can to help you Mr. T, and the least you could do is-"

"Mrs. Lovett," he growled, hands tightening on the arm's chair, knuckles actually turning pink against his pale skin. "What are you prattling on about?"

Her arms crossed her chest this time. "Don't think you get away wif this forever."

"Get away with what?" He leaned forward, almost across the chair.

"What are you doing being so quiet like up here luv?" She asked, quickly changing the subject. Apparently he was still blind to common manners. Though thankfulness was probably something he didn't have in abundance.

Sweeney swallowed, and the effort was visible on his face when he removed his anger. "Can you help me?"

"Whot?"

He gritted his teeth, repeating himself louder. "I said can you help me?"

"With what?"

His eyes stayed forward, but he was now looking over her shoulder instead of at her face. "I sat on one of my razors."

She bit her cheeks to keep from smiling. "What darling?"

"You heard me woman!" He snapped. Taking a deep breath he looked her straight in the eye and continued. "Could you just pull it out?"

"Good Lord, you still got it stuck on you?" Mrs. Lovett's arms dropped at his statement.

"Yes." His voice was a hiss, and one of his lips was curling.

"Oh, well," she moved around the chair, noticing a spot of blood on the cushion, and came around behind him. It was a little strange now that she thought on it, realizing he hadn't threatened her with one of his friends at her previous bold statement. Standing behind him now, she clicked her tongue. "Mr. T, how can you stand this?"

Blood had run down his entire left pant leg, and all she could see of the razor was the slight glint of a silver handle.

"I can stand it much better once it's gone."

Her hands resumed their positions on her hips as she examined the wound. "How did it happen?"

"I left it lying after I cleaned it from my last customer- Good Lord woman, what did you do?"

"I pulled it out." She turned the crimson coated blade in her hand, finally allowing a smile at the situation. The absurdity of it all was enough to make her want to laugh.

Turning his head to see over his shoulder, Sweeney eyed the object of his misfortune. "I'll have to clean it again."

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Lovett dropped the razor from his line of sight.

"You heard me," he snarled. "Now leave it and get out."

"No, this friend did a nasty number, and I intend to see the stitches through." Going over to the small table that occupied the room, she put the bloodied blade down and took a clothe to wipe her hands. "Take off your pants." Despite the fact she couldn't see him, she could feel the shock coming off of him. She turned back around to face him and almost grinned at the horrified look on his face. "You heard me luv, now you do it or I do."

Trying to regain his composer he managed to reply with a half whimper, half snarl, of a 'no'.

"Yes," she said, feeling a smile come onto her face. "Now I'll be back with me sewing kit. They best be gone 'fore I get back." At the door she paused, letting the grin bloom on her face. "An' I promise to enjoy it much more than you will."

Her advances had never been so blunt before, and as she opened the door she swore she could hear him gulp.

Once she was gone, Sweeney mutter "bloody woman" under his breath. Suddenly alone in a cold room with only the company of a stinging wound on his ass, he began to reflect on where his situation had gone truly wrong. It was waiting for Mrs. Lovett's help, he decided. In another moment he would have been perfectly capable of removing the razor. Wouldn't he? It wasn't like the pain really bothered him. With a dejected sigh, he detached his hands from the chair and reached for the waist of his pants.

She would have enjoyed removing his clothes far too much. There had only been slight indulgences on his part before, and she probably realized this was the only time she was going to see him half dressed. Well, with the pants being the missing half. A few nights ago she had yanked a bloodied shirt off of him after a particularly bad customer. The blighter had turned his head to tell him something the moment he had come for the kill. He hadn't really minded then, but Mrs. Lovett's had been preoccupied with the bloody mess over him. Hadn't she?

You were a bloody mess then too.

A frown came onto his face when he thought about that day. She was acting the way she had because of the mess, wasn't she? Or, for all her flirtatious nature, was she actually afraid of seeing him with his clothes off? There wasn't something wrong with him, was there? His eyes darted to the broken mirror in the corner of the room, but quickly snapped forward at the sound of door opening. He hadn't even heard her on the stairs! That woman moved around far too quickly and quietly for his liking.

Not that he hadn't done his fair share of frightening entrances. A faint curl at the end of his lip showed how amused he was of the memories. The sound of her sewing kit opening brought him back to reality, and he nearly had to gulp down another desperate breath of terror.

"Alright luv," she began, not noticing his nervousness. "Left or right, or right to left?"

"The way you write, I don't want you going half way and then doubling back."

She gave a huff of indignation before snapping her sewing kit shut. "Alright, I'll need to clean it first." Mrs. Lovett handed him a gin bottle, which he cautiously took.

How much more did she intend to touch him? Was the gin to null pain or make him drunk? Seeing the suspicion on his face she rolled her eyes. "I'm not trying to poison you Mr. T!"

Instead of snapping back that wasn't what he had been thinking, Sweeney took a large gulp from the open bottle. Toby was going to be disappointed when he woke up, but Sweeney felt he needed it more now. He was going to go through a long, awful, experience with Mrs. Lovett and perhaps being drunk wouldn't be one of the worse options.

"What are you doing?" He asked, feeling a hand and a wet cloth on his calf.

"Cleaning you up, blood soaked right through your clothes."

"Start with the bloody problem, I can clean myself."

He clearly heard her huff of annoyance, and almost regretted snapping at her. But the thought of her hand slowly creeping up his leg with a clothe made him take another swig of gin.

Giving a hiss of pain, Sweeney was fairly sure she didn't have to be so rough.

"Hurt luv?"

"You don't have to help me." He growled.

"Oh I doubt you'll do anything about this once I leave. I don't need to be put to work over stains on your pants as well as all those shirts you go through." Mrs. Lovett also reflected on the fact he had indeed asked for help; though he hadn't known what the full extent of what her help would be. And he had told her to leave, but that didn't really matter now.

She did the laundry? Of course she does the laundry, Sweeney chided himself. Otherwise he would have to get new shirts every week (or day, depending on the customers) and she would have had no right to pull that shirt off him. Why had she been so quick to get it off him anyhow…?

"Mr. T…"

Admit it woman, you wanted this to happen all along! You want me in this position! Her gave a silent curse for his terrible choice of mental wording.

"What?" Sweeney asked, realizing she hadn't finished her statement.

"How is it that yeh place men in two categories, but yerself in a third?"

The question caught him off guard, and his mouth simply hung open. There was a quick, dull, pain in the vicinity of his wound, and his mouth clicked shut.

"You don't need to distract me." He huffed, getting a few stitches was hardly a painful process. At least, not for him.

"What makes you think I don't want to know the answer?" The first stitch she made was not a kind one.

He wet his lips with his tongue, feeling oddly parched. Ignoring the gin bottle, he delved into his thoughts for an answer. "I don't."

"Oh, and what about you is in any particular proper place?"

At least she didn't put me in Turpin's category! His grip tightened on the bottle, feeling the old and new thoughts and desires for revenge sweep through him.

"Mr. T?" She asked, pulling her stitch tighter.

"Nothing."

"Ah.. So your thoughts ain't perfect."

"Nothing's perfect." He spat out the word as if it disgusted him.

"Don't be so quick, your friend is going to leave a perfect scar."

Sweeney discontentedly realized the bottle was already less than halfway full. If it had been full in the beginning the clarity of his thoughts was astounding. Not that he would have these particular thoughts to begin with. The very slight blush was quite noticeable on his pale cheeks. Not that anyone was around to notice it, aside from Mrs. Lovett who was occupied elsewhere.

Maybe he was drunk.

This is your fault Mrs. Lovett! Even though he had been the one to leave the razor on the chair. Opened it had shone rather prettily in the gloom…

Mrs. Lovett had glowed like an angel when she told him she had saved his razors, and when she thought up baking people into pies. She had been perfect in those moments, but he had been too distracted to notice.

"Are you done yet?" He didn't bother to get rid of the nastiness in his voice.

"Unless you want sloppy stitches, you best hush up."

Sweeney swallowed another nasty remark, and settled for eyeing the gin bottle distastefully. She had poisoned him, with unnatural thoughts.

Then again, instead of leaving after pulling the razor from his left buttocks she had stuck around to stitch him up and clean him. Should he be unnerved, or a little worried about what she was thinking? She is thinking nothing, he thought forcefully. You're playing tricks on yourself.

Mrs. Lovett had only ever helped him, hadn't she? Even with her addition of unnecessary affection. The situation was decidedly different than ones they had been in before, but she was putting his care above petty thoughts.

Because those types of thoughts were petty, but Sweeney knew he would never call anything about the woman petty, not out loud. He was sure she would never tell anyone of this encounter, even if he didn't threaten her. He had threatened her frequently before, and at that moment he couldn't quite understand why. No doubt in the morning he would wonder why he had let her live. His thoughts did tend to jumble, as of late.

Like at that moment, they were jumping around frantically, trying to distract him. It wasn't pain he needed distracting him, it was from her, his thoughts however did not comply to his wish. She had been a good seamstress, he remember, from his days as a 'proper' tenant. He didn't understand why, with the pie business so bad before he showed up, she hadn't opened a different shop. He was sure her clothes would have been lovely…

But there was that dead husband, Al something. Berto? But his name didn't matter, because one of the things Sweeney did pick up from Mrs. Lovett's rather long winded conversations, was that she missed her husband. The man had enjoyed eating apparently, maybe the pie shop was to remember him by? Perhaps that was why she still went by 'Mrs.', though he never really heard fondness in her voice when she talked about him.

Benjamin Barker didn't remember Al-what's-his-name very well, maybe Mrs. Lovett was being sarcastic to a dead man she really didn't like? He dismissed the thought quickly, she could never dislike someone enough to hate them into their grave, could she? (What about Lucy, she could care less about her)

"Eleanor." It had slipped out, with all of his thoughts tumbling around in the past. It wasn't meant to be heard, and he actually held his breath, hoping she wouldn't have heard it. But she did.

"What was that Mr. T?"

He noticed a decided halt in her stitching. Giving the gin bottle a scrutinizing look (there was something wrong with the bottle, not him) he actually answered her question. "Nellie, s'what I used to call you." It was a half buried, mostly forgotten memory. His thoughts in prison had been of Lucy and Johanna, and most others had been stripped away from his maddening mind. An annoying few (though the judge was in the annoying category, he was not a part of this particular set) had managed to stay with him. Like stopping by the pie shop and getting a bite to eat before work. Calling, 'Good morning Nellie, business good?' over the counter.

"That yeh did." Her hands shook slightly as she sewed a knot at the end of the gash.

Feeling the slight tremble in her hand Sweeney hurriedly gulped down the remains of the gin bottle.

"Well I've finished Mr. T, you can wash your leg and there's some pants here for you."

He managed to just nod his head, leaning heavily forward on the chair. Snatching her kit, Nellie hurried out of the room.

Looking over his shoulder, Sweeney noticed the needle, with a bit of extra thread, still affirmably attached to him. "Bloody woman."

Quite unfortunately for the barber, gin and blood loss could make anyone feel a little faint. All Sweeney managed to do was pull up his pants before passing out on Nellie's dead husband's chair. (Al something, he was sure of it)

A/N Notes at the top and bottom! -insane giggle- It was SO much fun to write this. Pardon the little scene were Mrs. Lovett expects an apology, or thank you, I couldn't think of a way to get rid of it and originally I was going to have him apologize.. oh well.

Chapter Text

A/N This is a bit of a rant, so you can skip it, but I suggest you read this after the story if you do.

Alright.. Just to clarify so you people don't think I'm going out over an OOC limb here (though technically, I suppose it kinda is) I have to mention a certain view point I got. In the beginning of the movie/play, whatever it is you've seen, Sweeney tells Mrs. Lovett Benjamin Barker it dead. I took that literally, I thought all remnants of Mr. Barker were dead, and all he was there for was revenge. That is of course proven wrong by how maddeningly dutiful he is to Lucy and his past. That always bugged the HELL out of me. Why? 'Cuz Benjamin Barker was DEAD (he said so himself) so why did he care so much about something that wasn't revenge? The reason I'm bringing that up is because it's the basis of my 'fic, and if you view Sweeney as just a severely damaged Benjamin, it'll be very OOC.

Sorry for how long that was, onto the 'fic…

Machine

He had a purpose. He was to take revenge for Mr. Barker. A dieing, crumpled, desperate man had made him. His purpose simple, revenge. Revenge for all the aches and pains of love. Tortured love, torn apart by someone else. He had never truly thought on his task before, only knowing it would bring him great satisfaction.

To achieve his one, ultimate goal would be splendid. Nothing was more anticipated then that one, glorious fountain of rubies.

But the foolish Mr. Barker had not counted on one thing, Mrs. Lovett. Through the long years of imprisonment and hard labor, very few memories had been kept. Though the flat he once rented for his family was one of them, Mrs. Lovett was not. Nor were the affectionate looks she sent the since-deceased barber.

The affectionate looks she had passed onto Sweeney.

Revenge was his one fuel, his goal. Sweeney hadn't seen it in the beginning, his desire to achieve his goal so strong. He didn't understand it.

All that he was allowed to remember about love was the pain, the longing, of what it was like to be separated from one you loved. In the beginning he had thought little on love, thinking it had little to do with his purpose. But it was everything behind it.

It had made him curious, if not frustrated. All his work and pain was for one woman he truly was to never know! How Mr. Barker had plagued him with dreams of Lucy, a Lucy that wasn't his. Because Lucy had never known Sweeney, and he had never known her.

That had caused his anger to flare, and his desire, his reason for existence, his revenge to extend to the world.

They all deserved to die!

Within that was Mrs. Lovett, the oddity, the flaw in his mechanics. It was as if she loved him! Which was foolish, for he was made a machine with one purpose. Revenge upon the Judge.

She helped him exact his revenge, but she did something else as well. She talked about a future, something he had never dared to think on.

Mr. Barker had given him a purpose, not a goal!

Those moments when she would mention the sea, he would do his best to tune her out. Ignore her, her wistful way of thinking, and that strange feeling her dreams of the future brought on him. The curiosity, the interest, the desire of having his own.

The desire of having his own life, his own memories, his own future, his own purpose. His own love!

But those thoughts frightened him, so he shied away from them. Besides, who was he to make such decisions? Was not his true purpose the dieing wish of Benjamin Barker?

Yet the possible future of Sweeney Todd hovered around him, tantalizing, keeping just in sight.

Once the other man's revenge was exacted, maybe then. Maybe then he would gain freedom from his mechanics, and truly become a new man, over a half human machine. Was it really possible that Mrs. Lovett,Nellie, really loved him? And if so, would the future she wanted be just as good for him?

Mr. Barker believed that all his Lucy wanted was all he wanted.

But with or without his purpose, could Sweeney love? Could he really come to share the ideals of a dead man, who had created his tortured existence?

Nellie seemed to think so, and the solitary fact that he listened to her words told him it was true.

Chapter Text

"I- I've had it with you! You great, pale, lanky, sultry bastard!"

Sweeney back away form the baker, shocked by her wrath. Nellie snatched her rolling pin from the counter and advanced towards him.

"Everyday!" She waved the wooden tool in his face. "I've had it!" Lifting up her arm, she made to bring the pin down on his head form a high arc.

He ducked, and dashed for the door.

"No, you don't!" Mrs. Lovett snapped, chasing after him.

Sweeney skipped up the stairs two at a time, hoping to make it to his shop in time to lock it behind him. The baker managed to keep pace with him, regardless of her voluminous dress and heeled shoes. As his hand wrapped around the doorknob, he could feel her hand grasping the back of his vest.

"No runnin' anymore Mr. T!"

Instead of being pulled back down the stairs, Sweeney was pressed against the door. Mrs. Lovett was surprisingly strong, and managed to keep him pinned. Using her rolling pin, she began a series of harsh swings to his hand. "Give it!"

After a rather nasty sounding crack, he finally dropped the item she was after. Giving him one last hard poke with the rolling pin, she bent down to pick it up. He cradled his injured hand to his chest, giving her a dirty look.

"S'what you deserve!" She huffed, heading back down the stairs . "Ruddy bastard."

Shoving open her shop door, Mrs. Lovett dropped her rolling pin on the counter. She stared at her procured item.

Toby wandered into the room after hearing the door slam behind her. He smiled slightly at his mum. "Mr. Todd steal your chocolate again mum?"

Opening the small bag, she popped a piece into her mouth. "Man will never learn." She grumbled.

A/N -insane laughter- It just popped into my head, so I felt like sharing. The mental image of Mrs. Lovett chasing him with a rolling pin is just to strong to ignore.

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It was a muffled thump, with a barely noticeable sound following it. Still, Tobias cracked one of his sleepy eyes open and waited. Had he imagined it?

Then it all sounded again, closer.

His hands tightened on the blankets covering him, suddenly fearful. Was this a nightmare, was someone on their way to his room to drag him back to the workhouse? The boy closed his eyes and prayed to wake up. When he didn't, it was only a slight comfort. What was out there, making that strange cry?

A new type of fear gripped him.

What if it was Mrs. Lovett, in need of help? Tobias pushed his covers down and sat up, listening. He wanted to be sure before leaving his room. Despite himself he was still frightened of the sound. It seemed to be creeping closer to his room, rattling the walls as it went.

He began to panic, was Mrs. Lovett in danger while he was too scared to move from his bed?

Suddenly, whatever it was, crashed against his door, rattling its frail hinges. His heart leapt into his throat when he heard an all-too feminine cry after the door was hit.

Was she pounding on his door, desperate for help while all he did was wait? Tobias's door rattled once more before the sound moved to the wall beside it.

Leaping from his bed he made a mad dash for the door, wrenching it open with his outstretched hand.

"Mum!" Skidding to a halt in the hallway, he spun towards the source of the sound.

It was indeed his mum who had been making the sound, and as a part of him had immediately feared, Mr. Todd was the one with her. He was, however, completely wrong in his assumption of what type of situation was occurring. Mr. Todd had Mrs. Lovett pressed up against the wall, one arm supporting her body while the other was pressed heavily against the wall, helping to support him. Mrs. Lovett's bare legs were wrapped around his equally unclothed waist and legs; their torsos were pressed tightly together, though it did little but make Toby realize that part of them wasn't clothed either.

Though he had cried out, it had taken the pair a moment to notice him, and when they turned their eyes on him he immediately wished they hadn't.

He did not want to see his mum in such a state, arms wrapped around Mr. Todd, chest struggling against his for air. Even in the dull moonlight, the sweat gleamed on their bodies.

Tobias fell backwards into dark, thankful, oblivion.

A/N Forget finding a hand in a meat grinder, that would scar you for life. If you were Toby anyway.. I've always had a kinda humorous speculation on how he would react to seeing them.. together. The original idea was for him to bring up hearing noises in the night during breakfast, but I enjoyed writing this much more. Penny for a review? (figuratively, I'm not made of money)

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A/N Some people said I should 'continue' with A Scream? and I've actually wanted to try out this Dr Phil challenge for a while, so I came up with this. You should go read A Scream? if you haven't already. Little notes to be made about this, I actually don't watch Dr Phil, this is um.. very AU and its rated T because Mr. Todd says a bad word. For any of you who read my Games series, I'm afraid there wont be one up this week. Don't forget to review…

"Today we have with us a very special guest. Can everyone give a big hand for Tobias Ragg?" Dr Phil smiled encouragingly into the audience. "Now Toby, can I call you Toby? How are you feeling today?"

Sitting in a large plush chair, the thin gangly boy looked even smaller than normal. There was also a haunted look in his dark rimmed eyes, in short, he didn't look well.

Dr Phil coughed when the boy didn't respond. "Well Toby, do you know why we decided to bring you onto the show today?"

He nodded his head slightly.

"We're going to help you Toby, talk you through your experience." Phil continued in a fatherly voice.

"T-talk about it?" The child finally stuttered out, looking frightened.

"Yes, that's why you're here. We're all going to help you."

"Help me!" The boy suddenly leapt up from the chair. "'Ave any of you e'er seen yer mum gettin' ravaged by someun' you hate jus' outside yer door!"

The audience stared at him in shock, but Dr Phil frowned disapprovingly. "Now, do you really need to shout?"

"Yes!" He howled out, making his voice even louder.

"Security." Dr Phil called into his radio.

"I do feel truly awful 'bout tha'.." Mrs. Lovett's hands twisted in her skirts nervously, casting glances at the audience. "I ne'er intended fer 'im ta see somin' like tha' an' I was guna break it to 'im gently 'bout me an' Mr. Todd."

Sitting next to her on a sofa, Mr. Todd looked rather bored, aside from a tiny smirk on his face.

Dr Phil looked at the pair disapprovingly. "And what were you two doing so close to the boy's room?'

Mrs. Lovett blushed while Sweeney's smirk grew. "Why don't you tell them pet?" He asked, turning to look at her.

"Mr. T!" She gasped, but he simply stared at her. "It was your idea." She suddenly snapped, crossing her arms indignantly.

"What do you mean?" Phil asked, trying to get himself back in the conversation.

"Why are we here?" Sweeney growled irritably, good mood gone with Mrs. Lovett's outburst.

"You are here, both of you, because of the traumatic event you have pressed upon Tobias."

"Traumatic? If the boy had any brains he'd have been taking notes."

The audience gasped at Sweeney.

"What kind of father figure do you think you are?" Dr Phil asked, shaking his head.

"Father figure?" The man raised an eyebrow. "Just because I'm fucking his mum that makes me his father?"

"Mr. T!" Mrs. Lovett snapped, more embarrassed than anything.

"Oh hush, you know I would have preferred to have him stuffed in the trunk next to Pirelli than actually have him around the shop."

"Sweeney," Dr Phil said firmly. "Do you know what you are saying?"

"Of course I know what I'm bloody saying, I said it didn't I?" A murderous glint appeared in his eye as he watched the doctor.

"I knew it!" Toby suddenly ran on stage, followed by several security guards. "I knew you kill 'im!" He howled.

"So?" Sweeney asked.

"C'mon mum! I told ya 'e was bad news I did!" Pulling away from the security guards Toby ran towards Mrs. Lovett and took her hand.

"Oh luv, ya's only overreacting a bit you is." She soothed, trying to calm him down.

"Overreacting! Mum, he just confessed ta killin' signor Pirelli!"

"Does it really matter?" She asked, looking at him with a faint smile. "Didn't 'e used ta give ya terrible lashins'?"

"Well, yes mum, but…"

"Mrs. Lovett." Dr Phil interjected. "Are you suggesting murder it a perfectly acceptable course of action?"

She stared him, blinking a few times before responding. "Well, I suppose it is."

Everyone else gasped. Well, everyone except Toby and Sweeney.

"Well, I suppose if ya say it's alright mum." The boy continued.

"It is." Sweeney snapped. "Now can we leave?"

"How can you two say that?" Phil asked. "Imprinting such bad morals on a boy his age!"

"How are they bad?" The barber droned. "If someone does bad by you, get them out of the way."

"Murder is not the way to accomplish it! Especially when you get caught and sent to prison."

"Well then, we aren't to get caught ey?" He smirked at Mrs. Lovett conspiratorially and she smiled back.

Another collective and clichéd gasp echoed across the stage.

"Mrs. Lovett, are you helping him cover up his murders?" The therapist asked.

"'Course I am. Can't let the man I love get taken away, can I?"

Several heads in the audience nodded.

"Bloody wonder." Sweeney sighed, still staring at her.

Toby looked uncomfortable, caught inbetween the two.

"Security." Dr Phil whispered into his radio. The guards already on the stage looked at each other with fright as Sweeney stood and advanced towards them.

"More pie, Toby dear?"

"Please mum." He smiled at Mrs. Lovett brightly. "Is there any of that therapist left?"

"I'm afraid Mr. T finished that last night. How about woman in the second row?"

"Alright."

Chapter Text

A/N This just jumped into my head, and I had to write it. Sort of a onsided Sweenett angsty-ish piece, which is a lot different from what I normally write in this fandom... so, criticism appreciated.

Dancing, untamable and always moving. Sometimes it cold be contained, but more often than not it broke loose and consumed all before it. The thoughts meant for the flames in her hearth oddly sounded like the same thoughts she had on a certain man. The barber, pacing above her head, truly did remind her of the orange flames.

Embers in the fire pulsed in and out of life, occasionally cracking and flying to the air, almost it seemed, to the same time as the pacing feet above.

Something about the soft orange and yellow glow, with its odd blue hints was inviting. How many men felt at ease when Sweeney simple nudged their shoulder towards his chair? But when one got too close to flames the homely glow turned to scorching licks on your fingers, burns on your hands if you didn't pull away fast enough. No one escaped the fire of Sweeney's razors when he decided to kill.

And yet the flames flickered merrily in their grate, held, if not truly restrained, by its brick surroundings. Though the barber hardly left his shop, it was his mind that trapped him, and not the cold peeling walls.

Mrs. Lovett supposed that was the one difference between Sweeney and the fire. Brick, material, held back the fire's aching, consuming soul. Yet terrible memories and self-pity restrained the barber's razors.

Watching the flames grow much to low, Mrs. Lovett stood to place one last log in the hearth before she moved onto bed.

As she pushed the dried branch into the consuming flames, she couldn't help but compare herself.

The log had no say on whether or not it was placed within the flames. Was it not the same with her, and the strange love that consumer her, making her love the barber? As the flames licked away the shell-like bark, she noticed how beautiful it was when the two components first came together. The flame would grow higher, and the log would glow brightly with embers. Before it weakened to gray ash, and crumbled.

When darkness finally fell into the room, she shivered; though it wasn't from cold.

It had been beautiful, her beginning with Sweeney. But she was being consumed by his desires and needs, and though she dreamed, Mrs. Lovett knew, just like the branch in the fire, nothing good was to come for her.

Mrs. Lovett knew Sweeney's own desires for revenge would hollow her out as she helped him, forced to watch him commit atrocities for a long-since dead woman.

She could only pray that when the barber's fires died away, there would be more left to her than ash.

Chapter Text

Burn With Me

It wasn't the fire, or it's heat. It was the presence of tears, and how they seemed to soak through his shirt and sear his skin. How he saw her accept it, but not loosen her grip one bit, knowing that if she was going to die, she might as well cling to him for her last moments.

Sweeney deserved to die just as much as the traitorous bitch in his arms.

So why did he drag each and every moment out? What was there to live for, yet more grief and despair?

There was no repairing business, or forgiving Mrs. Lovett. His wife was dead because of her, and that was an unforgivable act. Hell was the only place he would be content with seeing her off to.

Lucy was dead, but it wasn't his Lucy. Nor was he the Benjamin who could have held his once-Lucy.

Could he accept death, just like the woman in his arms?

An eternity passed through his mind but they were only one step closer to the mouth of Hell. Perhaps both their sentences could be shortened, in one final act.

"Burn with me." He murmured into her hair, possibly holding her just a little closer.

Sweeney didn't know if she heard him, but the silence surrounding their charring bodies seemed to say she had.

Chapter Text

Addiction

A/N Pyscho author note, but I need this all out 'cause there wont be another one for this entire 'fic' (really, just a collection of incredibly short pieces I took a liking to). I've finally gotten a reason for a disclaimer in one of my stories, and it takes form of lovely, italicized, words at the beginning of each piece. Those words are sadly lyrics that don't belong to me. Also, I'm not using the entire song, just pieces. This is also sorta AU, 'cause Mr. Todd beats Mrs. Lovett. I know, it doesn't happen so technically AU, but honestly, I could see his character doing it. And one final thing so I can retire 'A/N' from this story, the last 'chapter' is really only there 'cause I can hear the end of that song when I see that scene. What scene? You'll find out in a few days. My other projects are not being halted because of this.. enjoy-

She never mentions the word addiction
In certain company

"Mum..?"

"Yes dear?" Mrs. Lovett's eyes snapped away from the ceiling and fixated on her adoptive son. Though her eyes were directed at him, the boy knew her mind was focused solely on the man pacing above their heads.

"Nuffin'…" Toby knew better than to comment on her absent minded nature.

Orphan

Yes, she'll tell you she's an orphan
After you meet her family

"Your son is quite charming." The man smiled at the baker as she brought him a pie. She smiled at him in turn, eyes briefly moving towards where the boy was filling another customer's glass with ale.

"Couldn' 'ave a be'er lad." Before she could move away to another table, the man commented again.

"Your husband's shop brings so much business in. You must be quite proud of the men in your life." He turned to his pie, not seeing the flustered look on the woman's face.

As the man ate his meal, he couldn't help but pick up on the conversation of the tables near him.

"Picked the lad up off of that Perilli.. Odd thing to do. Times as hard as they are…"

"…a bachelor above her own home! 'Ow the woman can stand tha'.. shameless stories come to my ears."

Blushing, the pie customer left a hearty tip before vanishing into the London crowds, feeling what seemed like sorrow in his stomach for the woman, who seemed to be alone.

She paints her eyes as black as night, now
Pulls those shades down tight
Yeah, she gives a smile when the pain comes,
The pains gonna make everything alright

"I swear mum, I'll…"

"Hush dear, it's quite alright." Mrs. Lovett brushed away her tears, wincing when her fingers brushed against the bruise on her eye. "Mr. T 'ad a rough day is all."

"'E ain't got no right to touch you in anyway!" Toby continued, almost begging his mother to fully see the situation the barber put her in.

But the woman smiled softly instead, mind gone off with thoughts on how she could help his troubles next. Whether it be to clean up his messes, cover up his murders, or as a wall to be beaten on when gin released his full angers and regrets.

Pain

She paints her eyes as black as night, now
Pulls those shades down tight
Yeah, she gives a smile when the pain comes,
The pains gonna make everything alright

"I swear mum, I'll…"

"Hush dear, it's quite alright." Mrs. Lovett brushed away her tears, wincing when her fingers brushed against the bruise on her eye. "Mr. T 'ad a rough day is all."

"'E ain't got no right to touch you in anyway!" Toby continued, almost begging his mother to fully see the situation the barber put her in.

But the woman smiled softly instead, mind gone off with thoughts on how she could help his troubles next. Whether it be to clean up his messes, cover up his murders, or as a wall to be beaten on when gin released his full angers and regrets.

Hair

She keeps a lock of hair in her pocket
She wears a cross around her neck
Yes, the hair is from a little boy
And the cross is someone she has not met, not yet

Toby gave the pair of scissors in Mrs. Lovett's hands a disapproving look, but didn't protest when she pinched at the end of his hair, cutting it away with the tool.

"See luv?" She held the golden brown strands in front of the boy's face, beaming at him despite the dark bruises on her face. "Mr. T?" Mrs. Lovett turned towards the gloom looking man, who sat hunched in a chair near Toby.

He scowled at her before plucking a single hair off his head and handing it to her. Getting up, he left the room quietly, Mrs. Lovett staring wistfully after him.

Lover

She don't know no lover,
None that I ever seen

"Mrs. Lovett?"

The woman stopped, and tentatively turned her attention to the man in the chair.

Sweeney turned slightly in his barber's chair, slowly reaching out to Mrs. Lovett with one of his hands. His cold fingers tentatively brushed the swollen bruises he found there. Most nights which preceded the appearance of bruises Sweeney couldn't remember, though he pieced everything together easily enough. Her late husband had marred her in much a similar fashion, and why she put up with it again was a mystery to him.

It seemed the man she had kept fed and the man she kept alive both held little regard for what she did to them.

"Y-yes?"

"Nothing." He let his hand drop.

Don't You Know?

Oh, angels
They call her out by her name
Oh, she talks to angels
They call her out
Yeah, they call her out

"Mrs. Lovett..."

How was it when he spoke her name it was almost soothing, yet sent chills down her spine?

"A wonder…"

There was a sneer on his face.

"..practical and appropriate."

She had seen that look in his eye so many times before. So why would she let him touch her? Did she crave him so? That didn't seem right, didn't seem, appropriate.

The moment his arms were around her it seemed as if joy had been reinvented. It didn't matter, that demon he was to every one else. That monster. For what did she care, when all she saw was a beautiful, dark, angel?

"Just keep living it, really living it!"

Don't you know that they call her out by her name?

A/N Well, I can't say I'm particularly happy with any of these pieces, but I wrote them, got moderately attached, and still had to share. I hope you enjoyed the scraps anyway.. this was the last one.

Chapter Text

A/N This idea ran around my head for a while before I finally wrote it down. It's not exactly the way I originally planned it (though you now only know that because I told you) and it does get a teensy bit OOC. Or, should I say it is a bit? Oh well, I did my best not to make it too odd. Though it turned into more of a humor piece that a character analysis so.. I'm going to stop blabbering and let you read. (unless you skip this stuff, then you're already ahead of me) But wait! I'm gabbing some more! -rings one-shot warning bell- OK, I'm done.

What More Can Man Require?

Human beings ran off of numerous things. Emotions, food, contact. Sweeney Todd limited his range of emotions, or really lost the ability to feel most of them whilst in prison, was rather good at snubbing contact, and rarely ate. He was sure (not positive, he was never positive) that in time he would be able to lower that standard even more. Of course, that had been his thoughts as he went to bed that night, not when he was awoken.

The shrill trill of the door's bell and the sudden reek of gin had woken him. Unmoving and lying patiently in bed, Todd had decided to wait and see how things would play out. It was far too late for Toby to be up in his shop on the orders of Mrs. Lovett, and the boy smelled far too drunk. Really, the woman was probably doing the boy more harm then good by letting him drink so much. Settling his eyes closed and keeping his breath even, the barber had to admit he was rather curious as to what the boy was up to. Having his pillow yanked out from under his head was not a very pleasant surprise, nor was Toby's prepubescent shriek of 'ye'll never 'urt me mum again!' before the cotton was pressed upon his head.

Head, in the sense that in his drunken stupor Toby did not realize he was, in fact, not suffocating Sweeney, but rather pressing down rather forcefully on his forehead. The very edge of the pillows casing reached the barber's lip, allowing him to breath quite normally. Though his nose was rather squished and the air near his mouth became quickly stuffy.

What led him to his new thoughts had very little to do with what led a drunken Toby to try and suffocate him in his sleep, though.

Breathing had rather quickly come to Sweeney's mind as a necessity, and under the not-so-gentle ministrations of the boy, he decided to compile a list. After all in extreme situations things tended to look differently than in a calm environment. So, Sweeney's mental list of 'things required to live' went thus:

Breathing, eating, having undisturbed sleep (undisturbed, in this case, quite clearly meaning a rest in which a drunken shop-hand does not attempt to kill you)

Though that simply wasn't enough, and his ever working brain ran off in a direction much different than one it tended to go down. Man really did require a startling number of things.

Love, for another. That, and a lover (but he was getting ahead of himself at that point).

Sweeney Todd lived for love. His Lucy's love, even if she was dead. Love was probably something most wouldn't associate with Sweeney; though few people actually knew him and fewer still actually got to know him. It was however, the main drive for most of the things he did. It also happened to be the drive behind the things that weren't associated with love, but were done for love none-the-less.

Another thought came to him as the boy attempting his murder muttered something along the lines of 'is dear mum'd be proud, she would.

You couldn't eat once, and then be satisfied for the rest of your life. You couldn't sleep once and then remained rested forever. A person needed several meals a day (to remain healthy, over the bare minimum of staying alive on scraps every so often), and they also needed a great deal of sleep. Though, Sweeney got a great deal less than was probably healthy for either of those two. You also couldn't love, just once. He did love Lucy, but he also loved his daughter, Johanna.

A theory formed in his head.

You needed to eat all your life. You needed to sleep all your life.

You needed to love all your life.

Suddenly feeling very fed-up with the child who still trying to kill him (shouldn't he have noticed by now that it wasn't working?) Sweeney grabbed the little boy about his scrawny waist and tossed him from his bed. Making sure he still had his pillow, the barber tucked it back under his head.

"G'night Toby."

The failed murderer stumbled out of the room, finally leaving Sweeney alone with his thoughts. Their oddities oddly didn't leave with the boy. He sighed, pulling the scrap of sheet around him tighter.

Sweeney decided he was going to sleep, get up in the morning and then eat something.

And then, perhaps, talk to Mrs. Lovett about loving a third time.