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.