Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd
Ok, I've decided to begin a collection of one shots that will probably never link into each other. I'm basically doing it cuz I love writing one shots, especially angsty ones! Mmm, I'm so morbid…
It was the normal days Mrs. Lovett hated the most. The days when everything ran smoothly, when there were no big tragedies or triumphs, no big changes. When days were normal, it made her feel like the days never changed, like she was stuck in some portal of drudgery that followed the same sequence of events. Normal days reminded her of just how normal and dreary her life really was, even if there was a demon barber living right above her, even if her normal day consisted of cutting up bodies, turning them into mince meat and then baking them into pies. Her normal day did not seem normal to anyone else, but in essence it was the same—she did the same damn thing over and over again. So she hated normal days for the way they seemed endless, continuous, and incessant.
But mostly she hated normal days because they pushed Sweeney Todd away from her.
During a normal day, he was always the same—distant, cold, and silent. When she brought him his meals and tried to engage him into small talk it was always the same; he would either not bother to respond or, when he was in a particularly nasty mood, would just flat out order her to leave. It always left her crushed, even though she ploughed on with determination, serving pie after pie and smiling to every customer. She was determined not to let Sweeney Todd, or the normal days, affect her, even though she knew that they slowly were.
So months passed, months of being pushed away from Mr. Todd, months of doing the same work everyday in the same precise order. She tried to mix it up; in her talks—always one sided—with Mr. Todd she attempted to get him to laugh, tried to get him to feel something, see something when he looked at her. When she served and made her pies she tried to whistle to herself to change things; it normally only resulted in making her even more despaired. It seemed that no matter what she did, the normal days would continue, with the normal day and the normal Sweeney Todd.
She could no longer handle it. She had to do something before she fell completely, before she napped, but there was nothing she could think of to do.
Until one night when she was delivering Mr. Todd's dinner to his room. It was late—she had fallen behind serving pies, and she had had to rush to serve him his dinner. As usual no lights were on in his little room, the moonlight weakly pouring in from the large window that overlooked London the only source of illumination.
She planted a big, cheery, oh so false smile on her face as she saw him, his form slouched over, like any normal day, in his barber chair, hands on the arm rests as he stared blankly at the floor in thought.
"Good evening Mr. Todd!" As usual, he did not react to her greeting; it was as though he hadn't even heard her and, with the dark thoughts she was sure were running through his mind, she doubted he really did.
The dinner was small but sufficient, even though she doubted he'd eat it anyway; he only ate the bare minimum when he had to, and when he had to was usually when his body was on the point of shutting down. She placed the tray with the sandwich she had made down on his barbering desk, and turned back to look at his dark form, searching the darkness for something to say. She had nothing really to chatter about, and that annoyed her. But then, she normally chattered away…
She winced. Yes, normally, and that was the whole problem. Perhaps he'd become intrigued if she stayed silent? She'd attempt it.
But after several minutes of being painfully silent, she sighed, giving up. He had not so much as glanced up. She should have known better; he did not care what she did, so long as she was away from him.
Away from him…
That was just it, wasn't it? If she got close to him, surely she'd get a reaction, even if it was just a snarl or a push away. She took a step toward him, the floorboards, old and worn from the pacing he did everyday, creaking beneath her. He did not move. Another step and he was still immobile, eyes trained on the floor, downcast. He appeared to be almost dead, with the moonlight illuminating his pale face to her, so white, and the black rings under his eyes. In a way he really was dead, at least in spirit. Sweeney Todd was a living dead man, his cracked heart, if he even had one, beating only for revenge, for blood.
But she had always believed there was—could be—something more. Despite how dead he was, he still had a heart, no matter how broken, no matter how hollow. A heart that she wished to revive, breathe life into again and nurse back to health with her own, no matter how dangerous it was, no matter how deadly. She had to do, step over the broken glass shards of his heart and find him somewhere among those fragments, find the man he had once been. Benjamin Barker…
She took another step, and then she was next to him, slightly in front of him, certainly in his line of vision. But still her ignored her, unblinking and slouched in his seat, a puppet whose strings had been cruelly cut.
Her eyes scanned his face, flickered across his shadowed features, trying to find some hint of life. Nothing. She had to do something for the both of them. Her eyes fell on his lips. She'd breathe life back into him; she would break the normal routine, their routine. There was no room for second thoughts.
Her head dipped, her body bent, and her lips were on his, those cold, coarse lips that stole her own breath until she was barely breathing with him. He did not respond, but she felt him twitch, felt his mouth part slightly beneath hers in a smothered gasp. She thought he would push her away, so she closed her eyes tightly and enjoyed the moment while she could, her tiny hands gripping onto his shoulders in a death grip, knowing he'd throw her to the ground soon, get out his 'friends' to spill her blood.
But he did not. He stayed still, silent, and let her kiss him, her passion pouring into him, the broken vassal that could not hold it. When she pulled back, she felt his warm breath skim across her face, and knew that she had at least accomplished one thing—she had gotten him to breathe again. And she was pretty sure she had broken the normal routine, as she looked up to meet his black eyes, now intently locked on her.
She let herself be pushed away from him, and was surprised by the tenderness of his hands, the gesture, her feet still staying on the ground instead of, like usual, her body crumpling to it.
Through the darkness Sweeney Todd regarded her, and she stared right back, transfixed as she always was by his dark beauty, by the hollow pits that were is eyes.
"Mr. Lovett…" His voice was a rasp, but was thunderous in the silent room, "What was that for?"
She smiled at him, her lips trembling, still red from her desperate kiss. She wanted to tell him that she had just been trying to bring him back to life, but knew that that would be the wrong answer. Sweeney Todd did not want to exist among the living; he was a creature of the shadows, a villain amongst the corrupted town of London. He was a murderer, and enjoyed being one; he was cold, and he liked himself that way. Sweeney Todd would not allow himself to be fixed, even though she tried desperately too, sometimes too desperately.
And so she offered her own explanation, the other one, the reason it had all began in the first place.
"I was just trying to break the normal routine Mr. T, just trying to be abnormal…"
Which was hard to be, when they were both already so abnormal.
Should I continue with more? Review!