Title: Cities of Night/Semiotic Love

Pairing: Sweeney/Lovett, at some point.

Warnings: Hopefully sex? Not sure. Murder, of course, but that's a given.

Word Count: 595

Rating: PG-13, maybe?

Spoilers: Heh, it's Sweeney Todd.

Disclaimer: Sweeney Todd belongs to…oh, god, this is complicated. Um, not me. How about that? We could say Tim Burton, or we could say Edward Lloyd, or the people of London. Take your pick. Cities of Night and Semiotic Love belong to Blaqk Audio.

Author's Note: Give it a chance; it gets better a couple paragraphs in. And review, pretty please?

Cities of Night/Semiotic Love

She was nearly asleep when the door opened. Mrs. Lovett groaned, rolling over but not opening her eyes.

"Toby, darling, go to bed."

"It's not Toby."

She sat up quickly, keeping the blankets wrapped around herself. "Mr. T? What're you doing here? It's the middle of the night." She squinted in the dark, seeing only the glint of his razors.

"Couldn't sleep."

Her eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, and he was running a finger along the blade, mesmerized. She stood up, walking over to him. "Come now, love. Let's get you some gin, and then you'll sleep." She rested a hand on his arm to lead him into the kitchen, expecting him to follow her.

He didn't. With a speed usually reserved for his victims, he put his razor back into the pouch and grabbed her wrist, pulling her against him. Their faces were only a few inches apart.

"I'll not have you send me to bed like a child," he snarled. "I'm not yours to look after."

Mrs. Lovett's eyes widened, her breathing quickened. "Mr. Todd, I–"

He let her go, stalking over to the window. He stood with his back to her, running his fingers down the pane of glass. He was silent for a long time, long enough for it to be uncomfortable.

"I'm moving faster than the rest of the world," he said at last, almost to himself. "My mind never stops, no matter what I do. And the world isn't going to speed up, that's for sure. Do you have any idea what that's like, Mrs. Lovett? To never be able to slow down, to stop thinking? To be a prisoner in your own mind? And you keep telling me to wait. How do you expect me to wait, when every minute is an hour, every hour a day, every day a year?" Mr. Todd turned around, locking eyes with her. "How can I?"

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it, finding herself speechless.

He looked away, back out the window. "I don't expect you to understand."

She was by his side immediately, holding him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. "No, no, no, Mr. Todd, I do. Of course I do. We can do it tonight, if you'd like. Sneak into his house and slit his throat while he sleeps."

"No," he said. "He has to know who I am."

"Then we can wake him up first, whatever you like."

He turned around, and again they were pressed against each other. "What makes you think you're coming?" he asked. "This belongs to me, not you."

She pulled him into a hug, the first one they had ever shared. "Of course it does," she said, leaning her head on his chest. "Besides, I'm quick on my feet, right? I'm useful."

The corners of his mouth turned up in what was not quite a smile. He put his hands on her shoulders, moving her so he could see her properly. "That you are, Mrs. Lovett." He rested a hand on the back of her neck, guiding her to the window. "We should wait until tomorrow," he said. "Slip into his house and wait for him to get back from court." He did smile now, a full fledged grin that would send anyone other than Mrs. Lovett screaming. "Bake him a pie or two, would you, love?"

She smiled back. "And what would you like to serve him?"

"It should be easy enough to make Beadle disappear, don't you think?"

"That could be arranged."

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