Author's Note: Anyways, I saw somebody else's attempt at a crack fiction, and decided that they failed miserably, and I needed to do it justice... So tadaa! Keep in mind that this is slightly AU. Mr. Todd couldn't kill Nellie in the basment, and instead killed Toby (who had hit him with the dull side of the razor)

Disclaimer: No, unfortunately Sweeny is owned by Tim Burton. But if you know him, it'd be nice if you mentioned my birthday is coming up to him. Tell him I love serial killers.

"So, why are you here?" said the cricket of a woman sitting across from him.

Sweeny sighed, "Because Mrs. Lovett made me come here."

The cricket smiled. "Do you have any idea why she wanted you to come?"

He focused on the ceiling of the room, debating what to say. The ceiling was white and the paint was cracking, but somehow the green and white theme of the room made the faded paint seem happy. What was even stranger to him was the way that the woman across from him seemed to blend into the walls... She was skinny, with a long neck and beady eyes that were magnified by large, round glasses that sat at the end of her nose. She wore green. He hated her. He wished she was a he so he could offer her a shave. Then there would be no more of the cricket-woman. Yes, that would be brilliant. Then he could force-feed Mrs. Lovett her own cannibalistic pies for making him come here. Yes. But then he remembered that she was not, in fact, a he, so he had no way of luring her into the range of his faithful-razor-friends. He also remembered that he hadn't answered her question while lost in his plotting.

"Mister?" the cricket prompted.

He opened his mouth, almost telling her the truth so that he could get out of the green-room, but then remembered that telling shrinks that on a daily basis you murder people and make them into pies is never a good idea. "No," he breathed out in an exhausted voice.

She cocked her head to the side, "Hm..." and then made a tick on her clip-board. The cricket then lay the clipboard flat on her lap and locked her huge eyes on Sweeny's locked and still form. "Where to start, then?"

He didn't respond.

Her smile faltered, "Well, how about your name?"

He sighed. He couldn't keep up the silent-act forever, "Todd. Sweeny Todd."

The cricked nodded, then spoke in a much more bubbly voice than before, "Good afternoon, Mr. Todd, I am Dr. Oxley."

He nodded.

Oxley once again cocked her head to the side and scribbled onto the clipboard. "Hm... So, what is your profession, Mr. Todd?"

"I'm a barber," he said slowly and deliberately.

The cricket nodded. "I see... So, what is your relationship with, uh," she spared a glance at her clipboard, "Mrs. Lovett?"

Why did she need to know about Mrs. Lovett? But he didn't care, it wasted time. "She's my land-lady. She's a baker."

She nodded, once again making a tick on the clipboard. He didn't even hear her next question as he stared at the flesh on her neck. He thought about how easy it would be to slice straight through it and watch the blood eagerly escape from her throat. He thought of Mrs. Lovett's reaction as he carried the cricket's bony body into the bakery, how she would apologize for forcing him to attend this torture. She would complain to herself about the lack of meat on the woman, but wouldn't dare speak aloud in his presence. She wouldn't be able to force him into anything ever again... She would fear him just like she used to... Yes...

"Mr. Todd, are you okay?" the cricket asked from her green-upholstered chair.

Sweeny realized that he had stood up rather violently, sporting a rather sadistic expression, and was eagerly groping his pockets for his razors that Mrs. Lovett had confiscated before his trip to 'visit' the cricket-woman. Damn that woman. Why must she always get in the way? He sighed. Righting the couch that he had just thrown himself off of, he once again sat down.

The cricket was about to ask him another question (or repeat the one that Sweeny had very successfully blocked out) when she spared a glance at the clock. "Oh!" she jumped in surprise. "Well, our hour's up! See you a week from today!"

Mr. Todd was half way to the door when the last of her words registered, then his gait faltered. "What?"

Dr. Oxely smiled, "I said our hour's up. You have hour-long appointments, but if you want to stay longer, I do have another half and hour free-"

He shook his head, "No, no. After that."

She smiled again, "I'll see you in a week."

He froze, his fists white, "Again?!"

The cricket woman nodded, "Oh yes. Your friend has once a week appointments booked for you for an indefinite amount of time. She seems to think you are in serious need of help, and dare I say that I agree."

Sweeny remained frozen, and then walked briskly out of the green-room and headed for Fleet Street, subconsciously plotting the murders of the two women he hated most.

Sweeny headed straight for the barber shop, as to not have to be bothered by Mrs. Lovett. Oh how much he wanted to slice the life out of her skinny little throat... Well, he found he had his chance far earlier than expected when he found Mrs. Lovett setting a tea-tray onto his small, hard-wood counter. He groaned.

"Oh! Hello, Mr. T!" she said, all too-cheerfully.

He lunged across the room and made a grab for a razor, opened it, and pushed his land lady rather violently up against the wall. The razor was millimeters away from killing her, but the baker didn't seem to register how close she was to dying.

"Was it that bad, Mr. Todd? Well, anyways, drink up your tea, dear. I'm makin' some soup downstairs. I'll run on up and tell ya' once I'm finished," she said, smiling, and then lightly pushed the barber off of her.

Sweeny found himself backing away, but once he realized his actions he once again slammed his body up against hers and onto the wall. He glared at her, an evil glint of anger in his eyes. He pushed the razor into her throat, and small beads of blood raced down her collar bones and toward her chest, threatening to stain the white collar of her dress.

"Mr. T!" she pushed his hand away, sloppily mopping up the blood with her own. "This is a new dress too!"

He clenched his teeth together. Just kill her! Just kill her like you have every other man that enters this stupid shop! He once again forced the razor up against her throat, "This is it Mrs. Lovett."

She let out a bell of laughter, "Stop jokin', Mr. T. You've tried and failed to kill me more times than I can count, and you expect me to be afraid of you still? You can't do it, I know it! You know it! So please, let me go finish makin' supper before you stain my dress and your tea gets cold."

She pushed him away once again (rather reluctantly though, but she wouldn't tell him that) and this time he dropped the razor to his side and relaxed his shoulders in defeat.

A week later, Sweeny Todd found himself being escorted to his next appointment with the cricket. He had been foiled in his attempt to lock himself in his room claiming to be sick that morning. He had also been foiled in his attempt to make a break for it and casually appear back at the bakery an hour later when he had, rather stupidly, headed off in the complete opposite direction of the office. Mrs. Lovett hadn't bought his 'I forgot where it was' excuse, 'this way's faster' excuse or the 'I'm making a slight detour' excuse.

"Slight detour?! In case you haven't noticed, you are headed down the street opposite the one you're to be headin' down." she scoffed, "Right, Mr. T. Anyways, you're lucky I'm not in my baking clothes, so I can escort you to Dr. Oxley's."

The walk was long and torturous with Mrs. Lovett clinging and yapping at his side. In his opinion she held herself far too close to him to be right. Actually, in his opinion, she shouldn't have been there at all. But, as she had proved rather defiantly in the months previous, it was much harder to boss her around now that his drive (the judge) was deceased.

Once they had reached the office, he expected Mrs. Lovett to let go of the death grip that she had on his forearm, but if anything she just held on tighter as she raised and slammed the gilded knocker into the door. The knocker had a golden tree on it. That was way to appropriate for words.

When the cricket opened the door, Mrs. Lovett entered the green room, and after a tug on the arm, Sweeny followed. She shivered slightly, and Mr. Todd realized that the room had odd ventilation and was strangely cold. Never the less, he removed his jacket and placed it on the hook by the door, but Nellie just wrapped her shawl around herself tighter. Mrs. Lovett sat him down on the green couch and sensed his idea before he could execute it, "Don't you dare try to leave here, Mr. T."

He flinched at her intuition and remained rigidly sat on the couch as she told his story for him. She said everything, from the Judge, to the murder of his wife, but conveniently left out the serial killing and cannibalistic pies. After all, they weren't there to get arrested. All the while, the cricket sat there ticking on her clip board and nodding her head, encouraging Sweeny to go and snap her neck between his eager hands.

The cricket turned to face him, "Well. What do you have to add to this Mr. Todd?"

The anger and irritation burned in his eyes and in his throat. "Nothing," he spat out.

She cocked her head to the side, "I see..."

Mrs. Lovette jumped up. "Do you know how to help him, Dr. Oxely?"

The cricket shook her head, "I'm afraid he's going to need a lot of work. I'll need to be seeing him very often..."

Nellie Lovette sat up straighter, focusing on the doctor, "How often?"

She looked up from her clip board, "Tell you what. I don't really know how much I'm going to need to see him... So how about today you just start staying a half hour later."

The baker nodded, "Should I stay as well?"

"I should think so. You may be of assistance to me if he doesn't cooporate."

She smiled, and latched her hand around his (which remained limp) as he glared at the shrink unforgivingly.

Dr. Oxley examined his expression before asking him another question, "Do you find yourself thinking about your wife's death often?"

He said nothing, his eyes still fixed on her, imagining how satisfying it would be to bring one of his razors (or any other sharp object) to her throat. He wanted to watch the blood spill and stain the stupid green carpet and stupid green clothes. He wanted her dead, and by his hands, if he could only-

"Come on, love. Answer her. She's only trying to help," Nellie said soothingly, massaging his arm as she spoke. Her face was uncomfortably close to his. She needed to learn about personal space.

"I don't need help," he bit out, still staring at the cricket-woman.

Nellie sighed, "Come on, love."

The cricket repeated the question, "Do you think about her death often?" this time she said it softer though.

Sweeny sighed as Mrs. Lovett kept one hand clasped firmly around his, and the other rubbing his forearm. He hated that it felt good. And he hated the feeling that if he gripped her hand as he answered that it would make it less painful. But he couldn't do that. Not now, not ever.

Nellie leaned into his ear (way to close) and whispered, "Mr. Todd... please." and she squeezed his hand.

He sighed, closed his eyes. He thought about answering completely honestly, seeing if maybe that did help... but then he stared back into the bug's eyes and violently said, "Of course! She was my wife!"

The shrink made a tick. "Well there's something."

The next couple weeks of 'therapy' weren't much more productive. Dr. Oxely was lucky to find herself getting a few words a session out of the serial killer, even after extending their time together. Mrs. Lovett was there every time, to escort and 'encourage' him, which rarely helped, and normally only for milliseconds when it did have any effect on him at all. Mr. Todd was also getting increasingly annoyed with both of the women, and found himself plotting their murders more often than normal (as well as attempting to carry them out.) More than once, she caught him trying to smuggle a razor or two into the green room that the cricket resided in.

The night before his next session, he sat plotting on the floor of his barber shop, staring at the box of razors in front of him. He had an idea. And this time it would work. By tomorrow this time, he would have the cricket's head, and Mrs. Lovett would respect him and fear him again (and stop thinking that he was some tragic figure who couldn't hurt a fly.) So smiling, he grabbed the velvet lined box and stashed it under his pillow before laying down to get to sleep. He would need energy tomorrow morning.

He woke up smiling and energized, a rare feat for the barber who often found himself staring at the ceiling until uncomfortably late hours of the night. For the first time ever, he found himself looking forward to seeing the cricket, sure that this time he really would kill her. So at two o'clock that afternoon, he went downstairs to the bakery, doing his best to look like his usual grumpy self. Mrs. Lovett stepped out from behind the counter, wiping flour-coated hands on a white apron.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Todd. How are we today?" she said smiling as she untied the apron and hung it on a peg by the door.

He grunted.

"The usual then?" she walked over to him. "Well, open your vest, Mr. T. You know the routine by now."

He grunted again, and unbuttoned his vest. She plunged her hand into the inside pocket, pulling out one polished and well-kept razor. She smiled, "Not this again, Mr. T." She set it on the counter.

He faked a disappointed sigh and buttoned the vest back up, and then grabbed his jacket from another peg by the wall.

"Well let's be going then," she grabbed her own shawl and draped it around her neck.

Sweeny let an excited smile spread across his face, and Mrs. Lovett saw it before he caught his mistake.

"What are you so happy about?" she said suspiciously.

He smiled a little bit, and said in the same voice he spoke to his future victims with, "It's just a wonderful day, Mrs. Lovett."

She shook her head, "No, that's definitely not it. First of all, it's overcast, and second of all, you never care about the weather."

He flinched inwardly once again at the baker's intuition as she patted the pockets of his jacket once again, and then pulling out yet another razor.

"Well, well, well..." she said, stashing it with the other. Nellie once again approached him, as if she were going to search him further when he spoke.

"Can't we just eh... leave?" he said.

She eyed him suspiciously.

"I mean... I'd prefer, eh... get this over with..." more like get this started...

Nellie shook her head, "Not quite yet."

He flinched.

She looked at his pants pockets, hesitant to bring her hands to his hips. She didn't see any obvious lumps where another razor could be stashed, but that didn't mean anything. She raised her hands to search, but faltered. "Look," she said, "Why don't you make this easier for both of us and just give me whatever you've got in your pockets?"

He gave her a confused look, "I don't have anything in my pockets. Let's get a move on, we're going to be late."

She shook her head, "See, that's what worries me."

He looked at her curiously.

"You never care about disappointing people. And you've been plotting how to kill her for ages. I can see it in your face when you're thinking, it's exactly like the judge," she said slightly angrily.

He shook his head, "You're being foolish." And then he turned for the door, when she appeared in front of him.

"No. Not until I find out whatever you're hiding," she said.

He flashed her a smile, "I'm not hiding anything, Mrs. Lovett. You are imagining things."

And then her hands were in his pockets, pulling out another pair of razors. "Aha!" she said.

He stood there staring at her as she continued to pat down the sides of his legs. He never thought she could be so... rash. He knew that she had feelings for him, but she had done a good job at keeping them out of the way most of the time, although sometimes she did brush beside him when unnecessary, or hold him too close when walking with him, but never something like this... He found himself shocked that she could bring herself to do such a thing, and also shocked that she had found her way through so many layers of his plan.

But not all of them.

He kept up the shocked facade well, he thought (it did help that he actually was shocked...), as Mrs. Lovett triumphantly lead him through town toward the building. As usual, the cricket greeted them enthusiastically upon their arrival. Sweeny nodded then hung up his coat, and he hoped that he wasn't smiling to broadly as he sat down on the green couch next to Mrs. Lovett. The green room seemed so much more cheerful that day, knowing that it was soon going to be forever stained with the blood of the cricket woman.

As usual, Mrs. Lovett clasped his hand tightly, and the cricket began her questioning.

"Mr. Todd, have you been trying the mental exercises that I told you to do," she said.

He glared at her, barely hiding the building glee.

"Love, answer her. She needs to know," Mrs. Lovett said, rubbing his arm.

It was much more difficult to hide his smile now as he began his plan. It wasn't as bold as his other plots, but it did require some out of character (rather like Mrs. Lovett's actions from that morning) actions to pursue it. His original layers had been there to avoid any of this, but unfortunately, Mrs. Lovett's intuition had punctured through that, forcing him to act out a little more than usual. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, and clasped his dry fingers around Mrs. Lovett's warm hand. He was irritated that this motion was satisfying. He heard her let out a small squeal under her breath as she squeezed his hand and moved herself closer to his side, her thigh pressed up against his. Hesitantly, she raised her free hand up and brushed some hair away from his face. He felt her breath against his neck (which was an oddly chilling feeling, sending a shiver up his spine) as she whispered more encouragements into his ear.

"Come on, love," she said.

Sweeny thought that he heard more feeling being put into these words as though she were through hiding her feelings, but ignored it and let out a breath.

It's all for show... All for show... he repeated to himself mentally as he gripped her hand tighter, which came far too naturally than it should. "I have."

He didn't need to look at the cricket or Mrs. Lovett to know how shocked their expressions were.

The cricket's green chair creaked as she leaned back into it, "Well..." she said, obviously surprised, "That's more than I was expecting."

He spared a glance at Mrs. Lovett who's eyes were slightly watery. Her face was lit up in a smile, and she held his hand tighter still. She leaned forward (she hadn't learned about personal space yet, apparently) and hesitated, before lightly brushing her lips onto his cheek. Once again, a shiver ran up his spine. Why do people find things like this comforting? he thought. She was now staring at her feet, her cheeks slightly pinker, but still smiling.

"So... Did the meditation help at all?" the insect said.

Sweeny looked up at her, "No."

The cricket sighed, "How have you been feeling then?"

Sweeny kept his stare on the cricket, but felt the baker push herself even closer into his thigh, their hips and shoulders now touching. This was good, however odd it felt, and everything was going according to plan. Sweeny stared at the cricket, waiting for Mrs. Lovett to do her normal words of comfort, as it would be far too out of character to respond before them. The excitement was bubbling inside of him and was becoming harder and harder to supress with every passing minute... but he needed to wait... Go on according to plan...

Sure enough, Nellie acted as routine. She put her free hand on his shoulder and leaned into his face again. Personal space! and whispered, "Tell her, Sweeny..."

This struck the barber as extremely odd. What had happened in the past couple minutes to put them on first name basis? That was the first time in memory that she had called him 'Sweeny'... it had always been either 'Mr. T' or 'Mr. Todd' with her... He felt slightly dazed as she placed yet another kiss on his cheek, although this one was uncomfortably close to his mouth. This was getting a little weird, but working in well. It would make his next action a little less strange to the baker. He couldn't afford any suspicion now, especially after his strange behaviour previous his departure.

Almost hesitantly (he told himself that he was only hesitant for the drama of it though) he pulled his hand away from her grasp. He felt the disappointment roll off her, but then excitement build as he slowly (and with real hesitance) snaked his arm around her waist. For show... For show... For show... he chanted to himself as the same shiver ran up his spine, as well has a hint of... nervousness? No... impossible. He had nothing to be nervous about! He had everything planned! Even before this, he had Mrs. Lovett wrapped around his finger, and that control had increased since then. The cricket was vulnerable! He could probably kill her without his razors even! But then a small voice in his head spoke up. Maybe this nervousness has nothing to do with the plan... Maybe it has to do with how she'll- and then quickly his inner demon killed this voice.

If that voice was correct, he had absolutely nothing to worry about. Her only reaction was another quiet squeal, and moving herself even closer to him (how she even managed to do this was a mystery to him, as they were already wedged into each other pretty well.) The cricket was visibly surprised at this obvious display of affection, well, false affection, really. Sweeny tried to resist the urge to snap his hand back and sit it in his lap, pushing the baker off him, but instead pulled her into his side even more. He held her with a certain rigidness, which probably had to do with the mental agony he was going through. He tried relaxing... He lowered his shoulders (where Mrs. Lovett had placed one of her hands, which, though he would never admit it, made it slightly easier.)

Sweeny sighed again, wrapping his arm tighter yet around her, so that his hand rested on top of her shawl.

"Mr. Todd?" the cricket said, "how have you been feeling?"

He opened his eyes, giving her a cool glare. "The same," he said, his voice raspy.

The cricket made a tick.

Two more questions and he would be ready... He was almost in the correct position... Just a little more time, and a little more- he shuddered- contact.

Dr. Oxley spoke again, "Do you ever feel guilty? Like it was your fault?"

Nellie Lovett didn't wait for his hesitation this time. She grabbed the hand that wasn't resting on her waist, and clasped it in her own. She definitely hadn't learned about personal space yet. "Mr. T... Talk to her. If nobody else, please, talk to her," she whispered.

The baker was being exceptionally strange. Her words seemed coated with emotion again, but not with 'affection' exactly, so much as pure honesty... She really wanted him to 'get better.' Sweeny stood firm in his belief that he didn't need to get better, and that he was fine the way he was... But nobody else seemed to be with him on that opinion. But then it struck him. Maybe there was something wrong with him... He couldn't kill Mrs. Lovett. He had tried and failed so many times... but he just couldn't do it. He couldn't scare her any more either... But that problem was one he was about to solve. Very soon. And independently. He didn't need the cricket or the baker in his life. He would take care of the latter once they returned. Yes. He couldn't wait to see Mrs. Lovett so shocked. She thought that she had foiled his plan. She thought now that he cared for her (or at least enjoyed her comfort.) He couldn't wait to see her face when she discovered his true motives.... Yes... He could taste his future victory in the air... He could smell the salty, metallic taste of blood in the room...

He tensed as he answered the question, "She was my wife. I killed her. It was my fault."

The cricket sighed, "But it was an accident."

His muscles tightened under Mrs. Lovett's hand.

"You need to stop telling yourself that there was anything you could do," Dr. Oxley went on. The barber didn't hear her next words as he made his next move.

He found the edge of the baker's shawl and followed the seam. Once he was in position, he started the choreographing his next move. He had to time it perfectly, or Mrs. Lovett would foil his plan... His obstacles were limited, but present... The coffee table in front of him was the only real problem... Then there was Mrs. Lovett's hold on him, but she was easily disposed of. She was weak. The baker's word's of comfort passed right over him. As did the shrinks encouragement. And Mrs. Lovett's kiss (once again, uncomfortably close to the lips.)

And then he was moving. He wrenched the razor out of the inside pocket of Mrs. Lovett's shawl, (She gasped, but that was expected. That pocket hadn't existed until that morning when Sweeny 'borrowed' her sewing kit and shawl...) and launched himself toward the woman in front of him. He kicked the coffee table over so that the legs were pointed up. He cherished the smash of the various ornaments that had decorated the table. The movements were so natural after rehearsing the murder in his head so many times on repeat. He swung his outstretched arm and opened blade at the woman's neck. He prepared himself for the satisfying feeling of his blade slicing smoothly and beautifully through her unworthy flesh. And it reached her. He gave the razor a push to cut completely through her... But felt... resistance? Impossible! Nobody's skin was that hard... He spared a glance at his hand.

He gasped. His razor was cutting into her clipboard. No! And then she was twisting the surprisingly strong and thick piece of wood. His wrist was screaming out in pain. Automatically he was letting go of the silver handle, but then told himself to grab back on, he wasn't finished yet! But the razor was out of his hand... and out of the clipboard, he soon found out when it was being smashed into his face. He threw his arm at the woman, but she (with surprisingly good reflexes) dodged and landed a blow with her board in his abdomen. Soon he was on the ground. His eyes were closed and he was screaming in his head, but she's not dead yet!! He hadn't spilled her blood all over her stupid green room yet! She wasn't dead yet!! He tried to throw himself up off the ground, groping the area around him for his friend, but found nothing...

"Mr. T," said the baker's familiar cockney voice, "Are ye' lookin' for this?"

He looked up to see Mrs. Lovett straddled over his legs (that's why he couldn't get up...) with her skirts drowning the green floor. Her right arm was holding his left down to the ground, leaving her torso hovering way too close to his. He would complain about personal space, but since he had just been caught trying to murder his shrink, it was hardly the time or place for that. But then he saw it... In her other hand she clasped a beam of light... His razor...

He rocked towards her hand, grabbing for it, but before he got his hands around it, she tucked it in her cleavage. Without thinking he found his hand following the razor, but then caught himself and something warm spread over his face.

She laughed, "Now, Mr. T, if you want to play like that, we may want to be somewhere a little more private than this."

He growled and noticed a completely-unharmed Dr. Oxley standing at his head, "Well, Mrs. Lovett," she said.

The baker shook her head, "Well, indeed... I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Oxley. I thought that he had gained a little more self control than this after five weeks of therapy."

The cricket smiled (Why is she smiling?! I almost killed her!!). "That's okay. All in good time," she said (still smiling!). "I think we both know what this means."

The baker put more of her weight onto the temper-tantrum-throwing barber and threw the therapist a questioning look.

Dr. Oxley smiled again. "Mr. Todd, I think it is crucial that from now on I see you twice a week."

--

Epilouge:

Sweeny Todd sat sulking at a table in the bakery while Nellie Lovett blabbered about that afternoon. He wished she would shut up, it was humiliating enough without her rubbing it in. He visualized stitching her mouth closed for her. He enjoyed the moment, but knowing that he would never be able to it made the enjoyment shallow and short lived. Yes, he was done trying to kill her. And he hated that.

"It was a clever idea...," said the baker, dragging a damp, miserable grey rag absentmindedly across the black counter as she spoke. "Very clever... I would never think to search myself... I think I might keep that pocket too. Put change in it n' stuff... It's quite nifty." Mr. Todd glared at her, which she promptly ignored as she stashed the rag under the counter and sat herself across from the barber. She reached a hand across the table and brushed a few locks of graying hair away from his scowling face. He flinched at the touch.

"You know, she was quite good at maneuvering that clipboard. Almost like she did that often... or she saw it coming..." she sighed, "I mean, I guess she's good at reading people. After all, she is a therapist..." she searched his face, "I wish I could read you like that..."

He grunted.

"But I've been thinking about what you did... y'know, before attacking her. And I thought there was something there..."

He gave her an inquisitive look.

"Like the normal darkness in your eyes was gone... I felt you were reluctant when you let go of my hand. It felt... genuine, somehow," she sighed, "Even you, Mr. T-Who-Is-The-Master-Of-Everything- well, that is, excluding clipboard-wielding shrinks, can't fake that," she smiled a little to herself. Of course she was dissapointed after finding out his motives. But now she had something that she hadn't had. She hoped. She felt legitimancy and sincerity in his movements that afternoon... True he missed his wife, but maybe this was the first step of letting Lucy go. He now realized he missed the affection. He had forgotten all about it... Maybe he would get better... And she would be waiting for him until then. Yes, Nellie Lovett, baker of Fleet Street, was just as determined as the barber himself.

That ended up being more serious than I intended... Anyways, I LOVE REVIEWERS. I mean, I love readers too, but reviewers are more likely to have their profiles checked out...

(please review)