Author's Note: This is my first Sweeney fanfic, so this may be a little rough. Yes, there are two flashbacks in the first chapter. One is a flashback within a flashback. Sorry about that. But I hope you like it! Please review.

Chapter One—A Silent Cry For Help

Tobias Ragg ran through the drenched streets of London, his legs caked in mud. The skies above the grimy city had chosen to release the deluge precisely at 10:00 that morning; precisely at the wrong time. Because at 10:00 that morning, Toby had gone to Mr. Todd's barber shop. He had been suspicious of the pale stranger ever since he had arrived at the small pie shoppe. Toby entered barber shop to do a bit of snooping. Among the dust and the drawers there had to be some clue as to whether this Sweeney Todd character had malicious intentions.

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That morning, Toby silently tiptoed to the door. He opened it a crack and made sure that no one was inside. When he was sure that the room was empty, Toby crept inside. Suddenly, a small ringing cut through the silence. Terrified, the boy remembered that the creepy looking barber kept a bell on the door. He swore under his breath and hurried out. Toby hid in the shadows of the stairs, and it was there he realized that heavy rain drops were falling from the sky. A few minutes later, after no one came out of the building, Toby sneaked back to the shop. He was drenched from his hat to his boots, but he thought nothing of it. Toby began looking around in the dusty bureau drawers in the corner of the dark room. He was hoping that he would find blood-stained shirts or a bloodied razor at least. Alas, all of the shirts were neatly laundered and the razors glinted silver in the sunlight they caught. Still, the boy searched for anything, anything at all to condemn the gaunt tenant. Toby was rummaging through a drawer full of pants when he heard footsteps coming to the door. The drawer was shut quickly and he dove into a nearby trunk.

Mr. Todd stepped heavily into the room, filling the air with the scent of pies and rainwater. Toby lifted the lid of the trunk just enough to see what the barber was doing. Sweeney Todd took his wet jacket off and tossed it across the room and onto the floor. The smell of rain faded as the smell of the pie shoppe filled the room. Under the jacket, Mr. Todd wore a brown vest over a white puffy sleeved shirt. His pinstripe pants were just a shade darker than his black handkerchief. Sweeney Todd sat in the red and black chair, his head in his hands. Thoughts ran through his mind that even extra sensory Toby couldn't guess. However, a million unexplainable thoughts were plaguing Sweeney's mind.

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Not many people had come to eat pies that early in the morning, and that was exactly why he had visited. Mr. Todd hadn't seen Mrs. Lovett since the previous afternoon when he gave her his bloody laundry. He was beginning to worry, as much as he hated to admit it. At around 9 o'clock, Sweeney had closed up the small barber shop and headed down to see what was going on with the landlady. It surprised him that he didn't feel the deep desire to see spilled blood. Mr. Todd shrugged off the unfamiliar calm as he walked slowly down the stairs. The usual hustle and bustle was missing. "Mrs. Lovett?' he called. No answer. Rather timidly, he called out, "Nellie?" There was still no answer. Sweeney stepped into the kitchen and saw Mrs. Lovett standing with her hands on the counter. She had a look of sadness on face. Mr. Todd stepped toward her, waiting for the usual blush of her cheeks and the jump of her heart. Nothing happened.

"Mrs. Lovett," Sweeney raised his hand as if to comfort her, but thought better of it and put it back down at his side. Nellie went stiff at his gesture and moved away from him. Mr. T noticed that her palms were red from the edge of the counter. He told himself that it didn't matter, and that he didn't care. Still, he forced two words out of his normally unfeeling self. "What's wrong?"

Warily, Mrs. Lovett looked at him. No, she glared at him. But it was an interesting kind of glare with more than one emotion. Not only was there anger in her eyes, but sadness and love as well. Nellie bit her lip until Sweeney could see beads of blood. Finally, words spilled out of her mouth as well as crimson drops. "Toby told me about what happened last night." The barber wanted to interrupt, but refrained from doing so. "Mr. T! How could you try and do such a thing to yourself? Is life really that bad?" Nellie raised her hand as if to touch his cheek. Sweeney desperately wished that she wouldn't, and to his surprise, she crossed her arms instead. "I mean, haven't Toby and me done enough for you? Do…do you miss her that bad? Bad enough to… to…"

"To what?!" he said in frustration.

"To go and try and kill yourself, that's what!" A look of realization came on her face. "You mean…you didn't…that is…but…"

"Mrs. Lovett, I did not try to commit any sort of suicide last night."

"But Toby! He said he saw you being down right melancholy, said you was taking the knife to your own throat, he did."

"Mrs. Lovett, I would not be stupid enough to take my own knife to my own throat. It is much less painful to slit one's wrists…"

"There you go again, talking all depressing like," Nellie muttered angrily. She turned away from Mr. Todd and picked up a rag. Mrs. Lovett lifted her arm to begin dusting the cabinets, but Sweeney caught it in midair. He had a dark, murderous glint in his eye as he spoke to his frightened landlady.

"Mrs. Lovett, you've no idea the burden I bear, the pain I've swallowed for the last sixteen years. You also have no idea, Mrs. Lovett, how much of a relief it would be to simply fall asleep and never wake up." His eyes went cold with insanity as he realized that he had spun her around. Sweeney held her arm near his head and grasped the back of her dress with the other hand. Still wearing a blank stare, Sweeney released his grip on the dark velvet and merely laid his hand there. To any passersby, it may have looked as if the two were engaged in a very odd dance.

Indeed, this came to Nellie Lovett's mind. She wriggled her arm out of Mr. T's firm grasp and intertwined his fingers with her own. She placed her hand on his shoulder and said, "C'mon, Mr. T. Dance with me." She began humming and old French waltz and stepped in time. To Nellie's surprise, he didn't object. In fact, he started to dance and hum along. After a few steps, Sweeney's stiff movements loosened. The two moved gracefully about the kitchen, Sweeney twirling Nellie every so often. Quite pleased with his cooperation and her own utter bliss, Nellie decided that it was time to talk.

"So," muttered Mrs. Lovett while Sweeney continued to hum lowly. Her face tingled from the vibrations of his voice. "What's been bothering you?"

Nellie waited silently while Mr. Todd cleared his throat. He looked perplexed, as if he didn't know exactly what he had come downstairs for. "Well, I was wondering if you needed anything more for the pies."

Mrs. Lovett smirked at his painfully obvious untruthful answer. "The pies? No, love. We both know that's not why you came down." She dropped her arms from his and said softly, "You wouldn't call me Nellie for nothing." She looked down as Sweeney winced. She was right. He hadn't called her by her first name since he had been Benjamin Barker. That woman noticed everything.

"Now are you going to tell me or not?" Nellie looked up into his eyes with anguish. "I can't help you until you talk to me."

At this, Sweeney turned away from her and put his hands behind his back. He stared into the bustling streets of London full of people before whispering hoarsely, "Perhaps you are mistaken, Mrs. Lovett. Perhaps I won't need your help."

The baker clicked her tongue and placed a hand on her shoulder. The barber merely stared at the thin hand. The sun was beginning to fill the small shoppe and a ray of sunlight bathed Mrs. Lovett's hand in gold. "I think we both know you're straight out lying, Mr. T. Now, what's been bothering you?" She didn't speak as she waited for the reply she knew would never come. Instead of becoming angry, she rested her chin on his shoulder. She looked at him. A small, giddy smile played on her lips as she thought of the many reasons why she didn't just lose hope. Of course, she had dwelled on this many times before, but it couldn't hurt, could it?

She watched him closely, her eyes taking in and memorizing every detail of his face. The sun was fully lighting the shoppe now, and Mr. Todd's face looked much less pale than it really was. The bridge of his nose was nearly perfect, complementing the once soft brown eyes. Sweeney's high cheekbones further accented his gaunt face and the shadows beneath his eyes. The lips that long ago were constantly being pulled into a smile were now tugged into a frown, like the rest of his face. He was unmoving, not even budging to breathe. Then, slowly, his lips opened and he turned his head to look at Mrs. Lovett. Instead of speaking like she hoped he would, Sweeney merely sighed. Mr. Todd glanced down before saying, "Shall we sit, Mrs. Lovett?" Nellie was, at the very least, surprised. His response had blown her away. She nodded briefly before turning slowly and had a seat at one of the pie shoppe tables. Before she knew it, she was sitting across from Mr. Todd, their knees just barely touching.

His arms were crossed and laying on the table in front of him. His gaze was directed down at the table, crazed thoughts undoubtedly running through his mind. At least, this is what Nellie thought. But for once, Nellie Lovett was wrong. She guessed that he was thinking of how much he missed his Lucy or maybe the Judge and how terrible he was. Nellie never thought that he was thinking of her. In fact, she even ventured to say that he most definitely wasn't thinking of her. She was greatly mistaken. The estranged barber Todd was indeed thinking of the incredibly loyal woman sitting before him.

When Sweeney Todd thought loyal, he meant it in every way. He had just about strangled her, and she had asked him to dance! If that wasn't loyal, Mr. Todd didn't know what was. He looked up slowly to see Mrs. Lovett's great brown eyes watching him, an understanding air about her. "But what does she know?" he thought. "She's got no idea half the horrors I've faced. She doesn't understand my love for Lucy. All she's ever loved is that fat old butcher she mistakenly married." He surprised himself with his own musings. Mrs. Lovett, not understand love? If she didn't comprehend unconditional love, who did? Who else greeted him every day with her smile and loving touch? Who else cared for him as if…as if…

"As if what?!" He shouted inwardly. "Are you afraid to finish your own sentence?" He resigned to his weakness and wordlessly mouthed, "As if she truly loved me." Of course he knew this. Of course he didn't want to admit it. Who would love a monster like him? Benjamin was easily lovable, but Sweeney Todd? No. There wasn't love for him, not after all of the things he'd done. "You're too much of a demon," he told himself. "You're no more than a common criminal, not much more than a rat." Yet there she was, sitting with him, ready to listen to the one who never listened to her. With this realization, Sweeney rested his head in his hand and opened his mouth. This he knew would be a slow and painful process. He had never done this before, so he mulled over every word, every phrase before it came out of his mouth. "No overwhelming outbursts," he told himself. "No emotional fountains." Sweeney needn't have thought this. He wasn't liable to say much of anything about feelings at all. No, even venting emotions about the wicked Judge Turpin was quite a laughable idea. This was going to be painful indeed, if it even began.

"If it even began…" The phrase rang through his head like the pealing of the large brass church bells on Fearon Street. The consequences and repercussions of allowing someone into both his heart and mind began racing through his brain. Should he, or shouldn't he? The two ideas were having a private battle inside of Sweeney's mind. He waited impatiently as they fought. Finally, the winner was announced and the barber's head shot up. His hands clenched into a fist. He pounded the table and whispered to Mrs. Lovett.

"Never."