The next time Mrs. Lovett opened her eyes she was met with bright sunlight streaming full force into the room. The window, she dimly realized was the large multi-pane one in Mr. Todd's room. But what was she doing here? And why did she feel so bad?

She sat up; her body hurt to move and her head was aching something awful. At that thought one of her small white hands flew up to the side of her head, feeling a large welt as well as a scab.

As her hands touched it, with that little reminder literally at her fingertips the events of last night hurled them selves back into her mind with such intensity she whimpered, falling back to the bed

Oh god. She clenched her eyes tightly shut, not against the light of the day but some how hoping to block out the thoughts and smells and images that where invading her mind.

Her stomach felt nauseous and she sat up again. She needed to get to the door, the railing she didn't want to-it was too late. She vomited all over the floor only a few steps from the bed. The urge to throw up disappeared but the sick felling at the bottom of her stomach did not although she decided she didn't need to get the door any longer and simply set where she was. She pulled her knees close to her, resting her face against the backs of her legs as she cried.

She didn't know how long she stayed like that but she was almost drifting off to sleep again when she finally pulled her head up at the sound of heavy footsteps on the old wooden stairs. Her first thought was Mr. T coming up. After all it was his room. But another thought soon took over, causing the woman to bite her lip and look around for a place to hide.

What if it was that man from last night? What if he wanted to hurt her some more, to-. Her mind was made up. She had to hide. Unfortunenately there was no convenient place to do that here and before she had a chance to attempt to move a pale face surrounded by black hair streaked with white appeared in the doors window.

She visibly relaxed. He frowned as he walked in the room, a tray of food in his hand. He sat it down atop the chest by the door, looking at Mrs. Lovett. Her eyes where again red. She had been crying again. He blinked in confusion as he felt the strangest urge to comfort her arise. He shook it off. She was staring at him and he could only assume she was waiting for him to speak.

"Why you on the floor?" He asked gruffly, leaning down and pulling her up by the arm. He guided her back to the bed.

She didn't answer his question and only realized he was expecting an answer when he continued staring at her questioningly with those obsidian eyes of his.

"I felt sick." She mumbled softly, gesturing to the pile on the floor a few steps from the bed. He turned, seeming to notice the disgusting pile for the first time. He didn't say anything about it but stood, walking over to the chest and bringing her the food on the tray. "Here." He said setting it down beside her on the bedspread.

She looked down at the warm bowl of oatmeal and freshly sliced apple. "Did you make this Mista T?" She said, surprised he'd thought enough to bring her food.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "The boy helped." He stood to leave.

Lovett felt a smile cross her lips although he didn't see. He was half way out the door. 'Thank you." She called after him. "And tell Toby I said thank you too."

He gave a curt nod, not even bothering to turn around.

"Is mum gonna be ok?" Toby asked as soon as Sweeney stepped into the shop. It was bustling with people as usual. Sweeney looked at the boy, glaring. He had told him she didn't feel well. "Yes." He said, stalking back behind the counter. They had about 14 pies still back there. 'I wonder if there's any in the bake house' he though. He had only killed one man yesterday but hadn't Lovett had said she could get seven pies out of one cat?

He growled as he walked towards the back of the shop, ignoring the call of customers. There was no way for him to care less what they had to say. He was half way down the steps when he thought of something. Mrs. Lovett to be precise. She was up in his room, defenseless if that monster came back.

"Toby!!" He roared, walking back up the steps. Within seconds the boy was at his side. "Don't let anyone up to my shop." He growled.

The boy nodded than spun to continue handing out food. Sweeney made his way once again down into the dark room. The smell hit him almost instantly. Oh! His hand flew up to cover his nose. That woman worked down here?! All along the edge of the room were piles of body parts in various states of decay. In the center of the room was an enormous oven. It wasn't on, the wood in it having burned out some time during the night.

Sweeny walked to it, the door opening with a loud screech. He peered inside. Nothing was there. He glared at the oven as though it was its fault he had just walked down into this stench filled room.

"Mr. Todd!" Toby's small voice echoed eerily down through the room "Mr. Todd!!"

"What boy?!" He growled, already rushing from across the room and up the stairs.

"You 'ave a customer." He stammered, put off by the annoyance in the barber's voice. Sweeney walked out of the bake house slamming the door soundly behind him. "'e's waitin' in the dinning room."

"Fine!" He stomped off calling after him. "There's no pies down there! When you sell out close up!"

Toby nodded to no one in particular. His mum had to be really sick for her not to be making pies. But why wouldn't Sweeney let him see her? And why was she hidden away up in his apartment rather than down stairs in her comfortable bed where Toby could have helped take care of her?

What if Mr. Todd had hurt her?! Toby was so shocked by this thought he dropped the tray he was holding, pies included. He hurried to pick them up before anyone noticed and headed back in to the other room to hand them out.

Even as he did this his young mind didn't stop working. That must be it! Mr. Todd often threatened his mum with those awful razors of his and he was always shouting or glaring at her. What if he had lost his temper and hurt her and now he didn't want anyone to see. Or worse what if he- He didn't want to think about it. No mater how mad he got there's no way Mr. Todd would have killed his mum… was there?

"Ah, come for another shave sir?" Sweeney inquired, instantly recognizing his customer. This man came in quite regularly. Sweeney never had a desire to kill this man. He was a father of four young children with no mother to speak of.

"Yes." He smiled at the dark haired barber. Sweeney placed a cold hand on his shoulder leading him to the out door dining room.

"I'm afraid we'll have to do it out here today sir." He said smoothly. "A friend of mine is ill and resting in my shop. Give me one moment and I'll be down with my supplies."

Sweeney walked up the steps quickly and quietly. He stooped at the door, looking in the window at his partner in crime.

She sat there, nibbling slowly one of the apples and staring into space with an unreadable expression on her face. Why did he care what she was doing? All her cared, he told himself, is she hopefully feels well enough soon to get back down to the bake house and make pies because with out a way to hide the bodies he couldn't bloody well kill anyone now could he?

His mouth dropped slightly at that realization. With out Mrs. Lovett's assistance he wouldn't be able to kill people with such carelessness! He'd have to find where to hide the bodies and how to get them there with out being seen. He shook his head to clear it of that thought. Mrs. Lovett wasn't going anywhere; she'd be fine, back on her feet in no time.

That's when he realized he was still gazing through the window. He looked away and pulled the door open. Her head rose at the sound of the bell, looking over at him. He wanted her to smile, to tell him some pointless rambling story, to do something other than just sit there looking so forlorn.

He didn't say anything, just started gathering what he needed. "You need your room for your costumas don'chu?" She said softly, moving to get up from the bed.

"Stay." He ordered, putting out his left hand with a halt gesture.

She nodded automatically. "Of course Mista T." She said in the same quiet voice. Supplies gathered he turned to leave. As he walked down the steps another thought hit him. His Lucy had been attacked too. She had ended up poisoning her self to escape the grief. There was no way; Mrs. Lovett wouldn't possibly do the same thing would she?