A.N. Ah, this one was harder to write than the first one. Which is probably why I went backwards with this small storyline, lmao! I knew it even before I began that I was gonna have trouble with Mrs. Lovett. That trouble-maker baker!

So, just so u know, this chapter is set a purple of days before chapter one, instead of Sweeney and Anthony its Mr T. And Mrs. L. Pls enjoy for emjoyment's sake, R&R, have a wonderful day! -Gillies

p.s. I'm currently brewing a cool Halloween-ish Sweenett so look out! I really like it so far!

She had since noticed that they stayed close on days like this;

Fleet Street was lined with parasols and quickly moving bodies, slicing through the frothy mist. Black humanoid shapes careered past the windows and hesitated before leaving the safety of the over-hang. The sun was no where to be seen. Thick rain sieged war upon the cobble roads and passersby so unlucky to be out that night.

The world closed in on a barber during a very common London downpour. It tightened a slash around his throat, swatted potential customers (target practise) away with its cruel wet bite, and subsequently willed his fingers to flip his sign to its other, darker face, CLOSED. He hated it. He hated how it controlled him so easily. On rainy days there was no running from the past. It sat with you, filling the room until you can't even breathe.

He shuffled about in his shop for a minute or two, ravaged by his cold memories. Then he retreated, defeated to Mrs. Lovett's.

Inside the pie shop Mrs. Lovett happily regaled his evening with care and caress, lavishly, selflessly warming him both physically and, dare she humour herself, emotionally.

She knew to expect, on a rainy day. He was reliable in that way. She waited, assured, for him to take the trip down the stairs and beg her to distract him.

And that wasn't their fault; they needed each other for many things, and underneath a depression of grey clouds and the crackling of thunder, it was impossible to deny.

She fed him. She listened with her whole heart to his short, brief sentences. They spent the evening brushing away each other's loneliness and fear.

They huddled close, bringing in the sombre night time.

The street lay barren. The sky squeezed out a spattering of drops here and there, coughing them up after its long pour. The slick stones glowed and sparked with the brazen gold light from the lamps.

"Mr. T."

He found her eyes boring into him, looking misty, and helpless. He struggled against the visceral need to evade her all-knowing stare. He found himself too overcome by the emotion in her searching to sever this rare connection. He questioned her, silently; pleading for her to go on and dismantle it herself.

Her jaw lay in the palm of her hand. Her face was tilted to him from across the table, bearing her skinny neck and prying apart the gaping outline of her bodice. Rusted, brown hair tickled her eyes, eyes lurking in his.

"Got t' tell you a story." She peeped, in a small pathetic voice.

The story has plagued Mrs. Lovett's mind for days now, eating away at her sanity, demanding to be told. It's no coincidence she found the strengthen to have this fleshy conversation during a storm.

"..What is it?"

Mrs. Lovett dropped her gloved hand on the bottle of gin, grasping at the cork. "Drinks, first."

Sweeney exploited the cease of their contact to roll his eyes without repercussions.

Two glasses gurgled as they filled with the revered, pungent liquid.

Sweeney examined Mrs. Lovett's work, rising the offered glass level with his eye, and then drank. Mrs. Lovett did the same.

She wiped the edge of her mouth. "It's abou' Lucy."

Mrs. Lovett barrelled on ferociously, disregarding his betrayed expression. She tunnelled through the seize in his throat at that single name. Her name.

"I lied to you, Mr. T. The judge didn't sweep in an' carry Johanna away like what I said... You must remember Lucy, 'ow she 'ad no real skills, least not the sort for a job. She was dainty and weak," The baker wrestled against her snarled lips, softening the bite she slipped into that word, weak. She hated Lucy for her weakness.

She was bitterly aware that had she been weak, she'd be dead too. Perhaps sooner, because nobody ever handled her like fine glass, as the world seemed to handle Lucy since birth. If Mrs. Lovett had been weak like Lucy, she'd never make it to where she was now, beside Sweeney Todd.

"After Benjamin Baker went away the money left from 'is savings dwindled almost instantaneously. Like sand through 'er bony fingers. Albert was dead too; it was expensive enough running the shop and the butchery wit' only me doing it all. Lucy could barely feed 'er self let alone nurture 'er baby. And with the lack of income it was either both 'er and the baby starve to death - or she gives 'er up, Mr. T."

Sweeney tilted the glass against his lips, gulping greedily. "What are you saying?"

Mrs Lovett graciously poured out another glass for him. Her eyes upholstered him with their faint sheen of wetness. His baker was in as much pain as he. She must have truly loved Lucy like he did.

For some evasive reason that steadied him.

"One day Lucy says she can't do it no more. I was in 'ere, and she didn't come down the tenant staircase. I saw 'er leave through the window, carrying Jo... 'Twas the last time I saw 'er. Lucy comes home and tells me, stone faced, that th' baby is gone, and that she doesn't want me t' bother 'er anymore. I didn't know where Johanna was til a couple months after Lucy..."

Mrs. Lovett stared at the barber in fear, waiting for a murderous roar, a rampaging swing of his razor. She in all her panic was met with even silence.

"Are you okay, love?" She asked. She crouched to catch his gaze. "I begged the girl to let me 'elp her, I did. I offered her all the money what I 'ad, and it weren't a lot Mr. T. After Albert died I was as well off as 'er, maybe a little better maybe worse. She refused me time an' time again, just like you in that way - stubborn, full of pride. She wouldn't take my money even if it meant keeping Johanna. I couldn't make her 'old on to life like I wanted her too. It's one of my biggest regrets. If I could do it over - try harder -"

She closed her mouth, almost shaking. It was obvious to the baker that she couldn't rely on him to stop her before she said too much, as he usually did, and that frightened her to the bone.

"Sweeney?"

Mrs. Lovett reached her pale hand across the table, watching his lip for its customary sneer, praying it never appeared as she firmly clasped her hand over his. He remained still, ghost-like after such a drastic story.

"no." His voice broke free, his eyes pierced through her.

"Huh? Sweeney do you want to be alone?"

He shook his head. He swallowed a massive lump. "No. Thank you for telling me."

Mrs. Lovett stayed close to him, in shock for the rest of the night.