Baking

Mr. Todd paced through his barber shop, thoughts of vengeance filling his mind. But there was something that distracted him from thinking of a way to get to Judge Turpin. Sweeney Todd's mind didn't wander away from its purpose often and even he knew that there had to be something special going on for him to lose his focus on the Judge for even the shortest of moments

Sweeney stood still, looking carefully at his surroundings. Not able to see anything different about it, he looked outside; but there too didn't seem anything strange to be going on.

The barber took a deep breath, forcing himself to think of finding a perfect way to kill Turpin – and that's when he noticed it. It wasn't an object or another person's presence that had caught his attention, but a smell.

There was something that smelled rather good, something that seemed vaguely familiar. But even though he tried, he couldn't remember where he had smelled it before. Scrutinizing his barber shop once more, he realized that it wasn't coming from his own room. There was only one other area where the smell could come from.

There was something that it reminded him of, something that had taken place long ago and that he had forgotten in the many and long years that had followed. But still, it reminded him of a very pleasant moment, one that he hadn't shared with his wife, but with the baker who was there now, even though that his Lucy was gone.

Sweeney rushed downstairs, eager to find out what was going on. The smell in his barber shop had to be coming from one of Mrs. Lovett's rooms that were located right beneath the part of the building where the barber himself lived. He had the feeling that he would find the baker and the source of the mysterious smell in one of the two rooms that were beneath his tonsorial parlor, which was either the pie shop or her kitchen.

The pie shop turned out to be empty except for Toby, who was sweeping the floor. It wasn't a surprise however that there was no one except for the boy, seeing that it was far past closing time of both the shops.

He continued to the kitchen, a bit less eager to do so because he considered that area less neutral than the pie shop. To him, the kitchen qualified as being part of the personal quarters of the baker, where he still wasn't really tempted to go because being there empathized the fact that he was crossing more than spatial borders by doing so.

The barber's curiosity was evoked however and he wanted to find the source of the memory that was triggered by the smell, knowing that dwelling on the past was less painful than living in the present.

The door to the kitchen was open, but as he saw that the baker was indeed inside the room, he knocked on the door anyway, not wanting to burst in and give Mrs. Lovett a fright.

She looked up when she heard him, a smile appearing on her face immediately. In spite of himself he stood still for a moment, staring at her. There was something about that smile that reminded him of days that had passed a long time ago, of times when neither of them had known the tragic events that were waiting for them just around the corner.

But most of all it was just good to see her like this, her happiness at seeing him the proof of the fondness that was growing between them. He didn't return the smile with a similar gesture – his urge to smile was something even Mrs. Lovett couldn't bring back – but he nodded to her, acknowledging her greeting.

The smell was much stronger here than it had been in his room. He recognized it when he tore away his eyes from the baker's face and watched what she was actually doing.

When he realized at last that it was the smell of chocolate that had interrupted his scheming, he wondered why he hadn't not this before.

The sight of his landlady – his friend – melting chocolate in a pan above a small fire brought back more memories than the mere smell had done. The scene was almost exactly as it had been more than fifteen years ago and for a moment it really seemed like he had somehow ended up in one of his own memories.

The fact that both the baker and he were quite a bit older now and carried a lot more burdens with them than they had done all those years ago was undeniable however . But the thoughts of revenge and loss were temporarily forgotten as he walked towards Mrs. Lovett, just like he had done once in the distant past.

His landlady's eyes lingered on him for just a bit too long, as if she couldn't believe that he actually was interested in what she was doing.

"I... I remember this," he said, feeling the need for once to explain himself.

Mrs. Lovett smiled again, as if truly delighted to hear that he hadn't forgotten about a moment that was for some reason very important for her. Once again, Sweeney couldn't help but stare at her, fascinated by the way her lips curled upwards and her eyes sparkled.

"It's funny," she said. "This is the first time that I'm baking those cookies again since that day that you helped me with them."

"What happened?" he asked, shocked to hear that she hadn't been able to bake the cookies she was so fond of.

"Times were hard here as well," she replied. "For a long time, I had no money for things like this."

A recent but usually ignored image of the starving baker wearing torn clothes appeared in his mind as he recalled in what state she had been in when he had returned to Fleet Street. Indeed, he wasn't the only one whose life had changed in a most unpleasant way.

"Do you mind if I stay and watch?"

The foresight of going back to his room to brood wasn't as tempting as it once had been at all; planning murders would doubtlessly be even more difficult now that he knew what Mrs. Lovett was doing here. Besides, the kitchen was warm and brightly lit a condition he for once preferred over his own cold and dark room. And in a way it seemed only natural to be here now, just like he had been there during the previous time that she had baked the cookies.

There were no chairs in the kitchen, but the baker, as if sensing that he intended to stay for a while and actually wished to be comfortable for once, patted on an empty spot on the table she was working at.

Sweeney hesitated for a moment but then sat down on the table like she had suggested, legs swinging lightly a few inches above the floor as he inspected Mrs. Lovett's work from his new vantage point.

She continued working like he hadn't just interrupted her and he was rather grateful that she did so. The change from his cold and empty barber shop to the warm kitchen that was filled with his landlady's presence was a rather big one and he needed some time to adjust.

Simply watching her doing such a normal and innocent thing as baking cookies was more relaxing than he could've thought possible. There was something about the way that her hands mixed and shaped the dough that was strangely calming. It freed his mind from the thoughts of blood and dead and this difference too was a welcome one.

"You want to try some?" she asked after a few minutes, gesturing at some of the chocolate that she hadn't melted yet. "The rest is too hot to eat now."

The mere thought of Sweeney Todd voluntarily lowering himself to the consumption of this particular kind of food was a ridiculous one, but the barber found the offer impossible to resist.

He carefully took a small bit from the piece she offered him – not because he expected the chocolate to be poisoned or something like that, but because he wanted to savor the taste of it. Chocolate was a luxury he hadn't known for a very long time and even though indulging himself now that he technically could do so, it wasn't something he allowed himself to do.

This was different somehow. Eating the chocolate didn't make him feel as if he was betraying his wife because he was enjoying something that was lost for her forever, but it only seemed to deepen the bond with the baker who he was currently watching closely.

As the chocolate found their way into his system, Sweeney found himself feeling even more at ease. His wife had always said that chocolate made her feel better. He had never really understood this and he still couldn't explain it now, but the barber himself felt less awful when he took several not so small bites.

Baking wasn't something he could do, not even when he watched his mother and later his wife preparing their meals. But now that he was looking at the baker, he began to see the logic and purpose of her movements. Without even trying, it made somehow sense to him when she picked up one of the various cooking utensils that were lying on the table before her in a seemingly random way.

It became some sort of inward and personal game for him to predict when she was going to choose certain tools in the process. Even though it was completely trivial and useless, he found a sort of rare delight in it. It was as if he could understand the baker, just by looking at her.

Her roller pin moved in his direction when she put it back with a bit too much force, her movements suddenly a lot quicker than they had been before as she cast a glance on the clock.

Without thinking about it twice, he handed it to her when she extended her arm to the place where the tool had been before it rolled away.

He was rewarded with another smile, this one even more radiant than the previous one had been.

"We've got just a few more minutes," she said. "The cookies have to get into the oven before the chocolate on it gets too cold."

Sweeney had no idea why this seemed to matter, but it wasn't important. What did matter was the huge amount of dough and the liquid chocolate that was still above the fire.

"I think I overestimated that a bit," she sighed, seeing what he was looking at. "I wanted to make lots of cookies for Toby and myself – and for you. It just seems that I don't have enough time."

He was flattered by the fact that she had considered him even though he usually couldn't bring himself to eat anything that she gave him. Not because it didn't taste good – because it did – or because he didn't want to – because he did – but because eating was one of the not so few natural human actions that he found hard to develop again now that he was back in an actual society.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he was standing right next to the baker, grabbing a handful of dough like he had seen her do countless times. He shaped it with the roller pin like she had done as well as he could and then reached for the spoon that was in the bowl of melted chocolate, so he could poor some of the deliciously smelling dark substance over the pale dough.

This time he was completely oblivious to the way she stood absolutely still for a moment, as if she truly was unable to believe what was happening. She didn't smile this time, but there was a look in her eyes that would've left Sweeney rooted to the floor if only he had seen it.

She returned to her work, even more joy in her movements than there had been before, and if he hadn't been so caught up in the work Sweeney would've realized that doing something like this with the baker at his side was so much more enjoyable than any murder he had ever committed.

The amount of almost finished cookies that was placed on the plate which was to be shoved into the oven later grew rapidly, but Sweeney didn't even think of stopping just yet. He was more than glad that there was such a huge amount of ingredients.

He had thought at first that being part of this would give him some much needed rest, because it was so much like one of the afternoons from the long gone past in which he had no idea yet of the horrors that existed within the world he was part of. But as he was baking chocolate cookies with Mrs. Lovett once again, it was not the old days that he was reminded of.

If anything, their joined effort made clear to him that there was hope left, even now, and that he didn't have to live this new life alone. He could rely on the woman who had become his only friend; not only in times of great loneliness and despair, but also during moments like this, almost free from the guilt and pain that usually tormented him.

He had never thought that there would be a future now that his wife was gone, but now there was no more denying that his life wasn't over now that all that once mattered to him was taken from him. He had a future, and he only had to look at Mrs. Lovett to see it.

She differed as much from Lucy as a woman possibly could, but there was something in Mrs. Lovett that Sweeney couldn't define, something that made him almost as eager to be in her company as his wife once had done.

The thought was a terrifying one indeed – when had he even begun to compare the baker to his wife in such a way? The realization overwhelmed the barber even as his hands continued their work.

He focused on the dough and chocolate in front of him, refusing to acknowledge the dangerous thoughts that were finding their way into his mind. For a moment he pretended that the baker wasn't there at all. He had done this for so long that it worked rather well.

But when his hand brushed against the baker's as they simultaneously reached for the spoon standing in the bowl with the melted chocolate, even Sweeney couldn't deny the spark that he felt at the accidental contact.

He wasn't sure whether this was a relief or not, but mere moments later Mrs. Lovett announced that the cookies had to be placed in the oven now and that the work was done now. Most of the dough and all of the chocolate had been transformed into cookies, but Sweeney had been so fixed on the process itself that he hadn't noticed this.

Together they pushed the large plate of almost completed chocolate cookies into the oven. Although there was no reason for him to linger, especially not now that the dynamics between the baker and he were changing in a way that they shouldn't, Mr. Todd remained in the kitchen, his own room more unappealing than it had ever been now that he was discovering what could be found in other parts of the house.

Trying to understand what on earth was going on between Mrs. Lovett and himself, he was unaware of the baker who was slowly approaching him, dark, unblinking eyes fixed on him.

Only when she reached for his chocolate covered left hand, he realized to some extent what her intentions were. Sweeney tensed, preparing himself to leave after all, depending on what Mrs. Lovett was going to do.

She simply took his hand in her own however, smiling mischievously as the liquid chocolate that covered both of their hands mixed. Even the barber found it rather amusing to see how the chocolate moved together with their hands.

Mrs. Lovett held his hand with one of her own and used the other to draw figures in the chocolate coating his skin. Fascinated by the feeling of her fingers moving against the back of his hand, he let her.

He had no idea what the baker was doing or what she intended to achieve by this, but he saw no reason to make her stop. The gestures were sweet in more than one way, but innocent at the same time. It was easier to accept her touches this way, their hands being unmistakably their own but almost seeming to belong to others now that they were covered with chocolate.

Doubtlessly sensing his lack of rejection, his landlady continued whatever it was that she was doing, her touches becoming less shy and more insistent. Her fingers reached for the inside of his palm, causing the barber to gasp as she brushed against the most sensitive part of her hand. Instead of shocking him, this intrigued him even more.

After a timeless moment, Sweeney found himself reaching for her hands as well, caressing them with his fingers. The look in the eyes of the baker was almost enough to make him melt just like the chocolate, mesmerizing him in a way even the delicious food hadn't.

The baker smiled again and he found himself doing almost the same thing as their hands were rubbing the chocolate against each other's skin. The strangeness of the moment that was growing between them calmed his usually over alert instincts caught him off guard in a way that hadn't happened for a long time.

Maybe his eyes had even fluttered closed, making him even more unaware of that what Mrs. Lovett was going to do until it was too late already. Before he knew it, it weren't her fingers but her lips and tongue that were caressing his fingers.

His body froze when Sweeney realized what was happening, what the baker had perhaps intended to try to do eventually all this time. But even though he felt rather tricked by the for once seemingly innocent baker and felt even more strongly that this was something they shouldn't be doing, he did nothing to stop her. As a matter of fact, he even began to doubt after a moment whether it would be justified even if he did. Was this really so different compared to what he just allowed her to do so, or was it only so seductive because he felt it was?

Her eyes were closed as she moved her head closer to his hand, tongue circling around one digit after another to suck the chocolate off it. The barber vaguely sensed that his body was trembling, overwhelmed by the baker's touch in a way it had never been before. The warmth and joy that welled within him were almost like the chocolate he had eaten earlier, only this was much, much stronger. The feeling was overpowering, enchanting him even though he didn't want this to happen.

The baker let go off his hand when his fingers were relatively clean, staring at him with those eyes that seemed to pierce his soul. When she reached for his other hands however, it was too much for the barber.

He took a quick step back, only then noticing how labored his breath was. He was torn for a moment, a part of him genuinely tempted just to stay and see what this would lead.

But then rationality took over once again, reminding him with shocking force of the reason why he shouldn't be here, why he shouldn't allow themselves to get carried away like this, why he had sought Mrs. Lovett's presence in a somewhat similar situation all those years ago in the first place.

Realizing what just had happened, he abruptly turned around and fled the kitchen. He rushed back to his barber shop, as if he was free and safe there for Mrs. Lovett's tempting influence.

His wife… it had always been about Lucy, one way or another. But this was changing now, whether he intended to or not. Mrs. Lovett was becoming important to him in a way only his actual family had once mattered to him – still did.

Sweeney collapsed in his chair once he had locked the door of his tonsorial parlor behind him. He could only hope that the rapid rhythm of his heart and breath would decrease quickly, but the smell of chocolate that was still lingering in his room impossible to ignore wasn't exactly helping. The events of that night swirled in his mind, battling for his attention and judgment. The recent memories wouldn't fade for a long time, and he knew it – he doubted whether there would ever be a moment that he would've been able to forget at last what it had felt like when his fingers were teased inside the baker's mouth.

The barber however was sure of one thing: as soon as the cookies were ready to be taken out of the oven, he was going back downstairs to get some.