A/N: I forgot to say that I don't own anything. Oops. Well, none of it's mine. I don't own Sweeneypoo or Mrs. Lovett or Toby or Johanna or Anthony. All I own is Horace and his wife.
Mrs. Lovett hummed happily as she twirled around the pie shop, grabbing the ingredients to make a raspberry pie. She didn't even know why she was in a good mood, though she had a funny suspicion that it had to do with Sweeney's improved mood. After meeting Johanna, he had cheered up considerably, even consenting to help Mrs. Lovett bake once in a while.
And, of course, she couldn't help but be happy that he had kissed her. True, it had been a month ago, and, also true, it was just a peck on the top of the head, but she continued replaying it over and over in her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured the expression on his face just after he had kissed her. Sighing happily, she resumed her job.
Sweeney stomped down the stairs, a black look on his face. Mrs. Lovett, oblivious to this, exclaimed happily, "Good morning, Mr. T! 'Owr'e you doin' on this fine day?"
He just glared at her. Mrs. Lovett, still ignoring his obvious irritation, said cheerily, "Wot would you like for breakfast, Mr. T?"
Sweeney swore loudly. Mrs. Lovett gasped and chastised him. "Mr. T, wot 'ave I said about swearin'? It sets a bad example for Toby!"
Sullenly Sweeney said, "I'll say what I want, when I want, thank you. Now leave me alone."
He stomped back upstairs, leaving a puzzled Mrs. Lovett behind without a trace of her earlier joy.
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Sweeney flung himself into his barber's chair, muttering something about privacy. His brow furrowed, and he buried himself in thoughts about Johanna and Mrs. Lovett.
He scolded himself for not being happier about his little girl getting married. But that was just it- she was his little girl, no one else's. Anthony had no right to take her away like that.
But Johanna had wanted to be taken. She loved Anthony. Grudgingly Sweeney admitted to himself that maybe it was what was best for his daughter. That still didn't make it hurt any less. It didn't seem fair that the one thing that was his was taken as soon as he regained it. Now nothing was left for the no-longer-demonic barber of Fleet Street.
Or maybe he did have something. Mrs. Lovett still loved him, after all. Did he love her back? Was she just a friend, an acquaintance, an annoyance that had to be dealt with? Sweeney abruptly stood up and began pacing.
True, he had kissed her. True, he had enjoyed it. But did that mean he loved her? If he did love her, what should he do next? Should he tell her, or wait to see if he really did love her? Did it even matter?
Sweeney turned and began to walk back in the direction if he had come from, following the tracks his feet had made all these sleepless nights all these many, many months. Just as he turned to begin the loop again, he felt a sudden weightlessness and then everything went black.
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Mrs. Lovett was downstairs feeding Toby when she heard the thump. "Toby, love," she said anxiously, "now you just stay 'ere, an' I'll see wot Mr. T's doing, all right?"
The boy nodded. "Yes'm, I'll stay right 'ere an' wait for you."
She beamed and kissed his cheek before going out the front door and up the steps. She knocked on the door. When no one came, she opened it and called, "Mr. T? Where are you?"
No answer came. Now Mrs. Lovett was really worried. "Mr. T? I ain't playing games wiv you. Where are you?"
Still nothing. She walked in and squinted around the dark room. She noticed a dark lump in the middle of the floor. Hurrying over, she found that the lump was Sweeney, with a dark bruise spreading across his forehead and a gash on his temple, still dripping crimson blood. Mrs. Lovett gasped. "Oh, Mr. T, you clumsy, useless thing, you've gone an' tripped over nothing!"
She reached into the pocket of her apron and extracted a white handkerchief. Carefully she dabbed at the cut on his head until the bleeding stopped. Then she sat there and waited until the barber came to.
He did so only a few minutes later. "What happened?" he asked groggily. "Where am I?"
He struggled to sit
up. Wincing, he felt his forehead. "Ow!"
Mrs. Lovett soothed
him gently. "It's all right, Mr. T. You're up 'ere in your
shop. You tripped."
Sweeney sighed. "I remember."
"Wot were you doing?"
"Thinking."
Mrs.
Lovett sighed and patted his head, careful not to touch the bruise.
"That's all you've been doing lately, love. Is that why you
were mad at me this morning?"
"I was thinking about you."
She sighed and stroked his hand very gently. "Mr. T, you've got to stop thinking an' start doin' something. You've kept your shop closed since the day we opened! Maybe all you need is a vacation."
A/N: Okay, so maybe they're not at the sea yet. That'll be next chapter, I promise!