Setting: Late evening, almost night. In the parlor.

Summary: I long over-due request for a sleepy!Sweeney. My apologies. I wrote this in about twenty minutes last night.

Part V: Hush

Bliss, thought Nellie, hands clasped tightly in her lap, fire flickering softly in her brown eyes. Such bliss.

Coyly, she slid her gaze to the right, without moving her head, catching the smallest of glimpses. The baker was giddy now, and she looked back to the gulping flames of her fireplace.

Bringing him downstairs wasn't easy, of course. Even after her countless pleads, it was only the promise of gin that had coaxed him into breaking his glare from the empty streets, the empty window.

"Gin, you say?" It was an attempt at speech for a man in such deep thought, so the grumbling words had flustered Nellie.

Tugging on his sleeve, gently first, then with a sudden urgency, "Yes, lots of gin, love," she had squealed in a high, breathy voice. Smirking, she looped her arm around his and began to steer him in the direction of the door. "Come, dearie," she whispered, and he nodded vaguely, face still turned in the direction of the streets.

Now, baker upright and perky, barber slumped and sipping gin from the bottle, the two were settled on the petty loveseat, and the crackling of the wood mingled in the air.

Too excited to relax, Nellie snuck another glance at her tenant; if possible, his hair was even more disheveled than usual, the back of his hair sticking up because he had slid downward into the couch. Deadly face impassive and weary, the murderer looked bored, bringing the bottle to his lips again. The man didn't wince nor flinch after taking a large gulp, having grown accustomed to the strength of alcohol with his experience at sea. Slowly, Mr. Todd licked his lips, entrancing Nellie, and as he brought the bottle down onto his knee again, those pale lips parted, "Your parents didn't raise you very well," he slurred.

Blinking rapidly, Nellie looked back to the fire, heat rising into her cheeks. An innocent smile on her lips, she turned to face him again. "Hmm?"

Shifting a little, Mr. Todd cleared his throat, "It's impolite to stare."

A nervous laugh, "I wasn't staring Mr. T." She had been.

He didn't answer. Frustrated, Nellie snatched the bottle from his hand and, on impulse, sucked down three quick mouthfulls. Shuddering, her shaking hand placed the bottle back into his hand, her smile struggling.

Sweeney snorted, but it sounded funny, almost like a stretch of breath, or a halfhearted chuckle. Then it dawned on her.

Excitement back, Nellie shifted in her seat, maybe a little too quickly, and placed both of her hands on his shoulder. Batting her eyelashes, she leaned toward his ear. "Yer tired, Mr. T."

He shook her off his shoulder and murmured something about her lack of sanity. The eyes that had been drooping were now wide, forced to be open and more alert under the gaze of the smitten woman.

She only scooted closer, placing her chin atop his shoulder. "We both know that ye would like nothin' more than ta fall into a deep, deep sleep," she cooed lowly, one side of her mouth tugging upward.

Blinking hard, Sweeney struggled, his intense stare dimming away. She flicked her gaze down to his lips again, now that she was close. How soft they would be against hers. Nellie shook this from her head, deciding that it wouldn't be smart considering their proximity. Reaching outward, she smoothed down his hair with gentle fingers, her breath laced heavily with his gin. "Love," she began, her voice soft like a hum, but she lost her words, her own eyes drooping.

The fire was dimming away, too, and the light in the parlor was only a slight yellow glow. Scooping her legs onto the couch, Nellie took a chance and leaned her head against his shoulder, snuggling her curls into his grey jacket.

Sweeney stiffened, having already felt awkward before, and there was a little frown in between his eyebrows. "Mrs. Lovett..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm not a mattress."

"Sorry? I can't make out ye words," she yawned on purpose, and it sounded real as she nestled closer. "Why don't cha rest yer eyes, eh?" Her voice was soft.

Nellie heard him sigh harshly, and she knew that he was struggling with his irritation, but the yawn that escaped his lips settled her worries. "Sleep is immaterial," he mumbled.

She giggled softly into his arm, quite cozy. "You're silly."

Without her knowing, Sweeney flicked his glare to her head, her reddish curls fuzzy in the dull light. Once she fell silent, breathing too deeply, he rolled his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he moved his arm out from under her and let her head fall gently onto his lap. He slumped further into the couch, black eyes catching the remaining sparks of the fireplace, before finishing his gin and placing it on the table in front of him.

Great. Now he couldn't move. The sounds of his slumbering landlady drew him deeper into the blackness of the parlor, and before he knew it, his eyes were closed, but only for a moment, of course.

The sun awoke them both the next morning.