Setting: Before the death of Turpin or Lucy, late at night, the ending of winter.
Summary: After a horrible Valentine's Day, Nellie cannot sleep, and neither can Sweeney.
It was half past twelve when Nellie turned slowly in her bed, shivering under her light quilt of maroon. A crisp breeze had drifted from the cracks of her window sill to chill the air and nip at her nose. Much to her displeasure, it was yet another night of bitter cold, and Nellie searched desperately for warmth underneath her petty blanket.
With sleepy deliberation she opened her eyes, heart heavy with disappointment. It was snowing again, large flakes of white twirling downward, forlorn and dismal in the darkness. In the silence, the baker was wide awake, and yet so fatigued, struggling with something beyond her control. Nellie had tried so hard to be forgiving and compassionate today, waiting and yearning for the attention she deserved. She had tried endlessly to open her arms to the barber's bitter disposition, offering him her heart with every glance, every touch, every spoken word. Why was it so impossible to break through such a vulnerable wall of regret and anger? Why wasn't she able to bring Sweeney back to life- to bring Benjamin back to life?
Turning over again, Nellie felt a sob build up in the back of her throat, her eyes stinging, lip quivering. She couldn't understand times were so difficult for her, when it was she who was loyal and loving, she who put everyone else before herself. Was it possible for anybody to love her in return?
She sniffed and buried her face into her pillow, thoughts returning to the unbearable cold of her bedroom. Despite every heated glare and unfeeling command, Nellie hoped that the barber on the floor below wasn't as cold as she.
It was getting far too late for such worries, she concluded, and another day of unrequited passion awaited her in the morning.
Reluctantly, Nellie yawned and felt herself drifting away, falling into a troubled slumber, when a strange noise broke the silence. She lifted her head, brown eyes watery, straining to hear. The noise became louder, and it took Nellie all of two seconds to recognize the helpless wails of Toby in the parlor down the hall. He usually slept on her small couch by the fire as the crackling of the logs put him to sleep.
Fearful, the baker pushed back the quilt and drew quickly from bed. The floor was like ice on her bare feet as she tottered across the room, fumbling for her robe. She slung it over her shoulders and left her chambers, padding quickly around the corner.
He was calling her name now, and Nellie squinted in the darkness. "Toby love, what is it?" she asked, voice laden with concern as she lit the candle she kept on top of her harmonium. The bracing chill of the air hit her skin and she slid her arms through the sleeves of her robe, tying it tightly around her waist. In the dimness of the candlelight, she approached the couch to find a quivering Toby, his face wet with tears.
"H-He was comin' a-after me, mum!" he sobbed, "He said 'e was gonna beat me till I couldn't move!" Completely shaken with fear, the boy sat up and grasped Nellie around the middle. Sitting next to him, Nellie shushed him gently and wiped his tears. Her heart broke every night he had the nightmares; apparently they were all horrid and they plagued the boy's mind with visions of hate and violence.
Wanting to protect him, Nellie held him close and kissed the top of his head. "It's all over now, dear, it's all over. I'm 'ere now, Nellie's 'ere now."
He trembled in her arms. "They u-used to threaten me a-all the time at the workhouse," he said, voice wobbly, "b-but they didn't mean it. This was d-different! They were r-really gonna do it this time, mum!" Tears flowed down his cheeks and Nellie shifted to cup his chin with her hand.
"Nothings ever going to 'urt you again, Toby," she whispered, wiping away his tears away with her thumb, "Nothing can touch ya when you're with me, you know that. You're safe here with me an' Mr. T."
Nodding, Toby closed his eyes and cried into her robe. "I-It was so real."
"Oh, my poor darlin'," Nellie sighed, her voice pained. "You stay right 'ere with me till ya feel better, hmm?"
Toby hiccuped a cry and tried to calm down, scooting over so he could lay his head on her lap. With a sad smile, Nellie retrieved his blanket from the floor and tucked it around him. Sinking back into the couch, she sighed as she combed her fingers through his unruly hair. Very slowly, the boy ceased his trembling and he began to breathe deeply. Relieved, she let her gaze settle upon the burning embers that remained in the fireplace across from her, unaware of whose eyes were fixed upon her from the shadows.
Sweeney was a cold-hearted, angry man. Horrible and ghastly things no longer phased him, not a flinch to cross his face, not a gasp from his lips. He had accepted his fate, his anger. He had centered his focus quite perfectly upon his raging vengeance, proudly, his thoughts containing only those of frightened eyes and choking screams. He held this very closely to himself, this acclaimed personality, and he drowned himself in it. Yes, he was indeed a cold-hearted, furious man.
And as he watched Mrs. Lovett from the hallway, her brown eyes full of sadness and pain, her small, delicate fingers as they combed softly around Toby's curls, Sweeney struggled with his mindset of hatred.
Sleep did not come easily for the demon, rightfully so, and he had become used to taking nightly strolls to pass the hours of silence. Sweeney was on his way downstairs when he heard Mrs. Lovett with Toby, her voice soft and caring. Her voice, right then, had reminded him so much of his Lucy when Johanna couldn't sleep. This memory struck Sweeney so deeply and he was unable to move. All he could do was stare wordlessly as the woman tended to the child, patiently and compassionate, so warm.
All at once, the woman was no longer sitting with the boy, but moving towards him, still unaware of his presence, but Sweeney was in a trance. He had longed for the familiar compassion once held by his wife, and he didn't care about anything else. His mind was racing in circles, now seeing through the fog all of the same love and forgiveness this dark-eyed woman had offered him all day, all year. The barber couldn't move, overwhelmed.
Nellie struggled to keep her eyes open as she approached the hallway, looking forward to her bed, despite the harsh cold. She had only taken a step into the darkness of the hallway when she was pulled close and embraced, lips pressed gently to hers. Half-asleep, Nellie tried to understand her surroundings but instead melted in the cold but loving embrace.
When the man pulled back, Nellie gasped, breathless, only to feel hot breath on her ear, following the raspy whisper,
"Happy Valentine's Day."
Well, I haven't written anything in a long time, so hopefully this doesn't reek of ugliness. I will do a proper look-over for anything worded strangely; I just wrote this with me running on two hours of sleep. My apologies. Please review?