Growing

"Are you still hungry?" he asked, but she shook her head with a soft smile, the first one he had seen in…he could 't actually remember the last time he recalled her smiling like this—as though she was happy.

ONE AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

In the weeks that had passed, something grew between the couple. It was nothing big or immediately noticeable to the eye; they continued their tradition of silence, their ordinary routines, but Mr. Todd found himself seeing little things about his wife that he liked. Her hair, for one. Since he had washed it, he had a secret little longing to touch it again. He liked the way she hummed while she cleaned when she thought he wasn't listening. He liked the way she had a thousand different smiles, from the slow and soft smile that lingered around her lips when she was contented to the open-mouthed laughing smile. He was still quiet, still a little solemn and serious, but he could feel himself growing, changing. He had once been an empty flowerpot and now there was something sprouting from the once-barren earth of his heart. Though earlier in life it may have bothered the demon barber, this Sweeney Todd was not that man any longer. That man was driven by blood and revenge, and Sweeney was at a point where he no longer knew himself. He had lost everything long ago and it seemed that he was getting it back. He would never go back to being Benjamin Barker, but perhaps he could be wholly human again.

They had supper as usual. Tonight it was potatoes, onions, and cabbage. The weather was cooling down and it was already early October. The sea had turned from a royal blue to a roaring grey-brown. Their cottage, which had seemed so quaint and perfect, less than a quarter mile from the shore and in full view of the ocean, was becoming chillier. Mr. Todd had begun to patch up cracks in the walls and to stuff old newspapers between the outer and inner walls to insulate the place. Nellie had long since canned the fruits and vegetables of summer, hung the herbs in the rafters, braided leeks, peppers and onions. The potatoes were in a small root cellar, another of Mr. Todd's projects. It seemed that he was finding himself in making things. While beforehand he had taken lives, this building and fixing seemed to soothe his soul.

His pale fingers refused to callous, and he knew that the tourist season was over so there was little use in trimming hair in their little town; people cut their own hair, it was only the visitors that sought tonsorial parlors. Instead, he had taken to carving driftwood into little shapes. Not with his precious razors of course; he had an affiliation with knives of all sorts and procuring knives for carving was not a problem. His hands were a little less soft, but still remained uncalloused, still not the hands of a working man. He was thinking about the piece of driftwood he had found earlier that morning, now sitting on the back porch. He had noticed that like people, wood wanted to be something and that carving it was just helping it be in the shape it was meant to be. He thought that this particular piece was meant to be a dolphin, maybe a whale.

They ate in pleasant silence with the calm air of two people comfortable enough to not require a steady stream of chatter. He did the dishes and went out back to begin work on the piece of driftwood and she came out to sit on the steps beside him, her knitting needles clicking as she constructed a blanket square. The waves ebbed and flowed hypnotically, the soft shushing hiss of the ocean providing a soothing soundtrack to their evening activities. Per his personality, Mr. Todd was one hundred percent focused on what he was doing. The demon barber's drive had not waned, it was merely redirected.

He thought to himself that carving wood was not the same as cutting hair; he liked the snip of the scissors, the gentle swish of the razor, the smell of shaving cream and aftershave. Under his blade, the dorsal fin of the dolphin came into shape, and he thought of his shining silver friends. He shaved his own face every morning, but he missed his tonsorial parlor in London. Not the killing, mind you, but the shaving, trimming hair. He had seen enough blood in this lifetime. It was as he had this thought that his knife slipped, tearing a gash in the dolphin. An odd knot in the wood meant that this was never going to be a dolphin, that the wood wanted to be something else. With the gash there, torn open the way it was, he wasn't sure if it would be anything anymore. Disappointed, he set the half-finished dolphin on the porch, setting it next to the door and out of the way. There was another scrap of driftwood next to it, untouched by a knife, worn smooth by the sand and sea. He picked it up and turned it over and over in his hands, getting a feel for the wood.

It was worn, full of soft curves and with a sort of twist at the top. He stared silently at it, contemplating what it was going to be. Setting the knife down, he merely fiddled with it for a while, looking over every nuance. The sky grew dark and Mrs. Todd got up, returning with a candle. She set it between them silently and a smile flickered momentarily in one corner of his mouth until he turned his attention back to the wood. They sat that way for a while until Mrs. Todd gave a little gasp.

Her husband looked up immediately.

"What is it, Nell?" He hadn't meant to say that, but she didn't seem to notice, pointing at the sea. In the waves, little lights twinkled, like stars of the surf. He smiled; he had seen this before, on the ship that took him away so long ago, and the one that brought him back. Standing, he began to walk towards the ocean and she scrambled to her feet, following.

They drew closer and stood, letting the water run over their toes. The waves sparkled and glowed, farther out so that the lights died before they reached the shore. Smiling delightedly, Mrs. Todd leaned against her husband, wrapping an arm around his waist. Startled, he jumped a little, whipping his head to look at her. Serenely, she smiled back at him, and then returned her attention to the sea. He shrugged, wrapping an arm around her shoulders; it was more comfortable than standing there with his arm squished between their bodies. Her eyes were wide with wonder as she smiled, enchanted by the blue-glowing waves. As she watched the waves, he watched her. A light breeze blew a stray curl into her face and he was unable to stop himself from tucking it behind her ear once more, cool fingers resting for a moment on her warm cheek.

Startled by the unexpected touch, she turned to look at him, confused for a moment. But there was something in his eyes, the openness of his face at that moment. She had loved him for so long and it hardly seemed possible that he cared now. She was aware that her breathing had quickened, though surely he would think it was the magical light in the ocean. He nervously licked his lips and her eyes fastened themselves on them. Tearing her eyes away, she turned them back to the waves. In these months, this time spent with him, she had learned incredible patience. He was not ready to love her yet, and she had learned, though painfully, not to force him. She had learned to forgive him. And she had learned that she could be happy even without him with her all the time, that she did not need him to be happy, that she herself was enough.

It didn't take a lot of concentration to look at the waves instead; they were enchanting, alien and strange lights where there oughtn't be any. But she could feel him there, looking at her, his warm arm across her shoulders. His cool fingertips brushed another stray curl from her cheek and she leaned closer to him, nestling her body against his. There was so much that she wished could happen, but…there would always be something.

He brushed a curl from her cheek, felt her inhale sharply. And he realized with a great deal of surprise that he wanted something more. He wanted human touch, wanted to feel something more. Ever-so-carefully, he pulled his arm from her shoulders, stepped away. She let him pull away, and he recalled that in London she would have clung to him. She had not changed as much as mellowed; she was still undeniably the same Nellie Lovett he had known for all these years. Slowly, cautiously, he turned to face her, placed a gentle hand on her cheek. She looked up at him, her eyes cautious, a mixture of affection and uncertainty.

He licked his lips again, trying to find the words…she was staring at his mouth. Her eyes flicked up to his for a moment, and returned, as though drawn there, to his mouth. He swallowed as her hands tentatively slipped around his waist. Looking down at her, he noted she was biting her lower lip, a nervous habit of hers. Her lips were red, contrasting her pale skin. He drew a little closer, unable to think of anything but her. Her eyes were still locked on his mouth. Thoughts raced through his head like runaway carriages. Could he kiss her? Would she like it? Would he like it? Did her lips taste like cloves and gin, like they had that night weeks ago? Could she feel his heart beating? Did he want this, really want this?

He lowered his head a little, with the careful hesitancy of a surgeon or a man about to kiss a beautiful woman. Their faces were inches apart. He could smell her breath, like the apple she had eaten after dinner and a hint of caramelized onion. It was sweet and natural and very her. He licked his lips again, eyes locked on her mouth, lips slightly parted. No longer was there even a question of whether or not he wanted this. She pressed her body carefully against his.

His heart was racing, breath ragged, mind jumbled and confused and no longer really thinking. He could feel her heartbeat, like a rabbit's, racing against his chest. She smelled like flour and apples and herbs. Her curls were tousled from the breeze. There was a little smear of flour on her left cheek. Her eyes were searching his, looking for something he didn't know if he had for her. Her hands traced lines of fire up his sides and around his neck. Now was the moment, the key time. He had her here, wanted her closer, needed to feel her lips on his. He pulled her even closer to him, her body burning into him, her smell intoxicating in his nose. This was it. This had to be it. Taking a raggedy breath, Sweeney Todd licked his lips once more…

Sorry everyone, but I'm going to cliff-hang this. I know, I know. It gives you the enormous desire to shoot me repeatedly in the foot until I write more, but I did it anyway. If you review, I can promise a supremely excellent next chapter. But you must review. It makes me a better writer and is an ego boost besides. IF YOU WANT ANOTHER CHAPTER, REVIEW ME!