Kidney Pie – Part … Oh bugger, I've lost count.

So… It's been a while. Yeah.

Please don't kill me. I'd make an awful pie.

"Sounds Very Romantic"

"Mr. Todd!" Sweeney cringed as the door crashed against the shop's wall and Anthony's too-high voice pierced the empty room. "You wanted to see me? Is it about Johanna?"

"No." Gritting his teeth, the barber could already feel his head start to ache. He pressed one hand to his throbbing temple, the fingers of his other hand wrapping tightly around the silver razor he had just been stropping. "Do you always try to break down doors?"

"Sorry, sir." The boy stood anxiously behind the barber chair. His uncertain brown eyes made him look like an overgrown puppy dog. It was sickening. "I thought, maybe, you had…"

"No, Anthony." Mr. Todd had to fight with the next words. There was no way this was happening, no way he needed to ask this moron for advice. For a moment, he almost changed his mind and chose his pride over Mrs. Lovett. But then he pictured the baker all rumpled, manhandled, and the Ripper's smug smile. "I need your help."

"You – Mr. Todd!? – My help?" The sailor's sad eyes grew even wider.

"Yes." The fingers closed around the razor's handle started to drum impatiently on its engraved sides. "I need your advice…" Was it normally this hard to speak? "On how to…" Damn it! "How to tell a woman I love her."

Now the dim, staring eyes lit up, excited. "Oh! Mr. Todd, congratulations! I didn't think – Who is it?"

"Mrs. Lovett." Sweeney felt his headache get worse.

"I'm so glad for you-"

"Anthony!" The fingers of his free hand worked at the edges of his dark hair, trying to rub the pain out of his skull. "Just tell me what to do."

The sailor's young brow furrowed for a moment. "Sing her a love song." He smiled a big, stupid smile. "Sing it under her window at night."

Sweeney almost cringed at the image of himself crooning the baker's name outside her dusty shop window. "I don't think so."

"Well…" Anthony thought hard, walking around to sit heavily in the deadly chair. "With Johanna…" Oh, no. "I just look at her. All the time."

"What?"

"I just look at her." Those puppy dog eyes drifted dreamily to the window above the barber's head. "I like to think it shows her I'm always there for her."

This idiot is not marrying Johanna. Trying hard not to scowl, Sweeney put the razor very carefully down. "What else?"

"Just try and show her how much you care."

Sweeney stared hard at the sailor. Show her I care… That might be hard. And anyway, maybe it wasn't worth it. He glanced doubtfully at the floor, imagining living above Mr. and Mrs. Jack and Eleanor Ripper instead of his own Nellie Lovett.

It was worth it.

"I'll send 'em howling."

It was in the middle of the noontime rush that it first occurred to Toby that the man standing at the edge of the courtyard had been there for quite a long time. At first he though the dark figure lingering, half-hidden by the wall, was only the old beggar woman, but she was dead and much too small and never wore a black coat or top hat. But there were pies to serve and mugs to fill, and he had to let his curiosity wait.

As the afternoon flew by, though, he couldn't help but glance at that corner. At every look, the lingerer grew more monstrous. It was a bogey man, a nightmare, staring around the edge of the soot-stained brick. His intent blue eyes blazed from under a hanging thatch of dark brown hair, and that wicked stare was fixed on him. He reminded the boy of the brooding Mr. Todd. He shuddered, making the mug of ale on his tarnished tray slosh and spill.

"Boy!" Toby turned quickly to the woman waving to him, pausing only to set the mug down quickly beside the man who'd ordered it. "Another pie, please!"

"Yes, ma'am." He ran, forcing his gaze to the ground as he raced around Mrs. Lovett's bustling patrons towards the pie shop itself. The baker herself was standing for a moment at the counter, smiling as Mrs. Horace, the tailor's wife, spoke. Turning to her helper as he approached, she looked so tired.

"Another one, love?" She picked up a steaming pie, her thin white fingers lightly pressed against the hot crust as she placed it on his tray. "Fresh out of the oven."

"Thank you, mum."

"And be sure you stop and have one yourself once it slows down a bit." Toby gave her grin as he backed out, hearing over the bell's bright jangling Mrs. Lovett's voice saying something like "that's my angel." He smiled wider, even as he turned and his eyes shot over the crowded chaos of the yard to the far corner. But it was finally empty. Perhaps, he though, it was another hint of the magic his new mum had worked in his life.

Until a hand fell on his shoulder, making him squeal as he was spun around and pulled back toward the pie shop's grimy walls. Towering over him was his shadow man. His lean face, almost as white as the collar of his shirt, and the long black coat that hung off his skeletal frame made him look like a ghost. Or a fiend. His blues eyes flashed with a feverish light as he gave what might have been an encouraging smile. Toby felt his hands start to tremble, making the hot pie slide across its scratched surface until the stranger's long fingers, sticking out of the mangled remains of stained white gloves, stopped it at the edge. "Easy now, lad." The man stooped, crouching to look the boy in the face. "There, no, you're a good boy, yeah? What's your name?"

"T-tobias, sir."

"Ah, that's a nice name for a good hard-working boy. Are you Mrs. Lovett's son?"

"Yes, sir. I mean no, sir, not really. She sort of took me in…"

"Well, that's good enough. Listen, tell your mum for me, when you get the chance, that her friend Jack – remember that- has something for her. Something nice, tell her." The wild eyes searched his face. "You got that?" Toby nodded. "I'll see you later, pal. Keep up the good work." Toby almost fainted as soon as Jack's back was turned.

"Four and Whore Rhyme Alright"

"What's wrong, dearie?" The last few pennies of the day were in Nellie's hand as she finished her final count, but she was looking not at the stacks of copper and silver on the counter, but at Toby. The boy glanced nervously at the shop's closed door as he swept the floor.

"Nothing, mum." He studiously watched the vanishing dust and crumbs for a minute, but then glanced quickly toward to door again. "Do you think we should lock the door now, mum?"

It was getting late, but Mrs. Lovett looked hard at her helper, setting down the coins. "Alright, what aren't you telling me, hm? Why so anxious? "

"No reason , mum, only…" He peered over his shoulder at the window, as if he suspected he would see someone looking in. "There was this man…"

"What do you mean a man?" She couldn't help but smile at her overprotective little boy. "Lots of men come in here."

"He was watching the shop for hours! He told me to say he was a friend of yours, and that he was going to bring you something, but he looked so…"

Oh no. The warmth she felt for Toby's sweet concern faded a bit. I should've known he wouldn't be so easy to get rid of. "He didn't have a top hat, did he?"

Both their eyes leapt to the door as the bells let out a faint jingle. Toby gasped as a familiar, top-hatted head peeked uncertainly around the edge of the door.

"Hello, Jack."

"Good evening, Mrs. Lovett." The Ripper edged a little further into the shop, his mad eyes darting nervously around the kitchen. "May I come in?"

Nellie nodded. "Brought me something to cook, did you?" Her little helper moved carefully back towards her as Jack stepped out from behind the door. "It's alright, Toby. Jack's a friend. Why don't you go sit in the parlor, love."

"Wait now, I've brought something for him, too." Jack leapt forward as Toby started for the next room, making the boy stop in his tracks.

"What- ? Sir? For me?" The boy and baker both looked at the killer in astonishment as he fumbled in his coat pocket.

"Of course for you. 'Cause I seen what busy little man you were today, what a good help to his mummy." He pulled out a small package, wrapped in green paper. "Every good lad deserves a nice present." Toby accepted the parcel with trembling fingers.

"Take it in the other room, love, so we can have a nice chat, Jack and I." Mrs. Lovett wasn't sure she still felt as hostile as she sounded. The Ripper looked at her uncertainly as Toby ran for the shelter of the little sitting room.

"Are you still mad at me?"

"What do you think?" Actually, she wasn't sure what to think herself, since Sweeney actually seemed strangely more considerate to her since he had caught her with Jack. She even thought she had seen his watching her from the rickety landing or his wide shop window while she worked.

"I hope I didn't make any trouble for you…" Doffing his worn out hat, Jack stood like a penitent schoolboy in the middle of the empty kitchen. And this is the Fiend of Whitechapel. She almost laughed.

"No, you didn't."

"Oh, good!" His manner brightened in a heartbeat as he crossed the space between them with the speed of a shifting shadow. "'Cause I brought you something special. And it's not even innards, this time." She couldn't help grinning as Jack drew a folded piece of paper from his breast pocket. "I wrote you a poem to tell you how much I love you. I'll read it, listen.

"Your hair is red like blood at night

Your skin is like the fog so white

And like a dash from Scotland Yard

You make my heart beat fast and hard.

I think of you while I'm at work

And while in alleyways I lurk,

And even when I kill a whore

It only makes me want you more."

Mrs. Lovett tried to strangle a chuckle. How perfect. Jack's mad blue eyes left the paper to meet hers for a second. He must have heard the smothered laugh.

"I love your eyes' dark, cunning gleam.

I love your body, soft and lean.

I love your dainty hands so small.

I love your lips, but most of all,

I love your throat, with pulsing life.

I long to stroke it with my…"

Those tell-tale eyes glanced away again as Jack paused. "…hand." Nellie stared at him, stunned. And impressed. "It really does say 'hand.'"

"That…" She fought for a moment to keep her smile from spreading, but gave up. Why not? After all, who else ever wrote her a love poem? Albert, poor thing, just didn't have the brains for it and Mr. Todd… "That is possibly the most romantic thing anybody has done for me."

A grin split the Ripper's narrow features as he eyed her with an absurd bashfulness. "Does that mean I can stay another night?"

Drawing herself up, the baker wagged a finger at him with half-pretend severity. "I have a business to run, don't you forget. And I'm still sore from the last time you decided to pay me a little visit. If you stay, you'll have to sleep by the fire with Toby."

"I'd sleep on the cold ground outside for you, Eleanor!"

"Yeah, I'm sure you would, love." Mrs. Lovett walked around the counter and put a flour-stained hand on the Jack's shoulder to push him lightly towards the parlor. The fire in the other room had been burning for some time, and it was already quite warm. "Not exactly the lap of luxury, but I suppose you'll be too tired to care, since I hear you've been busy stalking me all day." The Ripper flashed her a crooked smile as she shoved him playfully to a battered old chair by the hearth.

"Sorry, love. A chap just can't help himself."

"Well, you'd better behave yourself tonight. I won't have you corrupting my poor Toby." She glanced over to the boy. Sitting on his couch, a stunned Toby still clutched a brand new switch-blade knife, the remnants of its torn green wrapping scattered in his lap. Nellie gave her guest a look, but could only shake her head as she walked away. "Goodnight, boys."

XXXXX

My apologies for taking so bloody long. I have finished both my semester at school and my serious Jack the Ripper story. Which turned out pretty darn good. I will not be posting it anywhere, as I have further plans for it and would not like it to be hijacked. Yes, I'm a tad paranoid. But – I think most people here who review my work regularly are trustworthy folks and I would be willing to show you it if you like. I'd warn you, though, that the style is different and It. Is. Not. Funny. It is actually downright sad.

If you'd like to see it, either put your email address in your review or email me at reedstalker at yahoo dot com.

Otherwise, thanks to everybody for wishing me luck and for reading, and Merry Christmas, folks.