XXXXXXX

In the warm, dim darkness of Mrs. Lovett's living room, Jack picked restlessly at a patch sewn into his warn out black vest. He had already undone the thread along one frayed edge as he tried to while away the deadly dull hours since the baker had sat him down and gone straight to her own bed. He never had seen her bedroom yet. Oh, what I could do in a nice bedroom, with no witnesses, no filthy cops walking by. His tired mind flooded with scarlet images, impulses that raced, grating, along his nerves and made his long fingers ache for his knife. He could feel it. He had spread his thin coat over him, and the knife lay against his leg through the cloth of the pocket he kept it in.

He wondered idly what Eleanor wore to bed, and whether she would wake up if he crept down the hallway. He wondered how much she would struggle if he cut her pale, soft body before he slit her throat.

No! Not her. Blinking the bloody thought away, he shook his head hard. Pies, Jack! The pies were good. Eleanor was better. But he hadn't ripped anyone since that beggar. Even as he forced himself to relax, his hands were all but twitching in their eagerness for more work.

Eleanor was worth it. She had better be.

XXXXXXX

The moon glared down between the thick, clotted knots of cloud that drifted slowly over London, casting ghostly shadows through the window of Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor. The barber himself stared at the twisting little shades as he sat in his wicked chair. He had been up all night thinking of the baker sleeping under the scuffed, moon-dusted floorboards. He had tried all day to watch her, and although he thought she had seen him, she hadn't said anything about it when she'd brought him his supper. So much for Anthony's watching.

Whatever he did, it would have to be fast. Every day she spent thinking of that bloody Ripper made his hatred well up a little higher. Mrs. Lovett had to be his before it overflowed.

"Sing her a love song…" But he didn't know any. He had forgotten them all too long ago to dredge the words up out of his memories.

"Just show her you care…" He was afraid that, too, required a set of lyrics he'd lost, although he tried to remember them until the gray light of dawn began to glaze his window.

"Can't wait to start again."

"Oh, bugger. I forgot you were here." Jack tried to restrain his anxiously tapping heel as that exclamation interrupted the steady stream of mumbling from the kitchen. The baker's perfect form was silhouetted in the doorway, and as he stood to meet her he saw the light from the kitchen falling on flashing patches in her black dress. And on the bare white flesh of her shoulders. The Ripper felt his jaw drop open, but couldn't quite close it. The top she had worn the night he first stumbled into her shop hadn't shown half so much soft, unscarred skin. "Jack?"

He stepped forward, still staring. He thought of the night he came back, of her body pressed between his and the counter. He thought of her smile when he read her the poem.

He thought of her guts thrown across the floor of her shop, her heart still warm in his hand, her

blood trickling down his arm. No.

Not her. Not yet. He had to get out. He looked frantically around the confines of the little shop, but Fleet Street was already lined with hungry customers waiting for the shop to open. There was no chance of an unobtrusive exit that way, no escape from the bloody beauty in front of him. Set in the far wall, behind the counter, a heavy iron door hung half-open, revealing nothing but darkness behind it. It wasn't an escape, but if he could hide until he found a way to slip away from the shop, it would be better than spending the day staring at Eleanor and wishing

You stay out of there!" He heard the baker's steps running close behind, but he had already started down the steps. He almost flew down, leaving her to dash through the echoes of his flight. "I don't let nobody down in the bakehouse!"

She almost ran into the Ripper as he stood staring at the reeking chamber he had escaped to. Yesterday's pies waited cold on a long table. Other workbenches were piled with rotting limbs and entrails or thick with rancid, clotted blood.

It was heaven.

"Brought you some breakfast, love."

For the first time in a long time, the first stirrings of the crowd on Fleet Street weren't enough to hold Sweeney's attention on his shop's great window. A glance at the door had worked itself subtly into his morning's lonely rhythm. He was waiting for Mrs. Lovett.

She usually brought him breakfast by now. He didn't mind the food being late. He didn't feel much like eating anyway, and the thought of forcing down a plate of toast and eggs to flatter the baker only made him feel worse. But he could only worry when she didn't appear.

What if she never does? Would it mean she had finally forgotten him?

He shook the thought off, picking up instead the soap mug full of hot water from the kettle to work up a lather for his next customer, smiling as the suds heaved violently around the brush and spilled over the mug's chipped sides. The sooner that customer came, the better. A little blood might do him good.

Or a little breakfast.

She's not already working, is she? Crossing to his chair, he pushed the lever flat and listened. Somewhere below, the hollow chop of a meat cleaver drifted up from below. She couldn't… He listened longer, heard the sound of steel meeting flesh grow sharper and faster. She didn't… The trapdoor swung shut with a groan. She has.

Sweeney stared hopelessly into the swirling dust that floated in the barbershop's stale air. He didn't turn even as the jingling bells above his door cheerily offered him fresh blood. He didn't hear the new arrival's voice, or the sound of a tray clattering as it was set down on his table. He was staring, lost.

Until Nellie's face came into his view, her hand resting on his arm. "Mr. T? Can you hear me? Are you alright?"

What!?

"Her Ardent and Eager Slave"

"Curse it!" Bracing his feet against the damp stone floor, Jack readjusted his grip on the handle of the massive grinder and gave it a heave. Slowly, the gears began to turn again inside the iron casing, gaining speed until he felt the blades halt again with a dull clank. Blasted machine! Pulling back again, he tried to force it through, but with no more success. "Look, you miserable, bloody cuss of a… of a thing…" The two corpses he had found in the cellar had long since gone stiff, and Mrs. Lovett insisted that they needed to go through the grinder three times. He hadn't even finished the first run when the damned thing had gotten stuck. Furious, he cranked the handle forward and back against the snag like a boy in a tantrum until he gave up and leaned instead against the contraption's filthy metal side. At that moment, there was nothing he hated more. "You behave yourself or I'll have you in pieces, you…""You've jammed it." Starting, the Ripper turned to see the barber standing behind him, tense anger written in his pale features.

"Have I?"

Taking off his fingerless gloves and rolling back his sleeves, Sweeney crossed to the meat grinder and knelt beside the massive tray of day-old corpse. "I'll take care of it."

Jack crept reluctantly back to the counter, its top still holding a rigid, contorted corpse, and watched carefully as Mr. Todd worked. The other man twisted and pulled away the iron ring that held together the machine's parts and removed the grinding plate to reach into the still blades. It seemed too strange to note his obvious familiarity with the device, as if it were an odd intimacy afforded only to Mrs. Lovett's partner-in-crime. "This is all your set up, then?"

"Yes."

Jack picked up a sharp kitchen knife from the table, idly inspecting its edge before sticking it forcefully into the corpse beside him. "It's nice and all." He twisted the handle, willing himself to look at the churning gore around the blade instead of the barber's back. "Always thought it'd be fun to work indoors. No witnesses, no police…" There was no reply. "Hard, though. Most of them whores haven't got any home."

"Pity." Sweeney stood and turned back, tossing the Ripper the item, that had been lodged in the grinder's blades. It was a badly mangled hand. Jack managed a dry chuckle.

"Must've been a little over eager." Staring again at Sweeney, he set the offending limb on the table. "Well, that's you done, eh, boss?"

"That's Todd. Sweeney Todd. And I think I should stay, don't you?"

"God, That's Good!"

"Delicious!"

"I can't believe these pies!"

"Can't you smell that!? Ooh!"

Surrounded by orders and the appreciation of her customers, it was easy for Mrs. Lovett to forget that there was one murderer above her shop and another below. There was simply no time to consider the problem of Jack the Ripper. Or whether he was a problem at all. He did make her feel rather nice, and if she had to wait for Sweeney anyway, why wait alone?

Carefully balancing a tray of pies, Nellie forced her way through the crowd, head high. She never got tired of this success. After fifteen years of failure, she needed every second of this.

"Oh, these pies are heaven!"

She'd been alone for just as long. Now she had Toby, and was so very close to having her Mr. Todd.

And Jack. For so many years, she couldn't even get anybody to set foot in her shop. And now she had someone she had to chase away, someone who actually wanted to be with her.

What's the harm, so long as he behaves himself… She looked up toward the barbershop's bleak window. …And Mr. Todd don't find out.

"My Funny Little Games"

As he worked, Sweeney tried to focus on the constant, muffled grinding of gears and squelching of churning meat, tried to ignore the Ripper's presence. It was harder to do than he had hoped. Every chop as cleaver met bone, every wet slap of flesh on the filthy countertop cut right through the steady noises of the grinder. As he slowly turned the handle, he found himself still staring at the back of his rival's shabby black vest.

Useless bastard. Jack chuckled as he used the heavy butcher's knife to splinter the second corpse's ribs. He obviously saw this as playtime. Sweeney scowled. I don't know what she sees in him. Hepaused his work to move to the other side of the grinder so that he faced the wall, but gritted his teeth as the Ripper laughed again.

Closing his eyes, he tried to focus, willing images of his revenge into his mind. No, better - Nellie. He pictured Mrs. Lovett there in the bakehouse, stripping the flesh from Judge Turpin's bones. Or maybe she should chop up Jack the Rip-

Splat!

Mr. Todd leapt away from the sound as a dark piece of flesh spattered against the metal beside his head. Behind him, his unwelcome companion tried to stifle a fit of laughter. "Sorry, old boss. Slippery things, spleens are." Sweeney turned a seething glare from the dripping projectile lying at the grinder's base to the laughing man behind him. This is it. The organ squished between his fingers as he snatched it from the floor and hurled it back at Jack and catching him right in the face.

For a second, the Ripper blinked at him, stunned, shaking blood and slime from his face. Then a wicked smile split his features. He all but dove into the carcass on the table, tearing out more organs. Sweeney couldn't help grinning himself as he reached for fistfuls of pie filling. See how you like it raw, Jack...

"Fresh Supplies?"

"Another pie here!"

"One for me, please!"

"When you get a moment, Nellie dear..."

The pie shop was mobbed. Once the afternoon rush had flooded in, Mrs. Lovett could barely even keep track of Toby through the tides of hungry guests. And before long, last night's batch of pies she'd brought up earlier from the bake-house would be gone before long.

Brushing a strand of loose hair out of her face, she stepped out into the yard with another tray of reheated pies. There were more in the little oven beneath her counter, but if the crowds didn't thin soon, she'd need to bake more. She had already rolled out great sheets of crust. But she'd need to go down and get the filling. Jack had better be keeping up. She didn't even know how many of Sweeney's customer's he'd have to deal with.

"Tuppeny pork, please, ma'am."

"Ale here! Where's that boy?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man start up the stairs to the barbershop. Only a minutes ago he'd ordered his third pie, and now he's go to Sweeney to have his greedy little throat cut. A little thrill pulsed through her; she felt so close to the barber, as if the man was a secret messenger between them.

But then, of course, he'd go straight down to Jack. She shook off the thought and tried to focus on handing out the pies. It didn't matter anyway, as long as Mr. Todd never knew.

Nellie had to look twice when she saw the man walk back across the busy courtyard, as rough about the chin as before.

Oh, bugger.

XXXXXXX

Splat! What Sweeney vaguely thought to be a lung bounced wetly off his shoulder as he ran for the shelter of the oven. With his back pressed against the hot, thick, steel, he listened to the sound of more innards hitting the front of the giant stove and the splattered fluids hissing on the metal door. Move, Jack. Come on out. A loud cracking sound echoed through the cellar, and in a moment the barber found himself watching the misshapen remains of a human brain slide down the wall in thick gray lumps. He smiled. The Ripper needed to crack skulls open, he was running out of ammunition. And to get more, he'd have to leave the cover of the counter. Come on, Jackie. Sweeney's waiting.

Slowly, very faintly, he heard footsteps move away out into the open center of the bakehouse. One...two... three... There was a pause. Another piece of meat bounced harmlessly off the oven. Four... five... Sweeney reached down and picked up a hand from the pile of mangled tidbits beside the oven. Jack must have been almost halfway across the room. ...seven...eight...nine... The hand's rotting skin oozed under his fingers as he shifted his grip, ready to throw. Ten... eleven...

Now! Leaping from his hiding place, he flung the hand as hard as he could. Jack startled, caught in his sneak attack, and the hand struck him squarely in his stomach with a muffled whump. "Oof!" Ducking back into his shelter, Sweeney fought back his first genuine laugh in a long time as the hand flew back at him. Outside, the footsteps flew now as Jack raced around the other side of the oven. With no room to dodge, Mr. Todd froze as his opponent leapt into sight swinging a tangle of intestine from the heap by the oven. Howling with laughter, he was gone again, leaving Sweeney to shake the green loops of gut from his hair.

Jack raced for the counter on the far side of the bakehouse and the reeking pile of ammunition it offered, but Sweeney flung the guts back at him and bolted as the strands wrapped and tangled around the Ripper's feet and made him fall. But Jack was still closer. As he ran, Mr. Todd saw his rival twist as he tried to rise, kicking the entrails off his ankles. He ran faster, almost crashing into the table top as he arrived a split second before Jack flung himself the last leap.

Panting, Sweeney stared at his opponent, at the wild blue eyes fixed on his own. Both combatants' hair were stiff and caked with blood and the slime of rotting meat. Both their pale faces and rolled back sleeves were spattered with the same dark gore. And they both grinned as they sized each other up. Sweeney couldn't help but admit that Jack was a lot of fun. And I'll have a lot more fun killing him.

The undeclared truce shattered as suddenly as it stared. Sweeney plunged both hands into the mound of meat and shoved whole handfuls straight into the Ripper's face. How do you like kidneys now, Jack!? Jack lost no time following suit. Eyes closed and breath held, the two killers stood, each blindly trying to smother the other with offal.

Seconds passed, stretching out as Mr. Todd fought. His breath grew harder to hold, threatening to burst out as his hands closed around something slick and squishy. Lunging at the Ripper, he bore down harder than ever until he was rewarded with a muffled outburst from the edge of his reach. Jack staggered back from the table, coughing and gagging. "Eugh! Foul play! Poison! Help!" Sweeney too backed away, gasping for air and wiping slime from his face. Watching his opponent curse and spit, he felt a dark surge of triumph as he wondered what piece of anatomy he had just forced the Ripper to taste. "Filthy.... That was below the belt, Todd!" Doubled over, Jack could only illustrate his frustration by weakly lobbing a nearby piece of liver at the barber. "Ugh..."

Sweeney watched the chunk fall uselessly beside that grate that led into the sewer. Now that's a charming notion... Reaching down, he pried the heavy grate out of the floor.

Jack looked up as he heard the scrape of steel on stone, and stood bolt upright when he saw the barber lift the grate overhead to throw it. With a heavy crack, it connected with the Ripper's forehead, knocking him flat and silent on the floor. Sweeney's hand moved for his razor as he stepped over the open manhole...

And onto the forgotten liver. Squealing under his weight, it slid underneath him. He hit the sewer walkway just as the sound of an opening door rang through the cellar.

XXXXXXX

"Mr. Todd! It's not what you think!" Mrs. Lovett came to a dizzy halt at the foot of the stairs only to find her words echoing uselessly through the empty bakehouse. No cleaver hacked at the stillness. No butcher's arm stirred the hot, stale, putrid air. Where...? Even if Jack and Sweeney had gotten to each other, at least one of them still should have been there. "Jack?" No answer. "Mr. T?"

Carefully, she edged towards the red glow that shone through the peephole in the oven's door. If Jack had been using anything else for light, it was out now and the gloomy silhouettes of her own counters suddenly seemed frightening. For just a moment, she wished she could have fallen for a baker or a greengrocer instead of a pair of murderers. "Is anyone here? Jack?" Her foot hit something solid.

Quickly stooping, Nellie felt blindly at the thing in from of her, finding a hand, narrow shoulders, a throat intact. Her fingers hesitated at his collar, oddly unsure of themselves, before shaking the figure. "Wake up, now. Who is this?" A little groan drifted up from the floor. "Mr. Todd?"

The voice that answered her was faint, only a sleepy murmur, and it was not the barber's. "...sixpense for a snuggle, miss?"

"Jack! What the hell happened?" She shook him harder.

"...how'd you like to take a little walk with me..." Nellie slapped him lightly across the cheek, her fingers coming away wet with something. That better not be blood. "...stop doing that to my head, love; it hurts..."

"Don' t go nowhere." She patted his strangely slimy chest as she stood and hurried the rest of the way to the oven. Even the warm steel of the latch felt slick to the touch when she pulled it open. What is all this? Holding out her hands in the yellow light of the flames, she saw her hands were smeared with clotted blood and something fouler.

And then she looked back out into the bakehouse.

Limbs and entrails lay strewn across the floor; walls, floors, and counters sported dark patches of blood; the heaps of leftovers she hadn't yet disposed of were spread across the floors. And in the middle of the wreckage lay Jack.

"What-? How-?" Still beside the oven's gaping door, Mrs. Lovett stood staring at the damage. What the hell did he do? She marched to the counter and snatched the bucket of dirty water that stood there, flinging its contents over the Ripper as she stormed toward him.

"Oh!" Jolted awake, Jack looked wildly around him. "Eleanor! I - We - I mean..." The baker towered over him, looking fit to kill with her pale face flushed and her finely displayed bosom heaving with rage under her black dress. For the first time he could remember, Jack was afraid of a woman. "Oh dear..."

"Jack -" Her voice shook as she spoke, quivering like her tense arms and clenched fists. "Jack Bloody Whatever-the-Hell-your-Name-Is Ripper! Get out of my shop!" He scrambled to his feet, reeling dizzily as he ran for the stairs. Not satisfied, Mrs. Lovett chased him, swinging the empty pail at him. "OUT!"

Over the Ripper's stumbling steps, the crack of the pail as she caught up to him, and the furious rustle of her own skirts, she couldn't hear the sigh of relief from the sewer.

XXXXXXX

I seriously thought I'd have this done a long time ago. Deeply sorry for the delay. If it makes you feel any better, some of the time I should have used to write this was spent trying to bake actual Kidney Pies. If anybody else has the urge to try them - don't. They're so awful I think I'll mail them to people who don't review. Just kidding.