Work Text:
Nellie Lovett hums a Christmas carol cheerily as she works.
It had been a while since she last made cookies for Christmas and, well, since she wasn’t alone anymore she figured she could start again. Toby has never had a proper Christmas, and heaven knows Sweeney hasn’t celebrated the holiday in well over a decade, so she was determined to make this Christmas a good one.
The last time she made Christmas cookies was before Sweeney had been transported to Botany Bay. Albert had to work, despite the holiday, and so Nellie, Lucy, Benjamin, and little baby Johanna had all spent the day together.
(Nellie watched as Benjamin and Lucy ended up under the mistletoe.
She was happy for them, she really was, but she still felt the slightest pang of jealousy. She wished that was her. She wished that she was the one standing under the silly plant with him right now, sharing a chaste kiss and soft giggles.
What nonsense. Nellie was married to Albert– though she can’t say she loved him very much– and Benjamin was married to Lucy.
Fate can be cruel.)
She waves a hand dismissively to herself, as if to fan away the unwanted memories. It was a joyous time of year, she had no time to be brooding. Try telling that to Mr. T. She thinks, giggling to herself at the thought.
She gets pulled out of her thoughts at the sound of footsteps padding into the kitchen– seems Toby had woken up.
“Mornin’, mum.” He mumbles sleepily, and Nellie smiles down at him.
“Good morning, Toby, love!” She chirps, “Now, I know you just woke up, but would ya mind gettin’ into the cupboard and grabbing me cookie cutters?”
“You own cookie cutters?” Toby asks curiously as he pries open the cupboard to root around in it.
“I do. Been a long while since I last used ‘em, but they should still be in good shape. They’re probably towards the back.” It takes a moment, but Toby finds what he was asked to and sets them on the counter next to where she was rolling out the dough.
“You’re making cookies, mum?”
“I am, dearie! It’s Christmas Eve, after all!” She smiles warmly at him, and he shifts back and forth on his feet excitedly.
“I’ve never really had Christmas cookies before. We didn’t really celebrate the holiday at the workhouse, and Signor Pirelli never shared anythin’ with me. Though, I suppose I never asked, but he wasn’t very kind to me in the first place. Always told me I was on the naughty list, he did.” Nellie purses her lips. That Signor Pirelli was a downright arsehole, treating a child like that. She was rather glad Sweeney did him in, otherwise she’d probably end up doing it herself.
“Not to worry, love. You’re definitely on the nice list, an’ I’m sure Santa will bring you some good presents, ‘e will. Now, help me cut out these cookies.” She motions to the slab of dough that was now evenly rolled out.
“Yes, mum!” Toby chirps, eager as always to help. He steps up on the little step stool and grabs one of the cookie cutters.
“Now, you want to ‘ave an even amount of space in between each cookie.” Nellie instructs gently, demonstrating on her own section of the dough. “An’ then, when we’ve run out of space, we can reroll the extra dough to make more.” Toby nods to confirm he heard her before setting to work, cutting out all sorts of fun shapes with the cookie cutters.
Sweeney, meanwhile, was pacing in front of his window. One of his razors was in his hand, and he was fiddling with it; flicking it open and closed or simply running his finger gently along the blade.
He pauses in his brooding when he hears laughter emanating from the pie shop below.
What were those two doing down there? It was much too early for this nonsense.
He flicks his razor shut, sticking it in his back pocket and exiting his tonsorial parlor. He descends the stairs, and the bell on the door tinkles as he enters the pie shop. Mrs. Lovett looks up from where she and Toby were cutting out cookies.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. T.” She smiles brightly, and he finds his scowl lessening slightly. How was it she always found a way to be so… so cheery? She seemed to exude positivity.
“What’s with the cookies, Mrs. Lovett?”
“Oh, come now, Mr. T, it’s Christmas Eve! I ‘aven’t made cookies for Christmas in ages, an’ since you an’ Toby are ‘ere an’ it’s not just me all on me own, I figured I’d make ‘em again!”
Memories of another life– of Benjamin Barker’s life– came floating to the surface of Sweeney’s mind. Lucy and Johanna and Mrs. Lovett, the first and last Christmas he spent with his daughter. The last Christmas he would celebrate in fifteen years. He couldn’t remember much, just the faint feelings of warm smiles and chaste kisses under the mistletoe with his wife, of handmade dolls and baby Johanna’s laughter as Mrs. Lovett tickled her.
Sweeney quickly casts these memories aside; they were no longer his. They belonged to a man who no longer existed, a man who died the moment he stepped foot on the shore of Australia. A man who suffered and fought to try and make it back to a family that didn’t exist anymore. A man who had lost so many pieces of himself that he had to replace them with pieces of someone else.
That’s who Sweeney Todd was: a puzzle that didn’t quite fit together properly.
He turns his attention back to the woman in front of him, who was still prattling on about Christmas. She never did know when to be quiet after Albert had passed– it was like the man had kept his wife on a leash like some sort of dog while he was alive, and after he was gone Mrs. Lovett reveled in her freedom. He discovered soon after returning to London that she enjoyed hearing her own voice.
“Mr. T, are ya listenin’ to me?” She scolds lightly, bringing him back down to earth.
“Oh. Yes.” He lies smoothly, but she didn’t look convinced.
“So what did I say, then?” She asks, hands on her hips as she awaits his response. He opens his mouth, but falters before any words come out. What had the woman said? “That’s what I thought. I was sayin’ that you should stop your brooding up there all on your lonesome an’ join us down ‘ere for the evenin’!”
Sweeney frowns, searching for any signs in the woman’s face that said she was joking. He sighs after finding nothing but hope and a questioning twinkle in her eyes.
“Fine.” He concedes. “I… suppose I can close up shop a bit early.” She claps her hands excitedly, turning on her heel and returning to happily making her cookies. That woman was going to be the death of him, he was sure of it. He looked on for a few more moments before making his way to the door. “I’ll keep it open for another hour or so, then I’ll be back down.” Mrs. Lovett hums in response to acknowledge she heard him.
“I’ll hold ya to it.” She calls after him as he walks out the door and ascends the steps to his shop. He sighs, rubbing his eyes before moving to the window to stare out into the snow covered streets of London. Normal people were hurrying about their normal day, all bundled in their coats and scarves to fight against the icy bite of the wind and snow. Normal people who only cared about themselves and what affects them.
Sweeney watched them for a long time, watching as people ducked in and out of shops as they did their last minute Christmas shopping. He himself never liked to leave things until the last possible second; his gifts for Mrs. Lovett and Toby had been bought weeks ago and carefully stored away in the chest that was up against the wall. Heaven knows he’d never hear the end of it if he didn’t get either of them gifts. He didn’t really want to deal with the reprimanding he’d get from the baker downstairs.
The tinkling of the bell at his door snaps him out of his thoughts.
“Mr. T, it’s been well over an hour.” Came the scolding voice of the baker. He glances at her quizzically.
“It has?” He asks seriously, eyebrows knit together.
“Yes, it ‘as! Good heavens, what ‘ave you been doin’ up here with no customers comin’ for a shave?” She asks impatiently.
“Staring out the window.”
“Well, come on. Close up an’ come downstairs, there’s some cookies waitin’ for you.” And with that she turns on her heel and exits the shop, not bothering to check if he was following. He sighs, turning the sign from open to closed and pocketing his razor before locking the door on his way out.
He found the way Mrs. Lovett demanded respect intriguing– she could have never spoken to Albert like that and gotten away with it. It was almost as if his tragic death had been the best thing to ever happen to the woman, and Sweeney can’t say he blamed her. Albert Lovett had been a sorry excuse for a man and a husband with the way he always smacked Mrs. Lovett around– he and Lucy barely got rest on the nights Albert decided to drink, what, with the shouting and the sounds of shattering glass.
The tinkling of the pie shop bells breaks him out of his thoughts as the smell of freshly baked cookies filled his nostrils.
“Those smell delicious, Mrs. Lovett.” The phrase slipped out before he could stop himself, and Mrs. Lovett lit up at the words.
“They’re sittin’ there on the plate, go ahead an’ take some. I was just abou’ to put breakfast in the oven.” She holds up a tray of pies for emphasis as he grabs a couple cookies. They were all Christmas-y shapes– gingerbread men, Christmas trees, and snowmen.
“More like brunch.” He comments as he glances at the time. She chuckles and disappears into the bakehouse, and Sweeney takes a seat at the counter and bites into the cookie. It was soft and fluffy, and it melted in his mouth. The frosting was delicious as well.
“Mr. Todd, do you like the cookies?” Toby’s boyish voice pipes up from his spot on his stool where he was frosting the remainder of the cookies. Sweeney merely nods in response, taking another bite of his cookie. This seemed to satisfy the boy as he went right back to decorating.
Mrs. Lovett reappeared a few moments later, still grinning brightly.
“Pies are in the oven!” She announces, “Now, we just ‘ave to wait for ‘em to bake.”
“Mr. Todd likes the cookies, mum!” Toby announces loudly upon Mrs. Lovett reentering the room. She smiles and ruffles the boy’s hair.
“Well, of course ‘e does, dear! No one can resist me cookies.” Sweeney couldn’t help but agree; it had been 15 years since the last time he had bitten into one of her Christmas cookies, and he wasn’t sure how he ever made it through a Christmas without them. “Now, Toby, when you’ve finished with your food I need you to run to the market.” Sweeney zones out of the conversations, his mind floating to the Christmas gifts that were currently stored in the chest. He’d need to bring them down when Mrs. Lovett and Toby were asleep, he wanted them to be a complete surprise. It’s not like he got much sleep to begin with; he’d have no trouble staying up into the wee hours of the morning in order to surprise the two.
Nellie glances curiously at the barber as she finishes rattling off her list to Toby, who nodded and repeated what she had said to make sure he didn’t forget anything.
What was that man thinking about?
He always got this far away look in his eyes when he wasn’t paying attention. She often found herself wondering where his mind traveled to– were they thoughts of his Lucy? Thoughts of his poor Johanna? It was hard to say, there was no emotion in his stoic face.
She lets her own mind wander for a moment– wander to the mistletoe that was currently hidden in her nightstand. She hadn’t found a time to hang it up, nor had she found a good place for it; the obvious answer was the door to her shop, but the follow up question was how to get Mr. T under it with her.
Perhaps she could hang it tonight after the boys went to bed and wait for Mr. T in the morning, take him by surprise. It was as good a solution as any, and she only had one more day to do it considering tomorrow was Christmas.
Nellie suddenly remembers the pies in the oven: they should be done by now.
“Oh! Goodness, I nearly forgo’ the pies. I’ll be back in a moment.” And she disappears from the room again.
-
Sweeney paces back and forth in his shop, glancing at the clock every so often.
He’d have to be quick if he wanted to get the presents under the tree and get back upstairs before someone saw him. Mrs. Lovett and the boy should be asleep, but there’s no guarantee.
At a little past 1:30 in the morning, he grabs the presents out of the chest and creeps down the steps to the pie shop. He opens the door, grabbing the bells to stop them from making noise, not noticing the red-haired woman that was currently standing just inside the threshold.
The boxes fall out of his arms as they crash into each other– luckily there was nothing fragile in either of them– and Mrs. Lovett staggers a bit, grabbing the doorframe to steady herself.
“Oh. Uhm,” Sweeney clears his throat awkwardly. “Sorry. I didn’t think anyone was awake.”
“I knew you were,” She responds lightly, “But you always are, you usually pace all night in your shop. I can hear your footsteps.” She follows up quickly upon seeing his confused expression.
“Ah, well.” He nods in acknowledgement, desperately hoping she would ignore the boxes that were currently on the floor. Who was he kidding, though? The woman was extremely observant, and in no time her eyes had wandered to the boxes.
“Say, Mr. T–” She was suddenly interrupted by a pair of cold lips on hers. A shiver runs up her spine at the contact, and she snakes her arms around the barber’s neck. After a moment that was all too short, he pulled away with his arms still around her waist.
“Now, Mr. T, what was that for?” She felt light as a feather, she felt like she could just melt.
“Isn’t that why you hung this pretty little thing?” He nods up to the mistletoe that he had noticed.
“Oh. Uh,” Her face turns a shade of pink. “Yes. I-It is.”
“Well, I suppose the purpose has been fulfilled then, hm?” His plan had worked, the baker had completely forgotten about the boxes that he had now kicked behind him to obscure them from her view.
“Y-Yes. I-I’ll be off to bed, then.” She nods, standing up on her tiptoes for another quick kiss before extracting herself from the barber’s grip and starting towards her bedroom with a new spring in her step.
“Hey,” He calls, stopping her in her tracks. “Goodnight… Nellie.” He could see the shiver that runs up her spine at the sound of her first name in his dark voice. She stands frozen in the parlor as Sweeney tenderly sets the boxes underneath the tree amidst the two others that were under there. He spots a small box with Sweeney written on it in neat, curly handwriting. His lips quirk up in a small smile as he stands back up, but it’s replaced with confusion as he sees Mrs. Lovett is still standing stock still.
“Mrs. Lovett?” He asks softly, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turns her gaze to look at him, her shining blue eyes meeting his dark ones.
“Well, Mr. T, I was just thinkin’... well, it’s awfully cold up there in your shop, ain’t it?” He raises an eyebrow as she trails off, urging her to continue. “I suppose I’s just wonderin’ if you’d rather sleep…” She tears her eyes away from his, staring at the floor with a slight pink tint to her cheeks.
“With you?” He finishes, an amused lilt in his voice. She nods quickly, still staring intensely at the floor as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
“I-I know it ain’t proper, but nothin’ abou’ us really is…” She trails off again, fiddling with the hem of her nightdress. Sweeney takes her warm hands in his cold ones, causing her to look up at him. He leans down to press another soft kiss to her lips.
“That sounds lovely, my sweet.” He murmurs, his breath ghosting over her face and making her breath hitch.
As they settle into bed, they originally find themselves oriented with their backs to each other with Sweeney on top of the covers rather than below them. However, Nellie notices the man shivering and pulls the covers over him. He mumbles a small thanks, and she expects that to be the end of that…
So you can imagine her surprise when the mattress pitches as Sweeney rolls over to his other side and drapes an arm around her. She sucks in a surprised breath as he shifts, only releasing it when he stops moving with his chest pressed against her back and his face buried in her red curls.
Nellie Lovett sleeps better than she ever has that night.
-
Nellie was the first one awake the next morning, smiling softly as she remembers the barber’s strong grip around her. She attempts to carefully extract herself from his grip to not wake him up, but he immediately pulls her closer as he feels her warmth begin to leave.
“Stay here, Nel…” He mumbles sleepily, and she chuckles.
“I’ve things to do, love.” She strokes his dark hair. “Merry Christmas.” She adds lightly.
“Merry Christmas.” He responds, begrudgingly releasing her to allow her to go about her morning. He gets up as well, stretching out and feeling his spine pop with satisfaction. They get ready in silence and exit out into the parlor where the presents awaited them– though, they’d have to wait for Toby, of course, and the boy wasn’t up yet. Mrs. Lovett took the opportunity to disappear into the kitchen to bake something for breakfast while Sweeney curls up on the couch.
It doesn’t take long for Toby to awaken, the pent up excitement for Christmas seemed ready to burst as he walked into the parlor. He greets Sweeney with a yawn and a ‘Merry Christmas, Mr. T,” which Sweeney returns. The smell of cinnamon wafted into the room as Mrs. Lovett came back in, holding a tray of delicious looking cinnamon rolls.
“Merry Christmas, Toby.” She greets chirpily, setting the tray down on the table next to the large armchair.
“Merry Christmas, mum!” He grins “Can we open our presents?” He asks, and both Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett could tell he could barely contain his excitement.
“Alright, alright. Hold your horses, dearie. We ‘ave to eat breakfast first, alright?” Toby nods and immediately reaches for one of the cinnamon rolls and begins tearing into it. Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett take one to eat as well.
“Alright,” Sweeney says as they all finish their food. “Toby, you go first.” He grabs his present for the boy out from under the tree and hands it to him, and Mrs. Lovett follows suit. He wastes no time opening them, holding up the box of toffees Sweeney had gotten him with triumph.
“Toffees! My favorite! Thank ya, Mr. T!” He beams at the barber, who gives a small nod in response. His other gift had been an emerald green muffler that Mrs. Lovett had knitted. “Oh, it’s amazin’, mum!” He grins, rushing over to give her a hug. “Thank ya!”
“Of course, dear. Now, I think Mr. T should go next, don’t you?” She quirks her lips up to smile at the barber, who sighs.
“Alright. I’ll go next.” He nods, fishing his present from Mrs. Lovett out from underneath the tree. The brown package had Sweeney written on it in Mrs. Lovett’s curly handwriting. He opens the lid, his breath catching as he takes sight of what was inside.
It was a razor case made of mahogany wood, it had two gold latches fastened to the side and, upon opening it, he discovered it had a crushed velvet interior to rest his friends on. He gingerly shuts the lid, noticing the S.T. engraved on the top.
“It’s beautiful…” He whispers, in complete awe. This case must have cost Mrs. Lovett a fortune. “Thank you.”
“Of course!” She chirps, glad he liked his gift. “My turn then, right?” Sweeney tears his eyes away from the case, setting it aside and nodding at the baker’s question. She carefully grabs her present, opening it gingerly and gasping at the contents of the box. She takes the gold locket out of the box softly, as if it would break if she held it too tightly. There were two small letters engraved into the surface of it, N.L. She pops it open, and inside there were six little words engraved: From your dearest barber, Sweeney Todd.
“Oh, Sweeney…” She gasps lightly as she stares at it, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s beautiful.” She turns to look at him, and there’s the hint of a smile on his face. He gingerly slips the locket out of her grip, his deft fingers quickly fastening the piece around her neck.
“Merry Christmas, Nellie.” He murmurs softly.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. T.”