A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've been terribly busy with homework and... well, life. Read, review, and Enjoy!

As always, I own nothing. All belongs to Sondheim and Burton.

Relieve the Gloom – Chapter II: Gillyflowers maybe

"Gillyflowers maybe, instead of daisies..."

The slice of bread fell to the floor. Mrs Lovett realized it and picked it up. She blew the dirt away and arranged it once again on the side of the cup.

"Wot's the difference? Not that he's eatin' it anyways..." she murmured under her breath.

She lifted the tray and was ready to take it up stairs, when something she saw left her frozen up on the spot.

"Flowers!"

She felt as if she and her tray were transported many years in the past, and she felt lost in her own memories.

How could a simple thing – so simple – make her, a practical sensible woman, feel so overwhelmed?

Hopelessly, she sighed at the sight of the blossoms in front of her.

She remembered how young men in love used to buy a pretty little flower for their beloved. She saw thousands of lovers repeating this scene too many times, from behind her shop's window...

But Albert wasn't – just wasn't– the courting type. At least, he'd never bought her flowers. Although, she remembered he had given her a blueberry pie, once... that ended up mostly in his stomach anyways.

Nellie longed for a flower of her own. She always swooned when the florist passed by the shop, she even screamed and shout how she'd love a new flower at least to make the parlour nice and warm and welcoming...

But Albert was too absorbed in his calculations, dealing with costs, and deadlines and...

As all men are. Work blinded all of them.

"Ooh, but not ALL of them!"

Benjamin Barker didn't fall in that lot, for sure. When the florist passed by, she would hear a minimal sigh from up stairs, that obviously belonged to his little blond angel-wife, and in no time he'd be down, outside the front door, smiling and waving to the florist girl to buy her a dozen daisies. He had been known to leave a costumer waiting to do so!

What would she have not given for one of them? For half of his smile at the sight of her wife's eyes bight with satisfaction and delight?

But that look was long gone, lost in a madwoman's bloodshot eyeballs. And the smile was erased, ripped from his now dry lips, curved now in a smirk of bitterness.

"Ma'am? Would you like one?" smiled the young man, taking of his hat and showing her the basket.

How she had longed to hear this question, and to answer it!

And for a moment, she imagined Ben Barker's eyes, boring into her own, his smile looking for her own lips to curve into one.

Blushing without caring, and feeling like she was nineteen again, she voiced what she had heard too many times from others and practiced always in her head:

"Very much."

--

He was staring at the window when she came up. He heard her leaving the tray and then she was gone.

"Strange."

Her insufferable chat was not present today, and it came as a surprise to him.

Would she sad? Depressed? Preoccupied?

Not that he cared.

But was she?

Not that he didn't had enough with his own issues.

What had gotten to her? Maybe she was sick. Or tired.

Not that he wouldn't find out later, by her own lips, whether he was interested or not.

Which he was not.

He continued to stare at the daisy that had not left his hand. His fingers were entertwined with the beautiful flower, possessively, never wanting to let go.

He turned to see his breakfast, his mouth suddenly dry. The cup of tea was fuming there, in the tray.

He considered for an instant. Drinking it would be a serious infraction to his determination of leaving his breakfast intact. And questioning, squeals of joy, and a very insufferable attitude of triumph would take over his landlady.

Deciding that he wouldn't go so far as to change his habit, he would for this once drink at least half of the cup of tea that after all was meant for him.

Yet he never reached the cup. His eyes stayed fixed on the side, however, by a not-at-all-expected sight. A gillyflower.

He didn't remember if he had actually seen one before.

At fist he thought he didn't like it, and for that he saw no point in keep lingering his inspection. But then, he felt himself – somewhat – drawn to linger on it.

And then his fingers.

That feeling in his fingers.

Damn his fingers - they began to twitch.

His fingers of his right hand, those that belonged to the daisy now. He got a hold of his flower, and turned to the window once more, breaking eye contact with his new and strange visitor.

What was all that? How in the world could he be so moved by this simple – so simple – thing, when his soul was empty?

He, who had questions and no answers, sighed.

And then a voice at the back of his head awoke.

"And maybe, just maybe, this ISN'T so simple and your soul ISN'T empty."

His mind was racing and his throat closed at this strange feeling of being human, vulnerable, and sensitive. He turned again to the gillyflower, never knowing why, but thinking of her as the only one to blame for his new turn in his thoughts and the one who he cannot take from them.

His fingers twiched again.

He had to hold her.

It was compulsory.

He could see himself holding it, his hand softly caressing her petals, soft and welcoming, her strange beauty glimmering between in his hand, her proud figure never ceasing to amaze him by her rare features, particular and enticing.

Before he knew what he had done, he had her.

And then, of all things, she began to sing.

In his bliss – strange and minimum –, it took him a while to realize that it was actually Mrs Lovett's voice from down below.

Slowly he reached for the door and popped his head outside looking inside the shop, not letting the bells ring; not once.

"Well, there goes her muteness".

And there was she, twirling and turning like a young girl in her twenties. She looked positevly bright and... happy.

She was happy.

Not sad, nor depressed, nor preoccupied. Not sick, nor even tired.

She seemed so colourful, in her little black and white shop. She had little blossoms pinned to her hair. Her voice was rich and filled all the rooms.

Even his room.

And then he could see – as she was placing a dozen gillyflowers in a vase – how all became alive by her spell... and how the gillyflowers under her touch, with their own purple charm lifted the shadows and took them away.