A/N It felt strange not updating yesterday.. but I was too tired to finish this chapter. 'Ere the las' bit finally is then.

3

Once the door was behind her and closed, Mrs. Lovett felt a sudden dilemma. She could either lock the door as a joke and run away, or just runaway from the door, or quite possibly just stand there and wait. There was no way she could predict how he would respond to being left with the chores.

Mrs. Lovett wisely chose not to lock the door, and hesitantly made her way up the stairs. A soapy puddle had gathered on the floor where she had stood, and droplets trailed her up the stairs. She hardly paid them any mind though, preoccupied with why Sweeney hadn't stormed through the door and attempted to kill her.

He wasn't actually doing the laundry, was he?

"Mum?"

Hearing the boy's voice brought Mrs. Lovett out of her thoughts. "What is it Toby?" She asked, looking as if being soaked was a perfectly normal thing.

"Wot happened?" He asked, nearly dropping the meat pie he was holding.

"Oh, this?" She plucked at the wet fabric. "Jus' doin' some laundry is all."

"With the clothes still on?"

Mrs. Lovett put her hands on her hips at his still gaping mouth. "'Course not, Mr. Todd was jus'-" She stopped herself. Toby probably wouldn't believe Sweeney doing anything that would moderately help her, and thinking of the barber having fun was probably out of the boy's perception of reality. Plus, hearing about Mr. Todd shoving her into water deep enough to drown in probably wouldn't improve the Toby's views on him.

"Wot did Mr. Todd do?" He asked hurriedly, misinterpreting her silence.

"Nohting dear, he was jus' kind enough to help epty ou' an ol' wash tub an' I got splashed." She took a step towards him and ruffled his hair. "I'm going to go change. Ya've got everythin' ya need lad?"

Toby nodded his head, giving her an oddly suspicious look, Mrs. Lovett kept smiling and ignored it.

Sweeney stood still and stared at the bake house door for a good twenty minutes.

Do the laundry and clean up? Was the woman mad? Scrubbing a few dingy shirts was one thing, but cleaning up the entire bake house? For surely their water fight had splashed against everything…

He frowned, why hadn't he just stopped her at the door? Why was he even thinking about doing it? A little voice inside his head said he owed it to her. He squashed out its little voice immediately and crossed his arms as he began to think.

She might think of it as owing you once it's done.

A little smirk appeared on his face, and it stayed until soaped dripped into his eye causing his to curse loudly. Furiously rubbing at his eye, Sweeney took a quick assessment of the cleanup range. Mrs. Lovett baked, served, butchered, did the laundry and cleaned every single day. How difficult could it be to finish cleaning a few shirts and tidy up the bake house?

Nodding his head, Sweeney pushed up his sleeves once more.

Mrs. Lovett shifted in her bed, sleepily opening one of her eyes. "S'umone there?" She mumbled. Slowly sitting up, she rubbed at her tired eyes. She couldn't read the clock in the gloom, but she came to the conclusion it was sometime in the very early morning. "Toby, is tha' you luv?" Nightmares sometimes still haunted the boy, and she had no problem with consoling him when he woke from them.

"'Fraid not my pet."

She jumped and clutched her chest at the sound of Sweeney's rumbling voice. That was the second time he had scared her from the shadows. "Gave me quite the fright Mr. T!" Mrs. Lovett didn't think to question as to why he was in her room.

"Apologies." He chuckled, coming to the edge of her bed.

"Wot is it ya want Mr. T?" She asked, voice suddenly dropping to a whisper.

"Want, pet?" Sweeney sat on the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to creak.

"Yes, well-"

"Hush," he brushed a finger down her cheek, causing her to shiver. "Move over."

"Wot?"

"You heard me pet, move over. I'm exhausted."

Mrs. Lovett did as he asked, confused, watching him pull himself under the covers with near suspicion. Realization hit her. "Ya actually-"

"My hands ache. How is it you stand that?" Sweeney interrupted her once more, settling down on the bed with a sigh.

"One gets used to it, I suppose…?" Still sitting up, Nellie watched the near-innocent outline of Sweeney's body beneath the covers before settling down next to him. "Is not work a barber should be doin' anyhow."

"I suppose." He teased her. "Now come closer, I wont bite."

Nellie moved herself slowly closer to the barber, wary until a hand snaked around her middle and pulled her towards him.

"Like that." Sweeney purred in her ear.

"Mr. T…" she mumbled, almost breathless. "Wot happened to your shirt?" It had only taken her a moment to realize he wasn't wearing one.

"It got dirty." He growled, suddenly sounding irritated.

"Ya cleaned-"

"Hush." He snapped. "Go to sleep."

Nellie laughed, despite herself. "Ya didn' know 'ow long it would take ta dry, did ya?"

An annoyed huff came from him. "I tried to use the oven." She opened her mouth but before she even spoke fingers were on her lips. "It was much hotter than I expected."

Biting her lip to prevent another fit of laughter, Nellie reached up and gently held the hand that was pressed to her mouth. "Didn' burn ya'self, did ya luv?" Her voice was steady despite her smile.

"No, but the shirt is regrettably deceased."

"Mr. T, was tha' a joke?"

Instead of replying he tried to pull his hand away from her, but she held onto it. "Now now luv, ya said ya ached."

"And you're going to make me better?"

"Much."