Christmas fic!
Y'know... just to let you know. ;)

December, 1812

Snowflakes danced through the chilly night air, continuing to gradually pile the cobblestone street below. The sky was pitch black with wisps of milky white clouds painted over it, and believe it or not, a star or two was just as well visible. Even the street - which was usually colorless and dull - appeared more alive than ever. Heaps of pure white snow covered the ground like a blanket. Twinkling, as if reflecting the very few stars from above.

It was indeed a tremendously gorgeous night in London, England. But it didn't appear many were out to enjoy it. Everyone was obviously inside, keeping warm and spending time with family.

After all; Who wouldn't - on the holidays?

All but two Londoners were inside at the current time, however.

These said two were walking down the snowy path, tarnishing the freshly fallen covering with their footprints.

They were children - the boy being no older than ten by the looks of it. The girl was a bit younger though: Perhaps around the age of six or seven.

The boy, with a buttoned-up jacket over his white shirt and waistcoat, and pinstripe trousers. His hair was mouse brown, looking as though once kept, but ultimately messy from the wind. His chocolate brown eyes were squinting against the snowfall, dodging the snowflakes that had already settled for catching and resting upon his eyelashes. His arm was rapped around the upperback of the girl with a long and somewhat ratty dress on.

The girl had a curly, auburn mess for hair - and one would easily go on to believe that her hair was always like this, even without the wind. It was also apparent that her skin tone was just faintly fairer than the boy's.

"C'mon, Ben, jus' tell me now!" She whined, her thickly Cockney accented voice making the boy's lips curl upward into an easy smile.

"Be patient, Nell. I promised I'd give it to you tomorrow, didn't I?" The boy - Ben - asked.

"Yeah, but it ain't like it's anything special," Nellie - more formally known as Eleanor - pointed out. "We're not spendin' Christmas together."

Ben's smile vanished at this thought, but he didn't cease in his walking. There was a pause that consisted of the gentle wind stirring the piles of snow and causing little slides in the flakes.

"I know," He murmured after a moment. "But even so, I want it to be a surprise - like every good Christmas present is."

Nellie rolled her eyes, groaning all the while. "Fine, Ben, 'ave it your way, I jus'-"

"I trust you got me something?" Ben interrupted her, smiling playfully.

Nellie looked fairily shocked at this, but after a moment, a grin crossed her lips. "'Course I did, Benny. Why wouldn't I?"

Immediately after she said this, she gasped; Her feet slid out from under her, and she was skidding across slippery ice hidden underneath the snow.

Ben's gasp echoed hers, and he quickly grabbed hold of her arm and held her upright, keeping her from falling. "Are you alright, Nell?"

Nellie stumbled one last time, but in the end, she was standing still again. She smiled at Ben, a look of affection just barely seen behind her equally light brown eyes. "M'fine. Thanks." Her words were surprisingly mature, considering her age.

Ben returned this smile. He slid his hand down Nellie's arm until it reached her hand, and he weaved his fingers into hers. "Come on, Nell. We'd better be getting home. It's really late, and my Mum'll be getting worried."

They walked a while longer without talking at all. Just admiring the beautiful scenery and enjoying one another's silent company.

Then finally, they came to a stop on a corner. Ben was looking down one way, and Nellie was looking down another.

"I guess I'll be seein' yeh tomorrow then?" Nellie checked, turning her head to gaze at him.

"Definitely," Ben confirmed. "See you then..."

Their grips on eachother's hands loosened until they finally broke apart, both wearing expressions that suggested neither wanted to leave the other.

Just as Nellie was turning to leave down the snowy street that her house resided on, Ben reached out once more and grabbed her around the arm, stopping her in her tracks.

She turned in alarm, looking back at him with wide eyes.

"Nell, erm... we will spend Christmas together... some day. I promise." Ben looked somewhat embarrassed for saying this afterwards, but Nellie didn't seem to notice this.

She beamed at him, her words far more open and less shy when she responded. "Will do, Ben. I promise too."

They exchanged grins, and then finally turned backs on one another to head off in different directions, back home.

"Ben! Benny, wake up!"

"Uh... hm?"

Benjamin woke to the feeling of a hand urgently shaking his arm beneath the covers of his bed. He blinked open his eyes, though the warmth of the blankets was practically begging him to close them again; He felt as though snowflakes were still stinging his eyes from last night.

"It's Christmas, Ben! Wake up!" His little sister, Gael, was standing over him. Her hazel eyes were sparkling with excitement.

"Oh!" Ben let a smile spread across his lips. He sat up and kicked the blanket off (though he dearly regretted this decision a second or two later).

Gael was oblivious to her older brother's discomfort at the current moment, that being the cold. She was evidently too excited to be cold.

Flipping around and letting her faintly darker blonde, inches-past-shoulder-length hair fall behind her shoulders, she ran from Ben's room, her nightgown flying out behind her. Benjamin watched after her, weakly smiling all the while. Then he gradually came to follow her from his room, down the hall, and eventually the stairs. Morning light seeped in through the windows.

As Ben passed one of them, he pulled the see-through curtains back to peer out.
It was quite pretty out, even if a bit cold. And it had definitely snowed more during the night. The piles of pure white were stacked even higher, and the flakes were even still falling.

An annoyed grunt came from behind him, and not a second later, Ben was shoved into.

He turned to face a much taller boy with hair color the same as his own, and hazel eyes to match Gael's.

It was his and Gael's eldest brother, Ethan. Age fourteen.

"Do you always make it your sole purpose to get in my way?" The teenager snapped.

Ben only rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, stepping aside to let his brother through.

It took a little shoving, and sibling-like bickering to slow them down... but eventually, they made it downstairs.

"Morning, Mum." Ethan walked into the kitchen.

Ben followed suit, echoing his sibling's greet.

Gael was already sitting at the table, bright-eyed on the inside and out.

Eric Barker was sitting beside her, sipping tea from a cup and peering down at the small ledger that was opened up upon the table's surface. Elizabeth barely acknowledged the entrance of her three children, too set on preparing eggs for their small, but reasonably hearty breakfast. Only when she had a peppered egg atop a glass plate and setting it down beside her husband did she roll her eyes, showing a sign that stated she was well aware of everything that was currently happening in the room.

"Eric, dear, why work? It's Christmas." She turned her back on him after saying this to crack another eggshell and let the gooey substance within drop down into the pan.

Before Eric could reply, however, Ben looked up from his arms that were now resting across the table to smile at his parents. "He says it's important, Mum. For business. You need to do that kind of stuff when you're a barber."

Eric couldn't help but smile at his son's open statement.

Benjamin was one of the best listeners around.

"Ugh," Ethan, on the other hand, let out a droning groan. "Here he goes again."

Ignoring Ethan, Elizabeth carried on a bit gentler now, a soft smile playing at her lips. "Yes, well... even the busiest of barbers need to take a break to spend time with their families. Especially on the holidays."

Still smiling, Eric scribbled one last thing down into the account book with a quill and then got up from the table, carrying it out of the room; Probably to put it down somewhere and let it dry.

In any case, it was no longer in his hands when he returned to the table.

The family ate breakfast, discussing and bickering, with even a little joking here and there. The bickering obviously consisted most between Ben and Ethan, who were known to have completely different states of mind. Elizabeth would be silently rolling her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose, while Eric would be trying to break the argument up. Gael would just sit back and smile like it was just another show put on for her.

By the end of their meal, Ethan was fuming from arguing with his brother. Ben was simply frowning as he left the table to run back up to his room, trying to beat Ethan who was racing after him. They would be opening gifts now.

He had marked who's was who's, and after sorting each one of his family members' out, leaving Nellie's to sit on his bed, he headed back downstairs to exchange presents as they usually did.

Naturally, everyone was equally pleased with what they got. Even Ethan, who was usually not that grateful for a thing, thanked his parents happily for what they had gotten him. Ben didn't get him anything, and vice versa. It was kind of like a routine, almost. Neither wanted the humiliation of thanking the other, so they just settled for barely looking at each other while they opened presents from the rest of the family.

After receiving a new necktie from his Mum - knitted by her - and a "new and improved" portrait of him - drawn by Gael (who drew them of all five of them every year, claiming that she was getting better and better) - Ben couldn't help but begin to wonder what his father had in store for him. Eric told him that it was "the best, left for last". He said this mostly every Christmas, which usually led to a chiding from Elizabeth, who asked him if he thought his gift simply topped hers.

This time, however, she seemed just as excited as her husband.

"Here you are, Benjamin," Eric picked up a small, wooden box off the floor, just next to the sofa, and handed it to his son. "I told you the best was left for last."

Ben looked up at his father for a moment, then let his eyes fall upon the rest of his family. Elizabeth was smiling. Gael wore an expression that suggested she was the one receiving this last gift, her eyes bright with anticipation. Ethan was scowling; He was obviously left out in the dark just as well as his brother.

"Well," Eric grinned. "open it up, son."

Without further hesitation, Ben undid the smooth, shiny latch on the side and opened the box.

There, lying in a padding made of velvety fabric, was a brand new, glistening, silver straight razor. The light from the window hit the tool at a perfect angle, lighting it up beautifully.

Ben gaped down at it, his eyes rounder than he believed they could possibly go. He couldn't help but stutter a little when he finally found the right words to sum up what he felt. "F-Father... i-is it one of your seven?"

"No, Ben," Eric knelt down in front of the sofa, where his son sat, and looked at him straight in the eye. "It's yours."

"But-but I-"

"It isn't all seven, as you hoped to someday have. But one day, if you start a business, you'll eventually buy the rest... or, seven of your own, of course."

Ben barely heard him.

The two didn't seem aware that, while Gael looked absolutely delighted at this display, and Ethan outraged, Elizabeth looked shocked and betrayed.

"Eric." Her chilly tone made her husband glance up to frown at her.

She stood up and grabbed Eric's arm, tugging him along back into the kitchen to talk to him in private. All the while, Ben was still marvling at the razor.

He'd never seen anything so gorgeous.

Sure, he had seen his father's set before. He had always thought them to be quite pretty whenever they caught the light from the window... but this was different. Somehow, it seemed ten times greater. Even more magnificent.

"...I thought we agreed you'd get him the book," Elizabeth's voice broke into Ben's thoughts, and the three siblings who still sat in the parlor had begun to listen to their parents who were muttering to each other in the kitchen. "He's only ten, Eric."

"Why would he need a book on barbering when he can learn from me, with a razor of his own? This will be so much better for him." Eric defended himself. "The boy will eventually grow up, Elizabeth. If he's serious about learning the art of a knife, I'm willing to teach it to him. You can't always worry about him cutting himself."

"This isn't just about that," She countered. Her voice got a little softer as she went on. "I just don't like that you went behind my back to do this."

"I know," Eric sounded as though he had just considered this. "And I'm sorry."

There was a small silence, which might've even consisted of quieter speech. Then Eric and Elizabeth came back out and walked into the parlor together.

Ben looked up at them both, now visibly concerned. "Can I keep it, Mum?"

A sigh broke through Elizabeth's lips. She crossed her arms and set a steady gaze on the boy. "Do you promise to be careful, Ben?"

"Yes. Always." He nodded vigorously.

"Well, then," She sighed yet again, her eyes glazing over just a bit. "I suppose I see no reason why you shouldn't-"

Before she could go on, Ben ran up to her and threw his arms around her, hugging her tightly. "Thanks, Mum."

Eric put his arm around his wife's shoulders and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, pet."

Elizabeth smiled lightly. She shook away from her husband after a moment to kneel down and kiss Ben on the forehead. "You'd better be good with that blade, Benjamin."

Ben looked up at her in surprise, until he spotted the mischievous gleam in his mother's eyes. He returned a weak smile; He wasn't sure if he could ever be as good as his father, but he'd try.

He'd try really hard.

It was getting late. Ben was preparing to leave to meet Nellie on time, and taking his razor along with to show his friend was something he definitely wanted to do.

So... when he thought he lost it, what else could he do but panic?

"Gael!" Ben ran up to his little sister, who was sitting on the sofa still and looking at the stuff she got, while their parents were in the kitchen making dinner. "Have you seen the razor?" He toned his voice down so his father didn't hear from in the other room.

"I thought you had it," Gael looked up with a blank expression on her face. "How can you lose something that quickly?"

"I don't know, but I did." Ben looked around the room a few times, scanning every inch of surface in which the tool might be resting atop. He silently noted to keep much better track of this one, and any other razor he might own later in life. This frantic feeling was something he certainly wasn't eager to experience again.

"You mean this razor?"

Ben flipped around, eyes wide.

Ethan stood in the doorway, holding the razor by the chase handle in between two fingers. It looked as though it were threatening to drop to the floor at any moment.

Ben sighed frustratingly and stepped forward, unaware of Gael getting up from behind him to watch. "Give it back, Ethan."

"Why? You probably won't need it for long." Ethan stalked into the room, keeping close enough to the wall. He still held the razor in the same fashion.

"You don't know how long I'll need it. Give it back."

"Come and get it."

Ben wasted no time in sprinting forward to grab the - his - razor away from his brother. It didn't exactly surprise him when Ethan put up a fight though.

"Why do you have it? You don't even like it when I talk about becoming a barber."

Ben partly knew why his brother had it though; Just to annoy him.

That didn't make fighting him for it any tougher.

Gael was getting ready to run into the kitchen to get Eric or Elizabeth to break up the fight, but she stopped halfway to stare instead.

The blade was coming out from thrashing every which way. Not long before the fight started, it abruptly ended.

"Ow!" Ethan let go of the razor, letting Ben finally pull it away from him. He was clutching his hand, pain twisting his face.

Ben was confused as to what happened until he saw a drop of blood drip to the floor, unable to help comparing it to a ruby. He stared for a moment, awestruck by the sight.

"Mum!" Gael called, finally deeming the situation worthy enough to deserve adult attention.

However, Eric and Elizabeth had already heard Ethan's cry of pain. They came rushing in by the time Gael yelled.

"What's going on in here?" Elizabeth demanded, worry in her eyes.

"That psycho cut me with the razor!" Ethan snapped, pointing a finger at Benjamin.

"No I didn't!" Ben defended himself. "Ethan took it and wouldn't give it back!"

"So you decided to slash me with it?" Ethan seethed.

"I did not slash you with it. It's just a small cut." Ben pointed at his brother's hand. "Look at it!"

Elizabeth walked over silently to inspect her son's hand. She frowned at the blood. "Why was the blade out, Ben?"

"I didn't mean for it to come out," Ben explained in a meeker tone this time. "It just did when I was trying to grab it away from him..." His gaze lowered, afraid of meeting his mother's stern one.

Instead of glaring at Ben any longer, however, Elizabeth turned to look at Ethan. "Why did you steal from your brother?"

Ethan just glared at the ground, naturally having no real answer.

After a moment, Elizabeth sighed. "Ethan, go wash the cut. Your father and I will decide on your punishment after dinner."

Grudgingly, Ethan turned away to do as he was told.

"As for you, Ben," She softened her tone a little. "Be a little more careful as to where the blade is aimed, please. It's sharper than anything. Someone could easily get hurt."

Ben nodded, without words.

Elizabeth's eyes lingered on her son for a moment longer. Then she walked back into the kitchen, Gael trailing behind her.

Eric was still standing, not a word leaving his mouth throughout what had just happened. Then he moved closer to his son to rest a hand on his shoulder. "Don't let anyone who means harm touch your razors, Ben."

"W-what?" Ben looked up at his father, a somewhat confused look on his face.

"Look after them as though they're your family - your friends," Eric grinned. "It really improves the dexterity of the shave."

Ben was speechless; He expected his father to scold him. Not advise him to do even better.

"Er... yes, sir." He managed a smile as he closed the razor, trying not to look visibly confused.

Having been told to return before dinner started, Ben began on his way out to go meet Nellie, the razor in his pocket and his friend's present rapped tightly under his arm.

By the time he neared the corner, he already spotted her. She stood just where they had decided on meeting, waving to him. He waved back, a smile immediately banishing his previous, bewildered expression.

"A lit'le late, ain't yeh?" She rose an eyebrow the moment he stepped into earshot.

"Yeah, well... that's because I've got something to show you." He replied, excitment starting to carry in his voice as he recovered from that awkward beginning.

"My gift?" Nellie perked up.

"Well, that, and... this," Ben reached into his pocket and picked out the razor, flicking it open for his friend to see.

Nellie's eyes went wide. "Oh, Ben... it's-it's what you've always wanted, eh?"

Ben nodded happily. "From my father. He thinks I'm ready to begin learning. He's going to teach me."

"That's wonderful, Benny!" She grinned at him.

Flakes of snow had gently begun to fall again, noiselessly landing upon the cobblestone pavement.

Ben smiled and took a small glance around. He spotted an alleyway a few paces away from them. "C'mon. I don't want the snow to fall on your present."

At least the snow would be of a smaller amount from there.

The two friends ran - trying not to slip - into the alley, where Ben sat down on a crate propped up against the wall and handed Nellie her present.

His parents discouraged going into alleys, telling him it wasn't safe. Especially not at night.

But Ben supposed, just this once, it'd be fine.

It'd be perfect.

December, 1832

"Merry Christmas, Lucy." Nellie balanced a tray with her remaining tenant's breakfast atop it as she opened the door, the bell at the top making a sickeningly happy ringing noise.

Lucy Barker stood by the window, holding baby Johanna in her arms. Her teary eyes scanned the snowy street below. She didn't reply to Eleanor's greeting, however.

Nellie sighed and, as soon as she set the tray down on Benjamin's desk, she turned to Lucy and placed her hands on her hips. "Love, yeh know I'm 'urting too. I loved Ben like a brother."

That wasn't true in the least.

She loved Ben.

She loved Ben far more than Lucy would ever know.

"This is the first Christmas without him, Eleanor," Lucy murmured, her eyes not leaving the street. "How can it ever be a merry one?"

As if sensing her mother's glum mood, Johanna began crying and fidgeting around. Nellie waited a moment for Lucy to do something, but the woman did nothing but continue to lose herself in the window's glass. She muttered under her breath as she scooped Johanna out of Lucy's arms to awkwardly bounce the baby a few times against her chest.

"Remember: I lost me Albert not so long ago. An' we know that Ben ain't out yet. 'E's still kickin', right?"

"But for how long, Eleanor?" Lucy rapped her arms around herself, shaking her head mournfully. "Benjamin's so... so gentle, and kind, and sensitive. I don't believe he'll last."

"'E's stronger than yeh think," Nellie defended her friend, finding it hard to keep from raising her voice; She didn't want to alarm Johanna, who was still crying softly. "M'sorry, Lucy, but until we're at 'is funeral, I refuse to believe Benjamin's dead."

Lucy didn't reply this time.

It was Nellie's turn to shake her head. Then she turned around to walk across the room in a few quick strides and place Johanna back in her crib. "Eat what I brought yeh, Lucy. I daresay you'll need strength."

It was just about midnight when Nellie was sitting at the booth in her pie shop, a half empty bottle of gin to her right and Benjamin's razor box in front of her.

She opened the box and, with the old rag that Ben used to use, she polished all seven.

If it took Ben years to return, she didn't want him coming back to find his razors all rusty... and she knew he'd come back.

Someday.

Snow was falling outside, piling Fleet Street in that same familiar blanket that coated the corner she and Ben used to meet and play on. It gave the baker a small sense of comfort.

As she neatly placed each razor back into their places, she closed the lid and moved onto the smaller, narrower box that rested beside it.

An ache began tugging at her heart.

Benjamin hardly ever used the first razor his father gave him twenty years ago. Not for the shaves he gave most recently, anyway.

Only when Eric Barker taught his son the art of a knife was the razor used most.

But Eleanor knew Benjamin still polished it. With even more care than he gave his others - though he'd never admit it.

He went on to address each razor as his friend, and it seemed like just that was what made him one of the best barbers in London.

Nellie sighed as she opened the small box up and picked up the razor in the exact way that it was supposed to be done, having watched Ben so many times before.

She polished it just like she had the others.

But after running the rag across the "sharp as anything" blade, she held the tool in her slender fingers for a moment, fiddling with it. She held it up to the glowing light of the window - the light being the brightness which radiated off the freshly fallen snow from outside.

"Merry Christmas, Ben." The words fell from her mouth in a single, monotonous note. She glumly lifted the bottle of gin up in what once might've been a toast.

When she received no response - not even a noise from upstairs where Lucy and Johanna were now sleeping - she brought the bottle to her lips and drunk, soon downing the whole thing.

...And a not-so-happy New Year.

December, 1846

"Come for a shave, sir?"

"Yes. I have, indeed, sir. I've heard you to be the best of the best. I'd like to see if all those men were truthful."

Sweeney Todd turned around to face the man who stood near the doorway, the slightest hint of a smirk playing at his lips - the closest he'd ever come to smiling.

"Sit down, my friend," He motioned to the nasty contraption that he called a barbering chair. "I'll be right with you."

The man obliged.

Sweeney rapped the cloth around the man's chest and applied the foam to his stubbled face. Though, at the awkward silence, the barber realized that he might've been acting a touch too mysterious.

So, what better thing to do than start up conversation?

The thing he hated most... among many other things, anyway.

As he flicked open a razor and critically narrowed his eyes at the blade, he forced the first words he could think of out of his mouth in that rough, harsh voice of his. "A shave for Christmas then, I trust?"

Christmas. Another thing he hated.

Christmas Eve was tomorrow, and the irritable woman downstairs had been going on about it for days.

Talk of the famous holiday had been spreading around the city like the plague. Mr. Todd was sick of it.

"Yes. A shave for Christmas. My wife suggested it; She always did fall for smooth faces. Which is odd, considering..." He went on, but he had been long zoned out by the barber.

Sweeney was on the brink of visibly suffering. He hated when the men who came in started talking about their lives. He regretted ever bringing up Christmas to this man in the first place, and slitting his throat was about to come into play at any minute...

...up until the rest of the family was mentioned.

"My son and daughter are really looking forward to it, too." The man stated, smiling fondly and unaware of how close Sweeney's chin was to his shoulder, and how close the blade was to his Adam's apple.

Sweeney stopped, however. He pulled away from practically leaning on the man and instead just rested his hands against he back of the chair, blinking down at him instead. "Looking... forward to what, sir?"

"Christmas, of course, Mr. Todd." The man opened his eyes to gaze up at the barber, confusion crossing his face for a very short instant.

"Er... right. And... and how old are your children, sir?" Mr. Todd asked, straining his voice to make himself sound far more interested than he was.

"My daughter is six - a fine young lady. My son is ten, and... I'd say brawn is something he lacks. The lad makes up for it with perception."

Sweeney carried on shaving the man, immediately zoning out the half of himself that was itching to kill him and shut him up for good.

He wasn't doing it for Christmas. He was doing it because taking a parent away from children that young was... beyond wrong.

His heart was cold and cracked, but at least the spot where it resided was not empty yet.

When he was finished with the shave, the man was satisfied and payed him generously.

Nellie pushed open the side door and, hiking her skirts up to keep them away from the snow, she began walking up the stairs to Mr. T's shop. She usually always visited him before she went to bed, as much as he disliked it.

When she was almost to the top, however, an unfamiliar man came out from Sweeney's shop, grinning over his shoulder on his way out. "Thank you again, Mr. Todd. I will certainly recommend your services to others."

Instantly confused, Mrs. Lovett hurried up the rest of the way and passed the man who nodded to her respectfully. She then opened the door to find Mr. Todd still leaning against the back of the chair. His eyes were unmoving, as was his head when she came in.

"Mr. Todd?"

Sweeney's jaw unclenched a little, and he moved his head a bit this time to let the corners of his dark eyes fall on her.

"Mr. Todd," The baker repeated. "That... that man was alone, wasn't 'e?"

"He had children." Sweeney's voice was almost inaudible.

But Nellie heard. She didn't speak a word as she strolled in to stand by the window, watching the pure white street get trampled as a coach came past the shop.

Sweeney finally lifted his head to a full to frown at her, then glance out the window.

It was still snowing. The way the light caught on the flakes, making them sparkle just before they landed on the ground, was just as he remembered.

He took a few steps away from the chair to step beside her with his hands behind his back.

They stood without any conversation at all, just staring, until Nellie's voice broke the silence.

"'Ow old were the children?"

"Six and ten."

"Hmph." Mrs. Lovett snorted with amusement, and Sweeney turned to look at her with a bewildered glare.

"What's so funny?"

Nellie smirked at him. "Don't fool yourself, love. I remember those years."

"What bloody years, woman?"

She just shook her head. "Don't tell me yeh forgot the night yeh showed me your first shiny!" At his silence, she went on. "Or did yeh push the memory too far back in that simple-minded 'ead 'o yours?"

Sweeney grunted; This statement got his attention. "I am not simple-minded."

"No?" Nellie sounded as though she were accepting a challenge. "It's all 'bout three things with yeh, love. The bloody Judge's demise, lit'le Johanna, an' your Lucy."

Mr. Todd's glare hardened, but he stubbornly turned to look out the window instead of looking directly at her anymore. "What else could I hold dearer to, pet?"

Nellie felt that familiar tugging at her heartstrings again, and she exhaled in order to compose herself. "You could be kinder, dear."

"Why?" The harsh response to this suggestion came quicker than Nellie had expected.

"'Cause I know you could," She replied firmly. "The proof I 'ave is better than anything I could ever dig up."

"What proof?" He snapped defensively, swiveling his head back at her again. He took his hand away from the window pane to rest it back at his side.

Nellie crossed her arms, allowing her expression to soften. "That you were me best friend, yeh foolish man. Can't yeh r'member?"

Sweeney paused.

Yes.

Yes, he remembered.

It was times like those that made him desperately wish things had never changed.

"Don't yeh ever wonder 'ow those shinies 'o yours remained all pristine an' whatnot over the years you were gone?" Nellie pressed. "That was all me, love. Times were 'ard round 'ere, about the time you left - 'bout a year after. Those 'unks of silver were right tempting to sell, but I knew you'd come back. Why d'you think I kept 'em?"

For once, Mr. Todd was actually listening to her.

And what he was hearing was beginning to help things make more sense.

Mrs. Lovett smiled a little. "So what's on your mind then, love?"

Sweeney frowned at her, but his muscles relaxed. "You didn't have to do that."

Nellie rolled her eyes; He was simply pointing out the obvious. "No, I didn't. But I did, didn't I?" She reached out to grab his cold, pale hand in her own. "What're friends for?"

Giving his hand a final squeeze, she let go and headed for the door, currently quite proud of herself for making a point to the barber. "By the way, love, it's midnight. Merry Christmas."

Sweeney looked back at her, eyes suddenly rounder than usual. He was silent for a moment, but then he called out when her hand was on the door knob. "Wait."

Her heart missed a beat to the sound of his voice, and she turned yet again to peer at him delicately. "Yes, Mr. T?"

Sweeney didn't know what to say, but he suddenly didn't want her to leave. He had a funny feeling she felt the same way.

After a few seconds of his helpless stare, Mrs. Lovett sighed and strode over to him to put an arm around his back and gently push him towards the door. "C'mon, you great, useless thing."

"Here?"

"Righ' 'ere."

Sweeney and Eleanor sat side by side in the booth, their backs turned to the window. She was showing him where she did, indeed, polish his razors over the years.

He took it with fascination.

"It was snowin' jus' like this the first time I thought to do it, actually." The thought made one corner of her lips tug down; It wasn't a happy night. She knew, because she unfortunately remembered every detail of it.

Sweeney noticed this, and after a moment of hesitance, he covered her hand which was resting atop the table with his own. "Leaving was the one thing I regret more than anything."

"I know, love."

"But I'm never leaving again."

Nellie looked up at him, surprise flashing across her eyes. She didn't know why he said it, and she had a funny feeling he didn't either.

But it was one of the most reassuring things she'd heard in a while, and she'd take it.

"You... you don't know 'ow 'appy I am to 'ear yeh say that, Mr. T." A smile broke out across her face.

Sweeney stared at her blankly for a moment. Then he took his hand away from her's, and Nellie was surprised when her own hand actually felt colder the moment the brush of his skin was gone.

When she looked at Mr. Todd again, he was briefly twisted around to look outside a final time before leaning back in the booth and closing his eyes, a small, content smile pulling at his mouth. The angry, or otherwise troubled lines that usually creased his face were no longer visible. "Merry Christmas, my sweet."

Nellie returned the smile that had never really vanished. She then leaned back beside him and, not long afterwards, rested her head on his shoulder. "Likewise, love."

*Squees at all the Sweenett pet names*

(and yeah, if you didn't know, Sweeney does call Mrs. Lovett "my sweet" in the full version of A Little Priest.)

I DID IT! I REALLY DID IT! I CAN'T BELIEVE I GOT SOMETHING IN ON TIME!

So yeah... to tell you the truth, I wasn't planning on this being an all-out Sweenett until I got to the ending. This is also the first Sweenett-like story that I've done, so if any of the characters are OOC, then... well, consider that. Lol.

Altogether... I like it. I really do.

I got the idea for this story after reading one of the goofs on Internet Movie Database on the Sweeney Todd page: That it was impossible for Sweeney's razors to have remained all shiny and pristine if no one had been caring for them for fifteen years. They'd be all rusty by the time he came back.

So... I got a Sweenett-ish idea, that Eleanor decided to keep Sweeney's razors clean and beautiful, because she remained so sure that he'd someday return. And since Christmas was coming up... I don't know, it sorta all just fell into place. XD

So yes... I hope you all have a great Christmas! Have a very merry one - even if your Benjamin isn't around. I'll certainly be updating how mine went on my next author's note.