A/N Alright.. my second favorite pass time (sleeping) is taking up a bit of my time, I'm on break. An actual multi-chaptered 'fic should be up by the middle of the week, so don't fret. This little 'fic ain't humorous, but I though I would poke into the more serious side of Nellie and Sweeney's relationship for a bit. Don't forget to review, ta!

His foot pressed firmly down on the chair's pedal, and reaching for the cloth as his waist, Sweeney watched the corpse fall back. Examining his bloodied friend, he smiled faintly before beginning to wipe it down. He headed for the door, about to turn his sign to make sure no one walked in while he was changing. Sweeney stopped before he reached it.

The door flew open, but he didn't react, having noticed Mrs. Lovett through the small window. She looked livid, angry, pissed, but all he did was stare at her. She stormed into the shop, slamming the door behind her. He had done nothing to upset her, and a small spark of annoyance formed in his belly. Was this outburst directed at him?

Suddenly her rigid form slumped, and she leaned heavily against the door. Her menacing aura immediately faded. "I hate it." She stated.

Sweeney began to polish his razor again, seemingly ignoring her.

"I can't… stand it." Mrs. Lovett slowly made her way to the middle of the room. Her hair was in more disarray then usual and she looked oddly nervous.

Closing his cleaned razor, he put it back in his holster and walked past her towards the trunk in the room. He began to peel off his bloodied shirt, listening to the woman as she continued her strange rant.

"Jus' sick.. Like a twisted game. Mr. T… I hate it."

Pulling the shirt from his head, Sweeney examined it rather than looking at her. "Wot?" He asked softly.

"This… life."

He turned his head to finally look at her, though her back was to him.

"I keep pretendin' its guna get better. It ain't, is it Mr. T?" Gripping her skirts, Mrs. Lovett slowly turned around.

Sweeney had turned away from her once more and opened the trunk. "That's a game we all play. Very few people are happy with their lives." He said coolly. Though he felt little sympathy for her proclamation, her confession surprised him. Wasn't she the ever optimistic, ever cheerful presence in his life? When did it become suddenly important that he console her?

"Really?" Her voice sounded far off. "Done so much to make it be'er fer all of us. Yet.. it don' feel quiet right. Like an illusion it is. I thought I could live with tha' Mr. T.. a dream. But e'ery time.. E'ery time I.. I hate it!"

Instead of taking a clean shirt, Sweeney watched her. When she finished her speech, he smiled, faintly. Moving towards her, he reached out and softly touched her cheek. "And what is it you hate about your dreams, Mrs. Lovett?"

"E'ery moment I think they can come true, but then I realize they never will." Mrs. Lovett stared at him desperately, more than anything glad that he was listening. She had been a little frightened of how he would react, with her storming into his shop. She had just been soangry. It was with every body that hit her cellar floor she heard the breaking of her dreams. How could so much murder not follow them to the seas? When she had thought of that she had become furious with Sweeney, at that moment only thinking of him as an obstruction towards her dream. A dream she felt was becoming more and more unattainable every day.

"That is a terrible thing to think." He let his arm drop. "Dreams and illusions are two very different things, pet. In prison I was under the illusion I was in hell, for eternity. But I dreamed of freedom, and that dream shattered an illusion and became my reality." He titled his head slightly, reading her expression carefully. "If your dream becomes an illusion, only then can you hate it."

Mrs. Lovett began to tremble as he spoke, feeling slightly foolish for interrupting his work with her problems. His words surprised her in many ways. She had never really thought what Mr. Todd's dreams could have been, or what they were at the moment. It made her feel conceited, and she didn't like it.

As she wasn't responding, Sweeney moved back to the trunk and retrieved a new shirt.

"Thank you."

He stopped what he was doing, sensing more to come.

"For.. giving me my dream, Mr. T. I-I didn't mean to think of you as an…illusion."

Sweeney smirked, pulling the clean garment over his head. "The pleasure is all mine, Nellie."