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Big thanks to ELIXIR30 for reviewing, you made my evening! This chapter is for you!

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Frozen Air, Melting Heart

December 1st (afternoon)

"A… tree…?" Sweeney lifted his cup to his lips, sipping his tea in both confusion and curiosity at the baker's odd request.

"Yup…" Mrs. Lovett chirped back, resting her chin on the palm of her right hand. " 'Opefully one tha' looks nice…if all the nice one's 'aven't been taken already… 'tis pret-ey late ta be findin' one, but it's still manageable…"

"Why would you want a tree, Mrs. Lovett?" The confused barber squinted his eyes as he swished what little was left of the tea.

Mrs. Lovett's jaw dropped in shock. She blinked her widened eyes and stood up abruptly. "MISTA' T!" she shouted, waving her arms in the air dramatically, " DONTYA REMEMBA' DECORATIN' CHRIS'MAS TREES?"

Sweeney was a bit taken aback by her theatrical reaction and blinked several times before replying in monotone "Yes…of course…".

Although he hadn't really taken the time to think on this aspect of Christmas, Sweeney did indeed recall dressing fresh pine trees with extravagant decorations with his very pregnant Lucy. However these memories tended to be blurry and vague, for he only celebrated a few before his cruel punishment… he only seemed to have remembered the year when he and Lucy were getting close to Johanna's birth. He did recall Mrs. Lovett and Albert being there, and all of them having the most heartwarming conversations over a deliciously prepared dinner. (Mrs. Lovett's doing, no doubt.)

"Well I would 'ope so, Mista' Todd! I remeba' those times… O' course weh couldn't decorate one like weh did then, wit' e'ryone… but…we could 'ave one ourselves and still 'ave a nice time, righ'? It'll be nice to decorate one again…maybeh you could 'elp Toby put the star on top." She smiled fondly at the hopeful dream, casting a quick glance at the young boy sleeping next to an empty bottle of gin in the parlor. The baker crossed her arms and cocked her head in thought as she turned her gaze and stared at Sweeney with longing chestnut eyes.

"Who says I wish to take part in this…decorating…" Sweeney sneered, finishing his tea and setting down the cup on the table with a faint *clunk*.

Mrs. Lovett felt as though his sharp words were one of her chopping knives suddenly piercing straight through her chest and lodging itself into her heart. After all, what fun was beautifying a tree without the beauty of her barber doing the same next to her? His disagreement seemed to have scratched away pieces of her Christmas fantasies.

"No…one...I suppose…" she managed to choke out, obviously hurt. Sweeney sensed a sudden gut feeling himself, one he hadn't felt for years: guilt. In fact, the barber could have sworn he couldn't feel anything other than hatred or hints of satisfaction (which only occurred when thoughts of mutilating the judge crossed his mind), let alone guilt or any other trait relating to caring about someone.

"We can still get one…a tree…today, if yeh like…" he quickly responded, not even realizing what he was saying before it was too late.

The baker's eyes lit up, as if her very soul was rejuvenated by his offer... "Oh, Mista' T! Thank yah, thank yah, thank yah!" she squealed, dashing to snatch her coat. "It'll only take a lit-elh time ta find one, an' I won't be too pickeh eitha!" her fiery curls flailed wildly as she attempted to tame them under her knitted hat.

"We're going out…now?" Sweeney sighed, not wanting to leave the privacy of the pie shop for the crowded streets of filthy London.

"Ya won't wanna do it any moah lata' than ya do now, righ'? Besides, it'll be fun!" Mrs. Lovett enthusiastically replied, walking over to him with his coat in one hand, and an unrecognizable object in the other. She helped him put his coat on and turned him to face her. "See 'ow pale ya'are in the cold?" Sweeney couldn't help but note that she was possibly even paler than he was. "Tha's why I made ya this…fo' the chilly weatha…" she explained, wrapping a scarf around his exposed neck.

The scarf was incredibly soft, made of a very fine material, and was knitted tightly with considerable effort and care. To top it all off, the color pattern was an intricate blend of black and white, which appealed greatly to the barber. She…made…me this? His eyebrows furrowed in bewilderment.

The baker took note of his facial expression, and her look instantly became one of worry. "Oh… Um…If ya don't like it, I can easily make ya 'notha one…or, or-" Now the barber was REALLY confused. How could she think he didn't like it? It was beautiful, especially in his eyes... I mean, she made him something out of her own kindness… for him! "You could borrow mine..,if ya wont to… or if ya don't wanna scarf at all-" she began taking the scarf off, but was stopped in the middle of her action when she felt Sweeney's cold hand grasp her wrist. She lightly gasped, hoping she didn't do something wrong to upset him.

"Wot are you talking about?" he whispered, staring intently into her eyes.

"You….your…you looked like…you weren't 'appy wit it…which is fine!" Mrs. Lovett nodded, wearing a concerned and confused look on her face.

"I…I do like it…very much." Sweeney raised an eyebrow, letting the words flow from his mouth naturally for once. "Thank you…you didn't need to do this for me…but I appreciate it, nonetheless… thank you." He sincerely finished, re-wrapping his scarf around his quickly warming neck.

Sweeney watched in amusement as his landlady's eyes widened and a grin plastered her brightening complexion. "Oh Mista' T, I'm so glad yah like it!" she beamed as she buttoned up her coat. "It'll keep the chills off yah, 'opefully! Don't want yah gettin' sick, now do we?" Inside, fireworks exploded in her stomach. She felt as though she were about to burst at the barber's words. It was rare to get him to express his feelings though words, and he had done so for her, and even thanked her…twice! "Ah yah ready?" she squeaked, opening the door pie shop door.

Sweeney merely nodded and together they strolled out into the now busy Fleet Street in search of a Christmas tree.