For a couple of hours, Lucy sat in her long-lost husband's arms, crying out her worry and sadness and longing, only to be comforted by a gentle hand that stroked her hair. Sweeney said little after his declaration of them having a baby, and Lucy did not know if she was worried or comforted by his silence. Every good thing he had just said to her started to put the shattered pieces of her heart back together, though they both were very aware sixteen years of separation could not be so easily healed by one midnight encounter.

Guilt pressed on his mind most horridly, eating Sweeney up for his trivial mistake of coming and believing he was showing affection to a woman other than his wife. Though it was his wife, and that prospect was so unbelievably wonderful that he at first had wondered if he was dreaming, but he felt like he had betrayed her. And really, he would have, if God had not been quite so gracious. He would never forgive himself. Though, he forgave his poor Lucy in an instant, for he saw her reasoning for her past sixteen years, and even more, he saw her guilt. He was actually thankful she had lived this way instead of ending up dying by starvation, where he never would have seen her again. He had suffered too long in prison to see his family, and the knowledge that she had been forced to sell herself wounded him deeply – for all he ever had wanted to do was protect her from such evils – but it was highly preferred over his having to visit a grave with her name on it.

Sweeney now takes in her little room where she lives, along with the small washroom adjoining to it, and feels anger since his angel – if she would still permit him to think of her as such – has lived in such a horrible place for so long. Their apartment is not what it used to be, for their old bedroom needs much more than a quick cleaning and a few new pieces of furniture, but he knows he needs to get her away from this horrid place and to their old home.

"Lucy," he whispers, her head in his chest, the place where she had felt most comfortable during the happier days of their marriage. Lucy cannot do much more than shake, for all of this is overwhelming, in addition to the fact that morning sickness was her worst enemy at the present moment. Sweeney speaks when he sees she cannot bring herself to. "You must come home."

The overjoyed and relieved look on her face tells him all he needs to know, and he feels guilty that he does not have a cheery home for her to return to. If he had known that she was not dead and it was only a matter of time until they were reunited, he would have faithfully been pining away at putting up fresh wallpaper and cleaning and buying new furniture and a whole new wardrobe for her to be gifted with. But Mrs. Lovett had lied to him. And he had spent his time pacing and sitting in his chair, razor in hand.

Mrs. Lovett, he thinks angrily. Certainly he is preparing to have more than a few strong words with her when he returned home.

In a matter of minutes, Lucy is collected enough to stand and pack her few things into her trunk, and, without doing so much as blinking, she grabbed all of her "work clothes" and tossed them onto the bed. Sweeney does not need an explanation, nor does he need an explanation as to why she does not try to take the blankets, and he sees that she her only clothing is two dresses and a decent nightgown that looks new. Perhaps it is something he had paid for indirectly, but his attention is caught when he notices an upside down picture frame in the bottom of the trunk. He frowns, though makes no move to reach for it, and he wonders if they each had been left with nothing but a picture frame of the other to remember the other.

He gently instructs her to put on her cloak, to which she easily obeys, and he lifts her small trunk easily in his arms. She has not breathed a word since when he said she must come home, and he takes that as a good thing, that she wants to, and that she wants nothing more. They exit down a back staircase, away from the eyes of the crowds, and Lucy does not leave any note or explanation to the girls she has been living with.

It is not long until they are standing on the side of the street, Sweeney setting the trunk down and working to find a carriage that is able for hire at this hour of the night. As he searches, Lucy watches her husband, thanking God that he is taking her back so easily. This was not what she had expected to happen in a thousand years.

But what worries her is how he's changed. He is clearly a very different man in most ways – not only in appearance – and she's afraid to know what horrors he has suffered in prison that have made him how he is. They are both scarred, she knows this very well, but she is willing to help and comfort her husband in any way if he will accept her.

"Benjamin?" she whispers as the carriage comes to a halt in front of them.

Sweeney, having thought he would never hear his Christian name called by such a lovely voice again, feels a chill as he looks over at her, the hard features of his face softening as he looks to the still soft woman on his left.

"Thank you," she whispers.

Sweeney manages a small nod, mind too full to be able to properly communicate at the moment, and he lifts her trunk onto the back of the carriage, then takes her hand and helps her up into it. Both are still as they sit in the carriage, Lucy with her shaking hands in her lap, looking down and trying to ease her racing heart. Sweeney glances from her to the window, the murderous drive that plagued him every day dissipating with the knowledge his wife was now under his darkened wing. He wants her to be, though he's concerned about how he knows he is not the man he used to be, but he needs to do everything he can to keep her from leaving.

It would seem fitting in this twisted world that he finally has her back, then he scares her away. But he plans to do everything he can to prevent that. Though, Sweeney Todd does not quite remember how to care for Benjamin Barker's wife.

In the midst of his thoughts, Lucy whispers quietly, more to herself.

"I can't believe we're going home," she whispers, eyes still downcast.

Sweeney turns to look at her again, and a sentence that he had dreamed of hearing from her for years does not bring him as much joy as he had hoped. If he was the same man he once was, and if the home they once shared was not quite so dirty, it would be different. Sweeney feels obligated to warn her that they were not about to step foot in the glowing sanctuary they spent so much time in.

"Home…" he begins slowly, shifting uncomfortably as he meets her hopeful eyes. He sighs, and looks away as he finishes, unable to look at who he yearns to. "Home is not as you remember it."

Sorry for the short chapter - more to come! :)