Snow begins to fall well before the holidays near. The third time Anya wakes up to the world draped in cotton-y white, she begs Loid over breakfast to put up the Christmas tree. With a belabored sigh, he acquiesces.

Yor helps him wrestle the tree they 've put out previous years from the back of his closet ' blushing bright pink the entire time she 's in his room, keeping her eyes to herself as if she needs permission to look 'only to discover that the box the tree lives in is irreparably crushed after four consecutive years of being crammed into the back of an already minuscule space.

Loid scratches his head at the browbeaten bits and pieces of plastic branch they 've managed to salvage. 'I guess we 'll have to get a new one. '