[Let the record show that Harry tried. In spite of the news weighing him down, in spite of the new strain in his relationship with Cooper, in spite of the almost-apocalypse and Albert's moronic escapade out in it, in spite of the lack of sleep and the anger and the fact that he can pass for fine during the day but just can't stop crying when he's alone in his room at night —
In spite of all that, he tried. He bought presents, helped decorate, and even caught himself humming a holiday tune or two while doing so. And for a little while, the distractions were enough. It's not that he forgot, of course — it was just that those situations offered escape into a world where Josie was nothing more than a dull, ignorable ache in his chest, so he ignored it.
He thought he was doing pretty well, too, for a guy who had to deal with all that on top of being completely misplaced on top of celebrating Christmas only three months ago. (Holiday fatigue exists, and anyone who wants to say otherwise can either fight him or spend the bulk of December in Twin Peaks. Talk to him after you've sat through half a dozen pageants in which plastic baby Jesus is dropped on his head by some child who couldn't remember dialogue if you wrote it on his hand. And then there's the annual tree lighting, which is followed by the annual panicked phone call from Andy, which goes something like this: "Sheriff Truman! The lights shorted out and there's a tree on fire! Again!")
Unfortunately, Christmas Eve finds Harry in bad shape. It's not that he's on the brink of another crying fit, and he's certainly not trying to dampen any spirits by dragging his wet blanket self around the house, but there's a decidedly unhappy air about him. He's pretty sure that part of the problem is the lack of communication happening — he's avoiding Cooper because he doesn't want to discuss Josie or, even worse, how he's feeling about the whole thing; he's avoiding Albert because he's still pissed off that Mr. Ivy League Smartass almost wound up dead by his own volition; he's avoiding Carmen and everyone else because he just doesn't have the energy to keep up a friendly conversation right now, and boy, managing to keep out of everyone's way when the house is steadily filling up with people is a feat.
So it's Clara who joins him when he finally emerges from the back porch. He drifts through the kitchen, past Albert, and claims a spot at the still-empty dining room table, where he can pretend to consider fixing a broken ornament that someone put there while his little Cleffa toddles off to inspect the company.]
open; christmas eve
In spite of all that, he tried. He bought presents, helped decorate, and even caught himself humming a holiday tune or two while doing so. And for a little while, the distractions were enough. It's not that he forgot, of course — it was just that those situations offered escape into a world where Josie was nothing more than a dull, ignorable ache in his chest, so he ignored it.
He thought he was doing pretty well, too, for a guy who had to deal with all that on top of being completely misplaced on top of celebrating Christmas only three months ago. (Holiday fatigue exists, and anyone who wants to say otherwise can either fight him or spend the bulk of December in Twin Peaks. Talk to him after you've sat through half a dozen pageants in which plastic baby Jesus is dropped on his head by some child who couldn't remember dialogue if you wrote it on his hand. And then there's the annual tree lighting, which is followed by the annual panicked phone call from Andy, which goes something like this: "Sheriff Truman! The lights shorted out and there's a tree on fire! Again!")
Unfortunately, Christmas Eve finds Harry in bad shape. It's not that he's on the brink of another crying fit, and he's certainly not trying to dampen any spirits by dragging his wet blanket self around the house, but there's a decidedly unhappy air about him. He's pretty sure that part of the problem is the lack of communication happening — he's avoiding Cooper because he doesn't want to discuss Josie or, even worse, how he's feeling about the whole thing; he's avoiding Albert because he's still pissed off that Mr. Ivy League Smartass almost wound up dead by his own volition; he's avoiding Carmen and everyone else because he just doesn't have the energy to keep up a friendly conversation right now, and boy, managing to keep out of everyone's way when the house is steadily filling up with people is a feat.
So it's Clara who joins him when he finally emerges from the back porch. He drifts through the kitchen, past Albert, and claims a spot at the still-empty dining room table, where he can pretend to consider fixing a broken ornament that someone put there while his little Cleffa toddles off to inspect the company.]