#love writing angsty lee harker blurbs she's my precious baby

[lambilegs]

thinking about how lee harker would spend christmas.

I think on most years, she'd go back to ruth's house on the day of. it just feels wrong to be away from her mom on christmas day, when for the first eighteen years of her life, it was always just the two of them. drying and hanging orange slices, lee helping ruth wrap presents for her coworkers, lee doing drawings of santa and his reindeer -- those moments rest and sleep in lee's chest, sometimes awoken when an unexpected surge of nostalgia hits her. as she got older, and ruth became more hazed and distant, christmas no longer was a day that lee awaited with wide eyes and eager crossings of the calendar. it just became a day she resigned herself to spending with her mom out of obligation. not that it was completely dreadful. her mom and her still shared some normal conversations, bouts of laughter and a dip into past traditions, like watching films together. but, even those often left her feeling a bit emptier than when they had started. for things were so different from before, and no walks down memory lane changed that.

she tends to feel the same way as an adult, too. dread upon reaching her mother's home, disgust and stress upon seeing how much worse the hoarding got, hugging her mom, letting herself fall into the false pretence that everything is okay for a split second, then being shattered as soon as her mom says something that reminds lee of just how not okay things are. but, lee stays. for her mom, and partially, truthfully, for her own sake too. both in fulfilling an obligation that'd gnaw at her otherwise, as well as be able to indulge in... better memories. even if just for a second.

there has been the occasional christmas where she couldn't go to her mom's due to a particularly hard case she had to work on. as carter chuckled and said every year, "the job never stops." while she feels guilty, delivering the news to her mom in a low tone, part of her also softens in relief at not needing to bear witness of what her mother, or their once shared home, has become.

these christmases are usually spent in solitude, at home, crouched over a case just like any other day, some christmas film playing in the background for some noise. lee doesn't get a tree, she doesn't decorate her home, encapsulating none of the spirit that's so fervently promoted this time of year. she's not a scrooge by any means, she just isn't really into celebrating much of anything. her birthday, christmas, halloween. she doesn't feel a thrill from any of it. maybe it's due to some unhealthy investment in work, or because she doesn't have anyone to really coax her into festive activities. she's more than content to spend any holiday by herself, comforted by the familiar walls of her cottage and the scent of pine. most people can't stand being alone on christmas, but to lee, christmas is nothing but a day that carries remnants of what feels like an entirely different lifetime. she doesn't mind treating it like any other day, and throwing herself into work so that she doesn't get too caught up in the useless wandering thoughts of how this day might be if things were different. if her mom was better, if it wasn't just the two of them, if lee wasn't so alone.

she doesn't mind the loneliness. in fact, she thrives on it. but, every now and then, especially on a day like christmas, where community is celebrated and honoured, she can't help but break from her usual flow of life with the lingering questions of: what would it be like to not be alone? how would it feel to spend this day with a person, or people, who she actually feels at ease with? do such people exist?

because the truth of the matter is, while her isolation has been freeing in adulthood, a paradise she can slink off to after the long hours of intensive cases and talkative coworkers, she sometimes wonders if she's become tangled so far into this web that she can't escape. if she's so far gone, so accustomed to her way of living, that she'll always be absent of company on the days where another person might... actually benefit her in some way. days like christmas, or days where she can't sleep because the details of a case are seeped too far into her mind, rotting away any semblance of peace. what if, sooner than she expects, she starts longing for some help, some relief? what if, by the time she reaches that moment, she's unable to fulfill the want?

as she watches the snow drift outside her home, creating a soft, thick layer of white along her windows, she can't help but wonder: is this solitude really better than company, or she has just managed to escape any fulfilling connection from her dependency on the former?

she sighs, then continues making notes on the documents. maybe that's a question for another night.