Christmas passes quietly and unobtrusively -- in spite of the great fuss Brody puts up a few days before when he scrambles to find gifts for every single person that he knows, which, given that he evidently knows the entire universe and then some, is quite an undertaking. He ends up stressed and upset and worrying about everything, but he can't just ignore it like he wants to because he can't bear the thought of anyone feeling forgotten or left out. It's not about getting stuff, it's about being thought of. He was too sick to do this last year and the guilt has obviously been eating at him. His gift to Harvestman is something practical and thoughtful, not sentimental, knowing that neither of them wants to own anything they couldn't stand to lose.

Otherwise, nothing happens. He doesn't even mention it. Neither does he go outside, actually, he doesn't want to hear about it, or see people celebrating, or be told "happy holidays" as if that's possible. He's dead; they have no idea.

Still, it's kind of nice to be thought of as some normal kid. Someone's cared for teenager.

He finally relaxes when it's over, like he's endured some kind of trial and passed. Afterwards it's just a waiting game until the new year -- which he spends gone, he doesn't come back until the second, bleary-eyed and still drunk -- and he still hasn't slept by the time they've taken their few paltry belongings out of the motel room and to the apartment in downtown LA he found for them. The landlady looks extremely dubious of Brody's prior claim that they're related when she actually sees Harvestman, but hopefully they won't have to see her more than the once.

The place isn't bad at all. Not the kind of shitholes they're used to, but neither is it some luxury apartment, not even quite middle-class. It's intact, the ceiling isn't covered in cracks and waterstains, and the beige milquetoast carpeting only has a couple small stains. They could probably afford better but Brody is afraid to go anywhere too expensive -- he's never sure if Harvestman is going to decide he doesn't want to work anymore.

The dog has been warming up to them. Brody does not mention that he's been feeding it his vitae, because even he feels the slight shiver of guilt over that -- but dead animals are dangerous without a blood-bond, they don't know how to survive with the bloodlust inside of them, and without someone looking after them, they die within a few weeks. Gets blamed on rabies. He just wants to take care of something, anyway. Sometimes when he's tuckered it out, though, the dog will come and lie down on the foot of Harvestman's bed and sigh and pretend to nap.

There are two bedrooms and no furniture, which is going to be a problem since neither of them has any. "Which one do you want?" he asks. They're about the same size but the master bedroom has a private attached bathroom and a slightly bigger closet.