"Spencer, no," Joel protests before he's even finished suggesting they find something else. The angel is maybe a little worn, but the fact it's clearly something Spencer had made as a child, something his mother had kept for a good reason, something that's still in this box after all those years, that all means something and Joel isn't willing to let that go. There are things that are tradition for good reasons and he has no interest in doing away with everything that Spencer and his family had done together just to replace it with something new, something that's for the two of them. They can incorporate other traditions, just like they had done -- or tried to do, anyway -- on the fourth of July and this is one that Joel is more than happy to keep. It's clear Spencer doesn't want to find another topper for the tree and Joel leans in, lifting his good hand so he can cup the back of Spencer's neck and pull him in for a short, hard kiss.
Then he smiles and ducks to scoop the angel out of the box before he realizes he still can't raise his hand high enough to put it on the top without hurting his ribs. A second later he looks back at Spencer, a faintly sheepish smile curving his lips and he holds the angel out toward him. "You'll have to put it up. I can't reach the top of the tree like this." Spencer is going to have to go just about everything that's above shoulder height and while he wants to be able to help more, he knows Spencer will be happy to do what he needs to in order to get the tree decorated without letting Joel hurt himself over it. His ribs are mostly better by this point, but if he twists too quickly or laughs too hard, he still feels a twinge of pain. And lifting his arms over his head still causes more pain than he'd like to admit, so he simply doesn't do it.
"Who knows how many years this thing has left in it," he says. "We have to make the most of it." It's entirely possible the angel will just fall apart eventually, but more than that, he doesn't imagine many years will pass before their own child is bringing home things like this. Decorations to put on the tree, a new topper to replace the one Spencer had made as a child, though Joel doesn't think he'll ever get rid of it. It's the sort of thing he'll tuck into a book somewhere and one day, when he's sixty, he'll find it there and it'll make him smile because he'll remember this night and the first time he saw it.
Besides, he doesn't have anything like this. Mostly he doesn't feel sorry for himself, but sometimes he wishes his parents had been allowed to return to their home and collect the things they would want to keep. He's sure there were Christmas decorations much like this one or paintings he and Charlotte had done. Photos and old report cards. Things his family should have been allowed to keep. He tries not to blame himself for it, but it's hard at times. He knows his stupid decision is still at the root of everything. It's why they were chased out, it's why his parents don't have many pictures of either of their children as babies. It's why there's no Joel or Charlotte-made Christmas tree topper.
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Then he smiles and ducks to scoop the angel out of the box before he realizes he still can't raise his hand high enough to put it on the top without hurting his ribs. A second later he looks back at Spencer, a faintly sheepish smile curving his lips and he holds the angel out toward him. "You'll have to put it up. I can't reach the top of the tree like this." Spencer is going to have to go just about everything that's above shoulder height and while he wants to be able to help more, he knows Spencer will be happy to do what he needs to in order to get the tree decorated without letting Joel hurt himself over it. His ribs are mostly better by this point, but if he twists too quickly or laughs too hard, he still feels a twinge of pain. And lifting his arms over his head still causes more pain than he'd like to admit, so he simply doesn't do it.
"Who knows how many years this thing has left in it," he says. "We have to make the most of it." It's entirely possible the angel will just fall apart eventually, but more than that, he doesn't imagine many years will pass before their own child is bringing home things like this. Decorations to put on the tree, a new topper to replace the one Spencer had made as a child, though Joel doesn't think he'll ever get rid of it. It's the sort of thing he'll tuck into a book somewhere and one day, when he's sixty, he'll find it there and it'll make him smile because he'll remember this night and the first time he saw it.
Besides, he doesn't have anything like this. Mostly he doesn't feel sorry for himself, but sometimes he wishes his parents had been allowed to return to their home and collect the things they would want to keep. He's sure there were Christmas decorations much like this one or paintings he and Charlotte had done. Photos and old report cards. Things his family should have been allowed to keep. He tries not to blame himself for it, but it's hard at times. He knows his stupid decision is still at the root of everything. It's why they were chased out, it's why his parents don't have many pictures of either of their children as babies. It's why there's no Joel or Charlotte-made Christmas tree topper.