This time, it was wide opened, your old, scarred hand clinging to the door frame like it was the only thing supporting your weight. A draft brought the chill of winter inside, ruffling the dark hair unsecured by your hat.
I shivered and rubbed my arms, crossing the living room to stand beside you.
This happened every so often.
You'd get up from bed early, changed and ready to clear our driveway of the night's snow, only to stop when you saw the first glimmer of morning over the small town. A ghost would appear, wrapping chilling arms around your shoulders and leaning in close. Beside your ear, it'd say:
"It's your fault they died."
There was nothing you could do before the memories overtook you.
I brushed the back of your hand with my own. I knew where you were. Glancing up at your face, just for a second I thought I could feel everything beyond your haunted gaze. The pain. The screech of metal. The biting cold of the tundra and the snow swept into your eyes.
I leaned into you, closing my eyes. If I focused on the warmth building against my skin at the gentle touch, if I dug deep inside, it almost felt like I could be there with you.
Soon, I began to feel the biting cold.
Radio static crackled in my ears. A strap weighed against my neck and a camera against my lap. When I opened my eyes, my pajamas were gone, replaced by winter camo and boots. My blonde hair tied itself into a tight bun atop my head.
It was dark, with the first traces of morning that we had had in months. The facility below us glinted at its base as the sun's first rays escaped beyond the horizon. The light was just enough to see the dark shapes of people guarding the ground entrance and the landing pad on the roof.
I remembered this place.
My stomach knotted as our helicopter touched down, bracing myself for the devastation I was about to witness. My fingers tightened around the camera and I saw you sitting beside me, close enough that our thighs touched, lined on both sides by soldiers. You knew exactly what you were about to get yourself into. You had earnest, ice-blue eyes on an ugly face. Surely you would have been attractive had you been someone who wore a suit and tie rather than pale camo and a helmet.
The whir of the blades continued even as two soldiers with tired faces followed us off. "Remember," you told me, "we've done a thorough search of this place. You should be safe to do what you need to do."
"Thank you," I said.
There was a metal door on the far side of the roof. You held it open for me. Immediately, the stench of death washed over us. Iron, salt and gunpowder filled my lungs with each breath and left my eyes watering. Draped along the stairs were the bodies of the enemy. I clutched my camera tighter, lifting it to my face, and taking my first picture.
I held my breath, taking cautious steps forward. I tip-toed around limp arms and bullet shells. My words felt clamorous in the small stairwell. "I want to start at the bottom."
We descended. You took up the front, and the other soldiers fell in behind us. Their loaded guns made me feel like perhaps they hadn't searched the facility as thoroughly as you said.
I knew the chaos would ensue on the 3rd floor.
The metal door swung open just as your boot touched the last step. The man that staggered through didn't have a gun, but that didn't stop him from charging with a blood-curdling scream, hands curled around the hilt of a knife.
"You ki—!"
Bang!
I had seen it tens of times before, but it didn't stop me from screaming in shock. You shouted orders, grasping my arm and charging back up, shouldering the two soldiers aside.
And it was at that moment you wished you had stayed in place. Kept your rifle pointed at the door. But for some reason you chose to save me, when forty years from now, you wish you had stayed and saved all four of us, as if one man could change fate.
More shots rang out.
The two soldiers dropped. I didn't hear their bodies slump to the ground over the incessant echoing within the stairwell.
Our feet pounded. My breaths were ragged in my chest. You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes widened when you saw our soldiers lying in their own blood. If I hadn't looked down with you, you wouldn't have noticed the barrels aimed at us. It was my turn to save you. I grabbed your sleeve and yanked you forward with all of my strength. The bullets nicked the railing and sliced my calf, but I didn't notice it until hours later.
Somehow, we made it back to the helicopter before they caught up.
That's when the memories started to flash.
We panicked the pilot when we jumped in shouting for him to go, and as fast as we could, we took off into the air just as the enemy reached the roof door.
You called people over the radio before slumping back into your seat, a hand pressed to your forehead.
I fainted when I noticed the blood streaming down into my boot.
The next thing I knew, I had awoken in the hospital, you sitting beside me. My calf had been stitched up. The nurses came and went, and in what felt like seconds, we were standing in the room, my hand gripping the clutch under my right arm.
I took that moment, then, to look you in the eyes. I reached with my left fingers, brushing them against your cheek.
"You saved me," I said to you. "You did the best you could, and you saved me. You're still a hero to me."
Your hand intertwined with mine, and before my eyes, time sped up.
The crutches fell away, the hospital bed replaced with the mattress we slept on in our first apartment. I watched as you shortened with age, your trained body fading with the stress of raising a child and the ignorance of how I took out the recycling each week, our bin overfilled with brown, opaque bottles. Our daughter was only there for a flash before she, too, aged and moved on.
And now, here we were.
Standing at our front door, our breaths billowing out in white clouds, snowflakes decorating the floor at our feet.
Our eyes locked. Your face was creased with a frown that hurt to look at. "Thank you," you said.
I released my pent-up breath and smiled, because I knew I would do it all over again, for you, for the chance to one day see you with a glimmer of happiness in your haunted eyes.
