Just To Be Still For A While

I was walking with my grandmother through a hedge of blue roses at my seventh birthday party when I heard it. The click of the door, the sound of his footsteps, then suddenly, an anguished cry and a great weight slumping to the hardwood floor of the kitchen.

My eyes sprint open, my grandmother and her lavender perfume, her hazelnut hair, and her gossamer voice, all fade into the night as I remind myself where I am. I'm at home. I'm in my bedroom - our bedroom. Max went out; a quick glance at the alarm clock's all-burning green LED tells me that he left five hours ago. He never goes out this long, not unless it's bad. Pachyderm bad, or Dr. Chronos bad.

Nights like this are few and far between, mostly it's only carjackers and muggers and rapists that he has to deal with. But sometimes it'll be an arson, or a prison break, or some lunatic in an elephant costume poisoning children. Those are the nights he needs me. Those are the nights I'm his hero.

I tie the sash on my nightrobe, an anniversary gift from him. I step out of the bedroom, the cold kitchen floor making me catch a sharp inhale in my teeth. I can barely see him in the deep night. My fingers slap into the wall, juggling at the lightswitch clumsily. After a second, I blink out the sleep and haze as the lights come on. He's curled into a fetal position by the fridge, his clothes blackened with ash and carbon, the stink of smoke and gasoline heavy on him. His hair is tousseled savagely, and oil and grease streak his face.

He sobs heavily, his shoulders sagging. I've seen this man do the impossible. A thousand years ago folks would have built a religion around the things he has done. I've seen him skim the skyscrapers of New York, I've seen him jump into battle with living gods and cackling maniacs all to protect perfect strangers. His life is world-changing. His very existence makes this a brighter world, and I have been honoured to share it with him. And yet...sometimes it shocks me to see him so small, so human.

I notice the blood on his hands, the gashes at his knuckles. Whatever has happened, whatever has broken my beautiful  god and brought him to his knees, he did not let it go unscathed. He fought it. Whatever his demon is tonight, he gave it a sting it won't soon forget. And neither will he, I know. He will remember. Whatever loss he has been dealt tonight, whatever soul he wasn't able to save, he will catalogue away in his head. The faces, the names, the cries for help. And once he's been put back together, his soul mended, his tears wiped away, his strength restored, whoever it was who brought him low will face a new, galvanized man. I don't pity them. In fact, I laugh at how amazing, how...divine their punishment will be. Call it cathartic, but someone hurt him. I will not weep for the pain they can expect.

But before all that, my husband needs me. First my hero needs his hero. I ask no questions, because no answers are possible, nor do they matter. I simply tend to his wounds, gauze his hands, and hold him up. I lead him to the bed, curling up beside him, and holding him close. I don't know what his pain is, but I take it. His tears become mine. My cheeks burn as hot as his. I let him know how alone he isn't. And he holds me, collapsing into a crying paroxysm.

Dawn will come. Recovery will be slow, but it too will come. And in the meantime, I will be strong for us both. How can I do any less for one who is strong for so many? Sleep, my love. I'll be your hero tonight. You can be my hero tomorrow.