April 13th. Two years to the day you went on a mission and the only thing that came back were dog tags. He'd done everything, tried to drown it with alcohol, and at Price's order, gone to therapy. It didn't stop him from laying in a daze and clutching your dog tags, reliving the memories with whiskey. A knock came. He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes, then went to open the door. Time seemed to freeze as his blue eyes met yours, life flooding back into him as you threw yourself into his arms.