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When she asks me why I seem so distant, why I can't focus, why I cry in my sleep, I tell her what I feel sounds right-what sounds strong, I tell her that Its nothing, just a memory of a deployment, a healing wound. She smiles a knowing smile, knowing that I'm not telling the whole truth, but accepting it, thinking that I can overcome my emotion...

When she looks into my eyes later, I am distant, staring off into nothing. She tries to comfort me, snuggling close and asking what I have on my mind. I shake my head, and tell her its nothing, with a fake smile. She sees the false emotion in my expression, but comes to the conclusion that I'll be fine, I just need my time...

A few times after, when I have a few beers later, and I can't get the faces, the names, the memories from my mind, I look to my pistol, and I solemnly pick it up, knowing that it has a magazine inserted.
I c**k the slide, sending a round home, and press the barrel into my temple.
I sigh, and start to squeeze, as I close my eyes.
I hear her ask if I'm OK, and my eyes pop open, the pistol falls to my lap.
She comes to the doorway between rooms, and smiles at me. I know she sees the pistol, but she looks directly into my soul.
She asks if everything is OK, to which I give the obvious answer. She crosses the room, and unloads the pistol, as I have taught her, and lays a hand on my shoulder, peering into my eyes.

My Valkyrie has saved me.