Simon Riley - Rings

The relationship between Simon and his partner was an emotional battleground, as demanding as any deployment in Task Force 141. He, a tactical ghost; she, the light that Simon, miraculously, had allowed in. They had been married for five years.
The discussions always revolved around the same point: affection.
"Why can't you be more affectionate?" she yelled.
Simon, at six feet six inches tall and expressionless, stood stiffly. The air felt heavy with the distance he placed between his heart and the world.
"I can't," his voice flattened. "It's not how I'm made."
She knew his traumatic past had shaped that armor. His way of loving consisted of subtle acts of fierce loyalty: adjusting his bulletproof vest, placing his tactical jacket on her shoulders, his absolute protection without asking for it. That was his coded way of saying "I love you." But for her, silence generated fear and insecurity.
One day, frustration boiled over. She grabbed a backpack and left.
Simon was left alone. He saw the wedding rings she had left on the table. He held both rings in the palm of his gloved hand. He didn't cry out, but inside, the pain was a cold bite that gnawed at his soul. She was his absolute weakness, and he had let her go.
Days later, Simon moved. He was the infiltration expert. He knew where she would be. He had the rings with him. He found her in a temporary apartment. He stood behind her. There were no effusive pleas, just the naked truth.
“I don’t want to be away from you,” he said, his voice deeper than usual. “I know I’m an idiot for not loving you your way, but I swear I do. You’re the only person I allow to see me without armor, the only one who pulls me out of the darkness.” He opened his fist and slid his wedding band onto her ring finger, with a unique smoothness and a slowness laden with nonverbal affection. It was an act, not a promise.
—Come back with me.