Silently, you stared. You couldn't make a single sound even if you tried. You were frozen in place, silent as the grave. Your throat was tight, ears beginning to ring as you stared at the sight of his form huddling hers against the alleyway wall, rough, calloused hands you were intimately familiar with groping at unfamiliar, strange flesh.

A grunt, a small gasp as she tipped her head to the side, the harried breathing of a pair of lovers rushing to meet.

A zipper being pulled down.

You stumble back, vision blurred, still quiet, neither of them hearing you let alone noticing they'd had an audience. Simon had always joked you were the real ghost in this relationship, that you could sneak up on his entire task force if you wanted.

The joke suddenly stung, now. The simple memory invoking a deep ache in your heart.

You stumbled back into the bar.

Walking up the steps to his home with you, Ghost checked to make sure he was all tidy. A grimace marred his scarred face for a moment as he remembered his lapse in loyalty before he pushes it aside, forgetting it. It wouldn't happen again, and it's not like you'd know. You'd been occupied tonight, he knew, going out with some friends.

You'd never know how he'd been tempted by a beauty at the bar, that he'd taken her out back for a quick, messy shag, that he'd felt such satisfaction he could've died there and then, happy.

And then the guilt set in.

How could he do that when he loved you? When you made him so, so happy? When you brought out the man in him, not the soldier? He shouldn't have done it, he knows. But he did. Never again, he promises himself. Never again, he thinks, entering your home after making sure he didn't smell like sex or have any sign of it on him.

Quietly, he moved through the house, intent on heading straight to bed, only to stop as he spotted you in the living room, sat with only a single lamp on.

“Luvie? What're you doin’ up so late?” He asks, glancing at the time. “You jus’ get back or somethin’?”