A younger Ghost would have chased her, would have tried to come up with some explanation for why he had asked such a loaded question. Luckily for him, Ghost was wise enough to understand how terrible of an idea that was. As it was, he simply watched her go, staring at her retreating back and wondering when he had become soft. Probably right around the time he Marked her.<br/>What a frustrating response.<span style="font-style: italic">Well, no. It was exactly what you expected.</span>He told himself. What frustrated him was his apparent lack of a set of balls. He should have told her about the Mark. Hell, he should have told her the night he'd done it. But no, here he was letting it drag out, asking stupid questions he already knew the answer to.<br/>Ghost was disappointed, though, that she had misunderstood. He didn't want to leave. PM was his life, and he didn't know any other life any better than she did. But he would have left, if she wanted to. He would have bought them a little cottage by the sea if she'd asked him to. He would have taken them to another country and opened a fucking bakery if...<br/>"In love doesn't even come close." He murmured to himself, leaving some bills on the table as he exited the bar himself. His walk back to PM was a long one, and he spent it cursing himself and contemplating how he was going to keep her from ripping his head off when she found out.<br/><br/>—<br/><br/>The room was nice enough, Silas supposed. It was near to where they were housing Paetra, and in many ways was more comfortable than their home. But it wasn't their home, and all it took to constantly remind him of that was the carpet. It seemed obvious. The carpet was everywhere, obviously it wasn't the same as the carpet in their house, but the fact of the matter was that he could not regard the plush white carpet as fondly as he did at home.<br/>It had been the first 'domestic' decision he and Kallista had made. The house had been a matter of pragmatism. The two of them were able to live without a roof over their heads; they had done it for years. Neither of them had wanted their unborn child to grow up like that, however, so they had simply selected a smallish home with enough space for the child to grow up in.<br/>Weeks later, they had been sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast when Kallista spoke. "I hate the carpet." Silas had laughed, and agreed with her. It was a stained, worn beige and, while it was likely more comfortable than hardwood flooring, it had been walked on so much it was tamped down to the bare minimum height.<br/>Their lives had been filled with excitement up to that point. There had always been some war to fight, some magical artifact to find, someone to protect. Always danger, always fighting.<br/>So when they went to a carpet store to look at samples for the first time, both of them had smiled and laughed and had a wonderful time. Something so mundane, so domestic and safe, was so entirely knew to the two warriors, it had somehow cycled back around to exciting.<br/>The elf smiled, remembering his wife teasing him for enjoying the simple trip so much. His eyes found her curled up on the couch, staring into space. Silas didn't blame her. He had been doing the same thing, just moments ago.<br/>In the hope of cheering her up, he spoke. "I hate the carpet."