After that earth-shattering revelation, you avoid Ghost like a plague.

You'd already been attuned enough to recognize his footsteps, quiet as they were, and every time you hear them, you make sure you evade him.

Perhaps you end up in a janitor's closet or two, but that's better than the alternative of actually having to talk to him.

Despite your best efforts, you still get snatches of thoughts and emotions from them, and you also discover an extreme downside among all the other cons of this ridiculous event.

You can feel his pain.

Having memorized his basic schedule, you know when to avoid the mats, and when he's there, you're gone.

Doesn't keep your head from cracking to the side when he takes a punch to the face during sparring.

"Fuck!" you yelp, earning yourself several awkward stares and a "Are you okay?" from at least 3 people. You wave it off, rubbing your cheekbone where it aches.

A quick glance in your reflection in a tablet reveals that you don't even have a red mark.

Forgetting to clear your mind, you think Great, now I look like a fucking idiot.

Glad to be of service, Princess, comes the sarcastic reply. You send back a telepathic middle finger, and a dry chuckle comes down the link.

You try and fail to forget the feeling of his presence in your mind.

At least mopping makes your brain empty.

.-.-.-.

A week after you've learned you're stuck mentally talking to this asshole, he manages to corner you outside your room.

"Can we talk?" he asks as you inch your way towards the door. Sighing, he also bites out a "Please?"

"About what?" you shoot back. "The fact that I'm stuck basically having to meditate all the time because you just had to activate the telepathy-inducing screaming box?"

"What happened wasn't anyone's fault," he says evenly, and you scoff. He's right, but that doesn't mean you're willing to admit it.

Your mama always said you had too much damn pride. God, you wish she wasn't so right all the time.

"What is there to talk about anyway?" you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. "As far as we know, it's permanent."

"As far as we know," he repeats, slightly dismissive, "it's temporary too."

"It's been a week," you argue. "Wouldn't it have worn off by now?"

"Oh for—" He's interrupted by footsteps and opens the door, unceremoniously pushing you inside the dark room. He doesn't bother turning the light on.

"Get out of my damn room."

There's an annoyed grumble, and he strides toward you. Faster than you can get your bearings, he's shoving you back against the door, crowding you in.

"Will you just fucking listen to me?" Ghost snarls, his forearm above your head as he looks down at you. His other hand grabs your chin firmly and tilts your head up.

You're certainly not short, but his height and size combined make you feel surrounded. Warmth radiates off his body, and you shiver involuntarily. His eyes burn behind the mask, holding your gaze.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you nod, not sure if you trust your voice.

"Good," he says, clipped. "Now, I don't like this either, but the only way we can stay out of each other's heads is to figure it out ourselves. I'm sure as shit not telling anyone."

You finally get your bearings back. "I haven't mentioned it to anyone either."

"At least you have some sort of sense in that head of yours."

"Then what do you suggest we do—" you ask. Then, just to sound like a dick, you tack on a somewhat sultry "—sir?"

There's a sharp inhale, and a feeling of something stormy comes through the link before Ghost shakes his head and backs away.

"Come talk to me after supper," he says shortly. Then he's slipping out the door, leaving you in the dark.

.-.-.-.

He had to get his head on straight.

Being in a room alone with her was his first mistake. The second was shoving her against the door, feeling the warmth of her skin heating the air between them. His hand on her chin, the way she was so damn defiant even when she didn't need to be, her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed even in the dark.

He'd always liked them fiery, and the way she'd said sir, all low and seductive, had him ready to find out how it tasted on his mouth, see how far he could push her stubbornness until it gives.

Ghost has always been attracted to her. Sometimes, when he forgot himself, he'd watch the way her hips swayed, transfixed.

Of course, she wasn't exactly keen on his presence, but she was at least able to set aside personal differences when needed. Although she usually didn't avoid him like he was carrying around some bubonic disease.

Not that he could blame her. He didn't like having someone in his head either, especially someone that disliked him so much.

She liked Soap, though, and the two jokingly flirted in a way that had him quietly jealous.

Soap had been the one to call her Cardinal, because she'd been able to navigate out of some nasty, hostile-infested forest in the Crimea alone with only the North Star to guide her and a hunting rifle she'd stolen off a local farmer.

Everyone had thought she'd died when she'd shown up outside camp, coated in mud and a thousand other substances and holding up a flashdrive they thought was a thousand miles away by then. The data she'd had was enough to take down a trafficking ring they'd been chasing for years.

It had earned Ghost's begrudging respect.

She was exactly the kind of woman he'd always wanted, and now? Stuck together through some godforsaken telepathic link? He wasn't sure he'd survive.

.-.-.-.

Dinner was stressful. Ghost, thankfully, usually isn't ever in the mess hall, but you still feel on edge.

Tamping down the residual arousal from your encounter proves to be harder than you thought, though. But you power through it with a mantra of You just haven't gotten laid in a while.

You desperately hope he didn't hear any of that, but somehow you doubt it.

When you'd finished picking at the spaghetti and meatballs you have, you reluctantly drag yourself off your bench and throw the food away.

Ghost's room isn't far, and you try to make the short walk last as long as you can.

The door is unassuming, and you take a fortifying breath before you knock.

It swings open almost immediately, Ghost standing behind it like a dark shadow.

He steps back and you stride in, trying to look more confident than you feel, while he shuts the door behind you.

One of his hands gestures towards a chair before he sits on the neatly made bed.

You do as asked, placing yourself on the chair and folding your hands together.

It's incredibly awkward, and you're trying to avoid the gaze he's directing at you by looking around.

It's very spartan, with no hints of any personalization other than places to store weapons. The walls are as grey as his bedclothes, and you slowly drag your eyes from his thighs up to his face. His stare is burning.

You feel like you're on fire, and you could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

"Do you have any idea if the cube, or whatever, has a button or something? You held it longer than me." Your voice seems to carry in the still air, a little too loud, and you wince.

"No," he says. "I don't. It was the same all around."

"Are you sure?"

"Mara—" You jolt at the use of your actual name. Ghost usually just calls you Cardinal. "—do you really think I couldn't pick a lock and look at the damn thing?"

"I didn't assume you broke in to wherever it's been kept."

"I also took pictures so you could work on cracking whatever language that is," he says bluntly, like you can pull a second Rosetta Stone out of your ass.

"Are you fucking insane?!" you ask incredulously. "Just because I studied history doesn't mean I know shit about linguistics!"

"I know it's a fucking long shot," he snaps, and your anger cools. "But it's a lead, and the only one we have at the moment."

He withdraws a phone from his pocket and tosses it at you. "I had a spare burner, so I saved the pictures there."

You barely catch it, and you look at it before pocketing. Pretty generic smartphone, although you assume he's got it programmed with VPNs and all sorts of shit so that it can never be traced.

"I can try, but it's going to be a hell of a shot to crack it," you say. "It was smooth all around, right?"

"Yeah," he agrees, before standing. You mirror him and get to your feet. The phone in your pocket shifts like a stone.

"Try not to get caught, will you?"