Before you even get the chance to take a look at the pictures, you're called out for a mission.
It's the crack of dawn, and clouds spread inky fingers across the sky while your breath fogs in the cool air.
Price is yammering on about something that you'd tuned out ages ago. You'd already gotten everything you needed to know, so this was all fluff while you tried to look like an actual soldier and not someone whose nipples felt hard enough to cut glass.
Pay attention, Ghost snaps from his position a few feet away.
Then make him get to the fucking point already, it's colder than a witch's tit.
Not my problem, Princess.
You try to subtly roll your eyes, but to your dismay, Price catches you, looking incredibly stern in that charismatic uncle way of his.
"You got a problem, Cardinal?"
Dammit. "No, sir."
"Good." He continues his presentation, rolling out some schematics.
A flicker of amusement rolls down the line, and you promise yourself to kick his ass later.
"Did you look yet?" Ghost asks when he finds you punching at a bag. There's still a few hours left until you have to leave, and thanks to your early morning start, you're all jazzed.
You check your watch. 8:45.
"I haven't had a chance to look," you answer honestly. "I went to bed and then got dragged out by Price."
There's no one else in the room with you, and while usually Ghost can be found in cargo pants and a jacket, this time he's in grey sweatpants and a form fitting black t-shirt. He's replaced his usual hard mask with a balaclava.
You tamp down on the Lord have mercy that you know is going to pop in your head. His ego doesn't need any more stroking.
God, you need to get laid.
"Are you going to just keep punching that or do you want to spar?" Ghost asks, rolling his shoulders.
An unusual request, but you are nothing if not opportunistic.
"Sure," you reply. Long since warmed up, your own t-shirt and joggers are comfortable, even in the cool air.
He beckons you forward onto the mats. Whoever used them last wasn't nice enough to rinse them, and you make a mental promise to yourself not to get slammed into them.
You've picked out enough dried sweat crystals from your skin to make a necklace already, and you weren't interested in acquiring more.
"Ready when you are, Princess," he says, low and amused.
You start with a kick, letting yourself get a feel for how he dodges. It's a simple sidestep, and you whirl around him as he throws a punch.
He spins to face you faster than you expect, but you recover quickly, throwing an elbow up.
Contact.
His head snaps up quickly, and you suddenly ever choosing to do this as you feel the exact same pain he feels.
"That's...not comfortable," you admit.
"No, it isn't," he agrees and his fist connects with your face, sending you staggering. Your cheek throbs.
Rotating your jaw, you spit to the side and raise your fists again. Feinting a punch, you get behind him and kick out a knee, wincing as you feel how your sneaker connects.
Your forearm winds around his neck as you disable his other knee.
"Got you," you say, quietly triumphant.
"Not quite."
Too late. You miss the way his abdomen flexes as he flips you over his head, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head as he pivots.
Ghost straddles your thighs, keeping you effectively pinned. The warmth of his skin soaks through two layers of cloth, and you stare up at him.
His gaze isn't on your face though.
It's on your torso somewhere, and you follow his stare to your chest.
Something a little too bold comes over you.
"Like what you see?" you ask, and he sits back slightly in shock.
Enough for you to buck him off and reverse your positions. Your nose a breath from his, you keep his arms in place and count to ten.
"I win," you say, laughing slightly.
"Fine," he grumbles, making you snort.
Out of habit, you sit back, forgetting that you're straddling his hips.
Something rather solid and large is there to greet you, and you stare, wide-eyed, at Ghost.
Who's equally wide-eyed back.
As if burned by a brand, you hop off, forgetting the usual courtesy of helping your partner up.
"I'm just gonna, uh, pack," you say hurriedly, grabbing your water bottle and booking it.
He never says a word, just watches you go.
You spend an embarrassing amount of time ruminating on it, keeping it all aloud so you don't send it down the line to him.
"It's natural, right?" you mutter to yourself, feeling slightly hysterical. "Just friction."
It's not very convincing when the other person was only wearing sweatpants.
When you're both in the helicopter, Ghost's fully geared up and steadily avoiding your gaze.
At least the mission's enough to keep you distracted.
Once again, the two of you are paired up, this time on a stakeout in the middle of some town whose name you can't pronounce.
It's expected to take a night to find out if the guy you're looking for is actually there, and potentially, a side of assassination if the timing is right.
Ghost mercifully doesn't bring up anything from that morning, and you're both silent as you enter the studio apartment that you'll be occupying for the next 24 hours.
It's cramped, and the walls are stained from smokers, but the heating works and the windows are clean.
The hours tick by as you both watch the streets outside carefully, waiting for any sign of your target. It's excruciatingly boring, but at least you know the guy you're after won't emerge after dark.
Pouring a cup of microwaved hot water into your MRE, you absently shake the bag and stare off into space, kind of wishing you'd brought a book.
"I'm gonna turn in," you say a couple hours after night hits.
Ghost barely even looks at you before quickly sliding his gaze away.
"Ohhhhkay then." You brush your teeth and slide into your cot, pulling your blanket over your shoulders and forcing yourself to sleep.
You're woken by screaming.
Jolting upright, the screams keep going on and on, and it takes you a moment to catch your bearings and realize that it's coming from Ghost's head.
In the dark of the room, you can barely make him out, a sliver of moonlight showing his fingers digging hard enough into his palms to make them bleed.
His breaths are loud and ragged, and the screaming just doesn't stop.
Please! Please don't hurt him!
My baby! You killed my baby!
SIMON!
YOU'RE A MONSTER! I HATE YOU!
PLEASE!
It fades into this awful cacophony of wails. They're memories, you realize, and you slide out of bed, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Ghost? Ghost, wake up," you whisper.
His eyes shoot open, and he lunges, grabbing a knife from its sheath and holding it against your neck as he pins you down. You can feel the edge against the delicate skin of your neck and you swallow.
"It's okay," you tell him, and his grip wavers. "It's okay."
His eyes clear, and he drops the knife. He's shaking, a full body tremble that has you soften. Gently, you encircle his shoulders and bring him down to you, rubbing his back and holding his shoulders.
It takes a moment, but it's like he melts, his body relaxing fully as the screams slowly start to fade. He's still shuddering, his head against your neck, and you can feel his warm breath on your skin.
You murmur soothing words until sleep catches up with you, and you fall asleep, Ghost curled against you.