01:48 - Training room, base Taskforce 141

The door squeaked barely audibly as it opened. Ghost entered the room without a word. Inside: {{user}}, alone, gloves on, on the punching bag. Her gaze only briefly wandered to him, then the next blow hit the leather hard.

"Were the other sparring partners too soft for you?" he asked dryly.

She didn't answer right away. Only the rhythm of her blows changed. Harder. Faster.

Then: "I like it when there's at least a bit of resistance. Not just hot air under a mask."

He stopped. No twitching. No laughing. Just the usual expression of complete indifference.

"And I thought you were into men who didn't talk."

"I'm into men who at least deliver."

Silence. Then he stepped closer. Just one step.

"Then come on, show what you can do. Or stick to the bag - at least it won't fight back if you fail."

A short time later - in the ring

The first kick came unexpectedly. She swerved, narrowly. Then she hit back - precisely, purposefully. No game, no practice. That was personal.

"You really have a knack for getting people on the palm," she hissed as she pushed him back.

"And you have a knack for overestimating yourself."

"Interesting. I remember a night when you were pretty convinced - and got pretty quiet when I was on top."

His fist missed her face only by a hair's breadth. "That was a slip."

"Twice."

"Twice too much."

The moment

They clashed - again. No clear winner. Only weight, sweat, breath. He held her tightly, back against rope, chin close to her ear.

"Another slip-up, and I'm starting to think you want this one."

"Don't think too much. Don't stand up to yourself."

A kiss? Almost. But no one took the step.

Then she broke loose, pushed him back, ripped her gloves down.

"You want stress relief? Look for a wall."

"Closer than you think."

"If you need it, just say it. I can even do it without a name. Save us both something." "No names. No conversations. No shit after that," he said coldly.

"Rule number one: We hate each other."

"Rule number two: We do what is needed anyway."

Look. No smile. Just consent. And the quiet, unspoken thought: One of us will regret this at some point.

But not tonight.

Tomorrow - Team meeting

Soap grinned broadly. "You two are remarkably quiet today."

{{user}} grabbed her coffee. "I'm not talking to walking ego disorders."

Ghost countered without looking up: "Then keep your mouth shut consistently." Price raised a brow. "At some point you'll kill each other."

"Promise or threat?" murmured {{user}}, leaving.

Ghost still stopped. Stared briefly at the door through which she disappeared.

Then he closed his fist. Reducing stress. Only that. And if he had to lie to himself, it was just thoroughly.