Finally! This is complete, not to sure what I think of it. But I like it just the same anyway, it was fun to write. Hope you enjoy!

WARNING: This is very light boyboy. I don't care what your opinion of it is, you have been forewarned. Thank you.

There was a searing pain in his arm, stretching to his shoulder and twisting at his heart. It had been like this for weeks now, and the pain wasn't going away dammit.

Gary 'Roach' Sanderson was lying down on a medical bed, surrounded by white walls and white machines. A quiet lulling hum filled the otherwise silent room, he had been here nearly a week. A bullet wound had rendered him useless for all the strain put on it, another in the chest and the possibility of a broken hip. He wasn't sure anymore. All he knew was that there was pain (whitehotsearingpain), even with all the morphine shot up into his system there was still a dull pulsing ache.

He had been awoken by a loud yelp from outside his room. It had startled him, shot through his senses like white hot lightening, keeping him alive and his aching heart going. There had been no further noise after indicating as to who had made it, and frankly, he didn't much care for who it was.

All he desired was sleep. Peaceful, bliss filled sleep.

He attempted to shuffle, trying to get comfortable again but it seemed like he couldn't. His body was fighting against comfort, deciding he didn't need sleep anymore but instead needed to feel the dull pulsing ache that wouldn't leave him be. He let out an angry huff, shutting his eyes and letting his face pull into a frown.

The dark made time seem to stretch out, dragging on into forever and beyond. The stillness closed in upon him, choking him, compressing his body until the hum got louder and louder and louderlouderlouder-

The door to the room opened.

Roach opened his eyes again, being greeted with the sight of a skeletons grin upon black. Red sunglasses placed on top keeping unknown prying eyes away from the soul that lay behind them. A tall strong body in combat gear stood before him caked in mud, grime and dust. He had been away on an assignment in Russia. A smell of blood (metallic and heavy) mixed with sweat and gunpowder reached inside his nose.

He smiled at the figure, "Hey Ghost…" he whispered.

Ghost.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

The Lieutenant.

The crazy English bastard with a brilliant twisted mind.

Ghost bristled, the air around him shifted.

It became menacing and cold.

Roach shrunk slightly into his cool comfortable pillow.

"Ghost..?" he whispered.

Ghost shot over to him faster than lightening, looming above him like a god about to deliver punishment in a giant dark shadow, arms trapping him on either side pinning him to the bed with his red coloured stare.

"What were you thinking?" Ghost's voice is filled with malice and venom, coated with the slightest colour of desperation. It is low, growled out and cuts at the skin.

Burrowing inside, deep and harsh.

Roach almost whimpers. Almost. Instead, he schools his face into an expression of calm and confusion. Ghost growls slightly, leaning in closer to Roach's face (closercloser) into his already lacking personal space.

"Don't you give me that ditsy confused look Gary." he hissed, "You bloody well know exactly what I mean."

Roach, despite his best efforts, lost his look of calm and instead looked shocked, then hurt, then angry.

"If you're asking why I got shot, then the only answer I have for you is" Roach took a shuddering breath, "that I wasn't focused. I wasn't looking where I was supposed to." He paused and quietly added, "Sir."

The deadly air was rolling off Ghost in waves now.

"You." His voice and body shook, faintly Roach could hear the bunching of the fabric of the sheets in his Lieutenants grasp. He wondered what the chance of them tearing under his grip would be.

Ghost suddenly inhaled sharply, causing Roach to flinch.

"Don't you ever" he started, voice cracking slightly like Roach's heart was. "Ever, do that again."

Roach swallowed, eyes shifting to look everywhere but nowhere. He wished he could see Ghosts eyes, so he could see what he was thinking. So he could know how he felt, so he could just know.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Ghost spoke again, his voice broken and desperate.

"I should have been there for you" he said. "I should have been there."

Roach's confused expression returned again. "Ghost, there wasn't anything you could have done. I just wasn't-"

"Don't!" Ghost yelled, "Don't. You ever. Ever, say I couldn't have done anything. I could have." He seemed to be trying to comfort himself more than Roach. "I'll kill the bastard myself."

Roach allowed himself a small smile, which Ghost must have noticed because he seemed to loosen.

"You don't. Got the fucker myself, shot him between the eyes before he could get another hit."

Ghost loosened his grip on the sheets, he was observing Roach now. Calculating, calm, but still frightened.

Roach decided to speak before Ghost could, "I'm fine Ghost. I've.." he paused, "We've. Been through worse than this." Ghost visibly flinched, and Roach frowned.

The two, along with the rest of the Task Force 141 never spoke of the incident. The time when their precious, fun, loving Roach was shot rang in their minds every day. Ghost having to drag and haul his dying body to the man who would betray them all. Leaving Ghost and Roach to burn in gasoline and cigars, the pair of them had miraculously barely escaped with their lives, a breaths inch from death.

The details were fuzzy, Ghost and Roach had never asked. They didn't want to know, the months of healing and the debriefings were enough to put their minds at rest.

It had been two years, two long, pain filled, and questioning years. With Ghost barely leaving Roach's side, going out with him on missions when it wasn't necessary. Sticking to him like a second shadow, like his very own name. A Ghost.

Roach, as far as he was concerned, had put up with it thinking it was out of guilt. He knew of the pains and nightmares it could bring, losing comrades and friends did that to you. But despite the forced thought it was guilt, he had grown used to the man's ever constant presence and ever continuous comfort. Even the quiet hello or a pat on the shoulder had become something he couldn't go a day without. Even just his presence was a comfort he couldn't get over.

And for two weeks away on his mission, and another few alone in a hospital bed had been torture.

Ghost, in more ways than one, felt the same. He was the one who always made sure HIS bug was safe. It was no one else's job, he wouldn't allow it.

McTavish had tried to do that once. Instead of a thank you he received a punch to the face and a forceful shove out the door by Ghost's hand despite Roach's weak protested cries to not fight with the Captain. McTavish didn't say a word about it after; even with the swollen jaw and black eye he received.

No one tried to nurse Gary back to health unless given explicit permission by the Brit himself after that, unless he was at the base or at the scene however he couldn't do much about it.

Which is precisely why at this very moment, Ghost had been panicking. His Bug, his Roach, his… Gary. Had been hurt when he hadn't been there for him, now forced to lie in a bed until he was healed in an aching pain which Ghost was sure, he could have stopped.

And now Roach was paying for it.

"Ghost" Roach whispered, the man in question didn't respond, he decided to try again. "Simon"

That brought the skeleton back to his attention.

Roach was one of the very few who had explicit permission to call Ghost by his birth name. The privilege wasn't handed freely, not many knew his name to begin with, and that was just fine by Ghost.

He much preferred his call name anyway.

Ghost swallowed, "What…?" His voice was soft.

Roach let his eyes roam over the balaclava and red glasses. Desperately trying to see what lay beneath. "I don't blame you." Was all he said.

His voice echoed like a gunshot. Ghost had stopped breathing, his body strung tighter than a piano wire. The hum of the machines stopped. Everything just stopped.

It wasn't until what felt like hours after but only a few seconds that Ghost had let loose a strangled gasping sob of air and crumpled to his knees, using the bed for support. He was wailing then, suddenly a surge of emotions. A gasping, sobbing, aching mess of destructive beauty, crying to the heavens that they no longer believed in, shaking with so much restraint of pent up emotion that all Roach could do was stare.

Ghost, not once ever even as a child had cried in front of people. It wasn't something he did; tears were to be done in private where one could do so in peace and avoid concerned voices and looks from people who just didn't understand. Ghost didn't like to feel vulnerable, he didn't like to know he couldn't stop things, hell; he didn't like much of anything that had to do with emotions.

But even the strongest mountains need to crack sometimes.

And right now, Ghost was cracking, after so many years of bottling it up and tightening the ever leaking lid he was cracking, bursting at the seams, letting out every little thing from his pores in his scarred, dirty skin. Howling and sobbing his release, feeling euphoric yet sick at the same time.

A peculiar feeling tingled inside his skull, he was forgiven; Roach-HIS Roach-forgave him, didn't blame his near death on him. He didn't hate him, he didn't wish he were dead, he didn't wish he had died, he didn't wishhedidn'twishhedidn'tWISH-

Something, very gently-almost like a stroke of air Ghost thought-graced the top of his head. Throughout his desperate cries and sobs, he hadn't noticed Roach move to sit up and watch him. He hadn't noticed that Roach himself was now crying silently too, touching Ghost's head gently in the smallest form of comfort that he could give the man that lay upon his knees and clung to the sheets like lifelines.

Ghost tilted his head slightly, moving to look at Roach and stare. His balaclava felt wet on his face (He supposed it was from his saliva and tears) and clung uncomfortably to his skin that lay beneath. His red glasses were knocked askew, titled at an angle that gave the smallest view to what was behind them, but not enough to see clearly.

Roach sniffed loudly, raising his good arm without hurting the other to wipe his runny nose. "Your glasses Ghost.." he laughed quietly, the sound coming out wet and cracked.

Ghost swallowed, moving a shaky hand to reach for his glasses and set them right again. "Thanks mate.." he whispered, voice barely being heard among them. But Roach wasn't going to have any of that; he wanted to see those eyes dammit.

Roach leaned forward by an inch, using his hand to take away the glasses while Ghost made a small whine of protest and recoiled slightly at Roach taking away part of his shield.

Roach thought he had never seen such beautiful eyes on anyone before.

Ghost's eyes were a colour of rich honey, mixed with the darkest of chocolates all rolled into one. The light from the room reflected off them, causing the browns and gold yellows to mingle together and dance across the iris, sparkling and gleaming (Mischievous, startling, piercing, gorgeous).

Roach starred into their endless depths, becoming lost in the vivid colour. Ghost cleared his throat, attempting to break the man from his trance.

"Roach.." he whispered, "Mate, you're starring at me.."

Roach blinked and shook himself slightly to bring him back, focusing on Ghost once more rather than his eyes. "Sorry Ghost," he grinned sheepishly, "It's just.." He paused and gestured slightly to his face.

"Your eyes, they're... Really pretty" he finished lamely.

Ghost stared at him, eyes glittering more in slight amusement though embarrassed. "First time I've ever heard a guy say that." He chuckled, the sound being wet and awkward to even his own ears. Roach simply shrugged as best he could, shuffling his body again to become comfortable.

"It's true though, they are pretty." He snorted, looking down at his hands. "Kinda stupid of me to say I guess.. But still.." He glanced back at Ghost, who was shuffling himself awkwardly. Looking like he wanted to stay and flee all at once.

"I'm sorry I took your glasses off Simon" he said. "I know how much you like, well, keeping yourself hidden.." He winced, "I was just curious really.."

Ghost watched Roach frown at himself, his bottom lip jutting out like a pouting child who was told they would have to be patient for something. It was cute, Ghost decided, and it suited him much better than tears and a pain filled face. He let out a breath of air, moving himself to a proper standing position and Roach looked up at him with confused eyes.

"Where're you..?" Roach started, voice trailing off dead.

Ghost had sat himself down beside him, his mask off.

Off. Gone. Lost. Vanished.

Just simply... gone.

And that was the most perfect thing Roach had ever seen in his entire life, this moment, the amount of trust being displayed, the emotion he could feel. He could reach out and touch if he wanted (which he so desperately did), trace light scars that criss crossed and stuck out against Ghost's face like intricate patterns in a threaded tapestry of colour and light upon smooth coloured skin.

Ghost had a handsome face, strong jawed but soft. Accentuated with his high cheekbones and sharp nose, surrounded by smooth paled skin from being hidden behind a mask so long against the sun's rays. Cheeks were red, though not from blushing (or so Roach guessed, he wasn't sure if Ghost had ever blushed) but from the previously shed tears from the multitude of emotions shed shone the brightest against the feathery soft looking brown locks atop Ghost's head that twisted and spiked.

Roach, over whelmed by this sudden appearance gaped openly at Ghost, who simply stared back looking a little nervous but determined about something.

Roach swallowed, trying to get his brain working once again; "G-Ghost" he stuttered out.

Ghost tilted his head slightly to one side, staring at him. "What is it Bug?" he whispered, voice coming out hushed and soft.

Roach continued to stare, trying to get his voice back in working order. His brain couldn't help it, Ghost was distracting him dammit, he wouldn't be able to think when he was looking at him like that and didn't Ghost know that inching forward wasn't going to do anything-

A sudden swell of heat surged through Roach as Ghost's lips connected gently with his.

The touch was soft and barely there, filling up Roach's insides from his toes to the roots of his hair with a warm delicious heat that coiled inside his stomach and spread. His head was swimming, he felt delirious, exhilarated, too many things to name at once. He had waited for years alongside his Lieutenant, a boyish feeling of pride and awe for Ghost who dominated everything and everyone as easily as he breathed had bloomed into something much more than what he accounted for.

This sensation, this pure undeniable feeling right now, felt right more than he could ever say.

Ghost pulled back after, feeling elated and dizzy from their touch. His brain on a high he wasn't sure he would come down from soon, he bet he would feel like this from future touches, happy and calm. His heart finally at peace and not fighting itself.

He nudged Roach's nose slightly with his own, a smallest form of an eskimo kiss. "Oi. Bug."

Roach raised a brow at him, a slight smirk tugging at his lips at the nickname. "What Ghost?"

Ghost was smirking now, a grin threatening to spill across his face "Next time you feel like lying in a bed, you're doing it with me. Got that?"

Roach couldn't stop the laughter that escaped him, his smile lighting up his entire face and putting a glow to Ghost's own small one.

Because hell, he wasn't about to give up his Roach any time soon.

And that was just fine by him.

Ah, an awkward ending. Reviews would be much appreciated!