A/N: Don't flame me for any mistaken preferences, I really suck when it comes to writing about a place set in a country different from mine xD

Anyway, this multi-chaptered fic will probably be very short, but that depends on you readers! And please excuse the random friendships I've created in this :p it's an alternate universe setting…so, the heck with it, right?

Enjoy! :D

Walking out the door, Gary 'Roach' Sanderson released a heavy sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose, his head still throbbing from the cries and shouts of the children he encountered earlier that day.

He remained in front of the office door for a few more minutes, attempting to appease the ache in his head by rubbing his temples, until a familiar, friendly voice called out to him.

"Hey, Roach!"

He looked up to see his friend, James Ramirez, approaching him with a wide grin on his face and a hand held up high.

"Hey, Ramirez," Roach smiled weakly, giving his buddy a brief, warm handshake.

Ramirez invited him to his desk which was across the room. Offering him a chair, Roach took it and sat down next to dark-haired man at his desk. Ramirez turned on his computer, and, as he waited for the screen to light up, looked at Roach.

His lips curved downwards into a frown. "Dude, is anything wrong?"

"Nothing is, I'm just tired," Roach shook his head. "Tired of taking pictures of boring stuff! I mean, I joined the company of The Hereford Times as a photographer, thinking I'd be covering cool issues, not taking pictures of school projects and school children activities."

Ramirez remained silent, a smirk slowly crossing his features, as Roach continued his complaints. "Today I had to go to kindergarten to take pictures of kids jumping around on Sports Day. I swear I'd be deaf if I spent another hour at that place, with the children screaming, crying and laughing."

At this point, his friend chuckled, but Roach took no notice and sighed. "How does MacMillan think a kindergarten sports event would be exciting to read?"

"Almost nothing exciting happens in this cozy little town," Ramirez reminded, turning to the ancient computer which finally started up. "And if you're dissatisfied with your job, get in line. You think I became an editor to be bossed around and do pointless errands?"

"Bossed around?" Roach raised an eyebrow.

At that moment, a tall, dark-skinned man walked by the desk. He stared at them sternly and ordered, "Ramirez! Quit talking to Sanderson and start typing! Today's issues aren't gonna edit themselves!"

Ramirez rolled his eyes once his senior was gone. "Foley. It's always 'Ramirez, do this!' and 'Ramirez, do that!', and I can't say anything because he's the chief editor. Sometimes he asks me to get him coffee or what time it is, just because he doesn't want to lift his head up to look at the wall clock, because he's too caught up editing an issue on the computer."

"Wow, you have it rough," Roach frowned, sympathetic.

"Yeah, well, I'm used to it," Ramirez shrugged, smiling at his friend. "Don't worry, Roach. You'll get that big break someday. You're really good at what you do; I'm pretty sure MacMillan noticed."

"Ramirez! Get your ass over to that vending machine and get me some coffee!"

"Yes, sir," Ramirez sighed. He patted Roach on the shoulder as they both rose. "I'll see you soon, bro."

Roach smiled and they parted ways, with Ramirez heading for the vending machine, and Roach heading for the exit.

As he approached the doors, Roach met with Derek 'Frost' Westbrook, another fellow photographer of the weekly newspaper.

"Good evening, Roach," Frost's lips broke into a small grin. "Already on your next assignment?"

"MacMillan said he'll be giving me a new assignment tomorrow," Roach said after he shook his head. "What about you? What did you have to do?"

With a grimace, Frost handed his friend a few photos. "The opening of a new café is all. Since nothing ever happens here, we basically write about every frivolous thing that take place in this town."

"Yeah, Ramirez said the same thing," Roach laughed, briefly flipping through the pictures before giving them back to Frost. "I'll catch you later."

"Enjoy your day off," The blonde smirked, walking up the stairs to enter The Hereford Times headquarters.

Roach walked past the glass doors, taking a deep breath. A soft wind blew, brushing against his light skin and sand-coloured hair, whistling softly against his ear. The chilly atmosphere the town had endured over the months was slowly becoming warmer, and the sun was beginning to shine brighter each day, marking the arrival of spring.

Within an hour, the twenty-two year old had arrived at his home, and shoved his hands in his pockets in search of the keys to the gate. The domain was a small, comfortable place, a part of a terrace and close to the corner lot.

"Roach, it ain't like you to be back from work so early," John 'Soap' MacTavish, his neighbor and good friend, who just happened to be watering the plants on the front lawn, called out. With a cheeky smirk, he approached the fence between he and Roach. "Don't tell me you got fired."

"I didn't get fired," Roach retorted, rolling his green eyes, before returning the smirk. "The boss just said my new assignment will be given tomorrow…so I basically have the rest of the evening off."

"I see," Soap nodded slowly. Then, he gave the younger man an inquiring gaze. "You also look a bit upset, mate. Want to talk about it?"

Roach smiled weakly. Was it obvious on his face that he was frustrated with his job?

"When I signed up to be a newspaper photographer, I thought I'd be meeting new people, going to new places, experiencing new things and adventures," Roach reluctantly began his rant. "I don't know…I feel like I'm not making any progress, like I'm not making anything out of myself."

"Oh, things aren't going as planned, eh?" Soap frowned. He assured, "Don't worry, lad, things will get better. Who knows, what if this MacMillan person gives you an exciting assignment tomorrow morning?"

Roach shrugged. In this town, the possibilities are limited, so Roach rather doubted Soap's words.

"Good mornin', Sanderson," MacMillan greeted, in his thick accent which was similar to Soap's, to Roach as he walked in through the doors of his office.

MacMillan looked young for his age. With auburn hair, dark blue eyes, a strong chin and thin wrinkles just creasing about his forehead and eyes, anybody who saw him would question him being fifty-four instead of plain forty.

"Good morning, sir," Roach nodded, taking a seat in front of his boss. Glancing up to the clock, it was ten am. He was on the dot, sharpish, as usual. "My assignment?"

"Yes, I was just about to get to that," MacMillan nodded and proceeded to explain, "See, the town park is beautiful this time of year. The flowers are in full bloom, the sun is shining, the air is warm, the trees are green, the lakes are sparkling—the scenery is stunning. It's a nice sight for sore eyes after a brutal winter, eh?"

Roach nodded slowly, and the red-haired man continued, "I want you to head down to a park. It doesn't matter which one. Take pictures of the scenery and bring 'em back to me for publication. The second week of spring is the biggest issue for next week's paper."

"Of course, sir," With a determined smile, Roach rose from his seat and gave a slight bow. Exiting the office, with camera hung over his neck, the young man nodded briefly to co-workers Ramirez and Frost, and sped down the stairs.

'Oh well, at least this assignment's slightly interesting,' Roach thought to himself, the edge of his lips ever-so-slightly curved upwards into a small smile. 'No annoying kids, no headaches…a bit of flora is always a pleasant sight for sore eyes, as MacMillan said.'

As he walked down the pavement towards a nearby park, he passed through some restaurants and outlets, where young women eyed and flashed him flirtatious glances. However, he took no notice of them, too caught up in imagining vivid colors of the flowers and trees.

Gary Sanderson was, by all means, a very handsome young man. He had a straight posture, a childishly sweet voice, bright green eyes, brownish-blonde hair and an alluring smile. And he was single, which made him the talk of the maidens of the town.

However, he wasn't the only popular single man, though—Soap, Frost, Ramirez, Jake Dunn and Paul Jackson were also popular among the girls.

Roach knew he had admirers, but he never paid much attention to them besides waving and saying hi. They were all quite unattractive to him, for some reason. Oh well, Soap told him 'The One' for Roach will come one day…

Taking a deep breath, he finally set foot onto the concrete pavement leading into the park. Roach was at the largest public park in Hereford, and the scenery was, indeed just as MacMillan had described them, stunning.

Tall trees which had once been bare and sullen by the sides were now heavy with countless green leaves, leaning down onto the pavement, providing shade from the bright sun. The once snow-covered floors of the park were now green and full of life, with flowers poking out everywhere. The air, on the other hand, was now warm and breezy instead of being plain freezing.

Humming to himself, Roach proceeded to take pictures of the park. He knelt down to capture a ladybug, stood on the benches to get a non-panaromic view of the park and basically explored and shot everything there is to take a picture of.

About two hours into his assignment, the park began to flood with people. Though it was noon, the thick clouds which hung high in the sky blocked out all the sunlight, making it relatively shady for an afternoon in spring. Families walked around, groups of friends played football, young people jogged around, and couples strolled about.

Roach stopped and took a deep breath, standing on a bridge built across a small, artificial lake in the park. He looked down and smiled at his own reflection at the sparkling water.

At that point, two young women walked past him, giggling and becoming coy when they saw Roach by the bridge.

"Oh my, it's Sanderson," One of them said excitedly. Though they kept their distance, they still talked loud enough for him to hear. "Just look at him…isn't he just the most handsome man you've seen in your life?"

A blush crept up to his cheeks, but he kept staring into the water and mantained a neutral expression.

"Maybe to you, honey, but MacTavish is on the top of the list," The other scoffed. "Older men are always more attractive."

At this comment, Roach chuckled. It was fascinating to listen to these women.

"Oh, you! MacTavish isn't that good-looking," The first woman retorted, sounding scandalized. "What about the other four men…Ramirez, Dunn, Westbrook and Jackson? I must admit, those four do live up to their reputations of being handsome Americans."

"I haven't seen Westbrook before," Her friend replied. "By the way, have you heard? There's a new guy, slowly coming on the list."

Roach slowly became interested, and eavesdropped on their conversation.

"What's his name?"

"That's just it! Nobody knows. But my girls say he has beautiful dark hair and the most mysterious blue eyes. They've never seen him around, but he looks like a local. Yet, nobody's heard him speak, so we can't tell from his accent whether he's from around here or not."

"He sounds like he's hard to approach."

"Yes, they mentioned that. He's basically emotionless, keeping a poker face every second of the day, and he ignores if anybody tries to talk or flirt."

"Interesting."

"Indeed. It's—oh wait, there he is!"

Hearing her exclaimation, Roach turned his head to face them. The woman was pointing in the opoosite way, and his eyes followed the direction in which she indicated.

An unfamiliar face immediately caught his attention.

Walking down the pavement leading to the bridge was a very tall man, standing at a stunning height of six-foot-two. His jet-black hair was side-sweeped on his head and his deep azure eyes stared down at the path in an intense gaze, lips in a straight line and eyebrows set into a very slight scowl. The serious expression fitted with the mysterious aura he released, making him look like an interesting stranger hard to approach.

Even as this stranger approached the bridge, Roach found it very hard to look away. For some reason, his heart was racing and throbbing in his chest, and a red tint was creeping up to his cheeks. He can't look away because he felt as though he didn't want to, and oh how he wanted to slap himself.

The tall stranger set foot on the wooden bridge and began walking across it. As he got closer, Roach received the priviledge of truly examining his features; the beautifully-sculptured nose, the fierce-looking eyes, the strong setting of the chin, the firm line of the lips.

He received a heart attack when the stranger looked up and stared back at him.

They mantained eye contact for a long time as the dark-haired man walked past Roach in his venture over the lake. However, his expression wasn't serious as it originally was—it was a simple, neutral gaze, no glint of inquiry or anger in those blue orbs, no change of expression to that strong poker face.

Finally he passed Roach, and once he felt he had escaped from the heart-racing aura, he gulped loudly.

Glancing over his shoulder, Roach was surprised to find the stranger had disappeared. He scanned the crowd desperately in search of the mysterious stranger, but to no avail, and he frowned.

'Strange, how'd he disappear so fast?' Roach bit the insides of his cheeks, folding his arms. 'He's almost like a ghost…'

He returned to staring at his reflection in the water. What happened just now? Why couldn't he look away and escape that nerve-racking stare?

He put a hand to his chest and raised his eyebrows at the racing beats. Why was he feeling this way? Why was his heart beating so fast?

Wiping his face several times and releasing a sigh, Roach pondered. Looking at the stranger sparked an unknown feeling in him…something he never felt before. But it was a nice feeling—it was exciting and got him edgy, energetic, ecstatic, but made him feel weak and bashful at the same time.

Taking out a notebook, he pulled out a pen. He usually jotted down his assignments or reminders in the small memo pad, sometimes he even wrote down his grocery list on it. Flipping to an empty page, he wrote:

Objective: Look for target and learn more about him.

He stopped and frowned, unsure. What should he call this mysterious stranger for the time being?

Subconsciously, his fingers moved the pencil lead about the paper.

Callsign: Ghost.

Roach wanted to laugh at the nickname he came up for the stranger, but he couldn't think of anything better. Oh well, at least it suited him.

"So…how are you holding up at work?" Jackson raised an eyebrow as the waitress left their table.

Roach was sitting down with two of his American friends, Paul Jackson and Jake Dunn, at a restaurant near his neighborhood. Though he originally wanted to have dinner with Soap and Gaz, they were busy that night so Roach decided to invite these two men instead.

"Today's assignment was exciting, at least," Roach shrugged. "Next week's major issue is spring."

"Yeah, I heard from Ramirez," Dunn grinned. "The photos you took were awesome, man! You're a natural with camera."

"I've been to the park," Jackson nodded, running his fingers through his dark hair. "The scenery really is beautiful. I'm happy to know for next week, the issue's a bit more exciting than school events and museum openings."

They shared a laugh as the waitress came by their table to give them their drinks. She flirtatiously winked at Jackson, who smirked and winked back, sipping on his drink. When she walked away, Dunn flashed his friend a lopsided smile.

"Always the playboy, eh, Jackson?"

"What? We're on top of the list for the young girls around here. Better enjoy it, am I wrong?"

"Nope," Dunn laughed, gulping down his drink, before turning to Roach. "Hey, buddy, is Foley still bossing poor Ramirez around?"

Roach responded with a small nod.

The brown-haired man laughed. "I knew it! Foley's always so peremptory. Poor Ramirez."

The three soon conversed into a light-hearted conversation, but quickly the topic took a turn when Jackson suddenly lowered his voice and looked around.

"By the way, you heard, right? There are two new strangers in town that the girls are talking about."

Dunn raised an eyebrow. "Really? Isn't having six men on the list enough already? Geez, the women in Hereford have some really sharp eyes."

"Two?" Roach repeated, perplexed. "I overheard earlier today concerning only one."

"Well, there's one that looks like a local, but nobody's sure," Jackson explained. "And then this other one's a Russian. It's so easy to tell because his accent's similar to Yuri's and Nikolai's. Not sure what his name is."

"Oh, wait, I saw this new Russian guy when I was walking home a few hours ago," Dunn rolled his blue eyes as he recalled encountering the newcomer. "The girls started gawking at him when he passed by. They said his name was Makarov."

"How'd he react to the girls?" Roach raised an eyebrow.

"Well, he completely and rudely ignored them," Dunn frowned, staring down at his drink. "Rolled his eyes, muttered something in Russian and walked past the girls like they were invisible. Poor chicks looked upset."

Jackson chuckled. "You didn't cheer them up, Jake?"

"Well, not by winking and flirting, like you would," Dunn smiled. "I offered them some drinks, had a small chat and walked away. I think I reclaimed my rightful place as their favourite guy."

"What did you talk about?" Roach asked.

"The girls told me about the other newcomer," Dunn said. "Dark hair, blue eyes. They said he was six feet tall. Other than that, they really don't know anything else about him."

Suddenly Roach remembered staring into those intense blue eyes, and the elegance in all of his features. He recalled when the stranger walked past him, engulfing him in a mysterious and nervous aura, and the steady gaze on his face…

Roach subconsciously muttered the stranger's nickname. "Ghost…"

"What?" Jackson asked, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Err, nothing," Roach insisted, laughing nervously.

His friends eyed him suspiciously for a few seconds, but the food arrived at that time and the hunger began to really grip at them. Their attention was diverted elsewhere, with an exception for Roach, whose mind was still stuck on the mysterious newcomer.

Whoever Ghost was, Roach was definitely going to find out.

A/N: So…how was that? I feel pretty good about it…what do you think?

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