Beyond Good and Evil

In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations, and epochs it is the rule.-Friedrich Nietzsche

Gary "Roach" Sanderson/Simon "Ghost" Riley

oOo

It hurts to move, to breathe. Fuck, it even hurts to think. He smells smoke and burnt flesh, and grass and dust.

He tries to open his eyes, but all he sees is black.

And then there is nothing.

He thinks he hears voices. Sharp, guttural voices. Unfamiliar. Enemy?

He loses consciousness again.

He doesn't wake up.

Days pass, and still he sleeps, blissfully unaware.

He feels no pain, no nothing. He's numb.

"...still out. No. About a week ago. Da, shot to the shoulder, just barely missed the heart. Not sure yet, hasn't given any response. Maybe a month? Two? Da. I understand. Poka."

He tries to speak, chokes, and fades rapidly between waking and dropping out again. A figure blurs into focus and he sluggishly tries to put distance between them, wondering where his gun is, wondering if this person will kill him, thinking of a million different ways to protect himself, and still unable to do much more than twitch his fingers.

"Ah, welcome back, soldier." A hand shoves a cup in front of his face and pours cool water down his throat. He swallows wrong and breaks into a painful fit of coughs. The hand pats him on the back and holds him up in a sitting position.

He blinks rapidly and looks at his hands, focusing on small things until he's sure he can see straight again. His gloves are gone, his balaclava, too. All of his gear is missing.

"Who..." he coughs and tries again, looks up. "Who are you?"

The man gives a small smile. "A friend. Now, rest. You have been through a lot."

"I don't..." Hands push him back into a soft surface. "What...?"

"Sleep, Ghost."

He slips away again.

The next time he wakes, it's dark, and for a split second he believes he's gone blind, but then he turns his head and he can see the moon and stars out of a small, barred, window.

He turns his head the other way, and he can see a beaten up old dresser with scuff marks on the surface pushed against the west wall, and a door. He blinks, shifts, tries to sit up.

Footsteps echo outside.

Gritting his teeth, he pushes himself off the bed and topples to the floor with a crash. Every cell in his body screams in agony and he writhes, choking on whimpers and curses even as he twists and tries to crawl to the corner behind the door. There, he knows he can jump whoever is keeping him here, and kill them if need be.

But the door is suddenly flung open and hands are grabbing at his arms and shoulders, easily batting away his attempts at attack, and lifting him back onto the bed.

He tries to speak, but his words are slurred and he feels his body slipping back into sleep once more.

"Easy now, those wounds are still fresh. Don't open them back up, we are very limited on supplies as is."

"What's...going on," he hisses, forcing his eyes open.

The man has dark eyes, he notices. Dark, and almond shaped. His skin is tanned like leather, as if he's been out in the sun for too long and he is smiling an easy, almost lazy, smile. But it's fake. Plastic.

"I will explain later, when you are physically able to handle it."

He's sinking before the man even finishes his sentence.

"How did I get here?"

"I brought you."

He swallows. Feels trepidation creep up his spine and seize his throat. "There was another man with me."

"Yes."

Shock. "Is he alive?"

The man, Iakov, a friend of a friend of Nikolai's he's learned, grimaces and glances away briefly. Ghost fists the sheet tightly and bites his tongue, shoulders slumping under a suddenly heavy weight.

"He is...not well."

He looks up sharply. "He's not dead?"

Iakov shakes his head slowly.

"Where is he?" He is impatient and scared, so scared he's trembling.

Iakov rises from the edge of the bed and places a hand on his bare shoulder. "Not yet. Rest for now. You will see your friend soon, when you have healed."

"I'm fine."

Iakov moves fast, and Ghost cringes at the intense pain that blooms where his fingers hit. Still a fresh wound. He can feel blood seeping through his bandages.

"No, you are not."

He leaves.

Ghost curses under his breath and turns his head into his pillow, muffling the broken cries he can't keep quiet.

Roach hasn't opened his eyes since they were brought into Iakov's care. It's been two weeks, Iakov tells him, and he has shown no sign of regaining consciousness.

Ghost sits, breathing a little harder than normal next to his bed after the short walk to Roach's room. His wounds hurt. The burns, especially, since they are running quickly out of Iakov's salve because of Roach's more serious injuries, but he doesn't breathe a word of the pain.

He thinks Iakov knows, though.

The afternoon slowly turns into night, and still he sits, waiting. Roach sleeps on.

The days slip by in the normal monotony of passage. Ghost doesn't know how long he's been in Iakov's care now, is not told anything of Task Force 141 or of Shephard, and is not allowed to know where he is. "Precaution," Iakov had told him. "If you are captured, I cannot have you telling the location of my only remaining safe house."

Ghost didn't have the energy to tell him that he would never breathe a word of it, that he had been tortured for information before and not broken, but he was just too mentally exhausted to voice the words.

Instead he stayed by Roach's side and helped in whatever small ways he could.

Sometimes he'd change the soiled bandages wrapped around Roach's chest, or he would wipe his face and hands with a cold rag to hold down the fever that was raging within his frail body. Once, he even shaved his strong jaw.

It was in the middle of their first month with Iakov that Roach finally woke.

Ghost was trying to walk the hallway back and forth without jostling the gunshot wound, so far without success, when he heard a heavy 'thunk' and what sounded like the whimper of a dying animal.

Iakov pops his head around the corner with a raised eyebrow. "It was not you?"

Ghost turns his head just the slightest, a half shake, before spinning on his heel and running for Roach's door. The burns and laceration on his wrapped chest throb in protest.

When he slams open the door and stumbles in, the first thing he notices is that the bed is empty. Panic shoots through him like a bullet, but then the sheets rustle on the other side of the bed and he crosses the room to look over.

Roach lies there on his back, hazel eyes unfocused and glazed with pain, one hand groping over the floor while the other clutches pitifully at his burned chest.

Ghost immediately kneels by his head and takes his hands into his own, rubbing them together for friction because they are so cold. He can see Roach's throat moving, like he's trying to talk.

"'S alright, mate. I got yeh now," he says quietly, smiling despite himself.

Roach pauses, and his eyes clear just a little and it looks like he's actually seeing Ghost there instead of a fuzzy, pain-blurred blob.

"Guh...ohst," he rasps.

Ghost nods. "Yeah. I'm here."

Iakov hands him a needle connecting to a drip in his hands. "You must hurry, hook him up to this," At Ghost's wary, questioning look, he snaps impatiently, "It is for the pain. Do you want him to suffer after just waking up?"

Ghost quickly sticks the needle into the crook of Roach's arm and watches as his glassy eyes droop closed.

The next few days Ghost spends next to Roach, bringing him whatever he needs, answering the questions he can, and tirelessly spreading Iakov's salve (what little there is) on his burns and keeping them bandaged. Iakov snaps at him every time he leaves the room saying, "You will be no help at all if you cannot heal yourself! Rest, damn it, before you fall over and die."

He would oblige, for a few minutes, but then he'd be right back at Roach's side when he woke up asking for water or ice or something to stop the constant pain.

They'd survived something together, and Ghost was riding a high he knew he'd come crashing down from soon, but he couldn't bring himself to stop the ride himself. The excitement of just living was driving him mad and the prickling tension was pounding into him like shrapnel.

It was addictive and unsettling at the same time.

"Do you think Soap knows we're alive?"

Ghost looks up from his hands and flashes a reassuring smile. "Of course, mate. He has to know his two favorite bastards wouldn't die that easily."

Roach grins.

Ghost stares at him a minute before dropping his eyes and fisting his hands, relaxing them, fisting them again. He hears Roach shift.

"Where's your balaclava?"

"Gone. Iakov couldn't get the gasoline out of it; was nothing but rubbish."

He's quiet for a moment, then, "I've never seen your face before."

Ghost looks up, curious, and just a little self conscious. Only a little. He doesn't look away from Roach's intense scrutiny, but blinks when Roach is suddenly leaning over the bed and invading his personal space.

He's so close Ghost goes cross-eyed trying to keep eye contact with him.

"Roach?"

"Gold."

"...Sorry?"

"You're eyes, they're like a rusty gold colour."

Ghost clears his throat and carefully leans back, eying Roach warily. "You alright, mate?"

Roach averts his gaze, staring at something over Ghost's shoulder. The man's half tempted to turn around and see what he's looking at, but then Roach smiles so softly it's all Ghost can do not to openly gape.

"Yeah," he says, barely above a whisper. "Just..." He looks back at Ghost. "Glad your here, man."

Ghost swallows and feels his stomach suddenly flip.

Roach is up and walking around with a little help - since just breathing hurts his burned chest - grinning like a mad man and struggling not to laugh. Ghost keeps him balanced with one arm wrapped around his waist, fingers digging into the loose fabric of his cotton pants, and the other firmly gripping his wrist slung over his own shoulders. Roach feels like he's lost weight. Ghost tries not to worry as much as he does.

"Never thought I'd miss being outside so much," Roach sighs, laughing breathlessly and stumbling, trying to walk faster over the grass under his bare feet.

Ghost chuckles and picks up the pace. "Easy, easy. If you trip we're both going down."

Roach flashes a smile and it almost looks like he's keeping a secret behind those suddenly deep brown eyes. He turns and nods his head toward a boulder nudged into the side of a small knoll. "Let's go sit over there."

Ghost feels the smaller man's heavy breaths vibrating through his arm and he can see Roach's temple damp with sweat. "Alright."

"Iakov said the burns aren't infected," Roach says, and fingers the edge of his shirt as Ghost helps him sit. "Says I won't have to take that shit medicine anymore."

Ghost lowers himself carefully down next to him, cautious of his own wounds, and glances at Roach with a teasing grin. "That's good to hear. Now I won't have to hold you down to pour it down your throat."

"I'm still holding that against you." He tugs at Ghost's shirt sleeve. "Show me yours, I'll show you mine?"

Ghost shifts and pulls his shirt over his head from the back, wincing when he feels the scars sting unpleasantly. He doesn't wear bandages anymore, they've healed over nicely.

Though on occasion they hurt so bad he has to bite his knuckles to stop from making a noise.

Roach leans forward, examining the red slashes, and tilts his head to the side. "Looks helluva lot prettier than mine. But I think I've got a more da Vinci-ish thing goin' on, what do you think?" He lifts his shirt and Ghost grimaces.

Roach laughs. "Aw, don't make me self-conscious, man. I thought they were kinda bad ass. I mean, I have something to gloat over the Captain with now!"

"Roach..."

Ghost watches the playfulness slowly melt out of Roach's expression as he pulls his shirt the rest of the way off, tilting his face down to look at his own scarred, red, burned chest. He'd gotten the worst of the fire, and it showed.

It showed.

"Don't give me that look, Lieutenant." Ghost's eyes widen in surprise. "I don't want yourpity. I didn't pull through these weeks of hell, of constant pain and trying to keep quiet about it because I felt like a goddamned pussy, just to get pity because of a few fucking burn marks. It's bad enough that you're always having to drag me around like a rag doll, before and now, but I swear to God if you look at me like that, I'm going to kiss the end of my own gun."

The silence is thick and uncomfortable and Ghost licks his suddenly dry lips. "My pity matter that much to you?"

He sees Roach tense and slowly look up, eyes guarded. "...Yes. It matters the most."

Ghost doesn't know he's moving until he's already kissing Roach, lips oddly gentle and coaxing against the others'. He isn't even worried - not because he doesn't think Roach will push him away and try his best to kill him, but because it just feel so right that he can't help but feel...relieved.

He pulls away. Roach his staring at him with wide eyes, lips parted and shoulders moving with his quick breaths. He looks so bewildered and unsure that Ghost almost leans in for another taste, but Roach beats him to it and Ghost is being yanked in by the back of his neck and dominated in one fell swoop.

He feels Roach's tongue swipe against his lips before forcing past, curling and stroking shyly. He chuckles into the kiss and shifts, grabbing Roach's jaw between both hands to hold him steady and delves deeper with a murmured growl, practically a purr.

Ghost knows he's a good kisser, and he uses that to his advantage, silently snickering when in just a few seconds Roach is trembling under his hands.

He pulls away again and rests his forehead against Roach's, grinning at his flushed and worked up state.

"Alright there, mate?"

"I swear to God if the burns wouldn't be a bitch about it, we'd be fucking right now."

He chuckles and drops a few quick kisses on eager lips. "Soon, fireball. Real soon."

Because if just kissing Roach was enough to give Ghost a hard-on, then something was bound to happen. Fuck everything else, he'd have Roach if he bloody well wanted to - pain or no.

"There's an upside to it, though."

"Yeah?" Roach murmured, nipping at his bottom lip.

"You have some solid wanking material to work with until then."

Roach throws his head back and laughs.

It hurts, but that's to be expected. At least, Ghost expected it, Roach on the other hand had an idea of the pain but wasn't truly able to understand until Ghost slowly pushed inside of him. He became completely still beneath the Lieutenant, teeth gnashing down and eyes squeezing shut when they started, but eventually, and thanks to a little foreplay beforehand, he loosened up and started moving.

"There you are," Ghost whispers and shifts, pulling Roach's knees up to his shoulders and driving in experimentally.

Roach's reaction is split second; an arched spine, clutching fingers, and a manic grin splitting kissed lips.

"Oh, fuck," he moans and thrashes. Ghost ducks in and bites his neck as if to reprimand him and Roach laughs out loud, chest heaving and stomach muscles quivering.

Ghost keeps it slow, dragging it out and all but driving them both mad with wave after wave of wracking pleasure. He feels Roach's heels digging into back, urging and pleading, and some part of him thinks that must be pretty uncomfortable with the position they're in, but then Roach growls low in his throat and steals Ghost's breath in a stomach-flipping kiss and he doesn't remember what he was thinking about in the first place.

It seems almost surreal how, even though he's under Ghost, Roach still somehow manages to be anything but submissive as he coaxes and whispers and demands for Simon to, "Ah, God, fuck me."

"So bloody tight, you wanker," Ghost gasps.

Roach manages a choked, breathless chuckle and opens his eyes, glassy and luminescent in the dark of the room. "What? Can't h-AH-ndle it?"

Ghost snaps his hips forward, smirking in dark amusement when Roach's head lolls back into the pillow, mouth open in a silent cry of ecstasy.

"Keep your...poncy little mouth shut, love." Roach's jaw obediently snaps closed so fast it's a wonder it doesn't come unhinged. He gurgles incoherently deep in his throat, and Ghost swears he can feel it shoot straight to his groin.

Ghost groans deeply, turning his head and biting Roach on the thigh hard enough to leave an imprint of his teeth as he speeds up, driving Gary down into the mattress.

The Sergeant immediately starts gyrating back, stroking the undulating heat inside Simon like fuel to fire and he mewls. A strangled noise cuts itself from Ghosts lips and he's suddenly panting like mad, and then Roach is almost bending in half to reach his lips, biting and sucking desperately.

Ghost slips a hand between them and Roach's head falls back on the mattress again with a groan, trembling at the warmth of Ghost's fingers taking him in his calloused hand.

A few strokes in and Ghost can literally hear the last wall snap as Roach freezes beneath him, arching, every muscle seizing up and drawing him tighter than a spring. Ghost falters, hissing when he's squeezed tightly into delicious heat, and Roach breaks the command of silence with a strangled, desperate, "Simon!"

He comes all over both their chests, but Ghost doesn't stop. He pushes in again and again and again and Roach falls back into the mattress, dazed and sated, before he finally reaches his own release, biting down on Gary's knee to keep silent.

He falls bonelessly on Roach's chest, breathing heavy and trembling, hips bucking unconsciously in the aftermath. Tired hands push at his shoulders, moving him, and he's on his back staring blankly at the ceiling, unable to do much more than shudder when he pulls out of Roach.

A muffled whimper comes from Roach at the sudden loss.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Roach moving and Ghost can't help but think how impossible it seems he'd even be able to blink after that, but Roach flops back onto the bed with a T-shirt in his hands, wiping down his chest and then turning to do the same for Ghost.

"Thanks," he slurs, reaching up to take the shirt to clean himself but receives a smack on the hand and a teasing grin from the young Sergeant.

Roach leans down and kisses him, long and slow, smiling all the while and gently wiping away the mess as he does. "I've got it," he whispers against his lips.

"Mmm."

Ghost almost thinks he can go another round, is positive he can, and pulls Roach down on top of him. Shifting his hips, he feels Roach's knees rest on either side of his hips to keep himself from falling over and he reaches between them, plucks up the soiled shirt, and tosses it somewhere across the room.

His fingers trace circles into tan hips and he's smirking up at Roach. The Sergeant plants his hands on Ghost's chest, flexing his fingers deliciously against skin, and relaxes his weight completely on Ghost's hips.

"'M not hurting anymore," He grins, raising a hand and touching his own chest, fingers dancing lightly over the burned skin. "Doesn't sting that much at all."

Ghost matches his grin with his own. "Good, love." He drags his hands up and gently runs his fingertips over the scars, brushing his thumb so lightly over Roach's stomach it's more like a breath of air than anything. "Good." He pulls him down and claims his mouth once more.

This time it's slow and careful, as if one of them will break if they go at it too rough, which, Ghost thinks, is odd considering that maybe they should have been this cautious the first time around instead of the second. He doesn't complain though, not when Roach is moving and touching him like that and he's seeing stars before they've barely even begun.

Ghost thinks he's never felt so alive.

It was never awkward, even though on some level both of them had expected it to be. It came naturally, as easy as breathing, and Ghost felt happy, truly elated with every glance he shot at Roach. He smiled without even knowing, and he wanted to just always be with him, whether it was tangled in sweaty sheets or just standing next to him, it was enough.

Even when they were blindfolded and led away from the safe house once Iakov deemed them fully recovered. Even when they spent nearly two and a half hours waiting out in the hot sun in the middle of a desert. Even when someone finally came to collect them. Even when MacTavish bolted out of the Humvee and all but tackled them into the sand.

Even then, Ghost still felt that familiar ease settling in his blood just so long as Roach didn't leave his side.

He suspected Soap knew, what with the glances he shot between them when Ghost only started walking when Roach did, and stopped when Roach did and immediately sat next to Roach when he settled into the Humvee. He didn't bother hiding it, and Roach, after seeing that Ghost didn't give a shit, relaxed back and just grinned his stupid, lazy smile at the Captain.

"Something happened up there, aye?" MacTavish grunted, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an expectant eyebrow.

Roach shifted and tilted his head to the side like a curious pup. Ghost almost reached out and ruffled his hair; instead he slumped down into his seat, plopped a lazy hand on Roach's thigh, and started humming the theme song for Brokeback Mountain.

He was on a new high, one caused by the man sitting happily at his side, and he wasn't coming down anytime soon. Everything felt right.

A/N: Told you guys I'd be posting a Ghost/Roach after the Soap/Ghost. Next? Hmm...probably Ghost/Soap. Banking on it; I want it done. Alright, review. Please?