A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome to the latest chapter of the Ryan/Greg saga! Just a few quick things before we start:

1. This is a songfic in the regards that each chapter begins with a few lines from the song "Better Days" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

2. This is SLASH!! CONSIDER YOURSELF WARNED!!

3. As aforementioned, this is a Ryan/Greg fic. As such, it obviously does not take place in any specific season, but I want to put a general spoiler warner out there that any material up to the current seasons (Season 9 for CSI and Season 7 for CSI: Miami) is fair game.

4. Rated for language and angst, as per always. Un-beta'd, so blame me for any and all mistakes!

5. Please read and review! I love knowing what people think of the story, and it helps fuel the urge to write faster, so it's a win-win situation for all of us!

6. While I've said it in the past, this time I actually mean it: new chapter should be up about once a week. My schedule has calmed slightly so I should be able to adhere to this.

7. CSI: and CSI: Miami belong to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS and Alliance Atlantis. I own neither the characters nor the places nor yet the song. Only the plot.

That should about wrap it up. Anything specific that comes along will be addressed as need be. In this chapter, the large italicized section is a flashback. The first part of the flashback is the very last part of I Will Always Return, and it continues on from there. This fic takes place a few weeks after the end of I Will Always Return. And now, for your reading pleasure:

Better Days

Chapter 1

"And you ask me what I want this year
And I try to make this kind and clear
Just a chance that maybe we'll find better days"

Happiness was subjective. Up for interpretation. Greg knew this. Greg also knew that this made it extremely easy to pretend like he was happy.

And he was happy. Really, he was. He was getting back into the swing of things at work. He was now a CSI Level 2, something that would've taken him years to achieve if he had stayed in Vegas. And he and Ryan were together. At least, proximity wise. They were working together, after all. But they weren't living together. Not yet, at least. Greg had gotten a temporary apartment while they tried to figure out their relationship. It was the logical, smart thing to do for a couple trying to get back together and build up a proper relationship, based on understanding, care, and trust.

Yeah, right.

Greg sighed, looking down at the shoe print he was supposed to be analyzing. The truth was, it had been hard. Things had not gone the way that Greg had planned for them to go. True, it had perhaps been a tad idealistic for him to assume that he could show up, announced, at Ryan's apartment and expect an open welcome, but he thought that they were in a stable, happy place.

Again, the truth was quite different. He, Greg, was in a happy, stable place. Of course, that was only because he, Greg, had just gone through two months of therapy and relaxation time in order to get his life back on track.

The door to the layout room banged open, and Ryan strode in, nose buried in a file folder. Greg cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, keeping his voice friendly.

Ryan looked up, clearly startled. "Oh. Hey," he said awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. "Um, I'll find another room to work in. I didn't know anyone was in here." He turned quickly to leave.

"Ryan, wait," said Greg, a hint of urgency in his voice. "You don't have to go, you know. I'm only analyzing this shoe print." He held it up as evidence attesting to this fact. "Why don't you stay? We can talk, maybe. Or we can work in silence. Whichever." Pausing, he added softly, "Just…stay."

Looking torn for a moment, Ryan's face softened. "I really can't," he said, his voice holding just a hint of regret. "I need to look over some evidence that will require my complete attention, and I don't want to distract you, either."

Greg struck a pose before purring in a false southern accent, "Why, Mr. Wolfe, are you implying that you find me distracting?"

This time, Ryan smiled for real. "You know I do," he answered, then he sobered quickly, the tension filling the room as quickly as it had left. "Anyway, I should go. Horatio said this is my top priority for the day." Smiling briefly, he turned and left.

Greg sighed deeply before burying his head in his hands. He was trying so much to prove that things hadn't changed, that they could go back to the way that they used to be, but Ryan just wasn't biting. And Greg wasn't sure what more he could do besides keep opening up to Ryan with hopes that Ryan would eventually open up, something he hadn't done since Greg's return.

Greg remembered all too well the day that he turned up at Ryan's apartment. It had been his first indication that things were not going to go as smoothly as he had planned them out in his head.

Greg stood outside Ryan's door, grinning like an idiot and feeling as nervous as hell. "Hi," he said, his smile faltering slightly at Ryan's expression.

"Hi," responded Ryan, raising an eyebrow. "What are you—" he started, but then Greg cut him off by striding forward and capturing Ryan's mouth with his own.

The two kissed passionately for several minutes, then Greg released him. Ryan looked woozy and dazed in the same way that Greg felt woozy and dazed. "Well, it's nice to see you too," Ryan said, his expression still numb and void of the emotion that Greg had expected to see there.

Greg reached out and grabbed Ryan's hand. "Look, Ryan, I am so, so sorry. More sorry than you will ever know," he began, running his other hand through his hair. "I told you once that I would never hurt you, and I know I did, in more ways than I will ever being to understand. But I love you. That's one thing that I've learned. I let all kinds of things get in the way of that love, but it's always been there, the one thing always shining bright and true in my life. And it's taken me a very long time to realize it, and I understand how angry you probably still are, but I want to let you know that I am here. And I'm not—" He paused for effect. "I am not going anywhere, no matter what."

Still without emotion showing on his face, Ryan mumbled, "That was a very long run-on sentence." Then he closed his mouth, setting it into a firm and unyielding line. He eased his hand away from Greg's, though he looked the older man in the eyes, which seemed to chill Greg to the soul. "Why don't you come in?" Ryan said finally, the expression on his face softening just a little, though hardly showing the love and affection that Greg craved. "I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Yeah," said Greg quickly, a little too quickly and a little over-enthusiastic, perhaps. "Sure. I'll just come on in and we can have a nice little chat, and everything will be great." Mentally, he told himself, Shut up, Sanders. He was rambling, and he knew it, but he also knew that unless Ryan did something that made him feel just a little more comfortable, he was going to keep right on rambling.

Ryan closed the door after him, and they both stood awkwardly in the foyer for a moment, until Ryan, remembering his manners, asked quickly, "Do you want anything to drink? I have water, soda, milk…"

Greg smiled weakly. "How about a scotch?" he said, only half-joking.

Ryan's face fell, and he responded tightly, "I'm pretty sure I don't have any of that."

Reaching out to pat Ryan's shoulder comfortingly, Greg said calmly, "It was joke. Get it? Ha ha. Trying to ease the tension. You know." If it had been Greg's intention to ease the tension, it had failed miserably. If anything, the tension increased. Finally, Greg said stiffly, "Just water will be fine. Thanks."

"Right," said Ryan, jumping on the request as an excuse to remove himself from the situation. "Go ahead and have a seat," he called from the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable."

Greg smiled sadly, noting Ryan's choice of words. He hadn't invited Greg to make himself "at home." Just a little reminder that this wasn't still Greg's home. At least, not yet. Greg meandered into the living room, smirking at the all-too-familiar couch. Oh, the dirty and wonderful things they had done on that couch. He took a seat and looked around. It was much the same. Ryan hadn't done much redecorating. The only thing conspicuously missing was any evidence that Greg had once lived here. There were no pictures of Ryan and Greg, no little reminders. Even the Build-a-Bear that Greg had made for Ryan had been put away, hidden somewhere. Out of sight, out of mind.

Ryan reappeared, holding two glasses of water, taking care not to spill any. He handed a glass to Greg, then looked at the couch as if seeing it for the first time. Greg had no doubt that similar thoughts of their dirty deeds were now crossing Ryan's mind as well, but his reaction was slightly different, as he quickly settled himself in the armchair, declining to share the couch with Greg,

Taking a quick sip of water, Greg waited for a moment before mentioning, "I like what you've done with the place. Really. It's new, and bold. Totally suits you."

Ryan didn't even crack a style. "Greg, stop it," he said softly, cradling his glass in his hands and studiously avoiding Greg's gaze. "It's not funny. None of this is funny to me."

"Really?" Greg deadpanned, his eyes glittering with the humor. "Because I wasn't going for humor with that one. I really mean it. I think the shift of the TV to right by that one or two inches is a perfect touch. Totally redefines the feng shui of the room."

"Stop it," Ryan said, not an ounce of humor in his voice. In fact, Greg noticed that Ryan's knuckles had gone white from gripping his glass so hard. "I meant it the first time. It's not funny."

Greg's forehead furrowed, and he leaned forward, trying to force Ryan to meet his eyes. "Ryan—" he started, and then Ryan did look at him. Greg was startled to see tears in Ryan's eyes. "Ryan, what's wrong?" he asked, much more serious than before.

Ryan laughed, but it was without humor. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "What's wrong?! I don't know, Greg, what could possibly be wrong? You've only been in rehab for the past two months because you started doing drugs after you walked out and went back to Vegas, but nothing's wrong. Everything is peachy-fucking-keen."

Greg was genuinely taken aback, He had not expected this kind of unbridled anger. "Look," he said, tentatively. "I understand that you're angry—"

"Angry?" laughed Ryan mirthlessly. "No, Greg, I'm not angry. I'm tired. Tired of being on this emotional rollercoaster that revolves around you. And I'm scared." He paused, obviously a little surprised that he had said that out loud. But it calmed him down, for which Greg was grateful. "I'm scared, Greg. How could I not be scared? You could've overdosed, or gone so far into that world that we would never have been able to pull you out. I was so scared that I would lose you forever, and then you come waltzing in here like it's not big deal, like I should just be over it." He leaned back in his chair, running a hand over his face. "You had time, in rehab, to think about your life and put it all back together. I didn't have that time; I had to keep living as if nothing had happened."

There as a pause, but it was not as tense as previously. Finally, after a long moment, Greg looked up, tears in his eyes. "I am so, so sorry," he said softly. "Really, I am. But where…where does that leave us?"

Ryan rubbed his eyes tiredly, looking years older than his young self. "I don't know," he finally said. "I still love you, but I don't trust you. And you and I both know that we cannot make this relationship work without trust."

"So…what can I do to gain your trust?" asked Greg, feeling foolish.

Sighing deeply, Ryan took a deep swig of his water. "Give me time," he said after a long moment. "Give me time to readjust, and prove to me that I can trust you, that I'm not rushing in to another mistake."

And so Greg had tried. At every turn, he had tried to prove himself worthy of Ryan's trust. It had been three weeks now, and if Ryan didn't start trusting him soon, Greg was going to have to actually unpack all the boxes in his apartment.

He groaned aloud, running both hands through his hair. "Why is this so hard?" he mused aloud.

"Why is what so hard, Mr. Sanders?" asked Horatio's voice from the door.

Greg turned and smiled at his boss. "Nothing, H," he answered, his voice falsely cheerful. "Everything's great. I compared the tread we lifted from the crime scene to the suspect's shoe, and I think we have a match. See, the wear pattern on the right foot is what really—"

"Mr. Sanders." Horatio effectively cut him off. "You were thinking about your relationship with Mr. Wolfe, weren't you?"

Greg bit his lip, not really wanting to admit to daydreaming while on the clock, but also hoping to garner some advice from Horatio. "Yes," he admitted. "It hasn't gone quite as well as I hoped it would."

Horatio smiled slightly, fiddling with his sunglasses. "Give it time," he advised. "Ryan still needs time to recover, but I have noticed a change in him. Keep being patient, and he'll come around eventually."

Greg smiled, though it was a slightly exasperated smile. "If I give him any more time, we won't be together til we're sixty," he grumbled.

Horatio laughed. "Just keep on trying," he said. "You have a very…persuasive personality, and I know you will wear him down eventually." He turned and left, leaving Greg alone with his thoughts again.

"I know I'll get through to Ryan eventually," muttered Greg to himself. "But when?"

xXxXxXxXxXxXxX

A few hours later, Greg saw Ryan starting to head out for the day, and he hurried to catch him. "Hey, Ryan!" he called, jogging after him. Ryan stopped and turned around, a bemused expression on his face. "Hey," panted Greg, skidding to a halt, "I was wondering if maybe you wanted to catch some dinner or something."

Ryan's expression turned wistful for a moment. "I wish I could, but I've got a dinner date with Calleigh. She's been complaining about our lack of girl-talk lately." He grimaced. "Like I want to hear about her and Delko."

Greg smiled at Ryan's joke, but it didn't last long. "Oh. Ok. Well, see you tomorrow, I guess."

He turned to head back to the lab when he felt Ryan's hand on his shoulder, stopping him. Greg turned back around and quirked an eyebrow. Ryan looked almost embarrassed as he shifted his weight before suggesting timidly, "Why don't you come over around 9? Calleigh and I will be done by then, and maybe you and I can, you know…talk."

"Sure," said Greg, a small grin crossing his face despite his attempts to hide it. "We can talk. I'd like that."

Ryan smiled as well, then nodded briskly. "Ok. Well. See you at 9, then." He turned and left, and behind his back, Greg pumped his fist in a silent sign of victory.

Yes, they were only talking. No, this did not mean that anything was going to change. In fact, nothing would probably change. But hey, it was still a victory, however small. And for Greg, it was enough.