A/N: Hello again to everyone! How's everyone's summer been? Mine's been extremely busy, which is why this sequel is so late coming. Before we continue with the story, just a few notes for your consideration:

1. This is a songfic in the fact that at the beginning of each chapter, there's a few lines from a song. The song this time around is "I Will Always Return" by Bryan Adams.

2. This is SLASH!! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! If you don't like it, don't read it!

3. This is a Greg/Ryan fic. Surprisingly, Ryan won't appear in this til the third chapter...but he's mentioned by Greg A LOT. This fic is extremely Greg-centric, but I posted it in the Miami section because it follows the other CSI-CSI: Miami crossovers I've done.

4. Rated mostly for language and mature subject matter. This fic is very angsty, just to let y'all know. Un-beta'd...all mistakes are mine.

5. Please, please, please read and review! I love reading reviews and knowing what you people think! As always, please don't flame.

6. This is a WIP, but this time, I hope to have new chapters up about once every week or two. We'll see!

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. And the OCs. I can't think of any specific spoilers, but if any come up, I'll post them in the A/N before the chapter.

And now, without further ado, I proudly present:

I Will Always Return

Chapter 1

"I hear the wind call my name
The sound that leads me home again"

It had happened so fast. One second, Greg was on his way to the airport to head to Vegas to get his stuff before he went to Miami and to rehab. Then, the next thing he knew, Grissom had called him and told him that there was a plane ticket to Miami under his name at the airport, that there would be someone waiting to pick him up at the airport in Miami, and that Grissom would send Greg's stuff to him when he got back to Vegas. So Greg, all hopes of having more time to prepare dashed, headed to the airport to go to Miami.

Greg's head was still wheeling as he made his way to his seat. Literally under 12 hours ago, he had made a decision to go to rehab, something he never in a million years would've imagined himself doing. There was a very large, very real part of himself that was still in denial that he was really an addict. After all, addicts did things like kill people and rob and steal and generally break the law. Everything that Greg had done was legal. His pescription pills were in his name, and were legally prescribed by a doctor. And the alcohol…granted, he drank too much, but alcohol was still legal.

Then his heart twisted as he remembered Ryan's words to him. "You're an addict, and addicts lie to keep their addictions hidden…once you get clean for good, then come find me. Until then, I can't be with you."

Hiding his face in his hands, Greg let his shoulder's slump. He was an addict, and he knew it. He couldn't find any way around it, and until he accepted it and moved on, he would never be able to help himself.

With this knowledge firmly implanted in his mind, he settled back, and for the rest of the trip, he consoled himself with his music, delving into some Death Cab, Shins and Arctic Monkeys, letting the music fill him. When he got to Miami International, he took a deep breath and went in search of whoever was going to be driving him to the rehab center. Then he saw her, a petite brunette wearing a khaki-colored polo shirt with the New Beginnings Rehabilitation Center logo on the front, holding a small sign reading "Greg Sanders".

Shouldering his duffel bag, Greg walked over to her and offered her his hand. "I'm Greg," he said, and she shook it with a smile.

"I'm Clarissa. I understand you're going to be staying with us for awhile." It wasn't a question. "Well, you're going to be in for top-notch care and counseling. We have an extremely high success rate; nearly 95 percent of our patients are able to become clean within a few months, and over 60 percent of those patients never return to rehab."

Greg felt his stomach sink slightly. "Only 60 percent?" he asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as pessimistic as he felt.

She looked over at him. "Yes. Rehab is a complicated process, and for some, the temptation from being back on the street is too strong. However, there are many successful individuals, myself included. I went into the New Beginnings Center almost ten years ago. Since then, I've gotten my PhD, with a specialization in addictions, and I'm now a therapist at the center."

As they drove to the center, Greg mulled these statistics over in his head. It made sense, he supposed, that some wouldn't succeed. After all, how many times had Lindsay Lohan been in and out of rehab? But he had never considered that so many would fail the first time around. He knew that he couldn't fail, not if he wanted to win Ryan back. He needed to get this right the first time around, for once in his life.

When they arrived, he followed Clarissa into the main office, and his heart sank when he recognized the head of the Center, Dr. Albert Peterson. He had had to take a DNA sample from Dr. Peterson when an ex-patient of the Center had been murdered. As it turned out, no one from the Center had been involved, and the patient had been killed by some guy he used to deal to, before he got clean.

Dr. Peterson looked over at him, and recognition lit his face. "Mr. Sanders! We had a phone call from your boss saying that you would be coming. How have you been?"

"Fine," mumbled Greg, looking away, a dull flush creeping up his neck.

Looking at him carefully, Dr. Peterson said softly, "Why don't we step into my office and talk for a few moments before you get settled in?"

Greg followed him reluctantly into his spacious office, and took the offered seat across from him. Dr. Peterson sat at his desk and studied Greg over the top of his glasses. "I know you're probably very embarrassed about this," he said conversationally. "Almost all of the law enforcement officials we've had here have been."

"Do you get a lot of cops, then?" asked Greg curiously.

"Certainly," said Dr. Peterson, nodding. "It's an extremely high-stress job. Many turn to alcohol at the very least, but many more turn to whatever helps them. We had a cop in here once who told his task force that he would take a brick of cocaine they had found in a bust to evidence, but the coke never made it there. The officer said that he was attacked, and someone stole it, but when he came to work high as a kite, the truth came out." Pausing, Dr. Peterson added kindly, "Greg, you have nothing to be ashamed of. We all have weaknesses and flaws, and one of the best things that we can do is get help."

Greg sat up a little straighter. "And that's what I intend to do," he said. "Get help."

"Then you've come to the right place," said Dr. Peterson, smiling. "Your boss sent us all your paperwork, so if you want to follow me to your room, we'll get you settled in."

Greg followed him from the office, but he lingered in the doorway, looking at the front door. This was it, his last chance to get out. Instead, he remembered what Ryan had said to him. "Come find me. I'll be waiting for you; I promise."

He would not let Ryan down. Not again. With another deep breath, he turned and followed the doctor to his room.