A/N: So get this...I'm updating, and it hasn't even been a week since my last update!! YAY! I wouldn't get too used to it, though. I want to take a moment to thank my reviewers thus far. I know I haven't replied to any of your reviews, and for that, I am sorry. Please know that I do read all of them, and I appreciate every single one of them. Now, on to this chapter. I've tried to balance Greg's issues with Ryan's, so...let me know how you like it. For reference, I borrowed some of the lyrics from "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas for this chapter. Also, the phrase "Persona Non Grata" means "Person not welcome," and is used to indicate that a person has been banned from a building. Usual disclaimer applies--I don't own them, and never will. Trust me, if I did, Ryan wouldn't be such a douche in the current season of CSI: Miami. Please and read and review. And now, without further ado...

Chapter 4

"I'll run like the river
I'll follow the sun
I'll fly like an eagle
To where I belong"

Greg woke up and instinctively hit his alarm to turn it off. Sitting up, he looked at his clock and groaned out loud. It was 4:30 AM, and though he was excited to be going to his first surfing session, 4:30 was way too early for any activity, even if it was his favorite one in the whole world.

He forced himself to get out of bed and pull some clothes on, glad that he didn't have to worry too much about what he wearing since he was just going to be changing into a wetsuit. He had met his instructor yesterday, and had been pleasantly surprised. Sean was a native of Hawaii, and when Greg had met him, his first impression was that of a typical surfer. As the talked, though, Greg discovered that Sean was an active member of the Bahá'í faith, and that he strongly believed in discovering God through a connection with nature and science, and that one could find God in the simplest acts, such as surfing.

While Greg was naturally leery of anything involving God (not just because of a lack of scientific proof, but also because he couldn't wrap his mind around an all-loving being who hated gay people), he found the theory of connecting with nature interesting, especially if it helped him stay grounded and find a way to not run away ever again. Besides, he was looking forward to the opportunity to get on a surfboard again.

Greg met up with Sean by the gate to the rehab center. "Hey, Sean," called Greg through a giant yawn, "dude, this early morning thing has to stop. Can't we go surfing just as easily in the afternoon?"

"We could," agreed Sean cheerfully, shaking Greg's hand, "but then we would miss the sunrise, and that's the whole reason why we're doing this."

The two walked in silence to the beach, which was only about a ten minute walk, and by the time the two got there and got their boards and wetsuits, the first rays of light were beginning to creep over the horizon, turning the sky into a beautiful cobalt blue. Greg paused before going into the ocean, a look of awe on his face. "I never realized how beautiful the sky is," he murmured.

A small smile crossed Sean's face, and he said quietly, "That's the point of this. To make you re-discover how beautiful life is, life without drugs and alcohol and hiding things. It's a beautiful thing, isn't it?"

"It is," agreed Greg, smiling slightly. "It really is."

Sean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Smell the sea. Do you hear it calling to you?"

This time, a real smile graced Greg's face, and he said truthfully, "I've always heard it calling to me. To be honest, it's part of the reason why I moved to Miami: to be close to the ocean again. You have no idea what it was like, living in a desert, where the ocean was hundreds of miles away."

A thoughtful look crossed Sean's face, and he asked, "When you first moved to Miami, did you go surfing a lot?"

Greg shook his head regretfully. "No, I was busy most of the time, whether with my ob or with my personal life. I just didn't have the time."

"Greg, man, this is what you love!" said Sean, intensity lacing every word. "Maybe that was part of your problem. You came here to be near the ocean, but then you never went to the ocean and never went surfing, and you yourself told me yesterday what a huge part of you surfing is." Pausing, he shook his head in astonishment. "I just don't get it, man. You've heard the call of the ocean. How could you ignore it the entire time you were here? It's like forgetting who you are. How could you do that?"

Sean's words seemed to echo in Greg's mind. "It's like forgetting who you are." Sean was right—Greg had forgotten who he was. On the journey he had taken from Vegas to Chicago, then back to Vegas, then to Miami, and then through his time in Miami, he had forgotten who he was. And that was part of the reason why he and Ryan were having problems: the Greg that Ryan had met and fallen in love with in Chicago had been lost along the way. And though Greg didn't necessarily know how to get him back, he knew that he had to. For Ryan's sake and for his, he had to find that part of him that he had lost, because without it, without him, he was lost.

It was with this shining, crystal-clear resolution that Greg faced the task before him. Surfing was a part of him, just one of many parts that he had lost and abandoned at some point in his life, but now was the time to make up for it. "Alright," said Sean, "I think we're ready to begin. Now, I want you to paddle out to where you feel comfortable, but I don't want you to ride a wave in until you feel truly at one with the ocean, ok?"

Greg nodded, setting his jaw determinedly and turning his eyes to the ocean, where the lightening sky cast red light on the waves, turning them into flames that danced in the early morning. "I'm ready for this," he murmured, more to himself than to Sean, and with that said, he headed into the ocean.

It felt so good to bobbing among the waves again. Even as he felt the salty water soaking him through the wetsuit, he knew that this was what it meant to be alive. To him, being here, being in the ocean, waiting for the perfect wave to ride, this is what it meant to truly live. He had shut this part of him out for so long, and for no reason. He had had the means and the opportunities even, but he for some reason had not taken them, and had, therefore, ignored the most basic part of himself.

He closed his eyes, and for no apparent reason, thought of the Kansas song, "Carry On Wayward Son." The words seemed to float through him and fill him.

"Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more"

Despite what the lyrics said, Greg felt the tears beginning to flow down his cheeks. He loved Ryan, he loved Miami, he loved everything, but one thing he had forgotten was to love himself. He hated so much about what he become. He hated how he had turned to drugs and alcohol, one thing he had always said he would never do. He hated how he run out on the only person he had ever really loved. He had lived with all this self-hate, but just as the waves washed over, he felt that self-loathing washed away from him. He knew that he was truly becoming clean, not just from drugs and alcohol and all the stupid decisions he'd made, but from the blackness that had grown inside of him until it had consumed him to the point where not only could he not see Ryan's love for him, but he couldn't bring himself to love.

"Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man
Though my mind could think I still was a madman
I hear the voices when I'm dreaming
I can hear them say
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more"

Greg did stop crying, and he opened his eyes. He was alive, not just in the heart-still-beating way, but in the way where every breath that he took seemed to be a gift, and it was in this moment that he did feel at one with the waves crashing around him. Each wave that broke and crested seemed to match the beat of his heart, each swell that lifted him up and dropped him down matched his breathing.

"On a stormy sea of moving emotion
Tossed about I'm like a ship on the ocean
I set a course for winds of fortune"

Greg looked behind him, and he saw the wave that he would ride. It was a medium sized swell, but it was perfect. As it approached, Greg felt his muscles tense and reveled in the way the sea seemed to hold its breath with him. Then he was up, riding his surfboard, riding the wave, both blissfully in control and having no control at all.

He rode it all the way in, not falling off, but not trying any tricks either. He let the wave carry him where it would. When he got the shore, Sean jogged over to meet him. "Nice one," said Sean, a smile on his face as he clapped Greg on the shoulder. "How do you feel, man?"

Greg turned towards the ocean, feeling the sun warm his face as the ocean played around his ankles, and a grin stretched across his face. Taking a deep breath, he answered simply, "Alive."

"Carry On
You will always remember
Carry on
Nothing equals the splendor
Now your life's no longer empty
Surely heaven waits for you"

Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up. He had fallen asleep during his break again. With a deep sigh, he rose from his seat and pulled his lab coat on again. He had some trace running through GCMS that would be done soon.

As he headed towards the door of the break room, he noticed a new flyer stapled to the bulletin board. He pulled it off with trembling hands, his eyes absorbing the familiar face printed in grainy black and white,

It was Greg's old ID picture, and it was topped by the statement "Persona Non Grata." Ryan's eyes widened in shock as he read the rest of the piece of paper.

"Name: Gregory Hojem Sanders

Known Nicknames: Greg

Status: Former Employee

Notes: Known to fraternize with employees Lieutenant Horatio Caine, CSI Eric Delko, CSI Calleigh Duquesne, CSI Ryan Wolfe, and ME Alexx Woods. If see on the premises, please notify security immediately."

The last line on the flyer, however, was what really made Ryan's blood boil. In small precise print were the words: "By order of Rick Stetler, IAB."

"Stetler," growled Ryan, sorely tempted to crumple the paper up, or to rip it to shreds. What could Greg possibly have done to merit this? He didn't even work or live I Miami any more.

Ryan strode from the break room, mind resolved. He headed straight to the one person who would be able to fix this. When he found Horatio, he burst into the room when Horatio was in the middle of interrogating a suspect. "Mr. Wolfe," said Horatio, clearly surprised to see Ryan.

"Look at this, Horatio," said Ryan, his voice and hand shaking with anger as he thrust the flyer into Horatio's hand.

Horatio scanned the paper quickly then calmly folded it and tucked it into his pocket. "Mr. Wolfe, I will take care of this."

"But—" protested Ryan, but Horatio cut him off.

"Mr. Wolfe." Horatio's voice burned with the calm, constrained intensity that he used when reassuring victims that he would solve the crime that was done against them. "I will take care of this."

Ryan bowed his head slightly, nodding quickly. "Ok," he said softly, raising his head to meet Horatio's eyes. "Just make it right." Then he turned and left, with Horatio staring after him, twisting his sunglasses in his hand.

"Rick." Horatio's voice was soft as he confronted the man who was as much his nemesis as his ally.

Stetler looked up from his desk. "Horatio," he said, a note of resignation in his voice. "I wish I could say that this was a surprise, but it isn't. I'll take it that you saw the memorandum?"

Horatio took his sunglasses off. "Yes, Rick, I did. Rick, why did you list one of my CSIs as unwelcome in this building?"

"One of your CSIs?" Stetler raised one eyebrow. "Greg Sanders is not one of your CSIs. Not anymore. I have his resignation on hand if you don't believe me."

Putting his hand on his hip, Horatio said calmly, "He is being reinstated by the county, as you well know."

A small, smug smile flitted across Stetler's face. "Ah, and that's where you may be mistaken. You see, Horatio, as much as you make vouch for Mr. Sanders, Miami-Dade county isn't normally willing to hire drug addicts."

Horatio's heart seemed to sink, though he managed to ask in what he hoped was his normal voice, "What are you talking about?"

"Don't pull that, Horatio," said Stetler with a sigh, suddenly sounding tired. He sat back down at his desk and pulled open a drawer, pulling out a file folder. He pushed it across the desk towards Horatio. "When the authorization came through to send a part of your paycheck to a rehab center, it seemed a little suspicious. You know as well as I do that using county money to help a criminal is against regulations. I assumed this was what you were doing, so I had someone look into it." Pausing, he added softly, "It wasn't difficult to get a subpoena for the recipient of the funds' name. I'm sorry, Horatio."

A cold fury radiated from Horatio, and his grip on his sunglasses tightened until his knuckles turned white. "No, Rick, I don't think you are sorry. Greg Sanders has run into a rough patch, but he is not a drug addict." Pausing to collect himself, Horatio allowed his shoulders to relax. "Either way, it's inconsequential. The county itself has paid for employees to get help for alcoholism, which is what Greg has, so I'm sure that when I bring this up to them, they will understand that I am using my paycheck to help a colleague get the help he needs."

Turning away, Horatio paused again. "Oh, and Rick?" He turned back, a small smile playing on his face this time. "Unfortunately, the lab and police station are public property, so you have no authorization to order someone from the premises without county permission, which you don't have. Here's the order to rescind the Persona Non Grata on Greg. It comes straight from the Commissioner's desk."

As Horatio slid the piece of paper onto Stetler's desk, he whispered, "Don't ever try something like this on a member of my team again, do you understand?"

"Is that a treat, Lieutenant?" asked Stetler, trying to regain composure.

Horatio just smiled as he put his sunglasses on. "No, Rick," he said, "it's a guarantee."