But small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.
Matthew 7:14

"Hey, my friend. It's been too long."

He bent down, wincing when he heard his knees creaking. It was time to face facts; he simply wasn't getting any younger. What had happened to those days when everything seemed so simple and easy, those days when it felt as if you could live forever?

Those days were gone, long gone. The cruel and harsh reality was that life was unforgiving in its twists and turns, one minute you would be sure of your path and purpose in life, the next you would be thrown to the ground, knocked off your feet by some unseen danger, one that you were too blind or naïve to see coming.

People who said life was easy were either fools or liars, perhaps even a mixture of the two. Life was a game full of hard knocks and tough choices; it was only a lucky few that would be able to attain true happiness, and even fewer who would be able to keep a hold of it. Happiness was a devil in disguise, fooling people into thinking that he would stay around forever, convincing them that he was solid and tangible, tempting you to reach out and touch him. Quick as a flash, he would change, slipping through your fingers, dripping away like water from a leaking roof, until he was gone completely, skipping away merrily to the next unsuspecting victim.

Like the loved one of an addict, happiness would eventually come crawling back, begging for forgiveness, promising that he would stay forever, that he would change. He would promise that this time it would be different, that this time it would last. A smarter man would have turned away, turned his back on deception, yet he would not. He could not.

There was something so alluring about the prospect of happiness, its embrace was warm and gentle, soothing like a cooling breeze on a summer's day, providing relief when needed. Happiness was a soothing balm for a troubled soul, slowly melting away the jagged edges of a frozen heart. Happiness, he could be such a good friend….

Then why was it that his fickle companion refused to stay?

Each time that he thought that he had a grip on happiness, it would fade away just as quickly as it had appeared in the first place, never stopping for too long before leaving again. What was it about him that repelled happiness so?

Were the things that he'd done really that bad? What was it that caused him to spread his misery to the people that he loved too?

He closed his eyes as he pictured his dear, sweet lover's face as he told her of his plans to leave. He watched helplessly as her face crumbled, her bottom lip trembling as the tears fell unbidden from her eyes. He'd tried to convey just how much he did love her, to explain the reasons why he had to go. He'd kissed her with all the love he could muster, wanting her to know the true depths of the feelings that he still held for her.

He'd spent most of the night sitting on the couch in his darkened house, finding solace once more in the obscurity that the dusk and early dawn granted him. There was no point in trying to sleep, each time he closed his eyes, he was haunted by her face, replaying over and over in his mind how he had hurt her with his actions and words.

It was a scene replayed throughout the night and in to the early hours of the morning as his tired mind churned it over and again, each time more upsetting than the last. Still, he'd made the right decision, hadn't he?

Even if he hadn't, there was no going back now. Like the Mary Celeste, his course was plotted and could never be changed. Only time would tell whether his rickety and damaged soul would once again make its way back to shore, or if he would forever be cast out on the waves, a vessel without a captain, a ship without direction, a man lost at sea.

Happiness may have been fleeting, but there was always hope, wasn't there?

Hope was the most faithful of friends, stalwart and dependant, a source of strength when he found himself weakening. Hope was a vivid ray of light, banishing the shadows back into the gloom where they belonged, pushing away the negativity to a place that was out of reach. Hope gave him the foresight to know that there was always another day, always a better day out there waiting for him….somewhere.

In his experience, hope had always come hand in hand with despair. Like two sides of the same coin, they would battle and vie for his attention, arguing between themselves as they made their presence known to him. Physically strong and emotionally stable, he would be able to silence the nagging voice of negativity within him, physically broken and emotionally battered, he would not. The voice in the back of his mind would chip away at him frequently; creating cracks in his already fragile psyche, making him believe that even hope too had now deserted him.

It was his good fortune then that hope was the feistiest of fellows. Never one to shirk a little hard work, hope would carry on regardless, busying itself like a worker ant, assured in its purpose and direction. Hope would not be swayed by negativity, nor would it be cowed by pain and despair. Hope would stand firm in the face of adversity, stand eye to eye with its opponents and never waver.

But the truth remained that he had been broken by what had been done to him, both physically and emotionally. He'd been stripped to the bone of everything that had made him the man that he thought that he was, no longer recognising the shell that had been left behind. He'd been weak by allowing despair to sink its poisonous claws into him, but a part of him was so tired, so very tired of fighting the good fight. A part of him longed for the comfort that wallowing in his pity allowed him, his depressive mindset never allowing him to put too much effort into anything.

Depression became a comfortable blanket in which he could clothe himself; it gave him a justification for behaving in a way that was so unlike the man of old. His ordeal had become an excuse which he could hide behind, using it as a reason to maintain his lowly position, making others believe that it was just too hard for him to do anything else.

He'd never been weak before, but the things that had been done to him had been more than he could bear at the time. The only way his tortured body and mind could cope was to shut down parts of him that he deemed unessential in an effort to lessen the strain that he was under. Sometimes, it was hard enough finding the physical strength and emotional fortitude to even get out of bed, the lure of unconsciousness always nagging at the back of his mind, convincing him that things were easier in the calming darkness of sleep.

And so parts of him became walled off, separated from what it was that made him a man, leaving him emotionally bereft in a sea of roiling chaos. He had fooled himself of his readiness to return to work, maintaining a shoddy façade as he attempted to reintegrate himself into a place that once seemed so familiar to him. He'd attempted to carry on as if nothing had changed, refusing to see the truth that had been staring him in the face for far too long.

He had changed, it was pointless to deny otherwise. Since his meeting with Lori, he'd been forced to take a long, hard look at himself and had been dismayed to find parts of himself wanting. He'd been foolish to think that his ex-wife had changed, foolish to believe that he needed anything that she had been offering. Yet the weak-willed part of him saw it as a reason to indulge once more in his fantasies, to believe, for just a few moments, that he was young and carefree. He'd known that becoming intimate with Lori was wrong, but a part of him wanted to do it anyway.

During his confession to Calleigh, he had been meek and feeble, nothing like the Horatio of before. He could see the worry written clearly on her face, he was falling apart in front of her, dragging the woman he loved down into the dirt with him. He wanted better for her than that; she deserved a man who was loyal, a man who wasn't so easily swayed by temptation.

He could have taken the easier path, he could have hidden behind the excuse that he'd been brutally abused by sadistic captors, that they'd broken the spirit of this fine man, that he would never again be the same. Calleigh had offered him nothing but love and support, never letting him be far from her gentle embrace, sending soothing words his way when he tripped and stumbled, again and again. A weak man would take hold of what she was offering and lose himself in it, convincing his mind that nothing could hurt him there.

But it was a lie, a fantasy.

He was not delusional and neither was he a fool. The Horatio of old was strength and steel, determination and fight, a man who would go into battle and not blink an eye. As his physical strength had wavered, so too had the essence of who he truly was. The flames of truth and justice that had once burned so brightly within him had been doused to nothing more than weakly smouldering embers. Yet there was still something there, something that could be reignited with the right spark, it was just a case of finding it.

But it was hope that kept the fires burning, hope that fortune and justice would favour the brave, favour the good and the true. His faith had been so very tested recently, there had been times when he truly believed that his courage had all but deserted him. There had been times when he'd felt so sorry for himself, so wrapped up in his own misery, that he had nearly been swallowed whole by it. Yet somehow he'd survived by the skin of his teeth, snatched away from the jaws of defeat by no more than the hair on his head.

Perhaps this was God's way of telling him to get off his ass, dust himself down, and get on with things. The standoff at Jeff's had shown him that the real Horatio was still there, lost somewhere deep inside under the cloud of perpetual misery that he himself had chosen.

He felt a flicker of a smile cross his face at the thought of the man upstairs completely losing patience with His wilful child, reaching His holy hand through the Heavens to smite some sense into him. He looked up to the sky briefly, it was another scorching hot day in Miami, the blue skies only broken by the occasional whisps of cloud, his hand above his eyes, he shielded himself from the harshness of the sun's rays.

It felt as if those very rays were God's way of telling him that the pressure was on, that His wayward child had been offered his last chance, that He would be watching and waiting, expecting results. He'd made a promise, not only to himself, but to Calleigh too, that he would do whatever it took to find his way back to the man that he once was. Even when the road became rocky, it would be hope that would sustain him, that and the faith that Calleigh had in him, those two things alone would be enough to see him through.

He only prayed that she didn't hate him right now. His words to her last night had been woefully inadequate; he'd failed to articulate just what it was that had driven him to reach this point. Could she ever understand that it was his burning desire to be the man that she deserved that had pushed him to make such a hard decision?

It had been one of the most difficult choices that he'd ever been forced to make. The temptation to give in and stay with her had almost been more than he could bear. Yet he knew the truth, if he stayed he would forever find himself locked in the cycle of pity and despair, indulging in his human weaknesses. The promise of peace and tranquillity would be too alluring; he'd want to stay in its warm grip for eternity.

But he was no coward either. The time had come to face reality, whether he liked it or not. The journey which he was about to take would either make him or break him, it was a journey he would have to make without his emotional crutch to fall back on. When that safety net was gone, there was nothing left to do but feel the fear and embrace it anyway. He would either rise from the ashes or sink ever deeper into the self-perpetuating pit of misery that was threatening to swallow him whole.

Life was a game of chance and choices, now both were running out on him. Too much time had passed as he convinced himself that he'd been too weak to stand up and fight. Too much time had been spent believing that no good would ever come from him. But he'd been given the choice, and the chance, to take a leap of faith, to venture into uncertainty, clinging to the hope that on the other side that there would be a better day. It was now or never, he would either sink or swim, the people around him would no longer be able to help.

This was a journey that this time, he would have to make on his own.