A/N: Hello, everyone! Long time, no read! I am pleased to be posting a sequel to my longest (and arguably, personal best) fic, Fight or Flight. This sequel has been a long time in the making, partially because sequels are damn hard to write, and partially because FoF was so bizarre and out of the ordinary for an NCIS fic that I wasn't sure how its sequel would be received. This story is essentially a direct reaction to the first- Tim's life adjusting to the events of FoF. Also, if you haven't read FoF, please read that before even considering reading this story; I don't think much of anything will make sense otherwise. Finally, if you have read Fight or Flight, then you'll know that the same warnings will apply: there are some OCs (though not as many as the first story), there is some violence, the story is AU in the sense that it is supernatural in a way, and that this is a Tim-centric story. If any of this isn't your cup of tea, run far away because this story isn't for you. However, if you'd like to accompany me on this weird journey, I hope you enjoy. 3

…..

He was having nightmares again.

They'd gone away for the past few weeks, but without warning or any overt reason, they'd returned. Darkness, some screams of a woman muffled through the haze of memory and sleep, the sticky feeling of blood running down his arms….

God, why couldn't he close his eyes with the confidence that he'd enjoy a normal, peaceful night's sleep for a change? He needed to start taking some melatonin. Or perhaps something stronger. Was there a drug that would guarantee he wouldn't have these nightmares?

He knew that something had to change. He was a pretty great actor, pretending most days that he was fine, that the pain he felt at night wasn't there. But recently this nightly ritual was starting to affect his attention, his focus during the day not what it could be, due to exhaustion. Going into work used to be a pleasant affair, but now he could see that his co-workers glanced at him with concern out of the corners of their eyes when he came in, eyes red-rimmed and underlined with the dark circles that were now a mainstay of his appearance.

The past few months had inflicted more bad dreams than he'd experienced in his entire life. It was odd, the fact that he was suffering in this way now, so long after the cause of these dreams had happened. He'd once read somewhere about how the true effects of trauma can lie dormant for ages before rising to the surface and wreaking havoc on a person's life. He didn't really know. He wasn't a psychologist.

A psychologist would probably be a good answer to the problem, he realized. But then again, it would just make matters worse. Telling his story to a medical professional would surely end with him being tossed into the nearest mental institution. Who would believe him? No, he couldn't talk about it with anyone, for fear of sounding crazy. He could just see the pity in their eyes, poorly hid behind masks of sympathy and fake understanding.

All that he'd done since then, he had done to make the nightmares stop. To make the residual guilt go away. It had worked until recently. It never occurred to him, that his actions and his suppression of memories, combined together as they were, might make things so much worse.

No, nothing was working to make the nightmares stop. They'd only gotten worse. He needed to change that if he was ever going to live his life the way he knew he should. The way he'd lived before all of this.

This night in particular, after another round of lurching out of sleep, clutching his chest until his heart rate calmed and his ragged breathing returned to normal…this night he was having more trouble than usual in trying to fall back asleep. So, he stopped trying. He made himself some coffee and sat at his kitchen table, staring at nothing, examining things unseen.

This quiet contemplation did not help matters, and before long, a violent rage filled him, making his hands shake. Little splashes of the hot drink spilled over his hands but he didn't notice.

He couldn't go on like this.

Something needed to change.

He had to do something.

Anything.

In the very furthest and darkest crevices of his tired brain, "anything" formed into a "something." The faintest flicker of an idea came to his mind. Not a plan, not even part of a plan, but something that, if properly explored and developed, could become a plan….

He shook the thought from his head and dumped out the rest of his coffee. He just needed sleep, was all. He wouldn't be feeling this way if he actually got some rest.

But a few hours later, when the sun had risen and he dressed deliberately for work, even worse off than he had been before, the fleeting images of yet another round of nightmares seeping from his mind, that idea was still there. And by the time he'd made it to work, that idea had turned into something absolutely crazy. He could all too easily fail. Die, even. But it gave him a thrill just to turn over the idea in his mind.

At the least, it was better than nightmares.

…

A/N: I sort of lied in the above note. I'm not just unsure of how this story would be received, I was originally downright scared of how it would be received. I mean, who wants such an AU story, especially this long after the original was published on this site and since the actual NCIS storyline has become so deviated from how it was just a few years ago? Still, there are quite a few supernatural/sci-fi themed NCIS fics, several of which are absolutely great, and many of which are a series. I hope to add to that weird little niche. Again, thank you if you choose to read further, and I hope you find it worth your while.