AN: This is the sequel to 'Where It Began'. I highly suggest giving it a read as some items in this story will not make sense without that context.
Chapter One
Six Months Later
He sat in the basement of the church and ran his hands over his thighs. The door slammed behind him and he jumped to face it, his heightened senses triggered by the sudden noise. He quickly confirmed that it was just a member of the group and he went back to rubbing his thighs. He hated the idea of being here. He hated that he even needed to come to something like this, but he knew that this was where he needed to be. At least his therapist had suggested that this sort of place would be a good addition to his traditional therapy. But what was traditional about a Power Ranger in any medical situation was beyond him. Of course- his therapist didn't know he was a Power Ranger. He just knew what the past had done to him.
The others that were there shared the same look that he had. Guarded. Suspicious. Reflexes on a hair trigger. A bunch of men in their early to mid thirties, a handful that were older or younger. All of them had seen things that most of the world could not identify with and here they were, planning to talk to each other about the horrors of their lives. It felt insane. It felt dangerous. It felt like he was standing on a cliff and the only choice was to jump off. It was safer to jump off than to stay still.
He reminded himself that he was here for the life he wanted. He was here for what his family and wife deserved. He was here because he was tired of the sleepless nights and the dreams that haunted him. He had thought after they defeated Atlantis that it would be like all of the other times before- he'd have a couple of rough weeks and then he would settle. This time- he didn't. This time things just got worse and worse until he found himself waiting for his wife to finish therapy one evening and he asked the receptionist if he could also schedule an appointment. He had spent much of that day recovering from a panic attack in the subway. He still didn't know how he had made it off the train and up to the street level without collapsing, but he did know then that this could not continue. He needed help.
A week later, the therapist had listened to his issues and immediately suggested that he needed to see a specialist. He wanted to be able to say that he was shocked, but he really wasn't. He was unable to adapt to his past anymore. He was unable to function the way that he always had. He had watched his wife's eyes grow more concerned over the last few months and he knew he had to do something. She was the only part of his old life that he had left and he could not lose her. He could not let her concern turn in to disinterest and distrust. So he went to the specialist. He followed what he was told to do. He couldn't say that it was better. He couldn't say that it had worked, but he had done enough research to know that this was his best shot. He had to take his best shot.
"Well- it's time to get started. Why don't we start with our newcomer?" Dr. Schutlely suggested and he met his eyes. He did not want to start. He was not sure he even wanted to speak, but his mouth seemed to have other ideas.
"Hello, I'm Tommy Oliver and I have PTSD," Tommy stated as he forced his gaze to meet several of the other men in the room and he watched as they barely nodded. It was then that it hit him- these men knew. They knew what he had been through and they understood everything that it had done to him. The circumstances were sure to be different, but they were all here for the same reason- to find a life away from the battle. To find a life where they truly enjoyed the aftermath.