A/N: This is the sequel to a story I wrote two years ago called Neverending. It kind of didn't end (as per the title) and I'd always planned on getting the story finished...which is what this is. Basic summary of Neverending: Tim is in a plane crash in which a number of other people are killed and then gets obsessed with trying to figure out what happened and why.

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of NCIS and I don't own NCIS. ...and no matter how much I'd like to, I'm not making money off this story. I just enjoy doing it. :)

The End
by Enthusiastic Fish

Chapter 1

The door burst open, sending a hail of bullets through the cabin. People dropped right and left, letting out high-pitched shrieks of pain, the roaring of the plane growing louder and louder as the man got closer to his hiding place. His face seemed to fill all the available space and yet still, he could see Johnson screaming in agony, jerking right and left as bullets riddled her body. The man pressed closer and closer, his face leering as he raised his gun, firing again and again into his side...

Tim sat up, breathing quickly, dripping with sweat, hand unconsciously moving to his hip, massaging the area that still, even a year after being caught in that plane crash, kept him from doing what he wanted, what he needed to do. As Nathan had promised he would, Tim had improved as time progressed, but he wasn't ready. His leg was too weak; he was too uncertain. It wasn't strong enough...no matter what Nathan said about it.

...and the nightmares weren't going away, no matter how often the shrink said they would fade. Here it was...five in the morning and Tim knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wouldn't calm down enough to fall asleep again, not until it was time to get up anyway. With a sigh, he thought about his job, a job that didn't really seem to be his, not yet, maybe not ever. He was still on desk duty. How could he possibly go back to it fully until he was confident that he wouldn't fail Gibbs and Tony and Ziva, especially when their lives might depend on his prowess?

Gibbs had suggested, more than once, that Tim was ready. ...but he was wrong. Tony and Ziva occasionally asked when he was going to be off the medically-ordered desk duty because he seemed fine to them. ...but they were wrong, too. Tim knew he wasn't ready. He knew that putting himself out in the field again would put everyone at risk...and he had told Vance as much. Vance trusted his judgment...mostly. That meant that he didn't question Tim when he had said that he needed more time. His shrink wasn't exactly pushing him along, but she had intimated...more than once...that he might be holding himself back without cause.

However, none of them were Timothy McGee. None of them woke up nearly every morning from nightmares. None of them had rows of stitches across their pelvises from being shot and then in a plane crash. None of them took a step and feared that this time their bodies really would collapse. ...and none of them labored every day under the pressure of an open case, one that could possibly be neverending...or else could end with their deaths.

With a sigh...and a moment's hesitation...Tim stood up and walked out to his computer. Since he was awake so early, he figured he might as well see what he could see...although at this point, he rather doubted he'd see something new in a file he had nearly memorized. Still, he looked at the information. He had asked Fornell...many times...why his testimony was absent from the file. Fornell had no answer, and although he had promised to look into it, there was nothing to explain it still. He claimed that he had told them about the oversight and yet they didn't change their positions. The official FBI ruling was that it was the work of a lone gunman...for lack of a better term. Even though he had nothing to back him up, he didn't understand how they could believe that when it was so patently untrue. It didn't explain how the man (who still had no identity) could get past airport security, how he could get a hold of an ID so convincing that it passed him even onto the FBI plane. It didn't explain why he tried to kill all the geeks in the cabin when he could have accomplished the same thing by simply crashing the plane. How could he have thought that he could get out of it alive? None of it made sense with the explanation put forth by that agency. NCIS had not officially closed it, but no one was working on it. ...well, no one besides Tim.

With another sigh, Tim closed out the file. There was nothing to see there. He knew it. He knew that he wasn't going to make any sort of a breakthrough by looking at it. He had known that for weeks. Gibbs and Fornell both had been right about this determination leading to a possible obsession. Tim knew he was flirting with that label, although he'd done his best to keep that from happening.

Jethro came trotting over to him as he sat morosely staring at the floor. He nuzzled him and licked his face. Tim smiled.

"Good morning, Jethro. Need to do your morning business? I'm good with that. It's early, though. You want to eat first?"

Jethro made his preferences plain...by picking up his leash and drooling on it as he tried to pant and hold onto it at the same time. Tim laughed.

"Okay. Let me get dressed first."

Jethro danced around eagerly, forcing Tim to speed up out of a worry that his dog might just get excited enough to forget that he was house trained. When he came out of his bedroom, Jethro was sitting beside his dish, panting.

"So...you want to eat?" Tim asked, amused.

Jethor barked at him a few times. Tim shook his head and got out some food and refilled the water dish. He knelt beside the German shepherd as he ate and drank. He didn't finish his breakfast...which Tim had expected. This was just an appetizer which would only make him that much more excited to eat when they got back.

"Are you ready now?" he asked.

As if there had been no pause in his desire to go outside, Jethro ran to the door and barked softly, thankfully. Tim knew that he sometimes forgot about the thin walls when he was in his apartment. Jethro seemed more aware than he was sometimes. Tim clipped the leash to Jethro's collar and allowed himself to be dragged out of the apartment, down the stairs and out to the street. After satisfying the most pressing need, Jethro set a slower pace, one that was well-suited to his master's current physical ability. Tim was easily able to keep up and after a few minutes, they reached their favorite park. Tim let Jethro off the leash and watched as he ran after the roosting pigeons and then, once they were in flight, barked at them madly. Occasionally, he would run back to Tim, expecting praise for the amazing work he was doing in driving away the pesky birds. Then, he was off again, running around. Tim laughed with near delight as his dog acted like life was normal.

"Jethro! Time to go!" he called a few minutes later.

Jethro took a circuitous route to get back to Tim, but at least he came. Some days, it took at least ten minutes to get his dog calm enough to return to the leash.

As they headed back, Tim thought about the upcoming day. He had work in the morning, rehab in the afternoon, work in the evening...oh, and today was the day that his physical therapy and his mental therapy coincided. He hated days like this.

"This is going to be a long day, Jethro. I wish it was already over."

Jethro panted but made no other indication that he was listening. He seemed content to take a slow pace all the way back to the apartment. Tim's leg was feeling tired as they reached the last few stairs.

"Jethro, you want to carry me up?"

Jethro pulled on the leash, wanting to get back into the apartment to finish eating his food.

"All right. All right." Tim climbed the last few stairs, walked down the hall to his front door. It was ajar. He stopped and Jethro growled.

The door behind him opened and one of his neighbors came out.

"Morning, Tim! You're up early," Melanie said, cheerfully.

"Melanie," Tim said, swallowing nervously, "You need to get out of the building. Pull the alarm as you go. Call the police."

"What?"

"Please, just do it."

Jethro's growls increased and he pulled at his leash toward Tim's door.

"What's going on?" Melanie asked, now sounding worried.

"You need to go," Tim said. He looked back over his shoulder at her. "Go!"

Melanie nodded and ran. Tim heard the fire alarm go off and felt as though he couldn't move. Jethro was wanting to go in which told Tim whoever had opened his door was probably still in there. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have his weapon. He wasn't armed. He couldn't even hold a hope of subduing whoever it was. There was no way he was going to let Jethro go. If the guy had a gun, his dog could die and he didn't want that.

Tim was afraid. He felt...helpless, standing there, staring at his open door. Then, he heard footsteps running toward the door. He looked back and forth, trying to find a place to hide, a place to run...but there was nowhere to go. The door was pulled open and a man came out. He stopped, surprised at Tim's presence. Tim could see it in his eyes. Then, he smiled and raised a gun.

That's my gun, Tim thought, his eyes drawn right to it. Then, Jethro growled loudly, pulled forward, the leash slipping out of Tim's hand as he leapt at the man threatening his master. The gun went off and then the man turned and ran, pursued by Jethro. Tim felt his leg trembling...actually, both his legs were trembling. He didn't know what to do.

"J-Jethro," he called, weakly.

He took a step toward his dog who was barking angrily out the window...but before he took more than that, there was an explosion from his open door which threw him onto his back.