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DiNozzos Don't Journal

It wasn't like they hadn't had a million things to do, and it was bad enough they had to hold off grieving for a lost team member – the loss of Kate – but not three days after her death, the new Director demanded they all see an Agency pshrink to be sure they were past her loss. Director Morrow was old school enough to bristle even when the regs demanded that they see someone after a shooting, and Gibbs was more so, so DiNozzo had managed to dodge that bullet since coming to NCIS.

Well, at least after the qualifying interview, he had. He still wondered if they did that to everyone, or if they saw something in him that made them think an impromptu psych eval was warranted, or if it was just another way Gibbs was screwing with him.

But what the hell had Jenny been thinking anyway, barely into the job, to want them to take time away from the investigation, first off, and second, to think that the loss of someone like Kate was something they could even begin to process just three days in? At least they'd won that round; Gibbs had an 'in' with her and managed to get her to postpone the order for a couple weeks, then a couple more, but after six weeks they'd all had to go check in with psych services.

In hindsight, Tony often wondered if Jenny just might have had something there, given Gibbs' obsession with Ari Haswari. Of course, either it didn't take at all with Gibbs, or ... had the therapist made even a little headway with Gibbs? Tony shuddered to think how the obsession could possibly have been worse...

In general, DiNozzo prided himself on being able to play just about anyone's game, including an agency drone's psychological mining, so he was embarrassed more at his own failing than any rudeness involved. But when he heard the therapist's suggestion, it was so outlandish that he let loose with a sudden, barked laugh that made the poor woman jump, literally coming halfway out of her chair:

"You know, one way to manage the sort of stress and emotional battering your job can involve is to journal..."

Oh, God, that was outstanding! "Journaling..." oh, yeah, right; a DiNozzo, 'journaling?" (And after all this time he still refused to believe it was actually a verb.) The only thing funnier than that thought – of him, 'journaling' – was the thought (and his secret, guilty wish) that she dared to suggest it to Gibbs as well. Just the idea, and the accompanying images, had him snickering long after the session.

"Dear Diary..." Oh, yeah, that was DiNozzo. And Gibbs. It made him grin on some of the darkest days.

Yeah, "journaling." Like it would happen. With any of them.

Of course ... sometimes, when he was alone at home after a particularly bad case, or sometimes when alone for hours on a stakeout, more when he was a cop than now, but still sometimes, when alone or now, if he was with Gibbs when his Boss demanded some quiet "for a change" ... yeah, his mind would get locked round and round in the "what ifs," for a whole lot of things. He'd wonder about countless events, if what he'd done might have been done better, or if people they'd lost – in a case; in his life – could have been saved with a different plan or approach. He'd wonder what it would be like now if Kate were still alive, but then wonder guiltily if that would have meant he'd never have met Ziva.

... and then he'd just fantasize about those two together, and wonder if he could have managed to find a way to get those two highly trained women in a mud-wrestling match...

So who needed journaling?

This time, Tony glanced over at his probie as they hit hour four of their stakeout, as the McGigabyte was making some adjustments he'd been asked to make in the electronic surveillance gismos, in preparation for this last handful of hours left on the assignment. Even after all this time, the downtime in a long stakeout inevitably reminded DiNozzo of the journaling suggestion, probably because it was about the only time he was awake when he wasn't focused on whatever case Gibbs had them chasing, or focused on whatever he was doing – or whomever he was doing, he played to himself – to forget about work.

As he watched Tim work, Tony smirked silently. Now there was a Special Agent made for journaling, DiNozzo mused. Hell, that was about all McGee had done to become a hot shot famous author, wasn't it? Maybe Probie journaled too; if he liked writing so much, it might be a good way for him to let off steam, if it wasn't already exactly what he'd done to end up with his best-selling versions of the team. What would a guy like Tim get out of it? Tony wasn't always crazy about where his thoughts went when they were let loose to go back over everything, and the idea of writing them down sounded even worse, but he was willing to bet it would help Tim get things off his chest.

And clearly did more than that for McGee, the writing thing, and after DiNozzo had gotten an eyeful of just how famous 'Thom E Gemcity' was and the favors it got him...

Yeah. There's a moment for the journal, DiNozzo. Mr. Gemcity got the girls and attention, and John caught a bullet in the chest...

DiNozzo's private smile faded. Once again he remembered just why journaling was apt to be more painful than cathartic for him – too many of his memories were painful ones.

Still ... he had to admit, he had an interesting collection of random memories, over the years ...

Too bad he didn't journal.

NON-Chapter 1 (or what Tony thought might be his first installment, if he did journal)

A choice; the Rules

It had all happened pretty fast, and when he was about as low as he'd ever been: it was when their case was moving along faster than usual because a Federal agency got involved, maybe even more so because of the particular Fed who got involved. After all, it wasn't like the FBI ever moved the Department's cases faster on those rarified days when they decided to show up, they just horned in and poached the best cases from real cops who didn't get to cherry pick their cases. No, this agency – this Fed – got him ballistics and BOLO hits and warrants faster than his overburdened Department ever could, and suddenly in all the rush and hurry there was a collar, and DiNozzo saw that look from the perp to his partner and suddenly, it was as if everything ground down to freeze frame on the images...

They were connected. Somehow, some way; he didn't know details yet but Tony's gut knew something was off, and it was off bad...

The first forty-eight afterward, for someone who knew deep down, right away, that he had no choice – DiNozzo couldn't decide what to do. Then, once he faced the fact that he was going to do what he had to do – this was Danny, his partner, for God's sake – he knew he couldn't go back to BPD, because ... Because. It was his partner. He'd never seen it ... and Danny had never said a word.

He wanted to think he didn't know which was worse, but he did. It was the twist of the knife he'd felt in his gut since that moment he saw the partners – Danny and his other partner – connect. So he called in a family emergency leave and took another twenty-four to decide what to do, even then knowing he didn't really have a choice.

And somewhere in the first eighteen of that twenty-four, Gibbs called him to tell him he was needed at NCIS. The Fed never said why, and in the circumstances, in his mood, Tony didn't even ask why, just got in his car and drove until suddenly he was being ushered through security, clearly expected, to emerge from the elevator into the blinding orange glare they used as a squad room. He'd wonder later if Gibbs just knew or actually called his precinct, looking for him – and he'd also wonder later if it was the orange glare that wrecked his Boss's sniper-vision. But on that day, with everything else that had happened – it seemed as sensible as anything else to have armed Federal agents penned up in a neon box.

But Gibbs was there to meet him, and in the next two minutes Tony had managed to confess that he was allowing his partner to skate on who knew how many felony counts instead of ratting him out, to be smacked upside the head not for doing that but for suggesting things might be better for everyone if he wasn't a cop, and to be pushed headlong into a job application. In the next two hours, he'd not only filled out an application and had a quick interview with someone vaguely HR and someone even more vaguely mental health screener (and had made dates with both of the lovely women handling those processes) but he'd met with the Director himself for what was the oddest interview he'd ever had.

The man introduced himself, gave him a two-sentence rundown of the agency and the job, then made him an offer – a Special Agent offer. Tony must have telegraphed his reaction, because the Director just sort of grinned knowingly and shrugged, "Gibbs says we want you. I've learned to trust his judgment on that kind of thing." Director Morrow offered to answer any questions Tony had, which of course were none, given he hadn't even been close to expecting such an interview that afternoon – but his next comment was something that snapped DiNozzo back from the daze left by his whirlwind afternoon.

"Detective DiNozzo – Special Agent Gibbs is a fine agent, one of our very best, please don't misunderstand what I'm going to say. But he can be ... unconventional. Demanding, certainly."

Tony's knee-jerk response, a sudden grunt of laughter, broke the tension. "There's a surprise."

The Director nodded in some concession, but defended his agent in explaining, "over the years he's worked with a partner, or alone, and has built a couple teams – and when things go well, it's not a problem, usually. But that ... style ... doesn't work for everyone. I'm not offering you this job on the condition that you work with Gibbs, you understand that? If you'd rather see about another assignment ... or even another location ... I'll see what I can offer."

"All that on Gibbs' recommendation, based just on a few hours of watching me work a case?'

"Yes."

DiNozzo blinked. Yet another surprise.

Tony sat back, clearly rattled by events and now wondering just what all he'd gotten into – but feeling a small but undeniable flicker of excitement at the prospect. "I think I'd like to give it a shot, working with him," DiNozzo nodded slowly. "Call it a personal challenge."

"Glad to hear it," Morrow rose, extending his hand in a finalizing handshake. "But before we assign you formally – maybe you'd better discuss his Rules with him first."

DiNozzo shrugged his laugh this time. "There can't be that many; what, maybe five or six?" At the man's expression, Tony's grin faded a bit as his eyebrows raised. "A dozen?"

"I hear there are about fifty."

"Fifty?" DiNozzo gaped. "He publish a policy manual?"

Morrow chuckled as he crossed to the door to open it for the Detective, a clear sign of dismissal from the interview. "Not a bad idea."

"But, Director – "

"His team, his Rules. They usually work, so I don't get in the way."

"Even if they counter NCIS policy?" Tony cocked his head as he offered the mild challenge.

"So far that hasn't been an issue – and I just keep hoping that's true for the rest of them."

"So you don't even know what all of them are?" DiNozzo was getting more and less enlightened with each statement, all at once.

Morrow smiled again as he turned to go back in his office. "Sometimes I think even he doesn't know them all yet."

DiNozzo found himself standing in the Director's waiting room with the Director's sympathetic looking assistant and an again-closed door where the Director stood a moment ago, and in his awkwardness Tony turned offer a bit of the old DiNozzo charm, needing the moment to regroup. But before he could introduce himself to the lovely woman at the desk, a tall form stood up silently from his chair in the corner, across from the assistant.

DiNozzo turned at the movement and said, fairly stupidly he'd think later, "Gibbs." His 'answer' was a silent tip of the chin and a raised eyebrow – both artfully understated. Tony lifted his own chin to challenge, "so what's with these 'Rules' of yours?"

Gibbs' expression didn't change – well, not much, only a subtlety that only a streetwise detective might catch, the tiny quirk of the lips and – damn it, that was a slight glimmer in his eye as he spoke. "You got a problem with rules, DiNozzo?"

"Not the ones I know about. No, wait – not the ones that I know about and are within some level of reason."

At that, Gibbs' quirk became a smirk, and he silently turned to walk out of the Director's office. Blinking in another abrupt surprise, and not knowing if he'd just been fired as quickly as he'd been hired, Tony turned to the still lovely assistant, opening his mouth to plead his case, when suddenly another quick smack landed on the back of his head.

"Hey!" He spun around quickly to see the man's icy blue eyes glaring nearly nose to nose with him. "How did you...?"

"I don't have time to wait around up here all day for you, DiNozzo." Again Gibbs turned and strode out of the office, but his voice carried back to them. "You comin' or what?"

This time when Tony looked at the Lovely Assistant, his grin was wide with delight. "On your six ... Boss!" he called as he jogged out the door and into the bright orange neon that was now his, too.

And at the moment, he thought that orange just might be his favorite color.

A/N: If you made it this far, yes, I confess: this is just a set-up to allow me to throw in my random Tony thoughts, in random sequence and random postings ... these days I'm finding very limited time for more meaty fic-writing, but once in a while have to cave in to the craving to write a bit, So Im hoping this will let me vent my Tony urges. This is a bit different than what I've tried before so if you like, hate or couldn't care less, I would love to know!