Disclaimer: NCIS & its characters borrowed; no profits realized.

We all know that when Tony mentioned his phone reception's dead spot in his therapist's office, he wasn't getting PT on his knee.

DiNozzos Don't Journal

NON-Chapter 2

Triage

During the first couple sessions, Tony kept up a sort of mental, meta-analysis of what was going on, reminding himself that his body language and physical movements had to be telegraphing his discomfort with the whole process, and that if he knew the signs, then the therapist sitting across from him would have his distress nailed, chapter and verse. It made him wonder then if anyone was ever comfortable in a therapist's office, remembering interviews he'd seen with Woody Allen and Richard Lewis, who'd said they were in therapy for years, decades even, and DiNozzo figured that they must have gotten sort of comfortable to keep going for years, for decades, but then neither of those guys seemed comfortable in general so maybe it was a reversing of what the usual patient would ...

"...Mr. DiNozzo?"

The soft voice interrupted his nervous, inner stream-of-consciousness rambling, and his eyes snapped up to the eyes of the seventy-something woman sitting beside her desk, turned toward him. Tony reflected how had he agonized over the choice between a male or female therapist, and definitely had leaned toward female, but didn't want to do this with someone hot, but thought it would be weird to choose a therapist just because she wasn't hot, so...

"I see this is still uncomfortable for you. Did you make the list we talked about last time, the top three things that brought you here?"

Suddenly realizing he'd automatically raised his usual defenses, tossing around the typical verbal smokescreens, but to himself, Tony blinked a bit in surprise and focused on the patient expression across from him. I wonder if they teach look that in 'therapist class,' his mind wandered away with him again, until he mentally head-slapped it back. With a small frown, he nodded. "Yeah, but ... I don't know. I keep changing my mind."

"That's okay," she encouraged. "Anything in particular surface more often than the others?"

He frowned even deeper, and shook his head uncertainly. "Not really one ... thing ... or person, or situation, or person..."

The warm eyes across from him sparked a bit with his repetition, but the psychologist waited, watching her patient silently as he sifted through his thoughts. Just as she started to draw a breath to speak again, his green eyes snapped back up to hers and, as they narrowed in a sudden assessment of her, he asked, warily, "you're not one of those therapists who expect your patients to ... journal, are you, to keep all their thoughts in some diary?"

With a bit of a surprised reaction herself, the woman answered immediately with a smile, "no, not unless they indicate in some way that it would be helpful for them, or that they'd like to try it."

Tony watched the psychologist, still somewhat wary, though he hoped he hid most of it, and wondered that she hadn't asked the expected "why do you ask?" Because she already knows she won't get a straight answer? He let his breath out slowly. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea...

"Tony," she said, slowly, "let me ask it this way. What you told me last week about your work, especially everything that happened over the last year ... and the little bit I know about your childhood and your medical history, here," she tapped his file, "even surviving the plague! Certainly you must know how extraordinary that is. Yet with everything you've had to face in your life, for the first time ever, you decided to seek therapy just ten days ago. So why now, Tony? What happened that brought you to therapy ... even at the risk of having to journal?"

It didn't quite break the tension, but Tony laughed softly at the offered reference. He didn't speak right away, but she remained silent too, willing to wait while he considered her question. He suspected she'd even be willing to wait through the rest of the hour and probably into the next session. So after some thought, DiNozzo drew a deep breath, blew it out slowly and softly ... and spoke.

"Everything, I guess. Things change, and not for the better. People hurt ... people change. When they hurt, no matter what I try, I can't help them. When things change, it's not good, but it's not really bad, it's just ... off. And I can't get things back to where they were."

"Who are they, Tony?"

He hadn't been looking at her as he'd spoken, but her question brought him back, and as he seemed to weigh her question, not speaking, she spoke again, urging him to reflect on his words.

"When you were thinking of the people who were hurting, or changing – who was on your mind?"

His eyes lingered on hers for another moment and as they did, she could see that he'd answered the question for himself quickly. As his eyes fell away from hers, she waited for him to let her in on it. She noted that even this ready answer was difficult for him to discuss, as he shrugged then smiled toward the floor.

His voice suddenly sounded distant. "My team ... the people I work with. Ziva, the woman we rescued who I told you about ...Tim, the other agent who went in with me... She's hurting; he's changed ... she's changing. Our boss ..." Tony shrugged ... paused ... then went on, "...isn't fixing things..."

"You expected him to?"

"Well, yeah; he's Gibbs," Tony answered immediately, just as quickly realizing he'd said it as if that should be enough explanation. He amended, "yeah. He's fixed a lot of things, over the years. But this time ... it's as if he hasn't noticed that anything is off."

"Is it possible he hasn't noticed?"

"No." He shook his head immediately, then hesitated. "Or..." For the first time in the sessions, DiNozzo looked unguarded, young ... lost. "I don't know how he could miss it. Not if he's himself. And he's the only one who hasn't changed..."

The therapist was quiet for several moments, watching as the younger man dwelled on the implications circling in his words, but she didn't let him go on for too long. "Tony ... I know you're aware, logically, that people change, sometimes forced by circumstances, sometimes just because people do. And you probably know that while change can be good, it isn't always..."

"But I ought to be able to do something, at least for someone like Ziva," he interrupted. "I know she can't be happy like she is now but she's insisting she's fine and has just shut us out."

The woman nodded, and watched again as he imagined scenes with the people in his thoughts for another several moments. "So if Gibbs hasn't changed, but Ziva and Tim have," she asked, "what about you?"

His initial response was surprise at the question, followed by a quick, guarded shrug, "I'm fine. I can go with the flow, however they want to end up. It's just..." He paused again, looking for how to express his concerns. "They may end up even more hurt, or worse, but they don't see it."

"And you, Tony? Landing on your feet, but unhappy? Maybe even alone again?"

The discerning green eyes were back, first searching for the source of her knowledge, but then quickly veiled, as she again heard the defensive laugh she'd heard so often during their first session. "Hell, wouldn't be the first time," DiNozzo said broadly. "Been there before, can do it again."

"But it's not what you want."

DiNozzo wavered, and almost grudgingly, tried a feint. "Look, if it was just the crack about journaling..." He glanced back up at the therapist and smirked, "pretty pathetic, huh?"

"Pretty human, Tony."

He considered that for a moment, then shrugged, "so that's it, then? I'm fixed? I'm just feeling sorry for myself so should suck it up?"

The expression that met his changed very little. "Tony, you know what's not what I said – and I know it's not what you heard."

The agent wavered, seemed to come to some sort of decision, and then, for the first time since he'd been there, sat back, relaxing more than he had since he'd first walked into her office the week before. At the moment, though, it looked more like defeat or concession than any level of comfort in the situation. He said nothing more, and also for the first time, it didn't look as if he was analyzing everything she said six ways. She spoke again to ease the moment for him.

"When people hurt ... it can take any number of forms," the psychologist offered softly, "and for a wide variety of reasons. Depending on the person, he can take a lot of punches, but over a long time, if there are a lot of body blows and no real healing ... sometimes a little first aid is needed."

DiNozzo didn't look up this time, but considered her words for long moments before finally nodding. He didn't speak right away, though, finding words difficult, and when he did speak his voice was soft. "But you won't make me journal, right?"

"Do you want me to make you journal, Tony?"

He heard the amusement in her voice and looked up with a small smile of his own. "That's the only way I ever would."

"I believe you."

DiNozzo smirked a little as he nodded again. "Don't you want to hear about my crappy childhood?"

This time it was she who shrugged. "Up to you. If you think it's important."

"I thought all of you thought crappy childhoods were important."

She smiled again at his efforts to deflect, but before she could speak and direct the conversation back to his reasons for seeking therapy, his phone vibrated noisily. He pulled it from his pocket to glance at it briefly and said, "my boss. One of his rules, 'never be unreachable.'"

She nodded her understanding. "I think we've given you some things to think about for next time. If you decide to come again, of course. Just as we did last time, you can schedule another appointment on your way out or later, whatever you like."

"...because ... my schedule is pretty crazy ..."

"We'll play it by ear."

"But you think I should come back." It wasn't really a question.

The woman's smile was soft. " I think you could use some first aid."

DiNozzo looked at her, the woman's steady gaze meeting his best investigator's appraisal, and he finally shrugged and nodded, "yeah, I got that." He stood as she did, both of them knowing that Tony would book for the next week, and would be here for at least a few more sessions – maybe only until he could get through a whole session without having to avert his eyes, and without having to dissemble when answers were requested. But they knew that Tony would be there again.

"If you do schedule another session, I'd like you to think about what your concerns are for each of your teammates – nothing elaborate, just a few words – and then think about why that's been more important to you than your own hurts or changes."

He stopped, looking back to her. "Oh, start with the easy stuff, huh?"

"You're a busy man and your time is valuable. I wanted to make your session worthwhile." His appraisal lingered another moment before he nodded and took another step toward the door. Sensing she hadn't quite closed the deal yet, the psychologist added, "and one of these days I want to know what you have against journaling."

She was rewarded with a dazzling grin of honest amusement. "'cos it's lame?" he fired back.

A delicate grey eyebrow lifted over a twinkling eye. "Or because things are more permanent, in writing? Or because having to sort through all the words for your uncomfortable feelings and reactions to get just the right ones down makes it harder to just shove them all in a corner and ignore them?"

The green eyes veiled again, slightly, but she hadn't lost him yet – she'd figured out early on that this patient found it hard to walk away from a challenge. She watched as a slight smirk pulled at the amused smile. "No – " he drawled. "Just lame."

He turned to leave her office, and the psychologist returned to her desk to make a few quick notes, tuck his file away, and pull out the file for her next appointment. As she went back to the doorway to call in her 7:30, she noticed that her 6:45 was still at the window, talking with the receptionist over their booking screen.

She smiled softly. She might just learn about his aversion to journaling after all...