What a hoot! Tony easily and happily admitting to Tim that he has joined a men's support group.

Poor McGee doesn't quite know what to make of Tony anymore. Well...not that he ever did...

What. The. Hell. Had Tony just told him he had joined a men's support group? And had he just told him willingly, and casually, too? Like it was no big deal, nothing to hide, proud of himself for doing it?

McGee was glad Tony was driving, because it was always a little disconcerting to drive in beltway traffic with the earth tilting on its axis.

Maybe it was a another practical joke, like the plastic-wrapped desk and computer that Tony swore he had nothing to do with. If it was, it was pretty elaborate, getting some guy to come up to him seemingly randomly and start talking about it. Wasn't a men's support group tantamount to going to a shrink? Or worse, spilling your guts to not just one stranger, but several at a time? No way was he going to be caught doing any such thing.

Maybe Tony had finally lost it. Maybe Ziva's leaving had been the push that sent the guy over the edge. They all knew their SFA battled demons; some of them, Tim surmised, were merely a figment of Tony's over-active imagination which bent seriously towards the over- dramatic. But a support group? Tony? Wait till Gibbs hears about this, Tim mused to himself as they made their way back to the Navy Yard. Wait. Maybe Gibbs already knew. Maybe he had ordered Tony to join, growing tired and irritated over his SFA's recent odd behavior, but then, Gibbs never seemed to really tire of any of Tony's behavior. The man either had blinders on or was a masochist, McGee had never been quite sure. He certainly couldn't have actually enjoyed it all these years...

Tony wove casually in and out of the busy traffic, seemingly in no hurry to get back to, well, anywhere. He wore just the hint of a smile as he drove, and his eyes copied that emotion, but were hidden behind his sunglasses. He could practically hear McGee's brain wheels grinding away, thinking and rethinking all of the cotangents and square roots and ratios and odds of Tony DiNozzo willingly offering himself up for dissection and dissertation by a bunch of other men. It wasn't manly, it just wasn't done in their part of the world! There were secrets to be kept, emotions to be held in check, reality to be maintained.

Tony, of all people, understood that.

But Tony's world was growing smaller and less defined than he could ever remember, and it was getting so he couldn't find himself in it anymore. When he had been a young beat cop, his focus and drive had been work, women, and wine, in that order. He'd had gobs of energy, next to no health issues, and everything seemed clear and relatively simple – he was a cop, cops chased bad guys, bad guys for the most part got caught and punished, and on it went, the adrenalin rush of youth and police work seemingly bottomless. Then he had been stood up by a fiance and pulled down by a crooked partner, and his world had started to fray again around the edges, something that hadn't seriously started to happen since he'd been toted off to military school. Gibbs had come along right then, and offered him a fresh start in D.C., and he had a focus again, and someone to help him channel the nervous energy his latent anger and frustration caused into something positive again.

It had been rough adapting at first, not just to Gibbs' unorthodox ways, but to having more than one partner on a team. Vivian Blackadder had resented him with an undisguised passion, and then been kicked off the team herself, leaving them back to a well-oiled two man team. Pressured into adding another member by then Director Tom Morrow, Gibbs had offered a position on the team to Kate, and Tony was back to being on defense against a team member bent on proving herself more competent than any male Gibbs could have picked, including, or maybe especially Tony. When she had been killed, there had been little time to grieve and think things through, which Tony figured was probably a good thing at the time.

Now he wasn't so sure about that, and now after Ziva's abrupt departure and the myriad of emotions that had raged through him regarding just what his relationship was with her, he knew he didn't have it in him to go another ten years with those issues unresolved. He just wasn't strong enough anymore. His past losses, along with what little actual support he had availed himself to, had made him brittle, and he knew he had miles to go before he had the luxury of not caring who thought what about him. He had a job to do, a serious one, and couldn't afford to be falling apart at the seams; he already had a reputation as being a bit of a flake, which had served him well with suspects but usually not with anyone else, except perhaps Jethro Gibbs.

It had been Tobias Fornell of all people who had recommended the group to him, although the man himself had never admitted to participating in any such thing. Tony hadn't pressed him, he hadn't really cared how Fornell battled his demons, or if he even bothered anymore. He suspected the Fibbie was a lot like Gibbs and had just learned to slay them better, or at least compartmentalize them differently than Tony did. Much as he admired both of the older men, Tony knew he was different from them, in ways that sometimes embarrassed him. Why those ways embarrassed him, he wasn't sure, but he needed to find out before it made him totally crazy and do something he couldn't take back.

Hanging out with a bunch of guys was as natural to Tony as breathing – well, before he'd gotten the pneumonic plague years back – but dredging up emotions and a painful past with them was as foreign an idea to him as Gibbs joining a quilting guild. It just wasn't in his DNA to spill his guts with anyone, not even Gibbs. He had wanted to on plenty of occasions, but the man had too often made it clear to him that work was business, and home was private. There had been lots of cowboy steak dinners and a few less than sober crashes in Gibbs' guest bedroom, but not much of a chance to really spill about things that bothered him outside of their last case. When he had tried, Gibbs had been so quiet and closed off that Tony had taken the hint and given up. The man just didn't want to deal with someone else's angsts. Tony was pretty sure it was because Gibbs could barely deal with his own train wreck of emotions, he was certainly not prepared to advise someone else about theirs. On the times that he had actually offered his thoughts, he had been gruff and impatient, as if Tony should already know the answers to his problems, so the younger man had clammed up and stopped bothering him about them. It made for better energy between them, and the last thing Tony needed anymore was tension between partners.

Before he walked into his first meeting, Tony had convinced himself it was no different than the years he'd shared rooms at boarding school, or a dorm with frat brothers, or a locker room with sports team mates. He knew he had forgotten that sort of comradery during his years in police precincts and now a federal agency. Fellow officers had mistrusted him and flat out mocked him for his pretty boy looks and ties to big family money, and he had soon learned to keep to himself and just do his job, as many hours as it took. He wasn't new to hazing, he had gotten more than his share in boarding school, and had been ill prepared to deal with it back then, but now he really needed to watch his back, where the hazing could easily turn to hate and viciousness in a world that often closed ranks even around a dirty cop. He was always the new kid on the block, and not only that, a bit of a precocious upstart with his innate problem-solving skills, which led to inevitable resentment whenever he shook up the status quo.

FLASHBACK

Once inside the doors, he had been surprised to find several guys already involved in activities – a game of two on two basketball was raging down at the end of the rec hall, and in another section, tables were set up for card and board games. Drinks and snacks were laid out on a long table to the side, and beyond that, a circle of chairs. A man watched him from a distance, waiting for him to get his bearings before approaching him. Tony knew he was there, could sense his eyes on him, but didn't get that prickly feeling he often felt when he was being surveilled by a suspect. Or Gibbs. Tony relaxed, liking the vibes he was getting so far, and feeling comfortable enough to keep checking things out. He hoped there was no one there he knew, but then again, maybe that would be a good thing, after all, neither one would rat on the other without blowing their own cover.

None of the faces were familiar, so he waited, hands in pockets, watching the current members and wondering what he was in for. He saw the man who'd been watching him approach from the side, and turned to greet him.

"Hi, my name is Chris, I'm the founder and moderator, come on in and get comfortable, the meeting starts in just a few minutes. Go find something to munch on and a drink, then grab a chair in the circle. And remember – this isn't therapy, no one's going to press you to spill your guts about your last divorce or your abusive parents or anything. Some guys talk about that stuff, and we listen, and if they ask for advice, we try to give it. Other guys talk about problems they have at work, or issues with their wives or kids or something, more of a problem-solving situation than just spewing your emotions. It's whatever you need it to be, we don't judge anyone, and no one gets to talk about what goes on here outside of here, it's confidential."

"Ahh. Sort of like the Loyal order of the Masons or something like that, hunh? By the way, my name is Tony."

Chris laughed, and squeezed Tony's shoulder.

"Well, yeah, I suppose so, but no robes, and no hierachy, we're all equals here, it's a support group, not a fraternity."

"Okay, well, it sounds...good. It really does, Chris, thanks for having me."

"You're welcome, Tony. I hope it's a good fit for you."

END FLASHBACK

No one had more surprised than Tony to find he had really enjoyed himself, being able to talk to someone other than a boss who replied in grunts and growls, and a team mate who huffed and rolled his eyes when Tony couldn't explain his thoughts in a way that McGee could understand. It wasn't either of the other men's faults, really – Gibbs had been a functional mute before Tony had ever met him, and he shouldn't have expected the man to change his spots just for him, and McGee was a much more black and white sort of guy, and had his on-line gaming friends to blow off steam with.

Besides, McGee seemed to be content where he was, learning more and more with each case, each month that went by, adding to his skills and hopeful climb up the ranks of the agency. He was still young enough, and not so jaded, to be able to roll with the flow a bit easier, although his constant amazement and disbelief at Tony's new behavior was making that a bit difficult to swallow right now.

Well, it didn't really matter what McGee thought or believed right now, as long as the man had Tony's back in the field, which Tony was sure of (well, mostly, anyways). Yet another issue he needed to talk about at the next meeting. He found himself not only looking forward to them now, but anxious to participate. That first meeting had been like a big weight lifted off his shoulders, being able to lay down some of his fears and burdens about what it was like for him on the job.

He hadn't elaborated about where he worked, just that it could be dangerous on a daily basis and how much stress he carried because of it. And it turned out he wasn't the only law enforcement person there, there were two others that told him about their jobs as Metro Cops, and another who alluded to a highly secret job, which could have been any number of agencies in the D.C area. He found himself wishing he had sought out a group like this years ago; it may have prevented him from doing some things that he looked back on with overwhelming regret now. But at least he had started now, and it felt like a new lease on life, or at least a compass to help him find it. So he wasn't at all prepared when Gibbs had countered him in the men's room, which had reminded him a lot of a petite ex-Mossad agent who had no qualms about cornering him in there for an interrogation. His boss's face was a mix of anger and confusion, topped with what Tony was certain was a tinge of hurt. Well, this was one of the very reasons he had joined the support group in the first place. The question was, did one meeting empower Tony enough to stand up to the grizzly trying to back him into the corner?