Chapter Text
Since his adolescence Anthony ‘Tony’ David DiNozzo Jr was known as the prankster; the good time guru; the playboy; the life and soul of the party. His frat brothers had chanted his nickname of ‘Sex Machine’ more times than he could count during their college years (and beyond). This carefree, comedic image of him had persisted into his working life as a cop, though it was also evident to those watching that he got the job done. His superiors would often marvel at the leaps of intuition that the young police officer employed, helping to put away many offenders for truly heinous crimes. It was this track record that made him one of the youngest to get his detectives shield, and it would ultimately be part of the reason that Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs offered him a job at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service - or NCIS - as his Senior Field Agent.
Those titles of prankster, playboy and so forth Tony had long worn…but they weren’t who he was. They were the masks that he donned when he was in company; when he had to put a ‘happy face’ on to ensure no one saw how damaged he really was.
It wasn’t until he was twelve and sent to boarding school, that he realised not everyone lay awake at night rather than be haunted by nightmares. Not everyone felt the crushing weight of knowing for a fact that their father didn’t give a shit what happened to them if he wasn’t in control, (often using his fists or feet to maintain that ‘control’). And not everyone had more memories of a mother who could barely get herself out of bed, than a mother who would kiss them goodnight. Oh, Tony had plenty of memories of a mother who drank to try and find oblivion, far from her pain. A mother who was gone by the time he was eight years old. A mother who had, in fact, rarely seemed like a mother at all.
When he was fourteen, his English teacher spoke to him when the piece of prose describing nature she had assigned, came back referencing not the sunshine, birds and soft spring rains mentioned by so many of the other students, but instead talked about the dark, craggy cliff faces pounded by tumultuous rains, and the ‘skeletons of dead trees, reaching into the sky as if trying their hardest to depart this earth and finally reach the blissful nothingness of the afterlife’. To her, it seemed so incongruous with the young man who regularly played the clown in class: something must be wrong. And it was. Tony just didn’t have the heart to tell her it had been wrong long, long before her writing assignment. When his art and music teachers encountered similar (and sometimes worse) symbolism in his tasks for them, and still other teachers joined in the conversation in the staff room, stating that his level of work had declined drastically in their classes, he was referred to the school counsellor.
The counsellor didn’t know what to make of the adolescent DiNozzo. At first he seemed determined to convince her he was a happy, playful, well-adjusted teenager. But years of knowing what to look for told her otherwise; the dark circles under the emerald eyes and the nagging sense that this lanky young man had seen far too much of life’s dark side at his young age. Try as he might he couldn’t hide the evidence from her discerning eyes. The more she talked with him, the more clues about how he was really feeling he let slip. And slowly, as time went on and he seemed to trust her more, he began to open up about the nightmares and his feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness. He spoke of feeling as if every day he were stuck at the bottom of a deep, dark pit that he had no idea how to climb out of. He asserted that it wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t around anymore because no one really knew him or wanted to; in his eyes no one cared. Even she, as a counsellor, only cared because it was her job to do so, he told her cynically. When she asked if he was at risk of harming himself, he just shrugged and looked away. It was then she realised that she was out of her depth: here was a fragile boy on the verge of losing control of the persona he had built up - the only control he felt like he had over his own life - and the real, damaged and, if she wasn’t wrong, severely depressed Tony DiNozzo was about to break through.
It was only with the help of a psychiatrist named Dr Sampson, that the following years saw some improvement in the mental well-being of Anthony DiNozzo Jr. He was encouraged to get into sports, as exercise was seen as beneficial to his wellness. So he joined the football and basketball teams and even built himself up to running long distance in his spare time to maintain his general fitness. This didn’t happen overnight, and it was only one small part of Tony’s overall treatment, which also included talking therapy and some medication. With the support of Dr Sampson, Tony was able to make a couple of good friends around whom he could drop the masks and be himself. But although he opened up somewhat to Dr Sampson and these close friends, the ‘good time guru’ was still in evidence elsewhere. And this state of affairs continued for many years, throughout his time at Ohio State - where he had to decide if it was worth opening himself up to anyone new when his boarding school friends attended school elsewhere - and into his working life as a police officer, first in Peoria, then Philadelphia and finally Baltimore. He had left Dr Sampson behind long ago, but still maintained his medication regime through his GP. He tried to keep up with the cognitive behavioural therapy he had learned from his psychiatrist, but sometimes it was difficult to actually believe what he told himself was true: that he did have people who cared about him, that he was valued and it was worthwhile him being around. Especially when bad things happened, like his partner on the force, Danny Price, turning out to be crooked. That sure threw him for a loop and he had a bad few days wondering if somehow it was him who caused the sad state of affairs.
Then, while on a case, he met a Navy cop. Said Navy cop seemed impressed by his work and asked him to join NCIS as his partner. Having just been burnt by a partner, Tony wasn’t sure at first if he should take him up on his offer. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised he needed to get away from Baltimore and start anew. However, when he announced to his fiancée Wendy that he was moving to DC to take up a new role as a federal agent, she immediately broke off the engagement: it was almost as if she just needed an excuse.
At this news, Tony tried his hardest to use the techniques he’d learned over the years which had worked for him in the past. But such was the hurt that he still felt the pull of that deep, dark pit, threatening to overwhelm him and drag him down. All at once it seemed that those he’d allowed to get close, those he’d shown bits of the real DiNozzo to, were betraying him. It was only the sight of his new boss, Agent Gibbs, that drew him out of his funk. The man didn’t say much, it was true, but what he did say was usually worth listening to. And there was something about him that calmed Tony’s mind and gave him back a sense of worthiness. ‘You don’t waste good’, Gibbs had said to him. And apparently in Gibbs’ eyes, Tony was good. That was something to hold on to.