Disclaimer: I don't own the characters from NCIS I merely borrow them temporarily. I also don't make any money from them.

Rating: T for adult themes but nothing graphic.

Setting: Takes place during the last half of season eleven

Warnings: For anyone that still requires this - here goes. I write Tony-centric stories - competent but flawed Tony stories. I am not a fan of Ziva and McGee. I don't see Gibbs as a benevolent father figure who is all seeing and knowing - I see him as someone very human. If you want happy families or shipping of the team my stories are not for you. Most of my stories reflect in some shape or form the chronic lack of observance of the chain of command.

A/N: This story was written last year and it was something I had been planning on writing for quite a while. Anyhoo, it has been sitting on my computer for some time and I've decided to post it before the start of the new season, even though it is unbeta'ed. So I'll apologise in advance for any errors that I miss in proofreading but I want to clear the decks. I'm struggling somewhat to know how to categorise this piece - it would seem on the surface to be a dark angst-filled piece but there is also an element of parody that may not be apparent to readers initially. Trust me - all will be made clear by the end but hopefully you won't see it coming and before anyone asks, no it isn't a death fiction. Hope you like it :)

Internal Conflicts

Prologue

Appointment One:

Special Agent Anthony D. DiNozzo sat nervously in the waiting room of Doctor George Wilder in anticipation of his first appointment. The federal agent was finding it difficult to sit still… well more difficult to sit still than normal, his thoughts zipping and zinging along at a million miles an hour. He was battling an internal debate over whether or not he should keep his appointment. But as much as he hated any type of doctor or really anything smacking of medical treatments, he had to concede, at least to himself that something was seriously wrong. He just couldn't keep ignoring it any longer.

It's just that it wasn't something that he'd ever seen himself doing… not ever in this lifetime but he couldn't keep pretending that he didn't need help. Nor could he simply keep telling everyone that everything was just peachy. Everything wasn't peachy...it was a god damn mess!

A man, rather portly in appearance, especially around the middle, crossed the room to greet him. His oddly shaded pale white -orange hair and scrubbed pinky-white complexion suggesting that in his younger days George had been a carrot-top. Now approaching sixty, he would no doubt skip the going grey stage, progressing instead straight to white haired, giving him a kindly paternal air that Tony figured probably inspired trust in most of his patients. Except Very Special Agents who didn't really trust anyone overly much, that was. Frankly the way he felt at the moment he doubted if he'd have trusted Mother Teresa.

"Anthony DiNozzo? Hallo, my name is George Wilder. Would you like to step into my office?"

Tony had a sudden urge to run as fast as he could and not stop until he was home, in his apartment, in his sanctuary. Well it had been that until Senior had desecrated it along with his nympho neighbour and then Ziva and Shmuel had slept there after Eli David's death…and the final insult when the terrorists decided to shoot up his humble abode. They say that bad things happen in threes and it was probably over and done with now although he was thinking seriously about moving and starting over fresh somewhere. Who knows what bizarre thing might happen next if he were to stay – the Rolling Stones could drop by and have a party and trash the place. No that was being utterly ridiculous, he chided himself sternly. Get a grip, Anthony!

Realising that the good doctor had been speaking to him and he'd zoned out, he knew how odd he must appear. "Way to make a good impression, Anthony," He muttered under his breath.

"Um… I'm not sure if I can stay…I'm really busy," He offered awkwardly.

The doctor seemed unfazed by his reluctance, though. "Look, why don't you come inside and see how you go? If you have to leave, we can reschedule for another time that's more convenient for you."

In the face of such reasonableness it was difficult for Tony to reject the offer and really, he needed Dr Wilder's help. Standing up, he followed the doctor into his office and looked around with some of his trademark nosiness. The room was quiet, understated and decorated in muted calming neutrals and natural textured furnishings. The sofa was expensive leather and looked as soft as hand churned butter.

As he tried to decide where to sit, he called upon one of his tried and true defense mechanisms. "What no recliner, Doc?"

"No, Mr DiNozzo, I'm not that sort of therapist. So take a seat and how about you tell me why you decided to come and see me?" The doctor directed him gently.

Tony sat down gingerly, noted automatically that the leather was soft as a baby's butt. Okay good job Anthony, you managed to sit down but how the Hell are you going to tell him why you are here? He'll think you're nutso, looney tunes, a sandwich sort of a picnic, ready for the funny farm… and his brain was off and away as he started running through all the euphemisms for insane and every movie that had crazy people depicted in them. Suddenly remembering where he was he thought how he must appear… crazy… so he tried to pull himself together and sat silently, staring at his feet.

Dr Wilding waited until he realised that Tony wasn't going to start the ball rolling and sighed. "Can you tell me a bit about yourself Mr DiNozzo? What do you do to earn a living?"

Tony decided that he could answer that one without too much difficulty. "I'm a federal agent."

"So you work for the FBI?"

Tony grimaced. "No… NCIS… Naval Criminal Investigative Service."

"I've never heard of them," The doctor admitted as Tony snorted ironically. "So you're in the Navy?"

"I work for the Navy not in the Navy, "He corrected. "And hardly anyone's heard of us."

"So have you been with NCIS for long, Agent DiNozzo?"

"Going on 13 years," He admitted.

The doctor decided to try again to discover the presenting problem. Do you think that you can tell me why you decided to come and see me, Agent DiNozzo?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, deciding that was probably better to just get it over and done with. Like ripping a Band-Aid off a festering wound. "Tony… call me Tony. And… well it's not easy to admit this but I've noticed for some time that things haven't been right but just lately it's much worse."

"How so, Tony? Can you give me a bit more information? What is bothering you the most?"

Tony stood up and began to pace agitatedly. "I feel like I'm not me anymore. I feel like someone is influencing my thoughts and feelings. I feel like everything that I knew was true is suddenly all wrong and no one but me seems to notice. I FEEL LIKE I AM LOSING MY MIND!" He revealed in a rush before dropping on the sofa and wrapping his arms around himself in an attempt to self-soothe.