He'd always thought that the people he and his team investigated were monsters, monsters that inflicted pain upon other humans for no reason. Now his perceptions were beginning to change, to warp in a sickly twisted way, he now saw the art in what these people did. He found himself pouring over old case notes, files that held such information that he couldn't help but have a sense of morbid interest. Couldn't help but sympathise with the perpetrators of the crimes that now were just black words inked upon white paper. He studied all of them meticulously, ingraining each files trade marks into his brain. Learning all of the different ways that these people worked, what instruments were used, on what areas of the peron each injury was inflicted.
He would sit and reminisce over all of the investigations he had been a part of, of the bodies he had seen. Of the way ducky would slice the scalpel through the cadavers that found them self upon his autopsy table. He would think how it would feel to pull a scalpel through living skin, would it still glide so easily, like cutting through a steak? Or would it be difficult, would she put up such a fight that cutting her flesh so easily would be impossible. It was always her he imagined, without failure, in his minds eye it would be her caramel skin, soft, supple flesh that he would mutilate.
His thoughts more often than not were entirely overtaken by his fantasies, fantasies that at one point in his life, would have completely terrified him and would have been quashed immediately. Now he reveled in them, absorbed them right through to his soul. He often pondered how it was that no one around him could sense the change in him, however, he always had been good at putting up a front. It was a skill that would serve him well in the future, the laughing face of a clown hiding the true evil that now resided within.
A quick glance at the wall of his bedroom had the monster tearing at his gut, riving to escape the compounds of his carefully held mask. Pictures of her, Ziva David, were tacked up old school style, some photographs that had been taken on nights out. Crime scene bloopers. Then the ones he had worked hard for, surveillance photos taken with her completely unaware. She never had given him enough credit for his work.
He had been following her discreetly for the last few weeks,had even managed to place some cameras within her home in places that she had no hope of finding. It was the photos that were taken within the confines of her walls that really had a red haze glazing his vision. He now knew who she dared to see. Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the king of hypocrites. For years he had held himself back from his desires, citing to himself that he couldn't break the gospel that were Gibbs rules. Especially rule 12, the one rule that he'd followed religiously after the emphasis of its importance from their leader. The very same leader that was now seeing Ziva after hours. It was the fact that Gibbs was with Ziva that had finally made his mind up. He would no longer control his urges, he would allow them their release. He would take Ziva for himself, then make it so no one could have her ever again. Especially Gibbs.
It was their relationship that had finally pushed him over the fine edge that he'd been treading for a while now, always resisting the urge to cross it. As he saw the footage from within the bowels of Zivas home, the footage of the two of them, kissing, touching, it pushed him over the edge, if not further. There was no backing down now, he'd go through with his plan. He just had to pick the right moment, had to cover all his bases so that the rest of the team would never know he was implicated in her disappearance. Planning, it all came down to the planning.
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Ziva watched her partner, work partner, from her desk. She was worried about him. He was hiding something from her, something he was trying to mask, trying to keep up his usual façade of joker, but his heart wasn't in it, not anymore. It was a subtle difference in him, unnoticeable to most, however, as his partner, she was attuned to his emotions, picking up on even slight differences. Whatever was bothering him was something to do with her, of that she was certain. It was in his eyes, the way he now guarded them around her, the light that was once in them as they had their staring matches was now overshadowed with something else. She was frustrated that she couldn't place just what it was. Anger certainly played a part, although for the life of her she couldn't think of anything recent she had done to wrong him. There was also a hint at something deeper, more worrisome, whatever it was, it was changing him, she was determined to fix it, fearful that their friendship had been crushed without her knowledge. She cared dearly for Tony, he was the big brother, best friend, that she always imagined having. She couldn't let that change, was unwilling to even consider it. She would fix this.
If only it was that simple...
