Title: I wash my hands of you

Genre: Drama/general creepifying

Word Count: 573

Rating: T+?

Warnings: seriously creepy!Jim; murder talk, murder fantasies, violence, etc etc

He was washing his hands when she flicked on the light.

"I thought it must be you."

The water, variegated with red, streamed steadily down the drain. Jim found it mesmerizing, in a bittersweet way. He had always liked the way the blood stained his fingers, clung to his hands; tried to be a shaming reminder.
It couldn't have known how much contentment he found in seeing it outline his fingerprints, nails, and palms in the fading life of another human being, one who had been living mere minutes before. But they weren't anymore, and his hands were the last thing they knew.

Which was kind of beautiful, really, if you thought about it in the right way.

Molly never did was the problem.

"It's three in the morning, Jim."

He scrubbed the last of the murder from his hands and turned to look at her, flicking the water from his fingers.

"Hello, Molly."

She brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and blinked at him sleepily.

Jim had done quite well tonight in finding a doppelganger.
The hair, the body type, the shape of the face. They were right.

But the voice was wrong, oh it was all wrong.

He tried to make it right— operating on her throat– but it didn't work. She screamed so loud, he couldn't bear it. He wanted her to speak quiet and gentle but she wouldn't stop screaming and it was so wrong, she ruined the illusion.
In the end he just squeezed the voice out of the body that was so right, squeezed out the body and her life in the same moment.

He always thought it would help, and he tried so hard. Find someone like her, and maybe the urge will fade, maybe this time it will be different, this time it will ease.

It never did.

She brushed her hair out of her eyes, and he wanted to watch those eyes mist over with his being the last image to flash across her mind. And her hair, her hair, what would it be like, in the water; twining around his wrists as he held her under, watching her breath break on the surface and those eyes, her eyes.
They were really what got to him, every time he saw her.

He wanted to drain the innocence right out of those eyes.

It was so difficult, whenever he saw her. So difficult not to kill her.

"What are you doing here? I mean, er, of course you're welcome but—"

Jim took quick strides across the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek— oh but what if he curled his arm around her and held her against himself, what if he slipped out the knife he had used so recently on the girl that was not Molly and slipped it in between her ribs? (Question, not a statement.) Would she scream, or would she remain this quiet girl who didn't mind that a murderer had broken into her flat?

"Couldn't sleep," he said as he brushed past her towards her bedroom.

"Jim, I— well… Do you think you'll sleep better here?"

He smiled wryly at her.
"No. But I've got you here, love."

Being with Molly was a continuous struggle, no matter the circumstances.

But Jim didn't mind.

A/N: Well he's terrifying.

Thanks so much for the response I have gotten, it makes me happy that other people enjoy the pain of this pairing as much as I do, ahaha.

You're all lovely! (Especially Corscopa, my awesome and sexy beta reader)

Let me know your thoughts!

- ACG

Edit: fixed the mistakes, thanks for catching them JNG!