Title: In The Name of Love
Cat: Drama, Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Warnings: Disturbing content. Will likely be some graphic violence at some point.
Summary: No one is allowed to take her from him. She is his. He loves her. And soon she will come to see it.
Author's Note: Sequel to Unconditional, in which Ziva is being stalked by an unnamed stalker. Hmm. The Continuing Adventures of Unnamed Stalker, perhaps? The resolution, shall we say. Sorry it took me so long to upload this here, but here it is. 4 chapters.
She should be home. She should be in her apartment, stripping off her cargo pants and combat boots, stepping under the spray of the showerhead, rubbing her hands over her body as she thinks of one person and one person only.
But she's not home. I've been watching her window, waiting for the light to switch on, checking the street level for signs of her red Mini, but there is no sign. She isn't working late; all her co-workers are accounted for. Except one. That means only one thing.
She's with him.
If I headed to his apartment, a mere seven blocks away, I am sure there would be a light on in his window, and I'm sure I'd see her car parked on the street out front, taunting me. She's been shoving their relationship in my face, what with her buying him coffee, resting her hands on his shoulders as she hovers behind him at his desk, all those sexy smirks she directs his way.
I'm done watching. I am going to do something about it. Once she sees the lengths I will go to in order to be with her, she will have no choice but to be with me. No one loves her the way I do, not her family or her friends or that lowly nerd she chooses to act interested in. And that is all that is. An act. He cannot possibly care for her the way I do, and I know if she knew me, she would realize I am the one for her.
I'm wasting my time watching her empty apartment. It is clear she is not home. That has never stopped me from finding her before. And I am so good, she doesn't even know I'm following her. She will discover me when the time is right, when that precious partner of hers - the one she spends all that extra time with, learning boring things like computer programming - is no longer around to distract her from being with me.
I would do anything for her. If that means disposing of the person keeping us apart, so be it. I love her. Nothing is too much. We will be together.
At that moment, Ziva is indeed where he believes her to be - with Tim, sharing a friendly dinner. His perception of their relationship is misguided; they are close, yes, but it is only platonic. For now, anyway.
What he sees is a gradual flirtation, more touching and stolen glances, something that for them is fun, but nothing they're willing to risk their friendship for quite yet.
But he is convinced their relationship is of a sexual nature, that they find a way to sleep together when he's not looking, or share secret kisses alone in the elevator.
That is what drives him here tonight, to Tim's neighborhood, in search of the bright red Mini Cooper he has come to associate with Ziva's presence. He is not surprised to find it parked next to Tim's apartment building, and feels the building of hot bile rising up into his throat, choking him with anger. He knows the building opposite is home to a series of offices and will use it as a means of watching her tonight, finding out and making sure that his instincts are correct.
He disables security cameras, picks open locks, uses the elevator to reach the appropriate floor. He goes from room to room, frantic and impatient in his pursuit, until he comes upon a view of Tim's window and freezes at the sight. Ziva. His Ziva. She's laughing. He takes out a camera and zooms in on the scene. She is beautiful, he thinks. So deadly beautiful.
And then, just as he is about to lower the camera, return to his car, plan his next move, there's another figure in the picture. The other man. Timothy McGee.
Tim stands behind her at the window and they are having a conversation, smiling and laughing. Innocent enough, until her smile disappears. Her eyes become lidded, she turns, and his arms snake around her.
The camera trembles in his hands, his fury controlling his nerves, and he nearly drops it, but manages to keep it trained on the couple - no, pair; he refuses to think of them as a couple - and what he sees next brings red into his vision, so angry it makes him.
They are kissing. His hand is in her hair, her arm is wrapped around his shoulders, their mouths . . . There is so much lust and passion in the way they are kissing each other. They break away. She turns to the window again, and he keeps the camera focused. Does she know he is there? She . . .
She closes the blinds. They drop down the pane, open slats flicking shut, and he drops the camera in his rage.
No. They can't be. He will not allow Tim to take his Ziva from him, to take that which should belong to him and him only.
"I love you." The first words he has spoken aloud in hours. His hand presses against the window, the heat from his fingers steaming up the glass, and he repeats the words. "I love you. I love you. Love." His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you."
Then, as if a switch has been flicked somewhere inside his brain, he slams his open palm against the pane, anger seeping from every pore of his body.
No one is allowed to take her from him. She is his. He loves her. And soon she will come to see it.
He has been patient, understanding, long enough. It is time for him to trade his camera for something more deadly.
And this time, she will be his.