A/N: I do not own, or claim to own, any rights or trademark on NCIS or the characters used here. I simply like to play colorforms. Note though, that the creativity of the story, and it's plot, those are indeed mine.

WARNING : This story has very graphic, disturbing and dark material, not suitable for anyone under 18. I am writing a variety of stories…so please see the other ones if this is not your cup of tea.

THANKS – GRACIAS – DANKA – DOMO – GRAZIE

Not Myself

Prologue

The wind blew icily through his hair, as he hung up the payphone with trembling fingers.

He stared at it for a moment. It seemed odd. Almost like he wasn't looking at his hand at all.

His eyes welled up suddenly.

If they knew what he had done…

He snorted at himself and shook his head, Of course, one day they would likely figure it out. They weren't the top MCRT team for nothing.

And when they found out, he imagined each and every one of them turning their backs on him.

They would never understand. Could never understand. And it didn't matter. He deserved to go to Hell anyway. In a big ol' handbasket.

He started giggling to himself madly as he let his hand slide down and off the receiver, and rested his head against the cold, hard metal edge of the payphone stand.

He slowly ran a hand down his face, and thought he should feel more, but the Will was asserting itself again. He'd been careful to obey the words…just the words…the call had cost him. He'd almost blacked out and dropped the phone from gelatin digits.

And already it was echoing like a dream…the words he had spoken into the line…they seemed like they were disappearing, one by one. Like sand slipping through his fingers.

He stood straighter, feeling suddenly confused, unsure of why he was standing there, and turned to make his way home through the barely awakening streets.