They think I did it because I'm heartless. They think I did it because I turned my back to everything good in this world.

He thinks I did it to hurt him, to show him how cruel and insensitive I can be. He thinks I did it to stir up the hatred he feels for me before facing him.
He thinks I need extreme situations and real enemies and he thinks that it's the reason why I killed the strong agent under his command, the nice woman who cried for a young man she didn't know after putting a bullet in his heart, the sweet Caitlin who baked them cookies like a mother for her children.
He thinks that was just a sadistic act for our little cat and mouse game.

They think I'm no longer a spy for my country but a Hamas operative, an Al-Qaeda terrorist. They think I turned my back to Mossad and to the values the mixed blood running through my veins inculcated in me.

They just don't know.

I'm doing the job I was trained for. Always. And for the moment, it's consisting in infiltrating one of the most dangerous terrorist group, making their trust in me inconditional to be able to prevent them from blowing up this world.

To do my job, I'm risking innocent lives, everyday, but only to save them all. I'm not heartless.
No one knows how many files I read afterwards, how many times I spent studying dead people's life, how many pictures of happy families, of fat babies, of big weddings I saw in my life.
No one suspects how many times I threw up afterwards and how many hours I spent in my bed begging the sleep to come over and finally take me.

The order was simple, killing NCIS special agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs to prove my loyalty and then officially becoming a member of their most powerful cell. It was nothing I haven't done before, Gibbs is good but I could have had him, easily.

They all think I chose to kill her instead of him in an attempt to make them suffer, putting an unexpected end to a young and brave woman's life, to torment Jethro Gibbs and his obsession to protect the people around him.

I wonder how they would react if they knew that I did that for her and for me. If they knew how unbearable it would have been for me to live in a world where Caitlin Todd would have hated me more than anyone else, in a world where she would have looked for the day of my death like her personal Holy Grail and wouldn't have slept until she'd have seen the blood slowly leaving my body, at her feet, a warm gun in her hand.

She will never have to live with the guilt of not killing me, that day, in the autopsy room. She will never have the death of the man she respected the most on her conscience. I would have never permitted that.

In a weird way, until the last second, until her last breath, she has kept this picture in her mind of me as that man with kind eyes and a charming smile. A bastard with soft spots, who reverently took care of her bleeding lip and kept offering her a nice chardonnay on a warm afternoon of May.

I aimed at her brain so she didn't have the time to realize that I did that to her. Selfishly, I put that bullet in her brain so I did not entirely lose her.