This is a very late update, I know. But hey, I will never leave a story unfinished.
Thomas Murphy is a callous son of a bitch. A lone wolf in his early thirties, he had fought so many battles, and had seen so many deaths. But he has never been known to be contented with just so many. He had always craved for more. And the more he sought, the thirstier he became. Until his thirst became unquenchable.
Until it was the only thing that could help him breathe.
He was in a desolate watering hole somewhere in Morocco when he felt a heavily set olive-skinned man watching him from afar. He was seated in the far side of a bar, clearly trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, nursing a glass of cheap whiskey. Too bad he picked the wrong man to follow.
He was lucky Murphy had just finished a job and was not looking for a quick kill the first time he had spotted him. Instead of putting his persistent company in his rightful place, the former Navy SEAL turned mercenary merely brushed him off as a nuisance. Perhaps a member of a local crime gang that's looking to score gold by recruiting a guy with his skill set.
So he let him off the hook. Thrice.
However, a man could only take so much badgering before he snapped. And being relentlessly followed around for an entire day was starting to annoy him. He could even not drink his scotch in peace.
The moment he found a chance to disappear from his shadow's sight, he finally made a move.
"You have five seconds to tell me why you are following me before I slit your throat from ear to ear." Thomas murmured discreetly at the man's ear as he silently managed to sit next to him without being noticed.
Though caught off guard, the man remained unfazed. He pulled out a Cuban cigar from his jacket at lit it. He took a long drag from it, took his sweet time savouring its flavour, then spoke. "Are you as good as what they say?"
Thomas grabbed the cigar from him and broke it in two places. The glowing end sizzled as it met his palm, but not one muscle in his face twitched. "Depends on what they say."
"My boss has something for you to do." He told him. "He can pay."
He smirked and shoved the remnants of the cigar onto his acquaintance's drink. "Everyone pays. If it interests me is a different thing. I don't take all jobs shoved onto my plate. I'm not that bored." He stood up, and gave his friend a brotherly pat. "Maybe next time."
"We figured you'll make an exception for this one." The man stayed where he sat; he did not even bother checking if he wasn't talking to the wind. "It's not your typical job."
Murphy walked into the office with sure strides, a man who had introduced himself as Lopez following shortly behind him. For a hired gun, Lopez seemed pleasant enough. "My friend here tells me I have a job opening, that true?"
The man seated on the elegant leather office chair leaned forward on his desk and tented his fingers on his chin. "Not yet."
"Huh." Murphy muttered, evidently not enjoying the way his possible employer wastes his time.
"But I can always make one."
He regarded him carefully. The man was old enough to pass as his grandfather. The lack of deceit in his features unsettled him slightly. He shrugged it off. "I may put a strain in your bank account, my friend."
"A strain worth every shekel." He said, nodding. "I spend my money well."
"I see." He glanced at the watch on his right. It was half past twenty three hundred. He hasn't had his dinner yet.
"Get the job done; I give you twice as much as your last boss paid you."
He wondered who told him about that, but if he's starting to get recognized for his work, then probably he's not doing his job well enough. No one should know that he still existed. "Alright, what kind of job am I here for?"
The man leaned back onto his seat and smiled, making the corner of his eyes wrinkle. Age was never too kind to his face. "A little excited, are we?"
"Let's say pleasantries are not my thing." He sighed, looking very bored where he sat. "Tell me the job right now, I'll do it, you pay me, then I'm out of here."
The old man considered Murphy's words for a moment. "Very well." He pulled his gun and shot Lopez squarely to the forehead. He may be reaching seventy two in a couple of months, but his skill with guns did not fade. Nor did his arrogance. "It's his job you're taking."
Murphy remained unperturbed, seated firmly on his seat as if a bullet did not just come whizzing past his ear. The smile he gave his new boss did not quite reach his eyes. "You're fan of the theatrics, I see."
The man calmly replaced the gun back into his drawer. "Killing is an ancient art form." His lips were pressed into a thin line as he tried to hold back a smile. "He has outlived his usefulness. I am merely expediting nature's course."
Murphy glanced at the dead man behind him. He can't be older than thirty five. He was definitely not Middle Eastern like his boss, so he's putting his money on South American. A flicker of interest crossed his features as he watched the blood flow slowly out of bullet hole, and onto the dead man's face. "Shame. I kinda liked the guy."
The old man's face contorted in disgust. "He is too sloppy."
Murphy nodded in agreement. He was right.
"Do your job and we will go along well."
The veil threat almost made him smirk. He hadn't had this much excitement since his brief stint in Geneva.
It was six years ago when he was forcibly thrown out of the service, and since then, he never looked back. Why would he? He was betrayed and treated like garbage by the same country he had sworn to protect with his life. Maybe it's finally time to return the favour. Maybe it's finally time to go back. He turned back to his new employer. "Okay, when do I start?"
It took Tony exactly four knocks, and three internal debates before his partner answered her door.
"Why are you here?" She asked the moment she saw his face. If the way she blocked the door was any indication, she's not in the mood for any visitors.
Tony raised his eyebrows at her. "Am I not allowed to visit my friend from time to time?"
"No." She replied with a small frown before closing the door behind her. "But I am about to go out. You should have called first. "
The senior field agent regarded her doubtfully. She was wearing flannel pajamas and a baggy shirt. Her hair was tied in a loose bun, her face devoid of any make up. "Dressed in that?" Yes, he could have called first, but he knew his partner. She would've thought of an excuse so he wouldn't go. Just like what she's presently doing.
Ziva followed his eyes, as well as his train of thought. "I will merely be driving around town. I do not need to play dress up."
"Great." Tony beamed at her, took her arm, and practically dragged along the hallway towards the elevator. "So where are we going?"
Confusion filled her features. "We?"
"Oh, come on, Ziva! I drove all the way down here to see you. You could at least give me a tour of your new neighbourhood.."
"Tony." Ziva warned.
"I'll be a good boy, scout's honour." He raised his hand, feigning a salute.
The two of them have already reached her car when she spoke again. "Do you not have any other useful things to do with your time?"
"I'm spending a lazy day with you around town," he told her, grinning, "that's me using my time wisely."
"I am not joking, Tony." She muttered. "Go home."
Tony stood squarely in front of her. "Ziva, Ziva, Ziva." If only he would drop the guy-in-a-classic-movie accent, the friendly timbre of his voice will be almost soothing. "Your words say no, but your eyes…" He tilted her chin and looked down on her expectantly. He frowned. "Oh, great…they say no too."
"Tony." A couple of tendrils of her hair brushed her face as she turned away from him slightly. For the second time in three minutes, she used his name as a warning. That has got to be some kind of record. "Go home."
"Two hours." Tony bargained, fighting the urge to brush the stray curls off his partner's face. "Give me two hours, then I'll move along."
Ziva watched his face, and considered that for a moment. She nodded. "Two hours."
He bit his cheek. "Two hours."
A/N: Two hours. A lot could happen in two hours, don't you think? ;)