Hello you fine Tiva shippers. The school year has started again, and you know what that means: I'm writing fanfiction to avoid my homework! Anyway, this is little gem is what happens when I have been taking notes on story ideas for a while and one day I look at those notes and realize that I can knock out a whole bunch of them with one story if I just let Tony and Ziva stay in Israel for a few weeks and have a nice little vacation.

I'll explain the title first because it gives a good basis for understanding the story: Chaval al Hazman is a Hebrew phrase that doesn't have a great English translation, but it basically means "shame on the time" which is used when talking about really great experiences or something that you wish you had more time to continue doing. So here, that is in reference to the trip to Israel as a whole, and the concept of time will come up more than once in our story.

I'm only a couple of chapters into writing this story, but I'm so excited to start posting it that I just can't stop myself. So I have no idea how long this story will end up being. I have the plotline mapped out, but sometimes when you actually write things they end up being a lot longer than you anticipated so you end up with more chapters than you thought.

Anyway, please enjoy my second multi-chapter fic. I obviously do not own any of the characters that have appeared in the show. But I do own all of the characters that I made up. So there's that.

Where are you? Airport?

Almost. Still okay that I come?

Very. Safe Flight. Xo

Tony shifted forward in his seat, staring down at the text messages. He squinted at the tiny pixelated words, as if his intense gaze would grant him the ability to truly read between the lines.

Because, if he was being honest, he had no idea what he was getting himself into here. Twelve hours ago it had all seemed so simple: he had feelings for her, she had feelings for him, and rule number 12 was no longer an issue as they were no longer coworkers. He had purchased this plane ticket anticipating a heartwarming reunion and some hot sex on a beach somewhere.

And yet, now that he was actually here, sardined into a tiny plane cabin that was starting to smell a little ripe after so long in the air, he wasn't so sure that was what would happen.

Tony prided himself in being a bit of an expert on all things Ziva David. They had worked together for years, seeing each other at their absolute best and worst, and always coming out on the other side. Their lives depended on being able to read each other's minds. But more than that, he had spent all of that time falling in love with her from across the bullpen. He watched her type. He watched her think. He watched her sleep sitting up in her chair after a long night of casework. He memorized every line in her face and every expression that she let cross it. He learned how to decipher her thoughts and secrets through her eyes alone. He soaked up as much Ziva-knowledge as possible, reveling in each new fact and discovery as he dove deeper into her heart and mind.

And it was because of this expertise, this expanse of knowledge that he had acquired over his 8 years as her partner, that he was now questioning the meaning behind her few short words before he hopped on the plane. Ziva had a tendency to run pretty hot and cold. She was wild and impulsive until her impulsivity risked too much of the things she holds dear.

And at this point, just about every single thing she holds dear is at risk. Her job (though it's hard to judge whether she can even consider it her job at this point since they turned in their badges and had no guarantee that they would ever be able to return to the big orange room). Her family (which is so immediately intertwined with the previous thing that it is hard to tell where one ends and the other begins). Their friendship (a phrase he was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the more the thought about the weight of her hand on her chest and the intimate look in her eyes as she had fumbled over that word herself).

Basically, they were treading into dangerous waters with this trip. And he would only be half surprised if he got off the plane to find her standing by the gate with a return ticket in her hand, ready to ship him off before she made what she would consider to be a major mistake.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin our descent into Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv, Israel. The weather today is beautiful with a high of 23 degrees and clear skies. We ask that you return all your seats to the upright position and keep your belts buckled as we descend. We should be touching down in 20 minutes time. Welcome to Tel Aviv, and thank you for flying AirCanada!"

Tony bit back a groan. He wanted more time. Just a little more time to exist in this suspended reality in which he and Ziva were both on the brink of finally crossing a significant line and also doomed to always wonder what could have been. It was excruciating, not knowing what he was going to find when he landed, but also so much better than knowing should he not like the answer.

Huh. He finally understood the concept of Schrodinger's Cat.

"Have you been to Israel before?" The petite woman next to him asked. He recognized a strong Midwestern accent.

"I have, actually. A couple of times."

She seemed to consider him for a few seconds before asking: "Business or pleasure?"

He hesitated, "Business. Normally. But this time… pleasure, I guess."

She nodded knowingly, a small smirk playing on her lips, "Tel Aviv is a surprisingly romantic city. I think it's something about the people. They're so open. Honest. Makes it hard to hold anything back."

Tony huffed out a laugh, "That's actually what I'm afraid of."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "You don't want her to admit she loves you?"

He turned to stare at the woman, eyes wide, "I… I never said that…"

She chuckled lightly at his surprise, "You're a handsome man, traveling to a foreign country all alone, with nothing in your carry on but magazines and breath mints. I have to assume you are chasing after a woman."

He winced a little. He wasn't fond of being in the hot seat. That's why he became a cop.

He sighed, "It's not really about what I want. It's about what she wants."

"And you're not sure she wants you?"

"I'm not sure what she wants anymore. I'm not sure she even knows."

The woman nodded a little, "Complicated woman. But I suppose that is probably why you love her."

The plane rocked a bit as the wheels made contact with the ground. Tony took the motion as a chance to turn away from the young woman, ultimately avoiding the unasked question. But as they taxied to the gate, he found his answer clawing up the back of his throat, forcing it's way farther up his tongue.

He finally turned back to the woman, just before he stood to retrieve his carry-on from the overhead, and let it out, "I do. More than anything."

He saw her smirk as he turned to exit. He didn't even care. It was out in the universe now. Whatever happened next, it was up to the gods - well, the gods and Ziva. He was just along for the ride.

It took Tony 90 minutes to find his way to Baggage Claim.

In his defense, Ben Guidon was much more confusing to navigate than the military hanger he normally flew into with the team. And the Customs guy was extremely thorough with his search once he realized he was dealing with a US Federal Agent. Tony almost wished he had brought his gun with him. Then the guy could have found it and moved on, instead of practically tearing apart his bag and making him walk through the body scanner 3 times.

But, alas, he did finally make it to the large grey room full of people yelling to each other and hugging through their reunions. He glanced at the board, noticing that his flight had already unloaded all of its baggage, and wondered if he was going to have to wander back into the airport to track down his suitcase, seeing as he clearly wasn't here to retrieve it in time.

He was just about to turn around and find the help desk when he noticed her standing against a far wall.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting her to look like when he arrived, but it certainly wasn't this. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, but it was much higher and curlier than the one she normally wore to work. Her usual sweater and cargo pants were replaced with some jean shorts and a black blouse that was so thin it was practically see-through, showing her simple white tank top underneath. He supposed he should have expected the dramatically different wardrobe considering the different climate, but it still sent a jolt through him. He wondered if anything else would be dramatically different about Ziva now that they were in Israel.

She had her arms crossed as she stared at the woman in front of her, who seemed to be recounting some sort of grand story. Ziva's face cracked into a smile at something the woman said, and he decided that they must be friends.

Ziva has friends.

Things were definitely different in Israel.

He made his way over to them slowly, finding it rather amusing to watch Ziva interact with this unknown woman. He saw her laugh, roll her eyes, and pretend to get angry, all while the woman seemed to continue on telling some story. When it was finally Ziva's turn to talk, he watched her lips move comfortably through her sentences, leading him to believe they must be speaking Hebrew. Nothing had ever rolled off her tongue quite the way her native language did.

He got rather close to them before Ziva noticed him. Her eyes flashed to him briefly, barely registering his features as she was so caught up in her conversation. But something must have stuck out to her because she soon looked back at him again and recognition crossed her face. She raised her eyebrows in his direction, but her lips pressed into a firm line.

If he was hoping to get some sort of read before they spoke, she wasn't going to give it to him.

It took the woman with her a long minute to realize she had lost her captive audience, but once she did, she turned to find out what was so interesting.

Ziva spoke first, once he was within earshot.

"Did you get lost?"

"A little," he shrugged as his eyes landed on the large black suitcase sitting at her feet, "You got my bag?"

"It was the only one left on the belt. Security was talking about seizing and searching it. They thought it was an explosive."

He let his eyes widen in mock horror, "Well, thank you for saving it. God forbid they rummage through my delicates."

The corner of her mouth twitched, hinting at a smile that she clearly did not want to reward his bad joke with. Instead, she gestured toward her friend with her head.

"Tony, I would like you to meet Dina Bashan. Dina, this is Anthony DiNozzo."

The woman, Dina, turned completely to get a better look at him. She examined him with a look that he could only compare to the one Ziva gave him 8 years ago. Hot and sultry but also cold and calculating. He briefly wondered if she had also worked for Mossad.

"I have heard so much about you, Anthony. But Ziva's descriptions do not do you justice."

Tony glanced Ziva's direction, unsure of how to respond. Normally he would take the bait and flirt back, but something about this seemed hollow. And, considering how up in the air their relationship was, he really didn't want to do anything to upset Ziva. They had always been dancing on eggshells, but now it felt like those eggshells were scattered across a layer of thin ice.

Luckily, Ziva did not make him respond at all. She laughed lightly at Dina's comment, going so far as to push herself all the wall and bump her hip against her friend's in a playful gesture.

When she spoke, she seemed to be addressing Tony, though she wasn't looking at him.

"Dina and I grew up together. She lived right across the hall."

"As often as you spent the night, we practically lived in the same apartment," Dina corrected.

Ziva just smiled.

Tony took a moment to really look at Dina Bashan. She was small, considerably shorter than Ziva, and had a very slight frame next to the strong and muscled one of her friend. There was no way she was actually Mossad. He found himself picturing the two of them as children, both small and fragile. What different paths their lives ended up taking.

An announcement was made over the intercom. It was in Hebrew.

Both of the women seemed to react to the announcement, looking at each other wistfully.

"That is my father's flight. I should probably go meet him at the gate. He is not as sharp as he used to be," Dina pulled Ziva into a quick hug as she spoke, "But it was great to see you, Zivi. You really must come to Esperanto with us. I am sure the others would love to catch up with you."

Dina leaned in a little closer and lowered her voice, "And you must show him off. He is too handsome to keep cooped up in your apartment."

Ziva's eyes sparkled with amusement, but the hard line of her lips showed her hesitation, "I don't know…"

"Then I will go over your head," She released Ziva's shoulders and turned to Tony, "Anthony, a group of us are all going to a rooftop bar to celebrate a birthday tonight. You must convince Ziva to join us. And you must escort her."

Ziva stepped forward, "Tony had a long flight. I do not think he wants to spend his first night-"

"I'm in," he said confidently. They had gone out for drinks hundreds of times back in DC. This bar outing seemed like the perfect way to spend his first night with her in Israel. Something familiar that kept them from being alone. Something to take the pressure off.

"Great!" Dina exclaimed, turning back to Ziva, "You were right. I do like him."

And with that, the small woman dashed away and toward the large sign guiding her toward the gates, leaving the two former-partners alone in the middle of the large crowded airport.

Ziva sighed, giving Tony a disapproving look as she reached down and grabbed the handle of his suitcase and started pulling it behind her. He followed her out a nearby door, making a point of not hanging his head in shame. He hadn't done anything wrong. A night on the town would be good for them. Both of them.

"Okay, I gotta ask. Are we entering an old Mossad safe house? Or one of Eli's places?" Tony asked as he slid the thin jacket off of his shoulders and shoved it inside his carry-on bag. He stepped out of the car, turning to see Ziva had already retrieved his luggage from the trunk and was rounding the corner toward him as he spoke.

She laughed, and he found it such a relief to hear. Her mood had lifted considerably on the drive through the city (though he still wasn't sure her mood was necessarily low this morning, just after he agreed to plans she didn't seem keen to keep) and he had taken the chance with the risky joke just to test the waters. They came back warm. Perhaps their day can be salvaged.

"It is neither. I lived here between missions starting when I was 18."

He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he took in the surroundings, noting the streets lined with signs for art galleries and coffee shops.

"Nice neighborhood."

She smiled as she looked around with him, "I always found Neve Tzedek charming. I believe it was my aunt who called it the Soho of Tel Aviv."

"That wouldn't happen to be the famous Aunt Nettie, would it?"

She laughed as she lifted his suitcase into the curb, "It was not. But Nettie is also fond of the area."

He squinted at her, "How many aunts do you have?"

"Three. Well, Four if you count my father's sister. But I was never very close with her."

"So Nellie was related to your mom?"

She nodded, "My mom had many siblings. She had three older brothers, an older sister, and two younger ones. All of my uncles have passed away. But Adina, Netayana, and Hinda are all still alive."

Tony trailed behind her as she pulled his suitcase down an alleyway, stopping in front of a door and fishing a key out of her pocket.

"And your other Aunt. On your dad's side. What's her name?"

Ziva looked back at him as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, "You are full of questions today."

He smiled down at her, summoning all of his DiNozzo charm, "I like learning about you, Ziva."

He drew out her name, causing her eyebrows to draw down in annoyance.

She looked him up and down for a long moment as she held the door open, but didn't give him the room to go through it.

She nodded slightly, as if affirming her own internal decision, "We can pull out a copy of my family tree later. First, let's get you upstairs."

She stepped to the side and he led the way up the single staircase in front of them. After a couple of flights, they can to a platform with two doors, one on either side. She stepped in front of him, pulling out another key and unlocking the door to the right. She stepped inside without a word, leaving him trailing behind her once again. He set his suitcase inside of the door and turned to close it behind him.

When he turned back, he found Ziva standing in the middle of the open concept living room, her fingers making quick work of the buttons on her shirt. He looked around the apartment, taking in the clean white walls stretching from the roomy kitchen into the living room, the two spaces only separated by a breakfast bar. He spotted the opening to the hallway across from him, in which he could see two doors with a long table and a hanging mirror nestled between them. The front wall had three huge windows on it, which allowed for maximum daylight to brighten the small space. His eyes landed back on her just in time to see her slide the thin fabric of her button up off her shoulders. She draped it over the back of the couch before turning to look at him.

They stared at each other for a minute, as if they were each trying to figure out just what they were supposed to do now.

He thought of a million things to say to her. Some of them were sappy, about how he thought she looked even more beautiful under the Israeli sun, especially with the way it was streaming through the large windows. Others were dirty, like asking if she wanted him to remove his shirt as well, just so she didn't feel so left out. And the rest were just stupid, like telling her that, now that he was here, he could finally breathe again. How being apart from her, especially with all the chaos of work and the intensity if the Parsons investigation, had been like living without his left lung. Or without his heart. Telling her that he had felt her absence like a physical weight in his chest and now that he was with her he felt as light as a feather.

But none of those things seemed like the right thing to say. So he decided to lob the ball into her court.

"So," he started, taking a couple of steps into the apartment, but still standing at least 10 feet away from her, "Now that you have me here, what are you gonna do with me?"

Her eyes darkened at his question, and it took him more than a second to realize that it wasn't anger or sadness burning in them. It was desire. A shiver ran up his spine at the sight.

But, ironically, it seemed to be his slight movement that broke the spell. She blinked a few times, and the darkness was gone, replaced by a seemingly grim determination.

"I will show you to the bedroom. You look exhausted."

"The bedroom? There is only one?"

He had hoped his unspoken accusation would leave her at least a little embarrassed, but instead, she became annoyed.

"Yes, there is only one. It is a one bedroom apartment."

"Guess that makes the sleeping arrangements pretty self-explanatory," he kept his eyebrows raised as he spoke.

That seemed to annoy her more. She shoved a finger in the direction of the couch, "I think you will find the couch to be surprisingly comfortable."

"Then why are you showing me to the bedroom?"

"So you can take a nap. And I do not have to worry about waking you so easily."

He squirmed a little. Her logic was too sound for him to poke holes in. So he fired back with the first thing that came to his mind.

"I'm not even tired."

She gave him that look. The one that she always gave him when she caught him in a lie. Sometimes before he even knew he was lying.

"Yes, you are."

He shook his head. She rolled her eyes.

But when she turned and started walking down the small hallway across the room, he still found himself following her. He even grabbed his suitcase and brought it with him.

Her bedroom was simple. The walls were white, much like the walls in the living room had been. She had a large bed, probably a king, resting in the center of the far wall with a very soft looking grey comforter. There was a mountain of pillows propped against the headboard. That much, he had expected. She had a similar mountain on her bed in DC. There were side tables on either side of the bed, and a wooden wardrobe in the back corner. There was another door toward the front of the room that he assumed led to her bathroom. He wondered if she had left that door closed on purpose. It only made him want to see it more.

She fluttered around the room, motioning to key things he might need: extra blankets, places to plug in his phone, a spot to place his suitcase.

"I'm taking a nap, Zi, not staying at a bed'n'breakfast."

She paused at the nickname, standing up straighter and bringing a hand up as if she wanted to run it through her hair. She settled for tightening her ponytail.

"Right. Well, I'll be out in the living room if you need me. Or, you can call me or whatever."

He nodded a little awkwardly as she made her way closer to him, barely stepping past him to get to the door and close it behind her.

He sighed once she was gone. It hadn't been an ideal reunion, but it also hadn't been horrible. She let him stay, which was almost more than he had been expecting. Now he was here, in her apartment, and in her bedroom. He figured that was a pretty big improvement from where he had been 24 hours ago.

He tugged down his pants and mosied his way over to the side of the bed. He slid beneath the covers, hissing when he realized just comfortable her bed was. It was soft in all the right places, and firm just where he wanted to be. Not to mention, it all smelled like her. He had a fleeting thought about how he would have to come up with an excuse to get back into this bed while on this trip, and how he bet it was even more comfortable with her laying in it.

But the thought was interrupted by a wave of exhaustion that had him peacefully sleeping in minutes.

Turns out she was right. He was exhausted.