Adon had been too excited to eat--even though they'd been walking non-stop in desert heat since 8 that morning, and it was well into the early afternoon by now.  It was his day off between weeks training new IDF recruits to his old unit, it was practically his birthday, it was Jewish Quarter day, and he was going to--with any luck--encounter some old friends there.  Adon hadn't had the means or methods to reconnect with many friends (a surprising few number had owls--or would just end up swatting any feathered vermin on their windowsills away), so Adon had been hurrying the entire day to slow down and spend a good deal of time in--

"Hurva Square!" Adon proclaimed proudly with an exhuberant grin.  This was the heart of his former stomping grounds, and the location where troops of IDF--and traveling, attractive foreign tourists--congregated.  It was a win-win. You could not lose in this town.  He grinned, surveying the area.  "Come on. Schwarma bar--it's better than Wagamama's, for sure..."  There was a momentary pause--longer than there should have been, because Jonas should have burst in with something.  For the first time in about 20 minutes, Adon took his eyes off of his surroundings to study his friend's expression.

Was he not... enjoying this? Adon had taken care to drag him to all the right tourist places--to all his favorite places. Through Yaffo gate, then the Citadel and Mamilla mall. Then the Western Wall, and to the Kotel tour, and the spice shop where they piled sage and saffron into brightly colored pyramids (where Adon first realized he was hungry), and then...

Jonas shifted slightly, favoring his good leg and Adon, now noticing, pressed his lips together.  He sighed through his nose, frustrated for not having considered that.   To the right of where they stood, there was a cluster of bright-red-and-white umbrella'ed cafe tables, also occupied by tourists--some locals, though Adon didn't know them by name.  Tilting his head towards the cafe tables, he said to his partner, "Save some seats, Jon?"

75 shekels and 10 minutes later, Adon returned, arms (and tray) laden with 3 cokes (Adon liked a bubbly beverage now and again), 2 wax paper cones of french fries, and two schwarmas in pitas.  Even over the smell of fried food, Adon could catch the scent of sunscreen--their constant companion in this place. "What, again?" he asked, grinning as he sat down. 

Jonas was looking at a group of congregated tourists--fresh-faced young men and women with backpacks, cameras, and a smattering of unfolded maps. They were standing in front of Hurva Synagogue, listening to a man speak to them--loudly.

"Ah," Adon said, nodding knowingly.  "Birthright program." With a dismissive shrug, he gestured quickly to the fries.  "Or they'll get cold!"  He grinned.  In this weather--unlikely.

If Jonas had been a betting man -- well, to be fair, if there had been anyone around that he knew well enough to bet with -- he would have put down a solid fifty quid that Adon hadn't stopped grinning since they'd gotten to Jerusalem.  Ever since they'd arrived in his adopted home country, the Israeli Auror had been alive with a fire that Jonas had rarely seen in him before.  Adon was exuberant; energetic; excited -- he'd barely paused to catch his breath the entire day.  Jonas didn't know how that sudden, eager enthusiasm translated into the training he was giving to the new IDF recruits, but if their nonstop morning itinerary was any hint of what his partner was putting them through, Jonas couldn't help but feel sorry for the kids.

Adon was so excited that he hadn't wanted to say anything -- it was rare these days that his partner relaxed, and seeing him brimming with so much energy was a brilliant reversal of his normal broodiness.  But morning had stretched into early afternoon, and they still hadn't paused to take a break.  Jonas was doing his best not to limp, to keep the pain from showing in his expression, but eventually even the Israeli whirlwind had to notice.

He'd collapsed at a table with a relieved sigh as Adon had left to fetch some food.  By the time his friend returned, Jonas was stretching out his bad leg, absently rubbing his sore knee as he kept a bemused eye on a group of tourists across the way.

"What, again?"

The red-haired man broke into a grin, swatting half-heartedly at his friend across the table. 

"You really want me to, I could stop putting it on and embarrass you in front of the entire office when me face ends up the same color as me hair," he said nicely, smiling at Adon.  His nose was already well on its way; Jonas pushed up his sunglasses onto his forehead, rubbed at the peeling skin, and then reached for the sunscreen again.

"I'm more worried about you eating 'em than anything getting cold," he retorted, squirting a tiny bit of it onto his finger.  Gingerly, he began to apply it to the bridge of his nose, even if  the effort was too little, too late.  "Just save half for me, Nix, won't you?  Just because you put it in me footlocker doesn't mean it's yours."

Chuckling, he applied more sunscreen, then began to rub it onto the back of his neck, which was also close to a cooked lobster in color.

"Birthright," Jonas echoed, returning his attention to the group of tourists he'd been watching.  "That's when they come over from overseas, innit?  And somebody shows 'em around?"  That was probably the definition of almost any tour; rolling his eyes at himself, Jonas flashed a smile at his friend.

"Well," he said, wiping his hands on his pants.  He reached for one of the schwarmas; chances were that the chips were already a lost cause to Adon's appetite, and Jonas knew that if he didn't claim the main part of his meal now, that too would end up an Israeli sacrifice.  "If you'd told me at twenty-two that I could get a free vacation to a place like this, I would've taken you up on it in a second.  Not minding it a bit now, either," he added cheerfully, raising the schwarma to take a bite.  "If there were a couple of Wagamamas about, or if everyone spent more time avoiding important subjects and talking about the weather, this place would be right and properly perfect."

Adon nearly dropped his shwarma. He leaned in, squinting at his partner. "No. Did you just--no. You did not just make a red-head joke. And I know you didn't, because it would give you no right to give anyone else crap about it, either!"  He leaned back in his seat, casting a suspicious glance at his friend as he took the first bite of his shwarma. 

"I have more than enough--" Adon said as he swallowed.  "That's why I got the large.  You're just disappointed in the lack of bonding moments this lunch."  Adon held his hand out. "Here. Give me some sunscreen. I haven't put any on all day."  Which meant Adon's skin had reached a level of brown that made him nearly indistinguishable from any of the other Mizrahi Jews here--or even most Palestinians.  "I won't look a bit British when I get back."

Before Jonas put any real thought into the request, he jerked his hand back, narrowly escaping a brush with tragedy: sunscreen-flavored french fries were not to be tolerated. Least of all in his favorite of all places.  An abomination second only to poorly brewed--or otherwise inadequate--coffee. 

"Damn right it's a free vacation! Level Two paying for airfare and lodgings--I'm paying the food..."

Any churlishness was mettled by a lopsided smile--and interrupted by another bite of shwarma.  "And it isn't that noodle-and-wood-bench business.  It's probably the only way I'd get real Israeli fare.  Wagamama wouldn't make it here," he challenged.  It was a boldfaced lie. It would have fit in quite well with the various coffee shops and bourgie eateries at Mamilla mall, but he was not about to admit to such a heresy.  Not after waging this heated (and totally arbitrary) crusade against the British restaurant chain.

"I'm sorry. That was inconsiderate of me," he said more quietly, after a moment.  "How have you been finding this weather, Jonas Trevelyan?"

Jonas grinned at his friend, sending a chip flying across the table.  "Hot," he retorted, with an overly dramatic, long suffering air.  "Really bloody hot.  I can actually see why you lot don't talk about it very much.  It's not very interesting, once you get past the temperature and the sun and the fact that you feel like you're goddamned roasting on a spit, day in and day out.  At least the weather in England gives us a variety of things to complain about."

Not that Israelis seemed to have a problem coming up with those.  Any minor interaction was seized upon as the opportunity for a full conversation, complete with opinions offered on any subject under the sun.  Jonas was quite enjoying himself -- although, he had to admit in retrospect, some of the discussions he'd let himself get dragged into could have probably been a bit better chosen, like the argument over which side was left at a disadvantage by the shekels-to-pounds-sterling conversion rate.  But so much about Adon was making far more sense, now that he'd seen his partner in his natural environment.

Speaking of -- letting the younger man's insistence on paying slip by without appropriate recognition was probably a recipe for more complaints later.

"Yeah.  Thanks for lunch again, mate," he said, smiling crookedly at Adon as he began eating.  "Makes up for all the pints I buy you back home.  I'll even forgive the slight on one of Mother England's most cherished institutions," he added gravely, unable to stop himself from punctuating the sentence with a grin.  "They've even been exported to America now, you know.  I reckon they'll end up here soon enough."

He settled back in his chair, stretching out his leg, relaxing as he ate.  Across the square, the Birthright group had scattered, dissolving into a mass of creative poses and flashing cameras that nearly rivaled the seriousness with which Israelis treated their picture taking.  The man who had been enthusiastically speaking to them -- dark hair, olive skin, looked vaguely Mizrahi, as Jonas was learning to identify -- was waving them off, answering the last few questions, though he seemed to be focused on something on the opposite side of the square.

Jonas blinked.  He seemed to be focused on them.  Uncertainly, he glanced behind him, just in case they'd accidentally gotten between the tour guide and one of his flock.  No one was there.  But no.  He was really, definitely looking at them --

"Are we -- supposed to be sitting here?" he asked, his forehead creasing as he glanced at Adon.  Eating lunch at a cafe table didn't seem like a horrible faux pas, but one never knew.  "That bloke over there with the kids tour group keeps staring at us.  I'm not that sunburned, am I?"

Adon listened to the tirade for a moment before frowning in thought.  Finally, leaning forward, he reached out to pat the red-head on the head.  "I am sorry," he said patronizingly.  "Israel is sorry."

He burst out in another resonant laugh, shaking his head.  "I am glad, then, that we are finally reaching a more neutral state.  It must have been difficult, living with a negative balance." At the mention of America, he gave another guffaw. "Ha! Well! If it's in America!."  America was the land of blonde women in bikinis, politicians (and right-wing Christians) that loved Israel with a passion, and--well, maybe America wasn't so bad.

He considered as he took several bites of felafel.  "Does this mean," he stated slowly, reaching for his first coke, "that if I were to buy you more sunscreen AND some Dead Sea products, that I would get--" he did some math.  "That would be worth at least 5 pints, I think."  He had seen how worthless Jonas was at negotiating in marketplace scenarios.  Best to capitalize on it now. 

Bartering was off, however, as Jonas looked self-consciously about.  Also turning his attention to the man in the square, Adon adopted a grave face.  He glanced back at Jonas, eyes flickering down to his bare (very white, but slightly pink) legs.  "Moloch! Jon," he said quite seriously.  He whispered in a harsh tone, "Your shorts."

The man was still looking and Adon, pushing his aviators more firmly into place as he pushed himself up from his seat, the metal grinding across the limestone flagstones.  "I'll deal with it."

The two figures approached with an air of machismo unparalleled even by the various soldiers littered about--an air of aggressive arrogance perfected, in Adon's case, over nearly 3 decades.  When the figures met, Adon tilted his head challengingly.  The man gave a rough push; Adon quickly pulled him into a headlock before shadowing several false punches at the man's stomach.  Releasing the man, he gave a loud, exultant greeting, followed by a rough hug.  And a noogie.  A few more pushes for good measure.

Several moments had passed in loud and excited Hebrew before Adon gestured back to Jonas at the cafe tables.  The man's attention once more returned to him.  By the time they'd returned, Adon's face was nearly splitting in a smile. "Jonas--I'd like you to meet Yonatan Avinoam. Yon--this is Jonas Trevelyan."

"English? Yonatan inquired, beaming. 

Adon was sorry, Israel was sorry, and Jonas was a bit sorry that he had to listen to his partner's patronizing tone.  He aimed a swat at the younger man's shoulder, attempting to dodge out of the way of the hand aimed for his head.  As nice as it was to see Adon back to his usual self, there were some things he wasn't entirely willing to put up with.

His defense attempts were interrupted by Adon noticing their watcher.  The other Auror stood up, menacingly stalked over, and then proceeded to participate in what was either an elaborate Israeli mating ritual or some sort of secret handshake left over from the IDF.  Shaking his head, Jonas leaned back in his chair and contentedly munched on chips as he waited for the two men to finish their display and rejoin him at the table.

Several punches, one probably bruised ribcage, and quite a bit of exuberant Hebrew later, and they were on their way back over again.  Adon was grinning from ear to ear, and his compatriot looked nearly as happy.  Jonas flashed a grin in return.  Using the table to balance himself, he rose awkwardly to his feet, doing his best to keep his weight off his knee as he straightened for the introduction and obligatory inquiry. 

"English?"

"I feel like I ought to be apologizing every time someone asks me that," Jonas replied cheerfully.  Flashing the tour guide a crooked smile, he extended his hand to shake.  "Ken, English.  Bevaka-- I mean, slikha.  Doing me best with it, though."

He looked between the two men, arching an eyebrow at his beaming partner, and then eased himself carefully to sit once more.  "So you two know each other, then?" he asked mildly.  That was probably the understatement of the year, seeing as how they'd just tried to take each other out with bear hugs -- probably not a Ministry or school friend, especially since Yonatan was leading Muggle tours in the Old City.  That left the military.

"I reckon I'm supposed to apologize for the poor fashion, the sunburn, and the hair color, just to get that bit out of the way, mate," he added cheerfully, flashing a grin at the other man.  "Eleor keeps prattling on about how I'm embarrassing him by being too British, so I like to cover that ground early.  Hope you'll forgive him for his poor choice in friends."

Adon had not had to worry about how Jonas had liked Israel.  The light-hearted Auror had ambled through the narrow streets of the Old City with a wide smile on his face.  And Adon, he supposed, didn't need to worry about Yon not liking Jonas.  It seemed an impossibility that someone could take an active disliking to his partner.

The only thing, Adon realized, that he had to worry about was Jonas and Yon liking each other a bit too well.  Yon grinned with each of Jonas' words--eyes flicking over to Adon at each Hebrew word.  "It's O.K., mate," Yon said, apparently delighted as he tried out the new, English word, himself.  He clapped a hand on Jonas' shoulder, leaning in close to the man and glancing back over his shoulder to Adon, effectively cutting him out of their interactions.  But that was not to say he could not hear Yon's quasi-whispered words, delivered sotto voce.  "Adon--he's a good teacher when it comes to Krav Maga, tactics, you know.  But I would not trust him with Hebrew." He hissed, "He's English, [/i]too you--"

Seeing a shadow from behind, Yon ducked to try to dodge a hand upside the head.  But he could never really win against Adon in this game. The sharp, light contact to the back of Yon's head was more than satisfying.  Adon was smiling now, too.

"We used to tease him," Yon explained. "In the IDF.  You know he dosn't even like tea--what kind of British--!"  Yon ducked again, though he never really learned.

"Ok!" Adon cut in, laying a hand on each man's shoulder, separating them to take charge of the situation again.  "So--"

"Actually!" Yon was cutting back in. Adon rolled his eyes and sighed.

"What," he asked, exasperatedly.

"My group is British. And we've got to move to the Western Wall in the next--" he checked his watch, eyes going wide. "ALRIGHT! O-KAAY!" he called loudly, making Adon wince. "WE ARE BE-HIND SCHEDULE! FOLLOW ME!" He made a gesture to Jonas and Adon.  "They are unleashed in a little bit. We can catch up."

Adon frowned, considering. 

"I could use some sanity. Please?"

Adon, still frowning, looked to Jonas. "Your call."

Jonas gave a laugh, grinning at Yonatan's assessment of Adon's authenticity as an Israeli and the resulting attack.  Letting the subject pass without comment was probably the healthiest option for both Yon's skull and Adon's ego.  Considering how sensitive his friend usually was about being made to feel like a foreigner, he wasn't going to call attention to the fact he might be a bit out of place no matter where he went, even if it certainly helped to understand him.

He listened to the exchange between the two younger men, watching them bemusedly.  At Adon's final inquiry, Jonas flashed him a crooked grin.

"What, you reckon I'd pass up the chance to catch up?" he asked with a lopsided smile, beaming at Yonatan.  "Of course, A.  Just let us finish eating and we'll catch up to you there, yeah?" he asked the tour guide, shooting him a grin as he turned back toward the table.  "If you can get away for long enough, I'll buy you a drink in exchange for some more lessons in Hebrew."

---

Two finished meals, several pieces of red string, and one long descent down the stairs later, and they were finally passing through the security checkpoint to get to the Western Wall.  Jonas was still smiling; now that he'd had a chance to rest his knee, he was back to being horribly amused by everything, which unfortunately included every single person who had stopped them as they descended from the Jewish Quarter to the open-air area below the Temple Mount.

"It's not giving shekels away. I'm getting something in return, aren't I?" Jonas asked reasonably, his hands tucked into his pockets as he easily kept pace alongside his friend.  "You never know when bits of red string could come in handy, A.  And it's cheaper'n going shopping in the suqs, innit?"

He stopped, surveying the open area.  The Birthright tour group was easy to spot, even among the throngs of tourists; they seemed to be in the process of gathering up again, meeting near the tunnel that led away from the Western Wall as the kids finished depositing their notes.

"Yon!" Jonas called, keeping his leg as straight as he could as he easily ambled over.  The handful of kids who had made it back already were all girls.  Judging by the way they were giggling at something that Yonatan had just said, apparently the opportunity to catch a few more moments alone with their Israeli tour guide outweighed any benefit of putting more thought into their written request for divine favor.

"If you can get away for long enough, I'll buy you a drink in exchange for some more lessons in Hebrew."

"Hey!" Adon laughed, in a light-hearted objection.  Which, of course, continued for some minutes--in which Adon, to prove Jonas wrong, taught and demonstrated several helpful Hebrew phrases like, "I need another beer," "Israel is beautiful," and "What is wrong with you?" "What time is it?"and "No, I'm not lost, my face just looks like this."

Adon was teaching the last of his helpful phrases in this session ("Can I have a shekel?") when Jonas peeled away, seemingly intent on handing out a shekel in exchange for almost every read string within sight.

"Well--Kabbalistically speaking, they're for prayer and protection, but you only need one," he said as he grinned, taking one from Jonas.  "Here. I'll even give you a shekel in exchange... if you ask for it." He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

But Adon never managed to hear the fruits of his labor--to hear the words he had so carefully taught his partner just moments before--because Jonas was off towards Yon and the British girls with a refreshed and smooth gait.  Well, at least he got a free bracelet out of that. Still grinning at the sight of Yon (who was nearly overshadowed by some of the taller British girls), Adon cut quietly through the flock of girls, looping his arm around the shorter man's shoulder and giving a light squeeze.  "All caught up. So. What did we miss?"

Yon grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. It was a huge, shit-eating grin that suddenly made him nervous.  Adon looked at the circle of girls who were--well, it wasn't the same type of grin, but it was bizarre all the same.  Adon looked back to Jonas. Now to Yon.  Bizarrely uncomfortable--all these eyes on him.  "Well?"

One of the girls--did she just raise her hand?  The tall, gangly looking blonde in the back had definitely taken to tour-group mentality and was definitely raising her hand to be called upon.  Adon pointed to her.

"Yonatan was just telling us about his time in the IDF, and how you were his commanding officer. And how you saved his life."

Adon felt a sick turn of his stomach.  His grip on Yon's shoulder tightened. And tightened. "Oh... he did, yeh?" he said, looking down into his friend's face.  The grin was still there. "How... nice of him."

"Well," Yon was beginning modestly.  Adon released him with a huff; Yonatan took this opportunity to take an easy step back. Adon didn't mind a superfluous comment from time to time.  In fact, it was those sort of moments that were known to make his day--hell, stretch it out to even a month. Adon wasn't sure if it was the fact that they'd been evidently talking about him behind his back--and he, unknowing all this time--or the look on Yon's face that suddenly implied that the younger man had gotten is way in some sort of joke, but Adon didn't really want to be the attention of a gaggle of young women in front of the Western Wall.  And for something that felt so... personal.  And, well, to be honest, so Statute-breakable. Frowning, Adon gestured the comment away.

"It was nothing, ladies. Really.  It is just what any officer would do--if he could--to keep his men safe.  And you keep your medic safe, and you have a hell of a better chance of surviving anyhow."

This wasn't helping.  Several of them started blinking their lashes a bit more rapidly in a sudden adoption of coy flirtatiousness that Adon had learned to read drunk or sober.  He glanced back to Jonas. "So!" he said, brightly.

"Any questions for our British guests?" Yon asked, helpfully.  Adon shot him a look.

With all of the trainees who had just begun to populate the Auror Office before they left, being surrounded by a group of eager teenagers intent on following the presupposed rules was not as odd a sensation as it might have been a few weeks before.  Unlike his usually bold partner, Jonas stopped a few feet short of the group, bemusedly watching as his friend walk straight into the trap.  Yonatan was grinning like a wolf, and as the subject matter quickly became clear, Adon's expression became more and more uncomfortable, until he looked like he wanted to strangle the tour guide with the crook of his elbow.

"Any questions for our British guests?"

Before any of the kids could interject, Jonas's hand had shot straight up in the air.

"Efshar lekabel shekel?" he asked cheerfully, beaming at Yonatan as he lowered his arm.  "Yeah!  So maybe I missed you telling the rest of it," he said, giving his best imitation of a dismissive Israeli hand wave towards the rest of the group, "but that's got to be the start to a story there, innit?"  He flashed a lopsided grin, looking far too amused by the entire idea.  "How exactly did Houdini save your life?"

Can he have a--Ooh, that was clever; too clever.  Adon gave a tight-lipped, saccharine smile.  If Yonatan was first on his hit list (being a rather long list of people he would hit), Jonas had managed to make it to number two.  Or maybe it was the other way around.  Adon was quite flexible.

"Oh, you should know, Jonas," Adon said with a sly evenness.  "A magician never reveals his secrets." He gave a wink to the lanky blonde girl, and several of them stifled high-pitched giggles.  "Jon--I'd have thought, given your line of work, that you'd be a downright poster boy for that."  He jabbed a thumb towards Jonas.  "It's a shame. Because of course he can't tell you about the time he saved my life using only a taxi."  He raised his eyebrows in a challenge.  Jonas saved Adon, Adon saved Yon, and Yon saved several people in the IDF as a medic.  They were all going to leave this conversation goddamned heroes and just try to get out of that.

Yon's brows were knit perplexedly as he glanced between the two men. "O...kay. So," he said, checking his watch neutrally.  "We have about 5 more minutes before we are back to the buses and you have free time for the rest of the evening."

"What would you recommend for the rest of the evening, Yonatan?" one of the girls lisped coyly. 
"Whatever you want--there is Makeneh Yehuda, which is good for some snacks and ambiance.  There's also some clubs by Ben Yehuda Street; I can give you names and directions on the bus..."
"Well, what will you be doing?" The girl was persistent. Adon nearly choked and elbowed his friend lightly, causing the man to grin as his wrapped his arms protectively around his ribcage.

Still grinning, he turned his focus to Jonas, who stood a ways off, seemingly interested in something--someone else.  Adon followed Jonas' gaze. It was a man, with a jarring blandness, his determinedly plainclothes appearance. He frowned slightly, eyes scanning the crowd; and there was another.  With similar, new leather boots.  There might have been a third, even a fourth over by the ramp to the Temple Mount; we was less sure of those.  But there was also a practiced, unnatural "naturalness" to them.  Warily, Adon leaned in to Jonas to mutter in a low tone:  "Them? Yamam.  Maybe even Yamas--CTU," Adon informed.  His voice must have been loud enough for Yon to hear; he shifted sharply from what he was doing to look at his two guests.  Adon now could spot three--one of which seemed to have spotted him as well, observing passively, but intently.

With a practiced determination, Adon relaxed the muscles in his shoulders and smiled, "Hey, Yon," he called.  "Makeneh Yehuda doesn't sound bad, yeh?"

The developing situation was clearly past the point of no return; as soon as they were out of sight, he had no doubt that Adon was going to reward his clever use of Hebrew with something far more painful than a shekel.  Even so, Jonas watched the developments with a bemused air, grinning from ear to ear.  Apparently his partner's love of the spotlight was somewhat reduced when he was getting attention from teenaged girls.

Chuckling to himself, Jonas let his gaze drift past the others, scanning absently over the crowd in his usual habit.  It was the lack of movement that caught his eye first -- a man standing apart from the masses, letting the passerby flow around him, while he did exactly what Jonas was doing and watched them go by.  Jonas paused, his forehead creasing slightly as he regarded the man.  The stance was clearly law enforcement -- cool and casual, watching the crowd. 

His expression blank, he glanced at his partner, but Adon was already leaning in.

"Them? Yamam.  Maybe even Yamas--CTU."

A year of doing little besides watching crime dramas had made decoding acronyms almost second nature.  Jonas met his partner's eyes, his expression unreadable, and then shifted his gaze nonchalantly over the crowd.  One, two...whatever the counterterrorism team might be looking for in the crowd, he couldn't spot it.  But either way, they didn't particularly need to be here for very much longer if there was a chance that the situation might get unpleasant.

"Yeah," he agreed with a lopsided smile, following Adon's lead in relaxing his stance.  He crossed his arms, kept his hands determinedly visible; he wasn't about to reach for his wand and make anyone think he was pulling something else out of a pocket.  Better to casually depart with Yon's group of kids and leave any problems to the local professionals.  "I wouldn't mind seeing it either, if you lot don't mind us tagging along.  Houdini hasn't stopped talking about the piles of spices -- apparently all the markets are too mundane for him back home."

"O-k. Easy enough," Yonatan said, nodding.  "The bus is out Dung gate." He gestured to the right.  Even from this distance, Adon could see the clustering of blue-fatigued Border Police by the security checkpoint. His attention was quickly drawn back to the younger man at his side, who had once more adopted his sharp "tour guide" voice.

"O-kay. Alriiiight!"  It was a good thing it was not Shabbat, or Yon would have had several evil glances in his direction.  (For one, the Yamas member was still intently looking at them.)  Thankfully, it seemed all stray sheep from Yon's fold had been herded in, and they were on the move.  There was a soft clatter at Adon's feet, and he realized he must have dropped something--a shekel perhaps.  Glancing  down, he halted, but not before stepping on what had once been the glass nazar he wore around his neck--a Hannukah gift from Dree.  The deep blue glass now shattered, Adon frowned as he bent to pick the pieces up. From the looks of it, the smooth chord had gone thin and frayed where the collar of his shirt rubbed, finally breaking free.

By the time Adon'd managed to wrap the broken glass into a handkerchief in his pocket, he felt an odd, prickling feeling on the back of his neck which, when accompanied by a sinking feeling in his stomach, gave him the undeniable sensation that he was being watched.

Adon had one guess who it might be.  Gritting his teeth, he leaned in towards his friend. "Jon," he hissed, urgently.  It might have been nothing--but this place, the amulet--already set him on edge.

Adon felt another surge of pins-and-needles, and, unable to resist, Adon looked back to where the undercover Yamas member had been to find him still looking, but moving in their direction with a directness that was unmistakeable--he caught movement from the other two members as well.  Adon loosed a hissed expletive. 

Yonatan, at the head of the group, was out of earshot; Adon's hands itched to go for his wand, or to Apparate. Anything.  "Is he still watching," he asked Jonas, lengthening his stride, but not his pace, to catch up to the group.

For someone who liked to spend a lot of time pointedly Not Talking about his stint in covert operations, Adon was awfully jumpy.  The Israeli managed to drop something, fumble to pick it up, and then display his nerves for the world to see as he started anxiously after the group.  Jonas stopped himself from sighing as he reached up to slide his sunglasses up on his forehead, casting a glance back in the direction of Shiny Boots.  Yes, he was still looking.  And now he was moving in their direction.

"Adon, relax," he told his friend in a perfectly even, entirely nonplussed tone as he stood his ground.  Racing off after Yon and his tour group was not about to make them less suspicious.  "You're making me nervous, mate."

It was hard to tell with so many people about, but Jonas could spot two or three other figures now who were definitely moving in their direction.  With a sigh, he stayed where he was, adopting an easy smile as he waited for the first bloke to approach.  The upside to being so obviously British -- even if it meant Adon constantly making fun of him -- was that he'd never be mistaken for a local.  Unless they'd gotten into the habit of arresting tourists, he doubted he fit whatever profile they were looking for.

"Hi there," he greeted Shiny Boots, flashing the man an amiable smile.  This was the time to play clueless English speaker, not to show off his ever-growing collection of Hebrew.  Besides, he doubted that anyone who possibly worked for a Counterterrorism Unit was going to be willing to spare him a shekel.  "Look, I'm sorry to bother you.  Do you, uh, know which way Jaffa Gate is?" he asked, letting his forehead crease with perplexity as he voiced what seemed to be the most common question in the Old City.  "I keep getting all turned about.  That's the closest place to catch a taxi from here, innit?"

Relax. Just relax.

And how the hell was he supposed to relax when this whole thing--the Evil Eye, the pins and needles, the Jewish Quarter--was setting him on edge, and Jonas was going right up to them and, moloch!

Adon grit his teeth and turned away, trying to pretend that he was... doing something other than listening to the Yamas members' response.

It was slow in coming, and Adon in that time, managed to take several steps towards the group by offering to take a photo of a young couple in backpacks with that distinct granola-y look.  Probably French or German or something. 

In fact, the response didn't come at all. He wished he could see what was going on.

"The light is better facing the other way--and you get a good view of the Jewish Quarter there," he instructed the couple in what, lamentably, seemed the universal language of travelers (English), positioning them so they were nearly beside the group.  "Very good," he said, as they put their arms around each other, smiling.

The Yamas member jabbed this thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Jaffa.  His companion--one that seemed to have materialized from the crowd--was looking at them with a stern face.  Adon hadn't known he'd even known the face until this moment.  Adon felt a rush in his ears; his face grew hot, and he felt a phantom sting of pain across his right temple.  That was before the adrenaline kicked in, and Adon stepped quickly up to the bunch, ramrod straight, no qualms about keeping his hand plenty close to his waist, where his wand was concealed.

"But really," Adon cut in tightly, just behind Jonas--people in Jerusalem offered their opinion all the time, though Adon didn't particularly care how convincing this was--"you can get a taxi out of Dung Gate. It costs more, because they require special permits to come up to the gate, but if you're looking for the closest..."  He said, attempting a light tone, "I would take that. Here," he gestured. "Come--I'll show it to you."