Disclaimer: NCIS characters are not mine. Neither is Harry McClintock's song.

As he sat drinking his coffee that morning, he had imagined ending the night by the fire pit, a fish or two cooking slowly over the hot flames. He had imagined showing his daughter the art of removing the fine fish bones, of savoring the crispy skin of a day's catch. Of course, Shannon had caught him in, her words, 'his moment of delusion' and lightly rapped him on the head. She then placed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter in front of him and simply stated, 'Pack that.'

Despite Shannon's reservations, he still held on with lingering hope to his romantic ideal. Kelly, despite her initial reservations, quickly took to fishing. She alternated between short intervals of quiet awe, holding on tightly to her father's fishing pole, and long bursts of activity, clapping and skipping when a fish seemed to bite. She watched, her hands clinging to the sleeve of his t-shirt, as he slowly reeled in the fish. When he held up the taut line, fish hooked at the end, she reached out, smiling, fingers grazing the scales of the wriggling fish. He found himself imagining a fire, father and daughter sitting side-by-side sharing a plate full of slightly charred fish.

Of course, his moment of delusion came to a screeching end when Kelly started playing with the fishes. She poked them with twigs, and oohed as they swam over one another in the too small bucket. She named the five catch Kimberly, Trini, Jason, Zack, and Billy. The moment she introduced Ernie to her new friends, he knew without a doubt that dinner would be peanut butter sandwiches.

Later that night, after having sated their hunger, father and daughter made their way towards the large rock by the creek. Their short journey was temporarily interrupted when Kelly slipped and scrapped her knee on a sharp rock. There were tears, a small moment of screaming, and a long detour back to the campsite for the first aid kit and hot chocolate.

Even though his fingers smelled of disinfectant, and even though peanut butter clung stubbornly to the roof of his mouth and in the crevices of his teeth, he smiled. They were finally on the top of the rock. Kelly sat between his legs, unconsciously picking at the band-aid as she leaned back against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head, losing himself in the white noise of water against rock. Even though things never quite worked out the way he wanted, they always ended well.

"Daddy look," Kelly pointed at the orange full moon, "It's so round. My friend Cindy told me this story about this Chinese princess and she wanted to save the world from the evil empress who had a magic potion that made her live forever and ever and the princess drank it 'stead and floated up to the sky, 'cept she didn't really want to float so she grabbed a rabbit, which is silly cause rabbits are light and then she grabbed the tree and the tree flew too. And now she's on the moon!"

His mind was still tripping over the connections between empress, potion, and rabbit when Kelly asked, "Do you think she's waving?"

She paused, taking a moment to wave up at the moon before continuing, "If I were on the moon I'd wave. But I wouldn't bring a rabbit, I'd so bring a dog."

He gave up trying to tie up the loose ends of the story and gave in to his daughter's one-sided conversation.

"Daddy, one day I'm gonna go to the moon. I'll wave down at you and you'll wave back right?"

"Mmmhmm." Sometimes it was better to just listen.

"Daddy?"

"Mmmhmm?"

Kelly tilted her head backwards, stretched her neck, until her eyes met her father's. She raised her arms and tried to wrap it around his neck.

"I think I love camping."

It was late in the afternoon and the sun was hiding behind the clouds. The birds chirped lethargically and considered clocking out soon. Two men sat by a creek side and all was silent in the land, almost.

"Fishing is time for quiet introspection."

Gibbs wore his baseball cap forwards, eyes focused on a spot in the water. DiNozzo wore his baseball cap backwards, sat atop a reasonably flat rock, and whistled. The fishing pole rested loosely between his hands. He ignored Gibbs' whispered threat and drummed his fingers on the handle of the pole. When whistling was not enough, he began singing under his breath, lightly tapping his foot to the slow beat. One evening as the sun went down and the jungle fires were burning. He dipped his head slightly to the left, slightly to the right, gently bobbing the fishing pole in the process. Down the track came a hobo hiking, and he said, "Boys I'm not turning." Gibbs watched, trying to decide if the younger man was imitating some version of a fisherman, or if the younger man was actually fishing. I'm headed for a land that's far away besides the crystal fountains. Jethro the Dog raised his head from its resting position, perked its ears, and seemed to ask, 'what's this?' So come with me, we'll go and see the big rock candy mountains.

"DiNozzo." The younger man turned at the soft, but purposeful, mention of his name, corners of his eyes creasing into a bright smile. He continued singing.

At that moment, Gibbs saw the tip of DiNozzo's fishing pole bend from a new source of tension.

"Boss!" DiNozzo stood up, clutching the fishing pole tighter. He turned towards Gibbs and gave him a look part fear, part confusion, all excitement.

"Shh… DiNozzo," Gibbs placed his own pole down and walked towards his agent. He gently tapped the other man's shoulder, "Just reel it in slow. Like I showed you." Gibbs rested his other hand on the fishing pole so that DiNozzo would not rush the process.

"Boss, this is the Big Fish. Ed Bloom had it wrong, this is it Boss. The Big Fish," DiNozzo held up the catch by the end of the line.

Gibbs had seen bigger, much bigger. Gibbs laughed, then smiled, as blue eyes met green.

"Good job, DiNozzo."

Gibbs saw DiNozzo's eyes glance from the fish, to the creek, to the bucket filled with water, and back to the fish again. Gibbs thought he smelled peanut butter.

"Hey Boss, you'll show me how to gut this thing right?" DiNozzo shook the line. "Get rid of all the blood and gore and scales. Scales like a lih-zard. Ssss…" He looked at the fish, at the creek, at the bucket, "Replace it with delicious goodness?"

As it turned out, DiNozzo's Big Fish was the only fish they caught that day. They cleaned the fish, grilled it over the fire, and rustled up a pot of chili. The whole time, Jethro the Dog and its nose weaved around them with uncomfortable proximity. They hoped McGee would not notice the singed ends of his dog's whiskers.

The duo ate their meal in relative silence, exchanging a word here and there. Gibbs did his best to withhold commenting on DiNozzo's method of fish consumption. To Gibbs, pilling large amounts of chili over freshly cooked fish ruined the delicate sweetness of the meat. DiNozzo, for his part, bit back a comment or two when he observed Gibbs putting four heaping spoonfuls of instant coffee into his small tin mug. They scraped their plates for the last remnants of food and allowed Jethro the Dog to finish the rest of the cleaning process.

"Hey you think you can make it up that boulder?" DiNozzo asked as he tilted his head in the direction of a large rock by the creek and double knotted the trash bag in his hands. "I mean, I know your knees are a little, shall we say, rusty. Can you even see the boulder? Do you need your glasses Boss?"

Someone grunted. It was not Jethro the Dog.

"Could probably beat you to it," a corner of Gibbs mouth curved upwards, blue eyes stared into green. Green blinked. Gibbs rolled his eyes and shook his head as DiNozzo dropped the trash bag and took off in a sprint, Jethro the Dog barking and running to keep up. Gibbs picked up his flask and two cups and walked towards the rock at a respectable pace.

"Beat you!" DiNozzo said, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head and hunched his body into a boxer's stance. He did a quick air jab. "Beat. Ch-ya."

They sat on top of the large rock, knees partially drawn towards their chests, taking small sips of bourbon from their cups. DiNozzo had his free hand buried in Jethro the Dog's coat, while Gibbs glanced upwards at the full moon. He heard DiNozzo mumble about werewolves and made a reference to some Jack Nick-something movie. He wondered if DiNozzo had come across the story of the empress and her potion. He spared one lingering look at the orange moon, nodding his head slightly, raising his cup slightly.

"Hey Boss," DiNozzo said, rolling the cup back and forth between his palms. "I just wanted to say thanks, I mean, I know you like to go all solo on camping trips. And I'm no McScout…"

"Your father never take you camping much," Gibbs interrupted. It could have been a statement. It could have been a question.

"Senior? No. Noo. The man was always more rooftop grill than fire pit char."

"His loss."

They tapped their cups together, falling once again into silence.

"I was going to get her a puppy," Gibbs said, his words so soft, so light, the night breeze almost carried them away. DiNozzo turned to look at his boss, taking in Gibbs' loose hold on the cup handle, the relaxed arms resting on knees.

"What kind?" DiNozzo took a cautious sip from his cup.

Gibbs blinked, "Golden retriever. Maybe. Shannon wanted something smaller." He rubbed his hands over his face.

"Hope it wasn't a Chihuahua. Not that I have anything against those dogs. Dogs are dogs. But those dogs are tiny. My neighbor had one once, almost stepped on it. Big hands, big feet, tiny dog. Bad news." DiNozzo kept his gaze fixed on the dancing slivers of moonlight reflected on the creek.

Gibbs huffed softly. It might have been a chuckle.

An owl hooted. Crickets chirped. A sleeping dog whined and two men drank bourbon from small tin cups.

"Hey Boss… what were you going to do with that camcorder?"

"Wouldn't you like to know DiNozzo."

The End

A/N: Thanks for reading! This was kind of a writing exercise for me to see what I could come up with when my muse was sluggish. I know the plot's a little… non existent… but let me know what you think of the final product. Enjoyment? Frustration? Etc etc. Tonks!