Title: Going Native

Written for the Get a Hobby! Challenge. One-Shot.

Genre: Friendship/Humor

Characters: Tim, Tony, Ziva, and a bunch of OCs

Warnings: Utter silliness, abuse of character egos, and Ooga Booga

Disclaimer: Still don't own, and still just playing. Yadda freaking yadda.

Summary: Tony always knew Tim was a fan of technology, but he never expected this.

"Got plans for the weekend, McGee?"

Tony watched the younger man gather up his things in preparation for leaving for the day. It was their first weekend of not being on call for nearly a month, and Tony had learned that McGee had put in a special request to have this weekend free, which, even more surprisingly, Vance had granted.

"Yes, I do have plans, Tony, as you very well know. Why else would I have put in the request?"

Busted.

"So what are they? Comic book convention? Gamers gathering? Mystery writers' extravaganza?"

"No, just having some fun with a couple of my hobbies…my other hobbies."

"Paintball? Programming? Something technological?"

McGee smirked. "Well, there is technology involved…"

"Ha! I knew it. You're getting together with a bunch of other geeks to figure out how to take over the world some day."

"Well, you know what they say," said Ziva. "'The geeks shall inherit the Earth'."

"It's meek, Ziva. 'The meek shall inherit the Earth'."

"I like her version better."

"Whatever. So what is it?"

"Why do you care?"

"He wants to know if he can tag along, since all of his hook-up plans fell through," Ziva replied with a smirk. Tony sent her a withering look.

"Thanks a lot, Ziva. No, I was just wondering, that's all." He looked up at McGee and saw a thoughtful expression on the other man's face, which slowly changed into a rather wicked smile.

"You can come with me if you want, Tony. I'll warn you, though, it's an overnight event and we'll be camping out."

"It's not a trip with your Cub pack, is it?"

"Youth Rangers. And no, this isn't part of that at all, although some of the troop may decide to participate on their own."

"Where is this mysterious event?"

"Western Maryland. Green Ridge State Park."

"So I'll need a tent?"

"And a sleeping bag. Everyone chips in and brings something for dinner Saturday night."

"Oh, a cookout. I can bring s'mores." Tony grinned at the look of disgust on McGee's face.

"Whatever you want, Tony. Are you really sure you want to come? It's definitely not your normal sort of thing."

"And pass up a chance to watch the McGeek in his natural environment? How could I resist?"

"Are you really sure you want Tony to go with you?" asked Ziva. "He is not known for playing well with others."

"I think it will do him good, Ziva: fresh air, sunshine, and…a few unique opportunities. It will be an eye opening experience for him," he said with a grin.

"I am sure."

"My friends are picking me up at seven tomorrow morning, Tony. If you still want to go…"

"I'll be there, McGoo. I fully expect it to be a 'unique opportunity'…for a laugh, that is," he said to Ziva in a low voice after McGee had left. "Hanging out with a bunch of geeks for the weekend is a small price to pay for a few good months worth of blackmail material."

Ziva just shook her head. "I think he may surprise you, Tony."

"Yeah, sure. See you later Ziva." Tony chuckled and headed for the elevator. Despite what he had said, he really was looking forward to the weekend.

XXX

Tony made it to McGee's place with just a few minutes to spare. He grabbed his overnight bag, his new sleeping bag and tent, and a grocery bag full of marshmallows, chocolate bars, and graham crackers out of the trunk of his car before heading for McGee's building. He was almost to the entrance when McGee emerged and the sight of the younger man elicited a snort of laughter from Tony.

"What are you wearing, McGee?"

McGee was dressed in worn cut-off jeans, Teva sandals, and a t-shirt. The shirt had a rather strange looking logo with a silhouette of a group of people running towards what looked like a target. The target had a map of the earth in the center. Beneath the logo was the phrase "Too long have I hunted the mammoth alone".

McGee turned to stare at Tony, who was dressed in jeans, boots and an Ohio State polo shirt. "I'll fit in a little more than you when it comes to attire, Tony, trust me." He was carrying an army green duffel bag in one hand, a grocery bag in the other, and had a long enclosed tube attached to a strap slung over one shoulder and a canvas satchel and a folded camp chair slung over the other.

"What's all that?" asked Tony as he pointed to the bag and tube.

"Tools of the trade."

Before he could ask anything else, a white mini-van with a long section of PVC pipe strapped to the luggage rack pulled into the parking lot next to them and a cherry voice called out from within.

"Good morning, Tim! Ready to go?"

Tony turned to look at the speaker and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. It was a woman with curly gray hair and sparkling blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. She wore a green t-shirt and a floppy tan hat with a patch bearing the same logo as Tim's shirt.

"Hey, Mary. Good to see you," said Tim as he walked over and opened the side door of the van. "This is Tony. He decided to tag along for the weekend." McGee put the tube and satchel next to one of the captain chair seats, then walked to the back and opened the hatch to deposit the rest of his stuff. The woman smiled and held out her hand to Tony, who shook it after a brief pause.

"Hi Tony, I'm Mary, and this is my husband, Fred." The driver leaned forward and waved. He, too had gray hair and blue eyes, and was also wearing the same hat and t-shirt combination as his wife.

"Nice to meet you."

"Just toss your stuff in the back and hop in," Mary instructed. "Make yourself comfortable. It's about a two and a half hour drive from here."

After stowing his belongings, Tony climbed into the van and sat in the seat behind Fred. He was soon joined by McGee, who closed the door and settled into the seat behind Mary. Fred guided the van out of the parking lot and soon they were headed for the interstate. Mary turned around in her seat to talk to Tony.

"You two work together, right? Tim has mentioned you a couple of times."

"Of course he has."

"And this will be your first time at a Knap-In?"

"Nap in? We're going somewhere to sleep?"

Fred snorted. "I guess Tim didn't give you too many details."

"It's knap, k-n-a-p. For flintknappers," said Mary. "There will also be atlatl contests, both local and the ISAC."

What in the hell have I gotten myself into?

He turned to McGee. "Probie, explain. Now."

Tim chuckled. "Flintknappers are people who make stone knives, spear points, arrow points, and other tools similar to those used by prehistoric groups. The term comes from the German word knappen: to hit, and the original knappers made gun flints. Some of the modern knappers are archaeologists who are interested in the process, some like the idea of using Native American technology, and others see it as an art form."

"So you're going to make stuff…out of rocks? All of you?"

"Most of us do a little knapping, but there's a group who's really into it. Tim's been taking lessons from a few of them," Fred explained.

"I'm getting better, but I'm nowhere near the level that they are. Some of the stuff they make…it's amazing."

"But it's…rock. Not exactly high-tech."

Mary chucked. "Trust me, once you see the process in action, you'll understand."

"I'll take your word for it…Now what was the other thing? Ought-something?"

"AHT-LAHT-L. It's a primitive weapon that was used way before the invention of the bow and arrow. The first residents of this continent probably hunted mammoths and other megafauna with it, and probably contributed to their extinction. The name we use for it is the Aztec name. It's said that it was the only weapon Cortez' army feared because the darts thrown with it could pierce their armor."

"Darts? Like lawn darts?"

"No, these are much bigger, usually six to eight feet in length. Some people call them spears, but spears don't have fletching: the split feathers on one end like you see on arrows."

"The atlatl is basically a stick with a hook on one end. You put the fletched end in the hook, hold on to the other end and either balance the dart on a holder or pinch it between two fingers, and then you use the atlatl to propel the dart towards the target. You have to make sure you let go of the dart, and not the atlatl, at the right moment."

Tony stared at Tim, trying to absorb the explanation he had just given. "How did you even find out about this stuff?"

"There's a website that deals with the engineering and physics behind the whole atlatl-dart-thrower system. I stumbled across it and it had a link to the international organization for atlatlists. I found the events calendar, saw there was a contest nearby, and…"

"The rest is history," said Mary with a grin. "Fred and I saw a flyer for a symposium at the local university, and after the seminar we started talking to a bunch of people who participated in the contests. We decided to try it out and we were hooked."

"It kind of additive but it's a lot of fun. We've met some of the nicest people," said Fred.

"And a couple of the strangest, but I think you find that with just about any pastime," added Mary.

"Probably." Tony glanced at McGee, waiting for him to reveal that this was all some sort of big joke, but the man remained silent. "What are the contests like? You said there were local and the…Eye-Sack?"

"It's the International Standard Accuracy Contest. ISAC. You're only allowed to participate in one of those per day, but for the local contests you can usually do up to three of each. "

"What do you have to do?"

"The locals vary, and they change them for each event, so for those you'll have to wait and see. As for the ISAC, you throw five times from 15 meters and five times from 20 meters, but only one throw at a time, and you have to wait for each person to take their turn before you can throw again. The person who goes first had to go last on the next turn, and so on."

"You have to earn 70 points to qualify in the men's division. For women, qualifying is 50, and for children under 16, it's 40. The target had five rings, and the inner circle is the 'X'. The biggest ring is six points, the next smaller ring is seven points, then eight, nine, and ten. If you hit the bullseye it's recorded as an X after the numerical score," McGee explained.

"The record highest score ever is 98XXXXX. The top ten highest scorers in all three divisions receive awards at the end of the year, and the list includes throwers from all over the world," said Mary.

"So what's your high score, McGee?"

"I've qualified. And yes, it was in the men's division."

Tony grinned. "Attaboy, Probie." McGee just rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, just tell me. I need to know what score to beat."

"It was an 82X, okay?"

"No sweat. Prepare to be defeated, McPrimitive."

"Whatever you say, Tony."

XXX

When they arrived at the park, Tony was surprised by the number of people already there. He hadn't expected this many participants at an event that he had never heard of before today.

"This Knap-In actually started last night," explained Mary when she saw his expression. "A lot of the die-hard knappers also sell their finished points, so they get here to set up booths. There would have been an ISAC last night as well. Most of the throwers would have wanted an extra chance to qualify or get a PB."

"Peanut butter?"

"Personal Best," said Tim. "The guys who make the top ten list year after year are really competitive. They're always looking to break their own high score or even the record."

They found a spot to park near the camping area and climbed out of the van. There were a wide variety of tents already set up, and when Tony caught sight of one of them he could only stare in disbelief.

"Is that…?"

"A genuine teepee? Yep. The guy who owns it is a Buckskinner. That's a pre-1840's hunter/trapper re-enactor. He says it's actually very comfortable to sleep in."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Tony knows all about re-enactors, don't you?" asked Tim with a smirk.

"Really?" asked Mary, very much interested. "Civil War?"

Tony shot Tim a dirty look. "My father was into it when I was a kid. I don't participate any more."

"Ah, I see. Come one, let's find a place to set up and then we can join the group."

The group soon found a large, flat, shaded area suitable for three tents. Mary and Fred started to assemble their shelter, and old army tent that looked big enough for several people, and Tim began putting together his considerably more high-tech model. Tony started to unpack his newly purchased dome tent, and was still trying to figure it out by the time the other two tents were set up.

"Need some help?"

"I've got it."

Without another word, Tim stepped in and helped Tony assemble the tent. When it was up, the older man let out a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, McGee."

"All you had to do was ask, Tony."

They stowed the rest of their belongings and then headed for the large field next to the campground. Tim was carrying his satchel and the tube over his shoulder again, and the camp chair he handed to Tony.

"You'll need a place to sit."

"What about you?"

"I'm covered."

Soon they saw a group of mostly men and a couple of women sitting in a circle on a large tarp spread out on the ground. They all wore t-shirts with designs featuring an assortment of arrowheads or logos similar to the one on Tim's shirt. Most of the men and women were sitting on overturned 5 gallon buckets, and each had a pile of rock and other tools near their feet. Several looked up as the two men approached and one of the men, thin and rangy with long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, stood to greet them.

"Hey, Tim. Who's your friend?"

"Hey, John. This is Tony. We work together."

John offered his rough and calloused hand to the older man and he shook it, surprised at the strength behind the grip.

"Good to meet ya, Tony. Pull up a seat." Tim had retrieved another bucket and turned it over before placing it next to John's seat. Tony unfolded the camp chair and sat down next to Tim as the rest of the group moved to make room for them. He watched as Tim set down his burdens, retrieved the satchel, and started to remove several items from the bag.

"Have you done much knapping, Tony?"

"Only the type that usually includes a horizontal surface."

Several members of the group chuckled.

"No problem," John replied. "Everyone has to start somewhere."

Tony watched Tim take a large piece of thick leather out of the bag, fold it, and drape it over his right thigh. He then pulled out a piece of dark gray rock that was a rough oval shape and set that on top of the leather piece. Finally he put on a pair of work gloves and picked up a stick-like object with a rounded end which he used to tap the edges of the rough form, causing flakes of rock to fall away. John noticed Tony's scrutiny and started to explain.

"Tim is working on a blank. It's had the major surfaces formed for percussion flaking, which he's doing with a billet made from deer antler. After he has the spear point he's making thinned down, he'll start pressure flaking." John picked up a long stick with what looked like a copper nail point embedded in the end. "This is called an Ishi Stick. We use it to press off very thin, long flakes, which he'll have to do on both sides to make the whole piece as thin and sharp a possible. During that process he'll also give the piece its final shape. It takes awhile, and the main thing you have to worry about is not taking off too much, and not making the flakes too short. If that happens, the point winds up being too thick in the middle and the edges are too fragile, which makes it hard to haft: to fit to the short shaft that goes into the main body of the spear or dart."

"Looks like a lot of work."

"It is, but it's worth it in the end. One you have the basics down, you can start experimenting with different shapes and sizes of points and blades. Eventually you develop your own style." He stood up and walked over to a nearby picnic table to retrieve a flat box which he brought over to Tony. He saw that it was a jewelry display box, but instead of necklaces it held several thin, flat blades and points. The centerpiece was a blade about six inches long, made from rust-colored rock flecked with black. The rows where long, almost impossibly narrow flakes had been removed were visible on the surface, rather like tiger stripes. It was surprisingly beautiful.

"Impressive. How long did it take you?"

"You probably don't want to know. I can tell you it took years of practice, and I broke a hell of a lot of rock before it was done." John turned to one of the men on the other side of the circle. "Hey, Pat, why don't you show him your hummingbird points." The other man grinned, set down the piece he was working on, and headed towards another table. He returned carrying a similarly flat box, but inside were small, delicate, perfectly shaped half and three-quarter inch pieces of stone that looked like miniature versions of the points in John's collection.

"I call them hummingbird points 'cause that's all you could use 'em for, but I liked the challenge of making them. My wife thinks they'd make nice jewelry."

"Smaller they are, harder they are to make," explained John. "Those take real skill."

"I can imagine." He turned to his partner. "How about you, McGee? Got anything to show off?"

"Still learning, Tony," said Tim as he kept most of his attention on the piece he was shaping.

"Tim sold the last two pieces he made already. He does good work for a newbie."

Tony watched the group work for several minutes, fascinated by their skill in spite of his initial skepticism. Finally he asked his next question. "What made you want to learn to do this? All of you?"

"I saw someone knapping at a primitive arts festival once, and I was fascinated," John replied. "I couldn't believe you could make such things with such simple tools."

"I'm an old school archaeologist," said Pat, "one of the ones who subscribes to Lewis Binford's idea that if you understand the process behind producing the artifacts, you can understand the culture itself."

"Larry and Evan over there are artists who wanted to try something new," said John as he pointed to the youngest two members of the group, who nodded in agreement. "I think the rest of us are like me: saw it done and wanted to give it a try. It's a worthy challenge to see what sort of things we can make, using only equipment that was available to the Native Americans over 500 years ago."

"How about you, Tim?"

"Boss says we should always carry a knife. I just wanted to make sure I could make a back-up if I needed it."

Tony joined in the laughter that resulted from Tim's statement. "Makes sense to me, man. Now, how do I get started?"

XXX

After a couple of hours Tim had finished his project and Tony had only succeeded in fracturing quite a bit of the available stone, but he was promised that he could return to get in some more practice. They headed toward the field adjacent to the knapper's circle. Tony could see several targets set out, including the ISAC target that had been described to him previously, although it was bigger than he had expected, about four feet across. The others were animals, including a deer, a turkey, and a rather large mosquito. Near the woods to the right of the targets was a sign directing participants to the "Hunter's Challenge."

They walked up to the shelter which housed two tables stacked with brightly colored paper, clipboards, and a coffee can full of pencils. A middle aged woman with long dark blonde hair was sitting behind one of the tables. She was wearing a t-shirt like McGee's over a denim skirt and she smiled when she saw them approach.

"Hey, Tim. Did you boys have fun breaking rocks?" The younger man smiled and nodded.

"Great stress relief," said Tony with a grin. "What's next?"

"The ISAC will start in a couple of hours. In the meantime, why don't you try a couple of the local contests?" She plucked several sheets of paper from the piles and attached them to a clipboard, which she handed to Tim. "The rules are at the bottom of each sheet. Just make sure you fill in all of the information."

"Uh, one problem. I don't have-"

"There are spare darts and atlatls over by the practice range." She indicated two well used targets set apart from the rest, which were being used by a group of boys and watched over by a rather harried looking older man. "You should have everything you need."

"Thanks, Tanya," said Tim. "I have spares he can use. I think we'll start with the local accuracy contest first. Come on, Tony."

He followed Tim over to one of the big black and white targets marked with a smaller sign that said "LAC". Tony saw Mary and Fred with a group of people over at the next target and waved. The entire group waved back as Tim pulled out the appropriate sheet for the target and read the instructions.

"'Best two out of three shots from 15, 17, 20, 22, and 25 meters.' You want some practice shots first?"

"Nope. I think I can handle it. You can go first, though."

Tim opened the tube case he had been carrying and pulled out several things that looked like wooden arrows, some with feathers and some without. Each was a little over three feet in length.

"I thought those were supposed to be longer."

"They will be." McGee selected two of the pieces and carefully fitted them together. He handed the dart to Tony who examined it with interest. "Normal darts won't fit in my car, so I use these. They work fine." He finished assembling the darts and then pulled out the two atlatls. He handed Tony the simpler of the two. It was wooden, about 20 inches long, and had a pointed piece of wood embedded in one end which stuck out at about a 30 degree angle. The other end had a V-shaped piece of wood with two pieces of leather covering the surface inside the V.

"That's the dart rest. It's easier to use than one without a rest, since you don't have to worry about when to let go. The dart stays put until it's thrown and you can worry about aiming instead."

Tim took one of the darts and his atlatl, which had a similar dart rest but also had a hole in the end near the rest, and stepped up to the first distance marker. He put the dart on the atlatl, balanced it and held it up over his shoulder with his hand near his left ear and his index finger through the hole in the atlatl. He put his right foot forward and extended his right arm out, palm down and parallel to the ground.

"You stance will be the opposite since you're right handed. Use your non-throwing arm for balance, and when you send the dart, move your arm straight out, keeping your elbow parallel to the ground, just like throwing a baseball. Keep your hand pointed towards the target and follow through."

Tim paused to aim, took a breath, and launched the dart. A split second later it was sticking out of the target less than an inch from the bullseye.

"Piece of cake," said Tony, trying to hide how impressed he was with that shot. Tim just smirked. He retrieved another dart and took the next shot, which landed only a few inches above and to the left of the first. The third shot landed about 10 inches to right of the first shot.

"Your turn. Do you want me to pull my darts first?"

"Nah, I can manage. Prepare to be bested, Probie."

Tim stepped to the side to watch as Tony tried to replicate Tim's stance. He carefully took aim and threw and hard as he could, sending the dart straight into the ground a few feet in front of the target.

"DON'T DROP YOUR ELBOW!"

Tony automatically flinched at the tone and turned, almost expecting to see Gibbs. Instead he saw an older man with sun bleached hair and more than a touch of sunburn. He marched over to Tim and Tony and stopped.

"You have to keep that elbow up, or what just happened will happen again. Let your arm and wrist do the work, not your shoulder. Got that?"

"Yes, B…sir."

The older man stared at him for a moment and then chuckled as he turned to Tim.

"Works for the same guy you do, doesn't he, Tim?"

Tim was biting his lip, obviously trying to keep from laughing. "How could you tell?"

"'Cause he just did the same damn thing you did the first time I corrected you," he replied before turning back to Tony with a much less severe expression on his face and held out his hand. "Gary."

"Tony. Marine?"

"Retired. You?"

"Nope. I work for a former Marine, but I guess you've figured that out already."

"Yep." He pointed to the target. "Now try again. Remember what I told you."

"I'll try…I mean I will, sir."

Gary snorted and Tony shot Tim, who was still trying not to laugh, another dirty look.

"OK." He set up his stance again, took a deep breath, and threw the dart. It flew over the top of the target and into the woods behind it.

"Somewhere in between those two would be good," Gary remarked as Tim grinned.

"You were saying something about 'bested', Tony?"

Tony ignored him, set up again, and let the dart fly. To his great surprise it stuck in the target, squarely within the 7 ring.

"YES!"

Suddenly he registered the sound of cheers and catcalls and he turned toward the group at the adjacent target. They all clapped and he took a bow before turning to McGee, who gave him a grin and thumbs up.

"Better. Now keep it up," said Gary, "and you'll be ready for an ISAC later."

"Thanks."

Gary just nodded and head back to the other group, who resumed their game.

"Interesting guy."

"Former world champion. I'd listen to what he says. Now, ready for 17 meters?"

"Lay on, McGee. Let's show this target who's boss."

XXX

They finished the local contest (Tim: 78, Tony: 26) and moved on to the animal targets. After they had finished, Tony bragged that he could 'hit a mosquito from 20 meters' and Tim just shook his head as he muttered 'once' with a slight grin. Before they could try the Hunter's Challenge, they saw that Tanya had started gathering groups for the ISAC and they went to sign up. Each 'flight', or throwing group, could only have five members, and since there were 21 men present and only 9 women, Tony was relegated to one of the women's flights.

"Don't worry, hon," said Barbara, a forty-something redhead with wide-set hazel eyes and a devious smile. "We don't bite…hard."

Tanya laughed. "Pay her no mind, Tony. We're lots of fun to throw with. Besides, the guys can sometimes be a little intimidating for a newcomer."

"I can imagine." He had watched some of the other men warm up on the practice range. They were really good, and the focus with which they regarded the target might have given Gibbs pause.

Tim's group and one of the other groups of men went to their respective targets, with two others acting as score keepers. The rest sat back to watch as each group took their practice throws, one from 15 meters and one from 20, and then gathered together in a circle. All of the participants put the ends of their atlatls into the circle, crossed over each other, and then raised them up together and yelled "Ooga Booga!"

"Ooga Booga?" asked Tony with a grin. "What's that all about?"

"If you've been initiated, you can use that to wish everyone good luck," explained Mary.

"Initiated? Like a fraternity?"

Tanya grinned. "Something like that."

"And how does one get initiated?"

"Well, we're having a ceremony tonight, actually. The leader puts anyone who wants to join through a special test."

"What's the test?"

"We can't tell you," said Barbara. "Ooga Booga is like Fight Club in that respect, and you know what the first rule of Fight Club is, right?"

"Don't talk about Fight Club…ok, I get it, it's a secret. How do I sign up for this initiation thing?"

"You have to have a sponsor: someone who knows you well."

"Oh, I've got that covered."

"And you have to pass the test."

"I can handle it…right?"

"Oh, sure. A reasonably healthy guy like yourself? No problem. We haven't lost anyone in years, you know. It's perfectly safe."

"OK…is Tim…has he been initiated?"

"Oh, yes. He was rather vocal during the test, but everything turned out just fine. He got over the shock…eventually."

With a sinking feeling, Tony turned his attention to the participants and saw that is was Tim's turn. There were four other darts in the target, all near the center.

"Ouch. That's going to be a tough shot." As he watched, Tim carefully took aim and threw the dart in one fluid motion straight to the target where it buried itself in the center.

"WAY TO GO, PROBIE!" he yelled as he jumped to his feet. The others were hooting and cheering, and the men in his group all brought their atlatls over to rub on Tim's.

"Why are they doing that?" Tony asked Mary as he settled back into his seat.

"He's transferring his good luck to the rest of the flight."

"Ah. Makes sense."

They watched the rest of the contest, and while Tim didn't make any more shots like the first one, he did seem to be doing really well. After the last shot, the groups gathered around their respective scorekeepers to check their scores before heading back to gathering of spectators. The next two groups left as the first returned, and Tim walked over to Tony, slightly flushed and with a happy expression on his face.

"How did you do?" asked Mary before Tony could.

"89 X. New Personal Best."

"That's great! Maybe tomorrow you'll break 90."

Tim chuckled. "Or I'll wind up with the Ugly Necklace."

"What's that?" asked Tony. He was still grinning over his friend's score.

"The person who throws their personal best qualifying score one day, and doesn't manage to qualify at all the next day wears the Ugly Necklace for that day. Everyone who wears it add something random to it, so it's basically a collection of strange junk strung on a string."

"Oh. You know something? You people have some weird traditions."

"Now don't forget, Tony, you want to be one of us."

"He does?"

"He says he wants to be initiated."

"Really?" A worried look crossed the younger man's face. "Are you sure about this, Tony?"

"Of course, McGee. Anything you can do, I can do, right?"

"I…I guess." McGee still seemed a little worried, which did wonders for Tony's confidence, but he wasn't about to let his uncertainty show.

"He needs a sponsor, too, Tim. Remember?"

"Oh yeah, that's right. I can sponsor you, Tony, but only if you're absolutely sure."

"I am. Bring on the Ooga Booga!"

XXX

After the final scores were tallied, the group headed off to complete the various local contests. Tony wasn't in the greatest mood after his ISAC, however.

"Look on the bright side, Tony. At least you qualified."

"In the kid's division, McGee."

"Still, it wasn't bad for a first try. You actually did better than I did my first time."

"Really?"

"Yeah. By one point."

Tony groaned. "Great…"

They headed of into the woods to start the Hunter's Challenge and Tony decided to get a little payback.

"You sure you want to be in here, McGee? I'm sure there's plenty of poison ivy in here just waiting to make your acquaintance."

"No, there isn't. They started an eradication program a couple of years ago and it's all gone."

"Oh. Lucky for you."

They made it to the first target, which was a silhouette of a mammoth with a small round bullseye in the center. They took turns throwing one dart at a time for a total of three turns. Tim hit the target all three times, including once in the bullseye, and Tony managed two out of three.

"You're getting better, Tony. Really."

"Thanks. Hey, Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you do this?"

"Because it's fun, Tony."

"That's the only reason?"

"Well, no. It gives me a chance to get away from everything. I'm not in front of a computer, or using a gun, or doing something that may or may not get me killed on a daily basis. It's a simple way of escaping all of that, just for a little while."

"And yet you let me tag along, a big reminder of 'all that'. What gives?"

"I guess…I guess I figured maybe you could use a break, too. Besides, where else can I watch my partner make a fool of himself and not get slapped in the head in the process?" he asked with a slight grin.

"Not going to be making a fool of myself much longer, Tim. I'm getting better, remember?"

"Yep, you are. Now come on. I think we have a saber-tooth cat waiting for us a little bit further down the trail."

"Awesome. Let's go get that kitty."

XXX

They emerged from the woods nearly an hour later, and Tony was surprised at how tired he was. The other targets (a total of ten) had each been a challenge, and at the end Tony actually felt a sense of accomplishment. He had gotten better, and he finally had to admit that Tim was right: it was fun.

They stopped to watch a few other contests, and Tim introduced Tony to more of the participants. They were an interesting bunch of people to say the least, and much more accepting of newcomers than he had expected. The wariness and suspicion he experienced on the job hadn't touched these people as much as he was used to, and it was kind of refreshing to see.

Finally, after all of the serious contests had been completed, the organizers of the even brought out the games. Tony would never have though of playing tic-tac-toe by throwing darts at the squares, or a game of twister by having the "spinner" instead throw darts at squares containing the various instructions, but somehow it worked. After the game was over, a group of the men set up a moving target, a large square of foam strung between two pulleys that could be moved back and forth by tugging on the ropes, and Tony had laughed until his sides ached at everyone's attempts to hit it.

"It's a lot easier when it's standing still," groused Tim after he had missed yet again.

"Where's the fun in that, Timmy?"

Tim had, in turn, ribbed the older man after he failed to hit the target, but the digs had been accompanied by a happy grin. It was just fun, after all.

As the sun started to sink in the sky, the participants started to gather together to fix dinner. Several of the overnight campers had brought charcoal smokers, the grills in the picnic area were lit and soon the smells of grilling meat filled the air. The group got a big kick out of Tony's contribution (and Tim's expression when he saw the traditional campfire desert fixings), and the meal was one of the most relaxed gatherings Tony could remember. He fully understood Tim's reason for joining this group. It really was nice to leave the usual worries behind for awhile.

After the meal, which had consisted of various game that Tony had never tried before, as well as more traditional picnic side dishes, the participants sat around chatting. Tony discovered that the group was even more diverse than he thought. In addition to the professor and artists he had met earlier, he became acquainted with elementary school teachers, businessmen, electricians and plumbers, store managers, real estate agents, a couple of police officers, a librarian, several college students, and even a preacher. Despite the oddity of their hobbies, and their obvious love of an unusual pastime, the people here were well grounded, and Tony was pleased to find that he was truly enjoying their company.

As it grew dark, most of the group left the picnic area and headed to the campfire circle, barely visible through the trees. Tony and three other people had decided to go through the initiation, and they and their sponsors were soon alone in the picnic area. The four sponsors huddled together, deep in conversation, while the initiates sat watching nervously. Finally a lone figure approached, carrying a torch, and invited the group to follow to just outside of the campfire grounds.

"Wait here and we will call for you one at a time. Your sponsor will instruct you before you meet the leader. Good luck."

Soon the first initiate was called, and the rest waited with apprehension. Soon a chant was heard from the campfire circle.

"Oo-ga, Boo-ga, Oo-ga, Boo-ga…"

To Tony, it was both a little ridiculous and creepy as hell. For the second time that day, he wondered just what in the hell he was getting himself into. He glanced at Tim, who was staring, expressionless, towards the campfire area.

Suddenly the area was silent, and, after a few tense moments, a cheer erupted from beyond the trees. Soon they saw the light from the torch approaching once again.

Tony took a deep breath. It was his turn. He turned to McGee. "You've got my six, Tim?"

"Always, Tony."

"Alright. Let's go."

XXX

As they made their way back to the campground, Tony grumbled while Tim chuckled at his colorful phrases.

"I can't believe you made me do that, Probie."

"Hey, you were the one who wanted to be initiated. I was just following your wishes." He looked over at the other man and grinned. "But look on the bright side: you'll never have to go through that again."

"That's good, 'cause once was bad enough."

"You should be proud, Tony. Your scream was definitely the loudest of the night."

"Yeah, but I have it on good authority that yours was louder." He stopped and looked at his partner. "You planned this, didn't you? From the time I said I wanted to go yesterday."

"Before that, actually."

"You are an evil man, Tim McGee."

"Yeah, well, I learned from the best."

Finally Tony laughed. "That you did."

"And now, being the master that you are, you're wondering who we can get to join us next time."

"You would be right, Probie-wan. Who do you think? Abby or Ziva?"

"Uh, neither. One would kill us and leave no forensic evidence, and the other would just kill us, probably with a paperclip."

"I guess they're out, then." They made it another hundred yards before Tony stopped and turned to McGee. "I've got it…"

They looked at each other, grinned, and said one word in unison.

"Palmer!"

Both men burst out laughing and continued walking. Finally, they made it to their tents and got ready to turn in for the night.

"Tim?"

"Yeah, Tony?"

"Thanks for tricking me into coming along. As much as I hate to admit it, I had a good time."

"You're welcome."

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"When's the next Knap-In?"

"I'll let you know. Good night, Tony."

McGee crawled into his tent and Tony did the same. After he had changed for bed, he moved over to the side of the tent closest to his neighbor.

"Tim?"

"What?"

"Oooga Booga!"

He heard a soft chuckle.

"Ooga Booga, Tony. G'night."

With a smile, Tony went back to his sleeping bag, crawled inside, and closed his eyes. he had barely enough time to reflect that it had been a good day, with time away from the worries of the modern world, before he fell into an exhausted, yet untroubled sleep.

The End

A/N: Knap-Ins and atlatl contests are real events, and the ISAC is a real contest. The local contests described in this story were drawn from a variety of those held at events around the country.

The logo described is for the World Atlatl Association. No infringement or offense intended.

As for the "initiation", it is real, too. I can't tell you any more about it, though, because the First Rule of Ooga Booga… ;)

Thanks for reading!