A/N: I just realised how disgustingly long it's been since I up-dated this... I apologise to anyone who hasn't forgotten all about it. As a small comfort, however, this is rather long.
To say I was nervous about meeting Bell would be a lie. I was not nervous, I was terrified. He had spanked me a number of times during our several years' long friendship and both times had been decidedly un-pleasant. One time had been for taking drugs and the other had been for being careless with my life. I had a nagging feeling that both offenses, besides hurting Innes, was going to lead to long, and on my part painful, discussion with Bell.
In spite of my nervousness I was not quite ready to admit I had been completely wrong yet. I was angry at Bell for interfering with my life and I was angry with myself for letting it get so far that Innes wrote to him. I could not bring myself to be angry at Innes, though. Part of me wanted to fall on my knees and apologize for worrying him and beg him to forgive me. That was only part of me however. Another part wanted to shout at the Doctor and tell him to mind his own business and take Innes with me home and pretend there was nothing wrong. Then there was a third part, one which I hated to acknowledge. The third part wanted to curl up like a child and cry.
Anyways, all the parts were painfully agreed that they did not want to be spanked by Bell. In fact, they all wanted to stay on the train forever and hide from the harsh words I knew would come. When my train reached the station in Edinburgh it was therefore very reluctantly I got out.
Bell was already at the platform when I exited the train. He looked just disapproving as I had expected and with a deep breath I began to slowly approach him. He made no move towards me and the agonizing walk toward him seems to take ages.
"Doyle", the Doctor greeted me. I suddenly found my mouth very dry and simply nodded in reply. Bell patted my shoulder, tensely.
"Your luggage?" he asked. I held up the suit-case in my hand and he nodded. I followed him out from the station, with a feeling I looked rather like a puppy following its master. With the same expressionless face as before he held open the door to a cab that stood waiting for us and I entered obediently. Our ride was tense and neither of us spoke. I was uncertain whether the Doctor wanted to punish me by silence or whether he was too angry to speak. Somehow I hoped for the former.
Bell's home was not far from the station and we reached it far more quickly than I like. In the cab I was at least safe from punishment. The Doctor exited quickly and I had no choice but to follow, trailing behind him and receiving my luggage from the driver while Bell paid him. Then I was sent into the house with a curt gesture. He followed and took my coat as soon as we were inside.
"The drawing room", he ordered and I obeyed immediately. I stood stiffly in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with myself and feeling like a schoolboy sent to the headmaster's office.
"I sent Innes to visit your mother", Bell said as he entered and I nodded, not knowing how else to reply.
The Doctor's eyes roamed over me with a stern expression, but there was also something thoughtful in his gaze. He pointed a finger at the couch and indicated his head for me to sit down. I obeyed, feeling that there was no reason to aggravate him more than necessary. After all, the coming punishment would be severe enough anyways.
Bell took a seat in an armchair opposite me and once again levelled a hard gaze at me. I folded my hands in my lap and kept my eyes locked on them. I was unable to meet his eyes at the moment. The Doctor didn't speak, and as I waited for him to begin my nervousness increased tenfold. I don't know for how long we sat in silence; it felt like several minutes but might have been much less.
"Well..?" I finally dared to venture. Bell raised his eyebrows.
"Well?" he repeated and I sighed. I should have known he had no intention of making things easy for me.
"What are you going to do?" I asked. Bell crossed his arms.
"I thought I made quite clear in my telegram what my intentions are", he replied, rather coldly. Miserably, I nodded.
"Now?" I croaked out, my voice probably sounding just as pathetic as I thought. The Doctor sighed.
"I don't know", he admitted. "Your recent behaviour has been… completely out of line. Do you understand that?"
Once again I nodded. Bell too nodded slightly, indicating he had understood, and then turned to gaze out the window, looking tired and worn. I almost winced, realising that his wary complexion was probably because of me. For a while he kept looking out the window, then he sighed once more and turned back to look at me.
"This is what we are going to do", he began calmly, "You are going to outline exactly what you have done wrong, and then you will explain why these things are wrong."
I felt heat mounting my face. This was going to be excruciatingly humiliating, though I suppose it wasn't more than fair.
"I...", I began hesitantly, "I got drunk."
That wasn't all too painful to admit. I had drunk too much before and though Bell was always highly displeased he would let it go with a long lecture.
"You did", Bell confirmed, "Continue."
"I..." I started again but Bell interrupted me with a shake of the head.
"No, not yet", he said, "First, explain why you cannot drink excessively."
"It affects one's judgement, and leads to unconsidered decisions."
"Correct. And?" Bell inquired. I shrugged helplessly, feeling very much like a student who had not done his homework properly. "Consider the medical properties of alcohol."
"Oh", I said and blushed. Of course. "It's dangerous because of itself, affecting various parts of the body negatively."
It was easier to speak of it if I imagined we were discussing something other than my own behaviour. I had grown used to being a student of Bell and arriving at conclusions after his prodding was not at all uncomfortable. He, of course, had no intention of letting me remain in the blissful state of pretending we were discussing alcohol purely abstractly.
"Do you think it is worth a few hours of oblivion, then, to imbibe this poison that causes you to lose all common sense and which is also, as you forgot to mention, addictive?"
I closed my eyes and shook my head. It was not, and under ordinary circumstances my drinking was uncommonly sparse, mostly because of Bell, but the period after the case had not been ordinary.
"Neither do I", the Doctor said, "Now continue. And look at me."
Obediently I opened my eyes to look at Bell's stern and quietly disapproving face.
"I got into a fight", I admitted. I wasn't certain whether this was known to him or not, but if it was I'd rather not take chances and if it wasn't, well; he'd probably find out anyways. "Which is, eh... which I cannot do because it is dangerous and should only be done when absolutely necessary. Which it wasn't."
"And more?" Bell prompted, "Consider your opponent, Doyle."
I frowned thoughtfully, all the while wishing that Bell would just tell me instead of making me work it out myself. This was much worse than any lecture, for even though Bell could scold quite efficiently it simply was not the same hearing what you have done wrong as outlining it yourself. And with Bell as the interrogator there would of course be no simple explanations; everything had to be dissected until I felt my actions might have been those of either a child or a halfwit.
"It was dangerous for him to", I said at length, for this was something that had not really occurred to me before. I was not really a troublemaker; I didn't provoke men into fighting so I saw any injuries on his part as something he, not I, was responsible for. It really is the only way to fight, otherwise doubts will afflict you throughout the fight and you will lose. Of course Bell was quite happy to point out the flaws in my reasoning. Or rather, letting me do it myself. "Since I was partly responsible for the fight, it follows that I am partly responsible for any injuries he received."
I resolved not to mention that it was in fact mostly my opponent's fault and that since he was twice my size I didn't actually injure him much, instead facing any disapproval from the Doctor as an adult and not childishly defend myself.
My resolve immediately crumbled as I was subjected to Bell's stern frown and I urgently voiced my protests.
"He was the instigator, though!" I insisted, "And he was hardly injured at all."
Bell raised his eyebrows. "Aye, but you obviously continued it. And if you hardly injured him at all, the danger was obviously greater for yourself."
I spluttered at the injustice of this. Using my words against me like that was simply cruel.
"You can hardly contest it", Bell simply said, infuriatingly calm. "Continue, if you please."
We were rapidly approaching the difficult parts of my involuntary confessional. I was trying to work out whether it was less awful to admit that I had taken opiates or that I had worried Innes enough to make him write to the Doctor. The drugs would be enough to make him want to murder me; that I knew. He had never approved of it, and it had been what drove him to using corporal punishment in the first place. One the other hand, he was also very disapproving of any cruelty towards Innes and made me feel unbelievably remorseful any time I was unwarrantedly harsh with him.
I decided to allow cowardice to rule me a while longer and start with what he already knew.
"I hurt Innes", I said, feeling absolutely miserable.
"That you did", Bell said, letting me wallow in my misery with a long pause. "Why is it you cannot do this?"
"Because he's my brother!" I exclaimed, "A child! He does not deserve to suffer because of me. It was cruel of me to subject him to it."
At this point I buried my face in my hands, unwilling to face Bell and unwilling to let him see the tears that were forming in my eyes.
I heard Bell move, and I felt him take a seat next to me and put an arm around my shoulders.
"Doyle, look at me", he commanded. I didn't obey him, just shook my head slightly without looking up. "Arthur."
The tone of his voice together with the use of my Christian name was something I simply dared not ignore. I raised my head and turned to face him.
"You weren't cruel, Doyle", he said, squeezing my shoulder gently. "Irresponsible, maybe, and certainly inconsiderate, but not cruel."
I shook my head. "I hurt him, Doctor! First he sees his father acting like... acting like that, and then I act like I did! Doesn't he deserve some sort of stability in his life?"
"He does", Bell agreed. "And you should provide him with it, but that you failed to do so for a little while is not the same as cruelty."
I shook my head frantically and turned away again. He just did not understand. Innes was my brother and I had a responsibility to see to him. Failing to do that wasn't merely some oversight, it was far more serious.
"Doyle", Bell repeated sternly. "You made a mistake. You will be punished for it, but I forbid you to wallow in guilt like this."
I shook off his arm in annoyance and rose, taking a few quick steps before crossing my arms, still turned away from him. Bell rose too, and grabbed my shoulder rather harshly before spinning me around to face him.
"Why is it you torture yourself like this?" he asked, giving me a slight shake, "Why do you let guilt consume you?"
The questions were far too revealing for me to try and answer them, so instead I pulled away from his hand and decided to go with the time honoured tradition that the best defence is a good offence.
"You're one to ask!" I retorted angrily, "If I hadn't spoken to those boys you would have let the case be and you would have drifted off into apathy! And you lecture me about what to do with guilt!"
Bell's lips thinned, out of anger or hurt I couldn't tell, but the look in his eyes was just cold. Briefly I thought he would leave it at that, not bothering to punish me, just sending me away and never speak to me again. The prospect was chilling and I briefly struggled with myself about whether to fall on my knees and apologise or hold on to my anger. I did not want him to leave me alone. No matter how much I sometimes raged about being treated like a child, I did not want him to leave me alone.
But I couldn't bring myself to be the good, apologetic child and student just yet.
"I would much prefer if you indulged in apathy rather than this self destructive behaviour!" Bell snapped back. "You are hurting yourself, Doyle!"
I clenched my jaw tightly to keep from shouting or screaming. I knew I was hurting myself. I was not a complete fool and I knew that I was not taking care of myself as I should. What Bell did not understand was that there was nothing else to do.
How was I supposed to just go on as always when I felt like I was being torn into pieces? Whenever I lay down to sleep or rest thoughts and feelings started reeling in my mind, filling me with nervous energy that demanded to be let out. I paced and read and did everything else I could think of, but nothing drove the demons from my mind so I turned to chemical diversions. Alcohol did little to help when I was alone I my rooms, but if I roamed the streets it was dimming enough to offer some solace. Opium, on the other hand, and its subtypes with which I experimented brought oblivion on itself and though I was acutely aware of the dangers of addiction the allure of that small respite was stronger than my caution.
"Doyle!" the Doctor demanded harshly.
To my great embarrassment my only response to that was a ragged sob. Bell was instantly at my side, no longer angry or stern, just gently concerned. He put his hand gently on my shoulder and with the other on my back he steered me back to the couch where he made me sit down with a slight push. I was half crying, half just breathing very unevenly and when I realised my hands were shaking I pushed them harshly into my lap. Bell put his arm around me and gently rubbed my shoulder, all the while speaking calmly and comfortingly in pointless platitudes.
I hated this. During the long hours without sleep I had wanted to write to him many, many times. I wanted him to show up at my doorstep and take over all responsibility, take care of everything and tell me what to do. I wanted him to comfort me.
The problem was that wanting that comfort made me feel even worse. Because Bell was not my father and though he filled the role wonderfully I did have an actual father. Letting Bell do any of the things that a father would do, be it to comfort me or punish me, made me excruciatingly aware of how much closer I was to him than my real father, and that filled me with shame and guilt. I let my father rot in an asylum whilst I sought out another to act in his place.
"Talk to me, Arthur."
This time it wasn't an order or a command. It was a soft, gentle request, as much for his own sake as mine, I think. The Doctor genuinely cared for me, as he had demonstrated a number of times, not seldom by calling me on my mistakes, and I suppose seeing me in such despair must hurt him. I knew it hurt me whenever Innes was unhappy, and yet that was never more than a few tears after a fight with some boy or a scolding by a teacher.
"I hate this", I said quietly. "I feel... I don't know. I'm confused."
That was all I could manage at the moment. Bell stayed quiet for a while, softly massaging my shoulder. I hesitatingly leant closer and in response Bell tightened his grip.
"We have time..." he said, "You need not hurry."
Gratefully I pushed the need to speak out of mind and allowed myself to calm. The Doctor's presence at my side was soothing and for a while I could ignore the part of my mind that told me it was wrong to let him comfort me and simply believe that he could chase away the demons.
"I am sorry", I said at last. "Do you wish me to continue?"
"Aye, please do", Bell said and I straightened. It was a half unconscious move, but I suspect that confessing my misdemeanours whilst leaning against Bell was far too vulnerable a state to put myself it. Bell obligingly moved his arm and allowed me to put some distance between us.
"I... that is..." I said and then halted, unsure how to phrase what I was about to say, "I might have taken... opiates. Sir."
The last was added as an afterthought, a desperate attempt to calm the anger I knew would come. Squirming uncomfortably I waited for the flood to break lose, almost expecting to pulled across the Doctor's lap without any further ceremony. Bell very much disapproved of me using drugs, and even without the rest of what I had done it would warrant punishment. Together with all that I had done, I was slightly afraid to even consider what Bell would do.
"You might have taken opiates?" Bell repeated, a dangerous undertone in his calm voice. I nodded. "Answer, please."
"Yes, sir", I said, with some difficulty for my vocal chords had suddenly decided not to co-operate with me.
"Did you take opiates?"
"Yes, sir."
Bell sighed and shook his head slowly.
"What am I to do with you, Doyle?" he said, "Have you no sense at all?"
I decided that it was probably a rhetorical question and waited patiently for him to continue. Patiently, but not calmly. I had not been truly afraid of what the Doctor might do for several years, and before that my only concern had been that he would throw me out from the university, but I still dreaded the prospect of being put across his knee and feeling his hand or his belt hitting my backside painfully. Being spanked by Bell was something I would easily trade for one of the canings at school. Not because it was more painful, but because it was much more invasive.
"Well, I suppose there's not much point in adjourning any further", Bell pronounced, "Is there anything else I should know about?"
"Well..." I began, with a childish need to be completely honest, "I lied; in my letter. I was not well. And I was not eating regularly. Nor sleeping. And I was careless with some chemicals I was working with. I was rude to Mrs. Williams and I..."
"Doyle", Bell interrupted me and belatedly I realised that I had been rambling. I blushed. "I think that we may safely label all that under carelessness. Except lying, which I think this little conversation has been a sufficient reminder not to do, correct?"
"Indeed", I agreed. "In that case I do not believe there is anything else."
Bell nodded softly. "Lower you trousers then, Doyle."
I rose and obeyed, my hands trembling a little as I unbuckled my belt and at Bell's gesture I slid it out of its loops and handed it to him. Then I stepped closer to Bell, standing immediately by his side, and let my trouser slide down to my thighs. With his hands guiding me I lowered myself over the Doctor's lap. He at once pulled down my underpants and my exposure was complete.
He began with his hand. The feeling was considerably more familiar than I liked, but the sting of it still made me gasp slightly. Bell took no notice of it and continued rhythmically, putting a lot of force behind the swats. Soon enough my backside was burning all over with a slow, stinging fire.
"Since we have already discussed it at length, I imagine you know what you did wrong", the Doctor spoke after several more swats had rained down on my backside, "but I would like you to tell me why you did it."
An even harder question, and trust the Doctor to ask it when I was in a position that made it difficult to focus on anything but the steady rising and falling of his far too hard hand. But I had told him that before, and the outcome had not been anything I desired to experience again. So I would attempt to answer his question honestly; the only problem being that I really didn't know the reason for my actions.
"I- I don't know", I said. Bell did not pause but I imagined I could sense him nodding thoughtfully.
"Well, let us consider it together then", he said, ""You drank; why?"
"I don't know."
I did know, I suppose, when he put it like that, but I had no desire to admit it. I had drunk to forget, and to dim the memories. It was partly difficult to admit because it was so personal, and I was not used to sharing my personal concerns. Bell knew of most of them, of course, but it was with great reluctance I voiced any personal worries.
"Wrong answer, Doyle", he said, both infuriatingly and soothingly calm, "Try again, please."
I can lie as well as the next man, I think, with the great exception being lying to Bell. Lying to him when I'm over his knee is nigh on impossible. So the only way to keep from telling the truth was to keep from talking at all. I suppose it might have been childishly stubborn of me to try to remain stoically silent, and I also suppose I knew very well that there was no chance of me not answering in the end. But being spanked by the Doctor brought out childish impulses in me; my subconscious seemed to decide that if I were to be treated like a child I were to feel and think like a child. Therefore I did nothing but shake my head in reply to his question.
"Arthur..." the Doctor said with exasperation. "Do you really think that defiance is a strategy beneficial to you? I can keep this up for a long time, and if my hand starts hurting intolerably I can always use your belt. I suggest you answer the question."
The suggestion was beginning to appear very sensible. I had little doubt that Bell would indeed keep it up until there was a risk of causing me real damage, and I would be in considerable pain before that. And if I knew the Doctor he would simply stop and then resume where he left off the next day.
"I wanted to forget, all right!" I snapped after a few more moments. Bell did not like the tone of my voice, if the three sudden, hard swats to my thighs was anything to go by.
"Try again", was all he said, though.
"I wanted to forget, sir", I repeated more civilly.
"Wanted to forget what?"
Damn the Doctor and his difficult questions! I wanted to forget those things, not list them. I wanted to drown the guilt, not speak it.
"I don't want to say", I replied petulantly. I fully expected a rebuke, or some harder than normal swats, but what I got was a sigh.
"Let us leave that for the moment, then", Bell said, "I am going to assume you used other drugs for the same reasons. What about fighting?"
Damn his pedagogical questions, forcing me to face my actions. And by now it was difficult to talk without my voice breaking, for tears were beginning to form in my eyes and sobs were threatening to break out.
"S-same reason", I said. Bell seemed to realise that my brevity was not rudeness, but a genuine inability to form longer sentences for he accepted the answer.
"So everything you did was because you wished to forget? Then I think you need to tell what it is you wanted to forget."
"I d-do not want t-to", I stuttered, now half sobbing.
"That may be, but I want you to", Bell said. "Now, Arthur."
At that point I was beyond childish defiance and had moved on to childish compliance. It seemed right to obey Bell, and to do as he said. At least it seemed like a comfortable and safe option.
"I-I felt g-guilty. Guilty."
"About what?" the Doctor ploughed on, relentlessly.
Damn him. I did not want to share this, not because I did not trust Bell but because I did want to admit it even to myself. If I admitted it, it was real and then I really had a reason to feel guilty.
"Doyle."
As usual I could not bring myself to defy him when he used that tone of voice, saying nothing but my name but infusing into it so much meaning he might as well have held a brief speech.
"F-father", I said, "About father."
"You felt guilty about your father", Bell repeated, "Very well. What, more precisely?"
"A-asylum", I said. Forming sentences seemed far too difficult, and I knew Bell would understand. If he could deduce a man's innermost ambitions from the cut of his clothes he could surely figure out what I meant.
Bell sighed and suddenly stopped spanking me. Strong arms righted me and I was suddenly kneeling on the floor in front of Bell, his hand still around my shoulder.
"You father is in the best place he can be", he said, "I understand that his illness pains you, but surely you see that there is nothing else you can do?"
I did not see. Half the time I knew that there was in fact nothing I could do, but the other half I was convinced that I had failed as a son. And my failings were made even worse by the fact that I was a fairly good son to another man. And by the fact that a double-murderer had taken care of his loved one better than I took care of my own flesh and blood. What did that make me – morally inferior to a murderer?
"I should look after him myself", I mumbled after a while; calm enough to speak in coherent sentences although my backside was still burning painfully. "Blaney managed – why not I?"
"Blaney was a murderer", Bell said. "Hardly a suitable figure to model your actions after."
In a strange way the Doctor's sharp sarcasm soothed me a little. It meant he was not too angry with me any longer, and most importantly it meant that he didn't think my concerns should be taken seriously, because if he thought they were in any way well-founded he wouldn't mock them.
"Besides", Bell continued, "it is quite possible that it was the... illness of his wife and his desire to look after her personally that pushed him into the role of a murderer. I am not saying that caring for your father yourself would push to anything like murder, but it shows what a great strain such a burden is. A strain which you do not deserve!"
"And my father deserves being in that asylum?" I snapped back, but immediately realised that my position was not ideal for arguing. "I'm sorry. It's just that my father doesn't deserve his fate either. Why should my well-being be put over his?"
Bell sighed and stroked my hair softly.
"Two reasons", he said, "You father would be little better off with you; his illness is advanced and his suffering, I fear, is unavoidable. However, such an arrangement would affect you considerably."
"The other reason?"
"I care for you, Doyle", Bell said, "I don't even know your father."
I smiled at that. It was unlike Bell, in a way, to have such a personal reason instead of moral arguments. I liked it, I suppose; liked that he changed parts of his behaviour for me.
"One more question before we finish", he then said, brisk again, "Why did you not come to me?"
Since I had already revealed everything else, you would imagine that telling him this would be simple. But somehow admitting that I felt guilty about wanting his comfort was a very unappealing prospect. I briefly considered not answering, then lying but since neither would work I gave in to telling the truth. Leaning my forehead against his knee, not caring how childish it made me look, I confessed.
"You're not my father... and... well, I shouldn't want your... comfort. Not when my father is alive."
"But in no condition to be a father to you! You should have come."
I nodded. I should have. And I didn't because I was already so caught up in a spiral of self-reproach and despair.
"I think", Bell continued when I said nothing, "that you did come to me in a way. You knew perfectly well that I would hear about your conduct, and react to it. You wanted my attention, correct?"
I considered this for a moment. Yes, I had wanted Bell to come. Had my actions been an attempt to force him to take action? Possibly. If I made myself look rationally at my actions and discern my motives without letting emotions rule me I had to concede that attracting Bell's attention and paternal care was part of my reason for acting as I did. Or at least for the more extravagant parts, which could have served their purpose of dimming my sense of guilt just as well had they been less conspicuous.
"Yes", I said at length, "I wanted your attention. If I did not ask for it, it would not be a betrayal to my father."
"Oh, Doyle...", the Doctor muttered, "You have such peculiar notions of guilt and betrayal... I imagine it is your Catholic upbringing. But that is not the point at the moment. In spite of you having somewhat reasonable motives for what you did, I in no way find it acceptable. Understood?"
I nodded, but since I received nothing but a light slap to the head in reply I confirmed verbally. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Then you understand that your punishment needs to be to be a sufficient deterrent for this kind of behaviour, even if you did achieve your goal of getting my attention, correct?"
Damn how I hated his logic at that moment. Of course it was perfectly logical; if I were to be deterred from acting like I had again the punishment needed to outweigh the gains, and that meant a severe punishment. But that it was logical did not make it less unpleasant.
"I understand, Doctor", I said and then I continued, hating how small and childish I sounded. "But I am already sufficiently deterred. Perhaps we could leave it at this?"
A small smiled formed on Bell's face and he patted my cheek patronisingly. "No, we couldn't. How long can you stay away from your practice?"
I shrugged. "A week or two; maybe longer. Why?"
"You're staying with me for some time", he said, "At the moment I don't want you to live alone. And Innes can stay either here as well or with your mother. You two will have to decide together."
"Bell...", I began in a whine but was cut off by a hard look and raised eyebrows. "All right."
"Now, as for the rest of your punishment; I will give you a belting..."
I paled at that and began to interrupt him but he silenced me by raising a hand and continued. "You deserve nothing less for your foolish actions. Also, the University is re-organising its exhibit of natural history. You will volunteer your services in cataloguing the items."
A groan escaped me and I again buried my face against the Doctor's knee. Cataloguing exhibit items was not a particularly rewarding occupation and I could already feel the boredom of hours of meticulously copying down descriptions of fossils and stuffed animals. Bell rapped his knuckles on my head, rather sharply actually, and chuckled.
"Stand up now and let us get the belting over with. You brother will return in time for dinner, and I imagine you will want some time to compose yourself before that."
Suddenly a thought occurred to me. Just how much had Bell told Innes? I trusted the Doctor to comfort my little brother and ease his concerns, but I was far from comfortable with certain things being revealed to Innes. I had some pride, after all.
"Doctor..?" I said, "What have you told Innes?"
"The truth", Bell replied calmly, "He's your brother, and your actions hurt him considerably. He deserves to know."
"You're right", I conceded with a sigh. "Though it embarrasses me."
"A little embarrassment won't kill you", Bell said, "Now stand up!"
I obeyed, and again was pulled over the Doctor's knee. I was almost shivered in frightened anticipation. This would hurt.
The first stroke came, leaving a stripe of burning pain that quickly spread and before I had time to grow accustomed to the additional pain in my backside the next stroke fell. It continued like that for what seemed like a very long time, and soon I was gasping and moaning at every stroke. Shortly afterwards my eyes teared and I started crying in earnest.
Of course it was not entirely because of the pain. I was after all a regular practiser of both rugby and boxing, and had received plenty of hurts in my days. But at that moment, across the Doctor's lap, I was feeling far too much to no cry. Pain, of course; guilt, because in spite of how much I trusted Bell he could not erase my guilt with a few words; shame that I had acted so stupidly; relief that Bell would take care of everything and genuine regret.
"I-I'm sorry", I stuttered, "S-sorry."
"I know", Bell said, but he did not stop. Soon I was thinking of nothing but the pain, allowing my sobs to rack my body and desperately gripping Bell's leg in a childish attempt to make the pain go away.
Despite what it had seemed like and what I had feared it did not, naturally, go on forever. The Doctor stopped and pulled me up into an embrace, resting my head against his shoulders and mumbling soothing words. The ones that registered were telling me to breathe slowly and deeply and feeling that this was good advice I obeyed, forcing my lungs to take in air in deep, slow gushes. When I had stopped sobbing I remained leant against Bell, letting him rub my back and for the moment not caring how completely scandalous our position was.
"Calm down..." Bell muttered, "There's a good lad..."
His praise and soft words soothed me, letting my tears melt away into nothing but memories and though the pain in my backside was fresh enough I sobered soon and pulled away from the Doctor. I pulled up my trousers and buttoned them, then accepted my belt from Bell and put it on as well.
"Doyle..." Bell began and I looked up at him, blushing only slightly. "Don't be embarrassed. I have done this before, have I not, and there has been no permanent harm."
"I know", I said, "It's just that... Well, I'm an adult, and it is hardly entirely... appropriate for you to... punish me like that."
"Doyle, you forget that I have known you since you were practically a child", Bell retorted, "and besides, you are not much older now."
I silenced at that, for I had no particular desire to hear the Doctor tell me of how young I was, nor how much I deserved to be spanked like a misbehaving child. Actually being spanked was reminder enough of those things.
When I said nothing more Bell took hold of my chin and studied my face intently. My cheeks heated slightly under his close scrutiny; not as much because I was embarrassed as because his gaze was uncomfortably focused on me. He seemed to be pleased with what he saw, for he let go of my chin and patted my shoulder.
"Do you want to rest now or help me with my experiments with phosphoric acid?"
"Rest, if you don't mind", I said, "Perhaps I can assist you later?"
"Of course, Doyle", Bell said. "You know where your room is, correct?"
I nodded and with Bell's hand on my back we exited the room, my walk stiff and painful. Outside the door I turned to retire to the guestroom but a cough from Bell stopped me. I turned to look at him, hoping I looked politely inquisitive.
"I do care for you, Arthur", he said, "You know that, don't you?"
"Yes, Doctor, I know", I replied with a smile, completely honest.
There might or might not be a small epilogue, but otherwise this is finished. Thank you for reading and please review!