Shock exploded in Mike's ears before rage spurted from his gut a split-second later. A guttural growl ripped from his throat as he stared down his most challenging charge yet. Gibbs, to his credit, did not look away though he did look as though he couldn't believe what he'd just said. Before responding, Mike fought to hold back on his temper and closed his eyes. Any other probie, and he or she would be packing their bags and headed out the door. But Gibbs was no ordinary probie and he was hurting, and he would continue to hurt until the day he died. But, as unpalatable as that was, it didn't excuse him from conforming to the basics of common and social principles. One of those being the ability to hold one's tongue around one's boss. Mike moved stealthily, closing the gap between them until he was nearly toe-to-toe with a now positively furtive looking Gibbs. His words were coated in a thick layer of vibrating rage as his breath washed over the younger man's face.

"Would you care to repeat that, Probie?"

Swallowing subtly, Gibbs was conflicted. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but speaking to Mike the way he had done, now seemed like a grave error in judgement. It wasn't as if he was unused to the unorthodox methods of discipline the various branches of the Marines utilised. He'd been on both the receiving and giving end often enough to be very, very familiar with them indeed. And it wasn't as if he couldn't see how he had been wrong in his behaviour. Agree with them or not, he damn well knew the paramount importance of following orders. But it was as if he barely knew the man standing in front of him. Because he didn't, not really. He'd only been at NIS a wet week and yet here he was, with a man who didn't know shit about him, attempting to force discipline on him that he had long since considered himself above.

"No, I think you understood me, Boss."

Mike arched a pointed brow. "Do you indeed? Is that right? Well now, let me see if I can impart you with some understanding. You are the most belligerent, self-satisfied and smug son of a bitch that I have ever had the misfortune of training. You stand there, you jumped up little…" he caught himself and took a deep breath. "You stand there like a puffed up peacock and speak to me like that? You lost your damned mind, Probie? You think you're too good, too important for the chain of command now, is that it? You were a commanding officer once, so now you don't remember how to roll around at the bottom of the barrel, is that it?" He pursed his lips in blistering disapproval. "Well, let me tell you something, Gibbs, you sure as hell ain't too good or too important for the chain of command. And you definitely aren't going to swan around here like you once spent a glorious weekend with the goddamned Queen of England!"

Gibbs threw up a lazy brow.

"She's a little old for my taste, Boss. She might be nice for you though."

The headslap that reverberated around the room was the single hardest smack Mike had ever dished out. Gibbs yelped loudly and cursed under his breath as the impossible sting radiated throughout his entire skull. As he reached up instinctively to rub furiously, he faltered under Franks' warning gaze and let his hand fall back down, the pain unmassaged. "You do not," the older man growled quietly, "Under any circumstances, speak to me like that, you insolent little upstart. I don't care who you think you are," He threw his eyes around the room. "Because around here, you are nothing. You're a rookie, a greenhorn, a know-nothing probie. Everything you do, say or think is a reflection of me and I sure as hell ain't gonna have the entire damned agency thinking that I can't control an arrogant creature like you. Do you understand me?"

Gibbs blinked coolly.

"Sure, Boss, I understand you. You can't control me, I got it."

The second headslap wasn't as ferocious as the first but it still drew another yelp from its recipient. Knowing better than to attempt rubbing, Gibbs merely breathed through the stinging pain with an impressively passive face. "Probie," Mike sighed, "You have got to drop this damned attitude and knock that chip off your shoulder. You think this how I want to start off a working relationship? You've been here a week and I've had men under my command that went years without as many slaps as you've gotten round that thick head of yours." Gibbs snorted. "Clearly, they don't work on me then and you should think about giving them up."

Mike glared.

"Clearly, I'm just not slapping you hard enough and I should think about toughening them up."

"Christ," Gibbs muttered under his breath, dropping his gaze to the floor. Franks stared at the top of his dark hair thoughtfully and managed to see past his anger for just a moment. "Gibbs…what is it with you? I get that you're going through something no man should ever have to go through. I get that you're angry at everything, at the world. But this job…this is a way of doing something good. Of finding something good. You've never known the joy of finding a missing, injured husband, and reuniting him with his wife. Or rescuing a kid, or getting closure for someone who needs it to move on. There's good in this job, Probie. There's good and you need good. Nothing is ever gonna make you whole again but you need a reason to try anyway. This job is your reason. This job can be the reason you get up in the morning, and go to bed knowing you made a difference. You need a reason, Gibbs, everyone needs a reason." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Kelly and Shannon…they can be your reason."

He tilted his head to the side as Gibbs slowly looked up, his expression blank.

"Don't say their names."

Mike nodded immediately. "Sure thing, I won't, but you know what I'm saying is true. I don't know what it is about you because you may well be the most irritating, smug and insubordinate individual I have ever met, but I'd like to see you get your reason. I think it's the only thing that is gonna keep your head above water, Probie, I really think a reason is what you need. But, I can't force you. I won't force you. Whether or not you can get your head out of your ass to see sense is up to you. But one thing is up to me, and that's what I will and will not allow from you. I will not allow cheek, insubordination and a reckless streak in the field. This is not the Corps, there isn't a full squadron waiting to back you up. There's you and there's me, and whatever other buffoon the agency chucks at us. I can't go out there knowing that you don't have my back and knowing you don't trust me to have yours. Your arrogance and lack of respect will get you shot, Gibbs, and a bullet don't give a damn about whether or not you think you're too good to as you're god damned told."

Silence pressed into every corner of the room.

Gibbs' mind was spinning. There was a marked slump in his shoulders as he thought. Images of Kelly and Shannon were swimming before his eyes. He was still spiralling and he knew it. He didn't have the discipline he used to have, didn't have the ingrained level of respect for a job that needed to be done. He had resisted Mike's offer of a job at first on that very basis. He knew he was a wild card, because he was always so flaming angry at the world and at everything in it. His own careful sense of self preservation he'd had in the Corps was gone, because there wasn't a wife and child to leave behind anymore. Because he was the one who had been left behind and the burning, heaving injustice of that had him treating his life like a fickle flame in the wind. On the other hand, he couldn't deny that in just the space of a week; he had felt the faintest tingling of purpose. Working a case, although a new skill set, was refreshing. Small snippets of time when his brain was occupied with something other than an irrevocable loss.

Shame suddenly flooded through him as he remembered his basic, ingrained Corps training.

"Boss," he murmured suddenly, "I'm… sorry for how I spoke to you. Whatever our differences, on this case and in general, you are my superior and I should have had more respect for the chain of command. I might be new to this but I damn sure ain't new to a basic hierarchy and the importance of it. So, I'll watch my mouth from now on." He hesitated. "If there is a 'from now on', I guess." Surprise flooded Mike as he stared down his fledgling protégé, before understanding took its place. Having both learned and taught the chain of command, Gibbs would have seen the fatal consequences that ensued when it was broken. He softened internally, but kept his face pressed into a stern mask of disapproval. "Never say you're sorry, it's a sign of weakness. That's rule number six, learn it. Whether there is a from now on is up to you, Gibbs. It's been a single week and I've had it with your lip and attitude, strutting around here like a goddamned swimwear model, too good for grunt work. You are a grunt and you're a grunt until I say otherwise. You need to start learning that and your education starts now; if you want to stick around and let out some of that potential you got in that thick head of yours."

Gibbs swallowed thickly, the thoughts of unemployment and aimlessness suddenly terrifying.

"Alright, alright," he said quietly. "I get the picture, Boss, ok? I'll cut the attitude and remember that I'm not in charge anymore. Can we just leave it there and move on?" Mike nodded immediately. "Love nothing more, Probie, but we're not leaving here with a significant lesson being impressed upon you. You need a firm hand, that's quite clear. And I know you know you need a firm hand. Deep down, you know that. Because you're not going to learn that you're not in charge anymore all on your lonesome. You need a little help and for my sins, I'm apparently the help. So, like I said before, are you prepared to drop the act and take the licking you've earned yourself? Or are you going to let yourself down and pretend that you're too good, too important or too experienced to learn something new?"

Gibbs stared, his head shaking before he could control it.

"Boss, I've taken a belt to more men than I care to think about. And yeah, you're right; I've been on the receiving end of one plenty too. But that was years ago, years and years ago. I don't need that kind of lesson anymore. I know I'm a rookie, but I'm only a rookie when it comes to NIS. I'm not a rookie in respect to anything else. So…can we just move on from this? Without reverting to a punishment that's really only suitable for a twenty or thirty-something year old." He glanced down at his body and smiled wryly. "Which I think we can both agree, I am not. I get that I was out of line and that I deserved a dressing down, but we should leave it there." He swallowed. Mike's narrowing gaze was far from comforting. "Don't you think?"

Franks shook his head very slowly.

"No, Probie, I do not think. I think that if you act like a twenty or thirty-something year-old imbecile, then that is how I will treat you. I don't care how old you are, because under my command, you are never too old for a whooping. You crossed the line today in so many ways it still makes my head spin. So, no, we are not going to just leave it there. My offer stands. You have two choices. One, this goes on your record and realistically speaking, the agency will either drum you out or you'll stay as junior agent your entire career. Two, you bend your butt over that table and I give you a little reminder as to what happens when you run your mouth and disobey me in the field." He spread his arms wide. "Now, we've spent too much time as it is yakking in here. We got a case to work. So it's make your mind up time, Gibbs. I need an answer and I need it now." A wave of blanketing silence draped over the supervisory and probationary agents'. When Gibbs eventually spoke, he felt as though a split second had passed. But in reality, several minutes had trickled passed as the younger man thought furiously with Mike showing uncharacteristic patience with the process.

"Let's get it over with then, before I change my mind."

…..

TBC

….