Contains disciplinary spanking of an adult. Don't like; hit the back button now.
"With me, McGee," Gibbs commanded, coming off the elevator and striding through the bullpen.
"On your six, Boss," Tim replied, moving out from behind his desk and falling in line behind Gibbs. He followed Gibbs deep into the labyrinthine maze of hallways that made up the inner workings of the NCIS complex. At first, he simply followed, so use to following Gibb's commands that he didn't bother to question, but it wasn't long before his natural curiosity began to catch up. Where were they going? And then, suddenly, he realized exactly where they were headed and anxiety hit him with the force of an oncoming locomotive. Deep in the complex, there was an abandoned conference room that had years ago been turned into a storage room and was largely forgotten by everyone save the janitorial staff – and Gibbs. He tended to regard it as something like his private office, even more private than his other 'office' in the elevator, or rather, as Tim tended to think of it, as his punishment room. It was where he brought them when he needed to deal with discipline of the more private and physical variety, and it was where he was taking Tim now.
As if confirming Tim's suspicion, Gibbs stopped suddenly in front of a door, opened it, and then stepped aside to allow Tim to enter.
"Um, Boss, what are we doing here?" he asked uncertainly, moving inside in response to the unspoken command despite himself.
Gibbs didn't answer, simply raised an eyebrow as if to say 'what do you think?'.
"I mean, I know what we usually do here, but what are we doing now? It's not like you can spank me anymore. Well, I guess you could that it seems beside the point considering I couldn't feel it since I can't feel my ass." He realized suddenly that he was rattling and forcefully clamped his mouth shut.
"You agree you deserve a spanking then?" Gibbs asked, almost conversationally, stepping in and closing the door.
Tim stared at him, open-mouthed, dimly aware that he was gaping like a landed fish, but powerless to stop it. "What? No… I mean, I know I technically disobeyed, but come on, Boss, I really was fine."
Gibbs moved over to the rickety conference table, unfolding a metal folding chair he found by the wall and taking a seat so that they were eye to eye. "So it's okay to disobey a direct order, ignore the chain of command, and put your safety at risk as long as you're really fine?" The question was quiet, so soft it was almost a whisper, yet all of the more devastating for its lack of volume.
Tim shifted uncomfortably. "No, but I'm not helpless either, dammit."
"Do you honestly think I'd have brought you back here if I thought you were?" Gibbs asked hotly. "Don't be stupid, Tim. I know you're not helpless, or fragile, and believe it or not, I understand your need to be independent, but your safety is nonnegotiable. It always has been; it always will be, and if that means you have to suffer a little embarrassment in the process, then you will damn well suck it up and do it."
"Yes, sir." The response was pure instinct, born from both his Navy childhood and his automatic acceptance of Gibbs' authority but sincere nonetheless.
"Good," Gibbs said, nodding. "Then let's get this over with."
"What over with?" Tim asked, completely confused and inexplicably very nervous. "I screwed up. I get that, but…" He gestured wordlessly, taking in his legs, his wheelchair, everything. "The usual methods don't exactly apply."
"No?" Gibbs said lightly. "It seems to me the usual methods apply as much as ever. You screw up; you get spanked, just like always. Just this time, it won't be on your butt.
"Then what… How?" Tim stammered.
In reply, Gibbs laid his hand on the table beside them, palm up, the vivid mark from the strap still clearly visible. Tim looked slowly from Gibb's hand to his own, the implications dawning on him with a mixture of shock and horror.
"No," he said faintly, shaking his head. Unconsciously, he curled his fingers inward, protecting the sensitive palm.
"Okay." Gibbs stood, spreading his hands in a clear gesture of concession. "See me before you leave this afternoon. I'll have the letter and paperwork ready for you to sign."
"Letter?" Tim repeated, questioning.
"Ifwe're not going to handle it this way, then I'll follow the official channels, which means putting a letter reprimand in your personnel file."
Had it come from anyone else, Tim might've thought that answer to be a thinly veiled threat, but coming from Gibbs, it seemed like nothing of the sort. It was simply a matter of fact statement of the facts of the situation. Ironically, it was that very matter of fact nature that unnerved him. Had it been a threat, he would've been able to muster up righteous anger, but as it was, there was nothing to be angry about. When Gibbs put it like that, logically at least, he could see it as a fairly simple choice. Nevertheless, it wasn't a choice he wanted to make.
"Come on, Boss, it wasn't like it was a real order. I mean, we weren't out in the field or anything," Tim protested.
"You don't get to make that choice, McGee," Gibbs said. "That's the point of the chain of command. You don't get to decide what constitutes a real order or not. You do as you're told, when you're told, period. And when you don't, there are consequences. I won't force you to take my informal consequences – I never have, and I never will – but there will be consequences, one way or the other."
"But it's not fair," Tim countered.
"What's not?" Gibbs questioned.
"It's not a real choice," Tim said petulantly. "I've never gotten reprimand letter before, but I don't want – I mean – that other thing you said isn't fair either."
"No?" Gibbs asked. "Why not?"
"Because," Tim said, in a tone that suggested it should be obvious, "it hurts, and everyone will be able to see my hand so it's not really private, not like before. And haven't you always said that punishment should be private? Besides, isn't that like British or something, it's un-American Boss."
"It was Ducky's idea," Gibbs admitted. Though he was outwardly calm, inwardly, it was only Gibbs's years of undercover work that kept him from laughing. Though he doubted Tim realized it and he knew for certain Tim would never admit it even if he did, at that moment, Tim sounded like nothing so much as an ill-tempered eight-year-old. It was clear that he had no real problem with Gibbs's discipline. He simply didn't want to be spanked.
"Ducky knows?" Tim asked, aghast.
"Of course he knows, McGee," Gibbs told him. "Do you really think I would try this without making sure it was safe first? I'm not trying to do damage, just reinforce the lesson. Besides, Ducky will keep this between us; he always has before, hasn't he?"
"You mean he knew?" Tim sputtered. "He knows?"
"Ducky knew about my methods before you knew Tim," Gibbs replied. "I've known him for years, remember? Now, what's it going to be? My way or the official way."
None of the above, Tim thought miserably. Both choices seemed equally terrible. On the one hand, although no one had so much as hinted at the possibility, Tim new perfectly well that someone, at some point, could see a letter of reprimand as all the proof they needed to end his already fragile position at NCIS. Yes, he knew the law said he couldn't be fired because of his disability. They have educated them on that really well during his time in rehab. However, he also knew that there were plenty of people who, though they were politically savvy enough never to say to his face, who were extremely skeptical of his current position. To his knowledge, he was the only agent with a physical disability on a major case team, and he was well aware of just how quickly that could change. Any reason they could find to use to build a legitimate case for termination would simply add fuel to the skeptic's fire, and having his first and only formal letter of reprimand filed so soon after his return would certainly do that.
On the other hand, he just flat out didn't want to face the alternative. Being strapped like that would hurt like blazes. He was familiar enough with just exactly what a belt felt like on his backside that he didn't even want to think about what it would feel like on his palm. And his palm was just too visible. It was bad enough trying to hide the evidence of a sore bottom, and if the mark on Gibbs hand was anything to go by, hiding that would be all but impossible. He'd never hear the end of it if Tony found out. That is, if he didn't die of embarrassment from the start.
Yet, thinking of it like that, it was clear there was only one real choice, however unpleasant that choice might be.
"Well?" Gibbs asked, not pressing but not willing to let him get away with hedging either.
"Yours," Tim said quietly, taking a deep breath to steady himself, still not quite believing how he'd gotten himself into this mess.
Gibbs nodded. He removed his belt once more and wrapped it around his hand in the same manner Ducky had earlier in his lab. "Hold out your hand," he told Tim, lacing the words with just enough command to make the younger man obey without thought. The way he figured it, the less time McGee had to overthink this, the better.
Automatically, Tim put out his left hand, palm up.
Gibbs sighed. "Your other hand, Tim. You're left-handed."
"Oh," Tim said quietly. He dropped his left hand and, hesitantly, put out his right. It dawned on him then, with sudden horror, that for the first time, he was not only going to have to face Gibbs while he was being spanked but that he was going to be able to watch each stroke as it fell. He fought down the waves of panic. No, this wasn't going to work. He couldn't –
Before he could finish the thought, Gibbs brought the strap down hard on his palm and all panic fled, absorbed in the fiery stripe that bloomed across his palm. He jerked his hand back without thinking, cradling it protectively between his right arm and his body.
Gibbs didn't say anything, just watched, waiting expectantly. After a long moment, he said finally, "Hand out Tim. We're not done yet."
Tim goggled at him. There was more. He couldn't be serious. Except the look on Gibbs face made it perfectly clear that Gibbs was indeed serious, very serious. Finally, Tim was able to force himself to put his hand out again. Gibbs strapped him four more times before he finally stopped. Miraculously, Tim managed not to pull his hand back again, but by the last, he couldn't stop himself from crying out, and though they hadn't fallen, he could feel tears standing in his eyes.
Gibbs quietly replaced his belt while Tim tried to surreptitiously wipe his eyes. "Sorry Boss," Tim said softly.
Gibbs nodded and reached out to clasp him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Get yourself together and go let Ducky check your hand before you come back to the squad room."
Blanching at the thought of facing Ducky, Tim said, "It's fine, Boss. I mean, it hurts, but I don't need medical attention or anything."
"Timothy…" Gibbs said warningly, reminding Tim belatedly that this whole thing had started over not doing what he was told.
"Yes, sir," he said quickly.
Gibbs nodded, smothering a grin as he stepped out of the door and closed it behind him.
A/n 2: Before anyone emails me that it's unfair for Tim to be strapped on his hands because of pushing his chair, I consider it pretty equivalent to having to go back to work and sit on a sore backside, which Gibbs expects them all to do. Tim is no exception.