"Boss, please. I can explain-"

"Jeans and shorts to your knees and bend over."

"-it wasn't like how it seemed and-"

"Jeans and shorts to your knees and bend over."

"-it definitely wasn't my fault. It was-"

"Jeans and shorts to your knees and bend over."

McGee stared at an unrelenting Gibbs with puppy dog eyes. The belt in the man's hands gave the distinctly unpleasant impression of a coiled snake, ready to pounce and bite him in the ass. Swallowing, he tried to remember Tony's advice dispensed in Gibbs 101. Brow furrowing, he dredged from the back of his mind forward before feeling his chest deflate. There was no point. He wasn't Tony. He didn't have the niche combination of the gift of the gab and an unhealthy lack of self-preservation… but he could still try.

"Can I least keep my jeans up?"

The Conference Room seemed to double in on itself in horror at his words. Gibbs raised a brow so sharp it was in danger of being classified as an illegal weapon. Taking a step closer to his recalcitrant protégé, Gibbs felt an all too familiar headache begin to drill at his temples. It was a special kind of hellish headache that only his four could ignite in him. Coming to a stop right in front of a now very pale Tim, he tilted his head to the side.

"Well, let's see. Was it you or your jeans that disappeared from an active crime scene for two hours so that they could play with some doodah that they were specifically ordered to refrain from touching? Was it you or your jeans who didn't answer their cell for those two hours while trained Federal Agents searched for them instead of a murderer because those Federal Agents were concerned for their wellbeing? Was it you or your jeans who crashed that damn flying doodah into a Diplomat's car, potentially causing an international incident? Hmm? You or your jeans?"

A dull flush crept across Tim's cheeks and he looked down at the floor miserably.

"Boss, c'mon-"

"Eyes up and answer me! You or them?"

Tim sighed but did as he was bid.

"Me, Boss."

Gibbs nodded curtly.

"Exactly. So, for the fourth and final time, get those jeans and shorts down to your knees and bend over that table. They don't deserve a blistered backside but you sure do. I am going to teach you a lesson that you're not going to forget in a hurry in the hopes that when I turn my back on you for five minutes at the next crime scene you will still be there when I turn back."

He pointed sternly to the table.

"March."

Tim looked at him with such sadness that Gibbs wavered inside before quickly toughening his resolve. Jenny had shrieked herself hoarse at him not less than an hour ago and was practically baying for the kid's blood. He had to talk her down of the ledge of an unpaid suspension by assuring her he would… deal with the matter, and that is what he had to do, like it or not.

Tim, realising his fate was sealed, turned morosely to the table before a wince he couldn't hide crossed his face. He had turned too quickly and his aching ribs crackled in response. Gibbs caught the look that the kid swiftly tried to cover up and concern battled over exasperated anger for prime position at the emotion table. Tossing the belt down on the Conference Room table that seemed to sigh as its prey continued to elude it, he turned to Tim with a raised brow.

"What was that?"

McGee blinked innocently, too innocently.

"What was what?"

Gibbs glared with folded arms.

"Don't even think about it. You winced. Why?"

The kid looked at him balefully.

"Wouldn't you wince if someone was about to leather your bare ass with that damned belt?"

Gibbs pursed his lips.

"Don't worry, there'll be plenty of time for you to wince because of that… but that is not why you winced. I think you should very easily recall what happened the last time you lied to me and so I will ask you one more time, what was that? Why are you wincing? You lie to me, think about lying to me, or think about thinking about lying to me… and I will give you something to wince about for a long time to come. Clear?"

Tim wondered how one day, one innocuous day, could go from reasonable to abominable.

"I hurt my ribs trying to chase down the Drone before it hit that damned car," he mumbled shamefacedly. "Ducky examined me. He said they're bruised but nothing more. Told me to take Tylenol and that I'd be fine in a couple of days."

Gibbs felt himself deflate a little in relief as he read the undistorted truth in the boy's eyes.

"And when, precisely, were you going to tell me this?"

McGee shrugged his shoulders much to the older man's irritation.

"I didn't think of it," he said honestly. "It only pinched me as I turned, it wasn't bothering me before that. Ducky doesn't think it's at all serious, I swear."

Gibbs nodded and thought rapidly. Not serious or not, he was entirely unhappy with the idea of Tim's ribs being pressed against a hard wooden table while he dealt with him if there was even the slightest chance it could exacerbate any potential bruising. Equally, he knew if he were to let the kid fester with a postponed punishment, he would unravel. Quickly deciding his course of action, he schooled his face into his sternest of stern masks, knowing what he was about to pronounce wasn't going to go down well.

"Ok, McGee. I am not going to strap your butt when it could possibly worsen any bruising. That table is hard and it'll press against your ribs no matter how lightly you lean over it. Understand?"

Relief burst across Tim's face as he bobbed his head up and down happily.

"I understand, Boss. I won't ever touch a… uhm… doodah that I'm not supposed to again and so I'll just get going now and-"

"Nice try."

Without a further word, Gibbs spun on his heel and planted himself down in the middle of the very worn, very soft fabric sofa that was pushed up against the back wall of the Conference Room. Crooking his finger at a bewildered looking McGee in an obvious come here motion, he was relieved when the kid moved to stand in front of him as if on autopilot. It was only when his brain had an opportunity to catch up with his feet did he understand the older man's meaning. Horror streamed across his face and he shook his head vigorously.

"No… no no no…. please, Boss. Anything but that, I-"

"Jeans and shorts down and bend over my knee, Tim."

McGee meowled in despair.

"Boss! No. I'll bend over the table. Please. I will-"

"I am not risking any damage to your ribs and that is final," Gibbs intoned sternly. "I am equally not letting you out of this room without a firm reminder of what happens when you disobey my direct orders. This sofa is extremely soft and it will not hurt your ribs. Now, this is the last time I am going to tell you. Take your jeans and shorts down and bend over my knee. It's not the first time you've been in this position and knowing you, it won't be the last so don't make this any harder than it needs to be."

Knowing his time was up, Tim thanked his lucky stars Tony wasn't here to see his doom. Biting his lip, he slowly moved to unbutton his jeans as Gibbs looked discreetly away to afford him some privacy. With a small sniffle of misery, he pulled his jeans and shorts down to his knees before hovering awkwardly. Gibbs, ever omniscient, reached out and gently pulled the boy down over his knee by the wrist. When he was satisfied that Tim's torso was carefully supported by the soft sofa cushions, he pushed his t-shirt out up and out of the way of the bared behind and wrapped his left hand firmly around his waist.

"Why are you getting this spanking, Tim?"

Head buried in his arms; the kid's voice was muffled but distinguishable.

"For disobeying your direct order and going missing on the job to field test a RX6-1… uhh, a doodah… potentially causing an international incident and injuring myself in the process."

Gibbs nodded unseen.

"Good," he praised softly. "Now, my hand is gonna hurt like hell but the belt would've hurt more. Seeing as I can't tan your ass like I normally do, you're gonna get this spanking plus you're gonna spend the weekend being grounded at my place and doing the most boring, rib-friendly chores I can think of. Is that clear?"

Tim felt what little zest for life he had left leak from him.

"Yes, Boss," he mumbled miserably. "It's clear."

A response didn't come verbally, it came physically. Gibbs laid down the first swat on McGee's prone backside and was in a steady rhythm before the fifth swat was dished out. He rarely spanked either of his boys over his knee like this but when he did; he tended to leave a lasting impression. Tim's early yelps and yowls were not unprecedented as he methodically peppered his backside. All his woodworking made for rough hands and even rougher swats and Tim's previously white behind bloomed redder than red under his unyielding hand.

The room sang with the crisp sound of hand to behind for more minutes than Tim thought he could bear.

"You learning the virtues of obedience, Tim?" Gibbs suddenly asked sternly as he turned his attention to the boy's tender sit spots, eliciting the first soft sob from the buried, tousled head and a barely audible answer in the affirmative.

"Good," he replied, adding another unforgiving swat, "because the next time I have to remind you of those virtues, you're going to take the same kind of trip over my knee that you're on right now every single night for a week. Do you understand?"

The answering sob told him all he needed to know.

Looking down at the charred behind over his knee, Gibbs resolved to bring the punishment to a close. Slowing the cadence and force of the swats, he methodically tapered the spanking off until his hand cracked down for the final time. He rubbed a soothing circle onto the small of the silently sobbing kid's back until such time as his crying petered out and only a morose sniffling and snuffling was left. Looking tactfully away as Tim slowly pulled himself to his feet and righted his clothing with a loud hiss, he felt a sudden wave of fatigue as he also dragged himself upright.

Being the Boss was exhausting.

Looking at Tim, he felt a further pang of sadness as he took in the red-rimmed eyes, the dishevelled hair and the rueful rubbing of a burned backside. As always and on instinct, he reached out and drew his reprimanded rogue into a hug, careful not to squeeze his ribcage, and carded a hand through the tangled mop of hair in forgiveness before releasing and stepping back with a raised brow.

"Learned your lesson?"

Tim didn't need to think twice.

"Yes, Boss. It won't happen again."

Chuckling wryly, Gibbs placed a guiding hand on Tim's shoulder and propelled him towards the door.

"Uh huh. I've heard that one before, haven't I?"

Tim smiled the crooked smile that Gibbs loved with a small shrug.

"Tony is always repeating himself, you're right."

Flicking out the Conference Room light with a roll of his eyes, Gibbs asked the question he knew Tim was waiting for.

"Want to get some take-out and crash at mine tonight?"

A wide smile met his question and he felt his icy heart melt a little at the sight of it.

"Can I pick the take-out?"

Gibbs grimaced comically before ruffling Tim's hair in affection.

"Sure, but only if it's not Sushi. You nearly killed me with that crap the last time."

…..

Random drabble as I've been neglecting poor McGee.

Inks x

…..