Hi, everyone! Here is another chapter. Thanks to quintawrites for proofreading for me and for all the reviewers. I know I haven't been around as much and I am trying to figure out what I need to do about it. I have been using a different outlet (role play) for writing lately that has been more emotionally fulfilling, which is part of why you've seen less of me around here. I don't want to give up writing on here altogether - I have more stories that I want to share, and I especially want to finish up this story and the others I am doing - but I find that it takes more effort now than it used to. I appreciate your patience during this time. All my readers have been a huge encouragement to me many times over the last few years of writing on this account, and I appreciate you all very much. I hope that you are still able to enjoy, even if it is more sporadic.
Now, enjoy!
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Gibbs had not even lifted the paddle to give Ziva her first swat, but within two seconds of resting it against her bottom she was having a panic attack. He could recognize it for what it was and immediately dropped the paddle into a nearby box - "out of sight, out of mind". Or he could hope that it was...
He doubted it as he picked up the poor trembling girl.
"Shhh. Shhhh. It's okay," he promised, holding her tightly. "It'll be okay."
He did not know what had triggered her about the paddle, but he could hope that he could help her through it.
"Let's get upstairs," he murmured against her hair, gently leading the way and supporting her.
...
Ziva felt her entire being shaking and she did not know what to do to make it stop. She could only hope that it would at some point soon.
What would Gibbs think of her?
He lead her up to the living room and got her, somehow, to take a seat on the sofa. She could not quite understand how he got her to do it - her body felt outside of her control, so it was not her conscious action - but when she was there it was a tiny bit easier to take the deep breaths he coached her on, squeezing her hand gently every time he wanted her to slow down her frenzied exhales.
"I won't paddle you, Ziver, not if it scares you this much," he said softly.
The fear that had been shrouding her heart melted a little at the words.
"I am not sc-ared," she protested on principle, although she suspected the quaver rather weakened her statement.
She could feel Gibbs pat her back. Not many people had ever done that for her through her life, and most of those were actually comrades slapping her on the back in encouragement or solidarity. Gibbs did it in a gentle way that seemed to help put together all the broken pieces ... but that was overly sentimental drabble.
...
Gibbs did not try to argue with Ziva about her emotional response. He knew what scared looked like, and that was what Ziva was. He did not feel her pull away when he patted her back, so he kept doing it.
He felt torn. He needed to give a consequence for her refusing to listen to him. She was in a testing stage and he had no interest in extending it by failing to give a clear, negative response to her disobedience. However, he now knew that paddling was not an option - at least not this time. Maybe in the future, but first he needed to understand her fear response.
"Why did you need me to stop?" Gibbs asked calmly, continuing to pat her back. It felt awkward to continue the physical touch for so long, but it seemed to be helping, so he soldiered past his own emotional hang-ups about comfort and tried to do what would help Ziva to be calm.
He saw the flush in her cheeks as she processed what he was asking, felt her try to pull away, embarrassed.
"What happened that made you yell out like that?"
...
Perhaps I owe him an explanation for that, in the very least.
Ziva shifted uncomfortably, trying to move away from the loving touch of Gibbs on her back. She did not deserve his love or sympathy, not when she had just been such a coward. It was a spanking, for crying out loud. All she needed to do was bend over a few minutes, block out the pain to prove it did not matter or affect her whatsoever, and then be her regular and unaffected self. She could have stayed over his lap, taken the swats from the padd...
No.
There was no way that she could have taken a paddling.
If she zoned out, it would not have been on purpose. She had had that happen too many times before to want to risk it happening again, even for so great a cause as ending Gibbs' faith in spankings as a discipline tool.
She shivered at the idea against her will.
"Had some bad experiences with it?" Gibbs asked. The room was quiet and still - too quiet, too still. She felt trapped by the serenity of it while simultaneously benefiting from its protection.
But the room demanded truth, and so did Gibbs' eyes. She could not make eye contact in her current position, nor would she have wanted to, but she could feel him looking at her in that tell-the-truth way that seemed to suck responses out of his young colleagues, even when they knew responding could result in stern consequences.
"Yes," she replied, hoping that would be enough to stop that unseen searching look.
She still felt it.
"A few times," she added.
Gibbs made a grumbling sound in his throat. She knew it was directed at the people who had hurt her with a different paddle, not at her. But the searching look continued.
"A commanding training officer was really harsh," she mumbled.
Harsh because he had been told to be.
The pats on her back ceased, but then she felt herself being drawn into a rare, loose hug. She was stiff at first, but then relaxed for a few seconds. Then she stiffened again, but the few seconds had reached through the first layer of her fear.
Comfort felt good.
Too good. It could be dangerous. She knew that already. Why did she keep wavering between glaring reality and stupidity? She needed to avoid these foolish emotions,
"It does not matter. I just did not want to get a sp... in trouble," she argued, trying to convince herself as well as Gibbs that the freak out moment had been a chance to avoid consequences rather than actual fear.
"I know you don't." Gibbs voice was gentle - too gentle. He was being understanding - too understanding. He was supposed to be frustrated - she was too frustrated to handle it any longer!
"Believe me!" she hollered.
That did it - the raised eyebrow, the steely eyes, the unimpressed glare. She had done it now - she was back in trouble. Good. That was what she wanted. Gibbs was going to take her arm, pull her back down stairs, paddle her anyway. She would be able to block it out and appear unaffected and then Gibbs would give up and never spank her again. It would be great.
If "great" was a subjective term.
...
I hope that you enjoy
I will try to update again soon.
MM