The kid leapt to his feet the moment the door opened.
'Sir, I...'
Tony was starting to understand why Gibbs hated the title so much, but this wasn't the time for that.
'Do you really think that using an illegal, mind-altering substance on a warship is a good idea, Seaman?' he demanded, hoping he sounded stern.
'Uh... no, Sir. Not when you put it like...'
'How else do you want me to put it, Seaman?'
Richardson looked sheepishly at him for a moment before lowering his eyes to the floor.
'What's going to happen to me, Sir?' he mumbled, barely audible.
'That's up to you, Seaman.'
The kid's head snapped up in shock.
'You want to deal with this on the record? Or off the record?'
Richardson's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, trying to figure out what the choice actually entailed, and clearly wondering if he'd missed something in his pre-deployment training that should have explained those options.
'Sir? I...'
'On the record gets you a conversation with the skipper, who's probably going to be pretty pissed that you're making him deal with this crap your first day on his ship. It'll be his call, but I'm guessing you'll get a week in the brig and a note in your file that will screw up your first promotion.'
Richardson's eyes widened as he realised, probably for the first time, just how much trouble he was in. He swallowed visibly before managing to choke out, 'And... off the record?'
'Off the record gets you bent over my desk getting paddled,' he told him bluntly, watching him carefully for his reaction.
To his surprise, the kid didn't even hesitate before replying firmly, 'Off the record.'
'You understand what you're agreeing to, Seaman?' he asked. He couldn't imagine talking the kid into it if he baulked, and if he were honest with himself, he'd been half-hoping that Richardson would choose the formal consequences, so he wouldn't have to follow through with this. But the ease with which the young sailor seemed to accept the idea was unnerving.
'Yes, Sir,' he said, blushing slightly. 'It's pretty much what my father would have done, if I'd tried something this stupid at home,' he elaborated.
'Ok, then, let's get this over with,' Tony said with, he hoped, more confidence than he felt. He gestured towards the battered metal desk.
Richardson nodded, turned to face the desk, and wordlessly bent over with the ease of experience. Tony blinked, not sure if he should feel reassured by the obvious indication that the kid had indeed done this before, or concerned that his own rookie efforts wouldn't meet the kid's expectations.
He'd been on the receiving end of enough spankings, but he'd never handed one out. It seemed pretty straight-forward, but he wasn't entirely sure how much force he should use – he wanted this to hurt enough to send a clear message, but he didn't want to go too far. And he wasn't sure how he was supposed to know when to stop. And that didn't even begin to address his real concern – how the hell he was supposed to stand there and deliberately hurt this kid, and to keep going when he cried out in pain?
He briefly wondered how Gibbs would react to a late-night call asking for spanking advice.
Trying hard to ignore his own nervousness, he reached into the gym bag he was carrying and pulled out the ping-pong paddle that he'd picked up from the rec room.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his arm and brought the paddle down hard on the waiting backside. Richardson hissed in pain, but didn't move. Resolutely ignoring his own discomfort with the situation, he delivered another hard swat. And another. It wasn't long before the younger man was gasping loudly with each stroke, and visibly straining to stay in position. A few more swats had him sobbing into his folded arms. Tony stopped.
It took Richardson a few moments to push himself shakily to his feet.
Which gave Tony a chance to get his own emotions under control before he had to pretend not to be nearly as shaken up as the guy who'd taken the paddling at his hands.
'I've just given you a second chance, Seaman. Don't screw it up,' he told him when he finally turned to face him, self-consciously wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
'I won't, Sir. And... thank you,' Richardson choked out, his voice cracking slightly. Tony suppressed a wince. The kid was obviously in pain, and he was thanking him?
'Alright, Seaman... dismissed,' he said, softening the bluntness of the words with a grim smile.
As he'd hoped he would, Richardson left quickly, moving only a little awkwardly. Tony sighed in relief and scrubbed a hand over his face. Glancing at the clock near the door, he wondered if it was too late to call Gibbs after all.