Even though it was exactly what he'd been battling and advocating for, the sudden change in Gibbs' stance threw Mike for a loop. Staring absently for a moment, the words sinking into his brain with the speed of a sluggishly dripping tap, he chewed his lip. The arrogant stance of his charge was still there and something in that moment told Franks that nothing would ever completely knock that out of the fledgling NIS Agent. Which, he would suppose in time to come, wasn't altogether a bad thing. But he had to deal with the now and the now was staring back at him with pricks of confusion colouring his face at the delay. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Mike nodded and allowed the faintest trace of soft pride to colour his face.

"First sensible thing you've said since I met your sorry self. Go on then, I take it you remember the drill?"

Staring at the suddenly ominous conference room table with a tight jaw, Gibbs nodded. "Vividly," he remarked dryly as he fought to steel himself. He wasn't afraid of a strapping per se, his pain threshold was much higher than a healthy man's ought to be. But he was afraid of what the physical pain would strip away and what it would expose beneath. The lid on his emotional demons rattled with the building pressure daily and the catalyst for releasing all that may well be the strip of leather that Mike was quietly unbuckling from his waist, folding the buckle tightly into his hand, before waiting with an odd sort of avuncular patience for Gibbs to comport himself appropriately.

"Boss…c'mon man, do we really have to do this? I mean, is it really necessary?"

The second the words were out of his mouth, a fiery flush coloured the back of Gibbs' neck, surging upwards into his face. He sounded pathetic, plaintive, with just a dash of petulant. The oddly understanding glint in the man's eyes didn't help to restore his alpha male ego one jot, either. "Yeah, Probie, we really have to do this and it really is necessary. I told you, you've got potential. Serious potential. This Agency is the backwater of all Agencies and we can't afford to waste good. So, you need to learn what's what around here and who's who, before you get that thick skull o' yours blown clean off your puffed-up shoulders. This ain't the Corps son, like I said, you don't got that kinda back up anymore. All you have is me and I ain't young enough or dumb enough to chase you around crime scene after crime scene, hoping that you'll be in that mood to follow my orders. It needs to be nipped in the bud, this attitude of yours, and I got the nip right here. So how about you do us all a favour and help me to just get this over with, huh?"

Gibbs gulped subtly, his attitude diminishing by the second and slowly pivoted his torso to the table.

It seemed like an eternity, though in reality it took him only a few seconds to drape himself over the table in the awfully unfamiliar, yet familiar, position. Embarrassment flooded through him at the sudden thunderbolt that Mike might insist he drop his slacks. He needn't have worried; his unspoken question being answered overhead in a softer voice than he may have expected. "I got a rule, Probie. First time is a sort of free pass. You keep your slacks. Next time, and knowing you there will be a next time, you'll be getting this medicine across your bare ass. Is that understood?"

If Gibbs thought he was embarrassed before or even knew what embarrassment was, he was mistaken. A scorching heat blazed across his face as he nodded into his arms. "Good," Mike said quietly, moving closer to his draped over protégé and placing a gnarled yet soft hand on his back. "Cos I don't like to repeat myself. Now, you hold tight and holler all you need to but don't you dare try and fight me. You won't like the consequences if you do. Is that also clear?" A spark of indignation flickered in Gibbs as he growled into the darkness of his arm cavity. "Damnit, Mike. This ain't my first rodeo. I can handle a simple licking. I don't need to be held down, either. Jesus…I've had my own command you know, I can take this."

Mike shook his head and battled with his own temper.

"I don't recall telling you that we're on a first name basis, Probie. I ain't Mike to you until you earn it. And for the record, I don't care what you think you can and can't take. This ain't a torture or an endurance test. It's a lesson and I want you to learn it, not beat it. So, get your head out of your ass for just a damned second and give it a go. Oh, and whilst I'm in an advice imparting kinda mood. It generally ain't a good idea to give lip to the guy that's standing beside your upturned ass with a belt in his hand and a migraine that you caused. Could be nasty, that's all I'm saying. So, if you're done with your cheek, I think it's about time I turned my attention to cheeks that I can actually work with. Don't you?"

It was a rhetorical question, but the smoulderingly edgy reply Gibbs was about to offer was cut short anyway.

The first lick took his breath away. It stopped his heart mid-beat in surprise and caused his ear drums to quiver in indignant surprise as the sharp crack of leather-to-target fired around the room. It took but a split second for his brain to catch up with his ass and when it did…he couldn't help, Marine though he might have been, the agonised hiss that pushed out past his gritted teeth. Mike sure as hell wasn't playing around and this was obviously to be no token affair. Before he could steel himself for the next blow, it was upon him with as much if not more vigour than its predecessor. Although able to remain completely silent on the second stroke, Gibbs' eyes widened in restrained anguish into the crook of his arms.

This was going to take a lot to get through whilst maintaining a stoic front.

It was going to take a hell of a lot.

Again and again the thick, heavy leather fell. It cascaded across his behind without remorse or hesitation and all too soon, his entire posterior was coated with the thickest, darkest fire of hell. It took every ounce of courage he had to remain perfectly in place, though the restraining hand on the small of his back he'd objected to had a lot to do with it, too. It took an inordinate amount of self-control not to cry out or to whimper when the belt suddenly took a nose dive and began crashing across his tautened sit spots without compunction. The room whistled and cracked with the soundtrack of his correction. As a particularly well aimed lick managed to burn into both his backside and sit spots in one stroke, his undoing was triggered. Nothing he could do would prevent it, he was only human. Hot, salty tears sprang up in his eyes as the pain reached an unbearable level of relentlessness. Mike was not a cruel man, but he was a man of his word and he didn't do things by halves. Closing his eyes as an audible gasp escaped him, Gibbs resolved then and there to never, ever cross his new Boss again.

Ever.

Mike bit his lip against the odd turmoil he found himself in. He'd strapped many a man under his command and frankly, without being cold, he hadn't cared much about it. He'd just seen it as yet another part of his job, an obligation to be discharged if and when necessary and forgotten swiftly thereafter. But this was different. It was different. He could feel the proud torso under his hand vibrate with physical and emotional and anguish and found himself plagued by misery as he directed the belt like an unwilling orchestral conductor. Again and again he strapped his insubordinate charge. And again and again he felt a little splinter of his soul breaking off and sinking. When Gibbs finally gave in and yelped loudly with pain, whimpering as the belt cut that gasp off mid breath, Mike felt his own breath catch at the obvious distress. He was hurting, too. For the first time, he actually gave a damn about the man under his hand and not the job that put him there.

When the anguished whimper suddenly whispered around the room, the belt suddenly stilled mid-air.

It was over.

It was done.

Threading his belt back around his waist, Mike stepped back after awkwardly patting the small of Gibbs' back, and allowed him some room to breathe and right himself. It took the longest minute of the seasoned Agent's professional life, but his charge eventually staggered to his feet stiffly, self-consciously attempting to hide his red-rimmed eyes by roughly swiping his shirt sleeve across them. An awkward silence sprang up between the two men as Mike stared intently at Gibbs staring intently at the ground. Usually, in these situations, he'd have gone already with a parting warning to the offender who'd earned his ire to watch his step. But this was different, again, it was so damned different and he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. Clearing his throat gruffly, he found that his brain and mouth operated without the need for his input.

"How you doin', Probie? You alright son?"

Dragging his head slowly upwards, Gibbs somehow managed to fix him with a rueful grin.

"Oh yeah, Boss, I'm having the time of my life over here. Never liked sitting much anyway."

Snorting, Mike shook his head in chagrin and stepping forward, playfully slugged the apparently incorrigible rookie across the shoulder. "There just ain't no fixing that damned mouth of yours is there? You're just hardwired to be a smart ass, huh?" He smiled then, a rare sight and Gibbs suddenly noticed how kind the withered eyes actually were. "I ain't one to gush Probie, but you need to know that…well, that wasn't something I wanted to do. And it ain't something I want to have to do in the future. So I guess I can only hope that you learned something from what just happened?"

Gibbs blinked, resisting with an incredible difficulty the urge to rub his scorched behind.

"I learned you got one hell of a swing for an angry little NIS Agent."

Mike's eyes widened as, despite himself, he spluttered on a chuckle of raw laugher.

"I'm transferring your sorry ass. I ain't got the mental health required to deal with someone like you."

Gibbs grinned in appreciation, before sobering somewhat and inhaled a deep breath.

"In seriousness, Boss. I get it. I'll work on my crap. I…this job, it isn't something I want to screw up. You were right, much as it pains me, literally, to say it. I need something. I have to have something if I'm going to carry on. My…my girls aren't ever coming back. But they wouldn't want me to sit around all day and think about that. Everything I do, in this job, can be for them. I can help people in the way I couldn't protect them. They'd like that. Kelly, Shannon…they'd like that a lot."

Mike's gut shuddered with sorrow for the man in front of him, tinged with a healthy amount of pride.

"I think they'd like that a hell of a lot, Probie. A hell of a lot."

Silence blanketed the room for a moment as each man suddenly surrendered to his own thoughts.

Gibbs was the one to break free from his reverie first.

"Just so you know though, when I get my own team. I ain't ever treating them like you do me. I ain't ever gonna head slap them or tan their butts. You can get good results with the carrot instead of the stick. Did anyone ever tell you that?"

Mike snorted and despite himself, reached out and squeezed Gibbs' shoulder in a gesture that conveyed more than mere words ever could.

"Yeah, they did. And you know what they all had in common, Probie?"

Gibbs tilted his head to the side in curiosity.

"No? What did they all have in common?"

Mike chuckled as he began gently pushing and prodding Gibbs from the Conference Room, wanting to put some distance between them and the chastisement that occurred within its confines. Flicking out the light and shutting the door with a snap, he turned to an expectant looking Gibbs and raised an amused brow. "Ain't none of them ever led a team in their lives. Ain't none of them had a clue. You wait until your time comes, Probie, you'll be begging for my help to control whatever poor souls end up working for you. You'll be begging for it." Gibbs snorted and looked sideways at the man who somehow, someway had reached him in a way he never thought he could be reached ever again. Something was different as they strolled down the corridor, Mike easily, he stiffly. The barrier between them seemed to be gone, with the foundations of something else in its place. Jabbing the elevator button, Gibbs leaned against the wall and crossed his arms across his chest. He suddenly felt compelled to say something. It wasn't in his purview to prevent it.

"Boss?"

Mike rubbed his eyes tiredly, glancing up at the elevator LED dial, the day really having taken it out of him.

"Yeah, Probie?"

Gibbs glanced down at the floor and swallowed down a great deal of air.

"I guess you're not all that bad. I guess I'd uhh…like to keep on learning from you, if that's ok?"

Mike smiled and felt an odd relaxation engulf him as the elevator doors suddenly sprang open.

"Yeah, Probie, I reckon that'll be ok. I reckon that'll be just fine."

…..

A/N: Decided to leave this one here! Thanks for reading! (Just in case any of you are wondering, the reason there's no hug or whatever in this one is because I just don't see it with Gibbs and Franks the way I do Gibbs and brood. Maybe it's because he was so much older as a Probie than the norm, I dunno! I felt the shoulder squeeze sufficed/was more in character!

Inks x

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