three hours earlier

Gibbs paused outside the doors to Autopsy, taking a deep breath and steadying himself for what he was about to do.

He'd done what he'd thought was necessary. And his plan had worked. And his rules existed for a reason. They were the product of long experience. Rule 4. Rule 18. There was no other way he could have played his hand.

But that didn't mean it was easy to deceive, to use, his closest friend, and the man who was more a son to him than a second-in-command.

And it didn't mean that it would be easy to rebuild the relationships that he had damaged in the name of duty, national security and justice.

Taking another deep breath, he stepped through the sliding glass doors. As expected, Ducky looked up at the sound. But before the other man could speak, Gibbs turned abruptly towards the old-fashioned umbrella stand the ME kept near the door, and extracted a slender cane from among the various crutches stored there. Crossing the floor with a few brisk strides, he resolutely held out the cane, wordlessly meeting his friend's eyes. Ducky appeared momentarily astonished, but then accepted the proffered implement and nodded grimly in the direction of his desk.

Gibbs turned on his heel and put himself in the familiar position. He was no stranger to paying for his misdeeds by means of a sore ass, and he would have offered Ducky his belt without a second thought. But the cane would be a new experience, and he found himself surprisingly nervous as he bent forward, setting his teeth and gripping the side of the desk hard with his good hand.

He needed to do this, he reminded himself. He'd chosen his actions knowing full well that there would be consequences. And doing things Ducky's way, using the British school-style cane that was the Scottish ME's disciplinary instrument of choice, was fitting, since it had been his determination to do things his way that had caused the rift in the first place. And, if he were honest with himself, they both needed Gibbs's punishment to be something he didn't find easy.

Ducky, damn him, was making him wait for the first stroke.

Resisting the urge to tell him to get on with it, Gibbs focused on his breathing, trying to quell the rising anxiety. He was a Marine. It was ridiculous for him to be concerned about a school-boy's punishment. After all, Palmer, who became hysterical being spanked with a ruler, had survived his encounters with Ducky's cane. There was nothing to...

A blaze of pain interrupted his thoughts. The first stroke was followed immediately by another, a low swishing sound giving him only a moment's warning before a second line of fire burned across his ass. The damned cane hurt. He tightened his grip on the desk and sucked in a shaky breath. A third shockingly hard stroke landed. His entire ass was throbbing, but he could feel each distinct welt, the searing pain of each stripe seeming to increase rather than fade with time. Again and again he felt the sharp sting of the cane, clenching his jaw tightly, determined not to cry out. The final stroke crossed all the others, the appalling pain tearing a gasp from his throat.

He dimly heard Ducky returning the cane to the umbrella stand, but he didn't move from his prone position until he caught his breath several long minutes later. Staggering agonisingly to his feet, he turned to face his friend.

'Do try to remember that it's not Leroy Jethro Gibbs against the world, would you? I shan't go so easy on you, if I have to remind you again to let your friends help you.'

Easy? Gibbs thought incredulously as he let the ME steer him towards the door.