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Ziva kicked, whimpered, and then began crying.
How did I end up spending my eighteenth birthday like this?! she bemoaned to herself as she got a close up view of Jenny's ankle and the cheap flooring of the hotel flooring.
For today, the (very) young Israeli was turning eighteen, something that was rather significant in many parts of the world. She was fast aging out of childhood, moving into young adulthood. Her father already had her working missions, including this one with the rather fiery and formidable (but also kind and caring) American agent Jenny Shepherd.
Ziva had been both nervous and excited to have been entrusted on the risky mission at such a young age. She had heard some of the whispers and rumours that it was dangerous - maybe a bit too dangerous for such a young girl - but what did they know? She was tough. She heard other rumours about how it had been hard for Director David to find others to work the mission, so he had simply put his own teenager - still angry and impassioned by the recent deaths of her sister Tali and her mother - into the line of fire as she would not have family protesting the decision. But again, what did they know?
Jenny had treated her like an equal, although she had definitely fussed over her a little extra, knowing the age difference between them was a bit larger than normal (although she had been lead to believe that Ziva was in her twenties, a belief that Ziva had encouraged rather than corrected). And then today - after the mission had come to a frighteningly close call before the two women had managed to wrap it up at long last - she had let it slip that today was her eighteenth birthday. Jenny's face had gone white, then grey as she processed how very young the agent she had been working with.
"You're a child! A literal child!" she had protested when Ziva had tried to shrug it off, even as somewhere deep in her stomach or conscience trembled a little as it realized that maybe ... maybe her father had pushed her too far, risked too much with such a young life.
But no, she could not question him. He was her director (and also her father), and that would not do. She must be obedient and loyal - or loyal and obedient. She was never quite sure which order that should be.
But Jenny - Jenny had no such qualms apparently in dealing with Ziva. She had calmed down, and after a long shower (during which Ziva had heard a lot of frustrated bangs on the shower wall and barely contained ranting), she had come out and calmly told Ziva that the extreme danger she had put herself in today was inappropriate.
"But it was for the case!" Ziva had protested.
"No case is worth a child's life," Jenny had said firmly.
"But I'm not a child - at least not anymore!" Ziva had protested again.
But (buts and/or butts would play a rather larger role in the story of today, Ziva realized now) Jenny had been unswayable. She was determined that Ziva learn to behave more safely. And how was she going to do that, Ziva questioned.
"Consequences," Jenny said succinctly.
Ziva had sort of laughed at that - not to be disrespectful, but because the idea was humourous. Consequences, for her? She was already working for Mossad! She was well-trained and exceptional and fearless ... maybe even sort of special.
"Have you ever had a spanking?" Jenny asked.
Ziva admitted that, yes, during early childhood she might have gotten some swats. She left out the beatings she had received during training. That felt like a little much to admit to - Americans might not understand the brutality for which she needed to train against. People HATED her country, with global anti-semitism adding to the already tenuous situation of being a middle eastern country around the oil-rich area. She needed to be ready for harshness. Her father had only made sure that she would be ready, and now she was. But she was not admitting how much she had needed to be "corrected" by her training officers, and the amount she had been hurt.
Still, was spanking even relevant? She was not a tiny child anymore, needing a couple swats on her bottom to make her repentant for stealing a piece of fruit or for lying to her Imma.
"I think a spanking will help you learn to be a little more careful about your safety for the rest of the time we work together," Jenny said.
It had to be a joke, right? But young Ziva - quickly becoming more flustered at Jenny's calm resolve - realized that Jenny was not joking and that her conviction that Ziva's actions deserved correction rather than praise (like her father had given in the few seconds he cared to listen to her account of the completed mission given in the after-action briefing both she and Jenny gave to their commanders by video call).
Jenny cared about things like safety. She wanted Ziva to be safe, so much so that she was stubbornly refusing to let her get away with the unnecessary risks she had taken that day.
"Either I discipline you in some way for it now, or I bring up the foolhardiness of Mossad in using a literal child in a mission. That might affect Israeli-American relationships, given that the USA does not like using children in ours, and Director David fooled us into believing that you were an adult capable of a mission like this," Jenny explained.
Ziva's stomach sank. That made sense. She darted a quick look at Jenny's arm. She didn't look too strong. If she had been able to handle hits from men in training, it hardly seemed like Jenny would cause any permanent damage.
"Okay, fine. Punish me," she said with a pout that relayed that, although she might be giving in to it, she didn't have to like it!
They had a quick discussion about what a spanking would be. Ziva hated that her bottom would be getting smacked, but at least Jenny never mentioned her back (or anywhere else on her body). Hits on her back hurt a whole lot more and were much scarier as they could cause permanent damage; and besides, Ziva did not want to risk Jenny seeing any of the scarring there from beatings she had received. Jenny would then suspect how bad she had been before, and maybe she would not want to work so closely with her anymore. At least her bottom was unscarred, so even if Jenny checked it later, there would be no previous marking on it. Jenny even made sure to get Ziva's consent for the punishment, something that had never happened before. Ziva knew that she was not getting out of some consequences, but Jenny was clear that if a spanking was too scary, they could come up with something else. As unappealing as a spanking was though, Ziva did not want to give Jenny a reason to think of any other, possibly more unpleasant punishment, so she agreed to it. She could handle pain, after all, and maybe when Jenny saw that she would be impressed.
Then the talking came to an end and it was time for the discipline to take place. Jenny had paused to get a wooden spoon from the kitchenette (which Ziva eyed with appropriate apprehension), before sitting down on a chair and motioning Ziva over.
"Do you Americans do this much as a punishment?" Ziva whined, trying to distract herself from the sudden flood of embarrassment that took over as Jenny gently positioned her to be bending over her knees.
"Not so much at your current age, although I think it might have more merits with adults than with children," Jenny said calmly, unbothered by Ziva's little protests and hesitations. She was patient. Jenny had certainly gotten a fair number of spankings herself as a child and youth, and then a couple from a certain training partner of hers at NCIS when she was a rookie. It had been a bit embarrassing, but she still remembered how motivating it had been to avoid more danger after the agent had put away the belt and motioned for her to get back to work with a mightily stinging bottom. She hoped to gain that effect today with this young officer.
Jenny gave Ziva a pat on the seat of her pants - rather heavy cargo ones - and cleared her throat, a little uncomfortable at this bit of the conversation. "I think to do this spanking properly, dear, at some point I'll be getting you to stand back up...."
"Good!" Ziva grunted.
"...to take these down to your knees so we can finish up on your underwear," Jenny continued. Ziva's head snapped around and she looked a bit horrified. Jenny smiled sadly, compassion clear on her face. "It needs to sting to stay with you as well as I'll need this message to stick, and so it'll be ending on your panties - unless you protest a lot, and then we'll be having a talk about those coming down too. Bare bottom spankings are a thing for a reason, you know."
Ziva had not known, and she had no desire to know! But if this spanking - hopefully the only spanking she would ever have to get for being dangerous in the field from some too-worried-about-stupid-protection-of-young-people-American - had to make an impact to avoid Jenny thinking that this should be repeated again anytime soon, she might as well give in to the panties-up version rather than the panties-down. That sounded a LOT more embarrassing (and possibly a bit more painful).
"I'm going to start your spanking with my hand over your pants, to give your bottom a chance to warm up so you won't bruise. Then I'll start spanking you a little harder, with this wooden spoon, as punishment for the foolish actions you made today," Jenny said, trying hard to scold properly, although this was new (and rather awkward) waters for her too. She continued with, "Then, I'll get you to stand up, your pants will come down to your knees, and I will finish the spanking on your underwear."
"Using the spoon or your hand?" Ziva asked, nervousness breaking through her facade of bravery now that she realized her bottom was moments away from being the center of Jenny's very intent focus and force.
"Probably a bit of both," Jenny said. Ziva winced a little, then silently berated herself for doing so.
I guess you do deserve this, if you can't hide your reluctance to face pain, she scolded herself, returning her focus to the floor as she rested her hands on it.
"Can we just get it over with?" she asked, trying to said more impatient than penitent. "I do want to go celebrate my birthday at some point."
That was now a few minutes ago, and Ziva's desire to go party was gone, as were a few other things belonging to her, like bravado, comfort, and dignity. Jenny's hand - although small - was fast and even through the thick pant material, it stung! And that was nothing compared to the wooden spoon once it started cracking down! Ziva's bottom was now stingy and sore and - despite liking to think she was no longer one - she was acting like a child, kicking and squirming and whining as she tried to wiggle away from the spanks. Although pain in training had been easily handled by Ziva, this was different. She felt like a ... well, like a child again, and that brought up a host of previously suppressed emotions. Maybe she was particularly vulnerable to nostalgia on her birthday too, but she found herself missing her mother's gentle corrections of early childhood. Jenny reminded her of that, and thus the pain was not easily blocked. She was present with it, and it was stinging!
"Okay, now I'm going to get you to stand up and drop your pants," Jenny said, her voice sounding a bit breathless and maybe even a bit shaky. Ziva jerked to look at her for a second time, hoping that she could somehow convince her to not follow through on that part of the punishment - but then she paused. Jenny was looking so sorrowful and nervous. Never had Ziva been punished by someone who looked like they regretted the moment as much as she did! Jenny reached up to push a strand of hair out of her face, and Ziva noticed how pink and sore her hand looked. Hand spanking, now that she thought about it, might sting the spanker a bit too - and it was not exactly as if Jenny had earned the painful reminder the way that Ziva sort of acknowledged that maybe she had by going beyond what would be considered safe, even by Mossad. Wordlessly, she stood to her feet, shifting back and forth at Jenny's knee.
"Please take your pants down," Jenny repeated calmly.
Ziva tried - she really did - but that was such a hard command. She could put herself in the face of danger, sure, but needing to unbutton her pants to bend back over Jenny's knee for an even toastier bottom? That was somehow much, much harder. She could not make her hands move to undo her pants.
"Ziva," Jenny sighed, her voice holding a warning.
"I ... I can't!" Ziva whined ... or perhaps she pleaded. Jenny looked at her intently, seeing the sadness and realizing that it was hard for Ziva to follow the command, even without being in active defiance at the moment.
"Do you ... want me to do it for you?" Jenny asked.
"I don't want any more spanking!" Ziva protested, hating the use of the word want. No, she did not want more smacks to her bum, thank you very much! But if she had to, then ...
"That's not an option right now, honey. But taking your pants down yourself or having me do it is. Will you do it yourself? Or should I?" Jenny asked. Ziva was not used to the compassionate tone she was using, but she appreciated it. She slowly gestured to Jenny.
"All right, then. Hold still," Jenny said. She deftly undid the button and zipper on Ziva's pants. Ziva felt herself blush as Jenny quickly pulled her pants down to her knees, but she did not have long to process it. Jenny's focus was clearly on the main mission for her to finish, which was to end the spanking after a thorough part two. She pulled Ziva back over her knee without any more discussion and the spanking restarted.
And Ziva promptly howled. That STUNG! She kicked wildly at the fresh sensation, the new and stronger pain surprising her. The wooden spoon was now smacking a much thinner barrier of clothing, and she had never appreciated the thickness of cargo pants so much before in her life.
"OUCH!" she hollered, letting herself protest loudly. If Jenny was going to spank that hard, she was going to have to hear about it!
"You need to be safe, precious girl," Jenny retorted. The conviction with which she said it was intensely accompanied with more spanks, and Ziva's mind was inundated with the message that "dangerous behaviour does not pay off as much as I thought it did" as Jenny brought the spanking near its end.
Eventually there was a pause, and Ziva - who had given way to tears by that point, feeling safe enough with Jenny after months of working with her to show all her emotions - sobbed her way back to sniffles and a tentative, "Are we done now?"
"Almost," Jenny assured her compassionately. She gently patted her back before asking, "Did you learn your lesson?"
"I won't be dangerous around you!" Ziva said. She was a fast learner, after all.
There was a sharp smack to her backside in response. Maybe not so fast after all.
"You will not be dangerous anywhere," Jenny corrected.
"Okay, okay!" Ziva agreed, wildly desperate to be able to end this.
"Then you can go change into your pajamas," Jenny said as she righted Ziva with gentle support, before finishing, "And then we'll take care of some birthday swats before you have a little rest."
"Birthday swats?" Ziva gasped, horrified at the idea of more.
"I think the reminder of exactly how young you are might do you some good," Jenny said gently, pushing Ziva in the direction of the dresser where her clothing was folded.
So after a teary change into bedwear, Ziva found herself whining once again as Jenny pulled her over her knee for the third time in the last ten minutes. She returned to crying as she felt the pj bottoms be pulled down, and then Jenny gave her bum another gentle pat.
"Do you want me to give you a wedgie, or take your panties down? These swats are going to be on bare skin," she told her.
Ziva thought over the (frankly horrible) question, before murmuring, "Might as well take them down. It'll probably be more comfortable," before burying her face in the comforter and gripping onto the fabric. She did not know what a birthday spanking was, but Jenny had informed her she was getting one to finish off her punishment spanking.
Jenny was gentle as she eased the new young adult's underwear down her bottom and onto her thighs. Then the birthday spanking started. At least the swats were fairly gently. Ziva realized that if her bottom had not just been thoroughly spanked, the swats would be little more than a slight sting. As it was, they hurt enough that she was sharply focused on each count, without building up any extra burning than was already present.
"You are so young," Jenny said between swats five and six. Then, between spanks eleven and twelve she added, "You deserve to have many more wonderful years, Ziva. Twelve." The spank made Ziva squirm a little and a fresh tear come to her eyes, but she kept listening. "You just need to be safe enough to give yourself a fair chance at living them. Thirteen."
The birthday swats would be very memorable - almost more than the spanking, although that definitely earned its place in Ziva's memory store as well. Ziva never admitted it to Jenny, but the birthday spanking came to mind more times than almost any other consequence over the coming years when she battled with if a decision was more dangerous than it was worth. The idea of possible not adding to her years if she took too many risks saved her from some more reckless stunts over the years (although the yet-as-unknown Gibbs might question that later if he heard of it, given how many of his grey hairs were caused by Ziva's misadventures and risks).
After eighteen swats, Ziva expected to be done, and tried to push herself up. But she was treated to the traditional, "one to be good on" (given so gently than it was hardly more than a pat), "one to be bad one" (which was as strong as some of the final spanks of the punishment and made her give a final howl), and "one to keep living on" (a more fitting variation of "one to grow on", which got her immediately praised for being such a good girl after it was applied in the middle of her bottom).
Her panties and pajama pants came back up - although their presence kept the warmth on her bottom and she felt decidedly squirmy as an effect - and she was settled in Jenny's lap, being cuddled and comforted like she had not been since she was very, very young. And then Ziva dissolved into tears again, letting the emotional hurt of the years out now that she had an excuse from the physical discomfort Jenny had applied as a catalyst.
She eventually fell asleep, and when she awoke, it was to a much different surprise from Jenny. There was a cake and candles, a bouquet of flowers and a stuffed bear that she thought she would probably take home as a souvenir (after all, she had outgrown stuffed animals probably sometime around the time she had outgrown spankings originally). She ate the cake, enjoyed the blossoms, and felt safe with the motherly attention of Jenny Shepherd. She dubbed the bear Peanut and slept with it that night, finding that having something soft to squeeze seemed to ease the residual sting in her bottom. She whispered the long story of the day into the fuzzy ear, finding that even an inanimate object listening was helpful, particularly when it had such an endearing expression stitched on its face with eyes that somehow seemed understanding. She ended up sleeping with it for the rest of the time they were on the case, and then maybe even more in the years that followed, finding snuggling with the fuzzy creature could help ease distress whenever she felt emotional or uncertain.
Of course, she thought it was just an odd birthday. But when she blew out the candle she wished that someday she might feel surrounded by love every day (as the love that Jenny had shared with her over the last few months was addictive, even if her bottom was still sore from one of the expressions of that love). And who knew if wishes might come true?
And someday, Ziva's wish would come true.
But if she had known how sure and unwavering and concrete that love would be (even without any extra power granted by a wish), she might have wished for no more spankings instead!