The next time Tim woke up, the pounding in his head wasn't as strong. Carefully opening his eyes, he was relieved to find that the room wasn't spinning this time, either, and his stomach seemed willing to stay in one place. Maybe.

'How are you feeling?'

Tim turned his head towards the voice, finding his boss standing in the doorway, watching him with an unreadable expression.

He briefly considered replying that he was fine, not wanting to admit the full extent of his apparent stupidity. But he still remembered all too clearly how Gibbs had responded the last time he had lied to him, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

And he figured he was in enough trouble already.

'Not so great,' he mumbled.

He was a bit surprised to see Gibbs grin as he crossed the room and sat down near the foot of the bed.

'Ducky says you'll be fine. He'll be by soon to check on you. How many of those things did you eat, anyway?'

'Whuh?' Tim asked, thoroughly confused.

'The cookies, Tim.'

'Huh? I don't know. Quite a few, I guess.' Seeing the raised eyebrow, he continued, 'They were good. And for some reason I was suddenly starving, and...'

'Yeah, marijuana will do that to you.'

'Mari... whuh?'

Gibbs actually chuckled.

'You ate a plateful of pot cookies, Tim. Didn't you notice there was something 'hinky' about them?'

Tim tried to sit upright, but the sudden movement made his head spin and he flopped back against the pillows.

'Not that hinky! I mean, there was a flavour... a spice or something... in them that I couldn't identify...'

'Yeah, that would be the pot!'

'...but I didn't think... I mean... they were just cookies!'

'What I don't understand, is how you managed to get that stoned, without feeling that something was wrong.'

Tim flushed.

'Uh... I... uh... I was... I mean... when I... uh... sometimes when I write... I... uh...'

'Do you mean to tell me that you didn't notice that you were stoned, because you thought you were just goofing off when you were supposed to be working?'

Tim blinked. Then, stomach churning, he realised that he was probably in even more trouble, now. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times, before swallowing hard and deciding that he really needed to ask his boss to postpone his inevitable punishment.

'Uh, Boss? Do you think you could, ummm, wait... a bit? Before you... uh... you know? It's just that... right now... I think I'll probably throw up, if...'

Gibbs looked stunned for a moment, before grinning slightly, his hand twitching as if he was holding back from head-slapping him only with great effort.

'Tim, I'm not going to spank you because you got drugged without your knowledge.'

'You're not?'

'No. I think you need to pay more attention to your body's reactions, and notice that there's something wrong before it goes so far. But I suspect that the way you feel right now is probably all you need to learn that lesson.'

Tim nodded vigorously, immediately regretting it. He leaned his head back with a groan.

'What happened yesterday wasn't your fault, Tim. You didn't do anything I need to punish you for.' There was a pause before Gibbs continued, 'Although, DiNozzo is pissed that you didn't save any of those cookies for him. I should probably thank you for that... the last thing I need is both of you on drugs.'

Tim smiled weakly. Gibbs got to his feet and gently tousled his hair.

'Ok. You should be feeling better soon, you just need to get it completely out of your system. Just rest, Tim. And drink that.' Gibbs nodded towards the can of ginger ale, already open and equipped with a straw, that had been placed on the bedside table while he was sleeping. Just the thought of it made him feel a bit queasy. His face must have shown his reluctance, because Gibbs continued, 'You need the fluids, and the calories. If it stays down, I'll bring you some soup in a bit.'

Tim reached uncertainly for the soda and watched his boss heading for the door.

Suddenly, his eyes widened.

'Jethro!' he exclaimed.

Gibbs turned in the doorway, one eyebrow raised. Tim sputtered slightly, realising how his outburst must have sounded.

'He's been alone since yesterday morning!' he explained, trying to get out of bed, willing his body to co-operate. 'I've got to get home...'

'Relax, Tim. He spent the night in my kitchen. Right now he's asleep in the backyard. I'm surprised you didn't hear the commotion about an hour ago, when the neighbour's cat wandered through the hedge.'

Tim relaxed and sank back against the pillows, relieved that both his dog and his floors were safe.

'Thanks, Boss.'

'Thank DiNozzo. He had to pick up the dog, since I couldn't very well let him in the car with you. He'd go berserk, smelling those damn cookies on your hands.'

Tim groaned, imagining the scene. He never would have thought having a retired Navy drug dog as a pet would be a problem.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to him. Slightly horrified, he asked, 'Boss... Tony's not... I mean... I didn't do anything too embarrassing... did I?'

'Nah. You were just rambling about psychic marshals.'

Psychic marshals? What the hell?

Watching Gibbs once more turning to leave, Tim wondered where on Earth his drug-addled mind had pulled that from. And what Tony would do with it.