Ziva smiled over her wineglass, doing her absolute best not to laugh at the blackened lump on her plate. She had returned from a frustrating day at work to find her apartment hazy with smoke half an hour before. She repeated the same platitude she had been using since then, "It is not really that bad."

"I'm telling you, when my Mamá makes it…" Ray tried to stab his own lump, but the fork deflected off the thick, charred coating. He looked up with alarm. "Please don't tell her how bad this came out."

"It is not so…" She reached across the table to pat his hand. "The salad was very good."

He hung his head. "It came from a bag."

"But you added the cucumber and tomato, yes?"

He eyed her suspiciously as she finished her wine. "Are you making fun of me?"

"You tried. And I appreciate the effort."

"That's fine. Mock me. I deserve it." With a dramatic flourish, he stood and picked up both of their plates. "Can I throw this in the regular trash or do you think it counts as a biohazard?"

Picking up their empty glasses, she followed him into the kitchen. "Don't be so tough on yourself. You have many other skills."

"Though I've yet to find one that you can't match or better." The over-cooked meat sounded like rocks being dumped into the trash. "You still haven't taught me any Krav Maga."

"And I will not until you have your stitches out." He didn't shy away as she ran her hand over his stomach as she passed on the way to the refrigerator. It had not magically restocked itself when she opened door. "Hm. I have chicken, but I am not sure how long it has been here. And most of my vegetables seem wilted. I need to get to the market."

"I'm sure you're still about to prove Moussad offers better culinary training than the CIA does."

She frowned at the expiration date on her quart of milk. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Well, in that case…" his hand rested on her hip as he moved in behind her to offer her a glass, "more wine?"

Leaning into him, she accepted the glass and tried not to think about how nice it was to have someone waiting for her when she got home, even if dinner wasn't ready. Or edible. A rumble in her stomach interrupted her thoughts before they could turn to Ray's lips on her neck. "Do you feel like going out or would you rather we ordered in?"

"If you actually want lamb, I feel like we should go get it rather than have it delivered. Unless we're ordering Indian."

"You said you would take charge tonight. What do you want to do?"

"I think I'd rather stay in a place where I can do this." She squeaked as he unexpectedly nipped her earlobe. "Yeah, can't have you doing that in a crowded restaurant."

A sudden chill hit her abdomen as he slipped his hands under her shirt. "Ray, let me out of the refrigerator."

"Huh? Oh, sorry."

She took the opportunity when he stepped back to grab a sheaf of take-out menus from the counter. "Why don't you order something while I jump in the shower?"

"What should I…?"

"Surprise me!"

She felt refreshed but no less hungry when she joined him on the sofa twenty minutes later. "So what are we having?"

He handed her the wine she hadn't finished earlier. "It's a surprise. You know, while you were in the shower I realized I was so preoccupied with my critical cooking failure that I have no idea how your day went. So…" he held out his arm to invite her to snuggle against him; she folded her legs under her body and obliged, "how was work?"

"Hmm. Not as easy as we thought it would be this morning."

"I thought you said you caught the guys last night."

"We did, but neither would break during interrogation and we now have physical evidence that…" She caught herself as the buzzer sounded. "I believe dinner is here."

Ray pushed off the sofa, nearly causing her to spill her wine. "I'll get it."

He returned a minute later with a delicious smelling paper bag. Ziva leaned forward as he unrolled the top. "Giovanni's? How did you know?"

"I used my advanced intelligence gathering abilities." He produced a half-loaf of garlic bread before taking out a plastic container with a steamed-over cover and handing it to her. "Okay, so I picked the menu that looked the most worn, and I know you usually get the eggplant parmesan when we get Italian and…where did you get that fork?"

She spoke around a large bite, "From the bag."

"Yeah, but...how did you get it so fast?"

The plastic utensil twirled easily between her fingers before she stabbed another piece of eggplant. "Ninja."

"Did you just say 'ninja'?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. She started to feel slightly self-conscious as he emptied the bag while she continued to eat; she was a lot hungrier than she'd thought. He finally uncovered his own dinner, which didn't look terribly appealing and asked, "Is that what DiNozzo would say?"

She swallowed, feeling a slight burn all the way to her stomach. "This is really good, but I think I should let it cool off for a moment." She reached for the garlic bread.

"Are you avoiding the question? I mean, I'm only curious because of the whole CI-Ray thing. Does he call you a ninja?"

The mouthful of bread prevented her from correcting, my ninja. She washed it down with a long sip of wine. "He is like that with everyone. You should hear some of the ones he has for McGee."

"Any good ones today?"

"Nothing new or interesting. We were mostly focused on the case."

"Yeah, you were just about to tell me about that when dinner got here."

She shrugged. "There is not much to tell yet. There just appears to be more to it than we originally thought. What?"

"Nothing." After a moment, he smiled. "I don't suppose you want a bite of my linguini with clam sauce."

Her nose wrinkled involuntarily. "I do not even want to kiss you until you have brushed your teeth very well."

"I didn't realize ninjas were so easily intimidated."

She didn't answer, but hid behind her wineglass. He would probably drop the ninja thing soon enough.