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Day Eigheen: cooking/baking
Timeline: married
"What is this?"
"It's dinner. It's anniversary dinner."
"What meat is this?"
"It's a chicken."
"Jen, this chicken is raw."
"No, it's al dente."
"That's noodles, Jen. You cook noodles al dente."
"Okay," she said, glaring at him with a knife in her hand from across the table, "then it's tartar."
"That's steak," Gibbs growled. "or Seafood."
"Or chicken."
"No, I'm going to die if I eat this."
"Don't be so fucking dramatic, Princess."
Gibbs gave her a serious look, and exposed the pink, slightly cool-ish flesh of the chicken she'd put in front of him - along with some fancy, yet clearly over-cooked, asparagus, and mashed potatoes that looked weirdly lumpy and half-baked. He stared at her, and she let her knife fall to the plate, thrusting out her hand.
"I followed the instructions!"
"Did you turn the oven on?"
"Yes."
He gave her a skeptical look.
"I hit the pre-heat button, and then set it for an hour."
"Did you actually set a temperature?"
She grit her teeth. She hadn't. She hadn't exactly remembered that part. That's why she'd put the chicken in the microwave to warm it up when she thought it was kind of - chilly - after the prescribed hour. She snapped at him.
"Eat your dinner, Jethro," she growled. "I'm being a wholesome, wonderful, attentive wife."
"You coulda let me cook, Mrs. Cleaver," he retorted, pushing his plate away. "I always cook."
"Yeah, which is why I was going to do it for the anniversary dinner," she snapped.
"How did you feed yourself all these years without dying?" Gibbs demanded, incredulous. "Jen, this chicken is just raw."
She sneered at him, and then sighed, sinking back. She shrugged.
"Take out and noodles and lean cuisine," she admitted. "I hate cooking," she growled.
Gibbs muttered something under his breath, and she sat forward. She pointed her fork at him.
"I can bake."
"It's the same thing."
"No, no, Mr. Know-It-All Big Shot Chef," she drawled. "Baking is sweets and dessert-y goods. I can bake."
He gave her a skeptical look.
"I can bake, insofar that I can get whipped-cream on my tits, at least."
"Can't think of anything that needs whipped cream for prep, but I'm in."
-alexandra