Well, I thought this would be a great little oneshot. It's short and sweet!

In which Clary finds out that she does not have the stomach flu. But she does have something in her stomach…

Clary shifted on the hospital bench. She didn't really like hospitals. It was probably because of the whole thing with her mother three years before.

Her doctor, Mr. Hank, Steven Hank, was a nice man. He was awfully chipper and tended to be very caring. All in all, he was a good doctor.

When he came in the door, the first thing Clary noticed was that he was smiling brightly. This wasn't all that big of a deal, except that he looked a little bit too happy.

"Well, the results are back and I have excellent news!" Clary stared at him blankly, and waited for him to continue. He shifted uncomfortably in her gaze and tapped his clipboard. He obviously knew something she didn't, couldn't he spit it out already?

"So… What's the good news?" she asked, yawning and fiddling with her wedding band. She swung her legs and smiled encouragingly. With how nauseous she was feeling, the smile was faker than cubic zirconium.

"You aren't sick with the flu, Mrs. Lightwood! You are about 12 weeks pregnant!" The man grinned brightly and handed over a sheet giving her details.

Steven stared at her expectantly. She stared back with an emotionless face. Dr. Hank started to get nervous. Was she not happy?

She took the paper and stuffed it in her purse, then stared at him blankly again.

"Hmm… Thanks." She hopped off the large bench and walked out.

Well, that had never happened before.

Clary was painting when Jace got home. Although they lived in a small apartment in New York, they had plenty of space. But when somebody entered or exited the apartment, you could hear it. Clary heard Jace come in and she yawned tiredly.

"So… Did you go to see the doctor today?" he paused at the doorway to clean off his boots and take off his coat.

"Yup," she replied, in a bored tone, blending a pinkish hue with her paints. She stretched a little and went back to painting.

"I'm guessing you're healthy, considering if you were sick you would be lazing around."

He opened the weapons chest in their living room to dispose of his weapons.

"Yeah, all healthy," Clary focused her attention on painting the flowers before her.

"That's because Isabelle hasn't force-fed you anything recently," Jace rummaged through the trunk and propped the lid up so he could see better.

"Hey, Jace," Clary said, shifting in her seat and yawning.

"What?"

"I'm pregnant."

The next thing she knew, Jace shot his head up, effectively hitting it on the lid to the chest. He howled in pain and uttered a few choice curses before turning towards his wife in disbelief.

"What? I think I heard you wrong, excuse me?"

"I'm pregnant," Clary said in a monotonous voice, continuing to paint the flowers on the table.

"Pre-Pregnant?" he asked again, his eyes screwing up in disbelief.

"Pregnant," she repeated, setting down her brush and inspecting her painting.

"As in… CHILDREN kind of pregnant?" he asked, falling on his butt in shock.

"Yeah, that's the kind."

"Oh…"

They were both silent for a moment, before the phone rang. Clary picked it up. It was Isabelle.

Suddenly, a loud thump echoed through the room. Clary turned towards the source.

"What was that?" asked Isabelle on the other line.

Jace was lying perfectly still on the floor, body sprawled out.

Clary replied mildly amused, "I think he's fainted."

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