1.

"No, no, no. You're doing it all wrong. If you don't bring your foot up high enough, you won't hit your opponent with enough force to knock out his breath, then you'll just have a really ticked off demon with a slight bruise and a vendetta." Jace spoke as sweat beaded at his hairline, explaining to Clary for at least the eightieth time how to properly land a high kick.

Clary's face was red, both from exertion and frustration. "Jace, I can't do this anymore. We have got to take a break."

"Right, 'cause I'm sure a greater demon will let you take a rest in the middle of fighting for your life."

"Good grief, Jace! I've only been learning this stuff for a few weeks, you've had years. You honestly can't expect me to be as good as you so quickly," Clary said angrily.

"One, no one is as good as me. Two, you asked for this, Clary. I tried to tell you I'd be hard on you." Jace had already regained his breath, and was breathing evenly while Clary was still panting slightly. "I'm not going to go easy on you just because you look hot in training gear."

Ignoring his last statement, Clary gathered up her energy and turned to face him in a spar again. A grin spread across Jace's handsome face. "There you go, prove to me those legs are meant for more than just looking pretty."

2.

Simon was in a mood.

Well, he was trying to be in a mood. Although he was new to being a vampire, most of his knowledge about them came from old movies and episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. He remembered that Angel had always been cool, projecting this anti-social, brooding sort of presence whenever he was around. Simon had decided that maybe he could turn this being a vampire into an opportunity; maybe he, too, could be cool and brooding.

After perfecting his scowl in the mirror, he shrugged on a dark leather jacket (don't all modern vampires wear leather?) and set out into the dark New York City streets. Okay, maybe not dark since lights were everywhere, but maybe he could stick to the alley ways, that would certainly give him a tough, self-loathing atmosphere.

Quickly, he found that absolutely no one cared about his scowl or his leather jacket. Simon spent twenty minutes kicking cans and other various trash through alleys, hand stuck dejectedly in his pockets. Suddenly, his ears perked.

"You realize you can't sneak up on me anymore, Jace. I can hear you coming, plus you smell."

Jace, in his traditional all-over black attire revealed himself from behind a corner. "I do not smell. And if you're talking about my regular scent, it's really creepy that you can tell mine from amongst all this garbage."

"I can't help I have enhanced senses. And you do smell, you had something garlic-y for dinner, it's all over you."

"I guess you should stay back then, huh?"

"Pshhh," Simon made an inelegant noise, "you know that's just a myth."

"So what are you doing out here, vampire? Looking for friends among the vermin?" Jace leaned casually against the nearby brick wall.

"No, not that it's any of your business. I just felt like a walk."

"Right, you just felt like a walk, in a very random, sad leather jacket in dark alleys?" Jace's voice held an amused tone.

Slightly embarrassed that Jace had noticed his outfit, but refusing to show that to Jace, Simon replied, "Just forget it. You're more than welcome to leave now, if you're only plan is to insult me."

Jace laughed, "Who's insulting you? I'm just making an observation."

"Well, make your observations somewhere else."

"No can do, vampire. This is far too entertaining."

"Exactly how am I entertaining? I'm just a guy hanging out in the night. I'm a vampire, isn't that what I'm supposed to do?" Simon was becoming exasperated, and for some reason, did not want Jace to know he was out in the middle of the night trying to be cool.

"Yes, but something is different about this. I'll figure it out eventually. Oh, I know. You're checking out local rats to remember what it was like when you were one!" Jace laughed as he remembered the events leading up to Simon's transformation.

"Yep, that's it. I made friends back then and I was visiting them for old time's sake. Can you leave now?"

"Wait! How about this-" Jace started, but was interrupted by Simon.

"I'm trying to take your advice, okay?"

"My advice? While I admit that what I say is usually true and wise, I don't remember giving you advice about poor wardrobe choices and garbage."

Simon sighed, "I was going for the rock star look."

Jace burst out laughing. When he finally regained control of himself well enough to speak he said, "This is how you do rock star? Vampire, listen, if you really want help with girls, smelling like putrid waste and dead cow isn't going to cut it."

"It's not about girls...well, maybe it is, but it's not all about getting girls."

Jace walked over to where Simon stood, and put an arm around his shoulders. "Don't worry about it, Downworlder, I'm here to help. I mean, I did steal Clary from you, the least I can do is try to help you find someone to share your otherwise empty and lonely life."

With a shake of his head, Simon gave in and followed as Jace led him out of the alley.

3.

A putrid smell filled the air. Jace had an unusually sensitive sense of smell and this scent was enough to make him want to vomit. Rising to a sitting position from where he had been reclined on his bed, he lifted his head to get a better sense of where it was coming from. Then he realized.

The kitchen.

At first he had assumed that something had died, but then realized with Robert and Maryse gone overseas Isabelle was likely attempting to cook again. With a groan, Jace flopped back on his bed, putting a pillow over his nose to try and save his lungs the torture of breathing in the air.

A few moments later, he heard footsteps approaching his room. Without a knock, someone opened his door. A female voice said, "Come and eat. I've made supper."

Raising the pillow slightly, Jace peeked one eye at the intruder. "Izzy, I would honestly rather poke my own eyes out with a fork than eat whatever it is you attempted to cook."

A huff and hands on hips, "No need to be rude, Jace."

"Rude is what I do."

"If it wasn't for me, you would starve."

"That would be preferable." Jace said, replacing the pillow over his face. Oxygen was becoming an issue, but it was still better than subjecting his nose to whatever it was Izzy had thrown together.

Just then, Jace felt the pillow being ripped from his hands and he was forced to look up at the dark curtain of hair quivering in front of him. Isabelle tucked some strands behind her ear so her face would be visible and he was able to see that her face had turned a bright shade of pink and her lips were set in a hard line.

He thought about being nice and just eating it to make her happy, but as Jace rarely did things just to make others happy he decided against it. Instead he said, "Seriously, Iz, you should give up. You only subject yourself to ridicule every time you try this."

"That's not true! Alec eats, and Simon likes my cooking."

Jace snorted, "Alec is too nice for his own good, and Simon likes you not your cooking, trust me."

"Whatever, Jace. Eat or don't, it doesn't really matter to me." She retreated from the room and began walking down the hall when she heard Jace shout.

"Hey, be a doll and get me the delivery menu for that new Chinese place!"

...and one time he didn't

"Jace, could you come do me a favor?" Clary called to him from the bathroom of the home they shared.

With only a slight grumble, Jace put down the book he was reading on the small side table and lifted himself off the (incredibly) comfortable armchair in their bedroom. "What do you need?"

"I'm trying to read something, and can't quite make out what it says. I wanted to see if you could figure it out." Clary responded.

Jace entered the adjoining master bath and leaned against the door frame, his body filling a great deal of the space. "Hand it over."

Clary stepped away from the sink and handed him a fairly standard looking box. Looking puzzled, Jace glanced up. "Um..Clary? Unless one of us has gone senile, there's no writing on this box."

She grinned. "Look inside."

Unable to figure out his wife, Jace opening one end of the box and peeped inside. Reaching in, he pulled out what looked like a long, thick, white stick. On one end was an oval that looked like the readout portion of a calculator. Upon closer inspection, he saw there were small letters within the oval. He started to read out loud, "p...r...e...g...n-". His mouth shut quickly, then opened again as he stared at Clary. Her expression held joy, mischief, and pure glee sparkling in her eyes. Jace felt his jaws working, but no sound came out of his mouth.

Clary laughed, "Now, darling, you look like a fish, and I'd really hate for your handsome face to get stuck like that. How would I ever explain that to our child?!"