A/N: In my defence Fierce did ask for it!

Jace Wayland…was making cookies.

Cookies.

In a frilly pink apron…

At 2am.

Cookies.

There were several ways to react to this situation.

A) Immediately begin looking outside for blood raining from the sky, four horsemen feasting on the slightly overly cheerful remains of their neighbours and a giant stairway to heaven.

B) Shoot him. Jace Wayland and pink do notgo in the same sentence together. It's clearly another evil, diabolical plot of Valentine (despite him pushing up demonic daisies) to overthrow the clave.

C) Call the nice men in white, sit Jace down on a sofa and wait patiently for salvation to come in the form of a sedative and several year's in solitary confinement.

Clary Fray opted for the non-existent option D.

Scream and hit him over the head with a frying pan.

(As one does…)

"What have you done with my fiancé you demonic spawn?!" Awakening to find a panting Clary, flushed and wearing one of his shirts was a very nice way to get up…

However being on the kitchen floor with said beloved wielding the heavy, black utensil being the source of your sudden nap?

He could have gone without that part…

"Clary…what are you-?"

"Silence!" He blinked away a possible concussion – because he was Jace Wayland and no mere frying pan could dent that big head – before slowly getting up into sitting position, the remains of his beloved dough smeared down his apron.

"…did I leave the toilet seat up again?" She took another swing for his head - her daily training sessions at the institute finally paying off – before he did something equally mindboggling and insane.

Like, the Angel forbid, attempt to clean up.

Or ask her how her day went.

Or remember to put on a glamour before trudging through their neighbours yard covered in demon goo and Isabelle's latest culinary delight.

(No, Clary Fray was not bitter. At all. Really.)

"Clary what has got into you!?" He finally managed to yell, safely crouched behind his fortress of sofa cushions and her prized coffee table from Ikea (the only one he'd managed to put up without utterly destroying.)

"Me?! Me?!"

"I don't see anyone else wielding a wok do you?!"

She snarled, kicked over his DVD collection (including the limited edition 'Gilligan's Island' set Alec had bought him for Christmas) and gestured to the remains of his cooking experience.

"What do you not like raisins or something?"

"Cookies Jace…cookies." The way she spat the word made it sound as if he'd been cooking orphaned children in there instead.

"Yes indeed, your power of observation and expertise in the way of pastry never ceases to-"

"What next?!" She cut him off and Jace had to resist the urge to pout – that particular witty remark he'd spent at least 2 nights crafting, "Is Alec going to show up wearing colourful, mid-decent clothing?!"

Poor Alec, the golden eyed boy mused, it wasn't his fault he was fashionably retarded.

"I get the subtle feeling something is bothering you…only subtly of course."

"It's not just the cookies Jace."

"Oh thank goodness, I was beginning to worry that you had some sort of sweet phobia." Clary grit her teeth and Jace wisely kept his mouth shut for the first time in his life.

"You, I can't believe I'm saying this, are being too nice." Jace blinked, opened his mouth slightly, frowned and then closed it back up again – his bank of 'sexy/witty/sarcastic/perverted' comments had nothing for this sort of scenario…

"Too…nice?!"

Now he was looking at her as if she'd just announced Valentine was hot in Speedos.

"Ok so maybe 'nice' wasn't the right word…how about…a nuisance? Irritating? Domesticated?" His frown only grew more pronounced as the list went on, "Jace you actually complimented Isabelle's cooking two days ago, the poor girl is still recovering from shock. Do you need to tell me something?"

She gave him her best imploring and fragile look, it was rather hard to achieve when she was still holding the accursed frying pan, and her golden eyed shadow hunter sighed.

"I'm bored." There. He said it. It was out his system. A great weight had been lifted. He could now hopefully go back to his usual routine without fear of being bludgeoned with a spatula.

(Oh…that was good, he'd have to write that down later…)

"Bored? So you had to assault my kitchen?!"

"Says the woman who nearly decapitated me with a frying pan," Clary rolled her eyes, clearly something was wrong as only Jace Wayland had the right to roll his eyes in this household.

"Oh honestly, Jace it's been a grand total of a week since Valentine was defeated," she griped, accidently stepping on their original copy of 'Return of the Jedi' in an attempt to take down the furniture barrier between them, "and with no evil conspiracy to solve, no bad guys to kill you've resorted to baking."

"In my defence it is harder than it looks."

"…baking."

"Stop saying it like that!"

She plucked one of the larger cushions out of the way to get a better view of her supposed one true love; she wondered how on earth he could still look so sexy covered in cold, blacked cookie dough, in a pink apron under a pile of heart shaped cushions…

With a mournful sigh Clary kissed goodbye to her peaceful lull of a life and helped Jace out the remains of their living room.

"…do you want to go break into another house of vampires?"

"I thought you'd never ask!" She sighed in relief, "Oh and by the way...since when was I your fiancé?"

"...oh shi-"

A/N: if you tilt your head and squint you could pass this as decent...XD