The Joker is awfully domestic, in his way. He makes pretty clothes. Nathan's perfectly happy to be a clothes horse for his sartorially-inclined mate. Some of the clothes are distinctly feminine, and Nathan does not wear those, although the Joker could probably talk him into a kilt, even if that's not a Manx thing but only their neighbors.
Snuggles ensue. (Also some groping. There are new shapes to grope, and even the old ones hadn't worn off their novelty.)
Eventually, with obvious reluctance, she detaches herself.
"I'm hungry," she says, "I'm gonna make breakfast."
It is not breakfast time. But she feels breakfasty.
Nathan, of course, has memorized his mate's eating patterns without even having to try. "Already?"
"...Yeah?" she says. She hasn't memorized any patterns; she eats when she feels like it, and she feels like eating now.
"Whatcha having?" he asks, rolling up to his feet.
"Dunno," she says musingly, heading for the kitchen. "...French toast. I feel like French toast."
"That's got eggs in it, doesn't it?" Nathan asks slowly.
"...Babe," says Nathan, "how thoroughly did you turn into a woman?"
"Can you," Nathan says, "get pregnant."
"Neither did I." He sighs. "Unusual hunger - especially for eggs, among things humans eat - is common for people pregnant with half-vampires."
And shrugs, and keeps walking.
"Well, pregnant or not, I'm still hungry."
"I don't know," she says, shrugging again. "Haven't thought about it. Do you?"
"Had some. I think they were mine." Pause. "They were there when I woke up from turning, babe."
She puts down the frying pan she just got out of the cupboard, turns back to Nathan, and hugs him.
"Oh, sweetie."
He hugs her back. "I didn't know you'd - if I'd - I wasn't trying to knock you up."
"I'm not sure they were mine. They looked like me, but. I can't remember."