Man, it's been a while since I've written a Murder, She Wrote story! In this one-shot, Seth decides to teach a lesson to a journalist who regularly slanders Jessica, and he gets some very funny results! I was inspired by the OTP prompt below, and I immediately thought of that dumb Daily Mail writer who picked on Angela Lansbury a few years ago, making fun of her looks at the Olivier Awards. Yes, I do quote him in this story, but only to make him look like an even bigger jerk than he already is. Another part of the jerk writer's column comes from the idiot former chief of CBS, who likewise lambasted Angela (and MSW) years ago. This tale is just my way of telling them both off - and defending a great actress and even greater lady.

Dedicated to my fellow MSW writer ClearDarkNight - here's to us Seth/Jessica shippers!

Person A hears that someone has been teasing Person B for a while now. They decide to go show the bully a lesson.

"Honestly, I swear to goodness… that man is lucky I keep my opinions to myself…"

"What is it, Jess?" Seth asked, setting his coffee mug down and fixing concerned eyes upon his wife. Jessica's English blood had long served her well over the years - both in giving her unmatched abilities of logic and in keeping her temper in check. But, on the rare occasion when she was pushed too far, her Irish fire would flash in her eyes and put some unlucky individual in danger of being scorched. Today, the flames were beginning to smolder in the bright blue eyes he loved so much. "What's got your dander up, woman?"

"This." Jessica thrust the latest issue of the Cabot Cove Gazette across the table at him, a frown mark marring her forehead. "That Jasper Kimball…"

"Oh, your number one fan?" Seth asked sarcastically, quickly scanning the newspaper for the incriminating feature. "What garbage is he spewing this time?"

"Just read it. I'm not in the mood to talk at the moment."

Seth raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment further. Judging by that last remark and the long slug of coffee she took, the latest column from Cabot Cove's resident yellow journalist was a doozy. Jasper Kimball, a former Boston Globe columnist who was fired for being "too acerbic" in his writing, had moved to Cabot Cove - most likely out of desperation, since apparently none of the major news outlets wanted neither him nor his poisoned pen. Unfortunately, rather than focusing on politics or films, like any decent muckraker would do, Kimball had chosen Jessica as his new whipping girl.

At first, his column trashed every novel she had ever written, one by one. Jessica, despite being peeved at his scathing commentary, refrained from making public comment. "He just doesn't like my work," she had said grudgingly. "He's well within his rights to say so, and far be it from me to object. Every writer has their critics; he just happens to be mine. He's not the first, and he won't be the last."

After Kimball ran out of novels to criticize, he needed new material to keep his trashy column afloat. Therefore, his logical conclusion was to rake Jessica herself over the coals, from the clothes she wore to her manner at public appearances. He had even gone so far as to make fun of Seth, calling him a "rotund Romeo" and stating that "only J.B. Fletcher, an author well past her sell-by date in every sense, would marry a man whom no other woman would be desperate enough to put a ring on."

"Seth, I understand why you're upset, but we can't overreact to this. If we did, we'd be no better than he is."

"No better? Jess, he said you should've put my wedding ring in my nose instead of on my finger!" Seth had exclaimed, his face red with anger. "Not to mention he said you were 'well past your sell-by date.' The man is a waste of perfectly good human flesh, and he deserves the butt-blistering he clearly never got as a child!"

"Seth! Don't you think that's a little extreme?"

"He is a waste of perfectly good human flesh," Seth repeated firmly. "I'm angry enough that he insulted me, but darn it, Jess, he's been giving you the written version of a public flogging every week for the last six months! I've got half a mind to march myself down to the Gazette office, drag him outside, and thrash him in full view of the town market!"

Despite her desire to protest her husband's temper, Jessica couldn't help laughing. "Oh, Seth," she groaned, sliding closer to him on the couch and draping her arms around his shoulders. "You know as well as I do that violence is not the answer. However…" Here, a grateful note crept into her voice. "It feels wonderful to hear that the man I love wants to defend my honor as well as his own."

The blood slowly drained from Seth's face and his frown morphed into a smile. "What kind of man would I be if I didn't defend my wife?" He leaned in and kissed her softly. "I know you fight your own battles most of the time. I love that independent spirit of yours. But sometimes, we all need someone to stand up for us."

"I know. I'm glad you're in my corner." Jessica kissed him again. "But please, don't subject him to a public beating. I'd hate for Mort to throw you in jail."

"I won't," said Seth, as they snuggled closer together. Not yet, he thought.

Reading the latest heap of garbage, Seth could feel that not yet inching closer and closer. His indignation mounted with every word he read, every barb aimed squarely at Jessica. The jerk was going for the grand slam of mockery: age, looks, fashion, and makeup. The column skewered Jessica's outfit at the premiere of the latest film based on one of her novels. She had worn a white pantsuit with a pearl sequined tank top, glittering white pumps, gold-and-pearl earrings, and her favorite pearl necklace. Her makeup had been very tasteful: ice-purple eyeshadow, minimal liner and mascara, and a faint dusting of pink blush on her cheeks, with rose-colored lipstick to complete the look. Her eyeshadow made her eyes glow like cobalt, and her all-white ensemble set off her blonde hair to great effect. Seth (and everyone else with taste in their mouth) had thought she looked stunning.

Everyone, that is, except Kimball. Seth clenched the newspaper tightly in his hands as he read:

Is Jessica Fletcher striving to earn the title Madonna of Murder? No, I'm not talking about the great artist Madonna, although heaven knows; J.B. Fletcher was once the sexiest thing going for the mystery author category, with old bats like Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, and P.D. James barely keeping the genre afloat. No, Fletcher seems to be trying to evoke an image of the Madonna of Renaissance paintings - pure, poised, and perfect - and failing. All white on an even whiter woman? Someone get this woman some black clothes - at least she'll be dressed for her own funeral. I'd also like to get the number of her makeup artist. He needs to be called and told he's not putting enough on her. A mask would be more apropos to conceal those wrinkles. Jessica, honey, nice try, but with those pouchy cheeks and oyster eyes, your looks have more in common with the average Pekingese than the mother of Christ.

It takes a dog to know a dog, Seth thought angrily, fighting the overwhelming urge to crunch up the paper, drive to the Gazette office, and cram the whole thing down Kimball's throat. Taking a breath to steady himself, he took the paper by the top edge, tore it cleanly in two, rose from the table, and deposited it in the trash can under the sink. "There's what I think of his two cents' worth."

Jessica, meanwhile, had forgotten her earlier irritation and was now gazing at him as though he were an alien from space. "Are you all right? That was the calmest reaction I've ever seen out of you."

"I am calm, dearest," Seth said blithely, taking up his mug and sipping his coffee once more.

"And that's what worries me." Jessica narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you so calm? You're going to pay Jasper Kimball a visit this afternoon, aren't you?"

"I never said that."

"You don't have to. I can see it in your eyes. Seth, I'm not asking you, I'm telling you: don't do something you're going to regret!"

"I give you my word, Jessica. I won't do something I'll regret." Seth went back to his coffee… and to plotting.

Three days after the vicious column ran, Seth decided to take a ride into town. He had told Jessica earlier that he planned to ride over to the market to pick up a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk. Of course, he had done so; he wasn't going to lie to his wife, for Pete's sake. However, there was no harm in just stopping by the Cabot Cove Gazette office, just to talk to Jasper Kimball. No harm at all, right?

Riiiiiiiiiight, a snide voice whispered in his conscience. Keep telling yourself that. You know you'll be in it up to your eyeballs when Jessica finds out about this.

Mentally telling the voice to put a sock in it, Seth pushed open the door to the newspaper headquarters and strode in. The smell of printer's ink and fresh paper washed over him, and his eyes beheld the bustle of journalists hurrying to get that latest scoop. Any other day, these people would have been average, hard-working citizens to Seth. Now, they were all guilty by association, thanks to their refusal to excise a tumor by the name of Kimball.

Seth's eyes roved around the office. No sign of Kimball, but he did zero in on Richard Owen, the Gazette's editor of 12 years. Seth was glad that slimeball Ben Devlin (Ben Devil, as he had so fondly referred to him in private) hightailed it south to Philadelphia over a decade ago. From the instant he set up shop as chief of the Gazette, Devlin had run a privacy-invading story on Jessica and then proceeded to hit on her when she confronted him about it. No, Seth did not miss him at all. However, he wasn't exactly thrilled to lock eyes with the man's successor at the moment, either.

Richard's grim face told Seth all he needed to know. "You're here about Jasper's column." It wasn't a question.

"You're darn right I am." Seth deliberately squared his shoulders and slid his hands into his pockets. "That fork-tongued weasel has slandered my wife for the last time. Where is he?"

"Out to lunch."

Seth snorted. "Probably stopping by Loretta's on the way, to see if those gossipin' hens can give him any more dirt on Jessica."

"Now, hold your horses, Seth," Richard said, holding up his hands. "First of all, every word Jasper writes is his own, not someone else's. Second of all, he's tried getting Loretta and the ladies to talk, but they're just as sore at him as you. They've all threatened to cancel their subscriptions if he keeps writing trash about Jessica."

"Well, if you're faced with loss of revenue, Richard, maybe that ought to tell you something. And if he's been writing filth from day one, why on Earth have you kept him on all this time? Which begs another question: why did you hire him in the first place?"

"I didn't willingly hire him; he was forced on me by those snobs in Boston. Said they were sending him here in the hope that his 'razor-sharp op eds' could 'spark some life' into our 'humdrum' little town." With each each quote-unquote, Richard rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Liars. They stuck us with him because they didn't want to deal with his sorry butt. Now we're paying the price for it. The only reason I haven't fired him is because my co-editor is dating him, and she threatened to quit if I let him go."

"So fire them both. She's not worth keeping if she takes his side over yours," Seth said. "But before you do, may I have a word with him?"

Now it was Richard's turn to square his shoulders and stare Seth down. "Well, Seth, that depends. Will this word involve bodily harm?"

"Considering I don't want to spend the night in a prison cell in the sheriff's office, no."

"Will it involve threats of bodily harm?"

"Again, not if I want to spend the night with Mort Metzger staring at me through bars."

"Will it involve shouting?"

"Most likely."

Richard's stance relaxed slightly. "All right, you can talk to him when he gets back. But don't get physical with him."

Suddenly, Seth's mouth quieted upward. "You want that honor for yourself, don't you?"

"Don't put words into my mouth." Richard's wry grin, however, said otherwise. He showed Seth into Kimball's office and bade him sit before he took his leave.

As it turned out, Seth only had ten minutes to wait. Jasper Kimball himself strode through the door and did a double take at the sight of Seth sitting there, nearly dropping his cup of coffee in shock. "You - you're…"

"The pig married to the Pekingese dog, as you would so eloquently put it," Seth said coldly, not bothering to stand. "I've been waiting for you."

Kimball worked his face into a sneer. "Who let you in?" he asked, as though he were chastising a stray dog.

"Your boss," Seth retorted. The man's appearance was as oily as his words: greasy hair, inky dark eyes, and that rotten curl of his lip. He needs to look in a mirror before he dares to criticize Jessica's looks ever again. "You and I are going to have a man-to-man talk."

"About what?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You know darn well what."

"Oh, you mean my pieces about your wife. I don't see why you're getting so worked up. It's just helpful criticism."

"Helpful -" Seth shot up from his chair as fast as his aging body would allow and got mug-to-mug with Kimball. "If you think comparing a celebrated author - my wife - to a Pekingese dog and putting every novel she's written through the shredder is helpful criticism, you're certifiable, Kimball."

"I'm just trying to liven things up in this backwater hick town of yours. Besides that, Jessica Fletcher needs to be raked over the coals once in a while. The woman is so beloved by everyone, it's sickening. Queen of mystery, master detective, fashion plate, generous benefactor, and an American sweetheart with a happy marriage? Come on! This is the real world! No one deserves to be that happy!"

Seth shook his head, in disbelief and anger. This idiot really was insane. "You're a psychopath," he growled. "You're not hurling all this abuse at Jessica for readership. You're doing it because you're so miserable, you want everyone else to be every bit as miserable. If you're so blessed unhappy, then do something about it! Try to be a decent human being instead of ripping everyone else apart just to make yourself feel better!"

During this argument, Seth's voice had risen considerably, catching the attention of everyone in the office. As if Seth's cutting tirade weren't enough, witnessing the faces stacked up outside the windows only added insult to injury for Kimball. His sallow face was now a deep shade of scarlet and he seemed to have shrunk under Seth's wrath. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting a confrontation and a truth bomb in one fell swoop. After Seth was done yelling, though, Kimball gathered himself and smirked at the doctor again. "What are you gonna do now? Slug me?" He sauntered to his chair, sat down, and held out his arms in a pitiful show of bravado. "Go ahead. I'll have the sheriff on you faster than you can spit."

"I'd like to see you try. He's a friend of mine." Seth straightened his jacket. "Nevertheless, I'm not going to hit you. I'd like to, but I'm not. That'd make me no better than you, and I'm not going to sink to your level." He picked up his bag of groceries and turned to go, but spun around when a thought popped into his head. "Oh, what the heck." He pulled out his gallon of milk, opened it up, and poured the whole jug over Kimball's head.

Wild applause and cheers erupted from the opposite side of the wall, and Seth's head jerked around to the plate glass window in the office. Clearly, the entire staff had been witness to Kimball's comeuppance, which only made it that much sweeter. The next thing Seth knew, two people burst through the door: Richard and his co-editor, Margo Greenbaum. Margo was red-faced and looked ready to curse a blue streak; Richard, on the other hand, was trying hard not to laugh. "You brute!" Margo screeched at Seth, before swooping down on Kimball and coddling him. "What have you done to him?"

"Your last eye exam proved you're not blind, Margo. You ought to know what I've done to him."

"He's assaulted me, that's what he's done!" Kimball cried, ignoring Seth and addressing Richard. "Call the sheriff, Richard! He deserves a night in prison for this!"

"For what? Giving you a milk bath? He didn't hit, kick, punch, or choke you. Emptying a gallon of milk over someone's head constitutes a prank, not assault. If I make that call, Mort Metzger will laugh you right back to Boston and congratulate Seth," Richard said, not even bothering to fight his chortled any longer. "As a matter of fact, I'll be happy to do it for him."

Kimball leapt up, sending droplets of milk flying in all directions. "You wouldn't!" he yelled. Seth rolled his eyes. Good grief; he sounds like a spoiled child.

Richard looked Kimball dead in the eye, yet never once dropped his grin. "You're fired. Pack your crap and get out of here." His eyes shifted to Margo. "That goes for you, too."

Margo threw him a filthy look. "Don't bother. I quit." She helped Kimball out of the office, cooing to him like a baby the entire time.

Seth watched them go, shaking his head. Two spoiled children. "Good riddance," he said aloud. "You've earned back my respect today, Richard."

"Heck, I've earned back my respect," Richard replied, still laughing. "You did this newspaper a favor. Technically, I shouldn't be condoning you pouring milk over his head, but…"

"But nothing. He deserved it. Maybe now, he'll actually think before writing lies about people."

Richard grinned. "Speaking of which, what are you going to tell Jessica when you get home?"

Seth shrugged. "The truth. I promised her I wouldn't do anything I'd regret, and I kept my promise. I always do."

"Would you care to explain to me just how you kept that promise?"

"Of course. I promised you I wouldn't do anything I'd regret. I have no regrets at all about pouring a gallon of milk over that weasel's head."

Jessica shook her head, her eyebrows knitted together. To his credit, Seth had told her the whole story, sparing no details about his revenge. However… "Do you always have to create a loophole for yourself?"

"To defend your honor against a journalist whose writing ought to be lining a canary's cage? You bet I do!"

"Seth I told you, I appreciate your wanting to defend me, but…"

"But nothing," Seth cut in, repeating his earlier words to Richard Owen. He took Jessica's hands in his, gently stroking the rings on the third finger of her left hand: a white gold wedding band with an inner row of diamonds, and a white gold engagement ring with a diamond halo surrounding a pear-cut blue sapphire. "When I put these rings on your finger, I vowed to love, honor, and protect you for the rest of my life. I take those vows seriously, Jess." He raised her hands to his lips, and then shot her a mischievous grin. "Even if it means wasting perfectly good milk to do it."

At last, Jessica laughed. "Oh, Seth," she groaned, drawing him in for a tight hug. "I can never stay angry with you for long."

"Thank God for that. I'd hate to sleep on the couch after all my hard work."

"Oh, sure. It took a great deal of exertion for you to pop the lid off the milk and pour it over Jasper Kimball's head." Jessica chuckled and kissed him. "Thank you, darling. You saved me from a great deal of frustration down the road."

"Saved myself a headache, too. Sometimes, you just have to give people back as good as they give you, so they'll shut up and leave you alone."

Jessica laughed again. "How did I get so lucky? My husband is a doctor and a philosopher," she said dryly.

"I'm the lucky one. I've been blessed with a beautiful, loving, and patient wife," Seth returned, wrapping his arms back around Jessica as she leaned into him. "I'm glad you put up with me being a bear now and then."

"That's because you go from grizzly to teddy in no time at all."

"Only around you, woman." Seth dropped a kiss among her soft, blonde curls. "Only around you."