OTP Chapter 3 -

AN: Astute readers will note that I've skipped Chapter 2. That is a Valentine's fic and so will be posted out of order on Feb 14. I'm just disinterested in reuploading the file for a chapter # change. Disinterested sounds better than lazy. The italicized chunks of text are taken from Season 4, Episode 18 Benedict Arnold Slipped Here. (Read more at . ?f=625&t=40859) Again, I make no money from this endeavor and own nothing Murder She Wrote-related.

I hope you enjoy the following Seth and Jessica fic!

Prompt: In the years to come, he would never be quite certain that he'd intended to kiss Jessica Fletcher's cheek.

He'd been in love with Jessica Fletcher for donkey's years. He'd finally stopped denying it to himself, which was both a relief and a torture. A relief, because he'd found it more difficult to delude himself than he had ever imagined, but also a torture because he could not delude himself into believing that Jessica could ever return his feelings. He read the papers just like every other resident of Cabot Cove.

Seth wanted it all, but he was willing to settle for what she could give, and that meant friendship. It wasn't unpleasant, not all the time, at least. The feel of her arm pulled through his as they strolled along, their relaxed banter, the prolonged silences that were so comfortable and comforting, the rare times he managed to embrace her.

Sometimes, sometimes he felt a frisson of tension between them, and try as he might, he wouldn't be able to squelch the tendril of hope that bloomed inside him. He longed for her while she was away, fed, humored and cajoled her (as much as she permitted) while she was home. It was a sort of half-life for him, but it was all he dared hope for. He wouldn't risk their friendship. He couldn't bear the thought of being without her. She was the only person since Ruth whom he'd felt truly comfortable around. She saw through his crusty persona to the tender-hearted soul he tried to hide from the world.

He recalled that, after Ruth died, he'd retreated into himself, just like she feared he would. The grief was so overwhelming, so raw, that he thought he'd never find his way through. He was grateful for Margie, he was, but Ruth had always smoothed the relationship between them. He loved Margie, dearly, but somehow he always managed to put his foot in it with her. Ruthie understood him, understood the feeling underneath the words. And after so many years together, they'd hardly needed words.

Losing Ruth had been like losing his ability to speak. He could make the sounds, but nothing intelligible seemed to come out. At least to those he cared enough to try with. So he sold their home and used the proceeds to pay down the medical bills and impulsively moved back home to Cabot Cove. He'd kept in touch, in a desultory way, with old Doc Wilson and he hoped that would be enough.

Turned out the good doctor was ready for a change himself, and within a few short months of Ruthie's death, Seth found himself in Cabot Cove, settling in as the latest in a long line of town docs. The complaints were mostly routine and the few patients he wasn't able to treat himself he could always send to the brand new county hospital down the road. Margie came to visit him once and, while the visit was more strained than he might have wished, it ended on a pleasant note.

Margie looked around the spartan living quarters, then hugged her father fiercely. "I'm happy for you, Dad. I think you're making a good life for yourself," she whispered. Seth hugged her a little harder as he swallowed past the lump in his throat. "Come visit me soon?"

"A-yuh," he said gruffly as she pulled out of the hug. He stroked her hair, just as he'd done when she was a little girl. "Take care of yourself, you hear?"

"I will, Dad. You too." She turned to collect her suitcase and they made their way down the stairs and out the door to her car. Seth took her suitcase and put it in the trunk. He watched as she started the engine and backed down the drive. She rolled her window down and waved. As she drove off, she hollered "Don't let any of these Cabot Cove ladies catch you, Dad!" She blew him a kiss as she turned onto the main road. He chuckled to himself. As if any of these women could measure up to his Ruth. Without warning, a picture of Jessica Fletcher riding her bike through town appeared in his mind's eye. She was an attractive woman, full of spirit. Meddlesome, though. He laughed again. "Pity the poor man who catches hold of that tiger's tail," he murmured to himself and shook his head.

Well, the joke was on him, except he'd been caught by that tiger's tail rather than what he perceived as the natural order of things. He could *hear* Ruthie's eye roll. She was as fond of tradition as Seth, but they both had sharp minds that worked perfectly well, thanks very much. Injustice of any kind appalled them both, but so did the knee-jerk, anti-everything contingent that had seemed hell-bent on taking down the country in the 60s and 70s. Things seemed to be settling down now, and for that he was grateful. He worked hard to listen attentively to other viewpoints rather than simply disagreeing automatically and he tried not to be patronizing, he sincerely did, but it was a challenge. He took comfort in the fact that he patronized equally among those who lacked the basic, God-given commonsense doled out to everyone else. Jessica had remarked on his condescending attitude toward Beverly on more than one occasion, but he had the last laugh (and a bitter one it was, too), when all that business about Deputy Martin came to light. Even Jessica had to admit the poor woman had been deluding herself. Best to ignore that entire episode.

So here he was, closing in on the great age of 65 hopelessly in love with Jessica Fletcher-a case of lovesickness worse than any he'd experienced as a gangly youth. He had to get control of himself before he was found out. Jessica was an astute observer of people, particularly those she cared for. Seth knew she cared for him; he only wished it were the way he cared for her.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She broached the difficult subject during their next dinner. They were working their way, slowly, through The French Chef, which was currently being replayed on their local PBS station. Last week's episode had been Veal Scallops and Seth had made careful notes during the episode. He remembered that Jessica had called him right after it aired to voice her approval for veal as their next entree and to request a crunchy, buttery vegetable side.

To please her (he hoped) this evening, he'd also prepared Julia's famous haricots verts to accompany the veal. He'd even splurged on a nice bottle of wine, a nice Chardonnay that Michael had assured him would go well with their meal.

"Seth," Jessica began. He knew that tone.

"A-yuh."

"This is really very good."

"Thank you." He paused for a beat. "What do you want?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why should you think I want anything?"

"Don't you think I know you pretty well by now, woman?" He pointed his fork at her. "Out with it."

"I don't want anything, Seth." She took a bite of veal and painstakingly chewed, while he glared. She took a sip of wine and patted her mouth with her napkin. "Not for myself, anyway."

"Hmph. Out with it, Jess."

"Well, you see Seth," and she leaned forward and pierced him with those beautiful blue eyes. "It so happens that Tilly named me executrix of her estate."

"She did what? Why in the world would she play such an awful trick on you?"

"It's not awful," argued Jessica automatically. "It will be difficult, though."

"A-yuh. You can say that again."

"And I could really use some help."

"Hmph," Seth grunted. The veal really had turned out well.

Jessica looked at him through her lashes. "You know so much about antiques, Seth." He guffawed. "You'll be able to help me separate the wheat from the chaff." She waited a moment. "It would be a shame to let Benny Tibble get his hands on all of Tilly's things first."

It had the effect Jessica had known it would.

"Benny Tibble?" Seth exploded. "He's just this side of a criminal, Jess! You can't let him in Tilly's house. Certainly not unattended!" He groaned. "Alright." He pulled his napkin from his lap and threw it on the table. "Well played, Jess." He looked at her shrewdly. "You've got my help...just like you knew you would."

Jessica daintily patted the side of her mouth with her own napkin. "Dessert, Seth? I made a chocolate cake, or rather Miss Child's Queen of Sheba cake." As she rose from the table, she cut her eyes at him. "I'll admit I'm not above resorting to a necessary bribe. Though in this case, I didn't need to, so we can both enjoy a guilt-free slice of this cake." She winked at him as she made her way to the counter to retrieve the cake.

Seth sighed. Why did he even bother putting up a fight?

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He'd been to Tilly's place many times over the years. She'd been a shut-in ever since he moved back to Cabot Cove, so he'd called on her anytime she asked and sometimes when she hadn't, just to check up on things. He'd never gone through her home with an eye towards what it might take to make it habitable. He shuddered. A bulldozer came to mind. He suppressed another groan.

Jessica, of course, was trilling through the rooms with a clipboard and a pen and some helpful colored stickers. At least she thought they'd be helpful. But she was so bright and cheery that maintaining the appropriate display of ill temper was proving harder than he'd anticipated. She was simply delightful and he enjoyed spending time with her no matter the task. Being with her lifted his heart.

But cataloging Tilly's junk was straining the boundaries and no mistake. He began idly poking through some boxes. Jiminy Christmas! A Farm Bureau calendar from 1948. A good year, but what people held on to! Then he spotted it. It certainly looked to be an eighteenth chess set-and in pristine condition. He hollered and Jessica came running into the room.

"Seth! Are you alright?"

"Look at this, Jess. Just look at it!"

Jessica looked fondly at Seth as he examined the chess set.

"Have you ever seen such exquisite detail?"

"Oh, my. Isn't that lovely!"

"Eighteenth century British. I saw one like it in a museum once. Oh, it just breaks my heart to think that Tibbles will get his hands on this. Don't you suppose there's some way we could, you know, overlook it?"

"Seth."

"I know, I know, woman. It was worth a shot, though. Eighteenth century. My, my, my."

"I am sorry, Seth."

He smiled at her. "No hard feelings, Jess. That's just the way the cookie crumbles." He returned the chess set to the box in which he'd found it, then stood. "I'm going to take a look out back."

Jessica watched him thoughtfully as he wended his way through the piles and boxes in the living room.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He might have known this episode would result in a murder. He suspected the value of that chess set and he could only imagine what other treasures lay scattered through the flotsam and jetsam of Tilly's family home. She certainly wasn't playing with a full deck toward the end and couldn't have remembered a fraction of what was buried in that drafty old barn. Poor soul. And Jessica had taken care to visit Tilly. No wonder Tilly named her executrix. She certainly couldn't have counted on that flake Liza! Hmph. Imagine camping out in Jessica's backyard. The nerve. But, better not look a gift horse in the mouth. It'd be worse if she were inside!

He couldn't quite bring himself to feel remorse for Benny's death. He'd be hard-pressed to find a more disagreeable sod in all of Maine, but a life is a life, and it always pained Seth when a life ended before its time. Even someone like Benny Tibble. He knew Jess felt the same. It must be the worse for her, though she never discussed it with him. He at least had some clinical training, some experience at detaching from his emotions so that they didn't overwhelm him in the moment. He often prayed afterwards, alone. He struggled to believe in a God whom he felt had forsaken Ruthie, but he did try.

Why this particular murder should affect him so strongly he really couldn't say, but he found himself wanting to comfort Jess, to hold her in his arms. Perhaps it was he who was in need of comfort.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"I'm still sorry we didn't find any real treasure in Tillie's house."

"Well, different people have different ideas about treasure."

"Hmm?"

"It's an advance present on your next birthday."

"Well, I wasn't- ( Clears Throat ) Plannin' on celebratin' any more birthdays, but, uh, ( Sighs ) I am touched."

For years afterward, Seth could never be quite certain whether, in that moment, touched and overwhelmed, he'd made a conscious decision to kiss Jessica's neck. But, he supposed, as he spooned Jessica in their bed, it really didn't matter in the end.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

She was so warm and she smelled so good. He wasn't sure of the exact fragrance, but it was immediately soothing yet alluring. He'd meant to kiss her cheek, he knew he had, but something drew him to the curve of her neck, and he placed gentle lips in its hollow. Jessica shivered, then froze, and Seth found himself hoping a hole would open up in the floor and swallow him a la Rumplestiltskin. Was it too late to claim a moment of dementia? Could he move back up her jaw and buss her cheek? He was surprised to feel her arms close around him and pull him to her. Without thought he wrapped his own arms around her and they stayed in that silent embrace for a long moment. He never wanted to let go, but he dropped his arms as soon as he felt her pull away. He found he couldn't meet her gaze, but his Jess had courage. She used two fingers to gently lift his chin.

"Seth," she said softly.

He stared into those enormous blue eyes and tried to read what was in them. He wanted to speak, but the words just wouldn't come. He could only attempt a smile, but he was afraid it was more of a grimace. Jessica smiled back, a real smile, and reached out to touch his cheek. At her touch, he let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and he covered her hand with his own.

"Jess, I-"

But it seemed they understood each other without words, because each leaned into the other for their first proper kiss.