AN: This is a little sweet moment between Seth and Jessica. It can be read alone, but it's best in my universe. You can read it following "Rain" for the current best results (since I may always add pieces to the universe).

I own nothing from Murder, She Wrote.

This (like most in this series) comes with a trigger warning for mention of pregnancy loss.

I hope you enjoy! If you do, please do consider leaving a comment or review to let me know!

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As far as days went, there were some that just seemed, somehow, decidedly better than others.

In all of his years, though, Seth had noticed that there was—more often than not—something that was slightly different when it came to good days and bad days.

Bad days always seemed to be marked by the occurrence of something in particular. There was a distinct moment, it seemed to Seth, that made bad days bad.

Between them, Seth and Jessica had known their share of bad days—terrible days, even. They had lost too many loved ones, which seemed to mark the very worst days of life. They'd lost friends and family. Both of them had buried their parents. Seth had lost Ruth. Jessica had buried her children—though she would sometimes try to argue with Seth that she had no right to feel those losses as profoundly as she did, which was always an argument that he was happy to have with her, since he felt strongly about it—and then she had lost Frank.

Together, Seth and Jessica had mourned the day that they'd found out that their first attempt at Jessica getting pregnant simply hadn't worked. The little embryo they'd seen in a petri dish simply hadn't been destined to come home with them. To anyone else, perhaps, it wouldn't have been any great loss, but to them, it had been painful. When the pregnancy test came back negative, it had meant that they'd both had to face the fact that this might not work. They might never be parents. The loss of hope—no matter how temporary—was always profound.

Even the lesser bad days started with a moment—a dropped coffee cup, a stubbed toe, a lost key, or some other minor inconvenience that seemed to set the tone. By the end of the day, it was easy to grumble off a list of grievances a mile long that the universe had seemed to lob at you for the entirety of the day.

In contrast, while there were, of course, wonderful things that marked great days—a wedding, for instance—there were, more often than not, no real markers of what made up the majority of good days.

And, for Seth, it seemed that, lately, most of his days had been good.

Of course, there had been some truly great days in the not so distant past, to go with the great days of his past, days he'd almost believed were behind him, entirely.

He'd convinced Jessica to go out with him on a date—not just as friends. He'd confessed his love to her and, better than anything, he'd found that his worst fears didn't come true. She didn't reject him. Instead, she'd confessed her love right back. He'd proposed, and she'd accepted. They had married, and decided to start a family together—despite how mad some people might have believed them to be. And, then, they'd finally gotten the test that declared that their daughter was on her way. Beyond that, there had been several appointments that had reassured both of them that mother and daughter were healthy and thriving.

There were great days, and there were still great days to come.

But there were also simply good days. Quiet, calm, unremarkable and, yet, somehow simply perfect, good days.

Seth felt overwhelmingly lucky, too, that the majority of his days, these days, seemed to be those good days.

Somehow, on a good day, the morning felt fresher and more hopeful. The coffee was wonderful. The food tasted more delicious. The air outside was somehow nicer to breathe. The little kisses goodbye—and hello again—were sweeter and softer. There was a hazy sort of magic surrounding good days that made Seth often feel like he couldn't put his finger on an exact moment and say "that's when this became a good day," but he could simply feel the "goodness" in the soft memory of everything and nothing in particular from the day.

It had been a long time—since Ruth's death, really—since Seth had known so many of those peaceful good days in a row. But, now, it seemed that nearly every day was good enough that the bad just didn't seem to stick like it once had.

Today had been a good day, though Seth would have been hard-pressed to say exactly why. Rather, he would have truly been hard-pressed to find anything in the day that hadn't simply been good.

He had woken with Jessica, and they'd spent the first part of their morning enjoying each other immensely. They'd had breakfast, and coffee, and he'd gone off to work with her already at her typewriter. They'd shared lunch together at the diner, taken a nice long walk together when he got off work, and then he'd showered while she'd prepared dinner. They'd eaten well, and she'd gone to shower while he got their dessert and coffee ready to go along with a game they intended to enjoy together. It had been a good day, and Seth could only imagine that it would finish just as strongly.

Normally, in the evenings, they had a variety of ways they enjoyed spending time together—even if it was just reading something at the same time and sharing tidbits that interested them from what they read. Sometimes, they did a crossword puzzle together. They enjoyed chess many nights.

Sometimes, they simply enjoyed sitting together and talking. Seth would tell Jessica about his day, and she would tell him about her novel, or whatever bit of gossip she'd picked up here or there. They would simply talk. It didn't matter to Seth. Any time spent with Jessica was enjoyable in its own way, and he was pretty certain that she felt the same about him. After all, it was often Jessica that suggested the quiet evenings where she simply rested in his arms while they chatted.

Tonight, they were doing something different. They'd purchased a game—a murder mystery game—and they were going to play together.

The game admittedly looked a bit silly and, perhaps, a touch simplistic or childish, but Seth thought they would still enjoy it. After all, the evening entertainment wasn't truly about the entertainment that they chose. It was really about spending time together.

Seth set out the game. He made the coffee, and he fixed both cups to his and Jessica's tastes. He cut them each a slice of the pie that Jessica had made earlier in the day.

And, finally, he checked his watch.

"Jess?" He called.

There was no immediate response. Seth walked around doing little things here and there. He straightened up a few things, made sure the kitchen was in order, read the instructions for the game again, and then he checked his watch once more.

This time, he walked to the stairs.

"Jessica," he called up. "You have two minutes to answer me, one way or another, Woman, or I'm coming up."

Seth's pulse kicked up.

It was anxiety, pure and simple. He would tell any of his patients, suffering the same, to try to remain calm. He'd tell them to take deep breaths. He'd tell them to distract themselves and to think about other, more positive things. He'd tell them to remember that what they feared was just a possibility, not a guarantee, and there was no need creating real stress—and physical distress—for something that was possibly entirely fictional.

But they were just beyond the point in Jessica's pregnancy where she had lost the baby, before, that had lived the longest of the two that she'd carried. Seth had imagined that crossing that line would do something, perhaps, to relieve their stress and worry over the potential loss of this baby. They were not, however, at the point of viability yet. And Seth found that, for himself, that remained on his mind now that they'd crossed the other imaginary line in the sand that they'd drawn.

He knew that Jessica had lost both of her babies at home. He knew that she'd cleaned herself up in the very bathroom in which she'd just taken a shower. He knew that she was, at times, triggered by memories of that—and, even though they weren't truly his memories, so was he.

And he knew that it was ridiculous—as were most superstitions surrounding anxiety, perhaps, when they were scrutinized—but he tended to get nervous whenever she was away from him and in the bathroom for too long.

Thankfully, just as he supported Jessica through all of her emotions, she supported him through his. He had believed, at first, that his anxiety would only increase hers, and so he'd tried to hide it, but he'd later found that letting her know that he was anxious actually seemed to help her. She wasn't alone and, in many ways, she felt stronger when she knew that she could help him.

She never minded reassuring him.

"Seth…" She called down.

"Are you OK?" Seth called back up, practically jolted by her response that wasn't simply the "I'm fine," to which he was mostly accustomed when he called out his concern that she'd gone beyond what he sensed was enough time.

"I'm fine," she called back. "But…" She hesitated a moment. "Oh—just wait a moment, Seth. I'm coming down. This will be easier to discuss when I'm downstairs."

Seth laughed to himself.

"Take your time, Jess," he called back. "I know you're fine. You want ice cream with your pie?"

"No," she called back. "But—I do want coffee."

"A-yuh," Seth responded. "I've got the coffee. All that's missing is you."

Seth returned to where he'd set up the game and had a seat. His anxiety, at the very least, was easy to get a handle on. As long as he knew Jessica was well, the worry that could make him nearly feel like he was having a heart attack dissipated almost instantly. It did, sometimes, leave behind a sort of residual—and expected—fatigue, but even that was acceptable if all was well in his home.

When Jessica came downstairs, Seth still found that he immediately assessed her, as was almost an act of habit at this point in his life. She looked fine, though, just as she'd said she was. Her color looked good—even if there did seem to be a hint of a blush at her cheeks. She moved confidently, and not at all like she felt weak or faint.

She looked, however, a bit concerned.

"Whatever is the matter, Jess?" Seth asked.

"Well—I…" she said, half-stammering it out. She stopped, closed her eyes and drew in a breath, steadying her nerves as he'd seen her do a thousand times. She shook her head gently and opened her eyes to start again. "Seth—I wanted to put something on for you…"

Seth laughed quietly.

"I like your pink robe," he said, commenting on what she'd chosen to wear downstairs. "Like the blue one, too, and I'm also pretty partial to that…I believe you call it the lilac one?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"It's not about the robe, Seth," she said.

"Well…what is it, then?"

"I wanted to put on something—nice—for you," Jessica said. "I thought—surely one of my silk pajama sets would fit, and I know you really like that blue set."

He smiled.

"I do," he agreed. "Brings out your eyes."

"But—it didn't fit," Jessica said.

She looked at him as though she expected him to express some sort of disapproval. He hummed at her.

"Baby's growing," he said. "Things don't fit. That's what we want."

"I know that, but…" Jessica said. She hesitated.

"Didn't we get you some pajamas? When we went to buy you some clothes to accommodate for the baby, Jess? I thought you picked some out."

"Well—yes…that's what I'm wearing now, but…"

"I like the ones you picked out as much as that blue set," Seth said. "Tell you the truth, Woman, I like seeing you in any of your pajamas." He laughed to himself. "And I'm even a bit more partial to seeing you without any at all…if you're so inclined."

"Seth…" she hissed, in the way that told him she was one second away from stomping her foot at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Well—Jessica—if you have something on your mind, spit it out! I'm not a mind-reader, Woman, and I can see you've got something going on, but…if you're not going to tell me what it is, then I'm just going to assume it's a night like any other. And it's the damned truth. I do like seeing you in—and out—of all your pajamas."

She sighed. She reached for the belt of her robe, untied it, and took it off in nothing short of a huff. She tossed it on the nearest chair. Then she stood there, arms to the side, and stared at Seth as though she were waiting for something. Given her expression, he thought she expected something bad.

Sometimes, she needed reassurance—especially since she'd bought the clothes to accommodate the growth of their little one. She was, after all, immensely excited for the baby, but that didn't mean that she wasn't still going through everything that every woman who'd ever come through his office seemed to suffer when she was expecting—except morning sickness; somehow, Jessica had been one of the lucky few that had skipped most of the tummy troubles that seemed to plague most of his patients.

"I like those," Seth offered, hoping his words were the right ones.

There might be tears—he fully accepted that. Jessica's hormones were every bit as disrupted as those of any pregnant woman, and their daughter's preferred thing to do was to drive her mother to tears. Jessica—much to her chagrin—was given, at the moment, to breaking into tears for everything: anger, happiness, sadness, worry, confusion, fatigue, and even affection.

She had even seemed to create a few new emotions, which amused Seth, honestly, rather than irritating him. He appreciated that Jessica allowed him a chance to see her when she was feeling particularly vulnerable, and he treasured the feeling of soothing over anything she brought to him.

Seth only hoped to get the right kind of tears tonight—the good ones—so that he could then enjoy the pleasure of comforting Jessica and soothing her concerns, leaving her in an overall positive mood. That act, of course, always seemed to turn him into something of a hero, and good tears seemed to almost always give way to even better times spent with his wife.

"Those look just as good as the blue ones," he said. "Better, really…because those make room for the baby."

He thought he saw her chin quiver. He froze. He wasn't ready to pat himself on the back just yet. There was still a chance that he hadn't said something exactly as he should have.

"Seth…" Jessica said after a moment, seeming to have willed any threatening tears away for a moment, "have you…noticed this?"

She turned to the side and smoothed down the long pajama top. Then, maybe thinking that wasn't sufficient to convey what she wanted him to see, she lifted the shirt and ran her hand over her belly before letting the top rest over her tummy once more.

"Noticed what, Jess? The baby?"

She looked at him wide-eyed. She nodded a bit too enthusiastically.

"The baby, yes, Seth, but…look!"

She smoothed her hand over her tummy again. Seth tensed. He stood up. He walked toward her, hands slightly out.

"Jessica—at the risk of being very much a man…I'm in need of some direction. I don't understand if there is something wrong, or…what it is that you need from me at the moment. If you tell me, Woman, I'm happy to help you in any way I can, but you have me a bit turned around."

She softened. He saw her muscles relax. She drew in a breath and let it out—calmed, perhaps, by his willingness to help or simply by his openness and admittance that he wasn't sure what he needed to say or do.

"I feel…bigger, Seth. A lot bigger. Very suddenly."

Seth felt himself relax. He laughed quietly, and he heard the slightly nervous sound in his laughter. He reached a hand out and touched her tummy, first, gingerly. When she didn't seem to dislike it—which was often the case, since she very much liked for him to touch her in that manner—he put a bit more pressure behind the touch. He rested his other hand on her shoulder.

"She's growing, Jess…what'd you expect?" He asked.

"I swear it wasn't like this…even this morning," Jessica said.

Seth laughed quietly.

"There comes a point, for nearly every woman, when it becomes more obvious. You have a strong core, Jess. You've been holding her back pretty well, but…she's spreading out a little, and your muscles are getting tired. And at this hour…well, we all expand a little as the day goes on. You ate a good dinner. You're a little more tired and a little relaxed. It's perfectly natural."

Jessica put her hand over his. He didn't move his.

"I feel like I look…"

"Pregnant?" Seth supplied, not allowing her to finish with anything that might be negative. "You are."

"I never…" Jessica started. She took a second and started again. "I was never…"

"But you are now," Seth said, interrupting her, again, before she could say anything that would upset her needlessly. He supported her grief, and he would sit with her in her sadness as much as she needed, but he also knew that, sometimes, he could stop her from hurting her own feelings—and that, sometimes, allowed her to just enjoy the goodness of a moment. He leaned and kissed the side of her face. She leaned into him. "And—Jess—it's beautiful. You're beautiful."

"Do you really think so?" She asked.

"You have no idea," Seth said. "And I'm not the writers, so I don't have the words."

"I really just look heavy," Jessica said.

"Pregnant," Seth said. "That's the word you're looking for. We both know she's in there, and she's growing. This is only the beginning, Woman. She's going to get a lot bigger."

"You're OK with that?" Jessica asked.

Seth laughed.

"Little late to ask me now," he said. "If I weren't, don't you think I'd have said something during one of the other million steps we took to get here? Woman—I poked you, myself, with about two hundred needles, not to mention all the ones I watched them poke you with. There was that whole…downright embarrassing closet fiasco…"

Jessica laughed.

"You were not in a closet," she said. "That was a…a nice little room for you to make your…contribution."

"I'll agree with you only because I also held your hand through everything else they did to get us where the hell we are," Seth said. "But—Jessica—if I weren't OK with any of this, don't you think I would've said it by now?"

She laughed and her cheeks blushed pink.

"You're right," she said. "I know. We've talked about this. It's just…when I went to put on the pajamas, and I noticed…I guess…I somehow hadn't noticed before."

"You had a bit of a shock," Seth said. "Listen to me, Jess—you look…beautiful. You look healthy, and beautiful. She is growing, and taking up space. And that's what we want."

She smiled, then, and Seth could tell that she was feeling better. It was easy not to notice how much her body was changing from day to day – and throughout the day as it went through the normal changes that every body did throughout the day – and it took something like this to really draw her attention to the fact that their daughter was starting to grow and show herself.

Seth gently caught Jessica's chin. She returned the kiss he requested with enthusiasm. He moved his hands to wrap his arms around her as she pulled him close to her, as close as they could get. He swayed her, in a gentle sort of dance, when she broke the kiss and rested her head against him. He smiled to think that, pressed as tightly against him as she was, with his arms holding her in place, and her arms around him, he could just begin to feel their daughter pressed between them—and he knew that sensation would only become more pronounced as Jessica's body grew to accommodate her continued growth.

"You had a bit of a shock," Seth repeated. "But you know what's good for that—and for growing babies?"

She pulled out of the hug and smiled at him, this time, without evidence of any emotion except happiness and, perhaps, the anticipation of his teasing.

"What?" She asked.

"Pie," he said. "And—probably cool coffee…but I can warm it for you, if you want. And getting beaten at a murder mystery game."

She laughed.

"Beaten?" She challenged. "Now, Seth…I've been known to solve a few murders…"

"Hmm," Seth huffed. He gestured toward her seat, and joined her, his arm around her as he savored the warmth of the moment just a little longer. "I might let you win," he said.

"Let me win?" Jessica responded, her eyebrows and her voice rising.

"For the baby and all," he teased, keeping his voice as even as possible.

Jessica laughed. He heard a note of challenge, even in the laughter.

"Oh—don't you do us any favors, Seth Hazlitt!" Jessica said. "She and I will beat you fair and square."

Seth laughed to himself.

"You probably will," he said, reaching and patting her tummy once more. She pressed her hand over his, holding it there for a moment longer. He didn't mind at all. He enjoyed the affection every bit as much as she did—and every bit as much as she would teasingly suggest that the baby did, too. "Come on, ladies. Let's play."

It had been a good day—an especially good day—and Seth could only imagine that the evening was about to get even better.