A/N: S3E3 Unfinished Business is referenced in regard to Jessica's comment about Seth. While S3E3 serves as the catalyst of this story, I used Jessica's apartment that doesn't appear until S8 to suit my purposes. James 4:2 is paraphrased. Words to Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon are used in this one-shot.

KarlieQ gave me the idea to write a story from Seth's perspective in the first person about him being stood up. This proved to be quite challenging. This one-shot is for her.

Jessica Fletcher makes me happy.

After that business at Juniper Lake, I haven't been able to forget that fierce look on her face when she said there was no power on earth that would make her believe that I was the killer. I know we are all capable of murder with the right motive. Thankfully, that has never been something I have faced, but she is wrong to have such blind faith. But I love her belief in me all the same.

Lately, I have been thinking about asking Jessica on a date. A real one. Not breakfast at the diner or accompanying me to the town council meeting. I realized after Juniper Lake that I was in love with her, and I'd be a fool to never tell her. Even as I am terrified at the thought. What if she doesn't feel the same and I lose her friendship? I'm not sure I could survive that. Then again, can I live with never telling her how I feel? I'm probably delusional. Why the hell would a woman as wonderful as Jessica Fletcher ever see anything in me?

Yet, she did defend me. Rather fiercely at that. She seems to enjoy my company. Always lets me cook with her and I have a standing invitation to stop by for coffee any time. Jessica doesn't suffer fools. If she didn't enjoy spending time with me, she would set a boundary to stop me. But she has never done that, often encouraging me to stay late for chess. Isn't it usually Jessica who asks to play one more time? She wouldn't do that with just anyone. But does that make me special? Maybe she's just lonely. Or maybe she simply enjoys chess. Perhaps the worst possibility is she views me as harmless, someone she would never be tempted to be with.

Well, that line of thinking won't help. Better not continue down that or I'll lose my nerve. Something tells me waiting to ask her out won't help matters. Probably make it worse in fact. And I can't imagine not trying. It would be my biggest regret in life.

No, I have to try. I'll probably be shot down. But you have not, because you ask not. I think that's from the Bible if I remember correctly. Not like I make a point of reading it. It sounds like one of those mottos or mantras people keep harping about, but it is something I heard once, and I figure it's a good thing to consider. I'm not sure I believe it, but it can't hurt, can it?

Not if there is a shot that it can win me Jessica Fletcher…

S/J

"Hello?"

"Jess, it's me. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Seth. And you?"

Better jump right to it, before I chicken out. "I'm alright. I wondered if you'd do me the honor of going with me to the Founders' Day Ball. It's on the twelfth."

"That sounds lovely. Hang on just a sec, and I'll check my calendar." There is a shuffling of papers in the background, but she comes back to the phone quickly and says, "Yes, I'm free. I'll write it down."

"Great, I'll pick you up around seven."

"That sounds as though we won't talk before then. Won't I see you soon?"

"I hope so, woman. But if you remember, I'm leaving for that medical conference in Philadelphia tomorrow morning. I'm there all week and then I'm spending the weekend with an old Army buddy on my way back home. So, it will have to be when I get back."

"Oh, that's right. You can't stop by tonight before you leave?"

"I wish I could, but I'm on call at the hospital. I wanted to ask you in person to the ball, but I've had too many cases tonight to get away. I didn't want to put it off any longer."

"Oh, I see. Well, let me know when you get home."

"I will, Jess. I'll call you."

When I hang up, I dance a little jig around my office. Jessica Fletcher is going to the ball with me. Now, I just have to make sure she understands that it's a date.

I have taken her to dances in Cabot Cove. But this one will be different. I will kiss her before the evening is over and make her understand that I want to be more than friends.

S/J

My medical conference in Philadelphia is for the entire week, but I enjoy going to as many as I can. Medicine has changed so much over the last few decades since I graduated. I never want to harm someone I treat by lack of knowledge about new treatments or by using archaic treatments for conditions that could be better helped today.

I confer with colleagues that I have known for years across the country, I take copious notes, read research articles available for consumption, and even talk to a few pharmaceutical reps in the vendor area. Staying open to current ideas is the best way to stay relevant and effective. It has been hard over the years to do so, especially when the young folks come along and think they know better. I must admit, but only to myself if I can help it, that sometimes they do know better.

While I enjoy my professional time away and even the weekend visiting my Army buddy and his family, I am anxious to get home and see Jessica. I didn't like leaving town last week without saying goodbye in person. But I worked until midnight last Sunday night, slept for less than four hours and then had to get on the road by five to get to Philadelphia in time for the welcome events that afternoon.

Now, it's nine o'clock a week later on another Sunday night, but I want to see Jessica before I go home. When I pull up to her house on Candlewood Lane, everything is dark except for the front porch light and one lamp in the living room, which I know are the only lights she leaves on when she is out of town. But they are also the ones she leaves on when she goes to sleep. It's too early for her to be in bed though.

Unless she is sick?

Maybe I should check to make sure? Yes, I should because if she is sick, I'm her doctor. And if she is gone, I'm the one who takes care of her house. Either way, I need to know.

Except when I use my key to enter the back door, it's obvious she isn't home. Yet there isn't any clue as to where she has gone or why. No note on the kitchen table. Climbing the stairs to her bedroom, I need to confirm her absence, but I know well before I reach her bedroom door.

Jessica Fletcher is the very essence of this home. When she isn't here, it's a hollowed-out husk with no beating heart.

Sighing, I'm not sure what to think. It doesn't appear as if there was an emergency, as nothing was left in a mess. No indication of a struggle. It's bothersome all the same.

I worry about her when she isn't here. If I told her that, she would tell me to stop. I know I don't have any right to her. She is her own person. And damn it, if she isn't the most stubborn person I know. But I love her with everything I am.

Still, there is nothing to do here. I am exhausted from my week away and I have patients in the morning. Although I did tell Beverly on Friday not to schedule anyone before nine.

My steps are slow as I go downstairs and outside to my car. After I carried my luggage inside my apartment less than five minutes later, I noticed the message light was blinking. Normally, I'd wait and let Beverly listen to it in the morning, as any messages are probably patients asking for an appointment. Something makes me pause though. Maybe Jessica left a message.

I hit the button and listened to two messages about appointments. I take quick notes for Beverly to call in the morning and almost hit the delete button, when I hear a third message. It's Jessica.

"Seth, it's me. It's Sunday night at six. I know you said you'd be home late tonight; I'm sorry to miss you. Vaughan threw me a hurdle today. Apparently, my editor left Buckley House this weekend with no notice to go to a rival house. My manuscript is in final edits and to make the deadline for printing to do my book tour, I need to go to New York for a few days to work with another editor. I'm waiting on a cab now to take me to Portland. It will be easier to meet in person with the new editor than trying to do everything by phone or email. Anyway, I'll call tomorrow. I hope your trip was lovely. Bye, Seth."

That was it.

Well, I know where she went at least. I'm tempted to wait up a few hours to call her at her apartment. She probably flew Portland to New York, as it is far quicker this time of day instead of the train. But I am knackered. I have to go to sleep if I am to be any good for my patients tomorrow.

I'll talk to her in the morning.

Except I don't.

S/J

There was one disaster after the next, all week. Patients seemed to multiply as flu season was early this year and there were two babies born. One in the hospital and one at the family's home. Then, I volunteered to take call at the hospital for two nights since Jessica wasn't in town. Besides, if this weekend went as I hoped to woo her, I needed all the extra income I could get.

Every day we missed talking to each other. I tried calling in the mornings, but she was already gone to meetings. By the time she called me late in the day between daytime meetings and her nights out at publishing events, I was never home to answer.

I was frustrated to say the least, but Saturday was the twelfth and the ball. I kept telling myself that not seeing her for almost two weeks would only make it that much more special when I saw her this weekend.

But I was starting to have doubts. What if something happened and she couldn't go? Would I lose my nerve to ever ask her again?

S/J

Early on the morning of the twelfth, I called her house, but she didn't answer. This is getting ridiculous, but I don't want to let her know how upset I am getting. Besides, it hasn't been only her schedule that has caused us problems the last two weeks. I was gone all last week. Then, both of our work schedules this week have contributed to our missing one another.

I just…I miss her.

When I hear the beep on her answering machine, I do my best to make my voice sound upbeat, which is never easy.

"Jess, it's me. I'm sorry to miss you again. I had planned on stopping by this morning, but I got called into the hospital again to see a few patients. I'm hoping to be done by early afternoon. I'll plan on picking you up for the Founders' Day Ball at seven as we discussed last week. You didn't mention it in your message yesterday, but it sounded like your meetings had wrapped up, so I look forward to hearing all about it. I've…I've…well, never mind. Alright, I'll see you this evening."

Before I return to the patient floor, I have a new fear that creeps in. Jessica's message last night had alluded to returning home as her meetings were done but hadn't been specific. What if she was still in New York? No, she wouldn't try to travel home on the same day as the ball. Or if she had for some reason, she had to be on a plane by now. It was ten o'clock already.

Still. To ease my mind, I'll call her apartment. No sense worrying if I don't have to.

The phone rings and when I hear her answering machine pick up, my tension begins to dissipate. I almost hang up without leaving a message, but the fear takes root again. I should leave one. Just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure, but it doesn't matter.

"Jess, it's me. I just called your house and got your message there. I assume you are already on your way home for the ball if you aren't here already, but I was making sure something hadn't happened to you. Alright, woman, I'll see you soon."

Hearing my name called over the hospital intercom system, I hurry out of my office to see where I am needed. Hopefully, the anxiety I still feel will be for naught. In the meantime, I put it out of my mind and focus on my patients.

S/J

At half past six, I've showered and shaved, slapping on some after-shave along with a spritz of cologne. I know Jessica likes this scent, as she has commented on it before. I hope she recognizes it tonight. It's expensive, so I only wear it on special occasions, but if I am going to proclaim my love for her at the ball, I need all the confidence I can get.

Going into my bedroom now, I put on my tuxedo, careful not to crease or wrinkle it. I wonder briefly if she would ever want to come here to spend the night. God, man, that line of thinking isn't going to help right now. Besides, my hope tonight is to verbalize how I feel and if a miracle happens and she doesn't send me to the door, maybe I'll get a kiss or two. I don't want to hope for too much. She is a lady; she wouldn't go to bed with me immediately.

I almost forgot her corsage and a bottle of champagne that I hope we will open later, but halfway down the stairs, I remember them, darting back up the stairs to my refrigerator. If I had been able to talk to her this week, I would have asked her the color of her dress to know what to match the corsage to. But since that didn't happen, I got a white rose, hoping for the best.

When I pull up to the front of her house, I know something is wrong. I'm not sure what, but I ring the front doorbell, and it echoes with no accompanying footsteps.

She isn't home.

Not understanding why though, I use my key to let myself inside. The same living room lamp is on as it was last time I was here two days ago. I had checked her mail several times this week and left it on the kitchen table. Everything is exactly as I left it. I place the corsage and champagne beside the mail and return to the front door. Peeking inside her mailbox, it's full again and I gather it all and put it with everything else on the table.

It's seven o'clock on the nose. I don't understand.

I'm stunned.

Jessica wouldn't stand me up. Would she?

She isn't home. Yet, once again as I did on Sunday night, I climbed the stairs to verify. If she is sick and went right to bed without doing anything else, I would feel terrible if I didn't check on her.

But she isn't in her bedroom, or anywhere else.

Before I leave, I make one call.

"Sheriff's office."

"Mort, it's Seth."

"Hey, Doc."

"You haven't heard from Jessica, have you?"

"No, can't say I have. She went to New York this week though."

I almost growl at him before I can help it, "I'm aware of that, Mort. I thought she came home though."

Mort's voice changes, as he sounds concerned, "Oh. Do you have reason to believe something happened to her?"

"No, I'm sure everything is fine. Hopefully, she didn't see anyone get murdered down there in that mass of concrete and humanity that she calls New York. But…if you do hear from her, you'll let me know?"

"Of course, Doc. Have a good night."

Hanging up the phone, I loosen my bow tie. Clearly, I'm not going to the ball. Well, I certainly don't have a fairy godmother. Who was I kidding, thinking Jessica would want to go with me?

S/J

An hour later, I am well into a bottle of Jack, adding a splash of soda in my glass. Don't want to dilute my whiskey too much. It won't numb the pain if I do that.

Not indulging in alcohol much anymore, my tolerance is less, but it still takes a fair amount to dull my senses. I'm wearing my tuxedo, minus the bow tie and jacket. I couldn't be bothered to do anything else, as I'm slumped in the chair in my living room, feeling sorry for myself.

I rarely drink, unless I am assured that I won't be called into the hospital. But because of how special I had hoped tonight would be, I made sure I had adequate coverage weeks ago.

The phone rings when I'm on my second glass and I don't answer it, but then, after a five second pause, it starts to ring again, and the noise hurts my head.

Growling, I answer, "Hazlitt."

"Seth, it's me. I…don't know what happened."

I keep my voice measured and controlled, making sure I don't slur my words, "If you didn't want to go, Jess, you could have done the decent thing and told me. But to not even be home when I'm sure your neighbors saw me arrive in my tuxedo—I've never known you to be cruel."

Her voice is meek as I hear pages turn, "But I don't understand. The Founders' Day Ball isn't until the twenty-first."

I am hurt and angry and well on my way to getting drunk. Raising my voice a smidgen, I tell her, "No, woman, it was the twelfth. It's always been the twelfth. I asked you for the twelfth. It was in the paper for the twelfth. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry in town knows it's the twelfth."

Her voice is a whisper when she says, "I must have written it down wrong. I have my calendar right here, and I wrote down the twenty-first. I transposed the numbers. Seth, I have been in New York all week. I finished my meetings yesterday, but Grady wanted me to spend today with him and his family, so I just got back to my apartment and heard your message. I don't know what to say…you must know I would never stand you up intentionally."

I run my hand over my face roughly, trying to calm down. I can't really be angry with her, but damn it, I want to be. I feel stupid and foolish that I could ever be important enough to matter to her.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. Obviously, I have been disconnected from you and from Cabot Cove. I was so…focused on my writing last week and then, here this week, I have been in meetings. Seth, I'm so sorry. I'm coming home tomorrow, maybe—"

I can't help it, I lose control, raising my voice, "I said it doesn't matter, woman. Drop it!"

Trying to calm down, I toss back the last of the whiskey in my glass, the ice clinking against it. I should have hung up. Hanging up, no matter how rude, would feel better than hearing the concern in her voice, hearing her sharp intake of breath, as she asks softly, "Are you drinking, Seth?"

Feeling pathetic now, I mutter, "Ayuh, but as I'm at home alone on a Saturday night, sitting in my living room still wearing my tux, I'd say I'm justified."

"Oh, Seth, I'm so sorry."

"Jess, I'll talk to you later."

"Wait!"

"No, goodnight, Jess."

I hang up, still hearing her voice tell me again to wait. Cowardly yes, but self-preservation is a must at this point.

My heart hurts. But I shove away the feelings. I'm going to do what I was already doing when Jessica called. I'm going to have another whiskey and hope I fall asleep before daybreak.

Tomorrow can't get here fast enough.

S/J

"Seth, Seth dear, wake up."

My eyes feel like sandpaper and my mouth is dry. I can still taste whiskey on my tongue. I must be dreaming, because I hear Jessica's voice. Why won't my brain let it go? She is never going to be beside me when I wake up or call me dear.

But now, I feel a hand on my knee shaking me.

"Seth! Wake up!"

I wake up, as the voice is much closer and louder now. I can't ignore it. Opening my eyes, I notice that I'm still wearing my tux. I did finally undo the first few buttons of my starched shirt. Why didn't I undress when I got home? The bottle of Jack is on the end table by my chair, and looks like I had at least three, maybe four drinks before I fell asleep. I don't have a headache, so it must have only been three, which is probably more an indication of how exhausted I have been this week after all the extra hours I worked, than how upset I was earlier.

But nothing prepares me for the woman kneeling before me, while I'm sitting in my chair.

Jessica.

She is wearing a long slinky champagne colored dress with some kind of fabric that shimmers even in my dim living room. The white rose corsage is pinned to the left side of her chest. From her position in front of me, I have a better view of her cleavage from a lower neckline than I have ever seen her wear.

Focusing on her, my voice sounds scratchy, when I ask, "What are you doing here, Jess?"

"When you hung up, I left immediately and took a flight to Boston. Jed came and flew me the rest of the way home. When I arrived, I found the corsage and the champagne. I put on the dress I planned to wear to the ball and came over. I know it's well past midnight, but I thought we could have our own private ball."

I notice the champagne bottle has been opened and she is holding it in her hand, while the other is still touching my knee, "Have you been drinking?"

"Hmm, maybe a little. I needed some liquid courage to come over here in the middle of the night."

"Jess, are you…are you drinking it directly out of the bottle?"

"Yes, I am," she replies, flirtatiously, demonstrating by taking a long swallow. "When I opened it at home, I used a flute, but then I thought I'd cork it and bring it here. When I came upstairs and saw you asleep, I uncorked it and drank another sip before I woke you. Do you want some?"

"Not right now, Jess, you need to stand up. You can't keep kneeling like that. You're going to get stiff."

"Well, I was hoping you would."

"What?"

"I think you heard me," she murmurs, staring at me, but she does allow me to help her stand. Leading her over to the couch, I have her sit next to me.

"Why are you here? In your dress and corsage? And what time did you say it was?"

"Well, I got home at midnight, but I suppose it's after one by now."

I am confused. I don't know why she is here, even though I am thrilled to see her. I don't think I'm dreaming. I can see her, smell her perfume, and she is still touching me, now holding my hand.

She is looking at me, but she hasn't said anything more.

I sigh. My brain isn't working quickly. "Woman, I'm glad to see you, but tell me what's going on. It was a long work week, combined with a disappointing night and too much alcohol."

She squeezes my hand, saying, "Seth, I made a huge mistake by writing down the date wrong. I needed you to see me in my dress, so you understood that I had planned for our night because it was important to me too. But more than anything, I wanted to ask if you'd do me the honor of this dance?" When she asks her question, she stands, beckoning me to stand.

I join her side, but I can't help saying, "There's no music."

"That's alright. I'll sing."

She pulls me flush against her body, far more intimately than we have ever danced or touched before. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she hums in my ear at first, beginning to sway back and forth.

After a few turns, she begins to sing, and I think I might die of happiness. Her voice is so pure and lovely. But I know this Sinatra song. I recall the words and as she sings them, I feel a spark of hope that she means them, when earlier, I thought all hope was gone.

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

And let me see what spring is like

On a—Jupiter and Mars

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing forevermore

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

In other words, please be true

In other words, I love you

Jessica pulls away from me at the end of the chorus, staring into my eyes. I can't look away. Her eyes are so brilliantly blue.

"Seth, I couldn't live with myself for another moment with you thinking I didn't care about missing the ball. Actually—that's not what I mean…I couldn't live with you thinking I didn't care about you. I never want to hurt you. You are far too important to me."

I am not sure what's happening, but she is beautiful. It's been long enough since my last drink that I'm not under the influence of alcohol, but I am exhausted. I don't think she has had too much, as the bottle was still well over half full when I watched her take a swallow.

But I need to respond somehow, so I say, "You are important to me, too, Jess." No, that's not right. It's not enough. Knowing I need to try again, I attempt to moisten my mouth. "Jess, you are the most important person in my life. I—had wanted to tell you that tonight."

Beaming at me, her eyes sparkling, "Really?"

I nod. I had planned to lay my heart out at the ball. This isn't at all like I had hoped, but maybe that is for the best. At least we are alone.

"Ayuh, I had wanted to tell you tonight that I want to date you. I know we are best friends and maybe you don't love me like I love you—" I stop suddenly. I didn't mean to admit that. Not yet. Maybe I am still under the influence, as my eyes widen in dismay at my confession.

But Jessica smiles again, appearing delighted, as she says, "Oh, darling, I love you, too. I have missed you so much these past two weeks. It was difficult being home when you weren't and then leaving as you were coming back. Then, to keep missing you on the phone. It was…it was horrible, Seth. But it made me realize how much I care about you. And—how much I love you."

My heart swells, feeling as though it will burst. Have I ever been this happy? I'm not sure, but if I have, it was before Ruth got sick. Hearing Jessica call me darling though, makes me want to kiss her until we are gasping for air.

She must have the same idea though, because she reaches for me, kissing me before I can kiss her. Her mouth is warm, and her lips are smooth, like I imagine her legs are. My body begins to respond to that fantasy, but I don't want to scare her with my immediate and increasing arousal, shifting a little away from her lower half. But she has none of it, when she lowers one hand to my behind and pulls me back against her, moaning now.

Dear God. If an unfulfilled arousal doesn't kill me before we ever make love, reaching ecstasy with her one day is sure to.

I'm not sure what is happening, but I'm not sure I give a damn either. When she deepens the kiss, I respond by teasing her with my own tongue, tasting the champagne from her mouth, as I reach with one hand, to clasp in her hair, keeping her firmly in place against my mouth.

"My God, woman, I want you," I mutter around our kisses.

"I want you, too. Darling, take me to your bed."

Vaguely, the trance that I have been in, made of pure lust and desire releases me and I shake myself. "What? You can't mean that."

She doesn't stop kissing me though, instead peppering my face with them as she begins unbuttoning the rest of my tuxedo shirt, pulling it free from my trousers, before pushing it off my shoulders, with only my undershirt underneath.

Her gaze heats my body, "Have I made myself clear?"

When I can't find the words to respond, she reaches around her back, finds the zipper of her dress and lowers it, stepping out of the beautiful garment and letting it fall to the floor, leaving her in only her undergarments and heels.

Her voice husky, she asks, "Have I made myself clear now?" I nod, what else am I supposed to do? I am practically salivating, wanting her so badly that my body feels electrically charged, my arousal almost painful. "Where is your bedroom, darling?"

I finally find a few words, as I cup her cheek, staring into her luminous eyes, "Let me show you, sweetheart."

When I lead her to my bedroom, she follows me.