I am loving Reign at the moment – ESPECIALLY because of Mary and Bash. This last episode was AMAZING. I love the chemistry those two have. I hope the two of them stay together.

I hope you like this story. It's AUish as I've added a few scenes that have been playing in my head. Please enjoy it and let me know what you think.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT own Reign or any of the characters; I also do not own the song Angel of Mine by Eternal

Just a Girl and Just a Boy

I look at you, looking at me,
Now I know why they say the best things are free

- Angel of Mine, Eternal

She is the Queen of Scotland. Not a moment has passed when the importance of her station has not been impressed upon her. She has been taught the art of politics, and at a glance can tell who is on her side or who her enemy is (a clarification: she has many enemies). She has been taught that she needs to put other's needs before her own, taught to be selfless. If her position hasn't drummed that into her, the nuns certainly have. She is honourable and dutiful.

She should know better.

Bash is a bastard. Some royals would treat him with hostility, for fear he would make a bid for the throne. He should mean nothing to her. But the very second he pulls her away from the woods she is drawn to him – no, the very second she first laid eyes on him when he came with everyone else to greet her. Even though she had not seen Francis for years, she knew that this boy could not be her betrothed. This boy did not have the stature of a royal; he did not walk like he knew his own importance.

He looked at her in a way that no gentleman should ever look at a queen.

Later, when she spins on the dance floor and catches his eye, she has the urge to dance with him. To pull him into the middle of the dance floor and let him spin her until she is so dizzy that she might do something stupid.

But she is the Queen of Scotland. She is no fool. He is nothing to her; he is just a boy. It is a fantasy. It will pass.

For weeks she can push Sebastian to the background, because her most pressing matter is Francis. She wants the alliance with France not just for her country, but for herself. He is stunningly handsome, with golden hair and a smile that he can pull out of nowhere. But she is not so low to be swayed by beauty alone. He is good. She loses hours fantasising about ruling by his side, having people wave to them in the streets as they drive by, calling them the best rulers France has ever had. She would be happy with him, she can tell.

True, he is a little unsure at first – worried that the alliance is not right for France, standing by her side a week later, and then telling her to marry Tomas, and then kissing her on the castle grounds. It's enough to drive the sanest girl mad. But after Tomas is stopped, things become nice. Better than nice. It is what Mary has always wanted, and even though she knows that they are royals and can never have a peaceful life, she dreams of them being normal. Of being a girl and boy, in love and together not because of some treaty, but because of love.

And yet, every now and again, she wakes up out of breath and her lips feeling raw. Soon it happens every night. The dreams of kissing Bash increase. She pictures the two of them kissing by the lake, her lips sweet from his kisses. Worse, she dreams of them being together. Her memory brings back the night they watched Elizabeth and her husband consummate their marriage, but instead she sees her and – and Bash. She dreams of him peeling her nightgown off, dreams of his hands touching her – that brings shivers all over her body when she thinks about it. She dreams of her own hands on his body, even though she has never seen his chest before.

She wakes up ashamed of herself. She is engaged to his brother. How can she be dreaming of Bash when she is going to marry Francis?

During the day she sees Bash and quickly avoids his gaze, turns her face away so he doesn't see her blush. She focuses on Francis and takes his hand, letting him lead her away and laughs when he makes a joke, to make sure her mind is away from his bastard brother.

She can still taste him on her lips when she wakes.

Every now and then they catch each other's eyes. They can be eating dinner in the hall, walking in the gardens, attending another one of the court festivities – but every so often she will look at him at the same moment that he turns to her. They will look away, of course they will, they will act as if the glance is nothing more than just that. But they both know it's more. When they look at each other they hold the gaze, they stare at each other for just a fraction of a second too long for it to be innocent.

It's stupid; in fact it's absolutely pointless. But every time she looks away there is a tingle over her body and she finds herself smiling. It is a wonderful thing to be desired, and even though it is wrong, she can't help but enjoy it a little.

Not that it will go any further. She is the Queen of Scotland, after all. She will do the right thing – even if she hates it.

Stirling, her beloved dog, dies suddenly. A companion to Mary for years, she is devastated. Francis gives her a purebred mastiff puppy and she gets mad at him. It is only a week that she lost her dog and she cannot even think of having another. She and Francis quarrel about it, but he does eventually understand, even though she can tell he's annoyed about it.

About a month later she sees Bash trying to move past her, all too quickly. A bundle in his arms catches her eye and she stops him. "What do you have there?" she asks him.

Bash looks at her, his eyes far too openly kind. It is a good thing he is not the future king of France. "Found this little runt on the road." He moves the blanket away to reveal a scruffy-looking mongrel. Its fur is a coarse golden colour, unappealing, but his eyes are large and brown and look at her pleadingly, the same way Stirling used to look at her. It sniffs, moving his head towards her.

Her mouth forms a little O-shape. She reaches and carefully strokes his head. The puppy sniffs her hand, licks it. Its little tail is moving back and forth. "Did someone just abandon it?"

Bash lifts his shoulders. "Sometimes a home cannot afford to feed another mouth, even if it is a dog. My guess is the owners thought that it would die."

"True he is on the smaller side, but with the right care there is no reason he shouldn't grow big and strong," says Mary.

"And who do you think will give it such care?" Mary lifts her head to Bash, who gives another shrug. "Perhaps it would be kinder just to drown the mite."

Mary adopts a casual tone, making sure she does not sound too eager. "He might provide some use; seems a shame to kill the little thing." She deliberately leaves a pause between her sentences. "If no one else can look after him then I'll take him."

Bash lifts the puppy in his arms. "What a lucky thing this is to have such a good mistress," he says. The two of them are smiling at each other. They both acknowledge what Bash is doing, and Mary allows herself to be played. After all, the puppy is cute. He passes the dog to her and for a second their skin touches. She feels a little shock, a tingle at their touch. Quickly she takes the puppy into her arms.

"Does the little mongrel have a name?"

"Angus," she says decisively. At Bash's face she explains, "It's a name from Scotland."

The little "runt" grows to be twice the size of Stirling; his "little" tail grows so long that when it moves it manages to knock items off tables. He looks more like a lion than a dog, and half the maids are too scared to approach him. Not that Angus is bad-tempered. The stupid thing tries to catch a bee and gets stung, and ever since then is terrified of any insect. He is also the clumsiest animal that Mary has ever seen, his paws seeming too large for his body. Every time there is a crash in the queen's apartments Mary can be heard cursing Bash's name.

Everything is going perfectly, or as close to perfect as it could get. She and Francis are in love and happy, returning each other's smiles with ease. There is no calculation in their looks; France and Scotland are not in this equation. For a brief moment Mary thinks that she can be happy at the French court; with Francis at her side she feels invincible: the looks his mother shoots her fall of her back; King Henri does not seem to intimidating anymore. She is at last safe.

Then Olivia arrives.

She is blonde and very pretty; her accent is beautiful French and everything sounds so wonderful in it. Instantly she makes a beeline for Francis and stupidly he falls for it.

She tries to be understanding; she knows that he had a life before she came into it. Still, she cannot help but organise a place for Olivia to go. Francis accepts this and she begins to relax, thinking that she means something to him.

That belief is smashed when she hears that Olivia is staying.

She argues with Francis and once done, she turns away. She is unsteady on her feet, but her mind is utterly clear. She means nothing to him. She is simply his queen, just like Catherine is to Henri; she may be new to him now, but in a year? A few more? He will have grown tired of her then, and soon will find younger, prettier girls more fascinating. How many bastard children will she endure? How many mistresses will she have to walk alongside? How many nights will she have to spend alone?

Of course, when she is feeling like this, she finds Sebastian.

Later she wonders if this is what she intended. Not consciously, but that she kept an eye out for him. And why should she not? Bash has already proven that he is friend to her. He always seems to comfort her when she needs it. Bash is easy to like; unlike his brother he is uncomplicated. So ignores Lola's warning and goes to him. Particularly because he has wine.

She rants on about Francis and Olivia and their relationship, and then catches herself. "Am I boring you?"

"No," he says, not with the speed that someone is lying. He is being honest. "It's unfathomable. Francis has you. Why would he ever look elsewhere?"

She is drunk; that is the excuse she tells herself when she leaps forward and kisses him. Perhaps it has something to do with how handsome he is, with his rough patch of dark hair and bright blue eyes that cut through it, with his unshaven face, so unlike the clean look his brother sports. She lets herself kiss him, and finally gets the taste of his lips: sweet with wine and warm with freedom, just as she thought.

Too slowly she pulls away.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that," she says. She looks away, wondering how quickly she can escape with her tail between her legs.

"You're right," he tells her. "I should have." He grabs her and this time he kisses her.

It is like one of her dreams. The two of them are so deeply involved in it that it is just like when she is asleep. She closes her eyes and allows herself to dream again. This is what they do, her and Bash: they kiss each other like it will be their last. They kiss morning, noon and night. They kiss in front of the world and don't care who sees, because they are together. He does not hold back, he is not his brother. She allows herself to believe, for a moment in time, that this is her life.

A roar of laughter from the crowd just across the trees wakes her up from her foolish, girlish daydream. She is the Queen of Scotland; no ordinary woman should do this, and for her, the risks are greater. Dreaming about doing it is bad enough; actually doing it? How could she?

She pulls away breathlessly, ignoring the part of her that wants to dive back for more.

This time she does hurry away, ignoring the look of disappointment on his face.

From then on the dreams are stronger, fierce, more determined. This is because she now knows how he tastes.

This is because they are taunting her with what she cannot have.

She only realises what she has lost when Francis reveals her knows. He tells her that they have to be apart, for their sanity. After everything that has happened – her being chosen for the sacrifice, and Bash being forced to kill someone – this is the final nail in the coffin. Francis, her sweet prince, is pushing her aside. The kiss with Bash was not worth the loss of her fiancé's affection. She goes to her room and sends her ladies away, though they pester her, beg to know what's wrong. But she tells them nothing, at least for now, and once they leave the room she allows herself to cry. Francis is keeping himself away from her, and who knows whether he will ever forgive her. She now understands the love she feels for the younger brother; any feelings she has for the older brother cannot compete with this.

Her love for Francis only grows when he rescues her from the Italian Count. She was barely moments from losing her virtue to him, and out of nowhere Francis saves her. He risks his own life to save hers, and she falls in love with him all over again.

The next day she sleeps with him. She's unsure about what to expect, but thankfully there is little to no pain. Actually she quite enjoys. In between the sheets she can be as close to Francis as she likes. She knows that if anyone knew about this they would be punished, though perhaps Henri would hurry the marriage along.

It turns out King Henri wants to marriage to happen soon. Practically immediately. Her cousin Mary Tudor is dying, and despite the quarrels with England Mary feels a little saddened by the news. At least Mary Tudor is a Catholic, a member of the true faith. Now there is talk about the bastard Elizabeth, the last of Henry VIII's children, taking the throne. Unthinkable. Apparently Henri thinks so too, and presses Mary to make a claim for the English throne.

It is not such an outlandish idea. The Catholics in England are in a great number, and would support her rather than the bastard Elizabeth. Though Mary knows that the English are a stubborn lot, and some would be reluctant to have a Scottish queen and a French king as their rulers. Elizabeth would not sit back and take it either. She is the daughter of Anne Boleyn, a woman who wooed the king away from his wife; if she has any of her mother's determination she will not fall back. Mary does not like the idea of this. Blood is sure to be shed, and Scotland will be attacked by the English, as it always is.

Francis convinces her though. It's not too hard. He gives her a beautiful speech that makes her want to weep with joy. As he bends down she looks upon his sweet, boyish face and bright eyes and smiles, knowing she can deny him nothing. She says yes. She cannot believe it.

Finally Scotland will have a king. Finally she will marry Francis.

Aylee dies and something in Mary dies too. Despite being a queen there was still a deep-seated belief that her life would be good, that she would live happily. She always thought that her ladies, her friends – Lola, Greer, Kenna, Aylee – would always be with her. Never did she think she would have to live a life without Aylee. Sweet, utterly loyal Aylee.

This proves that Nostradamus' predictions are correct. He was right about the lion fighting the dragon on the field of poppies; and now he is right. Aylee will not go home again. She will never see her mother and father; she will never see the familiar Scottish highlands, never see the castles or walk through the fields of heather.

Nostradamus has predicted that if she and Francis get married he will die. She will be the cause of his death. She was terrified when she spoke to him, but Catherine scared her more. She did indeed give Mary the power to destroy her, but the tremor in her voice swayed the girl. And now she believes.

She cannot marry him. Not knowing that it will lead him to his death. She knows that Francis would never believe her if she tells him, but she does. How can she not, with Aylee's blood still stained on her dress? She announces that she will not fight for England (Henri is already seething. An ambitious king, he wants to rule three kingdoms) and walks away. She allows Francis to believe that she will marry him, and as soon as he goes she runs too.

And because fate is cruel, she meets Bash at the stables.

Or maybe fate is being kind.

The two of them ride off together with Francis running after them, screaming her name. She forces herself not to look back. She is the Queen of Scotland; heartbreak is just another unfortunate consequence.

Her last moment with Francis was not spent arguing, not sad, but filled with joy as they looked forward to their new lives.

It was a good moment.

The King's Guard chases them through the forest, for so long that Mary's heart races. If it weren't for Bash being with her she's not certain she would be able to keep going, knowing that the King's Guard is behind her. But Bash takes her hand and together they jump off a cliff and into the water. It happens so fast that she doesn't have the chance to be terrified, though when they land in the cold water she finds she is shaking.

She is still shaking when they find a place in an inn. Bash deals with it and she keeps her face turned away, hoping no one will recognise her. Other than the castle and the forest she has not been anywhere, and so other than people thinking she is pretty no one comments.

When he tells her that she needs to let her clothes dry she jerks her head. She is going to be naked in the same room with Bash. Her dreams stir in her mind. "Turn around," she commands.

"For the entire night?" Bash says, showing off his usual cheekiness. But he turns away and Mary undresses. She hurriedly hangs her clothes up and dives under the sheets of the bed, surrounding her body so only her head is showing. "You can look now," she says.

Bash has taken off his shirt. Her eyes can't help but wander to his smooth skin, and she finds herself wanting to reach out and stroke it. Last night she had been in bed with Francis, and now she is feeling... She feels –

No. It doesn't matter. There are more important things.

"Can you pass me the quilt?" he asks. Mary would rather not as it leaves just a bare sheet over her own body, making her feel very vulnerable. But she lets him take it anyway, and underneath the quilt she sees him take off his trousers.

She tries to avoid his eyes.

"You can take the bed," he says. He wraps the thankfully large quilt over his body and pulls a seat in front of the fire. He angles it slightly towards her, wrapping his feet on the chair.

"Thank you Bash," she says after a moment.

"You're welcome," he answers, not even asking what she is thanking him for.

There are a few minutes of silence which Mary finds uncomfortable. She is naked in a bed with her fiancé's – her ex-fiancé's brother in the same room. The room is dark though, and she tries to close her eyes and sleep. She should be exhausted, but her body feels on high alert.

"Do you think I am insane?" she asks him. The words slip out of her mouth without her even realising.

She doesn't need to look at him to know he's smiling. "Possibly yes, but for what reason do you believe you are insane?"

Her voice is a whisper. "For believing Nostradamus," she answers. "For believing that Francis will die because he said so?"

Bash is quiet for a moment, long enough for Mary to believe that he does think she's mad. "Nostradamus predicted something for my mother once," Bash murmurs, so Mary strains to hear him. "She never told me what, but she always believes him. Not to the extent that Catherine does, but she has always listened to him. As I've said, he's often predicted things correctly, enough to convince me. Father is the only one that does not believe."

"So you don't think I'm mad?"

She hears him chuckle. "Oh, I think you are probably the most insane woman I have ever met," he tells her, "but not for this." His voice softens. "You are saving my brother's life. He will never believe you, but I do. And I agree with what you're doing."

A question Mary has always wanted to know the answer to forms in her head, and right now she is feeling bold enough to ask it. "Are you never jealous of Francis?" she asks. "He has power and influence; he is destined to be king. Have you never wanted it?"

"No," he says at once. "Believe me, I have never wanted to take Francis' place. He may be the future king, but he has to make decisions that he doesn't want to make. Whereas I," he says with a grin, "have been able to do as I pleased."

"You're Henri's favourite," Mary volunteers.

When Bash answers his voice is low. "My father may favour me, but he is a politician first. I don't doubt that if he knew my mother tried to get my legitimised he would behead me, to protect his line."

"Bash," Mary says in protest. "He would not. He loves you."

"More than Francis, yes," Bash agrees. He pulls a face. "But he would never kill him. He might kill me."

She tries to lighten the mood. "I suppose that would be the one time you would trade places with Francis."

She can see his face through the light of the fire his small smile, his honest gaze. "I have wanted to trade places with Francis before," he says. "Just not because I wanted to be king."

She feels her entire body tingle, and it doesn't help that she's naked. It would be so easy for her to stand up now, throw the sheet of her body and see what Bash would do. She thinks he would like what he would see. She wonders whether he would step forward, throw his own sheet down, and make love to her.

Love. She stops herself from laughing out loud. He doesn't love her; and she does not love him. Her heart, broken and fragmented, loves Francis still. Bash is just a division.

She pretends to be asleep, pretends not to have heard him. He lets her.

Later, when they are captured and Mary offers them a deal to legitimise Bash and make him king, she remembers this conversion, more precisely about Bash not wanting to be king.

She decides she was right the first time: fate is very cruel.

When Bash shows her Isobel, at first Mary is shocked. And also filled with another emotion which she doesn't understand. It feels like she is jealous, but that can't be. Her heart still aches for Francis, though thankfully she is so consumed with making sure Bash learns about his role as future king that she doesn't pine over him.

But Bash explains that Isobel is his cousin and Mary relaxes. He vows that they have to help her. Not just because it would mean Bash would lose the throne – hell, if it didn't mean death he would probably do it right now – but because Isobel would be tortured. So they make a plan, even though it could lead to his own death.

But Bash doesn't care. He will do the right because that's who he is. Mary begins to feel a niggling worry in the pit of her stomach: Bash is going to struggle being king if he always needs to help someone, because truthfully a monarch cannot always save people. Sometimes a person needs to be left on the sidelines, regardless of a royal's true feelings.

She offers to help Bash, knowing that if Isobel does indeed go into labour they will need a woman's assistance. She has watched the nuns help bring dozens of babies into the world; she feels confident she could do the same.

As they are getting ready to leave he turns to her, those eyes staring right through her as usual. "I admire you," he says in his usual frankness.

Mary smiles him but she almost feels guilty because in truth, Bash is a better person than she is. He is kind, loyal, helps those who need it. He is the favoured children of King Henri, yet he does not show any signs of being spoiled. He is not a Dauphin but simply a boy trying to do the right thing. She wonders if she would be a better person if she too had been raised as a normal girl.

"I admire you," she replies honestly. She turns away before Bash reads anything more from her face.

Bash is looking after Isobel while Mary and Alec wander to the outskirts, keeping a watchful eye for the guards. She likes Alec. He is a simple man but very much like Bash. No matter what Bash says, Mary knows that he likes the man too. She's not sure Bash has ever disliked anyone.

"We should head back to Bash and Isobel," says Alec, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. "I don't like the idea of him being alone. The boy has a target on his back the size of France itself."

"I agree," Mary says as they turn back around. "I know I said it before, but I'm glad you're looking after him. He's safer with you around."

"He is a good man," says Alec. Mary tries to picture Bash as a man but fails; he is nowhere near manhood. Ever since he has become the Dauphin he seems younger than ever. "I admit I haven't had much of a run-in with royalty, but he seems normal."

"Normal?"

"Like us," he replies. "Isobel and I. Just a normal man, not a royal ruled by money and power. I know a lot of people don't like the idea of him becoming king, but he seems like a decent person. He could do this country some good."

He is the first person who has expressed belief in Bash as a ruler. Mary finds it refreshing. "I think so too," she says.

He shoots a sideways glance at her. "You two seem like a good match, if you don't mind me saying so Your Grace."

"N-no, of course not," says Mary, taken off-guard. No one has said that either. "You think so?"

The bodyguard nods. "You are good for him – and begging your pardon Your Grace, but I believe that he is good for you too." He offers her another smile. "I like the pair of you."

They are approaching the carriage, where Bash and Isobel are talking in low tones. She looks at the boy who is now going to be her future husband, and imagines standing by his side, holding his hand as they looked over their subjects. It is not a bad sight, even if it's not what she had chosen. "He is good for me," she agrees. Bash is a good person. Francis has constantly been back and forth with her, and while she loves him, she is always a little unsure of where she stands with him. He is hot and cold, whereas Bash... He is calm. He has never blamed her for anything, has never taken his anger out on her. He is always on her side, and that consistency reassures Mary; she knows he is dependable.*

Later that night Isobel gives birth to her baby. Mary is the first person to hold this child. The thing is bloody and squealing but to her there is not a more beautiful sight. She passes the little girl to her mother and catches Bash's eye. The two of them hold each other's gaze and Mary pictures the two of them after she has given birth to their beautiful son. She imagines him sitting on the bed next to her, gazing at their newborn baby with bright eyes. She can picture sharing them a smile, so happy that there is no need for words.

She can imagine it so easily.

Despite their hard efforts, Isobel dies. Mary leaves Bash to mourn over her body for a few minutes, and when he comes out his eyes are a little red. Later they bury her not too far from the grounds. Even though she is uncertain of the Pagan faith, she watches Bash give his blood. She sees his face when she does it herself. She is a Catholic and always will be, but Isobel might as well be buried in the way her faith intends.

He takes her hand and begins to cover the cut. "Mary, I've thought about what you said," he says, and she remembers the conversation where she said she was uncertain he could be a king. Her heart seizes at the thought of him denying his role as future king.

"I never wanted a crown," he tells her. "But if that's my fate I'll accept it. I'll learn to wear it. But you need to know something. I'm not Francis. My duty will never be to some country, some land, some throne. If I'm married to you, you'll be my family. I'll be in it for you, and only you. And if that's not what proper kings' do-"

-and suddenly she wants to burst into tears. She wants to laugh out loud. This is what she wanted Francis to say to her. She wanted him to say to her that God damn France and Scotland, God damn everyone else, he would rather have her than be king. No matter how many times he swore he loved her, she knew he could never turn away from his country; it is not how he has been brought up. She knows that she is Queen of Scotland, and that she needs to put her people first –

But sometimes she is just a girl. And sometimes she needs to hear that she comes first, even if she knows that's not how it's meant to be.

She kisses him before he can finish his sentence.

She loves Francis. She is certain of this. As soon as she sees him she feels a longing in her chest, something that she used to only feel when she thought of Scotland, a home she had not been to in years.

She loves Francis, yet by the same certainty she cannot deny that her heart speeds up when Bash enters the room. She has done the very worst thing: she has fallen for the other brother. Only this time she is not sure that, if she needed to, she would be able to push this one away.

Because Francis has always been the Dauphin, the dutiful first prince of France. But Bash is just a boy, and no matter how much gold he dons or smart clothes they put him in, he will always be just a boy.

He will be just what Mary has always wanted.

* This is why I believe Mary and Bash are a better pairing than Francis and Mary. He has been hot and cold with her from the very first episode, whereas Bash has always been there for her. I think that's what makes him her better choice.

Hours to make. Seconds to comment.

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