Hi! Any Mash fans still around? The lack of Mash fanfic has been depressing me so I decided to finally post this. Feedback is greatly appreciated!

She was beautiful, as was to be expected for any woman who would appear on his esteemed brother's arm and, if she had stayed that way, a stunning being with a radiant smile, his life would be far less miserable. Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret meeting Mary Stuart. She elicited something inside of him. A kind of joy he couldn't explain or fathom, an awakening he didn't know how to extinguish nor want to.

She was different, Francis said, and he had to meet her. Bash had doubted him only to find how accurate and unfortunate that statement was. Indeed, Mary went against type for Francis. She was inquisitive and fearless and managed to appear at home in any situation, but it was her restlessness that piqued his interest the most. Wherever it was she sought to go, he wanted to follow.

From the edge of the stage Bash surveyed the old theater before him. The years of dirt and dust building up couldn't hide the old building's grandeur, but it would still be weeks of hard labor before it became suitable for use and it was up to him to make it so. But this is what he knew. He'd never had lofty ambitions or thought much further ahead than his next paycheck. He worked with what to had. That his life could be something more had not occurred to him. That he'd want more was an unfamiliar feeling he wished he could erase.

Working behind the scenes was tireless, but familiar work. His father had first brought him to a movie set when he was ten. At fourteen he began working regularly, unofficially helping the crew everyday for a whole summer. And in between, he met Francis.

At the time, neither knew they shared a father. It wasn't unusual to meet another kid on the set. Most were actors or children of actors and they didn't question each others' presence.

Francis was skinny with golden curls framing his face. He was a bit shy, but bright and mischievous. Bash took to him immediately. They seemed to have little in common, but Francis looked up to his new friend and, in return, Bash shielded him.

Francis never complained about his mother but it wasn't difficult to tell he felt smothered by her. He could live vicariously through Bash as he shared stories of life outside Francis' sheltered world. Some of them were even true. He gave Francis his first beer and girly magazine; Francis gave him an audience and reverence.

For as long as he could remember, Bash knew his father had another family. He didn't know their names or their faces, simply that they existed and that was fine with him. The less Bash knew, the less real they seemed. So when Catherine stormed into the trailer in which he and Francis were playing video games and hauled her son off irately, Bash was quite confused. Diane was left to explain the scene; Henry wouldn't be bothered.

Tonight he'd get the pleasure of being in Catherine's company yet again and he was even dressed up for it: Slacks with a belt, dress shirt and shoes, a blazer, tamed hair and a fresh shave. It was not his usual look to be sure. Not that he normally looked like a slob, but if it didn't go with jeans, it gathered dust in his closet. Bash felt like an impostor anytime he wore anything that qualified as better than casual. He had to fight the urge not to squirm in his clothes like a toddler.

"You're still here."

Bash turned his head to look up at Mary. Her face was remarkably bright and energized, having been freshly scrubbed free of makeup, and her hair messily pulled back in a clip. She glided towards him with the posture of a dancer in her fitted designer jeans, simple red flats and yellow sleeveless buttonfront that brought out her soft brown eyes. She was as stunning as ever.

"I'm waiting for Francis."

"Ah." She joined him in dangling her legs over the lip of the stage, the familiar scent of roses accompanying her. "Are you going to share?" she asked, nodding at his bottle of beer.

"You're not 21 yet," he reminded her with a broad smile. "I wouldn't want to be accused of corrupting you."

"And here I thought you were a renegade. How disappointing," she sighed.

"Where did you ever get such an idea?"

"Word travels," Mary replied vaguely. "Besides, I'll be 21 in a few months."

"I don't make the rules."

She leaned into him, lowering her voice. "But you do break them."

He laughed, surrendering his half-drunk beer to her.

"Why thank you," she said cheerfully before taking a drink. Bash smiled at the disgusted face she made. "Ew, domestic."

Bash leaned back, resting on his elbows as he watched her, something he did far too often. He'd be there, high up on a ladder as he adjusted the lighting, and become transfixed on her as she paced the stage alone, reciting lines, hitting her marks. She'd play with the words, changing her inflections. She'd alter her body language, gestures and facial expressions until she found the exact combination she wanted, followed by a small victory dance. The first time, Bash had been amused by her actions, but with each subsequent display, he found himself rooting for her; he felt pride when she succeeded. "Not up to your standards?"

"Not up to human standards," she corrected before taking another drink and eyeing him. "You're looking quite handsome. I bet you don't get this dressed up for dates."

"For the right woman, there are few things I wouldn't do," he shared, his eyes twinkling.

"Hmm." She paused to take another drink. "So how did Francis convince you to go to this dinner?"

"He bribed me."

Mary inspected the label of the beer. "I hope it was with better alcohol."

"Why? So you can steal it?" he retorted, sitting up and taking back the bottle. "I get his Jaguar for two weeks."

"I suppose that's to help attract women?" she teased.

"Why would I need to attract women? You come with the car, don't you?"

Mary shook her head. "Sorry, dear. I come with the Porsche."

"Ah," he sighed. "Next time, then."

"Next time," she said with a nod. "Do you know how much longer he'll be?" she asked anxiously.

Bash peered at her curiously. "No. Is something wrong?"

"No, we've just ... it's the same arguments."

Right. Francis had told him about the "tiffs" they'd had.

"This play is kind of personal for me, you know?" Her earnest eyes were looking straight at him, asking him, willing him to understand. "I know where he's coming from, I do, but I wish he'd see how important this is to me. It's my first starring role! And not only that, I get to portray a historical figure, one that I've read about since I was twelve. I never even considered getting to play this role. I want to do it justice and the focus seems too heavy on her love life. She was more than that. She was a fascinating, complex woman." She sighed loudly. "I know Francis wants to make a name for himself and prove that the Valois family is still significant in the theater world. And he will. I'm sure of it. He doesn't need to pander to do it." She looked away, her voice becoming resigned. "The pitfalls of working together, I suppose. I don't know how others do it."

Bash studied her. That anyone could deny her anything confounded him. "Is that why you aren't joining us for dinner?"

She shook her head before turning to give him her attention again. "No. I offered, but I think Francis is trying to shield me from your family."

"I don't blame him."

"I can hold my own," she asserted.

Bash chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

Mary pulled her legs up and placed her chin on her knees, studying him for a moment. "So are you anxious to see your sister again?"

His face twisted a bit and he shrugged. "We're not close."

"I thought you got along with the Valois."

"I never met Elisabeth until she was a teen and already fitting Catherine's mold. When we did meet, she followed her mother's lead."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe after having been away for a while, she'll have changed her mind."

"Maybe," Bash allowed unconvincingly. "I think she'll be too busy dealing with Catherine to care if I'm around or not."

Mary scrunched her face. "Why's that?"

"Didn't Francis tell you? Elisabeth is bringing her fiancé with her to introduce to everyone."

Mary's eyes widened. "Oh no. I can't believe you agreed to go, bribe or no bribe. Francis is lucky to have you."

Bash shook his head. "Other than Elisabeth, my siblings have been pretty accepting of me. Francis played a big role in that. He was the first to welcome me and that seemed to make it easier for the younger ones."

She smiled sweetly at him as she covered his hand with her own. "It's nice that you're so close."

"Yeah," he agreed as guilt gnawed at him anew. He tried to remind himself that he was fortunate to have such a genial relationship with his brother, one that he treasured, but all he could think about was Mary's touch.

"I probably shouldn't have discussed my problems with Francis with you. I'm sorry," she said, taking her hand back.

Bash smiled faintly at her concern. "Don't worry about it." Mary stared at him now, thoughtfully. "What is it?"

She shook her head slightly, her eyes seeming to have a found a sort of clarity. "I was just thinking, we've known each other, what, two weeks? But it feels like I've known you for years. I feel like I could tell you anything."

"Is that bad?"

"No, unexpected is all," she said with a small smile.

He smiled back, appreciating her beauty all over again, but broke eye contact as he started to feel his mind drift in unwise directions. "It's too bad we haven't. Think of all the embarassing photos I could have accummalated by now."

Mary's mouth dropped open. "And what about me? You think I wouldn't have anything incriminating on you?"

"True, but you embarrass easier than me."

"I do not!" she objected loudly.

"Look at you!" he laughed. "You're blushing now!"

"Oh, stop it! I am not!" she protested, fruitlessly trying not to smile.

Bash laughed as she shoved him playfully in the chest. "You're a horrible liar," he declared, catching her hands, holding them over his heart.

Mary grinned at him, her eyes joyful. He felt a rush of warmth and comfort. Did Francis feel this? Did he know just how magical she was? Did he feel lucky just to be in her company?

Her smile began to fade and Bash realized he hadn't released her hands yet. He did so reluctantly, but he kept his eyes fixed on hers.

"I should check on Francis," she said suddenly as she broke eye contact.

"No need," Francis declared as he strode onto the stage, his dark grey suit allowing his bright blue eyes to shine even brighter than usual. "I'm sorry I've kept you waiting."

"Your lovely girlfriend has been keeping me company," Bash replied, nodding at Mary who now had an odd look on her face.

"She took pity on you, did she?" he asked cheerfully. "You could use a new strategy for getting a woman's attention."

"Why change what's already working?"

"Touché," he said with a nod. "Mary?"

Mary peered up at him. "Hmm?"

"Did you need to speak with me? We are in a bit of a rush."

"Speak for yourself," Bash cautioned, getting to his feet.

Mary followed suit and joined the two brothers. "It can wait," she decided. "I wouldn't want to hold you up. Imagine how your tardiness would enhance your mother's mood."

"Very true," Francis agreed as he adjusted his tie. He looked considerably more at ease in his attire than Bash. "Father's absence already has her extra ... intense."

"Because he's on a shoot?" she asked. "Isn't that normal?"

"Oh, it is, but she wanted him here for Elisabeth's homecoming."

"But isn't he in Australia?"

"You think that matters to Catherine?" Bash asked.

Mary smiled slightly. "No, I guess not."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," she agreed. "If you can survive the evening."

Francis grinned and came up to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek before whispering something in her ear to which Mary politely nodded.

They said their good-byes and the brothers headed out.

Until two weeks ago, Bash had never envied Francis; now he was about to get a reminder of why.