A/N: Hello, all. I recently watched the first half of the first season of Reign and fell in love with Mary and Bash. Unfortunately, the writers don't even try to hide that poor Bash is doomed & it's pretty obvious he and Mary don't have a future, but I'm going to stubbornly ignore that. I also found that most of the stories written about them (and there don't seem to be many) are angst-y and focus on their breakup. While they're very good, they're also heartbreakingly sad. So, this series is going to focus on happy moments of their life if they had ended up together. Some will be more serious than others, but none of them will involve a breakup or character death. I'm also going to try to write them in somewhat chronological order, but they're still oneshots that can be read independently. Happy Reading!

(PS. Sorry for any inaccuracies or contradictions with canon besides the obvious. Like I mentioned, I'm not very far into the show.)

Lovesick

Sebastian didn't often get sick. His immune system was tough as an army, and twice as strong- so he felt a little indignant when Mary stopped by his room with a cup of warm tea and hot soup from the kitchens.

"Is Her Majesty playing nursemaid now?" He asked, his voice sounding strange even to him with his sore throat and stuffy nose. (Okay, so he'd gotten stuck in some particularly cold rain. That didn't automatically make him sick, per say.)

"You know I'm not ill," Bash added pointedly as Mary set her burden down on his bedside table.

"Of course," she soothed, handing him his tea. He accepted, glad she saw sense, but frowned when she skeptically continued with, "I'm sure most healthy people are prescribed bed rest by physicians."

"If our physician was worth his salt he wouldn't have stuck me in here at all."

"Bash, are you whining?" Mary teased, drawing up a chair to sit by his bedside.

"I- no, of course not." Conceding, Bash sullenly sipped his tea. At least his faulty prescription had won him some time with Mary. The thought cheered his spirits a little.

"I'm surprised you're able to make kitchen runs, with your schedule," the man added, stifling a cough in his soup.

Mary waved one hand dismissively. "The tournament can go on with one less spectator today," she said firmly. "I'd rather visit you, anyway." Warmth tingled through Bash's chest.

"Denmark will be disappointed."

A fleeting look of distaste graced the Queen's visage, and even as she tried to hide it a grin split across Bash's face. "Mary," he crooned, "are you not a fan of our dear friend's latest advances?"

"Prince Frederick is a respectable man," the other said haughtily. "I said no such thing."

"Yes, and when you're wed I suppose his height will make him a lovely armrest," he agreed, ignoring his friend's glare. "By the way, have you talked to him about anything other than himself yet? When I'm in earshot I always seem to hear an alarming amount about his own accomplishments."

"He is rather accomplished," Mary said despairingly. Bash laughed- he couldn't help it, she looked so mournful. (Some small jealous part of him may or may not have reveled in her distaste.)

"Stop it!" Mary hissed, swatting him on the arm. "It really isn't funny."

"No," Bash agreed with a grin. "He's quite the catch. There is a proposal coming, I presume? He certainly acts like you're betrothed."

Mary frowned. "Perhaps I should go join the Prince," she threatened. "He wouldn't torment me."

"Mercy, your Majesty," the sick man said, grabbing her arm in mock panic. "Please don't go. It's been so boring stuck here by myself. Besides, I only 'torment' you because you look so lovely when you blush."

He was rewarded with one such blush. "You're supposed to be sleeping," Mary scolded, ignoring the later part of his comment. "If you hurried up and got better you wouldn't be so bored."

"Sleeping is for the sick.

"Well," Mary sighed, rolling her eyes in what Bash found to be the most charmingly unlady-like manner. "What do you do instead?"

"Play games, mostly," Bash lied. In truth, he had been sleeping. A lot.

"By yourself?" The doubt in the Queen's voice was clear.

"To keep my wits sharp," Bash winked at her.

"Hm. Let's see, then," Mary challenged, looking around the room. Her eyes brightened when she spotted a small board game in the corner on his desk. Bash kept the game out mostly for show and he rarely played- not that he could admit that now.

The Queen got up and retrieved the game, then returned to her seat, balancing the board across her knees.

"These pieces look a little dusty," she commented, raising her eyebrows.

"Nonsense," Bash sniffed. "You're imagining it. Ladies first," he motioned for her to move a piece, and the game began.

-Line Break-

When Bash woke hours later, he could see the evening sky darkening outside his window. At first, he was quite disoriented. He was sitting in bed, slightly upright against his headboard in a way that make his lower back knot. Game pieces were spilled across his blanket, and he could see a few of the small wooden figures on the floor as well, next to the board. Mary was still in her chair, although at some point she'd rested her head on the bed and also fallen asleep. One of her hands was loosely clasped in his own, although he didn't remember being so bold as to take her hand in the first place. Her hair cascaded over the edge of the bed in intoxicating dark curls; Bash forced himself to tear his eyes away from here and come to his senses.

I suppose I wasn't an interesting strategist, he thought dryly, eyeing the spilled game pieces. It wasn't a surprise he'd drifted off, he supposed, given that he was feeling- ahem- a little under the weather. He was more surprised Mary had done the same.

She must have been tired, he concluded, eyes drifting back to his opponent. His gaze softened, and he relaxed back against his pillows, blue eyes tracing her face.

He was touched she'd made time to visit him with her schedule, though he tried to prevent himself from reading too much into it. She'd do this for any of her friends.

Not that he was used to the consideration from anyone, much less a woman like Mary. As the Bastard Son of the King, Bash was used to being second choice. He was never the one people looked to first or prioritized. He lived life at court in the shadows, overlooked and undervalued, despite his father's fickle favor. And he'd spent his life fine with the arrangement.

Until he met Mary. She made him crave affection, and for the first time in his memory he wanted to be someone's first choice. It was dangerous. It was even more dangerous that he knew, with certainty, that if (no, when, he scolded himself) she chose someone else, he'd love her anyway. You have no reason to believe a Queen would settle for a Bastard.

His eyes traveled to their clasped hands, and warmth flooded him. He smiled despite himself. Her palms were soft against his calloused hand- one thumb absently traced circles on her wrist.

For a moment, Bash let himself push aside real life. He'd deal with that later. Instead, he basked in the warmth Mary brought and reveled in the realization that, of all the ways she could have spent her day, she'd spent it with him.

It made him feel wonderful.