Disclaimer: I don't own Band of Brothers and I mean no disrespect with his work of fiction. I do own all my original characters.

A/N: Okay, so…this plot bunny has been with me for quite awhile, and I finally had to write it. Just as a fair warning, it might get an M rating in later chapters. It depends. Anyway, I hope you like it.

CHAPTER ONE

Like the gentleman he was, Christopher McNally walked through the bustling airport with his fiancée's carry-on bag in tow, business suit jacket draped across one arm, his eyes constantly straying to the expensive gold watch around his wrist. He immediately paused in the middle of the crowd once he noticed she was no longer at his side for the third time in a matter of ten minutes, and spinning around in a circle, finally caught sight of her several feet back. She was standing off to the side, smartly dressed in her regulation Class A's, focusing her camera on a young couple—the young man was clad in Navy whites; he wasn't sure whether this was a goodbye or a homecoming—in the middle of a rather passionate kiss. Christopher heaved a sigh, glanced at his watch again, and took lengthy, rapid strides to reach her.

"You're going to miss your flight, Grace," he said pointedly, tapping her on the shoulder. "And I have to be at work in a half hour."

She lowered the camera, casting a look of pure longing toward the couple. "Will you kiss me like that?" she asked as they started walking again.

"What?"

"You heard me. We won't be seeing each other 'til God-knows-when, and I'll need a decent kiss to tide me over. It's bad enough you wouldn't touch me last night."

He looked around him quickly, embarrassed. "Must we discuss this in public? It's nobody else's business but ours."

"It can't be anybody's business if there's no business going on," Grace protested.

Christopher gave her a stern look while they neared the gate Grace would be departing through. People were milling about, some dressed affluently, a few wearing uniforms, which was a common sight in airports and train stations across the world nowadays. Grace took her bag from him and stuffed her camera into it gingerly, zipping it shut.

"You be careful over there," was Christopher's warning.

"I'm not the one doing the fighting. I'll be fine," she reassured him, closing the small space between them. "I'm just there to observe."

"In the middle of a warzone," he answered flatly.

"Occupational hazard," she countered with a mischievous smirk.

Her fingers danced along the collar of his shirt and rested on his tie, which she smoothed out unnecessarily before using it to tug him closer. She could tell that Christopher was getting flustered; his cheeks were reddening the slightest bit, and he hurriedly cleared his throat.

"Don't do anything stupid, you hear?" he said, avoiding the playful, yearning expression in her green eyes. This was not the time nor the place for such forward advances. He could feel sweat breaking out on his skin the more she pressed herself closer to him, which was becoming humanly impossible. Christopher continued glancing around him, paranoia creeping in at the thought of others treating such a private moment like a Broadway show.

"We're getting married first thing when you get back. I want my bride in one piece."

"I promise I will come home to you in tip-top shape," Grace answered. Her hand still curled around his tie, she leaned in so her lips were practically touching the sensitive skin of his ear. Her warm breath tickled against his neck. "Maybe then you'll make love to me, hmm?"

Christopher somehow got the impression that she enjoyed making him squirm in public. She knew from early on in their relationship that he wasn't one for open displays of affection in front of others, and yet she insisted on doing improper things such as this. Once Grace was in front of him again, he appeased her desires by placing a rather chaste kiss upon her full lips. Grace kept her frown to herself; it was no use to fight a losing battle. She would have expected a little more from her fiancé, just this once, when he was well aware that they wouldn't be seeing each other for quite some time. All she wanted was something to savor, to hold onto and think back on while she was dashing around battlefields in Europe taking photographs. She shouldn't have built her hopes up—Grace knew Christopher wasn't an overly-affectionate man.

It didn't mean he didn't love her any less. She knew this. She was sure of it.

"Be sure to write," Christopher said. "Let me know you're safe."

"Every chance I get," Grace told him. "I love you."

He smiled, blue eyes sparkling. "I love you, too."

Exhausted and jet-lagged beyond belief, Grace found herself ambling along the streets of the quaint town of Aldbourne, England hours later. She contemplated just falling into bed and sleeping until further notice, but this was her first night overseas and she had too much excited energy to compete with. She'd already been billeted in regiment headquarters, since the officers in charge didn't find it proper for her to be boarding in horse stalls or nearby homes with the men.

Grace knew better and took it as a way for them to keep an eye on her every move, seeing as she was the only women bearing the 101st Airborne Division patch on her arm. Grace hadn't expected them to give it to her; in fact, she felt unworthy brandishing the screaming eagle like a badge of honor when she wasn't one of the soldiers who had fought to defend that reputation, and would not be fighting for it during this war. But, orders were orders, and as long as she was attached to the division, namely Easy Company, she would be permitted to wear it.

Grace heard an uproarious hum of conversation and laughter emanating from a little pub, rays of warm golden light from the inside spilling out into the road. She figured it was a good a place as any to spend the evening; fresh from their battles in Normandy and Carentan, Grace was positive she would find some soldiers of Easy Company wherever she ended up, blowing off steam and unwinding. Grace almost wished she would have brought her camera along on her walk.

Pushing open the creaky door of the pub—the Blue Boar, according to the sign—Grace slid inside and was instantly assailed with the odor of cigarettes and beer. The place was swarmed with soldiers like she knew it would be, all of them in their Class A's with new badges and jump wings pinned to their chests. She spotted some civilians mingling, but the pub was inundated with paratroopers, which she guessed were their usual customers.

She suddenly felt horribly out of place and self conscious, as the only uniformed woman in the company of combat veterans. Grace wanted to cover up the patch on her arm from prying eyes. It's not mine, I didn't earn it, she thought. She avoided everyone and quietly made her way to the bar to get a drink, knowing that perhaps having some alcohol in her system would boost her confidence for the time being.

George Luz happened to glance away from the game of darts currently in progress with his fellow paratroopers, eyes wandering the pub while they made idle chatter and bets in between throws.

One second was all it took.

In the sea of dark brown and khaki, his eyes caught a glimpse of her. Also dressed in a uniform, it was the shock of bright red hair that caught his attention first. She seemed extremely uncomfortable in the way she kept smoothing out her skirt or running her fingers across the Screaming Eagle patch that was stitched onto her uniform jacket, like she was hopelessly lost or just very overwhelmed.

George found this quite endearing.

It was then that he noticed from the distance between them that she had legs for days underneath that skirt, accentuated by the heels on her delicate feet. She was curvy, with a face that wasn't easily forgotten. There was something almost innocent about her features, which rivaled the way her hips swayed as she weaved in and out of the crowd toward the bar. It intrigued him to no end that a beautiful skirt like her was wearing the division patch—what sort of business did she have here?

He watched her order a drink. She leaned against the bar, beer glass in hand, like she was content to stay fixed there for the remainder of the night. She looked so uncomfortable it was almost too painful for George to watch. He decided he needed to make it his business to help her loosen up a bit and swaggered over to the bar with all the grace and poise of a drunken pirate. She didn't say anything when he rested an elbow on the counter and blatantly stared at her, grinning.

"Why's a dame like you looking so uptight?" he asked.

Grace peered over and found a dark-haired, dark-eyed paratrooper gazing at her with a kind of dreamy expression only a man who was inebriated could muster. She wasn't an idiot to know exactly what he was after, and she wasn't going for it.

There was trouble in that smirk of his.

"The name's George Luz. And, let me tell ya, it's the only name worth learning in this place."