Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Well, Grace is mine. And as this is a work of fiction, I don't mean to disrespect the real life veterans of E. Company.

A/N: Enjoy! Leave a review and let me know how I'm doing with this, pretty please? Reviews encourage me greatly!

CHAPTER FOUR

Dearest Christopher,

How are things back in the City? I have been getting along just fine here in England. I am more content in my current assignment than I have been for any others before. You'll be thrilled to know I have kept myself out of trouble, and where I am stationed at the moment is a wonderful opportunity for gorgeous picture-taking!

I love you, and hope to hear back from you soon!

Yours,

Grace

The following day, Grace sat underneath the shelter of a tree in the sweltering heat to write out a letter to her fiancé. She knew she should have done this first thing when she arrived, but there hadn't been much to report. Even now, there wasn't anything of import to say to him, other than the fact that she was doing what she had been sent to accomplish. When she set pencil to paper, she found that the words had to be forced out and wondered briefly if it was worth it to send something or just wait until a noteworthy event took place. Then again, she did promise to write, and she knew Christopher was expecting a letter…

Grace was wandering back to the Littlecote house to freshen up after breaking into a sweat just delivering her letter later that afternoon. She walked with her head down against the summer sun and didn't detect George falling into perfect step beside her. He studied her, pleased, to see how long it would take for Grace to realize he was there, watching the wisps of bright red hair that had been swept out of her neat bun by the breeze.

A minute or two later, Grace caught sight of another pair of boots taking precise strides next to her. Emerald green eyes traveled up to meet the mischievous deep brown orbs of the only person she had immediately anticipated it to be.

"Hello, George," she said flatly.

He chuckled. "Jeez, for a photographer, you aren't very observant."

"The sun was in my eyes."

"Yeah, sure. Keep makin' up those excuses."

It was too humid to argue, so instead, Grace questioned in an impatient tone, "What do you want now?"

"Well with that delightful attitude,I don't know if I wanna ask you anymore."

"You're insufferable."

"I do my best," George shrugged. "Me and some of the guys are goin' to London this weekend and we thought it'd be nice if we asked you to come with us."

"Such a gentleman, George Luz," Grace taunted.

"Are you coming or not?"

"This isn't a date, soldier. You have to get that through your thick skull now. It's just…I've never been to London before."

"Got it. Bet still stands."

"Of course it does."

"You're going to be out fifty bucks by the time we get back to Aldbourne," George declared.

"And there's that overconfidence again…"

Bright and early the next morning, Grace and her trusty camera bag were on a train crowded with GI's from all over the world heading for the bustling city of London. She was seated in between two Easy Company guys—Don Malarkey and Babe Heffron, while Skip Muck and Alex Penkala sat across from them. Several rows behind, George was sitting with Joe Toye, Bill Guarnere, Frank Perconte, and Bull Randleman. Once more, Grace felt out of her element accompanying a large group of rowdy paratroopers she barely knew.

Grace had an excellent memory, enough to be able to put faces successfully to names, but she hadn't really sat down and talked with anyone besides George and Frank. That alone had led her to choose her seat on the train wisely—if she was going to be following these men for the duration of the war, it was a good idea to get to know more about them. Also, she wasn't sure she could handle an extended train ride sitting next to George.

She could tell Babe Heffron was side-eying her, too. "Where ya from, doll?" he asked in one of the thickest South Philly accents she had heard, apart from Guarnere's, who's was loud and booming somewhere over her shoulder.

"New York City."

"No kiddin', Skip's from New York," came Malarkey's reply.

"Not the City," Skip corrected hastily. "Upstate. Just outside Buffalo."

She nodded, understanding where he meant. "I'm not really from it originally. I was born in Michigan, but my family and I moved all over the place from time to time. I ended up in New York with my fiancé."

Suddenly, Babe wasn't side-eying her anymore, and a moment of disappointment fell upon those who did not already have girls back home. These guys weren't nearly as relentless as George; the fact that she had an "invisible ring" on her finger as he called it, wasn't going to deter him in the least. He had his eye on her from the moment she stepped into the pub, and even at this very second, he was stealing glances from where he sat. Grace would have been lying if she said she couldn't feel those warm brown eyes staring into the back of her head.

Alex Penkala finally broke the tension with, "There's an unusual abundance of red heads on this side-a the train."

Everyone stared at him, and then Babe, Don, and Grace exchanged looks. Grace suddenly found it hilarious, because it had been one of the strangest things to blurt out just to start up conversation again. But it worked.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she giggled. "And I think we're all pretty much the same on the ginger-scale."

Skip quirked an eyebrow. "No, you're definitely more ginger."

"Really? Maybe it's the light in here."

"Nah, yours is brighter than Malark's."

"Babe's is somewhere in middle," Alex agreed.

Grace peered over to see Babe running his fingers through his hair, attempting to catch his reflection in the window of the train. On her other side, Don was casting a hard glance at the young woman's hair, which was in a neat bun under her garrison cap. She caught his gaze and smiled, removing the garrison cap and freeing her hair from the bun. Vibrant red tresses tumbled down her back instantly, shimmering in the sun that crept through the window. Grace took a chunk of the end of her hair and held it up to Malarkey's in comparison.

"Malark, she's got you beat by a shade," Skip told him.

"Hey! Red!" an obnoxious voice roared from behind them. Three heads turned to the call, already knowing that George was the source. "What the fuck are you idiots doing over there?"

"Shut up, Luz! You're just jealous we're talkin' to your girl!" Malarkey shouted back.

"I'm not his girl!" Grace hollered.

"You will be!"

"I most certainly will not!"

"Do us all a favor and quit lyin' to yourself, huh?" George yelled back.

Grace turned completely around and got up, kneeling on her seat to look at George directly. That spark was back in her eyes—George could tell from the distance between them.

"You are the most infuriating man I have ever met in my entire life! Can't you get your narcissistic head out of your ass for two goddamn seconds and realize that not every skirt that crosses paths with you wants to tear your fucking clothes off? Jesus Christ, you arrogant, sarcastic bastard! Why don't you quit before I send you home to your doghouse with your tail between your damn legs!"

There was an overwhelming flood of "Oooohs" in their part of the train, even from the GI's who were not a part of Easy Company and therefore did not know George Luz personally. A deafening silence followed. Satisfied, Grace slid back into her seat and wore a triumphant grin. Skip and Alex saluted her, impressed.

"I love you, too, sweetheart!" was George Luz's reply.

The train erupted into howls of laughter. It dawned on Grace that no matter how many profanities she threw his way, no matter how much she tried to object to his advances, he would always come back for more. He was persistent, stubborn, and cocky. George Luz knew exactly what he wanted, and he was bound and determined to succeed.

Even if it meant breaking the bond of a silly little engagement ring.