A/N: Thanks to K-yers (again) for her edit

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A road trip with Easy Company was anything you could imagine of a bunch of dysfunctional kids traveling without their parents. It's loud, full of profanities (Becca and I have great fun counting Joe's "fuck" utterances per minute: 4.25 fucks per minute. A new record), gambling (how they manage that in a bumpy ride is beyond me), and endless rant of "Are we there yet?" from my midget (Frank's body would already be half outside the bus if Becca didn't talk sense to me).

Once we arrived at Reims, Becca wanted to see the Cathedral and I wanted to take her in a café to have some private talks. But the bastards dragged me and Becca to the nearest bar. I glanced apologetically at her to say "Well, there goes our date." But she just shrugged and smiled, as if she says "That's fine with me." It's eerie to realized that we were now able to communicate silently, as if our brains were connected or something.

The bar is full with American serviceman, but I can see some Red Cross Volunteers, nurses and local girls. It's some kind of miracle we found empty tables to fit all of us. Toye and Babe bring over several beers and ordered sandwiches for us. When our food arrived (sandwiches with real fucking ham with egg, fresh lettuce, and tomatoes), the men devour it like they never eat for years. I can't blame them. Even though food in Camp is so much better and humane than the rations, it still resembled slop sometimes.

"Oh my God; I want to marry this sandwich." Frank sighed; the half-masticated ham clearly visible in his mouth since he's talking and chewing in the same time.

"That'll be polygamy for you, Frank." Babe said, also mid-chewing. A piece of egg fell to his uniform. He picked and ate it. Malarkey practically inhaled the sandwich while Skip and Alex were throwing tomatoes to each other.

"Honey, can you teach the kids some manners? I thought they had been house trained." I asked Becca.

Holy motherfucking shit! Did I just call her HONEY?! You need a better relationship between brain and speech, George Luz. I blamed the beer.

"They take after you too much; they're a lost cause." She deadpanned. But I think I can trace a hint of red on her cheek.

Frank scoffed, which propelled bits of sandwich everywhere. "Shut it, marrieds!"

I smacked his head.

"You guys want more beer?" Becca asked, standing up. Probably to ease the slightly awkward situation.

"I'll go with you." I said, also standing up. The men snickered at me. I glared right back. "What? She'll need help to bring those beers, assholes!" Okay…maybe I sounded a little bit defensive when I said that.

I instinctively put my hand on the small of her back to guide her to the bar. I could feel a slight shiver from her. But she didn't say anything or slap me on the face, so I think that's fine.

Go Team Luz.

"Huit bières, s'il vous plait." Becca said to the bartender.

Damn! This girl never ceases to amaze me. "I didn't know you could speak French." I said.

"It's a 'customary' in my 'society'," She said, making air quotation with her fingers. "Right up there with playing piano and able to chew with your mouth closed."

Didn't that make you feel inferior? Well, except for that 'chew with your mouth closed' part. I could do that just fine.

When the bartender put eight beers in front of us, I'm starting to wonder how we're going to bring those to our table. Before I could ask to borrow some tray from the bartender, I hear an unmistakably drunk voice.

"Hey, baby." The drunk voice slurred. "You have a very nice ass. Wanna go out with me, doll?"

Fuck! The drunk bastard wanted to make a move to Becca!

Becca apparently felt that I had started to tense so she held my wrist and said calmly to the fucker, "That was the most disgusting pick up line I've ever heard. Nevertheless, thanks for complimenting my glutes."

The drunk blinked slowly, as if he was trying to understand her words. He looked at me, then at my screaming eagle patch, and sneered, "Jeeezusss, you're going with this guy? A screaming eagle? Hey, buddy…" He turned to his equally drunk friend, who had been standing nearby. "What's that eagle screaming for?"

His dumbass friend grinned and started screaming, "Help! Help! Help!"

Well, fuck. They're from the 82nd.

"I can't believe the Army recruits from the shallow end of the gene pool." Becca deadpanned.

I've got to remind her not to use complicated vocabulary if she wanted to talk with dumbasses like that; especially when they are drunk. But even when they're drunk, they can understand that was an insult.

"Bitch!"

Okay…that was way out of line. I really wanted to punch their faces into unrecognizable shapes and leave them in some alley in a puddle of questionable hygiene and origin; but I promised the Colonel to take care of Becca. I had to keep her out of trouble.

"Watch your language, mate." I said. "She can kick an impressive amount of ass." I mentally patted my back since I managed to say all of that calmly. Becca was still holding my hand. I think that helped too.

"I can have a whore like your bitch here anywhere with less hassle." The drunk slurred.

I conclude I could kill this man in 25 different ways: 9 ways empty handed and 16 ways using various things in this bar. Promises to the Colonel be dammed!

"Good for you, buddy." I said with barely contained anger. "There's a joint not far from here, called Lulu's. I heard the whores are cheap as shit, just like your mom."

He lunged at me screaming, "Sonnovabitch!"

And then all hell broke loose.

"You are a stupid man, George Luz."

"In case you forgot, I was defending your honor, Princess."

"In case you forgot," she parroted, "That man was drunk so of course his brain was in his ass. We're lucky the MP's arresting them, not us."

We're lucky, all right. Fucker #1 had thrown a drunken punch to my face and I could dodge it. But it turned out that his buddy (Fucker #2) had a more accurate perception even though he was equally drunk and he successfully landed a punch in my face. Easy men had immediately decided to help me, especially Joe. I could've sworn he was grinning, finally having the opportunity to kick some 82nd's ass. Fucker #1 and Fucker #2's friends (The Fuckers) apparently were looking for the same opportunity. Ergo, the battle between 101st and 82nd that escalated into a full bar brawl. It was epic.

But since Easy had the advantage of sobriety, we managed to sneak out from the bar before the MPs came to restore order. We gleefully watched The Fuckers being hauled to the MP's truck from the side of the road. Babe and Skip even waved at them wholeheartedly.

"Relax, Becca." Joe said while lighting his cigarette. "Those fuckers got a 'KICK ME' sign attached in their forehead for all the gods to see. I was just doing them a favor."

"It's too bad I left my brass knuckle at the Camp." Toye grumbled.

"That was sooo great, guys! Can we do that again?!" Babe asked cheerfully. We glared at him and his face reddened and he mumbled, "Sorry."

"Make sure you guys pay visit to Roe. I'm sure he will treat those bruises without ratting you out to Dike." Becca said. "By the way, George, how do you know there's a joint called Lulu's here? You seemed very familiar with the place; even know the…um…price of it's…ahem...workers." Her face was mostly serious, but she had this amused glint in her eyes.

Oookaaay…Danger close! Evacuate! EVACUATE! The boys were not helping either. They're snickering at me; waiting for my answer.

"I heard that from this bunch of dick-measuring paratroopers during the regular knitting circle yesterday." I replied smoothly. Ha! Suck on that, motherfuckers!

Frank piped in. "But just don't let Bill know about that joint, Babe. Or I can guarantee his dick will want to make introduction to all its 'workers'." He completed this with exaggerate air quotes.

I scoffed. "If that happened, I will be the first person to congratulate our beloved Wild Bill when he's promoted from Gonorrhea to Syphilis."

We all laughed at that. But from judging Babe's expression, I think he would make sure Bill knew about the place. That ginger baby is a mischievous little shit. And I'm betting my ass that Bill would 'inspect' the place as soon as he went AWOL from the hospital.

Our shenanigans apparently were dull in comparison with the other events during that day. There was an apparent "contest" among the G.I.s to see how many windows they could punch out with their fists. Bar brawls happened almost every 7 minutes. Drunken G.I.s were everywhere.

Most of the men who volunteered to the Army were from poor families. Those poor motherfuckers had never tasted champagne or any high class liquor before and now they drank it like they drank water; celebrating that they were still alive. They got wasted in no time.

And wasted G.I.s were the most hilarious thing you would ever see. We saw angsty G.I.s (calling their dead friends, which we could commiserate), naked G.I.s (Becca closed her self-declared pure and innocent eyes, but she grinned and mumbled "That was small."), narrative G.I.s (Joe mused, "I wonder what would Webster rant about if he was drunk.", which Becca responded with, "He'd recite Homer's Odyssey; sometimes in Ancient Greek." And we then responded with raised eyebrows), and other entertaining antics.

Local women complained that they scarcely go across the street without being approach by a libidinous G.I. Somehow, some G.I.s seemed unable to tell the difference between a prostitute and a housewife. "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?" was a staple conversation starter to anything with a skirt. Yeah…we're that desperate in the sex department.

Needless to say, that the Division had enough of the men's behavior. We're here to liberate those poor oppressed people, not to fuck them up. Ergo, the 101st has ordered 5-miles marches, parades, calisthenics, all that boring stuff to work off our excess energy. Unluckily for Easy, all of these boring activities were led by our own Foxhole Norman. That man was seriously a freak lovechild of a donkey and chicken shit.

But since my job description as the Company Clown mandated me to cheer up the men, I decided to map out and lead the execution of nonsensical activities to release our pent up energy. Said activities are (in order of success rate): refined the regulation and scoring system for Grab Fanny (with some help from Frank), singing the dirty version of Moonlight Serenade in the mess hall (with help from Smokey), and watching movies with Becca (We watch Seven Sinners 13 times. I did John, She did Marlene. We only kicked outside the theatre four times) among other things. Anything to distract the boys from a Troglodyte (Becca really need to think for more common nickname) named Dike.

We still had access to booze from the Red Cross club. But mainly there's shitty beer. So when Bill (he's AWOL from the hospital as predicted) is able to smuggle a case of champagne from the city, where he paid an "official visit" to Lulu's (also as predicted), we celebrate like there is no tomorrow. Thanks to Christenson, who equated champagne to soda pop, we drank the bubbly wine from our canteen cups; full to the brim. And then chaos ensues. Apparently, we didn't learn from the drunken G.I. in Reims.

The next day, we have the worst hangover ever. I was walking to the toilet while resisting the urge to vomit when I hear Becca calling.

"George!"

"For the love of anything holy...can you not with the shouting, Princess?"

"I CAN'T!" The little shit purposely shouts right in my ear. I can feel a fresh wave of headache and nausea roll over my head. And she's grinning.

"I can kill you…in 10 different ways…even…when I'm hung over…but…sorry…I…have…a date…with the toilet." And I run my sorry ass to the toilet.

After the obligatory make out session with the toilet and cleaning myself up, I decided that I was presentable enough for chow. Becca was already there. When she saw me sitting with other Easy men, she walked toward us and said out loud, "Morning, Gents! How are you this morning?"

We all groaned, clutching our heads. Bill growled, "George, I will kill your missus. I swear to fucking God!"

Becca, never missing a beat, said cheekily, "Good morning to you too, Bill. Did you meet an unfortunate female stupid enough not to run the other way immediately for you to screw? Maybe you won't be this grumpy."

Bill blinked. He opened his mouth and closed it again. I sighed. "Becca…do not use complicated sentence to drunken or hungover individual. Our brains cannot process that fast in this state."

She smiled that smile which I started to equate it with something warm, safety, and sunlight "Here; I scrounged Aspirin for you guys." She placed a bottle full of Aspirin on the table. She then said directly to me before she leaves, "Tonight they will play Seven Sinners again, you know."

When she had gone far enough, Joe turned to me and said, "If you fuck her up, I will personally kill you. She's a godsend."

I could not agree more.