A/N: So... I said there wouldn't be a sequel. Apparently I lied.

I will admit that I love this universe, but this will probably be the last story I write in it. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I suggest you go read the first fic: "Guardian". Though this story could possibly be read on its own, there are going to be references and character details that will not make sense when read in this context.

Thank you everyone who enjoyed the first story, for you I have written this new addition.

Chapter 1: Unhappy Birthdays

Gilbert grumbled, testily yanking a plastic jar of peanut butter (whatever the hell that was) off the shelf. Here he was: former Beilschmidt guard, trained killer, errand boy.

Cramming the offensive item into his basket, he stomped down the aisle. Ever since he had moved into the middle of the middle of nowhere, life had gone straight down the tubes. His edgy, dangerous life had skidded to an unceremonious halt and he had been thrust into the depths of his younger brother's basement. Gilbert Beilschmidt, the greatest bodyguard to ever walk the planet, was living off of his little brother (and said sibling's boyfriend). It was disgraceful, really.

"Paper or plastic?" The teenaged girl at the checkout was friendly enough, smiling (if falsely) at the unhappy albino as he deliberated. Paper was biodegradable and much more useful, but plastic would be easier to carry. Which one would his brother choose? Paper?

"Plastic." Because if nothing else, the man knew how to stage a revolt.

"Oh, you live with Feli, don't you?" Now the girl was just annoying, having finally recognized him as one of the town's few foreigners (all of which lived in the same neighborhood). He nodded.

"Yup."

"And you're Ludwig's brother?"

"Gilbert B- Williams, that's me." Williams. Williams. They couldn't have even made it Wilhelm? Who the hell would believe the German-icity of that name?

"And you're from Germany?"

The cashier, apparently.

"Yeah, from Berlin. West… my brother's from Bonn, though. Y'know, the capital of West Germany? When there was a West Germany, I mean."

"Wasn't that with the Berlin Wall…?"

"Yeah."

She finally finished bagging his purchased items, placing the two plastic bags within his reach. "Have a nice day, Mr. Williams."

"Yeah," he grunted, taking one in each hand. "Thanks."

As he walked out, Gilbert couldn't help thinking, Call me Gilbert – I'm not that old. Not yet. Twenty-six was far too early to be having a midlife crisis. Shoving the thick-rimmed glasses he had worn ever since they had settled down, he frowned – his eyesight was that of an albino, but his observations were sharper than the average man.

"You got the stuff?" Antonio called from the car, a white-toothed grin plastered to his face. "I was thinking was gonna have to come in after you, tío."

"Shut up, Toni." Dumping the groceries unceremoniously into the trunk of the pathetic, rust-spotted car, the German wrenched open one of the back doors.

Turning to glare at his former bodyguard, Lovino snorted, "What's up your ass?"

"Not Toni's dick, if that's what you mean," was the sharp retort. The Italian burned red.

"Ditch him, you Spanish bastard! Kick him out on the road!"

"But Lovi, I'm already out in traffic…"

"I don't give a fuck, dump the asshole right here!"

"I can't. Your brother was really excited about having dinner tonight and it would be a real shame if he missed it, you know?"

"What the fuck do you mean?"

An icy brick lodged itself in Gilbert's stomach as he remembered what day it was.

"Don't you remember, Lovi? It's the 18th of January!"

The man in the backseat groaned. "It's my birthday."

"Ludwig!" Feliciano's voice rang out cheerfully from the kitchen, yanking the blond from his studies. In the wake of the events of the past summer, he had enrolled in an online college course and was currently working out a degree in simple mechanics – just enough to take a job in the small town garage two blocks away. Now, he was following the sound of his lover (and – for all intensive purposes – husband) calling his name.

"What is it, Feliciano?" He stepped into the room still stretching the tightness from his muscles. With a quick giggle, the smaller man pecked at his cheek before answering.

"You know what today is, si?"

"The 18th of January."

"Do you know what it is to you?"

"Eh…"

"It's your birthday, silly!"

Blue eyes blinked before he nodded slowly. "Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten." Ludwig didn't have the heart to tell his excited lover that his true birthday was a total mystery to him, and that the 18th of January was simply the date assigned to him by the late Mr. Roma.

"Look, look! I've made all your favorites! Even the funny-tasting sausages…" Waving his arms towards the plates of food, Feliciano sighed happily. "And once Prussia gets home, we can all eat together!"

As though summoned at the utterance of his codename-turned-nickname, Gilbert slouched into the kitchen.

"I've got your shit 'n' stuff."

"Just put those by the pantry." Ludwig replied, frowning at the translucent plastic bags that held the items. "I'll take care of them later."

"And the beer?"

"Put it in the refrigerator."

As the older man pulled the appliance open to store the beer, Feliciano threw his arms around him fondly.

"Thanks for getting the groceries for us, Prussia."

"Don't mention it, kid."

Planting two grateful kisses on either of the albino's cheeks, the Italian skipped back to his blond companion's side once more. "Ludwig! Call everyone and tell them we're ready!"

The Circle had once been the unofficial/official title of the protective force in the Roma Household. Prior to its disbandment, it had served as a branch of the Italian Mafia and as a deadly efficient defense mechanism to preserve the safety of two persons: Feliciano and Lovino Roma-Vargas. Though both had been assigned fully capable Beilschmidt bodyguards, their home had been carefully maintained by an unlikely collection of skilled assassins and underground dealers to ensure maximum protection.

And that was how they had lived… until June of the previous year.

Following the death of the Mafia don, Romulus Roma, and his Beilschmidt guard, Odoacer, the remaining members of the Roma household had separated and gone into hiding. However, Feliciano – having received full rights to the entirety of his grandfather's fortune – did not escape the attentions of enemy mob bosses. Upon the discovery of his identity, he had been pursued by several and, thus, had been forced to take up refuge in the United States with only the company of his faithful guard, Ludwig. After a chaotic explosion of events, the two of them had settled into an inconspicuous town in the central portion of the North American nation only to be joined by five of their closest friends and relations.

On this particular day, this 18th of January, all seven of these former household members sat around the table in Feliciano and Ludwig's shared dining room. At either head of the table sat a birthday boy – Gilbert at one end, and Ludwig at the other – each flanked with the two people he was least likely to feel the urge to strangle by the end of the meal.

"How does twenty-two feel, Ludwig?" Elizabeta Hédévary was asking from her place between her husband and Feliciano. Though Gilbert insisted that she sit beside him (seeing as he was, in fact, the best looking man at the table), the his brother had wisely separated them so as to avoid her beating the albino senseless on his birthday.

"Not all too different," he said finally, reaching for his beer. "Maybe just a little less energetic."

"Aw, poor West's getting old. How long before he's gonna need a hip replacement?" Already having finished a six-pack on his own, Gilbert was well on his way to intoxication. Raising his bottle in the direction of his younger brother, he winked roguishly. "Pretty soon if he and Feli keep carrying on like they have been."

Antonio patted his friend on the back, giving Ludwig a look he dearly wished he could have ignored. "These Vargas brothers aren't half bad."

There was a brief scuffle as Lovino was restrained from leaping across the table to throttle the large blond to death. Then, glowering at his Spanish partner, he murmured something that sounded very much like, "sleeping on the couch tonight, damn bastard."

Cutting neatly into his sausage, Roderich felt much more uncomfortable than he would have liked and chose to say nothing.

Thus were the group dynamics, and how their lives may have continued if a medium-sized package hadn't burst through the dining room window and rolled across the table. The next eleven seconds were pure insanity.

A/N: Sorry about the cliffhanger... (it seems that Guardian began with one as well ^^;)

Also, Gilbert's usage of the name "Williams" is not a pairing issue, it's the fact (given at the end of Guardian) that Ludwig and Feliciano have taken the name to escape the scrutiny of possible enemies. Gilbert's the older brother of Ludwig the supposed "husband" so, therefore, he uses "Williams" as well.