Back in sooner than a week! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'm trying to figure out where exactly to take this story, but I'm kind of stumped right now. If you've got any ideas, feel free to PM me.

Guest- I know what you mean. I do too, but I can't have her do it too quickly, you know? Every Civil Rights Movement takes time, and it gets a ton of opposition. It's just how society reacts to change. This is going to take an extremely long time, as these rules have been around for forever. Naturally, she'll feel guilty about what she did because she'll be shamed for it. Even the most radical of a group of people has a few doubts in their minds when they do something particularly racy, or out-there. But I promise, things will start changing 'round here!

Enjoy this! Thank you all for your comments.

I love you all.

A Dinner at the Beilschmidt's

"A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you."

―Elbert Hubbard

As Halloween drew near, the school began to release flyers advertising a school dance. When Gilbert found one of the handouts, he fairly whooped in the hallway, jumping in the air with his fist pumped. He'd been dying for a dance along this sort of theme, anything to dress up in fantastic costumes. And the Omegas who are in charge of the dances, one of the only positions of power open to an Omega in the school, had answered his call.

As he sprinted off, alive and jittery with adrenaline, to find Eliza, the flyer slipped out of his hand, floating slowly to the tiled floor of the Alpha hallway. On it, was written the following:

Calling all countries to our Halloween dance of 2013, dress up, and play your part as the personification of the country you so adore.

Be in the gymnasium at 6:30 on October 25, Friday night for a fabulous preamble to the most anticipated night of the year, Halloween.

A pumpkin was stuck to the middle of the flyer, leering up at the viewer in an attempt to impart creepy cheer. The school was buzzing by the end of the day, exclamations of 'I'm going to be Latvia!' or 'I call Denmark!' zipping about the hallways. Laughter and chatter was everywhere, and the debacle from the previous week involving Elizaveta and her equal rights letter had practically been erased.

Gilbert, upon finding his future mate, had swept her into an overenthusiastic hug, spinning her about as he buried his face in her shoulder, his arms looped under hers. He was laughing, and judging by her lack of complaint, she was well aware of what he was so pleased about. When he finally put her back down, she gazed up at him, her green eyes shining, a small smile quirking her mouth.

"I'm guessing that you found the flyer?" she asked, the words tripping off of her tongue in sharp, succinct syllables. Gilbert's response was an even wider grin before he swooped down to kiss her, catching the Hungarian by surprise.

"Bless you, Engel, I did!" he chirped, pulling away just enough to press his forehead to hers. "Which country are you going as?"

"Hungary," she replied automatically, her tiny smile slowly growing into a larger beam, leaching off of the enthusiasm that Gilbert was leaking. "And you? Although I think I can already guess…" she trailed off, letting Gilbert have the joy of crowing the obvious country that he would want to be to the ceilings.

"I am going as the awesome country of Prussia!" Gil said, with all the gusto that Eliza had expected.

"The dance is in a couple of days, you do know that right?" she asked him, her fingers moving of their own volition as they worked through the hair that was sticking up at radical angles on the top of his head. His jittery hands had mussed up what had been a nice enough hair do earlier in the day.

"Psh, the awesome me is so ready for this awesome dance," he said, waving his hand in an assured way.

Elizaveta rolled her eyes, dry sarcasm in her next few words. "Ah, yes, how could I forget that the awesome Gilbert has been waiting for this for weeks."

Her faint insult flew over Gil's oblivious head. "I'm too important for you to forget anything about me, my darling mate," he responded, laughing and kissing the scrunched spot between her eyes as she glared at his term for her.

"I'm not your mate yet, let's not forget that, idióta."

Gil shrugged. "Your heat is coming up in a week or so. There will be no doubt who you belong to then," he told her, his voice receding down to levels that were smooth, even for Gilbert's rough voice. Whenever he got excited, as he had been not two seconds earlier, that husky voice would start cracking, unable to keep up the waves of cheer that Gilbert was trying to coax from it.

Eliza's mouth dried, her throat working for a moment before she scoffed and pulled out of Gil's arms, which were still wrapped comfortably about her waist. "Nonsense. I'm not 'yours,' Gil," she said, putting little quotation marks around the 'yours.' "I will be your mate, your equal. Not some silly little possession." She sniffed and turned her head to gaze at the milling students. She could feel Gilbert's disapproving stare, and sense his impending retaliation, but she didn't plan to stick around for it.

"Well, Roderich agreed to walk me home, so you have no obligations to this afternoon." She stood on her tiptoes, pressed a quick kiss to Gil's lips, and slipped away before he could say anything in protest to her being with the insufferable Austrian.

With his previously good mood severely dampened, he looked for some other way to entertain himself. His father's restrictions were slowly loosening, leaving him room to breathe and spend a bit of time doing things after school. His red eyes alit on Francis and Matthew. Slowly, he meandered over to the two, his hands stuffing themselves into his pockets.

Matthew seemed to be struggling to get an idea across in an angry fashion, his fists clenching at his sides, his face pinching, but the same soft tone streaming out of his taut mouth. Gilbert could tell that Francis was having a hard time deciding whether he wanted to laugh or keep a straight face. Gil was pretty sure that the latter would work more in his favor than the former.

Sliding next to his French friend, Gilbert leaned his head on Francis's shoulder, his white hair brushing against the man's cheek. The Frenchman absently reached up to brush his fingers down Gilbert's hair, smoothing the rogue strands down. The two were unusually close, but it was so unheard of for Alpha's to be in a romantic relationship that no one really went there with their assumptions on them. Gilbert doubted that he'd ever admit to the fact that he'd slept with Francis on more than one occasion. And the same could be said of Antonio. Basically, the trio had all gotten a little friendlier with each other than 'just friends' would define.

Tuning into the conversation, he vaguely managed to figure out what it was about. Matthew was angry with Francis for not telling him about his past with other Omegas and Betas. Francis was insisting that he was just ashamed, and that he hadn't touched anyone but Matthew since he'd met the Canadian. But Matthew, justly, wasn't having any of it. Gilbert couldn't help the hitch to his mouth as Francis successfully and adroitly dug himself into a hole. It was quite stunning, really, the speed at which he managed it. Matthew went to slightly upset to trembling, and then to just flat-out leaving the conversation within the span of five minutes. Francis was swearing frustratedly under his breath in French as Gilbert chuckled, his head still placed on his friend's shoulder.

Glaring at the insolence of the German boy laughing at him, he rather cruelly pulled at Gil's white hair strands, earning himself a satisfying yelp from the injured person. Giving him a smug grin, and being gifted a huffy glare in response, they both simultaneously turned to find the missing member of their trio.

It didn't take long. One only had to follow the angry hissing of Italian to quickly find their unfortunate Spanish friend. Neither of them could understand Italian, but body language was more than enough. Lovino was irritatedly beating off every one of Antonio's affectionate gesture. Gilbert truly felt bad for the Spaniard, seeing the pain reflecting in those large, green, generally happy eyes. He could hear Francis shuffling uncomfortably next to him, clearing his throat.

But before either of them could do anything, Lovino seemed to have a radical change of heart. His hands fisted into the Spaniard's shirt, clenching the soft fabric. Their faces were then pressed together, lips on lips, and Francis and Gilbert rather quickly decided to abandon their friend to the passions of love. It took Francis a bit to turn away from the scene, a bit smidge of urging from Gil, but eventually they were on their way.

Walking down the close to empty halls, they both mulled over their own days.

For Francis, things had started out okay. Matthew had warmed up a bit that morning, even approaching him, and muttering something about meeting him at lunch. The rest of the day was a painful waiting period until lunch, and then he managed to make some form of ground over both of their cafeteria turkey sandwiches. The only thing that really puzzled Francis was the sweeping change that took over his Canadian Omega at the end of the day. They'd gone from laughing, and joking, and hesitant touches to Matthew suddenly starting to snap at him, his round face flaming with straining anger. And then Gilbert had walked in, and Matthew walked away not long after that.

Gilbert's day had been perfectly fine. Well, almost. It had been a week since Eliza had accepted him, and they were getting into more and more arguments about Omega's places and Alpha's places in a relationship. Eliza tried to take control more than Gilbert wanted her to. It was a constant tug o' war of power between the two, and unfortunately they were both fairly headstrong. But that morning she'd been sweet, and obedient, and had allowed him to initiate a kiss. Their familiar routine swung easily into sequence, with Gilbert walking her to her classes. At lunch, she allowed him to take her tray, something she'd been fighting against with a savage determination all week. She sat very close to him, her head resting on his shoulder once she finished with her lunch. She didn't ask to go to the training room with him to train. She was perfect. Until that passing comment at the end of the day, but he could pardon small slights like that. Without his realizing it, Elizaveta was slowly, slowly changing his perspective.

"So which country are you going to be, Franzmann?" asked Gil, breaking their mulling silence.

"Ah, France, bien sûr!" Responded his friend, perking up considerably from his previously dour mood. But then again Francis was always tuned into anything that directly involved himself. "And you, mon ami?"

"Prussia, obviously," stated Gilbert with a bland intonation. "I am Prussian after all."

Francis scoffed, but didn't bother debating the issue.

"So, what's to do today, hm?"

"Oh, je ne sais pas. It is up to you, vraiment." Responded his friend, scuffing his feet on the sidewalk as they finally stepped into the light of day, leaving the dank halls of their school building.

"Well, if you must say that the awesome me can choose, than so be it. Let's go get ice cream," he said quickly, without requiring any thought.

Francis looked surprised before an affectionate, wistful expression took over. "Ah, do you remember when we'd go out to get ice cream every day after school?" he murmured, the aching tone of nostalgia clogging his voice.

"Ja, and I also remember that you were a huge fan of red velvet because it, 'is the color of passion.'" Mocked Gil, grinning teasingly at his friend. They'd fallen into their familiar pattern of comfort.

"Ah, not so fast their, Gilbert. I do believe that you were fond of birthday cake because, and I quote, you 'were so awesome that every day might as well be' your 'birthday.'" Laughed Francis, grinning playfully at Gilbert's scoff of un-acknowledgement.

"Well, let's not forget Antonio's. What did he like again, gelato something? I remember because he always said it reminded him of Lovino."

Francis hummed in response, his attention only half taken as they stepped into the ice cream shop, the little bell over the door ringing to announce their arrival. The Alpha that ran the shop grinned over at the two, setting down the rag he was using to clean the counter to lean his elbows on its polished surface and peer at the two twelfth grade boys. "Well, I say, it has been a while since I've seen the two of you," he said, his vaguely Italian accent peeking out from beneath the tanned skin, brown eyes, and brown hair of his exterior. Sighing, Gilbert finally remembered that his father had specifically asked him never to go to the ice cream joint again because the Alpha who ran it, Romulus, was Feliciano and Lovino's grandfather, and rumors floated around that he was off his rocker. Every now and then he'd break into random songs, a phenomenon that would make Feliciano laugh, if the Italian happened to be around, but would have everyone else vaguely concerned and considering different homes to place the crazy old man in.

Sucking it up, he managed a smile. "Ah, you know, high school," he said, waving his hand vaguely in the air to indicate some nondescript answer. Romulus just raised an eyebrow at him and stood straight.

"Beh, what would you two like?" he asked, a merry twinkle hidden in those half-crazed, half-wise eyes.

Francis stepped eagerly forward, shouldering Gilbert out-of-the-way. "I'll have red velvet if you don't mind," he stated, gazing eagerly at the viciously red ice cream behind the glass. Gilbert feigned gagging, earning himself a punch from Francis. The frenchman received his ice cream and paid for it in record time.

It was then Gilbert's turn, and he stepped forward and ordered the birthday cake ice cream. As usual. He wanted to reconnect with something in his past, get a little of that old stability and confidence back. Elizaveta, though he was fond of her, shook him up in more ways than one. He needed to calm his frantic nerves.

Romulus put together and handed over the ice cream to Gilbert, who paid rapidly as well. Afterwards, the duo bid the Italian man adieu and departed the little shop, licking languidly at the frozen foods.

"So what got Matthew whipped into such a frenzy?" said Gilbert finally.

Francis sighed and recounted his day up until that point. "…and then, I don't know what happened. One minute, he was content and was even letting me hold his hand, and then the next he was upset with me!" he was obviously still dismayed about the scenario, even with the temporary distraction of red velvet ice cream in his hand.

"Francis, do you think he's nearing his heat?" asked Gilbert randomly, recalling a month ago when Elizaveta had gotten strangely volatile.

Francis bristled. "What does it matter to you?" he snapped, his protective Alpha instincts snapping awake.

Gilbert backed away from the prickling Alpha, his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "I'm just asking because Eliza's like that around the time of her heat. Jesus, no need to get so affronted," he complained, eventually walking back over to his friend once he'd calmed down.

Francis looked sheepish. "Mes apologies, Gilbert. I should not have done that," he said, one of the only Alphas who was actually capable of apologizing. Gil was faintly impressed and surprised at this more submissive side of Francis.

"Since when did you start apologizing? That is so un-awesome," he stated, as articulate as ever.

"Mathieu," stated Francis with a dreamy smile. "He has opened my eyes to several things, Gilbert. You must open yours too, if you hope to keep a hold of your spitfire Omega," he half-teased, half-warned.

Now it was Gilbert's turn to bristle. "And what do you mean by that? Are you thinking of trying to take her away from me?"

"Mon Dieu, I would never," defended Francis immediately, licking nonchalantly at his ice cream once more. "I am just warning you, mon ami allemand. She will not hang around forever."

With that, they parted their separate ways, Francis going left and Gilbert right.

Stepping into his house, Gilbert peered about at the clean, pristine place. It was nothing like Eliza's comfortable atmosphere, or Francis's ridiculously overdone home, or even Antonio's cultural environment. Gilbert's home was sparse, clean to a T, and very simple. His father loved it that way, his mother was fine with it, and his opinion didn't matter. Nor did his brother's, for that matter. Not that Ludwig looked to be the type to want anything different, an issue that Gilbert was sure the younger Beilschmidt would have with his Vargas mate in the near future. The Vargas's were very far from sparse, and simple, and clean. They were just as cultured as Antonio, rich in history.

Sighing, Gil slid his backpack to the ground, continuing to eat his ice cream as he walked into the living room, snagging the landline from its place on the side table by the sofa, and throwing himself across the piece of furniture. Quickly, he dialed Elizaveta's number, waiting impatiently to hear her voice, or at least her father's or mother's so that he could speak with her. But no one picked up.

Crinkling his brow, he set the phone down on his stomach, polishing off the rest of his ice cream, and clicked on the TV. He didn't have anything better to do at the moment, and it looked as if he had the house practically to himself. He could only assume that his father was off at his job as a swordsmith, his mother might be asleep in the master bedroom, and Feliciano and Ludwig were no doubt home hunting.

As the stupid show involving what appeared to be a sponge and a starfish flashed across the screen, Gilbert let his eyelids slide shut, and before he knew it, he was waking up, a good three hours after he'd first lain down.

His father was standing over him, a disapproving frown hardening his face.

"Gilbert, why are you napping?" he reprimanded, pulling the twelfth year boy up by his arm. Wincing, Gil pulled his arm out of Alfher's grip, shaking the numb skin. He had rolled over at some point in his sleep so that the arm had sandwiched itself beneath him, and it was just now waking up along side its owner.

"Because I was tired," Gil replied, giving his father a deadpan expression before stepping away from him. "So I'll just be going up to my room now," he said, hoping against hope that his father would have nothing more to say to him. But, unfortunately for Gilbert, he hadn't wished quite enough.

Gilbert Beilschmidt, you get over here. We're having guests, and you need to get more presentable than that. In addition, pick up your backpack. Yes, your mother may clean this house, but that doesn't mean that you need to make any more of a mess for her than is necessary." Growling huffily, Gil turned, scooped his backpack up and was halfway up the stairs before he paused and looked behind him.

"Question," he said, one finger raised, "who's coming over?"

"The Hédérvarys," said his father before disappearing into the kitchen where Gil's mom was, presumably, cooking.

His heart now going a good bit faster, Gilbert ran his way up the stairs and threw his backpack against the wall, winging the closet doors open. It was about seven o'clock now, and though that did still give him a good three hours before their meal started, he wanted to look his best.

His ruby eyes scrolled through the different hanging outfits. He knew that this would be a formal affair, so there wasn't too much concern about being overdressed. Reaching forward, he tentatively ran his fingers over a suit. It was a little more casual than a tuxedo, thank God, and it would do perfectly. It was a misty gray one, with a light blue shirt and brown belt and shoes to go with it.

Once that decided, Gilbert went over and pulled out some of his homework. It would be tedious, but he could manage it. Hopefully. Sighing, he buckled down to the task.

About an hour or two later, he was putting the papers up, dumping the pens and pencils back in the front pocket of the backpack, and skidding over to his closet. He took the suit from the rack, understanding that he was now a little pressed for time, as it was 9:45 and he'd found out earlier from his father that they were to come over at 10:00. But he could manage it.

Within about ten minutes, he was clean and ready to go. The suit fit him perfectly, making a nice line across his broad shoulders and complimenting his generally pale skin nicely, making it look at least a little darker. Straightening himself in the mirror, he disappeared down the stairs, shutting the door to his bedroom behind him.

When he got to the main floor, a bouncing, jabbering Feliciano greeted him. Groaning, and already feeling the faint traces of a headache, Gilbert shoved his way past the over-excited Italian and made his way into the kitchen, where delicious smells were fairly wafting out the door. Slipping up behind his mother, he attempted to reach around and snag a piece of the freshly baked bread that she had out cooling, but his hand was effectively slapped away at the behest of a wooden spoon. Yelping, and now nursing an aching hand, he backed away from the food, ignoring the fond smile gracing his mother's lips as she looked proudly over her strong Alpha son.

Deciding to abandon the very aggressive kitchen, Gilbert succumbed himself to a few minutes of pain. Ludwig was trying his best to get Feliciano to calm down, but to no avail, and though he threw apologetic looks at his brother, he found no forgiveness in those eyes. Only annoyance and a You'd better find a house soon.

Right about the point where Gilbert was pretty sure he was going to commit a murder, the doorbell rang. Springing to his feet, he called an 'I'll get it' before heading over to the door.

Pulling it open, the Prussian boy's eyes first landed on Elizaveta. And he had an awfully hard time pulling them away and opening the door further so that she and her parents could enter the house. His father greeted them, but Gilbert said nothing, his eyes immediately gravitating back towards his Omega.

Elizaveta looked stunning in an intensely blue strapless dress. A ribbon of a slightly lighter shade was tied around her waist, ending in a perfect little bow on her right side. Her hair glossed and curled, makeup applied strategically, and a pair of light blue heels to match. Those heels raised her closer to Gilbert's height, and the boy took the opportunity to bend and kiss his mate-to-be.

After a moment, and an awkward cough from Ludwig, the two pulled apart. Elizaveta tsked at Gilbert before turning to smile softly at her Alpha's younger brother. "Ludwig, it's nice to see you again," she said, turning her green eyes to the Italian boy sitting practically in Ludwig's lap. "And you, Feliciano," she said, laughing as the excitable Omega jumped up and twirled happily about.

"Buonasera, Elizaveta!"

"Guten Abend," said Ludwig, his voice a good deal calmer than his mate's.

Elizaveta laughed, letting Gilbert guide her over to the sofa in the living room. She sat down where he gestured her, and then he took a seat next to her. Automatically, they both reached for each other's hands and entwined fingers, Gilbert's thumb resting over hers, and rubbing gently up and down the soft skin there.

"So, Ludwig," initiated Elizaveta, "have you and Feliciano found a house yet?" she knew that she was being perhaps a little bold by not leaving Gilbert to ask the questions, but she didn't care. Ludwig looked surprised and gave his brother a suspicious look before responding to her.

"Ah, not quite, Miss Hédérvary. We're still looking, but I'm sure we'll find it someday." Elizaveta nodded, not bothering to correct Ludwig using 'Miss' with her. He was always so formal.

Finally, she turned to talk to Feliciano, something more appropriate for an Omega to do, and let Gilbert and Ludwig make their own conversation.

By the time dinner was ready, she'd gotten Feliciano to agree to paint her a portrait of Gilbert, and then one of herself, and then one of them together. The Eleventh year Omega was really just too happy to please most people, even though Gilbert terrified him, as most things did.

The four of them had been called to the dining room, and a fantastic array of food greeted them. Mrs. Hédérvary's food accompanied Mrs. Beilschmidt's spectacularly, so there was an array of German and Hungarian adorning the center of the table. It had Gilbert salivating at the sight. A small bowl of pasta had been put off to the side for Feliciano, as the Italian wouldn't enjoy meals without the mandatory pasta.

The eight people settled down, conversation nonexistent for an awkward few minutes of the dinner. Food was served, picked at, eaten, and picked at some more. Finally, Elizaveta's father spoke up, her voice ringing across the silent space.

"Mr. Beilschmidt, I am to correctly believe that you are content with our children being mated?" she asked, aware that she was doing this in an unnaturally public setting, but not much caring. Alfher's eyes narrowed at the lack of formality, but he couldn't blame the female Alpha for long. There was merit to bringing something so serious up in front of the family. It gave a bit more of a consensus, even though there were only four Alphas at the table.

"Yes, that would be a correct presumption, Mr. Hédérvary, but please, call me Alfher. We're going to be in-law's soon." He tried, and failed at making a joke. His countenance was too serious. Ludwig shared this unfortunate lack of experience at making a joke.

Etel managed a wan smile. "Yes, call me Etel, if you don't mind," she said. Gilbert was peering between the two older Alphas with the amusement of a twelfth year in his eyes.

Elizaveta saw this laughter and had to hide her smirk by bowing her head so that she was looking at the table.

Once that conversation was over, things were a bit more easily breached. Gilbert's attention was one hundred percent focused on his Omega, and vice versa. Alfher and Etel continued speaking about their children's future, Aranka and Amelina had shallow conversation about the latest gossip, and Feliciano and Ludwig successfully wrapped themselves up in their own little world, though this may be more in part to Feliciano complaining about there being no more pasta than it would be to real, deep conversation.

"How many children would you want, Engel?" asked Gilbert, pushing his finished plate away from him to place his elbows on the table and lean closer towards his soon-to-be.

Elizaveta paused a moment, sipping at her glass of water, thinking. "I think that one or two would be a good number," she said, noticing Gilbert's nose wrinkle. A sigh came over her as she reversed the question back to the Alpha.

"Well, I think three, or maybe even four would be perfect," supplied Gilbert.

Elizaveta coughed, wheezing and pounding on her chest."Excuse me? I'm the one giving birth to them, not you," she said, her audacity making Gilbert want to strangle her.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad," he reasoned, but she wasn't having any of it.

"Respect my wishes, Gilbert, and I might be open for a compromise," she snapped, not budging in her stance against three or four children.

Gilbert glowered at her, not wanting to have to compromise with an Omega. But Elizaveta's stoney expression had him eventually moving towards that option.

"Fine, how about three?" he asked her. She shook her head. Growling, he took up his own water-glass and took a sip to calm his seething nerves. "Two."

Elizaveta's eyes brightened. "See? That wasn't so bad," she patronized, reaching forward to pat the top of Gilbert's hand. The moody hood to his eyes vaporized at her touch.

The rest of the dinner passed in much the same way, questions about their future being posed and answered. Elizaveta was content with a smaller house. She wanted to have at least one pet, and to be able to hold a job after the children were grown.

Gilbert didn't much care what kind of house they had, so long as it was more welcoming than his current one. He wanted a German Shepherd and a bird, if they were going to get pets, and he was adamant that Elizaveta not hold a job.

Things got tense right about there, but the dinner ended, so they couldn't continue their argument for much longer after that. Which was bad, because if they both had time to sleep on it, things weren't going to go in a very positive slope.

Closing the door behind the Hédérvarys, Alfher gave Gilbert a wan smile before taking his wife upstairs. Aranka and Amelina had cleared the table and cleaned the dishes before the former had left, so the chores were done. Gilbert went up to his own room, debating on whether or not to call Elizaveta and try to get her to listen to him. Deciding against it, partly because of his pride and partly because of his laziness, he rolled over and went to sleep.

So, ahem, what are we feeling? Too fast? Too boring? Too slow? Comment! Let me know what you think! I promise I'll try to implement your ideas or suggestions.

Au revoir, mes amis.