A handful of people were totally smashed by the end of the evening; Arthur and the whole band to name a few. Of course, Feliks made sure to catch the bouquet via elbowing a handful of the female guests out of the way. The funniest part of the evening was probably the fact that when Roderich (Ever so awkwardly) fished Elizaveta's garter belt out from under all that fabric and mesh and threw it to the crowd of males, it landed in Ludwig's wine glass. Feliciano then proceeded to offer to be Ludwig's bride, because, as is tradition that the male to catch the bride's garter belt is the next to get hitched. (As with the bouquet, but Feliks was claiming to be that poor Lithuanian's bride before the champagne even came around.) At the very least, the rest of the wedding party went without a hitch. Gilbert even stuck around for the duration of the party, dancing like an idiot with Spain and France on occasion, or messing with the Italian brothers. Not a word to the bride and groom since he got off the stage, however. Though the consensus was that once a 1/8thsober Alfred F. Jones took out his own addition to the buffet, – which was not quite recognizable as food, but was very large and very, very purple – the evening was done.

After seeing everyone off, Elizaveta sat outside on the steps leading up to the hall's entryway. Her veil and gloves were strewn next to her, pearly white heels thankfully sitting off her feet on the step just below.

"Mein Gott, how the fuck do you walk in those . . . those needles all night?"

In the process of pulling the thousands of bobby pins out of her hair, the bride – now a married woman – turned to face the silver-haired Prussian. He, on the other hand, was sizing up the pumps that were hidden under her dress all evening. She frowned a little bit, but ended up sighing, and turning to face the parking lot again as Gilbert took a seat next to her.

"Practice, is all," She shrugged. Never in a million years would she admit the hours it took at the rehearsal dinner to simply stand without wobbling. Or that her feet were painfully burning with the white hot intensity of the sun.

A silence fell over the cool night.

"Why did you sing that song?"

Gilbert, who was staring into space – and hoping she couldn't hear his heart pounding a mile a minute – looked over to her. Her, in that mess of sleeveless, strapless white silk and mesh, now dispersed around her form like a blooming flower.

"Pft. Why not?" He passed it off with a shrug of his own.

"Do you mean it?"

"Mean what?"

"Any of it. Any part of that song."

Gilbert choked on air.

". . . So, how come you're not rushing off to your romantic honeymoon with your new hubby?"

She quirked a brow at him. "Why are you avoiding my question?"

"Why are you avoiding your honeymoon?" He quickly quipped back.

Elizaveta sighed again, resting her elbows on her knees. "We're not going on a honeymoon. Not now, anyhow; Roderich and I have work to go back to."

"And you never believed me when I said an Austrian's only romantic sense comes out through a frickin' piano." She shot a glare at him.

"Roderich can be very romantic," She retorted with a frown that would make most men cry a little bit. "At least he told me his feelings normally, instead of dropping the bomb on my fucking wedding day when I'm marrying someone else."

That hurt more than it should have, on both sides. Another heavy silence, this one with twice the load than its predecessor.

"So did you mean it?" She asked again, finally.


She choked on air. Well that was . . . blunt.

"So is this your grand scheme to forever torment me? To suddenly profess your love at my wedding?" She wasn't going to let that go. He had the worst timing ever. Always did, now that she thought about it. Elementary school, best friends and rivals, and they both assumed she was a boy – then 6th grade hit and they were split up. Elizaveta grew into womanhood, Gilbert's voice (and balls) dropped. High school comes around the corner, they're in the same second period English class and what's the first thing he says to her after three or so years? HOLY SHIT, YOU'VE GOT BOOBS.

He was quiet for a minute. "There wasn't a grand scheme of anything." He pursed his lips as an afterthought – how dare she insult him so!

"I'm assuming there was no plan at all?"

"No plan what so ever."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"Because it would be surprising if I showed up in a grass skirt and screamed Swiss yodels at you."

". . . You know, that wouldn't be surprising either."

"Really? I thought that one was pretty damn creative."

"You're as creative as a fifth grader who still laughs at the word 'duty'."

"Pffft. You said duty."

She smacked him in the arm. Despite herself, she smiled. And laughed. She started laughing. He did too. Uncontrollably so, until the two of them were sprawled on the stairs and the lawn beside it, gasping for air and clutching at their lungs.

"You look better like that," Gilbert gasped, propping himself on his elbows. Elizaveta rolled onto her stomach, leaning on her arms.

"What, with grass stains all over my expensive wedding dress, shoe-less and irate?" She scoffed.


There was that bluntness again. Self-consciously, she began to pick the grass out of the uneven waves of caramel-brown hair that surrounded her shoulders and draped across her back.

"You know, if you did this plan-less confession years ago, we wouldn't be stuck in this mess."

For a moment, he was almost hopeful, perked. "How so?"

"Because I had a crush on you in high school."

It was his turn to choke on nothing now. "Excuse me?"

"I gave up pretty quick. You were too busy making penis jokes and claiming that you'd go your entire life without needing anyone else. What hope would I have?"

"Now that's surprising." He sat up properly, hunched over slightly. "You seemed too busy beating the crap out of me."

"I guess we're even then," she stood up, brushed the debris off the mesh of her skirt.

"Not even. You owe me a wedding."

"Excuse me?" She scoffed. "I just got married. Hold your horses." Elizaveta turned back to the hall's entryway, and picked up her shoes on the way. "If anything, youowe me a wedding."

"That can be arranged." His tone was smirked, He took her by the wrist to turn her around. "Your marriage to that pansy-ass of a man is so platonic it hurts."

She scowled, not wriggling but giving effort to move out of his grasp. "Wow, you actually know a big word like platonic."

"Think about it, Eliza!" He looked almost pained. "We've been together forever. We fought and laughed and pissed each other off so many times it's hard to count, and those have to be the best memories I have." She opened her mouth to protest, but he went on.

"I was gonna blow a gasket when I heard you were marrying Roddy. Roddy of all people! I mean, we picked on him together in 3rd grade, for Christ's sake!"

She frowned at him. "That was a long time ago. And besides, our parents know each o—" He silenced her, pulling her body into his own, cupping her face in his hands with a glare that wasn't angry, but commanding.

"I. Will. Be. Damned if you sell yourself away to another man because of Mommy and Daddy," He hissed, slow and accentuating. She wriggled in his hold, using a free hand to punch his gut. He gawked, hunching slightly and letting go.

"Oh you have some nerve telling me something like this!" her voice quivered with tears and frustration. She threw her hands up, only for them to fall to her sides with a poomf from the dress fabric, and laughed. A sarcastic, choked laugh. "This is hilarious. Fucking hi-la-ri-ous. If you tried this stunt years ago, I would've jumped into your arms so hard you would've been knocked into next Tuesday!"

He recovered from her blow. "What's stopping you now?" They were screaming at each other. It was good thing it was the wee hours of the morning in a parking lot. She held up her hand. At first he assumed she was going to flip the bird like she always did.

"This is!" She indicated her ring finger, the silvery, shiny band glinting over the bridge of her slim finger. "This ring, my family, his family, my work and his work, and Roderich himself!"

Gilbert's next move was either brilliant, or the damn near stupidest thing he'd ever done. He grabbed her wrist, plucked that stupid little cockblocking ring from her finger, and threw it into the street with all his might faster than you can say 'potato'. Her mouth gaped like a fish.

"You, you, you you you –" She struggled to find the right derogatory term for him. "You moron! You idiot! You asshole! That ring is probably worth more than you'll make in a lifetime!" She snarled, furious tears edging out of the boundaries of her mascara.

"Fine!" he shouted back. "GOOD! I'm glad it's gone! Probably crushed by a car now! But your sweetie-pie Roddy will just go 'Oh, it was an accident, dear. Don't worry, we can get you a new, better one! I know my gay lover Kenny can get a good discount at the jewelers!"

"Who the fuck is Kenny?"

He growled, running angered claws through his choppy, silver hair. "I don't know, and I don't care!" He screamed to the parking lot. He advanced on her, more commandingly than ever. He grabbed her, forcefully, and kept his lips on hers as long as he could help it. The reason it broke was for air, and her fists beating against his sides – much weaker than he thought they would be.

"If that ring is as expensive as my life time," he breathed, "Then fine, I'll pay you back with my lifetime. You can't stay with him, Eliza, he'll drown you. Hisatmosphere will drown you into some no-name brand lady wearing stupidly expensive clothing and having lame-ass tea parties and conversing politically."


He silenced her with a finger, his free hand keeping a firm hold on the rest of her. "And let's face it, you're not a lady. You're a foul-mouthed tomboy of a woman who isn't afraid to do the dirty work, or give effort or hang with the guys. And I . . ." he rest his head against her shoulder, taking in her scent. Spices and honey, he mused, not any flowery, fake perfume.

"I'm in love with that foul-mouthed woman you are."

She brought her arms around him, letting out a sob that her rage had kept in.

"Elizaveta? Gilbert?"

The two of them instantly released the other, looking to the speaker – Roderich. Elizaveta quickly wiped her tears, a bit embarrassed by looking so disheveled from her spat with Gilbert. "Roderich, I—"

"How long have you been standing there, prissy?" Gilbert spat.

"A. . . while, actually," he admitted. Elizaveta looked astonished. "I just couldn't find a time to . . . intrude, I guess, would be the word."

There was a silence so loaded it rivaled a new rifle. Roderich cleared his throat to break it.

"You know, the marriage certificate hasn't been signed yet," He said casually. Gilbert and Elizaveta looked to each other.

"What—" the two of them began.

Roderich came down the stairs, putting a hand on his 'wife's shoulder. "I know you weren't as enthused about this," he looked to Gilbert with a wary eye, before turning a kind one back to Elizaveta. "And while I think you could do better thanhim, I'm . . . not opposed to you breaking this off."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean, you prick?" Gilbert ground his teeth together. Elizaveta kicked him in the shin, to which he winced.

Elizaveta wordlessly hugged the Austrian man. "I . . . I'm so sorry, I'm so . ."

He patted her back comfortingly. "It's much more becoming of you to say thank you, dear."

She laughed lightly, wiping away the last of her tears. "Thank you," she choked with emotion.

"Hey hey hey hey," Gilbert intruded, arms around Elizaveta's waist to pull her away. "I think we've cleared all this up and decided she's mine now, right? No touchie."

She elbowed him again. "Don't be retarded." She belonged to nobody but herself.

But if it was Gilbert, he'd get a turn someday.

- - - -

AN: Rushed ending, I know. I just had to end it though. I kept circling and circling, I had no idea how to end it. [/sadface] But I hope you enjoyed the ride! I hope to write more PruHun someday, when the inspiration strikes me.