In Five Years
by: Van Donovan
concept by: Van Donovan and Makkura
9 May 2000
-----------------------------------

	The idea behind this fanfic was to put the Weiß and Schwarz characters in positions
five years after the end of Weiß and the OVA.  The twist was to make it funny by making them
in situations that were completely opposite how we thought they'd really turn out.  It was
a lot funnier when we were planning them, but it's almost morbid sad now.  Anyway, if you 
like it, please email me trowa@trowa.com and/or Makkura MakkuraSei@aol.com and let us know. 
^_^  Here's part two!  Thanks the comments and for reading!

-----

	The hot red Porsche pulled up in front of the coffee shop, and Schulich's eyes widen
even larger than he'd been expecting.  He'd known she drove a nice car, but this was some-
thing else.  He held his breath as the car parked and the front door opened. 
Uncharacteristically, he pushed off the wall he was leaning against and started towards the
car.  Long legs covered by sheer pantyhose emerged first, and he froze, midstep.  The rest 
of Aya followed along with the legs, tapering to a short white skirt, an emerald blazer and
a cream coloured silk blouse, accented with silver jewerly.  Her long red hair was free this
time, and bounced down to her mid-back in free cascading waves of auburn, tied with a
small braid that wrapped around the back of her head.
	Aya spotted him approaching and violet eyes turned to take him in, long lashes just
serving to draw Schuldich into the pools of lavender.  Her lips were painted the faintest
pearl-pink and her lower lip sparkled as the gloss caught the sun.  Her skin was unearthly
pale and ivory, her cheeks only showing the faintest rouge-blush.   
	She was beautiful.
	"Schuldich." She said smiling, offering her hand which had neatly manicured and 
painted nails.  Her smiled melted him and he wondered how someone so hell-bent on killing 
him five years ago could have changed so much.  He took the proffered hand, bent to kiss it 
and looked back up at her.  How could this be Aya Fujimiya?  That cold bastard from Weiß?  
He was this beautiful woman now, with a rich alto voice and dancing eyes.  "It's been a long
time, hasn't it?  You look stunning, although I still think you should cut that mop of
hair." She said with a light laugh. 
	"'Still think'?" He repeated, eyeing her as he took her arm, walking her towards the
coffee shop.  It was surreal to be arm and arm with this tall beautiful woman who once was
a man.  "You never thought that about me before." He said.  She laughed again, opening the 
door and entering.
	"Never when you were around to read my thoughts." She chimed and nodded at him,
smiling vibrantly.  They moved to a table together, sitting.  He just blinked at her.  So,
she'd thought of him before.  He smiled.
	"Well, are you going to tell me what brought this change about?" He inquired.
	She demurely set her purse on the seat next to her and lifted her eyes to see him.
"Right to the point, aren't you?"
	"Always am." He said, grinning.
	"Can't you just read my mind?"  Her eyes held his, and if he just looked at those
eyes, his mind could reconstruct the man's face that hide beneath the jewelry and make-up.
It was somehow exciting to think she'd been a man.
	"Of course I can, but I want to hear it from your mouth." He said, playing on the 
tone of the words so they'd come out more like he wanted to hear her voice.
	She shyly blushed and folded her hands in her lap.  "You're quite taken with me,
aren't you?" She said, changing the topic.
	Schuldich straighten and made to reply but the waitress arrived.  They both ordered
coffee's and he looked at the table.  "Well, you're certainly attractive.  It's sort of
erotic, how you've changed." He thought he saw her blush.  "And, well, you're the first 
person besides Farfello I've seen since Schwarz broke up that I know.  I guess I'm a bit
desperate for companionship now." The waitress arrived with their drinks.
	"Me too." She softly said, and looked down at her coffee.  "I had lost touch with
everyone after Weiß disbanded, but Ken stayed close by."  Schuldich listened, instantly
shutting up so he could listen to her story.  "He really had the most of any of us to go
on with -- he was a soccer coach, great with children, friendly, people loved him, and he
was still young enough to go to college if he really wanted . . ."  She stirred the liquid 
and tentatively blew on the surface before sipping.  "But, I guess he was worried about me,
and so he stayed close."
	Schuldich began pouring packets of sugar into his coffee, listening intently, trying
not to appear like he was making a mess.  "So . . . what happened to him?"
	Aya sipped her coffee again.  "I'm not sure, really.  I was worried about my sister
at the time and really didn't pay much attention to him.  He started behaving weird, and 
then told me he was going out on his own . . ." she sighed looking at her reflection in her
mug.  "I was already going over the edge because of what was happening to Aya . . . and I
didn't even notice Ken was gone until later.  I feel a bit bad.  I think he needed help."
She looked up, and then forced a smile.
	"That still doesn't explain your sexual change." He replied, finally drinking from
his own coffee, trying hard not to grimace.  Aya pursed her lips, thinking, not noticing.
	"I'm not sure I want to go into that, just yet."  She lowered her eyes and Schuldich
stiffened a little, feeling he'd stepped over the line.  "Over dinner tonight, perhaps?"
	He jerked his head up, eyes wide.  "Aah . . . sure!"
	Her soft smile showed her appreciation.

-----
	
	"I'm quite sure she's not going to be home, stop worrying.  It's not like we ever 
talk when she's is home anyway."  Youji said, hanging his expensive coat on a coat rack and 
offering to take Crawford's.  The American shucked it and Youji hung it up, speaking.  "I
don't mind having you over for dinner at all.  Serves to catch up on old news, I guess." He
started walking.  "Come along, the kitchen's this way."
	"Your home is really fantastical, Youji."  he said, looking up, admiring the ceiling
and the skylights, the furniture and the soft white pristine carpet.  Youji smiled, going
to a small pantry and opening it.  Crawford was hit with the wonderful aroma of baking
cookies, and inhaled deeply.  It was such a nostalgic scent.  Inside the pantry hung a 
frilly pink apron with poofy sleeves and fringe around the lap piece.  Youji, without 
thinking, pulled it over his head and tied the big ribbon into a bow behind him.  He was 
putting on oven gloves when Crawford noticed him.
	"Th'Hell're you wearing!?"  He burst out and Youji cast him a dangerous look.
	"I always make cookies for the children in the afternoon." He said, opening the oven
and peeking inside at the browning cookies.  "We're lucky we got back just now, otherwise
they would have burned."
	"That doesn't account for the apron!" Crawford sputtered.
	Youji carefully pulled the cookie sheet out and set the delicious looking cookies on
the counter.  "It wasn't my idea, but it's the only apron I'm allowed to have."
	"Oh?  I thought you were allowed to do whatever you wanted . . . ?" Crawford asked,
leaning against the marble countertop.  Youji refused to look at him.
	"Well, almost anything."  Then he walked to a small intercom and pushed a button.
"Kouji, your cookies are done, come down and get them."
	Crawford blinked.  "'Kouji'?"
	"He's my youngest."  Youji said, carefully using a plastic spatula to expertly 
scrape the cookies off the sheet.
	"You mean you have more than two!?" Crawford cried, dismayed.  If Youji had another,
younger kid, it meant he'd had sex and inpregnanted that woman at -least- twice!
	"Aah, but just Kouji." He replied, putting four cookies on a plate and going to get
a glass from the cupboard.  "Something to drink, Crawford?"
	"Just Brad, I said." He reminded the other, and looked at the tile in the kitchen.
Three kids.  "Ah, do you have brandy?"  He inquired and Youji nodded, dancing to the
refrigerator and pouring milk into a glass.
	"Papa!  Papa!" Cried a young voice and a little boy about three or four charged into
the room.  While Myoji and Ryoji had darker hair and golden eyes, Kouji was the
spitting image of his father, with vibrant green eyes and wavy short honey-blonde hair. The 
boy cast Crawford a curious look and timidly moved to his father.  Youji patted the kids
head and handed down the glass and the plate of cookies.
	"Be careful now, Kouchan.  Don't spill anything."  The boy nodded, eyed Crawford again, and then left the kitchen.  Youji sighed, resting a hand on his cocked hip and then looked back to Crawford.  
	"You've become quite the housewife." He stated, and accepted the cookie Youji had
offered him.  It was surprisingly delicious.  The man poured a brandy for Crawford from a
high cabniet and handed it over.  Then, he moved about the kitchen knowingly, getting things
to prepare dinner with.  He looked somehow enticing with the absurd apron on.  "But I don't
get the apron." 	
	Youji began mixing items for the dinner, long fingers moving gracefully, smiling as
he went about the chore.  He'd become an excellent cook, and really enjoyed the work.  He
did a lot of recreational things now, as well.  Sewing, knitting, cooking, cleaning, and of
course drawing and painting.  He loved them.  He sighed, looking down at the apron.  "She
doesn't want to be neglected, of course." He commented.  Crawford blinked.
	"Pardon?"  He asked.  Youji's face flushed.
	"My wife.  She lets me do what I want, but, I have to please her too."  He quietly
said, getting a wooden spoon to mix his ingredients with.  
	What did that have to do with the apron . . . ?  She liked belittling his manhood by
making him wear something so silly?  "I don't get it."
	Youji looked up at him, staring.  "She's sexual as anyone else, although she doesn't
like sex so much.  She adores to eat, though, and seeing sex or sexual things when she's 
eating is her thing." he made a slight face.  "Sometimes when the kids are out, she makes me 
cook for her in the apron."
	Crawford raised an eyebrow.  "-Just- the apron?"
	Youji looked back to the work he was doing.  There was no nod of agreement, but 
there was and obvious affirmative.  Crawford felt hot at the mental image he conjured up and
chided himself for feeling jealous.  But, why should an ugly fat cow like her get and ruin
such an attractive vibrant man as Youji!?  It wasn't fair.
	Youji turned his stove on and put the mixture he'd made over the flames, letting it 
simmer.  He went to retrieve chicken from the refrigerator and Crawford watched him.  The
silence that had fallen was a bit unnerving.  "Where are the twins?"  He asked, keeping his
voice level.  Youji still didn't look up.
	"They're at a soccer game.  They'll be home by eight, for dinner."  He said, 
stirring concoction on the stove.  Crawford glanced at his watch.  It was almost four.  He
felt the blood pounding in his ears and started away from the counter, towards Youji.
	"When was the last time you made love to someone you wanted?"  He coolly asked, 
keeping his voice completely conversational.  Youji jerked his head up, looking at the other
in shock, eyes a bit wide.  He looked down again then, and there was no mistake his cheeks 
had turned red.  Crawford smirked, reaching up to loosen his tie.  "It's been a long time
for me too."  He added, softly.
	"Brad . . ."

-----

	"Don't remember me?"  Omi asked, watching the lithe little man before him stagger
backwards upon realizing who he was.
	"You've just changed!" He breathed.  Omi had been his size, and so cute before!  Now
he looked terrible: a cigarette danced on his lips, his vibrant blue eyes had dark rings 
under them, and he was huge!  He was tall and very well built but had an unshaved face.  The
others' sleeves were rolled up, showing tanned and tattooed arms, and the shirt he wore was
grease stained.  Omi laughed and it wasn't a pleasant sounding.
	"Hey, well, everyone has to make a living somehow." He said and laughed again.  Nagi
wished he'd shut up.  He pushed past, heading for his dressing room.  Omi reached out and
grabbed him.  His hand was so large it wrapped around his entire bicep.  He gasped as the 
other pulled him back, turning him around.
	"Let me go!" He hissed, eyes narrowing.  Omi released him.  Nagi rubbed his arm 
where the other had clutched him hard.
	"Sorry, you're not as strong as they say you are, huh?"  He mused.  Nagi started 
away again, ignoring him.  He was aware the other was following.  "Hey, I just thought it 
was really neat to run into someone from before, y'know?  I'd always thought that if we 
hadn't been enemies you and I could have become really good friends!"
	"I see." Nagi simply said, remaining neutral.  He fished his keys out of his pocket
and stopped in front of his dressing room, unlocking the door and opening it.  "Well, I need
to go now, it was nice seeing you again, Omi."
	Omi stuck his foot in the door as Nagi started to close it.  "What, not gonna invite
me in so we can catch up on old times?"  He said, his voice gruff and hinting at angry.
	Nagi eyed the steel-toed boot in his door warily.  "I'm very busy."  He quickly said.
	"Nonsense!"  Omi exclaimed, easily pushing the door open, admitting himself much to
Nagi's dismay.  "I had alcohol delivered to your room already.  Hey, you just won the
championships! Let's celebrate!"  
	Nagi stared, horrified, as sure enough on the table in his room was a case of 
Budweiser beers.  Omi sauntered over, adjusted himself obviously, and popped the box open.
Nagi just stood by the open door, disbelieving.  Omi popped a beer open with one hand as if 
he did this everyday.  He took a long pull off the warm beer and then belched.  Nagi turned
his face away.  "Please, leave."  He softly said.
	"Leave?  I think not!  I already called my girlfriend and she's gonna be here any
moment!  We're gonna have a party, Nagi-kun!  C'mon, lighten up!"  He cried, and then 
finished the beer with another long pull.  He crushed the can in his hand and let out 
another loud belch.  Nagi clung to the door.  If the other wouldn't leave, he'd be forced to
get out here himself.  Omi moved to his sofa, but not before picking up another beer, and
unbuttoned his pants to let his small gut bulge.  "C'mon, tell me what's eating you kid!  
You don't look a day over fourteen and here you are champion of Pro-wrestling!  What's the
story behind that, huh?  How'd you get involved?"
	Nagi refused to answer.  After all, anyone who was anyone in wrestling knew how he'd
been attacked by some gang members in broad daylight and fought all six off, killing two.
The story was huge about how a wrestling scout had been in the area and witnessed the whole
thing.  The rest was history.
	"Well, fine, I already know the story.  How about me then?"  The other asked,
popping opening the second beer and chugging on it.  "Surprised to see me as a construction
worker, eh?"  He asked.  Nagi nodded, but just barely, pressing his hot cheek to the cool
door.  Omi laughed.  "Me too!  HA! Who would have thought my past as a member of Weiß would
have gotten out to all the corporate systems, eh?"  He laughed, but sounded bitter.
	Nagi looked at him, blinking.  "You were blacklisted?"
	"Worse than that!!!  They threw my ass in jail as soon as I made eighteen.  I spent
the last five years in prison for all the hacking I did."  Nagi's eyes widened, shocked.
"I got out on bail, finally.  I'm certainly a changed man, though!  Working at a great site
now, too.  Making pretty good money and my girlfriend keeps me happy." He finished the
second beer and Nagi whirled around at a tap on his shoulder.
	"Yumeko!" Omi sat, getting up, buttoning his pants and starting for her, but not
before picking up a third beer.  Nagi pulled away from the pretty girl.  Pretty except for
the way she reeked of cigarettes, alcohol and cheap perfume.  The two embraced and Omi took
her into a deep throating kiss as she wrapped one leg around him.  Nagi's eyes widen more,
having always assumed Omi was a little queer.  Spending time in prison obviously had changed
the other's mind.  He stepped back out of his dressing room unnoticed by the two lovers.  He
was going to be sick.
	Running wasn't his strong point, but he found himself doing just that, fleeing the 
scene.  Away from Omi and his little toy, away from the flash of lights and reporters, away
from his responsibilities and work.  He'd go visit Farfello, perhaps.  The other man was his
only link to his past and since he'd given up knives (for the most part) he was actually
quite friendly.  They supported one another well in their professions.
	He just hoped the Prime Minister candidate was home.

-----

	Ken's scream echoed loudly through the house, followed by a thrashing of water and
more agonizing cries.  "If it isn't hot, the lice won't die!" Farfello shouted, restraining
Ken's arms, forcing him back into the bathtub.  The man thrashed in the water more, 
obviously having problems.  He'd already managed to cut Ken's hair and facial hair to more
manageable (barely) lengths, but it was still matted with lice and grime.  He was afraid to
get out a razor to shave his beard because he didn't want to cut the other.  Scissors were
hard enough to hold steady around him.
	"NO!!!!" Ken screamed, trying to pull away again.  Farfello kept his hold on the 
other.  Ken was surprisingly strong for as weak and depleted he appeared to be.  "I can
still fight!!!  Let me go!!!"  Farfello used one hand to hold him down and the other to
vigorously scrub the shampoo into Ken's hair.
	"You don't need to fight anymore Ken!  I'm not your enemy!"  Farfello shouted back,
trying to make the other see reason.  Ken struggled more.
	"Schwarz!!"  He cried and closed his eyes tightly as suds washed over his face.  Ken
seemed like he was trapped somewhere between the now and the past.  
	"No more Schwarz Ken!  It's over!  It's all over!" 
	"NOOOOOOO!!!!" The other cried, his voice completely anguished sounding.  He 
collapsed back in the tub, working himself into a stupor.  He panted, worn out, and then
raised his hands, looking at them.  "Take me back."  he softly said, his voice trembling a
little.  It sounded sane, though.  Farfello kept working on his hair, sighing.
	"I can't do that, Ken.  You were going to die there."
	"NO!!!" He shrieked, energy renewed.  He spun around, attacking with his invisible
bugnuks again.  "Take me back Weiß!" He screamed, lunging from the tub at him.  Farfello
was knocked back onto the tile as Ken landed ontop of him, thrashing at his face with his
long yellowed nails.  Farfello raised his arms, defending himself.  He grabbed Ken's wrists
the next time he thrashed and held his arms out so they couldn't hurt anymore.  Fortunately,
Ken was weak despite his attempts at attacks.  Farfello panted where Ken pinned him, feeling
blood trickling down his face.  He pushed Ken off him onto the cold tile and twisted one of
his arms, then released it and slapped him hard in the face.
	"Snap out of it!" He screamed.  Ken clutched his face in recoil, hands clenching
the shabbily cut hair of his beard, eyes filling with tears.  "Weiß and Schwarz are no more!
Get over it!" He growled and got to his feet, hand touching his cheek where Ken had clawed 
him.  He looked at it in the mirror and then began washing the wound.  "I'm trying to help
you.  Be more thankful."
	Ken drew himself into a small ball, burying his head into his knees.  He was nude 
now, except for a pair of Farfello's boxers which he wore in the tub.  "Aya." He softly
whimpered.  "Youji.  Omi."  He rocked himself, weeping.  Farfello turned around after 
putting a Band-Aid over the cut and knelt by Ken again, gently rubbing his back.  He felt 
bad but he couldn't really help Ken anymore than he already was.
	"They're not here.  It's just me." He felt Ken shiver and pulled a towel off the 
rack and draped it over Ken's shoulders.  "Lets finish your bath and cleaning your hair and
then we can talk, all right?  You'll be more civilized, right?" he asked, rubbing his back 
more, trying to coax him back into the bathtub.  Ken sniffled and stood, taking the towel
into the tub with him, letting Farfello scrub his hair.
	"It can't all be over." He whimpered softly, rocking as Farfello worked his hair 
into a tight lather.  "They can't be gone." he breathed.  Farfello stiffened, wonder if 
perhaps this was a pre-notion that the other three members of Weiß had been killed.  Ken 
seemed to fall into a subdued state and Farfello took the opportunity to shave his face 
clean and fix his hair so it wasn't as shaggy.  He got the lice comb and began to preen the 
other's hair, just softly talking to him as he did.
	"After Schwarz broke up, everyone left me too, except Nagi.  He was too little and I
was still a little . . . over the edge, so we decided we would stick together and try to 
help one another out."  He washed the comb and began another section of hair.  If he told his life story first, then perhaps Ken would feel more comfortable telling his.  "Nagi was the one who helped me settle down.  He took me to therapy and helped mold me into the man I've become.  I'm running for Prime Minister, you know." he said with a proud smiling, washing the comb again.  "I'll probably win, too." He said, working on the last bit of hair. Ken was finally beginning to look like the man he remembered.
	"I have a lot of supporters, too, so I'm very close to winning.  Elections are just
in a few days." He said, petting the others head now that it was clean. Ken turned to look
up at him, green eyes wide.  "Are you registered to vote?"  He inquired.
	Ken shook his head no and Farfello stood him up, leaving the wet towel in the tub
and draping a dry one on his shoulders.  He dried him off some and led him to his room, to
get dressed.  "Easily fixed."  he cooed, and Ken followed numbly.  "So, lets have dinner
together and you can tell me all about your past, hmm?"
	"Aa." Ken softly said, entering Farfello's room behind him.


--end part two--