resurrect the sun and all its holy beams

by Laora

Lockon Stratos wakes up in a Union hospital after Fallen Angels. The battle is plastered everywhere—the destruction of the Ptolemy, Kyrios' capture, the utter desolation left by the battle…and despite his best efforts, he cannot get into contact with anyone he knows. Four years later, he may finally have some luck.

Written for the Gundam 00 week happening over on Tumblr, for the prompt 'AU.'

This fic has been gathering dust on my hard drive for at least six months now, and it might require a bit of backstory—I have plans for a super-long AU fic where Lockon doesn't die in Fallen Angels, but everyone else thinks he's dead—and he thinks they're dead. So he's patched up by the military doctors who find him (paid off by Ribbons to say nothing about his existence), given a prosthetic eye, and spends almost four years on Earth, wandering aimlessly (bumping into Katharon a few times, seriously considering joining up), overwhelmed with grief and rage for his friends.

This is kind of an AU of that AU, where I had several options for their eventual reunion and decided to go with something else for the purposes of plot. I liked this a bit too much, however, so I wrote 10k words of it, and left it to die...until now.

I've tried to modify things to make them more clear without knowledge of the 'mother' AU, but let me know if anything doesn't make sense. Lockon's set up in Colorado for the past four years, working as an incredibly efficient bartender in downtown Denver. He met Theo at a shooting range a few months after Fallen Angels—and was all but strong-armed into friendship with him. Joy is the head of Katharon's North America branch, hidden deep in the Rockies.

Thanks guys, and sorry for the super long AN—I really hope you like it! :)

---

Mark Finnegan—Neil Dylandy—Lockon Stratos looks at the crowded bar around him, and thinks he'd give anything to be on a doomed battlefield up among the stars, if only he were in control of a Gundam and among friends.

It's been four years since he lost them—since he should have lost himself, truth be told, but somehow, he survived that explosion and the battle with Ali al-Saachez. His grip on the glass in his hand tightens at the memory of that disgusting man, but he has no time to brood—there's a cheerful call of "Bartender!" from behind him, and so he slaps on the cheery smile he's known for around here, reaches up to wipe at his remaining true eye, and turns to greet another customer.

It's not that he hates working at this bar, per se (except that he does); he's lucky to be alive, after all, after waking in the Union's orbital pillar weeks after the battle. But that was certainly a brutal wake-up call; the news was still broadcasting the operation they termed "Fallen Angels," showing again and again Tieria's wrecked suit, and the Ptolemy exploding in a shower of GN particles, and Allelujah, bloody and broken, being hauled in by the government—

He had to watch every one of his friends die every time he turned on the television, but he kept at it for years—desperately searching for a hope, a sign that any of them are still alive.

It never came.

And now he's here, four years later, tending bar in what was once the Union, and he's beginning to give up hope.

There hasn't been even a hint of a Gundam since the battle (at least—he tells himself—that the A-Laws see fit to broadcast to the world), and there has been no news of Allelujah since they announced that he was being brought in for questioning.

Is he alive? Is he dead? Lockon isn't sure which one he wishes for his friend, because while he'd tear the world apart to save him if he could, he has no idea where the A-Laws are holding him. He wishes desperately that Allelujah is still alive, but when he thinks too hard about it—remembers the whispers of atrocities committed by their new world government—he realizes that one of his dearest friends may be better off dead than suffering at their hands for nearly half a decade.

The world has changed around him, and Lockon has not been able to keep up—but he is nothing if not an excellent actor, and so he keeps on with his fake smiles and his witty chatter though his heart has long been rent in two. He chats with regulars at this shitty bar like he's just another man making his way in the world, lets the girls flirt with him, and collects far more tips than he should simply for his attractive accent and the scars running down the right side of his face. They all seem to think he's a heroic survivor of a mobile suit battle against the Gundams…

He never corrects them.

It's a Friday night, just after eleven, and the bar is predictably packed. But he's always been good at handling multiple orders—at getting drinks out to customers in record time—and his boss beams at him every time a satisfied drunk accidentally throws a twenty in the tip jar instead of a five. It's crowded but nowhere near overwhelming for Lockon, and he listens as a large group calls out orders over the ruckus, nods quickly, and reaches for the beer taps.

Just another night at the bar…and he hates every moment of it.

"You're Mark, right?"

He represses a sigh as he turns back to the counter with three beers in his hands, sliding them quickly to their owners with a smile before turning to the woman in question. She's well-endowed, with curly blonde hair, painted-on makeup, and a flirty smile. It's not anything new, having women slide up to the bar and hope to get a free drink…or something more. Sometimes, they're only after other patrons. Most of the time, they're not.

"That's me," he says, that same polite smile on his face as he resists the urge to sigh. "What can I get for you?"

"Oh, I'm not sure," she draws her voice out in that annoying way Lockon hates (that not even Chris—silly as she could be—ever did). "I don't like things that taste too much like alcohol, you know? I want the buzz without the nasty flavor."

"I could get you a Strawberry Daiquiri or a Blue Hawaiian," he says immediately—this, too, is not an unusual request, and it's one he doesn't mind…so long as the customer in question is reasonable about ordering. This woman, on the other hand, is not.

"Whichever you prefer," she trills, smiling more widely and leaning a bit more over the counter.

"The man's Irish, he doesn't drink shit like that!" A man a couple of seats down hollers, and Lockon stifles a laugh as the woman turns to him contemptuously.

"It's fine, Theo," he laughs it off. This guy is his friend—one of the only ones he's allowed himself to grow relatively close to for the last few years…or, more accurately, the man he was strong-armed into friendship with. He's found he doesn't mind so much. "If I didn't know my drinks, I wouldn't be here, right?"

Theo laughs into his beer and shoots Lockon a grin, which he returns with only a bit less enthusiasm. "The daiquiri it is, then," he says, turning back to the woman. "Do you want to start a tab?"

"Oh…" She sounds disappointed—not the first, of course, to think Lockon would put the drink on the house. Just because she's pouting her lips just so and laying her chest all over the bar…Lockon resists rolling his eyes. If he bought a drink for every woman who gave him that look, he'd have been broke a long time ago. "Yeah, I guess so."

Lockon smiles politely at her as he takes her credit card and turns to finish the other group's orders quickly. But she doesn't seem finished with him—"I've heard around here that you survived Fallen Angels," she says, and has the decency to sound impressed by this fact. "Is that where you got those scars?"

Lockon sighs, catches a glimpse of Theo's sympathetic face, and takes several more moments to pour a Guinness before finally forcing himself to turn around. "That's what they say."

"Hmm," she says in nearly a purr, her gaze raking him up and down. Lockon fights the urge to punch her face in. Bad for business, and all. "They suit you, you know. You must be a fantastic pilot, to survive fighting those damn Gundams for so long."

Lockon's smile becomes a bit more brittle, and he makes a mental note to swap out the rum for syrup, and up the price to a Long Island's. Chances are, she'll never notice. "I appreciate the compliment, but really, it doesn't matter to me. I'm just a bartender now, right?"

She pouts a bit before opens her mouth to say something else; Lockon pointedly turns away, pulling down the ingredients for a cocktail the large group requested earlier—and chances a glance toward the television against the nearest wall. It's his customary screen—always broadcasting the local 24-hour news channel—and no matter what angry drunks try to say, he refuses to change it. It's late at night here, but it's broad daylight in the AEU and the HRL; if something happens around the world—if his friends finally reappear—

But the TV only shows that prison break-out in the HRL that it's been covering for over an hour. He nearly dropped a bottle of Jack when he first saw the headline, got his hopes up that perhaps it was his friends, alive and saving Allelujah at long last…but it was only Katharon, recovering as many comrades as possible in the wake of several convenient explosions. Despite watching it every chance he gets, Lockon has seen no mention of a Gundam at all.

He knows he's being ridiculous, hesitating to join Katharon—Theo, after all, has been pestering him about it for a year or two, now. He could be doing good work, either in a mobile suit or simply behind a sniper rifle. But joining would feel like a betrayal—leaving Allelujah to die, admitting that he has lost all hope for his friends' survival. He argues with himself—after all, if they are dead, they would want him to continue fighting—they would want him to honor their memory by changing this disgusting world in any way he can.

But then, Neil Dylandy has never been very good at leaving his past behind him, and he's not about to start now.

He has no time to wrestle with his thoughts and memories now, though; the crowd around the bar is growing ever larger, and he finishes the last of that group's order with a wave and a smile. Finally, grudgingly, he pulls down the ingredients for this modified daiquiri, and steels himself for another round of questioning as a gaggle of younger men sidle up to the bar expectantly. He finishes up the drink quickly to get rid of the woman, and then smiles some more as he turns around to the newcomers, and hopes they want drinks, not gossip. The regulars—even those who have only been here once—know not to question him about the rumors, but these are new faces—look like they might be celebrating a twenty-first, and he squints as he wonders whether some of them didn't get away with fake IDs. He's resigned himself to rebuffing questions as quickly as he sees them.

"What can I get you guys?"

"It's this guy's birthday," one man slurs, slapping an arm around his friend's shoulder, and Lockon surmises quickly that this is not their first stop for the birthday bash. "We're all buyin' him drinks to get him nice an' drunk."

"Oh?" Lockon smiles, amused despite himself. "So, do you want shots or cocktails?"

"Give him the worst drink you've got, Irishman!"

"On whose tab?" he asks quickly, already categorizing the different types of alcohol he'll need for a What the Fuck…one of his own inventions. Feeding those to drunkies is always entertaining.

Another guy shoves a credit card into his hand with a grin, and soon Lockon has the bright green drink over the counter, watching him sniff at it warily and glance incredulously at the color.

"What's this?"

"I call it a What the Fuck," Lockon says, smirking at the expectant grin on Theo's face, a few seats down.

"Why's that?"

"Drink it and find out!"

The man blinks at him a few seconds longer before shrugging and caving to his friends' demands, bringing the cup to his lips and taking a large gulp. He chokes almost immediately but works valiantly to swallow it anyway, sputtering—

"What the fuck—"

Lockon laughs outright at the look on his face, and the others look genuinely fascinated, demanding sips of it for themselves.

"I'm impressed," one of the guys says, watching his friends with amusement—the DD, Lockon surmises quickly, because he's standing much more stably than any of the others, and hasn't asked for a drink of anything yet. "They like their alcohol, it's hard to do that to Mike."

"I do my best," Lockon laughs, leaning against the counter and listening with half an ear to the others demanding What the Fucks of their own. "Can I get you a water, or Coke, or anything?"

"Water would be great." And then Lockon is busy with three more What the Fucks charged to that same credit card (and he winces at the thought of the poor guy waking in the morning to that charge, if he's planning on picking up everyone's drinks all night), keeping up a conversation with the birthday boy and the guy paying as he works, and actually feeling that the night may be going all right for once.

"Hey, wait a sec," another of them says, slumping against the bar and squinting at Lockon for a moment. "You're Irish, an' you've got scars all over your face!"

"Yeah, I know," Lockon says with a raised eyebrow, daring him to go further. "Kind of hard to miss stuff like that, right?"

"But you're an Irish bartender with scars," the man insists, and Lockon sighs, closing his eyes a moment before looking to Theo and beyond, wondering whether anyone will spare him having this conversation again. Just because he was expecting it… "They say you're—"

"Dude, lay off," the credit card guy says, turning to his friend with a frown. "He's pouring our drinks, who the fuck cares what he used to do? Probably doesn't wanna talk about it, anyway, yeah?"

"I guess," the guy grumbles, turning away and just as quickly laying eyes on the curly blonde from earlier, further down the bar—his eyes light up in interest, and he stands up and quickly heads her way. Lockon hopes that, at the very least, they'll keep themselves occupied long enough so neither will bother him any longer.

"Sorry about him," the guy paying says, shrugging apologetically up at Lockon as he takes another sloppy sip of his drink.

"Not a problem." Lockon's smile is genuine, and he makes a mental note to knock a What the Fuck off the tab. "I get that a lot, even if it's no one's business."

"Seriously, why do they even care?" The guy rolls his eyes, taking another swig. "There's some talk about you like that, but the rest is just that you make a damn good drink. I guess you guys do have it better across the pond, huh?"

"Haven't been in a few years, but we're definitely more likely to hold our liquor!"

The conversation flows easily—the DD sits down as well, eventually asks for a soda, and laughs along with his friends as one or two slowly head off to the arcade or the billiards, though they promise to come back for more drinks. The bar is crowded, and he's actually having to concentrate on getting orders filled quickly—but Theo has moved down a few seats to join the conversation, and all in all, it's shaping up to be a good night.

The noise level is getting louder—louder than normal even for a Friday night—and Lockon frowns a bit, glancing around and wondering whether a fight has broken out, whether he'll have to help the bouncers break it up…again. After all, his hand-to-hand isn't nearly as good as, say, Setsuna's or Allelujah's (no don't think about them now), but it's much better than the average Joe's.

"Mark," Theo says suddenly, sharply, and his frown deepens, wondering what could cause his generally cheerful friend to sound so tense. But Theo isn't looking at him, when he turns to check—he's staring toward his customary news channel with much of the rest of the bar, his dark face pale in shock. "Mark, look—"

Lockon's frown deepens even further, and he turns with two glasses in hand, destined for the businessmen who've just come in—but then he catches sight of the headline, and the drinks shatter upon the floor.

"CELESTIAL BEING'S DRAMATIC RETURN," the screen reads, proud and brash and everything Lockon has dreamed of for the last four years. And before he—before he can convince himself that it must be someone else, because his friends have been dead for four years and why would they resurface now—they cut to footage of a mobile suit battle above that prison from earlier, and any doubts are chased harshly from his mind.

There's a double-powered Gundam that resembles Exia in appearance, and the pilot's fighting style is so similar to Setsuna's that it hurts. And there's a big one with too many guns to be reasonable—that must be Tieria, has to be Tieria because he's the only one who could wield those so effectively. And—the subtitled newscaster explains—they were rescuing their comrade from the prison, and an orange Gundam has newly joined the fight, spraying shots indiscriminately across the battlefield and moving with reflexes that only a super soldier could have.

It's Allelujah, it's Allelujah, and they're alive and—

But there's a green Gundam too, a sniper, covering the others from a distance—and Lockon's mind blanks for a moment, and he can only blink because he should be in that mobile suit. But of course—of course they replaced him, they must have, because they thought he was dead (he should be dead), and an inexperienced pilot in the cockpit is better than no pilot at all. And this man is good but not so good as Lockon Stratos should be—his shots are wide more often than not, miscalculating wind speed and not used to Haro's adjustments yet, and—

They have replaced him because they needed a pilot but he is here, he is here, and he needs to be there but this happened hours ago and how can he possibly join them when they are halfway around the world and surely long gone—?

"Mark—" Theo's voice is worried, filtering in vaguely from before him, and he can feel several concerned eyes on him, but none of it means anything to him as he steps from behind the bar. His name is not Mark Finnegan—his name is not even Neil Dylandy. His name is Lockon Stratos, and right now, he should not be in a shitty bar in downtown Denver. He needs to be on the Ptolemaios with his comrades—his family—and he needs to—

"Mark, where do you think you're going?" That's his boss' voice, barking above the hubbub the news has caused in the bar. Lockon forces himself to turn, because Rob is a good man and Theo is a good man, but they mean nothing to him in the face of this revelation because his team is still alive and—

"Where are you going?" Rob says again, his mouth downturning even further as Lockon only blinks at him, his feet itching to carry him out the door and to his car and to someone—anyone—who can help him.

"I—I have to go," he says, and his voice sounds foreign to his own ears, like the speaker is a stranger and so far away. He sees Theo hesitate before standing up, slapping a twenty on the counter absentmindedly before shrugging his coat over his shoulders, stepping closer to the both of them. Rob's dark beard twitches as he jabs an emphatic finger toward the bar.

"You're not going anywhere until your shift is over," he says sternly, not sparing a glance to the footage that is everything Lockon has never dared to hope for in these past years. "It's a Friday night, you're the only one on call—you can't just leave—"

"Then I quit," he says, without hesitation, without remorse, because this is nothing—these people are nothing—his head is full of white noise and of faces he has mourned for so long, and he cannot be here right now. "Something's come up, I—have to go."

"Mark," Theo's tone is bordering on a warning, and Lockon thinks that perhaps he's being a bit too obvious for safety's sake. After all, it wouldn't be too much of a jump for them to realize he's quitting because of this announcement…and hardly a jump from that at all to realize that he's associated with Celestial Being.

He doesn't care.

"Don't expect to see me again," he says, and then his feet are moving again, toward the door, leaving everything in the bar behind him without a moment's remorse. "And—call up Kate, she should be free tonight. She can have my paycheck and tips. I don't need them."

"Mark!" Theo is following him, out the door, but Lockon barely registers his friend's presence as he fumbles through his pockets with numb fingers for his keys and his phone. He needs to—he needs to get into contact with the others, somehow. Maybe he can call Ribbons; after all, he's the man who funded his recovery, gave him his eye, and knew him by his codename. Even if he wasn't part of the strike team, he surely has connections, right—?

"Mark!" Theo grabs him by the sleeve, and Lockon nearly snarls as he impedes his progress. "Mark, calm down, we'll get this figured out—but not in the parking lot, all right?"

It makes sense, but what does it matter, when his name isn't Mark and anyone searching to arrest a Mark Finnegan will soon come up empty handed? He doesn't care about discretion—he doesn't care about secrecy. Right now he cares about Setsuna, and Allelujah, and Tieria, and all the rest—he cares about going home.

He retrieves his keys with a soft cry of triumph, and then Theo's pulling them from his hands, maneuvering Lockon to the passenger seat and taking the wheel himself. "Let me call my boss," he says, all but peeling out of the lot and digging in his pocket for his phone. "That rescue was just a local operation, as far as we knew, but if she can get into contact with the guy in charge, we might find a way to get you back."

Lockon knows he should be alarmed, that Theo knows he's so closely affiliated with Celestial Being—but what does it matter now? After all, he's open about his Katharon membership, has pestered him for years about joining up. And even if their technologies are ages apart, the two groups have the same goal. He trusts Theo not to get him killed.

"Joy? It's Theo," he says quickly, holding his phone between his shoulder and ear as he swerves dangerously down the street. "Are you busy? Sorry for calling so late, but—"

A woman cuts him off, indecipherable, and Theo tches as he speeds through a very yellow light. "No, we're fine," he says. "Just got a favor I need to call in. Remember the guy I've been telling you about? He needs you to make a phone call. We're on our way now."

"What?" It's loud and indignant enough that even Lockon can hear—and he hopes Theo knows what he's doing with this woman. His mind is still spinning, barely able to think, and though he wants nothing more than to tear the phone from his friend's shoulder and talk to her himself, he knows it would probably do more harm than good. "Theo, we can't just—"

"I'll explain once we're there," he cuts her off, and Lockon's fists clench convulsively. If she can't help him—"Just let us in, yeah? A phone call's all he needs—and it'll be a boon for all of us if you get him connected."

She mutters something else that Lockon can't make out, but Theo laughs. "We'll be there in five," he says before hanging up, grinning at Lockon. "She talks tough, but having a Gundam pilot in her debt? She'd never be able to pass that up."

"Right," Lockon says, but isn't really sure how he feels about it. And—"Maybe keep the pilot part quiet—she doesn't need to know about that, yeah?"

"Well, I've already told her how good of a sniper you are," Theo says, his smile turning apologetic. "And that you'd kick ass in a mobile suit team, so…sorry?"

Lockon sighs, rolls his eyes. He supposes the "top secret identity" flew out the window, anyway, when he's been living in plain sight on Earth for so long. But after one too many long-winded lectures from Tieria—after one too many close calls with an irrational Setsuna—he supposes it's just ingrained. If anyone knows who he is, he's not safe. If anyone tells the government, he's dead—or worse.

But Tieria and Setsuna are yet alive when he has thought them long dead, and he'll gladly endure another lecture—babysit the kid for another long day—if it means he will see them again. They are alive, and Allelujah is free, and if Theo's boss is as well connected as he claims, then he may be speaking to them in a matter of minutes.

(What is he going to say? What could he possibly say to them after thinking them lost for so long?)

Theo peels onto a residential street, parks before a nondescript house, and throws the keys back to Lockon. "Let me introduce you," he says quickly, before he opens the door. "She has to be wary, and even if I vouch for you…" He shrugs. "There's a reason she's survived for so long. But it'll be fine!" He slaps Lockon on the shoulder as he finally steps out of the car. "She's got plenty of contacts, we should be able to get you sorted out."

Lockon finds himself smiling back as he steps out of the car as well, following a few steps behind as Theo walks quickly up the path toward the front door. A tall, blonde woman—Joy, apparently—answers almost immediately when he knocks, and Theo smiles charmingly at her as she glares right back.

"You'd better have a damn good reason for waking me up when I've got a flight in six hours, Irving," she snaps, opening the door wider to let him in—and staring hard at Lockon as he also approaches the threshold. "So you're Finnegan?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says, tries for a smile, but she only huffs and lets him in as well.

"I'm kicking both of you out on your asses if you're wasting my time, so talk fast."

Lockon looks a bit helplessly toward Theo, following the two of them into a den-turned-conference room, and taking the proffered seat across from Joy. He'll gladly start talking, but if Theo thinks he needs to introduce them first—

"If you need a favor, then you're going to be the one to explain it to me, Finnegan," she snaps, and Lockon frowns, turning back toward her. "You know who we are—we can't just help people willy nilly. Especially because you've refused to join for so long—what makes you think I'll help you now?"

"Because you're the only one who can," Lockon says immediately, harshly, and tries not to imagine what would happen if Joy refused to help. "Look, I just saw the news, that prison break—you collaborated with Celestial Being to do that, right?"

"And what if we did?" Her eyes narrow, considering him. Lockon knows he should try to see her perspective, knows that she's meeting a stranger who isn't part of her resistance group, knows she has to be wary. But he just saw his friends alive and well not half an hour ago—and he needs to be reunited with them, now.

"I need you to get me into contact with them," he says bluntly, realizing there's no real way around it. Her eyebrows shoot up in response.

"Why?"

"Because they're my team," he says tightly, and sees her brows rise even higher. "They—I thought they were dead, but they're not, and now—"

He trails off, unsure of what else to say to convince her to help him. "So you're saying that you were part of Celestial Being four years ago," she says, disbelief dripping from her words. "That somehow you survived Fallen Angels, and now you regret running away and want them to take you back."

"Joy," Theo says sharply, but Lockon sees red—he stands up quickly, slamming a hand on the table—

"They're my family! I woke up in a hospital weeks after Fallen Angels to the news covering every one of them dying, over and over again—and I haven't been able to contact any of them for the past four years! What the hell was I supposed to think?"

She stares at him a moment longer, taking in his furious eyes, his bared teeth—the scars on his face. And then she glances at Theo, who glares right back, nodding. "We have no way of knowing if it was even the same team from four years ago who helped with the prison break, boy—you were damn lucky to get out of that battle with just a torn-up face, and I highly doubt your friends managed the same. What if I get a hold of them for you and then you find out that it's an entirely different team?"

"You think I don't know how my fellow Meisters fight?" Lockon bites back, his fists clenching as he stares down at her. "That's them, I'd stake my life on it—now, can you get me a line to them or not?"

Joy stares at him for a moment longer before reaching into her pocket. Lockon has a split-second panic where he thinks she's reaching for her gun, and his own hand twitches toward the back of his jeans. But instead it's her cell phone—and she scrolls through her contacts for a few moments before holding it to her ear. Lockon sits back down—collapses, more accurately—and can barely take his eyes off the phone. But Joy doesn't look about to turn him in for treason, and Theo is smiling encouragingly at him; he supposes that must be good enough for now.

It feels like an era before the phone finally connects, before they verify their security and the woman finally starts talking to the man on the other end. "Is Klaus there?" she asks, switching her phone to speaker though she keeps the video feed off, and Lockon supposes it must be for his benefit. "This is Joy from the Rockies—I need to speak with him immediately."

"He's in a meeting," the man responds with a slight Arabic accent, reminiscent of Setsuna's, and Lockon's stomach does a funny swoop as he attempts to keep his shaking hands under control. "I'm not sure how long it'll last, but I can have him call you when he's done?"

"Who's he meeting with?" Joy asks, raising an eyebrow as she glances up at Lockon. "We have a bit of a situation here, and he's the only one who can help us with it."

The man hesitates, speaking with someone a ways away, and Lockon can't make out what they're saying. Finally—"It's…Celestial Being," he says, almost reluctantly, and Lockon jerks, his eyes widening as Theo inhales sharply. "They all seemed pretty intent on not being disturbed, I'm sorry, but—"

Something high-pitched and desperate comes out of Lockon's throat that he would never admit to later, but Joy nods quickly at him. "I'm sorry, but in that case then I really must insist I speak with him. Do you know if it's the team that helped with the prison break yesterday?"

"It is," he says, and Lockon's fists clench tighter, working desperately to keep his emotions at bay. They're right there, and soon he'll—

"I'll be frank with you; we have a man here who is desperate to speak with Celestial Being," Joy says. "If you could hand the phone to either Klaus or their commander, hopefully we can get this sorted out. It shouldn't be much trouble—in fact, this may be a boon for all of us."

Theo's eyes are impossibly wide, and Lockon is sure his look the same; his friend opens his mouth, as if to say something, but Lockon can't bring himself to listen. They can hear the man hesitate before sighing, walking a ways away before knocking on a door. He speaks with a man inside for several seconds—and then the phone is handed off, and another man answers, sounding irritated—"What is it? Could it not wait an hour until we're done?"

"Is Celestial Being still with you?" Joy asks, and the man—Klaus—grunts an affirmative. "If we could talk to their commander for a moment, we can hopefully finish this up as soon as possible."

Lockon can almost hear the frown in the man's voice as he speaks to someone else—too faint to make out for sure who it is—and then Klaus is speaking to them again. "She wants to know who she's speaking to first."

Joy opens her mouth to tell him his false name—but of course, none of his friends would recognize it. And so he interrupts her, blurts out "Neil Dylandy," and though Joy's brows continue to rise and Theo's eyes start to narrow, she relays the name to Klaus.

There is a scuffle on the other end of the phone, and Joy's brows furrow—but then a woman is speaking, and it's Miss Sumeragi—it's Miss Sumeragi—and Lockon reaches across the table and snatches the phone from Joy's hand before he even realizes that he's moved.

"I don't know what sort of prank you're trying to pull, but you can rest assured that none of us are amused."

Her voice is hard, unyielding, and Lockon can only stare at the blank screen for a moment and revel in the fact that they are alive. Theo makes a quiet noise beside him, a question and a warning and nothing Lockon is ready to reply to right now—but—

"Fucking bastards," Miss Sumeragi mutters, her voice growing fainter as if she's about to hang up, and he pulls himself together enough to cry out and stop her.

"Miss Sumeragi, it's me—it's Lockon—"

His thumbs fumble for the video button; Joy reaches forward as if to stop him, but Theo shakes his head sharply at her, and ultimately Lockon succeeds. A small image of his own face, blank and white and lost in his relief, appears in the top corner of the yet-blank screen…

There is only silence, but then an image flickers into view on the phone—and it is his commander. Theo lets out a whoosh of air beside him, off screen, as he sees her—recognizes her from the photos he has seen, rarely, when Lockon was particularly drunk or particularly downtrodden. Her face is white in horror in a way Lockon has never seen, and there are more ghosts behind her eyes than he remembers, but that is Miss Sumeragi, and—

And behind her, thank the heavens, are Tieria and Setsuna and Allelujah. Setsuna is more a man than a boy, now, and Allelujah wears his hair differently (and he decides to wonder about that later), but it's them—it's them—and he stumbles over his own breath, finds that there are absolutely no words to express what is going through his mind right now.

None of them move for several seconds, but then Tieria's face contorts, and he turns on his heel, stepping out of frame—and then moments later the door slams open and then shut. Lockon can only blink after him, though, because surely they must be just as happy to see that he is alive? Surely, they were good enough friends, so many years ago, that they would not write him off only a few years after his supposed death?

The possibilities are spiraling through his mind—each worse than the last, and he's wondering whether they want to hang up after all—when the door opens again, and Tieria stomps back into view, that imperious look about him from so many years ago back in full force. He's pulling another man along by the arm, in a uniform to match the rest in Irish green, and Lockon realizes who it is even before the man's head comes into frame.

(He knows that man as himself, after all.)

"Oh," is all he can say, and Theo's face contorts in confusion as he stares at the screen, because it's Lyle—it's the brother he hasn't seen in nearly fifteen years—and he's more surprised than he should be, that Lyle was recruited to Celestial Being in his stead. How would the others know that Lyle hated him—hated working in his brother's shadow, and anyway, who has time for shooting when you can be the mastermind behind all the action?

Lyle hates sniping—would be so much better suited to Miss Sumeragi's role—and though Lockon realizes that the others couldn't possibly know better, the wrongness of the situation still jars him.

Lyle wrenches his arm free from Tieria's grasp at Lockon's admission; he spins around, toward the phone, and his eyes alight on Lockon's face. They can only blink at each other for a moment—once, they were mirror images, but now Lockon's face is disfigured by unmistakable scars. But Lyle is the same—just the same—and after a moment he blinks the shock from his face and snorts, crossing his arms and looking away. "They told me you were dead."

A dismissive gesture to anyone else, but Lockon knows his brother, and so he knows that this is his attempt to conceal unwanted emotion from those around him. "Not quite," he says in response, trying for a smile that doesn't quite stick. "Came damn close, though."

"Where were you?" Tieria's voice is harsh, and he's all frowns and angry words and rigid posture as he steps forward, snatches the phone from Sumeragi's grasp and brings it close to his face. "If you didn't die, then why didn't you come back?"

"I woke up in a Union hospital weeks after the battle," Lockon shoots back, trying and failing to keep the harshness out of his own voice. "They told me that all of you were dead—what was I—"

"You could have looked for us," Tieria counters, and Lockon is shocked to see the brightness of his eyes, to see the way the image on the phone is shaking beyond his own trembling fingers. "We were there, you just had to—"

"You think I didn't?" What must they think of him, to assume he would give them up just like that? "But with the government lording Allelujah's capture over everyone, and showing you all but dead in space, and Setsuna taking on that fucking mobile armor—what the hell was I supposed to think? That you pulled yet another miracle out of your asses and survived?"

"Yes!"

"Tieria," Allelujah starts forward, an arm outstretched, and Tieria suddenly deflates, thrusting the phone into Allelujah's hands instead. The man's gaze is completely focused on Lockon for several moments, and there is so much relief there that Lockon's heart hurts to see it. To survive four years as a prisoner of their new government—what must have he been through? Who else was he not allowed to mourn? But he seems to be just the same man as Lockon left behind in Fallen Angels—gentler, perhaps, with less madness raging just below the surface, and Lockon wonders again at his visibly mismatched eyes. But now is not the time for such things.

"I—how can I get to you?"

"We can pick you up," Miss Sumeragi says immediately, coming into frame behind Allelujah. Her eyes, too, are unmistakably bright, but Lockon is sure his are the same—and they have all learned not to mention such things. "Where are you?"

"Colorado, USA," he says, and she nods quickly, clearly already categorizing the quickest route there and the best way to pick him up, unseen.

"We can be there late tonight if we leave now—I'll tell Lasse to set a course."

Lasse? Why not Lichty? A pit of something like dread is settling into his stomach, but he doesn't dare ask—not now. "Send me coordinates, and I'll be there," he says immediately. He'll drop everything he owns—burn the papers that name him Mark Finnegan right now—because that life is over. He is Lockon Stratos again, and he doesn't think he's ever been so euphoric in his life.

"Good," Sumeragi says, and pauses, as if there's something else she wants to say…but ultimately, she only sighs and smiles a bit, stepping to speak with Klaus in an undertone, off-screen. Allelujah hesitates before handing the phone to Lyle—who only stares at Lockon for a moment, at a loss for words. Tieria's face is harsh but softening slowly behind him, and Allelujah looks perhaps more relaxed and happy than Lockon has ever seen him, and Setsuna…

Setsuna, perhaps, has changed the most of them all. He's taller—shorter, still, than Lockon and Allelujah, but he's grown—and his face has hollowed out, and his expression is less guarded and more open; there is more emotion there than Lockon thinks he's ever seen, and—

"I guess you'll want your position back, then," Lyle says at last, though he doesn't look disappointed by it. There's even a bit of relief in his face as he stares at Lockon, taking in the scars though he's clearly not planning to say anything.

"You never wanted it anyway," Lockon replies easily, because it's the truth, and Lyle barks a laugh. "I have to thank you for saving Allelujah—and despite everything you've ever told me, you're not a bad shot."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "You're miles ahead of me, and we all know it. You're welcome to pilot Cherudim as soon as you like. I bet Haro and the others will be glad to see you, too."

And he'll be glad to see them, in turn. "So where are you going, then?"

"Right here, where I belong," he replies easily, his face growing more relaxed, and he grins a bit over at a dour Tieria as he says, "I much prefer my brand of crazy to yours—Katharon's more up my alley. I'm sure we'll be in touch, though, yeah?"

"More than likely," Lockon says. It should be a surprise that his brother joined that resistance group—but honestly, though they're so wildly different, they were both scarred by terrorists at a young age. He's sure that Lyle saw the same thing happening within the government…and decided he wouldn't let that stand. He wouldn't expect anything less from his idiot brother. "Don't do anything stupid, all right?"

"Nothing you wouldn't do!"

And then he's smiling at Lockon in a way he hasn't since they were children—a thank you and a you're an idiot and an I'm so glad you're alive wrapped up into one, and though they've had their differences, they've never needed words to communicate.

"I'll see you around, Lyle."

And then his brother is gone, and the phone is in Setsuna's hands—and up close, the boy's face is so different from the one he remembers. Lockon remembers him as little more than a child, and back then, he wasn't even considered an adult in most countries—but he had committed his life to changing the world.

Lockon knows he should mourn for this boy's (man's) past, but all he feels is overwhelming pride that this damned world hasn't broken him yet.

Allelujah and Tieria are in frame now, too, but none of them seem to really know what to say. It all seems so inadequate even as words race through Lockon's mind—these are his comrades, his friends, his brothers-in-arms, and all he knows is utter euphoria that they have all yet survived this accursed world.

Allelujah is smiling widely—not unusual, especially under the circumstances, but there's something a little different in his stance that Lockon thinks will take some getting used to. But Tieria is smiling as well—a rare sight—and Lockon finds himself smiling back without a second thought.

But then Setsuna—who was ever so serious and angry with the world, unwilling to give an inch even if it would gain him a mile—his eyes are softening in a way Lockon has never seen, and his mouth is quirking upward as well. It's slight but it's unmistakably a smile, and Lockon can only blink at him, because he realizes that he's never seen one on the boy's face before.

"It's good to see you smile, kid," he says, falling back on old habits of teasing and banter because it's been four years but they are here, they are here, and even if the world falls apart about their heads, it will be all right for the fact that they are still alive.

"It's easy when I have something to smile about," Setsuna says—the first he's said this whole time—and the expression becomes more pronounced, and Lockon feels himself laughing despite himself.

Yeah, he thinks they'll be all right.

.

.

Neither Theo nor Joy seem to know what to say once he finally hangs up, once they heard back from Lasse and sent Lockon the coordinates. Theo's eyes have been wide since Miss Sumeragi first turned on the video, and Joy has looked vaguely skeptical, but they seem to realize that there would be no way for him to fake this—that, somehow, he's finally going home.

Lockon knows he's smiling widely—more so than he has in years—and knows it's late, but also knows that even if they won't be here for another twelve hours at least (because they had business to take care of with Katharon, in the Middle East—halfway around the world), he absolutely cannot wait any longer. He's heading out into the mountains tonight, even if it'll be late afternoon before the others arrive as well.

He can't do anything but babble thank yous to Joy again and again, and the harsh front she had before seems to have fallen away. "It was no trouble," she says, and even sends a small smile his way as she shakes his hand. "Stay in touch with your brother and Theo—we'll see about changing the world, together."

He and Theo leave, then, but Lockon's hands are shaking so badly that he can barely grip the steering wheel. Theo takes the driver's seat instead, heading off at a more sedate pace than before, back to Lockon's apartment. "So should I call you Mark, or Neil, or Lockon?" he wonders after driving for several minutes in silence, and Lockon would think that he's angry about it but for the sly grin on his face. "What, Gundam pilots are so top secret that you need three different names?"

"My parents named me Neil," he explains, because he deserves to know this much, at least. "Lockon's my codename—Mark came after Fallen Angels."

"But your friends call you Lockon," Theo translates easily, and Lockon nods. "So unless that's top-secret Celestial Being jargon, you'd probably prefer that's the name I use too, right?"

It's the truth—being called Mark has grated on his nerves for the past four years. But after everything Theo has done for him…if he wants to call him by the name he's known, then he's earned that right. "It doesn't matter too much to me," he says with a shrug, and Theo laughs.

"Right, Lockon," he says with a grin. "I'm sure it doesn't."

They ride the rest of the way in silence, Lockon still trembling with excitement. He's going to see his friends—they're coming here to pick him up in a matter of hours, and they're all alive, and—

Theo pulls him into his apartment, considers the mess of things on the floor and kitchen counter. "You won't be coming back, then," he says, and it's not a question; Lockon shakes his head anyway, stepping toward his room and pulling down a duffel, throwing clothes haphazardly inside. He also hesitates before tossing some ammo and handguns inside, throwing open his closet again to access the larger gun cases. He won't need all of them, of course; he saw the improvements made to Dynames' successor—Cherudim, Lyle called her, and the name rolls nicely off his tongue—and his Gundam is better than ever. Though he'll carry his handgun with him always, as usual, he doubts he'll have much use for any of his rifles.

But they've been his constant companions these past four years, and it could never hurt to have too many guns—so he picks a couple of his best long guns as well, stacking their cases next to his duffel.

Four years of living (surviving) out here, and everything he's not leaving behind can be carried in two arms.

Theo raises an eyebrow as Lockon hauls them in from the bedroom to throw by the front door, but decides not to say anything; he only sends a lopsided grin to him from the kitchen, where he's helping himself to a sandwich. "Relax—it's gonna take them a while to get here, yeah? You might want to get some sleep, it's not like you'll want to once you're back with your friends!"

"You think I can sleep now?" Lockon laughs, a little hysterically, and joins him at the counter for a glass of water. Theo laughs too, clapping him on the shoulder.

"You know, that's not what I imagined them sounding like at all," he says after a moment, glancing over to Lockon. "Tieria sounded a bit more—well—manly than I thought he would."

Lockon's grin widens, because he remembers meeting his fellow Meister for the first time…remembers thinking he was a woman until he opened his mouth. "Nobody's really been able to figure him out," he agrees. "I met him ten years ago, and I still can't promise I really know him at all."

"He seemed happy to see you again, though," Theo says, and his smile grows a bit warmer. "They all did."

"I'm still expecting a lecture about leaving them in the lurch for so long…" And Lockon finds himself not so upset about this as he might have been, once. At least Tieria is alive to give him that lecture. "That's just the kind of person he is…but he really is a great kid. They all are—you should meet them sometime."

Theo laughs again, his grip on Lockon's shoulder tightening before falling away. "I'd love to."

They part ways a few hours later, near six in the morning, after sitting together alternatively in companionable silence and lively chatter. Lockon turned on the news again, like he always has in the past, but instead he's watching with pride as his friends work together to destroy the A-Laws' mobile suits, to protect the Katharon agents as much as they can before being forced to retreat.

Those are his friends—no doubt about it—and he doesn't think he's ever been so glad to see them in battle as he is today.

He'll have to compliment Ian on the Gundams, too—though he's heard talk of a Twin Drive system, nobody thought they could actually pull it off…and Cherudim and the others are beautiful as well. What looked like detachable plates on Cherudim—for defense or offense, he can only guess; ever more powerful guns for Tieria; a faster and more deadly suit for Allelujah…

A new generation of Gundams—and he's lucky enough to be a pilot.

Theo leaves only after making him swear to keep in touch—to let him know when he's been picked up, if he ever needs anything, or if he ever just wants to say hey. He's received an ETA from Miss Sumeragi, and it's nearly twelve hours away, but Lockon finds himself pacing his apartment before the sun has even risen. He ends up packing everything he's taking into the trunk of his car a little after dawn, fueling up, grabbing some coffee and food from a morning café, and taking off into the mountains.

His car is old, and it struggles through the steep passes in the early morning light. But it hasn't failed him in the twelve years he's driven it, and it still doesn't now; the engine sputters, and the brakes screech at him as he goes down the inclines, but he eventually reaches the designated point: an out-of-the-way valley deep in the mountains, where even hikers and tourists never bother to tread. Plenty large enough to hold a clunker of a car…and even large enough for a carrier-class ship.

He hauls his luggage to sit outside the car, cracks the windows, and lights a cigarette.

And it's several hours later, as the sun is setting behind the mountains, that his phone pings, and the wind suddenly picks up around his car—and then a ship is landing before him; it's not the Ptolemy that he knows, but he thinks he'll grow to love it just the same. A door opens on the side, and then so many bodies are pouring out into the dimming light, moving toward him quickly, desperately, their voices muffled by the distance but unmistakably excited.

The sky is glorious and multicolored above them—unhindered by city smog or A-Law surveillance—and the sun has disappeared to the west as Lockon puts out his fifth cigarette in the ashtray, stepping out of the car with shaking hands and a broad smile.

It's a pink head that reaches him first—less than halfway across the grassy field—and then his arms are full of Feldt Grace. She's older, now, with tears in her eyes and a trembling frame that clutches the back of his coat like it's the only thing holding the world together. She's older but still the young woman he remembers with so much strength and courage behind her eyes, and Lockon returns the hug immediately, one hand on the back of her head and the other across her shoulder blades as he feels his coat growing damp.

It's all right—honestly, he feels like crying, too.

Feldt is here first but the others are quick to follow—and there is Lasse, newly scarred but smiling broadly over at him from a respectful distance—Ian is there, too, with a young girl in yellow at his side that Lockon only vaguely recognizes. He does not understand but realizes it doesn't matter right now; he's smiling and they're all smiling back—every one of them. This ragtag team of outlaws and bastard sons is what he's calling his family, and he recognizes that it's the best he could ever hope for.

They are here but some are missing—Christina and Lichty and Doctor Moreno are conspicuously absent, and Lockon feels their loss keenly in the empty spaces where they should be standing—at Feldt's side, next to Ian, smiling cheerfully and awkwardly and quietly in turn. They are not here, and Lockon realizes like a stab to the gut that his crew must not have survived Fallen Angels wholly intact.

He will grieve for them anew, just as he has grieved for the rest and they have all surely grieved the four of them—but right now, his heart must focus upon the friends who are still here…the friends occuping his arms and his mind and his vision, for it has been far too long since they were last together.

Feldt's grip is growing tighter, and Tieria is stepping forward, looking torn between hugging him and slapping him—and Allelujah is hovering even closer, clearly asking for an embrace of his own as soon as Feldt has calmed down. Even Setsuna—touch-shy Setsuna, who has always maintained an unreasonable amount of personal space—is closer than Sumeragi and the others, his face full of emotions he never allowed himself to show in the past. Lockon scarcely recognizes him as the scrap of a boy who surprised them all and became one of the best fighter pilots in the world.

He's grown—but so have they all, and Lockon supposes that it's the way of the world that humans do so.

(Still, he finds that he doesn't mind all that much.)

Feldt pulls away at last, wiping her eyes in embarrassment, but her grip on Lockon's arm lingers for several moments longer. Allelujah takes half a step forward, clearly torn about asking for something he's only rarely experienced, and Lockon laughs, stepping toward him and engulfing him into a hug as well.

The others are closer now, too; the younger girl is speaking in an excited undertone to Ian, and Sumeragi is wiping her face a little too often to be natural. Some sort of spell seems to be broken, because it's like no time has passed at all—this is his team, his family, and reuniting with them feels a little too much like coming home.

And in this broken, distorted world—even if this is only a fleeting happiness, and tomorrow they must return to their lives of destruction and heartbreak—Lockon doesn't think he's ever been so glad to feel alive.