AN: Hi again! Very long time since we've last spoken! I've been nuts busy with everything in life, and my writing had to be put on-hold. I'm off for the summer though, so hopefully more regular updates! This chapter I had a lot of struggle with, mainly because it sits between two precipitous points in the story. I know that I've barely scratched the surface on everyone's emotions etc, but trust me, the further analysis will be coming. Reverie is still in shock in my mind and is looking for things to hold on to, so don't worry, she won't be getting over what happened so easily. This is a little filler for what will be coming. Part of the reason for such a long wait time is that I was trying to smooth this chapter out properly, but it didn't happen the way I wanted, so I've decided to post a refined version of what I have so I can continue the story.

Thanks to everyone for bearing with this long break in posting, and I hope you enjoy!

Freeze

"Sometimes, all one can do is stay perfectly still and wait for the freeze to thaw."

Cherudim sat nestled against the rock that surrounded Katharon's Southern European Branch. Lyle and Setsuna had been tasked with Ptolemy's defense while picking up Reverie and the remaining survivors from the massacre at the organization's flagship base. Though it was a legitimate tasking, Lyle knew exactly why Tieria had assigned him to defensive duty. Sure, Cherudim was one of the better suits for the job, but the real issue was trust. Tieria didn't trust him around Katharon. He sighed and leaned back, letting his targeting system slip to the side. He couldn't blame Tieria… he didn't trust himself.

Hundreds of lives were lost at the base, and though not all of them were innocent in the fight, they didn't deserve to die. They were fighting to overthrow corruption, dishonesty, and the silent tyranny that had gripped the planet. How could so many people be forced to die when they were trying to save the world around them? His jaw was clenched but he couldn't relax. How could he? The A-Laws were mass-murderers… they were reinforcing a genocide of the just, yet once again they were being lifted up and lauded as heroes. The coup had failed, the message of the rebels had been silenced, and as far as the world knew the A-Laws had fought valiantly against a group of terrorists. His jaw ached in protest at how hard he was clenching it. The sneering words of the A-Laws telepath were stuck in his head, repeating over and over as he watched the muted news on his left monitor.

Why protect those who'll hold the A-Laws up like battle-worn heroes after we destroy you?

The smug bastard knew that this would happen, and he didn't give a damn. He'd known that the base was being destroyed as they fought. He knew that saving the innocents in Africa would kill the allies buried under ice. Lyle wanted to get his hands on that man… the man who'd stolen his voice had taken the last people left alive that Lyle actually gave a damn about. Good people, people who just wanted to live in a world free of men like that pilot. His anger flared and he punched the targeting system away. The faces of people he'd known were running through his head, just as they had when Memento Mori had fallen. So many people that he'd failed. Hadn't he joined Celestial Being to aid Katharon!? How had he become so attached to their goals and ideals that he'd let Katharon's base fall unchallenged!?

Not unchallenged.

The A-Laws had been challenged by pilot after pilot who fought until their suits were heaps of twisted metal and blood. Even those who'd stayed until the A-Laws pulled back hadn't been safe… they'd been left behind in an inescapable blast radius of the warheads dropped from above the clouds. Lyle knew, he'd seen the reports that Klaus had been sent. What if he'd made it to the base in time to fight…would he have been one of those men?

No. He wouldn't. He'd live, just like he had fifteen years ago in Dublin. He'd continue living… living and fighting and trying to change the world. He knew that.

He just wondered how many more people had to die before the world would change. It seemed that no matter how far he progressed he couldn't force it. First it had been in school; he'd studied as hard as he could, and had moved through the ranks at the trading firm as fast as he could in the hopes that somehow he could make a change. Would children be brainwashed into being soldiers if they had money for an education? He'd never admitted that that was his goal… he hadn't even known that it was. Hindsight was always clearer, right? After meeting Klaus it had turned to Katharon. If he ran faster, shot clearer, piloted better… maybe he could make a difference. He could save a life or protect the innocent…something like that. Now it was Celestial Being, the organization that his brother had found. Celestial Being could change the world…it already had. Here he was, trying to help them change the world again; not in the place of his brother, but for himself.

If he lived and fought and tried long enough, maybe he could do it. Maybe they could do it.

Maybe they'd change the world.

The hangar of Katharon's Southern European branch was silent upon Ptolemy's arrival. There was no curiosity, no surprise, only the stagnant feeling of failure which hung in the air. Katharon's most highly populated and necessary base had been obliterated, with only eighty survivors out of the hundreds that had lived in the underground catacombs.

Tieria had never seen a place so full of people move so slowly, so silently.

The survivors had mostly been sorted away; some to rooms, others to the medical center for recovery, and others still to other bases where they had remaining family. Only a small group remained, those who were going to leave with Ptolemy. Reverie, Marina, and the children that had been at the base stood and watched the ramp lower. The children watched with interest as the large door to the ship opened, and Marina held one back who wanted to run forward a little too soon. Tieria looked over the group for a quick head-count, then let his gaze fall on the silent telepath.

She was in terrible shape.

It wasn't necessarily the hastily-wrapped wound on her shoulder, or the cuts and scrapes and bruises. Those were bad, but he'd seen her in a similar state numerous times due to her appetite for poor decisions. What made the difference was the look in her eyes, her blank stare, and the unassuming way in which she now carried herself. He didn't understand the change… it was the same as the difference in Sumeragi after the Ptolemaios I had been destroyed. He'd been curious about it then, but he'd had no one to ask about their forecaster's strange temperament change.

He heard the others behind him and he stepped down the platform, resuming his role as self-appointed leader for the moment. Only Sumeragi, Lasse, and Feldt were there to greet their pickups; Cherudim and Double-Oh were keeping vigilant watch barely outside the hangar. Setsuna had taken the task as usual; silently and without question. Lockon's brother hadn't been as amicable, and Tieria had to curtly remind him that Cherudim would be the best choice for long-range defence in a possible enemy zone. Normally chastising the twin would have been something enjoyable, but this time Tieria had felt a strange feeling in his stomach; he didn't like it. Somehow, he understood why the man wanted to be here now... he wanted to see those he'd been worried about. Tieria shook his head to clear his thoughts. Maybe he was becoming human after-all.

"Marina Ismail, Feldt Grace will show you and the children to your rooms." He said unceremoniously. They didn't have time to waste at the base, every A-Laws team on the planet was looking for the ship.

"Thank-you." Marina picked up one of the children who seemed to be wounded and led the rest up the ramp. Lasse insisted on carrying the small girl the rest of the way to the medic's room, noting how tired the princess was. The small girl buried her head in Lasse's shoulder and shook, her bandaged leg hanging idly.

Reverie followed silently after the group. There was confusion in her eyes, even as she looked up at him for a moment. "Reverie Trau-!"

"I'll be with the medic."

He bristled when she cut him off, but he didn't say anything in response. For some reason he knew it was better to leave her alone… chastising her wouldn't do any good. Not now.

The tension in the hangar made him finally understand what Lockon had meant years ago when he'd said 'the air was heavy'. The weight was made of questions that needed answers, but that no one was willing to ask. He turned back to Ptolemy, the passengers having loaded.

"Wait!"

The shrill female voice stopped him. He turned to look at the voice's owner; a dark-haired woman in a mechanic's jumpsuit. He didn't respond, but watched her skid to a halt.

"I want to come with you!" she said, her chest heaving. Apparently she'd run quite a distance. She had a duffel bag slung over her shoulder, and he could see a folded leather bomber jacket resting atop it. There were grease marks on her hands and a smudge of oil on one of her cheeks. Really, she looked like she'd run straight from the other hangar.

"I think not." He replied curtly. He turned and started up the ramp again.

"I can help!"

He stopped and looked at her again. "How so?"

She stared at him for a moment, then seemed to realize that he was no longer rejecting the idea completely. "I…I'm a mobile suit mechanic. I worked in the Eastern European Branch! I know how to fix armour, programming, weapons… even the GN Drives in the GN-X units!" She spoke with an accent that Tieria couldn't place. Then again, he hadn't heard enough accents to need to place them. Lockon had once switched into an Irish accent for fun, but that was as far as his experience ran.

"We have mechanics."

She fidgeted as she thought, then straightened up again. "I can do other stuff too! I can use weapon systems, make ammunition, speak French, and I can cook!" She looked hopeful. "Kind-of…"

Tieria knew that they could use extra help, but he also knew that they couldn't trust just anyone. They'd have to find help for Ian now that the A-Laws were on their heels like dogs, but to allow someone to join them without previous research? There was no way he could authorise such a - !

"We could always use the help, come on-board."

Tieria's thoughts were interrupted by Sumeragi. He sent her a chilling glare as the young woman exclaimed her thanks.

"I promise you won't regret it!" the girl said as she bounded up the ramp and followed Lasse and Feldt.

"Sumeragi Lee Noriega…" he muttered. She stopped next to him and sighed.

"We need the help. I'm sure I can trust you with her background check…worst case we can let her go at Lagrange six if she isn't meant for work on-board."

Tieria didn't say anything as the forecaster stalked away. He'd examine every inch of the girl's past, but that didn't mean he had to like her being on-board.

Reverie had barely felt Anew treat her shoulder. She wasn't sure if it was because the woman's touch was so light, or if it was because her skin had simply stopped responding. If the numbness that she was cloaking herself in was any indication, it was the latter. Had anyone had asked, she wouldn't have been able to tell them how many stitches she had, if the bullet was removed, or if any of her cuts had needed further treatment. She didn't remember... no, she remembered, it just wasn't important.

The bullet wound and the cuts and scrapes and the tired echo of thoughts in her head were all irrelevant. The only thing that was relevant, tangible, was that Deiter was dead. Just thinking those three words brought back flashes of snow and ice and the bright ball of light that had enveloped him. She shivered, then shook and leaned on the wall for support. She let her head hang; she couldn't let herself fall apart, but she could feel herself cracking.

She wanted to scream and wallow in the pain and inevitable guilt of the events of the previous days, but there was no way she could. She was surrounded by people who hadn't had her luck in life. Setsuna had lost his childhood, Allelujah his memories, Saji his love. Feldt had been denied the normal childhood that Reverie had enjoyed, and Sumeragi had lost the ability to forgive herself. They'd all lost such momentous things, and that realization had lit her determination to keep her grief at bay; not forever, but she hoped long enough to realize Celestial Being's goals. Her grief would catch her, she couldn't deny that; she hoped that when it did it wouldn't have the strength to consume her. Whether it did or not was something to be left for the future. Right now she had to hold herself together.

She had committed herself to Celestial Being; an ideal. She would work as hard as she could to make that ideal become a reality, and when the dust had settled she would allow herself to feel.

Or maybe that was all a lie.

Maybe she didn't care about Celestial Being's goals… maybe she was just too scared to feel. Regardless, she'd hold onto her rationalization as much as possible and hope that she'd stay together long enough to erase the war that had taken her brother. She straightened herself, changed her course for the NILE system, and pushed down the swirling mass of emotions that knotted her throat.

She didn't know if the pain would destroy her, but if she threw herself into work, maybe she wouldn't have to find out.

It was impossible.

Well, not impossible, but definitely in the realm of question-inducing. Ailin Gallagher stood silently in front of his mirror, staring at his reflection with an intensity that was usually hidden by his mask. The pale blue walls of his Union location suite made the image before him crisper somehow, and goose bumps tickled his skin. As he examined the lines and shapes of his face, one word kept circulating in his head.

Impossible.

After wearing his mask for years, Gallagher had never really noticed his face before. He knew what he looked like, of course. He knew that he had a strong jaw, straight nose, and high, masculine cheekbones. He knew that one of his eyes was a dazzling blue-green and that the other was a pallid grey underlined with a thin, zig-zagging scar. He knew it was a face that, if left unmasked, was attractive. He knew all of this, but he'd never realized that it held any significance. Then again, if his face held no significance, there would be no reason for him to wear his mandated mask. He'd always known this, but he never questioned the importance of the mask. He was told to wear it, and he did. He liked it. It suited him. That had changed when the pillar had fallen… he suddenly understood the significance of the mask with frightening clarity.

He and Lyle Dylandy shared the same face.

It shouldn't have been as surprising as it was… the military had been lying to him since the beginning, after-all. His shared appearance with Lyle Dylandy was a symptom of a much larger question: who had he been before? He let that thought resonate in his mind for a few moments and he let his eyes follow his scars. Part of his right arm was mottled with a swirling burn scar that slipped over his shoulder and down his back until it disappeared. His torso held more; some thin, some thick, some that were long enough that he had to turn to see them end. Being as inquisitive as he was, Gallagher had run his injuries through numerous simulations and decided that the only thing that could have left him with such an intricate pattern of scars was an explosion. Still, he knew it wasn't the explosion that the military had told him he was involved in. His explosion had been in space. How else was he so scarred but still so untouched by a blast?

There were other scars that made his theory much clearer. Here and there in sensitive areas were different scars, ones made by very specifically trained inquisitors…ones like the team that he'd led in his quest for information. Multiple bullet scars could be found all over him: some new and some so old that he'd wondered if he'd been a child soldier. His joints were lined with thin, barely visible stretch lines that suggested multiple dislocations. Both feet had sets of circular scars on top and underneath, scars that matched a device that he'd seen used on A-Laws prisoners which shattered thin foot bones over hours. When he ran his hands over his ribs he could feel multiple poorly-healed fractures that weren't in his medical file. Then there was his eye. How had he come by that particular injury when the rest of his face was perfectly unmarked? It was simple… he'd been an A-Laws captive before he'd become their captain.

He glared into the mirror. He knew that there was a vital piece of the puzzle before him, and he knew that it was something glaringly obvious. The answer was on the tip of his tongue and in the back of his head, but always pushed far out of reach by the splitting pain that overtook his brain when he tried to remember who he was. He cursed and held his head as the sharp whining headache flared in response. It was the same headache that had driven him to find the Gundam pilot's family, and he knew that it was trying to tell him something just as important now. Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain, he smiled.

In his search for a past, he was finally getting somewhere.