AN: Whew! Long time no speak! I promise I haven't forgotten this story, life has just gotten crazy. Not much to say here, other than that large passages of italics indicate a flashback/dream. I had two versions of this uploaded (ugh version control...) but I believe this was the right one. If not I'll note it in the next chapter and upload the correct one. Thanks all for continuing to keep an eye on this, and let me know what you think!


Perception

"There is no truth, there is only perception"

Gustave Flaubert

The hangar had never been so glaringly silent.

Whether the silence was created by Tieria's mind or not was irrelevant. There was nothing making it past his ears but glaring, ringing emptiness. He couldn't hear the noise of the hangar over the shocked ringing in his ears.

There, on the stretcher before him, was Neil Dylandy. Some remnant of him.

A strange feeling tugged at Tieria as he looked over the man on the stretcher. He'd been pulled out of his machine unconscious immediately after the remaining A-Laws had been chased away. At first Shia had thought that he'd suffered some type of impact injury during the tangle with Cherudim, but after unzipping his flight suit and checking for any damage, they'd found nothing. No blood, no breaks, just a dozen mottled scars. A dozen reasons that this man didn't feel like Lockon Stratos. Still, Tieria's eyes settled on the deep scar that had turned the man's right eye a clouded grey; the scar that Tieria had been responsible for putting there. He shivered. He didn't know how to process the strange pressure in his chest or the burning in his eyes, just like he hadn't known what to do with them when he thought Lockon had died. He took a deep breath.

Sound started filtering back to him as he calmed himself and he realized that he wasn't alone, the rest of Ptolemy's crew had arrived at some point that he couldn't remember. Anew and Shia were monitoring him, though their understanding of the situation was sympathetic at best. Feldt stood across from him, her eyes wide and her body stiff. Sumeragi leaned over the stretcher with her hand hanging in front of her mouth as though it were holding back a thousand questions. Lasse and Ian were stoic. Finally, Setsuna.

Setsuna stood at the man's feet, though he looked a million miles from what Tieria would have expected. He expected that Setsuna would be silent and not visibly moved, but that wasn't the case. The boy seemed seconds from either bolting down the hall or collapsing. The confidence that was normally unavoidably present around him seemed shaken, as though he fully understood the innate changes to the man in front of him. His eyes were wide and his jaw set hard enough that Tieria thought he may break teeth. Something very fundamental had changed in the boy… something that was so deep it may as well have been his cells. The blue-clad Meister shifted and looked up, and Tieria shifted to follow his wide-eyed gaze.

"Tieria…"

He turned slowly to the sound of his name, too slowly, it turned out. He'd barely registered the fact that Lockon's twin was approaching him before he was sent back by a swift blow to the cheek and saw stars. He didn't feel the pain he should have felt, the world was still moving too slow. Still, he felt a hand curl into his shirt collar and bring him back to face the enraged sniper.

"What the hell were you thinking!?"

The man had likely only been cut out of his Gundam now; he'd been trapped in the mess that was formerly Gundam Cherudim, now a twisted piece of warped steel and melted circuitry. Tieria could feel his hand shake as it kept its firm grip on his collar, and though he was enraged, there was some odd amount of sadness present in his glare. Had Tieria not been shocked, he would have praised himself on his recognition, but not now. "I…." he couldn't think of what to say.

The question was obvious; why had he left him to die. The answer wasn't so simple. He'd come to accept the twin as a member of Celestial Being, he'd secretly come to understand and almost enjoy their odd, antagonistic relationship. Still, no matter how he accepted or trusted the twin, the chance that Lockon was alive was something he couldn't risk. He couldn't pull the trigger because he'd be killing him again. He couldn't risk destroying the person who'd taught him what it meant to be human. "I… didn't want to choose one life over another."

The twin looked at him in disbelief. "Isn't that exactly what you did!? What did you think would happen if you didn't pull the trigger!?"

"But Neil!" he protested. But Neil was alive, and his brother was alive, and Tieria hadn't shot anyone. That alone should have been enough, but he couldn't defend himself as he normally would. All he could manage were those two words.

The grip on his shirt faltered, then disappeared. The man's gaze shifted from its angry glare to one of almost remorse as he looked past Tieria at his identical other. He swallowed.

"Yeah, what about Neil."

With that, he left the hangar with long strides.

Tieria wanted nothing more than to dart out of the hangar as well, to escape the fact that the crew had just witnessed him at a total loss. He couldn't though, not with his friend and mentor lying unconscious behind him. He had to compose himself, if only to give himself something to do other than lean helplessly against the stretcher.

He straightened his shirt out and flicked the hair out of his face, then turned back to face all who were gathered. "We…we should move him to the infirmary immediately. He'll require an extensive evaluation. I believe…" he faltered as he looked at those around him and their various stages of shock. "…I believe you all have duties to attend to. Please be on your way."

He turned and stalked away to Seravee's station, picking up its file and flicking through it. To the others it was a gesture of resolution, that there was work to be done and they couldn't stand around waiting forever. In reality, he didn't want them to see the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes. As he flicked mindlessly through the report that he wasn't actually reading, he heard them leave one by one and float the stretcher out.

As soon as they were gone, he gave in.

He never expected how refreshing it would be.


"Captain, how would you describe the events that took place early this morning?"

Graham Aker sat calmly across from the newest general to be assigned to his unit. It seemed that no matter how many victories were achieved or how many generals were reassigned the office never changed. He was always sitting in the same chair, explaining himself again to someone who didn't know a damned thing. It meant that he had the upper hand on terrain and Mr. Bushido was pleased. Graham was furious. He was irritated that he'd been drug in to explain why Ailin Gallagher, the most artfully mad man in the world, had attacked Celestial Being in a rage. Graham didn't have a response, and Mr. Bushido didn't care to answer such pointless questions. "I can't explain why Captain Gallagher did what he did."

"I didn't ask you about Captain Gallagher."

Graham smirked behind his mask. "Didn't you?"

"No. I was asking about the situation this morning."

Graham slowly shook his head. "The context of this conversation says you have more interest in why Gallagher did what he did than what happened with Celestial Being."

"What context?" The man was annoyed. Good. Graham wanted him to be.

"If you were really interested in what happened with Celestial Being, you'd be asking one of the men who had been dispatched to attack their training area. Instead, you're asking me, the man who was assigned to keep track of Gallagher's movements and signal anything out of the ordinary. I believe what you really want to know is how the captain knew Celestial Being's location, and why he would attack on his own."

"Very well." The man seemed almost surprised. "How did he know their location?"

"It shouldn't be hard to understand. A man with the Captain's abilities is privy to a wealth of knowledge that you and I will never be able to access. I'm sure you've read his file extensively by now… if not, I suggest you do. He spent the majority of his time tracking Celestial Being and interrogating associated members of the organization. It's safe to say he knew much more than was needed to attack them out of the blue."

"I doubt that." The man muttered.

"Why?"

"If he knew as much as you say he knew, he wouldn't have attacked the organization alone while they had a territorial advantage."

Graham smirked. "I disagree."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that he wasn't looking for victory. He was looking for a challenge."

"Suicide isn't a challenge."

"He wasn't suicidal. He was looking for something else."

"And what could that possibly be?"

"His perfect opponent." Graham let the comment hang in the air. The change in the man's expression said that he'd caught his interest, and for good reason. Graham vividly remembered his conversation with the masked man. It was the most interesting and true conversation he'd had in years; the man had pushed him to see that what he had really been seeking was a perfect fight, victory or not. The chance to destroy someone who was his combat equal. Something like that fell outside of the scope of war and terrorism and politics… it was engraved on the human soul.

"Do you know who that was?"

Graham shook his head. "I don't know who it was, though I'm sure Gallagher did. He went there to fight the pilot of the green Gundam."

"How do you know that? His communications were never recorded as a result of an odd glitch in his machine's programming, making it unclear if he actually knew the man or not."

"I know that he knew because it was what drove him to fight the man. It wasn't in Gallagher's nature to go into a fight like the one this morning without distinct knowledge. We may not know who the man is, and we may never be able to prove that Gallagher was aware of his identity, but he was. Besides, if he wasn't aware of the man's identity, there is no way he'd be so familiar with his combat style." He pulled a file viewer from within his coat and clicked it on to display a recording of the break pillar incident. "As you can see, they both fight with a remarkable amount of precision that would be unlikely if they weren't familiar with each other. Furthermore, they've had this kind of combat familiarity since their first encounter." What Graham found more remarkable than Gallagher's fighting was the other pilot's responses. Gallagher was a completely unpredictable opponent for anyone except the green and white Gundam… that alone was an indication that the A-Laws should be very careful around the sniper suit. That man was definitely the only opponent capable of going toe-to-toe with the telepathic Captain, and that chilled him to the bone.

The man watched the scene before him as the two green mobile suits fought, the darker one pursuing with the ferocity of a feral dog, and the lighter finally giving in and fighting at full strength. "And that suit?" he asked, indicating the green and white Celestial Being suit.

"Celestial Being's current sniper model. It's equipped for long and short range fire, though the pilot seems to prefer close-combat firing. Like the other pilots, we have no information on him."

"Two snipers…" Something flicked across the general's face and was gone in a second. "You fought Celestial Being the last time they were an issue… do you believe this is the same sniper?"

Graham weighed his response carefully. There was a minute change in the general's demeanour that made his Bushido-focused alter-ego wary. This man was aware of something that Graham wasn't. He wanted to know what it was. He shook his head. "No. The first sniper was killed five years ago when his mobile suit was destroyed."

"Of course. I'd forgotten." The man seemingly dismissed the topic, though Graham doubted his forgetfulness. "Moving on, I'd like to let you know the real reason you're here, Captain."

Was the man going to tell him what was going on? He doubted it. "The real reason, general?"

"In light of this morning's events and the fact that the Captain and his suit have not been found, the administration would like you to take his place." The man pulled a paper folder from his desk and opened it, flipping through the four papers within.

Graham knew what paper meant. Paper meant that whatever he was about to be asked to do was illegal, against current human rights laws, and likely extremely dangerous. What exactly had Gallagher been a part of? "I'm not sure that I'd be useful in his position, general. I'm not…gifted… in the same way he was". Graham had never been able to hear thoughts, and he highly doubted that he ever would, miracle or not.

The man's eyes lit with excitement for a moment and he slid one of the papers across the desk. "If you sign off on the medical release, we'd like to change that."

He took the paper carefully and quickly scanned through it. It was the first time in a long time that he could say that he was in total disbelief. "…you mean to say the military gave the Captain his abilities?" He'd always assumed that Gallagher was some strange experiment, but he'd never given it enough thought to realize that it was his own military that was behind it.

The general nodded. "Yes. It started as a pet project of the AEU after Taklamakan, and has come to our division for management. We'd like to give the same abilities to you."

He resisted the natural urge to go wide-eyed at the man's proposal, and instead slid the paper back across the desk to him. He stilled his mind to stop the tremor in his fingers. The ability to hear thoughts… it was both terrifying and awe-inspiring. As attractive as it was, he knew that it was something that could destroy him, and he wasn't about to jump into Gallagher's grave with him. Mr. Bushido wanted to sign the page immediately. "I'll need some time to consider."

The general nodded. "Take the next two days off your duties. I'll expect an answer Thursday morning."


The door to Lyle's room slid shut in time for him to fall back against the wall, locking him into the mechanical silence of his home on the ship. His hand throbbed and he knew he shouldn't have punched his fellow Meister, but that was irrelevant now. The recycled air turned over without a sound, the slight waving of his hair the only indication that there was any motion other than his unsteady breath.

His whole body was shaking.

The shock of almost dying was enough to explain the tremor in his bones, but it couldn't hope to explain the crushing emotion that was filling him. He was so angry, so relieved, and so sad that it felt like his chest was going to burst. His brother was alive, he was alive… he didn't know how to process the relief that he felt. The unexpected emotion left him in more shock than his brother's resurrection.

He was happy.

They existed, still fighting in the twisted plane that had been created so many years before.

A plane that Lyle had been willing to part with.

He wrapped his arms around himself as he shook. He'd worked for so long, achieved so much, come so far. He'd bettered himself and made meaningful connections; he'd become part of something bigger than himself. Still, when the end had come he hadn't tried to fight it. He'd given up.

He'd given in.

He pressed his eyes shut at the pain of his realization. He'd accepted the reality that Neil was back and he couldn't shoot him down and Celestial Being didn't give a damn if his brother wiped him out. He didn't give a damn about Celestial Being's goals, did he? If they were so integral to him, how could he have been so willing to die without seeing anything accomplished? Was this the same insanity that his brother had accepted years before?

Perhaps they were more alike than he believed.

His grip tightened on his arms enough to hurt as the battle replayed itself in his head. His brother's insane alter-ego tearing Cherudim apart, his inability to fire, Tieria's refusal to act. He could feel his eyes fighting to release the emotion he was struggling so hard to hold in.

"But Neil…"

That was it, wasn't it? This was exactly what he'd known would happen, that Neil would somehow remind them all that Lyle wasn't up to par, Neil's presence alone had done it. It should have been his chance to run through the halls aggressively wagging an all-knowing finger in their faces and muttering 'told-you-so'. He chuckled painfully to himself. He had the confirmation he needed to realize that he was still in second place after all this time, but he couldn't use it. He couldn't let loose his righteous indignation because he didn't care anymore. He was too damn relieved.

Neil was alive, and somehow he'd managed to steal away Lyle's hell-fire of correctness. He didn't care.

The relief that his brother was alive mixed with the pain of his comrade's abandonment filled him with a bittersweet feeling that left him defenseless. Being left to die had opened every childhood wound that had ever been carved into him. In any other situation, Lyle could shrug it off and pretend that it didn't cut him to the core. He could whisk it away with a snarky comment and a well-placed glare and carry on with his iron-shield defenses. Not this time. This time he could feel it affecting him, striking a chord that had been buried somewhere years before. Had he really changed so much?

'Way to go Lyle, you've fallen apart.' His thoughts taunted him.

If he'd only fallen apart he could deal with it. He'd patch himself up and carry on as he'd done a hundred times before. This time he'd fallen apart in front of everyone. His careful facade had been shattered by his own fist, and there was no way he could take it back. His chest tightened and he hunched forward, burying his face in his hand.

How could he face the other members of Celestial being?

He'd seen the guarded glances they'd thrown at him as he stood over Neil's stretcher, looking down at what his brother had become. He'd noticed how they stood in silence as he tore into Tieria. He'd never been more transparent in his life… there wasn't a chance he'd been able to hide his true feelings.

Everyone around him had seen straight through to the real Lyle, with all his fears and insecurities and anger. He'd never felt so weak.

He was a fool.

Of course he was. His brother was alive and he was whining about his issues… he was as selfish as they came, and he hated himself for it. He laughed in disbelief as the tightness in his chest grew. His brother was alive and strapped to a life support device and he was locked away like the lunatic he was becoming. He was a selfish, ungrateful fool.

His eyes shot open as he heard a click, and his door slid open before he could stop it.

Reverie.

She didn't say anything, and she didn't move, standing in the doorway as though she expected him to bolt. Her lips were pursed. He knew there was no way she could have missed his mental state; he didn't bother hiding his expression. There was too much going on in his head to bother with trying to regain some semblance of dignity. Instead he watched her through pained eyes as the emotions wracked him again, making his jaw clench and his brows pull together.

Her expression changed to something he didn't have the frame of mind to place. Sadness, pain, maybe even pity. He didn't want that. He didn't need someone to feel sorry for him right now, not when he was being so stupidly self-absorbed.

"I'm fine."

He knew that the words were useless… she would have heard his battle with himself. Just how much had she heard, standing there in silent observation? The thought made him feel like he was made of glass; transparent.

A broken cry reached his ears and a moment later she'd closed the space between them, burying her face in his shoulder and balling her fists in his shirt. "You… you idiot!"

He was shocked.

He didn't say anything and he didn't move. He could hear her hitched breath and feel her shake as she cried angrily against him. "I thought you were dead!"

The accusation in her tone stung. "I'm not." He said quietly, almost as though he didn't want to admit that he'd lived. He didn't deserve to have someone stay with him, but he couldn't ask her to leave. He was too weak to take the punishment he felt he deserved.

She looked up at him, eyes welling with tears. "And what kind of punishment would you be dishing out to those who care about you if you'd died!?"

Her tone was accusing, but her hold was firm. He didn't deserve to be comforted, but he couldn't pull himself away. No matter how selfish he believed he was, the bitter-sweetness that filled him wouldn't let him. Her arms slipped around his waist and she buried her face in his collar.

He was a fool. He was a selfish, stupid, ungrateful fool. Neil was alive and Lyle was still able to feel long arms wrap around him and pull him close. There were so many things he could have been grateful for, yet instead he chose to ignore them in favor of wallowing.

Reverie's hold tightened in response to his thought and he realized why he couldn't complain about his brother's appearance. During his time with Celestial Being something fundamental had changed.

He actually cared.

He cared about those around him. He cared about his brother. He cared about their goals. In return, someone cared about him enough to be mad at his near-death. He felt the knot in his chest loosen just a hair.

He wrapped his arms around her.

For the first time in a long time, he cared about his life. He cared about his goals. He cared about the people around him. He cared about his lost, damaged, infuriating brother. He cared about the woman in his arms. He cradled her against him, losing a hand in her hair.

For the first time he realized that the cloud of his brother's influence had been made by him all along, oppressing him by his own will.

After so many years, it was time that his island saw the sun.


Neil was lost.

For a flash he'd found himself back in space, floating amidst the pieces of Dynames during what were supposed to be his final moments. A second later he'd been engulfed in heat and light, finally at peace with all the things he couldn't change in the world.

Now he was laying in a pitch black room, mostly devoid of his senses and without a clue as to what had happened. He knew he was in a room as he could hear his breaths acutely in the small space, and he could feel the invisible barriers around him. His limbs were useless, or at least he hadn't tried to use them. He was certain there was gravity.

Was this what had awaited him after all he'd done? He knew for certain that he was dead. There was no other explanation to the all-consuming calm that had enveloped him. Was this an interim period where he adjusted to being dead, or was this his own personal hell of solitude that he'd have to endure for all the sins he'd committed?

He wasn't sure.

He'd never been completely convinced of the afterlife, but he'd never been completely convinced by its nonexistence either. He chuckled when he realized that he had his answer now. The breath of his chuckle returned to him, warm and humid, and his skin flushed with goosebumps. The ceiling was so close to his face. No, not ceiling, he realized. Lid.

He wasn't in a room, he was in a grave.

Though he couldn't see, his eyes widened painfully. Had he been buried alive? Had he survived being blown to pieces in space to die in a wooden box!? He lost control of his breathing as the blackness around him became stifling. The back of one gloveless hand slammed into the barrier before him as he realized that he was still very much alive. He couldn't move more than a few inches in any direction as he panicked. He didn't notice that his left arm really was useless.

He screamed.

The ripping feeling in his throat only served to make him more terrified. He was alive, very alive, and someone hadn't thought to check. He was an inch away from burning, desperate tears when the lid gave way and he was met with painfully blinding light. He sat up impulsively only to be shoved back down by a set of gloved hands. His left shoulder screamed painfully as he landed back in his coffin.

He couldn't see anything but bright white as his eyes strained to adjust to the area around him. Adrenaline was screaming through his veins and he sat up again, this time prepared for the invisible hands that would try to stop him. He landed an elbow solidly where their center of mass would have to be and heard a deep whine as he hit.

The room started to come into focus and he started to make out shapes. An operating light, a heart-rate machine, blinding fluorescent bulbs above him. He'd been laying in a recovery bed, one he'd never seen before. He saw a circular glass window and the outline of a door and shot towards it. He didn't know where he was or where he was going, but he knew that he needed to act while he had the element of surprise. He ripped the door open and braced for impact as he saw a figure standing in it, clothed in white. He moved to strike but never got the chance as the ghost-like medical man ducked and drove a syringe into his leg.

He hit the floor hard enough to taste blood.

The finer details of the room had barely started to make themselves known when his vision started slipping, his eyelids heavy. He knew he needed to get up and run, but his legs weren't listening. What had they given him? He'd never hit the ground so fast before.

The ghost of a man kneeled before him and tilted his masked face as the room started to fade.

"You're not going anywhere, Celestial Being."