AN: WOW! It's been a long time. 8 years since I've added anything to this. I added a section to my profile about what I would have changed in this story after reading it, but I'm going to keep most of it to keep the story flow (I don't plan on re-writing it). Italics are for memories. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts as I see there's still some people who have alerts turned on for this story... you're gems for believing in me at all haha. Soon we'll have the meeting of the Dylandys again, but Neil has some weeks to spend sleeping and recovering. Poor boy.


Decisional Balance

"When a good man is hurt, all who would be called good must suffer with him"

- Euripides

Neil's mouth was dry.

He didn't know how long he'd been in the dark under heavy sedation, but by the way his body ached it had been longer than days. He didn't know who had him but it didn't matter, they'd all want the same thing: Celestial Being. He'd thought about being captured hundreds of times and he'd always assumed he'd be able to take his own life if it was clear he couldn't escape, but his captors had relieved him of that possibility. He was so thoroughly restrained that blinking was now a small luxury.

He flexed his useful arm against its restraints and was met with a weak tremor. He'd been here long enough that his muscles were atrophying. Weeks at least. Too little food, too little rest, and the repeated stress of being beaten and thrown back in his personal storage unit. They would put him in a regenerative state sometimes - he could tell from the speed of his recoveries - but never long enough to fix his eye or the deep damage that left his right arm useless. They'd heal him just enough to break him again. Physically. He'd have given up a limb to have Allelujah's physical stamina just to rub it in their smug faces. His bones were lead-heavy from being forced into one position for so many hours. Whomever these people were, it was clear that they didn't consider him human.

Inhumane as conditions were, he couldn't say that he regretted anything. He wouldn't sit and wish away the actions that had led him here as he would have chosen them a thousand times. Al-Saachez was dead, that was enough validation for him. The cool feeling of vengeance may not have been tangible, but it soothed him just the same. Now it was time to pay for his sins, over and over again. His body was having trouble withstanding his punishment but they'd have to work harder to break him mentally.

It was a depressing thought: his body being repeatedly healed so they could try over and over again to make him talk. He sighed into his custom mouthpiece, a contraption meant to stop him from biting out his tongue or something creative like that. If he couldn't die, then the only tool left to rely on was sheer force of will - something the Irish were gifted in surplus at birth. He'd survive whatever was done to him, and he wouldn't say a god damned thing.

He could manage that.


Regene watched Ribbons pace. It couldn't quite be called pacing - normal pacing was too pedestrian for Ribbons, but it was his own version. Careful, graceful steps along the windows that brought him in a slow circle around the room. Each step betrayed just how frustrated he was with the departure of Ailin Gallagher or rather, the return of Neil Dylandy. Regene could have burst at the seams with how giddy the display made him. He wondered how long it would take for Ribbons to realize it was his doing.

"We've lost an important asset."

Regene strongly resisted the urge to scoff. Gallagher had been a very expensive, very energy-intensive pet project of Ribbons that in the end had gained him nothing. It had taken years before the newly-forming A-Laws had realized that Lockon Stratos couldn't be broken, and then another year to wipe him and create a new, useful persona that had, in the end, done nothing worth noting. Listening to thoughts was a nice trick, but one that had proven to have very little use in Gallagher's hands.

In the four-year gap of silence they'd lost control of the crew of the Ptolemaios. They still had vague ideas about their plans and location through a mishmash of Celestial Being locations that they still had under their thumb, and the intel gained from the A-Laws, but Sumeragi had become more of a wildcard than they'd previously expected. It infuriated Ribbons and made Regene laugh. Gallagher was supposed to erase that knowledge gap, but he'd followed the beat of his own war drum. For all he heard, he shared very little. Regene liked that. "There will be another one to replace him".

Ribbons stopped. "Yes, but the poetry of it all is… lacking"

"It was you who sent them to track down Lyle Dylandy. Some might say this is what you get for pitting brothers against each other"

"Some, or you?" Ribbons' stare was heavy but Regene didn't mind. He welcomed it. Getting under Ribbons' skin was in his top three hobbies.

"Both"

"You're starting to wear my nerves thin, Regene" It was a warning, but Regene wasn't worried; Ribbons had two modes of speaking: like a god, and like a punisher. His verbal threats had long since lost their bite.

"I thought you had thicker skin than that" They met eyes for a long moment. It was a joke but the humor was left dead despite hinted smiles. This was a subtle battle, and it was getting more intense.

Ribbons looked away with a smirk. "I'll take that under advisement"

Regene let out a short laugh and left the room, unaware of the violet glare that was following him. As he exited the space his opponent was carefully weighing the remaining value in his life. He couldn't hear it ticking away.


Ptolemy had been quiet since they'd returned to Earth. There had been two remaining bases left that weren't listed and they'd chosen the one in a remote Northern section of the Union. Not far enough to be buried in ice, but enough that the ship was being naturally covered in falling leaves of all colours. Setsuna hadn't seen anything like it before. The valley around them was covered in saffron red, beautiful burnt orange, and sunshine yellow leaves that crinkled underfoot. He sat in an open hatch on the ship's underside and took in the vibrancy of the valley around him.

He was changing just as quickly as the leaves. He didn't quite know when it had happened, but a gentle thrum had been vibrating under his skin for weeks. It wasn't unwelcome, just unprecedented. He was beginning to understand people as more than good or bad, and he wasn't sure if that made him feel more human or more alone. Whatever the change was, in his soul he knew it was irreversible.

Setsuna, you could change. I couldn't, so you'll have to do it for me.

Lockon. That man hadn't believed he could change but he'd become someone almost unrecognizable. Setsuna's teeth clenched of their own accord as he thought about the resurrected meister. When he'd seen him on the stretcher it was like staring at a close friend and an alien at once. He was familiar, but not. Lockon Stratos, but also a creature so far removed that his mind couldn't quite reconcile the differences.

What happened to that man in the years he'd been thought dead? Had his inability to change warped him so deeply on its own? If he closed his eyes he could still remember Haro's dejected pleading as he'd piloted Dynames back to Ptolemy. The man had once been a Gundam Meister of Celestial Being, sworn to help change the world and erase the twistedness within it. The man that ripped Cherudim to shreds days ago without a care was twisted himself, so badly that Setsuna couldn't imagine Lockon ever coming to the surface again.

In the distance he could hear thunder; storms had been thriving since the break pillar incident, fueled by the fires that were still burning thousands of miles away. He relaxed his jaw. Before the change had started setting into Setsuna, he never would have been able to recognize just how far his fellow meister had fallen. It was another sign of the way he was changing; he was beginning to feel a profound connection to everyone around him, something that would have been impossible for him before as trauma separated him so harshly from other people that he could have been a different species.

He longed to speak to Marina. She was an anomaly in his worldview, someone warm and safe and who he felt connected to even if only in brief glimmers. Their conversation in the Katharon base had been a moment of peace that he wished could have stretched for years. If he and Marina, a child soldier and princess of peace could reach trust, he felt there was hope in the world. He'd hoped that she would board Ptolemy with the others, but it wouldn't have been safe. He'd disliked the implication that he couldn't keep them safe, but he didn't argue with Tieria's determination.

Like him, a change had been happening in Tieria. The man was losing the controlling, self-assured edge that he'd had for years. In its place he was becoming fluid, emotional. It was a change that suited him well.

Setsuna sighed and stood. It was time to leave the beauty of the valley and return to Double-Oh's container to continue repairs. He would return to see it again before they left, or so he hoped.

He'd started to appreciate the beauty in peace.


Lyle was mindlessly opening drawers as he packed a bag for his next assignment. It seemed downright asinine that Sumeragi would send him out unsupervised after what had happened the past few days, but he welcomed the chance to get away from the ship, gundams, everything. Although Sumeragi was only conditionally trustworthy because of her substance use, she did have an innate understanding of the people on board and what they needed in any moment. She knew he needed off the ship, and it wouldn't have taken Reverie's gifts to understand why.

He zipped half his bag shut and started loading the other half with his personal weapons and bare essential technology. His mission was to recover the Dynames Repair from its hidden container in the AEU. They were short one gundam and although the Repair didn't have a GN drive, even a suit with GN storage tank would be useful while Cherudim was repaired.

His zipper caught on his pistol case and he re-zipped it, throwing his bag over his shoulder. "You coming Haro? If so I need to bring another bag to keep you in".

"Of course!" the little bot rolled to bounce against his leg.

He laughed. At least the little robot was still with him. He grabbed a small bag from his things and headed to the hangar. Sumeragi was giving him use of a small shuttle to make it close to civilization and then he'd have to take normal transportation from there. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been on a plane among everyday citizens but the idea energized him; it would sell the lie that he could escape Ptolemy, even for a little while.

The halls were uncharacteristically empty. Usually they were filled with a busy kid of life that vibrated along the floors, but today the ship was tired. He didn't have to guess where the crew was; most of them had been camped out in the med bay recovery room since his brother was brought on board. He'd wanted to go to Neil immediately, but it felt almost sacrilegious to interrupt the vigil of hope that was being carried out. Neil was his brother, but he was everyone else's ghost in the flesh. He hadn't let himself dwell farther on Neil's presence, and he wasn't going to let himself now. That was a fundamental difference that separated them. Lyle was able to put things in neat mental boxes and store them for later, Neil hadn't let anything go since they'd been five. Although Lyle thought of it as a strength, he knew it was his deep psychological issues that let him separate things so neatly. He wasn't about to reform his mental habits now, though.

The hangar was silent as he found his shuttle and punched in his access code. He could hear Haro carols working away at the damage to Cherudim but he couldn't bring himself to look at the mangled suit. The suit had become an extension of him and he didn't need to spend time waxing poetic about how its scars highlighted his mental state. The door opened with a whoosh and he tossed his bag in unceremoniously, scooping Haro up to drop him in the passenger's seat.

"I'm gonna need that chair". Reverie. She ducked in the door of the shuttle as he took his seat. She was in plain clothes with a duffel bag not unlike his own that she tossed under a control panel. "I hope you don't mind a tagalong". He couldn't say he was disappointed.

"First class right here" he joked and motioned to the passenger seat. "Do you mind taking on comms then?" He handed her an earpiece.

"Not at all". She popped the earpiece in and turned the shuttle's frequency to the bridge, helping him flick switches to initiate their launch. He did the same and soon the small ship was hovering in the bay before easing out into the leaf-covered valley. It was beautiful to fly over, a sea of deep-hued fall colours that stretched for miles ahead of them.

The shuttle reached its cruising altitude and with a few more switches flicked they settled in for their ride to the Union's East coast. He watched Reverie rattle off their departure to the bridge before switching their comms link to the local commercial air channel. She flicked her braid over her shoulder, tapped a few final switches, and sat back. "How long will we be travelling, Captain Stratos?" she side-eyed him with a hint of a smirk.

Good. He liked when they teased each other, it was refreshing amidst everything else that had happened so recently. "Long enough to be bored eventually, that's for sure. About three hours before we reach our departure city, then a few hours at the airport, and an eight-hour redeye into Dublin. About a two-hour drive to where Dynames' container is, and then we write the plan from there".

"Dynames…"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, Dynames…". The name hung in the air. The idea of piloting his brother's old suit was a concept he'd unpack at a later time; he didn't have it in him now to take that on. Regardless, it was needed while Ptolemy was incapacitated. "It doesn't have a GN drive in it, but it would be better to have a suit that functions until Cherudim is fixed. Luckily they stashed it in Ireland, I think this could be fun".

Reverie's eyes were calculating as she listened, weighing his thoughts on Dynames no doubt. She smiled, leaving his silent admission undisturbed. "So, are you gonna show me your stomping grounds?"

He laughed. "I think we can make a few stops on the trip. Is there anywhere that you're supposed to be going, or are you just keeping an eye on me overseas?". It was rare for anyone in Celestial Being to go untasked, but it also wouldn't be unlike Sumeragi to use Reverie as a collar on his trip.

"I'm not your babysitter" she quipped.

"That's too bad, you'd be a cute one".

She laughed. "Glad to see you're feeling back to yourself".

He smiled. He wasn't really, there was a thousand pounds of "what if" settled into his shoulders, but as the distance between them and Ptolemy grew he could feel himself lighten up. His brother, the crew, Cherudim, it could all wait until they got back. He didn't need to focus on it all now. Instead, he'd try to enjoy his time back home even if it was short-lived. He turned to the brunette. "I'm glad you could come with me".

Her blue eyes were just as heavy as he felt, but they still pulled up at the corners when she smiled. "Me too". He could tell that she had the same weight settled onto her, and the grief that had been sitting in her shoulders hadn't left at all. She'd lost her brother and unlike Neil there was no chance Deiter was coming back. The thought left a pang in his own chest; the blonde-haired pilot had barely become an adult before his life ended. He was a good person, he hadn't deserved to die so young. He saw her lip tremble, likely in response to his thoughts.

"Fuck, sorry Rev…" he muttered. Policing his thoughts hadn't gotten easier over the months they'd been around each other. "I should have been more careful".

She shook her head. "It's fine, just another thing to forget for a while in Ireland".

"Now that's something I can help with". He caught her smile and vowed to push his heavier thoughts to the back. If she was respecting his avoidance of his own problems, he could try to do the same for her. "So, if you're not babysitting me, what's your goal?"

"I…" she sighed. "While your brother was being loaded into his recovery pod I was able to tease out the locations of several A-Laws moles. I want to find them".

"Them, or just one?" Bruns. Lyle had a feeling he knew the answer. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "So where is he?"

"London"

"What do you plan to do with him?"

"I haven't decided yet".

He could see from the flicker in her expression that she knew damn well what she wanted to do, but he knew decisions were rarely so simple. "I'd understand if you wanted him dead". He supposed he shouldn't encourage the idea, but he had too much blood on his own hands to judge her decisions. He hadn't been one for revenge himself but he'd seen its effect up close. It was insidious, a kind of cancer that worked away at a person's resolve until it was the only thing they could see. It could be incredibly motivating or dazzlingly destructive. Either way, it wasn't his place to stop her from considering it.

"What do you think I should do?"

"That's a hard question. I think I'm supposed to tell you that killing isn't the answer and it won't bring your brother back, but you know that already. Does killing him align with the ideals of Celestial Being? I suppose it does in a twisted way…he supports the A-Laws who are perpetrating violence. To me? I don't know that there's a 'right' goal. The answer depends on you; if you're ready to become a killer, that's your decision but…it wouldn't be my choice for you".

"Does it make that much of a difference, being a killer or not?" Her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Yeah, it did. He'd never forget the moment he first meaningfully pulled the trigger. It had a different weight when someone's life was ending; the same gun felt like it had a thousand-pound pull. "It… it does. It's hard to explain the way it changes you". He sighed. "Wait, I think I can show you". If she could read his thoughts, she could see his memories. The shuttle was on autopilot at their cruising altitude and he closed his eyes, bringing back a day three years earlier.

He could remember the man's brown eyes. Deep, terrified circles set in wide eye-whites that stared down the barrel of a black carbon Heckler & Koch nine millimeter. Security guard. The room was cast in an orange glow from a streetlamp outside the third-floor window. Lyle had been with Katharon for barely two months, finally succumbing to the anti-government sentiments that had rippled through quiet nation corners. He'd been minutes away from cleanly exiting the office where he'd copied and erased several major files on Katharon members when he'd felt the bright glare of a flashlight on him.

Lyle had tried to talk his way out of it, jovial and disarming, but as soon as the man had trained the handgun on him he knew he had very little choice. On his person were sensitive files that couldn't be turned over if he were arrested, and that he couldn't let be discovered on his unassuming corpse.

"That was a mistake" he'd muttered to the man. In the pocket of his trench coat his trigger finger slowly tightened on his hidden Beretta. "I suggest you let me leave"

"Stay right where you are!" the man shouted in response, his hands shaking. He turned his head into his shoulder to talk into his radio and Lyle's finger jerked in response, an offensive bang resonating with it.

Lyle remembered the overwhelming nausea that hit him as soon as he saw the man drop, trembling as blood spurted energetically from the hole in his throat. The man was dying, wide brown eyes boring accusation into his skull. His first urge was to fall to his knees and try to stop the bleeding and beg for forgiveness but the deep red spatter along the wall made it obvious that it wouldn't help.

"Fuck, I'm sorry" he muttered. He could see the man's body shaking with tremors of shock, his neck losing its ability to hold up his head. "Fuck, fuck!" He dug behind the man in a panic to retrieve the bullet from the wall, collecting the casing at the same time. He could hear the sick gurgling slow, sputter, and stop.

Lifeless eyes stared through him and it took everything in him to not throw up where he knelt. This man was just doing his job, protecting a building for minimal fees and he was unlucky enough to check the room Lyle was in at exactly the wrong time. "I'm so sorry" he whispered before ducking out of the room and racing out of the building.

He found the nearest safe alley that he could, seven blocks away, and sank to the ground against grimy brick. "Fuck!". The word didn't summarize the feelings properly but he didn't have any others to use. He'd killed someone. This was real now, it wasn't some game he was playing after-hours to pass the time. He'd actually just taken someone's life. He buried his face in his gloved hands and the smell of gunpowder filled his nose. It turned into hot bile up his throat and in seconds he was on hands and knees in the abandoned alley trying to vomit out the disgust that was creeping through his chest.

He didn't sleep the rest of the week.

"Lyle…" Reverie reached across the space, hand settling on his shoulder. "I saw".

He opened his eyes and took a few deep breaths before meeting her eyes. "It's not easy, Rev. What you didn't see is the months I spent thinking about it. I found out his name, I saw his funeral. Taking someone's life seems simple in theory but in reality it's… evil".

"It'll be different, Bruns isn't innocent".

"It doesn't matter, Rev. Right now you don't know the difference, and once you do it'll be too late to take it back".

"That's kind of an ironic distinction for you to make as a Meister" she quipped. "You pilot an eighty-ton death machine".

"Which is how I know". He sighed. He didn't know if it was possible to really tell her how he felt about it, he didn't really know himself. Maybe it would be different, but the scarier reality was that it wouldn't. "I just wonder if you really want to give Bruns that part of you".

Her expression was inscrutable as she pulled her hand back. He wished he could read her mind too. These conversations left him at a loss sometimes with her having all the pieces and him scrambling to understand what was going through her head. "I'm just trying to figure out an answer to your question. I… I don't know".

"I hope you can figure it out before the gun is in your hand". He didn't want to watch her take that step if he could avoid it, but it wasn't his decision to make. The worst part was that, for all his moralizing, he understood why she'd want to do it. He certainly was in no position to stop her, his whole body was covered in blood at this point. "If you can't, then let me take him in to Katharon and they can decide".

She nodded. "That's fair. Thanks for sharing your memory… it wasn't easy to watch. For what it's worth I've never really thought of you as a killer". Her blue eyes were warm, affectionate.

He smirked. "Well, I wear many hats. Hopefully that one stays on the rack for a while".

"Yeah, hopefully." She took a deep breath and smiled. "You brought your drinking hat though, right?"

"Well, we are going to Ireland… it would be a shame to go and not have a beer. Or five".

Her happy laughter lightened the mood as they kept flying. He hoped he wouldn't have to watch her take a life, but he wouldn't hold it against her if it happened. As the shuttle whipped past the forest below he had the feeling he'd care for her either way.


Next: We see if they really find Bruns, and/or beer.