AN 2014: 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!

Update 2022: So it's been eight years since I've updated this. I don't know why, but I've always felt that I needed to finish this. I've tweaked this chapter significantly so that I can move forward with the story. I have no excuses and take no responsibility, haha. I feel like I did too much work on this to leave it unfinished. Let me know what you think as I work on Chapter 30.

Perception

"There is no truth, there is only perception"

Gustave Flaubert

Cherudim's cockpit felt too small.

Lyle could hear the audible thump-thump of his heart in his head, almost in time with a distant banging from someone trying to unstick the gundam's the heavy metal door. Lyle's eyes traced an ugly melted line behind his screens, just barely visible in the blackness; he'd been welded into the sniper suit by his... brother's... beam sabre. He knew the gundam was docked in its container inside the Ptolemaios II but he didn't know how long he'd been there. He knew that he'd barely moved a muscle since Cherudim finally sagged into its dock.

Neil.

What a fucking disaster.

He should have been overwhelmed with joy; he wasn't the last member of their family. His brother was here, in the flesh, and remembered him enough to save him. Instead he was suffocating under the weight of abandonment. He'd felt the comm lines empty as soon as Neil emerged from that fucking lunatic. He'd watched the other gundams hang frozen in space around him. He'd heard his own desperate voice scream-beg for someone to do something and he'd heard the long, hesitant moment where they chose a ghost over him.

"But Neil..."

His heart twisted painfully. In that moment he hated them and their idle hands.. but he also hated his own. He hadn't been able to do anything either. He hadn't been willing to risk him. It didn't change the worthless feeling that was settling into his bones.

The banging grew louder.

They were coming to get him. He'd be fine. Was he? Not even a little bit. Admitting that made his face feel hot and his vision swam. He took a deep breath. He wouldn't let the tears fall, not yet. He smoothed his hands along the arms of Cherudim's seat and felt the soft leather of his gloves. He couldn't let himself fall apart yet, not when there were a million unanswered questions swimming in his veins.

"We're gonna cut the hinge and then you'll be out" He didn't know if he even wanted to leave the quiet safety of the cockpit. As long as he was here he didn't have to admit that he was falling apart. If he were locked inside the steel giant he didn't have to see their faces and remember that he wasn't what they'd ever wanted. He watched the lower part of the cockpit turn golden orange as heat melted its pneumatic hinge. He took a deep breath in again through his nose.

The orange glow grew brighter and brighter before the sound of the saw was silenced. "Lyle?"

Rev. I'm here. he thought. His throat tightened as the memory of her voice in the comms came back to him. He could hear her terrified pleading from the NILE system, begging the rest of their team to do anything for him. The banging returned, this time right outside the cramped metal room. Rev I'm here! He wanted to see her. He needed the door to fall so he could lay eyes on the fiery telepath. He heard more muffled talking, closer this time, and then one-two-three loud clangs before searing light met his eyes and the door fell away.

The cockpit was illuminated as he was freed. He clawed back the wrecked consoles in front of him and pushed past the jagged metal that had encased him. She was there, still in her flight suit from her system. He closed the space between them easily.

"Are you hurt? Are you o-!"

Her words stopped as he pulled her into his arms and crushed her against him. He buried his face in her neck and breathed in the soft, feminine scent of her hair. She was stiff for a moment because of the unexpected contact but then she slowly, blessedly melted against him. Her head settled into his shoulder and her arms slipped around his waist. "I thought..." she whispered.

"I know" he murmured into her hair. "I'm here". He felt a tremor in his body as his freedom, near death, and crushing emotion hit him at once. He sunk to the green metal of Cherudim, legs weak. The techs dispersed as they sensed the privacy of the moment. Reverie settled against him, legs tangled with his, and he felt the moment her tears started. He held her shuddering form against his. This person; this determined, strong, beautiful person, was shedding tears for him. The rest of their world was anywhere else, and she was here with him. For him.

He could have stayed there forever.

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 sound in his own head.

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 Neil, 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 met his wide-eyed gaze.

Tieria wanted nothing more than to dart out of the hangar. 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."

Sumeragi looked at the exhausted group before her. She could see the weight of everything they were carrying and how the light in their eyes was dimmer than it had been. Lockon was back, yes, but it didn't change the fact that they'd been dealing with death, destruction, and uncertainty for months. The crew was run down, beaten. She could feel the weight of the last eight months herself. It felt like weeks ago that they'd rescued Allelujah, but it also felt like years.

The waiting room of the infirmary had been full since they'd recovered Lockon from the enemy pseudo-gundam. She looked from face to face. Shia and Anew were steadily monitoring the recovered Meister, running every diagnostic the ship was capable of and documenting the new scars, fractures, and implants that had appeared since his last Celestial Being physical. Setsuna stood stoically by the glass, watching the process with his deep, serious eyes. Feldt had fallen asleep with her head leaned on the glass. It didn't look comfortable but Sumeragi knew that she was probably more peaceful today than she'd been in five years. Ian, Lasse, and Marie filled remaining seats, and although Tieria wasn't present he was standing his own version of a vigil on the bridge: pouring over every moment of the altercation that had brought the Irishman back to him.

She sighed.

Their crew had experienced loss after loss, but never had they had someone come back. Of course Lockon was the one that managed to do it. It was a kind of hope-filled mourning that she'd never seen before. She wondered if they all felt it the same: knowing that he was back, ten feet away, almost surreal. At the same time wondering if he'd remember and if so, if there would be enough of him left to honour the man they exalted in their memories.

Would he be the one they needed, or would he be a shell that ripped their memory of his character from them.

Her fingertips vibrated with the need for a drink. She idly wondered if that's what everyone else needed. Her eyes scanned from dark eye circles to deep worry lines, to crumpled expressions of worry. Drink or not, they needed something. She wanted to read their minds.

Reverie.

Right. She hadn't seen the telepath since Cherudim had been recovered. Cherudim. She also hadn't seen Lockon's brother since the incident. A pang of shame hit her as she thought about him, and her lack of thinking about him. He'd been barely an afterthought to her since the name "Neil" was uttered through the comm link. She cursed to herself. She owed him an apology. There were so many things needed by so many people right now... what she wouldn't give to have a break.

An idea.

They needed a break. She stepped out of the room and opened communication to the bridge. "Sumeragi Lee Noriega. What do you want?" Tieria's voice lacked the snarky indignance that it normally had. Instead, it was hollow, like he was going through the motions for her benefit.

"Do we still have access to any of our Earth bases? Any that we could use to repair the suits and lay low for a while?" she asked. She couldn't undo the hurt and pain that they'd all experienced over the last eight months, but she could try to give them a break.

"We have two."

"I'm on my way to the bridge now."

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. Not coffin, he realized, medical pod.

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."