Chapter 27 : Return of the Dead — Part 3
The badlands stretched flat and empty under afternoon sun.
We'd chosen this location specifically—thirty miles from the nearest population center, surrounded by nothing that could burn or be destroyed. If the separation went wrong, if Firestorm detonated, the blast radius would claim only barren earth and the people brave enough to be here.
Cisco's quantum splicer hummed with barely contained energy, its improvised construction looking more like mad science than legitimate technology. Wires tangled between components salvaged from three different facilities. Power cables ran to a mobile generator that whined with the strain.
"Are you sure about this?" Barry asked, watching the setup with obvious concern.
"Theoretically? About seventy percent." Cisco adjusted a final connection. "But theory is all we have. The alternative is waiting while Ronnie's nuclear signature keeps increasing until he goes critical."
"How long?"
"Best estimate? Forty-eight hours. Maybe less." Cisco stepped back from the device. "After that, the fusion reaction exceeds containment capacity. Central City becomes a crater."
The stakes couldn't be higher. Success meant saving Ronnie and Stein both. Failure meant death for everyone within a hundred miles.
I stood at the perimeter with Caitlin, watching Barry and Cisco make final preparations. She hadn't slept more than three hours in the past two days. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her hands trembled slightly when she wasn't consciously controlling them.
"Last chance to stay behind," I said quietly.
"Not happening."
"Caitlin—"
"He's my fiancé." The word hung between us with all its complications. "I have to be here."
I didn't argue further. There was nothing to say that wouldn't sound like jealousy or manipulation.
"They're ready," Barry called out. "The containment field is active. We just need to lure him in."
The plan was straightforward in concept, terrifying in execution. Barry would locate Firestorm, guide him toward the badlands using speed to stay ahead of the flames. Once within the containment field, Cisco would activate the splicer. The quantum separation would theoretically divide the merged consciousness into its component parts.
Theoretically.
"Remember," Cisco added, "once the process starts, it can't be interrupted. If anyone tries to enter the field during separation, the energy feedback will kill them."
Caitlin nodded grimly. "I understand."
"Just making sure."
Barry disappeared in a streak of lightning, beginning the hunt for Firestorm. The rest of us waited in the silence of the badlands, surrounded by nothing but wind and dust and the hum of desperate technology.
Firestorm arrived like a falling star.
The fire streaked across the sky with terrifying beauty, nuclear flames trailing behind in patterns that looked almost deliberate. Barry ran interference below, keeping pace with the burning figure, gradually guiding its trajectory toward our location.
"Containment field active!" Cisco's fingers flew across his equipment. "He's entering the capture zone!"
Firestorm touched down inside the perimeter. The moment his feet hit earth, the containment barriers activated—invisible walls of energy designed to prevent escape without causing harm.
Ronnie's face emerged from the flames, confusion and rage warring across his features. "Where... Caitlin? Is Caitlin here?"
"I'm here!" She stepped toward the barrier, stopping just short of the field's edge. "Ronnie, listen to me. We're going to help you. But you have to stay calm."
"I can't—" The voice shifted, becoming Stein's academic tenor. "The reaction is accelerating. Whatever you're planning, do it quickly."
"Cisco, now!"
The quantum splicer screamed to life.
Light erupted from the device, striking Firestorm in a beam of impossible colors—frequencies beyond normal human perception, visible only because the intensity overwhelmed ordinary physics. Inside the containment field, Ronnie's body arced backward, arms spread wide, mouth open in a scream that contained two voices.
The separation began.
I watched through the energy barrier as Firestorm's form started to divide. Two shapes emerging from one, like a cell undergoing mitosis in slow motion. The fire guttered, fluctuated, surged with renewed intensity.
"Energy levels critical!" Cisco adjusted controls frantically. "The feedback is stronger than projected!"
"Hold it!" Caitlin's voice was desperate. "You have to hold it!"
"I'm trying!"
The process reached its crisis point. Two bodies, almost distinct, still connected by tendrils of nuclear fire. The splicer screamed with strain. The generator whined louder. Something in the device began to spark.
Then—
Light. Blinding, absolute, erasing all detail for a moment that felt like eternity.
When my vision cleared, two figures lay on the scorched earth inside the containment field.
Ronnie Raymond. Martin Stein. Both separate. Both breathing.
Both alive.
Caitlin didn't wait for confirmation. She sprinted past the deactivating barrier, dropping to her knees beside Ronnie's unconscious form. Her hands found his face, his chest, checking vital signs with the automatic precision of medical training.
"He's stable." Her voice cracked with relief. "Harry, he's stable. They both are."
I stood at the edge of the scene, watching Caitlin cradle her resurrected fiancé. The joy on her face was incandescent—brighter than Firestorm's flames, more powerful than anything I'd seen from her in the months we'd been together.
She didn't look at me.
I told myself it didn't matter. Told myself the important thing was that Ronnie and Stein had survived. That Central City wasn't a crater. That the people I'd come to care about were safe.
The hollow feeling in my chest disagreed.
The next hours blurred into medical checks and recovery protocols.
Ronnie regained consciousness first—confused, disoriented, but fundamentally himself. Two years of lost time, of fire and confusion and shared consciousness, fading like a nightmare upon waking.
Caitlin stayed by his side through all of it.
I helped where I could. Monitoring equipment. Fetching supplies. Maintaining the appearance of someone who was happy the crisis was resolved.
You are happy, I told myself. You wanted this to work. You chose to help genuinely.
The wanting and the happiness didn't quite align.
Around sunset, I found myself alone in the corridor outside the medical bay. Through the window, I could see Caitlin and Ronnie talking—animated gestures, occasional laughter, the reconnection of two people who'd thought they'd lost each other forever.
"Hey."
Barry's voice pulled me from observation. He stood nearby, expression sympathetic.
"Complicated situation," he said.
"That's one word for it."
"For what it's worth, I think you handled it well. A lot of guys would have made this about them."
"It's not about me." The words came out flatter than intended. "It's about Caitlin getting back what she lost. That matters more than my feelings."
"Does it?" Barry leaned against the wall beside me. "I've known Caitlin for two years. After Ronnie died, she closed herself off from everyone. Built walls so high none of us could reach her."
"She's told me about that time."
"Then you know how much it means that she let you in." He glanced at the medical bay window. "Don't count yourself out yet, Harry. Caitlin's not the same person she was when Ronnie was alive. Two years changes people. What she feels for him and what she feels for you—those might both be real."
"Real doesn't mean equal."
"No. It doesn't." Barry straightened. "But it's a starting point."
He left me alone with my thoughts. Through the window, Caitlin rested her head on Ronnie's shoulder. The gesture was achingly familiar—she'd done the same thing with me countless times over the past months.
I couldn't watch anymore.
The conversation happened three hours later.
Ronnie was sleeping—genuine rest for the first time in two years. Stein had been moved to his own recovery room. The immediate crisis was over, leaving only the human aftermath to sort through.
I found Caitlin in the hallway outside Ronnie's room, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed.
"Caitlin."
She looked up. The exhaustion was obvious, but beneath it lay something more complicated—guilt, uncertainty, the weight of impossible choices.
"Harry." Her voice caught slightly. "I know we need to talk."
"We do."
"I just... I don't know what to say." She pushed off the wall, facing me directly. "Everything happened so fast. Ronnie coming back, the separation, all of it. I haven't had time to process what any of this means."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Her eyes searched my face. "Because I don't. I love Ronnie. I've loved him since before the accelerator, through his death, through two years of grief. And then you came along, and I started to feel something again, and now—"
"Now he's back."
"Now he's back." She exhaled shakily. "And I don't know how to feel about anything anymore."
The strategic part of my mind offered options. Arguments I could make, emotional leverage I could apply, ways to position myself favorably against the returned rival.
I rejected all of them.
"Take the time you need," I said instead. "Figure out what you want. Who you want."
"Harry—"
"I'm not going anywhere." I stepped closer, taking her hands in mine. "Whatever you decide, I'll still be here. As your partner, or as your friend, or as someone who used to matter. That's your choice to make."
"That's not fair to you."
"Nothing about this is fair." I managed a small smile. "But you don't owe me a decision right now. You don't owe anyone anything except honesty—with Ronnie, with me, with yourself."
Her fingers tightened around mine. "What if I can't be honest? What if I don't know what I feel?"
"Then you take more time. I'll still be here."
The silence stretched between us—heavy with everything unsaid, everything uncertain. Two people standing at a crossroads neither had anticipated.
Finally, she nodded.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For understanding. For being... for being you."
I kissed her forehead—maybe for the last time, maybe not. The uncertainty was its own kind of pain.
"I'll let you get back to him."
I turned and walked away before she could see my expression crack.
My apartment felt empty.
The coffee maker sat on the counter, still configured for two cups. Caitlin's spare toothbrush waited in the bathroom. A sweater she'd left draped over a chair carried traces of her perfume.
I stood in the middle of the living room, cataloguing the evidence of a relationship that might have just ended.
[EMOTIONAL INSTABILITY DETECTED] [EXTRACTION ACTIVITY RECOMMENDED] [HUNTING PROVIDES STABILITY]
The system's cold assessment cut through the fog of feeling. For once, its priorities and mine aligned.
Hunting was simpler than heartbreak. Power extraction had clear rules, predictable outcomes. I knew how to be the Harvest. I knew how to stalk targets, acquire abilities, build the collection that would eventually make me powerful enough to face any threat.
I didn't know how to wait for someone to decide if they still loved me.
At least with hunting, I'm in control.
I pulled up my target files. The names and abilities I'd catalogued over months of careful observation. Criminal metas who'd escaped justice. Powered individuals who used their gifts to harm others.
The system demanded growth. The Harvest had work to do.
And Harry Griffin—the consultant, the boyfriend, the man who'd fallen in love against all strategic calculation—would have to wait until someone decided he was worth keeping.
I started planning my next extraction.
The hunt was simpler.
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