Ray Palmer walked into the silent, semi-lit room, eyes straying over the covered furniture, the blinds that only let in a modicum of light.

No one lived here. No one had lived here in a long, long time.

It had been and was his place. It belonged to Raymond Palmer. He had spent the nights here while on a business trip to Central City, but it didn't feel very much like a home.

There was a grunt and he glanced at Mick, who was surveying the place with the eyes of a thief. He could almost feel the Sentinel stretch his senses, looking for cameras or any other kind of surveillance tech.

"Looks like a museum," Mick muttered as his eyes came to rest on some rare art. "Who leaves valuables in an empty place?"

Ray shrugged. He really didn't care about whatever this thing was worth. It looked nice and he had bought it because of the aesthetics. That it had soared in value because the artist had landed a sweet deal with a local gallery, promoting herself and raising prices exponentially due to good connections, had never been of interest.

Mick had homed in on the fridge of the open concept kitchen, opening it. It was running, but empty. He grunted.

"You really live here?"

"No," he said slowly. "I slept here. It was… nothing but that."

The Sentinel prowled around the place, inspecting it. "Just an expensive bed."

Ray chuckled softly. "Yeah."

He had changed. His view on things had changed. This place… it wasn't him. Actually, it had never been him. It had been for show, never a home.

Mick regarded him with sharp, way too perceptive eyes. It was such a one eighty turn to what he usually projected, how he intimidated people by just glowering, how he postured without even standing up. This was the Sentinel and the man behind that façade.

"Ray."

He blinked, as always a little thrilled to hear his name spoken in that deep, gravelly voice. He met the dark eyes, met the burning fire he had experienced on so many levels, and he felt the Sentinel's presence caress him. Mick was like a solid anchor, a rock in the stormy sea that was Ray Palmer's mind and soul sometimes.

"I… I think we should get those tarps off," Ray said softly, eyes tracking over the covered furniture. He walked over to the seating area. "I can get a cleaning crew. I think we can make this work. Food can be delivered. I still have all my accounts and there's money…"

"Raymond."

He stopped, finding the Sentinel right in front of him. Intense eyes bore into his. It should be intimidating, and it probably was a lot in the eyes of someone who didn't know Mick Rory, but to Ray it was something else. It was a power that was so perfectly balanced inside him, that resonated in the Guide.

"You really want this?" Mick demanded.

"Stay in Central City? Yes, of course! And I want to work with Barry's team. We can do a lot of good and so much more! The opportunity to work on some…"

Mick reached for him, broad hand cupping his face. Ray stilled, eyes wide. "Do you want to stay in this apartment?" he clarified, voice calm and even.

"Uhm."

"'Cause it feels dead."

"I… we would have somewhere to live. To sleep. I mean, I can put it on the market. It'll go in a flash, so to speak. You can choose where to go, Mick," he continued. "I mean, it doesn't have to be in any specific area, really. I can put a realtor on it. Or we just look for something. Maybe you have your own place and…"

This time Mick clamped a hand over his mouth, glaring at his Guide. "Do you ever shut up?" he sighed, though they had known each other long enough, and intimately enough, that it was a redundant question. "I don't care, Haircut. I don't fucking care. If you want to stay here, we stay here. If you want to ditch this showroom, do it."

He removed his hand and Ray caught it, his grip strong and firm. "It's a showroom," he agreed. "And nothing I get hung up on. Nothing here means anything to me."

"Then we're leaving."

He nodded. "After we pack some clothes. I mean, we'll probably have to get a hotel room."

"No."

"A suite? We could rent an apartment."

"No."

"You want to rent a house?"

Mick stared at his Guide, eyes narrowing, his exasperation showing. "I have a place," he just said.

"Oh. Alright. Uhm. Where? What place?"

"Go pack. Leave the kitchen sink."

Ray chuckled. "I hope this place of yours has one then. The kitchen here is quite exclusive and the sink costs more than some people spend on a whole unit."

"Less bragging, more packing." He gave the Guide a gentle push toward the bedroom.

Ray studied him, then smiled softly. "Don't steal anything," he teased.

"I like a challenge," Mick huffed, eyes following the tall form as Ray walked into the bedroom. "One of the reasons I put up with you."

Ray's dazzling smile had Mick roll his eyes with a fond one of his own.

He did explore the drawers, cupboards and even the sink, but found nothing of interest. Yes, quite exclusive items for sure, but none that were worth the trouble fencing them. The artwork was a little different, but he really had no interest in the hassle of getting it lugged out of here and to one of his possibly still alive and kicking contacts.

Ray came back with a surprisingly small sports bag.

"I can always come back for the rest," the younger man declared cheerfully. "Or buy new stuff."

Mick grunted.

When Ray stepped through the door of the rather unassuming house, Mick was secretly pleased to see how his Guide's jaw literally dropped open as he took in the open concept floor plan. While it didn't have any lavish furnishings and would need some cleaning, it was functional, off the radar, and one of Micks favorite safehouses.

"This is yours?" Ray blurted.

"Yep."

"You didn't appropriate it?"

"You can call it stealing, Haircut, but no, not stolen."

And it would be their space. For now or for a little longer, depending on how everything went from here on out.

Ray was already off exploring and the Sentinel followed him with a rough chuckle and an eye-roll.

The deal stood. And it held.

It was the start of a new and very weird kind of business arrangement that was way more than the two words implied. Caitlin was wary of Heatwave, but she was clearly giving it a chance, especially since Barry had sat her down, explaining what had happened, who and what Mick Rory now was, who Ray Palmer was to the Sentinel, as well as their totem powers.

It was a lot to take in.

"Well," she said after a long moment of silence, "I got accustomed to Snart."

"Ouch," was Len's dry reply. "Right into the feels."

She shot him a Look. Capital L.

Len smirked, leaning back in what was almost a casual slouch. "Mick did a lot of good. Saved lives, worlds and realities. I won't defend his actions of the past, nor will I ever defend mine. We are what we are, Dr. Snow. Criminals with questionable morals."

"And now you are Barry's partner, his not-Guide." Her brows lowered. "While Mick Rory is a three-senses Sentinel and Ray Palmer his fully bonded Guide?"

"The old-fashioned, run-of-the-mill, textbook sort," he deadpanned.

"Nothing about that pairing is textbook," Cisco muttered. "And they use magical totems."

Len smiled humorlessly. "Textbook with a twist."

Caitlin thought about it some more, then finally sighed. "It's not going to change. Like Snart was always here to stay."

He grinned at her. "Correct."

Barry shrugged. "They are back home for a very solid reason, Caitlin, and that means we're going to see a lot of Mick and Ray, whether they work with the team or not."

"Raymond's a team player. Believe me, they'll be around." Snart's expression was almost devilish.

And they were. Mostly because Ray was doing "science stuff", as Mick put it, with Cisco. The Sentinel was usually around, extremely watchful, the tension only slowly easing as time proved nothing was going to happen to either of them, and while he rivalled Barry in being able to eat wherever and whenever, and always seemed hungry, he at least didn't get close to the amount the speedster ate.

Ray's open, bright and amiable character paved the way a little. Cisco and Caitlin knew him, had helped The Atom before. The man seemed to be incapable of a bad mood, though Len knew differently. He knew a façade when he saw it and he had seen a lot aboard the Waverider.

This Ray was truly happy. Absolutely in his element, enthusiastic, engaging, without a shred of hesitation and prejudice. Give him a tech problem and he wouldn't let go until he had a solution or a theory how to work this.

This was Mick's Guide. The oh-so complete opposite in absolutely everyone's eyes but Len. Because Leonard Snart and Mick Rory went way back, had known each other since their teenage years, and Len knew what really was underneath all the rumble, growl and menacing exterior.

Still, full acceptance was slow.

Then the whole breach problem took over and The Flash was busy trying to catch whatever was coming through the Other-Earthly breaches and send it back. Some were simply confused, some where hostile, some were trying to take over Central City or more. Cisco and Harrison were busy theorizing what was causing the breaches, how those metas got here, but so far there hadn't been a good explanation.

"Maybe it's an aftereffect of the explosion," Cisco mused. "I mean, we know it's a multiverse and there are other Earths out there." He gave Harrison a raised eyebrow. "It's how we got you."

"And it's been pleasant ever since," Wells replied smoothly. "But you are right. The breach I used was similar, though very much unstable and now forever closed."

Len shot Barry a quizzical look. Barry shrugged.

"We thought it was a once in a lifetime occurrence. Looks like it wasn't," the speedster commented.

"Those breaches popping up all over the place, and only in Central City," Cisco pointed out, "are a lot stronger, stay open for a minimum amount of time, like bubbles bursting when they reach a certain size, and while we don't always get an angry meta, we get some displacement."

"Could be a problem from their side," Len drawled. "History doesn't always have to repeat itself."

Cisco frowned. "Huh."

"Something to think about?" Snart taunted as he got up and headed for the exit.

"Yea-ah," Cisco murmured thoughtfully, already typing away.

While the Breachers were familiar faces nine times out of ten, just with a meta aspect and a very different personality, sometimes there was one that was completely new. Seeing a familiar face didn't make it any easier. Some weren't even criminals on this Earth and now they were spreading havoc and endangering or attacking innocents.

This time it was an unknown Breacher that appeared one late evening, spreading chaos and destruction, leaving a trail of fire as he hunted for The Flash, screaming his name, challenging him to a fight to the end.

"Holy shit," Cisco breathed. "Who is this guy and what did you do in another life to piss him off that much?"

"Not sure," Barry answered as he rescued innocent bystanders from the fall-out of the destructive course. "But he's really asking for it."

"He is also heavily armored," Harrison put in, voice calm but serious, very much in control of the cortex right now as Cisco and Caitlin analyzed their latest visitor. "Be careful."

Barry viewed the burning buildings, collapsed bridges and a deep crater where a bus stop had been.

"Any ideas?" he asked.

"So far all I can tell is that the armor isn't part of his skin, so that's man-made, though it's a material not unlike Mr. Palmer's ATOM suit."

"On it," Cisco murmured. "Gotta crack that baby."

"See if you can reach Mr. Palmer," Harrison instructed as Barry flashed three more people out of the danger zone, finally clearing a wide area around their rampaging meta.

"I'll keep him busy," he told his team. "He wants me anyway, so I'll get him out of the city and somewhere he can't endanger any more people."

The problem wasn't getting The Terminator to follow them. Cisco had christened him with that moniker since the meta was able to shape all kinds of weapons out of his body, preferring to turn his lower arms into blasting cannons.

The problem was that lightning didn't really bother him and he was hell-bent on killing The Flash.

"What's his problem?" Cisco breathed angrily. "We never did anything to him!"

Barry was about to answer, evading another shot, when something slammed heavily into his left shoulder, followed by an equally hard hit to his thigh.

A second shooter, he realized dimly, pain spreading like wildfire from where the projectiles were stuck in his body. Not just bullets, but what seemed like long, thick bolts. He dialed back the pain, though not to the dangerous level of switching it off completely.

It had been one of the many lessons learned as Barry and Len had trained using his Sentinel abilities with his meta side. Of course he could become impervious to pain, but it would kill him in the end. Pain was a body's warning and it limited his abilities, so having this warning was vital. To be able to still run and fight despite pain was also quite an edge, so a fine balance had to be achieved.

Like right now.

Barry hadn't been aware of a second presence at all. It had come completely out of the blue, in a way he had never experienced before, and the shock was almost worse than the pain.

There were yells over the comm, but he ignored the worried questions.

Something moved to his right.

Instinct and the Speed Force reacted within the fraction of a second, and despite the new pain that maneuver gave him, he moved and he reached for the Speed Force to slow the world down, freeze everything as he sped up. Barry knew he couldn't do this for long. It was already tearing at him, his concentration not yet shot but severely compromised. He was better than mere months ago because of the anchor and the shield, but the agony of the foreign objects stuck in his body was overriding almost everything.

Because to use the Speed Force he had to be aware of it, keep his senses primed, which meant feeling the pain. If he dulled the pain, he lost the fine-tuning ability. It was a vicious circle and nothing he had found a solution to, but it was what he worked with.

There was a sharpshooter with a futuristic weapon hidden behind a crumbling building. Barry's eyes kept sliding away from the man, as if something was pushing his attention elsewhere, and he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to look. The Sentinel rose to the forefront, sight locking on to the shooter, and the strange kind of veil that was over the man was suddenly gone.

Meta. He was using meta abilities that confused normal senses, but not a Sentinel's.

The Terminator was advancing on his last position. Barry was alone and had probably one last burst of energy left to make it out alive. He had grown in his powers, had become faster, stronger, more aware of the Speed Force, and he could use it like it hadn't been possible just a mere year ago. Just like he had learned to use his Sentinel senses on top of his meta abilities. His awareness of Len had grown at the same speed. He could feel him anchored in the Speed Force, could sense his presence when he tapped into the eternal well of energy. It was amazing.

Now the Speed Force screeched around him as he let it go, as the world slowed down to the normal pace, and Barry barreled into the sharpshooter with everything he had left, his scream drowned by the explosion behind him and the surprised grunt as the other man was bowled over.

The fight was short and to the point. The unknown meta stood no chance.

Barry lay on the ground, barely aware of anything but the pulsing pain, the foreign objects inside him, and maybe there was a background yell of his team to get up, to move, to do anything. He managed to take the edge off the pain again, but he was really just fumbling now.

His fingers closed around the bolt sticking out of his thigh and he tugged; hard.

The pain was a sharp spike, barely dulled, and for a moment he almost blacked out. Then instinct caught on and he dialed it all back down, but it was a rocky approach and he almost immediately lost it again.

Blinding lights appeared in the sky.

Helicopter, he mused dimly.

There was gunfire, high-pitched whines and more explosions.

He thought he heard the word "A.R.G.U.S." in the comm, then even that went dead.

Instinct had him try to get up, but there was suddenly a heavy hand on his good shoulder, a low voice rumbling an order.

"Down, Red. Stay down!"

Mick?

Barry blinked and tried to make sense of the world. His sight sharpened and he realized that yes, it was Mick Rory. The man looked a little too intense, a little too close to the edge, and Barry realized he was looking at the Sentinel in protector mode.

"…how…?" he managed, voice lost in the commotion.

Men and women in combat gear were trying to contain the meta, who was screaming and yelling expletives as he was corralled and pushed back.

There were now two helicopters hovering above.

The sharpshooter was unconscious not far away, already contained by more armored A.R.G.U.S. personnel.

"How is he?" came a tinny question.

"What do you mean; how is he?" Mick snapped. "He's got crossbow bolts in him and he's bleeding heavily!"

Barry twitched, making another move to get up, to do whatever.

"I said sit, Red!" Mick ordered sharply.

"The meta…"

"Not your fucking problem. You just stay where you are. Not gonna explain to Lenny how you bled out!"

"You have to get him back to the lab!"

That was Caitlin's voice, he realized.

"Can it, Doc! Middle of a situation here! Less talking!"

Barry didn't understand what the answer was, but he got a glimpse of Mick's dark, dark grin.

"Knew you had fire in you," he laughed roughly. "Never lost that."

The pyrokinetic pushed down on the thigh injury and Barry cried out, though it came out as a weak groan.

"You're bleeding, Red."

"No… kidding…" he rasped.

"Thought you were fast."

"…didn't see him… meta power…"

"Well, shit for you."

Around them, all hell was still going on. Barry just tried to breathe.

"Guess speeding back to the lab is out?" the other Sentinel asked pragmatically.

"Kinda." He closed his eyes, breath hissing through his teeth. One hand clenched around his injured thigh. "Gimme some… minutes… might heal…"

He might be able to get back, if he switched off all pain signals. He would pay for it, dearly, but he would be able to run and push past the limits.

"Not happening."

"No choice," he gasped.

Mick suddenly whirled to his feet. Barry watched wide-eyed as fire formed in the Sentinel's hands, crawled up his lower arms, enveloping his whole body, and then Mick made a throwing gesture. The fire coalesced and shot toward the approaching Terminator, colliding with the armored form, and the meta was thrown back so violently, he left a deep groove in the dry, broken concrete.

And he got up again.

Barry heaved a shaky breath, struggling to sit up as Heatwave prepared for a new fireball, this one flaming a bright blue. The Flash closed his eyes, dug deep into himself, and he felt the Speed Force come to him, easy and eager in one.

Lightning coalesced around him and he drew it toward his hands, gathering it like the final bullet he would be able to shoot.

And then he did just that: shoot.

The lightning hit Terminator the second the blue flame did. The meta screeched as the powerful blow threw him down once again, this time taking two black SUVs with him. The force was so big, the cars were torn apart as Terminator crashed and created an impact site.

He didn't get back up.

A.R.G.U.S. was on the clearly slightly more dizzy meta within seconds, securing him a second time.

"Still prefer the gun," Mick grunted.

Barry fell to his knees and exhaled sharply as a jolt of pain raced through his abused thigh, then his fingers scrabbled over the blood-slick foreign object in his shoulder, trying to pull.

"What the freakin' fuck are you doing?" Mick snapped.

"Get it out!" Barry managed, voice breaking. "Can't heal. Needs… out…"

He was shaking so hard, it was almost a blur now. His fingers found no purchase, covered in too much blood.

Mick was at his side as the speedster collapsed with a soft cry.

"I'm not a doc, but I know that it's a bad idea."

Barry's eyes tried to fix on Mick's. "… healing too fast," he managed.

"Not gonna do it, Red." His weakly clawing hand was caught and Mick's other hand cupped his face. "Not happening," he repeated, voice harsh, eyes burning. "No way."

"Fast healing," Barry gasped. "I need… to get it… out… then I can… run."

Mick stared at him, those eyes boring into his soul. "You already pulled the one in your thigh," he stated as the realization came to him. "You're certifiable, Flash. If you pull the rest, you might bleed out before that super-healing takes. So: no."

Barry closed his eyes, the world around him fading fast now.

Then there was nothing anymore.