Page 27 of Evermore
“I'm scared,” River admitted, his scientific detachment cracking. “I'm scared that if I don't find answers, you're going to keep getting worse until I lose you completely.”
Finn turned from the window, his expression softening. “And I'm scared that you're going to lose yourself in trying to save me. That you're going to become so focused on my condition that you forget who I am when I'm not having episodes.”
They looked at each other across the cottage living room, surrounded by monitoring equipment and research materials, two people who loved each other but were struggling to find balance between medical necessity and emotional connection.
“What do you need from me?” River asked, genuine confusion evident. “How do I help you without losing myself in the process?”
“I need you to remember that I'm still me, even when my brain is acting weird.
I need conversations that aren't about symptoms. I need you to hold me when I'm scared without immediately trying to figure out what triggered the fear.” Finn moved closer, his voice gentle but firm.
“I need you to love me as I am, not as the person you think I could be if my condition was fixed.”
River felt something crack open in his chest, months of accumulated pressure releasing in a rush of emotion he'd been suppressing through systematic investigation. “I do love you as you are. But I'm terrified of losing you to something I don't understand and can't control.”
“You might lose me anyway,” Finn said quietly. “My condition might get worse despite all your research. But if you spend all your time trying to fix me, you'll miss the time we have right now.”
The truth crashed over River like a wave, forcing him to confront the possibility that his obsession with finding solutions might be preventing him from actually being present with the person he was trying to save.
The next morning brought Dr. Voss arriving early, her expression bright with excitement as she reviewed overnight data.
“The monitoring equipment captured fascinating neurological activity during Finn's episode,” she said, spreading printouts across River's kitchen table. “But more importantly, we've documented something unprecedented.”
“What kind of something?”
“Finn's brain activity showed patterns consistent with active memory formation and retrieval, but the memories he was accessing appear to be real events rather than fantasies.” Dr. Voss pointed to specific data points with obvious fascination.
“Cross-referencing with your journals and photographs, we've confirmed that several experiences Finn described during his episode actually occurred.”
River felt the world tilt sideways. “What do you mean they actually occurred?”
“I mean Finn described your private thoughts during research dives, childhood memories you've never told anyone about, internal monologues you had while working alone in your lab.” Dr. Voss's excitement was palpable, but River felt only growing horror.
“His brain is somehow accessing memories that should be impossible for him to know.”
“That's impossible.”
“It's unprecedented. But the data is conclusive.” Dr. Voss pulled out more documentation, showing correlation between Finn's episode descriptions and River's own recorded experiences.
“We need to understand how this is happening, what mechanisms allow his brain to access information it shouldn't have.”
River stared at the evidence, his scientific training warring with the impossibility of what the data suggested. Either Finn was somehow accessing River's memories, or something was happening that transcended normal understanding of neurology.
“What does this mean for treatment?” River asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
“It means we need more comprehensive monitoring, more detailed documentation of the correlation between his episodes and real events.” Dr. Voss began organizing materials with obvious excitement. “This could be the breakthrough we've been hoping for.”
“Or it could be evidence that his condition is beyond anything we can understand.”
“That's why we need more data. I'd like to propose bringing Finn to my laboratory for more comprehensive testing.”
“Absolutely not.” River's response was immediate and firm, his protective instincts overriding scientific curiosity. “He's not a lab rat.”
“This research could help him, River. It could help others with similar conditions. But we need to approach it systematically, with proper controls.”
“We need to approach it with respect for Finn's humanity. He's not a research subject, he's a person who deserves to be treated like one.”
Dr. Voss's expression shifted, revealing something that looked less like medical compassion and more like scientific frustration. “Your emotional attachment is compromising your objectivity. This condition requires systematic investigation, not sentimental protection.”
“My emotional attachment is the only thing keeping Finn's wellbeing as the priority instead of your research goals.” River stood from the table, his patience exhausted. “I think it's time for you to leave.”
After Dr. Voss left with obvious reluctance, River sat alone surrounded by monitoring equipment, wondering if his scientific approach had become part of the problem rather than the solution.
Finn found him there an hour later, sitting with his head in his hands, surrounded by evidence of his obsession with solving an unsolvable mystery.
“Bad morning?” Finn asked, settling across from River with careful attention.
“Dr. Voss had some findings about your episodes,” River said, immediately regretting mentioning it. “But I don't think her research approach is in your best interest.”
“What kind of findings?”
River hesitated, unsure how to explain that Finn's brain was apparently accessing memories that belonged to someone else. “She thinks your episodes involve real memory retrieval rather than fantasy. But she wants to treat you like a research subject instead of a person who needs support.”
Finn was quiet, processing the implications. “Real memories of what?”
“Experiences we've shared. Moments that I documented but never shared with you.” River looked up, meeting Finn's eyes with fear and confusion. “It doesn't make sense, but the data suggests you're somehow accessing information you shouldn't have.”
“That's terrifying.”
“It's impossible. But it's also what the evidence suggests.” River gestured toward the monitoring equipment surrounding them. “I've been trying to approach your condition scientifically, but maybe some things can't be understood through systematic investigation.”
“Maybe some things can't be understood at all,” Finn said gently. “Maybe the point isn't to solve my condition, but to learn how to live with it.”
River felt something inside him resist that possibility, his scientific training rebelling against accepting mystery without pursuing explanation.
But looking at Finn's face, seeing the exhaustion that months of medical investigation had created, River realized his quest for answers might be causing more harm than help.
“I've been treating you like a research problem instead of a person I love,” River admitted, the words feeling like confession. “I've been so focused on finding solutions that I've forgotten to just be present with you.”
“I know you want to help. But I need you to love me more than you need to fix me.” Finn reached across the table to take River's hand, his touch warm and grounding. “I need you to be my partner, not my doctor.”
The simple request felt revolutionary after months of approaching their relationship through the lens of medical crisis management. River squeezed Finn's hand, feeling the monitoring equipment around them like accusatory witnesses to his failure to prioritize love over problem-solving.
“What if I disconnect all this equipment?” River asked, gesturing toward the sensors. “What if we just try to be together without treating every moment like a potential data point?”
“I'd like that,” Finn said, his relief evident. “I'd like to remember what it feels like to be loved instead of studied.”
They spent the afternoon dismantling the system River had so carefully constructed, removing sensors and packing away equipment that had transformed their home into a laboratory.
With each device they disconnected, River felt something loosen in his chest, pressure he hadn't realized he was carrying.
“Better?” River asked as they surveyed the restored cottage, its comfortable domesticity no longer compromised by scientific apparatus.
“Much better,” Finn replied, settling onto the couch and pulling River down beside him. “Now come here and just hold me. No data collection, no analysis, no documentation. Just hold me.”
River wrapped his arms around Finn, breathing in the familiar scent of lemon oil and old paper, feeling the steady rhythm of Finn's heartbeat.
For the first time in weeks, he wasn't thinking about episode patterns or research strategies.
He was just present with the person he loved, offering comfort without trying to solve anything.
“I love you,” River said against Finn's hair, the words carrying weight that had nothing to do with medical conditions or research findings.
“I love you too,” Finn replied, relaxing into River's embrace with obvious relief. “Even when you're trying to turn me into a science experiment.”
“Especially when I'm trying to turn you into a science experiment,” River corrected, his voice soft with affection and regret. “Someone has to keep me grounded in reality.”
They sat together as evening approached and the lighthouse beam began its rotation, two people who'd found their way back to each other after getting lost in the maze of medical crisis and scientific investigation.
River knew Finn's condition wasn't resolved, knew that episodes would continue and answers might never come.
But for the first time in months, that felt manageable as long as they faced it together.
Even if love couldn't cure neurological conditions, it could provide the stability and comfort that made difficult circumstances bearable. And sometimes that was enough.