Page 40 of Evermore
Truth
River
T he lighthouse cottage felt different when they returned from the hospital, charged with tension that had nothing to do with Finn's medical condition and everything to do with the confrontation they both knew was coming.
River moved to the kitchen to make coffee, needing something normal and domestic to anchor himself while Finn settled carefully on the couch, still moving with the cautious exhaustion of someone recovering from a medical crisis.
“You're scared,” Finn observed, watching River's hands shake slightly as he measured coffee grounds.
“Terrified,” River admitted, not bothering to lie. “I'm about to face someone who thinks our love is doomed.”
Finn stood up and moved into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around River's waist from behind. The simple contact was grounding, familiar, real in ways that made the supernatural strangeness surrounding them feel manageable.
“Whatever warnings we get, whatever threats, we make our own choices,” Finn said against River's shoulder. “Nobody gets to write our story for us.”
River leaned back into Finn's embrace, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “What if they're right? What if trying to build a life together really does destroy us?”
“Then we get destroyed together,” Finn said simply. “I'd rather risk everything with you than be safe without you.”
The coffee maker gurgled to life, its familiar sound interrupted by the temperature in the cottage dropping dramatically. Their breath began to mist, and the lighthouse beam outside flickered erratically before going completely dark.
“We know you're here,” River called out, his voice carrying more strength than he felt. “We know what you've been doing. If you want to save us so badly, then talk to us directly instead of hiding.”
The lighthouse beam flickered back to life, casting strange shadows through the cottage windows. In the shifting light, a figure materialized in their living room doorway—unmistakably River, but seventeen years older and broken by accumulated grief.
River had glimpsed this impossible version of himself before, but seeing him fully was like looking into a mirror that reflected loss instead of possibility.
The man's hair was streaked with premature gray, his face lined with exhaustion that went bone-deep.
He wore clothes River recognized from his own closet, but they hung on his frame like they belonged to someone who'd forgotten how to take care of himself.
“Jesus,” River whispered, his rational mind struggling to process what he was seeing.
“You really have no fucking idea what you're doing to each other,” the older River said, his voice carrying authority earned through years of consequences. “I've been trying to save you from making the same mistakes I made.”
Finn stepped out from behind River, facing his temporal tormentor with courage that made River's chest swell with pride and terror. “You've been sabotaging us. Making my episodes worse, triggering them at the worst possible moments.”
“I've been trying to teach you both to let go before you destroy the very thing you're desperate to preserve.” The older River's eyes held pain that made River want to look away.
“Do you have any idea what it's like to spend seventeen years knowing you could have prevented your own heartbreak if you'd just been brave enough to walk away?”
“We're not walking away,” River said, his voice stronger now. “Whatever you think we should do, whatever warnings you have, we're not giving up on each other.”
The older River laughed, but it was the sound of someone who'd forgotten how joy was supposed to work. “That's exactly what I said. That love meant fighting for each other, solving problems, finding cures for what was broken.”
River felt Finn move closer to him, their hands finding each other automatically. The simple contact seemed to make the older River's form flicker, like their present connection weakened his ability to maintain his presence.
“Tell us what actually happened,” Finn said, his voice carrying quiet strength. “Not warnings, not manipulation. Tell us the truth about how your story ended.”
The older River was quiet for a moment, his expression cycling through emotions River couldn't identify. When he finally spoke, his voice carried the weight of seventeen years of accumulated grief.
“You want the truth? I became obsessed with curing Finn's TPD. Not managing it, not accepting it, but eliminating it completely.” The older River's form flickered as he continued.
“I tried everything. Experimental medications, dangerous treatments, research that consumed every moment of our lives until I forgot how to be his partner instead of his doctor.”
River felt ice in his veins because he recognized the obsession his older self was describing. The desperate need to fix, to solve, to make everything normal.
“What happened to him?” River asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
“I convinced him to undergo one final experimental treatment. A procedure that promised to anchor his consciousness to linear time permanently.” The older River's voice broke slightly. “But instead of anchoring him, it shattered every temporal barrier in his mind completely.”
“Jesus,” River whispered, understanding beginning to dawn.
“He didn't die. He didn't disappear. He jumped so far backward through his personal timeline that our first meeting was erased entirely.” The older River's form was becoming more transparent, his presence unstable as emotional energy drained from the confrontation.
“I lost him to a reality where we'd never met, where our love story had never happened.”
The cottage fell silent except for the irregular flickering of the lighthouse beam and River's heart breaking for a future that might never come to pass.
“I've spent seventeen years living in a world where the most important relationship of my life never existed,” the older River continued, his voice barely audible now.
“Where I remember every moment of our love, but he has no memory of me at all.
I've been trying to teach you to let go before you destroy the very thing you're desperate to save.”
Finn's hand tightened in River's, his presence solid and real despite everything the older River was telling them. “How are you here if that's what happened? How can you manipulate our timeline?”
“When Finn's temporal barriers were destroyed, it created... fractures. Places where different timelines bleed through.” The older River's explanation was simple, exhausted. “I learned to move through those fractures, to influence events in timelines where you still have choices to make.”
“You've been sabotaging our happiness to prevent us from reaching the point where I become you,” River said, understanding finally clicking into place.
“I've been trying to save Finn from the worst possible outcome of your love.” The older River's form was flickering more rapidly now.
“In my timeline, your obsession with curing him destroyed his mind completely. I thought if I could just convince you to accept what happened to his mother, to let him go before you started researching treatments...”
“But we're not you,” Finn said firmly. “Our choices don't have to lead to your mistakes.”
“How can you be sure? How can you risk everything on hope when I'm standing here as proof of what happens when that hope goes wrong?” The older River's voice was fading with his presence.
“I loved you just as much as he does. I was just as determined to fight for our relationship. And I destroyed him trying to save him.”
River looked at Finn, seeing determination and love and absolute trust in his brown eyes. The older River was asking them to choose fear over hope, safety over love, loneliness over the risk of loss.
“Because this is our story to write,” River said, his voice steady despite the impossible situation they were facing. “Your experience is real, your pain is real, but your timeline isn't the only possible outcome.”
The older River's form stabilized slightly, as if their defiance gave him something to focus on. “Then you choose to create me —seventeen years older and broken by loss that could have been prevented.”
“We choose to create our own future,” Finn said quietly. “Whatever that looks like.”
The older River's expression shifted through grief and frustration and something that might have been desperate hope.
“If you insist on this path, if you refuse to learn from my mistakes... then at least let me show you the truth. Let me show you exactly what your love becomes when fear drives every choice.”
River felt Finn's hand squeeze his, both of them understanding that they were about to see something that would either strengthen their resolve or break it completely.
“Show us,” River said, his voice carrying more certainty than he felt. “Show us what we're choosing to risk.”
The older River's form became more solid, as if their willingness to face the truth gave him the energy he needed to maintain his presence.
“Then prepare yourselves. What you're about to see is love turned to obsession, hope turned to desperation, and the slow destruction of everything you think you're fighting to preserve.”
River kissed Finn then, soft and desperate, a promise made before witnesses to whatever future they were about to confront. When they broke apart, they turned to face the older River together, hands clasped, ready to see the worst possible version of their love story.
“We're ready,” River said.
The older River nodded, his weathered face holding both admiration and pity for their courage. “Then let me show you how love dies when it becomes more important to cure someone than to simply be present with them.”