“Or they'll become marine biologists specifically to study alien sea anemones. I prefer to think of it as inspiration.”
The laughter felt good, natural in a way that made Finn realize how little he'd been laughing lately. River had this ability to find humor in ordinary situations, to see the absurd side of life without being cruel or dismissive. It was exactly the kind of perspective Finn needed without knowing he'd been missing it.
As the evening progressed and wine made both of them more relaxed, their conversation turned more personal. River shared stories about growing up in a Coast Guard family, about learning to navigate both literal and metaphorical storms. Finn found himself talking about his restoration work with passion he usually kept carefully contained, describing the satisfaction of bringing damaged books back to life.
“It's like being a time traveler,” Finn said, surprising himself with the poetry of the comparison. “Every book contains the thoughts and experiences of people who lived in completely different worlds. When I restore something, I'm not just fixing physical damage—I'm preserving connections across centuries.”
River leaned forward with obvious interest. “That's beautiful. I never thought about conservation work that way, but you're right. We're both in the business of maintaining connections—you across time, me across species.”
The parallel felt significant in ways Finn couldn't articulate, but as he reached for his wine glass, another one of those strange disconnections hit him. For just a moment, he saw the scene differently—River across from him at a different table, in different clothes, the conversation familiar like they'd had it before.
The feeling passed quickly, but it left him slightly disoriented.
“Can I ask you something personal?” River said, his voice gentle but curious. “You mentioned your mother died a couple years ago, but you never said how. And some of the things you've told me about your memory issues... I'm wondering if there's a connection.”
Finn felt his chest tighten with familiar grief and the terror of finally saying the words out loud to someone who mattered. “She had early-onset dementia. Started showing symptoms when I was seventeen, but it took two years to get a proper diagnosisbecause she was so young. Everyone kept saying it was stress or depression.”
River's face went very still, like he was processing something significant. “Dementia. At that age. Jesus, Finn.”
“It was like watching someone disappear gradually,” Finn continued, the words spilling out now that he'd started. He'd never told anyone the full story, had never trusted someone enough to share the details that still haunted his dreams. “First she'd forget recent conversations, then faces of people she'd known for years. She'd stand in our kitchen looking completely lost, like she'd never seen it before.”
“That must have been terrifying for both of you.”
“The worst part was that she'd have these moments of clarity where she'd realize what was happening. She'd look at me with complete awareness and apologize for forgetting who I was, like it was her fault instead of her brain betraying her.” Finn's voice cracked slightly. “She died two years ago. Complications from pneumonia, but really she'd been gone long before that.”
River reached across the table and took Finn's hand, his grip warm and steady. “I'm so fucking sorry. That's not fair at any age, but to watch that happen to your mother when you were still a teenager...”
“The thing is,” Finn said, finally voicing the fear that had been eating at him for months, “I think I might be developing the same condition. The memory gaps, the lost time, finding evidence of things I don't remember doing. What if it's genetic? What if I'm going to end up like her?”
As he spoke, Finn felt that disconnected sensation growing stronger. The edges of his vision seemed to blur slightly, and River's voice sounded like it was coming from farther away than it should.
“Memory issues can have lots of causes,” River was saying, his voice concerned but distant. “Stress, grief, sleep deprivation—none of which necessarily point to genetic disease.”
“But what if they do?” Finn asked, and his own voice sounded strange to him, like he was hearing it through water.
“Then we'll figure it out together,” River said, his voice firm with conviction that took Finn's breath away. “Whatever's happening, you don't have to face it alone.”
The simple offer of support broke something loose in Finn's chest, some knot of fear and isolation he'd been carrying since his mother's diagnosis. But along with the emotional relief came a growing physical disorientation. The room seemed to be shifting around him, like he was on a boat in rough seas.
“Why?” he asked, the word coming out raw with emotion he couldn't contain. “Why would you want to get involved in this mess? You barely know me.”
“Because the person I barely know is incredible,” River said simply. “Because you make me laugh and think and feel things I thought I'd forgotten how to feel. Because when I'm with you, everything makes sense in ways it hasn't for years.”
Finn felt tears burning behind his eyes, overwhelmed by the kindness and certainty in River's voice. But he also felt something else—a pulling sensation, like he was being drawn away from the present moment by forces he couldn't understand or control.
“I'm scared,” he admitted, his voice starting to sound distant even to himself. “About my brain, about losing myself the way she did, about dragging someone else into something that might get really ugly.”
“I'm scared too,” River said, and his face was starting to look blurry around the edges. “About caring this much about someone I just met, about the weird stuff that keeps happeningaround us, about the possibility that this could all disappear as suddenly as it appeared.”
River was standing now, moving around the table toward him, but Finn felt like he was watching through thick glass. “But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you,” River continued, his voice growing more distant. “If that makes any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Finn whispered, then found himself moving around the table toward River before conscious thought could interfere, though his movements felt clumsy and disconnected.
River's arms were around him, solid and warm, but Finn could feel himself slipping away from the moment despite the anchor of physical contact. River's hands smoothed down his back with careful tenderness, and Finn tried to focus on that sensation, to use it to stay present.
“Thank you,” Finn said against River's shoulder, breathing in salt water and something that was purely River. “For not thinking I'm crazy. For not running away. For making me feel like I'm worth taking care of.”
River pulled back just enough to look at Finn's face, his green eyes intense with emotion that made Finn's heart race. “You are worth taking care of. You're worth everything.”
