Jake
That's what you said last week. And the week before. I'm worried about you.
River closed the phone without responding, unable to explain that worry was a luxury he couldn't afford. Finn needed answers before the condition progressed beyond help. Everything else felt like distraction.
“River?” Finn's voice came from the bedroom doorway, soft with sleep and confusion. “What time is it?”
“Late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.” River minimized his research windows, guilt making him defensive. “Did I wake you?”
“No, just... the bed felt empty.” Finn moved into the living room, noting the scattered papers and empty mugs that suggested hours of work. “You're researching again.”
“Just trying to understand your condition better.”
Finn settled onto the couch beside River, close enough that their shoulders touched. “Any breakthroughs?”
“Nothing concrete yet. But I'm building a database of similar cases, looking for patterns that might suggest treatment approaches.” River gestured toward his laptop screen, where dozens of tabs displayed medical studies. “There's got to be something that explains what's happening to you.”
“And if there isn't?”
The question hit River like a punch to the gut. “There will be. I just have to look harder, dig deeper.”
Finn studied River's face with careful attention. “When's the last time you slept more than four hours? Or ate something that wasn't coffee and leftovers?”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not fine. You're running yourself into the ground trying to solve something that might not have a solution.” Finn's voice was gentle but firm. “I appreciate everything you're doing, but I need you to take care of yourself too.”
River wanted to argue, but Finn's concern was valid. He had been neglecting basic self-care. But stopping felt impossible when every hour of delay might mean another severe episode, another piece of Finn lost.
“I can't stop looking,” River admitted. “Not when you're getting worse and I'm the only one who believes your condition is real and treatable.”
“You're not the only one. Dr. Voss believes it too.”
“Dr. Voss believes it's worth studying. That's different from believing it's treatable.” River closed his laptop with unnecessary force. “But maybe she's right about needing more investigation.”
Dr. Voss's laboratory had expanded since River's last visit, filled with monitoring equipment that looked more sophisticated thananything he'd seen in standard medical facilities. She greeted him with obvious enthusiasm, her sharp eyes brightening when he explained his desire to collaborate.
“I've been hoping someone with your background would become involved,” Dr. Voss said, leading him through her research materials. “Finn's case presents unique challenges that require interdisciplinary expertise.”
“What kind of challenges?”
“His episodes demonstrate neurological activity that doesn't match standard patterns for memory disorders.” Dr. Voss pulled up brain scan images, pointing to highlighted areas with obvious excitement. “These readings were taken during one of his episodes. Notice the unusual activity in the temporal lobe region.”
River studied the scans with growing fascination and alarm. The patterns were unlike anything he'd seen, suggesting neurological events that went far beyond simple memory issues. “What could cause activity like this?”
“That's what we need to determine. I'd like to propose more intensive monitoring of his episodes, with equipment that can capture real-time neurological data.”
“What kind of monitoring?”
“Continuous EEG recording, environmental sensors, detailed documentation of episode progression.” Dr. Voss's enthusiasm was infectious, but something about her intensity made River uncomfortable. “With proper data collection, we might identify patterns that lead to breakthrough understanding.”
River's scientific training responded to the systematic approach, but his protective instincts worried about treating Finn like a research subject. “Would this be invasive?”
“Minimally. Most equipment would be unobtrusive, designed to capture data without interfering with normalactivities.” Dr. Voss began pulling out devices that looked like they belonged in a NASA laboratory. “The goal is comprehensive documentation that might reveal insights previous studies have missed.”
“And you think this could lead to treatment options?”
“I think this could lead to understanding. And understanding is the first step toward any meaningful intervention.” Dr. Voss's expression was professionally encouraging, but River caught glimpses of something that looked less like medical compassion and more like scientific hunger. “Are you willing to help with setup and data collection?”
