River agreed before fully considering the implications, his desperation for answers overriding concerns about experimental procedures. If Dr. Voss's approach could provide insights that conventional medicine had missed, then the inconvenience and potential risks were acceptable costs.
“Excellent. We'll start with basic monitoring and gradually increase scope based on what we discover.” Dr. Voss began organizing devices with obvious satisfaction. “I think you'll find that systematic investigation yields much more useful results than emotional support alone.”
The lighthouse cottage transformed into something resembling a research facility over the next few days, with sensors positioned throughout and monitoring equipment humming constantly. River threw himself into the setup with obsessive energy, determined to create the most comprehensive data collection system possible.
“This is getting intense,” Finn observed, watching River calibrate another sensor. “I feel like I'm living in a science experiment.”
“You are living in a science experiment,” River replied, not realizing how that sounded until Finn's expression shifted. “I mean, we're applying scientific methodology to understand your condition.”
“Is that different from treating me like a test subject?”
River paused in his equipment adjustments, noting the hurt in Finn's voice. “Of course it is. Everything we're doing is designed to help you.”
“Everything you're doing is designed to gather data about me. There's a difference.” Finn settled into his reading chair, the one spot in the cottage that hadn't been equipped with monitors. “When's the last time we had a conversation that wasn't about my symptoms?”
The question caught River off guard, forcing him to realize that their relationship had become entirely focused on Finn's medical condition. Every interaction was filtered through the lens of data collection.
“The monitoring is temporary,” River said, though he couldn't specify how long it would continue. “Once we understand what's happening, we can go back to normal.”
“What if there is no normal? What if this is just who I am now, and you're going to spend the rest of our relationship trying to fix me instead of just being with me?”
“I'm trying to help you,” River said, more defensive than intended.
“You're trying to solve me. Like I'm a research problem instead of a person you care about.” Finn's voice was quiet but steady. “I miss the version of you who used to just hold me when I was scared, instead of immediately analyzing what might have triggered my fear.”
River wanted to argue that systematic investigation was more helpful than emotional support, but looking at Finn's face, he realized that wasn't necessarily true. The monitoring equipment could capture data, but it couldn't provide the comfort and stability that Finn needed.
“The data collection is showing interesting patterns,” River said, trying to redirect toward concrete results. “We're identifying environmental and emotional triggers that seem to influence episode severity.”
“Great. So now you know that I have episodes when I'm stressed. That's definitely breakthrough information.” Finn's sarcasm was gentle but pointed. “What are you going to do with that knowledge? Try to eliminate all stress from my life?”
“I'm going to use it to develop management strategies.”
“By controlling my environment and monitoring my emotional state?” Finn stood, moving toward the window where the lighthouse beam was beginning its evening rotation. “That's not management, River. That's imprisonment.”
The accusation stung because River could see how his systematic approach might feel constraining rather than helpful. But the alternative—watching Finn continue to deteriorate without understanding why—seemed like abandoning him.
“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, spreadingprintouts across River's kitchen table. “But more importantly, we've documented something unprecedented.”
“What kind of something?”
