“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.
Chapter 13
Breaking Points
River
River sat on his cottage floor holding Finn's limp hand, watching the most important person in his world breathe like he was barely tethered to consciousness.
Finn sat up suddenly, his eyes open but unfocused, and began organizing invisible papers with careful precision. His hands moved through empty air as if handling delicate documents, his expression concentrated and professional. He reached for things that weren't there, spoke to people who didn't exist.
“The binding needs reinforcement here,” Finn murmured, his voice carrying the confident tone he used when discussing restoration work. “Late nineteenth century, probably 1880s based on the thread composition.” His fingers traced patterns in the air, following the outline of imaginary books with expert familiarity.
River watched in fascination and growing horror as Finn conducted detailed conversations with invisible customers, demonstrated restoration techniques to empty space, movedthrough his cottage as if it were a fully functioning bookshop filled with people and projects that existed only in whatever reality his mind was accessing.
“Mrs. Pemberton, I understand your concerns about the water damage,” Finn said, his voice warm with professional compassion as he gestured toward the cottage wall as if it were lined with shelves. “But most of the text is salvageable. Your husband's journal will tell its stories again.”
The conversation continued for twenty minutes, Finn responding to questions River couldn't hear, explaining restoration processes in detail that demonstrated knowledge he'd never shared with River. He moved through the cottage like a performer in an invisible play, interacting with a world that felt completely real to him but existed nowhere River could see.
When Finn finally collapsed back onto the couch, his eyes closing as if he'd just completed an exhausting day's work, River felt something cold settle in his stomach. This wasn't just temporal displacement or memory confusion. Finn was living entire alternate realities, complete with sensory detail and emotional engagement that seemed more vivid than his actual life.
Two hours total. Two fucking hours where Finn had been gone, his body present but his mind somewhere else entirely, leaving River to stare at his face and wonder if this was what losing someone looked like—not all at once, but piece by piece, breath by breath.
“Come back,” River whispered, his voice hoarse from saying the same words over and over. “Please come back to me.”
Finn's eyelids fluttered like he was trying to surface from deep water, his fingers twitching against River's palm. When his eyes finally opened, they were cloudy with confusion, searching River's face like he was trying to place a half-remembered stranger.
“Where...” Finn's voice came out scratchy and uncertain. “I don't... where are we?”
“Home. You're at home with me.” River helped Finn sit up slowly, noting how his coordination seemed off, how he moved like someone learning to inhabit their own body. “You had an episode. A long one.”
“Episode?” Finn looked around the cottage like he'd never seen it before, his gaze settling on familiar objects with obvious bewilderment. “I don't remember... what happened?”
Finn wasn't just losing time during episodes anymore—he was losing the context around them, the framework that connected his experiences into something resembling continuity. Each episode was stealing bigger chunks of his identity, leaving him more adrift in his own life.
“We had a fight,” River said gently, though the admission tasted like failure. “About my research, about how I've been treating your condition. You got upset, and it triggered the episode.”
“We fought?” Finn's confusion was heartbreaking, genuine distress at the idea that he might have hurt River without remembering. “About what? I don't... I'm sorry, I don't remember being angry with you.”
