Their embrace carried different weight than any before. Not desperate or fearful, but peaceful in its acceptance of whatever came next. River buried his face in Finn's shoulder, breathing in books and salt air and home, finally letting himself believe this was real.
“I'm sorry,” River whispered against Finn's neck, words torn from someplace deep and raw. “Christ, I'm so sorry for trying to fix you instead of just loving you.”
Finn pulled back to meet his eyes, and River saw something that stole his breath. Not forgiveness—because there was nothing to forgive. Just love, pure and uncomplicated as morning light.
“You were trying to save me the only way you knew how,” Finn said, palm cupping River's face with infinite tenderness. “But I don't need saving, River. Never did. I just needed someone brave enough to love me exactly as I am.”
River kissed him then—slow, thorough, tasting salt and something sweeter. Hope, maybe. Or the simple relief of coming home. Finn kissed back with certainty that made River's knees forget their purpose, no hesitation or fear, just pure joy of connection.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Finn rested his forehead against River's. “We're going to be okay,” he said quietly. “We're going to be more than okay.”
For the first time in months, River believed him.
They walked back to the cottage hand in hand, morning sun warming their faces as tide pools caught fire with reflected light.River kept stealing glances at Finn, hardly daring to believe this was real, that the man beside him was truly home.
“Tell me about the temporal stream,” River said as they settled on the cottage's front porch with coffee that tasted like ordinary magic. “What was it like?”
Finn was quiet for a moment, eyes distant with memory. “Like being given hindsight while still living the story,” he said finally. “Every moment of our relationship from end to beginning, watching how love and fear got tangled together like fishing line in a storm.”
He sipped his coffee, expression thoughtful. “Experiencing it backward taught me something I never could have learned going forward. How much beauty we created even in the chaos. How much love lived underneath the medical monitoring and research papers and desperate attempts at control.”
River's chest tightened with shame, but Finn reached over and captured his hand.
“I'm not telling you this to make you feel guilty,” Finn said gently. “I'm telling you because I saw your love, River. Even when it felt like control in the moment, I could see the love underneath. That love is what brought me home.”
River had to look away, overwhelmed by the magnitude of Finn's grace. “I turned our relationship into a research project,” he said, voice rough with unshed tears. “Made you feel like a condition to manage instead of a person to love.”
“You were scared,” Finn said simply. “You'd never loved someone whose brain worked differently, and you did the best you could with the tools you had. But now we both know better.”
River shared his own journey then, the peace he'd found in letting go of the need to fix or control. “I spent so much energy trying to save you from your condition that I never considered maybe you didn't need saving. Maybe you just needed someonewho could see your TPD as part of what makes you extraordinary instead of something that made you broken.”
Finn's smile was radiant. “That's exactly what I needed to hear,” he said. “Not that you'd found a cure or treatment or way to make episodes stop, but that you could love me with my TPD, not despite it.”
They talked about Future River then, processing the manipulation and interference that had shaped so much of their relationship.
“I forgave him,” Finn said quietly. “In the temporal stream, I saw how much pain he carried, how trapped he was in his own inability to let go. He wasn't evil, River. Just lost.”
River nodded, understanding that forgiveness didn't mean condoning Future River's actions, but recognizing the suffering that drove them. “He was trying to save us from his mistakes by making us repeat them,” River said. “Ultimate irony.”
“But it taught us something important,” Finn pointed out. “We saw exactly what our relationship becomes when fear drives choices instead of love. That's not a future either of us wants.”
They both acknowledged that Finn's TPD would always be part of their relationship, requiring adaptation and understanding rather than cure. Episodes might become less frequent or intense, but they would never completely disappear. For the first time, that felt like acceptance rather than defeat.
“I don't want to change your TPD anymore,” River said, words feeling like sacred vow. “I want to learn how to love you with it, how to support you through it, how to see it as part of what makes you who you are instead of something that takes you away from me.”
Finn leaned over and kissed him softly, lips warm and sure against River's. “That's all I ever wanted,” he whispered against River's mouth. “Just to be loved as I am.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, River's hands threading through Finn's copper hair as months of fear and separation dissolved into pure connection. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Finn's eyes were bright with tears of joy.
“We're going to be okay,” Finn said again, and this time River felt the truth of it in his bones.
Maya arrived at the cottage to find them cooking breakfast together, domestic rhythm natural and unforced. She stood in the doorway watching her brother flip pancakes while River scrambled eggs, both moving around each other with easy familiarity of partners who'd learned to dance together.
“Thank God,” Maya breathed. “Finn, you asshole, you scared me to death.”
Finn grinned and pulled his sister into a fierce hug. “Sorry for the dramatic exit,” he said. “But I had some things to figure out.”
Maya pulled back to study his face, trained eye looking for signs of confusion or displacement. But Finn's gaze was clear and present, more centered than she'd seen him in months.
