I am good. Had an episode earlier.
River
How was the episode? The ship captain again?
Finn
Yeah. Poor bastard thought he was going insane. Wish I could tell him he was just extraordinary.
River
You kind of are, through your work. Every family you help understand TPD is a family that won't go through what we did.
Finn's chest filled with warmth at River's words. This was what love looked like after five years of practice—not desperate fear when episodes occurred, but quiet support and genuine appreciation for the gifts they brought.
Maya arrived for their weekly lunch, no longer anxious about her brother's condition but glowing with pride in her own evolution. Her clinical psychology practice now specialized in family support for rare neurological conditions, helping other familiesnavigate the journey from fear to acceptance that she and Finn had traveled together.
“I had a new family this week,” Maya said as she unpacked sandwiches from the local deli. “Dealing with temporal displacement in their daughter. I was able to give them your research, show them that their child isn't broken.”
Finn felt a complex mix of emotions—grief for the families facing the terror he remembered so well, but hope that they wouldn't have to navigate it alone the way he had.
But he also knew the road ahead wouldn't be easy for these families. Some days were still hard for him and River. Some mornings, Finn still stared at his reflection like he was trying to convince himself he was real. Some nights, River still woke reaching for Finn's hand to make sure he was still there.
“It's not a magic fix,” Finn said carefully. “Understanding TPD helps, but families still struggle. Still have bad days. Still wonder if they're doing it right.”
Maya nodded, her expression growing more serious. “The Richardson family is going through that now. Their ten-year-old daughter has been having more frequent episodes since school started. They're scared and exhausted.”
“Are they coming to the support group?” Finn asked. He and River had started hosting monthly gatherings for TPD families, offering both practical advice and emotional support.
“Next week,” Maya confirmed. “I told them you'd share some of your coping strategies.”
Captain Torres joined them, having become a regular presence in their lives after learning to face his family's medical history with courage rather than avoidance. The grizzled sea captain looked more at peace than Finn had ever seen him, though grief still lived in the lines around his eyes.
“Your mother would be proud,” he said quietly, watching Finn work on the ship's log restoration. “She always said your mind worked differently, not wrongly.”
The words still hurt sometimes—the reminder of how much his mother would have loved to see him thriving instead of simply surviving. But the pain felt clean now, like grief that had been given space to breathe instead of festering in shame and secrecy.
That evening, River and Finn walked the beach at sunset, collecting bottles not for mysterious messages but for Finn's glass restoration hobby. The simple pleasure of searching for sea glass together had replaced the supernatural terror of those early bottles, ordinary magic substituting for the extraordinary kind that had once defined their relationship.
River stopped at the tide pool where they'd first explored together, the place where Finn had begun to understand that his condition might be a gift rather than a curse. From his pocket, River pulled out a simple ring made from sea glass that Finn had shaped during a peaceful displacement episode months earlier.
“I can't promise we'll have a normal life,” River said, his voice steady despite the emotion Finn could see in his eyes. “Hell, I can't even promise we'll have an easy life. But I can promise I'll show up for whatever kind of life we create together.”
Finn's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the ring—sea glass worn smooth by time and tide, shaped by his own hands during a moment when his consciousness had drifted peacefully through their shared history. It was perfect in its simplicity, beautiful in its acknowledgment of their journey.
“Yes,” Finn said, laughing through tears as River slipped the ring onto his finger. “Yes, of course, yes.”
They kissed as the sun painted the sky in shades of gold and rose, their lips warm and sure against each other. The kiss tasted like promises and possibility, like five years of learning to love without guarantees and whatever uncertain future stretched ahead.
As they embraced, Finn felt the familiar shift of an approaching episode. Instead of fear, he felt curiosity—what would his displaced consciousness show him at this moment of profound joy?
The episode was brief and gentle, a flash of images that made Finn smile rather than tremble: their wedding day beneath the lighthouse, quiet mornings decades in the future when their hair was silver and their hands wrinkled but still intertwined, and yes—some harder moments too. Times when his episodes would frighten them both, when River's protectiveness would clash with Finn's need for independence, when they'd have to choose each other all over again through doubt and fear.
When he returned to present awareness, River was watching him with patient love, no anxiety or fear in his expression.
“Good episode?” River asked, using the language they'd developed over years of navigating temporal displacement together.
“Complex,” Finn replied, kissing him again. “I saw our future—the beautiful parts and the difficult ones. All of it worth fighting for.”
