Page 44 of Evermore

“You weren't angry. You were hurt. Because I've been treating you like a problem to solve instead of a person to love.” River's throat tightened with guilt and grief. “And you were right.”

Dr. Voss arrived twenty minutes later, moving with barely contained excitement as she pulled out a notepad. “I know you don't want monitoring equipment,” she said quickly, “but I need to document this episode. The duration you described is unprecedented.”

She moved closer to Finn, who was still sitting dazedly on the couch, and began her examination with clinical efficiency.

“Two hours of active engagement,” she continued, her eyes bright with scientific hunger as she checked Finn's pupils. “Tell me everything he did, every word he spoke.”

“Why?” River asked, something in her tone making his protective instincts flare. “What aren't you telling us about his condition?”

Dr. Voss paused in her equipment setup, her professional mask slipping slightly. “My daughter had similar episodes before she died. Same pattern of temporal displacement, same access to impossible knowledge. I've been researching this condition for eight years, trying to understand what happened to her.”

The admission hit River like cold water. “Your daughter?”

“Elena. She was twenty-seven when the episodes started. By the end, she was accessing entire alternate realities, living complete lives in her mind while her body deteriorated.” Dr. Voss's voice cracked slightly, revealing grief she'd kept hidden behind scientific objectivity. “I couldn't save her because I didn't understand the condition well enough. But Finn's case shows patterns Elena never developed. There might be hope for intervention.”

River felt his world shift as Dr. Voss's motivations became clear. She wasn't just studying Finn—she was trying to solve the mystery that had killed her child, using his condition to unlock secrets that might prevent other families from experiencing her loss.

“What kind of intervention?” River asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Controlled environment monitoring. Medical supervision during episodes. The research potential is enormous, but we need proper facilities.” Dr. Voss's scientific enthusiasm warred with maternal grief in her expression. “I have colleagues who would be very interested in Finn's case.”

“He's not a case,” River said, his protective instincts flaring. “He's a person who deserves dignity and privacy, not medical exhibition.”

“He's a person with a condition that could help us understand what happened to my daughter and prevent it from happening to others.” Dr. Voss's mask slipped further, revealing desperation beneath her professional demeanor. “But we need more controlled conditions to maximize our understanding.”

“Get out.” River's voice was quiet but absolute. “Take your equipment and your grief-driven research and get the fuck out of my house.”

Dr. Voss looked genuinely shocked by his response. “River, you don't understand what's at stake here. If we can document Finn's condition properly, we might be able to prevent?—”

“We might be able to prevent you from using someone else's medical crisis to work through your unresolved trauma about your daughter's death.” River stood up, positioning himself between Dr. Voss and Finn. “Leave. Now.”

After she left with obvious reluctance and thinly veiled frustration, River sat back down beside Finn, who was watching the interaction with growing clarity and concern.

“Was she trying to help me or replace her daughter?” Finn asked, his voice small and uncertain.

“I'm not sure there's a difference to her,” River admitted. “But there sure as hell is to me.”

River's professional life crumbled more gradually than he'd expected, like a sandcastle slowly claimed by rising tide rather than destroyed by a single wave. Dr. Reeves found him passed out at his lab workstation three days later, surrounded by emptycoffee cups and research printouts about neurological disorders that had nothing to do with marine biology.

“This ends today,” Dr. Reeves said, her voice carrying the authority of someone who'd made an administrative decision. “You're taking medical leave, effective immediately.”

“I can't take leave. I need?—”

“You need to remember that you're human before you can help anyone else.” Dr. Reeves began packing away his research materials with efficient compassion. “This isn't punishment, River. It's intervention before you completely burn out.”

River wanted to argue, but looking around his lab—at the scattered papers and empty food containers and evidence of his deteriorating ability to maintain basic professional standards—he realized she was right. He'd become so consumed with solving Finn's condition that he'd stopped functioning as a competent adult.

Jake showed up at the cottage that evening with takeout food and the determined expression of someone prepared for a difficult conversation. He took one look at River's appearance—unshaven, wearing the same clothes for three days, surrounded by research materials—and set the food down with obvious concern.

“We need to talk,” Jake said, settling onto River's couch without waiting for invitation. “When's the last time you showered? Or ate something that wasn't powered by caffeine? Or had a conversation that wasn't about Finn's medical condition?”

River wanted to defend his behavior, but Jake's observations were uncomfortably accurate. “I'm trying to help him.”

“You're trying to save him. But you can't save someone from a neurological condition through pure force of will.” Jake's voice was gentle but implacable. “When's the last time you andFinn had fun together? When's the last time you laughed about something that wasn't related to his episodes?”

Every interaction with Finn had become filtered through the lens of his medical condition, every conversation directed toward understanding or managing symptoms. They'd stopped being lovers and become patient and caregiver.

“I don't know how to just ignore what's happening to him.”

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