The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 29: The Sister at the Door
The countdown had changed the farmhouse without moving anything.
It lived in the packed tool case beside the dresser.
In the lists on the kitchen table.
In the sections of Takuhai’s damaged fabrication assembly that Neris had marked for removal.
In the way Daniel noticed every ordinary morning as though it had become numbered.
Eight days.
Eighteen hours.
The figure glowed on the bedside tablet while Neris slept with her back against his chest.
Daniel lay awake behind her.
His arm rested around her waist. One of her paws covered his hand, and her tail lay across both their legs in a heavy sweep of warmth.
Outside, wind moved snow against the bedroom window.
Inside, the portable medical relay blinked green beneath Daniel’s sleep shirt.
His body was healing.
ER said so regularly enough that the phrase had begun to sound like an accusation.
Daniel could now cross the bedroom using the support frame. He could manage the stairs once a day if Neris stood behind him, one arm around his waist and her tail braced beneath his hips.
He could stand long enough to make coffee, provided someone else carried the cup.
He could not feed cattle.
He could not lift hay.
He could not repair the ship.
He could not follow Neris through the corridor.
The countdown continued whether he watched it or not.
Neris shifted in his arms.
Her ears moved first.
Then her paw tightened over his hand.
“You are awake,” she said.
“So are you.”
“I am now.”
Daniel pressed his face lightly into the fur at the back of her head.
“You were monitoring my breathing.”
“I was asleep.”
“You changed position when it changed.”
“That can occur during sleep.”
“ER?”
The bedside speaker remained silent.
Daniel waited.
“ER.”
“I decline to participate.”
Neris’s tail tightened around Daniel’s ankles.
“Wise,” she said.
Daniel looked at the countdown.
“Eight days.”
Neris did not turn toward it.
“Yes.”
“Still pending far-side stabilization.”
“Yes.”
“Entry confidence?”
“Seventy-one percent.”
“That went up.”
“Three percent.”
“Still up.”
Neris’s paw moved slowly across the back of his hand.
“Daniel.”
He knew the warning in her voice.
Not to build hope from a number.
Not to mistake feasibility for safety.
Not to turn a corridor into a promise.
“I know,” he said.
She relaxed slightly.
The phone on the bedside table rang.
Claire.
Daniel stared at the name.
“It’s six thirty,” he said.
Neris looked at the window.
“It is later in Toronto.”
“Not enough later.”
The phone rang again.
Daniel answered.
Claire appeared already dressed for work, though she was not in her office. A travel bag stood behind her near the door.
Daniel looked at it.
“No.”
“Good morning to you too.”
“You’re not leaving today.”
“I am.”
“You said tomorrow.”
“The weather forecast changed.”
Daniel glanced toward the window.
Snow continued brushing the glass in thin dry lines.
“What weather?”
“The system coming down from James Bay. The road conditions are expected to deteriorate tonight.”
ER said through the bedside speaker, “The forecast supports Claire’s assessment.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed.
“Is that ER?”
“Yes.”
“Good. At least someone in that house respects evidence.”
Daniel shifted against the pillows.
“What time are you arriving?”
“Between three and four.”
“That’s not enough notice.”
“For what?”
Daniel looked around the bedroom.
“For preparation.”
“You hid a near-fatal accident and an extraterrestrial from me. You have exhausted your authority over scheduling.”
Neris’s muzzle shifted.
Daniel saw it in profile.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No,” she said.
Claire leaned closer to the camera.
“Is Neris there?”
“Yes.”
“Tell her I’ll be careful on the lane.”
Neris answered directly.
“The southern curve is narrow after the second stand of spruce. Do not follow the plough bank too closely.”
Claire blinked.
“Right.”
“And call when you reach the county road. Cellular coverage becomes unreliable afterward.”
“All right.”
“Do you have winter emergency supplies?”
“Yes.”
“A shovel?”
“Yes.”
“Tow strap?”
“Yes.”
“Blankets?”
“Yes.”
“Water?”
Claire paused.
“I have coffee.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
“That is not water.”
“I’ll buy water.”
“Good.”
Daniel watched the exchange.
Claire looked back at him.
“I’ll see you this afternoon.”
“Drive carefully.”
“I intend to.”
The call ended.
Daniel stared at the dark phone screen.
Neris turned in his arms.
“Your heart rate has increased.”
“My sister’s coming.”
“This was already planned.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Twenty-four hours does not fundamentally alter the event.”
“It alters today.”
ER said, “The distinction is accurate.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on the side of temporal precision.”
Neris sat up.
The blanket slid from her shoulders.
Her fur had flattened along one side during sleep. The white marking across her shoulder looked uneven where the winter coat had begun to dry and separate.
Daniel noticed a small tangle near the base of her neck.
Neris noticed him noticing.
“What?”
“You need brushing.”
Her ears tilted back.
“You need a haircut.”
Daniel touched the side of his head.
His hair had grown past the point he usually tolerated. It curled unevenly around his ears and at the back of his neck. His beard had become rough along the edges during the days aboard Takuhai.
“Claire’s seen me worse.”
“So has Marcel.”
“That’s not an argument.”
“You are concerned about appearing presentable.”
“I’m concerned about appearing alive.”
“You currently appear alive.”
“Barely.”
Neris studied him.
“Then we will improve the appearance.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“You’ve cut human hair before?”
“No.”
“That feels relevant.”
“I have reviewed instructional material.”
“How much?”
“Six recordings.”
ER added, “Two were judged unreliable.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“Which two?”
“The ones you would have preferred.”
Neris climbed out of bed.
Her tail dragged warmly across Daniel’s legs before leaving them exposed to the cooler room.
She reached for her grooming case.
Daniel looked at the flattened fur along her back.
“Mutual.”
She paused.
“What?”
“You fix mine, I fix yours.”
Neris looked over her shoulder.
Daniel pointed toward the tangle at her neck.
“You’ve been sleeping in medical bays, tractors and chairs for a week.”
“So have you.”
“I don’t have a tail collecting half the farm.”
Her tail lifted from the floor.
“It does not collect half the farm.”
“There was straw in it yesterday.”
“One piece.”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“ER?”
“I did not inventory the straw.”
Daniel smiled.
Neris narrowed her eyes.
“Breakfast first.”
“Haircut first.”
“You require food before remaining upright for an extended period.”
“Then bring toast.”
“You cannot eat while I cut your hair.”
“Why not?”
“Because you move when chewing.”
“That sounds invented.”
“It is observable.”
ER said, “Neris is correct.”
Daniel sighed.
“Breakfast.”
The farmhouse became increasingly unreasonable as the morning progressed.
Daniel wanted Claire’s room checked.
Neris had already changed the sheets.
He wanted the porch swept.
Neris had cleared it before dawn.
He wanted the kitchen table moved slightly farther from the wall so Claire’s chair would not catch the edge of the rug.
Neris asked why Claire could not move the chair herself.
Daniel said that was not the point.
Neris asked what the point was.
Daniel could not answer without admitting that the position of a chair felt like one of the few things left under his control.
Instead, he attempted to carry a stack of clean towels upstairs.
Neris intercepted him in the hallway.
She looked at the towels.
Then at the support frame.
Then at him.
“They weigh less than the medical frame,” Daniel said.
“That does not make them medically advisable.”
“They’re towels.”
“You nearly died because you believed familiarity made machinery harmless. I will not lose you to laundry.”
Daniel stared at her.
“That’s dramatic.”
“You are standing unsupported while carrying objects.”
“I’m leaning on the wall.”
“The wall is not a medical device.”
“It’s load-bearing.”
Neris took the towels.
Daniel held on.
She looked down at his hand.
He released them.
“This is humiliating.”
“This is fabric.”
“The situation.”
Neris placed the towels on the stair rail.
Then she put one paw against Daniel’s chest, directly over the medical relay.
“You are preparing for Claire by attempting to appear less injured than you are.”
“I’m preparing the house.”
“You are doing both.”
Daniel looked away.
Neris’s voice softened.
“She is coming because she already knows you were injured.”
“She doesn’t know what it looks like.”
“No.”
“She’ll worry.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want her to.”
Neris’s ears lowered.
“That is not available to you.”
Daniel met her eyes.
“She loves you,” Neris said. “She will worry.”
He let out a slow breath.
Neris picked up the towels again.
“You may supervise their placement.”
“That sounds like pity.”
“It is delegation.”
“ER?”
“Delegation is an established management practice.”
Daniel pointed toward the ceiling.
“You are both enjoying this.”
Neither answered.
The grooming began in the upstairs bedroom after breakfast.
Neris closed the door against the colder hall and increased the heat slightly. She laid her grooming case on the dresser, then removed several small bottles, two brushes and a wide-toothed comb.
Daniel sat in the supportive chair near the bed.
The medical frame stood beside him.
A towel covered his lap.
Neris held up a dark bottle.
The label meant nothing to Daniel.
The scent did.
Citrus first.
Then the softer dark-chocolate note beneath it.
Saleth.
The smell had once belonged to Takuhai.
Then to Neris’s fur after long repair days.
Then to the farmhouse bathroom and the pillow beside Daniel’s.
Now it belonged nowhere separately.
It meant her.
It meant home before he decided which home.
“Your coat is dry,” Daniel said.
“The medical-bay atmosphere has lower humidity than the farmhouse.”
“And you haven’t had time.”
Neris looked at the brushes.
“No.”
Daniel knew why.
For days, every hour had been divided between his care, the cattle, corridor preparation and ER’s reduced systems.
Neris had maintained what was necessary.
Her own comfort had not qualified.
She unfolded a simple grooming wrap from the case.
The dark fabric covered her chest and hips while leaving the fur along her shoulders, back and sides accessible. She changed in the bathroom, then returned and sat on the edge of the bed with her back to Daniel.
Her tail curved along the floor.
Daniel looked at the bottle in his hand.
“How much?”
“A small amount.”
“That isn’t a measurement.”
“You object to measurements.”
“I object when ER uses them against me.”
“Three drops for each shoulder section.”
Daniel removed the stopper.
The bottle released a stronger wave of saleth.
He tipped it carefully.
Five drops landed in his palm.
Neris looked over her shoulder.
“That was not three.”
“They came quickly.”
“Oil obeys gravity.”
“Farm measurement.”
“You cannot estimate fur oil by handful.”
“It’s not a handful.”
“It is already excessive.”
Daniel rubbed his palms together.
“We’ll distribute it.”
Neris’s ears tilted back.
“Across which animal?”
Daniel laughed.
Pain tugged at his ribs.
Neris turned halfway.
“Stop.”
“I’m fine.”
“That statement remains unreliable.”
She settled again.
Daniel placed both hands on her shoulders.
The fur was dense beneath his palms.
Dry at the outer layer, warmer and softer underneath.
He worked the oil through slowly, following the direction of the coat. The white fur across her shoulders absorbed it differently from the black, taking on a subtle sheen beneath the morning light.
Neris showed him how to separate the longer guard hairs without pulling the undercoat.
Daniel learned the pressure.
Too light and the brush skimmed without reaching the dry fur beneath.
Too hard and Neris’s shoulders tightened.
He adjusted until she relaxed.
The brush moved from the base of her neck across one shoulder.
Then the other.
Down the centre of her back.
Neris’s posture gradually changed.
Her ears loosened.
Her breathing deepened.
The tail resting along the floor shifted closer to Daniel’s chair.
“You can tell me if I’m pulling.”
“I will.”
“You haven’t.”
“You are not pulling.”
Daniel worked through a small knot near her shoulder blade.
Neris’s head lowered slightly.
“Sensitive?”
“No.”
“Liar.”
“It is not painful.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Her ears turned toward him.
Daniel used his fingers to loosen the tangle before drawing the wide comb through it.
Neris exhaled.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
He continued along her sides.
The grooming wrap kept the scene practical, but the intimacy had little to do with what was covered.
Daniel knew the shape beneath his hands now.
The narrow line of her waist.
The subtle curve where her back met her hips.
The way she held tension on the right side when she had overused the old shoulder injury.
He paused there.
“This still hurts.”
“Not significantly.”
“You’re compensating.”
“I am functional.”
“That’s not the same as fine.”
Neris turned her head enough to look at him.
“You use that phrase frequently.”
“Because you do.”
Daniel worked more gently over the area.
The saleth scent filled the bedroom.
For a while, they said nothing.
ER did not interrupt.
Snowlight moved across the floor.
The countdown continued unseen on the bedside tablet.
Neris’s tail touched Daniel’s boot.
Then curled around one leg of the chair.
He looked down.
“You know this thing makes its own decisions.”
“It receives insufficient supervision.”
“From you?”
“From everyone.”
The tail tightened.
Daniel smiled.
When the fur along Neris’s back lay smooth and dark beneath the light, he turned his attention to the tail.
It took both hands to lift it comfortably across his lap.
The weight settled over his thighs.
Neris shifted sideways on the bed so she could watch him.
The trust of it no longer required explanation.
Months ago—weeks, Daniel corrected himself—it would have been a formal permission.
Now Neris simply arranged the tail where he could reach it and passed him the correct brush.
Daniel divided the fur into sections.
The outer coat held traces of winter.
Fine dust.
One fragment of hay.
A burr small enough to hide near the underside.
Daniel held it up.
“One piece of straw?”
“That is not straw.”
“It came from the farm.”
“That was not the argument.”
“Three pieces yesterday.”
“Unverified.”
He returned to the brush.
The dense tail fur responded to the oil quickly, lifting and separating until the white markings became cleaner and the black took on a soft sheen.
Neris watched his hands.
Her eyes had grown heavy.
At one difficult tangle near the lower third, Daniel paused.
“Continue,” she said.
He looked at her.
“You didn’t see my face.”
“I felt you stop.”
“That doesn’t answer whether it hurts.”
“It does not.”
Daniel loosened the knot with his fingers.
Neris’s tail curled around his wrist.
He waited.
The grip relaxed.
He drew the brush through.
Neris’s ears lowered in relief.
By the time he finished, the tail filled most of his lap and part of the chair beside him.
Daniel ran one hand lightly over the fur to check the distribution.
Soft.
Warm.
Familiar.
Neris looked at him.
“Better?”
Daniel’s hand rested on her shoulder.
“You smell like home.”
The words left before he measured them.
Neris became very still.
Daniel felt the shift beneath his palm.
He could have corrected himself.
Which home.
A home.
The farmhouse.
Xianglume.
Her.
None of the corrections would have made the truth smaller.
Neris leaned backward.
Daniel opened his arm.
She settled carefully against his chest, avoiding the relay and healing ribs. Her tail remained across his lap, curling around both of them.
She did not ask which home he meant.
Daniel rested his cheek against the top of her head.
They stayed that way until the oil cooled against his hands.
Then Neris stood.
“Your turn.”
Daniel looked at the small scissors on the dresser.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“No.”
“Mutual grooming was a suggestion.”
“It was an agreement.”
“I don’t remember signing anything.”
“ER recorded verbal consent.”
ER’s voice came from the bedside speaker.
“I did not record the exchange.”
Daniel looked toward it.
“Thank you.”
“I remember it.”
“That’s worse.”
Neris placed the kitchen chair near the window where the light was strongest.
Daniel sat with a towel around his shoulders.
The support frame remained within reach.
Neris stood behind him holding ordinary scissors in one paw and a compact grooming device from Takuhai in the other.
Daniel watched her reflection in the dresser mirror.
“What does that do?”
“Trims.”
“Hair?”
“Material.”
“That’s broad.”
“It has adjustable depth control.”
“Human setting?”
“I calibrated it.”
“On what?”
Neris picked up a lock of hair from the back of his head.
“Observation.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“ER.”
“The device will not contact skin at the selected depth.”
“That isn’t the same as a good haircut.”
“Cosmetic outcome remains subjective.”
Daniel tried to turn.
Neris placed one paw against his jaw and returned his face to the mirror.
“Hold still.”
“You’ve never cut human hair.”
“I have reviewed six recordings.”
“Two unreliable.”
“They were entertaining.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Neris began at the back of his neck.
The grooming device hummed softly.
Daniel felt it pass through the longest uneven sections.
Nothing fell for the first few seconds.
Then a dark curl landed on the towel.
He watched Neris’s expression instead of the blade.
She concentrated with the same intensity she used when aligning the resonator.
Her ears angled toward the sound.
Her eyes followed each line.
She stepped back frequently.
Too frequently.
“What?”
“Symmetry.”
“Do I have it?”
“Less than expected.”
Daniel looked at the mirror.
“I’m sitting crooked.”
“I accounted for posture.”
“Maybe don’t.”
Neris rested her paw on the top of his head and tilted it slightly.
Daniel obeyed.
The scissors moved near his right ear.
He remained still.
Neris leaned closer.
The soft front of her grooming wrap brushed his shoulder through his shirt. The contact was incidental and familiar enough that neither turned it into anything else.
Her breath touched his temple.
Daniel watched her eyes in the mirror.
“You’re very serious.”
“Sharp tools near your head require attention.”
“You say that as though this was my idea.”
“It was.”
The scissors clicked.
A lock fell.
Neris moved to the other side.
Daniel tried to inspect the first ear.
Her paw returned to his jaw.
“Do not move.”
“I’m checking.”
“You are interfering.”
“I have a professional interest.”
“You are the material.”
“That doesn’t reduce my interest.”
ER said, “Movement has increased the asymmetry by approximately three millimetres.”
Daniel froze.
Neris’s muzzle shifted.
“You planned that.”
“I did not.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“Traitor.”
“I provided measurement.”
Neris trimmed the hair around his ears, then softened the line at the back of his neck.
She changed tools for the longer section on top, using her fingers to judge length.
Daniel watched the dark strands fall onto the towel.
Some were grey.
More than he remembered.
Neris noticed him looking.
“You dislike the colour?”
“No.”
“You looked concerned.”
“I’m forty-two.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all.”
Neris examined the hair between her fingers.
“The lighter strands are distinct.”
“Polite.”
“They are attractive.”
Daniel looked up at her reflection.
Neris continued cutting as though she had made an engineering observation.
His face warmed.
ER said nothing.
Wise machine.
When the hair was finished, Neris moved to the beard.
Daniel raised one hand.
“Shape stays.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t make it too neat.”
“Why?”
“I’ll look like Claire.”
Neris tilted her head.
“Claire has a beard?”
“No.”
“Then the risk appears low.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Just clean the edges.”
Neris used the small scissors along his jaw.
Her paw held his chin.
Daniel opened his eyes again.
The mirror showed them together.
Neris standing close behind him, recently groomed fur catching the light.
Daniel beneath her hands, unable to stand for long but trusting her with a blade at his throat.
The image had no place in the life he understood before she arrived.
Now it looked ordinary.
Neris brushed loose hair from the back of his neck with her fingers.
The touch lingered.
Daniel looked at himself.
The haircut was not professional.
One side might have been slightly shorter.
The beard remained his.
He looked less like a man who had spent a week being repaired by alien machines.
More like himself.
“I look less like I’ve been living alone in the woods.”
“You have been living with me in the woods.”
“That apparently improves the haircut.”
Neris removed the towel.
Loose hair scattered across the floor.
Daniel touched the back of his neck.
“Not bad.”
“That is insufficient praise.”
“Very not bad.”
Her ears angled outward.
Daniel reached for her wrist.
The freshly brushed fur felt smoother beneath his fingers.
The same saleth scent clung faintly to his hair and shirt.
He looked up at her.
“Ready for Claire?”
“No.”
“Good. Me neither.”
Neris leaned down.
Their foreheads touched.
The moment remained quiet.
Not a near kiss.
Not a postponement.
A pause in which both of them looked more prepared than they felt.
By noon, the house was clean enough that Daniel began inventing problems.
The chairs were wrong.
The guest-room lamp was too dim.
Claire might need another blanket.
The downstairs bathroom contained a ship-manufactured support rail that looked suspiciously unfamiliar.
Neris pointed out that Claire already knew aliens existed.
Daniel said knowing aliens existed was different from using their bathroom hardware.
ER announced that the relay signal in the guest room was adequate.
Daniel asked why ER required a signal in Claire’s room.
ER said he did not.
Daniel told him not to test it again.
At one thirty, Claire called from the county road.
The weather had begun to worsen.
Low clouds pressed over the trees.
Fine snow moved sideways across the lane.
Neris put on Daniel’s modified winter coat and stepped into her farm boots.
Daniel reached for his own coat.
“No,” she said.
“I’m meeting her outside.”
“No.”
“It’s my sister.”
“The porch is icy.”
“I can stand inside the door.”
“You may stand inside the door with the support frame.”
“That is not greeting someone.”
“It is exactly greeting someone, except indoors.”
Daniel looked toward the phone.
“ER?”
“Neris is correct.”
“You’ve become predictable.”
“Medical recommendations frequently are.”
Daniel stood inside the back door with the support frame.
The portable relay rested beneath his shirt.
Neris went outside.
Her dark shape moved through the snow toward the lane.
The wind caught her tail and spread the long fur behind her before she pulled it closer to her legs.
A grey rental car appeared between the spruce.
It slowed at the first curve.
Neris raised one arm and guided it toward the cleared space beside the porch.
Claire parked.
For several seconds, she remained inside.
Daniel watched through the glass.
Claire had already seen Neris on a screen.
A screen had not shown scale.
Or the way Neris occupied winter.
Snow collected along her ears and shoulders.
Her breath clouded in the air.
Her tail curved behind her, too real to be costume and too expressive to be ignored.
Claire opened the car door.
She stepped out wearing a long dark coat and boots better suited to Toronto sidewalks than Moose River snow.
Neris moved toward the trunk.
Claire looked at her.
“You’re taller than you looked on the phone.”
Neris stopped.
“You are shorter.”
Claire stared.
Neris’s ears shifted.
“I was attempting equivalent observation.”
Claire’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
A laugh escaped her.
Small.
Surprised.
“Right,” she said. “Good start.”
Neris took one of the bags.
Claire held on to the other.
“I can carry something.”
“Yes.”
They walked toward the house together.
At the porch, Claire saw Daniel through the glass.
Her expression changed.
She climbed the steps quickly.
Neris reached for her arm when one boot slipped.
Claire caught the railing.
“I’m fine.”
“That statement is unreliable in this household,” Neris said.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Claire entered.
Cold air swept into the kitchen.
She dropped her bag.
For one moment, she only looked at him.
Daniel had expected anger first.
Or questions.
Instead, Claire crossed the kitchen and wrapped her arms around him.
Carefully.
Too carefully.
Daniel released the support frame with one hand and held her.
Claire’s face pressed against his shoulder.
She felt smaller than he remembered.
Or he felt less solid.
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