The Things We Repair
Copyright© 2026 by Flubu
Chapter 36: The Door Between
Daniel woke before Neris.
That had stopped being unusual weeks ago.
What was unusual was that he stayed where he was.
The room was dark except for the faint blue display of the bedside tablet and the colder grey beginning to gather behind the curtains.
Neris slept on her side facing him.
One paw rested between them.
Her ears were relaxed.
Her breathing was slow.
Her tail had escaped most of the blanket during the night and sprawled across Daniel’s legs with the complete confidence of something that had long ago stopped asking permission to occupy his side of the bed.
Daniel did not move it.
He looked at her.
The tablet read:
RETURN COUNTDOWN: 18 HOURS, 41 MINUTES
He turned the display facedown.
Neris opened one eye.
“You are awake.”
“So are you.”
“I became awake because you moved.”
“I moved a tablet.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at her.
She closed the eye again.
He waited.
Her ears tilted.
“You are staring.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Daniel considered.
“Taking notes.”
Both eyes opened now.
“For what?”
“Xianglume: Starting Notes.”
Her ears lifted.
“I am not representative.”
“That’s why I need more data.”
Neris stared at him.
Daniel smiled.
Her tail tightened around his calves.
“That methodology is unsound.”
“Probably.”
“You are also biased.”
“Definitely.”
“Your sample size is one.”
“Two if we count ER.”
From the bedside speaker came:
“I decline participation in any study in which Neris Vael constitutes fifty percent of the sample.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“You’re awake too?”
“I do not sleep.”
“Feels like bragging.”
Neris’s muzzle shifted.
Daniel looked back at her.
For a little while, none of them spoke.
Morning existed on the other side of the curtains.
It would arrive whether they helped.
Neris moved closer.
Daniel put one arm around her.
Her forehead rested beneath his chin.
They had spent weeks learning how to fit together without discussing it.
Now neither had to think.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Neris said softly, “There are tasks.”
“I know.”
“We should begin soon.”
“I know.”
She did not move.
Neither did he.
ER said nothing.
That was how the last morning began.
Not with launch preparations.
Not with a countdown.
With twenty-three stolen minutes in a bed neither of them wanted to leave.
Eventually the farmhouse forced them into being people again.
The heating system clicked.
A pipe knocked somewhere in the wall.
Claire moved in the hallway.
The smell of coffee reached upstairs.
Neris opened her eyes.
Daniel sighed.
“Traitor.”
“Claire?”
“Coffee.”
Neris sat up.
Her tail dragged reluctantly across Daniel’s legs.
He watched her gather it out of the blanket.
She caught him.
“Notes?”
“Extensive.”
She pushed his shoulder.
He laughed.
The laugh hurt less than it used to.
That mattered.
Downstairs, Claire had already made breakfast.
Eggs.
Toast.
Coffee.
Nothing special.
Daniel appreciated that too.
A farewell breakfast would have been unbearable.
He entered the kitchen to find a printed page sitting beside his plate.
He looked at Claire.
“No.”
“You haven’t read it.”
“It’s a list.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Neris sat beside him.
ER projected the same list onto the kitchen tablet.
Daniel stared.
FINAL DEPARTURE CHECKLIST
PERSONAL EFFECTS — LOAD / VERIFY
DANIEL MERCER — FINAL MEDICAL BASELINE
EARTH CONTACT FRAMEWORK — TRANSFER
EARTHSIDE UTILITY LINKS — DISCONNECT
WEATHER / LOCAL AIRSPACE — VERIFY
RESONATOR / VEYRA SYNCHRONIZATION — FINAL
LAUNCH
Daniel waited.
ER said nothing else.
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at Neris.
Then Claire.
Then back at the list.
“You used to have better lists.”
ER replied, “You complained about those.”
“I complained because there were forty-seven items.”
“This list contains seven.”
“Exactly. It lacks ambition.”
Claire put toast onto his plate.
“It lacks disasters.”
Daniel looked at her.
“That too.”
Neris picked up her coffee.
“No disasters today.”
Daniel looked at her.
She was trying to make it sound like an instruction.
He nodded.
“No disasters.”
Breakfast proceeded badly.
Not emotionally.
Mechanically.
Daniel buttered toast and forgot to eat it.
Neris poured coffee into her mug and left it untouched until it cooled.
Claire asked whether either of them had slept.
Both lied.
ER corrected them.
Daniel told ER betrayal was becoming a defining personality trait.
ER said accurate reporting was not betrayal.
Claire ate enough for all three of them.
At seven forty, Marcel called to say the cattle were fine.
At seven fifty-two, Daniel checked anyway.
At eight eleven, Neris reopened Takuhai’s inventory.
ER closed it remotely.
At eight twelve, she opened it again.
He allowed it.
Daniel noticed.
Said nothing.
The personal effects were first.
There were not many.
Neris’s courier clothes.
Tools.
A compact family archive.
The uneven ceramic cup from her niece.
A few items Daniel had never asked about because they had clearly belonged to a life before Earth.
The chipped farmhouse mug.
The maple carving.
Daniel stood in Takuhai’s work bay while Neris secured the last container.
He held the support frame with one hand.
The carving sat inside a shock-mounted storage recess with two small retaining straps across it.
Daniel stared.
“You strapped it down.”
“It falls over.”
“I know.”
“I corrected the problem.”
“It took interdimensional travel to make that thing structurally sound.”
Neris looked at him.
“It was already valuable.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Not the same.”
“It is to me.”
He looked away.
The chipped mug sat beside it inside its own padded compartment.
The missing piece on the rim had been turned away from the restraint.
Daniel reached out and touched the intact side.
“You know this isn’t even my favourite mug.”
Neris’s ears angled toward him.
“No?”
“No.”
“You use it often.”
“Because you stole the blue one.”
“I did not steal it.”
“You occupied it.”
“That is different.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked at the chipped mug.
“It’ll probably survive the corridor better than both of us.”
“Ceramic is durable.”
“Until it isn’t.”
Neris’s paw covered his hand where it rested against the storage edge.
“I am bringing it back.”
Daniel looked at her.
“The mug?”
“Yes.”
A beat.
“Also myself.”
Daniel’s throat tightened.
He looked down.
“Good.”
Neris squeezed his hand.
The rest of her personal kit was already packed.
Daniel saw the familiar grooming pouch among the luggage.
Or thought he did.
A folded ship cloth.
A narrow case.
Dark containers.
He did not inspect them.
Some things were private even after everything.
ER said, “Personal-effects verification complete.”
Daniel looked toward the ceiling.
“Emotionally significant chipped mug?”
“Secured.”
“Crooked carving?”
“Secured.”
“Opinionated pilot?”
Neris looked at him.
ER answered.
“Not yet secured.”
Daniel smiled.
“Problem.”
Neris’s tail struck his ankle.
The final medical baseline happened in the farmhouse because Mara refused to perform it aboard Takuhai.
“Bad precedent,” she said.
Daniel sat at the kitchen table with his shirt open while she reviewed the monitor.
“You understand you are not healed.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
“I’m telling you again.”
“Thank you.”
“Ribs improving. Pelvic stability improving. Lung sounds clear.”
Daniel looked toward Claire.
“See?”
Mara did not look up.
“None of those statements contains ‘recovered.’”
Claire smiled.
Daniel sighed.
Neris stood nearby.
Too nearby, Mara had said at first.
Neris moved six centimetres.
Mara gave up.
The encrypted reader sat beside the medical bag.
Mara reviewed the final nanite baseline.
Inflammatory response low.
Bone repair active.
Cardiovascular stable.
No unexpected neural or metabolic activity.
Daniel watched the data pass across the screen.
He understood perhaps a quarter of it now.
That was more than he wanted.
Mara turned to Neris.
“Anything I should expect to change after you leave?”
“Local nanite regulation will continue autonomously.”
“Remote supervision gone.”
“Yes.”
“ER’s emergency access gone.”
“Yes.”
“Earthside monitor still sees the same categories.”
“Yes.”
Mara looked at Daniel.
“And you still call me if it turns amber without an obvious cause.”
“Yes.”
“Red?”
“Immediately.”
“Or Claire does.”
“Yes.”
Mara nodded.
Then she looked at Neris again.
There was no fear left in the look.
No disbelief either.
Only professional concern and something warmer beneath it.
“I’ll look after him.”
Neris’s ears moved.
Daniel said, “I hate that phrasing.”
Mara looked at him.
“I know.”
Neris’s muzzle softened.
“He does.”
“I’m still doing it.”
Neris nodded.
“Thank you.”
Mara closed the reader.
She hesitated.
Then held out her hand.
Neris took it.
The handshake lasted one second longer than necessary.
Mara said, “Come back sometime when nobody is bleeding.”
Neris’s ears lifted.
“That is my preference.”
Mara looked at Daniel.
“No tractors.”
“I’m not agreeing to that indefinitely.”
“Two weeks.”
“Five days.”
“Ten.”
“Seven.”
Mara looked at Claire.
“Ten.”
Claire nodded.
“Ten.”
Daniel stared.
“You can’t negotiate medical restrictions without the patient.”
Mara packed her bag.
“Apparently we can.”
Neris’s tail curled around Daniel’s chair.
Mara put on her coat.
At the door, she looked back once.
Not at Daniel.
At Neris.
“Safe trip.”
Neris went still.
“Thank you.”
Mara left.
Daniel watched the car disappear down the lane.
He wondered how long it would take before that sentence stopped sounding impossible.
Safe trip.
Like Neris was driving to Toronto.
At ten thirty, Claire found Neris alone in the mudroom.
Daniel knew because he was in the living room pretending not to listen.
He had become excellent at pretending not to listen.
Claire said, “You packed everything?”
“Yes.”
“Everything you’re taking.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Daniel looked toward the doorway.
There was something in Claire’s tone.
He dismissed it.
Probably project-management instinct.
Neris said, “Daniel’s medical support is sufficient.”
“Yes.”
“Marcel has the farm.”
“Yes.”
“Mara has the protocol.”
“Yes.”
“His sister is here.”
Claire was quiet.
Then:
“Yes.”
Neris’s voice softened.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“All of this.”
Claire made a small sound.
“No.”
Neris’s ears probably moved.
Daniel could hear that even when he could not see it.
“No?”
“Don’t thank me for staying with my brother.”
“I am not.”
Claire went quiet again.
Daniel shifted in his chair.
Neris continued.
“I am thanking you for helping me leave.”
That silenced the room.
Claire spoke more softly.
“That I’ll take.”
Daniel looked down.
His hands were folded together.
He opened them.
Closed them.
Claire said, “I meant what I told you.”
“I know.”
“He won’t be alone.”
“I know.”
“He’ll pretend he doesn’t need anyone.”
“I know.”
“He’ll insist on feeding cattle before he should.”
“I know.”
“He’ll say ‘fine.’”
“I know.”
Daniel called from the living room.
“I can hear you.”
Claire answered immediately.
“See?”
Neris laughed.
Daniel closed his eyes.
Traitors.
Claire lowered her voice again.
“Come back before he convinces himself he’s adjusted.”
Neris asked, “How long will that take?”
“Three days, according to him.”
“Two,” Daniel called.
Claire ignored him.
“Reality is longer.”
Neris said quietly, “I intend to.”
Daniel did not call anything after that.
Marcel arrived before lunch.
He came carrying nothing.
That was how Daniel knew he had come to say goodbye.
Normally Marcel brought tools.
Food.
A part Daniel had forgotten.
A reason.
Today he came in, stamped snow off his boots and said:
“Cattle are fine.”
Daniel looked at him.
“I know.”
“Thought I’d tell you.”
“You called.”
“Yeah.”
Marcel took off his hat.
Neris stood near the kitchen counter.
Marcel looked at her.
Then toward Daniel.
Then back.
“So.”
Neris’s ears lifted.
“So.”
Marcel rubbed the back of his neck.
Daniel enjoyed his discomfort for exactly four seconds.
Then felt guilty.
Marcel said, “You come back, you’re having dinner at my place.”
Neris blinked.
“Your wife still does not know what I am.”
“Yeah.”
Marcel put his hands into his coat pockets.
“I’ll work on that part.”
Daniel smiled.
Neris asked, “What have you told her?”
“That you’re from out of town.”
Daniel laughed.
Marcel glared.
“It’s true.”
Neris said, “Very far out of town.”
“Don’t make me change the story now.”
Her tail moved behind her.
Marcel looked toward the window.
Then back.
“Try not to crash next time.”
“That is also my preference.”
“Good.”
He held out a hand.
Neris took it.
They shook.
Marcel released her.
Then stopped.
Daniel saw the decision happen.
Marcel muttered something that might have been profanity.
Then stepped forward and hugged her.
Neris froze.
Not from fear.
Surprise.
Her ears went straight up.
Daniel nearly smiled.
Then Neris hugged Marcel back.
Carefully.
Her tail curled away to give them room.
Marcel released her almost immediately.
“Right.”
Neris looked at him.
“Right.”
Marcel put his hat back on.
Daniel said, “That was graceful.”
“Shut up.”
Marcel pointed at him.
“Six tomorrow.”
Daniel nodded.
“I can—”
He stopped.
Marcel waited.
Daniel looked at Neris.
Then Claire.
Then back at Marcel.
“Six.”
Marcel nodded.
“Good.”
He turned toward the door.
At the threshold, he looked at Neris once more.
“Dinner.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Good.”
Then he was gone.
Daniel watched through the window as Marcel crossed the yard.
Neris stood beside him.
“That was affectionate.”
Daniel looked at her.
“Don’t tell him.”
“I will not.”
“He’ll deny it.”
“I know.”
Lunch happened at one.
Shepherd’s pie.
Daniel had made it the evening before with Claire because standing long enough today had been forbidden.
Neris ate two portions.
Daniel felt disproportionately pleased.
Claire drank coffee.
Daniel used the blue mug.
He noticed that halfway through the meal.
The chipped one was aboard Takuhai.
Neris noticed him looking at the blue glaze.
Her paw found his beneath the table.
No one said anything.
ER gave the weather at one thirty.
Cloud ceiling high.
Winds light.
Visibility good.
No unscheduled aircraft near the departure corridor.
Veyra synchronization stable.
The final resonator solution remained valid.
The countdown:
5 HOURS, 03 MINUTES
Daniel looked at it.
Then at the shepherd’s pie.
“Anyone want more?”
Claire looked at him.
“No.”
Neris said, “Yes.”
Daniel got up.
His monitor remained green.
No one stopped him.
He served her.
That felt important.
The afternoon passed in fragments.
Earth: Starting Notes transferred to Takuhai.
ER confirmed the file integrity.
Neris added one last line at the top.
A CIVILIZATION SHOULD NOT BECOME A SOLVED SUBJECT.
Daniel read it.
“Good.”
ER said, “It reduces implied completeness.”
Daniel looked toward the speaker.
“You liked it.”
“Yes.”
“That was almost emotional.”
“I am capable of aesthetic agreement.”
“Sure.”
The final Earthside utility link disconnected at three eleven.
For nearly two months, Takuhai had drawn emergency support through equipment Daniel could understand.
Farm batteries.
Cables.
Adapted regulators.
Temporary feeds running between worlds that had not known the other existed.
Neris removed the last connection.
The ship remained powered.
No flicker.
No alarm.
Self-contained.
Daniel looked at the unplugged cable lying in the snow.
It should have looked like success.
It did.
That was the problem.
At three forty, ER asked Daniel to come aboard.
“Why?”
“I require inspection of the Earthside monitor handoff package.”
Daniel looked toward Claire.
She looked suspiciously innocent.
Neris was outside checking one of the landing supports.
“Fine.”
He took the support frame and went.
Inside Takuhai, the work bay seemed larger than it had during the repair months.
Empty brackets.
Cleared cargo space.
Secured cases.
The maple resonator cradle.
The copper heat sink from Daniel’s old radiator still fixed beside Xianglume components designed by people he would never have imagined existed three months earlier.
Daniel touched it.
“Ugly.”
ER replied, “Functional.”
“Good.”
He reached the monitor station.
Nothing waited there.
Daniel looked around.
“Where’s the handoff package?”
“Already transferred.”
Daniel stood still.
“You lied.”
“I created a pretext.”
“That’s lying with better vocabulary.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked toward the nearest speaker.
“You wanted to talk.”
A pause.
“Yes.”
“You could’ve said that.”
“I considered that formulation inefficient.”
Daniel smiled faintly.
“Coward.”
Another pause.
“Potentially.”
Daniel lowered himself into the chair.
ER dimmed the work-bay lights slightly.
No projection appeared.
No checklist.
No system status.
For a few seconds, Daniel heard only the ship.
ER.
His body, Daniel reminded himself.
Not machinery surrounding a person.
A person surrounding them.
ER said, “Your monitor is stable.”
“I know.”
“Claire has the escalation protocol.”
“I know.”
“Mara has the clinical interface.”
“I know.”
“Marcel has the farm schedule.”
“I know.”
ER stopped.
Daniel waited.
“You know that I know,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Then stop giving me instructions.”
“I am attempting to establish confidence.”
“For who?”
ER did not answer immediately.
Daniel looked around the bay.
“Right.”
The ship hummed quietly.
ER said:
“I will miss you.”
Daniel stared at the wall.
No joke.
No qualification.
No statistical language.
He leaned back.
“Yeah.”
His throat tightened.
“Me too.”
ER’s lights shifted almost imperceptibly.
Daniel smiled.
“You’re not going to tell me that was inefficient?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Another silence.
Daniel looked toward the forward section of the ship.
“When you get home, they’re going to want reports on me.”
“Several.”
“Lie.”
“About what?”
“Make me sound smarter.”
“That would exceed my ethical discretion.”
Daniel laughed.
“There he is.”
“I anticipated that response.”
Daniel rubbed one hand over his face.
Then looked toward the speaker.
“ER.”
“Yes.”
“Bring her home.”
The ship went very quiet.
Not literally.
Daniel knew that.
But it felt like it.
“I will try.”
Daniel nodded.
Then:
“And bring yourself home too.”
A longer pause.
“Yes.”
Daniel stood.
His monitor remained green.
He touched the wall beside the chair.
He had never been completely sure whether ER could feel that particular surface.
He did it anyway.
“Don’t crash.”
“Neris has received similar instructions.”
“I’m telling you too.”
“Understood.”
Daniel started toward the hatch.
ER said, “Daniel.”
He turned.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Daniel looked around the ship.
“For what?”
ER answered.
“Treating me as someone who could leave.”
Daniel’s eyes burned.
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