Chapter 11
The shutter hung at an angle, its hinges rusted and loose. It was the kind of minor inconvenience that accumulated when resources were scarce and time scarcer.
Klaus carefully examined the damage, testing the metal that had corroded through seasons of exposure.
It would be simple enough to repair—he had adhesive compounds in his kit that would permanently bond metal to wood.
Only a short time was required to make the repair and secure the shutter firmly against the wall.
No more banging to wake them at night. The thought brought him an unexpected satisfaction, a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with exertion.
He moved back to assess his work. The shutter sat flush and solid, and would withstand the winter winds without protest. It was only a minor achievement—on Tandrok automated systems handled such mundane concerns—yet the knowledge that Talia and Theo would sleep undisturbed pleased him in ways his logical mind couldn't quite categorize.
He moved to the next task—the loose porch board Theo had mentioned.
The wood had rotted where moisture had seeped beneath it and weakened the structural integrity.
He pried it up carefully, noting the damage to the underlying supports.
This would require more extensive work and replacement materials he'd need to harvest from the forest.
An inefficient process. The Tandroki solution would involve synthetic materials, precisely manufactured to exact specifications.
But those weren't available, and the primitive approach had its own merit.
He was finding an unexpected satisfaction in working with organic matter and shaping raw material into functional form.
He'd spent the last hour cataloging similar issues throughout the property.
The door that didn't close properly, its frame warped from settling.
Several loose roof tiles that would leak when the snow melted.
A crack in the foundation of the workshop that needed sealing before it widened.
None of them were critical, but collectively they represented a slow deterioration that would accelerate if left unaddressed.
Talia had been managing alone. Somehow. Probably through determination and stubbornness in equal measure.
She shouldn't have to manage alone. The thought was accompanied by a protective surge that his training labeled as dangerous emotional engagement. He ignored the warning. His training had proven inadequate for this situation from the moment she had pulled him from the snow.
He returned to the house for additional tools, and found her sitting at the table working on another wooden joint. She'd been practicing all morning, refining her technique with the basic tools she had while he completed the repairs.
The molecular bonder sat beside her, currently inactive.
He'd shown her additional ways to use it last night after they'd... after she'd kissed him.
After he'd kissed her back. After the world had narrowed to warmth and taste and the illogical rightness of having her in his arms. The memory sent a surge of heat through his body.
Stop. He forced his attention back to the present task. Emotional distraction led to inefficiency.
But she looked up as he entered, and her smile made his carefully ordered thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.
"How's it going out there?"
"The shutter is secured. The porch board requires replacement material.
I will harvest appropriate wood from the forest." He moved to his supply cache, selecting adhesive and structural reinforcement compounds.
"There are seventeen additional repairs of varying priority.
I have developed an implementation schedule organized by urgency and resource requirements. "
Her smile widened. "Of course you have."
"Efficiency demands proper planning."
"I'm not criticizing. It's actually..." She set down the wood piece. "It's really nice. Having someone who just... does things. Without being asked a dozen times or needing detailed instructions or… Sorry. I'm comparing you to Willem and that's not fair."
He had heard enough about Willem to understand the comparison was not flattering. The male had been well-intentioned but limited in capability, his decline into illness leaving Talia’s sister to shoulder burdens she shouldn't have carried alone.
"Your brother-in-law's inadequacies are not your responsibility."
"I know. It's just hard not to think about how different things might have been if..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "Never mind. Ancient history. How can I help with the repairs?"
"You are currently engaged in skill development that will provide economic benefit. That is appropriate resource allocation."
"That's Klaus-speak for 'keep doing what you're doing,' right?"
"Correct." He gathered his materials. "I will return shortly."
But he paused at the door, looking back at her. She'd already returned to her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tested the joint she'd created. Sunlight from the window caught in her dark hair, picking out hidden warmth in the brown strands.
Beautiful. The word surfaced again, bypassing his internal filters entirely.
She was beautiful. Not by Tandroki standards—her features were too soft, too expressive, lacking the sharp symmetry his people prized.
But by some other metric he couldn't define, she was perfect.
The determined set of her jaw. The capable strength in her hands.
The way she looked at him without fear, without the worship Theo displayed or the suspicion most humans would rightfully feel.
She looked at him and saw Klaus. Not Commander Klausan. Not a Tandroki warrior. Not an alien threat.
Just... him.
He forced himself to turn away before she caught him staring.
Work waited—repairs that would make her life marginally easier and that would demonstrate his value beyond his technological resources.
That would give him purpose while he waited for the repairs to his ship that no longer seemed important.
Seventy-three days, seventy-two now. It had seemed adequate when he'd calculated it. Now it felt simultaneously too long and not nearly enough.
He spent the next several hours working through his prioritized list. He sealed the crack in the workshop foundation with a compound that would harden to greater strength than the surrounding stone.
He adjusted the warped door, correcting the frame with precisely applied pressure and reinforcement.
He identified and secured three loose roof tiles, then coated them with sealant that would prevent future water penetration.
The work was meditative, physical but not taxing, and he fell into an easy rhythm—assess, plan, execute, and verify. The same protocols he applied to ship maintenance and tactical operations were now directed toward domestic concerns.
Domestic. The word felt strange applied to his current activities. Tandroki warriors didn't engage in household maintenance. They had support staff for such concerns, systems and personnel dedicated to ensuring optimal living conditions.
But there was satisfaction in the work, in seeing tangible results from his efforts.
In knowing that each repair made life easier for Talia and Theo.
By midday, he'd completed everything on his immediate priority list except harvesting replacement wood for the porch.
That task would take several hours—identifying appropriate trees, felling them, processing the wood to correct dimensions.
He returned to the house to inform Talia of his schedule. She was no longer at the table. He found her in the root cellar, staring at the shelves where she kept her food supplies. The shelves that were more empty than full.
He paused in the doorway, observing. She didn't notice him immediately, her attention fixed on her inventory with the focused intensity of someone performing unpleasant calculations.
"Insufficient." The word escaped before he could prevent it.
She jumped, her hand flying to her chest. "God, you move quietly for someone so big."
"My apologies. I did not intend to startle you.
" He moved closer, assessing the contents of the shelves.
Dried beans in limited quantities. Preserved vegetables that wouldn't last through winter. Flour and grain in amounts that wouldn’t last more than two months, even with careful rationing.
"Your food stores are inadequate for two humans to survive until spring. "
Her shoulders tensed. "We'll manage. We always do."
"How?" He kept his voice level. "I have calculated your caloric requirements based on your observed activity levels and environmental conditions.
Your current stores will sustain you for approximately forty days at minimum recommended intake.
Winter lasts significantly longer than forty days in this region. "
"I'll trade at market day and get more supplies."
"With what resources? You stated your trade goods are limited."
"The toys will help."
"Perhaps. But the probability of acquiring sufficient food through that single transaction is low." He moved to stand beside her, examining the sparse shelves. "You are planning to reduce your own consumption to ensure Theo has adequate nutrition."
It wasn't a question. Her silence confirmed his assessment.
Something hot and uncomfortable twisted in his chest. Anger, he recognized.
Not at her—at the circumstances that forced her into such choices.
At the village that hadn't rallied to support one of their own.
At the unfairness of a system that left a capable, intelligent female struggling to feed her family.
"That is unacceptable."
"It's not your problem."
"Incorrect. I am consuming resources from your limited stores. Therefore it is directly my concern." He turned to face her fully. "Additionally, I find I am... opposed to the concept of you suffering deprivation."
"Klaus—"