Winter was in full swing again, and Sam was cozy in her library with her rickety cart—only half-loaded, mind you; she was still rather sore. The bandages were hidden under a plush knit pullover and some fingerless gloves. Only Kathy, her supervisor, knew she had been attacked. Others guessed, but Sam didn't indulge those conversations. Kathy had done a surprisingly good job of keeping Sam's secret from the regulars, but still took to treating her delicately. Sure, a lighter work load was a nice reprieve, but it got old pretty fast. Strict desk duty was not her idea of a good time.

As soon as she was able to put a hardcover dictionary away without wincing, she was able to convince Kathy to let her get back to shelving. At least when her hands were busy she could feel just a little less anxious. Her thoughts often strayed to the empty lockbox, her missing cash, her missing stash. She was furious, more than anything, and a little violated. Keeping busy helped ease it, but not for long.

The deep ache began just before lunch, and she was forced to stop shelving and return to the desk once more. After lunch, when Kathy was in, she sent Sam to do some filing in the basement where the city stored an overflow of paper records yet to be digitized. She reluctantly agreed. The musty, dim basement was not somewhere she liked to spend an extended period of time, but it was her job, after all. So, down the old stone steps she went, the dim daylight eaten up in seconds.

She flipped the lights at the base of the stairs for all the good those old cage lights would do. A wan orange light revealed stacks of cardboard boxes, a dozen metal shelves, and two wooden desks facing each other opposite the doorway. She clicked on the reading lamps at each, which cast a brilliant light on the workspaces but did little for the room. Sighing, she got to work on the nearest box, dated 1936, April.

Time is meaningless in that room. The clock behind it's rusted cage had stopped at 5:46 long before she started working there and she didn't want to check her phone. She couldn't handle the disappointment if it had only been a half hour. The box was a cluster of forms from the local courthouse, everything from deed transfers to marriage documents.

She knocked a file off the desk at some point, and watched it spin into the shadows under the first shelf. With a heavy sigh, she followed it and peered into the abyss. To her surprise she was able to see the file clearly after a second, and retrieved it just fine—along with a dusty toonie. She pocketed the coin and went back to her reading, her mind wandering to memories of coffee and pizza. She was still hungry.

Hands busy again, thoughts free to wander, she pictured Ada's mirthful gaze over the rim of her coffee cup as Sam told her about the time Melody, her niece, brought a stray cat in from the postage-stamp backyard, looking proud as a peacock with the squirming creature in her arms. Lori had been apoplectic at the sight, and Sam had to chase Melody around to get her to relinquish the cat. Sam had been terrified that it would scratch the toddler. Melody thought it was the best game they had played all day.

Coffee had been lovely. What she wouldn't give to be there instead of filing. Ada, though quiet, was fascinating. She managed to keep the focus on Sam for quite some time before she caught onto the diversion and stopped letting her dodge questions. The first one Ada truly opened up on was where she wanted to travel to most.

"La Réunion," she said without pause, lowering her mug right into a sunbeam, setting her chipped sparkly nail polish alight. When prompted, she continued. "I've always wanted to learn to surf, and it's supposed to be just beautiful there."

Eventually Sam dragged out of her that she had siblings of her own, two elder siblings, fraternal twins. They were six years her senior, so she hadn't bonded with them as well as Sam had with her own sister, only a year apart. Ada had stared past her when she told Sam they didn't talk much anymore, and Sam wondered if that upset her. Ada was so hard to read sometimes. Her long face was rather like a mask, but behind her eyes was a constant churning of thoughts and feelings.

Sam had managed to hide the injury from her for a good half hour before she caught a wince when Sam moved her left shoulder the wrong way. The painkillers were strong, but burned off fast, and Sam was starting to feel the ache. Even lifting the marble-esque mug was unpleasant.

"Is that what you were going to tell me about?" she asked, nodding at Sam's arm. "What happened?"

So Sam told her everything she remembered, and all that she had learned about that night. When she described the attack, Ada took her hand on the tabletop and softly said, "I'm sorry," as Sam fought back an onslaught of tears, and a warm honey spread under her cheeks and down her neck. Ada's fingers lingered on the back of her hand.

When she was able to, Sam went on, and she could still feel the warmth of Ada's hand long after she removed it. Finally, she told Ada about spending time with Charlotte, and by the end of the tale they were smiling again. Ada surprised her again by asking about what was taken, and Sam was comfortable enough to admit what had been in the box. Ada cursed and was appropriately pissed on Sam's behalf.

They moved onto lighter topics after that, until Sam was tired and aching and ready to go home. She couldn't drive, so she would have to ride share. She offered Ada a ride, but was turned down, so she waited with her until the bus arrived. They stood toe-to-toe, huddled against the sharp wind that tore at their hoods. Ada was a little taller and angled herself to act as a buffer.

"You don't have to wait with me," she said, though she was grinning a little behind her scarf.

"I want to." Sam tucked her hair back into place. "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"I"ll be fine, I have to run some errands anyway." Her eyes drifted away from Sam for a moment, a pair of green lights reflected in her own. "That's my bus. Can I call you later?"

Sam smiled. "Of course."

Sam stood just inside the shelter and watched as Ada waited for the person to exit before getting on herself. She waved, and Sam returned it, giddy at the thought of seeing Ada's name pop up on her phone later. For just a moment her aches and pains were immaterial.

Even days later, Sam was still overcome by the thought. She had been reading the same label over and over, not taking it in. Shaking her head to toss away the memory, she dropped the folder back into its box and made for the door.

Her phone said it was just after three and there was no reception to be had. The stone walls must be too thick. The room was unchanged, but for a few boxes having relocated from the floor to one of the shelving units. Dust fluttered in the air. Sam paused on the narrow doorway, propped wide by a heavy box, and frowned at the shadows.

"Who's there?" she called, fixated on the figure trying to mask himself in the shadows.

Immediately he came forward and leaned on the door frame with a friendly smile. It was hard to tell in the gloom, but he was maybe twenty-five, with the kind of smile that expressed that he knew he was good looking.

"Sorry to bother you, it's just, I'm a little lost, it seems," he said innocently, flashing pearly whites meant to soothe. "I'm looking for the washroom."

For some reason, a tense tingle ran up her spine. "It's upstairs, down the hall by the front desk."

Maybe the reason was obvious; he was a large man and she was an injured woman in a secluded, essentially soundproof room without cell reception and her only escape blocked. Maybe not. It didn't quite feel like that, though she was acutely aware of that fact.

"Thanks!" He took a small, casual step inside, eyes sweeping the low ceiling and its cobweb collection. "What is this room, anyway?"

"City documents. You really can't be down here." She tucked away her phone and faced him fully.

He held up a palm and straightened, and for the first time Sam noticed how small he made her feel. He ducked out of the room, shadows swallowing his form like he was one of them. Then Sam glanced down as light glared off a reflective check on his sneakers, and froze.

"Wait!" she called, and instead of obeying he flashed a wide grin and sprinted up the steps out of sight.

Sam did her best to follow him, but she knew she had lost him as soon as she was among the stacks again. The front door was just swinging shut, and he was no where to be seen through the panoramic windows. She huffed, rage peaking, wonder creeping in.

If he hadn't run, she might have doubted herself, but his running was pretty telling. She couldn't wrap her head around it. She hadn't seen his face before, when he broke into her home, so there was definitely nothing she could have done to find him again. Why would he come here, speak with her, risk being caught? What did he gain from this? Was he taunting her? He could very well be a serial killer with this kind of shady, reckless behaviour.

Her stomach churned as she started back to the basement, full of questions and nowhere to turn for answers, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. She paused at the top of the stairs to check the message.

It was from Ada, asking if she had plans. She sent a quick response, and the reply arrived before she had hit the midway landing.

Forty-five minutes later, at the end of her shift, Sam emerged from the dusty basement to see Ada leaning against a shelf across the room with an old book open in her hands. Her backpack was at her feet, alongside a paper shopping bag with vegetables poking out of the top. She glanced up as Sam neared, and grinned.

"I brought groceries," she said to the unasked question. "You eat meat, right? Good, I thought I would cook tonight."

Ada hadn't been inside Sam's place yet, nor Sam hers. They had talked daily since they went out for coffee, and they'd met up a few times in the past few weeks, but always somewhere public. It was just convenient, really. Sam hadn't had the energy to clean up much, and Ada was a little ... private. Sam didn't let it bother her.

So she was excited to have her over, and more excited for her cooking. On the ride home she described the meal and what she had bought for it with a passion she rarely released. Sam hung onto her words and was surprised when they stopped in front of her home what felt like moments later. She thanked their driver and let Ada into the narrow hallway out of the weather.

"Sorry for the mess," she said automatically, removing her winter gear.

"Don't worry about it." She poked her head into the living room, then followed it through to the kitchen, bag in arm. "Nice place, how long have you lived here?"

Sam followed her into the kitchen and sat at the dining table, saying, "About a year. Can I give you a hand with anything?"

"No, thanks." She was busy setting loose fruits and vegetables on the counter. Sam directed her to where she stored pasta, rice, spices, and so on as she put a few things away and gathered others for dinner.

They talked lightly, but mostly Sam just watched her work at first. She hadn't been around her in a private setting like this, at ease and unrestricted. Ada's back was often to her, and she put her hair up high again, exposing the pastel rainbow at the nape of her neck. Shorter strands hung free around her slender neck.

Sam joined her at the sink, sleeves rolled up, and began rinsing berries in a colander, since she didn't have to get her hands wet. Ada glanced over and smiled.

"How do you like your steak?" she asked, firing up the stove.

"Medium."

In minutes, the intoxicating aroma of spiced meat filled the small space. Her stomach rumbled eagerly. Sam stopped her washing and found herself staring at the sizzling pan and the browning steak.

"Actually, medium-rare," she said, mouth watering.

Ada raised a pierced brow and asked, "Are you sure?"

She was, and she said as much. Ada shrugged and carried on while Sam was hopelessly aware of the grumbling in her stomach. It was all she could think of as she poured berries into containers and stowed them in the fridge.

There wasn't much space for both of them to work, so Sam stepped aside when there was nothing else she could help with and watched Ada work some more. She was feeling a little useless, if she was being honest. In truth, it was awesome to have someone cook for her and she enjoyed every second of observing Ada's talent, but she was bitter from the waiting, the pain, the helplessness. After the encounter in the basement, she was especially nervous. Burglary was one thing, stalking was wholly another.

"You're quiet," Ada noted, pulling her from her sullen reverie.

So Sam told her of the strange man at work, and her suspicions, reaching though they were. Ada began plating, which distracted Sam for a moment.

"Do you think he might be stalking you?" she asked astutely as they sat at the scuffed round dining table in the corner.

Sam passed the gravy and answered, "That's exactly what I'm thinking. Am I wrong?"

She shook her head and a strand of hair fell across her face. "It sounds possible." She paused to take a bite, chew. "Maybe you should call the police."

"I don't have any proof. I saw his shoes the first time, and these were the same pair. Sure, he ran, but that doesn't really mean he's guilty of anything, besides being a weirdo."

She waved her fork in acknowledgement. They lapsed into a moment of quiet, each savouring the food. Sam had never been fond of rare meats, but on the first bite her mouth exploded with flavour and she nearly drooled.

"This is amazing."

When she beamed it was for only a moment before she hid behind her napkin, dabbing at her lips. "Thanks."

They left the heavy conversation behind and delved into lighter topics until they both were full and lazy. Sam couldn't remember too much after that, as she had taken her pills and was in a bit of a stupor as they settled on opposite ends of the sofa to watch a movie. She remembered the colourful intro scenes, and then vivid dreams of racing through the woods as she had done as a teenager, the wind on her face, worries gone.

Morning brought strong, howling winds which woke Sam completely in an instant. She was in bed, still in the sweats and tee she had changed into after work. She gazed around in the thin grey light of dawn and watched the tree outside the window sway and arch deeply.

Though she had no memory of going to bed, she must have at some point dragged her sleeping butt upstairs. Hopefully Ada wasn't upset with her for passing out on her.

Sam pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the edge, feet dangling in the cold. For a moment she was still, processing, and then she turned again to see Ada asleep in her bed. The blankets were up to her chin, one arm crooked under the pillow behind her head. She seemed so peaceful and still, calm in a way Sam hadn't yet seen her. Moving cautiously so as not to wake her, Sam restored the blankets and padded to the washroom with an unfamiliar lightness in her chest.