Chapter Text
The knock at the door startled Root. She unfolded herself from over her computer and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. There was a distinct possibility that she had not blinked in hours, but she was eighty-seven percent done with the basic code for this project and she had never made much of a distinction between her work and home lives.
She picked her way through the small apartment to the door, avoiding clothes, books, and the boxes she had never bothered to unpack with a skill borne of long practice. She swung the door open carelessly and squinted into the sudden bright light of the hallway.
“Is this your dog?” Root blinked as her eyes adjusted. The woman who had begun so abruptly was small and dark. Her voice and body exuded controlled energy, although the circles under her eyes spoke of little sleep. She was gesturing to her feet, where an energetic ball of fur skittered in dizzy circles.
“No,” Root replied easily. She shivered as tendrils of cold air found her bare feet and ankles under her leggings. She wrapped her sweater more securely around herself, envying the small stranger her overcoat in the drafty hallway.
“Then do you know who it belongs to?” The angry woman asked. “It’s been barking outside my door all night.” She gestured down the hall, presumably to her apartment. Her furious expression was partially belied by the gentle way in which she picked up the small dog. “And it’s cold in the hallway, she shouldn’t stay out.”
Root smiled at the care coupled with fury in the other woman’s manner and shook her head. “Not mine. What does the collar say?”
She quickly checked, and looked chagrined that in her tired state she had not already thought of that.
“No collar.”
“Guess she’s yours, then,” Root answered cheekily. Her grin only widened when the woman shot her a glare. Once again, her obvious care for the dog made it clear that she did not actually hate everything, no matter what her attitude said. The dichotomy intrigued Root.
“Yeah, we’ll see.” The woman turned to go, but Root stayed her with a word.
“I’m Root, by the way,” she offered. The woman paused and glanced over her shoulder.
“Sam,” she tossed back before striding away carelessly.
Root smiled wordlessly at Sam’s retreating back, leaning on the cold doorframe until she heard the thud of a shut door. Though she subsequently returned to her computer and re-immersed herself in the nearly-finished project, the picture of Sam holding the dog refused to stay completely tucked in the back of her mind. Finally, she resolved to do something about it, if only to settle her mind.