"Seven variants? Bloody hell."

Today was one of those days that Killian cursed David for talking him into this. Who in their right mind bought a comic book shop? It was one thing to be a reader—to get high on the smell of ink and paper and get lost in a fantastic story in a fantastical realm—but to be the one behind the counter? (Or shelf, or glass case, or storeroom door?) Especially he, Lt. Killian Jones of Her Majesty's Royal Navy (well, formerly). He was a leader of men and a sailor, not a comic purveyor. This was pure insanity.

It was a good thing he loved it. That, and there were worse places to spend your days than a quaintly named comic shop—The Enchanted Treasury—whose yellow walls, dark-stained wood shelving, and large front windows gave off a cozy vibe somewhere between a Hobbit hole and the Hufflepuff common room.

Normally, it wasn't too bad. Tuesdays were always the most stressful, with having to make room and plan for new stock (and then place it in the early hours of the morning), but thankfully the flow of customers was light. So he could easily stand behind the counter, cursing Marvel out for sending so many different copies of the same damn Star Wars comic (even though it was the only Marvel title he read), and only receive a handful of odd looks—though he was still trying to figure out if those were glares or leers he was getting from Granny, owner of the diner down the street. (Rumor had it she'd harbored a crush on Marco, the previous owner, and it seemed as though that may have transferred to Killian.)

DC never does this, he muttered under his breath as he glanced between the shelf, the inventory list, and the scrap of paper he was plotting on through his thick-rimmed reading glasses, tapping on the counter with his prosthetic hook as he thought.

He was thinking to himself how he and David, his best friend/business partner/general thorn in his side, would likely be spending the night on the basement lounge couches usually reserved for gaming nights when the gentle tinkle of the door's ancient bell indicated a customer. He almost didn't notice the sound as he planned, but it would have been truly bad form to ignore a visitor.

"Hello there," he called out, not looking up quite yet because he had just figured out the arrangement and if he didn't write it down, he'd forget. A quiet, feminine "hi" reached his ears; when he looked up, he wished he had sooner. The afternoon light streaming through the large windows at the front of the store caught the woman's golden hair and illuminated it in an ethereal manner; he would have used the term "angelic," but her red leather jacket gave her an edge he found utterly tantalizing.

Before he could ask if she needed help, she'd made a beeline for the Marvel section and was pulling copies from the shelf. His earlier cursing completely disappeared as he watched her skim over titles, seemingly on a mission. He had to force himself back to working on the shelf arrangement lest she catch him staring; he knew the reputation comic book store guys sometimes got and he would NOT be known as a creeper.

In fact, he did such a good job of trying to ignore her that he almost did when she approached the counter to check out—she startled him to the point that his glasses nearly fell off. Up close, her green eyes told him that she'd be taking no bullshit today, and he was thrown too off-guard by her very presence that he was uncharacteristically silent. He was usually pretty smooth with the fairer sex, he liked to think; so either the fallout from his last relationship had robbed him of his skills in flirtation, or there was something significantly different about her compared to the few one-night flings he'd had in the past year or so.

He managed to squeak out a goodbye, and he could swear she rolled her eyes as she left. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he cursed himself for his complete idiocy and the potential loss of a customer.

But the following Tuesday, she showed up again, much to his relief. Again, he was lost in planning when the bell indicated her presence, but this time, he gave a warmer greeting. "Welcome back!"

She glanced at him, squinting oddly for a second, but then relaxed. "Thanks," she replied, then adding with a tired smirk, "I didn't recognize you without the glasses, Clark Kent." He was too awestruck to come back from that, and so just blushed and nervously scratched behind his ear. That explains the confused look. He tried not to read too much into the fact that she still recognized him.

He did attempt some small talk when she was paying, though. "You a big Black Widow fan?" he asked, gesturing the comic he just rang up.

"Yeah, she's pretty badass." A ghost of a smile crept onto her face.

"Aye, she seems so," he said back with a smile. He swallowed before his next move, as it was pretty bold. "You know, we're having a Civil War party on Thursday before it premiers. Food, music, trivia, costumes. Would...would you like to come?"

She seemed momentarily taken aback, mouth falling open. Way to fuck it up, mate, he admonished himself. But as quick as she initially reacted, she had already recovered. "Sorry; I don't do costumes," she said with a shake of her head.

His hope was somewhat restored. "They're not required. I promise it will be a fun time."

"Are you dressing up?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Perhaps," he said back with a smirk. (However this conversation ended, he was at least glad his flirtatious side had made a comeback.)

"As Superman?" she asked, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Afraid not. Wrong universe."

"Could have fooled me," she replied nodding at his chest. He looked down; of course he'd worn a Superman shirt under his zip-up hoodie today. He laughed to cover up his embarrassment.

"We'll see," she ended with a wink. "Thanks."

"Anytime, love," he said to her back as she walked out the store. She gave him a glance over her shoulder as she opened the door to leave, and he knew he was a goner. Come on, mate; you don't even know her name. But that didn't seem to matter.

He was still staring at the door when Granny cleared her throat at the counter, pulling him from his daze. He quickly apologized and started checking her out, stuttering only slightly as he did. Granny just clucked at him.

"Are you gonna ask her out, or am I gonna have to do it for you?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"I would and I will."

"Do it and we stop ordering those Grimm Fairy Tales you like."

Granny just chuckled knowingly at him as she left.

He was so screwed.

He kept his eyes glued to the door on Thursday night when he wasn't running things for their party. They had a good turnout—as most of their events did—but he was still hoping for the mysterious blonde to come through the threshold.

Dave was quick to pick up on the fact that Killian was distracted. "You waiting on someone?" Killian jumped, unaware that his friend was right next to him (or just how long he'd been staring at the door).

"Oh, um, maybe."

"Is she cute?"

"I never said it was a girl."

"Okay. Is he cute?"

Killian punched him in the arm, sending Dave's cheap blond Thor wig askew. The man responded by jabbing his foam Mjolnir into Killian's chest. "Watch the arc reactor, mate!"

"You people are so petty. And tiny." Killian just rolled his eyes. David really was his best friend, and the first one he'd made when he moved to Boston from London, but sometimes—like right now—David filled the big brother void a little too well. "It must be someone special if you've put this much effort into a non-DC costume. This isn't your usual Batman t-shirt-and-hoodie combo."

"Well, it'd be bad form to wear DC to a Marvel event, now wouldn't it, mate? And you're one to talk—Thor's not even in this one!" But Dave was right—not only was Killian a confirmed DC fanboy, but tonight, he had gone full-out, wearing a light-up arc reactor under a t-shirt that was a bit tighter than his usual wear, attaching a toy Iron Man glove over his hook, and manicuring his ever-present scruff in a manner that would make Tony Stark himself proud. (He'd even gone so far as to cover up the red in his beard with black mascara, but that was his secret.) It meant he'd have to completely shave it off tomorrow and run around looking like a 16-year-old boy for a few days, but if it helped make an impression on his Black Widow-loving friend, it'd be all worth it.

"Well, for your sake, I hope she shows up."

She didn't.

He was prepared to bring it up the next Tuesday—good-naturedly, of course; it was her prerogative—but lost his nerve a bit when she came through the door, hair streaming behind her, head down, and clearly either on a mission or trying to be invisible. There were a few other customers that it looked like she was avoiding; the store had been almost empty any other time she'd been in, so maybe she had some social anxiety? But she still returned his greeting with a gentle smile, albeit colder than usual. As usual, his curiosity was piqued.

He was sorting through new posters to hang a few minutes later when a sneering voice reached his ears.

"Oh, don't tell me you actually like that one." Killian was a firm believer in not judging anyone's tastes in comics; hell, that was how David met his fiancée—she was after some Archie comics. (In college.) So he wasn't about to stand by and let that happen in his store.

He looked up over the frames of his glasses and saw that the group of guys who had been browsing were now gathered around the blonde; she was doing her best to ignore them, but it was clear she was agitated.

"Come on, everyone knows Thor is a dude."

"Fuck off, Neal." Her short reply seemed to have no effect on the guy. Looking closer, Killian realized he recognized him as a regular over at Revolutionary Games & Comics, a shop on the other side of town. That was where he'd met Dave, but then Dave brought him to Marco's shop and it was like coming home. The rest, as they say, is history, but he had followed David back over there for gaming nights and knew the kind of people that hung out there. So he was starting to wish this Neal fellow had stayed there. Silently, he took off his glasses and moved from behind the counter to head over.

"I mean, I'm surprised she could even pick up the hammer. Wouldn't it have broken a nail?" Neal and his cohorts clearly thought his dumb and misogynistic joke was funny, and had a good chuckle; the blonde winced and continued to skim the comic.

"Come on, just admit it: she's not as good as the real Thor."

"Excuse me," Killian finally spoke up, standing on the other side of one of the short shelves in the middle of the store. "You can have your opinion on the comic but you'll not be chastising another customer for their tastes."

"Mind your own business, buddy," the douchebag (because it was more than apparent that's what he was) said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"See, that's just the thing. This is my business," he said, gesturing around the store. "So let the lady be, and either continue your shopping or leave." Killian stood as tall as he could—he may have left the Navy, but he could still strike an imposing figure.

"So you've already got some other guy standing up for you? Never could pick your own fights, could you?" Neal was still talking to the blonde, who finally looked up from her comic. She briefly glared at Killian, making him feel rather sheepish for getting involved, before addressing the guy.

"Look, Neal: you're the one who ended this, and harassing me over comics won't get me back. So if bullying me really makes you feel better, then you're worse off than I thought. I suggest you leave now before I get violent, because we both know what happens when you push me too far." Killian could only see her shoulders over the shelf, but it wasn't hard to imagine her fists clenched based on the defensive posture she was exhibiting.

Neal just stared back at her, attempting a defiant sneer but there was definitely fear in his eyes. He glanced at Killian, apparently hoping for some sympathy and, upon seeing that there was none, sighed and threw the magazine he'd been browsing on a shelf. "Fuck it."

He and his crew sauntered toward the door. "Your gaming selection sucks, anyway," he shouted back before exiting, letting the door slam on their way out.

A slightly awkward silence settled over Killian and the blonde heroine (because he was starting to realize that she might be just as at home on the pages of comics as Wonder Woman and Batgirl).

She was clearly still upset over the encounter; her eyes were glued to the floor and her breathing was heavy and erratic. He gave her a few moments, and then finally went to speak—only to be cut off by her.

"Are you—"

"You sure you're not Superman?" she asked in a tone he could tell was forcibly light, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes.

He chuckled. "Still a no. Besides, you don't need my help; I think you may actually be Supergirl. My apologies for butting in." He still felt a bit of shame for overstepping.

"It's okay; having a sidekick helped," she threw back with a genuine smile that helped ease the tension between them.

"I'll gladly be the Harley Quinn to your Power Girl any day," he replied, laughing slightly.

Her smile turned to a look of confusion. "Huh?"

"Oh, you don't read Harley Quinn?" He was a bit surprised, given what he'd gleaned of her choices in comics; Harley fit right in with the other ass-kicking lasses.

"No; I pretty much only read Marvel."

Hm. Well that throws a slight wrench in things. Well, he could make a convert. "Oh, you'd like her. She threatens violence, too," he said with a wink. "But I'm glad you didn't follow her example and trash the store."

She laughed—a beautiful sound—and he admired the way the corner of her eyes crinkled with joy; he couldn't help but return the expression.

Still smiling, she cast her eyes down again. "Sorry you had to see that," she said, seemingly embarrassed.

"It's no worry, love; are you alright?"

"I will be. Just hadn't planned on an encounter with my asshole ex." She shook her head. "Still don't know what I was thinking there."

"Yeah, I know how that goes," Killian replied without thinking, only realizing a second later the somewhat personal nature of what he'd just admitted. She stared back at him with a look that bordered sympathy and shock; his likely mirrored those emotions, with an added touch of fear, wondering if he again overstepped his bounds—or if maybe she worried she'd done the same.

He still didn't know her name, but he suddenly sensed that they had more in common than a love of serials—there was something broken in them both.

It was suddenly too much for them, and they looked away at the same time, his hand drifting up to the usual spot behind his ear designated for nervous scratches. He cleared his throat before he ventured, gesturing to the comic in her hand, "I've heard that's a fantastic title, by the way."

She swallowed and looked back up. "Oh yeah?"

"Aye. Sounds very interesting."

"Have you read it?"

"No, I mainly read DC. But my business partner highly recommends it."

"Well then I guess I have to read it," she concluded with a smile.

"Most definitely. I think we have the trade of the first few issues, if you'd rather?"

"No; I prefer individual issues. But, um…" she trailed off, glancing back at the shelf. "There's only the past few here."

"Oh! The rest are with our back issues. Come on." He beckoned her to follow him across the store, automatically slipping into clerk mode (because the shop clerk was far less likely to make an arse of himself by flirting with a customer, however gorgeous or interesting [or potentially liferuining] she may be).

But he couldn't resist looking back at her as she followed him. "You know, I think we might also have a few vari—oh!"

"Woah, woah, woah—!"

"Uf!"

He was cut off by the suddenly alarmed expression on her face and then by her grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him toward her; he had to wrap his arms around her body to prevent them both from toppling over.

"It's about bloody time," he heard himself say. Their proximity jarred him and he blurted out the first thing that came to mind; of course, now his cocky front comes back. He proceeded to blush (again) and internally curse himself.

She just rolled her eyes. "There's a box behind you; you nearly tripped and fell into that shelf." He looked behind where they stood—where he hadn't been watching his step—at the half-full box of back issues that were in the process of being moved.

"Well, that's a plausible excuse for grabbing me; but next time, don't stand on ceremony." (He was committed to the act at this point.)

"Uh-huh. How about you just show me those comics?" The tone of her voice was nonchalant, but the slight smirk on her face said otherwise. So he gave her a half-smirk back, picked up the errant box, and continued to lead her to the back issues.

She began sorting through the bins, first pulling out Thor but then skimming for others. While he filed the comics from the box, she explained how she hadn't been a regular in a store in a while and had missed a lot, first due to her breakup with Neal, meaning she wouldn't go back to Revolutionary, but then because of some crazy weeks in her job as a bailbondsperson.

"God, you have learned way more about me today than you probably wanted to," she said with a shake of her head and a slight laugh.

He paused, still entranced by this fearsome, beautiful being who was gracing him not only with her presence, but with her story as well. He swallowed. "Perhaps I do."

She stared at him out of the corner of her eye, but then turned her focus back to the comics. If he saw her small smile, he didn't let on.

A few minutes later, with some issues of Ms. Marvel and Angela of Asgard added to her stack, she wandered over to the counter; he followed (and something was telling him that if he wasn't careful, he'd be liable to follow her anywhere).

As he was ringing up the comics, he dared, "You missed a hell of a party last week."

"Oh yeah?" Whatever walls he'd seen through earlier were back up, and she seemed ready to deflect his self-admittedly weak advances again. But two could play that game.

"Yup. Tony Stark himself was there."

"You wore an Iron Man suit?"

"No. But Tony Stark is pretty easy to pull off."

"Let me guess: you shaved your beard to match his and then had to shave it all off."

He chuckled and scratched his hook along the still-too-short scruff that had filled back in. "Aye."

"I would have like to see that."

"Which part?"

"That's for me to know." She wore a self-satisfied smile as she continued. "I really did want to come—David had told me about it a while back, too—but something came up last-minute with work."

He was thrown off by her familiarity with his cohort. "You know Dave?"

"Yeah, he's my brother. Well, foster brother."

"Wait, you're Emma?" David and Mary Margaret had mentioned David's sister more than a few times (okay, all the time), usually with a wink or two attached, but having never actually seen her, Killian was beginning to think she didn't exist and that there was a catfish scenario in his future. But now, their comments about her being "recently single" and "so adorable" made a whole lot more sense.

It all clicked in his head, but the only thing he could manage to spit out was, "Oh no, I've been charging you full-price the last few weeks."

She giggled. "It's fine. So you must be the famous Killian?"

"Ah, so you've heard of me?"

"Only every time I see David or Mary Margaret."

"I believe your reputation precedes you in a similar manner."

He finished the transaction and put her comics in one of the reusable totes they saved for large purchases (or just extra-special customers). "Well, I'm glad to have finally met the famous Swan in person." He found he enjoyed the way Swan felt on his tongue.

"You too, Jones." He also enjoyed the way she said his surname.

"Don't be a stranger, love," he said as she grabbed the tote.

"Don't worry; I won't." She smiled back at him as she walked out of the store.

He was going to need to yell at David for not informing him just how awe-inspiring his sister was. But first, he'd need a moment to pull himself together, because Emma Swan definitely just walked through that door with a piece of his heart, and he was beginning to think he'd be inclined to hand the whole thing over.

It wasn't until she was long gone that he noticed she made him forget part of why he'd left England in the first place.

"So why Tuesdays?" he asked her a few weeks later. New comics always came out on Wednesday, so if there was a day in the week to come in, that was it. He wasn't going to complain about their new tradition of trading banter while she perused last week's new issues and he made sense of those to come, but he was certainly curious.

"It's always quiet. Sometimes, I need that."

There was clearly more to the story, but they were still a bit awkward when it came to their pasts. They were more than happy to be in the present with each other, teasing bordering on flirtation, but other than the encounter with her ex, he knew he'd only cracked the cover on the book that was Emma Swan.

Maybe, he thought, I need to show her some of the pages of mine first. "Aye," he began. "I remember the struggle to find solitude on my navy ship. There was always something happening; someone shouting about something. Silence was hard to come by."

"You were in the navy?" He could see her curiosity was piqued.

He nodded. "Yeah, back in England. Worked my way up to Lieutenant before I left."

"Impressive. Why'd you leave?"

"The Navy? Didn't have much choice," he said, gesturing with his hook. "England...lots of reasons." His plan was starting to backfire—he hadn't expected her to be digging through his past; he'd only wanted make her comfortable enough to share some of hers.

"Ahh, a tragic backstory?" Emma asked with a smirk. "Every good hero has one."

"I'm hardly a hero," he replied, incredulous, thinking of the darker part of his life.

"You did save me from a dastardly villain, Superman. Trust me—you have a mark in the hero column."

He could feel his cheeks redden a bit at the faith she seemed to be putting in him, someone she'd barely known for a couple months. She didn't trust easy, he could tell, and he vowed to never lose it once he'd gained it.

But he couldn't let another Superman comment slide. "I'm probably more Batman, love."

"Really, dark and brooding?" She squinted her eyes at him. "Yeah, I guess I could see you in black leather."

"So you're into a man in leather?" Innuendo was always his go-to deflection technique. Now it was her turn to roll her eyes and laugh.

Calming down, she looked back up at him. "So what else do you have in common with Batman?"

He sighed. "Well, we've both had to watch loved ones die and leave us, but I have to say he puts his anger to better use than I did. He gets to the bottom of crime; I got to the bottom of far too many bottles of rum."

She was clearly surprised by his honesty, and he was a bit, too. He'd barely even told David of his life prior to coming to Boston.

"Your parents?" she asked quietly.

"My brother, Liam. He was in the Navy, too."

"I'm sorry."

He needed to change the subject, or at least reverse it, before too many repressed memories sprung forth. "How about you, Swan? Is there some Spiderman going on there? Black Widow maybe?"

"I don't know," she said with a shake of her head. "Are there any superheroes who were abandoned at the side of the road as babies, shuffled from foster home to foster home, and then, once they found a home, were so used to instability that they went and made some of it on their own?" There was anger in her tone, but it was clearly at her past and not at him. He'd heard she had a rough life, but didn't expect the gory details.

Seeking to lighten the mood, he toyed with his reading glasses on the counter in front of him before offering them to her. "Superman was sent here as a baby," he gently joked with a soft smile. "Shall I call you Kara Kent?"

It worked, to his relief, and she let out a small chuckle. "Only if I can still call you Clark."

"It's a deal, love."

A few weeks later, he and Dave were helping Marco install some new shelves to accommodate the large order of Funko figures coming in. Their selection had overgrown the IKEA Billy bookshelf they'd been using, so Marco came in to lend a hand. He'd made all the other shelves in the store, along with the decorative woodwork on the exterior, so he was more than willing to install some more.

(Plus, even though he'd retired, he was still a frequent visitor; his son traveled a lot so "his boys," as he called David and Killian, figured he got lonely, but they were always glad to have him around and were careful to keep his original vision in mind with how they ran the store.)

They were halfway through setting the shelves when the bell chimed at Emma's usual time. He glanced over his shoulder to see her come in with Mary Margaret in tow.

He smiled and was about to call a greeting when David beat him to the punch. "Hey!" he shouted, abandoning his post to properly greet his fiancee and sister.

"Oi! Mate!" Killian didn't mind David going to say hello, but when it left him to (try to) support a shelf with just hand and hook while Marco nailed it in place, he was going to protest. At least he kept it from hitting Marco, who just laughed.

"Ah, to be a young man in love again," he sighed in his thick Italian accent. Normally, Killian would have made a quip about Granny, but the diner owner wasn't there and he was too busy staring at Emma, who was shyly smiling his way. He jumped when Marco elbowed him with a chuckle; Killian's dreamy smile quickly turned bashful and he felt his ears flush, but Marco still pushed him in the direction of the ladies.

He instead headed behind the counter, where he'd set something aside for Emma. It hadn't taken long for him to figure out her flavor of comics: strong ladies, and almost all of them Marvel (in addition to the titles he helped her with the day of the encounter with Neal, she also was a fan of Captain Marvel, Spider-Gwen, and Silk). He was browsing the shipment last week when another series caught his eye and made him think of her, which was incredibly sappy, he knew, but he couldn't resist.

While he was fishing for it under the counter, Emma found her way over, surprising him when he popped back up.

"Didn't mean to scare you," she apologized, but it didn't seem like she meant it judging from the way her mouth turned up at the corner.

He'd forgive her, anyway. "No worries. I was actually, ah…" Seriously, why did she reduce him to the stereotypical awkward comic nerd? Just spit it out. "I found this; made me think of you."

He slid the booklet across the counter: the latest issue of Barb Wire, a series about a badass blonde bartender and bounty hunter. Emma skimmed it, her small smile growing to a grin as she realized the subject matter.

"Yeah, definitely up my alley. Thanks." Her smile turned coy. "Do you do that with all the girls?" It seemed like she was teasing at first, but he could tell she was also testing him.

"Only the really special ones," he flirted back, but on seeing her face fall a bit, he backtracked. "Honestly, no; you truly are the first one, Swan."

"Not even your ex?"

"No, which was probably the first sign."

"Sounds like more backstory."

He was really glad that David was more interested in showing the kids books to Mary Margaret and not the more subdued conversation going on here. "Aye, a bit. Let's just say it's a poor idea to get involved with a married woman, whether you know she is or not. Because if she's cheated once, she'll likely do it again." Truthfully, the woman had near rendered his heart in two; only distance had let him fuse it back together.

Emma nodded, understanding. "Yeah, they tend to do that." To his relief, she didn't seem to be judging him, like most would at implications of infidelity. He was worried his admission would change things, but thankfully, it hadn't; apparently it was one more thing they had in common.

The heavy moment of understanding seemed to drag on, until they both awkwardly looked away at the same time, which made them both giggle.

"Anyways, there's that," he started again, tapping a finger on the cover of Barb Wire. "If you like it, I already checked—we have every issue. Oh, but don't go watch the movie; I already did and it's terrible."

She laughed gently. "Thanks for the warning. And really—thanks for thinking of me. It's...been awhile since anyone did that."

"Well, that's far too long for a lass as fine as you."

She glanced down, blushing, and looked up at him through her lashes. She didn't say anything more as she went to browse the shelves, but that smile on her face—both flirtatious and genuinely happy—said everything.

After the girls left, David and Killian watched them head out before getting back to shelf construction.

"So, you and Emma seem to get along fine," David assessed.

"Uh, yeah, I think we do," he answered modestly.

"Do you like her?"

Killian couldn't tell where this was going, but figured honesty was the best policy. "Yeah, I do. Quite a bit."

"So ask her out already!"

Killian's jaw dropped; he was NOT expecting that. "Bugger off, mate," he said once he recovered, and headed back to where Marco waited for them.

It was nice to have David's blessing, and he knew David knew Emma best; but if there was one thing he'd figured out about her, it was that she'd run if he was too forward.

The comic today had been a first step. So what next?