The Shadow [a marvel fanfiction]

Civil War: Chapter One

Unobstructed sunlight flooded the bookshop. Marie wove between the bookcases, tables, and assorted piles of books on the floor. The box in her arms grew heavier with every step. She grit her teeth and paused, shifting its weight. Only a few more feet.

She unceremoniously dropped the box on the floor and winced at the loud thud. The nearest bookcase rattled, a cloud of dust flying into the air. Marie groaned and shook out her arms, arching her back and taking a deep breath. Her body ached from moving boxes upon boxes of books from the backroom. She rubbed her left bicep, which was particularly sore, before stooping down.

One by one, the books were organized by authors' names. Nearly all of them were Romanian, Russian, or some other Eastern European nationality. There was one shelf by the register that contained English books; the rest were translated works or language books.

Marie broke down the now-empty box and dragged her feet to the backroom. She still had four more boxes to unpack, but all she wanted was a long nap. Rubbing her eyes, Marie's foot collided with the corner of a bookcase.

"Motherfu—"

Her voice echoed in the otherwise silent bookstore. She gripped the offending bookcase, eyes screwed shut while she attempted to breathe through the pain. Her toe throbbed and burned in the worst pain known to mankind (second only to stepping on a damn LEGO piece).

"Marie? Are you okay?"

The jilted, heavily accented English was barely processed by Marie's brain. She opened her eyes, which were embarrassingly wet, to see Andrei staring at her. The owner was a tall, heavy-set man who looked like he belonged in the woods with an axe in hand instead of a dusty little bookshop holding Jane Austen's Mansfield Park.

Marie forced herself to give him a thumbs up and stand properly. She gestured to her throbbing foot and aggressively patted the bookcase.

"That's some-some-some quality wood you got here."

Andrei understood little English and Marie knew only a bit more Romanian. Any exchanges between them were had with smiles and a hint of "I-have-no-idea-what-you're-saying-but-you're-cool-so-it's-whatever."

Marie limped into the backroom, tossing the cardboard into a pile. She heaved the next box into her arms with a groan. A small part of her wondered if some of these books were carved out and filled with grenades or some other weapons. That wouldn't be a bad idea. Marie filed that thought away to tell Bucky later. What if drugs were smuggled that way?

These thoughts failed to distract her from the soreness in her arm, pain in her foot, and general exhaustion that weighed her down. She dropped this box on the floor even harder than the previous one, causing a pile of books on the floor to fall over.

Marie muttered under her breath. She restacked the books and started sorting through the box when she heard her name—an accented Mar-ee-eh—called out.

Andrei smiled and waved at the register. Marie was all too happy to relax on the stool, thumbing through a worn copy of Macbeth. She wished she had saved her granola bar to eat now.

The door jingled as Andrei stepped outside for his late-morning smoke. Marie focused on each line carefully, her finger moving from word to word. Normal English was hard enough with her dyslexia, but Shakespeare threw her brain into a salad spinner.

Not long after Andrei returned, Marie was still at the register and drawing out her break as long as possible when a man burst into the shop. The bell jingled aggressively, and the door slammed shut. Marie jolted, the book falling off her lap.