Penny arrived early at the comic shop, hood up, sunglasses on, acting like she was attempting espionage rather than trying to sneak past a cardboard cutout of the Green Lantern. Stuart had promised her the back room would be empty so she could sign the limited-run print issues without the guys noticing.
But the moment she stepped inside, she saw them—Leonard, Raj, Howard… and Sheldon, who was already browsing the new releases with the quiet intensity of a man evaluating the structural integrity of each issue.
Penny froze.
Stuart, oblivious, called out, "Penny! Perfect timing. Your—uh—thing is ready in the back."
She winced. "Stuart, volume."
Leonard turned. "Your thing?"
"Nothing!" Penny squeaked. "Girl stuff!"
Raj looked intrigued. Howard leered. Sheldon… lifted one eyebrow in a way that was far too observant.
Because of course he already knew.
Ever since the first digital release, Sheldon had been slipping in oddly specific analyses of the comic. The latest was last night, when he'd casually asked at dinner:
"Out of curiosity, Penny, do you think the Starfall Valkyrie's weapon choice originate from a historical Icelandic archetype, or merely a preference for hybrid blunt-energy mechanics?"
She'd almost dropped her fork.
Now he watched her with that same unnervingly patient awareness—the look he got when he knew exactly what experiment someone was running and just wanted to see how long it would take for them to admit it.
Penny escaped into the back room before he could sharpen that stare any further.
Stuart had stacked the freshly printed limited-run issues on the table, glossy and beautiful. "Okay," he whispered. "You sign, I'll distract the guys. They'll never know."
Penny uncapped the silver pen. Her hand shook. "This is insane. I shouldn't even be doing this..."
"Well, Elisabet Eiríksdóttir couldn't exactly sign them in the middle of the shop," Stuart said. "Unless she wanted to reveal herself."
Penny tried not to hyperventilate. She signed quickly but artistically—Elisabet's looping, confident signature that felt half like muscle memory and half like a phantom from a life long gone.
---
Meanwhile in the Shop…
The guys browsed. Leonard kept casting glances toward the back room.
"I'm telling you," he whispered to Howard, "Penny's hiding something."
Howard shrugged. "Yeah, probably the contents of her purse. Women have layers."
Sheldon didn't look up from a comic he wasn't actually reading.
He already knew exactly what Penny was doing. Her handwriting was the same as on the storyboards he'd once glimpsed on her kitchen table. And the panel layout? Her artistic rhythm was unmistakable.
But this wasn't information he was obligated to share. It was data he was… holding. Quietly. Respectfully.
Waiting.
Still, he angled his body slightly, listening. He was closest to the storage room door. He almost hear the scratch of the autograph pen through the half-closed door.
She was nervous. He could tell by the inconsistency in pressure.
He hummed softly, almost content.
---
Penny finished the last one, exhaled, and braced herself before stepping back into the main room.
Immediately Leonard narrowed his eyes. "Why do you look guilty?"
"I don't look guilty!"
"You definitely do," Howard added.
Sheldon didn't say anything. He just observed her, arms behind his back, posture straight. He had already resumed his quiet "patient scientist" mode.
Which only made Penny more jumpy.
---
Stuart reappeared carrying a small padded envelope. "Oh! Penny—uh, I mean—Elisabet got her first fan letter. I put it with your… girl stuff."
Penny let out an undignified choke noise.
The boys stared.
"Fan letter?" Leonard repeated.
"For the author of the Starfall Valkyrie print," Stuart said quickly. "I said nothing else. Nothing at all. Nope."
Penny fled again, grabbing the envelope on instinct.
Inside was a handwritten letter—a teen girl saying how the Valkyrie made her feel stronger. Seen. Capable. Penny swallowed hard.
Behind her, she heard a soft shift of movement. When she turned, Sheldon stood in the doorway—not close, not invasive, simply… present.
His voice was mild, but his eyes were unguarded in a way that made her heart flip.
"Good work is recognized, Penny."
Her breath caught.
She tucked the fan letter against her chest and whispered, "Thanks, Moonpie."
He blinked at the nickname, already preparing his usual protest—but it softened before it reached his mouth. Just slightly.
A hint. A tell.
He knew.
And he was waiting.