Chapter Text
If in the past months Nancy had to imagine what her morning on her first day of work, well internship - they didn’t pay her enough to call it work- at the New York Times would be like she surely wouldn’t have thought it to go this way.
And Nancy Wheeler didn't like being wrong.
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7:57 Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Her alarm didn’t go off, she realized wiping her drooly cheek and beginning to panic and yell at her asshole flatmate Sarah for not waking her up. No answer.
On the way to the bathroom she almost slipped on a pair of boxers. Ugh, no wonder Sarah was still asleep , Nancy thought with a hint of jealousy. It had been a long time since Nancy had got near a pair of male underwear.
But that was only the start, the tip of the giant iceberg, her sanity and job being the Titanic.
She wondered what otherworldly malefic entity had entered all the electric appliances in her flat. Nothing was working, not the kettle, not the hairdryer, not the toaster, resulting in half damp and frizzy hair, no breakfast, no coffee.
How was she going to make coffee? She was late, she couldn’t buy it on the way. And Nancy needed coffee to survive, she was like Tinkerbell, she just disappeared without the magic effects of trimetilxantines.
Oh well, time to experience the effects of caffeine abstinence, she thought as she put on her shoes and grabbed a banana and a bottle of water from the fridge.
She really hoped she had all the cards and papers she needed to enter the building and start her internship.
This was her chance, her dream job, while currently finishing her last year of university. But she had to run if she wanted to make it on time, and run fast.
But, with running, Nancy realized as she entered the subway, came sweat. And sweat patches.
Fucking wonderful
A sweaty, frizzy haired, sleepy intern would make a great first impression. But Nancy didn’t retreat, she would make it on time and kick ass, if making copies could be in any way ass-kicking.
Eight Avenue was a nightmare, buzzing with an ever-moving crowd, thankfully New Yorkers walked fast.
8:37 she read on her watch. She could do it, she thought entering the New York Times Building, she just had to quickly find an elevator and she would be just on time to start her introductory tour.
Nancy launched herself into the first elevator she saw with doors open and hastily pushed the button of the floor she was supposed to meet with her consultant.
An elderly lady with a strange pink hat smiled fondly at her as if she was some sort of charity case, well her hair didn’t help .
She had made it, thank you Jesus. Just a short, quick, smooth elevator ride separated her from her goal. Nancy never retreated.
Just as the doors were closing an arm surged between the two halves.
“Wait up!” screamed the man attached to the arm.
Ugh , Nancy didn’t skip coffee that morning just so this stranger could get her to be late.
The pink hat lady, however, thought differently, clicking the button to open the doors for him.
Oh no, he’s cute.
The stranger was boy not older than her, with dark blond, messy hair, a brown jacket and a camera around his neck.
“Thank you” he said a little out of breath, Nancy just rolled her eyes. He may be cute, but he still made her lose at least one minute.
“Which floor, young man?”
“Uhm… tenth”
“Ah, just like this lovely young lady here”
The attractive-but-time-consuming stranger looked at her with a shy smile that made his dimples show. Stop it, Nancy. Focus.
The elevator began to move, thank God. But not for long. It came with an alt and a ding that reverberated in her ears.
“Oh, this is my floor. Have a good day, you two” said the lady, before disappearing.
Just a minute, maybe less and she would be on the right floor of the right building, ready to begin the internship of her dreams. Nancy couldn’t help but wonder what her elevator companion was doing in this building. Well, he did have a camera around his neck, Sherlock . He was probably a photographer, but he seemed very young, maybe he was an intern as well.
5th
6th
The floors were passing by quickly. Good. Good.
7th
Almost there.
Turns out that out of the two words “almost” and “there”, the former was the most important.
The elevator suddenly stopped with an alarming screech, sending both on the floor.
Oh no. No, this wasn’t happening to her. Not now. Not ever.
Nancy looked at him, the boy, who was clutching tightly his camera. He pulled himself up, tried to push some buttons but nothing was working.
Nancy suspected that the entity responsible for her frizzy hair had somehow managed to enter the electric systems of the building and make her life a living hell.
The cute stranger raised his eyebrows and said “Guess we’re stuck”