𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐖𝐀𝐘. Of course, she had never gone on the subway much before and it could be chalked up to simple nerves and the need for distance and control, but it could be scientifically proven, she hoped, that the subway was the cause for her ironed hair to turn frizzy and her sweet perfume to turn sour and her dry cleaned clothes to become sweat stained in a matter of minutes, her entire day ruined before it even began. She should have just taken a cab.

But this was cheaper and more environmentally friendly—or so she figured—so Tink was fine to just brave through it, unsure of where her body ended and the man's next to her began. Breathing was also not much of an option, but she didn't want to cause too much of a fuss for that.

But being so small, she was nearly trampled the moment that the doors opened. She struggled not to be jostled by the crowd of people, holding tightly to her purse and practically ramming herself against others in an attempt to find some semblance of breathing room.

She raced up the stairs, nearly slipping and braining herself against the dirty concrete, only just making it out onto the busy New York sidewalk where she found herself now in line for a churro along with a few other souls who seemed just as lost as she was.

Tink puffed out her cheeks, her entire body tensing, and she immediately stopped with a horrifying realization that she was acting more and more like her namesake character than she would like, complete with the bun and red cheeks.

She groaned, falling into step with the rest of the people who cared not for her nor anyone else, and it was both comforting and isolating. She didn't need people to care about her as she walked along the streets, but she would be lying if she said that, at the time, she really needed someone to look at her.

After all, she lost her job a week ago and her best friend lived on the other side of the country, which meant she was struggling to live off her severance and compensation while she tried to find a new job.

She felt her lower lip wobble as she made her way back to her apartment. It was nice in comparison to others, and she knew that, even if she did find another job before rent was due, she was probably going to need to find a new place to stay.

There weren't many opportunities for personal assistants that paid as nicely as her previous job did, especially since some of her paycheck came from money that no one at the company actually earned, but she didn't know anything about that, she didn't.

Though, despite how clearly wrong it was, it made her feel nice to know that her boss chose to give some of his laundered money to her and her family. He wasn't a good man, but he was a nice one, to some extent.

Fishing out her phone, she glanced up to make sure she knew where she was walking before glancing back down at her emails. It was like she was back in college, furiously searching for internships and job opportunities so she wouldn't be without a job once she left after graduation.

She was thirty-eight years old, she didn't think that she would need to be searching for another job at this point. Then again, being a personal assistant wasn't always a stable job, but when she passed her fifth year of working at the job she had since she was twenty-nine, she was sure she wouldn't have to worry about finding another job for a while.

Now, she had to fend off calls from reporters and talk to the police and FBI about her involvement—to which she had none—and she was completely alone.

She sighed when she caught sight of another email demanding answers, closing her phone and shoving it back in her pocket. It was rather timely, really, as she was now in front of her apartment building.

"What's up, Tink?" the doorman called as she made her way towards the elevators, and she couldn't help but stop dead in her tracks, making her way back over towards him.

Peter, the doorman, was one of her favorite people, not simply because he had a matching name to her, but because he didn't once question her connections once the news broke. Of course, she liked him before, mainly because he was young and helped her whenever she overslept by having coffee ready for her in the morning, but as of the moment, he was all she had.

"How was the job interview?" he asked, because he always remembered, reaching down towards the area under his desk, waiting in anticipation.

She snorted, knowing that he probably had something prepared for if she did well or if she didn't, so she simply shrugged, rolling her eyes. "I don't think it went well. The moment I mentioned Lucian, the man smiled and told me to leave and that they'd call me."

Peter pursed his lips and nodded, giving her a sad smile as he pulled out the Venti coffee out from under his desk, holding up a finger as he put a frown underneath the two eyes he had drawn in advance, handing it over the counter, and she wanted to laugh, but all she could do was sigh.

"Don't worry about it, Tink, you'll find a place. Try Disneyland," he said, laughing at his own joke, and she scoffed, reaching out to swat at him.

"Did you talk to Piper about it?" he asked, because Tink had talked enough about Piper that Peter could act like he, too, was her best friend without it being utterly obvious he had never seen the woman in person.

"No, she's got a meeting today, there was a slight mishap with the social media manager, so she had to deal with that today," she explained, remembering the phone conversation she had earlier that morning, Piper shouting at her to check the news to rant about how ridiculous it was that there were people dying in the streets and all that anyone could talk about was their social media manager ruining the sanctity of the company on Twitter.

"I'm probably going to have to be in charge of that, which is terrible, because I know shit about social media," the PR manager had sighed, and Tink could only listen and idly comment as she searched for more job offers.

"That's why I'm a doorman, there's nothing I can do wrong unless someone here gets hurt on my watch, but that hasn't happened yet," Peter declared proudly, and she had to raise an eyebrow at his added 'yet,' but the twenty-something didn't seem to notice or care about the look she cast his way, instead shuffling around papers.

"So what're you going to do?" he asked, and she puffed out her cheeks, huffing.

"I mean, this was the last meeting I have this week, there's no one else. I've left some voicemails, but no one's answered my calls, and my email is just a mess at this point, I don't—I don't know what I should do. And I have to find a new place on top of it all," she groaned, dropping her head on the counter.

"Wait, what? Why are you leaving?" he demanded, snapping his head up from where he was doing his grad school work, looking utterly horrified.

She held up her hands defensively, just as upset. "Even if I find another job, it probably won't pay enough for me to afford this place, remember, I made a lot working for Lucian."

"First off, maybe stop calling your con ex-boss by his first name, there's a reason people think you had something to do with it," Peter said, and she had to admit, he had a point, "Second, you can't leave, Tink, you're my favorite tenant!"

Tink could only smile and roll her eyes, because the alternative was bursting into tears, and no one wanted that. "Well, it's not like I want to. But unless a miracle happens before rent is due, you're going to have to find a new favorite tenant."

Peter pouted, leaning forward against the counter and huffing. "You're making me sad, I waited in line for Starbucks for you, and now you're telling me that you're going to leave? I'm cashing in my miracle points, I want you to stay."

Tink was about to laugh and remind him that miracle points didn't exist and, sometimes, wanting something really badly wasn't going to count for anything because good things could happen much later on.

Then her phone rang.

They both jumped, Tink shouting slightly before covering her mouth, taking a deep breath before fishing out her phone, Peter wheezing and demanding to know who it was, clutching his chest.

She raised an eyebrow when she saw the number, but figured that, perhaps, it was someone calling her back on her job search. Either way, she picked up.

"Hello?" she called, not even bothering to try and shape her voice, genuinely curious as to who was calling her.

"Isabelle Tinker," the voice called, more of a statement than a question, with a kind of casual authority only one in great power could wield, "I heard you're out of a job."

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

I'm sorry that there wasn't much dialogue, there really wasn't too much that happened, but I'm really excited about next chapter. I didn't plan on Peter existing—I don't know why, because I mean, really—but I'm glad he's here. For clarification, this isn't a Disney fic, or else I would've called it Fairy Dust or something like that, her name is just a pun.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!