Chapter Text
══⋆★⋆══ Joel ══⋆★⋆══
Juggling a hot cup of fresh, diner coffee in one hand, his keys and flight bag in the other, and a stack of papers he just pulled out of his inbox under his arm, Joel unlocks his office door and pushes inside.
He sets it all down on his desk with a sigh then goes to open the blinds and cracks the window, letting in some of the cool morning air.
The weather is nice today. The sky’s clear and blue, save a few wispy white clouds; a good day to fly.
Taking a seat at his desk he sips at his coffee and starts sorting through the day’s paperwork.
Near the top of the pile is a new student intake form.
It’s been a while since he got a new student, but his roster is dwindling so it’s probably a good thing.
Curious, he sets the rest aside and flips over the cover page.
The top reads:
Name: Williams, El
The first name is clearly cut off. Ever since they switched to that new-fangled online application system it’s been a problem.
The address section has him frowning. It’s in one of those rich neighborhoods on the uppity side of Jackson.
The boxes for Private Pilots Licence and Ground School are both checked, with an additional box marked for one-on-one ground school lessons.
Joel rolls his eyes. No one pays for private ground school unless they are loaded.
And it only gets worse from there. Joel nearly spits out his coffee when he reads the next line:
Age: 14
There’s no goddamn way.
Joel curls his lip in disgust as his mind conjures up the image of a lanky teen named Elwood or Elroy (or something equally as pretentious) showing up in a polo and some golf shorts.
Abandoning his coffee on his desk he marches back out of his office.
“Frank!” he shouts down the short hallway.
“Good morning to you too, Joel,” Frank responds cheerily as he exits the office kitchen, bagel in hand.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Joel asks, brandishing the intake form.
Frank casually takes a bite of his breakfast, unbothered by Joel’s early morning ire, and huffs a laugh.
“I did you a favor. You needed a new student,” he says matter-of-factly.
“I made it very clear when I started training here that I don’t train minors! Absolutely no kids,” Joel growls.
“Well, that’s all we got. With that new private airfield that opened in Park County we haven’t been getting as many applicants.”
“What about Nolan, doesn’t he have a slot for a new student?”
“Already filled. Joel, with you only teaching two days a week it’s harder to find students who fit with your schedule. And you know the ones shooting for commercial want to get their PPLs done fast as possible.”
Joel crosses his arms and flexes his jaw in frustration.
“You also know Jim has his checkride next week,” Frank continues undeterred, “That will bring you down to three students. And this one only wants to fly on Saturdays. It’s a good match.”
“Yeah, because they’re in kindergarten the rest of the week,” he sneers condescendingly. “And you know I don’t like teaching on the Cessna,” Joel adds to further his point.
“I do. Which is why, if you actually read the form, you’ll see I’ve signed them up to learn on the Arrow,” Frank counters calmly, a smug pride in his tone.
“A fourteen year old on the Arrow?” Joel scoffs, “They aren’t even old enough for drivers ed and you’re putting them in a complex aircraft?”
“That’s the beauty of starting them young. They have time to learn, there’s no rush,” Frank reasons, smiling and gesturing with his bagel as if he’s just played a trump card.
Joel glares, unable to think of a counter argument that doesn’t involve bringing up the real reason why he’s so child-adverse. He doesn’t talk about that. Not to anyone.
“Look, if you’re still unhappy with the assignment in a few weeks I’ll transfer them to someone else. But right now you're the only instructor with an open time slot that works and I don’t want to be turning away business,” Frank offers.
“Fine,” Joel relents, fuming, “but you owe me,” he warns before stomping back to his office.
“Oh! And they are scheduled to start today at one!” Frank shouts after him.
Jesus Christ. So much for that good day.
Joel grumbles something unintelligible but distinctly profane, before deliberately shutting his door.
══⋆★⋆══
By the time 12:45 rolls around Joel’s in a marginally better mood. The morning flight lesson had gone well and he’d actually enjoyed the lunch special.
Resolving to make it through the first few lessons until Frank can reassign the kid, Joel heads out to the front of the building to wait for his new student.
1:00 pm comes and goes.
He glances at his watch about a hundred times, his patience growing thin as the minutes tick by.
It’s not until 1:25 that a shiny black Cadillac Escalade pulls into the lot, the window tint so dark he can’t even see how many people are in the car.
Joel assumes this must be the fashionably late Ellingsworth Williams the third, but then the passenger door opens and a scrawny little waif of a girl hops out.
Clad in a wash-worn baseball tee and torn jeans, accented by a threadbear backpack being held together by some duct tape and a prayer, the girl looks like something the cat dragged in.
False alarm. Maybe she’s Neil’s grandkid or something. He’s always going on and on about his grandkids.
Joel turns his attention back to the entry road. The airport isn’t that big and there’s only one main road in and out… it’s not like they could have gotten lost.
But before he can think any more on it, he realizes the girl is headed directly for him, literally skipping as she goes.
She comes to a stop just a few feet in front of him, a huge grin on her face, messy ponytail bobbing as she bounces on the balls of her feet.
“Hi!” she greets enthusiastically.
Joel glares, “What do you want?”
“Uh,” the girl hesitates a moment, her bouncing stopping and her smile faltering, “You’re Joel Miller, right?”
“Yes. What’s it to you?” he asks gruffly hoping to deter this conversation.
Contrary to his intent, this seems to perk the girl up, her smile returning.
“I’m Ellie,” she says confidently like that’s supposed to mean something to him.
Joel checks his watch again then turns back to watch the road, if his student isn't here in the next five minutes he’s cancelling the lesson.
“And?” he asks, not looking at the girl.
“Saw a photo of you on the web page,” she proclaims, not discouraged by his intentionally cold demeanor.
“Good for you,” he says mockingly, trying for his most cutting tone.
But she doesn’t budge. She’s still standing there beaming at him.
Maybe he’s going soft. He used to be able to shut a grown man up with a single scowl, now he’s got Frank and this random child seemingly taunting him for it.
“You’re my new flight instructor!” she announces confidently.
That gets his attention.
“No,” is his immediate response, his head shaking before he can even fully process the statement.
Her eyebrows raise mischievously and nods her head yes, apparently deriving some kind of joy out of the absurdity of this situation.
The puzzle pisces slot into place despite his denial.
“Williams?” he asks, afraid of the answer.
“That’s me!” she says peppily thumbing the straps of her backpack, “Ellie Williams, reporting for duty.”
He’s going to kill Frank.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ Ellie ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡
When Marlene confirmed her successful enrollment at the flight school, Ellie had done her due diligence and read through their web page and any reviews she could find.
Joel’s name had come up several times; student sentiment ranged from “mean son of a bitch” to “best instructor ever!” One person had even characterized him as “all bark and no bite.”
So, Ellie wasn’t exactly surprised at the less than warm reception she’d received. She’s very used to adults not liking her, but the way this old man’s emotions read so clearly across his face is actually pretty funny.
He looks a bit older in person than his profile picture online. His dark hair and beard are peppered with gray and he’s sporting a mustache that makes her think of those old campy westerns she used to be subjected to at a previous placement.
It's obvious she isn't what he’d been expecting, but instinct tells her the scowl on his face isn’t a serious threat. And her instincts are normally pretty good when it comes to that kind of thing.
He scolds her about being late (not her fault but she didn’t see the point in arguing) and tells her they have to go inside to do some paperwork first, but her enthusiasm isn’t dampened.
She still can’t believe she’s really here, and that she’s actually going to get to learn to fly!
Sure the circumstances aren’t ideal, but nothing in her life ever is.
Inside, Joel and gives her a perfunctory tour of the building before ushering her into his office.
It’s a small room. A single window, a few pictures of planes and certificates hanging on the wall, a bookshelf full of manuals, and a desk with a chair on either side.
Joel moves behind the desk and starts rummaging through a drawer.
“Going to need your flight log,” he says as leafs through a big three ring binder, pulling out several sheets of paper.
“Uh, what’s that?” she asks, dropping her backpack on the floor and plopping down in the guest chair.
He looks up at her with an unamused expression, “You don’t have a flight log?”
“Considering I don’t know what that is, I think it’s safe to say, no. I don’t,” she rebuffs.
Joel sighs dramatically but explains, “It’s a logbook where you track all your flight hours and I sign them off. It’s how you prove you’ve done the required training for your licence.”
“Okay…” she says and leans over the chair to dig through her backpack, “Can I just use this?” she asks, pulling out a notebook of lined paper. It’s the last clean one she has but this seems like a worthy cause.
“No,” Joel answers flatly, still looking thoroughly put out, “But Frank keeps some in the back along with some other basic supplies. You can buy one from him later.”
This news makes Ellie frown. “Can we charge it to my account?” she asks hesitantly.
Joel eyes her for a moment, “No idea. You can take that up with Frank. I’ll take it that means you didn’t bring an FAA handbook or a headset either?”
Ellie's frown deepens as she mentally goes over her potential options. There’s no way the Caulder’s are going to fork up any cash for supplies or equipment. She’d kinda assumed paying for flight lessons was an all inclusive sort of deal... and currently she has exactly zero dollars to her name. So, if she can’t charge it to the account she’s shit out of luck.
“Nevermind,” Joel cuts in before she can offer any explanation. “Here, this is your syllabus,” he says, passing her a small paperback book, “and you’ll need to read through these. Fill out the highlighted sections and sign at the end,” he instructs, indicating the pile of paperwork and pen he’s set out on his desk. “I’ll be right back,” he tells her before leaving her alone in the office.
Ellie does her best to fill out the paperwork while Joel’s gone. There’s a section for emergency contacts and parental information that gives her pause. She decides to put Marlene in for almost everything… She hasn’t known her new caseworker that long but it still feels like a more stable option than her new fosters who seem questionable at best. She skips some of the boxes because she has no idea what kind of insurance she has or the medical history of her actual parents.
She quickly reads through the school’s ‘code of conduct’ and is signing the last page when Joel returns with a small, green, canvas duffle bag and drops it next to her chair.
“You can use these until you get your own,” he states gruffly.
“Cool, thanks,” she says with a sense of relief.
Picking up the bag and unzipping it, she peers inside at the contents. There’s a chunky looking yellow headset, a small clipboard, a couple weird looking maps, what she assumes is a flashlight, and a few white paper bags.
“What are these for?” she asks, pulling out one of the paper bags.
“Barf bags,” he says simply.
“I’m not going to get sick!” she insists.
“That’s what they all say. You finish that paperwork?”
“Yep!”
“Good. You’ll still need a log book, go give the forms to Frank and ask him about it. His office is down the hall on the right. Then meet me out front. You can leave the bags here for now,” he tells her and leaves again before she can scramble out of the chair.
Ellie gathers up the papers and hesitantly makes her way over to the office with the name plaque that reads “Frank Standish.” She knows from her web reconnaissance that Frank is the owner of the flight school but that’s about it.
The door’s open a crack and she knocks tentatively.
“Come in,” a voice welcomes and she pushes the door open.
“Uh, Joel told me to give these to you,” she explains, stepping inside and holding up the forms.
“Oh! Hello. You must be Ellie,” he greets with a smile, standing and coming around the desk to shake Ellie’s hand before accepting the papers. “It’s very nice to finally meet you,” he says politely. “I’ve spoken to Marlene and I think we have everything worked out. If you need anything you just let me know, okay?”
It’s rare that adults offer her such courtesies, and it catches her a little off guard.
“Uh, yeah. You too,” she stammers a bit dumbly, “- and uh, oh. There is something. Joel says I need a log book.”
“Of course, of course. Let me just make you copies of these for your records and then I’ll go grab you one,” he offers reassuringly.
“Um, I don’t have any money on me,” she admits. It’s strange how she actually feels a little more nervous around Frank than Joel.
He’s not too dissimilar from Joel in looks - an old dude with a graying beard - but he’s the complete opposite in demeanor: relaxed, open, and friendly.
You’d think that would put her at ease but Joel’s coarseness had made her feel more free to be herself (because who fucking cares if she’s rude if he’s going to be rude back). Where Frank's niceties are making her feel like she’s got to put on her best ‘well behaved kid’ mask.
“That’s no problem. I’ll just charge it to the registered account. We have permission to charge anything that’s directly related to your lessons,” he explains as he feeds the documents into his copy machine. “Things okay so far with Joel?”
“Yep,” she says, clasping her hands behind her back and looking around the room. Frank's office has a lot more flair. There are similar plane photos and certificates, but there are also pictures of Frank with (who she assumes are) family and flight students, along with some colorful landscape paintings and a couple potted plants that look well cared for.
“Don’t let him scare you. He’s -” Frank starts.
“All bark and no bite,” Ellie cuts in.
Frank laughs, “Yeah, something like that.”
“I can handle it,” Ellie asserts.
“I’m certain you can,” he agrees easily, handing her the now stapled copies of the papers she’d filled out.
Frank gets her a log book and Ellie goes back to Joel’s office to stash it all in her bags.
When that’s all finally done Ellie heads outside and finds Joel waiting for her, now sporting a canvas jacket and a pair of sunglasses.
“Ready?” he asks.
“As I’ll ever be,” she answers, excited to really get started.
Joel turns and starts towards a row of three large buildings with curved tops and metal sidings.
As they walk Ellie takes in her surroundings.
This airport is significantly smaller than the one she’d flow out of in Boston but there’s still a decent amount of activity.
Planes of various sizes are coming in for a landing or taking off at somewhat regular intervals.
The roar of larger jet engines mix with the buzz of the small planes, and the air is permeated by the smell of jet fuel and hot pavement.
She can't explain why, but the sky feels bigger out here in Wyoming than it ever did back in Boston.
They reach the building with a big number three on the side and Joel hauls open one of the large sliding doors.
“Hangar three is the flight school's. Two is for private owners. One is where they do most of the maintenance and servicing,” he explains as the door opens, revealing several small aircraft lined up on either side of the wide open space.
Some have one propeller, a couple have two. Most have their wings high and over the top of the cockpit but the one Joel stops at has lower wings and a single propeller.
“This is the plane we’ll be training on,” he states.
It’s white with retro looking red and orange striping and the markings N142WT in bold on the tail.
“Right. Now, first things first. What do you know about flying?” he asks bluntly.
“Uh, that you do it in an airplane?” she offers with a shrug.
Joel gives her an unimpressed look.
“What are the three fundamental axes of rotation?” he tries.
“Dude, I thought you were supposed to be teaching me?” she says, a little exasperated.
“I am. I need to understand what you already know so I know where to start. Name the primary control surfaces,” he states coolly.
It’s Ellie’s turn to scowl.
When she doesn’t attempt to answer he asks, “Did you not study at all before showing up?”
“I didn’t know I needed to!” she says indignantly.
Joel sighs (something he apparently does a lot) and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Most people who want to learn to fly know something about airplanes before signing up,” he says.
“I know they have two wings and the thing on the front spins,” she states sarcastically.
“So, from the beginning then I guess,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself.
⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆
Ellie spends the next hour doing her absolute best to absorb everything Joel throws at her but it’s giving her a whole new perspective on the phrase “drinking from the fire hose.”
He names and explains all the major parts of the plane, going into depth about what the rudder, elevators, and ailerons do, and gives her a high level overview of basic rules and procedures.
A lot of it is alphabet soup and she has to constantly ask what words and acronyms mean, but to her surprise he doesn’t seem annoyed by that.
He probes her understanding with pointed questions and she does her best to answer. He corrects her when she gets it wrong, but not in the condescending way she’d expected.
It seems like flight school is going to be a lot more like actual school than she'd anticipated - but maybe it won't be so bad.
══⋆★⋆══ Joel ══⋆★⋆══
They’ve been at it for a while and he can tell by the dazed look in her eyes the kid’s reached capacity.
“Okay, that’s enough for now,” he tells her.
“We’re not going to get in?” she asks, clearly disappointed.
“Not today.”
“But why?” she asks with a slight whine that’s so very teenager that it ruffles him a bit.
“You were late, it’s nearly three, and I have other students. Show up on time and prove to me you retained some of what I told you today and we’ll go up next lesson,” he says.
“Boo,” she groans petulantly but Joel ignores it.
Honestly, she'd been a lot more attentive than he'd expected. It was clear she was making a real effort to learn, which he appreciated. He might even be a little impressed - but he wasn't about to admit that out loud.
Together they make their way back to the main office and she retrieves her backpack and on-loan flight bag.
“Hey, do you know where I can connect to wi-fi around here?” she asks him.
“Should be able to at The Window Seat,” he answers.
“What?”
“It’s the airport diner. It’s called The Window Seat. South end of the airport, past the commuter terminal, can’t miss it,” he explains, taking a seat at his desk and mentally going over what he needs to do before his last lesson of the day.
“Uh, Oh. Okay, thank you,” she says. She lingers for a moment but when Joel doesn't say anything else she scurries out of the office.
He hears the front doors open and as soon as they click shut Frank appears in his doorway.
“So, how was it?” Frank asks, a smirk on his face.
“Do me a favor and don’t do me any more favors.”
══⋆★⋆══
When he finishes with his last student and his daily logs he heads over to the diner for a bite to eat before heading home. It’s not unusual for him to take lunch and dinner there on the days he teaches.
When he enters he’s startled to find the kid there, perched on one of the round stools at the high top counter, headphones on, and auburn hair looking somehow messier than earlier. She’s bent over a notebook with a pencil in hand.
He peeks over her shoulder as he passes and sees one page is taken up with notes on the things they’d talked about today, and the opposite side has a rough pencil drawing of the Arrow with the control surfaces labeled.
She doesn’t seem to notice him until he takes his usual seat a couple stools down.
When she catches sight of him out of the corner of her eye she pulls her headphones off with an, “Oh, hi.”
“That’s pretty good, where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, gesturing at her notebook, not bothering to return the greeting.
She looks down at her drawing then back up at him. There’s a moment where she looks surprised but then she schools her face into something more in line with typical teenage apathy.
“Julliard,” she answers sarcastically.
“Julliard is a performing arts school, not a drawing school,” he corrects with equal derision.
She just rolls her eyes dramatically and continues shading the fuselage.
Flo, the head server, appears on the other side of the counter, her usual flower-pen and notepad in hand, “What are we having this evening?” she asks him, “The usual?”
“Yeah. That’ll be good. Thanks,” he affirms.
“And how about you, honey. Sure you don’t want anything to eat?” Flo asks Ellie.
Ellie looks up, her eyes darting momentarily to him before focusing on Flo.
“Do I need to buy food to stay?” she asks like she’s worried she’s about to get kicked out.
“No, of course not, dear. I just figured you must be hungry by now,” Flo says.
“I’m good. Water is fine, thank you,” Ellie responds looking a bit embarrassed.
“Alright then. You let me know if you change your mind,” Flo tells her before retrieving the coffee pot and pouring Joel his evening cup of decaf.
Joel picks up a local newspaper that’s been left on the counter and starts skimming through. He's halfway done with the sports section when the kid speaks.
“Where are you from anyway?” she asks, fidgeting with her pencil, “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”
“Neither do you,” he counters.
“I’m not. I’m from Boston.”
“Explains the attitude,” he scoffs.
She pulls a face at that but doesn’t back down.
“Well? ” she asks again, annoyed at his non-answer.
“Originally from Austin. It’s in Texas,” he answers curtly.
“I go to school. I know where Austin is,” she retorts.
Joel lets out an exasperated huff.
What is it with this kid? One minute she's combative and snarky, the next she's wide-eyed and egar. He's not sure yet which mode he prefers.
“So, how'd you end up in Wyoming?” she asks, continuing her interrogation.
“Pass,” he responds flatly.
“Do you have family here?”
“Pass.”
“Why’d you become a flight instructor?”
“Pass. No more questions about me,” he states firmly, cutting off that line of inquiry.
She narrows her eyes at him for a second as if contemplating her next move. Apparently she concludes that she's not done bothering him.
“So, I get the stuff you were saying about pitch, yaw, and roll, but like how do planes actually fly anyway?”
“Oh, I thought you went to school,” he counters; he knows it's petty but he doesn't care.
“It’s a really shitty one,” she shoots back sardonically, unphased by his low blow.
Joel’s lips press into a thin line, but he decides it’s probably easier just to answer her question than to try and win this battle of wills.
“Well, I’m no physicist, but the simplest explanation has to do with the shape of the wing. It’s called the airfoil. The curvature causes the air flowing over the top of the wing to move faster than the air on the bottom. And faster moving air has a lower pressure. So the differences in pressure above and below the wing causes lift.”
“Soooo, planes just like float on slow air?” she sums up sceptically.
“Sort of. That’s at least part of it. Don’t ask me to explain more, I honestly don’t know.”
“Mmm,” she hums, her expression thoughtful.
“Why are you still here anyway?” he asks, checking the time, “It’s nearly seven.”
“Rides late,” she offers dismissively.
“Four hours late?” he questions.
She just shrugs in response and goes back to her headphones and notebook.
Joel’s food arrives; it’s pot roast with a side of cooked carrots and potatoes.
He eats in silence, continuing to read through the newspaper, but he catches the kid glancing at him more than once.
Her phone dings a couple times and each time she looks at it and sighs before setting it back down, her posture sagging in clear disappointment.
At one point he’s pretty sure he even hears her stomach growling. He remembers her comment about charging to the account when he’d told her to buy a log book and figures maybe her parents forgot to give her pocket money.
Joel finishes his dinner and Flo brings him the check.
As he’s paying he gets an idea, and without letting himself think too hard about it, he scans the QR code on the specials menu that sits on the bar top.
For a minute he debates internally about what to order before eventually navigating to the 24-hour breakfast menu.
He selects waffles, adds chocolate chips and whipped cream, then a side of eggs (gotta get some protein in there).
In the checkout notes he writes “for the kid,” then closes out the bill.
With a quick “goodnight” to Flo he slips out the door and heads home.