Alfred F. Jones was a pilot. Not a fighter pilot, or a teenager who has been flying since he could walk, or anyone special.
No, Alfred F. Jones flew commercial planes. It was a dull, repetitive job that was only made bearable by his wonderful crew and the places he got to see. At twenty three years of age he had the entire United States mapped out in his head. But anywhere outside of that was kind of a mystery.
That's what his co-pilot had been for. He was an older man with whiskers and crinkled eyes. But he just retired, and Alfred wasn't sure if flying would be the same without the old coot.
He was supposed to meet his new CP today, and then they would be off on a flight to Madrid, Spain. Alfred was nervous. Without Pops to help him through flying across the Atlantic and actually arriving in the correct country...
He had the jitters as he went through security with his hat tucked under his arm. He nodded with a shaky smile to the woman checking the bags. He was probably emitting suspicious vibes, which made him nervous all the more. What if someone thought he was a bomber?
What is his new co-pilot was one of those proper, can't-take-a-joke guys? When you're a pilot, your crew is your family away from home. Alfred had spent countless nights sleeping in the same hotel room as Pops or Beth or Janet. He'd fallen asleep in the boarding area, on someone's lap. He'd have so many conversations in the cockpit, it was strange to talk anywhere else. Alfred couldn't handle a dull coworker.
The blonde man adjusted his dark coat and picked up his tiny carry-on, shaking off the bad thoughts. He had a person to meet and a plane to fly, he couldn't have his nerves in a twist.
After wading through thousands of people and explaining to hundreds more that just because he was a pilot didn't mean he knew where the bathroom was, he arrived at the gate. It was packed with people bundled up in scarves and hats. This particular flight was going off to Canada, it seemed. His plane wouldn't be fueled for quite some time now. He was only here to meet this mysterious CP.
He spotted him by the window. He was facing away from the crowds, but he looked pretty young. Alfred was disappointed. But he supposed he wouldn't ever get another Pops. He made his way over, wheeling his black suitcase behind him. He felt like a kindergartener showing off his cool wheel-y backpack. It felt like the man at the window was miles away. Alfred's tongue was dry and heavy in his mouth. The people waiting for their plane looked at him hopefully.
No, I'm not your pilot. Alfred stared at them apologetically.
Suddenly, he had crossed the many miles and was standing at the window. He swallowed thickly, and tapped the man's shoulder. "Excuse me."
The new CP turned. He had his cap on over his blonde hair. He had deep green eyes that really did look beautiful, and he was all-around handsome. However, Alfred's hopes died in his chest as he stared at that unbearably professional expression. The blonde's heavy eyebrows were set into his face like he had been born nonchalant. The man didn't bother with a smile as he held out his hand and quipped a short greeting.
"Hello, my name is Arthur Kirkland. Before you ask—I am from England. It will be a pleasure working with you."
Alfred frowned and let his shoulders slump. He grasped Arthur's hand loosely. "The name's Jones. Alfred F. Jones."
…
"Hello everyone and welcome aboard flight 229, bound for Madrid. I'll be your captain. I hope you all have a wonderful experience with us, and please notify the flight attendants if there is a problem."
Alfred snapped the fuzzy intercom back into it's place and turned to the wheel. Arthur (or 'CP Kirkland' as Alfred called him) was flipping switches quietly, and with measured precision. Alfred sighed again, and grasped the wheel, easing the plane out of the dock and onto the runway.
"You sigh a lot."
Alfred snapped his attention back to the blonde man. That's not a very smart thing to do while driving a plane, and Alfred nearly had a heart attack when he realized where his eyes were. He turned back to the road in a millisecond. "I just miss my old CP. He was a real catch."
Kirkland was silent for a few moments. He kept flipping the switches that he was supposed to. "What made him so special?"
Alfred shrugged, finding the plane straight on the runway. He pulled his headset over his head and watched Kirkland do the same. "He was a good man," Alfred breathed into the microphone. "I could talk to him about anything, he really felt like my best friend at times." There was yet another pause as the engine kicked up it's whine.
Kirkland asked for permission to enter the main runway. Then they were in line to take-off.
The new Co-pilot didn't talk much. The whole process of taking off, he only muttered a few necessary words or polite questions about the crew. It seemed like the more questions Alfred answered, the quieter the man became.
They were a full half hour into the flight before Kirkland spoke again. "This is actually my first flight as a CP."
Alfred glanced over at the Brit. That was actually quite strange. Usually people who did international flights had much more experience. Kirkland stared out at the clouds and continued. "I was actually pretty nervous to start out. I've heard a lot about how crews can be cruel to the newcomers and..." He let the sentence die.
Alfred turned to him with a genuine smile. "Hey, don't worry about it. I'll take care of you."
If Arthur had told him he was just nervous, Alfred would have been a whole lot kinder. He wasn't the best at reading the mood, and he mistook the will to impress with professionalism.
"Welcome to the crew, Arthur."
Hello and thanks for reading my little fic! It's only gonna be three chapters, though.
I got this idea from both a picture and the fact that my dad used to be a pilot. The thing I remember him complaining about the most is the random people in the airport asking himwhere things were. He was a pilot, so he worked on the plane, not the airport. He didn't know himself and used to get so angry about it.
Sorry for any mistakes! I'm American!
-Mallory