Nikolai’s teaching Price to fly.
It’s late, late enough that they’re probably some of the only people awake in a five mile radius. Scratch that, they’re probably the only people in a five mile radius.
John sits to Nik’s left, in the seat he’s so used to Nikolai occupying. His hands are encased by Nikolai’s as the other man gently coaches him through the steps.
“Da, collective. No, no, just a little, so we are not all on the ground.” Nikolai moves John’s hands away, placing one gently onto the cyclic. “Now make sure we are straight. Da! And then lift us off.”
He can’t help the grin on his face when John makes it off of the ground.
“Da! Now, cyclic, bring us forwards. Raise collective too, so we do not go down.”
Nikolai, perhaps in earnest of himself, takes his hands away entirely as John brings them to a decent flight speed.
His face is set in concentration, brow furrowed, and he’s lacking the relaxed demeanour he finds so often in Nikolai when they’re flying. But it’s a little freeing.
