“That’s my girl,” I couldn’t keep the grin off my face, Elena’s observation be damned.
“We did it?”
“You did it. I barely touched anything.”
We taxied back. When the engine went quiet, the significance settled over me.
I’d just taught a complete lesson. Under observation. And it had been good. Really good.
Maybe Elena was right. Maybe I wasn’t just surviving.
Alex turned to look at me, eyes shining. “That was incredible.”
“You were incredible.” I squeezed her shoulder. “Best lesson yet.”
We climbed out and walked to where Elena was waiting.
“That was impressive instruction,” she nodded, meeting my eyes. “Clear communication, appropriate intervention, constant safety awareness. Professional-level teaching.”
I straightened. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Alex, you should be proud. That landing was beautiful.”
“Finn’s an amazing teacher,” Alex shrugged, smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Elena’s expression softened slightly. “Yes. He is.” She paused. “Finn, can we talk? Alex, would you mind giving us a few minutes?”
Alex squeezed my hand once before heading toward the truck.
Elena gestured toward a bench near the hangar. We sat, and I braced myself for the clinical breakdown of everything I’d done wrong.
“Tell me what you were thinking during that lesson.”
I took a breath, chuckling. “Hyperaware of being observed. Worried about every decision, every instruction. Afraid you’d see somethin’ that proved I wasn’t ready.” I scratched at my chest “But once we were airborne, trainin’ took over. Just focused on Alex’s learnin’, her safety, making sure she understood.”
Elena nodded slowly. “Your judgment is intact, Finn. What I observed was a highly competent instructor managing student learning, aircraft safety, and environmental variables simultaneously. That’s your training in action. Systems thinking, risk assessment, real-time problem solving. It didn’t disappear just because you’re no longer flying combat missions.”
“Ma’am—”
“You weren’t just teaching her to fly. You were demonstratingprofessional judgment under responsibility for another person’s life. That’s the highest level.” She glanced at her notes then back at me. “When her altitude dropped in that steep turn, your response was textbook. Calm intervention, immediate coaching. That’s not someone whose judgment is compromised.”
I swallowed. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“As we’ve discussed, your identity crisis has focused on what you’ve lost—your clearance, your active-duty status, your physical capabilities before the accident. But what I just watched proves your aviation expertise, your teaching ability, your professional judgment. All of that is still intact.”
“The limitations are still real,” I murmured, shoving my hands in my pockets to hide the tremor that had appeared.
“Yes. And they always will be.” She tilted her head. “You’ll probably never get medical clearance for military or commercial aviation again. The TBI, the PTSD, the physical limitations won’t disappear.”
“But limitations don’t equal incompetence.” Her tone warmed slightly. “You can’t fly fighters anymore. That’s gone. But you have an engineering degree and thirteen years of operational experience. That’s not just ‘knowing how to fly,’ that’s understanding why aircraft work, what makes them safe, how to troubleshoot systems. Ground school instructors with half your credentials get hired at civilian programs and military training facilities all the time.”
I blew out a breath. “That’s enough?”
“Is it? You’ve spent almost a year defining yourself by what you can’t do. I’m asking you to consider what you still can do. You just demonstrated you can teach complex concepts under observation while managing safety responsibility. That’s the hardest part.” She met my eyes directly. “The question isn’t whether you’re qualified. It’s whether you’re ready to see yourself as qualified.”
I lifted a shoulder, cheeks warming. “I didn’t realize how much I’d internalized ‘broken pilot’ versus ‘competent instructor.’”
“That’s why I needed to see you in this context. To showyou proof, not just theory. Teaching felt natural because it is natural, Finn. It’s who you still are. The medium changed, but the expertise remains.”
