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All pilots capture her eye. They always have.
There’s something about them that just compels Theresa: she’s never been sure exactly what it is, though.
Perhaps it's the air of calm assurance that they carry, the easy set of their shoulders as they walk through a terminal or stand outside them, waiting for their rides. They must have learned that ease, from years spent preparing for the worst.
Or maybe it's the knowledge of how much they're capable of that arrests Theresa's attention. Other passengers' eyes slide easily over the form of a pilot eating their lunch on an airport bench, but Theresa can't stop looking, consumed by the thought that shortly, that same pilot will somehow lift thousands of kilos of metal machinery off the ground and into flight.
Or—and this is probably the most likely one—it's because they have a life Theresa will never have; because they are living a dream she had to wake up from a long time ago.
She sees—not herself, as she is, a vague reflection in the window overlooking the path up to Vaduz castle, lonely and embittered and always assumed to be needing saving—but what she could have been, had she been born in another body, another family, another life entirely.
There are two of them walking up her front path; a third man is with them, though Theresa's not exactly sure what he is wearing on his head. It doesn't really look like part of his uniform. Either way, she's a little surprised the whole crew has come to pick them up. She'd rather thought they'd send less.
But—she corrects herself as the captain in front (who seems to be practically bowing under the weight of a gaudily trimmed hat) turns to address the other two, four gold bars glinting on the crisp lines of his sleeves—she's not complaining about this at all.
There's still a few minutes or so before the trio make their way to the front door. Theresa has time to go downstairs before they knock. The paucity of regular visitors has made her treasure each one that does show up, has enabled her to learn how to prepare herself and her household precisely for them.
Doesn't mean she won't let herself have some fun with their visitors, in the process.
There's still one visitor she hasn't quite yet gotten a handle on, and she presses closer to the windowsill, staring down again. She has to be a little more careful about this, she knows; the closer they get to the castle, the higher chance she could be spotted if one of them looks up, and—
Scheiße. The first officer—all inscrutable eyes and surely set shoulders and placid demeanor—is staring directly at her.
Theresa freezes, heart pounding, in the window, and doesn't dare make it clear that she's been spotted; thankfully, he doesn't seem to have alerted any of his crew, and he looks away. He's a little too casual about it, but neither of his companions notice; Theresa takes the opportunity to retreat behind the curtain a little more and think.
She'll go downstairs now, because of course she'll want to answer the door, and of course she'll want to show them in, and of course she'll have to make it about Maxi, just as her whole raison d'être has become about Maxi. But that doesn't mean she can't have a little fun while she's at it.
And from the phone conversation she often lies awake remembering, and the voices that now have faces she's pretty sure she's matched correctly, it's entirely possible that both of the pilots will be as fun as she's imagined them to be.
Twitching the curtains shut, she turns, makes some last-minute adjustments to her hair in an ornate mirror, and sets off in anticipation of a knock at the old wooden door.