Chasing Horizons - Chapter 6

Chasing Horizons



Chapter Six

DISCLAIMER :: This tale is relative to Captain Marvel from the comics, movies, and television from Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. There are some glaring differences, so this is a derivative work rather than straight-up fanfiction.


Author's note: This will be the last chapter of this particular work that will be released for a little while. I'm going to focus solely on Webs We Weave going forward. Unless my wife and I get COVID again or something else hinders the writing of chapters, you'll have to wait on the further adventures of Capt. Danvers. I still have a few chapters of this tale in reserve.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOQV__Z55eE ))

There was a seat on the next flight from LAX to O’Hare booked on my phone in minutes. It wouldn’t be leaving until around 0400. I’d have to spend ninety minutes in Denver, but I didn’t much care.

What the hell was going on with the world when I could see my niece dressed up in some weird cosplay and could do all those things I saw on national television? I almost regretted even seeing her face. What was with the red-orange glow to her eyes? How on Earth could anyone do that kind of damage to an MRAP with just their fist? Hannah can fly and move at speeds the human eye can’t accurately perceive?

Hundreds of questions swam around in my skull and I barely perceived the world around me for the duration. Dizzy and Bidzii tried to get the source of the name I’d spoken at the screen, but I went mute. After booking the flight, I moved upstairs to the room I was occupying and started shoving stuff into my seabag. The organization and technique was automatic, so I couldn’t mess it up unless I was trying. My brain had plugged in a heading and flipped a switch. I was on auto-pilot. The only conscious decision I made was that I’d wear my cammies the following day. Everything else was a blur.

The thought had crossed my mind to simply call my sister and have her confirm or deny whether or not that was my eldest niece on television. I almost did a few times. Reality soon smacked me in the face, though. She would recognize the number, but not my voice. Dizzy, a guy I contact on a regular basis over the phone, didn’t believe the voice belonged to the man who got him to medevac in Afghanistan all those years ago until I showed up and proved it. If a guy I talked to every other day was going to need concrete proof that the voice belonged to someone he knew, my sister would probably need more. My habit is to call family once a month or so. There’s not many happy memories associated with family, we’ll put it that way. She was going to need irrefutable evidence that I am, indeed, her brother… with quite a few modifications I didn’t approve.

At Zero-Dark-Thirty the next morning, I arose to the sound of the alarm I’d set on my phone. The sound that played? Reveille. What else?

As if I were all the way back at the MCRD on Parris Island, I went into action. Covers were thrown off, cammie trousers went on, belt secured, trousers bloused, boots applied, laces secured, blouse went on, buttons secured, inspection of sleeve fold commenced, and bedding squared away. One minute and twelve seconds. It wasn’t ground-breaking or a record, but it would do. In the head, I brushed my teeth and put a brush through my hair before stowing the gear back into my hygiene bag which then was secured in my duffel. My cover was stowed into a pocket of my trousers. Grabbing my duffel and seabag, I made my way out of the building. No one else was even conscious.

Immediately upon exiting the hatch, my cover was applied. Once the seabag and duffel were stowed in the back, I climbed into the driver’s seat of my truck. For the first time since all this occurred, my brain slowed down and actually made me acknowledge something. My seat was positioned wrong. This model year, 2022, had settings that one could program for quick adjustment. I touched the button labeled “1” on the door panel. The seat automatically adjusted and I felt as if I were shrinking again. The adjustment stopped and I noted that I was too far away from the pedals or the wheel and I couldn’t see well enough over the dash for it to be safe. Curiosity won over and I pushed the button marked “2”. The seat adjusted again and I found myself being able to grasp the wheel, manipulate the pedals, and see over the dash adequately. I must have made the adjustments and saved them to the button when I was aboard Camp Pendleton or after the retirement ceremony. The reality of the changes hit me like a brick.

Yet another thing I didn’t want to think about was pushed to the back of my mind and filed under “Nope”. Securing the seatbelt, I started the truck, hit “begin” on the navigation set to LAX, performed my two-point exit, and drove the direction the navigation was advising me to go. At this hour, most of the streets of Los Angeles were pretty barren. Even the freeways were mostly clear. Finding a secure parking spot was a nightmare I somewhat expected to experience. After shutting off the truck and removing my bags, I bid farewell and made sure the locks and alarm were engaged.

Navigating any civilian space in uniform is generally a gauntlet of people going out of their way to thank you for your service. It’s nice… for the first couple of years of your enlistment or commission, but it starts to feel performative and hollow. My thoughts usually drift to: “Okay, you’re proud of our service. That’s nice and all, but what are you doing to ensure that VA benefits are adequate? What are you doing for homeless veterans in your area? Are you advocating for the research into the consequences of combat and how they translate into TBIs or PTSD in combat veterans? Did you call your member of Congress to advocate for the passage of the PACT Act?”. I will smile and nod to the folks as a courtesy, but I don’t have to be happy about it. The thank-yous aren’t what got to me. An older couple commented on my being “such a brave young lady” who should “find a husband and settle down” rather than wear the uniform. How often do active duty female service members get that crap thrown at them?

Boarding the plane and getting settled in my seat was a blessing. Fewer eyes meant fewer hollow salutations. My seabag had been checked and stowed in the cargo bay. My duffel was securely stowed in the overhead compartment. I breathed a sigh of relief, closed my eyes, and tried to prepare myself for what might happen on the other end of this flight. That moment of meditation was interrupted by a body landing in the seat next to me.

“Are you armed, Captain?” The male voice asked in very hushed tones.

My eyes opened to reveal the face of some guy in his late twenties with a high-and-tight haircut and cold brown eyes. He looked like a fed with his loose-cut jeans, shirt tucked in, and jacket over the whole ensemble. While my physique before all this might have been compared to Colonel Miles Quaritch, this guy seemed to have more of a Kratos physique. It was almost like looking at an enlisted man who hit the gym a little too hard. My reaction was to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Am I wearing a cover, sir?” was my deadpan response, matching his volume level.

“Not that I can see, no.”

“Then I’m not fucking armed. We’re indoors and on a flight line. I’m not armed; thus my cover is in a pocket of my trousers. Why are you asking, sir?”

He discreetly pulled out his wallet and flashed me a badge. “Air Marshal, Captain. Need to know if you’ll cover my six if things go south.”

Considering that qualified air marshals go through some pretty intense screening, he was being a little odd about approaching me while the plane was still boarding. “You can deduce that I’m a Captain, but don’t know the customs and courtesies of the Marine Corps? That’s a little weird.” I shook my head at the man. “Things go south, you may not want to fire an explosive projectile in a pressurized, oxygenated space that could puncture the fuselage and kill everyone aboard at 30,000 feet. I’ll cover your six, though. I’ll also inform you that I’m a qualified MV-22 pilot, should you need that information. I’m not cleared for jet aircraft, but I’ve got enough flight hours to likely put this bird on the tarmac if necessary.”

“Good to know, Captain… ?”

“Danvers.” I pointed at the name strip on my right chest.

“Hopefully, all goes well, Captain Danvers. Are you getting off in Denver?”

“Yes. Ninety minute layover before final leg to O’Hare. Anything else you wanna know before I catch a few winks, sir?”

“How does a young woman your age get commissioned, reach the rank of Captain, and get enough flight hours to qualify as an MV-22 pilot?”

My eyes rolled all on their own. “That’s classified, sir.”

“I’ve got Top Secret clearance, Captain.”

“More classified than that. I’m also retired, so boil that in your little noodle for a while. With all due respect, kindly fuck off now, sir.”

“Enjoy the flight, ‘Captain’.” He stated that last bit like he was full of skepticism. His line of work is fueled by paranoia, so I guess it comes with the territory. At least he left me alone for the rest of the flight.

Thankfully, nobody else approached me for the duration of the flight. The ninety minutes in Denver crawled along like it had better things to do. There were a couple of news stories about the girl in the suit and cape in Chicago. They offered different angles and I could still swear that the girl was my niece. I still had no idea how it was possible, but that’s what I was determined to find out. I was not approached by the air marshal on the second leg of the flight, much to my relief.

By the time I disembarked the plane in Chicago, it was already lunch time. No amount of hunger would get me to pay the prices for chow at an airport, though. Instead, I just hit the baggage claim, grabbed my seabag, and went to the rental car counters. I’d have to have some way to get around on my own and there wasn’t time to try learning any public transit system. There was a little trouble with the people behind the desk because they didn’t think I looked old enough to rent a car. One flash of my military ID changed their tune and got me the veterans’ discount. Not having time to really plan the trip, I had to make due with whatever they had. I ended up with a Rav4. It wouldn’t have been my first choice but if it’s that or a Chevy Malibu, I’ll take the over-engineered grocery procurement vehicle any day.

Hybrids weird me out. Somehow, the universe was smiling at me and I got a 2025 Rav4 Limited Hybrid. It had leather seats and everything. I’m not fond of all the electronics on it, though. All the electronics in modern vehicles is why I still own my 4Runner. The push-button start was cool enough that I forgot all the rest. Once my gear was stowed in the back, I climbed in, adjusted the seat, checked the mirrors, and started off. The onboard navigation was voice-activated. I gave the weird voice my sister’s address and it complied. Technology is a trip. Of course, I made a point to stop in at a Burger King along the way.

Before long, the silver Rav4 I’d rented was sitting on the curb outside my sister’s house. A bit of trepidation stuck with me. Inside, I knew there was a happy family atmosphere. When I first met my sister’s husband, Christopher, I didn’t really know what to make of the guy. He was pretty nerdy, corny, and had a tendency to maybe ask too many questions. Overall, I knew he was a good guy. More importantly, Laura loved him with her whole self. They made a great life together. They had three daughters. They were little rascals I loved visiting when I got the chance. Their life might have been something I really aspired to… in another life. Now, it felt like I was bringing my failures to their doorstep.

Shaking that thought out of my head, I was on a mission. Stepping out of the vehicle and slipping on my cover, I strode right up to the front door and put my finger on the doorbell. I stood outside for a few moments. There was a little commotion inside, but it took a moment for footfalls to come to the door. Half a breath later, it swung open to reveal the visage of the middle child that most closely resembled my sister. She looked at me with a very confused expression. Christ, I was now about the same height as my fifteen-year-old niece.

“Something I can do for you, soldier?” She asked.

“Marine. Would you mind fetching either of your parents, Madison?” I inquired cordially.

Her eyebrows furrowed. “How do you know my name? Do I know you?”

“I should hope so, young lady. I’m just in a different package than you’re used to. Please get your mom or dad for me?”

Her eyes darted over my form for a moment. They scanned my cover, then my collar, then my torso. When they landed on my name tape, they widened in surprise. “Holy shit! It happened to you, too?!”

“Watch your language, Madison. Your mom would kill me if she thought I encouraged you.” Then, my brain did a double-take. “Wait… what do you mean by ‘it’? What happened?”

“You’re Uncle Sam, right? I don’t think the military knows where we live, yet.”

I balked. “Yea… why do I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me? Where’s your mom?”

“Who are you talking to, Madi?” A familiar voice echoed inside before the person reached the door. The door opened further to reveal my sister, Laura, in her 43-year-old splendor. She looked great to me. She stopped short and got a look at me. Again, once her eyes hit my name tape, she gasped. “Goddamn it, Sam! Not you too!”

“Okay, now I’m confused. What are you two talking about?”

“You’d better come inside. Do you have anything you want out of your truck or something? Did you bring your truck?” Laura seemed incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. It was almost as if she was familiar with someone she knew to be male becoming a younger female.

Without much word, I crossed the threshold, stepped inside, and removed my cover. “Anyone going to give me a sitrep?”

Madison quickly closed the door behind me. While Laura shuffled to get a better look at me. “How is it that you look more like Mom than I do?”

The confusion was getting the better of me. “How are you all so strangely okay with this?!” I gestured to my body. “Why in the hell am I seeing Hannah in a goddamn superhero costume on national television all the way in Los Angeles?!”

“That wasn’t Hannah, Sam. That was Kris.” Laura dropped the bomb that exploded my brain.

“Excuse the fuck out of me?!”

“Language, Sam. Olivia’s in the other room.”

They ushered my confused butt into the dining room, sat me down, and explained as much as they could. Apparently, the same day things went south for me, Christopher was also affected. He got powers and turned into a teenage girl. Those powers are on par with the most famous comic book superhero of all time: Superman. Madison was really excited about it. Laura was less so. I got the feeling she wasn’t going to say much in front of the kids. Somewhere along the line, Chris decided he was gonna do the ‘superhero thing’. The suit was made by some scientist at Northwestern or something. He’s been wearing it and doing his thing ever since. Yesterday’s engagement was the most public thing he’s done so far.

“With a straight face, you’re gonna sit there and tell me that my brother-in-law is now my sister-in-law and can do all the things the most powerful superhero of all time can do?” I asked, half sarcastically.

Laura sighed. “I wish it weren’t true, frankly.”

“Dad hasn’t lived here since his first rescue. He’s afraid some bad people might find out who he is and come hurt us. He moved back in with grandma in Wisconsin.” Madison recalled.

“What happened to you, Sam?” My sister wanted to know.

Beginning with a long, heavy sigh, I explained everything. The pulse thing hit, base went on alert and lockdown, I fainted, then woke up in the base hospital with boobs. I mentioned they needed to do a lot of testing, but not what sort of testing. I told them I was basically confined to quarters for over a month. Then, the retirement. Outwardly, I was stoic as ever. Inside, I wanted to scream out loud about how unfair it all felt. Both Laura and Madison listened attentively. It was strange to me that they didn’t really react like I thought they would. It was like they already knew half the story.

As if on cue, Hannah walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She pulled out a drink, opened it, and turned to us while taking a big gulp. After swallowing, she pointed at me while looking at her mother, “Who’s this, Mom? Relative of yours?”

“Hannah, this is—” Laura began.

“The dumbass Marine who thought you were the one in the cape on TV.” I finished her statement.

Hannah’s whole body shook in recognition. “Geezus, another one? Who are you?”

Laura spoke in monotone. “This is your Uncle Sam, sweetie.”

Hannah threw her head back in resignation. “Oh, I cannot with all these people changing and getting powers! I’m outta here!” She stomped out of the room.

Laura’s eyes landed on me once more. “It’s been something of an event around here. You remember Kris’ friend from high school? The other journalist? She goes by Lauren, now.”

“How many people has this happened to around you guys?” My eyes met Laura’s, then Madison’s, and back to Laura’s. “For the record, I don’t think I’ve got powers. Let’s just leave that hanging thread alone, okay?”

“Well, there’s dad and his friend, though I’m not sure that Lauren has any powers at all.” Madison thought aloud.

Laura let out a long sigh. “It’s been a very confusing month and a half around here. How long are you planning on staying, Sam?”

“How long can I stay?”

She smiled at me. “As long as you need to. The spare room is available since Kris moved up to Wisconsin.”

“Why is your husband living with his mother in Wisconsin, Laura? Shouldn’t he be here with you and the girls?”

“I don’t want to talk about that, Sam.” Her voice was firm and authoritative. I was not going to get anywhere continuing that line of questioning. Her gaze moved to Madison. “Sweetie, why don’t you take your uncle to your little spot on the roof and… call your father?”

Madison smiled like a little imp and grabbed my arm. “C’mon, Uncle Sam. You’re gonna love this.”

Maybe I should have objected, but I didn’t. I let my niece lead me by the arm through my sister’s house. There was a moment where I was able to recognize that I was now shorter than my own sister. No time to dwell on that while I was being dragged. Madison led me into her room and pointed at the window.

“We’re gonna climb out here. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.” She giggled.

“Madison, I’m a pilot. Being afraid of heights and flying would be entirely counter-intuitive.”

Following her out the window and onto the roof, there was a very narrow “lip” edge of the roof. A part of me really wanted to grill my niece for needlessly risking her life with this roof thing. Carefully rounding the “lip”, I found Madison sitting with her chest to her knees on the roof. I trudged up the slope and settled next to her. My landing was quite unceremonious because I just plopped myself down. It may only be early afternoon, but it was already a long day for me.

“You going to explain how everybody is mostly nonchalant about learning I’m shorter and have to wear a bra, now?” The fatigue in my voice squeezed out.

Madison smirked in my general direction. “Or I could just show you.” She turned her head to look out at the small grove of trees and little manmade pond behind the house. She spoke softly in a conversational tone. “Dad, I need to talk to you.”

There was a thought about saying something, but then something interrupted. Somehow, I knew something was coming and it was coming incredibly fast. Without thinking, I stood up on the roof and planted myself between whatever was coming and my niece. My eyes rapidly scanned the horizon. I didn’t notice, but that St. Elmo’s Fire effect began to encompass my body and my hands did the weird glowing thing as I stood guard in front of Madison. Whatever had been coming stopped on a dime and the wind around us picked up a little bit. There before me, floating at about 25 feet above the ground, was the girl I’d seen on the news; except she was wearing glasses, a loose-fitting T-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes while her hair was up in a ponytail. Madison stood up next to me gasping with an intense smile on her face.

“Who is this, Madison?” The floating girl wondered.

She was feeling too many things to respond, so I did in her stead. “Capt. Samuel Danvers, USMC. I’m Laura’s brother and the uncle of these girls. Who are you?”

Realization hit the floating girl’s face. “Sam? It’s me, Kris. I’m guessing the universe has some strange sense of humor. Looks like it got you, too.” Her eyes shifted to my niece. “Madison, I’m going to ask you to breathe, please.”

“I know what powers you have!” Madison practically screamed in my ear before darting off toward her bedroom and carefully navigating the tiny bit of roof at the window.

“It really unnerves me that she does that. That part of the roof really isn’t safe.” The floating girl somehow moved closer and set her feet down on the roof. “Are you okay, Sam?”

I was not. Plopping back down on the roof, a breath of unease escaped. Nothing made sense anymore. I had come to investigate why my niece was in that suit on TV and how she was doing the things she was doing. Turns out, it wasn’t my niece. Even more baffling, the whole family was just acting like it was any other day. There were some tense undertones, but they didn’t seem to be acting much differently than I remember them. I may not be able to visit more than once a year, but I felt like I knew them enough. This girl flies in that bears a strong family resemblance to my nieces without any mechanical assistance and I’m supposed to interpret that as “normal”?

The girl sat down next to me like she knew me. “Going through some things, eh?” She let out a long sigh. “Yea, right there with you, bud.”

“I doubt you’d know half of what I’m thinking.” I told her.

She scoffed. “Sam, I told you: it’s me, Kris. A bit different shape to me, no wrinkles on my face, and no gray hairs, but I’m the same guy. Are you up for having a man-to-man?”

I scoffed and chuckled at the same time while throwing my head back. “Yea, okay. I think the fact we’re both wearing a bra right now is grounds for revoking our man cards.”

“You know what I mean, Sam. Don’t be crass. Tell me what’s going through your head.”

For a moment, I didn’t want to answer. Talking things out that don’t involve the inner workings of a helicopter or tiltrotor engine has never been my strong suit. “Let’s entertain the idea that you’re my brother-in-law. How long have you and my sister been married?”

“Twenty-three years. You gave one of the best speeches at the wedding, as I recall. You’d just graduated boot camp and were about to head off to infantry school. Laura timed it just right so you could be there.”

“Best speech, eh? Not doin’ too bad.”

“You had a lot more hope, back then. You talked about finding someone for yourself that made you as happy as I made Laura.”

A memory bubbled to the surface, but I pushed it back down again. “Yea, those were different times.”

The girl turned her head and looked me dead in the eyes. “It wasn’t the combat deployments that changed you, Sam. Admit it.”

The bubble refused to be suppressed and the flicker of an image reached my mind’s eye. It was the face of a young woman in her early 20s with a laugh playing across it. She had a headband in her hair that she’d curled into little ringlets. The image seemed to have a yellow-ish filter applied to it and a lot of details were distorted in the background.

“We’re not going to talk about that.” I stated harshly, shutting down the memory and that line of conversation.

I couldn’t read her face because I wasn’t looking at it. “Okay. Fine. Let me tell you why Laura and the girls took the news that you have changed in stride, then.”

The girl next to me started weaving a tale. The story began the day of the pulse – or wave or whatever else the science people were going to call it. Chris was on his way home from some conference. The thing hit, electronics flickered, and there was a fainting. A quick flash of me in my office came rushing back to my mind. Things didn’t start happening until later in the afternoon when Laura came home with the girls. There was a little talk about blue filters and skeletons that seemed odd to me. From there, the story took on a more macro framing about learning the powers and making the decision to start doing ‘the hero thing’. There was also commentary about the relationship with Laura and the girls being a bit rocky after everything happened. I’d read enough of Chris’ news articles to recognize the prose of the speech and the way the story was being told. Chris never did fiction because he felt like it was lying on some level. Non-fiction, especially journalism, was always his forté.

“...so that’s that. My marriage is on the rocks because Laura is very heterosexual – not to mention having a relationship with someone that looks to be the age of her children is nausea-inducing. I can’t blame her for feeling that way. Moving in with my mom in Wisconsin was a two-pronged solution: 1) it gives Laura and the girls the space they need to figure out how they feel about everything, and 2) it puts me out away from populated areas should some nut job try to find out who I really am and where I live. It’s not an ideal solution, but it was the best one I could come up with.” Chris finished the story.

Having been thinking through the story, I nodded along. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

“What about you, Sam? How have you been dealing with all this?”

“Doing my damndest to improvise, adapt, and overcome.” I let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not working out like I’d hoped. I am not a fan of this body. That’s not to say there’s anything wrong with it, but it’s not me.”

“I understand that all too well. You’re talking to someone that’s gone through a lot of what you’re experiencing right now. You know what I found out? I can’t go back. Not physically, anyway. There have been… some complications to getting these powers. First, nothing can pierce my skin. Not needles, not scalpels, and not even bullets. When I first went to the hospital with Laura and the girls, they tried to draw blood but none of the needles would work. That leaves out scalpels because they’re made of the same material. I’ve been shot at a couple of times and walked away without a scratch.

“Second, I’m not sure I’d even benefit from any effects. Even if something could hurt me, I heal too quickly. My good friend, Týr, and I have had some full-contact sparring matches. He’s the only one that’s been capable of even hurting me a little. The bruise disappeared in seconds. I think my body would just undo anything that might be done.

“I’ve looked into every option of hormone therapy and surgeries. I’ve researched things I didn’t even know existed two months ago. I keep coming back to the same answer: it’s probably not going to work for me. I’m still trying to figure out what I’m going to do with that knowledge, honestly. I don’t have all the answers.”

“You’ve really given this a lot of thought.”

“Yes, because I haven’t been hiding behind military routine all this time. I’ve had to face it head on. That’s not to say you’re doing it wrong, though. Everybody works things out in their own time. What you do with whatever knowledge you gain is your own business.”

Just before I could respond, Madison climbed out of her window again and joined us on the roof. She was holding some kind of book tight to her chest and trying to obscure the cover with her arms.

“I found it!” She squeaked. She uncrossed her arms and showed me the cover of the book. There was a yellow-orange background. The foreground was occupied by a blonde woman in a blue and red suit with yellow accents. I noted the Mandarin collar. There was a red sash around her hips and she was seemingly pulling on one of her red gloves. The words “Captain Marvel” were positioned in front of the woman. “Uncle Sam, given what I saw around you and your upper arms when Dad flew in, I can reasonably say that you may very well have the powers of Captain Marvel.”

“I don’t have powers, Madison.” I objected.

“Not true, Sam. You had this glow around you and I could see the blood vessels in your fists without using my x-ray vision. You’ve got something going on, but I don’t know what.” Chris concurred with his daughter.

Madison’s expression hardened. “Uncle Sam, I correctly identified all of Dad’s abilities as they manifested and cross-referenced with an extensive knowledge of comic books in my own mind. You’re going to have to trust me on this.”

“Madison, this is real life, not a comic book.” I objected.

“Sam, just go with it. Let her go through her tests. If she’s wrong, you’re right back where you started. No harm done, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Run your tests, I guess.”