Noel’s finger twitches.

Surrounded by the restless dead, their eyes surveys the astral plane. Wary of threats to the sleeping Captain Marvel.

It is a moot point, he is warded by Death.

It is 1944. Cordelia Bradford adjusts the bottle of intravenous fluid, a counteragent to the poison spreading through her patient's body. She’s expected to make a recovery, though her long term health is up to anyone’s guess. The French resistance have fought impossibly hard to allow the Americans and British to make the headway into France they continue to achieve.

Noelle, that was her name. Cordelia places the back of her hand against the resistance fighter’s forehead. Still uncomfortably warm. Soaking a cloth in cold water, Cordelia applies it to the hot skin.

She’s been out of action for a few days now.

And she didn’t know her friend had passed away.

Cordelia looks to where Marcel had been laying, a bed now occupied by another. Poor Marcel, he knew it when they did- a gunshot to the stomach was likely to take him away. And it had, despite their best efforts. Cordelia brushes back a strand of blonde hair and pulls shut the curtain that surrounds Noelle. She’d be moved to another ward soon, but with bed space difficult to manage right now, Noelle was here amongst a very mixed ward.

Cordelia longs for the war to end, that she could marry Oscar and move to New York. Have their own family, perhaps one day even grandchildren. What would the world look like then? Hopefully a time of peace, and nothing else.

Cordelia sighs, and gets back to it.

Noel’s body was new. Or at least, it would be. The Nega-Bands were broken, but they had communed with Mar-Vell’s ship, high in orbit, long until that point. The body was his, but it was not. It would be light blue, it would be Kree. Perhaps it was a strange moment of sentiment or pity, even simply an attempt at accuracy, but the new Kree body found itself the recipient of a strange black mark that resembles an earthbound Bee across the left arm.

Noel didn’t know about his return. It was coming. He was almost there.

Afloat amongst the psyche-space, Noel was witness to a past that was and was not his. A life before his own, that was also his own.

He was reliving this for a reason. Who was he? Who was she? He was Noel, he could remember that much. And this was… Noelle. Here amongst the lake of rumination, Noel and Noelle looks upon one another. There was nothing between them that was even remotely familiar, though she seems to possess a knowledge that he was there.

Within the unconscious reality, all things are possible.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Noelle asks the bearded stranger, whose green eyes were open and yet closed.

“I? He? We are all the destined dead.”

Noel would reflect back on this conversation one day with a strange sense of iniquity, attempting to understand his own words. He’d achieved a high long since forgotten. Noel rakes his beard, unawares of the layers above and below. He’d uncover them again, though it would take many hours of meditation and practice to uncover a time lost, a time that was you.

“You talk strangely. Are you an Angel?”

“No. I am not so infallible as to be amongst his Host.”

“Then who are you?”

“I don’t know.”

Noelle tiltsher head to the side, noting a familiarity in his face. He reminds her of someone. He had eyes like emeralds. They were striking, and she had seen them once before. The man was staring back, considering the Frenchwoman as she considers him.

“I know you.” Noel spoke.

“You don’t know yourself.”

“No. You’re important though.”

“I am no more important than anyone.”

“You saw my Grandmother.”

“She’s mine too, isn’t she?”

Noelle didn’t understand this. It felt right. That the Nurse was as much a part of her as they were to the stranger before her. What was he even wearing? The Americans were obsessed with men in red and blue. Captain America was one of them, he was real. She’d seen the photographs of his arrival at Normandy, charging up the beach and single handedly taking out numerous bunkers. There was another on the pages of comic books, with a long flowing cape.

There was yet another… The Citizen? She’d made headlines when she threw a battleship at Mussolini. Shame it missed. One less asshole would have been wonderful.

This man was American. Was he Captain America?

She asks the question, and Noel smiles.

“No. Though if it hadn’t been for him and others, I probably wouldn’t be so cool.”

As though he knew her thoughts, Noel shrugs. “The Citizen was pretty badass, you know. Saved a lot of people.”

Though she could hear the chatter in the world beyond this. Unknown mumblings of a world known. She was waking up, pulled to the heartbreak that sought her. Marcel had passed, and there was nothing to be done about that.

“If you see him again… Tell him I love him.”

“I will see many. And I shall tell him such. Though I think you’ll see him long before I do.”

Noel suddenly wants weed. What was weed? Oh, right. He needs weed. With a smile, Noel waves goodbye to himself and herself as they awoke. Gone in the blink of an eye. Noel remains adrift, unawares of the world beyond this. There was still work to do.

There was still Mickey.

“Fuck.”

Noelle awoke in a coughing fit, dry heaving and holding onto the rails beside her tightly. She felt weak, unable to maintain her hold, and her hands slipped away. Falling back against the pillow, Noelle groaned in pain and let the wet mark her cheeks. Why did he have to go? What did Marcel ever do, that he would be taken from her?

They’d never said it.

Why hadn’t they said it?

She loved Marcel.

The nurse from before peeks her head through the curtains, emerald eyes watching her. They were striking, and there was a familiarity to them. She’d never know why, but they would always haunt her from here on.

“Did he go in peace?”

“He did.” Cordelia confirms, stepping through and taking up the seat beside Noelle.

It is 1972.

A baby boy is brought into this world, crying. Free from the warmth and safety of his mother. How dare this world of light and noise interfere with his rest? He was comfortable! Unbeknownst to them all, a feared and all too necessitous shadow looms across him. It is Death, and she has plans for him.

Cordelia smiles, holding her daughter’s hand tightly. She loves Scott. Her first grandson. This was different, the tiny life form within the bundle of linen was of her and Ozzy’s blood. Of Cerys’ blood.

“Hi Noel.” Cerys whispers, taking the child in hand.

Noel gasps loudly, like a newborn taking breath for the first time as he was thrust back into the world. Blue hands held tightly to the lip of the geneweaving chamber. Noel drags himself up, spitting out an uncomfortable swathe of viscous fluid across the floor, spattering it far and wide.

“FUCK!” Noel chokes, one hand moving to clutch his chest tightly. He was burning up! On fire from within! Overcome with power as he rescued Mickey and Blitz and everyone else. The Sentry was moving, he’d broken the Nega-Bands, it was all over! “MICKEY!”

Noel shouts into the void of the ship, and was met with silence. This wasn’t the Institute, it was a dark chamber that echos back to him. Some lights flickers to life as he had awoken, but not enough to really get his bearings. At the far end, he could see a large black view, filled with pinpricks. He pulls himself forwards from this strange bed, free of wires and tubes that choked his nostrils and veins.

He staggers, stumbling at the last foot and leaning forwards against a console that began to illuminate his hands. An array of colourful buttons and screens that scream at him in alien tongues. Noel blinks and recoils, squinting against the light and casting his attention to the blackness.

“What the fuck.”

Earth lay below him. The Pacific Ocean turning into view, with a new Island amongst it. Noel’s mouth falls agape, gobsmacked, and then laughs loudly in realisation. They had done it! They’d succeeded, they’d gotten to a new homeland!

Right? He had to assume so. He couldn’t believe otherwise. It would break him. Down there, Mickey and Scooby, Wade and Wanda, Victor and Art were all embracing their new life. Peace at last.

“I gotta… I gotta get down there.” Noel turns away, and caught his reflection as more lights came to life. He looks different. Still that scrawny though firm physique. Though he seems taller? There was something off.

Wait.

He had died.

“MARV!” Noel screams, spinning around and shouting into the emptiness of the ship.

Mar-Vell appears beside Noel, walking into view. He grins, and claps the stoner on the shoulders with both hands, holding tightly to them and then bouncing on the spot. His joy would be infectious under different circumstances, but Noel was not happy. Not this time.

“‘ey kid, we did it! We got you back! Wasn’t sure you’d like the colour.”

“The co- the colour?” Noel asks, gently pushing the Kree away as he glanced to his hands. They were blue, Kree blue. Noel glares, and seethes quietly. He was blue? Blue?! He wasn’t meant to be fucking blue! He was meant to be pale as fuck, the yang to Mickey’s yin.

Noel ran a hand through his hair- fortunately still containing his curls- and took a deep breath, leaning down to put his hands on his thighs. What the fuck was happening? Noel releases the breath slowly, as he’d done a million times before. He rose to full height again, and then swung for Marv. Nothing happens, as to be expected. Marv swerves anyway.

“Easy kid! Let your body adjust, let your mind adjust. Geneweaving a body is a near perfect process, but only if you quit being a jamook.”

“A jamook? Marv I’m about seconds away from ripping this ship open and flying down to Earth.”

“Calm.” Thunderbird spoke, finally making his debut in front of Noel. He wasn’t as towering as he usually was, in fact Noel was on equal standing with him. Noel stares into Proudstar’s eyes through the mask, and questions if his own eyes were even the same colour still. He likes his eyes!

“You wouldn’t survive. The Nega-Bands have been broken.” Marv reminds Noel, shaking his head. Noel’s eye twitches in anger, and he slams a hand down against the console behind him. A rare show of anger, hormones running rampant through his system as it continues to mature. Shortly, it would be on par with most Kree. It was different though, It had Noel in it.

“I fucking know that, Marv. But I have to get back, I have to see Mickey and make sure she’s in one piece.”

“You stupid motherfucker, you’re not listening. You wouldn’t survive. You’d take one step out and fucking suffocate. Kid, you’re like my son, but you’re a real pain in the fucking ass right now.” Noel grit his teeth and span about, hands up in the air. Fuck this!

“Maybe we should get you some clothes.” Pixie spoke up, Welsh accent cutting through the very American display so far. “I don’t think this is what’s meant by positive masculinity.”

“I don’t know where they are, Pixie.” Noel murmurs in defeat.

“Kid. You got ghosts. Just wiggle up a costume like you always do. What, you think Captain Marvel needs to wait? Nah, have some chutzpah. Some moxie, some cojones. God knows yours are out.”

Noel took another deep breath. And sighs gently. Letting that familiar power wash over him, pulling forth a costume from the depths and recesses of the immaterial. Until he was once again Captain Marvel. Red and blue, with a golden star across the chest. This was familiar, this was comfortable.

“Great. Now, help me get to Earth.”

“I would, but the ship’s already following protocol.”

Noel stares at Mar-Vell in the reflection as he looks out of the window. In his anger, he’d missed the hum of the engines. Watching Earth and Luna disappear out of the corner of the screen. Noel swallows hard.

As they left Sol, Noel would do his utmost best to strangle a ghost.