Chapter summary: "How big is that altogether? How long do you think we'll be gone?" Victor squints is eyes. I think he's trying to remember the world map in the White House.

"A good 20 years," I grin, "You guys will be old farts by then."

Notes: sorry about the late(r) update; my laptop was taken off me... I tried to write it on my phone but it didn't feel right. Anyway, thanks for reading! :D All those kudos, favorites, hits, followers, votes, reviews and comments mean the world to me.

Jumping suddenly from 34 to 42 reads on Ao3 is a welcome surprise. I am not kidding, thank you for reading!

Time skip!

六

"I refuse to take orders from you," Sargent Alastair bit, and something inside me snapped. I lash out, decking him right in the face. The bulky man's nose caved in with the blow and he stumbled back, landing on the floor with a light huff.

"Just because I'm a female-" I start and clench my fists, bones smoothly sliding out despite the horrible squelching sound of my blood and muscles shifting. The line of men flinched at the sound and balled their hands into fists. I blink, realising what they were so distrustful of. A mutant.

On screen, the loathing of mutants didn't really touch the audience's heart, and they certainly didn't portray how hard it was for mutants. You'd go, oh, yeah, hate, and leave it at that and focus on how awesome the fights and the Quicksilver scene was.

It's very much like bullying. I've been bullied several times in my youth. Refusing to comply with the school yard rules and who's-who nonsense, the only real friends were ones I'd picked up and dropped throughout the years. Being an outcast even in high school didn't affect me at all. Heck, in high school I didn't even realise I was hated until a classmate told me.

Here, in the 1875 American Army, it's far more obvious. It's hard to explain, but it's more in your face. I think it might be because they just whisper behind your back and defy orders more as time goes on.

"It's because I'm a mutant, huh?" I say bitterly, tolerance finally snapping after a good 3 years. The men nearest me flinch when the claws retract and I spin around, stomping a few paces before plonking down on the floor with a huff.

"Fucking mutant-phobia." I smash my fist into the ground and yell all my frustration out. "You." I point to Alastair behind my back without seeing him; he had made a huge noise getting up by scuffing his legs and arms on the beet red dirt. "What is wrong with me?"

"Uh," his hands cup the air around his nose and he mumbles something unintelligible to even my ears. I tip my head back so I'm looking at the row of soldiers upside down and flick my eyes to the man next to Alastair. He was one, if not the one who started all the disobedience and chit-chat. Sargent Isaac, if I remember correctly. He caught the eye contact and smirked at his mate next to him.

"You're an abnormality," he snapped, hate gathering in every pore of his body. "I hate everything about you. You're not human, no, you're not the highest on the food chain, you're worthless, and you're, a thing, an asset, a mutant." He grits his teeth and launches forward, lashing out wildly. I fall flat on my back and push my legs over my head and square in his stomach. He doubles over and pauses in pain. Wuss. I flick my legs forward, putting all my force and strength into them and land squatting and one hand on the ground to steady me.

"Fine," I spat, and kick backwards into his jaw as I stand up and smirk as he keels over, jaw broken. "I'll file my resignation. Hope you like what's coming for you, fuckers, the army can't afford to lose another Major General."

I left them there, not excusing them from the training, and threw the middle finger over my shoulder at them. Not that it would mean anything to them, but oh well, it just added to my satisfaction of payback.

Commanding General of the Army was William Sherman, a man I'd fought side-by-side in the Civil War, when the marching lines of the army broke in the face of more enemies. Will, as he had asked me to call him, looked like a mix between Logan, my male counterpart, and Tony Stark when the war ended. Now, winkles and a whitening beard covered these facts but there were still that jarring false recognition whenever I see him.

"I fucking hate ignorant humans," I bit, ignoring the fact that I was one too as I flung the tent door open. "General Sherman, I am applying for resignation."

"'Bout damn time," snarled someone, voice far too like sharpening knives to be Will. Sharply turning to the corner with food & snacks squatted the outrageously fat for this time Colonel Ruwinya, a man I reluctantly promoted when I climbed to Brigadier General because there were a limited amount of people who stayed in the army after the war.

He was a wanker right from the start. He didn't deserve the silver eagle.

"You're speaking to a higher ranked officer, Colonel, show some respect." Sherman quietly says, not looking up from the papers clustered around him. I barely squint in the poor light from the lamp, a stark difference from Colonel Ruwinya. He finally finishes the line he was writing and stares into my eyes with dead tired eyes. "Why do you want to resign?" The quill is picked up again, light scratches grating in my ears.

"Because my men refuse to see past the physical." I say quietly and turn to walk out.

"I can host a 'The Mutants are Gone' party tonight!" Colonel Ruwinya gleefully says under his breath, too soft for Sherman to hear. I did, unfortunately for him. "They're gone, finally!" Ruwinya had guessed correctly that Victor would follow me out of here. It was only my vain attempt of giving humanity a chance that held him back.

I sharply turn on my heels and actually launch myself at Colonel Ruwinya, bone claws burying deep into his elbows.

"Do you really think Victor and I are the only mutants? Ooh, you better watch out fucker, the age of mutants are coming." I snarl, and immediately wish that I never said that. But I'm on a roll. "That guy that saved you in the Battle of Hatteras Inlet Batteries and died doing so? Sargent Biju was a mutant. Your best friend until he died in the Battle of Chustenahlah? Mutant again. And then, guess what -?"

Shit. Oooh crap. I almost revealed another live mutant! That was a very big no-no in the world of the mutants, however small and wide spread it currently was.

"I'm a mutant too Colonel," Sherman breaks in; rolling a golf ball sized fireball in between is palms. Ruwinya's face now is deathly white and submissive. We may actually get him to keep quiet about this. "And your last remark is very offensive and under the army regulations you are kicked out of the army. I'm sure there are younger, more open-minded men out there just waiting to take your place."

I twist my hand that was buried deep in his elbow agonizingly slowly. A small whimper escaped Ruwinya's mouth. I'm not sure if it was because of the pain or Sherman bringing his hands closer to Ruwinya's face.

The heat swells, burning my arm and I'm suddenly back in that field, Pixie Princess sitting away from me as I twitch my bare finger bones. He's morphed, Luke isn't a man, he's a monster taunting me, squishing my burning body into the dirt.

I – I – can't breathe – I can see my bones – oh my god – fuckfuckfuckfuck –

Suddenly I'm frozen cold, my small breaths escaping in puffs of clouds, unable to move my limbs. I'm like a glacier, unable to move on my own, only with the help of what's destroying me.

"Lyall," A palm lightly landed on my skin, but it melt in, heat cutting deeply into my state. My healing factor must have reacted with my shell shock and cooled my temperature to an all-time impossible low. The only reason why my body was still going on despite it being far too cold for any human to survive was the same thing that made it this state. "Pixie Princess isn't here, you killed him,"

That's right, some small voice, a little maniac, giggles, and suddenly I've got my claws in his brain and men's voices in the distance as I'm buck-arse nood.

My breath hitches as I try to laugh but my lungs are frozen in cold-mode so it doesn't work. I still remember the blushes they made even when I had Luke's coat covering me down to half-way down my thighs.

"Luke could've been nice," I slur when my lung jump start, and I take in greedy amounts of air. "We could've been friends. We are, after all, a small group in the population of the world. Mutants vs the humans. Sounds like a shitty TV show."

Sherman, now coming into focus as my body warmed up, cradled my head in his wide palms, Victor on the other sides, face murderous.

"You knew better than that!" Victor snaps over me at Sherman. Wait, was that Marth? "She's been refusing to go near fires for over a decade!"

"Ruwinya muttered something that set her off. She told about all the dead mutants he became friendly with and nearly revealed another live mutant. I activated mine to save her skin." Sherman bit back. Yeah, he and Victor weren't on the best of terms.

"Guys," I croak and nearly any movement in my tent faltered. Victor's head nearly had a whiplash as his head snapped to mine. "Stop fighting. Sherman, it wasn't your fault."

"Lyall!" Victor breathes a sigh of relief "You're not murmuring nonsense anymore!"

"Your mother was hamster and your father smelt of elderberries," I say automatically in challenge and the reaction from Sherman and Victor was immediate. Raised eye brows. Confused looks.

"What?" Victor asks, but Marth comes back into view and carries on like I never said anything.

"Sherman has told me you came into the building to resign." He asks softly, like he knew this was coming.

"He told you right." My body was loosening up, my mouth the most by how much I'm using it right now. "Sargent Alastair talked back and when I asked him why he didn't like mutants, Sargent Isaac stepped in." It was made clear I refused to say what he said by everybody's frown.

"I'll have them doing punishment rounds tomorrow." Sherman gives me a glare before I could defend them. I raise my eyebrow; I wasn't nice like that.

"Fan-fucking-tastic, we can finally leave." Victor is far too elastic for a man that had served over 10 years in the army. "Where to now? I want to see Canada again."

"Check out the Mansion, maybe?" I say without thinking and wince "No, not there. How about South America?"

"And do what?" Victor asks, puzzled. "There's nothing down there."

I shake my head and gingerly pull my top half up to a sitting position, legs tucked under my body. I rest my hands unconsciously on my thighs. Living in Japan really forces you to get used to holding this positon for hours.

"Well, we could always sail across the sea to visit Europe and laugh at the poms, or go further and sneak into China or even Japan…" I sigh in memories. I don't think Japan was in the 'yes, yes, visitors, yes!' mode right now… isn't Japan denying any outside contact right now?

"Japan?" Sherman muttered, frowning. I swear I saw a lightbulb go off above his head when he remembered.

"How big is that altogether? How long do you think we'll be gone?" Victor squints is eyes. I think he's trying to remember that world map in the White House.

"A good 20 years," I grin, "You guys will be old farts by then," Sherman and Marth just snort and shake their heads.

[x]

Goodbye is short and painful yet still easy. Stark had his wife came along to wave us farewell, probably for the very last time. They were well into their 30s, edging nearer to 40, equal to waiting to die in my childhood.

Just before we step onto the ship, Stark hands me a paper out of everyone else's ear shots.

"These are all the Stark families in touch with us. You can choose to visit them; but it will be very painful when they die." He quietly speaks as I slip the paper into my dress robe pockets. I was trying, and most likely failing, to look like a man with long hair.

"I think I'll need the human contact when they're not scared for their lives or screaming in pain," I whisper under my breath and give Stark a half-hug. "Stay gold, Ponyboy," I grin at Stark, inwardly chuckling when he becomes confused.

"Oh! Yes, the Outsiders, I remember," He looked pleased that he understood a reference. I guess you would, when it's from the future.

"Lyall!" Victor calls from the boat, tugging at his tight cuffs in impatience. "Come on, let's go."

In a few short moments the boat's wooden floors are rocking under my feet, the hard railing cutting into my arms as I lean over and watch the dock shrink.

"Last we'll see of 'em." Victor grins, sounding startlingly Australian. Whoops, guess he got that from me when we had no contact in the forests of Canada. I shrug in reply, and wish very badly it was socially acceptable to lean against the rail and slide down it to sit.

I slowly migrate from the larboard ramp to the bow, Victor trailing after me like a wild puppy, uncaring about the cold weather although the rest of the passengers save the crew have moved inside. The erratic rocking of the ship against the consistent pound of waves shook any chance of sleep from my body and most certainly Victor's.

A good hour or so later, when the sun was nearing 12 o'clock in the morning, Victor slid his elbow over the rough carving of the ship's railing to nudge mine.

"What are we going to do?" He asks, eyes scanning the horizon for any sign of land. "I mean, you just said 'across the sea there is more.'"

I pause, thinking about what I'm going to say.

"Well, we could learn another language for one," I start "We could see the old villages of times longggg gone,"

"Ew," Victor winkles his nose and I shake my head with a small laugh. And idea came to my head.

"Or, we could scavenge the lands searching for more mutants."

"What for?"

"Well, as far as we're concerned, it's only Marth, Sherman, us and the few who died in the War who are mutants." I start, slowly getting excited, The Idea, with capitals, spreading and conceiving in my mind. "What if there's more? What if they're hated too? What if they think they're the only people out there like them?"

Victor pauses, and thinks about how mum practically banished me from the house that night. His face goes soft and rest his head sideways facing me on his folded arms.

"I like it," he grins wolfishly "what do we do when we find them?"

Oops, um, haven't got to that bit yet.

"Enroll them in some kind of organization, maybe." I light up. "The World Mutant Protection Legion."

"The WMPL?" Victor chuckles and pats me on the back. "I could go with it. What would they do?"

"Find other mutants, tell them that they're not alone, list their abilities, name and it would keep on going until every one's found." I smile, eager to start this whole thing. Shame nobody on the ship is a mutant, at least, I couldn't tell by smell.

"And you'd be the leader." Victor nods like he just made the wisest choice ever. The expression on my face crumpled.

"Victor, I'm not a good choice," I sigh, twisting so the bottom of my spine leaned against the railing. My half-brother looked over his shoulder to give me a look.

"You are. How do you think so many people survived in the Civil War? You guided them to beyond what you think, some people back there," he jerked his thumb to the stern "still sing songs and tell stories to their children about you, Lyall. You're a hero to them."

I bit my lip, not really wanting to give in. "I – I – don't know."

"You're going to be the best Director of the WMPL the world will ever know and the whole time I'll still be your brother and be right behind you. The Legion will take the world by storm without it even knowing." Victor wraps his arms tight around my shoulders and squeezes. "I'll make sure of it."

I grip my hands on one of his arms, dreading the days that will turn him into the bloodthirsty Sabretooth.

[x]

The captain slouched next to the gate leading down the bridge to Europe's land. We were the last to get off as the crew had taken a liking to us though out the long weeks and hosted a short goodbye party under the deck that mostly consisted of one huge drinking contest as the rest of the passengers disembarked off The Soldier Sailor. The rest of the crew had passed out below as we calmly took the stairs up and without a hint of the wild party trotted off to leave the ship.

"Hey." The captain whispers as we were about to pass him. "You're looking for mutants, right?"

I turn to sharply look him in the eyes. If he dares to tell anyone –

"Don't worry, I won't tell another human soul." He captain sighs, slouching back into the hard rails. "My brother is one of you guys. You can check him and his other mutant buddies out at this address." Another slip of paper was handed to me, but Victor took it this time with a wary glare.

"Heard you chatting about the World Mutant Protection Legion over the trip." He smiles, warmly, like we'd just brought Christmas early. "My brother has a hard time finding friends with his appearance. I'm really the only human who talks to him."

"Thank you," I say quietly, and pat his forearms, taking a step forward off the ship onto the bridge. "The WMPL will hopefully be successful."

The Soldier Sailor was soon covered by lined up houses with English men in black suits and woman with the ballroom gowns swarming my vision and soon taking our attention. The port was a nightmare, and the further into the heart of London was no exception.

If we'd been human, Victor and I would've been shivering from the cold, miserable from the cold and angry from the restless nights on the ship. But, just to prove our freakishness, nothing affected us other than the everyday pickpocket and the arseholes we came across.

"How much money do we have left?" Victor murmurs him my ear, bending down to do so. He looks rather imitating like that, hunched over, and the lack of thieves is evidence. I peak into the overcoat I have and thumb over the sheets of paper Stark had no hesitation handing over. There is, what, a good US$25 dollars in there, a huge amount in US.

"Good for a month or four in New York's poor hotels. I don't know how much that would be since we still need to exchange it to pounds." I winkle my nose at the mention of the money. Ugh, another set of currency I have to learn.

"Is that a bank?" Victor squints at the Customs House and something clicks inside of my head. Didn't Amy's grandfather build a hotel near one of these?

"Aren't we supposed to pay something in there?" I ask myself more than Victor, who shrugs. I eye the human traffic between us and the Customs House and debate inside my head of what to do. Do it now, when there's thousands of people shoving their way in, or later, when there's not so many people.

"Let's do it later," I tell Victor, weaving in between the bodies to an edge of a random building, leaning against it to get out of the push. If we didn't have super hearing, I doubt we would've heard each other. Thank god in the War we learnt how to push mundane noises out of our heads and focus on the important ones; otherwise we would be screaming from the pain. "What does the slip say?"

"Uh, are you seriously considering going to a place we've never heard of let alone been to?" Victor gives me a look and I grin.

"Why not? If it's a trap, then we can fight ourselves out no worries." Victor tilts to the side to access the pocket stitched onto his pants, his hand squeezing into the small opening. Slowly but surely the paper made its way to my fingers. "It's a map, not an address" I tell Victor in relief and turn it around a few times. One roughly drawn rectangle was called The Butcher, the Baker, the Candlestick Maker, which was just across the street. I squint at the map and survey our surroundings as Victor watches out for pickpockets.

"This..." I wave my index finger around the top of my head and pointed in the hopefully correct direction. "...way! Onwards, my friends!"

I take a step off the gutter of the street and let myself be carried by the force of the crowd, stumbling every now and then when the speed picked up or lurched. Victor disappeared in my vision and appeared several times, looking more annoyed each time. I finally make my way to the side of the 'current' where there weren't as much people. I stumbled out onto an alley called Joan St. and glance around. Sure enough, there was the pub called That Pub on Joan St. and a low hum of human voices creep out under from the door the same name as the one on the paper.

"Lyall!" Victor calls, looking rather ruffled from the trip. He looks extremely pissed now.

"What took you so long?" I ask him as he straightens his clothes as best he could, but doesn't tuck his shirt into his pants. Whoops, another trait picked up from me. "Tidy up Victor, we're going into a pub with a good reputation."

And then I stride straight into the pub without a care about the possible danger.