DISCLAIMER: Kitty Pryde and all mentioned characters belong to Marvel Comics Group and are used without permission. No profit is being made. This story is rated PG (angst, mostly).
ARCHIVING: If anyone wants it, go ahead; I do request to be notified (infinitepryde@lycos.com). My net access is likely to go down without warning for an indeterminate period, so please don't be surprised (or insulted) if there's no response.

Sometimes I still think I can hear it. It's almost singing.

It's been a long time. It's not mine to deal with anymore. It's her penance. She placed it in evil hands, after all, and so many died before we could get control of it again. It's hers to deal with now. Not mine.

I'm the one who gave it to her, though. I thought she knew what she was doing. (She always had before. That's no excuse.)

What's my penance?

It wasn't so long after that that I started getting ... I don't know. Edgy. Started looking for a change. Oh, I changed things all right. First little things. Then bigger.

Now I'm here at college, lying in the dark, just me and my baby dragon. I guess he's all that hasn't changed. I sure have. But it hasn't helped, has it?

It's quiet here. I should be asleep. I've been having trouble sleeping for a long time.

What was I trying to change? What was I hoping to get away from?

Five hundred thousand people. That's one-sixth of Chicago's population. Him and him and her and her and her. But not him. He's okay.

Half a million people dead, because my friend made the wrong decision, and I backed her up on it. Half a million people dead because I was weak and scared.

Don't you dare get yourself killed, or even hurt, you hear me?

I even had a warning. A mocking. See what happens if you give up. You wind up all alone with yourself. With the hundreds and thousands of ways you might've turned out, if you'd only made different choices.

All of them were alone, too. Except they didn't even have Lockheed. They had Kurt. And Piotr. Sometimes in ways I'd rather not have thought about.

I've got Lockheed, and Kurt - Kurt comes by if he thinks I need him - but I don't have Piotr anymore.

And I don't - have -

You said you wouldn't dare, goddammit. You said -

There's more blood on my hands than there ever was on yours.

If I'd held on to the stupid thing - you came, right after that. Showed me again what I'd learned and forgotten: that having that kind of thing inside you doesn't mean having to give in to it. That all it takes to stop that kind of corruption is taking a stand and sticking to it. That's the trick, isn't it? Sticking to it. No matter the cost to yourself.

I learned the 'no matter the cost' part, all right. But what the hell did I think I was buying?

Change?

Nothing changes. People still hate and love and fear and want and screw and walk out on each other, whatever the details happen to be. Nothing changes.

Hah. Things changed for half a million people. Things would've changed for everybody a few times, if people like us hadn't been there.

Death is a big change, isn't it.

I never wanted you to die. I think maybe I wanted me to. But not you.

So I carved it in my skin. The things that never change. The things I never lose.

I lose the people I love. I lose the purposes I used to care about. I lose the self-respect I used to have. I lose a whole lot of sleep.

But I've never lost my dragon, and I've never lost the goddamn stupid sword.

I carry it around with me every day, though I can usually ignore it during the days. And every night, when I lie here and stare into the darkness and wonder why I'm still here. Sometimes I can almost still hear it.

It whispers to me. Sometimes it sings. It's got half a million voices. All the people that died because I was wrong.

What's my penance?

This is. Whispers in the dark. Outliving, one by one, all the people I care about. Keeping them company in the night, along with all the people I failed. That's the real reason I don't talk to the rest of them much anymore. If I don't know who all died because I wasn't there to help, they can't come visit me at night.

Sometimes I think that when it's over, when I'm the last one left, it'll come back to me. And I'll pick it up in my hand, and then -

Then I don't know.

Maybe I'll give in to it. Maybe I'll be able to kill myself first. That'd be a neat trick. Wonder who it'd go to then?

You could've handled it. You did. You made your own choices, and when you knew you'd gone too far, you stopped. Right there. And you never let it slip again.

I wonder if you ever realized that was why I was ashamed, being with you. Because I was supposed to be the hero, and you were supposed to be the killer - I was supposed to be the one who was too good for you. But when it came down to it, you were better than me.

You always were. You still are. Who else would put up with me talking like this?

I was looking so hard for a change. Trying so hard to ignore what I wanted to change, or why. Because then I'd've had to admit that what I wanted to change, what I wanted to get away from, was me.

And I'm never going to be able to change that part. Never once. Because it's the things I've done, the choices I've made. You were better than me there, too. You lived with your choices. You learned how to do better.

You were even willing to accept, eventually, that somebody might care about you.

If I'd been able to accept that, would you still be here? Would you be with me, holding me, stroking my hair, putting me back to sleep? Would it be enough to make the song go away?

You sure as hell would've understood.

And you'd understand why I can't just tell myself it's not my problem anymore. Probably make fun of me for it. Tell me to either do something about it, or put the angst away.

That's why I had to push you away. Because you would've helped me fix the stupid problem. But to do that, I would've had to admit there was one, and ...

Half a million people.

I couldn't've dealt with that. I couldn't. I still can't. Look at me, you know I can't. All I can do is shove it out of my head for a while.

And now it's too late.

I love you. I miss you. But I can't get you back.

Can't let myself think about that too long, either. Because sometimes it occurs to me - what if there's something magic that could bring you back? Or what if I went hunting for a stepping-disc that would take me back to before you were killed?

I could. I could try. All I'd have to do would be listen to the song close enough, and reach out...

Sure, I'm not the one holding the sword anymore. But it's not a physical level it's bonded to me on. Bet I could still get to it, if I tried.

But that's the stand I have to take. That's where I have to stop; that's going too far.

I fight myself over it every night I can't sleep. And every time I win is a gift to your memory. I haven't lost yet. I won't. No matter what it costs.

It's not mine to deal with anymore. I won't take her penance away from her. I won't stop doing mine. Whispers in the dark, as long as I live: fine. But I won't take up the sword again. I won't. I promise. I won't give up, not again.

And I'm not alone, am I? At least I can talk to you. Pretend you're listening. And it helps to drown out the song. That's the benefit of outliving people you love, I guess. They can't leave you any more.

I miss you so much. Help me live with what I can't change. Please. Stay with me a while longer, love, and help me get to sleep.