Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men or the lyrics in italics (the amazing Damien Rice's Sleep, Don't Weep)
Yeah, I don't know what's happening to me. I have caught Kyroitis. It seems that everything I write is now a Kyro. ARGH! Personally, I blame aiRo25. Although I am loving the pairing, and will always hold a place for them in my heart, I hope I grow out of it. Just enough to be able to finish a Ryro one-shot I have cooking, at least. It's just a phase – ha! Get it? A phase. Because Kitty phases. I crack myself up sometimes.
Again, unBeta'd. Don't know why, just laziness, I guess. If anyone sees any mistakes or has any suggestions, I'd be happy to hear them.
Sleep, Don't Weep
Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love
Your face is all wet and your day was rough
Every night she cries herself to sleep. He knows this because, every night, he watches her do it. He sits there, watching her cry for the dead, and for the living, and he wonders who deserves it more. If he were dead, he wouldn't have to sit here and watch her cry.
But if he were dead, would she cry for him?
And if she were dead, would he cry for her?
Did he even know how? To cry? Has he forgotten? Is it possible to forget how to cry, forget how to laugh and smile. To feel. Sometimes he thinks life would be less painful for all involved if no one could feel. If we all just existed. Just were. Because if we couldn't feel, the sours would be less sour, the bitters would be less bitter and the acids would not burn so deep, festering, inside, forever. Like a disease. A cancer, slowly, devouring until there is nothing but emptiness and regret and rusty dreams.
But, if we could not feel, the sweets would be less sweet.
And when she did stop crying, and when she smiled in her sleep, he would feel nothing.
And was feeling only inside? Would her skin be less soft? Her eyes less bright? Would the sunshine in her smile fade away like an old photograph?
He wishes he could walk across the floor, ten steps maybe, leave the shadows and kiss away the pain. Be the hero she saw inside. The king. The man, just the man. Sleep, don't weep, my sweet love. I'm here.
But he can't. He made his bed; now he has to lie in it, just as she lies on hers, a kitten curled up into a ball, crying, crying, crying. For such a little person, she has so many tears.
It's night now, it's all black and endless, but when morning comes, she will get up and wash away those tears with cold water. He's never been jealous of water before. She will sit on the edge of her bed and greet the new day. A new dawn, a new day, a new death. A new death, but she never wears black. And in a way, that's worse. She's keeping it all inside, all those tears mean nothing, she's keeping it inside, just like him. And he doesn't ever ever want her to be like him. She's too strong for that.
Kitty Pryde is the strongest person John knows. People think he's the tough one, but there's no such thing as tough. Only trained and untrained. Pyro's trained, Christ, God only knows how trained he is, but he's not strong. He's not strong because he can't walk those ten steps across the floor, touch her, hold her, kiss away the tears, whisper in her ear, sleep, don't weep my sweet love. I'm here.
So, when morning comes, he will leave, back to those he calls friends and that which they call home. But he much prefers Kitty's windowsill.
Into the dawn light, John breathes, "I'm here. I'm here," he says.
Those times that I was broke, and you stood strong
I think I found a place where I …
If you liked this, please review (obviously) and come visit mine and aiRo25' forum Save The Kyro as Kyros, sadly, are dying breed and we must save them! Must! Or else Kitty's doomed to Bobby and Pyro to a succession of Mary-Sue succubuses. And you really don't want that resting your conscious now, do you? Huh? Huh? Huh?