It was late. Almost midnight. She ducked around another corner, sliding effortlessly through the shadows. Soon, her patrol would be finished and she'd go to bed.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Kitty shook her head wryly at herself. Who did she think she was kidding? Patrolling? Please. With the school's security system and Logan's nose, what point was there to roaming the halls night after night? She could say she was just making the rounds, checking on people, but it was a lie. It was all a lie to cover up the fact that she couldn't make herself sleep anymore. Couldn't face the nightmares... or worse, the times when there were no dreams at all.

Just nothing.

Four months had passed since the official end of the war. A treaty had been signed, diplomats had shaken hands, both sides had gone home licking their wounds. Among the dead were Charles Xavier, Jean Gray, Scott Summers, Piotr Rasputin, and Jubilation Lee. Among the living? Well, it was hard to say. Sometimes Kitty got a little confused as to whether or not she was alive at all.

As she thought this, something Logan had once said slithered into her mind like a drip of poison, burning her calm: 'Wars don't decide who's right, kid. They just decide who's left.'

Was it unbelievably naïve of her that it had taken a day or so for her to understand that?

After the battle at Alcatraz, there had been two more major fights. Magneto, though powerless, was far from finished. He made a great and terrible comeback about a month after the Phoenix disaster, masterminding an attack on the White House.

That was the night bouncy little Jubilee took a bullet to the spine that left her dying on the ground, humans and mutants alike fighting all around her. Kitty had seen her and tried to go to help, but Bobby shoved her back.

"She's gone," he'd shouted at her, blasting someone she thought was called 'Multiple' with ice. "Leave her!"

So they had.

John was back. Pyro. Well, more or less. He was physically present, at least. His body walked and talked and sneered, but his eyes had a vacancy in them that would have scared the old Kitty. He was banned from lighters or matches, prohibited from going anywhere near the kitchen (because of the stove), and had a metal anklet that would deliver an electric shock if he tried to leave the grounds of the mansion. Whenever anyone tried to talk to him, he pretty much bit their heads off, but Kitty had seen him on her 'patrols' before, sitting with his head in his hands in the darkened library, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Bobby never talked to her anymore. He avoided her. Possibly because she reminded him of the time when Rogue was... off... and when he'd strayed from his precious perfect-boyfriend routine just a tad. Rogue herself was perfectly fine. Almost too fine, actually. Kitty had a mental bet with herself as to how long it would be before the now-human teen left the mansion and its twisted, mutated occupants far behind her.

Just then, Kitty was torn out of her thoughts by a soft thumping noise. She backtracked. There was a door on her left that was slightly open; she hadn't noticed. Silently, Kitty phased her head through and peered into the room.

It was just a bedroom, only it looked like it was a spare. The bed was stripped, and the desk was completely bare. What drew her attention was the open window, and the figure standing in front of it. Before her eyes, the open shutters banged lightly with the breeze, creating the sound that she'd heard from the hallway.

Kitty stepped all the way into the room and cleared her throat. John Allerdyce turned to face her. Silhouetted in the window frame, he stood in his drawstring pants and nothing else.

"What are you doing, Pyro," she asked coldly. Instead of snapping out some biting remark or just shoving past her, he smiled. The dim light coming through from the moon behind him let her make out the rare expression. The slightly older boy gestured at the open window.

"What do you think?" His voice was soft and strange, no malice in it. Kitty pushed the door closed behind her and stepped closer.

"Gonna jump, Johnny?" She got the feeling that this entire encounter was just a surreal dream, a welcome escape from the screaming nightmares she usually had. She was a little startled by her own voice: it was low and throaty, not at all worried.

"It's what all the cool people are doing," he said, still with that brightly fake smile. "I'm surprised you haven't done it already."

"Why's that?" He didn't step nearer to her, but his thin frame seemed to grow somehow, looming.

"I've seen you," he said, pointing at her. "Walking. At night."

"I've seen you, too. Crying in the dark." The smile faded from his face and he searched hers through the shadows, finally nodding.

"We're all insane," John told her. "Have you noticed it? Everybody. You. You're a fucking nutjob, Pryde. Wandering around to hide from your own tears." She laughed, and it was a bitter sound.

"What about you? You're the one with the pathetic suicide attempt going on." He shrugged.

"Oh, yes, I'm crazy. But I'm evil. I have an excuse."

"Maybe I'm evil, too," she murmured, putting out her hand. It came to rest on his bare chest, just above his heart. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm.

"Do you have nightmares, Kitty Pryde?" His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes."

"I don't." He raised a hand and put it over hers on his chest, and his fingers were cold. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because," he replied, leaning his head down, "I'm already dead. Dead people don't dream." She breathed out.

"I'm nobody," Kitty sighed. "Who are you? Are you nobody too?"

"Emily Dickinson," he said. She nodded.

"Well? Are you going to do it?"

"Aren't you going to tell me not to?" Kitty pressed her forehead to his lips.

"I am a good person," she said aloud. "I am a good person, I am a good person." His skin was warmer now.

"You know what this is, Kitten?" He backed away from her, stepping backwards up to the window frame and climbing, still facing her, onto it. She watched him, mouth moving with the same phrase. She could still feel his mouth on her forehead.

John smiled again, his thin chest shivering as he spread his arms like Christ on the cross.

"Tabula-fucking-rasa," he answered for her. She watched, motionless, urging him on, pulling him back, wishing she could join him, hating him, loving him, but most of all just watching, as he closed his eyes and fell away.

After she heard the thud, Kitty walked over to the stripped bed and curled up, putting her thumb in her mouth like she had when she was just a little girl.

Calmly, serenely, she closed her eyes.