AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
I'm on a roll today! 
There's an alternate version of this coming soon, as promised. It's, well, interesting.
'Póg mo thóin' = 'kiss my ass'. He's heard it before.
***
America was a vast, crowded, open place at the edge of his thoughts where he could see the sun rise if he walked away from the city. America pulled at him with a magnetism he didn’t understand, and so they had gone there, from the ‘Boy’ tour starting and Bono was there again in the ‘War’ tour.
This time was different. He felt like something was pulling him to the place. Despite the feelings that the concert tonight would be canceled, something exhilarated within him looked out into the rain and decided the band would do it anyway.
Red Rocks was very high up, very cold, scraping the edge of the atmosphere, it seemed to him, great ruddy formations of rock jutting into the beginning twilight. Thin clouds gathered overhead and helicopters buzzed across his thoughts. The rain itched and drummed through his skin. He felt he was running, running through the night air over a vast limitless nameless expanse washed red-gold with sunlight—even as the sunlight disappeared and shifted as if underwater, through the clouds. He crouched onto the stage and closed his eyes, feeling his thoughts expand and contract, and rooted himself into the ground again, shaking his head. What was it? Something was different tonight.
He opened his eyes and watched the soundcheck. The clouds drifted over and through him. He wasn’t cold, even with the thin misting rain that came and went. They would be filming tonight, despite the rain, and Bono still felt odd.
That feeling remained; it didn’t really seem like coincidence that they played ‘Out of Control’ first. That was his mind…no…everything had gained an order, suddenly, as if order and sense had fallen as an epiphany out of the sky. Edge’s playing was almost explosive tonight, and the energy built up within them. At some point his head cleared, Bono looked over at the guitar player, and while Edge looked straight back for an instant, part of him was looking away.
Was Edge hiding something?
Edge saw first. He smiled and started fast into the next song. Bono was still unsuspecting. Edge closed his eyes and felt like the rain and the crowd—and everything—had receded and grown into some planned order, or some beautiful coincidence. While he was sad to see what would happen, he was exultant that things would change so suddenly.
By the time they played ‘An Cat Dubh’, the air had grown electric. Those first few chords rose in his mind and awoke him. Bono shivered once and looked straight ahead, not daring to look over to the side…he felt like…
“This is ‘the black cat,’ An Cat Dubh,” he said in a clear voice to everything around him. His voice had already bound him to the people here, but now it connected to something more unformed, emerging.
He was almost unconsciously singing; the rest of him had slipped into intense emotion he could barely comprehend. And it all came back. The pain and the amazement shocked across his face; he closed his eyes and his voice grew softer before the chorus.
Oh my god.
He had forgotten.
Cath…
Everything coalesced. He was singing verses that were not in the song, half-echoed memories. Edge glanced at him.
“When you’re gone,
it’s been too long…
we’ve been waiting
we’ve been waiting all day
for you…
for you…”
It was the next song, ‘Into The Heart’, that he came back into awareness of what he was doing. He no longer sang like a rockstar; he sang like himself, or perhaps there was no difference. His heart beat hard and pulled him through the words and the silences. He kept glancing back at Edge out of the corner of his eye, confused, restless from all the energy within him.
What was Edge hiding?
All the energy, all those months and years, drummed into him and swept him more powerfully into himself. He was in control, some of the time, and other times he stood back and saw himself and his emotion move his body. He nearly cried during ’11 O Clock Tick Tock,’ and looked out past the stage.
"Call out your name…"
Something or someone at the side of the crowd kept catching at his eye; he turned that way…
"Call out in shame…"
The notes of the guitar rippled and died and Bono could concentrate—and—his breath left him—he saw.
Was that…? Some part of his imagination, surely. He was projecting himself and his hopes into his vision. But—he couldn’t imagine anything so completely.
“Edge,” he whispered to the guitarist at the end of the song. “I may be gone a minute.” And he went backstage, Edge playing the ending again, and headed forth into the mist and dark.
He knew it. That restless energy within him suddenly made sense. He walked out alone in the shadows and the crowd looked forth to the stage, but—some inner part of him recognized who he saw, though he had very little to go by.
He had been nearly lost in the crowd when Bono looked, but had perched up on the side of one of the rock formations, looked into the singer’s eyes, and grinned a mischievous grin.
Edge was still playing the chorus in the brief minute it took for Paul Hewson to find himself again; Bono reached up and hugged Ciarán hard, his heart swelling. If any brief tears would come in the darkness, no-one would see; they waited hushed, looking at the stage.
When Bono came back onstage, he grinned an ecstatic grin out to the crowd, in one direction in particular. The next song was ‘I Will Follow’…it all made sense now.
After the crowd had left, the ending words of “40” still echoing through Bono’s mind, there was a little noise. The four-year-old had come to the edge of the stage. Edge lifted him up happily and Bono caught him again. Ciarán didn’t seem to mind that his father was flushed and sweaty from exerting himself over the past hour. He settled against him, saying “haigh” happily and looking up.
By the slightly dimmed stagelights Bono could see the boy’s face more clearly. He was dark-haired like Cath and had an abundance of freckles, and had that evil mischief in his blue eyes. There was a little hint of an indent in his chin that Bono recognized well.
Edge was laughing. When Bono looked over at him, he just shook his head.
“In America but speaking Gaelic,” Bono noted amusedly. It reminded him of someone. “Is there any other Gaelic you know?”
Ciarán looked up at him impishly and seriously stated, “Póg mo thóin.”
Bono laughed until he cried.
There's an alternate version of this coming soon, as promised. It's, well, interesting.
'Póg mo thóin' = 'kiss my ass'. He's heard it before.
***
EPILOGUE
June 5, 1983
June 5, 1983
America was a vast, crowded, open place at the edge of his thoughts where he could see the sun rise if he walked away from the city. America pulled at him with a magnetism he didn’t understand, and so they had gone there, from the ‘Boy’ tour starting and Bono was there again in the ‘War’ tour.
This time was different. He felt like something was pulling him to the place. Despite the feelings that the concert tonight would be canceled, something exhilarated within him looked out into the rain and decided the band would do it anyway.
Red Rocks was very high up, very cold, scraping the edge of the atmosphere, it seemed to him, great ruddy formations of rock jutting into the beginning twilight. Thin clouds gathered overhead and helicopters buzzed across his thoughts. The rain itched and drummed through his skin. He felt he was running, running through the night air over a vast limitless nameless expanse washed red-gold with sunlight—even as the sunlight disappeared and shifted as if underwater, through the clouds. He crouched onto the stage and closed his eyes, feeling his thoughts expand and contract, and rooted himself into the ground again, shaking his head. What was it? Something was different tonight.
He opened his eyes and watched the soundcheck. The clouds drifted over and through him. He wasn’t cold, even with the thin misting rain that came and went. They would be filming tonight, despite the rain, and Bono still felt odd.
That feeling remained; it didn’t really seem like coincidence that they played ‘Out of Control’ first. That was his mind…no…everything had gained an order, suddenly, as if order and sense had fallen as an epiphany out of the sky. Edge’s playing was almost explosive tonight, and the energy built up within them. At some point his head cleared, Bono looked over at the guitar player, and while Edge looked straight back for an instant, part of him was looking away.
Was Edge hiding something?
Edge saw first. He smiled and started fast into the next song. Bono was still unsuspecting. Edge closed his eyes and felt like the rain and the crowd—and everything—had receded and grown into some planned order, or some beautiful coincidence. While he was sad to see what would happen, he was exultant that things would change so suddenly.
By the time they played ‘An Cat Dubh’, the air had grown electric. Those first few chords rose in his mind and awoke him. Bono shivered once and looked straight ahead, not daring to look over to the side…he felt like…
“This is ‘the black cat,’ An Cat Dubh,” he said in a clear voice to everything around him. His voice had already bound him to the people here, but now it connected to something more unformed, emerging.
He was almost unconsciously singing; the rest of him had slipped into intense emotion he could barely comprehend. And it all came back. The pain and the amazement shocked across his face; he closed his eyes and his voice grew softer before the chorus.
Oh my god.
He had forgotten.
Cath…
Everything coalesced. He was singing verses that were not in the song, half-echoed memories. Edge glanced at him.
“When you’re gone,
it’s been too long…
we’ve been waiting
we’ve been waiting all day
for you…
for you…”
It was the next song, ‘Into The Heart’, that he came back into awareness of what he was doing. He no longer sang like a rockstar; he sang like himself, or perhaps there was no difference. His heart beat hard and pulled him through the words and the silences. He kept glancing back at Edge out of the corner of his eye, confused, restless from all the energy within him.
What was Edge hiding?
All the energy, all those months and years, drummed into him and swept him more powerfully into himself. He was in control, some of the time, and other times he stood back and saw himself and his emotion move his body. He nearly cried during ’11 O Clock Tick Tock,’ and looked out past the stage.
"Call out your name…"
Something or someone at the side of the crowd kept catching at his eye; he turned that way…
"Call out in shame…"
The notes of the guitar rippled and died and Bono could concentrate—and—his breath left him—he saw.
Was that…? Some part of his imagination, surely. He was projecting himself and his hopes into his vision. But—he couldn’t imagine anything so completely.
“Edge,” he whispered to the guitarist at the end of the song. “I may be gone a minute.” And he went backstage, Edge playing the ending again, and headed forth into the mist and dark.
He knew it. That restless energy within him suddenly made sense. He walked out alone in the shadows and the crowd looked forth to the stage, but—some inner part of him recognized who he saw, though he had very little to go by.
He had been nearly lost in the crowd when Bono looked, but had perched up on the side of one of the rock formations, looked into the singer’s eyes, and grinned a mischievous grin.
Edge was still playing the chorus in the brief minute it took for Paul Hewson to find himself again; Bono reached up and hugged Ciarán hard, his heart swelling. If any brief tears would come in the darkness, no-one would see; they waited hushed, looking at the stage.
When Bono came back onstage, he grinned an ecstatic grin out to the crowd, in one direction in particular. The next song was ‘I Will Follow’…it all made sense now.
After the crowd had left, the ending words of “40” still echoing through Bono’s mind, there was a little noise. The four-year-old had come to the edge of the stage. Edge lifted him up happily and Bono caught him again. Ciarán didn’t seem to mind that his father was flushed and sweaty from exerting himself over the past hour. He settled against him, saying “haigh” happily and looking up.
By the slightly dimmed stagelights Bono could see the boy’s face more clearly. He was dark-haired like Cath and had an abundance of freckles, and had that evil mischief in his blue eyes. There was a little hint of an indent in his chin that Bono recognized well.
Edge was laughing. When Bono looked over at him, he just shook his head.
“In America but speaking Gaelic,” Bono noted amusedly. It reminded him of someone. “Is there any other Gaelic you know?”
Ciarán looked up at him impishly and seriously stated, “Póg mo thóin.”
Bono laughed until he cried.
So lighter than the past few chapters! I loved it!
My heart is seriously pounding so hard right now because those last few chapters were so difficult to read! God! I can only imagine having that much time left ... Wow, lady, you did such a wonderful, wonderful job with this! 
So adorable! And, in a way, a very, very happy ending.
