jeevey
Rock n' Roll Doggie Band-aid
Here is my very first U2 fic. You'll see I fudged the dates a little bit to make it work the way I wanted but... here goes. Thanks to Grace Ryan for being my first reader.
“Aislinn's left me,” said Edge, looking out over the grey rooftops of East Berlin.
Bono took a meditative sip of beer, then cocked his head. “She's left you, you said?”
“Really it's me leaving, of course. By request. The girls shouldn't move and they'll be with her naturally, so it had to be me. I took all my clothes to my mother's house before coming out there. The guitars had to stay for now but they...” Edge rubbed a hand across his forehead with a smearing motion “They're off by themselves so it didn't matter as much.”
Bono drew another pull from his bottle. “Well. That explains why you've been such a miserable fuck. I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
Edge shifted one foot to the railing. It was freezing outside, but he couldn't bear the nauseating liver colored hotel for another minute. East Berlin was a wretched city; greyish brown as a postapocalyptic puddle, cold, and full of suspicion. He'd never thought before how demoralizing it might be to be unable to turn up the heat or go buy warm clothing, but there was literally nothing to be had. He froze continually, the damp chill working inward and tightening his muscles in permanent defense. He'd managed to find some Soviet woolen stockings and cut off the toes wearing them as extra sleeves inside his clothes. He still found it difficult to concentrate, and his hands were stiff and slow.
“Another beer, Edge?”
“Whiskey, if there is some. I fucking hate German beer.” Bono pressed a square bottle into his hands and set his own empty on a cheap deck table full of them before cracking another.
“Is it over for certain?” he asked.
Edge held his mouthful for a moment before swallowing.
“Oh, I think it's been over for certain for...long. A long time now. I'm sorry, I know it will be hard for Ali to hear.”
“This might not last. Things do change sometimes. ”
“Yes,” the Edge said bitterly. “Yes, they do change.”
“Is there someone else, then?” Edge gave him a compressed look of assent. “Someone we know?”
“She didn't want to tell me. I imagine so. Someone local certainly.” He held the bottle against his upper lip, feeling the sweet fumes rise in his nostrils like a promise. “I can't say that I blame her. She wants a husband, someone to share her life with. Not a man who come around once or twice a year to rattle around the house like Father Christmas with a bad case of adrenaline withdrawal. She wants-” He paused to light a cigarette, handling it with care, and watched his match go out against the sky. Even they sky here was indistinct mess; greyish, yawning down to swallow him. “She wants someone to raise her children with. To have others as well, probably.”
Bono turned to look at him.
“Edge, those girls are yours. Nothing can change that, nobody could replace you.”
Edge felt the deck table gripped in his fingers, the heft of it as it over ended in a crash of aluminum and splintered glass. “Is that what you think? Fucking hell, Bono! Fucking hell. Have you ever known anyone whose parents were divorced?”
“Sure. Ehm, there were the Gallagher boys down the street from me, you remember Billy. And... Christopher Thorpe in the form below us.”
“And where were their old men?” He waited. “Come on, you can say it to me.” He gripped the steel rail tightly, controlling the shiver in his shoulders.
Bono set his beer down with a quiet clink.
“I don't know.”
“Me fucking either. Maybe the docks, or London, or a boat in the North Sea. Nowhere close. Those kids didn't know their dads. My girls are not going to know me. I'm going to be like a rich uncle who takes them to his house for presents, and everybody stands around making up things to do until it's time to go back home to their real lives.” His hands were numb yet searing on the frozen metal. His forearms strained against it. “Do you know who fathers divorced children, Bono? It's not their actual father; that doesn't matter a fucking bit. It's the man who sleeps in their mother's bed.” He leaned heavily against the rail and dropped down to the concrete deck.
There was sliding sensation on his face, cold, like the motion of a blade through skin before the sting is felt. He rubbed at it absently, and thought back to the fullest, the warmest moment he could recall.
“Aislinn's left me,” said Edge, looking out over the grey rooftops of East Berlin.
Bono took a meditative sip of beer, then cocked his head. “She's left you, you said?”
“Really it's me leaving, of course. By request. The girls shouldn't move and they'll be with her naturally, so it had to be me. I took all my clothes to my mother's house before coming out there. The guitars had to stay for now but they...” Edge rubbed a hand across his forehead with a smearing motion “They're off by themselves so it didn't matter as much.”
Bono drew another pull from his bottle. “Well. That explains why you've been such a miserable fuck. I'm so sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
Edge shifted one foot to the railing. It was freezing outside, but he couldn't bear the nauseating liver colored hotel for another minute. East Berlin was a wretched city; greyish brown as a postapocalyptic puddle, cold, and full of suspicion. He'd never thought before how demoralizing it might be to be unable to turn up the heat or go buy warm clothing, but there was literally nothing to be had. He froze continually, the damp chill working inward and tightening his muscles in permanent defense. He'd managed to find some Soviet woolen stockings and cut off the toes wearing them as extra sleeves inside his clothes. He still found it difficult to concentrate, and his hands were stiff and slow.
“Another beer, Edge?”
“Whiskey, if there is some. I fucking hate German beer.” Bono pressed a square bottle into his hands and set his own empty on a cheap deck table full of them before cracking another.
“Is it over for certain?” he asked.
Edge held his mouthful for a moment before swallowing.
“Oh, I think it's been over for certain for...long. A long time now. I'm sorry, I know it will be hard for Ali to hear.”
“This might not last. Things do change sometimes. ”
“Yes,” the Edge said bitterly. “Yes, they do change.”
“Is there someone else, then?” Edge gave him a compressed look of assent. “Someone we know?”
“She didn't want to tell me. I imagine so. Someone local certainly.” He held the bottle against his upper lip, feeling the sweet fumes rise in his nostrils like a promise. “I can't say that I blame her. She wants a husband, someone to share her life with. Not a man who come around once or twice a year to rattle around the house like Father Christmas with a bad case of adrenaline withdrawal. She wants-” He paused to light a cigarette, handling it with care, and watched his match go out against the sky. Even they sky here was indistinct mess; greyish, yawning down to swallow him. “She wants someone to raise her children with. To have others as well, probably.”
Bono turned to look at him.
“Edge, those girls are yours. Nothing can change that, nobody could replace you.”
Edge felt the deck table gripped in his fingers, the heft of it as it over ended in a crash of aluminum and splintered glass. “Is that what you think? Fucking hell, Bono! Fucking hell. Have you ever known anyone whose parents were divorced?”
“Sure. Ehm, there were the Gallagher boys down the street from me, you remember Billy. And... Christopher Thorpe in the form below us.”
“And where were their old men?” He waited. “Come on, you can say it to me.” He gripped the steel rail tightly, controlling the shiver in his shoulders.
Bono set his beer down with a quiet clink.
“I don't know.”
“Me fucking either. Maybe the docks, or London, or a boat in the North Sea. Nowhere close. Those kids didn't know their dads. My girls are not going to know me. I'm going to be like a rich uncle who takes them to his house for presents, and everybody stands around making up things to do until it's time to go back home to their real lives.” His hands were numb yet searing on the frozen metal. His forearms strained against it. “Do you know who fathers divorced children, Bono? It's not their actual father; that doesn't matter a fucking bit. It's the man who sleeps in their mother's bed.” He leaned heavily against the rail and dropped down to the concrete deck.
There was sliding sensation on his face, cold, like the motion of a blade through skin before the sting is felt. He rubbed at it absently, and thought back to the fullest, the warmest moment he could recall.
Excellent start, Jeevey! I can't wait to read more!
!!!!!!!!!!That is so GREAT!!! A new fanfic about my favourite Edge!!! I want to read the next part too!!! Could you please PM to me too? Thanks!
Edge isn't my first choice, but I'll gladly read about him.
