Alisaura
Blue Crack Supplier
Disclaimer - it's all complete bollocks. Not to be taken seriously, or internally.
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7 September, 1987 – over the Atlantic Ocean
Edge watched the North Atlantic roll by below the plane, not that he could discern any real movement. The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions, blue and dimpled by distant swells. Ireland was receding behind them with every minute, and America approaching ahead. The physical distance from his family was growing to match the yawning gulf that had cracked open between he and his wife.
Incredibly, they had managed to patch things over after he'd hit her, in time for the second leg of the tour in Europe. And now that he was aware of his shortened fuse, he'd been able to keep better control of himself. Most of the time.
The band had taken a month's break after the last European show, and there had been enough time for things to get strained at home. There had been another fight, the week before. It had begun with the stupidest thing, Edge had made some passing comment that he thought the meat they were having for dinner was overcooked. Things had blown up from there, and Edge had spent several nights on the couch in his studio.
With hindsight, Aislinn had been right. He had changed while he'd been away, and she'd had no chance to adjust. Six months ago, he'd liked his steaks well done, and hadn't hesitated to devour barbecued sausages that were charred black. At some point during the European leg of the tour, he'd started eating his meat more and more rare, until now he preferred it positively bloody. So when Aislinn had served up dinner the same way he'd always liked it, and he'd complained, she had been quite within her rights to get upset.
If only it had ended there.
Cruel words had been spoken in the heat of the moment, and Edge regretted them bitterly. Both his and hers. Even if part of him was glad to get on the road and away from the tensions at home, he should never have said so. And she...
Bono flopped into the seat next to him, interrupting his black thoughts. Edge shot him a glance out of the corner of one eye, then returned to his examination of the Atlantic.
"You're gonna burn a hole through the window if you keep starin' at it like that," the singer said.
Edge just grunted.
"You wanna get us all sucked out of the plane, eh? Well, fine, just let me get the parachute on first..." Bono began to fumble under his seat.
Edge knew he was just trying to cheer him up, but he wasn't in the mood to tolerate Bono's playacting. "I shouldn't be here. I have a family, I should be with my kids. In our home."
Bono sat back in the seat, one leg jiggling absently, and watched Edge in silence. The guitarist's gaze hadn't moved from the window.
"Hollie's such a chatterbox, always asking Why this and Why that. And Arran's starting to talk too, real sentences. I can see her absorbing the world, grappling with it, fitting it all together. And changing it into her world when she talks. I should be with them, being their father."
"Edge... You are their father. You are with them, you will be. I know three months sounds like a long time now, but it'll fly past. Once we get back into the swing of it, it'll be easier. I know you love playing shows, we all do. And it won't even be three months, they'll be with us over there, soon."
After a moment, Edge said, "Before the tour, Aislinn had been talking about another baby, after this tour. She hasn't mentioned it again."
"You guys are havin' a rough patch..."
"She never thought we'd make it, Bono." Finally Edge looked up and met the singer's eyes. "We had a fight, and she didn't say the words, but I know. I told her she knew that I'd be away a lot, touring. But she never thought the band would make it, she thought she'd never have to deal with us touring. And I think she wants me to choose, between the band and my family. How can I make that choice? And how can I choose anything other than my own family?"
Bono said nothing for a minute, thinking. "We've always said, it's all of us or none of us. If you really think you can't have both, and you want to leave the band, then that's your choice. I won't try to stop you. But you've faced a choice like this before, and you realised that rock 'n' roll and faith are not mutually exclusive. I don't think that rock 'n' roll and families are, either."
"You don't have children..."
"Not yet, I know. I can't imagine what this is like for you."
Edge sighed heavily. "You know what the worst part is? There's still part of me glad to get away, get on the road again. Back to America."
"There's no shame in that. You were glad to get home, too, weren't you?"
"Of course I was... Do you remember what I said on your birthday? That we're like a pack, roaming across the country. And you said that we'd left our dens and families behind."
"And Adam's the lone wolf," Bono chuckled, remembering.
"You were right. We shouldn't abandon the den."
"Edge, we were all drunk. I wouldn't read too much into what was said. And you were right too; what we're doing is hunting, to feed the pack for the next two years. Right?"
"It's not the same. Wolves only have cubs to look after once a year..."
"Well, I'm the alpha," Bono grinned, "and I say you should stop worrying. You an' the wife could probably use some distance right now, and we'll be flyin' them out to the States in a few weeks. Once they're set up in the rental houses, we can see everyone more often, and it'll be easier. You can have the band and your family."
Edge lapsed into silence again. Aislinn didn't want to be dislocated with two young children, but she'd been forced to agree that it would solve the problem of him being gone for months at a time. It wasn't their home, and it wasn't a perfect solution, but as long as he was in the band and touring, it was the best they could hope for.
All Edge hoped was that they wouldn't fight any more, but it seemed a slim chance. He'd begun to worry about himself, what with his temper, and the dreams, and the raw meat, and his sense of smell and hearing sharpening abnormally. But he still hadn't been to a doctor – what could he say?
He'd gone to another book shop, instead. And amid the documentary-style wolf books, despite feeling like the worst kind of paranoid, delusional hypochondriac, Edge had also purchased a book about clinical lycanthropy – a mental disease in which the patient thought they were a werewolf.
The book treated the topic seriously, and went into some detail about the place werewolves occupy in mythology and popular culture. Out of morbid curiosity, Edge had then bought a book of various werewolf myths.
Neither volume afforded him much comfort. If he believed he was genuinely delusional, he needed a psychiatrist. If he believed that he was actually becoming a werewolf, it sounded like he needed a priest first, and then the psychiatrist.
Edge tried to stop worrying about it. What harm could a few dreams do? And who in their right mind would complain about their hearing improving?
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7 September, 1987 – over the Atlantic Ocean
Edge watched the North Atlantic roll by below the plane, not that he could discern any real movement. The ocean stretched endlessly in all directions, blue and dimpled by distant swells. Ireland was receding behind them with every minute, and America approaching ahead. The physical distance from his family was growing to match the yawning gulf that had cracked open between he and his wife.
Incredibly, they had managed to patch things over after he'd hit her, in time for the second leg of the tour in Europe. And now that he was aware of his shortened fuse, he'd been able to keep better control of himself. Most of the time.
The band had taken a month's break after the last European show, and there had been enough time for things to get strained at home. There had been another fight, the week before. It had begun with the stupidest thing, Edge had made some passing comment that he thought the meat they were having for dinner was overcooked. Things had blown up from there, and Edge had spent several nights on the couch in his studio.
With hindsight, Aislinn had been right. He had changed while he'd been away, and she'd had no chance to adjust. Six months ago, he'd liked his steaks well done, and hadn't hesitated to devour barbecued sausages that were charred black. At some point during the European leg of the tour, he'd started eating his meat more and more rare, until now he preferred it positively bloody. So when Aislinn had served up dinner the same way he'd always liked it, and he'd complained, she had been quite within her rights to get upset.
If only it had ended there.
Cruel words had been spoken in the heat of the moment, and Edge regretted them bitterly. Both his and hers. Even if part of him was glad to get on the road and away from the tensions at home, he should never have said so. And she...
Bono flopped into the seat next to him, interrupting his black thoughts. Edge shot him a glance out of the corner of one eye, then returned to his examination of the Atlantic.
"You're gonna burn a hole through the window if you keep starin' at it like that," the singer said.
Edge just grunted.
"You wanna get us all sucked out of the plane, eh? Well, fine, just let me get the parachute on first..." Bono began to fumble under his seat.
Edge knew he was just trying to cheer him up, but he wasn't in the mood to tolerate Bono's playacting. "I shouldn't be here. I have a family, I should be with my kids. In our home."
Bono sat back in the seat, one leg jiggling absently, and watched Edge in silence. The guitarist's gaze hadn't moved from the window.
"Hollie's such a chatterbox, always asking Why this and Why that. And Arran's starting to talk too, real sentences. I can see her absorbing the world, grappling with it, fitting it all together. And changing it into her world when she talks. I should be with them, being their father."
"Edge... You are their father. You are with them, you will be. I know three months sounds like a long time now, but it'll fly past. Once we get back into the swing of it, it'll be easier. I know you love playing shows, we all do. And it won't even be three months, they'll be with us over there, soon."
After a moment, Edge said, "Before the tour, Aislinn had been talking about another baby, after this tour. She hasn't mentioned it again."
"You guys are havin' a rough patch..."
"She never thought we'd make it, Bono." Finally Edge looked up and met the singer's eyes. "We had a fight, and she didn't say the words, but I know. I told her she knew that I'd be away a lot, touring. But she never thought the band would make it, she thought she'd never have to deal with us touring. And I think she wants me to choose, between the band and my family. How can I make that choice? And how can I choose anything other than my own family?"
Bono said nothing for a minute, thinking. "We've always said, it's all of us or none of us. If you really think you can't have both, and you want to leave the band, then that's your choice. I won't try to stop you. But you've faced a choice like this before, and you realised that rock 'n' roll and faith are not mutually exclusive. I don't think that rock 'n' roll and families are, either."
"You don't have children..."
"Not yet, I know. I can't imagine what this is like for you."
Edge sighed heavily. "You know what the worst part is? There's still part of me glad to get away, get on the road again. Back to America."
"There's no shame in that. You were glad to get home, too, weren't you?"
"Of course I was... Do you remember what I said on your birthday? That we're like a pack, roaming across the country. And you said that we'd left our dens and families behind."
"And Adam's the lone wolf," Bono chuckled, remembering.
"You were right. We shouldn't abandon the den."
"Edge, we were all drunk. I wouldn't read too much into what was said. And you were right too; what we're doing is hunting, to feed the pack for the next two years. Right?"
"It's not the same. Wolves only have cubs to look after once a year..."
"Well, I'm the alpha," Bono grinned, "and I say you should stop worrying. You an' the wife could probably use some distance right now, and we'll be flyin' them out to the States in a few weeks. Once they're set up in the rental houses, we can see everyone more often, and it'll be easier. You can have the band and your family."
Edge lapsed into silence again. Aislinn didn't want to be dislocated with two young children, but she'd been forced to agree that it would solve the problem of him being gone for months at a time. It wasn't their home, and it wasn't a perfect solution, but as long as he was in the band and touring, it was the best they could hope for.
All Edge hoped was that they wouldn't fight any more, but it seemed a slim chance. He'd begun to worry about himself, what with his temper, and the dreams, and the raw meat, and his sense of smell and hearing sharpening abnormally. But he still hadn't been to a doctor – what could he say?
He'd gone to another book shop, instead. And amid the documentary-style wolf books, despite feeling like the worst kind of paranoid, delusional hypochondriac, Edge had also purchased a book about clinical lycanthropy – a mental disease in which the patient thought they were a werewolf.
The book treated the topic seriously, and went into some detail about the place werewolves occupy in mythology and popular culture. Out of morbid curiosity, Edge had then bought a book of various werewolf myths.
Neither volume afforded him much comfort. If he believed he was genuinely delusional, he needed a psychiatrist. If he believed that he was actually becoming a werewolf, it sounded like he needed a priest first, and then the psychiatrist.
Edge tried to stop worrying about it. What harm could a few dreams do? And who in their right mind would complain about their hearing improving?
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Oh I like this a lot! Angry f***** up Edge is fantastic. I just started reading so read all three parts at once and I got tickled over the increased sense of smell -- the salami! 
This has really got me intrigued, can't wait for the next chapter. 
Alpha male.
Is that a bad thing?
