AnCatKatie
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
This was cut off a little short because I'm pressed for time, but should be fine hopefully. It'll make more sense later, too.
***
Phoenix turned her head towards the noise the door made when it opened, shoving the blankets aside frustratedly with arms that finally had the strength to. She didn’t really feel like opening her eyes as of yet; she’d still probably see nothing. When she moved her head, she felt nauseous, which the nurse said was part of the concussion. She’d been sick a couple times while Bono was gone, but it had jolted needles of energy back into her body. To Bono, she looked a little happier than she had when he’d left, though the way she turned her head when he moved bothered him.
He yawned; she heard the exhale, and caught the yawn a second later.
“They’re contagious,” she said matter-of-factly to him, cracking a weary smile. “How’s Mark?”
The nothingness that was sight and perception was interrupted by his hand, his fingers warm over her own. She felt a rush of comfort, and almost relief, at the contact. His words danced across her hearing in the absence of seeing his face; she saw flashes of what he said in her imagination.
“A little worse and a little better than you. He didn’t hit his head,” Bono said gently, “but his whole right side has got some painful burns.”
Mark had probably asked not to tell her that, if the beginning of the unfinished request was anything to go by. Bono, for some reason, ignored that request, and felt that sharply in his awareness. Not a guilt but a sort of anxious wakefulness.
She breathed in sharply, an array of confusing emotions flitting across her face so fluidly he hardly caught any of it. Whatever her feelings were or once were about that man, Bono had no idea—but they were complex.
She kept her eyes closed for another long moment, but had a feeling infringing upon sight—the shadows looked more like shadows, not like nothing. Hazily she opened her eyes, feeling oddly vulnerable, expecting to see nothing. She stared forward and Bono waited, sensing the sad expression that didn’t come. She looked surprised.
He didn’t ask, and she didn’t say. He wondered what all she could see or not, and what was running through her mind. The curiosity was painful.
That sadness when she had heard about Mark, however…
She was still caught in the amplified, confusing rush of sensations that had begun when her vision was compromised, and felt the individual hairs on her neck when he gripped the back of it hesitantly, and the heat of his hand, and almost felt the look in his eyes. The shadows before her merged and lightened in great vague landscapes to hint at his face. She looked up like a baby seeing all the world at once: confused. It hurt to see this little so fast. She could feel the individual beginnings and endings of each heartbeat when his lips pressed against hers.
She didn’t mention anything, before he left the room, saying something. A part of her mind was still caught in the things she’d seen before he left. Without the ability to see much before her, she could recall things in oddly vivid bursts—not the concussion; when she asked the nurse, she’d been told that.
And it felt so very strange to see Bono. This all felt very familiar. She felt like she’d been in a hospital before, and he’d been there, the rest of the memory slipping back into the shadows with the murmur of his half-forgotten voice. She could see, in a fragment of the past, her hand clutching a piece of paper, and feel herself in that memory looking up and smiling at him with a great sadness overwhelming her, and some fleeting happiness harder to place. The rain drumming on the window to the outside of the hospital, showing the cold sky.
“How are you doing?” the nurse asked. Once he was gone.
She wiggled her fingers in response to some tests, seeing her fingers moving as vague shadows becoming forms.
“I can see shapes a little,” she said, looking up hopefully.
“Well, tell me if your sight improves further,” the nurse told her.
“All right,” she said, deciding against nodding because that would make the indistinct shapes dizzying in their obscurity.
She felt a little nauseous again. Oh…that felt like déja vú…she wrinkled her face, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t get dizzy.
She was getting a vague idea of what Bono had dreamt about. And it wasn’t all pleasant; a lot of it reminded her of everything Ruth hadn’t quite told her.
Was she sensing what Ruth had gone through? She wasn’t quite sure, but that seemed close. Phoenix didn’t know the exact details of what had happened that made Ruth leave Ireland.
She asked, eyes still closed, “Was there anyone named Ruth admitted to the hospital?” The nurse said no. Phoenix frowned, and gave a general description of Ruth. Still no.
Hopefully she’s alright. Maybe Ruth was with Ciarán, and they were both easy to find. Maybe that was too much to hope.
Though mostly she was worried for Ruth’s sake, Phoenix knew part of her concern was the sudden pressing desire to understand how this connected to Ruth’s past. Because most likely it did. There was just too much that fit.
Bono was a little worried how much he actually could not pull himself away from Phoenix. If he looked down too deep within himself, he knew his heart ached…he just didn’t know if that meant he wanted to be back with Ali. In a way, he did, but he was suddenly reminded of when he was fourteen and Ali had gotten confused with his mother somewhere in his mind. There was too much going on.
He went into the waiting room, with the first thought of asking the lady at the front desk if there was any more news on Ciarán, but she made the oddest expression at him, both irritated and sad; he veered away and sat nervously on one of the chairs in the waiting room. His peripheral vision made her a blur, but he could still sense a cloud of disapproval. Great.
That went out of his mind, because about as soon as he hit the chair, he fell into a deep, necessary sleep.
Someone tapped his shoulder…with an odd sort of rhythm to it. He jolted awake. A couple hours must have passed. He couldn’t really tell. Sitting down and falling asleep meant he actually felt how the bandaged burns hurt now; he winced, and then looked up.
“Lar!” Bono half-yelled in relief, standing up and grabbing the drummer by the shoulders. “Where the feck were you? Do you know if the others are okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Larry rolled his eyes. “The rest of the band is fine, too. The worst it’s getting is Adam trying to stop Edge from cutting all his own hair off. Edge has gotten the idea that it’s a fire hazard having it so long…”
“Have you seen Ciarán?” Bono asked in a small voice.
Larry shook his head regretfully. “No, I haven’t.” Bono could tell he wanted to say something, mentally preparing for the you should have kept better watch on him, but was surprised when the drummer just said, “I’m sorry.” Bono nodded, blinking hard.
Eve came walking over, trailed by an irritated-looking nurse. She had some ash on her face and in her hair, but that was about it. Both she and Larry looked sleepless.
“Are you alright?” she asked Bono. Bono nodded. “I’ve got some minor burns.” It really didn’t matter; he was more intent on finding his son and the rest of his bandmates.
“What about you, Eve?” Larry asked amusedly. “Did you leave in the middle of a checkup or something?” Eve began to reply, but the nurse caught up.
“Sorry,” that nurse said. Bono snorted inwardly. Nurse Penny had been a lot harder to deal with. “Are you sure you’re having no trouble breathing?” Eve nodded, and went aside to try and convince her she was fine. She returned a couple minutes later.
“I was outside when it happened,” Eve said, looking preoccupied. “But you, Lar—“—she grabbed him, and he made a face. “I was in the bloody doorway! I’m fine, E—“ Midsentence, he gave a great cough. “Bloody feck.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Eve laughed. She turned her eyes back to Bono and asked seriously, “Do you think you’ll be able to leave sometime before tonight?” He nodded, albeit confusedly.
“There are some loose ends to tie up,” she explained. People to find, he thought immediately after she said that, and was practically ready to leave now, but for Larry’s glare.
She pushed Larry from the direction of the exit back towards the waiting room, looking at Bono thoughtfully.
“You weren’t outside the front just before the fire happened?” she asked him.
“No, I was backstage,” he replied.
“Hmm.” The man outside hadn’t looked like him anyhow; he’d seemed light-haired and wore something definitely different. Well, that made things harder.
She turned—Larry was being tested for breathing problems and trying not to glare. She turned back. “Was there anyone else outside?”
“Well, you could ask Phoenix,” Bono said, and told Eve where Phoenix was. “I don’t know if she was paying attention to the front of the building, but she seemed aware of the fire pretty quickly. She might have caught a glimpse of whoever it was.”
Eve nodded. “Tell Lar where I am?”
Bono said something in assent. Eve was already walking in that direction. He settled down in one of the chairs, this time trying very hard not to fall asleep again.
***
(1986)
Phoenix turned her head towards the noise the door made when it opened, shoving the blankets aside frustratedly with arms that finally had the strength to. She didn’t really feel like opening her eyes as of yet; she’d still probably see nothing. When she moved her head, she felt nauseous, which the nurse said was part of the concussion. She’d been sick a couple times while Bono was gone, but it had jolted needles of energy back into her body. To Bono, she looked a little happier than she had when he’d left, though the way she turned her head when he moved bothered him.
He yawned; she heard the exhale, and caught the yawn a second later.
“They’re contagious,” she said matter-of-factly to him, cracking a weary smile. “How’s Mark?”
The nothingness that was sight and perception was interrupted by his hand, his fingers warm over her own. She felt a rush of comfort, and almost relief, at the contact. His words danced across her hearing in the absence of seeing his face; she saw flashes of what he said in her imagination.
“A little worse and a little better than you. He didn’t hit his head,” Bono said gently, “but his whole right side has got some painful burns.”
Mark had probably asked not to tell her that, if the beginning of the unfinished request was anything to go by. Bono, for some reason, ignored that request, and felt that sharply in his awareness. Not a guilt but a sort of anxious wakefulness.
She breathed in sharply, an array of confusing emotions flitting across her face so fluidly he hardly caught any of it. Whatever her feelings were or once were about that man, Bono had no idea—but they were complex.
She kept her eyes closed for another long moment, but had a feeling infringing upon sight—the shadows looked more like shadows, not like nothing. Hazily she opened her eyes, feeling oddly vulnerable, expecting to see nothing. She stared forward and Bono waited, sensing the sad expression that didn’t come. She looked surprised.
He didn’t ask, and she didn’t say. He wondered what all she could see or not, and what was running through her mind. The curiosity was painful.
That sadness when she had heard about Mark, however…
She was still caught in the amplified, confusing rush of sensations that had begun when her vision was compromised, and felt the individual hairs on her neck when he gripped the back of it hesitantly, and the heat of his hand, and almost felt the look in his eyes. The shadows before her merged and lightened in great vague landscapes to hint at his face. She looked up like a baby seeing all the world at once: confused. It hurt to see this little so fast. She could feel the individual beginnings and endings of each heartbeat when his lips pressed against hers.
She didn’t mention anything, before he left the room, saying something. A part of her mind was still caught in the things she’d seen before he left. Without the ability to see much before her, she could recall things in oddly vivid bursts—not the concussion; when she asked the nurse, she’d been told that.
And it felt so very strange to see Bono. This all felt very familiar. She felt like she’d been in a hospital before, and he’d been there, the rest of the memory slipping back into the shadows with the murmur of his half-forgotten voice. She could see, in a fragment of the past, her hand clutching a piece of paper, and feel herself in that memory looking up and smiling at him with a great sadness overwhelming her, and some fleeting happiness harder to place. The rain drumming on the window to the outside of the hospital, showing the cold sky.
“How are you doing?” the nurse asked. Once he was gone.
She wiggled her fingers in response to some tests, seeing her fingers moving as vague shadows becoming forms.
“I can see shapes a little,” she said, looking up hopefully.
“Well, tell me if your sight improves further,” the nurse told her.
“All right,” she said, deciding against nodding because that would make the indistinct shapes dizzying in their obscurity.
She felt a little nauseous again. Oh…that felt like déja vú…she wrinkled her face, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t get dizzy.
She was getting a vague idea of what Bono had dreamt about. And it wasn’t all pleasant; a lot of it reminded her of everything Ruth hadn’t quite told her.
Was she sensing what Ruth had gone through? She wasn’t quite sure, but that seemed close. Phoenix didn’t know the exact details of what had happened that made Ruth leave Ireland.
She asked, eyes still closed, “Was there anyone named Ruth admitted to the hospital?” The nurse said no. Phoenix frowned, and gave a general description of Ruth. Still no.
Hopefully she’s alright. Maybe Ruth was with Ciarán, and they were both easy to find. Maybe that was too much to hope.
Though mostly she was worried for Ruth’s sake, Phoenix knew part of her concern was the sudden pressing desire to understand how this connected to Ruth’s past. Because most likely it did. There was just too much that fit.
Bono was a little worried how much he actually could not pull himself away from Phoenix. If he looked down too deep within himself, he knew his heart ached…he just didn’t know if that meant he wanted to be back with Ali. In a way, he did, but he was suddenly reminded of when he was fourteen and Ali had gotten confused with his mother somewhere in his mind. There was too much going on.
He went into the waiting room, with the first thought of asking the lady at the front desk if there was any more news on Ciarán, but she made the oddest expression at him, both irritated and sad; he veered away and sat nervously on one of the chairs in the waiting room. His peripheral vision made her a blur, but he could still sense a cloud of disapproval. Great.
That went out of his mind, because about as soon as he hit the chair, he fell into a deep, necessary sleep.
Someone tapped his shoulder…with an odd sort of rhythm to it. He jolted awake. A couple hours must have passed. He couldn’t really tell. Sitting down and falling asleep meant he actually felt how the bandaged burns hurt now; he winced, and then looked up.
“Lar!” Bono half-yelled in relief, standing up and grabbing the drummer by the shoulders. “Where the feck were you? Do you know if the others are okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Larry rolled his eyes. “The rest of the band is fine, too. The worst it’s getting is Adam trying to stop Edge from cutting all his own hair off. Edge has gotten the idea that it’s a fire hazard having it so long…”
“Have you seen Ciarán?” Bono asked in a small voice.
Larry shook his head regretfully. “No, I haven’t.” Bono could tell he wanted to say something, mentally preparing for the you should have kept better watch on him, but was surprised when the drummer just said, “I’m sorry.” Bono nodded, blinking hard.
Eve came walking over, trailed by an irritated-looking nurse. She had some ash on her face and in her hair, but that was about it. Both she and Larry looked sleepless.
“Are you alright?” she asked Bono. Bono nodded. “I’ve got some minor burns.” It really didn’t matter; he was more intent on finding his son and the rest of his bandmates.
“What about you, Eve?” Larry asked amusedly. “Did you leave in the middle of a checkup or something?” Eve began to reply, but the nurse caught up.
“Sorry,” that nurse said. Bono snorted inwardly. Nurse Penny had been a lot harder to deal with. “Are you sure you’re having no trouble breathing?” Eve nodded, and went aside to try and convince her she was fine. She returned a couple minutes later.
“I was outside when it happened,” Eve said, looking preoccupied. “But you, Lar—“—she grabbed him, and he made a face. “I was in the bloody doorway! I’m fine, E—“ Midsentence, he gave a great cough. “Bloody feck.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Eve laughed. She turned her eyes back to Bono and asked seriously, “Do you think you’ll be able to leave sometime before tonight?” He nodded, albeit confusedly.
“There are some loose ends to tie up,” she explained. People to find, he thought immediately after she said that, and was practically ready to leave now, but for Larry’s glare.
She pushed Larry from the direction of the exit back towards the waiting room, looking at Bono thoughtfully.
“You weren’t outside the front just before the fire happened?” she asked him.
“No, I was backstage,” he replied.
“Hmm.” The man outside hadn’t looked like him anyhow; he’d seemed light-haired and wore something definitely different. Well, that made things harder.
She turned—Larry was being tested for breathing problems and trying not to glare. She turned back. “Was there anyone else outside?”
“Well, you could ask Phoenix,” Bono said, and told Eve where Phoenix was. “I don’t know if she was paying attention to the front of the building, but she seemed aware of the fire pretty quickly. She might have caught a glimpse of whoever it was.”
Eve nodded. “Tell Lar where I am?”
Bono said something in assent. Eve was already walking in that direction. He settled down in one of the chairs, this time trying very hard not to fall asleep again.
