Lauryl
The Fly
Finally got up the courage to post one of my fics, woot! Contrary to how it seems in the beginning, this isn't going to be a whiny angstfic or anything of the sort. And the chapters are pretty long compared to most fics- thought I'd warn you now. It was, by the way, inspired by this picture:
*
Chapter 1: With Or Without You
*
"And don’t fucking slam that door on me, young lady!"
Right now, Miranda didn’t give a flying rat’s ass whether she’d slammed the door or not. She would have instinctively shouted a "Sorry, Dad!" but she was in tears. This wasn’t the first time she’d lost a shouting match with her parents, and this time she found herself in the garage, leaning on her old car and sobbing quietly into her hands.
There was nothing to do but get into her car and drive away. Often she’d done this and not come back till late, or morning if she’d found a friend to stay the night with. She needed the escape as much as her parents wanted her out.
This time she headed up towards San Fransisco, blazing through orange groves and past little fruit stands. Her windows, shamelessly open and hammering like nobody's business, let out the chaos of U2 in her stereo. Listening to her favourite band made her feel better; hearing Bono’s voice -now crooning, now yelling- took her mind off her troubles and made her think of him instead. Admittedly, she had harboured a very small crush on him ever since she’d seen him in concert two years before. She’d even touched him, which was enough for her to become addicted.
It was close to two in the afternoon, and she was still driving like a madwoman. She planned to drop in on her friend, Gwen, and beg a night on her sofa. She'd end up staying there for several days, and they’d watch movies, bake, and squeal like little girls over cute actors... and singers. Miranda had been trying for years to convert Gwen to U2 and Bono, but she went for neither.
Her hair must have been a mess with all these hours with open windows, but she guessed that her hair wasn't the only thing that was a mess. She’d stopped crying but could feel her face puffy and ragged from the torrent of tears that she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. She was really being a wuss about this whole thing; every family yelled, and at least they weren’t beating her... anymore. But every time she thought about how much they despised her, she felt like breaking down again.
"With Or Without You" was playing, and she shook her hair out of her face and tried out her smile. It wasn’t nearly as rusty as she thought it would be. The scenery was turning from rolling, empty hills to more groves, and the shade of the trees dappled the road and the hood of her car. She was mouthing the words along with Bono and almost forgot about everything else.
*
Bono stalked down the road, head down, hands in pockets. So maybe he deserved it. That didn’t mean they had to chuck him out of the bus and let him walk the rest of the way. Hell, he could buy a car off the back of the next orange-waving Hispanic he saw if he wanted to, but it seemed like cheating somehow. No, this was his punishment.
He heard the chords of a familiar song, which he soon identified as "With Or Without You". Could it be that Larry had pleaded for Bono’s reprieve, or even Adam? It would be like them to blast that song as they came back for him. But the music was coming from behind him, and he turned around to see a plain blue sedan driving up.
He stuck out his thumb.
An out-of-towner, Miranda thought, as she regarded this lone vagabond with some amusement. It was dangerous, but she stopped the car and waved him in- she wasn’t caring and frankly if she got kidnapped or hijacked; wherever she would be taken would probably be better than home. She made a scrub at her face, noticing only the man’s pink shirt. If he was dumb enough to hitchhike around here and gay enough to wear pink and long hair, she should have no problems.
"Hey, thanks, man," he said as he got in. She sped off down the road, turning down her music slightly in order to talk to him.
"No problem. Where are you headed?"
"San Fran." He put on his seat belt and stuck his elbow out the window.
"Oh good, me too."
There was something familiar about him, and it was one of those times when she just knew she’d kick herself when she recognised him. But she drove on, mulling it over and wondering just what he was doing here.
He stole a glance at her, thinking her pretty, with brown eyes and long reddish hair... and sad. He wondered about her and where she was running from. He had to squash the impulse to be flattered that she was listening to his music- they were a big band, everybody and their poodle listened to U2; it was probably just on her favourite radio station....
At the end, he found he couldn’t help singing along. He’d made it so long ago that it was almost like listening to any other song, but one he knew by heart. So he sang along, first very softly, then getting carried away, of course, and singing loud enough for her to hear.
The next thing he knew, the brakes were screeching in his ears and he was thrown forward in his seat.
Miranda had stomped on the brake, not believing her ears. She finally raised her eyes and looked at him, seeing a face she knew as well as her own, and a face that stared at her every day from an honoured place on her bedroom wall. It was staring at her now, really at her and not at some camera. And it was smiling like an angel.
She, on the other hand, was probably smiling more like a fish. She was still trying to register: Bono... in her car... smiling... still singing the last strains of the song at her. Her hand moved up towards his face //-what are you DOING, Miranda?-// but it wouldn’t obey her. It moved to his sunglasses, slowly pulling them off his face, slowly enough for him to stop her; but he didn’t. He just kept grinning.
"Wow."
That was what she said when she saw his eyes... simply "Wow." She seemed lost in them, mesmerized, as he finished the song and gave her a wink. She handed him his sunglasses, not breaking eye contact. "Wow," she repeated, finally looking away, and guided the car back onto the road.
Of all the reactions she could have had, this was the one he least expected. She hadn't screamed, or asked for an autograph, or fumbled for her cell phone to bring in more screaming fans. She was now driving almost calmly, eyes on the road; though her eyes looked a little glazed and her fingers were white on the wheel. He eyed her with a sudden fascination.
"So, uh, hi," he ventured, trying to break her out of her reverie. "I'm Bono."
She nodded. "I know."
He rolled his eyes at himself //-You are the world's biggest idiot, Bono-// but pressed on. "What's your name?"
"Um. Miranda Taylor."
"Pretty name."
"Thanks." She suddenly relaxed. "What are you doing out here?"
"We're on a bit of a holiday before..."
"No, what are YOU doing? Out here?"
He looked down suddenly, fiddling with his pink sleeve. He muttered something.
"What was that?"
"They, uh, kicked me out. Of the bus. I was kind of being an arse."
"What? That's so mean!" But she couldn't help but snicker at the thought.
"Well, I was being an arse. A lot. And uh, I guess they thought I needed some exercise." He frowned down at his stomach. "It's not like I've never done this before- no big deal."
She shook her head, still disbelieving. "Did they have any idea how far away San Fransisco is?"
Shrugging, he seemed not to care. "Dunno. You never can tell. How far away IS it?"
"At this rate we'll get there somewhere in the middle of the night. You're lucky I came along." //-I'm luckier,-// her mind whispered. She tried not to think about the fact that the hottest man alive was sitting in her car and chatting with her like he knew her.
Bono cackled and shook his head. "I am indeed. So do you always pick up hitchhikers, or only when they're rock stars?"
Chuckling, she gave a shrug. "Dunno, I just figured if anything happens I've got nothing left to lose. I just noticed! the CD's over; want to find another one? If you do, the case's behind your seat."
He grinned listening to her -but why did she sound so hopeless?- and reached into the backseat. She had a large collection of music, he found, and to his amazement he had every album U2 had put out, plus all kinds of burned CDs labeled "U2 Mix 3" or "U2 Morning" or "U2 Sparkly" whatever that meant.
"Wow," he murmured.
She suddenly looked embarrassed. "Um. Yeah," she offered, realising how much it gave her away. //-Great.-//
But he just smiled and put in a CD that she noticed read "Measure of a Man".
"Clay Aiken? Are you nuts?" Only then she realised what she'd said, but he laughed.
"He's a great guy," he defended.
She looked askance at him. "But he's CHRISTIAN. My AUNT sent me that CD!"
He laughed harder. "So am I..."
She made a horrible face. "That's different. This guy can't even get his grammar right; 'if I WAS invisible?'"
"All right, I'll sing along, and I'll correct his grammar as I go, how's that?"
He was giggling, and she was helpless. "Ok."
*
*
Chapter 1: With Or Without You
*
"And don’t fucking slam that door on me, young lady!"
Right now, Miranda didn’t give a flying rat’s ass whether she’d slammed the door or not. She would have instinctively shouted a "Sorry, Dad!" but she was in tears. This wasn’t the first time she’d lost a shouting match with her parents, and this time she found herself in the garage, leaning on her old car and sobbing quietly into her hands.
There was nothing to do but get into her car and drive away. Often she’d done this and not come back till late, or morning if she’d found a friend to stay the night with. She needed the escape as much as her parents wanted her out.
This time she headed up towards San Fransisco, blazing through orange groves and past little fruit stands. Her windows, shamelessly open and hammering like nobody's business, let out the chaos of U2 in her stereo. Listening to her favourite band made her feel better; hearing Bono’s voice -now crooning, now yelling- took her mind off her troubles and made her think of him instead. Admittedly, she had harboured a very small crush on him ever since she’d seen him in concert two years before. She’d even touched him, which was enough for her to become addicted.
It was close to two in the afternoon, and she was still driving like a madwoman. She planned to drop in on her friend, Gwen, and beg a night on her sofa. She'd end up staying there for several days, and they’d watch movies, bake, and squeal like little girls over cute actors... and singers. Miranda had been trying for years to convert Gwen to U2 and Bono, but she went for neither.
Her hair must have been a mess with all these hours with open windows, but she guessed that her hair wasn't the only thing that was a mess. She’d stopped crying but could feel her face puffy and ragged from the torrent of tears that she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. She was really being a wuss about this whole thing; every family yelled, and at least they weren’t beating her... anymore. But every time she thought about how much they despised her, she felt like breaking down again.
"With Or Without You" was playing, and she shook her hair out of her face and tried out her smile. It wasn’t nearly as rusty as she thought it would be. The scenery was turning from rolling, empty hills to more groves, and the shade of the trees dappled the road and the hood of her car. She was mouthing the words along with Bono and almost forgot about everything else.
*
Bono stalked down the road, head down, hands in pockets. So maybe he deserved it. That didn’t mean they had to chuck him out of the bus and let him walk the rest of the way. Hell, he could buy a car off the back of the next orange-waving Hispanic he saw if he wanted to, but it seemed like cheating somehow. No, this was his punishment.
He heard the chords of a familiar song, which he soon identified as "With Or Without You". Could it be that Larry had pleaded for Bono’s reprieve, or even Adam? It would be like them to blast that song as they came back for him. But the music was coming from behind him, and he turned around to see a plain blue sedan driving up.
He stuck out his thumb.
An out-of-towner, Miranda thought, as she regarded this lone vagabond with some amusement. It was dangerous, but she stopped the car and waved him in- she wasn’t caring and frankly if she got kidnapped or hijacked; wherever she would be taken would probably be better than home. She made a scrub at her face, noticing only the man’s pink shirt. If he was dumb enough to hitchhike around here and gay enough to wear pink and long hair, she should have no problems.
"Hey, thanks, man," he said as he got in. She sped off down the road, turning down her music slightly in order to talk to him.
"No problem. Where are you headed?"
"San Fran." He put on his seat belt and stuck his elbow out the window.
"Oh good, me too."
There was something familiar about him, and it was one of those times when she just knew she’d kick herself when she recognised him. But she drove on, mulling it over and wondering just what he was doing here.
He stole a glance at her, thinking her pretty, with brown eyes and long reddish hair... and sad. He wondered about her and where she was running from. He had to squash the impulse to be flattered that she was listening to his music- they were a big band, everybody and their poodle listened to U2; it was probably just on her favourite radio station....
At the end, he found he couldn’t help singing along. He’d made it so long ago that it was almost like listening to any other song, but one he knew by heart. So he sang along, first very softly, then getting carried away, of course, and singing loud enough for her to hear.
The next thing he knew, the brakes were screeching in his ears and he was thrown forward in his seat.
Miranda had stomped on the brake, not believing her ears. She finally raised her eyes and looked at him, seeing a face she knew as well as her own, and a face that stared at her every day from an honoured place on her bedroom wall. It was staring at her now, really at her and not at some camera. And it was smiling like an angel.
She, on the other hand, was probably smiling more like a fish. She was still trying to register: Bono... in her car... smiling... still singing the last strains of the song at her. Her hand moved up towards his face //-what are you DOING, Miranda?-// but it wouldn’t obey her. It moved to his sunglasses, slowly pulling them off his face, slowly enough for him to stop her; but he didn’t. He just kept grinning.
"Wow."
That was what she said when she saw his eyes... simply "Wow." She seemed lost in them, mesmerized, as he finished the song and gave her a wink. She handed him his sunglasses, not breaking eye contact. "Wow," she repeated, finally looking away, and guided the car back onto the road.
Of all the reactions she could have had, this was the one he least expected. She hadn't screamed, or asked for an autograph, or fumbled for her cell phone to bring in more screaming fans. She was now driving almost calmly, eyes on the road; though her eyes looked a little glazed and her fingers were white on the wheel. He eyed her with a sudden fascination.
"So, uh, hi," he ventured, trying to break her out of her reverie. "I'm Bono."
She nodded. "I know."
He rolled his eyes at himself //-You are the world's biggest idiot, Bono-// but pressed on. "What's your name?"
"Um. Miranda Taylor."
"Pretty name."
"Thanks." She suddenly relaxed. "What are you doing out here?"
"We're on a bit of a holiday before..."
"No, what are YOU doing? Out here?"
He looked down suddenly, fiddling with his pink sleeve. He muttered something.
"What was that?"
"They, uh, kicked me out. Of the bus. I was kind of being an arse."
"What? That's so mean!" But she couldn't help but snicker at the thought.
"Well, I was being an arse. A lot. And uh, I guess they thought I needed some exercise." He frowned down at his stomach. "It's not like I've never done this before- no big deal."
She shook her head, still disbelieving. "Did they have any idea how far away San Fransisco is?"
Shrugging, he seemed not to care. "Dunno. You never can tell. How far away IS it?"
"At this rate we'll get there somewhere in the middle of the night. You're lucky I came along." //-I'm luckier,-// her mind whispered. She tried not to think about the fact that the hottest man alive was sitting in her car and chatting with her like he knew her.
Bono cackled and shook his head. "I am indeed. So do you always pick up hitchhikers, or only when they're rock stars?"
Chuckling, she gave a shrug. "Dunno, I just figured if anything happens I've got nothing left to lose. I just noticed! the CD's over; want to find another one? If you do, the case's behind your seat."
He grinned listening to her -but why did she sound so hopeless?- and reached into the backseat. She had a large collection of music, he found, and to his amazement he had every album U2 had put out, plus all kinds of burned CDs labeled "U2 Mix 3" or "U2 Morning" or "U2 Sparkly" whatever that meant.
"Wow," he murmured.
She suddenly looked embarrassed. "Um. Yeah," she offered, realising how much it gave her away. //-Great.-//
But he just smiled and put in a CD that she noticed read "Measure of a Man".
"Clay Aiken? Are you nuts?" Only then she realised what she'd said, but he laughed.
"He's a great guy," he defended.
She looked askance at him. "But he's CHRISTIAN. My AUNT sent me that CD!"
He laughed harder. "So am I..."
She made a horrible face. "That's different. This guy can't even get his grammar right; 'if I WAS invisible?'"
"All right, I'll sing along, and I'll correct his grammar as I go, how's that?"
He was giggling, and she was helpless. "Ok."
*
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