Work Text:
He should've kept on driving.
It was an idea Edge had entertained for quite a while now, sitting in his car parked outside their rented family home in Beverly Hills when he got back from the studio in the early mornings, with a panic attack waiting in his throat and his sweaty hands clinging to the wheel, mentally counting the money he had in his pockets. Drive away and disappear, his own voice echoed in his head, leave the maddening success behind, the pressure of the new record, and your inevitably dissolving marriage. Just drive. Get as far as Seattle, maybe. Then figure out a way to get to Canada and become a nobody again. It wasn't a well-wrought plan, but it'd do.
The thought had haunted him on his way to New Mexico, driving along endless plains of nothingness with a clear sky above him, Johnny Cash in his ears singing about temptation and loss, and a truck that was only a mere dot on the horizon ahead of him the whole ride long, functioning as an anchor to keep Edge on the road. The thirteen hours he had spent driving on the highway to Santa Fe he could've used to be halfway through Oregon instead, but the lure of Bono's phone call had pulled him here, to the edge of a motel room bed, watching a ring of ember crawl down the tip of his cigarette.
“You don't have to stay, you know.”
His hand trembled as Edge raised the filter back to his lips and took another drag, filling his lungs with smoke to smother the lump of panic still sitting there. He held his breath for a second, felt the panic seize its chance and well up temporarily before it died down in defeat, at least for the moment, and exhaled shakily after.
“I know what it was. You don't have to stay for my sake,” Bono continued on behind him, and Edge could hear him fidget with the blanket and shift against his pillow. “What was it, then?” Edge asked, and his voice sounded so far away in his own head, but he didn't have the strength to speak up. He felt like he'd had a similar conversation just the other day, only with someone else. His eyes fell to the bedside table, and his chest filled up with guilt and dread as he caught sight of the ripped open condom package lying on the wooden surface. Edge took another drag.
“Not what it used to be,” Edge heard a rustle again and he knew Bono was shrugging awkwardly despite his attempts to sound nonchalant. Edge almost wanted to laugh, but then again the whole situation was just too depressing. “Just sex, I suppose.”
Edge huffed under his breath. He had been desperate enough to drive thirteen hours all by himself, unable to wait another couple of days for Bono to return from his little self-discovery road trip with Adam, just so he could feel something else than this constant state of inadequacy. He had needed an excuse to get away, and had he not had a destination, Edge might've just kept on driving after all and never returned. He wished he had, because now that he was sitting here, he didn't feel any better nor wiser.
Edge felt the mattress dip. He closed his eyes as Bono's broad chest suddenly leaned into his back, and he could feel the heat of Bono's body seep through his clothes, and Edge wished he would just get dressed already. Bono's breath hit his ear, and Edge sat rigid as Bono reached around his slender frame to slip his hand inside Edge's denim jacket and pull out his pack of smokes. “It's alright, Edge,” Bono muttered, his voice too close for Edge to miss the heavy sadness lingering in between each syllable, and he flicked open the pack, picked out a cigarette and the lighter, and Bono tried the flint several times before it worked. The smoke hit Edge's neck as Bono added, “I shouldn't have hoped for you to look at me this time. My bad.”
Edge knew he was right. He had arrived at the parking lot feeling tired and with an aching back, and yet he had eagerly left the car and hurried up the stairs to room number 22 without locking it first. A knock, a brief Hello and Where is Adam? later, and Edge had pushed his way inside, his hands clutching at clothes around a sturdy waist and reaching into a tangle of thick brown hair, to kiss and bite and dominate a familiar pink mouth, and it had all been over in a rush. Edge couldn't recall looking into his eyes, only remembered the way he'd smelled; of sunshine, cigarettes and cornfields. Meanwhile, his unlocked Audi still waited on the parking lot, baking in the Santa Fe heat and waiting for a passerby to steal it. Maybe he could hitchhike to Canada instead.
Bono left the bed, and Edge took the time Bono needed to clean up inside the bathroom next door to finish his cigarette and stuff the pack of smokes back inside his pocket. He had hoped to find some peace in Bono's bed, but as it turned out he couldn't find any neither here nor at home. By now Bono was looking at him with that same form of pity and disappointment as Aislinn did whenever he came through the door at five in the morning, and Edge didn't know what else he could do as the toilet flushed, and the water stopped, and Bono came back out looking like a naked god.
He stood there, more handsome than he had any right to be. A little too small, but strong and proud, and so young. Edge missed those freckled arms, the taught yet soft span of his belly, Bono's nose in his neck and his hair in his face. Somehow, Edge couldn't recall taking note of any of these things earlier, when he'd been inside of him, and he knew he should have; painfully, Edge realized he had missed it all in his selfish need to escape, and he wished he could've made it better for him, but he was too late now.
“What if I want to?”
“What?” Bono left the cigarette in the corner of his mouth and tugged his long hair behind his ear, then picked up a pair of jeans lying across a wooden chair. They appeared old and worn, but when he pulled them on they looked like the most comfortable pair of jeans in the world, and Edge fantasized about tugging at the belt loops. Only for a moment.
“Stay.”
Bono picked up his shirt from earlier and huffed, and it sounded so bitter Edge almost felt offended. “You're a bad liar, The Edge.”
Edge bristled slightly. He wasn't lying, a part of him didn't want to leave, but then he remembered his responsibilities, his wife and his girls, and he couldn't. There were too many people counting on him, people he loved and didn't want to disappoint, and that's why he would never stay, and Edge knew that and Bono did, too.
“Does Adam know?” Edge didn't want to hear it, and he immediately wished he could take it back, but Bono was already giving him that look, and he hated himself for asking. “That you're here? No. Went into town to get some provisions for the road,” Bono said, and picked the nearly finished cigarette from between his lips. “That we're still fucking? Yes.”
“And he just accepts it?”
“He understands. It's not that kind of a thing,” Bono shrugged, and Edge looked away. His stomach twisted uncomfortably, he felt sick and cold and stupid, and he wanted to run. Edge had too much on his plate already, and he had only asked for some alone time to figure things out, to deal with his marriage and the Rattle&Hum fiasco; he had wanted the world to stop spinning for just a moment, but then there had been new marks on Bono's skin only days later, and Edge could still hear him say You weren't there, and I needed someone, and Edge had wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.
“Edge?” His voice sounded softer now, almost as tired as Edge felt. “You wanted a break, not me.”
Edge stared at the golden ring on his left hand, rubbed his thumb along the smooth metal's surface, and he felt the panic settle back inside his throat like an old habit. He swallowed thickly, but it wouldn't budge. He needed another cigarette, maybe a drink. “Do you want me to stay?”
Silence. Edge didn't know how long he'd waited, maybe ten seconds, maybe a minute. An endless amount of time, surely, with no answer coming, and the absence of it was enough. He got up with clenched fists and burning eyes, grabbed his hat, his keys, and he couldn't bear looking at Bono as he fled the room, and outside, and go, just go. He adjusted his hat, and he walked fast along the banister, so fast he didn't realize at first who he bumped into on the stairs.
“Edge?”
“Adam.”
And he kept on walking, past a dumbfounded Adam and down the stairs and onto the parking lot. His Audi still waited for him, and it was still unlocked as he ripped open the door and flung himself onto the driver's seat and into the suffocating heat inside the car. The door fell shut with a bang, and Edge gripped the wheel, knuckles white and tense as he fought back tears. He took a shaky breath and tried not to panic as he started to count. Ten dollars, maybe. He'd spent an awful amount of money on gas to get here. And a sandwich and a coke. Ten dollars, twenty-three cents, he counted. Shit. He could get as far as the next town, maybe buy himself some gum. Not enough to get to Canada.
Edge jumped in his seat as the door to his car suddenly opened, and Bono slipped in to sit next to him with that air about him, sweat and cigarette smoke still clinging to his skin, and a hand pushing back his thick hair. They sat there, and Edge was still holding on to the wheel, still stared as Bono gave him a smile he had used to know.
“Where do you want to go?”
Edge was trembling, and he frowned. Maybe he hadn't heard him right, “What?”
“Where do you want to go? I'm coming with you.”
Edge turned his head and looked out at the parking lot, the clear sky above and the street ahead, and maybe this day was as good as any to start a new life. His hand shook as he pushed in the key.
Edge started the engine.