TITLE: A Mouthful of Air


AUTHOR: JD


AUTHOR'S NOTES: In the "A Mouthful of Air" universe (and such a lovely universe it is), the Lava Lounge's front entrance is basically a mirror image of its rear entrance. Not that it really matters, but I wanted to acknowledge to the rabid fans (of which I count myself a member) that I do indeed realize that the wooden porch upon which Abby and Carter sat in "The Letter" appeared to be the back of the bar, not the front.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Still at the Lava Lounge, Luka comes to Abby's rescue – well, no, not really – and Brian nearly wets his pants.

Chapter 3: Sparks

Abby jostled aside some neanderthal in a smoky denim jacket and wedged one elbow onto the bar. She opened her bag and blindly felt around for her wallet, all the while trying to catch the eye of the bartender. Susan had volunteered to start a tab, but at the rate they were putting the drinks away, this was turning into a rather expensive evening. Abby thought the least she could do was pick up one round. Even their spiffy bartender did that much.

She got his attention by waving a couple of twenties and flashing a sleepy yet genuine smile.

"You all are hard core," he praised Abby. "'Nother round of the same?"

"Please," she nodded, placing the cash on the counter.

He shook her off. "Put that away." He put both hands on the bar and leaned over toward her, as if to whisper a secret. Abby leaned in to hear him over the clamoring masses. "This round'll be on the house. Want to keep you ladies coming back, don't we?" He pushed off from the bar with a wink that was both cocky and cordial.

A flattered Abby vaguely wondered whether, if the bartender and Susan got married, their children would all be blond as well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Having finally made his way down the overrun bar, Brian slapped his friends on the back.

"Glad you could make it," one of them said.

"Well, I owe you guys a round," Brian replied. "But next time, I pick the bar. This is place just too fuckin' odd for me."

He whipped out his Visa, trying to get the sole bartender to notice him, to no avail. I can't believe they only have one guy working tonight, he thought. Finally, the bartender started heading toward Brian's outstretched card. Suddenly, however, his head snapped back, caught by another request from the woman whose order he'd been taking.

"Wait! Can I also get a draft? Sam Adams if you have it."

The second that voice reached Brian's ears, his heart arrested. The blood in his veins seemed to retreat to a dark cavity in the core of his stomach, and everything turned cold. Even the music from the jukebox sounded as if it were traveling through black sheets of ice, reaching him in distorted waves of sound. In an instant that lasted an eon, he whirled his head to the left, fearful to see who he already knew to be there.

Abby.

She was smaller than he'd remembered, standing by the bar, just two people separating them. Her head hung down as she angled to retrieve something from her bag.

His head throbbed, his left eye winced. Happily, she hadn't noticed him. He finally willed himself to move, the blood sluggishly returning to his veins. Just as he moved his head to scan the rest of the crowd, however, one of his friends unintentionally bumped into his right hipbone. Brian, his balance askew, pitched to his left. Before he could right himself by grasping onto the counter, he knocked into Abby.

"Watch it, jagoff," she scolded, not raising her head.

Brian thanked God for small miracles and attempted to push against the current of people toward the exit. He backed away from Abby, imperceptibly inching toward the safety of the exit.

He surveyed the establishment during his retreat and abruptly spied a table of people who looked familiar. He brimmed with dread as he glimpsed the brute who had battered and beaten him. The man was grinning and chatting with a blonde, unaware of Brian's presence. By this time, as the seconds stretched out endlessly, Brian was separated from Abby by a good three feet but was still a distressing distance from the security of the awaiting anonymous city night. He continued to withdraw, his vision locked on his former attacker.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"So you were MacBeth, too?" Susan was impressed. "I never ran with the theater crowd at college. Too flaky for my tastes."

"Well, I didn't take it that seriously." Luka clarified. "But it was a nice diversion."

He could see he made Susan slightly uncomfortable with that last remark. Americans never knew how to react to his comments about Croatia. They didn't understand that, for all the pain it held for him, it would always be his home. He revered his days there, unwilling to forget the juxtaposition between the frivolity of life and the anguish of loss that his country possessed.

Eager to put Susan at ease, he pondered out loud, "I wonder how Abby's managing with our drinks."

He revolved in his seat, his arm hanging over the back of his chair as he observed the bar below. He spotted Abby, who was casually putting a cigarette to her lips and opening a book of matches. Satisfied that she'd be back with their drinks in no time, he peered toward the door, wondering if Michelle had arrived yet . . .

. . . and he found himself staring right at Brian. Just a little over an arm's length away from Abby.

Storm clouds pooled in his eyes; his face darkened with rage. He couldn't stem the tide of wrath submerging him as his body involuntarily rose from its seat. Brian had been staring directly at him, and his eyes now widened with terror, knowing that Luka had detected him.

Luka took quick strides down the steps toward the bar, heedless of Jing-Mei and Susan, who – taken aback by his unanticipated change in demeanor – asked where he was going. He carelessly shoved people out of his path, impelled toward Brian by crushing waves of fury and sadness.

Brian turned bloodless with panic, recklessly shouldering his way to the door. As Luka drew nearer, Brian started yelling in desperation: "I didn't touch her, man! I didn't know she was here! I'm just here with friends, I swear it!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Abby's flickering match, once mere millimeters from the end of her still unlit cigarette, floated down to the floor, where it extinguished in a quiet hiss. Her hands froze as her ears took in the scared pleas that originated just to her right. She didn't want to look up from the bar. Her muscles tensed. Attempting to convince herself that it was not Brian standing near her, she mustered the courage to look up.

She saw Brian, nothing else – her gaze was locked upon him in a tractor beam of fright. Her own blood whooshed in her ears, undercut with the pulsation of her heart. She was unable to breathe, drowning in the undiscerning protection of the crowd, all of them oblivious to the woman sinking in their midst.

Eventually she noticed that, rather than coming toward her, Brian was futilely pressing his way to the exit, looking somewhere behind her to the right in abject terror. Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly turned her head further to the right in order to see the cause of his alarm. As she reluctantly shifted her eyes away from him, she saw Luka's head above everyone else's. He was using his powerful arms to swim through the mass of people, treading closer to Brian every second. Abby watched the muted commotion as if it were unfolding on her television screen – this couldn't possibly be her life.

By now, Brian could feel the dank air of freedom filling his lungs. Desiring to pacify the incensed man who was almost upon him, and not caring if the entire bar heard him, he implored for mercy one last time, surprising himself at the spinelessness of his entreaties: "Don't hit me again, man, just don't hit me. I didn't know she was here, I swear. Just don't hit me!" As he passed through the doorway, he turned and sprinted into the darkness, heedless of his course.

Luka stopped at the exit and watched the scurrying figure vanish into the gloom. Satisfied that Brian was not returning, he turned around and caught Abby's unreadable gaze. Her graceful innocence, her every air, her smallest movement over-awed his malice, and his anger drained away. She must have heard what Brian had said. What was that he saw in her eyes? Fear? Contempt? Relief? He took a step toward her.

"Abby. . ."

She was shocked by her own ability to speak. "I . . . I can't talk to you right now." She briskly walked past him, following the path through the crowd that the now-long-gone Brian had taken.

Luka moved to follow her, but a familiar figure stepped in front of him, delaying his chase.

"Hi! Sorry I'm so late." Michelle apologized, looking at her watch.

Over her head, a distraught Luka watched Abby leave.

"Luka?" Michelle asked, concerned by his worrisome appearance.

He snapped his head down to look at her beautiful face. The lie appeared in his brain instantaneously: "Michelle, I'm sorry, but I just got paged. Some big emergency." As the excuses fell from his lips, pangs of guilt swarmed in his chest, but he felt he had no choice. "I'll make it up to you," he promised, exiting the bar and leaving her behind. "How about a raincoat?" he called out over his shoulder, not waiting to hear her response.

"It's 'raincheck.'" she muttered dejectedly, watching him go.

* * * * * * * * * * *

With his long legs pumping, Luka knew he could catch up to Abby. She had been walking in the direction of the nearest El stop, just one block up. As he neared the station, he saw her tiny figure climbing the stairs to the platform.

"Abby!" His voice carved through the midnight breeze, but if she heard him, she did not react.

He dashed up the stairs toward the awaiting train, but the doors closed in front of him just as he arrived on the platform. He peered through one of the windows and saw her. Her arms hugging her bag to her chest, she stared down at the floor, unblinking.

"Abby!"

She snapped out of her trance, turning to look at him through the dungy glass. Their eyes connected as the train slowly pulled out of the station, taking her further away into the sea of shadows.

He watched the train noisily roll down the tracks. He knew this train line included the stop near her apartment. Already forgetting about the unused fare he'd just wasted, he hustled back down to the street, found his car, and sped away.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jing-Mei's head rested on the table against the crook of her right arm, her left arm extended flat toward Susan and the two empty chairs. "I'm thirsty!"

"Where the hell are our drinks?" Susan called out.

Jing-Mei once again stood up on her chair to scan the atmosphere below.

"I don't see Abby."

"How 'bout Luka?" Susan offered. "He's easier to find in a crowd."

"I don't see Luka, either."

Jing-Mei stood noiseless at the watch, letting the import of her words reverberate in her head. She looked down at Susan, whose own face was a mesh of consternation and confusion. Jing-Mei clumsily sat, her brow furrowed in thought. The two women looked at each other, each hoping the other held an answer to the unasked questions they were both posing.

Finally, Jing-Mei shattered the silence. "You know her better than I do."

"Abby's fun-loving, but she's not that fun-loving."

"How long have she and Carter been dating?"

"A few weeks."

"And how long was she with Luka? About a year?"

"Well, I was in Phoenix then, but yeah, I guess that sounds right."

Jing-Mei stared at Susan, waiting for her to reach the same lugubrious conclusion. "So a backslide isn't totally out of the question. . ."

"No, Abby wouldn't do that to Carter," Susan tried to convince Jing-Mei as well as herself. "She's crazy about him."

"I'm sure you're right. Still. . ."

Susan completed Jing-Mei's unfinished sentence in her head, both women despondent for the sake of Carter.

"Well," Susan settled the discussion, "let's just keep this to ourselves, OK? No one at work needs to know."

"Of course." Jing-Mei nodded. "I'm sure there's nothing to know, anyway."

They remained seated for several minutes, immobile, pensive, and – surprisingly and unfortunately – sober in their bewilderment.

END NOTES: The chapter title comes from Coldplay's "Sparks," the lyrics of which inspired this entire fanfic in my head months ago: "I promise you this,/I'll always look out for you./Yeah, that's what I'll do./My heart is yours./It's you that I hold on to./That's what I do./I know I was wrong./I won't let you down . . ." The harmless flirtation of the bartender was of course "borrowed" from Neee-cole (hurl! retch!) in "The Longer You Stay." Finally, the way-too-poetic sentence that begins "Her graceful innocence ..." is obviously not my creation – it's a paraphrase from Milton's "Paradise Lost."