Ready or Not

Bad company

(Language warning)

Paul's heart sunk as he skimmed through the contents of the manila folder. How had he lost control so quickly? All he had needed to do was find her. That was the end goal. He had expected to win. Now he sulked back to his car with every bit of his confidence crammed back down his throat. She had the gall to even hand him a pen. He tapped the G2 against his thigh as he walked before reaching his red Camaro in the parking garage across the street.

Fucking Jo, he should've known she was too determined for her own good. He had thought that he could beat her down until she couldn't get up, thought she'd been too scared to fight back. Goddamn could he have been more wrong.

The toe of his freshly shined shoes collided with the concrete post beside his car, echoing throughout the garage along with his infuriated cry. He threw the divorce papers in the ground and punched the post, tearing apart his knuckles. Fucking damnit. He had tried so hard, so damn hard to get here. To find her. For nothing. Nothing but a stack of divorce papers and sorrow.

He took a deep breath in, regaining his composure. Somberly he crouched down towards the damp pavement and picked up the scattered papers. He slowly stood and let the words sink into his palm. He breathed out and opened the car door.

He twisted the keys and the engine revved. Snapping the stick into reverse he veered out of the parking spot and sped out into the garage into the bright light of day. Bright blue skies rolled through over the road, yet the inside of Paul's car was dark and shadowed.

As he glanced at the various shops and restaurants running alongside the road a bar caught his eye. "Emerald City". He grumbled in defeat and parked on the road before furiously escaping into the depths. Laughter and the clinking of beer glasses rang out throughout. Swinging himself onto a stood he waved over the bartender. He kept his head low and shadows darkened his eyes.

"Scotch please." He grunted. The bartender merely nodded and wiped off his hands with a blue rag.

He returned and slid a crystal glass toward Paul in the monotonous task of work. Paul simply nodded in thanks. A man sat next to him and waved the bartender over again before chuckling and turning to Paul.

"Hey. You see the game last night? It was killer." Paul smiled softly and downed his drink.

"Would you mind getting me another?" Paul asked, raising his empty glass and proceeding to push it away from him. The bartender grabbed in a walked away, retrieving both their drinks.

Paul turned to the man beside him who had since gone quiet.

"Sorry been having a rough day... the game was okay, I don't really watch football much though." Paul held out his hand.

"Paul, Paul Stadler." The man beside him smiled and shook his hand in return. He tilted his head in curiosity.

"Hey you're that guy from Harvard? Damn you do some nice work over there!" He beamed at Paul.

"Oh are you in the medical profession?" Paul questioned resting an elbow on the counter before taking a swig of the next scotch. The man nodded eagerly.

"Yeah! Ben Warren, I work across the street!" Paul smiled at him, probably an attending by his age.

"What's your specialty?" Ben grinned and scratched his head in response.

"Well... about that. I kinda flipped around a bit. I was an anesthesiologist, but now I'm a resident, and I'm thinking about changing to become a firefighter." Paul chuckled and nearly spat the scotch back into his cup.