Disclaimer: I don't own World War Z in any media type, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: After a few re-watches I realized I just couldn't leave the W.H.O Doctor's at the medical research facility alone. None of the doctors have names, so in the interest of actually making them 'full-fledged' human beings, I decided to use the first names of the actual actors. This story is told in the point of view of the head W.H.O Doctor/Scientist/Person that joined Gerry Lane and Segen in reaching B-wing in order to formulate a cure. (I also took the liberty of naming Favino's character's son.) *I was really taken by the scene near the end when Pierfrancesco Favino's character and Moritz Bleibtreu's character embraced when Gerry's camouflage cure succeeded. The scene seemed so effortless and real that I couldn't help myself by try to tap into why.
Warnings: This story is meant to fit pre-canon, during canon, and after the credits rolled. *Contains: movie spoilers, angst, adult language, adult content, emotional baggage, eventual slash.
A mali estremi, estremi rimedi
Chapter One
The irony was he'd planned to tell her in Rome. Tell her that he knew about all the lies, the cheating and the affair. That he knew about the lover in Prague. That he knew about the little nest egg she'd started squirreling away in a Swiss bank account the year their son was born.
That he knew.
All of it.
He knew it sounded cruel. And maybe it was. But he didn't see it that way. Not with his motivations anyway. He could never be as cold hearted as her. Not even if he wanted to. They'd been planning the trip for over a year, back before the tapestry of lies and deceits had started unraveling around him. Back before he'd had even so much as a hint that his marriage – in spirit, if not in name – was effectively over.
For him it had been a visit home, a chance to unwind and breathe that singular Roman air. A chance to show his son the place of his birth, to have breakfast in the family villa built into the cliffs overlooking the sea in Sorrento, to show his son the secret coves he'd discovered as a child. To have his wife and son at his side as he took a much needed vacation, his first since his promotion three years ago.
Only she'd gone and ruined that.
Slowly.
Methodically.
And deliberately.
He'd seen it as the last family vacation his son would ever have – with the three of them together - and wanted to make it memorable. In spite of the hurt he wanted to create something that would last. Something his son could look back on with a smile rather than tears and frustration.
A happy time.
He planned to tell her at the end of the trip. Somewhere public, somewhere she couldn't make a scene. Maybe a nice restaurant or one those fashion boutiques by the waterfront she was so fond of, while Susanna – their nanny - took Stefan to the park.
Somewhere she'd be forced to behave, to keep that glacial, simpering smile plastered across her face, pretending that everything was fine as he handed her the papers. She'd always cared so much about appearances, about society and the opinions of others that he knew he'd be safe from the fall out.
Too bad she'd never taken his into account.
He couldn't, in good conscience, deny that watching her force down the urge to rage and scream would have been satisfying. He wasn't without faults of his own, after all. But mostly, he just wanted it over. Done.
He'd planned to make it easy – a clean break. He was going to let her have the house, the brand new car he'd bought her last Christmas when he figured they still stood a chance at making things work - even the time share in the South of France.
On top of it, he was only going to fight for partial custody – with this son spending equal time between them. His lawyer had suggested seeking full custody, reminding him that with his connections and the evidence of Claire's affair, it would be all too easy; but he'd refused.
With his job that wasn't fair.
Not to Stefan.
Not to any of them.
Besides, if his wife had one redeeming quality, it was the deep, abiding love she had for their son. She might have been an awful wife and a terrible human being, but for all that, she was at heart a great mother.
And at the end of the day, fantasies of revenge aside, the level of cruelty necessary to strip mother from son was simply not in his nature.
The English have a saying for best laid plans.
So do the Italians.
It is said God openly mocks them.
A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be more to come, stay tuned.
Reference: The title is taken from an Italian proverb that basically translates into: "Desperate times call for desperate measures."