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. *Please see previous chapters for more information.

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, and a little bit of slash if I can manage it.

A mali estremi, estremi rimedi

Chapter Four

They dropped him off two miles from the facility, on the very edge of the Cardiff moors. They handed him a gun he didn't know how to use and told him to fire only if it was his last resort. They told him to hurry, but not to run - to ghost across the landscape, not own it.

No sudden moves.

No noise.

Stay low.

And, hey, he might just make it there alive, after all.


When the helicopter landed and his feet hit the ground – muted in the long grass - he stumbled, wobbly and weak with exhaustion and the long flight. It wasn't a promising start, he'd admit that. Feeling light headed, he clung to the side of the chopper for balance, trying his best to shake it off. And judging by the snickers that issued as the company readied themselves to leave, his would-be saviors were in agreement.

He shouldered the pack they'd given him and was about to push off when the head of the unit, an unnamed Captain who'd spent the majority of the flight glaring daggers at him, grabbed him by the collar.

He forced himself to still, not baulk, when the action jerked him forward. He closed his eyes, breathing out, letting the red-haired man get right into his face, all stale breath and unlit nicotine. He forced himself to take a calming breath, and then another.

They all had demons they needed to excise.

Especially now.

He wouldn't deny the man responsible for saving him, his.

When it all came down to it, he understood. He was the bureaucratic face to all the messed up priorities and paperwork. He was the reason why good men had died. Why they were here, transporting someone they didn't know with credentials they likely couldn't even begin to pronounce, and not at home with their families - safe.

He could be the foil the man needed for his anger.

He could take it.

He deserved it.

For living.

For surviving when so many others had not.

"You'd better be worth it," the Captain snarled, dirty fist curling around his bloody collar, keeping him close as bright blue eyes bored unflinchingly into his. "I lost half my unit pulling you out of that shit hole."

"Why?" he croaked, clearing his throat, rusty and soft as he put to voice what had been bugging him ever since he'd heard the sound of regulation combats grating across worn cobblestone. It had all happened in a rush - he'd been resting, catching his breath, trying to stay ahead of the worst of the mobs when he heard hushed, accented English echoing down the street. There had been the beep-beep of a GPS before his name had sounded out – not ten meters from where he'd been hiding, soaking wet and crouched behind a dumpster.

"Why did you even come in the first place?"

"You were given priority status," the Captain replied, tone softening, if only slightly as the winded incomprehension he was feeling must have shown on his face. "None of your superiors made it. Right now you are the highest ranking member in your organization, and our best chance."

"To put it simply, Doctor, the world needs you," the man added, giving him a quick once over before snatching the Beretta hanging limply in his free hand. "Now more than ever."

But instead of changing his mind, the solider reached down and unsnapped his thigh holster. He couldn't help but watch, strangely fascinated by the click-click-pop and the whip-lash of black vinyl as it skimmed off the Captain's pant leg and into the open air.

He forgot to protest. Forgot to force the words past his lips when the man moved him bodily, kneeling in front of him as he fastened it around his own leg. Fussing and yanking, gently but with purpose, just like he'd done while dressing his son any number of times before. It was only when the man was satisfied that he shoved the gun firmly into the holster. Blunt fingers smoothing the snaps into place before stepping back - signalling for the pilot to start the engine.

The hand that fell on his shoulder was anything but grounding as the helicopter blades began to spin. It weighed. Pulling at him in ways he didn't have the reserves to fall back on. It felt like lead weights to the soul. Like the last breath before drowning.

"We did our job. Now you do yours. Solve this thing."


He wondered if that was supposed to make him feel better or worse.


He managed a slow walk until the building came into view.

That's when he started running.

His backpack shifted, slamming awkwardly, half empty between his shoulder blades as panic welled inexplicably in his breast. Sending lancing tendrils of fear and hope coursing through his blood stream as safety loomed in the form of streamlined curves and yards of pristine, bullet-proof glass.

The three of them met him at the gate. Breaking protocol, exposing themselves, but he couldn't find it in him to care a wit, to be anything other than grateful, relieved as he watched smiles stretch themselves across familiar faces.

It was enough to make him forget about his bloody clothes – stiff and reeking with filth and sweat – enough to make him forget about the hurt and the loss, about how he hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours, how he could still hear Stefan's whimpering cries, the rattling snarl as Claire had stumbled out of the boutique, her favourite cream-colored top a mess of red skid marks as she threw herself through the glass door and out onto the street.

Because they pulled him in regardless, keeping him close – safe – as a symphony of relieved sounds and happy cries echoed into the sunset-still.

For however long it lasted, he was here.

Home.


A/N #1: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! Reviews and constructive critiquing are love! – There will be two more chapters and this story will be complete!