Summary: Okay. I wrote this after 1X11. I didn't like it. At all. I have decided Neville needs to feel guilty. It wound up being more like sympathetic apathy.
Major Tom Neville picked his way over corpses on his way to the rebel base building. He had had a team waiting and had moved them in not even an hour after the helicopters went down. The remaining rebels fled like rats. On his way in, he watched the Matheson bitch being dragged off by her mother as she screamed at him.
Now he was going to go over any maps, weapons, what have you, which might have been left. He steadily worked his way to a back room, then froze.
In the middle of the room, on a table, was the Matheson boy himself.
Neville closed the door behind him. He had already made it clear that he was not to be disturbed. He stepped towards the boy who he had taken to Philadelphia.
Months spent trying to ignore the biting truths spilling from the boy's lips. Months spent wondering when the boy would shatter, when each little crack would add up to far too much.
But, no. Danny Matheson was a man, not a boy. Sometime between now and that day so long ago, the boy had grown up. Fearful optimism had given way to determination, but he hadn't lost his spark. Now, looking at Danny's face, the spark was gone. His cheeks were firmer, covered in stubble, his cornflower blue eyes closed forever.
The boy had grown into a handsome man. He would have made a fine husband for someone. But, he wouldn't. Because Neville had ordered that air strike.
He was just doing his job, but that zest for it that he had had at the time had gone. What was he doing? Jason was right, this was a slaughter. In the course of a day, he had lost his son and, while he found him infuriating, Neville had respected and kind of liked the man lying in front of him.
Noticing Danny's shirt was askew, he carefully took the bloodstained material and righted it.
With a sigh, he ruffled Danny's hair, a final farewell, then turned to leave and go back to Commander Monroe. In for an penny, in for a pound. Besides, it would have been even more of an insult to have done all of this, only to quit and forfeit his own life the moment the Matheson boy died. Neville had to be practical, after all.