Disclaimer: I do not own The 4400. (Yes, it's a sad world.) Also, I stole the title from a Numb3rs fic. To the author: thanks for the idea.
Mea Culpa
He wished he could tell her. He wished he could say why he'd come, why he'd helped, why he cared. That it wasn't that he was a nice guy. It wasn't that he was his father's son – his father's spy, she thought. It was that he was a murderer.
"Murderer".
The guilt was still there, now covered in the paint he'd helped brush on the door. It was harder to see it, but he felt it. Still there.
My fault.
It was his fault, whatever his dad said. He'd ruined so many lives.
He just wished he could tell her.