The picture brought back memories of what seemed to be millions of years ago. Creases were permanently embedded into the once-glossy paper, the corners rounded. It had been taped together more than once. The photograph was of you and a man, both in white and red armor. You were both helmeted, and it wouldn't have been known to anyone but you and him, that you were both happy. Your eyes remained locked onto the worn picture.
Knocking at your door pulled you from your stupor, and your head whipped up. If someone needed you, you'd be commed. People rarely came to your door asking for something. Before you could answer, it slid open, and a soldier in cyan armor was in your doorway.
"Tucker." You started to fold the photograph, concealing it in your gloved hand. "What do you-"
"Came to apologize." He mumbled, his helmet directed to the floor. A flash of anger took over, and you clenched your fist shut around the photograph.
"Washington told you to." You replied icily as you unclenched your