Erskine had been huddled behind the door, just far enough away that Anton was able to squeeze through the doorway around him. He sat wordlessly staring at the hologram, the back of one hand pressed to his mouth, the weeping audible only because it was the only other sound in the quiet of the early morning.

When Anton kneels beside him he doesn't speak, just curls up quietly in his arms and leans his head against Anton's shoulder, still staring at the image on the far wall. A hundred years. It's been a hundred years since he's seen that face, heard that voice. Hopeless had died long before photographs were widespread, and they'd been too busy during the war to sit for one. To see him here now, as if he were alive, sitting in the room with them....

Finally he turns his head and buries his face against Anton's shoulder, holding his breath to try to stifle the tears.