Ianto pulled the creased photo from his pocket. Face blank as he studied it. He glanced around the Hub to make absolutely certain he was alone.
He was.
His finger trailer lightly over the picture of the woman.
Lisa.
Ianto let out a noisy breath. A year today, since she had died. He winced, folding the photo up with care, slipping it back into his pocket.
Work.
It's the only thing he can think of doing right now. The "clacking" of his fingers on the keyboard proving to be somewhat of a distraction as he typed up his reports. He stopped, frowning, feeling... well, he wasn't entirely sure -what- he was feeling... his mind wondered again...
-Lisa.-
His fingers curl and his hands become fists. He wonders if anyone else remembers. Probably not. Why should they? To the rest of the team, Lisa was just another alien threat, like any other they see. He sighs heavily as his mind sifts through the memories. In the end, he had made peace with Lisa's death. In retrospect, it had been for the best. But part of him still has a painful gnawing at that back of his head and at the pit of his stomach, that says he shouldn't have given up.
The feeling weighs down on his shoulders like an anvil. He constantly has to remind himself that there was no other way. That she had died back at Torchwood One, and what the rest of the team had done, was for the sake of humanity.
He's shaking. Nails biting painfully into his palms. He can't think straight. He needs to get out of here. Now. Pushing back his chair, Ianto stands, grabbing his coat as he makes his way to exit the Hub, not bothering to tell anyone he's leaving. He doubts they'd notice anyway, unless their coffee went cold.
He pushes that bitter thought away.
Ianto smiles slightly when he gets outside as the cool Cardiff air hits him. It's dark now. Well past two in the morning. Quiet. He walks for awhile, not really paying attention to where he's going, hands in pockets. His forehead creased a little while he thinks.
Ianto takes a seat on a bench overlooking the bay, tilting his head back, a soft breeze washing over him.
What a year.
