#hw:depression

His hands were shaking. Lisa was dead.

He fished out his lighter from his coat (the nice peacoat Yvonne had bought him for Christmas, year before last) and opened a window. Lit a fag with trembling fingers. Lisa was dead. They’d killed her, the whole bloody team, and he hated them.

Lisa was dead, and he wasn’t.

He watched the smoke twist and curl, dancing out of the open window and into the night.

To Fight When You Feel Like Flying by innocent_until_proven_geeky (JackIanto | Complete | 2,7K | PG-13)

Ianto always knew when it was on its way back. It always started small, a little fatigue here, a little indecision there. The need to isolate, to focus on things like organization and routine that made him feel good--they slowly worked their way back into his life.