July 4th was never Liz's favorite day, even before it became the anniversary of the day she killed her family because she got too upset to control her fire when she was eleven. The fireworks, the crowds, even as a child it was just a bit too much for her to deal with. After she started to associate the day with the fact she thought of herself as a murderer, even years later and it was pretty much the worst day of the year, every year, and always had been.

The BPRD always sent her on a mission, little things that weren't to concerning like pixie infestations or possessions that she could handle with one hand tied behind her back and very little thought. It was tradition. The distraction mission to keep her out of the BPRD and around some poor black suit who'd keep her from getting depressed enough to put a bullet in her own head. (which she'd considered a few times years ago)

Since coming to Torchwood she'd managed to be able to avoid questions abotu why she was so damn moody around Independence Day somehow. Holing up and hiding from the world worked like a charm her first July there.

But, that wasn't going to work this year. Things had changed, so much that sometimes she wondered why she couldn't let go of that guilt and sadness. Liz had people she cared about here and people that cared about her and trying to casually duck out of an event on the day when all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry just wasn't going to happen. Someone would come looking for her, and then she'd have to explain the tears and...no, that wasn't going to work.

So, she did the only thing she could think of: plastered on a fake happy face and pretended everything was fine. Maybe, just maybe it would work.

Maybe.