Her chair still sits there, full of nothingness and memory at the same time. It's a constant reminder to them all. The loss of a team mate, a friend. The dangers of this line of work. To never take someone for granted. To always remember to regret.

They had packed up her other possessions the first night. They had taken her clothes that smelled of her, her glasses, her books and placed them in boxes. Out of sight, out of mind. That was their new motto.

Before they had the chance to move her chair--the special one they gave her for her birthday because she spent so much time sitting at the computer, and Ianto had read an article about back problems that occurred later on in life--they fell asleep on the ground, Gwen holding onto Jack, and Jack holding onto Ianto. The next morning was very slow. They didn't get up. Didn't move. They just sat there and hoped they were still dreaming. Ianto finally got up around eleven, declaring it was undignified to lie around all day. He went to fix coffee, but made five cups instead of three.

Gwen cried off and on. At one point, she was shaking so badly Ianto began to worry she would never stop. He called Rhys, who came over and held her.

Jack didn't move all day. He didn't laugh. He didn't speak. He just sat there, eyes distant and hazy, focused on nothing. Ianto attempted to make him laugh every now and then. He failed miserably each time.

Jack became more and more distant as the day turned to night. Rhys had taken Gwen home. Janet was deathly quiet. Ianto was turning off the lights throughout the hub, but stopped when he reached the switch near Tosh's desk. It was empty now. Just a chair.

"Ianto." He hardly heard it. It was so soft it was nearly inaudible. He then noticed Jack sitting on the cold ground, leaning against her desk. His head was in his hands, but when Ianto sat down next to him, he met his eyes.

"Stay with me?" he whispered. He looked so young suddenly, like a little boy. Helpless. Lost. Scared.

Ianto held him through the night, combing through his hair with his fingers, chasing away the nightmares. Jack cried in his sleep, and woke up often, but Ianto stayed awake with him and whispered meaningless words into his ear to calm him down.

They spent the next day trying to get back to normal. They kept themselves busy, assuming if they could keep their minds occupied long enough they wouldn't remember the void--the empty makeshift hospital and the lonely desk chair.

For some reason, they never moved the chair. They had hidden everything else that reminded them of Tosh and Owen, right down to note to fix the mini fridge that Tosh had scribbled onto a napkin while they were out to eat.

After six months, or possibly even a year, the chair wasn't such a negative thing anymore. It reminded them of her, almost as if her spirit was still there. It didn't smell like her anymore, and there weren't any stray black hairs left behind on the fabric. However, they still jumped and yelled when the new member of the crew sat down there accidentally. He didn't know. They were probably too rude to him, but he should have known better. The way they navigated around the chair showed the great respect they had for it. They didn't want to harm her spirit. It still lived in that chair, and as long as it was there, it was as if she never left.

Her chair still sits there, full of nothingness and memory at the same time. It's a constant reminder to them all. The loss of a team mate, a friend. The dangers of this line of work. To never take someone for granted. To always remember to regret, but also to remember to move on. While the chair stands for all those things, the most important reminder is her, and the brilliant, fabulous person Toshiko Sato was.