On their first anniversary, he brought her home a painting (surely discovered in some obscure shop or another.).

It was not necessarily lovely to look at (skeletons intertwined in a flurry of orange and red and black, perhaps, Wayne had pondered, an homage to cinco de mayo) but it fit. The empty space above their Communal (but mostly Amanda's) Reading Chair seemed to have been made especially for this painting, and even Thanatos (who was inclined to mercilessly claw any foreign object introduced into the household) was content to leave it in peace.

She could not help but smile (so widely he was sure he would never forget it) when he arrived with it, cradling the frayed canvass as though it were a child. For how could anyone be aloof in the face of such perfection? She watched him hang it carefully, offering quiet placement suggestions (To the left a little, no, right again—it has to be perfect, it has to be perfect) until they were both sure that it was indeed, absolutely perfect.

'After all, Biscuit' she had said as he stepped back to admire the end result, 'this is for Us'.