***Just a quick shout-out to Revengineer for beta-ing this.

Here's the ending . . .***

Amane only lived for four months after the day Mariku gave her the painting.

She had a good week. The kind of week that let Ryou pretend she would recover and things would go back to normal - no, better than normal, because he'd still have Mariku to warm his bed at night and talk to during the day.

Ryou and Amane sat on her bed, playing cards. It was Saturday, so Ryou had extra time to visit with her. Mariku was out getting something better than cafeteria food for them to have for supper.

"You win." Ryou laughed when he realized her hand was better than his.

"That's three times in a row. You're not letting me win, are you?"

"No." Ryou shook his head. "It's just not my day, I guess."

Amane gave a little snort at the comment. "I'm tired."

Ryou scooped the cards off of the blanket and stored them back in the little stand near Amane's bed. "You can rest if you want. I'll read until Mariku gets back with dinner."

"Whatcha reading?" She asked.

"The Hours."

"Oh you nerd, that's a sad book. Don't read that."

"Sometimes I like to read sad things."

Amane lay against her pillow, watching Ryou the whole time. "Remember when we were kids? You read to me all the time."

"Yeah. You're favorite was James and the Giant Peach."

"What do you mean was - that's still my favorite!"

Ryou laughed, grabbing his Kindle and going to the bookstore.

Amane grinned at him. "Are you seriously?"

"Of course I am. I'll read it to you."

They both laughed as Ryou waited for the book to download. He started reading it, Amane closed her eyes in order to listen. At first Ryou would lift his eyes up to check on her, but after two or three pages he started getting into the story and sat comfortably beside her and read out loud.

On page six, only page six, her heart monitor flatlined. The noise made Ryou jump in fright. He was mad that it made him lose his place. Then he was mad that it was broken and beeping. Only then did he realize what the sound meant, and the Kindle fell from Ryou's hands.

"Amane, no." He grabbed her shoulders. They felt heavy somehow, not quite right. "No, no, no. I'm not done yet. I'm not done. Stupid, you can't die on page six - I have to finish, and then we'll have some kind of moment and, and . . ." Ryou's throat grew tight; his vision blurred, "and then you jump up to scare me because you're only pretending and the nurses yell at us for horsing around. Amane!"

Nurses were yelling, and flooding into the room, trying to pull Ryou away but he fought against them. He didn't want them to go near her. They'd make her dead. They'd check and declare it and make it real and there would be no great relief when she jumped back awake and teased Ryou for falling for her stupid jokes.

Another set of arms grabbed at him. He fought them away, but they were bronzed and strong and lifted Ryou up into the air and carried him away from his sister even as he begged them not to. Ryou started crying, hiding onto Mariku's chest. Mariku carried him down the hall, and then Ryou felt them settle down on the floor behind a cabinet. It took Ryou a moment to realize that Mariku had carried him somewhere more private, and his sobs became wails of grief.

He felt Mariku trembling, and it dawned on Ryou that Mariku cried as well, and something about that made Ryou love Mariku even more - that he cried for Amane as well.

Ryou couldn't remember much of the night. He cried. He had to sign some things. He had to make decisions that he wasn't mentally capable of making. By the end of it all Ryou was back in the studio, calling Amane's best friend and letting her know what happened. He let her make the other phone calls to the rest of Amane's social circles.

But there was one last phone call Ryou had to make.

"Call him tomorrow," Mariku said.

"I really should tell him now."

"Fuck him."

A snort of sad, teary laughter clogged up Ryou's throat. "He deserves it, but I can't do it."

Ryou dialed his father's number in his cell phone. His heart skittered in his chest. A small, shameful part of Ryou wanted to hear his dad's voice - to grieve with him, to share the pain.

He got the answering machine.

Ryou swallowed, angry, hurt, but he should have known that's how it'd be.

"Amane's dead," he told the phone, his voice a pitch too high. "She . . .well, call me back, okay?"

Ryou hit the end call button, holding his breath.

"I'm sorry, Bunny."

"He should be here. He shhhhh-" A new flood of tears bathed down Ryou's alabaster cheeks. He threw the phone, hearing the crash as it busted a pane of black glass and disappeared.

Mariku combed Ryou's hair with his dusky fingers. "Nice throw."

"I'm sorry. I'll fix it, I just-"

Mariku scooped Ryou into his arms again, whispering shhhhh into snowy hair. "Fuck the window, Ryou."

"Now I won't know if he calls back."

Mariku kissed the crown of Ryou's head. "I'll go check and see if it survived."

He came back with a smashed cellphone, but they were able to change the sim card into an older phone Mariku had. Ryou waited . . . he waited after the sun set and the stars winked through the little starburst of broken glass, but his father never called. It wasn't until noon the next day, and then only to ask for the funeral information.

Ryou cried, and Mariku held him until the tears ran out and Ryou lay feverish and drained. They stayed in bed, Ryou's view eaten up by Mariku's broad chest and Ryou was grateful for it.

"Who won?" Ryou whispered into Mariku's chest.

"Who won what?" Mariku asked.

"The race. Who had more paintings?"

"She did," Mariku answered, his voice raw. "I have more started, but she had everything finished. Everything. That's what she told me last weekend. That she was done painting."

"Why?" Ryou asked, although he knew the answer and didn't want to hear it.

"Ryou . . ." Mariku paused. "She hurt. She hurt a lot. She tried not to let you see, but even holding to brush was too much. So . . . I think she was ready."

"I know." Ryou's tears returned. "But it still sucks."

"I know."

The funeral was awkward. Most of the guests were friends or coworkers of Amane's, and Ryou only knew a few of her closest friends. He spent most the time in the back, squeezing Mariku's hand and trying to keep his sobs as quiet as possible, as if they were somehow rude. He didn't even see his father until afterward.

The man stood there, small and gray. He looked like a husk, not the father Ryou remembered before his mother died. The grief of his mother's death had sucked everything up inside of his father, leaving little for Amane, and, Ryou supposed, nothing for himself.

"Dad." Ryou went to him, embracing him. Mr. Bakura felt stiff and foreign in Ryou's arms. He muttered something by way of greeting, but Ryou didn't hear it. His father stepped back to break their hug.

Ryou sigh, staring at his shoes.

Mariku stepped forward, shaking Ryou's father's hand. "Mr. Bakura. I'm Mariku Ishtar."

"Oh, um, were you a friend of Amane's?"

"More like family than friends."

The statement brought tears to Ryou's eyes that he didn't shed. He turned back to his father. "We're together." Ryou didn't like the way he phrased it, wondering if he should have said it less ambiguously.

He liked his father's reply even less.

"Oh."

The lone syllable hurt more than rejection. Even disgust and disapproval were emotions. His father's response was . . . nothing.

Mariku pivoted, turned to Ryou, and kissed his hand. "Bunny, let's go. There's no reason for you to be here."

Ryou blinked his green eyes. "But-"

"You know Amane hated scenes like this. I don't know if I believe in an afterlife, but I know if Amane still exists in some way - she's not here."

Ryou frowned. "Mariku."

Mariku silenced Ryou with a light touch to his lips.

"But I also know where she would be."

A small smile graced Ryou's lips. "Show me."

So they abandoned Ryou's father there, amongst strangers and flowers that Ryou arranged himself. He called out a question to Ryou, but Ryou didn't catch it, and couldn't bear turning around. He continued to walk, hand in hand with Mariku. They mounted the Ducati like it was a steed, and rode off, sun at their backs, into the darkening horizon.

Fifteen minutes later, Mariku stopped in front of a building with elegant, Greek-inspired architecture. "Where are we?" Ryou asked.

"Art gallery."

The answer was simple enough, and Ryou supposed it made sense that Mariku would think that Amane would prefer an art gallery as opposed to her own funeral. Ryou didn't fully understand, however, until they went inside and he saw the large sign announcing the artists on display.

Welcome to the exhibit, A Study in Light and Darkness.

Featuring the works of Mariku Ishtar & Amane Bakura.

Ryou turned. "Mariku?"

He sighed. "The plan was to kidnap her again - with the doctor's permission this time - and take her here. I've had this planned since I smuggled the paints into her room. My greedy-ass agent couldn't resist the thought of a full gallery with my new work in it, and the fact that Amane's work was limited only sweetened the deal."

Ryou stood, wiping at his eyes. "I can't believe you did this."

Mariku turned to face Ryou. He was a sight, hands shoved in suit pockets, hair wild and unrepentant, cocky grin adorning his face. "You need to know that I didn't do this to be nice. Nice doesn't sell work. She was that good." Marku turned back towards the paintings, a small crowd gathered in front of each one. "I think she inspired my work more than I ever inspired hers."

Ryou chuckled, weak and grief heavy, but sincere. "At first, I worried that you were just being nice to try to get me into bed."

"Dear Bunny, us sharing a bed was an inevitability, but art is art, and I don't fool around with my art even for a cute white rabbit." He grabbed Ryou's hand and dragged him deeper into the gallery.

"She was right, you know, your paintings look better with more contrast," Ryou said as the passed by several of his paintings

Mariku nodded. "Have you ever heard the myth about the phoenix?"

"They burn up and a new one is born, right?"

"That's how I feel, Bunny, like a little phoenix, because even as she was dying, I was figuring out how to be alive."

Ryou squeezed his hand. "Mariku . . . thank you."

He shrugged. "I know you're sad, and there's nothing I can do to fix that, but the thing is, you shouldn't be sad. An artist cannot die as long as their work is admired. Amane will outlive us all, even me."

***Feel free to review, correct any grammar errors that I may have missed, or just chunk boxes of empty Kleenex at my head. All feedback is appreciated.***