A/N: Written for the One Ship Boot Camp Challenge on the Digimon Fanfiction Challenges Forum (link in profile), Takuya/Kouichi with prompt #016 – binary. Also written for the Becoming the Tamer King Challenge, Ogremon's Battle task from the same forum.

His Other's Fight

Takuya envied the way Kouichi could be sometimes be so independent from the world. If someone yelled at him, the words could quite literally go in one ear and out the other. If something happened, he could take it and move on. He hadn't always been like that, and he wasn't always like that either. They'd seen him unbalanced: after his grandmother's death, after finding out he had a brother, under the strain of a sick mother… That was how Cherubimon had gotten under his skin. But that didn't happen often. Kouichi explained it by saying he simply didn't love that many people: only the people you loved you could be hurt by.

Takuya wasn't sure he agreed with that. Kouichi was almost always kind, to almost anyone. Sure, he had his moments – like when he'd almost severed Agunimon's head from his shoulders – but he was the sort of guy who'd stop and pick up a little kid who'd tripped, instead of just walk past. He was the guy who'd take dirt without even caring if it meant someone else would be happy or couldn't get hurt – but he was also the guy who made it sound like an unadmirable quality.

But it was certainly desirable when biting words rolled within the cavity between his ears.

Takuya was no stranger to arguments, because whenever something was said to him, he'd fire right back. Often, it erupted into physical fights when words were deemed useless and cast aside. But it was words that were the spark, the fuel: fist fights wouldn't start without them. Even when he'd made a friend out of his rival, the instinct to peck back when pecked had not been driven out of him. Because they might range from deep stabs to tiny little pricks, but they still hurt, even if something else more than made up for it.

Though maybe "hurt" wasn't the right word, not all the time. How he and Kouji quarrelled – that wasn't quite physical pain. But it was still something he couldn't really let go… But Kouichi didn't have a best friend like that. Neither did Izumi, or Junpei, or Tomoki. It was only them, Takuya and Kouji, who could scratch out each other's feathers so effortlessly. Not that any other combination between the six didn't but heads, not that they didn't ever quarrel, or fight, but it was the sort that did leave little scratches teeming with blood. The sort that made them feel guilty and want to patch up, unlike what simply went without saying.

Takuya would have thought the twins would have something like that as well; he shared it with his brother after all – but they didn't. They rarely fought, even if they disagreed on a number of things…but not that many. Takuya didn't understand that either, because he disagreed with a great many with both.

But Izumi fought with others; just not so much with them. So did Junpei. And Tomoki…usually with Katsuharu and Teppei, together with whom there were scars scabbed over that hadn't quite healed. Because no-body was perfect; nobody could wash off the hurt they'd once felt and move on. Takuya didn't understand a lot of things, but he understood that.

Which was why he was sure that, deep down, Kouichi too sprouted little scraps and cuts that came from strangers' words. Like those who mumbled about his circumstances: a male child living with their sick and struggling single mother. The kid clumsy enough to tumble down the stairs. The one who was too naïve to know the true nature of the world. But those people didn't know. They didn't know there was only familial love between mother and son: both helping each other to maintain their little family and home. They didn't know that tumble down the stairs had been destiny, and what it had brought, not only for him, but all of them. They didn't know that what Kouichi knew about the world, what he'd learnt in the Digital World, and with them, was probably more than what those others knew combined.

So, while Kouichi didn't show any outwardly reaction to those words, Takuya did. Even when it earned him disapproving looks from others; even when they didn't understand. Even his friends sometimes didn't understand. 'You're making it worse,' Kouji would say, frowning when Takuya showed up with another black eye. 'You of all people should know how fires are when they spread out of control.'

And they'd quarrel again about that; quarrel until the original topic had been forgotten and Takuya's black eye was darker than ever and Kouji was sprouting a near-matching set. Quarrel until they were both bruised and breathless, with scabs forming over whatever piece of skin one had clawed off the other. And it would be forgotten like significant things often were amongst the insignificant ones – until the next time Takuya found himself sending his fists to do the talking, and they'd be in the same situation again.

Takuya didn't think Kouichi was so blind as to not notice it, but he never said anything. He rarely did. Comment without being asked, that is. And one day Takuya did remember to ask himself…because that was the way he was. He said things, just like Kouichi sat and listened to them.

He was surprised to find the other blush and turn away awkwardly, looking at the worn toes of his shoes instead of Takuya's face. 'That was frank,' he said eventually, nowhere near answering the question.

'I'm always frank.' Takuya shrugged, though there was a little awkwardness that hovered. Because as much as Takuya was frank, Kouichi wasn't. 'Though sometimes I wish I wasn't.'

Kouichi's gaze returned to his face, scrutinising it. 'Why?' he asked. A straightforward question; frank, even. But "why" was one of the easiest questions to ask.

'I wouldn't mind not caring about the rest of the world.' The answer was swift, direct; he'd had it prepared after all, should he ever be called on it. He'd had enough time to think about it after all. Enough time to try and figure out his thoughts.

'I couldn't,' Kouichi admitted, 'if there weren't people who did care.'

'Me?' Takuya asked. Kouichi nodded. 'Then…you're not bothered?'

Kouichi looked away again. 'To be honest, I kind of like the fact that someone else wants to fight for me.' He looked, despite the awkwardness, touched.

Takuya was relieved. He was frank, yes, but there were times where even he was unsure. 'Most guys hate the idea of someone protecting them,' he pointed out.

'I'm not most guys,' Kouichi replied with a slight smile. 'I'm me, and it's not exactly protecting either. Especially since I'm the one who usually patches you up.'

Which was true, Takuya realised. Whether you combated words with more words, physical might or silence, the scratches they left behind were still there. But while each of those ways brought about pain – the words you could never take back, the bruises that hurt worse than little scrapes, or the silence you had to bear – there was always something else to comfort them. Like having Kouichi care for his cuts and bruises was nice, even if the iodine did sting and the bandages scratched. And it seemed Kouichi felt something similar; he wasn't the sort to lash out himself, so Takuya was the conduit that channelled the pain.

'I like that idea,' Takuya said, aloud, before laughing at Kouichi's bemused expression. 'It's not often I manage to surprise you, you know.'

He could think of a few other things to try – it was an interesting personal challenge after all, a different sort of banter than with a best friend who was so like him deep down – but he thought he'd better save those for another day.