DON'T OWN DIGIMON, DON'T OWN DIGIMON, DON'T OWN DIGIMON!

There, got the disclaimer out of the way…

Mute: (removes cotton wool from ears) Thank the Lord…

Me: I'm halfway through the next chapter of an unlikely partnership! Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

Mute: Oh God, sugar high. (hunts around for an iron shield)

Me: Yes, I'm still alive people! But school's been lapping my will to live for a while…sooooo-

Mute: (sigh) This fic features a character that Youko here felt was often over-looked.

Me: (hums)

Mute: (shudder) Ah, well there's always suicide…

Wallowing in misery, drowning in memories…

The breathless figure halted after her mad dash from reality, her escape from them. The ones called her friends. The beings that ask us how we feel and pause long enough to listen to the answer. Yes, the grief-stricken soul didn't doubt the truth of her friendship or the love or affection they held for her. But she really couldn't handle their tactfulness (or tactlessness when it came to Kazu) when they were inquiring her well being.

Emotions collapsing in on themselves, the girl who was so much more than a girl yet still a child, gave in their raw intensity. Her legs broke, snapping in half and allowing her body to fall to the ground burning with emotional pain. She lay there, her body crumpled as her soul, as rivers of salty liquid cascaded down her young cheeks.

Calm baby blue eyes regarded the broken doll impassively before closing and allowing a cracked sign to emit from the owner's lips.

The gothic shadow approached the delicate brunette as though frightened that her subject would disappear; blown away by the whirlwind of feelings before she could touch her, mend her…

Jeri gasped as she was caught in the sellotape of slender arms around her. Unlike the gentle, pitying hugs of her friends, this hug was rigid and harsh as though trying to snap her out of her suicidal wave of sadness. And unlike her reaction to her friends enveloping arms, Jeri did not shove the person away. She didn't want to.

Jeri looked up.

The stranger looked down.

The genes for brown eyes are scientifically more dominant than the ones for blue. Of course this matters little when the bearer of brown eyes is in a much weaker emotional state than the holder of blue.

Jeri dropped her view to the ground after the subconscious staring contest, becoming absorbed in the many, many cracks of the tear-soaked earth.

"Leomon…I miss him…"

Why she was spilling such a big part of her out to someone she had never met before was a mystery but she was inexplicitly gaining a sense a release from this.

"I know."

A simple statement, one that encourages Jeri, sent a faint wave of happiness to course through her waves. No "I'm sorry" or note of pity in the steady voice. The voice offered mutual understanding, the one thing the lion-hearted tamer wanted, something so few could give.

Yet there was a searing rage. Rage that someone had claimed to understand the depth of her emotion when they obviously couldn't. For it takes far, far more than words to ease the blinding heat of anger that is born from sorrow.

So she rounds on the stranger furiously, knowing that when she eventually reverts back to her kind gentle self, she'll regret it. But the angry Jeri doesn't care.

"How you know what I feel!" How dare you! You don't understand, you can't understand!"

Hot, ascending rage.

"I lost Dobermon…"

Anger subsided in instant, troubled water lapping at sharp rocks of guilt.

"Alice? Rika told me about you…"

"Yes."

They regard each other silently, knowing that words can't heal, but similar company can soothe scars. The ones that are invisible to the naked eye.

All they want is understanding. Now they get it.

"Dobermon wasn't my partner, but he was my friend…you don't have to be a tamer to know the joy of sharing a bond with a Digimon…it still hurts…" says the blond child, grasping at spoken dialogue to express herself.

"I know…" says brown eyes.

"…but they don't." finishes blue eyes.

They clasp hands. They rise. They walk.

When brown and blue mix, a stronger shade of colour is produced. A more powerful tone of colour that can be used to paint over the old picture in order to form the background for a whole new painting.