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John Jr supposed that Benji had a point. There was no guarantee the Negaverse would play clean- Ophelia had insisted as much before, and often. She worried about him. Like Vanessa did. For all of the same reasons, and then others. He narrowed his eyes at Benji, considering -for the first time- that the other boy had known it was against the rules to kick in boxing.

It upset him. The idea that Benji had tried to cheat on purpose. John Jr had known cheaters before, and disliked all of them. More than the prospect of villains or bad guys or murderers alone. He understood, of course, that each of those types of people could also be cheaters-- that was to say, someone who pretended at something that they were not. Someone who broke the rules of the game and then lied about it. Ignorance was forgivable. And, while a confessed murderer could not be absolved of his crimes simply for being honest, Syrtis saw something worth respecting in the ownership of offense.

He turned his face when Benji struck. The punch landed on his ear instead of his cheek, and started up a ringing. He stumbled backwards. Caught himself on the ropes. Scowling, John Jr tried to ignore the ache in the side of his head, and then braced himself again. Gloves up.

"Come on," he said, beckoning Benji closer again.

The next time the other boy swung, John Jr told himself, he would not be so succesful. He was more than prepared for this. Benji was tiny and probably a cheater. By the right of the rules, the win already belonged to him.

He waited. Prepared, this time, both to block and to strike back. He held a glove up -to protect his face- and then jabbed at Benji's nose with the other one.

Woah.

He was an athletic boy. Had been playing sports since the moment he was old enough to get his fingers around a baseball. He had learned how to play fair. How to win and lose graciously. To say that he was unprepared for Benji's attack was an understatement.

He grunted when the smaller boy made contact. Stumbled back into the ropes again. Sensing the urgency of his own safety, John Jr shed his gloves to get Benji in a headlock. He twined his arms around the other boy's neck, careful not to cut off too much of his blood supply and trapped him under an armpit.

"Chill out," he hissed, face turning red with the effort of holding Benji in place, "Chill. Out."

Vanessa was at the ropes suddenly, climbing into the ring and getting between them.

"Let him go," she said, "JR, let him go."

John Jr ignored her.

"Not until he calms the ******** down. This was a boxing match. Did he think I wasn't going to hit him in the face? What the <********> Vanessa."

John Jr released Benji. Once he was sure that Benji would not try to kill him. He let go and stepped away in one fluid moment, the corner of his lips curling. Benji certainly didn't look okay -with that blood oozing out of the bottom of his eye- but it wasn't in John Jr to work up sympathy for somebody who didn't know how to play fair. Somebody who was such a cheater. His own temper was running high, hot as the fire of Mars. He blew air out of his nose.

"What a waste of time," he drawled, slipping between the ropes and out of the boxing ring.

Vanessa was too busy with Benji to scold. She clutched his face in her hands, searched his eyes with hers.

"s**t," she said, voice soft and concerned. There's so much blood. Where did it come from? His eye? "We should get you to the emergency room."

In the background John Jr took up the space next to a boxing bag. He shook out his arms. Squared up his shoulders and then hit it. With his bare hands. The way he'd been reluctant to hit Benji, who was small and skinny and apparently so delicate he couldn't take one punch to the face.

John Jr was not quick to pause, or to listen to Benji. He was angry too. Angry at Benji for being a ******** cry baby. Angry at Vanessa for wasting his time with training when he was already a warrior. He could feel it in his veins as sure as he knew that Benji couldn't take another fist to his face without going nuts.

The bag rattled on its chain under the force of his strikes.

'Look man, I'm sorry... I should have said I didn't know how to box. I street fight.'

A lie, likely. A real street fighter wouldn't lose his s**t over a bloody eye.

John Jr did not care how much it hurt- not right then. Not when he could have been taking out real fighters. Real people who did things worse than tell lies.

Man, s**t, I didn't KNOW I would have been triggered by some ******** PTSD bullshit. If I did, I would have said something. Don't be such a pick, okay?

The last made him stop.

He looked at Benji, wondered why he was still talking.

"That was a lame apology." He was not sorry. "You came here to spar. Did you think I wouldn't hit you back?"

John Jr rolled his shoulders. Stood tall and proud, studying Benji with a critical eye. He knew that size was not a precise measurement for power, in the world of the senshi- as John Jr arm-wrestling Vanessa he won every time, but as Syrtis he could only strive to keep pace with Vulcan. Benji was tiny, though. John Jr knew which of them had the advantage. On those grounds he could forgive Benji, if only a little.

"All right," he said, holding out his hand for Benji to shake, "We're cool, man. I should never agreed to this anyway. I'm way bigger than you."

It wasn't the fact of the damaged eye that disturbed John Jr, but the way that Benji leered at him-- as though John Jr couldn't already see how ******** up it was. He's so weird. Whatever sympathy he might have felt for Benji was killed by Benji's own apparent enjoyment of the wound. He had not done that to Benji's face and, while it was clear that it pained, it was also clear that Benji liked showing it off.

"It looks like your mom should have taken you to the hospital and had it removed a long a** time ago," he said, and was a heartbeat away from returning to his punching bag when Benji finally took him by the hand. His eyebrows flew up into his hairline.

He resisted Benji's pull by dropping all of his weight onto his heels. Tried to tug his hand out of the smaller boy's grip.

"Benji," he said, voice strained, "let go."

He shook his arm. Felt like a pitbull trying to fend off a chihuahua.

Why does he do this? He is tiny and his face is broken. He can not take a punch. He cannot win.

"Oh, no, absolutely not," Vanessa said, looking at Benji as though he were a little bit crazy, but for entirely different reasons than her brother had. She was concerned, long face turning with compassion for him, and would not hear of him paying for anything.

Cleaning was a different matter, however. A part of discipline and training as much as sparring was. On another day she might have insisted that both boys get to work wiping their sweat from the floor. Today- she was worried about Benji's eye.

She turned towards Benji, reached for his face with ginger fingers. She was careful not to touch him near his eye, gripping his chin and the back of his head instead, tilting him towards her so she could get a better look.

"Have you been to the doctor for this?" She asked, voice soft.

"John Jr would apologize if he'd thought he'd done something wrong," Vanessa said. Her tone was neither soft nor scolding. She said it like it was a fact, and it was- John Jr could be a pigheaded, thoughtless boy, but he wasn't cruel on purpose. Benji had said nothing of his injured eye until after the hit landed, and then lost his s**t like a wounded cat.

Now there was this news that he could not even see out of it. Vanessa stared.

"It was irresponsible of you not to tell me these things before. He could have really hurt you."

A pause.

"Your real enemies will not hold back. They will use your pain and your anger against you."

Did she know somebody who could remove it for him, without insurance or having to worry about money? It seemed ridiculous there were no doctors willing to help out a hero in need simply for being one of the good guys.

"I can take you to the hospital right now," she said, stooping to collect a bag from the floor. I have some money. I can pay.