Survival Of The Fittest

He saw the swing coming. It wasn't his first time taking a punch, after all. His neck tensed with his jaw as he focused on the impact, determined to take it. As the blow came in, he leaned with it, deflecting as much as possible. It wasn't difficult, given how telegraphed the whole charade was, but it still hurt like hell as he felt Hansel's fist connect hard with his cheekbone just below his ear, curving him further to the left.

He sat still as the blow passed, leaving himself in the same slightly cocked position that it had left. Then slowly, he wiggled his jaw, turned back, and looked Hansel square in the eye as he tapped his right cheek.

"Pick up the other side, little man."

When Hansel straightened back, shrugging his shoulder, he was on his feet due to the force of the attempted blow. When he refocused on where Garret had sat, it wasn't to see a kid on the floor, or - worse - a sprawled out body. It wasn't to a bloody nose or a shocked cry, even a hurt glance. It was to a wiggling jaw, a straight back, and that same smug look. Hansel's fist curled instinctively at the stinging knuckles, bruised against the hard bone of Garrett's cheek. The rage ebbed, pulsed, roared in his ears as Garrett opened his mouth.

Tapped his other cheek.

Pick up the other side, little man.

If the rage was a flowing river, swirling him up, the shame and horror of his action was a Tsunami, washing through the empty ghost town that was his pride and his belief, needing and wanting to stand up to the onslaught of smug superiority and attempted logic that Garrett had brought to the lunch room table. Of all the ways he had seen this ending, of all the predicted futures of this encounter, he'd never imagined it'd be standing here with an open sore on his middle knuckle, a drop of his blood dotting Garrett's face, while he felt ashamed and disgusted with himself.

He didn't allow himself to analyze the sudden wash of shame, didn't allow his brain to focus on the reasons behind it. But there was a niggle. A tiny little worm that tickled the back of his brain, doubt that maybe had slept all along, maybe had hidden behind bigger, stronger emotions.

You could be wrong.

Instead of focusing on that thought, instead of turning the microscope inward, he abruptly stepped back, knocking the chair back behind him as he reached forward to grip the table with one hand, steadied himself from more than the imbalance caused by the quick motion. He opened his mouth, worked his jaw, eyes still on the drop of blood - Hansel's blood - that dotted Garrett's cheek.

His mouth moved, a vague motion that might've been I'm sorry.

When it stopped, he whirled and stormed out of the lunch room, leaving his bag and half eaten lunch on the table.

((Hansel Williams continued in Quixotic))

Garrett kept his gaze steady as he watched him leave, nodding slightly at the vague gesture that could have been an apology. He didn't look away until Hansel had cleared the lunch room. He'd accomplish what he'd set out to do: He'd heard him, analyzed him, and broken through to him in some small way.

But this wasn't a victory.

Garrett had just caused an unknowable amount of mental anguish to another lost human being. While he felt he did it in the best interest of everyone involved, that didn't make him feel any less sick with himself. The pain in his face couldn't compare to what Hansel may be feeling inside the tumultuous maelstrom of his mind. Nobody had won here today. Garrett had simply managed to lose less than Hansel.

He stared down at the remains of his lunch and found his appetite had abandoned him. He gathered up what was left of his lunch, and Hansel's, and threw it away. He noticed that in his haste the man had forgotten his bag. He might come back looking for it, but the school was big and someone could steal it in the interim. He'd take it by lost and found to be safe. He couldn't have chosen a more appropriate destination after this conversation if he'd planned it.

His jaw ached from Hansel's blow. He'd masked the pain well, but it would need attention. After he hit the Lost and Found he'd go by the nurse and contrive an excuse for his injury to make sure there was nothing immediately wrong. No painkillers, though. The pain was his price for getting involved, and it's one he wanted to remember in case he ever planned on making these interventions more frequent. He couldn't stand many more Pyrrhic victories.

He collected his effects, as well as Hansel's bag, and made a quick exit. He was sure that their argument had drawn attention, and he didn't particularly feel like answering questions.

Besides, it wouldn't due for the rest of the school to see his tears. He had a reputation to keep.

((Garrett Wilde continued in I Put On My Robe and Wizard Hat))