Penname: TheFaintHeart

Chosen Face: Rockysper

Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine. This is a sideshot from my story Golden Gloves, you do not need to have read it to understand what is going on. I am using this contest as a means to offer some insight into Jasper's history and how he got into boxing. It will also have a small spoiler with how he got his boxing nick name. For those of you who have read Golden Gloves, I hope I was able to live up to your expectations of The Major.

Rating: T

A/N: Special thanks to duskri123 and wildcatlizzie83 for pre-reading.

Ringside Revelations

By: TheFaintHeart

"Boxing brings out my aggressive instinct, not necessarily a killer instinct."

~Sugar Ray Leonard

Aggression. I never seemed to lack that particular emotion. It flowed in my veins; holding hands with the white blood cells travelling throughout my body fighting diseases. I wasn't all that different from the leukocytes; however, I preferred to focus on fighting people, not bacteria. Nothing fed my aggression and made me feel more control like hitting someone. I thrived on the adrenaline rush dodging someone's return hit gave me.

During high school, I was constantly moving, belonging to a military family did that. Every time my father took another promotion it usually meant we would have to relocate to a larger area. We stopped moving when he made General, we were stationed at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio, Texas.

Knowing that we would enviably move, I didn't bother with trying to make friends. Instead, I had made a habit of being a mouthy bastard and had backup in the form of my fists. It was a hard habit to break when we moved to San Antonio. But I just couldn't help myself. It was ingrained into me, part of my DNA.

I had never bothered learning any of the names of the high schools I attended. I simply referred to the school by the name of the city we were in. San Antonio was no different. Our family moved there late August my senior year and I was lucky enough to start attending school at the beginning of the year and not part way through.

I was a decent enough student. I did my work on time, didn't cause disruptions during class. Hell, I didn't even skip class. It was between classes that gave me trouble. My first week of senior year was no different. There were some guys who considered themselves big shots. I was new, and because of that, a safe target for their hazing.

They made fun of my hair. They seemed to think because I chose to wear it long and because it was blonde I was into surfing. I didn't hesitate when I turned around after closing my locker and punched the one closest to me square in the nose, breaking it.

Buddy with the broken nose wasn't so tough as his blood spilled to the floor. Neither were his friends as they gaped at me in shock. I smiled at them asking if they had anything else to say. When they continued to stare, I quirked my eyebrow and walked away. I was actually disappointed it was the end of the day and the halls were empty, no one around to witness such a fantastic punch. It was a shame really. However, I didn't doubt news of what I had done would spread through the school like wild fire before the second period bell the next day.

As I was walking away, shaking my hand out a little to avoid any stiffness, a teacher happened to walk out of his classroom. He quickly assessed the situation but lacked proper evidence to do anything in the way of punishment. He followed me as I rounded the corner at the end of the hall after he made sure to check that the other student went to the nurse's office.

"That is not a very good way to make friends, Mr. Whitlock," his tone was disapproving but he made no attempt to reprimand me. I was instantly suspicious of him.

"Good thing I'm not here to make friends then."

"You'd do well to watch yourself around Felix and his goons. They won't take too kindly to your adjustments to his face."

"I can handle myself." I continued to walk toward the exit that would lead to the parking lot and my freedom.

"I don't doubt that you can't handle yourself. Come see me tomorrow after school," he called as my hand touched the door. I knew a warning was too much to ask for. I turned to him and nodded my head. "I'll be in the gymnasium, half past three. Don't be late."

I wasn't too sure what type of detention could be served in the gym, perhaps I would be doing some sort of janitorial duties. It wouldn't bother me much if I was made to sweep the floors or something of that nature. My Father required Military standard cleanliness at our house so I was familiar with how to use a broom.

The next day, whispering and stares followed me like a shadow. I answered no questions from those brave enough to approach me; I didn't deny anything either. To them, it was answer enough. By the end of the day the rumours claimed I had been wearing brass knuckles and jumped the boys for no apparent reason as they walked the hall. I let them think what they wanted.

As soon as the last bell of the day rang, I packed my backpack and made my way to the gym. I was early but figured if I could get started on my punishment, I could get out faster. When I walked through the double doors, there was a small group of students in shorts and wife beaters standing beside a wrestling ring. I assumed them to be the Wrestling Team. It confused me because I had thought wrestling usually took place on the floor. Did these guys aspire to be members of the WWE? Didn't they know that shit was fake?

The teacher from the day before, I had discovered was Mr. Granden. He was talking to the group of guys but stopped when he heard me approach.

"Wait right there, Whitlock," he said as he held out a hand in my direction. Turing back to the students, he gave an order, "start warming up." They quickly did as he demanded.

The firm command of his voice was in stark contrast to what I had remembered from the day before. It was a tone similar to my Father's when he barked out orders on the telephone for work. My feet were rooted in place as I waited for him to cross the gym floor.

"Glad to see you follow orders." I didn't offer a reply. "Right, so the way I see it, you can serve a three day suspension for what happened yesterday or, you can join us here. The decision is up to you," he said while gesturing to the guys in various states of warm up exercise.

"You want me to join the Wrestling Team?" I asked. I wanted to be insulted by the idea but also didn't want to have to explain to my Father why I had already been suspended on only the second day of class. The General would not be pleased. At all.

"Not the Wrestling Team, this is the Boxing Club," Mr. Granden corrected.

"Boxing?"

"Yes, boxing. The way I see it, if you can break a nose with one punch, you could definitely do some damage in the ring. With a little guidance, you could be a fantastic fighter, Jasper." I looked back at the other guys; this time, assessing their physical statures. I figured I could probably take most of them without a problem.

It was an interesting proposition. I could actually hit people and not get into trouble for it. Looking back at Mr. Granden, I saw a spark in his eye as he waited for my verbal confirmation; he knew I would agree to join. It would also satisfy my Father's request for me to become more involved in school extra-curricular activities. Find something that made me happy, he had said. Hitting people made me happy. It was an easy decision.

"OK, when do we start?" I smiled.

…

Mr. Granden was a hard-ass. He pushed us and demanded our best. During my first few weeks training after school I was seriously considering the suspension. If I had thought I was in pretty good shape before, I was sorely mistaken. I puked twice that first week.

For six weeks, our time was devoted to technique and learning the rules of the ring. I soon discovered I preferred my left hand to be my dominant hitting hand, it made sense since I was a lefty in everything else. A southpaw, Mr. Granden had called me. I hadn't realized it was such an uncommon thing for boxing however. I had to work twice as hard to learn not only the techniques for myself but also for right-handed hitters so I would be able to properly defend myself once we actually got into the ring.

Our schedule was brutal. We trained for two hours everyday in that gym. It wouldn't have been so bad but we were still expected to do well in our classes or run the risk of being kicked off the team-Mr. Granden's rules, not the school's. Apparently we were the first boxing team the school had in quite a few years and they gave him total control. His standards were high and he wouldn't tolerate a bunch of dumb jocks. However, my grades were starting to suffer because I was too tired to do any studying during the week and saved it all for the weekends. Needless to say, I lacked any sort of social life. That was fine with me, sleep was my top priority when I wasn't training or catching up on school work.

After two months of the same rigorous regime, I seemed to get a handle on things. My technique was developing and I was less tired during the day which helped me maintain my grades. I had never been in such great shape. Mr. Granden finally let us being sparring with each other. At long last I would get a taste of what had appealed to me when I agreed to join. I would be allowed to hit someone.

My sparring partner, Garrett and I were both decked out in the school's old boxing equipment. It smelled and I seriously doubted its ability to do any real protecting but we didn't care, we were itching to fight.

Climbing into the ring and bouncing lightly on my feet I was filled with a nervous energy. I wasn't nervous to fight Garrett, I was looking forward to that. I was more nervous with wanting to do well and impress Mr. Granden. I didn't want him to be disappointed and regret asking me to join the team.

"Whenever you're ready, girls," Mr. Granden called from the side of the ring. He was our unofficial bell.

We nodded heads at each other and tentatively tapped gloves before circling around. I allowed Garrett to become my focus. Finally, I would be able to throw some punches. It had been two months since my little confrontation with Felix, my aggression had built up to a dangerous level. Once I let the reigns go, Garrett would be in a world of hurt. I felt bad for him but only a little bit. My desire to hit him was stronger. And boy, would I hit him.

He was still pussy-footing around the ring when I decided it was time to get things moving. I threw out a straight jab to his right shoulder causing him to stumble back. He growled at me, it seemed he expected me to test the waters first before jumping straight into the deep end. I disagreed with him, going in for another jab to his right shoulder. He didn't like that either. It made me smile.

I landed a right hook to his jaw, I could have hit harder but I wanted to keep fighting and if I knocked him out within the first minute nobody would want to spar with me again. I didn't want the others to fear me, not on the first day in the ring.

Garrett was able to land a couple of his own body shots. They only stung momentarily; I was too focused on watching for his next move to pay attention to the pain. It was as though I had slipped into a different mindset, I could ignore the pain and focus my energy on hitting and assessing my opponent.

I quickly became a strategist; my Father had called me that went we would play chess in his study. It was safe to say being a strategist had leaked into other facets of my life. Boxing was just another chess match, even during that first round with Garrett I was able to see what he was planning and had no problem blocking it.

I easily landed a right jab, left hook combo causing Garrett to fall into the ropes. Mr. Granden saved Garrett the embarrassment of not being able to continue by ending the round.

"Ok, that's enough. Good round. Whitlock wins that one by five points." He gave me a little tell-tale look that indicated I had won by more but he didn't want to discourage Garrett. The points didn't matter to me, I had won. I wanted to celebrate my victory but didn't. Losing my share of chess matches to my Father taught me a thing or two about sportsmanship. I wanted to have that cool persona The General had when he bested me. He always gave off a look of indifference, like he didn't care if he won or not. I wanted to emulate that.

I would be a team player. I patted Garrett on the shoulder, congratulating him on the good right hook he managed to hit me with and exited the ring with ease.

"Next, I want Thompson and Jones," Mr. Granden barked out and the two guys quickly climbed up into the ring, eager to put on their own show for the rest of the team.

Sitting down on the gym floor, I began to remove my gloves and hand wraps, pleased with my first round in the ring. A few hands patted me on the shoulder accompanied with, "good job."

I had never known my body to possess such raw power when fuelled by my aggression. I had experienced a rush when I would get into fist fights before, but it was never anything like the high I was currently floating on. I was excited to get back in the ring. I watched with undivided attention as each pair took their turn in the ring, making mental notes anytime they left themselves open, intent on using it to my advantage.

As I left practice that afternoon, for the first time in my life, I looked forward to going to school and actually wanted to make friends with my team members. It was strange to have my usual levels of aggression ebb, giving way to feelings of contentment mixed with hope. I welcomed the change. In one three minute round, boxing had given me a direction I never knew I was looking for. It offered me an opportunity to channel my raw energy and turn it into power; my potential was limitless when I was within the ring. Mr. Granden knew I would be a success, and now I could see it too.

...

Halfway through the school year, just after the return from Christmas break, Mr. Granden announced he was entering our team in a tournament. As our cheer of excitement quieted, he gave us the rundown of what to expect.

"You'll need to have your parents sign the permission and liability slips. We'll have to do a weigh-in so we can determine your weight class. You'll be fighting other students within the same weight ranges. Normally, at a tournament like this your skill levels would also be assessed and since you are all first year boxers you would be considered amateurs," there was a collective groan. We may not have had any experience with tournaments but we definitely didn't consider ourselves amateurs. "Before you start to complain, let me assure you I have convinced the school hosting the tournament to allow you to fight in whatever category your weight class is without the influence of experience," he smiled at us as we sighed in relief.

That night, I brought home my permission slip determined to have my Father sign it. Normally, if I wanted the easy way out I'd ask my Mother; a kiss on her cheek and a look through my eyelashes and she'd agree without contest. However, for some reason, I wanted my Father's approval. He knew I was in the Boxing Club. I had told him that first day after Mr. Granden had asked me to join. Perhaps it was his gruff, "good for you, son," that had me seeking further approval. I wanted to show him it wasn't just something I did after classes to keep out of trouble. I wanted him to know it was important to me. Knocking on the dark mahogany door to his study, I waited.

"Enter."

"Hello, Sir," I greeted. Father looked up at me from some papers on his desk over his black rimmed glasses.

"What can I do for you, Jasper?" he asked looking at the paper I clutched tightly in my left hand. It was becoming wrinkled from my nervous fidgeting. I smoothed the sheet on my leg and slid it across his desk.

"I need your permission to participate in a boxing tournament being held in two weeks, Sir."

He didn't look at the permission slip; choosing instead to stare at me, assessing my sincerity. I held my breath and waited. Past experience dictated that if I showed any cracks in my façade he would find a way to shove a splinter in it and convince me it wasn't something I wanted to do. I was nearing the end of my lung's capacity to hold air when he picked up the paper and read it over. The hardest part of negotiations with the General was over. Next, I would be required to defend myself.

"What makes you think you are qualified to attend such a tournament?"

"It's a team activity, Sir. I want to go to support my team-mates and have their support when I fight."

"That didn't answer my question, Jasper. You've only been a part of this team for four months. How is it, that in four short months you have developed your skills enough to win?" Father didn't believe in the motto "It's not who wins, but how you played the game". To him, if I lost, it was a deficit to my character.

"I'm the best on the team, Sir. I've trained hard, and Mr. Granden thinks I could be the top in my weight class."

"Is that so?" it was a rhetorical question. He always asked a rhetorical question before making a decision. I shifted nervously as he picked up his gold plated ball point pen. He put the paper and pen down and looked back up at me. His eyebrows furrowed; he had made his decision. "I expect you show me exactly that. Your Mother and I will be attending this tournament," he said as he picked up the pen and signed the permission slip then held it out for me to take.

"Thank you, Sir. I promise, I won't let you down." He nodded his head once and returned to the papers on his desk, effectively dismissing me.

In a short, two minute conversation, I was able to show my Father how highly I regarded his opinion and how serious I was about boxing. If I was able to prove to my Father the validity of my skills by medalling at the tournament he would no longer question my choice to join the Boxing Team. To him, if I could offer up the one thing I was passionate about for scrutiny and be successful he would be my number one support, not even my Mother's encouragement would outshine it. I would only be given this chance once. I desperately wanted his approval.

…

Two weeks later, I was in another nameless school's gymnasium. I was pacing back and forth, wearing down the wax on the hardwood. My parents were in the stands. Just to make sure I remembered our discussion, and to ensure there was no mistaking who my Father was, he wore his full Military uniform, complete with stars on his shoulders. It was meant as an intimidation tactic; it worked.

"Whitlock, you look like a caged animal. Sit down would you?" Mr. Granden called to me over his shoulder.

I sat down next to Garrett; we had become close friends after that first day in the ring. My knee bounced as I sat cross-legged on the floor attempting to watch the current match. I had no clue who was fighting, all I could tell was that neither fighter belonged to my team.

"Nervous much?" Garrett laughed looking at me then down at my knee.

"You could say that."

"What's the big deal? We both know you'll do great? Are you doubting your ability to crack skulls?" he asked a little more seriously.

"It's not my skills I'm worried about. It's my parents. They're here."

"Mine are here too, shouldn't you be happy to have the extra support?" he asked as he pointed out a middle-aged couple I knew to be his mom and dad sitting two rows behind my parents. They were laughing and spoke with the people around them. They were relaxed, much like I had grown accustomed to Garrett being.

"I have to make it through this tournament, then I'll have his support," I explained.

"By 'his' you mean your dad?"

"No, I mean the General. My Father stayed home today. See the guy in Military garb?" I pointed at my Father, sitting straight backed and intently watching the match not saying anything to anyone. Garrett nodded waiting for my explanation. "He's showing me that if I can be successful for the General, I will have the support of my Father. It's like a test."

"That's messed up, man."

I sighed, "it's just the way he thinks. It's like I'm one of his officers working my way through the ranks. I know he loves me and my Mother will support me no matter what. But I have to earn his loyalty. Once I've earned it, nothing I could do would break it."

"Huh. That's still messed up. But it also explains a lot about your character," Garrett mussed.

"How so?"

"Remember that first day we sparred? You practically handed my ass to me. I kept taking your shots and managed to return a few of my own. Once the round was over and I was still standing, you patted me on the shoulder and congratulated me on a couple of good hits. I didn't understand it at the time because my head was still spinning, but I guess it was like I passed my own test, gaining your respect because I didn't buckle under the pressure. I just didn't see it, until now."

"Wow, Garrett. I…I didn't realize-"

"It's no big deal, Jasper. You felt like you had to prove yourself to the team being a new student and all, I got that. But, if you are worried about your dad, I wouldn't be."

"You saw who I was talking about, right?"

"Of course, you're like a younger version of your dad. The Major to his General if you will," he laughed at his own joke. I suddenly felt like I had just gained a nick name. I wasn't too sure how I felt about it.

"Whitlock, you're next. Get your gear on," Mr. Granden called to me as he stood up.

"You'll be fine," Garrett reassured. I nodded and blew out a heavy breath as I pulled on my head protector and gloves.

I stood next to Mr. Granden and waited for our school to be announced. We approached the ring and waited for my opponent's school to be called. Once my name was called, I stepped into the ring, raised my right hand in the air, careful not to show my left side was my dominant side. I looked at my Father, he nodded his head at me and offered nothing else. My Mother was wringing her hands in her lap; for being part of a military family, she didn't approve of violence, recreational or otherwise. I returned to my corner where Mr. Granden stood on the edge of the ring, outside of the ropes, ready to call his support.

My opponent's name was called and he did the same as I had, climbed into the ring raised his hand for the crowd and returned to his corner.

Mr. Granden was talking in my ear, saying words of encouragement and reminders to keep my hands close to my face. I could hear what he was saying but it didn't register, I had begun to focus on the task at hand.

The bell for the first round rang. I could hear the crowd cheering. I approached my opponent in right guard, waiting for him to make his first move. He bounced around me, a weak attempt to taunt me. I wasn't fooled. He swung and I easily dodged his punch. Backing up a little, I gave him room to come at me again. He threw another punch aiming for my raised hands. I let him hit my right arm. It didn't hurt but it would be a point in his favour. The crowd seemed to like that he managed to hit me so quickly.

They began to chant his name, "Ryan, Ryan, Ryan!"

I could hear Mr. Granden calling at me to return a hit, my team-mates were doing the same. I dropped my guard a little as bait and waited to see if it would be taken. Ryan's face was filled with a sardonic smile as he stalked back toward me. Once he was close enough, I returned his smile with one of my own.

Quickly, I changed my stance and swung at him with a left jab to his chin, connecting hard and causing his head to snap back. My team-mates roared with excitement. Ryan stumbled backward, slightly dazed but no less determined.

"KNOCK 'EM OUT, MAJOR!" Garrett yelled from the side.

I didn't have time to consider his words because Ryan was charging again, swinging at my head. I side-stepped and landed two hard body shots. The crowd then decided Ryan wasn't who they wanted to cheer for anymore. They began to slowly chant my name.

"MAJOR. MAJOR. MAJOR."

Hearing the support of what felt like the entire gym, I unleashed my well-trained aggression. It was time to find my happy place and hit someone.

Ryan had backed up slightly like a scarred little gopher. I was poised for my attack. I could see his guard was slipping and his eyes began to show signs of weakness. My beast within thrived on the fear of my prey. Three fast strides and I was close enough to throw another punch. I wanted to finish him off with and leave nothing to question.

A quick right jab and left uppercut was all it took. He was flat on his back, the referee pushing me toward my corner as he checked on the prone body. The crowd quieted down, holding their collective breath as the ref called his name. As he came to, the referee signalled to the judges he was ending the match. My team roared with excitement and the crowed resumed chanting my name.

"MAJOR. MAJOR. MAJOR."

I wouldn't celebrate until I knew my fate. We stood in the middle of the ring and the announcer called my name as the ref held my hand high in the air. I had won by technical knockout. I looked to the General, he had taken off his hat and nodded his approval at me before clapping and hugging my Mother tight, just like a normal parent would do.

I had won two matches that day. If you asked my team-mates, they would have said the TKO was by far the most exciting match, but I knew winning the approval of my Father was what I was most proud of.

Thanks for reading!

Be sure to check out the other entries on the C2.

~TheFaintHeart.