No matter what anyone on the island said - super GI Joe, jolly green giant, tin man - Aaron threw the best punch for a clear ten miles. He'd prove it but then he'd end up getting into the argument about precise landings versus pure power. He never measured a punch by its outcome or its strength, but by how deeply a guy or girl threw them. Now Steve's, they were good but he could learn a thing or two from his girl. Peg's punches were on fucking point.
Aaron practised and kept in shape every damn day, four hours at the least until he had expended the extra energy that had built up in his cells from under-use. So he was there every morning whether it was teaching or training or training with someone else. It was his sanctuary, his classroom and his office.
Another punch riccocheted the bag and Aaron grinned as the door opened, the familiar figure standing inside the frame. "In or out, kid, no fucking loitering watching. This ain't daycare." he re-strapped his knuckles and landed more precise punches.