[Trickery certainly was an option on the table, but at this stage in the game, it was too early to try anything truly drastic. He'd signed on for a spar in the beginning, and just because Bourne was his new warden didn't mean he'd back down on what he'd promised. True, some of his blows were a tad more coordinated -- violent -- than they might have been otherwise, but it wasn't so much with the intention to injure as to learn. He'd studied and mastered various techniques all over the world, but every person had a certain bent to their fighting style. Knowing his warden's skill level was one thing; understanding what said skills had been used for was another.

The fight lasted a while, every movement calculated, a test unto itself, and by the time it was done, his clothes were damp, muscles burning, and he was damn sure he'd be feeling this in the morning. Blocking a kick, Slade moved back and paused, for the first time since they'd begun. He didn't say anything, merely eyed his warden carefully. There was a measure of wariness there, and respect, though naturally it would go unsaid. There wouldn't be a victor here (not really), and he'd already learned what he wanted to know.

The irony didn't escape him.]