As many issues as they have, she might want to hurt him but it's less about him and more about doing whatever it took to take the pressure off how she's feeling.

All of those desires that she used up on the streets, seeking things in sewer tunnels, and in fighting whatever came at her. In this place, even fighting with others, it's still kindly. Sparring and not fighting. Even if she would hold back with him, she knows he wouldn't ask her to. It's the one thing they might agree on.

And so she throws herself into it. Taking blows that left her with tears in her eyes with a grunt, spinning and striking again and again. Every blow she takes driving her harder, faster, and with certainly more aggression than she's ever allowed herself.

His ploy certainly working, ever blow he makes driving her closer and closer to the edge, violent rather than sparring now and not even clearly thinking through what she's doing.

Her face red, lashes damp with tears that sting her eyes. Anger at never knowing the truth, at what he did to her mother, at growing up without a father because their experimentation had driven him mad. Not trying to think about it all, and yet all of it coursing through her head.