Monty extended his hand to shake Michael's briefly, and allowed his eyes to drift over Michael's body. The man was clearly in shape, and his year as a civilian hadn't kept him from letting his body go. It meant that it was possible they would be evenly matched, and that Monty wouldn't feel obliged to hold himself back in a way he would have if Michael's belly had been soft instead of flat, the shirt he wore molding to his body. Monty handed a roll of tape to Michael. Together they wrapped their hands in silence, Monty finding strange solace in the ritual. He waved away Michael's admonishment about being rusty. Despite the friendly way Michael had approached him, it was clear that Michael was on guard, ready for anything. He still held the mien of a man always ready for combat, a readiness that was familiar to Monty, and even comforting. "Well, we aren't here to kill one another, are we? You'll find your feet, soon enough."
A portion of the gym was laid out for fighting: boxing, martial arts, hand-to-hand combat. They walked together to the padded square held down by yellow tape, and stepped onto it. Monty walked to a far corner and waited a moment before joining Michael in the middle. He grinned; it was slightly awkward, waiting to start a friendly fight with another man. "Shall we, then?"
He took a step to his left, circling, and they began. They crouched, getting an idea of how the other moved, until Michael reached out, only for Monty to fend him off. A moment later Monty returned the favor, Michael doing likewise. They began sparring in earnest then, throwing punches and blocking maneuvers. Monty fell into the rhythm of the fight, finding satisfaction in the sound, the feel of flesh hitting flesh. Sweat glistened, making grappling harder on bare skin as fingers slipped and slid in a bid to gain purchase on the other man. He swiped his hand across his brow, flinging away sweat before throwing himself into the fight. The anger that had been simmering beneath the surface began to show itself the longer they fought, and Monty's punches became harder and more precise and he tried to enact outside destruction to match what pulsed inside.
Blind with fury, grief, terror Monty aimed what would be a final punch at Michael's face, only for it to be deflected. He roared as Michael spun him and twisted his arm up his back, holding him securely in his arms from behind.