Daryl nodded, and rocked back on his heels. He wiped an arm across his brow, throwing sweat off his forehead like water. He'd need a minute to come down enough to have a conversation, and while he could keep going he wasn't going to argue. Sam had kept him guessing, and he'd taken just as many blows as he'd delivered. The bruises were already forming, and Daryl could feel the strain in his muscles. It felt good.
Daryl retrieved the water bottle he'd left near the gym door. He guzzled a good bit of it before wiping his hand across his face. "I needed that," he commented, looking over at Sam.
Daryl knew good and well why he needed to let off some steam, but had no idea what was eating away at Sam. He'd come into it thinking Sam just wanted a work out, sparring with a partner was infinitely more satisfying than hitting some bag hanging on a hook. He'd figured out pretty quick that it was more than just a good old fashioned spar for Sam, but Daryl wasn't the type to pry.