The flowers of Derleth hadn’t done anything wrong. Not a single thing. It was irritability that had driven Ikol to square up on some of them and give them a resolute whack with the toe of his boots. The blossoms snapped free and sailed onward a few feet before tumbling into tracks of bare soil or grass.
He didn’t feel better for it. They would reset in the coming week, and then he’d walk by them and think about how he’d punted a few out of frustration with other things, and then he’d feel distinctly immature for it, and then he’d be irritated all over. Destroying the landscaping didn’t help at all.
And, so, he’d thrust his hands into his pockets and stalked onward. That had been the usual approach this week: pocketed hands and leaning into an aggressive step. On an older frame it might have looked intimidating. On his current frame, he looked more like he was pissed off that he’d missed his bus to a pop rock concert. And that was aggravating, too.
The doors to Dexter Hall were flung open and he continued to stalk through them. He wasn’t hungry, but it seemed like some busy work in the kitchen might help. Make a dumb baked potato to go with his dumb mood. Put some dumb bacon on it. It had to be better than trying to weather the rest of the day avoiding certain people, anyway. He kicked the door that led to the kitchens (because the alternative would require him to free up his hands from moodily keeping them pocketed), and then paused when it hit something solid on its swing.
Well. That wasn’t a good thing.
Kate Bishop had stolen away to the kitchens for a bag of frozen peas. One of the otherworldly spirits hadn't taken kindly to being laughed at when he tried to scare her, but come on. Not all the ghosts were scary. Some of them just looked like professors, and not the hot kind you saw in movies. The kind who wore the same sweater every year in their yearbook photos because they thought it was funny. Sure, it was kind of amusing in an online meme sort of way, but they always had some big broom bristle mustache and glasses three sizes too big for their faces.
So he'd done what Kate would have done if she was a ghost who was tired of not being able to scare anyone: he pushed her backward in the library. Somehow — she assumed the ghost or one of his ghostly friends — had put a boot in the exact spot where her foot would dig in, and she went flying.
Her elbow hadn't made it out unscathed, and there was a bruise forming. It warned her of impending pain before it began utterly throbbing. While she waited for her pain meds to kick in, she'd slap a bag of frozen peas and call it a day.
Until someone booted open the kitchen doors and whacked her other elbow.
"What the futz, bro!" When she saw the culprit, her face turned red enough that if this were a cartoon, there would be steam rising from her ears. "YOU! Why is it always you?"
Ikol had taken it upon himself to inch closer and peer in, but the voice was telltale. By the time Kate had sighted him in the opposing side of the doorway, he was already rolling his eyes ceiling-ward. A similar thought crossed his mind: which is it always her?
Of course, the math would suggest otherwise. It wasn’t always her. Of course it wasn’t. It merely felt that way given that meetings with Kate took on a life all their own. They were akin to fighting cats, reduced to swipes and hissing. More often than not, a foul mood played even more foul because they always came back to this low-energy animosity.
Leaning into his mood, Ikol swept himself into a bow. “Would you like me to go fetch someone else? One side, Kate, if you wouldn’t mind. I’m trying to go in.” And to make his point he pressed forward, even despite that she hadn’t cleared the way.
Kate put her foot down, the rubber heel of her boots against the linoleum floor, the ball of her foot parked up against the door. She had clearly decided to stand her ground, and if he wanted in, he was going to have to figure it out himself. Squeeze through, instead of slamming into people.
Her fingers were numb against the bag of peas. She tossed it onto the counter, because her rage was building enough of a fire to keep that pain at bay. America was here, and that was good. Clint was here, but he was from another dimension where she, apparently, didn't exist. In all of her interdimensional travels, she'd never come up against that.
And even worse, she got the idea that he thought she was a little crazy, spreading around public information as if it were SHIELD secrets.
"Come on in."
Venom dripped from her tone.
The tossed bag of peas was enough to pull Ikol’s focus. He gave it a furrowed-brow look, but his forward press was met with resistance. More specifically: he was met with Kate’s form, not remotely trying to clear the door, but instead parking directly in it. He stopped in his tracks, but the positioning left him nearly in contact with his obstructing former teammate.
“I would love to,” he breathed out. He didn’t budge. She wasn’t really short by any means, but she was tall enough that he was having trouble negotiating the space without contending with how close her face was to his. “Why don’t you go on your way? Did you want the peas? I’ll get you your peas. And you can go in…” Peace was on the tip of his tongue, but he wasn’t actually in a mood for puns.
“Quiet gratitude.”
Her expression softened the slightest. Maybe she was going to have some pity on him; he was clearly having some sort of Day. Or maybe her presence just caused that. Either way, she wasn't in the mood to deal to walk away. Come on, she was almost never in a mood to walk away without at least a comment, but the way they were facing off meant someone was going to have to give way.
She wasn't going to be the one to do that. A sardonic grin replaced the nostril-flaring from before, but there was no mirth in her eyes. No smize, as Tyra Banks would say. The whole thing was a dare or a threat. Her intensely blue eyes stared into his intensely green eyes.
"I was here first." Her smile just grew. "So you can work around me."
Great.
He supposed he couldn’t blame her. This was the usual way of their meetings to date. Last time, he’d forced her hand on Chinese food. And the dogs. She was keeping some home turf advantage now, and he really couldn’t blame her.
Except he did. Because she could up and walk, and let him make his dumb potato.
“Fine, so I will.” Her feigned smile was matched with one of Ikol’s own smirks, and he took a step in. His leg leaned into hers and remained there with some pressure; he stooped to get more squarely into her face. At this close of a range -- truly, he couldn’t recall ever being this close -- it was hard to not lock on those icy blue eyes. No, hold the line. Focus.
“Are you backing up, or am I backing you up?”
"You're squeezing by me."
Her gaze dropped to where his leg was leaned against hers, and under different circumstances, she might have been flirting. It dawned on her that, aside from America's mention, she hadn't been thinking too hard about Johnny. He was back — safe and sound ISH — in their dimension, and if people were right, it was like she wasn't even missing.
Except she was missing. She was here.
Stuck with this jerk.
"I'll give you an inch." And oh, the implications on that little inch went along with the smug smile on her face. "Or do you need a couple more?"
“Oh, even better. Squeeze by you. My favorite choice.” Ikol’s voice was falsely jovial, punctuated with a hollow laugh.
He noted her glance to where he was leaning in towards her and took the opportunity to slide one arm under where she was bracing herself in the doorway, gripping the doorframe with his hand and trying to occupy more of the space with his own body. It was an attempt to will her to forfeit with his sheer presence. He could push her right out of the doorway with his weight and strength, but that was a victory of physical prowess. That didn’t rank here.
He wanted Kate to back down. It would change absolutely nothing, but they’d locked into this dance, and he wanted to lead.
“I have several inches of my own, but you’re so kind to offer.” To her smile, he offered his off-kilter smirk.
Point One: Kate knew that he had the sheer strength to take her out. If she hadn't known he was a Frost Giant (or Asgardian), the meeting in which she'd literally run into him on the New York City streets would have served as a good reminder. She'd bounced right off him as if he was a brick wall.
Point Two: He didn't use that strength, which meant that he wasn't as angry as he actually seemed. Admittedly, she couldn't remember seeing Loki — young or small — extremely angry so maybe this was a moot point.
Point Three: He'd make a dick joke in return. That almost made her laugh. Almost. But while she didn't laugh, her steely gaze did falter a little as she struggled against it. Oh, no, she was smizing.
Kate tapped a finger to her lips, glancing upward as if inspecting the corner of the kitchen. "What is it that you want anyway?"
The mood hadn’t shifted dramatically, but something switched. His foul mood had receded enough that her question made him consider it as if he was standing in a new place with a new vantage point. He was still annoyed by the week so far, annoyed by things beyond his control, but somehow Kate’s tiniest show of amusement was…
Unexpected? He felt unsure what move to make next because in his mind this was doomed to play out with the two of them bracing for a showdown of wills. And while they were still locked on the spot, intertwined in a way that couldn’t simply be untwined, he found himself dwelling on how Kate had touched one finger to her lips. Distracted by it.
“I wanted…” He glanced at the kitchen, brow furrowed. “To make something to eat and forget about this week for a short while.” His eyes shifted back to Kate. “But you happened. And you’re still happening. Lucky me.”
"Tell you what? You tell me why you want to forget this week for a while, and maybe I will consider not happening to you anymore."
Kate was a curious sort by nature. She'd had to be pulled from corners while her dad was in secret meetings when she was young. Getting into things she shouldn't because she just wanted to see what was in there. So asking questions came as natural as breathing.
And they annoyed Loki, which was always a bonus.
(She didn't think about the fact he almost always replied to her with a real answer.)
“Or,” Ikol started, and he leaned in to once more resume his quest to squeeze her out of the space. The mission was back on. “You could relent now, and I’ll go on my way and you on yours.”
He had lined up their faces, and that had an interesting result by proxy: eyes set against eyes, noses nearly touching, and mouths… hovering apart at this point. It was intended to be a dare, but every time Kate refused to back down, it left him too stubborn to back down as well. It closed the distance. More. And more.
And more.
Smize gone.
Any mirth disappeared.
Kate's foot was still a door stop against the bottom of it, and she didn't really need to lean in any more than she was, but she did it anyway. She pushed her shoulder into it, pursing her lips as she realized this was now all out war. It had been a little battle before, but she was not giving this up. He was going to have to take this by force.
"Try. It."
There was a point somewhere right after Kate pushed that tiny bit further, right after her lips pursed, that the game rules pivoted. It wasn’t who budged first, was it? Two wills were clashing, and sparks from tempers forged a different path.
His hand against the doorframe shifted to her waist. His shoulder turned in.
He lowered himself down to meet her, hungry and searching as their lips met. Pent up energy and gravity was moving him, as was some instinctive need to funnel both into an outlet. She had been there. She hadn’t stood down. The finger on her lips…
What else could he have done?
There was an unlimited amount of options for things he could have done. He could have flicked her nose with his fingers. He could have ripped the door off its hinges. He could have given up and walked away. He could have squished through. He could have hit her on the head and knocked her out.
He could have gone to the other door on the other side of the kitchen. Kitchens were required to have more than one door for safety purposes.
Instead, he chose to smash his mouth against hers, and for a brief instant, Kate was frozen in place, eyes wide and stunned. This was one way to get her to let her guard down. She thought about Johnny and how hurt he'd be if he witnessed this. She thought of how different it was to spend a few months kissing someone with a lip piercing, and then kissing someone without one. It shouldn't have felt that different; she'd kissed more people without than with.
Once her mind quieted — and she'd had to shut it up with a very loud, mental yell — her body fell into formation. Her foot released from the door, and her arms reached for the front of his coat as she leaned into the kiss. She pulled him into the room.
The pause between incitement and reciprocation felt stretched and thin. It was some lizard brain desire and a shot in the dark that Ikol hadn't stopped to unpack before acting. Their bickering and snips, all the invasion of personal space and some clinging to a known quantity had added up to a slapdash choice to kiss Kate. He didn't classify it as good or bad.
And she could have shoved him away.
That didn't happen. The hands on his chest turned into a grip that tugged instead. He shifted forward at the beckoning, until they bumped against the counter. His other hand came to rest at the base of her neck.
Lizard brain was a good way to describe this, because, to Kate, it made no sense whatsoever. Loki was a terrible human being who had used her entire team to get his powers back and hoped to control Billy's magical powers. Kissing him had never been on her mind.
But now that's all she could think to do. The bag of peas had been tossed haphazardly before, but they fell off the counter now as Kate used a hand to brace herself from being utterly scrunched into it. She was not as sturdy as a damn Frost Giant, but one might not have guessed that with the way she was returning and advancing the session to flat out make-out. Her hands made their way up his chest to his neck and hair.
"Congratulations," she told him between kisses. "You made it into the kitchen."
His laugh was cut off and cut up between movements -- because it was funny. Ironically so. There was nothing about this moment that felt like a culmination of stolen glances or sweet hints to the other. It was fighting, insulting, and a sort of raw frustration that always stopped short of a cruel line.
This was the path taken when shouting felt appropriate, but the kinetic energy veered toward physicality. It stemmed from the place their legs came into contact at first, and then built…
He hooked his hands under her thighs and gave her a boost onto the counter, precisely where the bag of peas had been.
“Score one,” he returned, as he broke away for a longer pause, his grin brimming to the top. His attention slid back to the doorway they’d come through, if only to reflect on the trajectory of events. “For me, that is. Definitely a loss for you.”
Well, that was a bee in her bonnet. The thought that she'd lost stuck in her head, the period punctuating each kiss. That he'd used this to get his way. It grew until not even Loki's kissing technique — which was extremely good, must be all those thousands of years of practice — could keep her distracted from it. Ten minutes in, and Kate stopped. Lips red and face flushed. Her hands stilled flat against his chest.
"Is that why you did this? Just to get in the futzing kitchen?"
Her stop prompted him to stop again, his hands equally stilled where they had ended up at her waist.
The question hit him like a bucket of water in the face. Skirting around logic made this easy. It kept it fun. His quip was something he assumed to be throwaway in their constant vying, but now he was being asked to think it over for motive. What a mood killer.
“Does it matter?” He asked. One hand was reclaimed to gesture at the kitchen. “I could have gotten in a dozen other ways. You know this. What’s a little fun?”
"Yeah, and it's a little fun that's now done," she replied with a roll of her eyes. Kate braced her hands on the couch and used them to scoot herself sideways out from in front of him. Once she was freed, she hopped off the counter and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She reached down to scoop the bag of peas off the floor and jammed it against her injured elbow.
Gross. Wet, almost thawed peas.
She tossed them into the trash bin and sighed. She'd have to figure out something later, when he wasn't around. "Enjoy your food. You earned it."
Well. Great.
Ikol looked after Kate as she left. Her footfalls grew quieter until she was gone entirely. It left him to look around the kitchen -- his spoils, so to speak. It wouldn't have felt so awful if a genuinely enjoyable thing hadn't ended up capped with peas getting binned and being told he earned a vacated room.
He straightened his lapels out and adjusted his posture. Fine. Onward with the task.