The benefit of a move like this is that even awareness of his intent doesn't mean much when the surface is slippery. His success in knocking Steve down is not enough, though. Not when the kick is enough to push him off, the ache of his collision throbbing over bruises and wounds that have been left unattended.

He lies still, just for a moment. Steve's voice is clear and it's like his words are echoing in his mind over and over. He doesn't know what they mean, he doesn't understand the implications. He doesn't understand why it makes something deep in him ache with an intensity that makes him half curl in on himself.

The sound he makes is haggard and frustrated, almost mournful before it turns to rage. He can see now that Steve is lying, that Steve is looking to get him into trouble so he can be rid of him once and for all. He won't let it happen. He needs to silence him. He pushes himself up, clawing desperately at the ice as he drags himself up slowly.

And then. He doesn't make a move. He's calm for a moment, eyes down and lips pressed into a sad line. There's an eerie still, a seeming reluctance to attack or move or even look at Steve.