Tony sat in his workroom, turning Bucky’s knife over and over in his hands. He’d come in with the intention of studying the thing, perhaps seeing if he could try to duplicate its edge with his own tools and magic. But every time he looked at it, all he could think of was Bucky.
She wouldn’t touch him. She couldn’t, not without Bucky’s permission. And Bucky seemed to have caught on to the way fae rules could easily get him in trouble.
But that wouldn’t stop her from trying to make him talk. It wouldn’t stop her from trying to get him to accept a gift that he would then be obligated to repay. It wouldn’t even stop her from continuing to humiliate him.
Tony’s hand clenched around the knife. Recalled to it, he tried to return his attention to it. Steel didn’t hold as fine an edge as obsidian, but it was far less breakable.
Like the humans, perhaps. Before Bucky, Tony had only ever really interacted with two humans: his mother, and Ambassador Coulson, who’d taken her place after she’d died. Both of them had been stubborn, proud of their heritage, unwilling to bend – but not brittle. Being forced to bend hadn’t broken them.