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    Summary

    Is it slate? With the outside getting darker and darker, the warm air breezing in, the bracelet wrap looks like midnight remembering something it forgot at twilight. The clasp might as well be a mini solar flare in the dim of the spaceship's cockpit, and Tony tries and fails to recall the last time he bought something that wasn’t a self-indulgent binge that tends to accompany a close call and normally ends up with Peter muttering, “You shouldn't have.”

    Tony didn’t buy him this. He could have; it’s tasteful, not blinding like some gaudy, gem-encrusted monstrosity. It doesn't scream look at me, I'm worth more than your car. Instead, it whispers, look closer.

    Really, Tony lecturing about the dangers of accepting gifts from power players is a joke so rich it should be taxed.

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