<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff"><i>'Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name....' </i><br/>
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Tony bolted upright when he heard his phone go off. What the hell, wasn't one of his grossly misused suit 'servants' supposed to handle that?<br/>
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<i>'Hello, I love you let me jump in your game...'</i><br/>
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Oh that little son-of-a-bitch M22 was playing the malfunction gag again, trying to force him into answering the phone, trying to do what was 'good for him'. That stupid suit was always trying to butt into his affairs; especially lately.<br/>
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<i>'Hello, I love you, won't you tell me your name...'</i><br/>
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"Oh, no, I'm not falling for your little gag, mister. Not answering it." Tony called out to wherever M22 might be. <br/>
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Surprisingly, it was just around the corner and peeked in to look at Tony. "It is not a gag, Mr. Stark. I am not malfunctioning, and this call would be very good for you."<br/>
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<i>'Hello, I love you let me jump in your game...'</i><br/>
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He lunged across the bed to grab up the phone and look at it. He then regarded M22 with a flat stare. "Since when has talking to Mr. Perfect Pretty <i>ever</i> been good for me? Huh? You hate me or something? Well, I hate you too."<br/>
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"Mr. Stark, I only deduced that if Mr. Rogers was calling you, it could only be for something <i>very</i> important. He would not waste his time, otherwise."<br/>
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Tony smiled to the suit with a pinchy face. "Very sweet of you to deduce that, M22. You're a gem of inspiration....and I still hate you."<br/>
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'<i>She's walking down the....'</i><br/>
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"Hello, Captian-What-the-hell-do-you-want, pleas tell me you butt dialed." he started out with his usual quirky sarcastic charm.<br/>
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______________________________________<br/>
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Peter, who had taken now to being called PeteyQ...because...he had a name buddy!!! How cool was that? Anyway, PeteyQ had taken the whole dimension shift hard at first, real hard. He'd been inconsolable at the news of Gamora's death, knocked out of all sorts by vaporizing into somewhere back in time, and stabbed to the core with guilt feeling it had all been his fault. They almost had Thanos, they almost saved the day, but he blew it. He couldn't imagine not blowing it because even if he'd had the presence of mind, he wouldn't have chosen to not fight for what that asshole had done to Gamora. His heart was the reckless kind, and he couldn't have betrayed it if he'd tried.<br/>
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When they'd come 'to be' in this new place, it took Doctor Strange to hold him back from doing anything even more stupid; like hurting himself, or exposing the others. The wizard literally used his powers to subdue him until he could be rational and ok again. Peter hadn't been able to keep track of how long that took, but it was at least a couple weeks. In that time, his name buddy, PeteyP, had kept an eye on him, brought him food, talked to him when he didn't feel like talking, and in general just tried to help him through it, lift his spirits, find himself again. Eventually he did, and even if he couldn't talk much about Gamora, he at least accepted that every one of Doctor Strange's outcomes involved him fucking up. In that light, he was beginning to feel that he had actually done what he was <i>supposed</i> to do. <br/>
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The months that followed saw him recover more quickly until he was, for the most part, his cocky weird self. He made better friends with PeterP, whom he found he got along with incredibly well. He wasn't sure if that meant Parker was mature for his age, or if it meant that he was incredibly immature for his age. he didn't care. He had a friend when he had lost every one dear to him. The Doctor, not so much. That man was insufferably insufferable and Peter was glad he preferred to spend most of his time alone, cloistered in the attic of the farm house they'd taken up in doing magic stuff.<br/>
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Peter didn't understand any of it, and he didn't think he wanted to. It was just weird. But the benefit was that it offered them an edge on surviving their current situation. Strange had been able to conjure money, clothes, and things that helped them fit in to their new surroundings. He had a horse, which was awesome, and unlike the other two, he'd learned how to ride it. Sure, he'd fallen a few times, been kicked a few times, once in the nuts which hurt like hell, but he was a high plains drifter now sitting high in the saddle. It made trips to town easier too, and he loved town. Strange had told him to limit it, but that was hard when there was a rowdy saloon and sassy saloon whores. He liked the whores, they babied him and made him feel good. All his carousing helped him forget his pain and as long as he kept his mouth shut about the reality of things and didn't disrupt the timeline, as Strange had warned him at the pain of death not to do, then there was no shame in purging his sorrows with alcohol and paid love. It wasn't like he had anyone else to love anymore anyway...<br/>
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"Hey! PeteyP! Where ya been!" PeteyQ called out as he saw the other Peter coming down the way to the house. He was sitting out on the front porch, which spanned the entire front part of the house and was shaded by a nice peaked roof. The place was awesome, like something out of a prairie movie. His clothes were too, and when the opportunity presented itself for a new wardrobe, he went whole hog with the frontier look. Rugged pants and holster belt for guns and knives, an awesome leather coat with fur and fringes, and a beat up hat with braided band to top it off. He looked good. He looked <i>real</i> good and it was just the kind of thing that stroked his ego and made him feel worthy of living again after all that had happened.</span></span>