Granted, in the world with superheroes, Xander’s stunts were small-time, but he still managed to carve himself out a decent living when the X-games were king and the world was looking for a little good-hearted anarchy. “Who knows, maybe you know me already, I just look different.” He couldn’t fathom a world where he wasn’t most comfortable in denim shirts with the sleeves cut off, covered in tattoos, jumping off buildings for fun, but who knows what the multi-verse had in store for him? He finished his juice and put the cup down on the coffee table, shaking his head. “Can’t let the guy whose doorstep you ended up on at three in the morning have an extended metaphor, can you?” But he was smirking while he said it. The card Tony held out got taken, and he looked at it for a moment before shrugging, “You’re Tony Stark, I believe that.” He’d keep Pepper’s private number, though. Might come in handy some day. “The Bronx, old factory district,” he checked his watch, “Three…sixteen. When’s the last time you looked at a clock?” Maybe he had been drugged and dumped on Xander’s doorstep.