Peter half shrugged at that. "I dunno," he said, "I think I've got something of an idea of it." He'd been feeling little jagged edges of doubt since he showed up, afraid that he was really stuck here by himself. He probably should have felt bad that Amy was now stuck here too, but at the moment, he only felt relieved.
Her comment about his wardrobe had him caught between exasperation and preening under the attention. Pooching his lower lip out, he spread his arms and swung his hips a bit, showing off the second-hand tuxedo pants and dress shirt with his usual swagger. "Well you know me, I could pull anything off," he said dryly. He sighed, dropping his hands to his sides again. "About a month or so," he said. "Been trying to find a way back home, but, no luck there, obviously." He gave her a flippant, what-can-you-do? sort of shrug, but really the fact that he had no better idea then of exactly how they were being pulled back or how to reverse it than he had the first day truly made him nervous. While Amy's presence was a comfort, at the same time he also felt even more worried. What if he couldn't find a way back for both of them? Amy was tough, but the 1930's were even less kind to strong women. He didn't like the idea of her stuck here all alone.