Not exactly, Peter answered the second of the voices. He was going to have to find some way to keep track of each of them. Mentally, he could tell them apart by the feel of each one, but feelings were difficult to put into words. It's....
Hesitating on how to answer, Peter slipped the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Familiarity flooded his senses, and overwhelming nostalgia. From the doorway, he could see the small kitchen, even the cabinet with the water stain shaped vaguely like Abraham Lincoln. His flatware was stacked in the drain beside the sink. His dishtowels. The tiles on the floor were identical, the paintings on the walls. The paint. Even the scent.
Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes. He hadn't laid eyes on this sight in more than eight years. Not since that fateful day in Kirby Plaza, when he, Peter Simon Petrelli, had destroyed the city and five million lives.
The view out the far windows was different. This wasn't Manhattan. Peter had never heard of Agreeable Apartments in his life. But this was his apartment. There was no mistaking it.
It's not Manhattan, Evey. Not New York. But... somehow... Words failed. But the flat emotion, the sense of recognition and painful nostalgia, carried through his connection to her.
Both of her.
He was a powerful psychic, but not even his mental links could defy dimensions. This wasn't his world, but neither was he on the savage island that had become their home. Nor was this the shattered world that had housed die Festung.
He heard the younger Evey wonder about Aidan, and immediately closed off that information from either of them. He could remember the vampire's swift exit from the world, just as much as he could remember seeing the fellow nurse moments before his arrival here. A duel of memories, each equally valid.
This was going to take some getting used to.
He focused on the younger version of his best friend. How far are you? And where are we?