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Waking up in a giant feather bed, I stretch my arms above my body and turn my head to look at the curving, studded walls around me. There's not a single window here, and while that might have bothered me just a few hours ago, I've come to completely accept where I am. Nathan would call me naive. He'd call me a puppy, blindly following any stranger that held his hand out to me.

Maybe that's true, but no one would believe me back home even if I told them where I was or what I was doing. Not even the people who know what I can do and what I'm capable of. I'm the dreamer, head in the clouds. Sometimes literally.

Things have not been so easy for me lately. I nearly blew up New York City. I lost my memory and my last girlfriend in a future that I subsequently erased from existence. I met my father, a man who I thought was dead for over a year, had him purge what made me special from my very soul, and watched him die. Luckily, the illicit serum he had been working on restored what I thought I'd lost, even if it did not save me from my current strained relationship with my family.

For the moment, though, that doesn't matter. I'm grinning as I climb out of bed, locate my shirt on the floor and head out into a circular promenade so large that I actually can't remember where the stairs are. This particular portion of my current homes makes the idea of a feather bed inside a little blue wooden box less strange.

But even that can't compare to the man I'm traveling with.

"Uh... Doctor!" Or that I can even be lost inside a six foot square shed.
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Peter Petrelli

November 2011

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