It shouldn't be a difficult question to answer. But the city certainly made it that way when it brought her here from one world and him from another. He can deal with alternate universes just fine. Before Darrow, they fascinated him, appealed to the scientist and the daydreamer in him both. There are so many, so vast, wild, and far apart, that it should be impossible for two such similar worlds to meet. Yet here they have, his and Gwen's. Maybe Darrow was righting itself by taking her away, making space for someone from a world with no shrimp or a planet with two suns. If that's the case, he'd like to find the forces behind that little piece of decision making and beat them all to a pulp. Or die trying. He isn't sure that this is a life anymore, anyway. It's just a series of meager patches over a gaping wound.

He clears his throat, surprised by the lump that he finds there. He swallows it down, unwilling to cry in front of this stranger. "We were from the same place," he answers. "Sort of."