Chapter Text
To say that it was something of a surprise would've been a gross understatement, and given that Andrew was prone rather to overstatement than its reverse, his version of the tale, when he told it years later, became far more dramatic than the actual reality of the day. However, it was a hell of a shock, and while Andrew didn't really collapse on the sidewalk and have to be resuscitated by a passing ER doctor, he was pretty floored by it.
It's fair to say that it's usually at the most calm, organized times of one's life that the Powers That Be choose to throw a spanner into the works, some little thing to make life interesting, or some big, scary thing to make life difficult. This was definitely the case, as Andrew, waking up one particular Thursday morning, had distinctly thought to himself that his life had never been quite as peaceful and settled as it currently was. Looking back on it, he thinks he probably jinxed himself at that very moment, but at the time it had seemed like a reasonable, safe thought to have.
Things had been a little difficult in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of Sunnydale. Everything most of them had ever known had been destroyed. While they all knew where their families were, Andrew had had no idea. He'd assumed that his family had escaped, as the town had been deserted when they'd finally faced off against the First Evil, but he had no clue as to where they might have gone. Still, he hadn't seen them in over a year, and didn't really feel that upset at the thought of never seeing them again.
For a while, though, everyone had been drifting, not quite sure what to do. It had been a difficult time, especially for Andrew, who hadn't felt that he really fitted in with the others. Sure, he'd been through the whole apocalypse thing with them, but really, they had a bond that he just wasn't included in. Especially all the newly created Slayers. Most of them had eventually chosen to return to their families, promising to look for other Slayers in and around their hometowns. Willow and Kennedy had gone to stay with each other's families, before finally deciding that they weren't actually meant to be together and breaking up. Xander had called his mom once and declared that that was enough of an effort to cover him for the next ten years. Buffy and Dawn had gone to England with Giles, before taking some time to see Europe, while Faith had stuck around for about a week before finally skipping out on them, leaving a short note that said she'd be back some day.
As the group fragmented, Andrew had just kept his head down and hoped that no one would ask him why he was still there. It was one thing to know that you had nowhere else to go, but actually having to admit it to other people was far, far worse. Willow had taken pity on him and, when she and Xander had moved into an apartment in Seattle, she'd haltingly suggested that it would be so much easier if they could split the rent three ways instead of two. A few months later, with much prompting and eye-rolling from Willow, Andrew and Xander had somehow managed to find themselves almost-not-quite-officially-but-with-all-the-perks dating. It had been slightly surreal for Andrew, and Xander had taken a long time to adjust to the entire concept, but for some reason it had seemed entirely sensible and right. Xander let his barriers down and stopped pretending that he didn't get Andrew's geek references, and he seemed a lot happier for it. Willow said they were on the same wavelength, and Andrew had to agree. They just sort of understood each other.
And so it was that, when Xander got a job offer in New York, Andrew moved there with him. They'd only been there for a few weeks when that particular Thursday morning rolled around. Xander had been up early, rushing off to work and leaving Andrew curled up in bed. It had seemed quite a normal day to begin with. Almost too normal, Andrew might have said as he told the tale some years later, with an air of anticipation. Unconscious tension building up all morning as he wandered around the apartment, thought about maybe going online and searching for a job again, and watched chat shows and soap operas for a few hours.
It was a little after lunchtime when Andrew decided, quite unexpectedly, to go down to the comic book store a few blocks over. He put his shoes on, located his wallet and keys, and headed out, down the stairs and onto the street.
The first part of the journey had been quite normal, and when Andrew reached the crosswalk just over from the store, he'd been thinking of nothing more stressful than what he was going to buy when he got there. He almost hadn't looked up, but something on the very edge of his vision had caught his attention and his head had snapped up to see what it was.
It turned out to be a woman with a shiny barrette in her hair, and Andrew had spent a few seconds wondering why anyone would wear something so shiny in the middle of the day on a Thursday. Then he'd looked back over toward to the store, and that was when he'd seen him.
He knew it wasn't possible, not really, but there it was right before him. Well, right across the street from him anyway. He watched the figure moving through the crowds. He knew it couldn't be a ghost - it wasn't at all translucent or even fuzzy round the edges. Also, people didn't generally move out of the way when a ghost was passing in their midst. They mostly wouldn't see it, and if they did, it would be .. well, translucent or fuzzy or something. This, however, was not. This was a clear, breathing, moving person, passing through the post-lunch crush of other people on the busy main street. It was too busy to really see what he was doing, was he carrying anything, what was he wearing, but Andrew watched anyway, open-mouthed, and tried to make out these, or any, details. It was just too much to be real.
At first, Andrew thought he was probably dreaming. It didn't feel like a dream though, and when he bit his tongue he didn't wake up, so he decided it must be real. He tracked the man with his eyes - maybe it was just a coincidence. After all, everyone has a doppelganger, right? Maybe this guy was just that, someone who happened to look exactly like someone else, but really wasn't. That had to be it. But then, the hair was exactly the same. The exasperated look at being held back by the crowds of people on the street. Even the way he walked, the way he held himself, looked familiar.
The stranger was moving further and further away, and Andrew started to move, shadowing him down the opposite side of the street, separated by a thousand yellow taxi cabs, bicycles, and SUVs. He sensed something coming and looked down to check his footing, moving to avoid the newspaper box, and when he looked up again the man was gone. Disappeared into the crowd.
A profound sense of loss washed over Andrew, and he felt the sudden, aching knowledge that he was never going to see him again. This was it. One last look. For some reason, the Powers had decided to show him this vision, and as much as it was something he'd wished desperately for from the second he'd heard from Anya in that dirty little prison cell that Warren was gone, it suddenly wasn't enough.
Maybe this man wasn't Warren - it seemed just barely this side of wholly impossible, after all, as by all accounts Warren was rather too literally toast - but Andrew wanted desperately to find him, to understand who he was, even just to pretend for a few seconds that it really was Warren, come back to tell him it was all alright.
But it wasn't going to happen. The chances of finding one person in the whole of New York City based solely on the details of what they looked like were somewhere in the region of 2 and a half million to one. And even if he did find the guy, what then? Nothing. Just the gut wrenching knowledge that Warren was gone, probably suffering some horrible torment in some awful Hell dimension, for no good reason, and that Andrew would never see him again.
The guy probably wouldn't even have looked like Warren close up. Just a pale imitation, similar height, similar coloring, and none of the spark that had made him so very special.
Andrew stood and stared down the street for a few minutes, his mind so overrun with thoughts, it felt entirely blank. It would probably have been better, he had decided as he began to head back to the comic book store, if he'd just stayed home that morning, and had never even had that fleeting second of recognition. That fleeting second of hope. Hope, after all, only ever led to disappointment.
*
The second time Andrew saw him was much like the first. He was sat reading on a bench in the park across from Xander's office, waiting for Xander to come out so they could go for lunch together, when he caught sight of the hem of a coat flicking back and forth in the wind. It was a thick gray wool and attracted Andrew's attention mostly because it seemed so out of place in this mild weather, but something caught in his chest as he looked down at the coat, and Andrew found himself glancing up and watching silently as The Man Who Was Not Warren walked right past him without blinking.
He really did look remarkably like Warren, and Andrew couldn't quite manage to crush down the tiny spark of irrational hope that maybe, by some kind of miracle, it really was him. It couldn't be, it just wasn't possible, and Andrew knew that, but somehow it changed nothing. It was all there - the way he stooped his shoulders slightly, the way he buried his hands in his pockets, the way he looked forward without really seeing what was in front of him, so preoccupied with whatever amazing thing it was that was currently running through his head. He was listening to something, music or maybe a book on CD, through earphones, and wearing suit pants and sensible shoes that looked terribly out of place compared to the image of Warren that Andrew had been holding on to for the past few years.
Still gripping his book just tight enough to stop it falling, Andrew watched Not Warren as he made his way through the park and out onto the street through a small side gate. Even before he had consciously considered it, Andrew stood up, dropped the book on the bench next to his bag, and followed. He walked, then jogged, then ran until he reached the gate and looked out to either side.
At first he thought that he'd lost Not Warren, like last time, but then he saw him, crossing the street and heading up the dirty stone steps of the library. Andrew threw himself out of the gate, ran across the street oblivious to the honking cars and shouting cab drivers, and traced Not Warren's path up the steps and into the silence of the library.
He looked around the lobby, left and right, almost choking as he tried to catch his breath, but Not Warren was gone.
Andrew stood in the entrance hall of the library as people walked in and out and around, not quite sure what to do, for four or five minutes before turning and walking slowly back out.
He headed down the steps, across the street and into the park where he found Xander waiting. He avoided Xander's eyes for a few seconds before explaining that he'd just gone across the street to use the bathroom. Xander looked confused but didn't ask why Andrew had left his book and bag on the bench when he'd gone.
*
The third time Andrew saw Not Warren, he decided to just ignore him. It was getting ridiculous. It was just a man who happened to bear a passing resemblance to someone who was dead. It was not worth going all crazy stalker over, and Andrew decided that he would put a stop to it there and then.
The man was sitting at a seat in the window of Starbucks drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. Andrew walked straight past and didn't go in.
His resolve lasted about two blocks, after which he turned and ran back to the store.
By the time he got there, the seat was empty and the girl behind the counter had collected the coffee mug, but Andrew did go in and retrieve the discarded newspaper.
*
The fifth time, Andrew happened to look up and glance out of the window of a bookstore he was visiting for the first time, and saw Not Warren across the street, getting into a taxicab. It was after this that Andrew decided that the best way to avoid, or at least delay, the apparently inevitable onset of insanity was to never leave the apartment again.
Xander let him be for the first few days, then asked a few times if he was okay, then asked if he was sick, then started bringing him soup and blankets, then frowned and said that maybe he just needed something to occupy his time, like, say, a job.
Andrew knew absolutely that he could not explain what was happened to Xander. He wouldn't understand. No one would. He'd just think that Andrew was going crazy. And Andrew had to admit, there was a very strong argument in that direction. But he stayed at home, curled up on the couch all day and watched soaps and quiz shows, read every book he could find and then ordered some more off the internet rather than risking a trip to the library, and made more cakes and cookies than it was humanly possible to consume, some of which he boxed up and got Xander to mail out to Dawn and Willow.
It wasn't a perfect plan - Andrew had never been the one who planned things - but it had been working okay until one quiet Monday at around two pm, when Andrew happened to look out of the window and saw Not Warren getting out of a cab on the other side of the street.
His heart leapt up into his throat as white noise pounded through his ears. Me, he thought. He's here to see me. It really is him.
Not Warren paid the cab driver, turned to face away from Andrew, and pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He considered what was written on it for a few seconds, then looked up and walked over to one of the buildings on the other side of the street, pressing the buzzer.
Andrew watched, heart still racing, as Not Warren said something into the little metal grate, and was buzzed in.
Andrew didn't move, didn't take his eyes off the building until Not Warren appeared again. A dark-haired, sad looking woman and a small child followed him. Not Warren turned back, said something to her that made her smile, and walked away from the door to where a cab had just pulled up, and Andrew immediately started calculating whether he would have time to get down there before the cab pulled away.
Even as he worked at the figures, he was moving, running through the apartment, flinging the door open and throwing himself down the stairs. When he arrived at the main door, he fully expected the cab to be gone, the woman and child to have vanished, so it was quite a shock, as he wrenched the door open, to see the bright yellow and black of the cab still parked across the street. The woman stood next to the door, her head tilted slightly to one side as she said something to Not Warren, who stood just out of the cab, his back turned to Andrew.
The woman was still talking to Not Warren as Andrew shouted his name across the street, and both she and Not Warren turned to look at him as he stood, paralyzed with fear and desperate hope and utter confusion on the sidewalk outside his building.
Not Warren looked directly at Andrew, and Andrew knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this really was Warren. The look, the recognition behind it, was unmistakable.
Andrew couldn't move as he watched the scene unfold before him. Not Warren, who was actually Warren some miraculous how, looked, for just a second, like he was going to push past the woman, cross the street, pull Andrew into his arms and tell him that everything was going to be alright. But there was also a fleeting panic in his eyes, and he turned away, said something quiet to the woman, and disappeared into the cab, which pulled away at high speed.
Andrew watched the empty space where the car had been, then looked up at the woman, who was staring back at him. It seemed as if she wanted to cross the road, to ask Andrew what was going on, what had happened, but Andrew wasn't sure himself. He couldn't answer his own questions, never mind hers.
He turned away from her and headed back into the building blindly. Once he was back in the safety of the apartment, Andrew curled up on the couch and cried until he fell asleep.