Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The morning after the day he saw Warren again for the first time, Andrew made Xander pancakes for breakfast. He chattered excitedly about Dawn's most recent phone call, his and Xander's plans for the weekend, and a job he'd seen advertised in the paper a few days before.

Xander had seemed relieved that everything was apparently better, and Andrew had stood at the apartment door and waved him off to work with a big smile.

After he closed the door, Andrew sank to the floor and sat there, leaning back against the hard wood, staring at nothing, thinking of nothing, just waiting for something to happen.

He sat there until long after his legs had gone numb, and only as the little clock on the mantle chimed five did he get up and try to make the apartment look like it had been lived in all day.

If Xander noticed that Andrew's smile was a little too cheerful, that the chatter was a little too constant, he didn't say anything. Andrew tried not to overthink it too much, and did his best to keep up the appearance that everything was fine.

The pattern was repeated the next day, and the third was spent sitting by the window watching the apartment of the woman across the street, just in case. He wasn't going to come back for Andrew, it seemed, but maybe he'd come back for her.

In the very small hours of the morning of the fourth day, Andrew lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and finally made a decision.

If Warren had wanted to see him, he would've done it already. He would've walked across that street that day and said something, or not said something, but he would've just done it. And if he couldn't do it that day, he would've come back by now. Just knocked on the door and said, "uh .. so .. hey" as if he didn't know quite what to do with himself.

But he hadn't come. Which meant, by now, that he wasn't going to. It was up to Andrew. He either had to let it go, forget what he'd seen and move on with the life he was living now, or he had to go find Warren himself.

He considered the two options for a while. He had a good life here, really. Dawn had become a good friend, and Willow always found time for him. Even Buffy would sit and talk with him when she came to visit, and Mr. Giles didn't roll his eyes quite so much anymore. And there was Xander, of course.

He was settled and comfortable and happy, and though things weren't perfect, they did seem to be heading in the right direction for once. But even as he went over all the reasons why his life was in a good place right now, all the reasons why it would be better to just leave things alone, leave the past in the past and move on, he was calculating the best way of finding Warren.

He admittedly quietly to himself that there'd never really been any other choice.

*

Once he'd made the decision, Andrew hadn't stood a chance of getting to sleep, so he'd got up and watched some Cartoon Network. The day proceeded much as the others had, with fake cheer and a wave from the doorway, but the entire process was underlined by an edge of nervous excitement, so that even Xander noticed that something was different.

"What is up with you today?" he'd asked, smiling and confused, as he stepped out of the front door.

"I have a plan," Andrew told him.

"A plan?" Xander asked, one eyebrow raised.

"A plan," Andrew confirmed.

Xander had stared for a second, then nodded. "Okay."

There were, it seemed, some advantages to having a reputation for being more than a little strange.

Andrew realized, as he pulled his coat on and grabbed his keys, that he already knew where he was going. He really did have a plan, and he'd been formulating it since the moment he realized Not Warren really was Warren.

As all the best plans usually are, it was fairly simple. He'd seen Warren a few times before he'd shown up here, in various different locations. The park across from Xander's work was obviously out of the question, and standing on the street corner just hoping to see one person in a flood of so many was almost entirely pointless. The best option was Starbucks. It was probably near to wherever Warren was, because who just sat around in a random Starbucks for no good reason?

And so Andrew found himself sitting in a large, comfy, burnt-sienna armchair in the window of Starbucks, watching intently the people who walked past carrying newspapers and briefcases and bags of shopping, waiting with an absolute certainty, knowing that at some point, Warren would walk past, and then everything would be alright again.

Hours passed and he saw only ordinary people going about their ordinary lives, but Andrew refused to let himself be disappointed. 'He just hasn't walked past yet,' he told himself, watching the street even more closely. 'Any minute now.'

It was almost half an hour later when Andrew finally admitted defeat. Deciding that all was lost, and that he'd most likely never see Warren again for the rest of his life, Andrew leaned back in the chair and looked down at the table in front of him, a single empty coffee mug sitting on it bearing the green Starbucks logo. None of the staff had questioned him about his sitting in their shop for the entire day on the strength of a single order. Andrew wondered if he should leave them a tip or something.

He sighed, reached down to pick up his bag from the floor next to his chair, and turned to get up.

The crowd in the warm interior of the coffee shop had thinned since the lunchtime rush, but there were still enough people waiting to order and bustled around the little counter top, pouring out sugar and reading the Times, that Andrew almost didn't notice dark eyes watching him from across the room.

At first, he thought perhaps he'd just imagined it, but looking back immediately he found himself once again staring into the eyes of a dead man.

Warren stood on the other side of the shop, leaning back against the counter top, tilting his head slightly as he watched Andrew. Tiny shocks of electricity seemed to spark outward through Andrew's body as they regarded each other, but it was as someone passed between them, breaking the eye contact, that his heart leapt to his throat. The violent fear that once again he was going to be thwarted, that the passing stranger would provide cover for Warren to disappear again, wrenched Andrew up out of his seat and he took two steps forwards, trying to get there before Warren got away again.

Panic started to rise, and Andrew almost threw off the hand that caught his sleeve. As he looked up to tell whatever interfering do-gooder had got in his way to please get out of it, Andrew found himself instead looking straight up at Warren.

They stood there for a second or an eternity, and Andrew was torn between wanting to throw himself at Warren and never let go, and wanting to scream and shout and cry all the things that he'd been unable to say for the past three years, starting off and ending with, how could you leave me like that?

Instead they simply stood and stared.

Warren's brow crinkled slightly and he looked like he was on the brink of saying something but couldn't quite manage it. Andrew had learned, what seemed like decades ago, to wait and see and let these things develop at their own pace. Now, though, he realized that such a delay would only give Warren time to decide against saying whatever it was he wanted to say, and perhaps it would be best to hear it.

"What?" he asked, almost surprised that his voice managed to scrape out enough sound to form the word.

Warren looked at him, straight at him, and Andrew almost missed the words in the distraction of remembering that yes, of course, his eyes were that shade of brown.

"You .. you should go," Warren had said, in an uncharacteristically quiet, almost timid voice, and Andrew blinked at him, frowning slightly in confusion. He opened his mouth to ask why, but Warren shook his head, looking down, off to the side, away, anywhere but.

"No, you .. just trust me," more secure this time, Warren looks up at Andrew again. "You should go, right now. Just turn round and leave and .. and never come back here again."

Andrew felt like he was drowning, the urge to gasp for breath almost too strong to resist. "Do you want me to?" he asked, his voice scratchy and choked. It was like he was watching from somewhere far, far away as a scene played out in someone else's representation of his life. Not quite real, but still terribly, vitally, achingly important.

Warren looked down at his hand, still resting on Andrew's arm, before looking back up. He opened his mouth slightly, then closed it and simply settled for shaking his head.

Andrew shut his eyes and started to breathe again.

*

They left the coffee shop immediately. Words hadn't seemed unnecessary - it was just a given for both of them that Warren would lead and Andrew would follow him. Neither of them said a thing as they crossed town, Andrew's hand gripped tightly in Warren's as Warren pulled him through the crowds, across the park, through unfamiliar streets, up to an ordinary looking apartment building and in.

They stood side by side in the elevator, Warren occasionally staring up at the ceiling as if he was willing them to go faster. Andrew felt like he ought to say something, anything, but he couldn't make his brain move on from the overwhelming realisation that Warren was here, Warren was right here next to him, clinging to his hand as if he were the one who might float away into a whisper from a dream.

He'd just about moved on to noticing that Warren's hand seemed somehow cooler than he remembered it being, that it was more like touching Spike than a regular person, when the elevator reached its destination and Warren hauled him out through the doors so harshly his shoulder gave a little tug of pain.

Andrew stumbled down the hallway after him and, when Warren finally released his hand, stood, watching every line of Warren's body as he fished his keys out from the pocket of his dark gray coat and opened the apartment door.

Warren flicked the lights on as he entered, pushing the door open and giving Andrew his first glimpse of the place.

He didn't get much chance to take it in, however, as almost immediately he was clear of the door, Warren turned and pushed him back against it, shutting the door and pinning Andrew against it in one move, leaning in and kissing him with all the desperate, pent up frustration and pain, loss and intense love that Andrew thought only he'd been feeling for these past three years.

After that, everything blurred into a frantic wash of color and feeling, broken only by a collection of sharp-focus monotone images, individual seconds that seemed to stretch into decades - kicking one shoe off, pushing Warren backwards across the living room, crashing into a low table in the bedroom and mumbling a curse into Warren's mouth.

When Andrew woke up in a bed that was not his own later that evening, he could remember every second, every feeling, every thought, and every sensation, but he couldn't find a single word to describe any of it.

He decided not to bother, instead locating a pair of sweat pants on the chair by the window, slipping into them, and padding into the other room to find Warren.

Warren was sitting at the table, frowning at something on the screen of his laptop and eating a bowl of cereal. Andrew moved around behind him and leaned down slightly to slip his arms around Warren's shoulder, shutting his eyes and just breathing for a few seconds.

"Hey," Warren said through a mouthful of cereal. He reached back with the hand not holding the spoon and touched Andrew's cheek gently.

"Hey," Andrew mumbled back quietly.

Warren started typing something on the laptop, and Andrew stayed where he was, soaking up as much of the feeling of just being near to Warren as he could, until his back started to ache and he had to stand up again and stretch.

He headed into the kitchen area, found a mug and poured out some coffee, then went back and sat down at the table.

They sat for a few minutes, Warren typing and Andrew quietly sipping coffee and watching him, until Warren finished, sat back, considered his work for a second, then saved and shut the laptop lid.

He turned to Andrew and sighed, and when he opened his mouth Andrew expected him to say something terribly important and serious. Instead he indicated towards the kitchen. "There's, uh, food and stuff, if you want anything."

Andrew shook his head and they just sat and stared at each other.

Warren eventually looked away. "So I guess you want to know what happened," he said quietly, almost as if he hoped Andrew wouldn't quite hear him.

Andrew thought about it for a minute before standing up, walking around the table, and reaching out to take Warren's hands. Warren looked up at him, confused.

"Tell me later," Andrew said, pulling Warren up and kissing him.

*

Andrew lay on the couch with his head in Warren's lap, watching TV and sipping hot cocoa from a blue and white stripy mug. It had been years since he'd had hot cocoa. Andrew didn't remember having felt so calm, so at peace, in a long time. Not since before Sunnydale was destroyed, definitely. Maybe even longer than that.

"This is so stupid," Warren said, relaxed completely into the seat in a way he almost never had been before. No cares, no worries, just him and Andrew and TV and cocoa. "Why do people even watch this crap? It's so .. no, no don't tell him that, you stupid woman. Tell him the truth, for God's .. no, no!"

Andrew smiled and shut his eyes.

Warren sighed and ran his hand through Andrew's hair. "We should probably talk at some point," he said.

"We have been talking," Andrew said, keeping his eyes resolutely closed. "We talked earlier, and we're talking right now .."

"You know what I mean," Warren said, giving Andrew's hair a little tug. "Don't you wanna know why I'm, ya know, here?"

Andrew shrugged and sat up, taking another mouthful of cocoa. "It's not really important."

Warren stared then gave a surprised little smile.

"No, I mean, it doesn't matter," Andrew explained, putting the mug down on the coffee table and turning to face Warren. "It's just enough that you're here. I don't need to know why."

Something dark hovered behind Warren's eyes, but it didn't stay there long enough for Andrew to figure out what it was. Instead Warren reached up and stroked his face.

"Well, it is kinda important really," he said. "I think I owe you an explanation."

Andrew blinked in surprise, then nodded. "Uh, well, okay." He leaned back against the couch and waited.

"Okay, well .." Warren started. There were then a few seconds of silence as he shifted on the couch, getting comfortable. "It's really pretty simple."

"Uhuh," Andrew nodded, leaning over and resting his head on Warren's shoulder.

"See, it's like, when you're dead..?"

"You're still dead?" Andrew asked.

"Oh yeah, still dead." Warren held a hand up to Andrew's face, and Andrew realized that that must be why he felt so cold. "Anyway, there's this system. It's like purgatory. It might actually be purgatory. I'm not sure, 'cause that whole religious thing? I'm not so good on that."

Andrew tried not to stop listening. It was important really, he knew, but the sound of Warren's voice was just too much of a comforting lull when he was going on about something this complicated.

".. so they send you back, are you even listening to me?" Warren asked, in the slightly exasperated tone that Andrew realized he'd missed so much.

"Uh, mostly," he admitted, feeling a warm chill at just being able to see that flash of annoyance, the rolls of his eyes and the shaking of his head. Metaphors of floods and drowning sprang to his mind, but for once Andrew was too busy feeling them to put the words together. "So they sent you back?"

"Kinda. It's like a punishment thing. You get sent back and you have to do, kinda, good deeds and stuff. To make up for all the crap you did when you were alive. And you have to see everyone getting on with their lives, and know that you can't, and blah blah blah. There's this whole orientation video .."

"So it's like, Dead Like Me. Ooh, or Touched By An Angel?" Andrew sat up and tilted his head to one side. "You're like George. Only she helps people die, and you help them live?"

Warren opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped and thought about it. "Yeah, kinda like that," he admitted after a while. "Only .. not."

"Copyright," Andrew nodded sagely. Warren smiled and shook his head.

"Anyway, they figure out, like, appropriate punishments, depending on what you did and stuff. What kind of person you were."

Andrew reached over and took another mouthful of cocoa. "So, you ..?"

"Abused women." Warren rolled his eyes. "It's so predictable."

"Then that woman, the one across the street from .. uh, my building, she .."

"Her boyfriend's been hitting her for years. Kinda sad. I'm just supposed to, like, nudge her in the right direction, help her follow the right path."

"That's kinda cool," Andrew said, smiling and finishing his cocoa. "Helping people and stuff."

Warren shrugged. "It passes the time. It's not like I have a choice about it."

Andrew frowned. "But .. couldn't you just, you know, call all the people you used to know and say 'hey, not dead, let's throw a party'. Pretend like you were still alive?"

"There's rules about it," Warren said. "It's like, see everyone has a path, like .. you know in Xena? The Fates had that tapestry with a thread for each person? There are threads like that, and the Powers, they watch all the threads, so they know how everyone's lives are gonna go. When they send you back, they put you somewhere where they know you won't run in to anyone you knew when you were alive."

Andrew frowned again. "I think I've detected a flaw in your otherwise perfect plan," he said, running a hand over Warren's chest.

Warren was silent for a few seconds. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "Well, this wasn't meant to happen."

Andrew sat up. "Did the Powers mess up? I'm supposed to be in, like, Tulsa or something? And we weren't supposed to meet. But now we have, and .."

"Yeah, they messed up," Warren said forcefully. "They really messed up, and .." He looked up at Andrew and stopped. "You're not supposed to be here."

Andrew blinked. "I'm not .." He stopped, stared, a cold like death sinking down through his body. "Where am I supposed to be?" he asked quietly, already knowing the line that would follow.

"You .." Warren started, but shook his head and looked away.

Andrew stood suddenly, banging into the coffee table and pushing it out of the way with his leg, desperately trying to get away.

"I'm supposed to be dead?" he asked, desperate and frightened and confused. "That's it? I'm just meant to be dead?"

Warren looked up from the couch, sad and tired. He nodded slowly, and Andrew turned, wrenching himself away, heading blindly into the little kitchen area.

He looked around, blank. He knew he should be feeling something, but it was as if a million emotions were pushing and pushing at him, all at once, so none of them could get through to be felt, leaving him empty and confused.

Andrew picked up a plate from the counter and threw it at the wall. The smashing sounded good and the tiny prickle of guilt and fear and wicked pleasure reminded him that he was still alive, so he did it again. Then a mug. Then a glass.

Warren appeared at the door and walked in, stopping behind Andrew, but didn't try to stop him.

The pieces of glass lay on the floor, sharp and shining, and Andrew let his arms drop back to his sides as his breathing started to return to something approaching normal. He felt Warren reach out for him and turned away, pushing past him and out of the door.

He crossed the living room, grabbed his coat from the chair and headed to the door.

"Andrew," Warren called from across the room, and he turned back.

"No," he shouted, unable to hold back the furious anger. "No, I'm not gonna stay here and talk about this. I'm not .. I am not dead! If the Powers screwed things up, that's their stupid fault, but I'm not gonna just stay here and pretend like nothing's wrong. I'm not dead. I have a life, I have friends and an apartment and I'm gonna get a job and be happy and have future, and no stupid Powers are going to screw that up!"

"You can't leave," Warren told him, crossing the room and slowly approaching. "They .."

"I don't care," Andrew yelled. "I don't care about them. Maybe they did mess up, but it's their fault, not mine. I'm still alive!" He turned and reached for the door handle.

Warren looked away. "Not for long," he said, quietly.

Andrew turned back and stared. "You wouldn't," he whispered, not quite believing, even knowing everything he knew about Warren's past, that he would ever really hurt him.

Warren watched him, unmoving, unsmiling. "Already have," he said.

The world shifted as blood rushed to Andrew's head. He stared at Warren, not able to force the words to form.

"Poison," Warren answered anyway. "In the cocoa. Cliched, I know, but .." He shrugged.

"They sent you here," Andrew said, tears beginning to sting behind his eyes. "They sent you here to do this."

Warren nodded, and Andrew felt himself sink down to the floor, leaning back against the door. His vision blurred to a hazy half-image and he only just barely felt Warren crouching down next to him and pulling him into his arms.

"But why?" he asked. "I don't understand .."

"There's a balance," Warren said, and Andrew could hear him choking back tears. "It's all mapped out, how our lives are meant to go, how the world's meant to be. Who's meant to be in it. They made a mistake, something happened, I don't know what, but it changed things. You were never meant to live through the final battle in Sunnydale. You were meant to die there, but something went wrong and when they realized, they had to fix it. Everything was changing and .. It just had to be fixed. You had to be fixed."

"How could you do this to me?" Andrew asked, quietly, not bothering to wipe away the tears.

"How could I let anyone else?" Warren answered, running a hand through his hair and stroking his face.

"How long?" Andrew asked.

Warren checked his watch. "Few minutes maybe. It won't hurt. Just .. just let go. Like going to sleep."

Andrew nodded. "Stay with me?"

"Always," Warren told him, holding him tighter.

Andrew shut his eyes and rested his head against Warren's chest.

Warren held on to him until long after he was dead.