Andrew clutches at James’ jumper as if to shake him awake - futile as he’d realize that would be if he were thinking clearly. One disaster piles onto another, though - Andrew doesn’t have time to have any thoughts beyond ‘oh god, James’ before something that feels like a ton of bricks hits him, hard, and sends him sprawling.
The sight of James’s inert body toppling over the edge seems to make something snap inside of Andrew. He chokes, unable to breathe for a second, and then he’s somehow on his feet, screaming James’s name. He’s hit again from behind, this time by a Torchwood agent who tackles him to the ground - and without whom Andrew probably would have followed James over the edge. Andrew struggles, rendered irrational by the image of James disappearing over the edge that’s playing out over and over in his mind.
He’s eventually manhandled into one of the vans while the field agents clean up. There are terse questions from the commander of the unit and sympathetic (if confused) looks from a few agents he’s worked with before, but little registers.
James is gone. It’s impossible.
But it’s true.