Disclaimer: - I do not own Without a Trace or its characters, CBS, WB etc own them/

A huge, huge thanks to anmodo for betaing this fic, without her this fic would not be possible.

Save me from this darkness

Danny quickly followed the SWAT team down the stairs into the depths of the basement. Jack had to be here, they were running out of time, he just had to be here. As he entered the basement, he saw the silhouette of a figure similar to Jack's stature. A flashlight beam passed over the figure, and he could see it was Jack. He subconsciously alerted the rest of the team through his radio. He swallowed hard, when he got a good look at Jack. He looked like he had been through hell and back. He was vaguely aware of requesting for the medics, but he felt strangely detached from his surroundings.

"J-Jack, are you all right?" Danny asked. 'Stupid question' he thought as a mad woman had just tortured him.

"I'm fine," Jack replied in the same gruff voice, although it was slightly weaker than usual. As soon as he stood he knew it had been a bad idea, as he felt himself sway and his knees begin to buckle. He threw his arms out to try and stop his rapid descend to the cold, hard ground. It was a subconscious natural reaction, unfortunately his brain had forgotten about his recently impaled hand. White-hot pain shot through his body. His desperate flight against the blackness was quickly lost as he fell to the ground.

Danny stood in stunned shock as Jack fell forward. He forced his body to react and managed to catch him before he hit the ground. There was so much blood. It was everywhere, the smell invaded his nostrils. It was cold and dark. He was alone, helpless while Jack was dying. He closed his eyes and opened them again. But he wasn't in the cold, dark basement; he was suddenly back there – on that cold, wet May night. Martin was dying and there was nothing he could do. Where was the ambulance? He pressed down on the chest wound, in attempt to slow the bleeding, but it still seeped through his fingers. It stained his jacket, his shirt… it was everywhere. He started to hyperventilate through panic and fear. He looked down again at Martin, but he found himself staring at his mother's body. He was eleven years old again. The smell of burning rubber and engine invaded his senses. He was pleading for her to not leave him, but all he could see was blood. He couldn't hear what she was saying, he tried to concentrate on her lips, but he just saw the blood she was coughing up. He closed his eyes as he tried to escape the flashbacks, but there was no escape. He saw Rafi with a needle in his arm, then Sam, then Viv… why were they haunting him? Why wouldn't they leave him alone?

"Danny? Danny!" Jack shouted as he forced his pain and dizziness aside. He reached up and gently tapped Danny's cheek with his good hand. "Come on kid. Its okay Danny, you're safe, I'm fine Martin's fine. Danny, you're in New York," he said as he continued to try and pull Danny out of the episode. He had seriously suspected Danny suffered from PTSD, but had done nothing about it. Danny was suffering; he was locked in his own terrifying world, full of flashbacks. Using the wall for support, he forced himself to sit up. "Danny it's okay, it's me, Jack," he reassured. He placed a gently and supportive hand on Danny's shoulder. "Danny, just open your eyes for me."

He found a smile as Danny slowly opened his eyes. "That's it, Danny. I'm okay, so is everyone else."

Danny shivered and slowly looked around. He wasn't in the cold wet intersection, but in the basement with Jack. And Jack wasn't dead. He wasn't covered in blood. Sure he was hurt, but he wasn't dying. He looked at Jack before quickly looking away. He felt embarrassed; he didn't deserve Jack's concern or pity. Jack was the one that was hurt, not him. Jack was the one that needed help, not him. He just needed to deal with it, just like he had been doing throughout his life. He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. "U-mm, the medics should be here soon."

Jack frowned as he watched Danny's face become an emotionless mask. He sighed; he guessed it was Danny's way of dealing… of operating. "Danny, are you all right?" he asked, his voice full of concern.

"I'm fine Jack, but you're not," Danny said, as he produced a weak smile. He looked up and saw the medics coming down the stairs. "We're here," he shouted, affectively ending the conversation between him and Jack. He didn't want Jack to think that he was weak. He couldn't talk about it to anyone, especially Doctor Harris. If he talked to her, she would think he was crazy and he would lose his job. He stood and backed up a little to give the medics some room. No, it was better this way. It would be better for everyone if he dealt with his stupid little problems by himself.

Jack frowned again as he watched Danny start to emotionally close himself off. He had to talk to Danny, he had to make him realise that none of this was his fault. He knew the longer he left it, the harder it would be to get Danny to open up or even admit he needed help. He glared at one of the medics as they stuck an IV needle into his hand. "No drugs," he growled. "I need a clear head."

"But sir…"

"Fine, antibiotics, but nothing else. No painkillers, I need a clear head," he growled again. As the medics prepared to move him out of the cold, dank basement he looked around for Danny. "Danny, ride with me, I need to talk to you about the case," he said in a much softer tone.

"Jack, it's all right. We've got it from here," Danny replied quickly, not looking Jack in the eye. He couldn't look Jack in the eye; he didn't want him to see the weakness. He didn't want him to see how close he was to breaking down.

"I just need to tie up some loose ends while they are still fresh in my mind," Jack replied softly.

Danny slowly nodded and followed Jack out of the basement. He found himself updating the team, when they got out into the alley, he was vaguely aware of getting into the ambulance and riding to the hospital. It was though time had stood still. The next thing he knew, he was sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair waiting for news on Jack. Viv, Martin and Sam all looked fairly relaxed; after all, Jack wasn't seriously injured – well not in a life threatening way. Elena was joking about something to do with the amount of money Jack had lost, and how he had been more careful with it than the government. What was their problem? What was her problem? Didn't they understand what Jack had been through? Did they not realise how shocking it had been to see Jack in that state. How could they be so relaxed? He just wanted to be alone; he didn't want to deal with people right now. He wanted to get in his car and drive hard and fast around the mountain roads. Or maybe go rock climbing, not that he had ever done it before. He just want to get rid of this feeling… the flashbacks… he just wanted to get away from it all, maybe forever.

"Piss off, Elena," he yelled and quickly got to his feet. "Have you ever thought about anyone else apart from yourself?"

"Danny what the hell are you talking about? How dare you be so rude," Elena counted fiercely.

"You don't understand, none of you fucking understand," Danny yelled. The darkness cleared, he looked around, and he looked at their shocked faces, as he tried to figure out what just happened. He knew by the way they were looking at him it was his fault. He looked franticly around for a means of escape and bolted towards it.

"Danny, I want you to apologise," Elena yelled after the bolting figure. "Don't run away from me!"

"Elena, let him go. He will apologise, he just needs some time to himself," Viv said calmly.

He took a huge lungful of air, once he reached the roof. He could felt his façade rapidly falling apart. He needed to kept it together, at least until he had handed his resignation. They could see the cracks. Why did he have to yell at Elena like that? Sure, she had been insensitive and annoying but he should've just ignored her. He walked to the roof's edge and stared down at the city below… at the people laughing on their way to a bar… at the people hurrying home to loved ones. If he stepped off this ledge, who would miss him? He had no family or loved ones to go home to. The team, well they only worked together. Sure they may feel a little sad if he did, even miss him a little, but soon he would be replaced and they would quickly forget him. Elena would clear his stuff from his desk, and joke about his motorbike models. His stuff might even be put into storage, and collect dust before it was thrown away. He peered over the edge; forty floors his death would be quick and painless, and he probably would be dead before he hit the ground. The shrill of his cell phone, pulled him out of his dark, depressing thoughts.

"Hey man."

"Hey," Danny said in a shaky voice.

"Jack's okay and he's asking for you," Martin said. He paused for a moment, before continuing. "We're all going to head back, if that's all right with you."

"U-mm, Yeah, sorry that's fine," Danny said as he shook his head, in attempt to clear his thoughts.

"Are you sure you're all right Danny?" Martin asked concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine, it's just been a really long day that's all," Danny said, hoping Martin would believe him.

"I know, man, thank God its over. Well I'll see you tomorrow," Martin replied, not quite believing him.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow. Bye," Danny said as he ended the call. He stared back over the city. Tomorrow, he thought, what would it hold? He didn't know how many more days like today he could cope with. He didn't know how many more sleepless, nightmare plagued nights he could cope with. He sighed; he would see Jack and then see what he would do.

A few minutes later he was standing outside Jack's room and knocked on the door. When he heard the familiar gruff voice, he entered. He was relived to see Jack, didn't look quite as bad as he did in that basement. He stood still and looked at Jack for a moment, as he tried to read his body language. What had the team told him? Had they told him about his outburst? "You look better?" he found himself saying.

"Thanks," Jack replied. "What about you? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Jack, why wouldn't I be?" Danny said as he hovered by the door.

"You can talk to me. Anything you say will always stay between you and me. You know that don't you?" Jack asked in a gentle voice, as he tried to calm the obviously nervous Danny.

"I know Jack and thanks, but I really have to go now," Danny said as he desperately eyed the door.

"Danny, you need to talk to someone."

"About what? I'm fine," Danny almost shouted, as he started to pace the room.

"About what happened in the basement, about everything that is affecting you," Jack replied calm, as he watched Danny pace – although he wished he wouldn't, he was giving him a headache.

"You think I'm crazy. I'm not crazy, Jack. And I don't know what you are talking about. Nothing happened in the basement. You must have imagined it," Danny said a panicked tone.

"I know you're not crazy, I never thought you were. But I do think you are suffering from PTSD," Jack suggested gently. "It's not your fault; you just need help dealing with it, that's all. I don't want to loose one of the best agents in the bureau and my friend. Please Danny."

Danny stopped pacing and stared at Jack. He could feel his façade cracking. PTSD, he thought, no he couldn't have that, and he just couldn't. They bureau would treated him like a mad man and throw him onto the streets. At least doing things his way, he could leave with a shred of dignity. "I've gotta go," he said as he bolted out of the room.

He did not stop until he was several blocks from the hospital. He just kept on walking. He shivered as the bitter November air bit into him. The clap of thunder made him jump and he felt his heart increase as it started to pour with rain. He closed his eyes and he tried to chase away the demons that hunted him. He shivered again; it was so dark and cold. He found a doorway and curled up into a ball, covering his ears, he just wanted them to leave him alone. He could hear their screams, he could smell their blood, and he could feel the life leaving their bodies. He could hear the gunfire and squealing tires. He stared at his hands in horror; he could swear they were covered in blood. He tried to scrub them clean, but nothing was working. It was his fault; all this spilled blood was his fault. The sounds became louder; he stood up, but found he was terrifyingly uncoordinated. He stumbled into people; he could hear their yells and curses. But they were right; he was a good for nothing drunk. Maybe if he had a drink… or two… or three… or a few bottles, he could forget for while. If he drank enough, he may never wake up and right now that never seemed so appealing. He started to walk towards a bar, but they were full of happy, joking people. Why couldn't they leave him in peace?

He walked for hours, never knowing where he was going or where he was. He finally found himself walking into a building, it was warm with harsh white lights, but it did not stop him. He walked up series of stairs, not wanting to feel trapped in some mechanical, airless metal box. He stopped once he reached his subconscious destination – Jack's room. Why was he here, he asked himself? Jack thought he was crazy. He sighed; at least it was warm and dry. He would sit here for a while, while he wrote his resignation letter. He could write it, leave it on the bedside table and leave – forever. He would be no loss for the team; he doubted they would even remember him in a few months. He collapsed into the chair and started to write. He would only write a few words, before he would start to madly cross them out. He felt his body protesting, but he couldn't sleep. He was too afraid to sleep. He was terrified that if he closed his eyes, he would wake up 'there' with blood on his hands. It happened every night; the only difference was who was dying in his arms.

Jack groaned as he felt himself begin to wake up. The first thing he was going do as soon as he left the hospital was find Danny. He was going to make sure that he got through that thick skull of his that he wasn't crazy and that was okay to ask for help. That he could get through this, that he didn't deserve to live with the terrible flashbacks and nightmares. He frowned as he turned his head to the person in question fast asleep in the chair next to him. Danny's tall frame looked incredibly uncomfortable curled up in the chair. "Danny," he whispered.

After getting no response, he slowly and carefully eased himself out of the bed, hissing in pain as he walked across the room. Picking up the blanket on the empty bed, he re-crossed the room and gently draped it over Danny – tucking it around his shoulders.

He was just about to get back into the bed, when something caught his eye. He frowned at the pad of paper Danny was holding. He carefully took it from Danny and examined it. It was covered in writing, all of which was crossed a part from one sentence. A single tear rolled down his face. He reached forward and ran a gentle hand through Danny's hair. "Of course I will," he whispered to the sleeping figure.

He stared at the sentence again – 'Save me from this darkness'. Finally Danny had asked for help, and he wasn't going to abandon him like everyone else had in his life – including himself. No. Not this time.

Fin.