Disclaimer: I wish I owned Without A Trace, especially all the men, but I don't.
He pressed the cold glass to his lips, swallowing its contents with a shiver. Danny Taylor slammed the glass down onto the table and leaned back against the couch. The room was spinning and he wanted to vomit, but he loved the feeling of forgetting. With every glass downed he felt a little less pain and a little less guilt from each victim. You can't help them all, Jack's advice echoed over and over in his mind. He closed his eyes and passed out, the image of himself falling into darkness burning inside his head.
Danny awoke to a throbbing inside his head. He silently thanked Jack for giving him the week off to sort out his issues as he sat up and stared wildly around. In front of him lay two empty bottles of vodka and a cracked glass on the floor. He shook his head as his insides burned with guilt. He had given this life up many years ago, ashamed to be at the same level as his father once was.
After forcing down breakfast he changed into the cleanest clothes he could find; grey sweatpants and navy t shirt. Danny opened the door to his apartment and stepped into the hallway. He was barefoot and saw his reflection in the glass of the fire extinguisher box. His hair was tousled and he looked like hell. He tiptoed down the hallway, making sure not to attract any attention, not wanted to be seen in this state. After reaching the stairs he realized the majority of his apartment residents would be at work or school, so he descended down the first flight of stairs in calm and stepped onto the floor beneath his own.
He had never been on any other floor but his, as he usually used the fire escape ladder to enter and exit his home. It was quicker, and that way he could avoid any neighbours on his bad days. He stared for a second before realizing his goal was to reach the mailboxes on the ground floor, retrieve his mail, and get back to his apartment undetected. It would be difficult to explain to anyone why an FBI agent had the week off.
He was slowly walking down the stretch of hallway, feeling the cold cement floor beneath his feet. As he walked by one apartment, he noticed the door was slightly ajar, loud music coming from inside. He stopped dead and cocked his ear to the door as the sounds of someone yelling and smashing something could be heard. Chills ran down his spine as he realized the noise was all too familiar; his childhood, his father's reckless drinking, and abuse.
'Just get the fuck out of here now! I don't want them fucking people showing up again looking for your worthless ass!'
Danny detected an accent in the voice, similar to his own. He quickly stepped away from the door wall as he heard footsteps approach.
A boy who looked to be about fifteen opened the door and stepped into the hallway. His hair and eyes were dark brown, and Danny noticed a striking resemblance to his own self around that age. The boy was definitely South American, he guessed from either his native Cuba or Columbia. He wore a navy t shirt and dark jeans, and Danny noticed a pink scar running above his right eyebrow and sporting a fresh black eye.
He stared at Danny with narrowed eyes as he reached behind him and closed the door. His right arm revealed many drug tracts that ran from his wrist down his forearm. The boy noticed Danny staring at his arm and quickly pressed it to his side.
'Yeah, you look like you're in the condition to judge me.'
His accent was from Danny's own country. He shook his head and walked past him to the fire escape at the far end of the hallway.
He watched as the boy descended down the fire escape and out of sight. The resemblance to himself as a teen was striking.