Hey there! Sorry it took so long to update. If anyone would help me with my awful Spanish, it would be much appreciated. I haven't watched the show for a while, so the voices might be a little off, but oh well...

Just in case you couldn't tell from my awful dialogue, I do not own Without a Trace or anything involved with it. I do not write for it, and I never will. This is purely for entertainment and is otherwise original.

Enjoy!

3.1. Six Feet Under...

As Sam climbed the last step of the stairs to Martin's apartment, she stopped, shifting the grocery bag on her hip so as to make it more comfortable to carry. Jack had told her to take Martin some soup; she'd listened, and she'd taken the liberty of adding a package of saltines. And some tea. And coffee grounds with sweetener. And wine. Now her calves were regretting this.

Again she stopped in front of his door to shift the load so as to have one hand free. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and knocked.

At the touch, the door swung open to reveal the shattered apartment. Furniture was overturned; there were papers scattered all over the floor, and the desk and bookshelf had been smashed. And in the middle of it all lay the cherry on the sundae; a dark pool of semi-dried blood.

The bag dropped, and the wine bottle smashed upon impact with the floor.

3.2. ...and Three Steps Back

Through some tricks and connections, it was only two when Danny finally got into the office. It seemed at first like an average day, the usual balance of work and socialization. He was about to interrupt that balance.

Vivian was the first to see him, her hands laden with papers and files that she discarded upon seeing him. As she approached, her eyes jumped to the bandage taped over where his head had slammed into the dash.

"Oh my god. Are you okay?"

He smiled as he stopped in front of her. "I'm fine. Better than I look, at least."

Looking him up and down, she frowned slightly. "You shouldn't be here. If Jack catches you-"

"I'm fine, Viv. Really."

"That's not what I mean. Sam went to Martin's apartment, and it's torn apart." She sighed. "He's really gone."

Danny's stomach turned to ice as she continued.

"Look, you should go home and get some rest. We've got the father flying in from D.C. He won't want to see you, take my word for it. Besides, Jack'll send you home anyway."

The man in question turned the corner just then. Danny stared. It looked like he'd aged another ten years in a few hours. Catching sight of Danny, he stopped, closed his eyes, and opened them again, as if he were expecting him not to be there anymore. It didn't work. Resuming his brisk walk, he Grabbed Danny by the arm and took him aside.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to do my job, Jack."

"Your job right now is to stay out of trouble. We don't know yet who or what they really wanted, you or Martin. There's a detail waiting for you at your apartment, and that's where you need to stay."

Jack turned to leave. "Come on, Jack, don't do this to me—"

"Do what? Make sure I don't lose another agent today?" He sighed in frustration and rubbed his forehead. "Just go home, Danny."

"But Jack, I can help. I still need to give my statement, look at mug shots—"

Jack spun around and pushed him against the wall. Danny stared into angry eyes with astonishment. "My patience is wearing thin. Go home and get your head straight, and then we can talk."

Releasing him, Jack strode off towards the office, leaving Danny to collect his thoughts alone.