Everyone's been asking about Addison, so I thought the least I could do before I left was give you a (pretty long) chapter from her POV. So this chapter is Addison, and only Addison.

I'm really trying to convey how strong Addison is, because I believe that she's an incredibly strong person. I'm also trying to convey how alone she feels. But I don't think Addison is one to roll over and play dead. I think she's a fighter, and even better, she can think.

Also, I think that she has a bit of an internal battle she needs to win before she can start dealing with the other things going on in her life. That's what this situation does. It forces her to begin to fight that battle.

Rough. Everything is rough. His skin burns yours every time he changes direction, dragging you down the hall, leaving red marks on your skin. The seams of your scrubs chafe your arms. Your scrub cap, miraculously still tied securely to your head, rubs against your neck. The waistband of your scrubs is poking right into your hip, probably bruising it. Everything is hot, rough, painful.

And yet, somehow, you're in your element, amidst the pain. You can think clearly, even though your body fights your mind every step of the way. The panic is rising in your chest, but you're keeping it down.

Right now, your mind and instinct are telling you that he doesn't know where he's going. Seattle Grace is a huge hospital. You're not making it any easier for him. You let yourself go limp in his arms the second you got outside the OR. He's dragging a dead weight, and by the looks of it, he's not in the greatest shape.

It's not exactly comfortable, but finally he opens a door to an exam room and shoves you inside. You aren't ready, and you hit the ground hard. When you look up, the gun is still pointed at you.

"You got a name?" he asks. You stay silent, blue eyes having a silent staring match with his brown ones. You're still sprawled on the floor, and you pray that he can't see your I.D., which is hanging on your front pocket.

You win. He looks away and pulls out his cell phone. And you see an opportunity. The first thing you do is grab your name badge and slide it into your pocket. You don't want him to know who you are. The second thing you do is reach for your pager and press the history button. The first name that comes up is a nurse's. You type the code and send it. Then you send another one to the second name on the list. It isn't much, but you want them to know at least that something isn't right. At the same time, you catch snippets of the phone conversation. Luckily, this man is the kind of person who has to turn away every time he has a phone call.

"Jared? It's Ron. Where the hell is he? I don't know! I'm in an exam room…the number on the door was 12. Yes, but…no…yes. I don't know…I walked in on some surgery. Some baby. Yeah. Just one. I don't know…some redhead. She won't talk. Yeah. Okay."

Sensing the end of the conversation, you hide the pager under your scrub top. When he turns around, you're sitting there in the same position you were when he turned around.

"Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. We're going to be here for a little while." He sits down on the exam table and you don't move, even though the drawer handles are uneven and hard against your back.

You try to remember where you were on 9/11. You had been late to work because the coffee machine had been broken at Starbucks, but you still managed to get everything started on time. Your patient hadn't shown up. You actually hadn't done any surgery that day. Everyone was put on standby, but hardly anyone was brought in. You remember the flutter of fear you had when you realized that it was real. You remember running outside to see the smoke. Even from where you were, you saw it.

You remember the rush of relief you had when you saw Derek at work. He'd worked late that night. The three of you – you, Derek, Mark - sat together, watching the news. And the entire time, you couldn't help but think about the people inside…how they must feel…what they were doing.

And now, here you are, six years later. You're living the nightmare.

"Ron?" The door bursts open, and a man walks in. You realize immediately that he must be the head of this…whatever it was. Jared? That was his name, right? His eyes fall on you. "Is that her?"

"Yes," said Ron.

Jared looks at you and shakes his head. "You've just complicated everything."

"But I…"

"No! We had a plan. Get everyone out, get Harry, retrieve the virus, and release it. And now that we have a hostage, they're going to figure it out and start trying to come in. We're not negotiating, Ron! We don't need to. The virus will do that on its own. And now that you have her…" He jabs his thumb at you. "…we're going to have to keep looking over our shoulder."

"But I thought…"

"What?"

"She could help us…find…Harry," he says quickly.

Your mind races. Who is Harry? You think back to when you were looking at the board. There was the surgery before yours…emergency, you remember. It was Burke. Patient's name…Harry Bardwell.

Finding Harry means finding the virus. You can't let that happen.

"Hey!" Jared's calling you. You look up, startled. It's not because of his shout, but the fact that your hip is vibrating.

"I need to use the bathroom," you say.

Jared shoots Ron a look that clearly says, "Look what you've gotten us into."

"If you show us Harry, I'll take you to the bathroom," says Ron. Jared rolls his eyes.

"Fine," you reply. You get up slowly, trying to ignore the fact that both of their guns are on you now. A plan begins to formulate in your mind.

Ron takes you by the arm and you purposely lead him to the bathroom in the locker room so you can take your purse out of your locker. With an apologetic look (you're pretty sure why they think you need your purse), you retreat into the bathroom, turning on the water so you can dump the contents of your purse into the sink without them hearing. Your nail file is in there, along with scissors. You pass everything else over, taking those two and putting them in your shoe.

Then you glance at your pager, thanking whoever was on duty in heaven today that you had put it on vibrate. Three pages. One each from Derek, Mark, and Burke. And another one from a nurse.

CODE YELLOW

It doesn't make sense. You put everything back into your purse and check your watch. You have maybe two minutes to figure out what's going on.

Obviously, these people only cared about finding this Harry with the virus, and they hadn't found him yet, or else you'd probably be dead. They evacuated the whole hospital. They couldn't care less about everyone inside. So why a mass hostage situation? Mass meant more than one, and even if they knew you were missing, you were only one.

The last you knew, Burke was still with Harry. The fact that you got all three pages within seconds of each other makes you suspicious.

What if they were the mass hostage situation?

But four people weren't enough for it to be a mass hostage situation, was it?

Your phone is lying in the sink. If the three of them are hostage, calling them could be fatal. As if answering your thought, your phone goes off, vibrating in your hand.

You promise yourself that if you ever get out of here, you're never taking anything off vibrate mode ever again.

You check the I.D. It's Mark. You go to the furthest corner of the bathroom.

"Mark? I don't have much time."

"Addison? Where are you? What's going on?"

"Where are you?"

"We're operating on the Harry guy…he has a virus inside him," he says. "I don't have much time either. It's cracked and we don't know if the virus is going to be stable. We just wanted you to know, since you're the only other one who can do anything right now."

So all three of them were together,

"Mark?" Your voice cracks, and you don't know why. You were doing so well at keeping everything in.

"I have to go, Addison. Hopefully I'll talk to you later."

"Okay." It's a whisper. But maybe it's better if no one knows. He hangs up, and you put the phone back in your purse. Your two minutes are up anyway. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror. You strike yourself as quite fragile, and it surprises you. If you died today, this is how you'd be remembered. Somewhere inside you, tears are trying to fight their way out, but you keep them in. Everything depended on your ability to control yourself.

Still, you never thought you'd be one to die alone.

You pick up your purse, feeling the sharp edge of the nail file against your foot, take one last look, turn off the faucet, and leave the bathroom. Ron is waiting for you. You don't see Jared. Ron lets you put the purse back into your locker, and to your relief, he doesn't look to see if you're carrying anything.

"Alright, sweetheart. I held up my end of the bargain, and now you're going to lead me to Harry."

You nod, slowly, even though you feel like you're most likely walking to your death.

Let me know what you think, please!!!