Disclaimer: I do not own Flashpoint or anything you recognize from it. I'm so happy all of you enjoyed the last chapter, thank you so very much. I also made sure not to tell anyone how many chapters left because I wanted the cliffhanger to be even more daunting and cruel. But the end is Chapter 34. I also want to maybe go a little more in-depth about Miller and the bathroom thing. Miller is a genius and the only time he was felled was by Addison in the ruins of the bathroom and being so narcissistic and bat crap crazy, it only makes sense that he'd be so obsessed about bathrooms and wanting to bring her down in one. I hope that clears it up, thank you.

I'm not afraid of death. It's the stake one puts up in order to play the game of life. — Jean Giraudoux

Please enjoy and Please Review!

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Metamorphosis

The team stood outside the trailer and their parked vehicles, past the yellow tape but still half an acre away from the house, it had been easy enough for them to vacate the premises. The mansion that Addison was stuck in had been the only one for a few acres, so they hadn't had to worry about that many onlookers.

Jules had her arms wrapped around Parker's midriff, quietly crying as she stared at the house when the first bomb exploded, glass spraying from the second floor; she could feel the heat from where they were all standing, she just prayed that Addie would be okay.

She heard a sob and glanced towards Ed to see Sara still clinging to him and sobbing Addison's name out. Sam stood besides her, her quiet comfort, Wordy and Spike stood a few feet away from them, bracing themselves but refusing to look away. She would never forget the way they stood, like two comrades watching their fellow soldier be buried into the ground. She bit back a sob as yet another bomb rang out, feeling the bile rise from her throat and pushed away from Parker to stumble away from everyone. Jules didn't want to be touched, she didn't want anything: she wanted to succumb to the pain, to run into the burning building and scream until the world knew her anguish. She gagged a few times, the tears pouring freely down her face, "Please make it, Addie." She whispered into the wind.

Ed held tighter to Sara as the poor woman grasped his vest in her hands and sobbed, "Shh, she'll make it." He croaked, his throat refusing to function when the ground shook with the next explosion. He swallowed, ignoring the need to brush away the tears that betrayed his composure: she had to survive; there was no other option for him.

Sam bent down and slowly pulled Jules into his arms, he didn't care if anyone was watching, she needed him and that was all that mattered. He held her tight as they both looked away when a third bomb exploded, he felt as though someone was squeezing his heart and his lungs were constricting against the acrid smell of the fire burning the house. Addie was like a sister to him and it physically pained him to know that she was still in that burning building when he couldn't do anything to save her.

Parker swallowed and dialled for the EMT and Fire crew again, he was impatient but he refused to focus on the dropping of his stomach when the third bomb rocked the ground. He felt the weight of another life settle on his shoulders but he refused to let them droop, she was his little girl and he felt as though he had failed his own child. She was a fighter and he would expect nothing but her survival, even if he had to drag her from the ground and revive her himself.

Wordy wiped haphazardly at his eyes and forced himself to watch, if he looked away, he would feel like he wasn't doing her justice. And if he could somehow focus on what was left of the bathroom and will her to live, he wouldn't even blink.

Spike bit down on his lip and squeezed his hands tighter into fists, he couldn't breathe, and he couldn't even think about anything but the buzzing of his ears amiss the white crashing silence of shock. He never even told her—no, he wouldn't think about any of that. He would only think about getting her out of the burning wreck, he had to get her. He took a step towards the burning house but was pulled back, "No, Spike." Wordy quietly said as yet another bomb rocked the rubble. He saw red: when he got his hands on Miller…there would be nothing left. "Please, Addie. Please come home." He whispered to himself.

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She covered her mouth with her shaking hand and coughed, she was suffocated in the greasy waves of the acrid burning smoke, feeling it scar its way into her lungs. The tub had bent itself on each impact of the explosions and she highly doubted it could survive a few more. It acted as a barrier from most of the bombs but it also had become a coffin. But she still couldn't move, she had counted way more than four canisters of the bombs: she didn't think the house, the tub, nor her could handle anymore though. Even though her skin felt like it was peeling away from her body, her eyes watering in the burning grey plumes, she had to keep living. What had seemed like a great idea at the time would probably be her very real demise, the metal was cocooning her from the crashing of the ceiling and the shocks of the bombs but she couldn't take the heat. The heat and the smoke would cook her alive if she didn't do something about it. She was past worrying about the emotional damage of her team: her survival was instinctual.

She slowly crawled; pushing the tub to what she hoped was the door…or whatever was left of the door but she was disorientated and even the floor burned her hands. She felt the metal tub slide and she grunted past the pain, not bothering to waste whatever was left of her air supply when she felt the edge of her tub hit something. She had counted the seconds between each bomb and waited for the fourth one to rock the tub back against the wall, the air getting hotter and hotter for her to breathe. She kicked the tub off of her and knew she only had twenty seconds to run as far and as fast as possible.

She heard the groaning from what was left of the structure of the burning ruins and ran through what she hoped was the door. She counted aloud, running through the rubble, tripping over a burning wooden beam and crawled under it, her back burning anew. She ignored the searing burns, the smell of her hair and her clothes burning, running past the burning wood and plaster, and tripped once again but this time at the head of the very large staircase. She stuttered out 'twenty-three' and the entire house shook, the shockwave throwing her down the many, many steps. She covered her head and tried to stop herself from falling further, trying to grab the railing with her bleeding and burnt hand, her weight and gravity working against her but instead felt something give. She forced her eyes open, hearing the sickening crack from something breaking in her hand, the greasy, tar slick waves of pain washing over her, threatening to drown her in it. Despite her better judgement, she let go of the railing, her hand unable to grasp any longer and fell the rest of the way down the very large staircase, hitting her head on the last step. She lay sprawling in the ruins of the foyer and stared at the ceiling, her body shuddering in constant pain. But if she survived four TF bombs, severe burning, her skin peeling from her body until she couldn't tell what was muscle, blood, grit, dirt, and skin: she damn well was going to make it out of this rubble. Even if she died afterwards: she would win the game.

She shoved herself into a sitting position, cradling her broken hand and forced herself to stand up, wavering on her feet; she quickly glanced around herself and cursed. She was surrounded by fire and rubble; she couldn't even see a foot away from her, the ash floating in the air, like a pyro's perfect Christmas. She heard something crash and stumbled forward, screaming in agony when something very heavy and very hot landed on her back, "No, no, no." She whimpered, fighting against the burning beam. She fought against the suffocation, the sticky waves of pain, trying to unzip her vest and wrestle her way out from under the beam.

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Jules pushed away from Sam when her ears recognised the sounds of the both the paramedics and the fire fighters. She watched through a narrow scope of grief and denial as Parker ran forward to meet and brief them on the occurrence.

"Let me go!" Spike shouted, wrestling against Wordy and Ed.

"No, there's nothing you can do, let them do their jobs. You're only going to be in their way and hinder them from helping her." Ed quietly said.

Jules pushed her way through and stood in front of a wild, grief stricken Spike, "Mike, let them help her now." She said quietly, reaching out and grasping his fist in both of her hands. They all stood witness and hoped against all odds that she would survive.

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Addison felt something cool on her head and groaned, it was either an animal peeing on her or she was dead, because that cool water felt so good against her skin. She reached down to turn on the microphone but realised it had melted to her belt, she slowly crawled, wincing when she felt her skin tear and shred as she crawled over broken glass and shards of wood and ash. She could see the blinding light in a tunnel of burning darkness and she crawled towards the sounds of what sounded like people shouting. She was beyond thinking, beyond words: all that mattered was getting out alive.

She had a few feet left to the threshold of the house and raised a broken hand and waved it uselessly, "Over here." She shouted, her voice burning and coarse from the damage it sustained.

"We see something." A shout and the static and buzz of a walkie-talkie. "We've got her."

She felt gloved hands under her armpits that pulled her away and out of the rubble, "Stay with us, sweetheart." She heard a gentle voice say.

"Sweet Jesus, look at her. It's a wonder if she survives." She heard a muffled voice emanate from the yellow creatures to her right say.

She whimpered when some demon prodded her side, "Don't hurt me." She muttered, gods, she never thought hell would be something like this.

"Let's get her away from this." A voice ordered and she wondered if angels really did exist.

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Spike squinted as he watched the fire fighters begin to spray water and the EMT's looking around their feet for her. "Come on, Addie. Come on." He ordered under his breath.

"We see something."

A ripple went through the team and they all stared at the rubble, "Addison!" Sara shouted, making a run towards the house but was ripped back by Wordy.

"We've got her."

Spike didn't remember running, but he ran with vigour and sprinted towards the huddle of rescue workers, "Where is she?" He asked, his eyes bouncing around the melee of rubble until he saw what he thought was her. "Oh god, Addie." He brokenly said, his knees buckling when he spied a charred, bloody Addie.

Wordy came up and pulled him up, "Is she—" He swallowed again and hefted Spike to his feet, it was difficult to even say but Wordy forced himself to, "Is she…is she alive?" He asked quietly.

The EMT frowned, "She is for now."

Parker nodded, slightly out of breath: not from the sprinting but from the sheer terror of the day, "We'll meet you there."