Notes: This is an addition...back track actually of Shooting on the Green. I thought the story was finished, but apparently I was wrong.

I'm not sure this is really a story in itself, it is more just snapshots of frozen moments of time. I have a pile of my own—standing with my brother waiting to be taken up to the ICU to hold his son's hand as he died and watching in numbed, disconnected bewilderment as the second plane slammed into the second Tower on a muted TV screen in the hospital lobby; my sister's voice, fragile and disembodied over the phone, saying, "Ben drowned," with the sounds of my children laughing and playing outside in the sun and me standing there in gathering darkness gasping and trying to take in the finality of those words —I have no idea why I am sitting here developing someone else's, but here they are.

Like most snapshots, they are somewhat out of focus and fuzzy…I'm leaving them more or less the way they came out of the dark room of my mind, because moments like these are too painful to dwell on. It could be over the next few months I'll dig them out and try to clean them up a bit, but for now…I just want to put them in the box, close the lid, stick them in the closet, and forget about them. I'm hoping posting them will do just that.

Snapshots of Pain: Lyn

There had been, all the years of her growing up, a codeword her parents had shared. Lyn couldn't have said when she'd come to understand it or its significance, but she could remember clearly the early summer evening when it had fallen apart.

Lyn should have been in her room studying for a biology exam, but her mother was in a bit of a state. Chief Inspector Morse had called the house looking for her dad quite some time before…only her dad had never shown up. Not that unusual of a situation. Almost certainly, Morse had only assumed her dad was on his way home, her dad had returned to the station, and the chief inspector had sent him right back out on some errand or another or else had talked him into a drink or two before calling it a day.

Her mum, even though she couldn't help worrying when such things cropped up, knew it as well as Lyn. And her brother, wandering in, thought the same thing. Still, they both knew their mother wouldn't really relax until their dad was home. Recognizing her anxiety and not willing to leave her to it, her children had hung around the kitchen, helping chop the vegetables for the salad and talking about their days. Their mum for her part worked at not worrying, laughing with them over their stories, and going about the business of making the meal.

Worry was the white elephant in the room. It was, Lyn supposed, like that in a lot of households where one parent or the other worked in a risky profession.

When the phone rang, her mother had jumped for it as though it were a lifeline, but it had only been her Gran wanting to know when they were getting together for lunch the next day. As her mum had hung up the phone, Lyn had caught her eye and given her a reassuring smile.

"He'll be home, Mum. You know he will."

Her mum had bitten her lip and bravely returned her smile. "Of course, he will. Hopefully, before this roast is all dried out. If Morse just has him down at the pub…" The three of them had shared a smile over that. There were days when one or the other of them didn't find Morse's monopolization of his sergeant's time a laughing matter, but, even though they weren't truly worried yet, they'd all be happy to discover that their dad was just out 'thinking' with Morse.

The smile had faded quickly enough off of her mum's face, and it was Ken who had frowned over at her and for the first time used their parents' code. "You know what dad would say Mum…it's another world."

Lyn could vaguely remember lying in the dark, listening to the low murmur of her parents' voices… Ken must not have even been born yet, if she'd been sleeping in the cot in their room…yet, somehow she'd understood her mother was upset. Perhaps it was something in her voice, or perhaps Lyn had seen her tears in the glint of the streetlamp out the window? That quite possibly had been her first memory…the dark, her mother's distress, and her dad's gentle voice quietly cutting through both. "Nothing to fret about, Pet. It's another world." Lyn wondered what the young child she'd been had thought that had meant. She'd been too young for Doctor Who…what kind of world had she lain there and conjured up in response to her father's magical words?

She couldn't remember. But, she could remember other times though the years, when she'd heard her father say those same words. They'd always drawn her attention, always carried with them almost a mystical connection in her mind. Until, one day, she'd been there, sitting next to her mum telling her something about what had gone on at school that day. And, Mum, smiling, nodding her head in understanding, and then…something on the telly stole her attention away from Lyn. Something far away in London…and there on the screen the bleeding, crumpled bodies of three London police, and beside her Mum white and trembly, and Lyn herself not wanting to understand what it was all about. Just wanting her Mum to turn back to her and smile and say, "And then what happened?"

Only she hadn't. She'd given Lyn a shaky approximation of a smile and rose to turn off the telly. And went to the back door to stare out at Dad and Ken playing cricket in the back garden. Then she'd turned to Lyn with a sigh, and tried the smile again. "It's another world, Pet," she'd said, but she'd only sounded half convinced. And that must have been when Lyn had understood the code and what it meant.

Another world. That was what her dad would always say when there'd be a news story of policemen shot in London or killed in high-speed car crashes and the like. "Another world, Pet," he'd say when their mum's face would go white as they watched. And, it was what he would say when he'd come home late and find their Mum anxiously sitting up waiting for him. Not their world, not their lives. Coppers like their dad got shot at, killed, or hurt in places like London, not in Oxford. It was what he always said.

And that early summer evening, it was what his son told their mum right before they heard Morse's Jag drive up and the door slam as their dad got out. "See?" their Mum said brightly, a relieved grin wiping the worry from her face. "There he is…now, don't tell him how silly I've been." And they'd both grinned at her and tacitly agreed there was no need for him to know she'd worried.

And then their dad had come through the door, and they'd all stopped grinning. Because it was apparent in his white face, stooped shoulders, and bloodied clothing permeated with the acrid smell of sweat and fear that there was nothing magical in those words. They didn't live in another world after all.

There'd been no supper for their dad that night. Their mum had plied him with tea laced with brandy and put him in a hot bath and then tucked him up in bed, and watching her, Lyn figured her mum knew more about treating shock than the first aid books.

And that was the last time her parents' codeword was ever used as far as she knew. For Oxford wasn't another world after all, and it was all too easy for coppers like Robbie Lewis to end up killed even there.

Still, when she walked into the break room and saw the news of a shooting on a small green, she'd automatically asked, "Is it London, then?"

One of her coworkers had shaken her head and without looking away from the horrors on the screen answered, "No, Oxford."

And, Lyn's first thought was, "Not Oxford. It can't be Oxford…that can't be happening in Oxford." And if she'd had the presence of mind later to examine that thought, she wouldn't have been able to say if that was a reaction against the implausibility of such a thing happening in the staid, academic community of Oxford or a gut reaction of denial because she knew and loved people in the old city.

She had sunk into a well-worn, uncomfortable chair and watched in disbelief as the chief superintendent of the Oxfordshire Police had addressed the cameras. Her father's boss. And all the time Chief Superintendent Jean Innocent was speaking, Lyn could hear her dad's soft voice saying quietly, "It's another world, Pet. Nothing to fret over."

She rose on shaky feet to fumble around in her locker and pull out her mobile. If her dad knew what was going on, he would have sent her a message, so she would know he was all right, so that she wouldn't worry. Only there was no message. Of course, there wasn't. Her dad would have been out investigating some crime or another. He wouldn't know about a shooting in Melray Green that was only now happening. He wouldn't know she would be needing him to call and reassure her he was miles away and totally oblivious to the horrifying events on the telly.

And then there'd been the questions from the press. The one question that had sent her heart rate racing even faster than it had been every since her coworker had said, "No, Oxford."

"We've heard that there were policemen on the green when the shooting started. Can you confirm that, Ma'am?"

DCS Innocent had looked the camera squarely in the eye and answered, "It is much too early to know who is involved in this incident. However, I can tell you, if there were policemen or anyone else in civil service who might conceivably be perceived as a threat or a bargaining tool…we can't discount the possibility that the gunman is monitoring the news or is in contact with someone who is…we would not release any information that would play into the shooter's hands." And Lyn had recognized that was a nonanswer to a question for which she desperately needed an answer.

Her hands were trembling as she dialed her dad's number. It went immediately to voice mail…that wasn't all that unusual. He frequently didn't take calls when he was interviewing witnesses or suspects or in meetings. She shook her head and told herself she was being ridiculous to be so worried. What were the chances her dad would be on Melray Green? She was being as silly as her mum had that long ago…only her mum hadn't been being silly, had she? Her dad had almost died that day. But that was then, this was—

She watched in numb disbelief as on the screen, her father's sergeant inched his way out onto the green. She'd met him only briefly for a few minutes here and there on her occasional, quick visits home, but his long, lanky features and build were unmistakable…and the suit didn't hurt. A detective's suit. He wasn't there for a picnic or a bit of football with his mates. He was there for work.

And that meant…nothing. It didn't mean a thing, she assured herself as she watched with horror a tiny child stand up from where she'd been lying and partially hidden next to a…body and awkwardly run to her father's sergeant. There was no reason to assume her father had been with his sergeant…her dad would be safely back at the station, watching as horrified as she was as his sergeant heroically rescued the toddler.

Only, she couldn't make herself believe it, couldn't hear the memory of her dad's reassuring, 'Another world, Pet'. She rushed to the loo and was ill. Then she tried her dad again, and then she called the station and was passed from one voice to the next…and by then half the ward had known something was dreadfully wrong, and her supervisor had taken her off to a quiet room and fetched her tea and she'd stared numbly into the cup wondering if someone had had the foresight to lace it with brandy. And then she was crying and then…

"Lyn? It is Lyn, isn't it? This is Jean Innocent. I work with your dad…you've seen the news, then?"

"Yes…please…" she couldn't ask, couldn't form the words to beg the woman to tell her her father was safely away from the green.

"I'm very sorry. Your dad…he was—is! He is at the shooting. We don't know exactly what his situation is, but we know he is alive."

"He won't…I've been trying to call."

"I know…listen, is someone there with you?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I'm not going to lie to you. We know he's been shot…we don't know how badly, and we don't know how quickly we are going to be able to get to him. I…I wish I had better news for you, and I wish…we knew more, but—I'm sorry."

Shot. Her dad had been shot. Her dad had been shot back home in Oxford, and she was a million miles away. "I'm coming," she said. "I'm coming."

"That's fine. That's good."

"Tell him…when you…tell him, I'm coming."

"Yes, I will."

"On the train. I'm coming on the train," she said because Tim had never replaced his broken-down car. They'd driven to London after…one of Dad's colleagues had picked them up straight from their classes and driven them to London. Someone must have taken Dad up before then…surely, he hadn't driven there himself when the Met had called to tell him? None of them had had anything…not a change of clothes, not even a toothbrush. Not that it mattered. They'd only needed one thing, and they'd lost her before the morning came.

DCS Innocent cut into her scattered thoughts, "When you know your arrival time, if you call me, I'll see someone's there to meet you."

"Yes. All right."

"I'm sorry, Lyn," Innocent said, and Lyn heard the sincerity in her voice and believed her. "I really must…I have some things I need to see to…" Of course. She needed to see to getting Lyn's dad safely to hospital and stopping a madman. And Lyn…she had things to see to, as well.

She called Tim because she could hardly drink her tea without someone to steady her hand and no way was she going to be able to get to the train station without help. And after she'd haltingly told him what was happening and he promised to be there as soon as he could possibly make it…after that she called Australia.