Kimberly Remembers
By Lancer47
Disclaimer: I'm playing on turf of Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, NCIS, and a little bit of Picket Fences.
A/N: Well, I'm at it again. Yet another NCIS crossover with Buffy, and yet another stand alone. I really do like it better when Gibbs and the others cross paths with the supernatural but know little or nothing about it and refuse to believe it.
Besides NCIS and Buffy, this also crosses with Picket Fences. For those of you who didn't see the show, or don't remember it, it was way back in 1992 when the young and stunningly beautiful Lauren Holly played Deputy Sheriff Maxine Stewart. She worked for Sheriff Jimmy Brock, played by Tom Skerrit who had a daughter, Kimberly Brock, played by Holly Marie Combs. (But there will be no Charmed references in this piece.)
Chapter One
The office mail-person pushed his cart through the NCIS bullpen while humming under his breath. He listened to his iPod through tiny earphones and appeared oblivious to most outside distractions as he sort of jerked along to whatever music pushed his buttons. He tossed envelopes onto Gibbs desk, then Ziva's and McGee's, then paused by DiNozzo's desk and plopped down a rolled set of plans, and then continued rocking on his way.
Tony picked up the roll and pulled off the large rubber band. He put the plans down on his desk and started playing with the rubber band. He twisted it, stretched it, turned it inside out, stretched it again and pretended to aim and shoot at Ziva. Then he bumped into his coffee cup, and in trying to keep from spilling coffee all over his desk, let go of the rubber band. Which seared off across the aisle and hit Ziva's left breast with a SNAP!
"TONY!" she yelled, "what the hell was that?"
"An oops?" said Tony with boyish grin. "I didn't mean to do that Ziva, I was just..."
"You were just screwing around instead of working," said Gibbs, coming up behind Tony and whacking the back of his head.
"Er, yes boss," he agreed, and unrolled the plans. He looked perplexed as he read the title on the cover page of the half-sized set of architectural plans covering the main floor of a large hospital. "Uh, boss? Why did someone deliver plans of Bethesda Naval Hospital to me?"
"For our next case. A corpse was discovered in the morgue at Bethesda this morning."
"A corpse was discovered in the morgue? Let's call a press conference! What an amazing thing! It had to be some kind of miracle!" snarked Tony.
"Uh, boss?" asked McGee, "isn't that what the morgue is for?"
"Yes, but this corpse wasn't put there by authorized personnel. She just showed up during the early morning hours, no one knows who she is or how she got there. In any hospital, the paperwork has to be done, and done correctly, for every single body, dead or alive. And that goes double for a Navy hospital. This corpse is an anomaly, most likely a homicide. So saddle up."
Dr. Mallard, Ziva, Tony, and Gibbs stood around a stainless steel table in the brightly lit but nevertheless gloomy Bethesda morgue. A very beautiful woman, about thirty, lay on her back, unclothed. She was completely still, no pulse, no breath, and no life. But the oddest thing was the strange graffiti all over her body.
Gibbs said, "Get to work on the victim while I take a look around."
Ziva took fingerprints while Dr. Mallard did a preliminary examination and Tony clicked away with his camera.
After a minute Ziva looked at DiNozzo and said angrily, "Christ on a cane, Tony, you're supposed to be taking taking evidence photographs, not porn!"
"What are you talking about?" DiNozzo asked, adopting his hurt puppy voice.
"Just how many pictures of her virginia do you think we need? You're not fooling me!"
"No, no, Ziva, this is for evidence! I'm photographing her legs! You're misinterpreting! Really! I'm carefully recording these tattoos for future evidence work! And anyway it's not, uh, 'Christ on a cane', it's 'Christ on a crutch'."
"Why? You lean on both of them; what's it mean, anyway?"
"Ah, well, I don't have any idea, it's just the common phrase."
Dr. Mallard said, "My dear Ziva, the correct name in English for external female genitalia is..."
"I know what it is!" Ziva snapped.
Dr. Mallard backed away from Ziva, "Okay, okay."
Meanwhile Tony continued photographing the corpse. He seemed determined to fill up his digital card.
"Tony, enough already. She's a beautiful woman, but she's dead. Don't make me hit you. Take those plans and look around the morgue for other doors."
"You gotta admit," said Tony quietly, "it's a real shame this happened to her. With a rack like that..." He wandered off, studying the drawings.
Ziva furiously turned back to her work and continued taking fingerprints with her electronic fingerprinter. Until she felt a spasm in the 'dead' fingers and looked up just in time to see the 'corpse's' eyes fly open.
"Dr. Mallard?" asked Ziva, "do the dead open their eyes very often?"
Ducky looked at the girl with surprise, "Even less often than you'd think, my dear."
The freshly wakened girl let out an ear-splitting scream and frantically sat up, pulling her knees to her chest and covering herself as best she could with her arms and hands, "Who are you people? What do you want with me?" she asked fearfully.
"I'm Dr. Mallard and this is NCIS Special Agent Ziva David, and that's Special Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo, rushing towards us. If you don't mind, please allow me to check your vitals, because you certainly had us convinced you were dead."
She looked around frantically and was not reassured by the sheet-covered bodies nearby, but calmed down enough to say, "Umm, well, all right doctor. Could I have a blanket or something? But really I feel perfectly fine, a little cold, a little shaky, except for one thing..."
"Hold on for a moment my dear." He turned to the Agents and shooed them out. "Out, out, you're embarrassing my patient." They all frowned heavily, especially Gibbs, but they had no choice but to be pushed out into the hall. They waited impatiently outside for Doctor Mallard to finish his exam.
Twenty minutes later Dr. Mallard came out. A bustle of nurses rushed in and moved the new patient out of the morgue. Ducky said, "A most unusual case, Jethro. She was thought to be dead, and for some time – at least three hours. Then she woke up and is in excellent health with no sign at all of brain damage. In fact, the injuries that she originally had have nearly disappeared. She's really quite lucky that I hadn't got around to checking her liver temperature before she came to. She's in fine shape, except for one small problem."
"And that would be?
"She doesn't know who she is, or where she's from, or how she got here, or where her extensive tattoos came from, but other than those pesky little details, she's fine!"
"But Ducky, isn't that a sign of brain damage?"
"Jethro, do you think I didn't check? I found no external evidence of head trauma, although I have scheduled an MRI to confirm. Amnesia has many causes, most of which we don't understand and may occur without any overt physical damage. Shock is a possible cause of retrograde amnesia, but we shall have to wait and see whether or not this is a permanent condition."
"I see."
The hospital assigned a team of doctors to the new patient and wheeled her up to a room. Ducky conferred with the team to pass on what he knew, then finally rejoined Gibbs.
"Even though she hasn't yet been identified yet, they are going to care for her here, for now at least. The hospital administrator feels a certain responsibility, I guess, since she was discovered on the hospital grounds."
"That seems fair; we don't know yet if she's active duty military or not?"
"Not yet. Ah, here's Tony now, the way he's hopping around it looks like he's either anxious to tell us something or he needs to take a wicked piss."
DiNozzo frowned at Dr. Mallard as he said, "Yes, her fingerprints are in the system. Her name is Kimberly Brock, a moderately successful singer. She was here as part of some sort of local 'Support the Troops' show."
"You and Ziva find and question the rest of her show. McGee and I will head back to the office for now. Ducky? Are you coming with us, or staying here?"
"The Bethesda physicians have things well in hand, I would be a fifth wheel if I remained here."
When they made it back to NCIS headquarters, Director Shepherd came down the stairs with a report in her hand. She was uncharacteristically quiet when she asked, "Jethro, this latest case, this woman with amnesia that was attacked at Bethesda, you're certain of her identification?"
"Yes, fingerprints, picture and blood type. DNA is pending, but she's..."
"Kimberly Brock."
"Yes. You've heard of her?"
"She's out of my past. She's the daughter of the best boss I ever had, the guy who taught me most of what I know about law enforcement."
"Do you think you should see her then? Maybe it'll help."
"Yes, definitely, let's go. Wait, did you notify her parents?"
"Her father is on the way, in fact he'll be at the hospital shortly, and her mother will be here later this evening."
They drove back to Bethesda in the Director's car. At the hospital, they went up to the third floor and waited by the nurse's station for Kimberly's doctor. Ziva and Tony joined them – they had found one other singer who had been with Kimberly the day before. She hadn't appeared put-out that Kimberly wouldn't be re-joining her, and she did promise to visit in the afternoon.
The elevators dinged and a gray-haired man with a craggy face walked out.
"Sheriff Brock!" cried the Director, "Uh, it's been awhile."
"Why Max, I didn't expect to find you here."
"Max?" DiNozzo wondered simultaneously with Ziva.
Jenny said to her agents, "Maxine is my middle name, when I was a fresh young deputy sheriff back in Rome, Wisconsin, I thought 'Max' would be more authoritative than 'Jennifer'. Besides, there was another Jenny in the office, and I wanted to avoid confusion."
"Now Max," said Brock, "no one could ever have confused you with Jenny."
"Well, yeah, Max was a more cop-like name. Jennifer felt too girlish to me if I was to be taken seriously as a deputy."
"Sure. Before we see Kimberly, is Heather being taken care of?"
"Who's Heather?"
"Kimberly's daughter."
The agents all exchanged guilty glances. "We didn't know she had a daughter, Sheriff," said the director.
"Heather's twelve, but she has a good head on her shoulders, you'll probably find her in Kim's hotel room, wherever that may be."
Gibbs said, "DiNozzo, Ziva; go."
"Right boss."
"So, let's go see Kimberly, then we can catch up," said Brock.
"Of course. Here's her primary care doctor now."
"I'm Doctor Gupta. Who are you people?"
"I'm Kimberly's father, and I'm not sure why these people are here."
"We're Federal Agents, we're investigating Miss Brock's attack. Plus, I knew Kimberly years ago and I wanted to see if my presence would jog her memory."
"Yes," said Brock, "tell me about her memory loss, doctor."
"It's too early to diagnose," said Dr. Gupta. "Her amnesia could be the result of shock, and may dissipate with time. It's also possible that it's permanent, and her memory may never be recovered. Or there could be a partial recovery. At this point, there is no way to tell. For now, at least, she has no memory at all of anything that happened before waking up in the morgue this morning. Her other injuries are minor and healing fine and she shows no sign of sexual assault. The marks on her are the next thing we'll look at, but I should think they'll wash off. So, by all means, family and friends are welcome."
Director Shepherd said, "Also, she is not only the victim, but a possible witness, so she may be instrumental in solving the crime. As you know, criminal attacks on Federal property are heavily investigated."
Brock said, "Okay, let's all go see her."
Kimberly sat up in her bed when her room was invaded by the group. Dr. Gupta said, "Miss Brock, you've met these Federal Agents before, but this man is your father, James Brock. I think it would be healthy for you to talk to them, but if you find yourself tiring, let me know and I'll kick 'em out."
She gave him a warm smile and said, "Thank you, doctor." Turning to Jimmy Brock, she asked, "Are you really my father?"
It took all of his self-control to keep from breaking down as he replied, "Yes honey, I'm really your father. You don't remember, anything?"
"No, sorry. I remember nothing before waking up in the morgue. Of course, as Dr. Mallard pointed out to me, obviously I remember how to speak English, and I seem to know a lot of stuff about music and singing and I even remember quite a few songs, but that's about it."
The interview was painful for all the participants, and nothing new was discovered. It was mutually decided that mentioning Heather at this point would just cause the patient to worry needlessly.
On leaving the hospital, Brock and the Director naturally fell in step. The ex-sheriff asked, "So, it's Jenny Stewart now? And by the way, I'm not the Sheriff any more, I'm retired."
Ziva and Tony pulled up in front of the hospital with a young girl. She spots Jimmy Brock and leaps out of the car. "GRANDAD!"
"Heather," grunted Brock as she leaped into his arms.
"You're getting a little big for that maneuver, Heather."
"Sorry grand-dad." She dropped back to the pavement. "Where's mom? I can only think the worst when Federal Agents pick me up and don't tell me shit."
"Heather! Language!"
"Yeah, yeah, what's with mom?"
"She seems to have had a little accident..."
"Accident! You don't send Feds for an accident! Just how stupid do you think I am?"
"Okay, she was attacked – no, no! She's all right now! Physically anyway, but she seems to be suffering from short-term memory loss. Anyway, we fully expect a complete recovery."
"Why can't I see her now?"
"Because she's sleeping, and the doctor is concerned that she get's enough rest. But we can see her later today."
"Humph, well, okay, if that's what her doctor wants. So, anyway, where am I gonna stay tonight?"
"With me, of course. I've got a suite. Grandma will be joining us later tonight."
"So who's this?"
"This is Special Agent Stewart, I believe," said the ex-sheriff.
"Actually," said Ziva from three steps behind, "it's Director Shepherd now."
Brock raised his eyebrows, "Director of what?"
"NCIS," Ziva started to explain, "that's Naval Investi...".
"I know what it is young lady," he snapped at Ziva, then he turned to the Director and added, "you've done well, Maxine." Ziva fell back and frowned.
She smiled, "Coming from you Sheriff, I'll take that as a high complement."
"It was meant that way." He said to Heather, "Max used to be a deputy sheriff back in Rome, Wisconson. That was a little before your time."
Jenny said, "After I left Wisconsin, I got married. It didn't last long though. After my marriage collapsed I applied to the Feds, there was an opening at what was then called the NIS, and I took it. Five months of training later I was a full fledged Naval Investigator."
"And you worked your way up to the top job. I'm not surprised. You were the most enthusiastic deputy I ever had. A department full of deputies like you would've put a big dent in the criminal population.
"So, not to change the subject or anything, but does anyone have any idea what happened to Kimberly? Right here in the middle of the grounds at Bethesda Naval Hospital? A secure installation, except for some criminals who waltzed right past your apparently not-so-world-class security?"
"We're working on it Jimmy, after all, we were just called in early this morning."
"And that scribbling all over her, what is that?"
"We think it's some kind of language, but we don't know what. Agent McGee thinks it might be Egyptian hieroglyphics, possibly Ancient Sumerian or something similar. If so, that could be a problem as there are very few people in the world who could translate it. We have feelers out to find such a person."
"Ancient Sumerian? Do you know what kind of language that is?" asked Heather.
Jenny said, "I'm told that Ancient Sumer is widely considered to be the first civilization in the history of the human race with a written language, that we know of anyway. The language was only rediscovered and translated about a hundred and seventy years ago or so. Sumer later became Akkadia, then Mesopotamia, then Iraq."
"Oh. That explains – nothing at all to me. Does this mean anything to any of you?"
"No, not yet. But we've barely begun our investigation," said Gibbs.
Brock took a good long look at Gibbs. He guessed, "So, Sergeant?"
"Marine Corp gunny. Now Special Agent."
"So can I trust you to find out what happened to Heather's mom?"
"Yes," he answered unequivocally.
"Good. I'll hold you to it."
"So, Dr. Karp, can you make anything of this?"
"Not much, Director Shepherd. I am not familiar with this family of languages. You need an expert in ancient Mesopotamian languages, not Indo-European – which is my specialty."
"And just where would we find such a person?" asked the Director.
"There's an internationally known expert, she normally lives in England, but I think she's stateside right now. I could find her and ask, shall I?"
"Yes, please, as soon as possible."
Back at NCIS, Ziva grabbed the case file from DiNozzo's desk and flipped through the pages. Tony glared and said, "What the hell Ziva – you need some remedial etiquette lessons?"
"Don't get your jockey shorts in a bunch, Tony. I just wanted to check something."
"You mean, 'Panties in a bunch'."
"You're wearing panties?"
"What? NO! No, the phrase Ziva, the correct phrase that you stumbled over, is: 'Panties in a bunch', not jockey shorts in a bunch!"
Ziva grinned and her eyes sparkled as she studied DiNozzo. "I never would have thought you wore ladies underwear. Isn't it a little tight around your scrotum?"
"Ziva!" roared Tony, "I am not now nor have I ever worn ladies underwear!"
McGee walked by, "So that's your big secret!"
DiNozzo was getting red in the face and was about to blast a retort when the elevator dinged. He sat down and shook his head, glaring at Ziva as if to say, 'you haven't heard the last of this,' and turned to see who came off the elevator. When he saw a beautiful young woman heading towards him, his mood instantly turned a hundred and eighty degrees and he smiled broadly at her.
"Hi, I'm Dawn Summers, I understand you need something translated?" She wore a gray suit with a dark blue vest, a white cotton shirt, medium heeled shoes, and a blue scarf. But even though the style was stolen from men's clothes, the suit was custom fit to Dawn's form so instead of hiding her femininity, the net effect was to emphasize her curves and female attributes.
Tony was utterly entranced. "Helloooo," he said, "where have you been all my life?"
"In school, mostly."
"Yes, but you're old enough now, aren't you? Wait, what did you want?"
"I'm a translator. You got something that needs translating?"
McGee, who had noticed her even before DiNozzo, said, "Surely you're not the Sumerian expert; I was expecting some wizened old sand-fart, a doctor of ancient languages. That's not you, is it?"
"Yup, that's me, I'm just not all that wizened! I have degrees in Classical Languages from Oxford, as well as Modern and Classical Linguistics, Paleography, Codicology, several modern languages, and, of course, Classical Philology."
"What, no degree in Etymology?" snarked McGee.
"That's my area of research for my next doctorate."
McGee looked suitably chastised. "Oh, well, it seems you're qualified to translate ancient Sumerian scribblings, overqualified in fact."
"Probably. Let's see what you've got."
DiNozzo said, "Right here." He stood up and handed Dawn a tan folder. "Here are pictures of the victim with the strange writing all over her, and there's an empty desk, sit. Could I bring you some coffee or something?"
Dawn smiled and said, "Sure, a double shot low-fat latte with chocolate sprinkles would be terrific." She sat down and didn't notice DiNozzo frowning and looking baffled. Dawn looked up and added, "Soon, please. I'm feeling severe caffeine withdrawal symptoms."
"Um, they don't have anything that fancy at our commissary."
"There's a Starbucks down the block, I expect I'll still be here when you get back."
DiNozzo said, "Young lady..." but he was startled by Gibbs speaking up behind him:
"You heard her, DiNozzo, get cracking!"
Sheriff Brock pulled up a chair and sat next to Dawn while Gibbs stood in front of the desk and Heather stood to the side. "So, can you make head or tail of this?"
Dawn looked up with a frown. "And who are you? When I'm interrupted unnecessarily, I get cranky."
"Oh, sorry. I'm Jimmy Brock, Kimberly's father, and this is Heather, my grand-daughter." Heather stared at Dawn, entranced.
"Who's Kimberly?"
"The girl who has the strange writing all over her."
"Oh. Oh! I'm sorry, I just now got here and no one bothered to introduce her to me."
"So. You know about this writing?"
"Well, I can translate it all right, but it's gonna take some work to put the definitions into context. This is Summerian, no doubt about that. But it's a dialect that I am not entirely familiar with, so I'll need to do some research to make certain of the subtleties."
"Summerian had dialects?" asked Abbey, who had just walked off the elevator.
"Sure. All languages do, in fact, there's really no such thing as 'language', linguistically speaking, it's all dialects." Dawn unconsciously and automatically fell into her lecture mode. "There were many distinct classes of people in Sumer, just as there are now in Iraq. The people who did the physical labor had little to do with either the rulers, the priests, or the warriors. Not only that, but rural folks developed words and phrases differently from city dwellers. Of course, the written language didn't have nearly as much variation as the spoken, but there was some difference depending on the class doing the writing. And really, there weren't many cities either, and by modern standards they were no more than rude villages. By the fourth millennium BC, there were twelve city-states within the area we now call Sumer. You can easily imagine that the city dwellers must have looked down their noses at the rude bumpkins who lived in the country. But then there weren't many people who could read at all, and fewer still to write anything, but there were some. Aristocrats and priests, mostly, some bureaucrats, traders and, of course, tax collectors – probably the most important of all for the nascent government. Although, as far as we can tell, commerce and religion seems to have been the same enterprise. We've really only identified two written dialects: one for the priests and the other for more mundane matters. This one seems to be a third dialect. Although it might be a stretch to call it 'dialect', it might be more accurate to say 'specialized vocabulary'. But of course, the biggest change is due to time. The changes from early Summerian to late is large, so placing this in time is critical to get the correct meaning."
Sheriff Brock said, " 'The more things change, the more they stay the same'."
"Yep," agreed Dawn.
DiNozzo said, "But what does any of that have to do with our case?"
"Not a thing," said Dawn. "Sorry about the lecture, I tend to go on..."
Gibbs asked, "So what's it say?" At Dawn's look Gibbs hastily added, "I know you can't give us the full translation off the top of your head, but the words, surely you can give some kind of general idea?"
"Not words, cuneiform," Dawn idly corrected. "Well, it's some kind of list of ingredients for – I know you're gonna laugh here – some kind of spell. Along with a chant, but I don't know what for."
"Spell?" Jimmy Brock said incredulously, "spell of what?"
The NCIS agents were all reacting in disbelief, all looking at Dawn with expressions of distrust.
Dawn said, "I told you you wouldn't believe me. Anyway, it's what's there. Apparently some lunatic had hold of her for awhile and thought this would give him some sort of supernatural power or something."
Brock looked horror-stricken at that. Heather let out a little shriek.
Gibbs caught Dawn's eye and shook his head while frowning.
Dawn realized that her words were, at the very least, impolitic to the father and daughter of the victim, and refrained from adding any more upsetting details. "By modern standards, the Sumerians were a very superstitious bunch. Much of their translated works are about gods, magic, demons, spells and such. The rest is mostly inventories of storage facilities and accounts of the wealthy."
"Magic?" Sheriff Brock asked skeptically.
"You do understand, don't you, that this was their religion? This was thousands of years before Christianity, or Islam, or any of what we now call 'The Great Religions'. It's no great stretch to imagine the people in power coming up with all sorts of superstitious nonsense to keep the lower classes working happily in the fields so the upper classes could lounge around drinking mead, or whatever alcoholic drinks they had – beer, now that I think about it. Those of a more cynical nature believe those superstitions later turned into religion."
The director had come down from her office to listen. She asked, "How's Kimberly doing, Jimmy?"
Brock shook his head, "Very little change, she still doesn't recognize either of us. And so far, no one has figured out how to get that writing off of her. They're not tattoos, but they don't seem to be ink or paint, either. The doctors are baffled."
Dawn put the prints down. "I need to see her. These pictures don't do justice to the symbols."
Ziva said, "Now wait a minute, every bit of writing is there – we were very careful to photograph all of it and it's all perfectly exposed and in focus. Agent DiNozzo was exceptionally thorough."
"Maybe, but I still need to see her."
"I don't know," said Gibbs, "she is a patient, and probably shouldn't be disturbed."
"Who's the expert here? You, or me?" asked Dawn.
"Actually," replied Gibbs, "I'm the expert, and I don't see why you need to see her."
Jimmy Brock spoke up, "I don't object. Let's ask Kimberly, and if she doesn't have a problem with it, why not?"
"Well," said Gibbs, "all right, I guess. Let's go."
"Wait," said Dawn, "that guy isn't back with my latte yet! I promised him I'd still be here when he got back."
"He'll get over it," said Gibbs.
"Yeah, but, I have medical needs! I must have my milk and espresso! I have a serious lack of caffeine here!"
"Let's go," Gibbs grumbled, "they have a Starbucks cart in the lobby of Bethesda. You can hold it together till then – or drink ordinary coffee."
Dawn muttered something in an obscure language that sounded uncomplimentary, but she got up and followed.
As they walked out the front door of the NCIS building. Dawn looked up and saw DiNozzo coming back with a large cup in his hand. "Hey, latte guy! Over here!"
Tony ambled over and handed her the cup. He asked Gibbs, "What's up boss?"
"We're headed back to Bethesda to do another interview. You stay here and help Ziva do a search of Miss Brock's background and movements."
Right boss," said Tony as he sketched a lazy sort-of salute.
Ex-Sheriff Brock, Heather, Gibbs and Dawn piled into a government car parked in a reserved spot and Gibbs drove them to Bethesda, where he parked in yet another reserved spot. Dawn said, "Must be nice to have all these reserved parking place's to park in. I mean, how come I don't have reserved parking wherever I need to go? After all, I bet I pay more taxes than you."
Sheriff Brock said with a twinkle in his eye, "Because you aren't one of the oppressors."
Gibbs chuckled grimly. "Hey now, none of that. But really Dawn, all you need to do is qualify for a Federal Motor Pool car, and you'd have it made."
"Hmmph. Become a Federal Agent, you mean? I suppose I could do that. But I do work for the government now, you know, just on a consulting bases."
"Not the same thing..."
"Yeah, this way I get paid way more and don't work as many hours."
"But no benefits."
"Hmm, yeah, well, I put money away. And I've got people."
They walked in and took the elevator to Kimberly's floor. Heather bounced to Kimberly's bed and said, "MOM!"
Kim was startled. "Uh, hi?"
Heather burst into tears and hugged Kimberly tightly. Kim, a little confused, hugged her back automatically. She has enough presence of mind to avoid explaining that she didn't recognize her own daughter.
After a few minutes, Dawn said hello, and was introduced to Kimberly, and after a few minutes of small talk, Dawn asked, "Would all you guys wait outside, please?"
"What? Why?" asked the ex-Sheriff, with Heather chorusing him.
"Because I need to take a close look at these symbols, and I doubt that you want to observe your daughter in an unclothed state."
Brock coughed and agreed. Gibbs asked, "Why do you need to look any closer?"
"Because there are small striations to the symbol strokes, little effects of differing sheen that the camera didn't pick up, and I need a closer look because it may be important to the finer gradations of meaning."
Gibbs and Brock both grumbled but allowed themselves to be ushered out along with Heather. Dawn closed the door and closed the curtain and sat down in the chair next to the bed.
"Hi," she said with a smile, "My name is Dawn Summers, and I believe I may be able to help you."
"Uh, hi back atcha. They tell me my name is Kimberly Brock, but you couldn't prove it by me. God, I hope little Heather isn't traumatized by this – she's a cute kid. I really wish I could remember her."
"Oh, I think you will soon enough, with my help."
"Yeah? I thought you were helping by translating these symbols? How's that gonna get my memory back?"
"Oh, well, I kind of lied a little, I already know exactly what they say..."
"Well tell me!"
"It wouldn't do any good, what this is..." She trailed off and then asked, "Do you believe in magic?"
"Uh, I don't know. Are you talking about stage magicians?"
"No. I'm talking actual magic, beyond the laws of physics as we know today."
"Hmmm. I think I'm supposed to believe that you are referring to superstitious nonsense. But that isn't fully part of what I seem to know. I guess I'd have to see."
"Okay, let's say you have provisionally accepted that magic can be real, okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, what's written all over you is a magic spell – a kind of recipe, really – written in Sumerian. The spell itself is rather more modern than Sumer, writing it in Ancient Sumerian was pretentious, it could have been any language, even pig-Latin or Klingon. And they got the grammar confused, but that wouldn't change the effect – I'm pretty sure anyway. The spell itself however, is worrisome. It's stealing your life-force, it's why you've lost your memory, and we have about forty-eight hours to get it off you."
"Or what?"
"Or all the President's doctors and all the President's men can huff and puff all they want, but they won't be able to put you together again."
"Huh? I think I'm missing your referents."
"Sorry, I was trying not to say 'die' out loud."
"That's all right, I can take it. After all, I don't know what I should be missing." After a pause, Kim continued, "So, does this mean that you know how to get these words off me?"
"Yes, and no. I can help, but I can't do it alone. I have to get a powerful witch to do the actual counter-spell, and she's on her way here even as we speak. But she won't be here until late tonight. In the meantime, there's a very real danger that whatever creep did this to you is nearby and ready to attack you again, just to prevent someone like me and my friends from reversing his hard work. But mostly because there's another twist to this spell – if we succeed in removing the symbology from your skin, the symbologist will lose a great deal of his own life-force, a potentially fatal condition for him – depending on how old he is in natural years. You see, true magic always comes with a price; and the darker the magic, the higher the price. And the higher the price, then the worse the consequences, especially if things go wonky. Then the consequences can be enormous.
"So with that in mind, what this is a blatant attempt to foist the bad effects of black magic off on to an innocent – that's you – to keep the perpetrator from being affected by the bad mojo."
"I see, well, I think the guy who says he's my father will protect me."
"He'll try, that's for sure, and so will the other NCIS agents, if I can figure out how to warn them without being thrown into the loony bin."
"Why would they do that?"
"Because very few – bordering on zero really – law enforcement persons believe in magic. They do believe in psychiatry and lunatics though, therefore, you and I must be silent about magic."
"Now you have me worried."
"Oh, I don't mean to. This was all a preface to say that I'm bringing some protection for you. But you won't see them."
"What, invisible people?"
"Oh no, they'll be visible, they'll just look like they belong here. Otherwise, they couldn't be here."
"Oh, well, I guess that's fine, then."
"Okay, now that you think I'm a crazy person, this part will be even worse. When my friend Willow gets here, we're gonna come over and do a spell, right here in your room. It'll be after midnight, and you might wake up and worry if you don't know what we're doing beforehand."
"Oh-kay," she said doubtfully.
"Look at it this way, what choice do you have? The doctors here at Bethesda vary between very good and exceptional, but they can't help you. Not unless they have a wizard or witch on staff, and they don't; I know because I checked. And worse, they will deny any possibility that magic exists, and for what they do here 99.99% of the time, that would be the correct course of action. Just not this time."
"All right, you've convinced me, and I'll stay silent."
Dawn smiled, "Good. Now I just need to figure what I'm gonna tell Agent Gibbs and Sheriff Brock. Both of them have a tendency to see through lies, and I can't tell them the truth, so I gotta think of something good that doesn't sound like bullshit."
"Good luck with that. Do you mind if I go to sleep? I'm feeling damn tired."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised."
Dr. Jill Brock rushed down the ramp at Reagan airport. She was a force of nature, not to be denied anything she wanted and the delays encountered along the way just added to her urgency. She jumped to the head of the line at the taxi stand, saying, "I'm a doctor on an emergency, so I'm next."
No one dared to disagree with her although there was some unhappy grumbles in the line.
When the taxi finally dropped her off at the Naval Hospital, the driver was in shock as he drove away. Her insistence on driving faster and faster wasn't unheard of, but her conviction and depth shook him up. He was glad to see her out of his cab.
She wasn't sure what time it was, only that it was very late. There were few people in the lobby, mostly security guards, and they seemed intent on stopping her. But she held up her credentials and spouted rapid doctor lingo, and they stood aside and let her bull her way through to the nearest nurse's station.
"Kimberly Brock, what room is she in?" she demanded.
"Visiting hours are over ma'am," said a tall nurse.
"I'm Doctor Brock, I'm here to see my patient, and you aren't stopping me. What room is she in?"
The nurse looked at the card she was holding and sighed. This woman would no doubt go up the chain of command until she found someone to override the rules. It wasn't worth the argument. She said, "Room 347."
"Thank you." She steamed off towards the elevators.
Kimberly was asleep, Willow sat on the floor next to Dawn, and Buffy leaned against the wall next to the door with her arms crossed while Faith and Kennedy prowled the corridors in borrowed nurses outfits. The hospital bed had been moved away from the wall a couple of feet, leaving the various medical leads attached to the patient, and a thin circle of red sand had been carefully poured around the bed. There were about three dozen candles burning in the room. Willow chanted in Latin while Dawn held her hand. A faint green glow could be seen around the two of them. The symbols on Kimberly's skin were translucent in places now. But, there was an evil influence in the room, up near the ceiling against the headwall. Willow was extremely aware of the presence and occasionally glared in that direction and waved her free hand in an intricate pattern. So far, she had been able to kept it at bay; but she hadn't figured out how to banish it yet since it wasn't in the slightest corporeal.
Buffy straightened up suddenly. She could hear rapid, purposeful footsteps in the hall. She started to put her hand on the door lever, but she was too slow. The door opened suddenly and Jill Brock was there, trying to take in what she could see in the candle light.
"What the hell is going on in here!?"
A tall, very thin, almost cadaverous man wearing all black from head to toe stumbled as walked rapidly towards the hospital. He grumbled as he strode forward, "Interfere in my work will you, you, vile spawn of dung-eaters! We'll see about that!" and let nothing or anyone slow down his forward progress. At the hospital, he ignored the front entrance, and any other entrance with a light, and made his around to an obscure utility door. It was locked, but that didn't hold him up for long.
Once inside he started up the stairs two at a time. Then had to stop and catch his breath. "Fie and pox on ye unbelievers!" he snarled. "May the devil piss on ye from a great height! And shite in yer eyes!" He continued mumbling ancient imprecations under his breath, but he had to approach the stairs one at a time, no longer having the breath to skip steps.
Back in Kimberly's room, Buffy quietly leaned down and quietly said, "Stop trying to escape, we're helping your daughter. We may be the only people who can help her. So just stay still."
Jill was tied to a chair, with a gag in her mouth. She was furious. She glared at anyone whose eye she could catch, but they all kept looking away. She finished testing her bonds and finally sat back and relaxed as much as she could. She started to wonder how the tiny blonde could have handled her as easily as she did.
Buffy heard something and straightened up.
Jill heard someone scratching at the door, then the door slowly opened and a gaunt, ectomorphic, almost skeletal figure dressed in black from head to toe entered the room. He held up his hands in front of him, one hand held a wand of all things, and started to intone: "OUT, OUT, OUT YE LOW..."
Jill was utterly astonished when the short blonde launched herself across the room and rammed the newcomer with her feet. He crashed into the wall and immediately whipped his wand around and waved it in an intricate pattern while chanting, "DIE DIE..."
Once again he was interrupted by the girl's flying feet, followed up by punches in the solar plexus, liver, kidneys, abdomen, and nose. Strangely, although each of those hits should have been debilitating in Dr. Brock's opinion, none seemed to have much effect. He sprang to his feet and waved his silly little wand around and this time the girl flew off her feet and was thrown towards the other girl, the redhead, who had continued to mutter under her breath while waving her hands around.
Jill was beyond amazed when the blonde didn't hit the redhead, but instead was stopped by – something – a couple of feet in front of her. About this time, the redhead's tone of voice and volume changed. She turned to face the black-clad ectomorph and shouted, "BEGONE SPAWN OF SATAN! YOU ARE NO LONGER OF THIS EARTH! THE GODS THEMSELVES SPIT ON YOU! BEGONE!"
Jill felt something inside of her twist in horror as her lifetime of carefully cultivated scientific beliefs went up in smoke as she watched the man collapse in on himself. The blonde girl cautiously inspected the now empty set of clothes with her foot and found nothing at all inhabiting them anymore. Jill passed out.
Jill woke up and cautiously opened her eyes. Bright, warm sunlight was streaming in the partially open window, and a gentle warm breeze caressed her skin. A couple of songbirds were singing a duet on the windowsill, giving Jill a shiver of pleasure. She looked around the room and focused on her daughter, still sound asleep. Jill got up and glanced at the readouts on the monitors and noticed that everything read normal. Her color looked good, her breathing was normal, and her pulse was excellent. And there were no tattoos or marks on her skin. She tried to remember if she had noticed them the night before, but all she could recall after her arrival was a nightmare of unusually detailed nature. She must have been more tired than she thought and must have fallen asleep right after she entered the room.
Kimberly woke up. She was a little confused, remembering little of the night before except for Dawn's explanations and instructions. She saw her stepmother standing over her, taking her pulse. "Jill! Good morning. You didn't have to fly all the way out here to check on me."
"Of course I had to, don't be silly. Anyway, everything is looking good. I heard you had amnesia, is it gone?"
Kim thought a moment and said, "Well, I can remember everything now, so I guess it's gone. In fact, I feel like a million bucks!"
"Oh Kim," Jill said as she leaned forward and gratefully hugged Kimberly.
A couple of hours later Heather, proudly pushing the wheelchair with Kimberly, her grandparents at either side of her, walked out the front door of the hospital. Kim stood up, glad to be alive and healthy. Jill started to say something to her husband when she noticed a short blonde girl with a redheaded companion getting into a car. She stared, then thought to herself, no way, it can't be!
"Something wrong, hun?"
"Huh? Oh, no, nothing Jimmy. I just thought I saw someone from a bad dream, but it couldn't have been, so it wasn't." She didn't notice Kim give Buffy and Willow a small wave, hidden from her parents.
Jimmy Brock looked a little baffled. "Uh, okay. There's our ride."
Gibbs got out of the black government car parked in the passenger loading zone. He said, "Good morning. And especially good morning to you Kimberly. You're looking much healthier than before."
"I feel great!" But she also remembered waking up naked in front of strangers in the morgue and was mortified all over again.
"Where are we going?" asked Jill Brock.
"We just need to do one final interview down at NCIS, then send you all on your way."
Jill frowned. "Why?" she asked.
"Just procedure. We still haven't found the perpetrator, so the investigation is ongoing. And Kimberly remembers now, so we want to get her on tape so we don't have to fly around the country later on."
"I see, well, okay, I'll allow it then."
"She is an adult, you know. I don't actually need your permission to interview her, and she's already given her consent."
The Brocks glared at Gibbs, but he didn't care.
After fighting their way through DC traffic, they finally made it to the Washington Navy Yard and NCIS headquarters. The director was standing by the elevator to greet them.
"Kimberly!" she said, "do you remember me now?"
"Max, how could I ever forget you!" They hugged each other briefly.
Dawn was waiting behind the director. When she caught Kim's eye, she waved.
"Dawn, hi," said Kim, a little uncertainly.
Gibbs frowned at Dawn. "Well, we thank you for your help, but I can't see that it did any good."
"Yet," said Dawn. "You still have a bad guy to find and arrest, and now you know what kind of guy he is: a superstitious flaming nutcase." Dawn was able to say this with a straight face because she had years of practice.
"Hmm, perhaps. Anyway, we might as well save the government a little money; I don't think we need your services anymore."
"I think you're right." Dawn winked at Kimberly and Heather as she went past them to the elevator and waved again as the doors closed.
"Okay," said Gibbs, "we'll all be more comfortable in the conference room, and we can get this out of the way and send the Brock family on it's way." He started to push everyone down the hall, but he had to tap Jenny on the should as she and Jill Brock were in an intense private conversation.
Jenny looked up, "Oh, ah sure. Go ahead, we'll be along in a minute, we're still catching up."
Gibbs and Jimmy Brock both rolled their eyes.
Tony and Ziva were already in the conference room, waiting for everyone to join them. Tony looked at the trays of snacks that had been prepared for the interview. "Damn," said Tony, "that really looks good. The commissary really tries hard when Madame Director directs them to."
Ziva took a bite of a cheese filled blintz. "Ummm," she moaned, "that is to kill for!"
"You mean 'to die for'," said DiNozzo with a shrug.
"You would die for a bite of pastry?"
"Of course not, it's just a saying."
"Well, you can die for food if you want, but you may be sure I'd kill for pastry like this if I had to." She took another bite and appeared to have a small orgasm.
The door opened, and the Brocks, along with Gibbs and Jenny, trooped in. Everyone sat down.
"Okay," said Jen, "is the recorder on?" … "Yes, good. So, the time is 9:45 on Wednesday, September 3rd, I am Director Shepherd of the NCIS and with me are Jill and James Brock, their daughter Kimberly Brock, Supervisory Special Agent Gibbs, Senior Special Agent DiNozzo and Special Agent David." She paused the recorder and looked at Gibbs, "Is Dr. Mallard available? He should be here."
"He should be here any..." Just then the door opened. "Ah, there he is."
"Sorry I'm late, but I had the most interesting example of grossly entumored lung tissue to examine and I'm afraid the time just got away from me." He either didn't notice, or elected not to notice, the grimaces coming from most everyone around the table as he sat.
"Yes, fine," said the director. She pushed the recorder button and continued on, "and Dr. Mallard, the NCIS chief forensic medical examiner."
For the next hour Dr. Mallard and the agents filled in with the official report of what they had seen. The Kimberly added what little she knew, but since she had passed out after eating a snack, and then woke up temporarily missing her memory, she had little to add.
Finally, after an increasingly tedious meeting, Ex-sheriff Brock said, "So, do you think there is any possibility, at all, that you will be able to apprehend the perpetrator of this crime against my daughter?"
Gibbs looked sour. "We will do our best, it's what we do. But the odds... I just don't know. Now that Miss Brock has recovered her memory, but after all has little to tell us, and the strange writing has disappeared, and really, everything seems fine – well I just don't believe that pressure will be maintained to finish the case. But..."
Jenny said, "I will do whatever we have to close this case, you have my word on it, Jimmy."
Gibbs and the ex-sheriff exchanged cynical glances.
Heather and Dawn were seated in the NCIS breakroom, with snacks, soda, and coffee.
Heather said, "So, Sumerian, huh?"
"Yes, have you heard of it?"
"Sure, I read a book about the area. The fired-clay-tablets tell us more about Sumer than any previous civilization, because they last pretty much forever."
"That's right. There were probably written languages before that, but if the only thing they had to write on was dirt, or maybe wax tablets, we would never know about it."
"And magic," said Heather, "Sumerian writing is almost exclusively about magic stuff; well, that and accounts receivable."
"Ye-e-ss," said Dawn, "that's true."
"And magic was all through this case."
"Why do you say that?"
"I saw those pictures of mom, and I saw her before you got the writing off. I don't claim any fluency in Sumerian, but I have learned some the meanings of the cuneiform. So yeah, magic. She was almost killed by an evil wizard, I know that much."
"And what are you going to do about it?"
"Nothing, except talk to my Watcher."
Dawn was startled. "Watcher?"
"Yeah. I know who you are, Dawn Summers, D. Phil. You're Buffy's little sister. And I know Willow Rosenberg was here, and your sister Buffy, too. And a few other slayers."
"You're a Potential?"
"Yes I am."
"That means you will become a Slayer in a few years."
"I know. I've been training for it."
"Does your mom know?"
"Of course she does. How could I attend the Slayer Academy if she didn't know?"
"Huh. Interesting. Which school do you go to?"
"Slayer's East, in Long Island."
"So you know Faith."
"Oh yes."
"I guess this means I'll be seeing more of you."
"You can bet on it."
The End