Title: Ghosts of Mars

Word Count: 3140

Overall Summary: Two hundred years of Spec Ops wasn't long enough to prepare her for the Enterprise crew.

Pairing: Bones/Kirk

Warnings: Assumes familiarity with Doom (2005 movie) and the Star Trek reboot. Mature themes. Language. fem!Bones, Reaper!Bones. Hint of twincest of you squint right. This chapter assumes familiarity with the Xindi Incident, as depicted in Enterprise.

Part 1: In the aftermath of the Xindi attack, Johnna receives bad news, visits family, and deals with an intruder.

March 23, 2153

Tampa Bay, Florida

Johnna dumped her soiled scrubs in the portable refresher and leaned against the wall. She scrubbed at her face with both hands, grinding the heels of her palms into her eyes in an effort to wake herself up. Exhaustion was practically a foreign concept to her, but it seemed being alert and on her feet for the better part of a week was enough to tax the limits of even her enhanced system.

Her hair stank of smoke and blood, her skin of bile and sweat. It was enough to turn her stomach, enough even to drive her toward the portable sonic shower someone had thoughtfully left in her tent. Johnna hated sonic showers with a passion. She never felt clean, no matter how long she stood in the booth, and the sonic barrage set her teeth on edge, no matter how many times people told her the vibrations weren't audible at human levels. But here, now, water was at a premium, and old-fashioned water showers practically a crime.

She stood under the shower as long as she could manage, wishing she had a handful of shampoo to mask the scent she knew would continue to cling to her skin and hair. She supposed normal people wouldn't be able to detect it, but just like with everything else, the C24 had ramped up her sense of smell to eleven, and it would linger in her nostrils for hours.

She stepped out of the booth and pulled fresh scrubs from the recycler over her supposedly-clean body, tying her hair back into a loose ponytail. She looked longingly at the bunk, still made with tight military corners after all this time. But even in this hastily erected field hospital in the middle of a disaster area that made war-torn countries look downright hospitable, she had paperwork to do and messages to take.

Besides, the C24 had had time to catch a breather and was busily waking her back up again.

She muttered epithets in twelve languages under her breath as she felt herself start to revitalize. Goddammit, now she'd be on her feet for another week straight. If only one of these alien races Earth was so hot to trot about made booze with enough kick to knock her out... So far, the C24 had conquered them all. It never stopped her from trying, though, and with that thought in mind, she hauled her last bottle of Cardassian fire whiskey out from it's hiding spot in her biolocked footlocker.

She poured herself three fingers, resealed the bottle and hid it in her footlocker again. She was tempted to leave it out, polish it off, but disciplined herself. First Contact with the Cardassians had been less than a year ago; trade agreements had not yet been formally established, so God only knew when she'd get her hands on another bottle. It was the strongest stuff yet: still inadequate for a full-out drunk, but enough to make her tipsy.

She sat down at the desk, far flimsier than the solid mahogany monstrosity in her office at Atlanta General, and sipped the whiskey. It burned nice and hot all the way down, and settled into her gut with a pleasant warmth. It wouldn't last long - already her superhuman digestion was tackling the potent poison - but she intended to enjoy it while she could. She thumbed on her comm unit, paging through the messages backed up to high heaven on her personal channel.

Messages from news feeds dated days ago, carrying details of the initial attack and the mounting death toll. Johnna deleted those without doing more than scanning the subject lines; she was on-site already. She didn't need some anonymous third party to tell her how bad it was. Calls from colleagues at the hospital, worried about her safety. Notes from the overworked staff here in Tampa, updating her on the conditions of her various patients. Nestled in among the death notices and cautiously hopeful medical messages was a personal mail from her grand-niece, Penny.

She read it three times, willing the words to change. But that wasn't one of the enhancements that came along with the chromosome, so they didn't. Blindly, she reached for her mostly-untouched glass and downed the contents in one long gulp, then went digging through her footlocker again for the rest of the bottle.

oOoOoOo

The nip in the air made Johnna wish she'd brought a heavier coat, but it wasn't anything she couldn't ignore. She'd spent a few weeks in the Antarctic fifty years ago, where she learned that while the cold was definitely uncomfortable, her body simply wouldn't allow frostbite to set in. After surviving hundred below temperatures without so much as a headcold, what was a chilly breeze?

She moved through the tombstones towards the chairs, her eyes automatically going to the mausoleum at the head of the entire set-up. The doors stood open, stone angels flanking on either side. She hadn't been back to the Oakland Cemetary since she'd seen Sam safely interred in that very same crypt, and she knew she should visit her brother. But, as she looked past the marble building to a tall, blonde woman talking quietly with other attendees, she knew Sam wouldn't mind if she put the needs of his only daughter before his.

The liberally-sprinkled salt in Penny's hair told Johnna exactly how much time had gone by since the last time they'd spoken face-to-face, but Penny didn't hesitate to enfold her in a tight hug. Penny had always been far more touchy-feely than Johnna, but she was family, so it was tolerated. She remembered Penny as a bright, happy child, always eager to get an auntie-back ride ("because piggy-back rides are for babies, Auntie Jo!"). Johnna hugged her back, careful not to squeeze too hard, and when the other woman broke down and began weeping on her shoulder, she stood quietly and petted Penny's hair.

Eventually, her niece pulled back, eyes red and breath hitching raggedly. Johnna smiled and gently thumbed the tears from her cheeks. "Hey there, Henny Penny. Still holdin' up the sky?"

The routine and the pet name, unspoken for over fifty years, brought a faint laugh. "Nope, gonna let it fall."

"Just don't drop it on me." She ran a critical eye over her niece, not really liking what she saw, but knowing it was probably better than expected. Her niece was pale, with dark smudges of exhaustion and the puffiness of excessive crying under her eyes that makeup couldn't completely conceal. Her cheekbones stood out in sharp relief and her hair had lost that bright sun-gold luster, hinting at a lack of appetite. And, as Penny raised a tissue to dab carefully at her eyes, she saw that the nails were bitten ragged, right down to the quick. "You look like shit, Penny. Your grandfather would kick my ass if he knew I'd let you go this long without sleep or food."

Penny laughed again, soft and fragile. "Blunt as always, Aunt Jo. I've really missed that. Everyone keeps tiptoeing around, asking if I'm okay and how I'm holding up. You just cut right to the point."

"Call it like I see it, kiddo. Someone had to keep you and your grandfather honest." Johnna reached out to squeeze Penny's shoulder comfortingly. "Whatever you need, Pen. I'm here."

Penny shrugged, absently shredding the used tissue between her fingers. She glanced over her shoulder at the people beginning to sit in the chairs. "I have support, Aunt Jo. The church group has rallied around me. My freezer is so full of casseroles and lasagnas that I don't have to do any food shopping for the next three months. And Christine," she nodded at a dark-haired woman, eying the two of them with suspicion, "has set up base camp in my spare bedroom. I think she's building fortifications in there."

Johnna ignored the sting of guilt as best she could. She'd never had a child of her own, didn't want to risk all the potential complications that came from her unique biology. Sam assured her it wasn't an issue, but her molecular biology hadn't been rusty enough to believe him. Penny, just like Penny's mother Jordan, had been like a daughter to her. It had hurt, walking away, but for the best in the end.

Didn't mean it didn't bring the guilt, to see that for however close she'd been to Penny as a child, the girl had grown up and had a life far, far beyond her now.

"Well," she temporized, running a hand over the sleeve of Penny's jacket, picking off invisible lint. "If I can do anything for you..."

Penny gave her a strange look. "You're doing it, Aunt Jo. You're family, and you're here. I need that more thanI need casseroles."

oOoOoOo

The service was hard on Johnna, but she'd sat through enough of them over the years to school her reactions. It was worse on Penny, who broke down into hysterics during the eulogy and had to be led back to her seat by the pastor. Johnna wanted nothing more than to go up and console her niece, but she didn't need to draw any more attention to herself than she already had.

After the service, Penny was instantly surrounded with sympathizers and well-wishers. Instead of joining the throng, Johnna stood in front of the still-open mausoleum. It was dark and cool inside, rows of brass and gold plaques evenly spaced along the walls. She stepped inside, pulling one hand out of the pocket of her slacks to press against the plaque that read Samuel H. Grimm, June 2, 2020- April 27, 2113.

"Hey Sam," she said softly, tracing the letters of his name with her thumb. "Been awhile, I know. Just like last time, I have no real excuse. I've just been...busy." The smell of mortar hung heavy in the air, and her eyes slid to the newest plaques, engraved only the night before. Five of them in total, all with date ranges far too short. Three tragically short. The last of her family, save her and Penny, gone.

All five coffins were empty.

She turned back to her brother's niche. "Listen, Sam, I know I don't even have to ask, but you make sure you take care of William and Sarah and the kids. I don't know if they got a chance to see the park before it happened, but if whoever's running the show up there has any sense, there's a Disneyland, so you make sure they have a good time."

She stepped back and glanced at the plaque beside Sam's. Hers. Johnna H. Grimm. June 2, 2020 – November 10, 2046. Always Faithful. Another empty coffin in the crypt, one she sincerely doubted would ever be filled. "Don't worry about Penelope," she told Sam. "You just worry about those great-great-grandkids of yours. I'll take care of the living. You take care of the dead."

She tilted her head back, hearing footsteps coming across the grass behind her. "See you around, Sam," she said, reaching out to caress his plaque one last time. "Probably not for a long time again, but I'll be back, eventually." She always was.

She turned around to see Penny standing in the door. Her niece avoided looking at the latest additions and, taking the hint, Johnna exited the crypt. There was a tightness around Penny's eyes and mouth she knew well, having seen it often enough on her own face. Penny was pissed.

"Hey kiddo. You look ready to kill someone."

"if one more person tells me they're sorry for my loss, I'm going to shoot them. I'm gonna drive home, get Granddaddy's shotgun, and start pulling the trigger." Penny shot Johnna an assessing look. "Unless you came armed, Aunt Jo. That'd save me some time."

Johnna couldn't help but smile, and she reached out to thread her fingers through Penny's. "I'm always armed, kiddo," she said lightly. "But just so have friends left in the morning... how about instead I just get you out of here for a little while? I've got some tea and some whiskey at the apartment. Special Grimm family recipe for dealing when things go FUBAR."

Penny hesitated, looking back over her shoulder at her friends and associates. Johnna couldn't help but notice Christine staring at them again. It had been niggling at her for the last hour, but Johnna finally put a finger on it. "Come on," she said, tugging gently at her grand-niece's arm. "Let's go before little Chrissy Benton remembers where she's seen me before."

Penny blinked, startled, and allowed herself to be led. "Chrissy Miller, now. Oh, Aunt Jo. I never thought of that. Are you sure that..?"

Johnna shook her head. "It's fine, kid. Occam's Razor. He's closely related to Murphy, though, so let's get going before she starts hearing zebras." At Penny's blank look, she sighed. "Christ, kid. What did that brother of mine teach you? The simplest explanation is often the correct one, but what can go wrong, will. And if you hear hoofbeats outside the window, it's probably horses, not zebras." She fished her keys out of her pocket and hit the button on the fob, steering Penny in the direction of the resulting double beep.

Penny blinked again. "And you're a zebra."

Johnna nodded and opened the passenger door for Penny. "Oh yeah, kiddo. Biggest, stripiest zebra on the block."

oOoOoOo

After a couple of hours and three cups of special Grimm's family recipe later, Johnna put Penny in a cab and sent her home. Penny needed to get away from the pressure of constant sympathy. She had let Penny guide the conversation, sighing mentally in relief when she avoided discussing the Xindi attack, Johnna's efforts with the relief teams, and the death of her son, his wife and their three children. Instead, they spoke of light, non-threatening topics, like politics, religion and the weather.

Her grandniece was decidedly more relaxed by the time she left; the rage had left her eyes, leaving only the healthier aspects of grief. Johnna had stayed stone-cold sober the entire time, but then again, she was out of fire whiskey. She watched through the window as the cab drove away, replaying the last question Penny had asked in her head.

"Is it my fault?"

"Is it... Now, you listen to me, Penelope Grimm-McCoy. Are you listening? I don't want to hear that shit coming out of your mouth again. You had nothing to do with what happened. Nothing. I don't know why those motherfucking Xindi decided to carve a fucking trench in the goddamn earth, but I know that you don't deserve this shit, and you sure as fuck aren't responsible for it. Shut the fuck up and cry if you need, kiddo. My shoulder can take it."

"You curse a lot when you're angry, Aunt Jo."

"That's the other Grimm family special recipe, Henny Penny. Be violent, be vocal, be vulgar."

Johnna knew what her niece had been asking. Not if the Xindi attack was her fault, but if the fact that she was still alive was her fault. Johnna saw it more often than she'd like. Hell, she'd gone through it herself, after Olduvai. What made her so special, what circumstances decided she was the one worth saving? Why me, why not them?

Survivor's guilt.

She sighed, and moved away from the window. Penny had meant to join her family in Orlando three days after they got there; obligations with her catering business she couldn't defer. The Xindi attack had been the day before her arrival. Johnna wasn't an expert in grief counselling, but the nice thing about her position at Atlanta General was that she knew people who were. She'd pull a few favors, get Penny a referral, and let her niece know it was available if she needed it. She just hoped Penny would take it. No one needed to go through this on their own.

In the process of typing out the various messages needed, she became aware of someone stealthily moving through her kitchen. She didn't react, just kept typing, hyperaware of the intruder's attempt to sneak up on her. She finished her request, sent it to the appropriate party, then reached back, grabbed the hand descending towards her shoulder, and had the intruder up against the wall with a hand around his throat before he could blink.

The man was about as non-descript as they came, with mousy brown hair, faintly Hispanic features and a round face she didn't recognize. He was wore the command uniform of Starfleet, but with no visible rank bars on his shoulder. He scrabbled at her fingers, vise-like around his trachea, and wheezed out, "Major Grimm, I'm from Starfleet Intelligence."

She made him sweat it out another second, then released him. He collapsed forward, hands on his knees, coughing. "Doesn't strike me as very intelligent, sneaking up on a super-soldier so secret you need clearance higher than God to even know about. You sure you're in the right career track?" She pulled him upright, slapping away the hand massaging his throat, and examined her handiwork. "No harm done. You'll bruise, but you'll live. Now, what the fuck are you doing here?"

The officer glared at her and went back to rubbing his throat. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Johnna just arched an eyebrow, and approved when he wisely kept his mouth shut. "I needed to make sure my information was correct," he rasped instead.

Her eyebrow raised a little higher. "And is it?"

"I'd say so. It may even understate a few things."

Johnna sighed. "I've been wondering when you assholes would show up. Surprised it took you this long. So spit it out already. I just came from the funeral of three kids, and you're not making my mood any better."

The officer paused, then nodded. "I'll get right to it, then. My name is Captain Sanchez, Major Grimm. Tell me, have you ever heard of Section 31?"