Author: Scifinerdgrl
Title: Via Sub Rosa
Rating: R - NC17
Classification: X/R
Keywords: Post-ep ("The Truth"), Doggett/Reyes Romance
Summary: After "The Truth" Doggett, Reyes, and Gibson Praise seek
shelter with an unusual group of people.
Archive: Please ask, please tell
Feedback: scifinerdgrl@yahoo.com or scifinerdgrl@hotmail.com

CHAPTER 1

Their SUV sped over the desert road for what seemed like hours, but
was actually only a few minutes. John Doggett rolled down the
driver's window and leaned out, peering in all directions, as his
partner, Monica Reyes, did the same from the passenger's side. Behind
them, they could see smoke and flames in the distance. Ahead lay only
more desert under a blistering summer sun. John pulled to the side of
the road and shut off the engine. They listened intently for sounds
of danger, but they heard nothing. No approaching helicopters, no
cars or trucks, no gunshots. Nothing.

"We got away?" Reyes asked in disbelief.

"Looks like it, don't it?" Doggett confirmed.

"I don't like this," Reyes said thoughtfully. "If they were after
Mulder and Scully, and we're in their car..."

"Maybe they weren't after them. Maybe they were just using them to
give away the location of those caves."

"But why?" Reyes asked. "It doesn't make sense."

John grinned at her, his light blue eyes sparkling in the bright
sunlight. "Has anything ever made sense since we met those two?"

Monica sighed and shook her head. "I still don't get it." For a few
moments she stared ahead, her eyes unseeing under her furrowed brow.
A sudden realization caused her to whirl in her seat to face Doggett.
"What if they were using *us* to give away the location of those
caves?"

His hand slipped over hers and squeezed it gently. "Let's not borrow
trouble. We're safe for the moment. We have to assume they are too."

"How did those helicopters know where to go? Did they track ours? Or
did they track..." Reyes stopped mid-sentence, and she and Doggett
stared slack-jawed at each other for a cold moment.

"You take the passenger compartment. I'll take everything else,"
Doggett ordered, opening his car door. The two agents went over the
rented SUV, looking for any unusual electronic devices. Reyes
finished first and slid under the vehicle to help her partner.

"Anything?" she asked, shining her flashlight along the underside.

"Nope, nothing yet," he answered, flashing a smile in her direction.
"So far so good. I'm almost finished here.... You didn't need to get
yourself dirty," he added.

"Where you go, I go," she answered pointedly, looking deeply into his
eyes.

He sighed and slid out from under the vehicle, then put out his hand
to help her. She kept her hand in his after righting herself and
squeezed it gently.

"I wish you hadn't done that," John said, some disappointment in his
voice.

Reyes immediately pulled her hand out from his, and, feeling a little
hurt, turned to walk around the car. "Not that," he said, reaching
for her hand and pulling her toward him. "Back there," he nodded
toward the tower of smoke in the distance. "When I told you to go,
you should have gone. I meant it, Monica," he said sternly.

Monica pursed her lips, measuring her response. "Where you go, I go,"
she repeated, moving closer to him.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and looked into her eyes,
resisting the urge to kiss her. "One of us needed to survive. We made
a promise." They shared an uneasy grin, then Doggett let go of her
hand and said, "Our first priority is..."

"Gibson," Reyes said seriously, completing his thought.

An hour later they arrived at the monastery where they'd hidden
Gibson earlier that morning. It was a Spanish mission, centuries old,
with adobe walls surrounding a quiet cloister. The site exuded a
sense of peace, calm, and serenity. Reyes' sighed loudly as soon as
the monastery appeared over the last hill of their journey. Doggett
heard her sigh and looked in here direction, smiling. Almost
everything she did made him smile lately. He knew it was silly but he
couldn't help it.

As they approached the monastery they could see flashes of white
against the black of the tiny windows. The massive wood doors swung
open before they could raise the doorknocker, and a flutter of white
ushered them inside. John and Monica followed the flowing white robes
on faith until their eyes adjusted to the indoor light. They arrived
in a sparsely furnished dining room, diffused light filtering in from
the tiny windows. Gibson sat at a table, a chess board in front of
him, an elderly nun opposite. She moved her white Queen to his end of
the chess board and pronounced "check," triumphantly. Gibson looked
up in surprise, then saw John and Monica in the doorway.

"You came back for me?" he asked.

"Of course, Gibson. We promised we would," Doggett answered
matter-of-factly.

Gibson looked from Doggett to Reyes then said, "And you... if
something had happened to him... you would have come back here
anyway." It was more of a statement than a question. Reyes nodded
grimly. Gibson looked at Doggett again, focusing intently on the
ex-cop's simple but honest thoughts.

After an awkward silence, the elderly nun turned her pasty face
toward Doggett and Reyes. "He can stay here as long as he wants," she
said with calm efficiency.

"So can you," interjected the younger nun who had been their escort.

"We're safe here," Gibson assured them.

They looked at him with equal surprise. They had forgotten about his
paranormal ability to sense not just thoughts of people around him,
but the presence of dangerous aliens. When Doggett's head turned in
her direction Reyes instinctively looked to him for his thoughts.

"We need to think about what to do next," he reasoned.

Reyes studied his eyes for a moment then sighed and nodded. "We need
time. But I don't know.... What if we put them in danger? We can't do
that."

They both turned their eyes to their hosts, who were standing on
either side of Gibson now, looking boldly back at them. "We're not
afraid," said the younger nun.

"The Lord is with us," the older one added. "He is with you, too."
Her eyes were were fixed on Reyes' eyes, and Reyes met her stare with
equanimity.

Doggett looked back and forth between the two women and felt that
sense, that hair-on-the-back-of-the-neck sense, that X-Files sense,
he wished he could deny. "Monica?" John touched her elbow gently.

She glanced at him then at Gibson, who nodded. "Okay," she said to
the older nun. "We'll stay."

*************************
CHAPTER 2

"Monica," John whispered, a little too loudly. "We have other
options."

"They want to stay in the same room," Gibson announced to the older
nun.

"I know," the old woman answered. She turned to face Doggett, whose
ears had turned red. "We can accommodate you here."

"That isn't necessary," he grunted, shooting Monica a sideways
glance.

"If it would make you feel better, you can stay in separate rooms,"
the younger nun said soothingly.

"We wouldn't want to impose..." Doggett said awkwardly, but he was
interrupted by a flutter of white cloth as the older woman waved her
arms.

"No imposition at all," she assured them. "I'm sure Gibson would
welcome another chance to beat an old lady at chess..." She looked at
Gibson, who blushed and glanced at the chessboard. "Monasteries have
been accommodating pilgrims for centuries. It's part of our mission.
You'd be letting us do the opus dei, God's work."

Doggett could see he'd been outvoted, and slumped his shoulders in
resignation. "Okay... for a day or two, but if there's any sign of
trouble..."

"There won't be," Gibson said with certainty.

"How do you know? Do you sense something?" Monica asked, the
gentleness in her voice holding the boy's attention.

Gibson shrugged. "I don't know how I know. I think it's them," he
said, looking up into the faces of the two nuns. They showed no
acknowledgement of his suspicions, and Doggett's forehead creased as
he tried to decide how he felt about this arrangement.

The bedrooms were sparsely furnished, in keeping with the Cistercian
philosophy of plainness, but the beds were comfortable enough and the
pilgrims settled in for a well-deserved sleep after a soporific meal
of rice and beans.

...Sirens blared in his ears as he ran, but as fast as he ran, he
seemed to be moving backwards, as if going the wrong way on an
escalator. He could feel his stomach cramping and his chest
tightening, his running growing more and more strained with each
step. He reached out into the darkness reaching for something to grab
as the sirens continued to grow louder. As he flailed his hand hit
upon something firm yet gentle. He grabbed it, and when he did the
sirens turned into beautiful a melody, soaring lightly over an unfelt
breeze.

He opened his eyes and Monica was there, holding his hand. "You were
having a nightmare," she said soothingly to the accompaniment of the
nuns chanting in the distance. "You were kicking the wall."

"Ohhh," he groaned, struggling to find her features in the darkness.
"I dreamt I was running, and I wasn't getting anywhere... there were
sirens coming up behind me..."

She stroked his hair in a calming rhythm. "And then?" she asked when
he paused.

"And then you were there," he squeezed her hand. "And everything was
alright."

She sighed and continued stroking his hair thoughtfully, but did not
speak.

"What time is it?" John's gravelly voice said when the nuns had
paused.

"About three," she answered. "Matins."

The singing resumed, and Doggett sighed in recognition. "Matins...
they warned us about that. I didn't hear the bell..."

"I didn't either. I heard this mad thumping against the wall," Monica
laughed. "If we hadn't been in a monastery..."

"Monica!" Doggett yelled, a little too loudly. Embarrassed, he raised
himself n an elbow and whispered. "That's not funny!" But even in the
darkness she could tell he was smiling.

Their hands became restless, their relaxed massages replaced by
urgent and sensuous rubbing. Monica pulled free and stood up, then
bent to caress his cheek. "Good night. Try to be quieter," she
whispered, then tiptoed out of his room.

Monica awoke to a ribbon of light from the early morning sun stroking
her cheek. It seemed too early, and her limbs were tired. She rolled
over and nuzzled into her pillow with a soft groan. A few seconds
later she heard a soft knock on her door. It was John, his hair
tousled boyishly and his T-shirt askew over his well-developed chest.

"Hi John," she growled softly.

"Mon, did you come to my room last night?" he asked.

She pulled the door backward but John didn't step across the
threshhold. "Yes, you had a nightmare," she said when she realized he
wouldn't come in.

"And then what?" he asked.

"We talked for a minute or two, then I came back here. Why?"

He sighed and slumped against the doorjamb. "I barely remember that,"
he said groggily. "But I remember the very vivid dream I had after
you left."

"Another nightmare?" she asked with concern.

He grinned, the memory of their dream sex even more vivid in her
presence. "No"

She smiled flirtatiously. "No? Then what was it?" she asked, running
the back of her hand over his chest.

He grabbed her hand and held it over his heart. The feel of his
heartbeat was exhilirating, quickening her own pulse. As they looked
into each other's eyes, she slid closer to him until their faces were
inches apart. When he could smell her breath, the morning breath he'd
recently come to love, he reached for the back of her neck and pulled
her to him for a passionate kiss. She responded eagerly, pulling her
hand free and sliding it around his waist. They swayed for a few
liquid moments then leaned against the doorjamb for support. They
parted, panting slightly through flared nostrils.

"Staying here will drive me crazy," he whispered. "Let's find
somewhere else to hide out..."

***************
CHAPTER 3

After their showers they found their way back to the refectory, where
places had been set for them. Gibson sat at his chessboard, studying
the game left from the night before. "Morning," he said, not looking
up.

John and Monica exchanged glances, then John said solicitously, "Good
morning Gibson. Sleep well?"

"Nope," Gibson answered, still not looking up.

"Why not?" Reyes asked, approaching him.

He sighed and looked up from his game. "You two."

Doggett stepped up to Reyes's side and the two exchanged curious
glances. Reyes broke the silence, "What about us, Gibson?" Gibson's
flash of annoyance stopped her from approaching closer.

"I'm not a child," he said curtly. "I'm sixteen."

"I'm sorry," Reyes apologized. "I didn't mean to be condescending.
But I am concerned."

"I know," Gibson sighed. He watched as John and Monica sat at the
table nearest his, the concern in their eyes matched by what he'd
already sensed from them. "You two do care about me. I know that."

"We made a promise, Gibson, and we're going to keep it," John
reassured him.

"I know you want to," Gibson answered. "But your thoughts... they're
a little, um... intense. Especially in your dreams." Doggett blushed
as Reyes looked at him. "Both of you," Gibson added.

"Look, Gibson," John said paternally. "We can't help that. We all
have ... feelings that are intense from time to time. It's normal."

The older nun, Sister Martha, appeared in the doorway. "Oh good,
you're awake!" she exclaimed gleefully. Gibson looked at her with
annoyance, and she pointedly returned his look. "Ready for a hint,
Gibson?" she teased.

Gibson glanced at the chessboard, then moved his bishop toward the
far corner of the chessboard, announcing, "Check," with delight.

Sister Martha smiled. "How about breakfast now?" Gibson stood and
moved to one of the place settings, keeping his eyes on the
chessboard. Doggett and Reyes moved to join him. The younger nun,
Sister Mary, entered pushing a cart laden with coffee, juice, toast,
muffins, and a steaming platter of scrambled eggs.

"This is wonderful," Monica gushed. "Is this all for us?"

"We've already eaten," Martha explained. "...with the other sisters.
They're busy with their opus dei. You are our opus dei."

John grinned conspiratorily at Gibson, saying, "I thought you looked
pretty healthy for a kid on the run."

"You mean fat," Gibson said sullenly. "And I wasn't staying here." He
piled eggs and toast on his plate, then held his tumbler out for Mary
to fill. He drank down half of it while she stood in front of him,
then waited as she refilled the half-full glass.

Doggett took his turn at the food cart, then poured himself a mug of
hot coffee. He held the mug under his nose and inhaled deeply,
sighing with closed eyes. When he opened them he saw the others
grinning at him. "What?" he asked, with mock defensiveness.

"Nothing," Monica smirked, then turned her attention to the cart.

Still holding the mug close to his face, Doggett turned to Gibson and
asked, "Can you tell us where you were when you were hiding Agent
Mulder?"

Gibson's mouth was bulging with three types of muffin, and he glared
at Doggett as he slowly worked the doughy mass around in his mouth.

Martha flew to the seat across from Gibson, creating a breeze that
wafted Monica's hair in what John thought seemed an almost angelic
waft. "There are several monasteries like ours in the Southwest," she
said, pulling out her chair. "Gibson is welcome at all of them. As
are you two," she glanced between Doggett and Reyes, who seemed
puzzled.

"Why us? Because we're with Gibson?" she asked, buttering her toast
with deliberate nonchalance.

"Because you're like Gibson," Mary answered.

Monica's eyes locked with John's as the two relived their arguments
over John's psychic abilities. This was a sore subject for him, but
as he studied her face he had to admit that he had more than the
usual lover's sense for his belovéd's thoughts. And she sensed
equally well that he still wasn't ready to acknowledge his ability
publicly.
*******************
CHAPTER 4

After a quiet, uncomfortable breakfast, Gibson and Martha returned to
their game as Mary removed the dishes. Monica reached across the
table for John's hand, and he hesitated before joining his hand to
hers. "I don't think we have to worry about them reporting us to
Skinner," Monica said, squeezing his hand.

He smiled, his eyes sparkling in the way they did only for her.
"Leave it to you to find the silver lining in this." He squeezed her
hand and looked longingly into her eyes.

"I'm sure we'll find many silver linings if we keep looking for
them," she said encouragingly. They both drew their other hands to
the center of the table, creating a small mound of fingers in motion.

Their lovers' stare was interrupted by a sudden shout from Gibson,
whose eyes were intently studying the chessboard. "Get a room!"

Without looking up, Martha said in a non-comittal voice, "Why don't
you two spend some time in the courtyard?"

They took the hint, and, holding hands, walked through the door to
the inner courtyard.

The courtyard was nearly square, with porticos surrounding it on all
sides, each wall containing several large windows, many with wavy
glass that oddly refracted the bright sunlight despite being in the
shade. They walked slowly, their arms swaying gently to the rhythm of
their footsteps. When they had circled the courtyard they found a
bench by some carefully tended roses, and sat down, their knees
touching, John's arm around Monica's waist. She sighed loudly and
leaned against him, and he responded by kissing the top of her hair.

"What are we going to do, John?" she whispered. 

He pulled her closer and rested his cheek on her head. "I don't know,
Mon," he sighed. "But we can't give up."

"No, we can't," she repeated, laying a hand on his thigh. He covered
it with one of his own.

They sat there for several minutes, each making minute movements as
they settled into each other, like a house settling on its
foundation.

When they heard a rustling sound behind them they both stood up,
instinctively reaching for their guns. They whirled as one toward the
source of the sounds. Sister Mary raised her arms in mock fright.

"Relax!" she said as she lowered her arms. "You're among friends." 

Reyes lowered her gun first. "Sorry," she apologized. "It's an
instinct."

"A good one, I'm sure. I'm glad to see that Gibson is in good hands"
Mary said calmy, advancing toward them. "He is a frightened boy.
Don't let his bravura fool you." Mary continued walking past Doggett
and Reyes, and they turned to walk with her. "But he trusts you," she
continued.

"We promised we'd watch out for him," Doggett said matter-of-factly. 

"And you have," Mary pointed out. 

Doggett and Reyes stopped walking simultaneously and stared at her.
"Why wouldn't we?" Reyes asked.

Mary continued walking, and the pair caught up to her in a few long
strides. "What are your plans? He trusts you but he's anxious."

"Plans for him?" Doggett said incredulously. "We don't have an idea
for ourselves yet!"

"We can't go home," Reyes asserted. "Not right away." 

"But you do plan to take care of Gibson?" Mary asked. 

"Of course!" Reyes and Doggett answered together. They looked at 
each other giddily, then reached for each other's hand. 

"We'll see to it that he's safe before we do anything else," Monica 
added. 

"He'll be safe here," Mary assured them. "People like him... like
*you* ... are the reason this monastery exists. Do you understand?"

They had come full circle and were once again standing at the bench
near the roses. A bee hovered over one rose, and as it started
lowering itself to a petal Mary waved it away.

"No, I don't," said Doggett with some annoyance. "But if he'll be
safe here... and happy.... that's good enough for me."

Monica fingered the petal of one rose, taking in its velvety
smoothness as her eyes roved over the features of the cloister. "This
is a beautiful, serene place," Monica said softly. "I like it here."

"You can stay as long as you like," Mary offered. 

"What would be *your* plans for Gibson?" Monica asked, still
caressing the rose petal.

"We don't have a plan, either," Mary admitted. "We haven't had a boy
stay here for more than a few days. But we'll do what we can for
him."

Monica looked to John, searching his face for an answer to her
unasked question. "I'd like to talk to him before making a decision,"
she said seriously.

As if summoned, Gibson emerged from the heavy oak doorway and walked
purposefully toward them. "You wanted to talk to me?" he asked
Monica.

Monica sat down at one end of the bench, and Gibson sat in the
middle. John followed suit and sat at the other end, his knees and
Monica's forming a sheltering "V" on either side of Gibson's much
shorter legs.

"We need to know what you want to do next, Gibson," Monica said
gently, placing a hand on the boy's forearm. "We will support you in
whatever you want to do. I want you to know that."

Gibson's chest heaved a few times, and he blinked several quick
blinks against gathering tears. John turned away, studying his
fingernails, noting the oil and grease that had worked their way into
his rugged hands, resolving to take better care of his appearance for
Monica's sake... Anything to keep Gibson from sensing the pity that
had started welling up inside.

"What I want," Gibson croaked. "ALL I want... is just to have a
normal life."

For a long moment, Monica and John looked into each other's eyes over
the top of Gibson's head, until Monica broke the stare with a sigh.

"I know," Gibson sighed, unconsciously mimicking Monica's sigh. "I
can never have a normal life. And neither can you."

"We can try," John said resolutely. "And living in a monastery is NOT
normal."

Gibson grinned. "No, it isn't," he agreed.

"What about school?" Monica asked. "What grade are you in?"

"Grade?" Gibson snorted. "I haven't gone to school in years."

John and Monica shared a concerned grimace over the top of his head.
"How many years?" Monica asked. A shrug was all the answer Gibson
offered. "You need to get an education, Gibson," Monica said sternly.
"Especially if you want a normal life."

Gibson grimaced and looked to John, but John maintained a stern face.
"Gibson, school is important. The fact that you question it shows how
badly you need it," John said somewhat condescendingly. "Didn't you
go to a school for the deaf for awhile? Did you take courses there?"

Gibson nodded. "I learned sign language, and how to be a freak among
freaks," he said with disgust. "They were quiet though. And easy to
beat at chess."

Monica couldn't help smiling. "They surely had other good qualities."


Gibson rolled his eyes but Monica persisted. "And surely you learned
a thing or two..."

Gibson signed an answer, and from his cynical expression John and
Monica knew he was signing something they wouldn't have wanted to
hear. John laughed, much to Monica's dismay and Gibson's delight.
"You'll have to teach me that," John snorted. Monica shot John a
punishing glance, but he didn't notice, as he and Gibson shared
mischievous grins.

"Sure," Gibson mouthed as he made the sign for the word.

Monica sighed, this time in exasperation. "Well you should at least
get your GED, Gibson. You don't have to go to school to do that. We
can tutor you."

Gibson rolled his eyes and looked to Doggett for support, but Doggett
was gazing admiringly at Reyes. "I agree," he said. "You need to get
that diploma, Gibson. Stay with us, or stay here... Either way, we'll
make sure you'll get your education." Gibson's eyes began pleading,
but Doggett was adamant. "You want to be normal? Well...?" Gibson
pursed his lips in defeat.

"I don't know if anyone can give you a completely normal life," Reyes
added, her voice at once soothing and resolute. "But we can try." She
stood and walked away, glancing over her shoulder several times as if
afraid they might disappear.

Gibson and Doggett looked at each other for a long moment, their
expressions changing from mischievous to awkward to embarrassed as
they realized they had nothing to say to each other. John studied
Gibson's face, noting the fresh pimple on his cheekbone and the soft
fuzz over his lip. Gibson's flush and glance away reminded John that
Gibson knew what he was thinking. "Sorry," he apologized. "I remember
what it was like. ... waking up and finding big zits on my forehead,
trying to cover them up at school... going to my first dance... my
first kiss..." Gibson looked pained by these reminiscences of a life
he could never hope to have. "Of course, that first kiss was NOT at
my first dance. That first dance was a disaster. I had NO idea how to
dance..." John chuckled. "Still don't!"

"I bet," Gibson snarled.

Doggett was taken off-guard by Gibson's remark but he persisted. "I
know what you mean about wanting a normal life, Gibson," he said
kindly. "Even though there were some times I wanted the earth to
swallow me up..." He nodded his confirmation when Gibson's face
showed surprise. "I wouldn't rade those memories for anything. You
deserve the same chance to look foolish in front of your first
girlfriend." John smiled, and the sparkle in his eyes made Gibson
smile in spite of himself.

"Thanks," said Gibson. "...I think."

"And I'll never forget learning to drive," John snorted. "My dad
didn't want me learning from some drivers ed. teacher, so he tried to
teach me himself. I don't know whether I was dense or if he just made
me nervous, but I stalled that stick shift half a dozen times before
we got to the end of the block!" He wiped a tiny tear from the corner
of his eye. "Ohhhh," he sighed. "That was so funny... Dad was so
embarrassed, I was so frustrated..." He chuckled some more then
grinned at Gibson. "If you want, I could teach you to drive," he
offered, tears of laughter glinting in his blue eyes. "But I can't
guarantee anything if it's a stick shift."

Gibson grinned. "Can I drive the SUV?" he asked enthusiastically.

"Sure," Doggett smiled. "How about now?" He stood up and patted the
boy on his shoulder. Gibson eagerly followed his lead, and the two
"men" sauntered toward the door.

While Doggett and Gibson drove the SUV around the perimeter of the
monastery, Monica pored over the offerings in the tiny library. A
sister she hadn't met, Sister Agatha, logged her on to a computer,
and the two looked together for resources for Gibson. They settled on
a home-schooling system which Agatha paid for. "If you don't like it,
God will send us someone who does," Agatha assured Monica. Monica
smiled weakly. She wanted to believe, but this rationalization was a
stretch, even for her.

CHAPTER 5

Over dinner Martha and Mary looked on with amusement and affection as
John and Gibson described the boy's first driving lesson, and Monica
described her plans for Gibson's education. Tonight the refectory was
filled with nuns, chatting and laughing so loud that the pilgrims
strained to hear each other.

When the talk turned to the agents' plans, Martha repeated her offer
to let them stay indefinitely. "Of course, we'd want you to take a
job here. It would be your rent, so to speak, and also your opus
dei." Mary could see the hopefulness in Reyes' eyes as she looked to
her partner for silent assent. She continued, "We have a bakery, and
we sell our bread and muffins in town. We need someone to drive the
truck, and our bus needs some work. You could stay in the
groundskeeper's cottage. Interested?" she asked John.

John felt a shiver as he recalled his time in Mexico working on a
delipitated bus while he waited for his amnesia to lift. He wasn't
sure,but he sensed another presence as he remembered the bus, a
voyeur peeking through the dusty haze of the Mexican sun... He looked
up in shock. The presence was Mary. She was invading his memories,
and he could sense her presence in his mind.

Before he could answer, Martha turned her attention to Monica. "And
you," she said with something approaching reverence. "Sister Agatha
told me of your facility with the computer..." Monica blushed and
opened her mouth to object, but Martha silenced her with an
experienced wave of the hand. "And your interest in teaching." Again
Monica started to object, and again Martha waved her hands. "And you
speak Spanish?" she finished excitedly. "Fluently?"

Monica waited a moment for permission to speak then answered, "Yes,
I'm from Mexico, but I'm not qualified to..."

Martha interrupted her, saying excitedly, "Mexican farm workers are
due to pass through in the next few weeks. Could you help us prepare
some teaching materials for them? You would be helping the opus dei."

Monica looked at John, who seemed engrossed in his own thoughts. How
could she refuse such a worthy request? The room became silent, as an
nun who was even older than Martha hobbled to the front of the room.
The old woman croaked out a little song-like formula in Latin then
began to read from the Bible:

"Fret not yourself because of the wicked,
be not envious of wrongdoers!
For they will soon fade like the grass,
and wither like the green herb.

Trust in the Lord and do good;
so you will dwell in the land, and enjoy security...."

Monica reached under the table and gave John's hand a gentle sqeeze,
bringing him out of his reverie and inspiring a smile. He returned
her gesture, then pulled his hand away and reached around her
shoulders. She slid toward him on their bench and rested her head on
his shoulder as they listened to the rest of the psalm.

"...The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord;
he is their refuge in the time of trouble.
The Lord helps them and delivers them;
he delivers them from the wicked, and saves them,
because they take refuge in him."

When the old woman started turning the pages of the massive book,
John whispered to Monica, "We need to talk."

He grabbed her hand and they made their way to the courtyard bench
near the roses. The sun had just set beyond the mountains, leaving
the garden in a hazy blue glow.

"January 9, 1986," John said to Monica. "The day Luke was born.
Within hours, I had it all laid out -- teaching him to ride a
tricycle, then a bicycle, to hit a baseball and toss a football, to
drive a stickshift, packing up the car to take him to college..." He
looked intently into Monica's eyes, and she was surprised to see no
hint of sadness in his. "This is the life I planned for a long time
ago. Gibson could never take Luke's place, I know, but if all had
gone according to plan, this would be the year I'd be teaching Luke
to drive, helping him choose a college..." He squeezed her hand
hopefully. "It's the right thing to do, Mon," he finished.

Monica gulped. "John," she said slowly and quietly. "I understand,
but there's something else you should know." His forehead wrinkled
into a question mark, and Monica knew there was anxiety behind it.
"Sister Agatha filled me in on the true mission of this place." She
took a deep breath before continuing, "All these nuns are like
Gibson. There's a brother house nearby that's the same but for men.
There are monasteries like this all over the world. And not just
Catholic. Almost every religion has some, or at least a secret group
in hiding, like a group of Mayan descendents in Mexico, and the
Native Americans in the caves near here."

John stared at her for a second, his mouth open as if he was trying
to think of what to say. He closed it then shook his head. "I can't
believe what I'm hearin' here."

"John, Gibson doesn't really need us," she continued. "He has them.
They'll protect him, and train him to control and accept his
abilities." She waited a few seconds until this news seemed to have
registered. "We wouldn't be abandonning him if we left him here.
He'll be okay."

Disappointment in his eyes, Doggett nodded. "He'll be safe here, I
can tell..."

Before he could finish, Gibson appeared, seemingly out of the dimming
twilight. "But it wouldn't be normal," he said adamantly.

"Oh, Gibson, I know..." Monica said sympathetically. She reached for
his hand and held it lightly. "I don't mean to ..."

Gibson pulled his hand away and shot Monica a sullen glance. "I don't
want to stay here. I just want a normal life like everybody else!
What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, Gibson," John said, as much to Monica as to the boy. "But
how? It seems to me there are only degrees of normalcy.... I can help
you.... *we* can help you," he glanced at Monica and took her hand.
Gibson watched in disgust as they smiled at each other. "The three of
us will decide *together* what to do...."

Gibson stared at Monica, waiting until she broke her gaze with John,
then he said, "And I don't want you to give up your fight... against
the aliens." He shifted his gaze to John. "I couldn't ask you to give
that up for me."

The three returned to the refectory, which by now was empty, and they
found that their desserts had been carefully laid out for them. They
all smiled, and John quickly resumed his seat. "C'mon," he waved.
"Eat up or I'll steal it from ya!"

Monica raised a forkful of her raspberry fudge cheesecake to her nose
and sniffed. "They really want us to stay here, don't they?" she
asked rhetorically.

Gibson nodded, pushing a forkful of cheesecake deep into his mouth,
then licking the fork as he pulled it out. "They want us here because
we're like them... and they want you to fix the truck, the bus, and
the irrigation system for the vegetable garden," he said to Doggett.

"We can stay here for a few weeks, I suppose," John said thoughtfully
as he reached for his coffee. "Right now we don't have anywhere to go
anyway." He took a sip and sighed. "The question for you, Gibson, is
whether you want to stay here," his eyes moved around the room,
indicating the monastery. "Or at the caretaker's cottage," he reached
an arm around Monica's shoulder and rested his hand casually next to
her neck. "...With us," he added.

"With you," Gibson said without missing a beat.

"But I make no promises about my thoughts," Doggett warned impishly.
Monica smiled at him and put her hand on his.

Gibson was disgusted but also amused. "I'll get over it," he
resolved.

*********************
CHAPTER 6

After going through boxes and closets full of clothing donated to the
convent, John, Monica, and Gibson moved to the caretaker's cottage.
It was a small adobe house, in a similar style to the main monastery.
Red clay tiles graced the gently sloping roof, and the warm earth
tones of the mud walls blended into the desert landscape. The two
bedrooms occupied opposite ends of the house, much to Gibson's
relief, and the main living area in the center included an
old-fashioned kitchen, a living room with a wood-burning fireplace,
and a dining area filled with storage boxes. Martha assured them the
boxes would be moved in the morning.

Gibson's room faced away from the road and the monastery, and in the
starlight he could see the outline of the mountains in the distance.
John and Monica hung their "new" clothes and together made the bed,
grinning to each other as they lifted up the sheet and watched it
parachute to the mattress. As they were finishing Gibson knocked at
the door and said loudly "Goodnight. Don't worry about me. You won't
be doing anything you haven't been thinking about for the past hour
anyway."

"Goodnight, Gibson," John shouted, somewhat annoyed.

Monica went to the door and opened it a few inches. "Don't worry,"
she assured him in a whisper. "You'll learn how to ignore it."

*~*~*~*~*~*~ SMUT ALERT *~*~*~*~*~*~

After Monica shut the door she turned around and beamed in John's
direction. "It's just us now... in our own room... together" she
purred as she approached him.

They went to each other as if they'd been separated for years. Monica
hurriedly started pulling on John's T-Shirt as he clumsily tried to
unbutton her blouse.

John paused and said, "I don't know why, but I'm a little nervous..."

"Exciting, isn't it?" Monica rubbed her hands over his bare chest. "A
place of our own, for now anyway..." She patted the mattress, then
sat down and reached for his hands. "and this is OUR bed...," she
said seductively.

He let her pull him down onto the bed, then he rolled to her side.
"You didn't like staying over?"

"I love your house, John," Monica said comfortingly. "But it was
yours. I felt like a guest there."

"A very welcome guest," he said, smoothing her hair. "And I thought
you were starting to feel at home there."

She put an arm over his chest and nuzzled his neck, then pulled away
and gazed into his eyes. "Anywhere you are is home for me," she
whispered. She brought her lips to his and he returned her kiss.

His kiss was warm and passionate, yet at the same time comforting and
gentle. Monica felt herself melting as he wrapped her in his strong
arms and rolled her onto her back. He pulled away and smiled, his
eyes sparkling from the starlight streaming in through the window. "I
love you," he whispered hoarsely. "My home is where you are too."

She smiled her response, speechless for the moment, as his hand made
its way from her chin to her breasts then started undoing her jeans.
Monica felt tingles throughout her body, as much from his words as
from his actions. He walked on his knees as he pulled her jeans down
and over her feet. He then stood and undid his own pants as she
watched. He kept his eyes on hers, watching her reaction as he peeled
off the layers between them, and when he was ready for her he stood
for a moment at the foot of the bed, drinking in the sight of her
naked and ready body, which was glowing faintly in the bluish
starlight. "You're so beautiful," he said, crawling back to her. He
kissed her then stroked her hair and said, "Whatever I did to deserve
you, I'm glad I did it."

"Just being you is enough," Monica whispered. "I love you too," she
added after a moment's hesitation.

They kissed again, lips exploring lips, their breathing loud but
steady, as they each caressed the other with a deepened sense of
trust and affection. John broke away to trail tender kisses down her
neck, then his tongue teased her skin as it made its way through the
valley between her breasts, and then down her body until he heard her
throw her head back in a deep sigh. She opened her legs for him as he
licked, sucked and caressed all her favorite places and searched for
more. He pushed first one, then two, fingers deep inside her, finding
the places and the motions that he'd so recently reawakened for her,
then probed futher, reaching an undiscovered source of passion and
pleasure. She gasped in surprise, but her hips invited him to linger,
and he listened to her hips. Over, around, back, over, around, back,
over, around, back... always slightly slower than she begged for yet
increasing in speed until her gyrations and his motions brought her
to a shuddering climax that made her cry out.

He kept his nose buried in her curly hairs, enjoying the scents of
her pleasure, until she pulled on his hair, urging him to blanket her
with his body as she recovered. The feeling of her skin against his,
and her hair intertwining with his, built his desire even as hers was
waning. "I love you," he whispered huskily, close to her ear.

"I love you," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his ribcage. He
responded by pulling away, raising himself up on his well-developed
arms, and smiling into her smiling face.

"I want you," he gasped. "You're driving me crazy."

Although the look in his eyes was unmistakeable, Monica reached below
to check how crazy he was. He was more ready for her than she had
ever known him to be, and just touching the girth and stiffness of
his readiness awoke new readiness in her. "Oh, yeah?" she teased,
then guided him just to the edge of her slick opening, teasing him
until his eyes closed and a gutteral groan escaped his throat. "You
want what?" she asked.

Panting now, he opened his eyes, begging her to let him enter. She
opened herself to him, and let him ease into her. Slowly, carefully,
he pushed in, feeling her expand and then relax around him until he
was fully inside. They rested a moment, delighting in their union,
not wanting to upset the balance John had so expertly achieved. But
soon the biological imperative took over, and he slid out slowly,
then in, out, in... as she writhed underneath him. His arms
outstretched, holding his head high above hers, he was able to watch
as her face contorted in rhythm to his motions. Watching her, and
hearing her moans and cries, intensified his feelings to the point
where he was afraid of losing control. He pulled out, and her hips
continued to thrust, searching for him in the darkness. "I want to
make this last," he explained when her eyes searched his. "I want you
to feel like you've never felt before."

She pushed her hands against his ribcage and knocked him onto his
back next to her, then she straddled him and guided him into her
again. This time there was no slow beginning, as both bucked madly
the moment she had accepted him. She watched him watching her, and
her pleaure built exponentially with every thrust. He held onto her
hips as she bounced on top of him, the swaying of her breasts adding
to his pleasure until he felt he had to close his eyes. Her orgasm
was like none she'd ever felt before, making her groan as wave after
wave threw her body into a serpentine dance. His own release
followed, and to the accompaniment of a loud, low, groan, the waves
of his pleasure spilled into her still-writhing body.

Monica collapsed on her side of the bed, panting gently, her breath
cooling the beads of sweat that were collecting on her chest.

"You okay?" John whispered, rolling to his side and brushing the hair
from her face. "Was it good?"

"Oh, yeah!" she said enthusiastically. "You're incredible, John," she
assured him.

He flopped onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. "Good," he
said. "Cause you knocked the wind outta me!" he chuckled.

Monica rolled to her side and draped an arm across his chest, then
rested her head on his shoulder. "Every time it's gotten better and
better..." she said, stroking his chest with the tips of her
fingernails. "You surprise me every time."

"Hmmmmm," John mumbled, then the next sound Monica heard was a
gentle, satisfied, snore.
***************
CHAPTER 7

They awoke to the sound of a soft but insistent knock on their door.
John groggily padded to the door and opened it a crack. "Yeah,
Gibson?" he croaked.

"I'm going to get breakfast. And play chess with Sister Martha,"
Gibson announced. John nodded, then Gibson added, an awkward
hopefulness in his face, "I didn't want you to worry."

"Thanks, Gibson," John acknowledged. "We would have."

Gibson smiled and stepped away from the door. "See you later," he
smirked, knowing what thoughts had just jumped to John's mind. "Have
fun!"

"Gibson..." John started, but Gibson raced to the door and was gone
before John could scold him.

John shut the door quietly and returned to bed, where Monica was
stirring, half-awake. He pulled the covers over his naked body and
stroked her cheek. "Good morning, beautiful," he purred.

She stretched and opened her eyes. "Morning," her voice was gravelly,
as if it too was not yet awake. She looked around the room for a
moment before sighing in recognition. "I forgot where we were," she
said. "I was dreaming we were at your house."

He stroked her hair and sighed, "No, we're at *our* house," he
whispered. "At least it's ours for awhile."

She smiled, "I remember now...." She wrapped an arm around his waist,
and said seductively, "I remember everything."

He leaned over and kissed her, his tongue darting into her mouth,
telling her that he was ready for more lovemaking. She responded
eagerly, pulling him onto her, moving her body underneath his and
letting the fabric of the bed linens bunch into a mound that
stimulated them both. "Hmmmmm," he hummed into her ear. "I remember
too. You were magnificent."

"So were you," she growled, pulling the bed linens down so that their
chests could rub together.

At the feel of her breasts smashing against his chest, Doggett
grunted, then grabbed the linens and jerked them out from between
their bodies, tossing them to the floor. The two bodies now
unhindered on the wide mattress began to writhe against each other,
each seeking the other until they merged in a rocking motion that
gradually quickened to the accompaniment of excited grunts, moans,
shouts and whimpers.

At his final exclamation of joy, John's head fell forward and nestled
itself in the damp tresses of her dark hair. Spent, he sighed deeply
and resisted the urge to go limp on top of her. Monica's breathing
slowed and she reached to the back of his neck, then massaged him
gently. "I love you," he sighed into her ear. "More than life," he
added.

"I love you too," she whispered. "You've made me so happy..." They
kissed tenderly, each proving to the other the truth of their words,
until Monica broke the kiss, saying, "Whatever happens, I want us to
stay together."

John nodded. "I understand." He kissed her one more time then said,
"We're missing breakfast..."

"I'm not hungry," she insisted. "I just want to stay here with you
all morning."

He smiled. "We could do that... but we have our obligations." He
kissed her cheek then added, "We need to get going..." Then he had a
thought, "Join me in the shower?"

She grinned, and when he leapt from the bed and ran to the bathroom
door, she followed eagerly.

The shower had disappointingly low water pressure, making Monica
rethink her dream of a sensual experience with her lover. John stood
under the shower, letting its pathetic stream wet his short hair then
separate into rivulets over his body. Monica laughed and said
"Nevermind, I can see this isn't meant for two." She turned to leave
and felt a wet hand grasp her arm, pulling her backwards a few steps.

"Are you sure about that? Maybe we just need to be very," he
continued pulling her backwards as she laughed. "....very," he pulled
her to the tub's edge. "...close." Wrapping his arms around her
waist, he nuzzled her neck until she stepped backwards into the tub.

She turned around in his arms. "Like this?" she joked, wrapping her
arms around him then lowering her hands to grab his asscheeks. She
pulled his hips closer to hers and smiled, saying, "Or like this?"

"Something like that," he grinned, pulling her in for a deep, wet
kiss.

She could feel him growing between them, and pulled away. "Again? "
she purred. "You're insatiable!"

"Is that a problem?" he growled. "You didn't seem to be complaining
before..."

She kissed his lips, then his chin, then trailed kisses down his
body, in between saying, "I... do... when... we... miss...
breakfast..." She took him in her mouth, water from the shower
flowing onto the back of her head as he leaned against the stall
wall.

"Monica," he groaned. "What are you doing.... ahhhhh" His answer was
a tongue bath followed by the deepest deep throat he'd ever
experienced. "Monica... I .... want..." He wanted to be inside her,
but she had other ideas, and she stroked his member with her tongue,
and his balls with her hand, until he spilled into her mouth with a
loud groan. She drank in every drop then stood and kissed him.

"Now that I've had breakfast..." she giggled, grabbing the soap. "I'm
ready for my shower.

They cleaned each other thoroughly, paying special attention to
sensitive areas, then toweled each other dry. As Monica ran the
threadbare towel over John's chest she looked at his sleek muscles
admiringly. "You are something else, John Doggett," she murmured,
studying his body with almost scientific curiosity.

He smiled, proud that this younger woman could find him attractive at
his age. "I'll need to keep up my exercise routine if I want to be
worthy of such a gorgeous woman," he said, hugging her close. He
whispered close to her ear, "And you *are* gorgeous, Monica Reyes...
and I love you."

Her heart skipped a beat when she heard these words, as it did every
time he said them. She brought her lips close to his and whispered "I
love you too." They kissed, letting their towels fall to the floor as
they started their lovers' dance again.

Suddenly, they heard a loud knock at the door.

***********************
CHAPTER 8

John wrapped a towel around his waist, ran a hand through his hair,
and went to the door.

"I'm sorry to intrude," said the elderly woman who had read the Bible
the night before. She pushed the door open and moved inside
purposefully, seeming not to notice John's lack of readiness for
company. "I'm Mother Catherine, and we need to talk." She sat in the
rocking chair and pulled it toward the fireplace. "Your car," she
said decisively. "It's not yours."

"No," John started... "Mind if I get dressed?" John asked as he
headed for the bedroom door.

"Yes, I do," she replied. "Now, as I was saying, your car is not
yours. It's been reported stolen, and state troopers are on their way
to look for it."

Monica emerged from the bedroom fully clothed, her wet hair hanging
in gentle curls, as it did only when it was wet. She was wearing her
jeans and a donated peasant blouse that hadn't been in style for
years. But to John she looked like a high-fashion model. He smiled in
spite of himself and held out his hand for hers. "There's a problem
with the SUV," he explained.

They sat together on the couch, listening carefully while the abbess
explained how she had overheard the state troopers on her scanner.
"Here's what you are to do," she ordered, not leaving John or Monica
the opportunity to interrupt. "Take the SUV and go West until you get
to the tienda, the store. Go South from there until you come to the
village. Pass through the village and pull into the self-storage
units. Here's the key," she handed them a key and Monica took it,
somewhat confused. "Park it in there and then walk back to the
village. Go to the Church -- Santa Maria de las Flores, and ask for
the priest. Tell him you are looking for the Via Sub Rosa. He'll take
over from there."

John and Monica looked at each other in confusion, until the abbess
said, "GO! You only have a few minutes!" John stood and his towel
slipped a few inches. "And put some clothes on. You'll burn to a
crisp like that," the well-covered woman scolded.

They followed the old woman's directions, leaving the SUV in storage,
then walking through a quaint town square, and passing by a few
ramshackle stick-built cottages until they found the town's tiny
parish church. The heavy oak door of the church opened before they
knocked, and a frail Hispanic man with a wide moustache and wire-rim
glasses ushered them inside. "I am Father Tomás," he said. "I've been
expecting you."

Doggett gripped Reyes' hand and said, "We're looking for the Via Sub
Rosa. Do you know where that is?"

"You've found it, my boy," the priest said, putting out his hand for
a handshake. "You found it yesterday."

Monica shrank back slightly, but John pulled on her hand and
questioned her with his eyes.

"You know what I mean, don't you," the priest said to Monica.

She shook her head. "No, but I have some idea," Monica answered
cautiously.

The priest removed his glasses and looked into her eyes, intensely
studying what he found there. "You are one," he announced. He turned
his attention to Doggett and gave him the same stare. Doggett tried
to turn his head, but found his eyes fixed on the odd little man's
eyes. "Yes, you are too," he stated flatly.

"We are what?" Doggett demanded.

"People of the Via," the priest explained, looking to Reyes for
acknowledgement. "People who see more than most."

Doggett leaned back reflexively. "Oh, no, not that crap." He pulled
his hand from Reyes' and questioned her, "Is that what all this is
about? That psychic bull?"

"It's not bull, John, and you know it."

They stood staring at each other, oblivious to the priest who had
brought up the subject. "You know in your heart," the priest put his
hand against John's chest. "That it is true." When John opened his
mouth to object, the priest continued, "But in you it is weak. You
will need to train yourself to hear that voice... the voice you have
been denying."

Monica looked on smugly, until the priest turned his attention to
her. "And you..." he wagged his finger at her. "You have been denying
your voice too. I sense you have not developed your sense into what
it could be."

They continued walking in silence, past altars lit by votive candles,
stained-glass windows depicting Bible scenes, and dark wooden pews.
When they reached the other end, the priest opened a metal door, the
bright desert sun blinding them all temporarily. "I'll take you
back," he said, nodding to a rusted van.

On the road the priest raised the uncomfortable topic again, "You
have modest gifts, both of you," he looked at them in the rearview
mirror. "But you have a great need. If you want to defeat Satan's
army, don't deny God's gifts."

***************************
CHAPTER 9

When they arrived at the monastery's complex, there were cars at the
main gate -- state troopers' cars. The priest drove past, not even
slowing down, as Doggett and Reyes looked over their shoulders.

"That was close," the father Tomás noted. "I'll have to be more
careful next time."

"Next time?" Doggett asked incredulously. "How often do you do this?"

The priest smirked and kept driving in silence.

Monica looked over her shoulder and said, as much to herself as to
John, "I hope this is just about the car..."

John put his arm around her shoulder and said soothingly, "If they
are looking for us, they'll be moving on and we'll be even safer."

"But what about Gibson?" Monica asked, her forehead wrinkled with
worry lines.

"He's in the hands of pros, it seems," John smiled, pleased that she
was worried about the boy. "They'd have to get past Mother Catherine
and Sister Martha to get to him."

She smiled back at him and settled into his arm. "It's just a matter
of time before they catch up with us... whoever they are."

"Whatever they are," the priest interjected. He pulled the van to a
stop by the side of the road and leaned over his seat. "Those state
troopers are okay... I know them," he chuckled. "I know them very
well... I hear their confessions."

"Why am I expecting a 'but' here?" Doggett asked.

"So far the aliens don't know about us... about the Via Sub Rosa...
about the network of telepaths around the world," the priest paused
for Doggett and Reyes to absorb this information, then added, "a
network that can defeat them."

"But?" Reyes inquired.

"But it's a matter of time, as you say. They have found out about the
caves... so they know about the magnetite." He noted the agents'
surprised faces and confirmed their conclusions, "Yes, we have known
about the supersoldiers and their weakness. But we did *not* know we
were sheltering a collaborator," he said pointedly. "Now everything
is different. We can't be passive anymore. ...we need your help as
much as you need ours."

"What about Agents Mulder and Scully?" Reyes asked. "Are they okay?
Did they survive?"

"I don't know," he answered, shaking his head. "But Agent Mulder
doesn't know what I've told you. He knows more than he tells, but..."

"But what?" Doggett said with annoyance.

"But he doesn't have what it takes..." he looked over the rim of his
glasses, checking Reyes' reaction.

"You're asking us... to join you?" Reyes asked.

The priest nodded.

"Now, wait a goddammed minute," Doggett shouted. "We belong to the
FBI! Yeah, things are a little... strange right now, but we're
federal agents, not clergy! We have jobs!" Monica jabbed her elbow
into his ribs. "Wha--?" he exlaimed. "This isn't *us* Monica -- this
isn't what we do... this isn't the way we operate. Stealing cars?
Hiding from state troopers?"

"Breaking convicts out of jail?" she answered, her arched eyebrows
framing questioning eyes.

Doggett sighed. "I dunno, Monica. What have we come to... What next?"
He shook his head, refusing to look up into either her or the
priest's eyes.

Monica and Tomás exchanged glances, then Tomás reached out and laid a
hand on John's shoulder. "It's not a matter of asking you to join
*us* John... you are already one of us. It's not a matter of asking
you to join the fight... you are already fighting."

John looked up. "So what is this about?"

"This is about cooperation. Joining forces." Tomás turned more
completely in his seat, casually curling his legs underneath him.
"This is about you helping us... us helping you..."

"You've already helped us, and we appreciate it," Reyes said
soothingly.

John shot her an angry look. "So now we owe you? Is that it?"

"No," Tomás assured him. "You owe it only to yourselves... and to
humanity."

"No pressure!" Doggett sneered.

"John," Monica said calmly. "We have been fighting against people
inside the FBI, and whoever it is they are working for... and where
have we gotten doing it alone?" She paused as John bowed his head and
studied his hands. "John," she reached for his chin and turned his
face to hers. "We can't do it alone. Even if we could find Mulder and
Scully, there would just be four of us... five with A.D. Skinner...
against how many?" He clenched his teeth and grimaced his silent
acknowledgement as Reyes continued. "We need them, John. We need all
the help we can get.... Knowing what we know... finding out the
truth... that's just a start...."

John closed his eyes and nodded. "You're right... but..." He opened
his eyes and studied the priest's face. "How do we know they're
legit? How do we know they aren't really working against us?"

Monica sighed softly then whispered, "You know. And you know *how*
you know."

He looked into her eyes and she held his gaze. He sensed, rather than
saw, her trust in Tomás, and he had to admit to himself that he had
always trusted her judgment, even when he couldn't admit why he
trusted it.

"Are you with us?" Tomás asked hopefully.

Doggett nodded, and Monica smiled broadly. "Thank you for your
offer," she said graciously.

They returned to the monastery in time for Mass, which Tomás attended
with them. They sat at the rear of the tiny chapel as Mother
Catherine read from her massive Bible:

"Give counsel, grant justice;
Make your shade like night at the height of noon;
Hide the outcasts, betray not the fugitive;
Let the outcasts of Moab sojourn amoung you;
Be a refuge to them from the destroyer..."
(Isaiah 16:3-4)

The inhabitants of the rear pew heard quiet footsteps and turned to
see Gibson, dressed in a donated KISS T-shirt. He sidled down the pew
and sat next to Monica, who put an arm around his shoulders. "I was
worried about you," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back.

***********************
Chapter 10

After Mass, Doggett slapped Gibson on the back. "I was afraid those
state troopers had you for car theft!" he grinned.

"But you sensed I was okay when you got here," Gibson finished. 

The grin evaporated from Doggett's face. "Cop's instinct," he said,
putting his hands in his pockets.

Gibson smirked, but sensing Doggett's discomfort, added, "Whatever
you say." Then his expression turned more serious. "I'm glad you came
back. There's something I want to show you."

Father Tomás, who had been speaking with Reyes, turned his attention
to Gibson. "So you're the boy these two have been fussing over," he
smiled broadly.

Gibson scowled at Tomás, his eyebrows knit as he tried to block
Tomás' sense of him.

"Very good," Tomás said. "For a beginner. Now try this," he said,
staring into Gibson's mind.

Gibson's eyes widened and his face grew pale. 

"Hey! Stop that!" Doggett ordered, pulling Gibson away from Tomás'
gaze.

Tomás turned and looked blankly at Doggett. "The boy has a lot to
learn," he said patronizingly. "As do you. Join us and I will teach
you." Tomás turned and walked away, leaving Gibson and Doggett
behind, open-mouthed.

"What was that about?" Reyes asked, approaching Gibson and laying a
hand on his shoulder.

"I'm not sure," Doggett answered, his hand still grasping Gibson's
arm from the other side. He and Reyes looked at Gibson, who looked
from one to the other.

"Me neither," Gibson shrugged. At Doggett and Reyes' surprised and
doubtful expression, he added, "He's good. Very good."

They stood silently for a moment, then Doggett asked, "What did you
want to show us?"

Gibson led them past the bakery, the smell of freshly baked bread
wafting over them, making their stomachs growl. Gibson took Monica's
hand, and she took John's into her other hand as Gibson led them down
a narrow wooden stairway into a ravine. As they approached the bottom
they smelled an acrid, burning smell, which grew stronger until they
arrived at the bottom. They could hear the clank of metal and the
distant voices of men.

"What the--" Doggett started, but Gibson turned and shhhh'ed him
angrily.

They let go of each others' hands and looked around carefully as
Gibson waved them toward the opening of a cave. The smell became
almost overwhelming as they took a few steps inside.

Suddenly they heard footsteps behind them, and then the unmistakeable
"click" of a gun being cocked.

*******************

"Turn around... slowly," the voice of an elderly woman said.

Reyes and Doggett raised ther arms, then all three turned to see
Mother Catherine, armed with a .357, and accompanied by Tomás. "You
can put your arms down," she ordered, and she lowered her gun. "But I
warn you, my eyesight isn't as good as it used to be."

"She's bluffing," Gibson said smugly.

"How do you know?" Tomás asked.

"Because her mind-blocking isn't..." Gibson hesitated, then finished.
"...isn't as good as yours."

"Tomás," Catherine scolded. "Have you been toying with the boy?"
Tomás looked at his feet and sheepishly replied, "Yes, Mother
Catherine."

The old woman scowled at him. "After we're finished with them, you
and I need to have a talk."

"Finish what?" Reyes asked.

"Tomás tells me you don't want to join us," she answered. "I can't
let you into this cave until we have a little discussion about that."

"We'd like to know more about this Via Sub Rosa before we make up our
minds," Doggett answered. Reyes nodded her assent, and Gibson looked
at them in confusion.

"You *do* know what 'sub rosa' means?" Catherine sneered.

"It means 'secret,'" Reyes offered.

"Yes," Catherine said with a superior tone. "And if we tell you more
and you don't join us, then what?" She swung her gun to and fro,
leading Gibson's head from side to side with it. Gibson gulped.

Catherine continued, "You all know what you need to know by now. No
need to poke around where you aren't supposed to be. Talk it over in
your cottage. Lunch is in an hour. Afterwards I want your decision."
She waved the gun toward the cave's entrance. Doggett and Reyes
looked at each other with concern, and Catherine answered their
unspoken thoughts. "Yes, the cottage is yours for as long as you want
it, no matter what you decide. We know our duty."

Catherine and Tomás marched them to their cottage, and left them
sitting in the living room, with an admonition to stay put until
summoned for lunch.

John and Monica sat on the couch, and Gibson sat in the rocker.
"Well?" John asked, looking to Gibson and Monica in turn. "What do
you think?"

"What are they asking us to join?" Gibson asked. After being filled
in he said, "They hid me and Agent Mulder. Not these people, but
others like them. They were very secretive, and they spoke in code,
even when they weren't speaking." He checked Doggett and Reyes'
reactions, and when he saw they were listening intently, he
continued, "But they led Agent Mulder to the plant where he found out
about the invasion date, and they..."

"Wait!" Doggett interrupted. "What invasion?"

"December 22, 2012," Gibson answered. "Mulder didn't tell you?"
Doggett and Reyes shook their heads. "He didn't tell me, either,
but... it was all he thought about all through that trial. It was
hard to miss."

"Who's invading?" Reyes asked.

"The aliens. The ones Sister Catherine wants us to fight," Gibson
answered.

Doggett and Reyes stared at each other in horror. Finally, Doggett
asked Gibson, "How do you know she isn't pulling a fast one? You may
be able to read minds, but how do you know she isn't fooling you?" He
put a finger to his temple. "You know, up here? She's a lot more
experienced than you."

"John..." Reyes put a hand on his forearm. "I don't think..." She
stopped when she realized all she had was a hunch, a gut feeling.
"All my life I've followed my instincts. And my instincts are telling
me she's on our side." She looked into John's questioning eyes for a
long moment, then looked down as if questioning herself. "I think
they all are," she concluded.

"Me too," Gibson agreed.

"So, what are you saying?" Doggett demanded. "That we should join
this.... this...." He thought for a moment and started over. "How do
we know this isn't some kind of cult -- like that UFO cult that
kidnapped William?"

Reyes' eyes misted up at the mention of the baby Scully had given up
for adoption but the question also jogged her thinking. "Technically,
any religion is a cult," she explained. "It's only when they are
destructive... when they separate people from their families, their
jobs, their friends, or even society... for their own selfish
reasons.. that it's a problem."

"Sounds like these people, don't it?" Doggett challenged.

"John," Monica responded with deliberate calmness. "Those things have
already happened to us."

Gibson watched John's reaction carefully. John turned his gaze from
Monica to Gibson and realized Monica was speaking for all three of
them. "Gibson, we haven't asked you about your parents," John said.

"They aren't my real parents," Gibson said brusquely. "I'm adopted."

"Gibson, I'm adopted too," Reyes interrupted. "And I consider my
adoptive parents my real parents." She waited a moment to give Gibson
a chance to speak, and when he didn't she continued, "Real parents
are people who take care of you, and want what's best for you, and
loe you no matter what. Biology has nothing to do with it."

"Then I guess I hae no real parents," Gibson said sullenly. "My
so-called parents only cared about making money from their freaky
whiz-kid, and when I refused to play chess they dumped me at that
school." He scowled at Reyes and Doggett in turn, willing them not to
feel pity for him.

"And now?" Reyes asked, the openness of her expression inviting him
to be honest.

Gibson bit his lip then said, "I bet they haven't even figured out
I'm not at that school."

"Now, that can't be true," Doggett argued. "They must be worried
about you." Gibson shot him a skeptical glance, and Doggett
continued, "You haven't contacted them?" Gibson shook his head. Reyes
sighed heavily, catching Doggett's attention for a moment. He gave
the matter some thought then announced, "I want you to contact them,
Gibson. We'll ask Mother Catherine and Tomás to help us get a message
to them. It'll be a good way to test if they're on the level, too."

"And if they are?" Reyes asked.

"Then we'll see if they'd still want us to work with them if we
returned to our jobs," he sighed.

Gibson asked, "And if they don't -- what happens to me?"

"Whatever happens," Reyes assured him. "We'll make sure you're okay."

"And that you have as normal a life as possible," Doggett added.

"And if you go back to your jobs?" Gibson asked tentatively.

"It's up to you," Reyes answered.

"Can I come with you?" Gibson asked hopefully.

"Yes," John and Monica answered simultaneously. They smiled at each
other and joined hands.

CHAPTER 11

To everyone's surprise, Tomás and Catherine promised to contact any
relatives they wanted, and guaranteed their location would not be
revealed.

"How?" Doggett asked skeptically.

Tomás answered, "We have been doing this for many years. As have
others all over the world. If you wanted us to get a message to
someone in Tibet, we could do it. And quickly, too."

Catherine waved her arms over the table in the refectory where the
little gathering was talking. "For centuries, people like us have
been burned as witches, imprisoned in asylums, subjected to shock
treatments..." She breathed deeply and watched Doggett and Reyes'
expressions. "But we have also been revered -- as mystics, shamans,
seers. When we use our gifts in the service of religion we are safe,
and often also powerful. But although we work for the Church, in our
case, our primary duty is toward others of our kind. To protect them
and help them." Gibson nodded with gratitude. Catherine continued,
"To lead them toward safety, and shelter them along the way."

"Like the Underground Railroad?" Reyes asked.

Catherine smiled enigmatically. "Where do you think Harriet Tubman
got the idea?"

"Lemme get this straight," Doggett interrupted. He turned to Gibson
and asked, "So you stayed in touch with Agent Mulder when you were on
the run?" Gibson nodded. "And these... people of the Via sheltered
you?" Gibson nodded again. Doggett turned to Sister Catherine. "And
if we join you, do we have to live here? Or join some religious..."

"Cult?" finished Catherine. "We are not a cult. And you don't have to
live here, or in any other kind of monastery to be part of the Via.
Times have changed, and we don't need to hide like we used to. But
many of us feel more comfortable living in seclusion, away from
society, for our own peace of mind. The thoughts of others can be
quite... overwhelming to some of us." Doggett looked at Gibson, who
looked away, blushing.

"We can train him to block out what he finds uncomfortable," Tomás
offered. "And we can train you to be more open to others' thoughts,"
he continued, looking directly into Doggett's crystal blue eyes. "And
to each other's," he added, nodding toward Reyes.

Reyes blushed. "I'd like that," she said softly. Doggett looked at
her with disgust bordering on contempt, then saw her raise her eyes
to his. She smiled and said, "I'd like to know what you're thinking."

It took a moment for him to grasp her meaning, and when he did, he
couldn't help smirking. Yes, he admitted to himself. Love-making
between two psychically linked people could be incredible. Reyes'
smile broadened when she saw that he understood.
 
"So where do we sign up?" Doggett asked.

Catherine and Tomás escorted the pilgrims to the little library,
where Agatha sat at ta computer with a Mexican girl of about fifteen
looking on. The girl turned and looked admiringly at Gibson, who
blushed.

"Rosalita," said Catherine with uncharacteristic kindness and
affection. "Please find Sister Martha and ask her to join us here."

Rosalita shyly shuffled past the group, but as she passed Gibson she
sneaked another glance at him, eliciting another blush on his part.

Agatha rose and stood to the side as Catherine took over. "Here," she
clicked on an icon. She waved Monica, John, and Gibson closer, and
they obediently looked over her shoulder. "The Via Sub Rosa has just
started using the internet. We have set up e-mail accounts for all of
you. Whereever you go you can contact one of us, and we will find a
way to help you with whatever you need."

Reyes nodded admiringly as Doggett pursed his lips skeptically. "How
do we know you won't monitor our e-mail?" he asked.

Catherine laughed. "Count on it! That's part of how it works."

Reyes backed away warily. "I don't think I like that."

"You think your e-mails haven't been monitored by the FBI?" Doggett's
eyes met Reyes' over the top of Catherine's head. "And not just by
your old boyfriend," Catherine added. At their surprised reactions
Catherine turned around to face them. "Of course I know about that,"
she said. "I think he'll be very useful to us." Doggett rolled his
eyes and his lip curled into a slight sneer. Catherine looked at
Reyes and added, "He's been looking for you."

Monica gasped and felt her heart racing. "How do you know?" she asked
breathily.

"Like I said, the Via Sub Rosa is a large network, and very
efficient." Reyes' panicked eyes sought Doggett's. "But don't you
worry," Catherine added smugly. "We won't let him find you until it
suits our purposes -- or until you want him to."

"No, that's okay," Reyes said hurriedly. "We're not ready to be
found." Instinctively, Doggett reached for her hand and gave it a
gentle squeeze. She smiled gratefully, and he moved his hand up her
arm and across her shoulders. She leaned her head against his arm and
sighed. "I don't want to go back at all if it will mean owing Brad a
favor," she said softly but firmly.

"Me neither," Doggett agreed. He kissed the top of her head and
added, "Or anybody else." Reyes put her arms around his waist and he
responded by pulling her closer.

"Oh please!" Gibson groaned, rolling his eyes. Doggett and Reyes
parted, making Gibson grin victoriously.

"You're one to talk," Catherine snorted. "I heard what you were
thinking about Rosalita!"

John and Monica grinned at Gibson, who said, "What?"

"Nothing," Doggett feigned innocence. "I didn't say a thing.

"Don't look at me!" Reyes laughed.

Mother Catherine cleared her throat and said commandingly, "Anyway...
As you might imagine, face-to-face we have very few security
problems... But when we write, on paper or in e-mail, we write in
code. Only Father Tomás, Sister Martha, and Sister Mary will be able
to read your e-mails. They will translate them to a new code and pass
them to the others who will translate them into another code, and so
on... For now, we will only teach you one code."

"Isn't this how terrorist networks operate?" Doggett scoffed.

"I wouldn't know," she answered haughtily.

Reyes' forehead crinkled in thought. "Why can't *you* read our mail?"

"Because," Ctherine nodded to Gibson, "As the boy said, I'm not as
good at blocking snoopy telepaths."

Tomás leaned back on his heels and stared into Gibson's eyes. Gibson
stared back defiantly, but a bead of sweat on his brow and a quiver
in his lip belied his confidence.

"STOP IT!!!" Doggett yelled, forcefully pulling Gibson by the arm, as
he had before.

Reyes whirled and threw a fist into Tomás' stomach. Tomás doubled
over, groaning loudly before straightening despite a violent cough.

Catherine smiled admiringly at Reyes, then grinned at Tomás. "Tsk
tsk," she chided. "You should have seen that coming!"

CHAPTER 12

Catherine laid out their schedules with practiced efficiency. Their
mornings would be spent with her, learning their assigned code.
Afternoons would be reserved for the opus dei. In Doggett's case this
meant assuming the role of handyman, mechanic, and delivery driver.
Reyes would tutor Gibson and Rosalita, and would also teach Agatha
aboout computers. In the evenings, Gibson would be with Martha,
learning to block others' thoughts, while Doggett and Reyes would be
learning how to develop their potential under Father Tomás' tutelage.

Doggett immediately set out for the garage, and checked the condition
of the community's vehicles. Within minutes he felt relaxed and
happy, his arms smeared with grease and oil, his shirt damp with
sweat. He sighed at the realization that here in the garage he would
be away from the prying minds of the spooky nuns. He could accept
Gibson because of what he'd read in the X-Files, and he credited
Monica with nothing more than good instincts despite her strange
ideas. But he had to admit that despite his skepticism about ESP, the
mere idea of strangers prying into his thoughts gave him the willies.

Reyes and Gibson stayed in the little library after the others
departed. They sat at a wide oak table, lit by the bright desert sun
filtering through gauzy white curtains that billowed languidly in the
desert breeze.

Reyes picked up a stack of website print-outs that Agatha had set
aside and leafed through them. She selected a packet, set it in front
of Gibson, and said, "Let's start with a review of basic math," She
smiled, ignoring Gibson's indifference. "Everybody's favorite."

"Let's not and say we did," Gibson snorted.

Reyes adopted a Valley Girl voice and answered, "That's so funny I
forgot to laugh." She put her hand to her hair and gave it a broad,
histrionic flip.

Gibson laughed in spite of himself.

"Oh... my... Gawwwwwwwwwd," Reyes drawled, still in her Valley Girl
voice. "He CAN laugh!"

Gibson looked over his shoulder then leaned forward and whispered,
"Shhhhhh.... Don't tell anyone."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Reyes said. "Stick a needle in my
eye!"

"Ewwww!" Gibson made a face. "That's dis-GUS-ting!"

Reyes laughed. "I've never visualized that before"

"Liar, liar, pants on fire!" Gibson sang, giggling.

"Busted!" Reyes leaned back in her seat. "I actually think about it
all the time!"

"Do not!" Gbson challenged.

"Do too!" Reyes answered.

"Nuh-huh"

"Uh-huh"

"No way!"

"Wa-ay!"

Gibson could barely speak by now. "What were we arguing about,
again," he asked through his giggles.

Reyes wiped a laugh tear from her eye and answered, "That's for me to
know and you to find out."

Gibson focused on Reyes' mind then said, "Thumb wrestling? What's
that?"

Reyes put her arm out on the table and curled her fingers to accept
his. He followed her instructions and soon their thumbs were battling
for the top position. Reyes won handily, trapping her opponent's
thumb in a matter of seconds.

"Two out of three?" Gibson pleaded.

Monica pulled her hand away. "And what percentage would that be?"

Gibson grunted and threw his head into his palms. "NO!!!" He cried
out in mock terror. "NO MATH!!!"

"Well?" Reyes asked patiently. "No rematch without an answer."

"Sixty-seven percent," Gibson grumbled, then thrust his hand to the
middle of the table.

After another humiliating defeat, he asked, "Three out of five?"

Reyes pulled her hand away and raised her eyebrows in expectation.

"Sixty percent," Gibson sighed resignedly.

By the time the bells rang for the next series of prayers and chants,
they had thoroughly reviewed percentages and long division. Reyes'
advantage stood at a lucky thirteen to one.

"Let's take a break," Reyes suggested. "I don't think either of us
could hold a pencil right now anyway!" she added, shaking her hand.
Gibson stood up and shook his hand in rhythm with hers.

"I hope nobody is looking in the window," he laughed.

Reyes put her hand across his shoulders as they walked toward the
courtyard. She dropped it to her side when they passed through the
courtyard door, and she could hear Gibson sigh with relief. They
strolled the perimeter of the courtyard to the light treble of the
nuns' chanting their afternoon psalms. When they came to the bench
near the rose bush, Reyes asked, "Do you know why 'sub rosa' means in
secret?"

Gibson shook his head. "But I know you're dying to tell me!"

Monica sighed but ignored his remark. "The rose became a symbol of
secrecy," she said, kneeling next to the rose bush. Taking a Swiss
Army knife from her jeans pocket, she cut a rose from a lower branch
as she continued, "...because in Greek mythology, Cupid gave it to
someone who had overheard two lovers." She stood up and laid the rose
atop the six-foot adobe wall. "And ever since, all conversations held
underneath a rose were kept secret." She walked back to the bench and
sat a few feet from Gibson.

Gibson looked at the rose, then to Reyes' impishly conspiratorial
face.

"So," she smirked. "What happened between you and Rosalita?" Gibson
looked at her warily, but Monica persisted. "I never betray a
confidence," she assured him.

CHAPTER 13

Dinnertime in the refectory was cheerful and noisy. Monica and Gibson
arrived late and stood at the doorway searching the crowd. Monica saw
Gibson's excited expression and followed his gaze to find...
Rosalita. She smiled, disappointed that it wasn't John, but pleased
that Gibson was experiencing some normal teenage feelings. A touch on
her shoulder made her smile broaden, and she turned to see John,
sunburned and smiling, his damp hair tousled into random spikes. He
kissed her cheek, then pulled back and reached for her hand.

She leaned in to whisper, "You took a shower without me?"

"Sorry," he grinned. "You don't know what I smelled like after I got
done with that truck!"

They wound their way to their usual table, and found Rosalita sitting
there, her food and utensils daintily arranged. Monica maneuvered
herself next to Rosalita, edging out Gibson's attempt to sit next to
her. Gibson settled for the second best option: sitting across from
her. John smirked in Reyes' direction and she smiled back. They ate
in silence, as all four took turns eyeing the others.

Mother Catherine stood and started reading from her giant Bible.

"And there he came to a cave, and lodged there;
And behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and he said to him,
"What are you doing here, Elijah?"
He said, "I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts; 
For the people of Israel have forsaken thy covenant, 
Thrown down thy altars, 
And slain thy prophets with the sword;
And I, even I only, am left;
And they seek my life, to take it away."
And he said, "Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord."
And behold, the Lord passed by, 
And a great and strong wind rent the mountains, 
And broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, 
But the Lord was not in the wind;
And after the wind an earhquake, 
But the Lord was not in the earthquake;
And after the earthquake a fire, 
But the Lord was not in the fire;
And after the fire a still small voice.
And when Elija heard it,
He wrapped his face in his mantle 
And went out and stood at the entrance of the cave.
...And the Lord said to him,
"Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus."
--1 Kings (19:9-15)

Doggett could see Reyes' nervousness at the imagery of the Bible
passage, and he reached across the table for her hand. Her hand found
his and she smiled at the warmth of his touch. "It wasn't prophecy
then, and it's not prophecy now," he whispered huskily. "Relax. We're
safe here," he assured her.

She shook his hand lightly, reassuring herself. "I know," she
mouthed. "Thank you."

He pulled his hand back and reached for his coffee. "You're welcome,"
he mouthed to her. Monica turned to listen to the rest of the
readings:

"As they were going along the road,
A man said to him,
"I will follow you wherever you go."
And Jesus said to him,
"Foxes have holes,
And birds of the air have nests;
But the Son of man has nowhere to lay his head."
--Luke 9:57-60

"When I was a child, I spoke like a child,
I thought like a child,
I reasoned like a child;
When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.
For now we see through a glass darkly,
but then face to face.
Now I know in part;
Then I shall understand fully,
Even as I have been fully understood.
So faith, hope, love abide, these three;
But the greatest of these is love"
--1 Corinthians 13: 8-13

"See?" John reached for Monica's hand again. "It got better."

"Maybe it got truer," Monica suggested.

After dinner, Monica and John walked hand-in-hand to their cottage
while Gibson sat in the refectory with Rosalita, under the watchful
eye of Sister Martha. "What's going on there?" Doggett asked.

"I don't know," Monica said, swinging his arm a little too
vigorously.

"I think you do," he smiled.

"I never betray a confidence," she smiled back.


When Tomás arrived, Doggett felt himself grow tense just being in his
presence. They drove in near-silence, then entered the church from
the rear. Tomás led them to a small office, stocked with religious
and psychological books, a desk, two overstuffed chairs and a
comfortable-looking couch. John took one of the chairs and sank into
it, his arms almost level with his shoulders. Monica sat in the
middle of the sofa, and Tomás sat in the other chair.

Tomás began with instructions in meditation techniques, techniques
which Monica had been practicing daily for many years. She slipped
into a meditative state almost immediately, but she could hear John
fidgeting, sighing, clucking his tongue, and tapping his foot. Tomás
continued talking to John, probing his mind to find soothing images
for him to use.

Suddenly, Doggett exploded. "Is this what you did to Gibson?" he
shouted. He got to his feet and pointed a finger at the priest.
"'Cause I didn't like it then, and I don't like it now! You have NO
right...!" his voice started to crack. "NO right to invade my mind
that way!" He stormed out of the office, and Tomás and Monica could
hear the door slam behind him.

Monica smiled weakly at Tomás. "He's not comfortable with this," she
said with some embarrassment.

"Oh?" Tomás grinned. "I couldn't tell."

From the other side of the door, they heard Doggett yell, "Monica!!
Are you coming?!"

"No, John," Monica shouted back. "We're not finished!"

They could see the shadow of his legs under the door as he paced back
and forth. After a few passes his shadow stopped and they heard,
"What happened to Where you go, I go?"

Monica sighed. "That doesn't apply to bullheadedness!" she shouted.

He threw open the door and she could see how angry he was. "Can we at
least talk? Away from him?" he nodded toward Tomás.

Tomás stood and said, "I'll be back in fifteen minutes." He looked at
each in turn and added, "Don't go anywhere."

John sat next to Monica on the couch. "Mon," he pleaded. "This is
nuts. This guy is..."

"Exactly what he claims to be?" Monica finished.

"Mon, I could *feel* him in my mind, looking around, bringing up
memories..." At Monica's sympathetic look, he added, "Good memories,
but... Dammit, Monica, they're mine! and they're private!"

"I know," Monica put a hand on his forearm, almost immediately
calming him. "But he knows what he's doing, and we need his help."
Her hand started rubbing up and down his arm. "Please, John, for
me... for us?"

He looked into her liquid brown eyes and his heart melted. "Mon, you
know I can't say no to you..." He put his free hand over hers. "But
I'm not sure I'm ready to leap into something like this."

"How much time do we have?" she asked.

He nodded, eyes closed, and let out a long breath. "There's no way to
know... Okay," he said. "I'll try again."

Tomás returned and took a more gradual approach with meditation,
using John's relationship with Monica to jump-start his telepathic
training. He placed an image in Reyes' mind, and with her long
experience in meditation she was able to hold that image for long
periods as John attempted to access it. By the end of the evening all
three were exhausted, but John had had his first intentional psychic
experience, and they considered the evening a success.

After stopping his SUV at the front gate, Tomás turned to his
backseat passengers and said, "About Gibson..."

"What about him?" Doggett said defensively.

Tomás sighed. "You're taking care of him?" Doggett and Reyes nodded.
"I know you both mean well, but..." Tomás studied their faces, being
careful not to invade Doggett's mind. "...he's not being straight
with you. He told you he wants a normal life..."

"And how do you know that?" Reyes demanded, glaring at him. Doggett's
mouth was set firm and his eyes were glaring in equal determination
and anger.

"Look..." he held his hands up, pushing back their rage. "I had to do
it. It's part of my job here... Before we asked you to trust us, we
needed to know if we could trust you... *all* of you." Doggett and
Reyes remained motionless, staring coldly at the priest. "He told you
he wanted a normal life, and that's partly true..."

"Stop right there!" Doggett ordered. "I've heard enough of this
crap." He grabbed the door handle and leapt out of the SUV, then
leaned in and looked at Reyes. "I don't care if this *is* being
bullheaded, I'm not listening to this. Whatever we need to know about
Gibson is for Gibson to tell us!" He turned and stormed away, not
looking back to see if Reyes was following.

She was.

CHAPTER 14

When they arrived at the cottage Gibson was lying face-up on the
couch, staring at the ceiling. "Gibson," Reyes whispered. "Are you
okay?"

"Sure," Gibson said, moving to a sitting position. "Just meditating.
Trying to block your thoughts."

"Having any success?" John asked, absent-mindedly placing his hand on
Monica's shoulder.

"I *was*" Gibson said, nodding to John's hand.

John pulled his hand away and came round to sit next to Gibson on the
couch. Monica sat at the other side and put her hand to the back of
Gibson's neck. She started rubbing it gently, then kneaded the
muscles over his collarbone. "We had an interesting night, too. It
was tiring."

Gibson looked into her face, seeing as well as sensing her care for
him. "I don't want to block your thoughts *all* the time, you know."

"That's good," she said, continuing to massage his shoulders. "Was
Rosalita with you or does she already know all this?" Monica asked.
Immediately she could feel Gibson's muscles tighten. "Just curious,"
she assured him. "Since she'll be studying for her GED with you, I
thought..."

Gibson turned to John and squinted to see into his mind. "She didn't
tell you," he announced.

"Tell me what?" John asked with genuine confusion.

Monica put her hands in her lap, and when Gibson turned back to look
at her, she simply said, "I never betray a confidence."

Gibson smiled at her. "I like you," he said. Before she could answer
he stood and walked to his room. He turned and said, "Goodnight,"
then shut the door quietly.

"That kid is full of surprises," John said, grinning at the surprised
expression that remained on Monica's face.

"That's for sure," Reyes laughed. She stood and put her arms around
his waist, kissing him lightly. "So are you," she whispered. "Thanks
for being so understanding."

He smoothed the hair over her ear and gazed admiringly into her eyes.
"Thank *you* for your patience tonight." She blushed and looked down.
Taking her head in his hands, he brought her eyes back to his.
"You've been so good to me..." He smiled, and held her gaze. "You've
been good *for* me..." He kissed her, putting into his kiss all the
words he couldn't find, showing her the gratitude he felt for nine
years of patience, understanding, compassion, and... love. He trailed
kisses to her neck then hugged her tightly, sighing over her shoulder
when he felt her arms respond with equal conviction.

"You were right about Gibson," she whispered into his ear. "I don't
want to know anything he wouldn't tell us, either."

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "So I wasn't being
bullheaded?" he asked, half-teasingly.

"Yes, you *were* being bullheaded," she chided. "But this time you
were right." She lowered her hands and pulled his arms from her
waist, snagging his hands and holding them between their bodies. "You
were a good parent... and you still have it."

They stood staring at each other, each engrossed in their own
thoughts. John thought about Luke, the incessant chattering that
sometimes got on his nerves, the boy's dogged determination when
trying to fit puzzle pieces together, the time he refused to go into
the ladies dressing room at Macy's, insisting on going shopping only
with his dad, the way his lip curled when he was lying... Monica
thought back to her afternoon with Gibson, his unexpected
playfulness, the way his fingers curled around the pencil when he
worked out the final few percentages in their game, his trust in her
when she'd asked about Rosalita...

"It's even harder to ignore your thoughts when you're thinking about
me..." they suddenly heard Gibson say. He was standing in his
doorway, wearing his ill-fitting and faded Star Wars pajamas.

Reyes turned around and couldn't help but grin inwardly at the way
Gibson looked in his donated pajamas. He seemed so much younger, so
vulnerable... She walked to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He
looked up into her eyes, almost frightened by what he saw. "We can't
help it," she said. "If you stay with us, we'll think about you a
lot."

He gulped, and tears welled in his eyes. "Well, don't!" he yelled,
then dashed into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Monica looked to John for answers. The hurt and helplessness in her
eyes melted his heart. He took her into his arms and whispered,
"Teens... whaddayagonna do?" Her body shook as she chuckled. He
pulled back to see her grateful smile, and then said, "I'll have a
talk with him." He knocked softly then said, "Gibson, I'm coming
in..."

Gibson was standing at the window, looking into the starry desert
sky. John took his place a few steps behind him and said softly, "You
don't want us to care about you?"

"No," Gibson snuffled. "I mean, yes... but..."

"But not too much?" John finished for him. Gibson didn't answer. John
tried to erase his thoughts, using the meditation techniques he'd
grudgingly learned earlier in the evening.

"Strawberries?" Gibson asked, turning around.

John smiled. "It was an exercise we learned tonight."

"My exercise was a waste of time."

"How so?" John watched as Gibson turned away from him, then sat
dejectedly on the bed, his feet barely touching the floor. "You don't
really want to block others' thoughts," John suggested. Gibson looked
up in surprise. John continued, "It's what makes you special, it
gives you an edge over the rest of us..." Gibson's face started
turning sullen, and John's experience as an investigator told him
he'd struck a nerve. "You don't want to be with others of your kind
because it's a level playing field..." He thought back to the events
of the past few days. "Sister Martha beating you at chess, Father
Tomás probing you... You don't like that."

"You didn't like it either," Gibson retorted.

"True," John conceded. "But for different reasons." He thought back
to Tomás' comment about Gibson's motives. "You don't *really* want to
have a normal life with us, do you? Staying with us... it's not about
the American Dream, it's about getting away from..."

"NO!" Gibson shouted. "You have it all wrong." He hmphed and crossed
his arms, shaking his head with disappointment. "Don't you see?
Nobody will have a normal life if the aliens take over."

Doggett's brow furrowed in confusion. "What's that got to do with..."

"I want to help," Gibson said earnestly. "I *need* to help. Staying
here might be safer, but if I don't help, if I don't help *you* ...
in the end it wouldn't make a difference anyway."

Doggett sat down on the desk chair opposite the bed, a blank
expression on his face. So he'd been all wrong about the boy? He'd
actually be putting him in more danger by keeping him? All that
normal boy stuff was just an act.... How had he been so easily
fooled? Was this really about Luke?

"I'm sorry," Gibson said softly.

"Don't be," Doggett answered gruffly. "I should have seen..."

"No..." Gibson protested. "You care about me. You and Agent Reyes..."

John laughed. "She won't mind if you call her Monica."

"Okay..." Gibson said, steeling his resolve to continue. "You and
Monica, you two are the first ... this is the first time anyone cared
about me for me. You could have asked me to help you. You know that
Agent Mulder did. But you didn't."

"You're just a kid," Doggett snapped. "You shouldn't have to..."

"I know," Gibson said with confidence. "I came to help Agent Mulder
because I wanted to. And not just because of him."

Doggett's eyes searched Gibson's face, and Gibson stared back, trying
to put a mental image into Doggett's mind. He could feel it, like a
tentative knocking at a heavy door... He tried to keep his mind open
to accept it, but the barrier was too heavy, and he sighed in
frustration.

Gibson sighed too. "This is about all of us, and I want to help. But
being with you... knowing that you don't want anything more from me
than to be a normal kid..." Gibson's eyes reddened and he gulped
valiantly. "I wish you were my real parents!" He leaped to the
window, looking again to the stars for consolation.

John felt his own eyes misting up and he struggled with conflicting
thoughts. After an awkward moment, he said softly, "Me too," then
went to the door. Gibson turned around to see John looking at him,
and they exchanged weak smiles before John opened the door and left.

CHAPTER 15

John walked through the empty living room, turning off lights as he
went, then quietly opened the bedroom door. "Mon?" he whispered. "You
up?"

She sat up on her side of the bed, letting the bedclothes slip down,
revealing a faded pink nightgown that made her cheeks glow. "I'm
waiting for you," she said as she patted his side of the bed.

He grinned then sat on the bed, leaning backward to kiss her cheek.
Supporting himself on one elbow and stroking her hair with his free
hand, he said softly, "We haven't had much of a chance to talk
today." His light blue eyes sparkled with desire, but his face seemed
thoughtful.

"What do you want to talk about?" she asked, her openness almost
begging him to confide in her. "Gibson?"

"I never betray a confidence either," he smiled. "No, just talk. I
miss our chitchat... stake-outs, waiting for Skinner in his outer
office, going out for a beer after work..."

"I miss that too," she said wistfully.

He smiled. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, planting another kiss
on her cheek then striding to their bathroom.

Monica rested her head against the oak headboard, thinking about D.C.
She knew that the domestic bliss she felt in this cottage couldn't
last, but she couldn't help mulling over in her mind the things that
would have to go right for there to be a happy outcome. She sighed.
Things would never be the same. She heard a the metallic tap-tap-tap
sound coming from the bathroom, and she couldn't help sighing. He was
shaving. For her. For bed... Sometimes he could be so bullheaded, but
sometimes... She replayed her memories from the day, thinking how so
much had changed so quickly. Something told her the day had been
perfect, just what it was supposed to have been... and then she
remembered the words Sister Catherine had said at dinner: "And a
great and strong wind rent the mountains, and the rocks broke in
pieces." She shivered. Was someone telling them something?

John bounded out of the bathroom and hopped into bed beside her. He
kissed her cheek then turned on his side, facing her, propped on one
elbow. "Still want to talk?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I can't think of anything to talk about," she said, pulling the
bedspread to her waist and laying her hands on her stomach. "Except
maybe going home... if we can."

"Homesick?" he asked, stroking her hair, thinking how much he loved
doing that, how much he loved her... She leaned into his hand, kissed
his wrist, then rolled onto her side, facing him and mirroring his
body language.

"Yes," she sighed. "Things will never be the same. Even if we can go
back..."

"When we go back," he said with determination.

"When," she smiled. She took his hand in hers then absently bounced
it on the mattress between them a few times. "Things will never be
the same..." she sighed.

Now John was worried. Monica's face was taking on an uncharacteristic
sadness, more like Agent Scully than the cheerful Monica he loved.
"Mon," he said gently, sliding toward her and maneuvering his arm
under her. She settled into his embrace then rested her head on his
shoulder as he wrapped his other arm around her waist. "Things won't
be the same, but they'll be good." He hugged her to him and nuzzled
her hair. "I promise," he whispered.

"You're a good man, John," she whispered as she nestled more deeply
into the comfort of his arms.

He smiled and kissed the top of her hair. "Mon?" he asked when he
heard her breathing deepen.

She didn't answer. She was asleep.

*~*~*~*~*~* SMUT ALERT *~*~*~*~*~* 

Monica awoke to the gentle touch of a hand stroking her ribs. Her
back was to him, and she contemplated feigning sleep... until the
hand moved down, riding the curve of the small of her back, then
slipped even further downward. She rolled toward him, onto her back,
almost trapping his hand beneath her. "Morning?" she asked.

"Not quite," he answered, his hand roaming in random patterns over
her smooth stomach. "Don't let me wake you," he whispered, his hand
creeping downward.

"Oh, okay," she laughed. "I'll go back to sleep."

"Pleasant dreams," he whispered as he raised his body over hers and
kissed the nape of her neck.

She laughed and her legs embraced his. "I *was* having a pleasant
dream until you woke me up!"

"Better than this?" he asked, continuing to kiss all the sensitive
areas on her neck and shoulders. "Or this?" he asked, taking his
trail of kisses lower.

She sighed. "Hmmmmmmm that's nice, but my dream was nicer..." Her
hands and legs moved in response to his kisses, kneading and rubbing
his muscular body, grabbing him firmly, sliding seductively...

His lips continued moving downward until they reached her center,
making her gasp from the sudden contact. She looked down, seeing only
the tented bedspread rhythmically swaying as her lover started making
her dream come true. And then, just when she thought she couldn't
take any more, he broke away and slid upwards over her body until he
was poised to finish her dream. "Was your dream like this?" he
teased.

"Yessssss," she hissed, grabbing him and helping him find the home
where he was always welcome. He started slowly, sighing with each
thrust, brushing his lips against her ear, hair, lips... Her
responses urged him on but he held back, savoring each movement and
sensation. When her whimpers turned from pleasure to frustration he
let himself go, and this released her. Their movements became
frantic, desperate, feverish... until finally she spasmed under him,
crying out and grabbing his ass. He let her guide him as her waves of
ecstasy propelled him closer and closer to his own abyss. Suddenly, a
storm of pleasure thundered through his body and spurted into hers,
accompanied by a long, low groan on his part and high breathy sighs
on hers. When they were finished he rolled to her side and kissed her
nose, making her sigh. "Monica," he whispered. "My dreams have never
been this good."

She draped an arm across his waist and snuggled into the crook of his
arm. "Hmmmmm I thought I *was* dreaming," she sighed. "Reality has
never been this good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In Washington D.C., A.D. Skinner rolled over and reached for his
nightstand phone. "Yeah?" he grumbled.

"I've got a lead," a male voice answered.

Skinner reached for his clock and squinted to read it. 3:30 a.m.
"Jesus, Follmer, do you know what time it is?"

"Time to book a flight to New Mexico."


CHAPTER 16

The next morning, Gibson knocked softly on their door and said "I'm
going to go play chess..."

John leapt from the bed and threw open the door. "Oh, no you don't,"
he grinned. "You're joining me out back for calisthenics."

Gibson snorted. "Do I look like someone who's into calisthenics?"

"No, you don't," John answered. "And it's high time you started. Be
out back in five minutes."

"And what if I'm not there?" Gibson challenged.

"Then I'll send Monica to look for you. She'd love to have you join
her for her yoga routine. Ever tie yourself in a knot, Gibson?" John
smirked.

Five minutes later John was teaching Gibson the fine points of
push-ups. After three hard-won push-ups Gibson was exhausted and
moved to a lawn chair as John continued his routine. Gibson's job was
to count, while John continued his running commentary on the
importance of exercise for an FBI agent. "If you want to fight with
us," John grunted. "You'll need to pull your weight."

"Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four..." Gibson continued.

"You have to be able to run, keep your balance, lift things, push
things, pull things..."

"Thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two..." Gibson droned, looking at his
watch. A shadow passed over it and he looked up to see Monica,
wrapped in a bathrobe, admiring John's stength and stamina. He felt
as much as saw Monica's appreciation for John's body, and suddenly
his sixteen-year-old mind grasped the importance of physical fitness.

"These super-soldiers can do anything," John continued, oblivious to
Gibson's disinterest. "You have to be in shape if you're going to
join us, Gibson..."

Gibson looked at Monica, panicked, as she looked at him in surprise.
"What was that?" she asked.

John fell onto his stomach, then rolled over. "Monica!" he blurted
out. "I thought you were inside..."

"What's this about Gibson joining us?" she looked from one to the
other, her eyes demanding the truth.

"You need me," Gibson stated plainly. "And if I don't help you, what
good is it being special?"

John and Gibson cringed equally when they saw the betrayal in her
eyes. She turned and ran into the cottage, and within seconds John
was following close behind her. "Mon...!" he shouted. "MONICA!"

He found her in the living room, where she was rocking herself in the
rocker, her head in her hands. "Mon," he said gently, pulling one arm
away from her head. "Mon, it's okay..."

She looked up at him, her eyes reddening but not tearing. "What was I
thinking?" she shook her head. "How could I have let him fool me....
of course he doesn't want a normal life... and he *knows* we could
never offer him one... What was I thinking?" she repeated.

John squatted to her eye level and stroked her hair. She sighed in
what had become a habitual response to this type of petting. "Monica,
I was thinking the same thing... and there's no shame in it. We both
wanted to believe him. We both wanted ..." He stopped, seeing her
face struggling against an onslaught of tears. He wanted to make it
all go away, but he also didn't want to betray Gibson's confidence.
"You need to talk to him," he urged, still sympathetically stroking
her hair.

"And you!" she accused him. "You knew! And you didn't tell me! How
long did you know? How long were you going to let me...?"

"Just last night," he answered soothingly. "And I couldn't tell you
right away." He slipped his hand under her hair and massaged the back
of her neck. "Remember? You weren't feeling very..."

"It doesn't matter," she sniffed. "I thought we told each other
everything."

"Except what Gibson tells us in confidence," John reminded her.

Suddenly Gibson appeared at Monica's other side and put a hand on her
shoulder. "Don't fight over me," he pleaded. "Go ahead and tell each
other everything. I sure know enough about you."

Monica impulsively reached for Gibson's hand and they exchanged
awkward smiles. "I'd rather have heard this from you, Gibson. Care to
tell me now?"

As John looked on, Gibson repeated his wishes to Reyes, his voice
resolute yet also tentative. John could see in the boy's face a
child-like desperation, wanting to please Monica, wanting her love,
wanting to belong to someone, but as he continued talking about the
aliens, John could see that Gibson was poised to enter manhood, and
he felt a sudden obligation to help him do that.

Monica studied Gibson's face with admiration, and when he was
finished she said, "Gibson, don't give up on your dream of being
normal. You deserve it. Your life needs to be about more than..." she
waved a hand randomly in the air, as if the right word could be
caught in a mental butterfly net. She gave up searching, and settled
for a contemptuous "This."

Gibson stood silently, looking into her face, fighting with his urge
to blurt out all his feelings. When Monica didn't rescue him by
saying something, he looked from Monica's face to John's, then turned
back to Monica and said, "I know you don't want anything from me.
You're the first ones... You want to help me because..." he sighed,
mustering the courage to continue. "Because you care about me. For
myself, not for what I mean to science, or what I can do, or what I
represent... That's why I want to stay with you... But I can't ignore
what I am. And I can't ignore what's about to happen."

"No, you shouldn't," Reyes conceded. "And I'm sorry I expected
otherwise. And your GED... you don't have to..."

"I want to," Gibson interrupted. Then he turned to John and added,
"And I want to get in shape, and learn to drive, and I want to..."
Gibson paused, waves of doubt crossing his face for a long moment.

"Want to what?" Monica gently urged.

"Learn to shoot a gun," he gulped, his face twisted in fear, his
lifelong, deep-seated fear, the fear he masked with his sarcasm and
superiority: the fear of being taken again and not being rescued. And
again John and Monica saw the little boy underneath the peach fuzz
and the bravura, the little boy who grew up wondering if each day
would be his last.

John and Monica looked at each other, silently communicating with
their eyes and subtle nods. "Okay," John said. "We'll teach you to
shoot a gun..."

"...and clean it, and carry it, and lock it up," Reyes added. John
and Gibson rolled their eyes in unison. "What?" she yelped, then
smiled when she got the joke. "Okay, I'm no fun..." she stood up,
raising her hands in mock defensive gestures. "You guys have your
fun. Don't worry about old worry-wart Monica..."

She walked toward the bedroom but John grabbed her arm. "Have a good
session, pretzel lady," he smiled. She smiled back and continued on
her way. After Monica had closed the door behind her, John turned to
Gibson and said, "And now for Lesson Two. Curl-ups."

***
After breakfast, Catherine laid out the basics of their code, which
Monica comprehended first, followed by Gibson then John. Monica
worried that John might give up, or that he might never catch on and
she'd have to do it all, but once John accepted its principles and
stopped trying to relate them to Marine codes, he quickly became
Catherine's top student. And at that point they thought they saw a
hint of a smile flash over Catherine's face. And for the first time
since learning about the Via Sub Rosa, John started to believe that
this network might save them.

At lunch John made a point of insisting that Monica come with him to
the courtyard before the Bible readings started. Her having the
willies gave him the willies, and he was starting to worry that this
place was shaking her confidence even as his was recovering. They sat
near the rose bush, sipping their coffee, each turning over their own
thoughts, until John broke the silence by saying, "Let's send a
message to Skinner."

They decided on a simple query: was it safe to come back? The fact
that they still hadn't heard from Gibson's parents made them
skeptical about the network, but they decided it was better than
trying official routes. The decision made, they walked back to the
refectory, hand in relaxed hand, and arrived in time to hear:

"Whoever knows what is right to do
And fails to do it, for him it is sin."
--James 4:17


CHAPTER 17

John left Monica and Gibson after a round of affectionate good-byes,
then went in search of Catherine. She was impressed when he
translated his message into his newly-learned code, and she promised
to send it. "I'm glad you came to me with this," she said. "We've
heard from Gibson's parents."

John's stomach leapt into his throat. "What did they say?"

"They've been looking for him since he ran away from his foster home.
And the state's been looking for him too. The grand jury has
questioned them about his disappearance, and his foster parents have
been indicted."

"Aw, jeez..." John shook his head. "When I requested special
protections for him..."

"You did that?" she asked.

He nodded. "But it wasn't because of his parents..." He sighed,
remembering the questioning he underwent after Luke's disappearance.
"He needs to be safe. He'd been kidnapped, and threatened, and ..."

"We know about that," Catherine said. "We've been taking care of him
off and on for years. He came to us when he ran away. And the Via Sub
Rosa sheltered your friend Mulder too."

"So now what?" Doggett rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "We
turn him over to his parents? Back to the state?"

"He's still a ward of the state... They want us to surrender him."

Doggett started pacing in a small arc. "We can't do that! They're on
their way? What if..."

Catherine grasped his arm and held him in place. "They don't know
where he is. We have time."

Doggett's panic didn't ease with this small consolation. "How much 
time?"

"Time enough for us to set up your escape," she said confidently.
"Come, let me show you something."

He followed her as she led him to the ravine, then down the rickety
stairs to the foul-smelling cave. He stopped caring whether she could
hear his thoughts, and he let his mind ruminate over his questions
about what she was doing. When they reached the mouth of the cave,
Catherine met a gnarled, elderly, Mexican man and spoke to him in
Spanish. John picked up only a few words but the man's face showed
the importance of what was said. He nodded his head earnestly and
ushered the pair inside, then he handed them flashlights and led them
to a large, high-ceilinged chamber. A shaft of daylight in the center
provided dull illumination for the entire area, revealing a series of
iron containers, each with a fire burning under them. As they
approached the first one the odor overwhelmed John and he pulled
his shirt over his mouth.
"What the--" he demanded, coughing into the fabric.

"Not a pretty smell," Catherine agreed. "But it can't be helped.
Magnetite is like that."

Doggett stared at her, wide-eyed. Did she say magnetite?

She nodded in response to his mental question, then led him through a
series of similar chambers. As they wound their way around vats,
machinery, ovens and assembly lines, she explained that the complex
was a factory, making bullets and a few other products wholly or
partly made from magnetite. "We've known for some time about the
supersoldiers and their weakness. Gibson is not the only one of his
kind," she said significantly. "We have protected other children from
them too."

"Rosalita?" Doggett suggested.

Catherine nodded. "Lita has been with us for awhile now."

*******

When they arrived at the library, Monica found a Fedex box waiting
for her. As she sorted through the home-schooling materials she felt
an odd sensation around her, as if something was weaving itself
through her mind, yet not leaving a trace. She looked up to see
Gibson and Rosalita staring into space, looking over her shoulder
with blank expressions in their eyes but Mona Lisa grins on their
lips.

"Okay, you two, what are you doing?" Monica said sternly.

The pair erupted into giggles and looked mischievously into each
other's eyes. "Nothing," Gibson could barely get out through his
laughter. Rosalita demurely put her hand to her mouth, not knowing
that her eyes were laughing as heartily as her mouth.

Monica stared at the impish pair, her amused disapproval not making
an impact. They continued giggling until they seemed to have shared a
serious thought, then stopped. "We're sorry, Monica," Gibson said.
"We'll be good." His giggles threatened to bubble up again but he
suppressed him. "Let's learn some math!"

Monica eyed them skeptically. "Am I going to have to separate you
two?"

"No, teacher," Gibson said with mock obedience.

"Rosalita?" Monica nodded to the girl. Rosalita seemed shy suddenly,
blushing and looking down, her hands in her lap. Monica lowered her
voice and said soothingly, "Rosalita? What's wrong?" The girl pulled
up her head slowly and looked into Monica's eyes. Monica saw a
haunted, frightened little girl suddenly, haunted with the same fear
she had seen in Gibson's eyes. Gibson's hand reached out for
Rosalita's and the girl immediately smiled, sighing gratefully at her
hero's tender touch.

"She's okay," Gibson stated authoritatively. "She's just a little
shy."

"Shy but full of mischief?" Monica asked skeptically. "Are you going
to come clean?"

"We were playing tag..." Gibson admitted after a long silence. "In
your mind."

Monica sighed and leaned back in her seat. "Who won?" she asked
finally. But the mischievous pair remained mum. "Well, whoever won,
I'd appreciate it if you didn't do it again. Okay?" Gibson and
Rosalita nodded contritely. "Today is diagnostics day. Gibson, you'll
take the English test. Rosalita, American history." She shoved some
papers across to her students, handed them pencils, and started
toward the computer. "And NO CHEATING," she reminded them over her
shoulder. Rosalita looked at Gibson, and Gibson winked at her.

After "class," Monica approached Martha. "Does the Via have some kind
of code of ethics?"

Martha sighed. "What did they do?" After Monica explained about the
tag game and her suspicions about cheating, Martha offered to have a
talk with the miscreants during their training. "Rosalita has been
with us long enough to know better," she said with a tinge of
disappointment. "But I have to admit, I'm glad to see her spirit
returning. She's had a difficult time of it. Worse than Gibson."

It hadn't occurred to Monica that *any* child could have had a more
traumatic childhood than Gibson. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said
sadly. "I wish there were something I could do..."

Martha put her hand on Monica's arm, the calmness and serenity of the
nun's spirit somehow suffusing Monica's through this gesture. "You
already are. And we appreciate it."



***************************
CHAPTER 18

Rosalita joined them for dinner again, and although she didn't say a
word, Monica thought the girl seemed to be feeling more comfortable
with them. Gibson occasionally spoke for her, but John and Monica
made a point of not pressuring the girl to talk. Whenever sadness,
fear, or shyness overtook the girl, John instinctively seemed to know
how to soothe her with just a grin or an understanding nod.

As Mary started serving dessert and coffee, Catherine rose to read
from her Bible. When she announced the reading would be from the Book
of Job, Reyes listened intently, and Doggett watched the faces of his
little family carefully as the passage turned ominous:

"A word was brought to me stealthily, my ear received the whisper of
it.
Amid thoughts from visions of the night, when deep sleep falls on
men,
Dread came upon me, and trembling, which made all my bones shake.
A spirit glided past my face; the hair of my flesh stood up.
It stood still, but I could not discern its appearance.
A form was before my eyes; there was silence, then I heard a voice:"

John grabbed Reyes' and Gibson's arms, trying to take their attention
away from the reading. "Whaddaya say we take a walk to that tienda?
We got time before our..." Reyes silenced him with an annoyed look
and turned her attention back to Catherine.

"...those who dwell in houses of clay, 
Whose foundation is in the dust,
who are crushed before the moth.
Between morning and evening they are destroyed;
They perish forever without anyone seeing it."
--Job 4:12-16, 19-20.

Catherine pulled on a ribbon that marked her next passage, and
started turning the pages of the massive book. John took the
opportunity to try again. "Okay, let's go. I've heard enough," he
said with authority, and rose swiftly. "Coming with me?" he looked at
all three in turn. Monica and Gibson stood and smiled, but Rosalita
looked horrified by the thought. "C'mon, Lita," John said. "We could
all use a stretch after that meal..." Her lips turned up in a
semi-smile in response to his wide, beaming one, and she stood too.
Gibson took her hand and looked into her eyes, obviously
communicating with her telepathically.

The four walked to the gate, John and Monica also hand-in-hand, and
smiling at the first love blossoming before them. John pulled on the
heavy iron gate and Monica and Gibson stepped through, but Rosalita
stayed back, still holding Gibson's hand.

"What's wrong?" Monica asked soothingly. Rosalita's lower lip
quivered and her eyes reddened with impending tears, but still she
said nothing.

"Okay, Lita," John said gently. "The three of us can go without you.
We'll bring something back for you, okay?"

Gibson and Rosalita looked to each other again, and Gibson gave her
hand a squeeze. "She wants us to bring her a magazine," he said, his
eyes still on Lita's.

"Okay, a magazine it is," John said, closing the gate behind Gibson.
"We'll see you later."

***************
As the sun set behind the mountains, John took Monica's hand, and she
put her arm over Gibson's shoulders. The three walked in silence for
awhile, each engrossed in their own thoughts, until John said,
"Gibson, we've received word from your parents."

Gibson stopped walking, as did Reyes. "What did they say?" Monica
said, anxiously pulling Gibson closer to her.

"They were under investigation for your disappearance," John looked
sternly into Gibson's eyes. "After you ran away from your foster
home, and your foster parents have been indicted."

"You ran away?" Monica pulled Gibson around to face her. "Why?"

"I didn't feel safe there," Gibson said matter-of-factly. "I hid
with..."

"People of the Via," Monica finished, nodding her head. She turned to
John. "Now what?" she asked. "Do we have to turn him over?"

John watched as Monica pulled Gibson close to her again. "No," he
said softly. "We don't. But we do need to provide proof that he's
alive. His parents deserve that much."

"Their parental rights were terminated!" Gibson objected. "WE don't
owe them anything! Whatever you have in mind, I won't do it!" He
pulled free from Monica's grasp and started marching back to the
monastery.

John raced to catch up with him and grabbed his arm. "Gibson," he
said. "You don't understand. They've been questioned..." He stopped
when he saw that he wasn't getting through, then lowered his head
slightly and looked into Gibson's eyes. Focus, he told himself. Focus
on what it's like to lose a child... He picked one moment, the moment
he first heard that Luke was missing, then brought it to the
forefront of his mind. Concentrate, he commanded himself. Gibson's
eyes widened in surprise, then in fright, and finally in horror as he
saw and felt that horrible memory with John. He broke away from
John's grasp and turned away from him. "You see, Gibson?" John said.
"We can't let them go through that."

"Okay," Gibson conceded. "As long as I don't have to go back."

The tienda was nondescript, made from cinderblocks painted over with
cigarette ads that had faded in the desert sun. Inside it was cool
and dimly lit, yet somehow also warm and inviting. As soon as they
entered, the clerk threw down his newspaper and stood to greet them.
"Welcome," he said cheerfully. "Anything you need, just ask."

Gibson stepped up to the counter and said, "Magazines."

The attendant looked to John and Monica for approval, and after
seeing their nods, escorted Gibson to the magazine rack. Monica
sighed. "Gibson's so sweet," she said, taking John's hand.

John gave her hand a squeeze. "I know," he whispered. "We got lucky."

"What?" Monica asked.

John continued to whisper, "We promised to take care of him... But we
didn't really know him. We could have gotten stuck with a real brat."

She smiled, remembered the afternoon's mischief. "He can be a brat
when he wants to be," she whispered back. "But he's still sweet."

They strolled the aisles, commenting now and then on the dry goods
stacked in tiny piles and crammed close together. The store seemed to
have a little of everything. They stopped when John's eyes landed on
the automotive section. For a small store, it seemed to have
everything a do-it-yourselfer could want, and John started reviewing
the state of the monastery's garage, and the condition of its
vehicles. Hoses, he thought. They should have hoses on hand... He
pulled a length of hose from a rack and set it aside. And air
filters... What sizes do they have? He knelt to investigate the
lowest shelves, letting go of Monica's hand. After a few minutes he
came up with his prize and set it next to the hose. When he turned
his attention to the upper racks, Monica grabbed his hand and rested
her head against his shoulder, sighing loudly.

Her sigh attracted his attention, and he kissed the top of her head.
"Bored?" he whispered.

"No, happy," she answered, nestling her head closer to his neck.

"I didn't know you had such a thing for automotive supplies," he said
into her hair.

"I don't," she smiled. "I have a thing for being normal."

"Ahhh," he said with more understanding than he felt. Although he
loved the feeling of her head on his shoulders and her body close to
his, he never would have figured Monica as the clingy type.

"When we go back to D.C., will we be able to do this?" she asked, the
pitch of her voice betraying her anxiety.

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

"Walk hand-in-hand down the street? Go shopping together?" she paused
when he kissed the top of her hair again. "Kiss in public?" She
raised her eyes to his, and saw he didn't quite understand her yet.
"Bureau employees are everywhere, doing *their* shopping, driving
down the street we might be on, watching 7-11 surveillance videos..."
She sighed again. "When we go back..." her voice cracked, and she
swallowed before continuing. "We'll have to go back to seeing each
other secretly. Sneaking around with Brad was one thing... but with
you..."

John suddenly understood. He turned her to face him and put both
hands to the side of her head, stroking her hair gently as he studied
her face. "I didn't like sneaking around, either," he offered. "But
what choice did we have?"

Monica nodded, her lips clenched tightly as if they could control the
tears that threatened to appear. "I know," she whispered. "But it's
not you. You're honest, and decent, and you respect the FBI's
rules... I don't want you to betray yourself to be with me..." A lone
tear broke through the battlelines and marched down her cheek.

At the far end of the store Gibson looked up from his magazine.

"Monica," John said, still looking into her eyes and stroking her
hair. "Will you marry me?"

*********************
CHAPTER 19

"Get married?" Monica said when the breath returned to her chest.
"Before going back to D.C.?"

"Yeah," he smiled giddily. "Anytime you want, but the sooner the
better." He moved his hands to her shoulders, but kept his eyes on
hers. "I know this priest..." he smiled.

"John..." she said, pulling away from him. "I don't know... this is
so sudden..."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. It's sudden for you. I've been
thinking about it for awhile now. You should take your time too." He
grinned awkwardly, determined not to pressure her but wanting to just
the same.

A broad smile leapt to Monica's face. "You've been thinking about
this for awhile?" He nodded, his crystal blue eyes shining with love.
"Yes, you're right," she decided. "I *should* think about this." She
walked down the aisle, her smiling face peeking at him over her
shoulder. "See you in awhile," she said coyly.

He smiled back and let out a long breath. She had me going for a
minute, he thought, then tried to turn his attention back to
automotive parts. He found himself listening for her footsteps as she
wandered through the store behind him and he hoped he was right, that
she was just teasing him.

A hand on his arm made him jump. "Jesus Gibson!" he wheezed.

"Sorry," Gibson said, taking his hand away. "There's something I want
to show you."

John let out a breath and smiled at the boy. "Okay. Just don't sneak
up on people!" he warned. "Especially not..." He dropped his voice to
a low whisper, "especially not people who have a license to kill."

"You were thinking about Monica," Gibson said. "You didn't hear me
say your name."

"You said my name?" John repeated incredulously.

Gibson nodded. "But it's okay," he assured him. "She wants to marry
you. She just needs a little time to..."

"Gibson," John said, sighing with exasperation. "Hasn't anyone told
you that was rude?"

"Sure," Gibson answered. "Lots of people."

"So why do it?" John chided.

"I'm sorry," Gibson said sincerely. "I was only trying to help."

"You should ask first," John said, parental patience starting to
replace a lover's annoyance. "Give people a choice whether you help
them or not, okay?"

"Okay," Gibson promised.

"You may never know what it's like to be like me," John said, putting
his hands on the boy's shoulders. "But I *like* not knowing
everything about her. I like the mystery. I like it that she has to
tell me what she's thinking. And I like telling her what I'm
thinking. It isn't just telling her my thoughts," he said, now
speaking as much to himself as to Gibson. "But every time I share
something with her, I'm also telling her that I trust her. And when
she tells me her secrets it's the same. I'm willing to wait for
something that important. Understand?"

Gibson gulped and blinked several times. "I'm sorry," he said, even
more contritely than before. "I didn't realize..."

"I know," John said, pulling the boy into a friendly hug then
releasing him almost immediately. "You're a good kid, Gibson. But you
have a lot to learn."

Gibson looked admiringly into John's smiling eyes. "I guess I do," he
conceded.

John felt the sudden need to break the mood. He grabbed his hoses and
filters then dropped them into the shopping basket. "Now," he said,
picking up the wire basket. "I have what I need. Monica's deciding
what she wants... What did you want to show me?" he asked.

Gibson's face lit up. "Over here," he grabbed John's arm and pulled
him toward one corner of the tienda.

John smiled. It was the toy section. He hadn't shopped for toys in
years. "Toys?" he asked. "Aren't you a little old for..."

Gibson picked up a Gameboy and thrust it towards him. "I've never had
one," he explained. "Please?"

The boyish plea went right to John's heart, and he took the prize
from Gibson's hands. He looked it over with some curiosity. He'd
heard of these but had never seen one close-up. As he read the
information on the package, from the corner of his eye he saw Gibson
pick up a second toy. He lowered the Gameboy and raised his eyebrows.
It was a toy gun. A very realistic-looking toy gun.

"I need to start practicing," Gibson explained.

Suddenly John felt Monica's presence behind him. He didn't know how,
but he knew she was there. He turned around and smiled. "Do you know
what you want yet?" he said, winking.

"Yes," she said flirtatiously. "These," she held up a box of tampons,
then tossed them into the basket.

"Geez, Mon... not in front of the boy!" John said, but Gibson's
giggles told him he needn't be upset.

Monica ignored John's scold and addressed Gibson. "Did you find a
magazine for Lita?" He shook his head, and she saw the toy gun in his
hand. "Shopping for girls is tricky," she said knowingly. "Let me
help you."

John put the gameboy and the toy gun into the basket and continued
wandering around the store, picking up supplies. Monica helped Gibson
choose a magazine for Rosalita, telling him about her own reading
habits as a teen, hoping that he would share more about Lita. He
shifted his weight, bored by her monologue, and refused to betray
Lita's confidences. Finally, Monica gave up and they settled on
"Seventeen." Monica smiled at Gibson's reluctance to carry it. "We
can tell them it's for me," she whispered conspiratorily.

They stood at the counter, Monica's hand casually draped over
Gibson's shoulder, waiting for John to finish. "Looking for jewelry?"
the clerk asked, nodding to the rows of cheap jewelry under the glass
in front of them.

"What do you think, Gibson? Is there something you want to buy?" When
Gibson looked up at Monica she winked. "There might be a friendship
ring or... Oooooh" she sighed when she saw a delicate heart-shaped
locket with a red rose in the center. "How much is that?" she asked.

"Fifteen dollars," the clerk said. He lowered his voice to a whisper
and added, "But for People of the Via, no charge." He looked up to
see John approaching and added, "No charge for anything, as long as
it's reasonable, of course."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Reyes insisted. "We'll pay
cash."

"It's okay," the clerk assured them, then bored his eyes into
Gibson's.

"He's all right," Gibson agreed. "He's one of us."

The clerk laughed. "We're not all in monasteries, you know. But we
help each other whenever we can."

Monica pulled Gibson closer to herself, and John put his hand on the
small of her back. "Here," the clerk said, reaching for John's
basket. "Let me bag this for you. Don't worry about the money. If I
run out I'll just take a quick trip to Vegas." He chuckled at their
stunned responses. "Don't worry. I only win what I need... for the
cause."

"Of course," John said with disgust.

The clerk smiled as he bagged their goods. "Anything else you need?"
He winked at John. "Anything at all? More jewelry perhaps?"

"No," John snapped. "This will be all."

On the way back to the monastery John and Monica walked hand-in hand,
swinging their bags in parallel motions, as Gibson walked ahead of
him, shooting his toy gun at fenceposts and boulders. He jumped to
the side, imitating action heroes, and fell on the pavement with a
loud groan. John rushed to his side and helped him up. Monica
followed close behind, caring both of their bags. "Are you okay?" she
asked breathily.

"Yeah," he grunted, still struggling to right himself. "Not hurt...
don't worry." He brushed the dust off his clothes and picked up the
gun.

John smirked. "Maybe it's time for lesson one." He grabbed Gibson's
toy gun and said, "Lesson One: NEVER let go of your gun." He handed
the gun back to him and assumed a football-like stance. "Now... Hold
onto that gun!" He ran at Gibson, who pointed the gun at him. Just as
he got close, Monica pulled Gibson to the side and let John run past
them. Gibson started laughing.

"You think that's funny?" John asked playfully.

"Yeah," Gibson giggled.

"Okay, let's see you *you* like it," John challenged, motioning for
Gibson to give him the gun. "Now, try to get this gun away from me."

Monica leaned to whisper into Gibson's ear, then shouted, "Gun!" At
her signal, she and Gibson ran opposite semicircles toward John,
forcing him to run backwards.

Laughing, he cried out, "Hey, no fair two against one!" He continued
backing away from them until his foot hit a stone and he fell
backwards, landing on a cactus. "Holy Jesus!" he shouted, rolling
over to his side. "Dammit!"

Monica ran to his side and, kneeling, asked breathlessly, "Are you
all right?" John looked over his shoulder at the cactus, and when
Monica saw what he was looking at, she started laughing.

"This isn't funny!" John shouted, but Monica knew him too well to
take this outburst seriously. They stared into each other's
mischievous eyes, and he insisted, "It's not!"

Gibson took advantage of the situation to grab for the gun, but John
held it fast, and Gibson fell backward himself when his hand slipped
off of the gun. "Dammit!" he shouted as his backside hit the sandy
ground.

"Ya see?" John said, waving the gun. "Once you have that instinct you
never lose it!"

Monica's eyes followed John's prideful wave of the gun as he lectured
about the importance of training, and she couldn't resist trying for
it herself. Suddenly, Monica's hand shot out and she snatched the gun
away, waving it victoriously. John looked at Gibson with dismay.
"Gibson," he said, shaking his head. "Never fall in love. It's
nothing but aggravation."

The amused smirk left Monica's face and she handed the gun to Gibson.
"Is that so?" she asked. She started stomping off in the direction of
the monastery, and by the time John and Gibson caught up to her they
were almost to the gate.

"I'm sorry, Mon," John said, limping up to her side. "You're no
aggravation."

She turned, a knowing smile on her face. "You're sure?"

"Cross my heart," he promised, his right hand over his chest. The
gleam in her eye told him he'd been had. She wasn't angry.

"Okay," she smiled, reaching for his hands, then pulling him into an
embrace. "You're forgiven," she whispered into his ear. They kissed
passionately, not caring what Gibson might think. Their sparkling
eyes locked on each other when they came up for air. "I can never
stay angry at you," Monica whispered.

"Me neither," John whispered back, winking. He nuzzled the nape of
her neck then whispered into her ear, "Were you angry enough for us
to have make-up sex later?"

"Maybe," she answered coquettishly. "As long as you don't make me mad
again..."

****************************
CHAPTER 20

When they arrived at the monastery gate they found Lita waiting just
inside, sitting on a stone bench, her hands clasped in her lap
placidly. Gibson opened the gate and went to her side. John took a
few steps toward the gate, but Monica pulled him aside before they
entered. "Give them a minute," she whispered. Gibson sat next to Lita
on the bench and they gazed into each others' eyes. The last thing
Monica saw was Gibson reaching into his pocket for the locket. "I'd
love to know what they're thinking to each other," Monica whispered
when they were out of earshot.

"Not me," John whispered. As they stood by the stone wall John put
his arm around her waist and pulled her toward him. "We want him to
respect our privacy..." he nuzzled her neck sensuously. "We should
respect his."

Monica put her hands to the back of his neck and looked admiringly
into his eyes. "How did I get so lucky?" she sighed.

He grinned awkwardly, still not entirely comfortable with her
compliments despite his comfort with her. "You're just saying that."
He leaned forward to kiss her, then something caught his eye and he
stepped around her. "Stay here," he ordered.

He walked a few steps forward, staying close to the wall, hiding
himself in the shadows thrown by its overhang. Monica appeared at his
side and he whispered in annoyance, "Get back!" She took one step
backward then followed him silently just the same. An SUV pulled to a
stop next to the gate, a man and a woman emerging and leaving the
doors open.

"Gibson," John and Monica heard a low voice say sharply. "Get in the
car."

Gibson and Lita appeared at the gate and peered at the couple through
the bars. They stood motionless in the starlight, their impassive
faces hiding their psychic dialogue. The next thing they heard was a
woman's loud, sharp voice ordered, "NOW!"

John and Monica crept forward as the strangers approached the gate.
Gibson's eyes involuntarily looked in their direction, making the
strange couple turn their heads to see what he saw.

"GUN!" Gibson shouted, then ducked behind the wall next to the gate.
The couple turned toward Doggett and Reyes, who were still in the
shadows.

John turned to check on Monica and was surprised to see she was only
a few feet away. "Here!" Doggett ordered. He grabbed her by the
ribcage and started lifting her up against the wall. She got the idea
then grabbed a handful of ivy to pull herself up. At the top she
turned around and, lying on the top, reached down to help her
partner. He looked over his shoulder and saw the woman pointing a
revolver toward Reyes. "GO!" he cried out, then pushed against her
hands, forcing her to fall to the other side.

"NO!!!" Gibson shouted. "Mom, Dad... STOP IT!"

Doggett gasped and held his hands up. "You're his parents?"

"Leave him alone!" Gibson was frantic now. "I'll come with you!"

The couple turned and started walking toward Gibson. Doggett took his
opportunity and ran up behind them, trying to force each one
off-balance with his outstretched arms. To his surprise they barely
budged. The woman turned and grabbed his arm. She lifted him up, and
his eyes widened in surprise. He looked from her to the man, who
continued walking toward the gate, and he noticed a large lump on the
man's neck, just above his shirt collar. "Oh sh---" Doggett said just
before the woman flung him against the stone wall. He hit it with a
loud thud then crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

As Gibson's father approached the gate, Gibson and Lita stood
wide-eyed with horror as he started to shake, his shuddering growing
more violent as he continued to approach. The pair found themselves
unable to move as the man convulsed then flew through the air into
the gate, smashing aginst it. The bars of the gate cut through his
body, throwing chunks of sizzling flesh hurling toward the teens.

The tall, angular woman stood at a distance, rock-steady with no
trace of shaking, and shouted to Gibson. "Get in the car," Gibson.
"NOW!"

Gibson grabbed Lita around the shoulders and shouted "NO!"

His mother wheeled and pointed the gun at the unconscious Doggett. "I
said, NOW, Gibson," she repeated in a maternal, scolding, tone.

"STOP! Don't shoot!" he yelled. "I'll go with you." Gibson's lower
lip quivered and he turned to Lita, then he kissed her briefly on the
lips and reached for the gate handle.
His mother turned to face him, and just then a shot rang out... and a
bullet found her forehead.

*************
The bullet made a clean entry, but within seconds the skin around the
wound began to sizzle, widening the hole and revealing first the
bone, and then the brain underneath. Within seconds the woman's head
had dissolved, and she was soon a smoking heap of goo.

Monica ran to Gibson and pulled him away from the gate, hugging him
tightly to her as she watched his mother dissolve. Mother Catherine
stood near Lita, her gun still pointing toward the gate until she was
sure she'd seen the last of the enemy. When she was satisfied, she
lowered her gun and returned it to the holster Monica never knew was
under her habit. She put her hands on Lita's shoulders and turned the
girl toward her for a grandmotherly hug.

Mary rushed to the scene with Martha following behind her. "Oh my,"
Mary said. "Not another one."

Together Mary and Martha pulled the gate open, straining against the
weight of what was left of Gibson's father. Catherine stroked Lita's
hair and spoke over her head, "Go get John. Take him to the
infirmary."

At these words, Monica let go of Gibson and rushed through the gate,
frantically searching the shadows for any sign of her partner. Her
lover's instincts located his form amidts the shrubs and cactus, and
she ran to him. "John! John!" she shouted, kneeling at his side.
"Wake up!"

Mary pulled her aside and soothingly said, "We'll take over from
here. He'll be fine."

Martha put her hand on John's head, her eyes closed, her face tense
with concentration. "He'll be fine," she diagnosed. "Go be with
Gibson," she ordered. "He needs you more." Monica hesitated but
Martha insisted, "GO!"

Mary held Monica's shoulders and urged her toward the gate. "She
knows what she's doing," Mary assured her. Monica nodded, but
continued looking over her shoulder at the crumpled shadow and the
white-clad woman tending to him. The image of an angel, its white
wings tucked behind its back, briefly replaced Martha in Monica's
minds-eye, and she felt a sense of peace. Yes, she decided. John was
in good hands.

She found Gibson on the stone bench, hunched over, seemingly studying
his hands. "Gibson?" Monica said soothingly as she sat next to him.
"Want to talk about it?" She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder,
and he took that as his cue to turn toward her. He threw his arms
around her waist and buried his head on her shoulder. Instinctively,
she wrapped her arms around him and bent her head toward his. She
rocked him side to side and cooed softly, saying "It's okay.
Everything will be okay." Her eyes closed, she focused her mind on
peace and security, hoping Gibson would sense it too.

After a few minutes, Gibson sighed and pulled away from her. "They
were my parents," he said, a catch in his voice.

"I know," Monica answered, massaging the back of his neck gently.
"And you loved them."

He nodded, then sighed, then smiled and looked toward the gate.
Monica looked too, and in a moment saw John walking through it,
supported by Martha. She rushed to him and supported him from the
other side. "John," she breathed. "Are you okay?"

John nodded, his eyes half open. "I'm getting there," he growled.
Monica continued helping him until they reached the small infirmary.

"I'll take over from here," Martha said, shutting the door behind
them.

Monica turned to see Gibson a few steps behind her. "He'll be fine,"
she assured him. He nodded to reassure her. They both knew that
neither was convinced. Monica forced herself to smile and said, "Now,
let's get you cleaned up." She looked down at his shirt and pants,
which were smeared with his father's remains. Gibson nodded, and they
walked hand-in-hand toward the cottage.

While Gibson showered, Monica tried to meditate, but her thoughts
returned time and again to Gibson and his parents. Had they been his
natural parents? How long had they been supersoldiers? Did Gibson
know what they were? And what about his foster parents? Why didn't he
feel safe with them? Were they supersoldiers too? And what about
Lita's parents?

She started her breathing routine again, but instead of a controlled
exhale she sighed heavily. And what about John? Was his proposal
really about Gibson? He seemed to enjoy having the boy around. Was he
just trying to live out his fantasy of what bringing up Luke would
have been like? She inhaled again and forced herself to breathe
correctly, then did it again. She had to talk to them both, she
decided, and on her third breath she found her center. As she
descended into her meditative state she lost track of time and space,
going deeper into a peaceful place of her own creation, going home...
And as her conscious and subconscious merged silently into a deep,
almost under-water weightlessness, a sudden thought floated to the
surface. 'And what about me?' the thought intruded loudly. 'What do
*I* want?' She opened her eyes with a start, and that instant John
flung open the door and stood unsteadily before her.

********************
CHAPTER 21

"John!" she sighed, watching as he grinned and limped toward her.
"Are you okay?" she asked solicitously, patting the seat next to her.
"Want to sit down?"

He grinned more broadly. "Remember that cactus?"

"Actually, I'd forgotten," she smiled. "How is your..."

"I'll live," he cut her off. "Their little infirmary is quite a
sight. They have everything imaginable there." He leaned over the
back of the sofa and bent to kiss her upturned face before
announcing, "I think I need a nap," and limping toward their bedroom.
He flopped belly-down onto the bed and groaned. Just as he closed his
eyes he felt the bed bounce. "What?" he cried out, keeping his eyes
closed and hugging his pillow.

Monica gently touched the wound she saw at the back of his head,
making him flinch. "Do you have a concussion?" she asked. Her hand
migrated from the back of his head to the small of his back and
traced gentle circles over the muscles.

"I don't think so," John's muffled voice answered from the comfort of
the pillow.

"Because if you do," she continued. "You shouldn't fall asleep. You
should stay awake."

"Aw Mon..." he moaned, turning his head to look into her face. "Not
now... Everything hurts..."

Her hand continued its gentle massage as she lay down to face him. "I
wasn't thinking of that," she smiled. "What about our appointment
with Tomás?"

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

"John," she crooned. "We don't know how much time we have here. We
should make the most of it."

His head raised up off the pillow and he pushed up with his hands.
"You're right," he said, then turned to his side, carefully keeping
his cactus wounds safe. "There's a leak somewhere, and the more we
know... I mean, how many of these kids are there? Gibson, Lita, maybe
William?"

Monica's face grew somber at the mention of the infant given up by
Scully. "And how did they find him? Where was the leak? Was it
someone here? Someone in the communication chain? Child Protective
Services?"

"Exactly," John aggreed, gingerly rising from the bed. He held out
his hand to help her up. "We need to find out what happened. If they
could find him here..."

"I know," Monica finished, standing at his side. They walked slowly
into the living room to find Gibson standing thoughtfully at the
fireplace. "Gibson?" Monica said with more tenderness than John had
heard before. She walked to the boy and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you ready for your meeting with Martha?"

The boy nodded solemnly then suddenly wrapped his arms around her
waist. She rubbed his back as John looked on in amazement, and asked
in a low, soothing voice, "Are you afraid that someone else will come
for you now?" Gibson nodded and squeezed tighter. Monica continued
rubbing his back and rocking him gently until she felt his arms
relax. After a final hug she pulled away from him. "The next time it
happens, we'll be prepared," she assured him. "You'll be able to
defend yourself."

"After we finish with Tomás and Martha, the three of us should have a
talk, okay?" John added. "I want to know more about your parents."

"I want some of Catherine's bullets," he announced.

John smiled and approached him slowly. Putting his hand on the boy's
shoulder, he said, "Me too. We could all use some of her courage,
too."

"Tonight has taught us that we have to be prepared," Monica said,
rubbing Gibson's other shoulder. "There's more to it than magic
bullets."

"I know," Gibson said, looking into Monica's face then John's. "I
haven't changed my mind. I'll do whatever it takes."

*******************
On the way to the front gate John and Monica filled each other in on
their parts in the nights' events, and when they arrived at the gate
they found there was no trace of the two supersoldiers or their SUV.
Monica sighed heavily and looked up at the stars. "They're out
there," she said thoughtfully. "Ten light-years away? Or maybe closer
but just waiting for the right moment?"

John squeezed her hand. "They've got one helluva fight ahead of them
if they want to invade this planet," he reassured her. He watched her
face, reading her desire to believe him and her fear that he may be
wrong, sensing her emotions with an accuracy that been honed for many
years. "I mean, Monica..." he added brightly. "If little old ladies
are blowing holes in peoples' heads..."

Monica smiled and returned John's squeeze. "You're right. But what
if..."

John grabbed her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "No what
if's. We're going to beat them. Whatever it takes." He took a deep
breath as she nodded. "And even *if* we don't, we'll go down
fighting." He kissed her lips then added, "Together."

Lights flashed through the bars of the gate, making the pair step
back cautiously, their hands shielding their eyes.

When they heard Tomás at the gate ask, "Are you ready?" they exhaled
together, then followed Tomás to his SUV. Both were trying to peek at
the back of his neck, but the crucial vertebrae were concealed by his
white collar. They sat in the rear seat, hoping for another
opportunity as Tomás turned the ignition, when they saw Mother
Catherine come charging out of the gate.

"How did this happen?" she yelled to the Tomás. "Did you do this? Was
it you?" She shook a fist as she neared the SUV.

Tomás' face paled. He turned the keys in the ignition to "off" and
rolled down his window. "No, it wasn't me, I swear!" he yelled
plaintively. "I.. I don't know what happened!"

The elderly woman grabbed him by the front of his vestment and pulled
him partway through his window. She bent his head forward forcefully
with her elbow, then grabbed his collar and pulled it away from his
neck. She felt his neck then, satisfied, she threw him back into the
vehicle. "Well at least you're not one of them," she hmphed. "And you
don't have any idea?" she quizzed him. She sighed and looked into the
back seat. "Okay," she decided. "You can continue working with
them... but I want them *here,* understand?" As if there was no
question of his obedience she opened the gate further.

She led them to the cottage, filling Tomás in on the events of the
evening as they walked. At the door she pulled a small bottle from an
inner pocket and handed it to Monica. "Here," she ordered. "It's good
for cactus wounds."

John blushed and opened the door, turning his back on Catherine as
she finished her instructions to Monica. He found a comfortable
position on the sofa and sat waiting for the others to join him.
Tomás entered first, taking the rocker by the fireplace. He and John
smiled awkwardly at each other as they waited, but John felt no
invasion of his mental space. He was relieved, considering his mind
was mostly on the pain. When Monica still hadn't entered, John felt
he had to break the silence. "So... How about them Lakers?" he said
with forced casualness.

Tomás leaned forward. "What do you really want to ask me, Mr.
Doggett?"

"You're going to make me say it?" he said with surprise.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To have to work up the courage to
say what's really..."

"Okay, okay," Doggett admitted. He sighed and considered not saying
anything more, but Tomás' crack about courage got to him. "I've asked
Monica to..."

Just then Monica opened the door, cheerily striding into the bedroom
with her salves, bandages and another packet John didn't recognize.
Tomás leaned further forward and whispered, "Yes, I'd be happy to do
that for you." He leaned back and started rocking the chair
nonchalantly while John smiled at him. "Sometimes it's best this way,
don't you think?" Tomás asked, his smugness not erasing John's relief
at not having to speak.

When Monica returned she sat at the opposite end of the sofa and
smiled serenely at John. He looked puzzled but resolved to continue
their instructions and ask her later. Tomás took a lighter from his
pocket and lit the candles around the room, then turned out the
electric lights. "Today we'll start where we left off last time," he
said in a soft, gentle voice. "Monica, we'll repeat the exercise with
a visual image from me, then I want to try having you hold a word in
your mind. Then I'd like John to try holding that word and allowing
me to hear it. Okay?"

They both nodded, Monica enthusiastically crossing her legs and
assuming her meditative pose, John awkwardly shifting his legs and
eyeing Tomás skeptically. "Let's get this over with," Doggett
grumbled.

Despite his skepticism, John easily found the mental image in
Monica's mind: a red rose, the same color as the ones in the
courtyard. He smiled in spite of himself, and Tomás got the message.
"Okay," Tomás said. "Let's try a more difficult image." Tomás stared
into Monica's eyes, then she turned and fixed her eyes on John's.
Tomás could see that John was having trouble. "Close your eyes. Both
of you," he ordered in a gentle yet commanding voice. "Focus only on
thoughts. Not on what you see."

John shifted painfully then sighed, unsure whether this psychic stuff
was really going to work. 'Focus,' he heard a voice say in his head.
'You need to be able to do this.' He took a deep breath then put all
his energy into Monica's mind. Suddenly the image of the Pentagon
popped into his mind.

"The Pentagon?" he said, like a child guessing on a math question.

Monica and Tomás beamed at him. "I think he's getting the hang of
this!" Monica exclaimed.

John smirked, remembering a time not so long ago when she'd said
almost those same words, when she'd taken that first important step
forward in their relationship and he responded in kind. It seemed so
long ago, but it was only a few months.

"Now, John," Tomás instructed. "Place an image in your mind. Try to
hold it, and let Monica see it. I promise I won't peek. And Monica,
tell us what you see the second you see it."

Tomás watched as John struggled to train his mind on an image, and
Monica struggled to keep her mind blank and receptive. Suddenly
Monica grinned broadly. "I think I saw it," she announced.

"Good!" John grinned impishly. He pulled something from his pocket
and held it in his outstretched hand for her to see. "Did it look
something like this."

Monica gasped. It was a diamond engagement ring. "Yes," she sighed,
taking it. "And... yes," she added, leaning forward to kiss him.

************************
CHAPTER 22

When their session was over, Tomás said, "I can marry you in the
Church. I *am* a real priest, you know." Doggett and Reyes grinned at
each other, revealing equal amounts of joy, excitement, and anxiety.
"But you wouldn't be *legally* married without a license, and under
the circumstances..."

"No, you're right," Reyes sighed. "But a church wedding... I'm not
religious, well not in the way you think of it."

"Neither am I," Doggett volunteered.

"Yes, I know," Tomás laughed. "If that bothered us, would you be
here?" Chastised, Reyes and Doggett remained silent as Tomás
continued more seriously. "After tonight's events, might I suggest
sooner rather than later? We have already started preparing for your
departure..."

"Preparing? How?" Reyes asked, startled.

Tomás leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "We make up something
like care packages for the people we help. Things to help you along
the road, in case you can't go back home."

Doggett's face wrinkled up with worry. "What have you heard?"

Tomás sighed. "Your Skinner? He replied with one word: No."

The newly engaged couple looked into each others' eyes, communicating
all that needed to be said. "So what happens now?" Reyes asked.

"We'll give you enough information to find your way to another
shelter. But it will be up to you to actually find it. We can't risk
another leak. You'll pick your time. You'll pick your place." Tomás
started rocking in the rocker, feigning a more relaxed attitude than
he felt. "You may decide not to look for others of the Via. It's up
to you. We don't want to know." He rocked back and forth a few times
as the pair before him sat in silent thought. "It's better that way,"
he added.

They sat in silence for a long moment, then heard a tentative knock
on the door. Monica rose to open the door, and found a bashful
Gibson. He eyed the diamond on Monica's finger and waited patiently
for her to say something. "Yes," Monica answered his silent question.
"We've decided to get married."

"Congratulations," Gibson said, holding out his hand to shake hers.

Monica ignored his polite gesture and reached around his shoulders,
hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Gibson," she murmurs.

Gibson pulled away and smiled, then turned to John.
"Congratulations," he repeated. John waved an acknowledgement and
smiled awkwardly.

Tomás repeated his own congratulations then excused himself, leaving
the little family together in the candlelight.

"Did you still want to talk to me?" Gibson asked, a little nervous
but steeling himself for the questions.

John tried to suppress a grin. "Yes, Gibson. We need to know more
about your parents."

Gibson's eyes reddened but he stood firm and answered, "Ask me
anything. It's okay."

Monica put a hand on his shoulder and led him toward the rocker, his
favorite seat by now. "You're sure, Gibson," she asked soothingly.
"If it's too much..."

"He said it's okay," John interrupted testily. "Monica, let him talk.
He wants us to know."

"He's right. I do," Gibson assured her.

"C'mon Mon," John urged. "Sit down over here. Let the boy talk."

Gibson winced at the word "boy" but continued looking Monica in the
eye. "I'm good," he assured her again.

Reluctantly, she returned to the couch, where John was patting the
seat next to him. He put his arm around her shoulders and gave her a
little squeeze. She responded with a proportionately small smile,
then leaned back.

"Now, Gibson," John started, his investigative persona coming to the
fore. "You were adopted, right? These were your adoptive parents?"

"Yes," Gibson replied as he rocked gently, his feet pushing off from
the floor. "But they seemed different. Not themselves."

Monica nodded. "When you were living with them, did you notice
whether they had a bump?" She put her hand to the back of her neck.
"Right here? Either of them?"

Gibson shook his head. "No, but my foster parents did. Both of them."

***************************

John sighed. "I'm so sorry, Gibson," he said sincerely. "I helped set
that up."

"It's okay," Gibson said bravely. "You couldn't have known. They were
very good at fooling people."

"But they didn't fool you?" Monica said. "Why?"

"I don't know," he said thoughtfully, reflecting back on his short
time with them. "They were just ... different. They didn't really
think. They were doing all the right things, but there was nothing
behind it. Not from within themselves anyway."

"They were being controlled by an outside force?" Monica probed, her
raised eyebrows showing more curiosity than concern. Gibson somehow
felt comforted by this change in her demeanor.

"Seemed like it," he concluded. "Like, they would be in the middle of
something, then they would suddenly leave the house. As if someone
called them, but I couldn't hear anything."

John and Monica exchanged glances. "Well, this is something new,"
John said, sighing. "And you couldn't sense anything different when
this happened?"

Gibson tried to remember it better, but just shook his head in
frustration.

"Okay," Monica said, keeping a positive yet inquisitive frame of
mind. "Back to your original parents. No bumps on the neck... but did
they *seem* different in any way? Were they controlled by an outside
force? Did they do anything unusual? Have unusual friends?"

He shook his head again. "They were just like other people, but..."
Gibson paused, hoping not to have to continue, but both John and
Monica looked at him expectantly. "But this man came to visit
sometimes. They tried to make me leave the house when he came, but
sometimes I could sneak back in."

"This man," John questioned, feeling his interrogator's muscles
coming back. "What did he look like? Taller than me? Shorter? How old
was he?"

"He was tall," Gibson said, but then he grinned and added, "But I
think everybody is tall."

"You're not too old for a growth spurt," Monica said. "And I've been
meaning to talk to you about your calcium..." John shot her a glance
and she said, "What color was his hair?"

"Gray, and his skin was kind of gray too. He smoked. A lot," Gibson
said, noting the pair's instant reaction to this detail. "There were
always stubs from Moreley's in the ashtray when he'd been there.

Monica and John looked at each other significantly.

"What?" Gibson asked.

"We think we know something about him," Reyes said calmly. "But the
last anyone's heard of him he was very ill."

"I don't think we have to worry about him," Doggett said thougtfully,
leaning forward and putting his hands on his head and smoothing his
hair back. "But he probably wasn't working alone."

"There may have been others," Gibson said, rocking faster, his feet
slapping against the paving stones. "I can't remember.." he pursed
his lips, straining to remember. "It was a long time ago..."

"That's okay," Monica said soothingly. "Take your time."

John looked at her disapprovingly and she mouthed "What?" He mouthed
back "Later," and turned his attention to Gibson.

"Think of... think of people in suits. Men in black suits maybe. Or
pinstripes..." he urged gently. "They may have had bulges here," he
patted his side. "Where they would have had their guns."

Gibson shook his head. "Sorry. That one man is all I remember."

"It's okay," Monica cooed. "As you remember more things be sure to
tell us. We knew that one man, we may know others."

"If you don't mind," Gibson said, standing and walking to his room.
"I'm tired." He opened the door slowly, turning around to check their
expressions. "Goodnight," he said.

"Well," John said heavily. "That's our signal. He eyed her
mischievously and pushed himself up from the sofa. "Oww!" he groaned.
"I'm too old for this sh--"

Monica grabbed his arm and helped him right himself. "Nobody feels
good after being thrown into a wall," she clucked. "You're not old."
She grabbed him around the waist and added, "You're certainly not too
old for me."

He grinned and kissed her, softly, tenderly. Not the kiss of an old
man, she thought. They worked their way toward the bedroom slowly,
each step separated by several kisses, until Monica grabbed John by
the shoulders and started pushing him onto the bed. He fell backward
onto the mattress and yelped.

"I have something for that," Monica grinned, pulling at his pants. He
cooperated, pushing his jeans down, and when she reached for his
underwear he groaned. "Awww," she sighed. "I bet that hurts."

"Hmm mmm," he answered, his voice muffled by his pillow.

"And I bet you could use a massage, too," she said softly, moving her
hands up under his shirt. She reached for one of the vials Catherine
had given her, and opened it. A pungent yet oddly sweet aroma wafted
out, making her grimace. "I have something for the muscle aches...
And something else for this," she said, poking one of his puncture
wounds.

"Ow!" he shouted.

"Just testing," she said, reaching for the other bottle. "We'll start
here..." She poured a little of the white fluid onto each cactus
wound then gently rubbed it in. "That's okay?" she asked tentatively.
He responded with a satisfied moan, and she continued until they were
all treated. "And now for the fun part," she said, grabbing the other
vial. She poured some of the pungent oil into the palm of one hand
and rubbed her hands together. Starting with his neck, she massaged,
him, replenishing the oil frequently, until she felt his muscles
loosening.

"What was it you were going to tell me later?" she asked, still
massaging his back. "About Gibson?"

"Mon, don't take this the wrong way, but there's something you gotta
know about teenage boys." John paused as he chose his words. "I know
you're not his mother, but you're the closest thing right now. And,
well..." He could sense her steeling herself against hurt feelings,
but he felt it needed to be said. "He seems to like you. And that's
good. Just don't..." he took a deep breath and finished. "Don't hug
him in front of people. You're babying him. Let him have some
dignity. Awright?"

Monica's lips clenched as she nodded. "Okay. Anything else?" She
skipped to his thighs, massaging them with the same oil

"No," he smiled reassuringly. "You've been doing a great job." He
sighed as she switched thighs. "You're a natural."

"Thanks," she sighed. "I got to know a lot of traumatized kids when I
worked the Crimes Against Children Division in New York, but not many
were teenaged boys. You'll tell me if I mess up again?"

He rolled over and smiled up at her. "By that time he'll feel
comfortable telling you himself," he said reassuringly. "He's already
opened up to you a lot. You're good for him."

Monica blushed. "So are you. This isn't making you think of Luke?"
She started massaging his shoulders from the front, her hair hanging
down and swaying as she moved.

"No," he said, watching her hair. "He's his own person. He's not a
replacement for Luke, if that's what you mean." He turned his eyes
toward hers and she looked down on him.

"Yes, that's what I meant," she sighed, moving her hands downward.
"And I'm glad to hear it. He deserves that much."

A comforting silence came between them as she worked lower. "Thank
you, I feel much better," he said huskly, grabbing her hands, then
running his own up the length of her arms. He pulled her down and
toward him until she was on top of him. Smiling, he whispered, "I
think I'm ready for that make-up sex now."

**************************************

"Oh you are?" she smiled coyly and rolled onto her back beside him.
He rolled with her and assumed a push-up position over her. "That
backrub was supposed to be relaxing!" she laughed.

"It was," he said, bending to kiss her cheek, then whispering into
her ear, "I'm *all* relaxed except the one place you didn't massage."

"Maybe I should massage it, then?"

"Gotta be thorough," he said softly, nuzzling her neck.

Monica reached between them, her hands sending involuntary spasms
through his body as they made their way downward. When they reached
their goal he gasped and buried his face in her hair. "Monica..." he
growled. "You're so good to me..." He gasped again when she reached
still further, gently kneading him as he began to move against her.

"I can see you have a problem there," she laughed lightly. She pushed
him onto his back, watching his eyes, their lids half-open, his
glazed pupils fixed deliriously on hers. She grinned, mirroring his
own expectant grin, then buried her face in his neck and started a
slow trail of kisses downward, over his chest, his abs, and
finally... His chest heaved as she sucked, licked and stroked him in
all the ways he loved, then found a few new ones. She continued her
slow tease, as he wove his fingers through her hair and breathed
noisily until he suddenly slipped a hand under her chin and pulled
her away.

"Not yet," he whispered huskily.

She slid seductively up his body, then lay on top of him, her hands
cradling the back of his head. "I must be doing something wrong," she
whispered. "It isn't relaxed yet."

"Maybe I can't relax if you're not relaxed," he winked. They rolled
over and he snaked a trail of tender kisses from her ear to her chin,
down the side of her neck and over her collarbone, coming to rest on
an overripe nipple. Alternating light, fluttery motions of his tongue
with warm and enveloping suckling, he took his cues from her sighs
and gasps, which gradually grew more frantic. His fingers went to the
other breast, imitating the ministrations of his mouth, gently
kneading the rosy nub. Her sighs grew deeper and more insistent as he
continued to work both breasts, instinctively lightening then
deepening the pressure on each. As she gyrated under him, he pushed
himself into her, rubbing his throbbing cock against her strong
thighs. And as he felt her body writhing he also *felt* her feelings,
her ecstasy, and she in turn sensed his impending release. She
whispered, "John, I feel your..." then suddenly threw back her head
and squealed from the back of her throat as her body shuddered
underneath him. Her orgasm reached deep into his soul, moving to the
pit of his stomach then pushing onward to his own ultimate release,
linking their bodies in inexorable spiritual union.

John collapsed on top of her, then rolled to her side, keeping an arm
over her waist. "How did you do that?" John asked, when his breathing
approached normal.

"Do what?" Monica asked, pushing sweat-dampened strands of hair
behind her ear.

"I felt you," he sighed. "I felt what you were feeling."

She stroked his cheek and smiled knowingly. "You were open to me,"
she answered. "And I felt you too."

After edging closer to her, he shook his head and said in amazement,
"That just shouldn't be possible. Any of what happened..."

"I know," she pulled him still closer. "But why question it?" She
wrapped her arms around him, kissing him tentatively then pulling
back. "I want my husband to know what I feel."

A gleeful grin crossed his face. "And the future Mrs. Doggett.... I
love the feel of her mind inside mine." He kissed her tenderly then
whispered into her ear, "That part of her mind anyway."

"They do say the mind is the most important sex organ," she teased.
"Maybe we should just think about it..."

"Oh no...." he mockingly chided. "Tell me what I think of that
idea...." And as he held the image in his mind of their bodies
writhing, a smile spread over her face. With the tip of his fingers
he traced the line of her jaw, stopping at her chin, then he gently
ran his thumb over her smiling lips. She captured his thumb and
sucked on it seductively, her liquid eyes fixed on him. "I think you
know, but I hafta tellya, Mon..." he whispered huskily. "Making love
to you is incredible... and it keeps getting better and better." He
pulled his thumb from her mouth and kissed her tenderly, keeping his
mouth on hers as he slid on top of her and sought entrance to her
soul once again.

Monica reached her arms around John's neck, then ran her hands
through his hair as he started thrusting in slow, sensuous motions
that made her whimper. He pulled her legs up, hooking them over his
shoulders, and her delighted squeals spurred him to more rigorous
pounding below. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more,
John paused, and Monica could feel what he wanted to do. "Yes," she
whispered, then pulled away from him and got on all fours.

Without speaking, they resumed their animalistic dance, each sensing
the other's pleasure until their spirits poured out in mutual
ecstasy.

Later, they lay next to each other, basking in shared comfort and
trust, silent except for their breathing. John broke the silence
first, saying, "I sure hope Gibson didn't overhear that. If he knew
what it was like to link minds that way..."

"I'm sure he knows," Monica said nonchalantly, wrapping an arm around
his waist. "But we don't have to worry about him and Lita. They're
not ready."

John brought a hand to her hair and cradled her head. "You're good
for all of us. Lita included," he said, kissing her cheek lightly.
"You're a good person, Monica."

"Good has nothing to do with it," she protested. "I love you, and I
love them. How could I do otherwise?" Before he could answer, she
turned around, letting him spoon behind her.

He leaned forward to whisper into her ear, "That's what I mean."


CHAPTER 23

The next morning the future Mrs. Doggett awoke to find herself alone
in bed. "John?" she called out, expecting to hear his voice from the
bathroom. When she heard nothing, she threw on her bathrobe and
grabbed her gun from the nightstand. The living room and Gibson's
room were both empty, so she opened the front door and peered around
the doorjamb.

The complex was quiet, and as she scanned the horizon she heard the
unmistakable crack of a gun being fired. She cocked her gun and ran
toward the ravine, the only direction not blocked by buildings or
adobe walls. She heard another gunshot as she approached the garage.
John's garage, she couldn't help thinking. She crept alongside the
long wall, staying in the shadow cast by the bright morning sun, and
when she neared the corner, her gun drawn in front of her, she heard
another shot.

"That was much better!" she heard John's enthusiastic voice cry out.

Monica lowered her gun and tiptoed to the front of the garage. She
saw John standing a few steps behind Gibson, sighting over the boy's
shoulder as Gibson raised a gun and pointed it toward a line of tin
cans atop a wall near the ravine.

"Now, this time, try not to let the recoil..." John started, but
turned around to follow Gibson's eyes. "Monica!" he jogged toward
her, smiling broadly. "What're you doing up so early?"

She put the safety on her gun and dropped it into her pocket, making
a point of letting Doggett see that she'd been concerned. "I woke up
and you weren't there," she said accusingly. "Then I heard shots..."

"I'm sorry. I should have left a note," Doggett said contritely,
holding her by the shoulders and kissing her gently on the lips. "You
were sleeping so peacefully..."

"It's my fault," Gibson said. "I wanted to get an early start."

"Well," she said a little reluctantly. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Gibson and John exchanged guilty glances, and Monica instinctively
pulled her bathrobe tighter. After an awkward silence, she forced a
smile and said, "So how many tin cans have you killed?"

"Four!" Gibson answered excitedly. "The second one almost didn't
fall, but I knicked it and it twirled, then..."

Monica smiled as Gibson recounted each of his successes, and John
looked on proudly. When he'd finished, Monica said, "So let me see
you knock another one down."

Gibson flashed an anxious glance at John, who led him to his mark and
calmly whispered, "You know you can do it. Just remember what I told
you." John patted Gibson on the shoulder then backed away and stood
next to Monica.

Gibson took aim, sighted his target, and shot the center can squarely
in the middle. Monica applauded enthusiastically and shouted, "Yay!
You did it!" She rushed toward him and grabbed him from behind, her
arms around his shoulders as she pulled him into a hug. "That was
great, Gibson!" she said.

John watched, admiring both Gibson's shot and Monica's reaction. As
Monica loosed her hold on Gibson, he turned to look at her, a broad
smile across his usually sullen face. Then, as if in slow motion,
John saw Gibson lower the gun, its barrel pointed toward Monica's
leg, and he remembered in horror that he hadn't given Gibson the
safety lesson Monica would have wanted. He knew what would happen
next, and as he rushed forward, shouting "Gibson...," the gun went
off, and Monica crumpled to the ground.

Monica's arm wrapped around her hurt leg as she rolled back and
forth, moaning. Gibson bent forward, looking at the blood soaking the
ground, then to Monica's face. His own face crumpled in sympathetic
anguish, then panic as John rushed forward to be with Monica.

"I'm sorry," Gibson said lamely to John. 

John jerked his head upward and glared at Gibson, but John said
nothing, and turned his attention back to Monica. He pulled her robe
away from her leg, then used it to wipe away the blood. "You'll
live," he said to Monica. "But that's gotta hurt."

She nodded tearfully, mustering her strength. "Help me up," she said,
and John couldn't help feeling a thrill at her implicit trust in him.
Yes, he realized, he would always be there for her if he could help
it. He stood up, then reached for her hands and pulled her up by
stages, until she could stand on her good leg with his support.

"Let's get you to the infirmary," he said, smiling with patient
concern. "Gibson... take the other side..." They looked around, and
saw Gibson in the distance, running toward the ravine.

*************************

John brought his crippled partner to the infirmary, where they found
Martha and Mary preparing for their arrival. "We can take over here,"
Martha said officiously as she led Monica toward a bed. "Go find
Gibson!" Martha commanded. Monica looked over her shoulder, urging
him to obey Martha. Reluctantly, John left, guided by Mary's hand on
his arm.

Monica winced as Martha cleaned the wound and applied some of her
antibacterial ointment. Monica recognized the pungent smell and
asked, "Is that good for everything?"

"Puncture wounds," Martha said curtly. "They get infected if you're
not careful." She made a final wrap on the bandage then clasped it.
"We'll take another look just before dinner, but I think it'll be
fine. I've seen worse." Martha rose to toss her gloves in the trash.

"You've seen worse?" Monica repeated. "How many gunshot wounds have
you seen?"

Martha and Mary exchanged nervous glances before Martha answered,
"Things happen in the desert. And considering the danger our guests
are in..."

**********

John ran to the edge of the ravine and called out Gibson's name. He
ran down the wooden stairway, searching the ground below for
footprints but finding none. When he reached the bottom he heard
faint sounds that could have been human, could have been something
else. Relieved to hear the sound was not coming from the magnetite
factory, he followed it until he came to a small cave, obviously
carved by human hands, its lower walls jutting out to form parallel
benches.

Gibson sat at one side, his head in his hands, sobbing and gasping
for breath. John put a hand on the boy's shoulder, startling him.
"Gibson," John said kindly. "It wasn't your fault."

Gibson pulled away from John's hand and put his face close to the
cave wall. "Go away," he pleaded.

"I mean it," John said to Gibson's shaking shoulders. "It was my
fault. I didn't teach you..."

"You don't understand," Gibson sobbed. "Just go away!"

"Then what?" John asked, pulling on Gibson's shoulders and turning
him around. "What don't I understand?"

Gibson wiped his nose on the top of his sleeve then removed his
glasses and used the top of his T-shirt to dry his eyes. "I'm okay,"
he said unconvincingly as he replaced his glasses. "You don't have to
worry about me."

"I don't have to but I do," John sighed. "I'm responsible for what
happened. It's my fault Monica got hurt, and it's my fault you're
upset." He studied Gibson's face, the puffy eyes and reddened skin
belying the boy's claim. "It's understandable. You were holding the
gun. But I forgot to teach you about the safety. And Monica knows
better than to..."

"You don't get it!" Gibson yelled. He stood and moved into the
protection of the shaded side of the cave. "Okay, yes," he admitted
more quietly. "I feel bad that I hurt Monica. I wish it hadn't
happened. But that's not why I came here." He sat on the carved bench
and put his head in his hands. "Why do I bother? You'll never
understand," he sighed.

"Try me," John challenged, sitting down opposite the boy, his legs
spread wide apart, supporting his elbows. He clasped his hands and
thrust his head forward in a listening posture. "I'm all ears, you
may have noticed."

Gibson laughed. "I bet you hear everything."

"I found you, didn't I?" John smiled. "So if this isn't about Monica,
what is it about?"

"It's about Monica," Gibson sighed shakily. "It's about the way she
felt. And about the way you felt... and feel." He sighed again and
wiped a tear from one eye. "It's too much."

"Too much?" John took a moment to absorb Gibson's meaning, then said,
"Our feelings were too intense?"

In the shadows, Gibson nodded, then pushed his back against the cave
wall. "She was in so much pain..." Gibson strained to say. "It really
hurt..."

"Yes, it did," John admitted. "And me? Why were my feelings so
upsetting to you?"

"You were so scared... you were afraid for her," Gibson tried to
control his feelings by remembering it objectively. "You were afraid
how badly she was hurt, and you were feeling, well.... bad!" He broke
off as the memory became too vivid for him.

"Yes, I felt bad," John concurred. "I still do. But you must be used
to sensing this kind of feeling. You've never experienced this
before?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"No," Gibson said, crossing his arms. "And I don't like it!"

"Bad things happen, it's just part of life," John said, as much to
himself as to Gibson. "And people feel badly about them, but they get
over it."

Gibson sighed. "You still don't get it," he declared. "You just don't
get it."

"Maybe I'm a little dense, Gibson," John said patiently. "Why don't
you spell it out for me?"

"I've been aware of other peoples' feelings all my life," Gibson
asserted. "But this is the first time I really CARED." Gibson and
John sighed simultaneously, and Gibson continued, "I don't like it."

"Ahhh," John said after a moment of reflection. "So you weren't
really running from our feelings, you were running from your own." It
was a statement, not a question, yet it was also a challenge. "And
coming here? Did it help?" he asked.

Gibson glared at his surrogate father. "What do you know? You don't
know anything about it," he said as he stormed toward the cave's
interior.

"I do know, Gibson," John shouted after him. "And you know I do.
That's why you're running away from me, too." His words made Gibson
pause, and John continued, "When you love someone you don't have to
have special powers to feel their pain. It's part of the price you
pay. It's part of being normal." He could barely make out Gibson's
form as the boy turned and walked toward him. Lowering his voice, he
added, "And you can't block one without blocking the other. You have
to accept both."

"You haven't always done that," Gibson said accusingly, standing in
front of the older man. "How do you do it now?"

John stood and put an arm around Gibson's shoulder, leading him
toward the mouth of the cave. "It took time," he admitted. "But
Monica helped. She can help you, too." He patted the boy on the back
then took his hand away. "Now, let's check on her."

John took a few steps into the ravine, but Gibson stayed behind.
"This way's faster," he said, motioning toward the cave.

********************
CHAPTER 24

Gibson walked with assurance toward the back of the cave. In total
darkness, he banged on one wall until they heard a creaking sound.
They stepped back as the wall raised up diagonally, pulled itself
backward along the ceiling.

Doggett's eyes took a moment to adjust to the light inside the
chamber. A bus and two vans sat in the center, each pointed toward a
different tunnel, and boxes piled to the ceiling lined both walls.

"This way," Gibson motioned. The boy effortlessly located another
false wall, this time concealing a more conventional door. They
entered into a diagonal shaft, lit at intervals by slits of natural
sunlight beaming from above. A mining car sat at the bottom of a
conveyor belt, and Gibson hopped in. "There's room for two," he said,
patting the opposite side. Doggett stepped over the edge and found a
pull-down bench where Gibson motioned. "Hang on!" Gibson warned. He
reached over the side and pulled on a lever, starting the conveyor on
its way to the top.

As they approached what appeared to be a ceiling, a panel slid to the
side, and they arrived at a flat portion at the top. Gibson pulled up
on levers that were on either side of the car, then hopped out.
Doggett followed suit, and the two climbed to the top on the metal
rungs of a built-in ladder. He recognized his surroundings instantly.
It was *his* garage. "Well I'll be damned!" he said under his breath.
"What else do they have here?"

Gibson pulled the false floor back into position. "You think all they
deliver is bread?" Gibson asked cynically. "When you get the van
running they have a lot of magnetite for you to deliver."

"How do you know about that?" Doggett challenged.

Gibson tapped his temple and replied, "Tomás is a better teacher than
he knows!"

"You're starting to scare me, Gibson," John said admiringly. "And I
like it!"

Gibson smiled and strutted toward the delvery truck. "Can I go with
you?"

"Sure," Doggett smiled. "You can ride shotgun." At the mention of
guns, Doggett noticed Gibson's face turning grim. He patted him on
the shoulder then said, "And that's not just a figure of speech.
We're not letting this morning's incident change our plans." He
grabbed a rag from a counter and handed it to Gibson. "Here, clean
yourself up," he ordered. Gibson took it and wiped the evidence from
his nose and eyes. John looked at him carefully, then winked and
said, "She'll never know."

*****************
Mary held a crutch out for Monica, and when she reached for it Mary
let out a girlish squeal. Monica was almost painfully startled, until
she saw Mary reach for her right hand. "You're engaged?!?!" Mary
squealed again.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Martha scolded, as she rushed to see the
ring.

"I didn't think I'd ever have to tell you two anything!" Monica
laughed.

"We don't spy," Martha said, still bent over Monica's right hand.
Monica pulled her hand away and shot Martha a skeptical glance, to
which Martha responded, "At least not when we don't have to," and
grabbed for the diamond ring again.

"Can we make your dress?" Mary asked excitedly.

"We haven't even.." Monica started, but Martha interrupted.

"And the wedding! You'll have it here, of course!" Martha said,
waving her hands. "We've had weddings here before. Beautiful
weddings! You'll love it!"

As if drawn by an irresistable force, excited nuns began filling the
infirmary, each offering to help with the wedding preparations in her
own way. By the time John and Gibson arrived, the wedding was nearly
completely planned. All that remained was to set the date.

**********

That afternoon, Monica went early to the library, where she found
Lita, a rosary wrapped around one hand as her other hand manipulated
the computer's mouse. The girl's eyes darted over page after page of
encrypted data, and she didn't hear Monica arrive. She jumped when
Monica laid a hand on her shoulder and said, "What are you working
on."

Lita turned off the monitor and fingered her rosary, her lips
silently mouthing the words that went with it. Monica sat down next
to her and turned the monitor on. She squinted to read the screen,
unable to make out any of it. "Do you understand this?" she asked
Lita.

Lita nodded without breaking the rhythm of her litany.

"Does it have something to do with the Via?" Monica probed. Again,
Lita nodded. Monica glanced at the rosary, which she hadn't seen in
Lita's hand before. "Is this about what happened yesterday?" she
asked compassionately. Lita's eyes watered but she was otherwise
impassive. "Are you worried that someone like Gibson's parents will
come for you?"

Lita shook her head and walked to the far side of the room. She
curled up on a windowseat and looked out the window. Monica followed,
and looked over the girl's shoulders to the view below.

In the distance, she could see the ravine winding between tall
mountains on either side, and inside the wall surrounding the
monastery complex, just under the window, were rows of gravestones.
"People you know?" Monica asked. Lita nodded almost imperceptibly,
and Monica squatted to be eye-level with her. "You've seen some
terrible things, haven't you? Did you see these people die?"

By now Lita's eyes could no longer contain her tears, and tidy
streams fell from each eye. Monica studied the girl's face, but Lita
turned away. "Okay, I'll leave you alone," Monica conceded. "If
that's what you want." She returned to the computer, and said
nonchalantly, "Gibson and I will continue without you."

As if in a trance, Lita rose from her window seat, took Monica's
hand, and pulled her toward the door. They made their way to a row of
five identical gravestones, each topped with an engraved image of a
rose. "Who were they?" Monica asked. Lita sighed and looked deeply
into Monica's eyes, but Monica did her best to block Lita's attempt
to answer psychically. With a shrug of resignation, Lita answered.
"Usted sabe," and knelt at the furthest grave, her rosary clutched in
her hand.

All five had died on the same day, and all but one had the same last
name. "Lita," Monica whispered. "This was your family?"

Lita shook her head and looked tearfully into Monica's eyes.

"Were they others like you? Like you and Gibson?" Lita nodded and
went to Monica, wrapping her arms around the tall woman's waist.
Monica held the girl as the tears came, her shoulders shaking with
pent-up grief.

When Lita's tears had subsided, Monica whispered, "Gibson will be
expecting us. You don't have to come to 'school' today if you don't
want to." She stroked the girl's hair and added, "All this is fresh
for him, and I can see it was hard on you... And he still feels badly
about my leg..."

Lita knelt before Monica and put her hand over the bandage. Monica
watched as Lita focused on the back of her hand and stroked the
bandage. Her leg felt warm for a moment then cooled as Lita removed
her hand. "You'll be fine," the girl said, then walked back to the
first gravestone.

Monica followed, her sore leg feeling stronger with every step. "How
did you do that?" she demanded.

Lita turned and sighed. "Usted sabe," she said, then looked again at
the gravestone.

The name on the stone was Jesus Flores. "Your father?" Monica asked.
Lita nodded and started on her rosary. "I'll leave you alone, then.
See you tomorrow." Lita made no response, and Monica tip-toed away,
unaware of Lita's eyes watching her while she continued mouthing the
rosary prayer.

Returning to the computer, Monica looked over the files that Lita had
opened. The code seemed simpler than the one she had started
learning. It reminded her of codes she'd used with her girlfriends
while passing notes in junior high school. Subconsciously, she
started trying to form words and sentences, turning things around in
the ways that children commonly did, and she found herself mouthing
words in Spanish. A few of the repeating patterns began to leap off
the screen, and eventually she had worked out all of the vowels and
many of the consonants. She extrapolated what letters she could,
finding the words "Via Sub Rosa" throughout, and soon realized the
next most frequent pattern spelled "Isla de las Mujeres."

She looked up from the computer and saw Lita looking back at her.
"You wanted me to see this, didn't you?" Monica asked. "What does
this mean? Island of the Women? What women?"

"Usted sabe," Lita said.

Before Monica could answer, Gibson bounded in, breathless and
flushed. "Hi teacher!" he said, rushing to give Monica a quick hug.
"Can I be excused?"

"A hug, huh?" Monica smiled skeptically. "Where's the apple,
apple-polisher? You can't get out of school with just a hug!"

Gibson smiled, and Monica thought it a very John-like smile.
"Driver's ed. this afternoon!" he said breathlessly.

"We just had a lesson in gun safety," John's voice boomed from the
doorway. Monica looked up to see her beloved's silhouette leaning
against the door jamb, the bright sun outlining every detail of his
form. "And now he's ready to ride shotgun while I make some
deliveries."

Monica looked from one to the other and said, "How could I argue with
that?" Gibson hugged her as John looked on appreciatively. "When will
you be back?" she asked, the hint of nervousness in her voice
apparent to all despite her brave front.

Gibson moved aside as John went to her. He hugged her and kissed the
top of her head. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I've got a damn good
body guard." She wrapped her arms around his waist and he responded
by leaning forward for a tender, lingering kiss.

When he pulled away, John spotted the gibberish on the computer
screen and raised his eyebrows. "Anything I should know about?"

"I'll let you know," she promised.

They kissed as if they might never see each other again, and parted
only when Gibson sighed loudly. "See what I mean?" Gibson said with
disgust, but Lita didn't share his sentiment. She was watching with
awe and envy, and sighed when she saw the flush on Monica's cheek.

"Bye, future wife," John said, smiling.

"Bye, future husband," Monica responded with a sigh.

"Are we going or what?" Gibson said from the doorway.

****************************
CHAPTER 25

John backed the delivery truck to the bakery's rear entrance as Mary
gave him hand signals and Gibson watched in his mirror. As soon as
the truck was in position, Mary threw open its rear doors. John and
Gibson looked over their shoulders and saw rows of boxes lined up
waiting for them, with more being carted by industrious nuns.

John picked up the first of the boxes and almost dropped it. Despite
its small size it was very heavy. Heavy as lead, John thought.

"Hey!" John shouted to Mary as she turned her back on him. "What's in
these boxes?"

"You know," Gibson grunted, struggling to lift a box into the bed of
the truck.

"Not like that, Gibson!" John flew to the boy's side and took the box
from him, his own strong arms easily managing its weight. After
giving Gibson a lesson in proper lifting technique, he helped him
into the truck. Gibson enthusiastically lifted and carried box after
box, arranging them in neat rows. After an hour, boxes began to pile
on the edge of the truck as Gibson fell behind John's pace. John
hopped into the truck and made quick work of the backlog then slapped
Gibson on the back. "We could use some water," he said to the
red-faced teen.

They jumped down then went inside the sweet-smelling bakery. As the
monastery bells rang, nuns filed out, leaving John and Gibson alone
for a moment until Mary appeared with cold bottles of water.

"I should have known I wouldn't have to ask," John grinned. The two
hard-working men eagerly drank their water as Mary watched patiently.
John wiped his mouth on his sleeve and sighed loudly. "Thanks, Mary.
That hit the spot."

Gibson wiped his mouth on his sleeve, imitating John almost too well,
then said, "Yeah, thanks."

"Here's your route," Mary said, pulling a piece of paper from the
folds of her habit. "Each place gets the number of boxes indicated,"
she said, pointing to a few examples. "And here's where you'll stay
tonight."

John and Gibson looked at her with expressions verging on horror, but
Mary continued as if there were nothing unusual in this overnight
trip. "They're expecting you. They'll tell you where you'll stay
tomorrow night."

*****************

Monica sat at the computer trying to read more of the encrypted
files, but soon was sighing in frustration. "Lita, I can't read
this," she said in exasperation. "You'll have to tell me what you
want me to know."

Lita sat next to her, pointing to a few words and translating them as
she went. "Flores.... family... Isla de las Mujeres..."

Lita paused at the mention of the island, leading Monica to ask, "Was
that your home? That island?"

Lita nodded. "Flores family home since fifteen hundreds," she said.
Monica was suprised to note the lack of an accent in Lita's voice.
The girl continued pointing to isolated words then translating them,
finishing with the last word, "Mayan."

Monica studied the girl's features and suddenly realized she gave the
appearance of having a Mayan ancestry. "Tell me more about your
family," she said gently. "They were Mayan?"

Lita sighed then started typing, adding to her encrypted file with
amazing speed. Monica grabbed one of her wrists and pulled it up
sharply. "Tell me," she demanded. "You want me to know, don't you? So
tell me. Tell me instead of typing this... this...."

Monica regretted her harsh words as Lita's eyes teared and her arm
went limp in Monica's hand. "Lita," Monica said more gently, still
holding her arm. "Don't you trust me?" Lita nodded, and Monica let go
of her arm. "Then why not..."

"She's doing the best she can," Mother Catherine's voice boomed from
the doorway. Lita jumped up and ran to the old woman, wrapping her
arms around her waist. Catherine stroked the girl's hair. "She's come
so far..." she said, then lowered her voice and added, "Haven't you,
honey?"

"She'd have come a lot further if you didn't coddle her!" Monica said
sternly. "Whatever she's been through she's ready to talk about it."

"What do you know!" Catherine snapped. She turned away, turning Lita
with her. "Come on, Lita," she cooed as they took a few steps toward
the door.

Monica grabbed Catherine by the arm and whirled her around. "Lita
wants me to know. Why are you stopping her?"

Catherine turned Lita to face her, and Monica could see a telepathic
exchange between them. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts
on them, hoping to eavesdrop. But instead of the faces and events she
expected to see, only misty, ill-defined shapes floated to her
consciousness. Gradually one image became clear: a Mayan pyramid. She
opened her eyes to see Lita and Catherine looking intently at her.
"Pyramids?" Monica asked. "What does that have to do with...?"

"December 22, 2012," Catherine answered. "The last date on the Mayan
calendar."

*******************

"What?!?!" Monica gasped. 

"The Mayans were expert astronomers," Catherine began explaining.

"Yes, I knew that," Monica said with barely contained annoyance. "And
their pyramids represent their calendar.. But Lita..."

"Lita is the last of the Flores family," Catherine said, stroking
Lita's back soothingly. "That's just their Spanish name, or course.
Their Mayan name is Toltec. Lita's ancestors were the builders of the
Pyramid of Kukulkan at Chichén Itzá in the eleventh century. Lita's
family has kept the traditions and knowledge of her people for all
these centuries... And now...."

Catherine gulped and hugged Lita. "Lita is afraid that if she dies,
her family's secrets will die with her." Lita pulled closer to
Catherine and buried her face in the old woman's habit. Catherine
continued stroking her back then leaned close to Lita's ear and
whispered, loud enough for Monica to hear, "It's okay, Rosalita.
You're safe here."

Monica watched for a moment then said, "But December 22 2012 isn't
the end of the world, it's just the completion of the 12th bak'tun.
There's a theory that the thirteenth bak'tun will bring the beginning
of a new civilization, but it's just a theory. The Mayan civilization
ended long before that date..."

"And what new civilization do they think would come on that date?"
Catherine snapped. Catherine's question made Monica pause for
thought. Catherine continued, "And the hieroglyphics you translated
earlier this year? How were you able to translate them so easily?"

"Because they were similar to the Mayan glyphs I'd studied at
Brown..." Monica conceded. "I only had two semesters of
hieroglyphics. I'm no expert, but it was enough..."

"Yes, I know," Catherine said, leading Lita toward the window seat.
Monica followed, listening intently as Catherine continued
explaining. "Pity that you didn't also study human paleography. Have
you heard of the skulls found with elongated crania?"

"Only in the paranormal literature I researched after joining the
X-Files. There are theories that these crania come from alien-human
hybrids, or possibly..." Monica stopped as she saw Catherine gently
stroking the back of Lita's head. "You don't mean..."

"Of course, modern human skulls no longer look like that," Catherine
continued stroking Lita's head as the girl looked up at her. "Over
the centuries this feature has disappeared, but their descendents are
still quite special in other ways."

"The alien theory has been disproven, though." Monica looked into the
girl's face. "You look normal to me, Lita." She smiled
sympathetically, but Lita merely looked to Catherine for help.

Catherine continued to tell Lita's story, her eyes demanding Reyes'
attention and taking it away from Lita. "When the Spanish came to the
Yucatan, the Mayans sent their women and children to an island for
protection."

"Isla de las Mujeres," Reyes said. "It's coming back to me now."

"Your fancy prep school didn't teach you about Mayan history," Lita
said accusingly.

"No, it didn't," Monica sat down at the opposite end of the window
seat. "But it's never too late to learn."

"The Mayans were special," Catherine looked affectionately at Lita
for a moment, then added, "Very special. They were people of the Via,
but they didn't need the Via to help them, until the Spaniards
arrived."

Monica bowed her head slightly, feeling the collective guilt of her
adopted country's heritage. "Colonization... It's a cruel fact of
history," Monica conceded.

"It'll be even more cruel in the future," Lita blurted out.


CHAPTER 26

John and Gibson spent the rest of the day driving from place to place
delivering their goods. In exchange, each place offered something in
return. By the time they stopped for the night they had amassed cash,
clothing, canned food, and several mysterious boxes they were
instructed not to open. Their stops along the route were as diverse
as the packages they accepted. A male monastery, a casino on a
reservation, a Goodwill drop-off trailer, and their last stop, an
orphanage several hundred miles to the south.

By now both were dead tired, thirsty, hungry, and read to collapse
into any bed they could find, but Gibson's curiosity was piqued when
he saw where they'd be staying. "I stayed here when I was a baby," he
explained. "My parents told me about it."

"The name sounds familiar," John said. He pursed his lips and stared
at the sign. "Privacy First Adoption Agency," he muttered to himself.
It sounded a lot like...

"Yes, I think you're right," Gibson said. "Agent Scully sent William
here."

They were interrupted by a dour-looking man in a dated sport jacket.
"I'm Father Pastorelli," he said, holding out his hand. "We've been
expecting you."

"Sorry, we're a little behind schedule," John said, shaking the man's
hand a few times then quickly withdrawing it. "I'm new to the area,
and..."

"I got us lost," Gibson chimed in. "I told him to take a left at..."

"Yes," the man said condescendingly. "Map-reading is quite a
challenge for someone who usually relies on mind-reading, eh?"

Pastorelli directed them to unload their boxes in the basement, then
left to see that the children were all sleeping. After a half hour
Doggett could see that Gibson was having trouble, and he had to admit
to himself that the day had taken a toll on him. He collapsed at the
top of the stairs, and only half-mockingly said, "If we try to finish
this tonight I'll die in my sleep!" Gibson tried to laugh, but
exhaustion had knocked the wind out of him as well. "Let's call it a
night," John said. "Tomorrow morning you take the stairs."

They tip-toed down the long main hallway, looking for their host. The
ground floor seemed to be mainly common areas and offices, but no
lights were on. John tried several door knobs until one opened,
revealing a neat office, brightly lit, and decorated with soothing
posters depicting rosy-cheeked children with smiling parents. Doggett
glanced at the filing cabinets that lined one wall, and immediately
noticed a drawer that read "2002: S - Z"

Instinctively, Gibson went to the door, and whispered, "Go ahead.
I'll be your look-out." Doggett looked at the boy, unsure whether to
be proud or worried that he was so eager to help him with an illegal
search. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he quickly found
what he was looking for. He ran to the desk, grabbed a pen and
post-it note, then scribbled William's new name and address.

He went to the door and whispered to Gibson, "You didn't see that,
okay?"

"Okay," Gibson whispered with a smirk. "And you didn't see this."

Gibson went to the drawer John expected him to, but then pulled open
another drawer and handed a file to John. John opened it then
instinctively closed it again. "I don't know if we should," he said.
"Monica would want to be consulted...."

"When will we have another chance?" Gibson asked, sounding a little
too much like Monica for John's comfort.

He looked through the file. It contained an original birth
certificate, the new birth certificate, and detailed notes on both
sets of parents. John unbuttoned a few buttons then shoved the file
under his shirt. "Let's get out of here," he said to Gibson, who was
bent over a file cabinet.

Gibson pulled out a file and handed it to John. "Can we take this one
too?" he asked plaintively. John glanced inside and, seeing the name
"Praise," said, "Sure" and slipped the file under his shirt. "This is
all just too much of a coincidence," he said.

They quickly retraced their steps back to the truck, then John
slipped the files under a floor mat. "Well, Gibson," he whispered.
"What do you think? Did they intend for us to find these files?"

Gibson scanned the wall facing them, then answered, "I don't know."

Suddenly their host came bounding out. "Finished?" he asked, then not
pausing to wait for an answer, he said, "Good. Your rooms are ready."

****************

Their rooms were stark, white cells, the only furnishings twin beds
with white wrought iron headboards and a small dresser. "I'll be next
door," John assured Gibson. He gave him a light, friendly punch in
the arm and added, with a broad smile, "See you in the morning."

They both knew that Gibson saw through the comforting chatter, but
Gibson played along. "Seeya," he grinned weakly, then turned toward
his room.

As he stripped off his jeans and t-shirt, John's mind ran through a
dozen questions. Was it a coincidence that all three had been adopted
here? Was that office intentionally left open? Was this the source of
the leak that had led Gibson's parents to the monastery? Three hours
later he was still awake, the same questions going through his mind
as he stared at the ceiling. But one question was particularly
nagging: how many of these children were there?

He got out of bed, dressed, and sneaked down the hall, where the
childrens' rooms were. Each door was locked, but through tiny windows
John could make out the sleeping forms of seven children. At the end
of the hall stood a wide room lined with identical cribs on the far
wall. John tried the door and it opened noiselessly. A woman in a
nurse's uniform jumped up and ran silently to the door. "What are you
doing here!" she scolded. "Don't wake them up!"

"I just wanted to see them," he pleaded. "I love babies." He could
tell she wasn't convinced, but he went to one of the cribs and leaned
over, bringing to his mind as much love and awe as he could muster,
remembering Luke in his crib. "These babies.... Why are they here?
What happened to their mothers?" he asked, lightly stroking the back
of one infant's hand.

The nurse stood at his side and whispered, "I don't know. I only work
here. Once they come through this door, their past is erased." She
sighed as he continued stroking the soft skin of the sleeping child.
"Precious, aren't they?"

A whimper from the far end of the room caught the nurse's attention,
and she started for that end. "Let me," John said. "Please?"

Within minutes he had expertly diapered the little girl and had
earned the trust of both the baby and the nurse. "You must have
children," the nurse said.

"I had one," he sighed. "A boy. He died several years ago." He seemed
not to hear his own words as he cradled the baby and rocked from side
to side, stroking the fine hair on her head. "It's been a long time
since I diapered a baby," he said, his eyes glistening. "Thank you."

As he laid the baby down the nurse put a hand on his arm. "I'm so
sorry," she said.

"I can't imagine how anyone could have given her up," he said, his
voice more gravelly than usual. "It just don't make sense."

"Want to talk about it?" the nurse asked. Without waiting for an
answer she led him to an alcove where two rockers faced each other.
"I'm no mind reader, but I can tell you have something on your mind."

He grinned at her mind reading comment, not sure whether to laugh or
run. "A friend gave up her baby a few months ago," he began. "I tried
to be there for her, but..."

The nurse rocked slowly and nodded. "But you disagreed with her
decision?" He nodded and lowered his head, seemingly engrossed in the
lined on the back of his hands. She lowered her voice, as if afraid
that the babies might hear her, and said, "That's why we have such
security here. Sometimes the fathers come looking for their babies.
We've had several kidnapping attempts."

John's head snapped up at the mention of kidnapping. Of course, he
thought. This is what they need the magnetite for. They're not
distributing it. They're using it.

Misreading his expression the nurse went on, "And some successes. I
know," she said, acknowledging his expression." It's awful. Just
awful." She stood up and went to the window overlooking John's
delivery truck, then returned to her rocker. "I know what you were
delivering. Thank you," she said, patting his arm. "You're doing a
good thing."

He grinned and looked around the room, imagining William occupying
one of these cribs not long ago. "How long do children stay here? The
babies especially?" he asked with feigned casualness.

"It varies," she said, happy to switch subjects. "But usually no more
than two or three weeks until the paper work is finalized."

The growl of an engine and the crunch of gravel beneath them caused
both to run to the window. "Not again!" the nurse moaned. "Do you
know how to use a gun?" she asked breathily as she reached into a
cabinet.

John nodded and accepted the .357, and when the door opened and
Gibson appeared, clad only in his underwear and t-shirt, he nodded
for him to approach. "The kid's a pretty good shot, too."

CHAPTER 27

They ran down the stairs and were joined by their host, who threw
open the rear doors, revealing two men in dark suits picking the
locks. "STOP OR I'LL SHOOT," Doggett shouted, his law enforcement
training taking over. At the sight of the guns the men smirked then
took a few steps forward. The nurse was the first to fire, shooting
one of the men squarely in his Adam's Apple. The man gasped but
continued walking toward them, until Pastorelli shot him in the
center of his chest. He crumpled to the floor and immediately began
dissolving from the wound in his neck, follwed by a deflation of the
clothing over his chest.

The other man ran toward Doggett and tackled him, football-style,
knocking him to the floor. With superhuman strength he rolled over,
facing Doggett toward the others, then leapt to his feet, keeping
Doggett in front of him as a shield.

"GIBSON!" Doggett yelled. "Shoot him in the head! Do it NOW!"

Without pausing to think, Gibson raised his gun and shot the attacker
squarely in the forehead, as Doggett lunged to one side. The force of
the bullet knocked the man backward and into a wall, leaving Doggett
to twirl take a shot of his own. The man slid down the wall, his head
lobbing to one side and dissolving as quickly as his companion's.

Pastorelli nodded to the nurse, who grabbed latex gloves from a
cabinet and passed them around. Within minutes the men's remains had
been poured into their car. Pastorelli pulled a cellphone from his
pocket then hit a few numbers. "Got another one," he said curtly. He
slipped the phone into his pocket then signalled to his nurse.
Together they began pushing the men's car toward the rear of the
complex.

"Wait!" Doggett cried out. He ran to the car and reached into one of
the men's jackets. He pulled out a flat object then flipped it open
and showed it to Gibson. Even in the dim light of the moon Gibson
could make out the bold capital letters: FBI.

Pastorelli reached for the other man's identification. It read "INS."

"Immigration?" Doggett asked, his brow furrowed into deep ridges.
"What are they doing...?"

"What's the FBI doing here?" Pastorelli answered. He nodded to Gibson
to help the nurse push the car then turned to John. "It doesn't
matter what agency these IDs are from. You won't find either of these
men in their records. Even if they once existed, their entire
history, from birth onwards, will be erased by morning."

"Who were they after?" Doggett asked, looking up to see half a dozen
young faces peering down at them from dormitory windows. "One of the
kids?"

"All of them," he answered. "Or maybe that one," he said, nodding
toward Gibson. "We've learned it's best to shoot first and ask
questions later."

Doggett watched Gibson disappear into the shadows with the car, then
looked questioningly to Pastorelli. "Someone came for him yesterday."

"His parents," Pastorelli nodded. "We don't know where the leak was,
but it wasn't here." John saw Pastorelli's eyes on the nurse and
Gibson as they emerged from the shadows. "But just in case... Keep
your mind on something else." He handed John the super soldier's I.D.
and said, "You might need this some day."

The next morning John and Gibson unloaded most of the rest of the
boxes that had been in their truck, and loaded into it several boxes
that Pastorelli described only as "For the nuns." When they were
ready for their day's deliveries, Pastorelli shook both John and
Gibson's hands, then glanced up at the second storey windows. John
and Gibson waved to the nurse watching from the nursery, as
Pastorelli took a few steps toward the rear door. The nurse turned
away, and the pair got into the truck. As they were backing up,
Pastorelli rushed out. John rolled down his window and Pastorelli
reached in to slip a computer disk into John's shirt pocket. "You
will have more questions. I hope all the answers are here." He
glanced up at the nursery window, and seeing nobody there, he added,
"Don't come back here."

John's questioning look made Pastorelli glance nervously at the
windows then whisper, "We have a plan. Don't worry about the
children." Before John could answer, Pastorelli ran back to the
entrance and slipped inside.

**************
The nuns took advantage of John and Gibson's absence to throw all
their energies into wedding preparations. Monica and Lita selected
patterns from a sewing book, and the nuns immediately set to work
making their dresses. Monica's would be a spaghetti-strap A-line with
an old-fashioned bustle in the back from which a silk trail would
hang. Rose-red ribbons would form the trim and the spaghetti straps,
and tiny silk roses would be embroidered into the bodice. Her veil
would be held by a tiara decorated with roses from the courtyard, the
same ribbon that decorated her dress, and rows of imitation pearls.
Lita's would be silk as well, and decorated with the same rose-red
ribbon, but the main fabric would be a floral print: red and pink
roses on a white background. Her hair would be tied up with the same
ribbon. The bouquet would be the rest of the roses from the
courtyard, with the same ribbon, mixed with white and pink ribbon
matching Lita's dress, holding the flowers together.

But even amidst the excitement of the wedding plans, Monica insisted
that Lita continue her studies. She suspected the rush to get them
married and the sudden need for John and Gibson to make deliveries
meant their stay was going to be over soon, and she wanted Lita to be
ready for her GED exam. The girl showed surprising ability but even
more surprising was her lack of education, even from the nuns.
Although Lita was becoming more comfortable with Monica by the hour,
Monica suspected that neither she nor the nuns would admit the reason
for Lita's lack of education: that they didn't expect her to live
long enough to need it. Lita seemed to sense the hope behind Monica's
schoolmarm ways, and blossomed into a stellar student.

On the third day of John and Gibson's absence, the dresses were
nearly complete except for a few minor alterations, and Lita had
passed a sample GED exam. They stood together atop library tables as
able fingers passed threaded needles dangerously close to their
flesh. But by now they had learned to calm themselves, and each other
as each stitch taught them courage, patience, and cooperation.

Suddenly the door opened and John's voice rang out, asking, "We're
back!"

"John!" Monica gasped. "Get out!!! Don't you know it's bad luck...?"

"Bad luck!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "How can you
believe in..." Before he could finish, Lita had run to his side and
grabbed his hand. She pulled him backwards and out the door, and
Monica hoped she would always remember the surprise on his face as he
nearly lost his balance from the force of the girl's grasp.

"Is Gibson here?" she asked excitedly. John smiled, proud of both
Monica and Lita for the girl's newfound openness and trust with him,
and pleased for Gibson that his first girlfriend was so smitten with
him.

His free hand covered the hand that was holding his other hand, and
he shook her hand lightly. "Yes," he grinned. "And he has something
for you."

"Where?" she cried, pulling on his hands. "Is he at your cottage?"

"Yes," he said. He put his hands to the sides of her head and bored
his eyes into hers. "And be sure to tell him thank you -- don't just
think it! Even a guy like Gibson needs to hear a thank you from his
lady."

Lita promised to do as John said, then bounded across the courtyard.
John watched her for a moment, then turned to see a jeans-and-T-shirt
clad Monica, her hair pulled back under a faded bandana, emerging
from the doorway.

"Thank you," she said, going to him and wrapping her arms around his
waist.

"What for?" he asked hugging her closely.

"For everything. For being you," she tilted her head upward for a
kiss and he obliged. "Want me to be more specific?"

He pulled her closer and whispered close to her ear, "I'd rather give
you something to be grateful for first."

"Miss me?" she asked flirtatiously. For an answer he nuzzled her
neck, making her sigh loudly. "I missed you too," she said, all
traces of flirtation gone.

Minutes later they were in their bed, naked from the waist up and
tugging at each others' jeans. "Wait..." Monica said. "Where's
Gibson?"

John sighed in frustration and rolled onto his back. "I don't know.
He's with Lita." She reached for her shirt and started putting it on.
"You're going to check on them?" he asked. "With all these mother
hens around?"

"I can't help it," she said, running her fingers through her hair. "I
just want to see him..."

He pulled her backwards, and she let him. "He's fine," he assured
her. "They're fine," he assured her, undoing her top button as she
buttoned the bottom one. "We've had a little talk, and he knows when
to stop."

"I had a little talk with Lita too," she admitted. "But that's not
it..." She gave in to his gentle hands tugging on her shirt. "I
missed him ..."

John stopped tugging on her shirt and he sighed loudly. "He's a good
kid. You'd have been proud of him."

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

He reached for his shirt and started putting it on. "We encountered
some super soldiers at one of our delivery stops." He told her the
whole story, then reached into his pocket and withdrew the computer
disk. "I haven't had a chance to look at this. Your file is still in
the truck, though, if you want..."

Monica went to the door then looked over her shoulder. "Coming?"

They walked hand-in-hand to the garage, Monica assuring John that she
was indeed ready to learn the truth about her birth parents, even
though she wasn't entirely sure. When they reached the garage, John
paused at the door and asked, "Are you ready for what you might see?"

Monica gritted her teeth and nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be." John
opened the door, flipped the light switch, and they saw Gibson and
Lita, standing against the rear of the truck, startled out of what
looked to be a deep and passionate kiss.

The four stood staring at each other, all equally red-faced. Finally
John broke the silence, saying, "Just getting something... it'll only
take a minute." When he passed by the teens he whispered from the
side of his mouth, "Hands above the waist, Gibson."

Monica followed John and looked into Lita's pink face. "You, too,
Lita," she said sternly.

John opened the door of the truck and reached under the floor mat,
then pulled out two manilla folders. "Here it is," he said, holding
it in front of her. "Want to see it now?"

Taking a deep breath first, Monica reached for the files. She opened
one and skimmed the contents, then closed it and said, "This is all
fake."

"What?" John said, grabbing the file and opening it. "How can you
tell?"

"The names," Monica explained, disappointment evident in her voice.
"Elizabeth Ann Borden? Thomas Dooley?"

"What's wrong with those names?" John asked, genuinely puzzled.

Monica started singing, first the Lizzie Borden song, then the
Kingston Trio song about Tom Dooley. "Hang down your head Tom Dooley,
hang down your head and cry. You killed poor Laurie Foster, and you
know you're bound to die."

"They're common names," John pointed out.

"Yes, but they're also the names of murderers made famous in song,"
Monica responded. "And in the adoption records it says that both
parents are in prison" She sighed then opened Gibson's file. "Well,"
she said with some doubts. "Gibson's natural parents are..." she
looked down to read the names. "Daniel Thomas and Donna Reed?" John
grabbed the file from her in disgust. "What?" she cried.

"You *are* young," he said, throwing the files onto the driver's
seat.

CHAPTER 28

"Donna Reed and Danny Thomas -- TV parents from the fifties," John
explained. I bet the rest of the files there are just as bogus."

Monica sighed and turned to walk away. John ran up behind her. "I'm
sorry, Mon," he said, pulling her until her back was resting against
his chest. Whispering into the hair over her ear, he added, "I wanted
to find answers for you."

"It's okay," she said, resting in his arms. "It would have been nice,
but I never expected to find out." She turned her head to look into
his eyes, and he smiled. "Thank you for trying," she said, then
kissed his cheek. She turned in his arms and brushed her lips against
his. "I've been thinking more about my future than my past, lately,
anyway."

"Is that right?" he grinned. "And what does the future hold for you?"
He let his arms drop to her waist and their bodies formed a "V" as
they leaned back, their eyes fixed on each other.

"Depends on whether you're talking near or distant," Monica responded
coyly. "The near future involves finding interesting ways to say
welcome home to my fiancé."

"That sounds good to me," he said, moving his hands to her asscheeks.
"And in the distant future?"

"More of the same... lots more," she said, moving her hands lower to
match his. They exchanged silly grins for a few seconds until their
moment was interrupted.

"Hands above the waist!" Gibson shouted, as he and Lita walked past
them hand-in-hand.

"Very funny!" Monica called out, but she couldn't help grinning, and
John couldn't help grinning with her.

"Should we chaperone them?" he asked, winking.

"I think we can trust them," she said thoughtfully. "But I don't
know... Maybe we should..." She started moving in the teens'
direction but John pulled her back.

"We can trust them," he said, smoothing her hair. "We want Gibson to
have a normal life, remember? Making out with his first girlfriend on
monastery grounds surrounded by telepathic nuns isn't normal, but
it's as close as he's going to get to it." He kissed her lightly on
the lips and she could feel her skin grow warmer. "Let him be
normal," he urged. "He'll be alright."

He kissed her again and she melted into him. "You can be very
persuasive," she whispered. He wrapped his arms closer around her and
she breathed deeply. "John," she said softly, rubbing her hands over
his chest. "Let's lock the garage doors..."

He chuckled into her hair. "Here? You want to do it here?"

"In the truck," she purred. "You've spent so many hours there... "
With evocative movements she led him toward the truck's rear doors,
then opened one. "Look," she said. "There's plenty of room..."

John pulled her back and slammed the door shut. "Not here," he
insisted, afraid he might relive the experience in his mind while
driving with Gibson. He grabbed her hand and continued pulling her
away and toward the garage door. They stood at the door for a moment
and he put his hands on her cheeks as his eyes looked lovingly into
hers. "When we're back at home, our real home... we'll inaugurate the
truck, the garage, the kitchen..." He kissed her tenderly, eliciting
a sensuous moan from deep within her soul. "The bathtub, the shower,
the sofa." he added, pausing between each word to kiss her, and
finding a different place on her neck with each kiss. "We're still
guests here," he said in a deep whisper. "Let's save the fun stuff
for our own home."

"I can't wait," she whispered, then laid her head on his shoulder. On
hand traced random patterns over his chest as the other slipped
behind him. "I want that normal life too."

He rubbed a hand over her lower back, making wider and wider circles
until he was reaching toward her. "We'll have it," he murmured. "Mr.
and Mrs. Doggett will be the next Donna Reed and Danny Thomas."

Monica's hand ran lightly over his shirt pocket, and when she felt
the hardness in it she reached in and pulled out the computer disk.
Looking at it with a wistfulness and apprehension that John wanted to
wash away. "I haven't looked into it," he said. Her expression didn't
change as she continued turning the disk over in her hand while
hanging onto his rear beltloop with her other hand. He sighed, not
sure what to say next, then decided to leave it to her.

After a moment she said with hard-fought determination, "I want to
see what's in here."

"Okay," he said. "Want me to stay with you?"

As if coming to from a dream she looked into his eyes. "Of course!"
she answered, affectionately rubbing her hand over the small of his
back. "I always want you with me!" She could see the hesitation in
his face as he struggled with his next words, then added, "If you
only knew..." She kissed his cheek and he smiled weakly. "You have no
idea, do you?" she asked. He seemed puzzled but she enjoyed this
mystery, and she wasn't entirely sure how to express her feelings
about him. She smiled enigmatically and resolved to work more on her
vow. She should tell him in front of everyone how much she relied on
his strength, courage, and morality. But for now, she simply took his
hand and led him to the library, where they popped the disk into the
computer.

"Damnit!" Monica yelled when the screen asked for a password.

John stood behind her, massaging her shoulders as he read the screen
with her. "Think it'll be something we could guess?"

Monica sighed then typed several phrases: Via Sub Rosa, Gibson
Praise, December 22, 2012... Nothing worked. "I don't know," she
leaned her head against his stomach, enjoying the feel of his hands
on her shoulders. "Maybe it's not meant to be. Maybe I'll never
know..."

"Let me try," he said, moving his hands off her shoulders and onto
the keyboard. He tried a few combinations of words that seemed to
recur on his delivery route, but with no success. Monica put her
hands on the outsides of his arms and started rubbing, making him
want to hug her and kiss away her worries. He leaned down, resting
his chin on the top of her head, and in the password box typed "John
loves Monica," then pulled his arms around her chest in a comforting
hug.

To the amazement of both, a window opened, revealing a neatly
organized file tree, each branch seemingly in code. "At least we got
in," John said, moving his chin to her shoulder and nuzzling her
neck. "Maybe someone here knows this code..."

"I know this code," Monica said. "It's Lita's code. She started
teaching me." She grabbed the mouse and clicked on a few branches of
the tree then said, "It's organized by date, using the Mayan
calendar..." After a few more clicks of the mouse she leaned back
with a triumphant grin on her face. "There they are. My parents," she
announced.

"Monica..." John whispered. "They were military. Both of them."

"I know," she stared at the screen, not sure what to say next. John
pulled up a chair and sat next to her, leaning closer to the screen
to see the rest of the details. She placed an arm around his
shoulders, absently running her fingers along the worn seam of his
T-shirt. "I thought knowing who they were would change something, but
I don't feel any different," she said, disappointed. "I don't feel
anything."

"You said so yourself," John pointed out. "Your real parents are your
adoptive parents. They loved you and you love them."

Blinking away tears, Monica took a deep breath then closed the file.
"That's all there is then," she concluded. "Just a couple of names,
an address. They're still not real people to me."

"And now you have two birthdays I can help you celebrate," he said,
giving her his most encouraging smile.

When Monica closed the window on her birth parents, and the tree
reappeared on the screen, John turned his head slightly, studying the
patterns. "There may be more here than you realize," he said. He took
the mouse and clicked on a few files. "See these numbers? They seem
to relate to the files but notice how they also relate to the other
records..."

Monica grabbed the mouse from him and started clicking, opening file
after file, growing more animated as she started to see patterns
developing. "You're right! This isn't just a file structure," she
said. "It's family trees.... Several of them! But these numbers...?"
she looked at John in confusion. "I don't see anything there."

"You have a relatively low number, but look here..." he clicked on a
file he'd opened earlier. "This person has a higher number, as do the
parents. Your mother had a high number, but your father's number was
zero. And notice here..." he clicked on another file. "Both parents
have low numbers and the child has a low number. Monica, I think this
is some kind of rating system."

"Rating what?" she asked, but realized what the answer was before the
words were out. "We're all people of the via? But some are stronger
than others? How would they know in babies?"

"Maybe not ability," John said thoughtfully. "Maybe something else." 
"What?" Monica asked, looking into John's eyes for answers. 
At the sight of her troubled, chocolate eyes, John's breath caught.
His own eyes softened, and he stroked her hair. "We'll figure it out.
But don't worry," he said softly. "Whatever it is, it won't take away
from who you are."

She smiled briefly then looked again at the computer screen. "There
must be a key somewhere...." She made several more clicks then gasped
as she read one of the files that opened. "John---"

John leaned over and looked at the name on the file: "John Jay
Doggett.

******************

CHAPTER 29

"What the...?" John cried out. "I wasn't adopted!"

"You're sure?" Monica asked tentatively. "Maybe you just didn't..."

"I'm sure," he shot back. "Damn sure!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean..." Monica stammered. "It's just that..."

"Yeah, I know," he said apologetically. "I thought all these people
were adopted. But there's no doubt I'm not adopted. When Luke was
born we had to do a genetic screening to be sure...."

Seeing John's face go blank as he conjured up a dim recollection,
Monica sat calmly with her hands in her lap, waiting for him to say
whatever had to be said. Her attempt not to disturb him was more
effective than she'd expected, and he seemed not to notice her
presence as he clicked on several files. His eyes darted across each
screen and his brow grew more furrowed as he read each one. Almost to
himself, he said, "Gibson's not here. Neither is William."

"Recognize any names, though?" Monica asked, with a slight shake of
her head. "Anybody from here? from your deliveries? from the
X-Files?" She slid her chair to the side and let him continue
clicking and scanning until he suddenly sighed deeply and sat back
with pursed lips.

"Before you joined the X-Files," John began, still staring at the
screen. "I was led to a computer file of names, and it was something
like this. They were people who were being targeted for abduction and
replacement based on their genetic profiles."

Monica's lips turned down and she gulped with some difficulty. "You
mean I'm going to be adbucted?"

He took her hand and stroked it, but kept his eyes on the files.
Thoughtfully, he said, "Maybe, but I don't think so. I don't
recognize any names here except yours and mine. But look here," he
said clicking on a file that seemed to be the last in its tree. Like
many of the icons on the other end of the tree, the file's icon had
an "X" over it. The file opened, and Jon said, "Luke. He had that
genetic test after he was born. The doctor said there was something
in Barbara's and my family histories that put him at risk for some
rare disorder, only neither Barbara or me ever heard of any relative
being sick like that."

"What do you think the test was about?" Monica asked, but before John
could speak she heard his answer in her mind, and she verbalized it
to be sure. "It's about this? The Via? They've been keeping track of
people like us?"

"Looks like it," John said. "But without knowing more of these
people..."

Monica grabbed the mouse and scanned the screen until she found a row
of X-ed out folders that ended in one without an "X." She clicked on
it, then said affectionately, "Lita. Catherine was right. She's the
last of her line."

"Holy cow," John exclaimed. "Look at that number! That's the highest
number we've seen in these files."

"So it is a rating of ability," Monica conjectured. "But why did Luke
have a number?"

"Maybe not ability, but potential," John suggested. "Why else have
Luke tested? Someone was keeping track of people who were candidates
for becoming super soldiers. Maybe someone else was keeping track of
people who were candidates for becoming something else."

"Or maybe," Monica said, thinking out loud. "Maybe they're not
candidates. Maybe they... or we.... already are something else. Maybe
Lita's not just the last of the Toltec Mayans, maybe she's something
else."

"Where did you get that disk?" Catherine's angry voice rang out
behind them.

John quickly removed the disk and put it in his pocket. "We were
just...." he stammered, then realizing the futility of lying to this
woman he confessed, "On my deliveries. At the orphanage."

Catherine sighed and sat down heavily on a nearby chair. "You have no
idea how much I hate to hear you say that."

***************************

"Why?" John asked, turning in his seat. Monica turned in her seat and
Catherine found herself looking on a pair of identically quizzical
expressions.

"Because," she sighed. "It means time is short. Someone's looking for
you, and maybe he's found out too much."

"Brad," Monica said. "You said he was looking for us before..."

"But besides our locations, what could he have found that's so
terrible?" John asked, his eyebrows raised, challenging the old woman
to come clean.

"Not terrible," she said calmly. "But terribly important."

"Names of people, people of the Via?" Monica suggested.

Catherine shifted in her seat, as if preparing to tell a bedtime
story to children. "A long time ago, thousands of years in fact, the
People of the Via lived openly. We weren't in hiding like we are
now." She paused to see how much the pair facing her had gleaned from
her mind, and deducing they hadn't learned much, she continued in
detail. "As you already know, we were once religious leaders, as we
have been during other ages, but there's something else. We were
leaders in every sphere, all across the world. It was our job to
govern over the people who built the pyramids, mined for gold and
jewels, tilled the land.... We were the lords of the manors, the
kings and princes of nations, and some of us were the famous despots
reviled by history. We were the overseers, using our abilities to
control and manipulate others, and when that didn't work we killed
them."

Monica and John seemed suitably shocked, but after checking their
reactions, Catherine continued as if it was an old, well-rehearsed
story. "This was during the first invasion, and soon our creators saw
that we weren't so easily controlled. Peace-loving overseers refused
to cooperate. They were the ones who founded monasteries and lived as
heretics. Others became tyrants and made war on each other,
destroying the booty our masters had created us to collect. Lita's
people, the Mayans, squandered their gifts making war on each other,
and her line only survived because they were sent to the Isla de las
Mujeres for protection from the Spaniards."

"Wait a minute," John interrupted. "First invasion? The Spaniards?
They didn't invade until..."

"The first alien invasion," Catherine explained with a somwhat
patronizing tone. "They created our ancestors, needing a race of
overseers to control the masses. These overseers were part human,
part alien, and they had incredible telepathic power. But the aliens
made a terrible mistake. They underestimated the power of the human
will. The couldn't control their creations, and the invasion plans
fell apart."

"And these overseers," Monica asked with as much objectivity as she
could muster. "We're their descendants? John? Me? Lita?"

"I am too," Catherine said. "Over time our powers were diluted
through interbreeding, and our ability to control others was diluted
too. That's when we became outcasts and had to go underground." John
and Monica sat riveted as Catherine continued the story. "Most of us
never knew why we were different from others, what was in our DNA
that made us sense others' feelings and thoughts. But a few kept the
history, and kept it from becoming known."

"Like Lita's family," Monica added.

"And the adoption agencies and orphanages that track where we are
nowadays," Catherine said, nodding to the computer. "Now more than
ever, we need to stick together."

"Why now?" John asked with as innocent a mind as he could project.

Catherine smiled at John's weak attempt to conceal his thoughts. "We
need to find each other, because the new generation of overseers is
looking for us."

"The supersoldiers," Monica said, leaning back in what John feared
might be a faint. "They want to kill *us?*"

John took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "They see us as a
threat?" he asked. "Why? You'd think they'd want to kidnap us and
turn us into supersoldiers like them!"

"They're kidnapping people with different genetic profiles,"
Catherine said somewhat haughtily. "They want people they can
control. People who *aren't* descended from the original experiment."
She paused as John and Monica nodded and thought about the
implications of what she'd said, then she added, "This time they want
to get it right."

"So we're safe?" Monica asked. "Or are we in danger? I don't
understand."

Catherine gulped and looked into Monica's eyes. "We're humanity's
only chance. We *have* to stay safe. It's our duty, our opus dei."

"How are we humanity's only chance?" Doggett asked. "Surely there are
others who..."

"In the government?" Catherine finished with one eyebrow raised. "The
government has been infiltrated. THe military has been infiltrated.
The United Nations..."

"Okay I get it," Doggett said. "Only I can't believe there are just a
few people who will resist. You said they underestimated the human
will. What's to say they aren't still underestimating it? I've
already met a supersoldier who's switched sides."

"He's right," Monica joined in. "Throughout history there has been
slavery but there have also been slave revolts. Human beings won't
tolerate it again now that we've known freedom."

"You don't understand!" Catherine shouted. "They've given up on
mental control. They're using brute strength this time. And you've
seen for yourselves how difficult it is to kill them. The one you
met," she nodded to John. "She was created in the mid-eighties. But
the latest ones, the ones made using replication within the last few
years, their will can be completely subverted, but only when needed.
At all other times they appear normal and have normal human will."

Monica sighed and looked John, whose intense eyes were fixed on
Catherine as she continued, "Those of us who can spot them need to be
organized. We need to go on the offensive. We need to..." Catherine
shut her mouth suddenly then added calmly, "It's up to the People of
the Via to protect the rest.... to protect not just humanity, but
what makes humans human. It's about more than the survival of our
genes. This is about the survival of free will."

"Okay, I can't argue with that," Doggett conceded. "But say you're
right, that only a few people can spot these new overseers. What does
that have to do with Monica and me? We can't spot them. I get a
headache just trying to send her a picture of an apple for
Chrissakes!" Catherine cringed at his last remark. "Sorry, Mother
Catherine," he added contritely.

Catherine took a deep breath and let John know that she was
overlooking his verbal slip. "There aren't enough people like Lita
and Tomás. The rest of us need to protect them. And we need to make
sure that the children, the naturally born children, are safe."

"Like those kids at the orphanage?" Doggett asked. "Are they all part
of this?"

"Not all," Catherine sighed. "We've been tracking children with
potential ever since we first caught wind of this new invasion. But
there's a little complication now."

"We know about that," Reyes said sadly. "Babies born to abductees?"

Catherine nodded. "The latest experiment. These babies are hybrids,
like our ancestors, but with that supersoldier strength. The question
is, can they be controlled?"

Monica and John looked at each other, sharing their thoughts. After a
tense moment, Monica asked, "And what if one of these babies receives
a shot of some sort, to make him normal? Will he still be one of them
in other ways?"

"And how long does that shot last, anyway?" John asked. "And what was
in it? It can't have affected his DNA? Or could it? Was it some kind
of virus?"

"Or an antibody to a virus?" Reyes chimed in.

"And how much of this stuff is out there?" John added, his arms
waving as he stood to pace. "Does it work on adults? Can we un-do all
these replications and return people to who they were?"

"And if that's possible, why aren't we looking for the stockpile of
this stuff?" Reyes asked. "Or manufacturing it?"

"And if it works on hybrids, will it work on purebred aliens?" John's
voice was rising. "And where did this stuff come from anyway? How did
this guy get it if he was being beat up by whoever did that to him?"

Catherine remained impassive as the pair grew more animated, and as
each took a deep breath she answered, "All good questions."

"And the answers?" Doggett pressed. "Got any?"

"Want any?" Catherine shot back. "Sure you want that responsibility?"

"Responsiblity?" Reyes asked. "Responsibility for what?"

"After you know those answers, can you go back to your jobs in the
FBI? Can you have that normal life you want and let such a pressing
need go unmet?"

Reyes and Doggett sat in silence for a moment until Catherine said,
"I thought so. Taking care of Gibson, rescuing your friend Mulder,
that's as far as you'll go?"

"We're not giving up," Reyes said resolutely. "We're in this for the
long haul." Doggett looked at her with admiration. Yes, he thought.
She would not back down even in the face of an unstoppable foe. And
he would be at her side, sharing her belief in the rightness of their
cause.

Catherine looked at Doggett and nodded, almost forcing him to speak
for himself. "Yeah, what she said. We can't stand by and watch this
thing happen. Not without putting up a fight."

"Even if it costs you your lives?" she challenged.

"Even if it costs us our lives," he answered, studying Reyes's eyes
on his, her head nodding in agreement.

"Yes," Reyes added. "We may go down, but we'll go down fighting."

Catherine studied their faces while probing their minds. Finally, she
said, "Yes, I believe you."

"So tell me this," Doggett said with more curiosity than urgency.
"What is our role in all of this, exactly?"

"You ask too many questions," Catherine snorted. "Remember, the less
you know the less danger you're in."

"And the less information we give up if we're caught," Reyes pointed
out. Catherine nodded. "Can you at least explain one thing to me?
There are these people, people who appear normal but who can pose as
anybody they want. How do they fit into this?"

"The bounty hunters," Catherine nodded and smoothed the fabric over
her legs. "They are still among us. And I hope you will be able to
resist them. From what Martha tells me Gibson will."

"Resist?" Doggett asked. "But they're not supersoldiers. They can be
killed."

"You're right. They're completely different. When the aliens gave up
after the first invasion some of the overseers went with them. While
those who stayed on Earth became more and more human, those who left
became more and more like the aliens. Their powers became stronger,
not weaker, but they are still similar enough to humans to walk among
us."

"If they're similar to us," Reyes asked, knitting her brow. "How do
they switch identities like they do?"

"They don't," Catherine answered matter-of-factly. "Remember how
Tomás planted an image in your mind?" Reyes nodded. "They search your
mind for the image of someone you trust, then they plant that image
in your mind when you're looking at them. They don't physically
change shape. It's an illusion."

"Or a delusion," Doggett said with disgust.

"How do we fight that?" Reyes asked, then before Catherine could
answer she realized for herself that their training was enabling them
to do just that. "Ohhh," she said. "Block them? Sense when they're
invading..."

"You're both very new at it, but now that you understand what's at
stake I hope you'll develop your potential." Catherine stood and
looked at each upturned face briefly. "Another duty you have,
considering the gift you've inherited, is to pass it on." She left
the room, closing the door quietly as Reyes and Doggett looked at
each other with equally puzzled expressions.

Then and at the same time they realized what she meant.

***************************

John leaned back in his chair and smirked. "Well, that answers one of
my quesitons anyway."

"Which is...?" Reyes arched an eyebrow at him, hoping she'd guessed
his meaning.

"Which is why the Catholic Church doesn't seem to mind us living in
sin together on their property." He reached for her hands and clasped
them between his. "They want us to procreate."

"Have a baby?" Monica asked. "I haven't even given that a thought."

"You haven't?" John asked skeptically. "Even after we decided to get
married?"

She shook her head. "After what you've been through," she said,
pulling her hands free and lightly stroking his chest. "This is one
decision I'm leaving up to you."

"That's the most important decision to make together," he said
gravely. "I wouldn't..."

"I mean," Monica rested the palm of her hand against the center of
his chest and stared into his eyes. "That I want what you want." She
smiled warmly at him, making his heart skip a beat. "And I wouldn't
press you to do anything you're not ready for."

"Yeah, I've noticed," he smiled. "You waited a long time for me to
come around." He stood and helped her to her feet. "Have I ever
thanked you for that?"

"In your way, yes," Monica smiled, her eyes glistening with what John
recognized as desire. "But if you want to thank me again..."

They walked hand-in-hand to the cottage, and for the first time
didn't worry that their thoughts might be overheard. Once inside they
threw themselves onto the bed and began tearing at each other's
clothes. "Wait," Monica said.

John sighed loudly. "What is it this time?"

Monica reached over him to the bedside table, extracting a small vial
from the drawer. "We still have some oil."

"We don't have time for oil," John said, with a touch of desperation.
"Dinner's in..."

Before he could calculate the time they had, she'd warmed some oil in
the palms of her hands and wormed her arms under his shirt to massage
his muscles. "You've been working so hard," she said soothingly. As
she massaged his muscles she pushed up on his shirt, and he helped
her remove it. "All that physical exertion..." She pulled down on his
jeans. "You must be exhausted." She threw his jeans into a corner.
"After all that driving." She cupped the bulge in his underwear. "We
should take this slowly..." At either side she slipped a finger under
the waistband. "And enjoy every moment." She started pulling
downward, letting the nails scrape lightly against the sensitve skin.

"I'm not sure I can," John protested, his voice acquiring the
gravelly tone she lived for. "We don't want to miss dinner... ahhhh"
He gave up all pretense of resistance as she slid her mouth over his
throbbing member. His hands went to her hair and combed through her
tresses. "You know how that makes me... ahhhh" One of her hands
cupped his balls and started gently kneading as her other hand ran
over his chest and stomach. "Mon..." he tried to warn her, but it was
too late. After three days away from the love of his life, slow
love-making just wasn't in the cards. "I'm sorry," he whispered,
stroking her hair as she lapped up his mistake. "I just couldn't..."

Without saying a word, Monica scooted to the end of the bed and stood
facing him, licking her lips. Very slowly, she unbuttoned her shirt
and dropped it on top of his jeans. Then she turned away from him and
pulled her jeans down, revealing herself to him inch by excruciating
inch. When she'd reached the bottom her hair fell over her face,
allowing her to sneak a peak a his reaction. Despite his apologies,
he seemed interested, and she continued her tease. She stepped out of
her jeans, keeping her body bent for his inspection, then gradually
straightened herself, her hands sliding seductively up the outsides
of her legs until they reached the upper band of her panties. As
she'd done to him, she slipped one finger under the elastic on either
side and slowly slid them down until she was again doubled over with
her hands on the floor. This time she drew her hands up the insides
of her legs, slower than before, until she heard John's breathing
deepening behind her. She turned to face him, then finished her tease
upward until her hands met the pantylines she'd just revealed.
Tracing up the line on each side in mirror images, her hands slid a
few inches then angled upward, riding the contours of her well-toned
body until reaching lace-covered curves. She popped the hook, then
opened her bra as if it were the double doors to a great cathedral.
John gasped, and his eyes glazed over as she traced lazy patterns
over the rosy centers of her breasts. "Mon..." he growled. "Come
here..." He patted the mattress and slid invitingly to one side.

She obeyed him, but approached slowly, as slowly as her strip tease
had been, and by the time she lay next to him, all John's apologies
seemed unnecessary.

CHAPTER 30

They continued their routine of psychic training, even during John
and Gibson's overnight delivery trips. On these evenings, Monica
practiced with Lita, and John with Gibson, the bonds among all of
them growing stronger daily. And when John returned from his trips,
he and Monica practiced the most intimate type of psychic
communication, deepening their trust and love for each other.

But with every trip, John and Gibson sensed growing anxiety among the
nuns and the people they met on their deliveries. On one day,
Catherine asked John to check all the monastery's vehicles, as if
preparing for a long-distance trip. Tomás, too, wanted John to look
over his vans and an SUV. He sensed that their wedding day was a kind
of deadline, and Monica sensed it too, neither wanted to acknowledge
their growing sense of dread, fearful that the other might interpret
it as pre-wedding jitters.

The day before their wedding, John unloaded the last of his
deliveries to the tienda owner. The inventory had dwindled until the
shelves were only half-stocked, and the owner seemed on edge. He
watched Gibson as the boy grabbed a bottle of water and downed most
of it in one long swig.

"Hot?" he asked. "Take all you want. I am grateful to you."

"Thanks Roberto. But shouldn't we be grateful to you?" Gibson asked,
nodding toward the boxes waiting to be loaded onto the truck. "Most
of those are marked for us."

"It's what the Via does," he reminded Gibson. "We watch out for each
other."

"But it seems that you've done more for us than we've done for you,"
Gibson added before finishing the last of his bottle. He then wiped
his mouth on his shoulder in expert imitation of John.

Roberto smiled. "I have something for you, Gibson." He nodded for
Gibson to follow him as he went to the front of the store, then he
reached under the counter, withdrawing a wooden box. "Take good care
of it," the older man said. "Someday you will learn about its
history, but for now just trust that it was once used by someone very
special to all of us. It's yours now."

Before the box was completely open Gibson recognized the glint of a
revolver, FBI issue, polished and lying on purple velvet lining.
"Really?" he asked, the excitement in his voice a mixture of
enthusiasm and awe. "I don't know..." He turned to look around the
store, and as if on cue, John walked through the back door.

Seeing the boy's expression, John yelled, "You okay, Gibson?" Without
waiting for an answer, John walked quickly to the front, then saw the
box in Gibson's hands. He looked at Roberto and asked, "This is for
him?"

Roberto smiled and nodded. "We've heard about his talent, and about
his sense of duty. We can't imagine a better person to inherit this."

"Who is 'we?'" Doggett demanded. "He's just a boy... He shouldn't
have..."

Gibson looked up at the tall man, and the hurt and sense of betrayal
he felt would have been evident even to a pre-Via training Doggett.
"I'm sorry, Gibson, but this is so..."

Looking down, Gibson set the box on the counter. Without facing
either Roberto or Doggett, Gibson said, "Everybody's so happy to use
my mind as a weapon, an experiement, or even a toy... But my mind is
only useful to people who have guns. It's not useful to me. It just
makes me a target."

John picked up the box and inspected the gun. "Where did you get
this?" he demanded.

"Someday you'll know its story," Roberto assured him. "But for now,
just know that it was once owned by a great man."

As John held the gun up, checking it from every angle, Gibson looked
up at him hopefully. "I have a job to do," he said quietly. "I need
to be able to do it."

John looked into the boy's determined face and reIn the past two
weeks John had seen Gibson grow in maturity, strength and insight,
and despite his initial reaction he knew that Gibson was ready for a
gun. He handed it to him, his face beaming as proudly as any father
watching his son make a transition into manhood. "Yes, Gibson," he
said as Gibson held the gun, looking it over with the same moves that
John had used. "You are ready for whatever will come next."

When they returned to the cottage, Monica examined the gun with the
same intensity John had. "No serial number." She closed one eye and
tried looking into the barrel. "I bet the bore's been re-grooved
too." She handed it to Gibson. "Completely untraceable, no doubt,"
she said. "I'd rather see you have an unaltered, licensed and
registered gun, but under the circumstances..."

Gibson grinned somewhat defiantly as John looked at Monica with some
surprise. "You don't mind?" he asked incredulously. "I'd think,
especially after what happened..."

"My leg is fine and all that's in the past," she said lightly.
"Tomorrow's our wedding day. Nothing can bring me down." She wrapped
her arms around John's waist and gave him a long, passionate kiss."

*******************

That night after dinner Tomás arrived in an SUV that looked as if it
might break down any minute. Several parts of the body had been
puttied, badly, and primed but not painted. Loud, white brand names
proudly proclaiming mismatchted tires, and the hubcaps were battered
almost beyond recognition. Inside, the seats had been covered with
faux sheepskin, and fuzzy dice hung from the rearview window. Shag
carpeting replaced the headliner, and Mexican blankets served as seat
covers for the rear bench seat. John looked it over from front to
rear, and when he saw the Mexican tags, surrounded by faded bumper
stickers for Mexican radio stations, he raised an eyebrow at Tomás.

"I wanted you to have your wedding present from me now," he said
proudly. "With your mechanical talents I know you'll take good care
of it." He patted it and smiled at the couple. "And tomorrow, you
will make your last delivery."

Monica, John and Gibson all sniffled at the thought that they might
never again see this odd man, who only weeks earlier had generated
such suspicion. By now he had earned their trust, and they felt as
much affection for him as they did for the nuns.

"We're going to Mexico?" Monica said with some enthusiasm. She knew
she wouldn't be able to contact her family directly, but she hoped
being in Mexico would help her chances.

As Tomás reached in and pulled something from the glove box, John
popped the hood and looked at the engine. Tomás gave Monica a
zippered pouch, and she opened the zipper as if it were the ribbon on
a jewelry box. Inside, she found three passports, birth certificates,
and visas for an extended stay in Mexico. She wasn't sure whether to
be impressed or dismayed, and she wasn't sure she wanted to use an
alias. But as she thought about it, she knew they couldn't move
around under their own names. "Thank you, Tomás," she said earnestly.
"I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Don't thank me. Thank the Via. I am only one small part," he said
modestly. He nodded toward the pouch and said, "I only delivered it."

John came charging at them from the front of the SUV. "What the hell
is this?" he shouted.

"Shhhhh!" Tomás urged. "This is a gift."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth? Well I just did," he said.
"And all the vehicle identification numbers have been filed off."

"Is that worse than having a gun with no serial number?" Tomás said
in his best superior tone.

"And this is *not* the original engine. Did this thing come from a
chop shop?" Doggett demanded.

"I don't know," Tomás replied. "*I* don't look gift horses in the
mouth." He smiled graciously and turned to leave. "See you at the
rehearsal."

John stood open-mouthed, watching the Father disappear through the
front gate. "Well?" he asked Monica. "Whaddaya think?"

She handed him the pouch and he looked through it quickly. "Monica, I
don't like this," he said gravely. "Helping out, that's one thing. We
owe them that much. But stolen cars, aliases, stolen guns? What
next?" Monica took a deep breath but remained quiet as he stood
slapping the pouch against the palm of his hand. "The bureau's
looking for us? Maybe we should let them find us. Just pay the piper
and face whatever is coming. If we have to turn into criminals to do
the right thing..."

Monica rubbed a hand up and down his arm. "I know, John. Maybe this
is selfish, but I don't think I could bear it if you went to prison."

Bravely, her eyes held in the tears that threatened to gather, and
John realized that what he loved most about her was her strength in
the face of adversity. She was wrong about bearing the pain of
separation, he realized. She would bear it bravely, and her courage
would give him the strength to survive inside prison if it came to
that. He brought his hand to her cheek and stroked it gently. "Which
is worse? Being in prison? or being a prisoner," he nodded,
indicating the monastery grounds around them. "In a safehouse? Where
will we go next? Mexico? We're federal agents, Monica! We have no
business there."

"We're human beings first," Monica reminded him. "Americans second."

It never failed. Despite her insistance that she admired his
integrity, her sense of duty and morality frequently outstripped his
in ways he didn't expect. His shoulders slumped forward slightly,
signalling defeat. Monica hugged him in silent thanks, then took his
hand, leading him toward the house. "I'm feeling particularly human
right now," she said, smiling impishly. "How about you?"

An hour later they heard a loud rap on their bedroom door, and
Gibson's voice said, "Time to wake up, you two. Your wedding is in an
hour!"

"That's tomorrow morning, Gibson." John shouted. "You don't have to
practice everything the night before!"

Catherine's voice answered. "There's been a change of plans. You're
getting married in an hour. No rehearsal."

*****************

An hour later John stood next to Gibson, each in navy pinstriped
suits with white dress shirts and conservative ties. Mary pressed a
button on a boombox that was the worse for wear, and "Here comes the
Bride," performed by an organ that no doubt sounded impressive in its
church, strained to reach the assembled guests. Monica took tentative
steps down the aisle, her face beaming yet somewhat incredulous, the
bouquet of blood-red roses shaking slightly in her hands. She never
liked being the center of attention, and although she'd adored this
man for years, she never thought this moment would come. To have it
come upon her this suddenly made it seem all the more unreal.

But when she reached the front and looked into John's nervous but
joyous face, it suddenly seemed real, and a tiny trail of tears
started flowing from each eye. Fortunately, John seemed not to mind.
Of course, Monica realized. He's done this before. She suddenly felt
inadequate, but when John smiled at her all doubts about herself,
him, and either of their pasts evaporated. She smiled back and he
nodded, his mind reaching out to hers to let her know that he
understood, and he loved her for it.

They'd chosen to use the traditional Catholic marriage ritual, and
they were grateful for that when circumstances prevented them from
having a rehearsal. John fumbled a little with the ring, and Monica
stumbled over her name, but otherwise the wedding went off without a
hitch. Mary hit the boombox again and the standard wedding march
ushered them down the aisle as a married couple.

And when they reached the end of the aisle they saw two familiar
faces: Brad Follmer and Walter S. Skinner.

*******************

The two assistant directors blended with the crowd as the nuns and
their few friends filed into the refectory for a makeshift reception.
"What are they doing here?" Monica whispered to John as they made
their way to the head table.

"I don't know, but this explains why we had a change of plans," John
whispered, leaning into her ear. One of the nuns started tapping on
her glass, and as people took their places the din of tinkling glass
grew louder. "I think we're supposed to kiss now," John said,
red-faced with embarrassment over a tradition he'd forgotten about.

"NOW you're shy?" Gibson said from behind him, and several nuns
laughed loudly. "Kiss her for god's sake," Gibson continued.

John and Monica obeyed their guests' wishes and seemed determined to
make them wish they hadn't tapped their glasses. When they finally
came up for air, the room was full, and the applause was almost
deafening.

For the next ten minutes there was toast after toast, beginning with
Tomás' congratulations and thanks for their hard work on the nuns'
behalf. When he was finished, Catherine stood to toast the couple,
thanking them in detail for their work in the complex. Neither Tomás
nor Catherine mentioned special abilities, the Via, or the deliveries
John and Gibson had made. Martha was next, her face contorted with
mixed emotions as she congratulated the couple and thanked them for
taking in Gibson. She looked at Gibson and smiled proudly, then
gestured for him to make the next toast. He waved his hands, and he
seemed to be in mortal terror of public speaking. But Martha would
have none of it. She went to him, and with her hands on each of his
shoulders, marched him to the podium like a teacher with a
misbehaving student.

"You're a man, now, Gibson," Martha whispered to him. "This is one of
the things men do. Now do it! You'll be fine." She patted him on the
shoulder then took a seat nearby, smiling expectantly.

"Um, I don't know what to say," Gibson said. "I know what you're
thinking," he said, then he blushed when the room erupted in guffaws.
"But it's not that I haven't prepared, or that I'm nervous about
speaking." The laughter died down and Gibson faced a roomful of
skeptical faces. "Okay, I am nervous," he admitted. "Um,
congratulations," he said, facing John and Monica, who were amused
yet proud of his courageous attempt at public speaking. "And thank
you, for so much," Gibson's voice cracked like a younger teen's. John
and Monica's faces softened at hearing this heartfelt sentiment. "For
being good friends, and for being the parents I always wished for."
He raised his glass of grape juice and proclaimed, "May you always be
as much in love as you are now. The rest of us can only wish for such
happiness." The room erupted in applause for the unexpected eloquence
of the formerly surly teen. He blushed and sat down quickly, then
made a show of sipping his grape juice.

John and Monica hoisted their champagne glasses in perfectly
choreographed symmetry and looked over the rims to their
pseudo-foster son. At his side Lita sat gazing at him admiringly,
then, emboldened by his example, she rose to make the next toast.
"Monica, John," she started, nodding to each in turn. "It has been my
pleasure to meet you and get to know you." She paused and swayed
slightly, as if she might faint.

Monica placed a hand on Lita's elbow and smiled up at her. "You're
doing fine," she whispered.

Lita took a deep breath and continued, "I have never known two people
so much in love." She raised her glass of juice and said quickly,
"And I wish for you much happiness." She sat down before the room
could applaud, and John, seeing her blush, grabbed Monica and kissed
her enthusiastically.

With all attention drawn away from her, Lita relaxed and smiled.
Gibson smiled and whispered, "You did great." As he moved his mouth
away from her ear he sneaked a kiss on her cheek, making her blush
even redder.

"I'm going to miss you," she said tearfully.

"I know," he sighed. "I'll miss you too." And forgetting that they
were sitting in front of dozens of people, he leaned over and kissed
her.

Tomás and Catherine sat to the other side of the happy couple,
looking out over the assembled guests. "Well," Tomás said, "The
wedding was beautiful. You seem to have thought of everything."

"Let's hope so," she smiled. "And I hope you packed everything
they'll need on the road. But they made excellent progress under you.
You should be proud."

"After all these years, you still surprise me, Catherine," he said,
patting her hand.

They grinned at each other for a moment, then Catherine stood and
picked up the big Bible from the lectern. The room hushed as she
opened it to read, and all was silent as she read:

Let every one speak the truth with his neighbor,
For we are members of one another.
Be angry but do not sin;
Do not let the sun go down on your anger,
And give no opportunity to the devil.
Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness,
But instead expose them.
For it is a shame even to speak 
of the things that they do in secret;
But when anything is exposed by the light
it becomes visible,
for anything that becomes visible is light.
For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother
and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one.
--Ephesians 4:25-27, 5:11-13, 6:31-32

***************************

After Mary and several novices had cleared the cake, coffee, and
wine, the bells rang and all the nuns filed out for Vespers. Tomás
leaned informally on the tables and whispered, "I've got one more
thing to pack for you. Meet me at the front gate. Your delivery will
be here any minute."

A.D. Skinner approached the happy couple as they were leaving. "Can
we have a word with you?" He eyed Gibson and Lita then added,
"Alone?"

Puzzled but unafraid, John and Monica followed the two assistant
directors into the courtyard. And as if to convey his sense of
authority, Follmer grabbed Monica's elbow and ushered her to the
bench where the rose bushes had recently bloomed. "I guess
congratulations are in order," Brad said bitterly.

Monica shook her elbow free from his grasp and said sarcastically,
"Thank you. What a pleasant surprise to see you here, Brad."

Skinner and John joined them, and the four stood awkwardly for a
moment. Finally John said, "I'm guessing you're not here for the
wedding. What do you want?" he demanded.

Follmer nodded to John and said, "Agent Doggett," then he nodded to
Monica and said, "Agent Reyes."

"That's Agent Reyes-Doggett now, Brad," Monica answered, taking
John's hand. "Can we cut the crap? What do you want?"

"You two are AWOL," he said seriously, bowing his head for emphasis.
"The FBI has been looking for you. A.D. Skinner and I were just
trying to beat them to it."

"Them?" John said, looking from one to the other. "You're not in the
bureau any more?"

"We are, but probably not for long," Skinner answered. "Kersh is out
and the new director and deputy director are putting their own men in
the A.D. positions. It's only a matter of time before they manage to
replace us."

"That's why what we have to say is so urgent," Brad continued. "We've
found transfers for you. The bureau can't afford to let good agents
go. They're hiring over 300 agents this month and probably more next
fiscal year. The new director has his own agenda, but with this
terrorism reorganization he still has to keep good agents on the
payroll to do the bureau's true business."

"Wait," Monica interrupted. "What agenda?"

"Nevermind that," Skinner muttered, his lips barely moving. "A.D.
Follmer and I have found transfers for you."

"What?" Monica exclaimed. "No, no transfers. We work in the X-Files
office or we don't go back."

"Whipped already, eh Doggett?" Brad jibed. "She speaks for you now?"

"In this case, yes," John answered, meeting Brad's eyes with steely
determination.

"Well, I've got news for you both," Brad said in a tone that was at
once business-like and shifty. "The X-Files office is closed and it
won't be re-opened in your lifetimes. So you should consider these
transfers. We called in a lot of favors to get these assignments for
you. You might not have a second chance if you don't accept them
now."

Skinner lowered his head and his voice, and said, "They'll send one
of you to Alaska and the other to Alabama. At least what we're
proposing keeps both of you in D.C."

"Okay, what is it?" Monica demanded, crossing her arms across her
chest. John smiled at the vision of an angry Monica dressed in such
an elegant wedding gown, but she just glared at Brad and hardly
noticed John until he draped an arm over her shoulders.

"Agent Reyes-Doggett," Brad said, emphasizing the "Doggett." "You'll
be transferred to the District's field office, in the Crimes Against
Children Division. With your background, and considering your
apparent interest in young Mr. Praise, I think that suits you well.
And what could be more important than children in danger?"

Monica looked anxiously at John, obviously tempted by the offer.
John's eyes met hers, but his face was toward Skinner. "And where
will I be going in this plan of yours?" he asked.

"You'll be based at Quantico, but there's a lot of travel involved.
You'll be part of the Critical Incidents Response Group. They're like
the SWAT team of the FBI," Follmer explained.

"I know what that is," Doggett snapped. "I have friends who work
there."

"So you do," Follmer said unctiously. "They need people in the
tactical support branch. Former marines are especially welcome, as
are former cops. It wasn't a hard sell getting them to consider you."

"So you're telling me now that I can wait?" Doggett shook his head
slightly.

Brad brushed off the comment and continued, "It's very exciting work.
You'll be on the Hostage Rescue Team, and you could be deployed
anywhere in the world. Their motto is Servare Vitas -- To Save
Lives." He checked Monica's reaction then added, "I can't imagine a
better placement for you."

"It does sound good," Monica said softly to John. "Children? How
could I say no to that?" John looked into her face and she saw
nothing but deep sadness on his. She added quickly, "This isn't about
Luke, John. It's about all children. How could I live with myself
knowing I could have helped but didn't?" She placed the image of
Lita's face in his mind, and he placed an image of the children at
the orphanage in hers.

"I know, Monica," he said gently. "But there are other ways to help."
Then he turned to Brad and said, "No dice. We ain't going back unless
it's to the X-Files office."

Skinner spoke up reluctantly, "You'll be happy there, and if there's
any chance in the future, you'll be right there."

"No I won't," Doggett shot back. "And isn't that part of the plan?
We'll be close enough to watch, but we won't be in the Hoover
Building. How convenient." Monica sighed and nodded her head, finally
understanding John's reaction.

"It was the best we could do," Skinner insisted.

"I bet," John answered. "Maybe your stars are already on the
decline?" he said, eyebrows raised suggestively.

"Thank you for your offer," Monica said, facing Brad defiantly. "But
we have to get started on our honeymoon."

Monica and John walked to the front gate, Follmer and Skinner
following close behind. Gibson and Lita sat at the bench where they'd
first held hands, and hugged each other tightly. Gibson looked up
fearfully, and John smiled. "Not yet, Gibson. We're waiting for
Tomás." Gibson tightened his arms around Lita and buried his face in
the crook of her neck.

"He's going with you?" Follmer said. "On your honeymoon?"

"Where they go, I go," Gibson said, raising his head just long enough
to get the words out, then hugging Lita again. John and Monica
nodded, and Follmer shook his head.

They stood awkwardly until headlights appeared in the distance.
"That's our last wedding present," John said. "And then we hit the
road. If you have nothing more to add..."

"You're sure?" Skinner asked.

John and Monica nodded their heads. "Yes, very," Monica said, taking
John's hand. "We don't know where we'll go, but we'll land on our
feet."

The headlights stopped just short of the gate and they could hear the
sound of two doors opening. "FBI," a man shouted. "We're looking for
a two fugitives."

Follmer and Skinner looked surprised and suspicious of each other,
but said nothing. The headlights silhouetted the shapes of two men
approaching the gates. "Open up!" the same man shouted. The other man
shouted, "Agents Reyes and Doggett, you're under arrest for
harboring, Gibson Praise, a runaway."

John raised his arms and approached the gate, but as he did he
noticed strange vibrations in his wedding band. Of course, he
thought. There's magnetite in our rings! He took a few steps backward
and shouted, "They're supersoldiers!"

John turned and ran to Monica, who was running toward him. He
shielded her with his body and guided her to safety as chunks of
supersoldier flesh battered his back. When it was all over, John and
Monica ran to check on Lita and Gibson, who were still huddled
together on the bench. Chunks of sizzling flesh clung to Gibson's
back, and when he turned to look at Monica, a few chunks fell from
his face, leaving red burn marks.

"What the hell was that?" Brad exclaimed, shaking pieces from his
jacket and hair. He looked over at Skinner, who was in the same
condition.

"Super soldiers," Skinner explained. "Unstoppable, genetically
altered, but with one weakness..."

"Magnetite," Monica explained. "It's a rare metal, and somehow this
gate was made with some."

"Gibson's parents met the same fate," John explained, carefully
removing his jacket.

"Why don't we get you two cleaned up," Monica said to Lita and
Gibson. She looked over her shoulder as they walked toward the
compound, and John nodded his reassurances to her.

They separated, Lita going to her room, Monica and Gibson going to
the storage room containing donated clothes. They found the room
nearly empty, and they looked anxiously at each other, silently
communicating their worst suspicions. Gibson quickly changed into
ill-fitting pants and a white t-shirt, then they raced out the door
and heard the faint sounds of engines coming from the ravine. They
looked over a railing and saw a bus and several vans speeding over
the dry creekbed, leaving tracks from a cave entrance Gibson
recognized. "It's their escape route," he explained. "From the garage
to the ravine to... I'm not sure where they're going. I think only
the drivers know."

They ran from one part of the compound to the other, and found
nothing but empty rooms. "Lita!" Monica shouted. "Where is her room?"

Gibson shrugged. "We kept our hands above the waist."

Monica couldn't help smiling, "I'm glad, Gibson. But try to find her,
could you?"

Gibson closed his eyes and tried to breathe deeply, but quickly
opened his eyes and said, "I don't know. All I sense is myself."

He seemed so distressed Monica wanted to hug him, but she resisted.
"Try again, Gibson," she urged.

He tried but just shook his head. "I don't think she's here. But I'm
not sure."

Suddenly, they heard the sound of motors coming from above. Or, more
precisely, rotors. Rotors from helicopters in the distance.

"Monica!" they heard John yell from across the courtyard. They ran
toward him and the three together ran to the gate. John shook it and
when it didn't open he shouted, "God DAMNIT!!!"

"Relax," Catherine's voice behind him said calmly. She pulled a key
from the folds of her habit and unlocked the door.

"You're still here?" Monica asked. "Shouldn't you be...?" She closed
her mouth when Skinner and Follmer approached.

"Monica," Follmer said tenderly. "You deserve better than this. You
deserve a real life..."

"I'm happy Brad," she answered firmly. "I hope someday you'll be this
happy." She turned and walked to the gift SUV, parked to one side of
the gate, and didn't look back.

Catherine helped her in to her side, and held the door open for
Gibson. "Just a minute longer," she predicted. "We still have time."

"What?!?!" John yelled. "We gotta get outta here!"

"This is very important," Catherine's voice and face said in unison.
"You'd regret leaving."

Skinner and Follmer got into their car and waited. A cloud of dust
grew larger in the distance and eventually a pair of headlights cut
through it. Tomás screeched to a halt next to Catherine. She flung
open the door and reached inside.

Monica sat in the passenger side of "their" SUV, watching with
anxiety and curiosity as Catherine ran toward them with their
important cargo. John leaned over and when he saw what it was he
said, "Awww, no! Now wait a goddamned minute!"

Monica opened the car door and ran to grab the precious delievery
from Catherine. "William!" she sighed, almost beatifically. She
looked up at Catherine. "But how? Why? Where?"

"You'll know when you get there," Catherine assured her. "Everything
you need has already been packed. Everything," she repeated, arching
an eyebrow for emphasis.

John ran to Monica's side and said, "This is too much! Now we're
trafficking in stolen babies?!" He looked accusingly at Catherine.
"We can't take a--"

"John, look at him!" Monica begged.

John glanced at the baby and said, "Looks like Winston Churchill.
They all do. But that's not the point, Monica..."

"It's William!" Monica squealed, tears flowing over her cheeks. "He
needs us, and who better to watch out for him?"

Who indeed, John thought. He'd watched over this baby since before
his birth, and almost a year earlier had trustd Monica to watch over
his birth. He sighed, his resolve softening. "But he's been adopted.
His new parents..." He looked at Catherine. "What about his new
parents? Didn't the agency screen them?"

"Take good care of him," Catherine said serenely, patting the baby's
head. "You know your duty. Your opus dei." She and Monica strapped
William into the SUV, and Gibson, sitting next to him, looked down on
him affectionately.

Tomás joined Catherine, standing at her side as she slammed the
passenger door shut. "God be with you," she shouted over the din of
approaching helicopters.

"Remember, you are people of the Via," Tomás shouted.

John shifted into gear and the SUV sped off down the road, Skinner
and Follmer speeding in the opposite direction. In the rearview
mirror John could see the helicopters firing missiles into the
monastery compound, but Catherine and Tomás seemed to have
disappeared in the dust left behind by the two vehicles.

THE END