From: Scifinerdgrl <scifinerdgrl@mail.ev1.net>
Date: 30 Sep 2002 17:52:47 -0700
Subject: NEW: Via Sub Rosa (6/9)
Source: atxc

Via Sub Rosa by Scifinerdgrl, part 6

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 against 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 amidst 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 Tomas?"

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 agreed, 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 Tomas 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 Tomas at the gate ask, "Are you ready?" they
exhaled together, then followed Tomas 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 Tomas turned the ignition, when
they saw Mother Catherine come charging out of the gate.

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

Tomas' 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 Tomas 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.  Tomas 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.

Tomas 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 Tomas' 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.  Tomas 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?" Tomas 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.  Tomas 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 Tomas 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 Tomas got the
message.  "Okay," Tomas said.  "Let's try a more difficult
image."  Tomas stared into Monica's eyes, then she turned and
fixed her eyes on John's.  Tomas 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 Tomas 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," Tomas 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."

Tomas 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, Tomas 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," Tomas laughed.  "If that bothered us, would you be
here?"  Chastised, Reyes and Doggett remained silent as Tomas
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.

Tomas 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?"

Tomas 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."  Tomas 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 acknowledgment and
smiled awkwardly.

Tomas 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
thoughtfully, 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 huskily, 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 back rub 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...  

They were soon making love, and as John 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 night stand.  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 nicked 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.

Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl Part 7

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, "Tomas 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 delivery 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 irresistible 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 window seat 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 surprised 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 Chichan Itza 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
descendants are still quite special in other ways."

"The alien theory has been disproved, 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 kidnaping attempts."

John's head snapped up at the mention of kidnaping.  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, followed 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 signaled
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.

Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl Part 8

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 fianc."

"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 belt loop 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.

"Dammit!" 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 abducted?"

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 somewhat
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 kidnaping 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 Tomas.  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?"

"Responsibility?" 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
Tomas 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.  "Ohhhh," 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 questions 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 sensitive
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 panty lines
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.

Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl Part 9

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.  Tomas, 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 experiment, 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.  In 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 Tomas 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 mismatched 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 Tomas.

"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 Tomas reached in and pulled something from the glove box, John
popped the hood and looked at the engine.  Tomas 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, Tomas," 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!" Tomas 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?" Tomas
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," Tomas 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 insistence 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, signaling 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 Tomas' 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 Tomas 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.

Tomas and Catherine sat to the other side of the happy couple,
looking out over the assembled guests.  "Well," Tomas 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. 
Tomas 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?"

"Never mind 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 unctuously.  "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 Tomas."  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 creek bed, 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 DAMMIT!!!"

"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.  Tomas 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 delivery
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 trusted 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.

Tomas 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," Tomas 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 Tomas seemed to
have disappeared in the dust left behind by the two vehicles.

THE END