Author:  Scifinerdgrl
Title:  Via Sub Rosa
Rating:  R for sex and violence
Classification:  X/A/R
Keywords:  Post-ep ("The Truth"), Doggett/Reyes Romance
Summary:  After "The Truth" Doggett, Reyes, and Gibson Praise
seek shelter with an unusual group of people.
Feedback:  scifinerdgrl@mail.ev1.net or scifinerdgrl@hotmail.com
Flames:  whocareswhatyouthink@biteme.com

CHAPTER 1

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

"We got away?" Reyes asked in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You came back for me?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi John," she growled softly.

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

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

"And then what?" he asked.

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

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

"Another nightmare?" she asked with concern.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?" Reyes asked, approaching him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you have," Mary pointed out. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I bet," Gibson snarled.

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

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

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

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

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

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