Via Sub Rosa by Scifinerdgrl, Part 2

CHAPTER 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The shower had disappointingly low water pressure, making Monica
rethink her dream of a sensual experience with her lover.  John
stood under the shower, letting its pathetic stream wet his short
hair then separate into rivulets over his body.  Monica laughed
and said "Never mind, I can see this isn't meant for two."  She
turned to leave and felt a wet hand grasp her arm, pulling her
backwards a few steps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, they heard a loud knock at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We are what?" Doggett demanded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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