Via Sub Rosa by Scifinerdgrl, pt. 4

CHAPTER 13

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

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

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

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

Mother Catherine stood and started reading from her giant Bible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Maybe it got truer," Monica suggested.

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

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

"I think you do," he smiled.

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What about him?" Doggett said defensively.

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

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

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

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

She was.

CHAPTER 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Strawberries?" Gibson asked, turning around.

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

"My exercise was a waste of time."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm sorry," Gibson said softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER 15

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

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

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

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

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

"I miss that too," she said wistfully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't answer. She was asleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Time to book a flight to New Mexico."


CHAPTER 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Want to what?" Monica gently urged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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