Via Sub Rosa, by Scifinerdgrl part 5

CHAPTER 17

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

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

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

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

"You did that?" she asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Rosalita?" Doggett suggested.

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

*******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" Monica asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You said my name?" John repeated incredulously.

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

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

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

"So why do it?" John chided.

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

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

"Okay," Gibson promised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I need to start practicing," Gibson explained.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course," John said with disgust.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," Gibson giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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