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 
Tomás 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 Tomás' 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.