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

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

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

"Why not?" Reyes asked, approaching him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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