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 
delipitated 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 sqeeze, 
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 stickshift, 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 descendents 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 hearin' 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 abandonning 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.