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A New War #24:
Solitary Confinement 
by Lianne Burwell
November 1999
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Mulder sighed and closed the file folder, rubbing at his eyes. He had no 
idea what time it was, but he was tired so he might as well take a nap. 
He dropped the folder on top of the pile of other files and climbed to 
his feet and stretched his arms up over his head, groaning as he felt his 
spine popping after sitting in one position for so long.

It was a standard method for keeping a prisoner off-balance. Put him in a 
cell without windows so that he can't tell what time it was. Vary the 
feeding schedule and meal contents so that he can't use *that* to keep 
track of the time of day. No human contact, except the hand pushing meal 
trays and file folders through a slot in the door at the floor and the 
eyes peering through the slot higher up. Already Mulder was having 
trouble telling how long he'd been in the small cell -- although he was 
sure that it had only been a few days -- and he was desperate for the 
sound of another human voice. He ate when the food appeared and he napped 
whenever he was sleepy. The only distraction he was given was the files.

At first he'd ignored them. He wanted no part of whatever Spender and his 
goons were up to. Then he'd considered seeing if he could give himself a 
fatal paper cut, since he was never given utensils and the dishes his 
food came in -- mostly soup and sandwiches -- were unbreakable to keep 
him from making a weapon. Unfortunately, paper-cuts hurt like a bitch, so 
that was out.

Finally, out of pure boredom he'd opened the top file and started 
reading. It had turned out to contain the complete reports on a plane 
crash in Nevada. The next file had contained the transcript of an 
interview with a Mexican field worker who claimed to have been attacked 
by a werewolf. The next was an EPA report on the affects of a new 
pesticide being tested for use in the California citrus groves.

All in all, they were both fascinating and confusing. It distracted him 
and kept his mind active, but he had no idea *why* they were giving him 
these particular files to read. Hell, why were they giving him *any* 
files to read?

Having worked out the kinks as best he could in the tiny room, Mulder 
headed over to his pallet. The cell they'd put him in was bare concrete 
with no furniture, unless you counted the toilet sitting in one corner or 
the sink attached to the wall next to it. Instead of a bed, there was a 
thin futon-style mattress lying on the floor with one pillow and a 
sleeping bag on top of it. The sleeping bag was too small for Mulder, so 
he'd completely unzipped it and laid it out straight. Besides, he had 
problems with being restrained, even by a blanket. Being in a sleeping 
bag invariably gave him nightmares about Tunguska and being strapped down 
for their damned experiments.

Mulder slid under the cover, not bothering to get undressed first. They'd 
taken away his belt and his shoes, but otherwise left him dressed as he'd 
been on delivery. Mulder was beginning to wish they'd give him something 
else to wear. *Anything* else. Or better yet, let him take a shower. He 
was starting to get a little ripe, and sponge baths using the cold water 
from his sink wasn't enough.

He closed his eyes and wished, yet again, that he could turn the lights 
off, if only for a little while. Then he concentrated on getting a little 
sleep.

As he drifted off, he wondered what Alex was doing. He was probably 
furious. The assassin-slash-triple-agent didn't take being thwarted very 
well, and he'd expressed his opinion of Mulder's common sense many times 
and in far more pungent terms than Scully ever had.

Alex. When had he started thinking of the man as Alex, not Krycek or 
'that ratbastard traitor? Probably about the time he'd stuck his tongue 
down the man's throat and admitted that he wanted to do the horizontal 
mambo with him. Mulder winced at the thought of what Scully would say 
about that. She'd probably use terms that would make a sailor blush.

Alex. The man's face floated behind his eyelids for a moment, his lips 
twisted in a sardonic expression and his green eyes laughing. It was an 
expression he'd seen on the man's face often. Then it softened into the 
almost tender expression he'd been wearing the last time Mulder had seen 
him. Mulder groaned as a certain portion of his anatomy took interest in 
the image. God only knew how long before he'd see Alex again (or if, a 
nasty little voice in the back of his mind said) and how long it would be 
before Alex forgave him for running out on him.

It almost scared him how important that was to him. In fact, if he were 
honest with himself, Alex's opinion had been important to him for a long 
time, even back when he was beating up the man every time he saw him. His 
training in psychiatry was piping up with words like 'denial' and 
'sublimation,' but he did his best to ignore *that* voice too.

Finally all the voices fell silent, one by one, and he was able to drop 
off to sleep. And when he woke, he wouldn't have any idea how long or 
short a nap it had been.

* * * * *

Broots was lurking in the corridor outside the Center's records room. He 
knew that he didn't lurk convincingly, but when Miss Parker says lurk, 
you didn't say no. She was a damned scary woman. Even worse, she was a 
scary woman with a mystery on her hands.

Broots often served as errand boy for both Miss Parker and Sydney. 
Sometimes they were working together, sometimes they weren't. All in all, 
it led to ulcers in anyone stuck in the middle. Especially when they were 
at odds over Jarod. After all, Jarod was a nice guy, and Broots could 
well understand why he wanted to get as far from the Center as he could 
possibly get.

Unfortunately, *he* didn't have a choice. Broots didn't have a chance of 
breaking the hold that the Center had on him, so he kept his head down 
and did as he was told. That way, he hoped, he and his daughter would 
both stay alive.

But now something was up and Miss Parker wanted to know what it was. 
Security had been stepped up in the last few days, making life even more 
difficult than usual for the staff and 'guests' of the Center. About the 
same time, Broots had noticed a lot of files being signed out from 
records, all by the same person: a lower level tech with no reason to 
need them unless he was operating on someone else's orders. And there 
seemed to be no reason for *those* particular files to be of interest to 
anyone.

Needless to say, being a paranoid person, Miss Parker wanted to know who 
and why. That was why Broots was in his current position: lurking outside 
records, waiting for Golenski to show up for another batch of files. He'd 
been waiting for nearly four hours now. Sooner or later, he knew, someone 
was going to notice him and then he'd be in *big* trouble.

Finally, he heard footsteps. Moving fast, he ducked into a side room and 
peered out through the tiny pane of glass set high in the door. It was 
Golenski. The other man was walking briskly, headed for records. Broots 
waited for a few minutes until Golenski went back past him with several 
file folders in his arms. Why they -- whoever they were -- wanted paper 
files, he didn't know. Everything was in the computers as well, with 
paper just as a form of backup, and it was much easier to do searches on 
the electronic versions.

Once he felt that he was safe, Broots emerged from his hiding spot and 
headed down the hallway in the same direction as Golenski. Maybe his 
lurking skills were improving, since he was able to follow the man all 
the way to his final destination without being noticed. The route he took 
was long and circuitous, but eventually led to one of the sub-levels, 
well below ground, although thankfully not sub-level twenty-seven. They 
were still two levels above that ill-fated place. Broots shuddered 
quietly at the thought of going back down there.

After that his job got a little tougher. The level they were on was one 
rarely used and sound carried down here. He carefully removed his shoes 
and followed in sock-covered feet, trying to avoid making any noise at 
all.

Golenski headed for a corridor lined with doors, obviously opening into 
cells. Each had a food slot and a view slot set into the solid metal. 
Broots watched as Golenski stopped in front of one of the doors and 
leaned down to slide the folders through the slot intended for food 
trays. Then he straightened up and headed back the way he'd come.

Broots eyes went wide, and he glanced around for someplace to hide. There 
was an unlit side-corridor, so he ducked down it and squeezed into a 
doorway. He held his breath and tried to will himself invisible.

A moment later, Golenski swept past, heading for the stairwell. He didn't 
even glance at the corridor where Broots was hiding. Broots waited until 
he heard the stairwell door slam shut, then breathed a sigh of relief.

Instead of heading back up to inhabited levels himself, Broots headed for 
the cell that Golenski had shoved the file folders into. He knew that if 
he went to Miss Parker and told her what he'd seen she'd just order him 
back down here for more information. Better to get everything he could 
right away.

It was easy to find the right door -- it was the only one showing a thin 
line of light around the edge. Broots quickly checked for signs of 
watchers or cameras, then slowly slid the view-slot covering open.

Inside, he saw a man sitting against the back wall, his head bent over 
one of the files. For a moment he thought that it must be Jarod. But it 
couldn't be. For one thing, the hair was the wrong color. Besides, if it 
were Jarod, then surely they would have heard about it by now, if only 
through someone gloating over Sydney and Miss Parker's failure.

The man's head shot up and Broots recoiled, realizing that he must have 
made some sort of noise. The face was completely unfamiliar. In a flash, 
the man was on his feet and at the door.

"Well? Are you finally going to tell me what the hell I'm doing here? Why 
you've got me reading these files? What does Spender want?!"

"Shh!" Broots hissed, waving for the man to keep his voice down. "Do you 
want to get us *both* in trouble? Who are you?" he asked at a whisper, 
eyes flickering to both sides, watching for any signs that someone was 
coming.

"Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. And you people are in a *hell* of a lot 
of trouble," the man growled, although thankfully at a lower volume than 
before.

A Federal Agent? Were they nuts? Broots shook his head. Of course they 
weren't nuts. They just didn't think that anything or anyone could touch 
them, so why not lock up a Federal Agent?

"How long have you been here?" he asked curiously.

"What day is it?"

"Thursday."

The man frowned. "Four days, then." The same time that the security had 
been stepped up, Broots realized. Whoever this Fox Mulder was, they 
*really* didn't want to lose him. And what sort of name was 'Fox' anyway?

Well if nothing else, the man was seriously pissed off. Broots took a 
deep breath, trying to figure out what to say when he heard something 
that almost made him soil himself. Voices. A lot of them, heading that 
way.

"Someone's coming," he hissed when the man opened his mouth. "I've got to 
go. Don't tell them you saw me."

Not bothering to wait for an answer, Broots headed in the opposite 
direction from where the voices were coming from. Fear made his hearing 
hyper-sensitive, and shivers ran down his spine. If he was lucky, he'd be 
able to double back behind them to the stairwell without being caught. If 
he were unlucky and they caught him, he would probably end up dead.
* * * * *

Mulder stared at the slot in the door, confused by what had just 
happened. Then he heard the voices that the other man had obviously heard 
first. Not stopping to consider his motives, Mulder quickly moved back to 
his seated position against the opposite wall and picked up the file he'd 
been reading. When the slot was opened again, he showed no signs of 
having been disturbed.

He looked up again and met a set of ice-cold eyes and shivered. Whoever 
this man was, he was dangerous, very dangerous.

The man stared at him for a moment, then looked away. "He's still here. 
Fan out. I want to know *who* he was talking to." The slot-cover snapped 
shut as the man let go.

Mulder took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Then he frowned 
and started a visual search of his cell. The fact that they knew he'd 
been talking to someone meant there was at least a microphone in the 
room, and more likely a camera set up to watch him. The fact that they 
didn't know *who* meant that there weren't any in the corridor.

Hopefully whoever it was had gotten away in one piece, Mulder thought. 
After all, if he was going to get out of this place, he was going to need 
outside help. Then he slumped. He couldn't do that. If he *did* manage to 
escape, Scully and the others would pay the price. Of course, that 
assumed that they were even still alive.

Mulder dropped the file and hunched forward to rest his head against his 
knees. Bit by bit, everything was catching up with him. He wanted out of 
here. He wanted everything back to normal. He wanted to argue theory with 
Scully. He wanted Skinner to growl at him about his expense claims. He 
wanted to come home and find Alex waiting with another bit of cryptic 
information.

He wanted to come home and find Alex naked in his bed, he thought with a 
blush.

And he wanted the strange man to come back and talk to him. God, right 
now he would be happy just to have someone to talk to.

* * * * *

Scully took another look around her cell and sighed.

It was a nicer cell than her first one, she had to admit. After all, this 
one didn't have padded walls. It had a bed and a toilet area sheltered by 
a low wall that gave the illusion of privacy, even though for all she 
knew there was a camera at the bottom of the toilet bowl getting an 
eyeful every time she exercised her bowels.

And once a day, an armed guard -- female, thank God -- escorted her to a 
locker room where she could shower and change into a fresh sweat-suit. 
Other than that, she'd had no contact with her captors since the morning 
she'd woken up after talking to Mulder.

Mulder. How could a man who was so smart also be so stupid? She'd been 
partnered with him for what? Six years now? And through that time he'd 
endangered both of them more times than she could count -- always for a 
good cause, of course. He'd dragged her into the strangest places in his 
quest for 'The Truth' -- and his sister, understandably -- confronting 
aliens and vampires and Bigfoot and sex-changing humans. And while Scully 
really wished that she could just close her eyes and refuse to see, she 
couldn't, even though she would never tell Mulder that.

Sometimes, being an ostrich was a *very* attractive alternative.

But it wasn't the path for her. She was a scientist, and while she might 
be constantly looking for -- *praying* for -- a logical alternative, she 
had no choice but to accept that there were things out there that were 
beyond the scope of her knowledge. She played the Doubting Thomas to 
Mulder's 'I want to believe,' but it was more and more just a role she 
played to try to rein her partner in.

And he desperately needed reining in. Just look at the sort of trouble he 
got into when he was on his own. This whole experience was just the 
latest example of that. They were forced to head off in separate 
directions and what happened? Anyone with half a brain could see that 
Krycek had finally succeeded in snaring Mulder in his sexual web, and 
then he had surrendered to his worst enemies. (She ignored the fact that 
he'd been unhappily celibate for most of the time she'd known him, and 
that he'd surrendered to save her life).

No. She needed to get out of here so that she could save Mulder, not just 
from the Consortium but from himself.


TO BE CONTINUED