From: ckelll@hotmail.com   
      
   NEW: The Beginner's Guide to Tightrope Walking (1/2)   
      
   by Kel   
   ckelll@hotmail.com   
      
   Disclaimer:  I created former FBI agent Jerry Luskin, but he's probably not   
   the reason you're reading this story.  Mulder, Scully, Skinner et. al. belong   
   to another.   
      
   PG, for a few bad words and mature concepts   
   MSR, Mulder/Scully married with child   
      
   Sincere thanks for my betas:  To Michelle, who's been hearing bits and pieces   
   forever.  To Amanda, who read it so many times I was afraid she was going to   
   block me.  To Marasmus, who once again pointed out some *minor* structural   
   defects.  To Linda, my    
   personal Underwriters Laboratories.   
      
   Spoilers:  Breaks with canon after "Requiem."  Seasons 8 and 9 never   
   happened.  Mulder and Scully have a son named William, but he wasn't born in a   
   ghost town or adopted by farmers or anything stupid like that.   
      
   Summary:  "Mulder left the FBI about a year after me, but  where I got the   
   gold watch and the pension, he got the royal screw."   
      
      
      
      
   The Beginner's Guide to Tightrope Walking   
   Part 1 of 2   
      
   My retirement from the FBI didn't work out the way I planned.  My kids grew   
   into wonderful adults, but not exactly financially independent.  My   
   mother-in-law wouldn't be safe living on her own, and I sure as hell didn't   
   want her living with me.  My    
   portfolio, such as it was, took a dive down the toilet.  What the hell, I   
   never was much for golf.  I "retired" into the private sector.   
      
   Jerry Luskin, FBI, became Luskin Associates.  I was Luskin Associates back   
   when it was just me and my answering machine.  Now it's me, my office manager,   
   and Fox Mulder.   
      
   Six years ago when I hired Mulder, I told my wife how the FBI had sacked him,   
   stripped his benefits, and screwed with his security clearance.  And my wife   
   looked me right in the eye and asked, "So when did Mulder's problems become   
   your problems?"   
      
   "He's good.  I can use him."   
      
   "He knocked up his girlfriend and then vanished."   
      
   We were sitting at the kitchen table, the remains of our dinner pushed to the    
   side.   I knew that out of everything, Roz would focus on Dana going through   
   pregnancy alone.  "He can't support his kid if he doesn't have a job," I said.   
      
   "He ran out on her," she said.  "What was his excuse?"   
      
   "He doesn't like to talk about it," I said.  I tried to smile, but she was   
   really steamed now.   
      
   "He finds out there's a baby on the way, he disappears for months, he has   
   nothing to say for himself, the FBI figures out he's a worthless louse, and   
   *you* give him a job."   
      
   "Roz, listen.  If he really was a louse he would have come up with a story.    
   He didn't say a word, and that means something else.  Remember the old days?    
   Back in New York, or in DC after my transfer?"   
      
   She cooled down and took a minute before she answered.  "I remember how your   
   first ASAC said you'd never last if you couldn't even keep your wife from   
   working.  I remember late at night, waiting for you to come to bed while you   
   sat in the kitchen smoking    
   cigarettes.  I remember you saying we could read whatever we wanted from the   
   newsstand, but we couldn't have any subscriptions."   
      
   I'd forgotten about that.  "*TV Guide* was okay.  *Reader's Digest.*"   
      
   "It was like the ghost of Joe McCarthy moved in with us.  You never told me,   
   but I was afraid to sign a petition or answer a survey, and I didn't even know   
   why.   Is that what you mean?"   
      
   "That and more."  I couldn't speak about it while it was happening, and   
   afterwards it was ancient history.  For the first time I told her what used to   
   happen to FBI agents who got noticed in the wrong way.  How guys would lose   
   their job and get    
   blackballed from ever getting another.  There was no way to defend yourself.   
      
   "J. Edgar Hoover is dead, Jerry," she said quietly.   
      
   "Hell, yes.  You think I'd have the guts to give Mulder a job if he was still   
   around?"   
      
   She relented:  "Far be it from me to tell you how to run your business."   
      
   Mulder left the FBI about a year after me, but  where I got the gold watch and   
   the pension, he got the royal screw.  It's one thing to fire a guy, but when   
   you actually try to ruin him--well, I hadn't seen that kind of crap since   
   Hoover died.   It pissed    
   me off.   
      
   Mulder happens to be a top-notch investigator.  "Spooky" Mulder, they used to   
   call him, and it was a compliment until the suits found a way to turn it   
   against him.  Normally he would have had more job offers than Kraft's got   
   cheese, except the Bureau got    
   him branded as a security risk.  He was adjudicated as unfit for even the   
   lowest clearance, "by reason of one or more of the following: questionable   
   allegiance to the United States; criminal conduct; personal conduct; substance   
   abuse; mental disorder."     
   It's a crock, but I'm stuck with it.  I can't use him on *sensitive* cases,   
   and *sensitive* has a broad definition these days.   
      
   Even so, he pulls his weight.  Even when he decided to go back to school and I   
   only saw him a couple of times a week, he earned what I paid him, and now that   
   he's around more, he's a bargain.  Still, it stinks when I have a *sensitive*   
   case where I could    
   use his spooky help and I'm forced to muddle through on my own.   
      
   I was working on something like that for my premier client, an international   
   construction firm.  One of their mid-level sales drones was spinning tunes on   
   the wrong jukebox, and they needed to find out who it was.  It was a little   
   case, in the scope of    
   things, but it was a big case to me, and it burned that I couldn't use Mulder.   
      
   This case was perfect for him.  One of those web-of-lies things where a poor   
   slob like myself could tear his hair out for weeks to learn what Mulder would   
   see in the first five minutes.  True, it would still take a week of tedium to   
   back up whatever it    
   was that Mulder pulled out of the air, but I wouldn't be working in the dark.   
      
   Then I got an idea.  My client had given me a tape of a conference so I could   
   get a look at the possible suspects.  I popped it into the VCR and called   
   Mulder in to watch with me.  In the interest of national security, I turned   
   off the audio.  I was    
   bending the rules, sure, but I figured it would be worth it.  I thought it   
   would make my life easier.  Ha ha ha.   
      
   Mulder slouched in the chair next to me.  Either he had already guessed what I   
   wanted from him, or he was too bored to ask.  After about ten minutes I hit   
   the "pause" button.   
      
   "You can't tell me who they are," Mulder said.  "Or what they do."   
      
   "No."   
      
   "You want me to finger someone."   
      
   "Yeah.  Use your Mulder magic and tell me who's gone bad."   
      
   I was ready for some high-octane sarcasm, but he was very quiet that day.   
      
   "I want to watch the rest," he said, and so we did.  I pulled my chair back so   
   I could watch Mulder watching the tape.  He was stuck with only the video to   
   watch, but every once in a while he snuck a glance back at me.   
      
   An hour later, the tape wound to an end.   
      
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)