Premise:  What does a brilliant 'Systems-Op Guru' do when he's
all alone 'operating'?  Hmmm...


Title:    When You Wish
Author:   S. Littlejohn
Rating:   PG
Category: LGM/Langly POV
Spoilers: Je Souhaite, Teeny for 3 Of A Kind
Summary:  To wish perchance to dream.  Is it one
          in the same?
Disclaimer: All the X-Files characters and
references are property of C. Carter, 10-13
Productions and FOX.  No infringement.
And special thanks to Mel's 'Los Gatos
Milagros' series.



When You Wish


The Lone Gunmen's
Midnight



Yep.  I'm still up even though Frohike and Byers
packed it in hours ago.  I will too, soon as I
get this patch configured to shore up the firewall.
'Sides, I like bein' a night owl.  I get most of
what I gotta do done without Doo-hickey askin' me
every five minutes if I've got my stuff done.

He's a royal pain in the you know where sometimes.

How *this* packet monkey ever scoped enough to
trash my fu; breaking through my brilliant defense
has still got me bummed, man.  Bummed to the
ultimate max.  Thought I had my rigmaroled baby
sealed tighter than a welded steel drum.  Oh, well.

Live and squirm.  Which is just how I'm gonna make
it for the next worm who tries crackin' into my
vault for the goodies.

Boom--you fail, pain in the net.

He sipped more coffee, draining the cup, and
wished he'd succeeded with his not so inventive
endeavor of trying to add the microwave and the
Mister Coffee Machine to the LAN so he'd always
know when his coffee was perked and his Pop Tarts
toasty.  All he got for his trouble was both
devices chanting in mechanical, mind-searing
pedantic unison, "Burn, baby, burn.  Burn, baby,
burn...burn. . ."

The latest barraging sysvirus weaving its tangled,
infectious web via the Net.

Okay, right, so it wasn't one of my better ideas.
Ya don't gotta rub it in, ya know.  I'll hash it
out and get it right one of these days.  Nose to
the grindstone. . .yada, yada, yada.

Wish . . . .

Wish; right.  Wish I would have had the chance
to make 'em 'stead of freakin' Mulder; Mista 'I
wish for world peace' Noble.  The Fibbie with a
conscience.

D'OH!!

Talk about deeply lame.  The jin's three were
wasted on that dude.

Wishing for world peace right off the bat like
that.  Give us a break.  Like askin' for never
tellin' a lie--ever.  Oh, sure; like that'll
never happen again.

Then, no sooner did he wish for WP, he had to
unwish it 'cause she zapped all of us out of
existence.  The gospel according to Mulder.
What a weirdness trip!

Like that old Twilight Zone where the bank dude's
the sole survivor after they drop the H-bomb cos
he'd hung out in the vault during his lunch hour.
So now he's got all the time in the world to do
what he loves best.  Read.

For me it'd be D&D into eternity.  Maybe I'd wish
for my gaming buds to come back though.  Those
twerps got losing through the nose down to an
exact science.  We'd have gobs of fun gamblin'
to our greedy little hearts' content.

Only thing, maybe it'd get kinda old.  We'd be
the last souls on Earth and have all the bread
anyway.

. .  . But the sorry loser's glasses in that
TZ get broken, and what the heck's he gunna do
with all his free time now?

Yeah, we'd all get bored sooner or later.
Probably wind up tryin' to kill each other.
Isn't that what it usually comes down to?

Forget the gamblers.  I'd wish to get By' and
Fro' back.  With them I'd be better off bein'
mentally-stimulated 'stead of fanning the
flames of my avaricious streak.  I kid you
not.  I got a humongoid one.

Leave it to Spook.  Mulder all alone by his
'I'll contemplate my navel' lonesome.  Like
the guy ain't needy enough as it is.

Uh, well, like maybe I shouldn't talk.  Huh?
I get real lonely too, but least I got my weirdos
in the chats, the D&Ders.  And the guys.  Yeah,
By' and Fro' are family--no they're better.  I
got to pick 'em.  Kinda, and I don't even think
of Byers as such a narc that much anymore.  I
didn't get stuck with those guys like I did with
the lameazoids who adopted me.

Ma and Pa straighten up and fly right ex-Air
Forcers.  Or, was that enforcers with all their
tired preachin' about my becomin' a flyboy?
Hate planes, man.  Hate regimentation even worse.

Who's Spooky got, though?  Nobody that's who.
Well, could be us, but lately he's been acting
spookier than just everyday.  Course, his whole
family's wiped out.  I'm hip.  He should've wished
for gettin' 'em back.  Least his sis.

NO--bag that.  Bad, bad idea there, since the jin
told Mulder what happened when the trailer dude's
brother asked for his BFTD.  Smelly and loud and
freezin' cold; not the ideal wish come true.

Sure we all know what Mulder should've wished for,
if we're all on the same page.  Bein' all snugged
up with Scully, 'cause I seriously doubt they've
yet to get it on.  Yet.  Dude must be waitin' right
before he gets abducted.

*That* should have been Wish 'Numero Uno,' man!
I know if it had been me, that's what I would've
wished for.  Not wishin' it be with Scully, natch.
She's got it bad for ol' Spooky stamped all over her.
And I ain't a musclin' in kind a guy, anyhow.  That's
anathema, man.

Nah, nah.  I would've wished for my dream girl
first.  Xena; or, or.  Or?  Uh . . . cripes I got
too many to choose from.  S'kay . . . well, maybe
I'd have to get back to the jin on this one.

Laura Croft?  No.  Too butch.  She'd really hurt me.

Buffy?  Maybe, but she'd have to lose the stakes.

Pam Anderson-Lee.  What's the name of the chick
she plays on V.I.P.?  Val--yeah, that's it; Valerie
Irons.  She'd have to lose the pink outfits though.
Yeech!

Maybe her team's tech support girl?  What she call
herself?  I forget.

We'd probably have a lot in common.  Hey, we both
wear specs, we're both blonds, and technology's our
passion.  Most likely we'd fight a lot 'cause she'd
probably think she knows more than me.  Which's just
plain ridiculous.  Okay, the techy maven's out.

Vampira?  Negatory.  Wears too much black.

Doctor Beverly Crusher?  An older chick could be
cool, as long as she doesn't treat me like I'm a
kid.

Xena f'sure.  She rocks in her leather, and maybe
she'd let me throw her double 'shock.'  I'd know
how to make her happy.  I'd stipulate that in the
wish.

Like who am I kiddin'?  Wish or no wish, the
warrior princess would walk all over me and then
beat the crap outta me.

Ya know about Mulder's first wish, it's funny.
Me and the guys never noticed us bein' gone.  The
jinnie must've worked it like a time warp or
spatial anomaly kind a thing like in the last five
epis's of ST Voyager.

He had to type furiously then, hammering out the
next installment of the algorithm before the
precise window altered itself, and he'd have
to begin again.

After a bit more tweaking with the script, he
grinned, satisfied.  He hit Enter and then
wrestled with the next mathematical piece of the
subsequent equation.  His wizardry mojo was at
full tilt.  Waiting while his computations did
their conjunctive jelling thing was the hardest
part.  All looked as though it was going well.

Exceptionally well, he congratulated.

So, where was I?  OH YEAH--so like he wasted
wish two on yanking back olive branch waving WP.

I want peace just as much as the next guy.  This
world sucks, anybody with any kind of feelings
knows that.  I say so all the ad nauseam time.

But, c'mon.  Just one man bringin' it on?  Don't
think so.  The hubris is mind-blowin'.

And the kicker:  He didn't even ask it right.

Oxford's poster boy; the paranormal's answer to
cream chipped beef!  Sheeesh!

And then what did Mista Genius do?  He frees the
jin babe so she can sit in Starbucks with an
overpriced cup of mud java, gawk out the window
to watch the friggin' world go by.  Like great,
big fat lamest deal.

Now, if it had been me, wish 'numero dos' would've
been--uh-ah--not wishin' for all the stupid bread
in the world.  What a waste of a wish.

Well, no.  Hold up.  The first trailer park loser
didn't wish for that.  He wished for invisibility,
according to what the jin told Mulder.  Fusin' his
boss' big mouth shut was his first.  So the jin
told.  Trailer boy was certifiable.

Langly groaned audibly.

Gimme a break.  Invisible?  That's how I feel
sometimes when a righteous babe shows up, and
I'm as big as life, but she couldn't care less.
Wonder if I should stick making a wish for better
'looks' in my line-up of must haves?

Oh, what the he--there's *nothing* wrong with the
way I look.  Scully called me 'cutie' twice.
Right?  I got witnesses.

Hmmmm, but she was rollin' on that mind control
crap when she did.  Afterwards then, when Frohike
told her she had, besides calling him a, 'liar,'
which he said she didn't mean that, she kept givin'
me these off the wall looks till we all got back
to D.C.

Okay, so Brad Pitt I'm not, but nix wishin' for
bein' more handsome.  I ain't buggin' over it.
I'd just be wasting a good wish on vanity.  No
need.

'Sides that pretty, skinny chick at the Mickey
Dee's near the strip mall was beatin' me black
and blue with her eyes last time I had a Big Mac
attack, and jonesin' for a fries fix.

Girl's got gorgeous eyes and righteous dimples
in those blemishless, soft lookin' rosy cheeks
of hers.  She knows she's lookin' good, but she
don't act like it.

Fact, she took my order day before yest', and
super-sized the fries when I'd only ordered large.
Threw in two golden apple pies too.  Said it was
on her.  I wouldn't mind havin' me on her.

She works the later afternoon shift.  Yeah, she
does.  What's her name?  Darly?  Darby?  Kimmy?
Ally?  No, dorkweed, it's Sally.  Yeah. . .Sally.

Salleeeee, the amazin' chick with the hypnotic
blue-green eyes to match her flowin' dark auburn
hair, which she's highlighted, I'm guessin', but
it doesn't make her look cheap.  Just the opposite
effect.  She's totally funky.  She lookin' good to
me.

Yowza!

Today's Friday.  After I pick up more coax, I
should swing by there.  Should check her out
for real.

Maybe . . . . I mean she was decent to me.
Didn't treat me like a friggin' no-chance,
don't waste my time loser when I asked her name.
She told me in a snap after she handed me my
change.  Told me with a smile; an honest one.
A long one.

Wonder if she'd go out with me?

Well, if you ask her, genius, she might.  Don't
wish about the girl--do somethin' positive!

I will...

But, gettin' back:  Loser number two's stuck in
a motorized cart and he's having trouble what to
wish for?  Gim*me* a break!

That's where those two losers blew it, from what
Mulder said, straight dope from the jin.  They
were terminally mentally-challenged men, man.
Blew it, oh yeah.  That dweeb's brother blew it
big time.  Bite me; the irony's way too sweet.

I'd wish for perpetual success for our e-commerce
ventures.  But, then maybe it would be better to
wish for the eternal, ever-expanding dominance
of the Web to insure that, and then make success
for the e-commerce ventures the third wish?

His mind started to whirl.

He blinked as the notion cloyingly struck that
the wishing business was a little more tricky
than it felt.  What would've been his third
wish had nothing to do with everlasting financial
gain.

. . . . And Mulder had said that this jin was
the kind that was a witchy stickler for the
precise.  If you didn't specify in clear, certain
totally unambiguous terms, you'd live to regret
what you'd wished for.

Or, die. . . .

Venus flytrap, bay-bee!

My third wish was gonna be never gettin' old,
but then--whoa hold up!  Never gettin' old.
Immortality?  From what Mulder said, I'd wind
up bein' a jin too.

Would I wanna be a jin?

Well, would I?  At first thought, it feels cool,
but takin' requests from NAKs unhappily ever
after?  Ringo Richard Gregory Langly a bozotic's
'I Dream Of Jeannie?'

Before he could answer, his script demanded his
undivided attention for as many times.  Formulating
code was a universe unto itself, far removed from
the world of make-believe.

Cerebrally-hatched permutations flowed in unison
with relentlessly nimble fingers as his digits
plunked and jived over his keyboard, which was
as familiar and reassuring to him as his family
forged by conspiracy theories, and his gaming-
gambling buds.  Despite his gripes lodged against
the two starkly different camps sometimes.

He'd been born for this.  The VR love affair
would never end, and in ways wholly inarticulate,
that even he wasn't conscious of, this species
of love filled his life with a satisfaction that
eclipsed the sensual.  Any conceivable dimensions
of, 'I wish for . . .'

He sighed contentedly.

A loving relationship?  Could be one day, if
I ever shake my tail feathers and get some
serious moves on.

Mind-boggling success and vast fortune?  Sure,
it could happen.  The vid games we've patented
so far are starting to sell.

In the meantime, this was good.  This was all,
and yes; life was so very good, its setbacks
and trials nothwithstanding.  The bitter with
the sweet, with its not being mostly all bitter.

He was a fortunate man.  Perhaps one might
even go as far to say, blessed, if the spiritual
plane were invoked.

Finally, the fruit of his toil was coming together.
His head hitting the pillow wouldn't be a wish
much longer.  Neither would another skeeved
infiltrator's hinky inability to gain infuriating
access to his precious server to boot.  It was a
done deal.

Yeah, yeah, uh huh, uh huh.  He bopped a bit
longer, getting an euphoric buzz off his gloating.

That oughta hold 'em!

Who needs three, or three kazillion wishes?

Who wants to be a millionaire. . .or,

An obnoxious jin?

It's good to be the Sysguru. . . .

Amen.


End