This foray into luckless land had gone on long enough already.  She was hungry, and if she didn't put an end to it, they'd be here all night.  Scully barraged Langly with lethal scowls, meant to wither his resolve.  But they were having no effect whatsoever.  Why was he being a mule?

"I don't gamble, Hackerman, and if your current track record is any indication, neither should you."

Having placed his chips where he thought they'd do the most good, he turned to face her.  The lanky computer wizard's eyes pleaded with her to let him finish what he'd started, behind their large, black-framed windows to the world.  His luck had to change sometime; why, it could do so at any moment.  Quitting now was out of the question.  If he were to quit now, they'd win.  He'd had it with this losing streak which was helping to clinch her estimation of him.  A big time loser, or so he thought.  He knew his idea was brilliant, and he needed all the help he could get.  He'd get her to do it.  "It's not like I'm asking you to roll 'em, Scully.  Just blow on 'em.  For luck.  Do me this one favor?"

"ONE favor?  I've already done too many of them for you  merry band, as it is."  Assessing him critically, she asked, "Have you ever shot craps before?"

Langly rolled his narrowing eyes again, and hotly retorted, "Electronically, virtually, or in this reality?  Man, you're a rock."  He patted the gaming table's slightly curved lip.  "Oh, come on.  What can you lose just giving up some breath?  Help me win back a fraction of what Byers blew at Poker.  Pleeease?"

She wagged her head, filled with wonder over how he'd suddenly become such a talker, and considered what was in it for her.  "Superstitious are we?  A rock, am I?  All right.  I'll humor you only because you're going to promise me that after you lose yet again, as you have at the roulette wheel, the blackjack table and quite possibly every slot machine between here and the bar, you'll come along.  We'll locate, your two friends, that is, if they've left your room, and you guys will buy me the dinner that saves your collective you-know-whats from getting kicked.  I want one very nice dinner in Vegas before we blow this glitter palace.  Those are my terms.  The three of you owe me large."

"Yeah, like, whatever," the undaunted Ramones fan conceded.  He held the dice a hair's breadth from her pursed, salmon-tinted lips and waited.  "Blow already!"

She blew, and watched Langly, wispy golden locks and all, whirl back around to the gaming table in triumph.  He let the dice fly with an expert snap of his wrist and fingers.  All eyes, belonging to the expectant patrons ringed around the table, were glued to the dice as they bumped to a rest against the opposite side.

"A natural winner!" the croupier heralded, and the crowd cheered the latest shooter whose hand looked as though it was starting to ignite.

"Snap, crackle, pop," Langly shouted.  He high-fived a man roughly his age, and on the spur of the jubilant moment, spun around to grab Scully about the waist.  He hoisted her off the ground in a heady bear hug.

"Langly, feel free to put me down any time now.  Preferably, right this moment, or I'll kick your as..." not wishing to appear less than genteel, she self-expurgated, "butt, here, in front of your new friends."  She smiled evilly.

Heeding, but looking like the mischievious kid he irresistably was, whenever he hacked, with consummate aplomb, into the virtually <unhackable>, say for an example, the Department of Defense, he quickly set her down.  Then, wasting no time, he re-positioned the entire pile of newly-acquired chips on the spot which would yield the highest pay off, if he hit the same way he just had.  Eyeing Scully again, he wheedled, "We're on a roll, Mulderbuddy.  Work your mojo, and do the honors again, will ya?"

"Wouldn't it be wiser to cash in the chips now instead of squan-"

"No--not yet.  The spotted cubies like you.  Don't disappoint them."  He rattled the dice in his sweaty palm, and then held them before her the way he had a minute ago.  "Do it again, Scully.  Poppa needs--"

"His head examined."  She blew on the cubes and glared at him.  "I don't see why you have to bet all the ch--"

Before she could finish, he had already rolled the dice.

The rooters 'round the craps table issued a collective, "OH...TOO BAD," and Langly swore loudly enough for Scully to nail him with a disgusted look.

"No!" he boomed, a determined looking gleam twinkled in his eyes.  "That's NOT how the game is played.  Go for broke." He took up the dice again, hoping, it wouldn't be the last time he'd be rolling them. "It's the hard way, or hit the highway.  All or nothing.  That's how the game is played, Scully."  He put the dice near her mouth once more.  "You should know, or have you changed your line of work recently?  Now, hit me again, Lucky Lady," Langly inveigled.

As though his entire mezmerizing manner had her enthralled, seeing a side of him she never knew lurked beneath the hippie act, she nodded in compliance, and gently blew into his palm.

"Roll that six, Hackerman," she said impetuously in a boisterous voice, flinging herself into the spirit of things.

"My King Fu's the best."

The entire roll sequence, once the dice left his hand, banked off the far end of the cushioned table with their coming up snake eyes, seemed to play out in slow motion. The croupier, who had taken a shine to the refugee from Woodstock, sounding something akin to melancholy, stated the obvious.

"Craps!" Langly squeezed through gritted teeth.  He shut his eyes tight, loath to see his pittance of a fortune being spirited away.  When a vivacious young woman with jet black, very short-cropped hair, and fiery red lips blew him a kiss and mouthed the words, 'tough luck, sweetie,' he balled his large hands into fists and banged them into the table's lip in raw frustration.  Was there no end?

"Let's go, Langly."  For a moment, Scully wondered if he and the girl knew each other.

"Just once before we're outta here, I want to catch a break.  I'm not greedy.  Just one itty bitty break.  Is that too much to ask?"  He stared at his hands a moment before thrusting them into the empty pockets of his jacket.  "So close, yet so far.  That's how it's been since we hit Vegas. Scully,...uh...hmmm...do you have any money?"

"Come on," she encouraged.  Taking his hand, she pulled him along.  "Let's get out of this den of pilferage before any more 'lucky stuff' happens."  She couldn't explain it, but she started feeling sorry for him when she thought she saw his lower lip quiver.  "Look, since it's our last night here, I'll even forget about kicking your butt.  Frohike's and Byers' are still right up there, in line, though.  Hey, to show what a sport I am, I'll treat you to dinner.  What do you say?"

The zombie quality, when reality wasn't worth dealing with, put in an appearance and the disgruntled communications genius scarsely felt Scully tugging him after her.  All he kept thinking was maybe the dice were rigged.  Maybe?  They were deep in one-armed bandit territory when Langly stopped dead in his tracks, jerking Scully to an abrupt halt.  He stooped, scooped up what had caught his eye, and shot up to his full six foot height, grinning.

"Back in business," he rejoiced, clutching somebody's lost fifty-cent piece.  Turning the tables, he seized her hand, and led her to a slot machine whose one-shot pay off was forty-five hundred buckeroos.  Before handing her the coin, he kissed it, and wanted her to do the same.

"I will not!" she petulantly objected.  Then, relenting, she kissed her pinky finger and touched the coin with it.

Then, aggressively, Langly ordered, "Drop it in and pull the lever, Scully."  There was no 'please,' tacked on to the end of his demand this time.  She marveled at the military commander intonation of his delivery.

"Your faith in my ability to effect good fortune is nonpareil," she said drily and sighed.  "Okay, I'm only doing this because you put on such a brave face, assisting me with your friend Jimmy's impromptu autopsy.  Brave that is, before you ran out puking."  Shrugging, she slipped the coin in the slot, gave the lever a forceful pull down and, together, they watched the machine go through its paces.

Langly held his breath, through the face he'd made in response to her partially-processed comment, as the first element zinged, then locked into place.  Next, the second element, the first's exact match, quickly followed suit.  Langly put his hand on Scully's shoulder and gripped the bone hard.  "Ouch!" she cried, "Hey--lighten up.  I'd like to use my arm in later life, when I'm rolling my wheelchair."

The third element, the first two's twin, whizzed past their eyes, and he gulped.  Bemused Special Agent, and anxious, Lone Gunman stared transfixedly as it looked as though it would hunker down with its look-alikes.

Until, the neon-yellow little pineapple jammed between big win and zippo; try again, palie.  No dice.

Beside himself with disbelief mingled with utter chagrin, Langly smashed the side of the one-armed bandit as the cheater had it coming. The thudding wallop caught the attention of a patrolling security guard, and Scully, with her presence of mind never more than a blink away, checked around them, and noticed his noticing.  Reading the look on the guard's face loud and clear, she nudged her seething companion.

"Wacking these shiny toys is really frowned on, Hackerman.  Let's leave, as in now, before our luck really runs out, and we get into serious trouble.  I've flashed my badge too many times for one day.  I'm starting to get a reputation ...the redhead who thinks she's J. Edgar."

"We were ROBBED, man!" Langly whined.

This time she had to agree.  "I know, I kno..."  Her eyes bugged then, as a queer noise rattled in her ears.  "What the..."

"Scully, LOOK!"

The slot machine began disgorging a sparkling torrent of bright, beautiful silver dollars, after the fickle little pineapple had 'plinked,' following its fortuitous shift into pay off position.  Astounded, Langly stripped off his jacket and tee-shirt, and used them in combination to catch the shimmering, cascading downpour.

"You did it," she breathed in utter surprise.  She gazed upon him in sheer amazement.  But, when he looked up at her with a, <I could use your help much, now get into it> expression, she assisted him with scooping up the plentiful run-off by manning the jacket.

"Bite me--breaking over even feels real good, man.  Thanks, Scully," Langly said in a short burst of breath, trying to catch his, as well as the burgeoning coins, at the same time.  "I owe you for busting up my losing streak.  I'll cut you in, don't worry."

"Don't thank me, Hackerman, I just did what you told me.  I merely dropped and pulled--".

"And kissed, the most critical factor," Langly reminded.

"As you told me to...although," she thoughtfully opined, "if you really feel the need to thank me, and you're waxing generous...go with it.  I'll accept some of the loot, sure.  It'll defray the cost involved in getting me out here under false pretenses."

Out of the corner of his eye, Langly spied the flintly-faced security guard advancing.  "Muscle's on the move to deprive us of the booty.  Let's beat it."  He lurched to his feet and started moving off from the windfall site.

"I've got your back, Scarecrow," Scully assured, calling after him and followed closely on his heels.  "I'm not leaving this great big casino they call a town, without some satisfaction of the financial kind.  I think some of you has rubbed off.  As you said, just once an even break?"

Their fleetness and agility helped them lose their tail, and once they'd made it into the only waiting elevator, of the elevator bank, Langly pressed the button for the floor the Gunmen were on.  As the doors closed, he said, "Best pay back I've had in a long while."  He hefted his bulging tee-shirt, now serving as a sachel, and smiled the biggest smile Scully had ever seen him wear.  "Told you I'd get lucky if you hung out with me."

She was sure he'd meant that in a purely Vegas venacular sort of way, so she smiled too, although, she wasn't one hundred percent certain, as she stood with him in all his bare chested glory.  She didn't know him that well, after all.  "Without reservation, I'll say besting one of those coin guzzlers at its own game beats being deep frozen beneath the Antartic, Hackerman, any day of the week."

"Yeah, I bet."

"You don't mind my calling you Hackerman, do you, Langly?" she said, for the first time, sounding genuinely a tad more respectful than she had sounded when they'd first headed out together having decided, earlier that evening, that killing a few hours with him had to be better than sitting and watching Frohike download some stale plug-ins, which had gotten boring, real fast.  Nonchalantly, she stuffed a number of the coins she was carrying with his jacket into the spaces of the shirt where there was room, since the cotton had more give.

Shaking his head adamantly, he replied, "We're cool.  Knock yourself out, Mulderbuddy."  He stood up straight as though being called to attention.  "Hackerman, at your service, ma'am.  My Kung Fu's the best."

"So you keep saying."  She found herself laughing along with him then, knowing that if Mulder were here, he'd be laughing too.  She couldn't help but think, as they rode up, that this normally reticent, and at times, at least that's how he seemed to her, shy, 'puzzle' under all that hair, who bopped to the beat of a, no, perhaps several different drummers, wasn't the total geek Mulder usually made him out to be.  Despite Langly being one of his closest friends.  He certainly wasn't old Mister Laconic tonight.  "I've always been meaning to ask you, Langly.  What exactly is 'Kung Fu'?  I mean the way you guys use the term."

"Oh, it's just hackerspeak."

"Well, I figured that, but what does it mean exactly?"

The elevator stopped on the floor, and as they got off, he answered breezily, "You still want to buy me dinner?  After we divvy up the bread, that is.  I'll explain 'Kung Fu' in detail, then.  Check it out, without at least some decent Kung Fu one-oh-one, you can't even hack into a compressed hotel registry.  A proper definition that does justice to the awesome totality of 'Fu' takes some time; 'specially when you get into the more complex aspects of multi-gradation levels, encompassing its duplistic gradients of continuity.  Okay?"

<WHAT!>  Feeling somewhat dizzy then, Scully nodded, deciding to indulge him, if only to discover whether or not he was putting her on with jargon such as that which could cause any layman or, woman, a serious nosebleed. "Fine," she breezed back.  "It sounds complicated, but complicated's good when I'm in the mood to handle it.  I trust you'll break it down in language that doesn't sail way over my head.  I'm a medical doctor, not a magician.  But, I really want to understand how you pull off those mind bending hacker feats of yours."

He gave her an odd look, never figuring she'd be the least bit interested in what made his world go 'round.  "Yeah, like sure.  Knowing some 'weasels' might come in handy if you have to hack solo sometime."  Changing the subject then, he continued, "By' and 'Hike are gonna freak-out when they see all this manna.  I told those guys I know what I'm doing."

When they stood at the door of his room, Scully knocked.  Receiving no answer, she said, "Guess your cronies are out.  Tell you what, I'll treat you to dinner, you treat me.  Fair?"

"We're squared."

"Do you have the key to the room?"

Langly frowned.  "No.  They never let me hold the key."

"Okay, we'll go to my room, put the money in my...  What?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, what is it?"

"I can trust you, right?"

"LANGLY!  I'm hurt!  I'm an FBI Special Agent!  A good guy, remember?  And I'm one of Mulder's most trustworthy friends.  He'd vouch for my honesty, and strength of character in a heartbeat.  Of course you can trust me!  How could you think I'd rip you off?"

"Sorry, man, it's just that other than seeing you when you come by with Mulder to dredge up info for you guys...I don't really know YOU that wel..."  He discerned it was pointless to continue this thread of conversation by the incredulous look, and what really did register as hurt, in her eyes.  In fact, he realized in that instant, that he regretted he'd used his mouth so thoughtlessly.  "Like, forget it.  I trust you.  'Kay?  Just trippin'."

Scully sniffed in that uppercrust way she used effectively on Mulder when he got on her nerves, knowing that Langly had voiced his concern in earnest.  "Okay, then.  Now that that's settled.  My room:  I have a small carrying case.  I'll dump it, you put the money in, don your shirt and jacket, and we go to dinner.  Done deal?"

"Done."

They were just about to head for the elevator when its doors parted and the other two Gunmen stepped out. Hurrying up to them, Frohike scanned Langly up and down, with Byers securely at his side.  "Lose your shirt again, Lang?" the diminutive man badgered, wondering what the delectable Agent Scully was doing with his half-naked bud.

"Ha-ha a real joke--not," Langly countered.  "Yeah, Frohike, but it isn't the way you think."  He made a face at the gnome, and then lifted his bundle to cover his chest.

"What's that you're holding?" Byers inquired, poking curiously at the bulging contents of the makeshift carrier. "That's your tee-shirt isn't it?  And what's Scully doing with your jacket?"

"Nosy, aren't they?" Langly said to Scully.  She stifled a tiny giggle when she detected that Langly had thrust out his chest to reply, "Four thousand five hundred smackeroos in change."  Throwing the Fed a conspiratorial look, he went on, "Scully and I broke the bank.  She's better than a rabbit's foot necklace, and a four-leaf clover nose ring." "Broke the slot machine, is more like it," she clarified with a qualifying raise of her eyebrow for dramatic effect. "So...that's what all the ruckus is about," Frohike said, viewing the petitely tempting Special Agent in a wholly new light.  "The casino buzz is that a redhaired knockout and the long-haired string bean she was with, 'spotted' a slot that hadn't paid off since October sixth, nineteen ninety- seven."

"We be them," Langly said proudly.

"I can confirm that," Scully chimed in.  "It's truly been a team effort." Switching gears then, "So, uh, Hackerman, are we still on for dinner?"

"On.  I'm down with it.  We're copasetic."  He took the large canvas shopping bag of paraphernalia from the Def-Con convention Byers was holding.  He stuffed some of the coins into his pants pockets and poured the rest into it.  Once Scully emptied the loot she had into the bag, she handed his jacket back to him.  After he put his clothes back on, he said, "All set.  Let's hit it."  He proffered his arm, every bit the perfect gentleman, which made Scully grin, and, together, they started moving off for the elevator.

"See you later, guys," Scully called back to Byers and her unhappy admirer.  "Oh, and Ringo says I get a cut, so split it--"

"Mulderbuddy gets half," Langly edged in.  "Does that cover saving ALL our butts from being kicked, Ms. Scully?"

"Wow!  Saves and kisses," she gasped, shocked big time.  The no nonsense Scully mask dropped securely into place.  "You-hey, you don't have to...let's not get weird, here.  You're the gambler.  Technically, it was your fifty cents. I was just along for the ride.  That's way too muc--"

"No, it's okay.  You deserve it.  You helped us handle the Modeski situation.  You broke my dry spell.  And you've held off kicing our butts up till now.  You're all right." Langly smiled suddenly then, again; truly setting a precedent for his smiling and grinning so much in one twenty-four hour time period.  "We can discuss the butt kissing later. Now, to address your question regarding 'Kung Fu'...you see, once upon a time, when the world was a mainframe..."

After they'd disappeared behind the elevator doors, Frohike ran his hand over his head and griped, "Langly?  Having dinner with the disturbingly intoxicating Scully?  The cosmic forces as we've known them have been irrevocably skewed this night, man."

"Get over it," Byers advised, unlocking the door to their room.  "This is Vegas.  Anything can happen in Vegas.  I'm holding the proof.  After we process his winnings, we have to finish downloading the latest 'mock-ups' we got from Jimmy's friend before we go home.  They're just what's needed to complete the favor we promised Mulder."

"Langly should be doing that," Frohike complained with a hard-edged pout, "not having a cozy tete-a-tete with MY favorite, indescribably delicious Special Agent.  Her attentive dinner companion for the evening should be me, not somebody who looks like he's had one bad trip too many."

"YOUR favorite, indescribably delicious Special Agent?"  Byers mocked, and gave him a pointed look.  "Get with the program, Melvin.  Aren't you forgetting Mulder?  You know they're a thing."

"Me, forget?  Ha!  It sure appears SOMEBODIES have, forgotten who's supposed to be with whom, tonight," Frohike growled, slamming, the door behind them.  Out of Byers' earshot, he mumbled, "I'm telling..."

************************
12 Midnight
Outside of Scully's room.

"Thanks for everything, Langly.  Thanks for the great dinner, and my not having to pay for any of it, the thorough, yet very understandable explanation of 'Kung Fu', the exciting show.  Wasn't Cher fantastic?  The way she sings 'Believe' is stellar."  Scully's mind began to sing the words of the hook she loved to hum...'Do you believe in love, after love? I can feel something inside me say ...I really don't think you're strong enough, no...'

"Totally boss," he agreed, nodding enthusiastically.  "Hey, when we get back home, I'll show you some other practical applications for 'Fu' at the lab."

"I'd like that."  She drew in a little closer to him.  "Most of all, thank you for the two thousand two hundred and fifty smackers.  You're too much!"

"Me and the guys never really apologized for tricking you, to drag you out here.  I'll make sure 'Hike and By' *never* try something lame like that again.  We get carried away sometimes.  So, don't mention it.  I'll get your cut to you tomorrow."

Scully shook her head.  "But, I must mention it.  I really wasn't angry, angry.  Just annoyed.  Okay, VERY annoyed.  I'm like that.  I've got a short fuse, it's all this red hair, but eventually I get over it, and move on.  OOOhkay, uh, at least I'm trying to get over things more quickly.  Well...more quickly than I used to.  I guess you'd have to ask Mulder if I'm succeeding."  She studied his attentive looking face several moments more, and then, sensing a certain, almost adolescent shyness creeping into him she started drawing back, not wanting him to think she was putting any moves on him.  But, he didn't allow her to, and he stepped in closer, reaching for her hand to give her a hearty handshake.

"Yeah, I'm like that too with the short fuse thing.  Maybe, I've got the soul of a redhead.  Thanks for hanging with me.  Like I said before, you're all right, Mulderbuddy."

"You're pretty all right yourself, Hackerman."  They stopped shaking hands, but neither one removed their hands from each other's grip.  "What time's your flight?"

"Seven in the morning.  Sharp, supposedly.  What time's yours?"

"Eight."

"Why don't you see if you can get stand-by for our flight?  Then, we can all fly back together," Langly said, looking optimistic.

"Maybe I will."

When it dawned on him that they were still holding hands, he fidgeted and nervously began, "Well, guess it's goodnight.  If doing stand-by doesn't grab you, I'll stop by tomorrow before we leave to give you the bread."  He started to extract his hand from hers, but she prevented him from doing so.

"No, you don't have to.  I'll come by at, say, five forty-five.  I think I will wait on stand-by for your flight.  I really hate flying, and flying with strangers psyches me out."

Looking surprised, and schoolboy-pleased at the same time, he said, "Solid!"  Then, in earnest, he began undoing his hand from hers, but not before, much to his complete consternation, she strained, on tiptoes, to reach his cheek to kiss it.  He knew she saw him blush.

"Goodnight, Langly, and thanks again.  It's been fun.  Fun, as in I haven't had such in a long, long time.  We've got to do it again, sometime.  Catch you guys in the A.M."  Hurriedly, she spun around, had the key in the lock, opened the door with dispatch, and slipped away.  On the other side of the door, she stood with her back against it, bit her lower lip and chuckled.  Softly, she said, "'Night, Cutie..."

About three minutes later, Langly was still standing there at her door, as though rooted to the spot.  With a slight tremor to his hand, he touched the cheek she'd just kissed with her feather soft lips and chuckled too.  "Wow," he whispered, smiling the widest smile he'd ever smiled in his entire life, "she's ultra AWE!SOME!  To-tal-leee!"
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