Author: Ambrose Chavez
Email: agent47achavez@hotmail.com
Category: humor
Spoilers: n/a
Rating: PG to NC-17 (it depends?  I'm not really sure yet)
Disclaimer: Alias and all related characters are not mine. They're JJ's, but they're on my Christmas list!
Notes: totally made up story, no real "plot", just flashbacks and "HOME VAUGHN" galore... for Jude and KJ
'Ship: Vaughn/his past ex-girlfriends
POV: Eric Weiss
Summary: On the night of Vaughn's Bachelor Party, Weiss recounts all of Vaughn's past girlfriends and what it was like living with Vaughn in his single days.

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Chapter One: Pre-party preparation…

There comes a point in a man's life when he has to look back and remember all the stupid things he did.

For Vaughn, that time came on the heels of his brush with death and the admittance of his 'inappropriate feelings' for Bristow that lead to his current predicament (even if I'm the only one that calls it that): engagement.  She's a good agent, I'll admit.  But please, Vaughn's had far more… interesting affairs.  Or maybe, that's just me seeing this Bristow thing for what it is: the whole love thing.  The real deal.  Scary as shit, isn't it?

But I'm here, as his best friend and best man, to give you an eyewitness account of some of the dumbest things we've ever done… and some of the greatest… and of course, some of the craziest things we've done.

I lived with Mike for years… up until he decided to kick me out, get his own place in West Los Angeles and "settle down".  I, on the other hand, still shudder at the very words that suggest a commitment.  But I'm not here to talk about me – well, a little bit – but tonight is Mike's bachelor party, and you better be damn sure I'm going to spill all the beans… one precious frijol at a time.

I first met Mike when I was in officer training at Langley in 1997.  He had been one of the "superiors" since he had been there for three years already, but we became friends in the weight room.  Actually, I teased him about benching only 180 when I could lift a grand total of 220.  But then he got back at me when he pointed out I eat about twice as much as he does and my gut's bigger than his.  I frowned and told him I'd get rid of it, and I'm damn proud of my belly – who the hell wants to be that skinny?  I need something for the ladies to hold onto, right?

Anyway, he ended up training so hard that ultimately we were equals benching 240, and we became almost equal in studies, analysis, language proficiency, and strategic ops planning.  (Truth?  I saw Mike as a kind of role model, so I tried to be just as good as he was).  Imagine my surprise when three years after Langley, I get transferred to the Los Angeles division and I run into Vaughn in the break room.  We were both coffee people – it's just not possible to make "The object of this mission is…" coherent if you're going on three hours of sleep and a pixie stick high.

"Well if it isn't Pizza and beer Weiss." He called me, lifting his coffee in the air in mock toast.

"Long time no see Stick Figure Mike."

"Very funny."

"No, come on, you know I'm kidding."

"Yeah." He smiled, patted me on the back then gave me the once-over.  "So, what?  You can lift maybe… 200 now?"

"What?" I jerked back, mildly insulted.  "More like 3 bills, man."

"With that belly?" he joked.

I laughed with him and shook my head.  Old friends and good times… ahh, that was the life…

Within the year, I had moved in with Mike in that sardine can he nicknamed his apartment.  Not that I'm complaining or anything – I mean, he did give me a place to live.

But let me tell you!  He's got this habits that drive me up the wall.  For example, he got on my case every single day for leaving my dishes in the sink.  Man, they'd be there when we got home later that night!  Why not wait and do them all at the end of the week?!

Anyway, then he just had to watch the Kings every single time they had a game.  One year, they made it into the Stanley Cup Western Hemisphere Finals and – I kid you not – he blew about 400 bucks for two seats and then took his girlfriend Lisa.  Not his best friend Eric… his girlfriend Lisa.

I grumbled for about a week.  Yeah, I'm not into hockey nearly as much as he is, but I would have loved to see the Stanley Cup!  Lisa didn't give a rat's ass – and I found out later that she told him so.

Yep.  That was a messy break up.

Let me tell you about it.

Lisa Spinelli was a leggy Italian with a model's height (5'7").  She had shoulder length brown hair that she straightened with a flat iron daily.  (I know, because every time she slept over, her damn hair would be in our bathroom sink!)  She was a graduate student at the time, going for her Ph.D. at UCLA (sound familiar?).  Eventually, though Mike treated her well enough, she complained of being neglected.  Sometimes, our jobs just got the better of us and we were tired.  He didn't want to go out and party when he was so exhausted, but she didn't understand that.  Being high-maintenance, she flung one high heel at him while climbing into a cab and screaming obscenities at him.

Poor Mike just sighed and looked at me with those green eyes of his (that seem to draw the girls in better than my brown ones), shrugged and asked, "The Jungle Bar?"  To which I readily agreed.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't because Vaughn didn't care… it was just that women weren't high on his list of priorities back then.  They came, they went, so be it.  But honestly, I just think that the right one hadn't come along yet.  (And she wouldn't come along until almost two years later.)

That night at the Jungle Bar… well, let me take you back a bit.

We arrived at a decent hour (eleven is descent, even if I did tell our dates that we'd be there at ten thirty), and promptly headed for the bar.  I remember ordering Scotch and Vaughn had to have a Jack Daniels (his heavy duty drink of choice).  Cindy McAllister and Eva Richards were two of my university colleagues, but Mike didn't know that.  Cindy took a real liking to Vaughn if I remember clearly enough…

"So, Michael… you're French," she rolled her tongue seductively and leaned over, offering him a view of her high, perky breasts.  (High and perky… were they fake?  I never did figure that out).

"Hmm," he mumbled, swallowing his drink.

"Say something in French," she giggled.  God, she was drunk, I rolled my eyes and turned my attention to Eva, who lavished me with attention as well.  Too bad she was too drunk to remember my name.  She kept calling me Rick, which I couldn't stand.

But they ended up coming home with us because they were too drunk to drive home.  Eva never made it into my room because she ended up crashing on our couch.  Cindy on the other hand, got into a room…

"Eric," Vaughn's muffled voice came from behind the closed bathroom door.

"What?" I called back, my mouth full of toothpaste.

"She, ah…" he paused, hesitant.

"What?" I asked again before I spat.

"Open the door!" he whispered fiercely.

When I unlocked it, he quickly spun into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning against it and looking panicked.

"Smooth move, double oh seven."  I rinsed my mouth out and began wiping it with the towel.  "Did you forget, you're not in special fields?"

"Shut up," he hushed me.  "You set me up with a vampire."

"What do you mean?"

"She's… she's…" he looked in the mirror and checked the growing purple, splotchy mark high on his neck.  "My god, I have to wear a scarf tomorrow."

I just started laughing.  A thirty two year old man with a hickey.  Good Lord, would wonders never cease.

Needless to say, Cindy didn't come around again, but in the meantime, I spent the rest of the year living with him.  He hated wearing the tie at the office so you can imagine what torture it was for him to wear the scarf (and indoors too!  Better believe people were trying to hold their laughter when he walked past, but I tried to cover for him). 

I didn't really see Eva after that either, but that's okay, there were other women to come that would try to capture Vaughn's attention.  Some of them aren't really that important, like Nikki (super excess cheer girl, yeah!), Rhianne (the NASA meteorologist who incessantly went on and on about space rocks), and Shelly (the hockey expert who could outskate Mike – he didn't appreciate that too well).  They were girls that only dated Vaughn for maybe a month or two… but then there were the ones you just can't forget… like Jenna Langston (Vaughn's only experience with a sistah from da 'hood), Bianca Juarez (the Latin sensation with hips like… well, I'll tell you later), and Kimiko Nakamura (the Japanese masseuse… now her, I liked!).  I'll brief you more about each of his ex-girlfriends and what made them so memorable.

For example, there was this one time when we got real drunk on his birthday…

I'm not allowed to tell Sydney about it, so I think I better go ask Mike if it's okay to tell you guys.  By the way, this is all classified info.  In our jobs, secrets make or break us – it's life and death.  And trust me, Syd would gladly whoop his ass for that one day when all the guys came over for New Years'… uh, ahem.  Yeah.  I'm going to ask Mike before we kick off the entire bachelor party…