Title: Ham and Cheese

Author: DOKChairman

Time: No particular time frame. Assume everything that has happened up to the second season is fair game.

Disclaimer: I do not own Alias. If you really believe I own Alias, then I have some beach front property to sell you in Utah. No really, I do. Just give me a call at 1-800-333-SUCKER and we'll see about setting you up. Anyway, as I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by whoever's reading this, you know who you are, J. J. Abrams, Bad Robot Productions, and ABC (Disney's front for their attempt at world domination) own Alias.


A/N: I just have to dedicate this chapter to Sandpiper. Thanks to you, I now have a very pleasant image-shirtless Sydney. Also, thanks for the idea of everyone going shirtless. You're right, it is the perfect setup for having a shirtless Sydney, which is something I think the show is sorely lacking. As for you sounding like a guy, you came oh so close, but you're comment about just kidding kind of nullified everything you said. A guy would have latched onto the concept of a shirtless Sydney and never let it go. Good show, though.


A/N: Hey Jada, I'm really interested in hearing how that whole quote at work went. I can't believe someone actually wants to quote me. It seems so surreal. And as for Weiss's interest in Connie, let's just say that Connie's doctor was a truly gifted man. Also, you weren't the only one who had a bit of luck during finals. I had a U.S. History final cancelled because the college lost power. So I got an automatic A. Well, I already had an A, but it was the principle of the thing.


A/N: I know I said that I wouldn't post until chapter 11 is done for Angel Dark, but I'm going through some horrendous writer's block and this story is helping me get through it. Chapter 11 is about 25% done. I hope to finish before Sunday's big post Super Bowl episode. My goal is Friday afternoon, Saturday night at the latest.



Chapter 4: Mr. Fan's shirtless Happy Hour


"Two pair. Deuces and tens." Weiss said triumphantly. A loud string of groans erupted from the five people he was playing with. Weiss smiled smugly and reached out to grab the small pot of cash, which, coincidentally enough, contained a significant amount of Canadian dollars.

Vaughn asked disbelievingly, "How do you do it? That's five hands in a row."

Weiss grinned haughtily, "Not a chance in hell. The secret to my success will remain more closely guarded than the secret of what McDonald's french fries are made of."

Vaughn became sullen and said, "Fine!"

Weiss just continued grinning. Finally, he had something he could lord over Vaughn. Sure, it wasn't the irresistible pull of Vaughn's amazing sexiness, or Vaughn's seemingly unfailing ability to always be right, but god damn it, he could play poker and nobody was going to take that from him.

What Weiss didn't know, unfortunately for him, was that Vaughn happened to be perfect in every way. Naturally, perfect people can't suck at poker, and so by some miracle, or perhaps just lazy writing, Vaughn suddenly mastered the art of playing poker.

Four hands later, and Weiss was pennyless, and because a proper ass whooping wouldn't be complete without abject total humiliation, he was also shirtless. Vaughn had literally taken the shirt right off his back. But hey, not to worry, Weiss managed to maintain some modicum of dignity. It seemed that Connie had taken quite the liking to shirtless Weiss, and that made him feel better. Maybe she wasn't as interested in Vaughn as he had feared.

Meanwhile, being the dutiful anal retarded guy that he was, Vaughn was neatly stacking his winnings in easy to access piles. Canadian money was in that pile, which happened to be separated by denominations, and good old American greenbacks in the other pile, which also happened to be sorted by denominations. It was one neat, orderly, rule-driven picture. Just like Vaughn, because remember, protocol is a sacred bond.

After he had finished sorting his money, Vaughn carefully placed it in a Mr. Fan's Deli to-go bag. It wouldn't do to have the money go flying every which way. He needed that money. It had been a while since he had bought Sydney a present, and there was a great antique shop just down the street from his apartment.

Vaughn placed the bag of money on the ground under his seat and moved his head back up to catch Weiss's eye. He saw a look of betrayal and disbelief in the man's eyes. He asked defensively, "What?"

Weiss moved his hand up and down, drawing attention to his lack of clothing. "I can't believe you actually took the shirt right off my back. You didn't even let me take it off first."

"Hey, I won that shirt fair and square. It's not my fault you couldn't tell the difference between a suicide king and a one-eyed pirate." Vaughn didn't like being attacked. He really didn't.

Weiss shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know how you did it man, but when I find out, you are so going to pay."

Vaughn just shrugged his shoulders. "What are ya gonna do?" Vaughn asked rhetorically.

Weiss suddenly felt an intense urge to smack Vaughn. Can you blame him? Who out there hasn't wanted to smack Vaughn at least once? If the man would just stop obsessing over Sydney...

Anyway, back on track, you know, if this story actually had one, Vaughn and Weiss left the group of fellow players, and walked up to the deli counter to get something to drink. In a gesture of appeasement, Vaughn offered to buy Weiss's soda.

Weiss thanked Vaughn sarcastically, "Thanks man. What would I do with out you?"

"Probably disappear for months at a time with hardly any mention at all. I mean, I know getting shot in the neck is serious, but come on, three months? It doesn't take that long to recover. What were you trying to do, star in your own show?" Vaughn asked curiously.

Weiss instantly became nervous and uncomfortable. "Uh...I don't know what you're talking about."

Vaughn scoffed, "Please, like that excuse ever works."

Weiss added emphatically, "Well I don't. I'm here now aren't I?" He became thoughtful and said, "However, if I happened to disappear for long periods of time again, don't worry, I'm just on an unexplained vacation."

Vaughn wasn't buying Weiss's excuse for a minute, but he didn't push him on it because he figured he owed him a little slack. Vaughn just shrugged his shoulders.

Vaughn turned his attention back to Mr. Fan and gave him the correct amount of money. Fan took the money with a smile on his face and placed it in his cash register. Both Vaughn and Weiss grabbed their sodas and were about to walk away when Fan spoke up in his aged voice, "You both seem like such nice boys."

Vaughn and Weiss smiled at him faintly and walked away. Meanwhile, the heat raised suddenly.



Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau exhaled loudly and flapped the wad of Fan napkins rapidly in front of his face. Somehow, the temperature in Mr. Fan's Deli had rapidly raised almost 25 degrees in the last fifteen minutes.

The temperature had gone from a semi-pleasant 73 degrees, which was still exceedingly hot because, well, a hot day back home was like 70, to an almost overwhelming 98. Jean was still trying to figure out how the temperature had changed so quickly. He had heard of some strange things happening in L.A. before, but this was too bizarre even for him. It was almost like some unforseen supernatural force had suddenly raised the temperature to help further along a plot that didn't really exist or made much sense, but was there nonetheless.

Jean looked over at the two Americans that he had been keeping an eye on since he and his fellow Quebecen independence fighters had stormed the nearly impenetrable deli. One of the Americans, he remembered him to be Weiss, was animatedly talking to his companion, the French born, nearly god like Vaughn.

Jean noticed that both men had their shirts off, which was generating quite a number of stares. It wasn't every day such studly men happen to lounge around half-naked. Neither man seemed to notice that people were staring at them and were instead engrossed in an argument about which car was cooler: the classic Ford Mustang or the Corvette.

It was Weiss who blurted out, "No way man! The Mustang had way more room in the backseat!"

Vaughn shook his head emphatically. "I'm telling you that the Corvette was more spacious. Not only that but the quality and the craftsmanship of the upholstery was better."

Weiss still wasn't convinced. "I don't know. The Mustang offered a much more varied color scheme. Plus the floor mats were much nicer."

Jean tuned out the inane talk of the two, and instead studied them better. Both men were sweating, but you know in a sexy way, because this is TV, uhh...I mean real life, after all. Rivulets of sweat were running down the lean, but muscled and chiseled chest of Vaughn. His body glistened in the dim glow of the deli lighting. Jean had never seen such a sight before and he wished... Ok, this is getting a little too gay for me. Back to the blondes!

Both blondes had removed all but the barest amount of clothing needed to remain decent. They were still wrestling, but in a very playful way. It was obvious they had become fast friends. In fact, Blonde #1 was doing this really great thing with her tongue...

Jean managed to tear his eyes away from Vaughn and instead did a sweep of the deli. Everybody had removed at least some clothing, and to Jean's shock, they all were very attractive people. It seemed that just about anywhere you looked in L.A., the people were all perfect, even in a Chinese deli.

Unfortunately, the four Quebecers were not from L.A., and so they stood out. It wasn't their fault though. They're from Canada. Jean blamed Canada for his less than attractive appearance. All that snow and cold weather, combined with too much beer, not to mention all the frequent moose outings, had turned Jean even less attractive than a toothless hick from Kentucky. Not even Jerry Springer would want him.

Jean sighed in a suffering tone and picked up his gun. He started patrolling the inner perimeter of the deli. It was so much hard work being a freedom fighter.

Jean had just about finished his sweep of the deli when he heard a loud rumbling sound coming from above him. Looking up dumbly, the gun grasped limply in his hand, Jean wondered why the ceiling was making noise.

The noise continued to grow, and soon everyone was looking at the ceiling as well. In fact shirtless Vaughn and shirtless Weiss had joined Jean in staring slack jawed at the ceiling. It was almost as if somebody was moving around inside the ceiling.

All of a sudden, the ceiling cracked loudly, and a shower of white powder and ceiling materials came crashing down atop the three men. Since Vaughn and Weiss were glistening with sweat, the white powder stuck to their skins, making them look like unemployed, shirtless, mimes. They were even moving their hands around in a vain attempt to ward off the debris. Trying to create a box around them.

Once the air cleared and everybody could see clearly, they got their first look at what had caused the sudden loss of structural cohesion. Hanging in a tangled web of rope, was the super sexy Sydney Bristow.

When she saw the look of total shock and disbelief on the faces of the three men, she blushed. She said in a quiet voice, "Uh...hi"

Sydney's voice brought Vaughn out of his dazed stupor. The shock of seeing Sydney falling from the ceiling was soon replaced by the shock of seeing what Sydney was wearing. Vaughn's eyes bugged out of his head when he saw Sydney was wearing a pair of skin tight leather pants and...nothing but a bra. Are you sensing a pattern here? Vaughn, overwhelmed at seeing more of shirtless Sydney than ever before, fainted. Wouldn't you?

P.S. If anybody has ever seen the movie Boondock Saints, they know where I got Sydney's entrance from. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. However, you should be forewarned. The movie is rated R and is very violent with lots of adult language. It's worth it though. The scene where one of the main characters illustrate the diversity of the word fuck is absolutely hilarious and oddly educational. Before I saw that scene, I did not know you could have an entire conversation using just that word.

P.S. I hate school. I loathe it with a fiery passion. Unfortunately, I must go to school or else, well, my parents cut me off. And that would just plain suck. Can you believe I major in History? If you can believe that, try this on for size. Would you believe that the U.S. Navy actually wanted to recruit me for their nuclear physics program? Scary thought, I know. I love big explosions as much as the next guy, but even I wouldn't trust myself around a nuclear reactor. It was either that, or go into military intelligence. Kind of ironic, isn't it? For two years, those guys hounded me until I finally made them understand that I wasn't interested in living a life where my work would be classified.

P.S. One last thing. Go Raiders! As happy as I am that the Raiders won, I'm kind of disappointed because now I'm going to have to choose between my two favorite teams. I happen to be a big fan of the Bucs, so I'm conflicted on who I should root for. I will more than likely finely decide on the Raiders, but it won't be an easy choice. I mean, the Bucs have their own pirate ship. How cool is that? I mean the Black Hole is great, but its hard to compete against a pirate ship. Arrr!