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.


Dedication: To the girls: Vicky, Jo, Jeanne, Cat, Lil, and Becks. All of you provide the fuel to this insanity. Thanks to Jen, for helping me with the acronym, and to Duck, whose extracurricular activities are always inspiring. And a special thanks to Bella, because, well I'm the author and I can thank her if I want to. You inspire greatness in all its many forms.

Last, but certainly not least, I dedicate this chapter to everyone who voted for this story. Thank you all! It is because of you that this story won first place in the Festival of Fic. I did nothing but put to words my own insanity. You made this story into something more. Thank you!



Chapter 11: May the Pimp be with you!



"Hey, man, cheer up. If it makes you feel any better, I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a girl whose second cousin thrice removed cleans Eisner's pool. I think if I pull a few strings, I might be able to get this guy to put in a good word for you."

Vaughn looked down at the diminutive man walking alongside him and stared at him flabbergasted. He said harshly, "The pool guy? The fucking pool guy!? Can you possibly explain to me how the pool guy is going to save me from the Devil himself?"

Marshall glared at the poufter next to him and said, "The relationship between a man and his pool guy is a sacred bond and not to be taken lightly. I have it on good authority that Eisner and his pool guy talk on many important subjects."

Indiana Vaughn looked at the secret agent incredulously, "Like what?"

Marshall Flinkman, secret agent extraordinaire, continued glaring at Vaughn. He stuttered, "Like...like...like talking stocks and Eisner's portfolio. Oooo, and I hear that that new Terminator movie was the pool guy's idea."

Vaughn took his hat off his head with his left hand and swiped his right forearm against his forehead, dislodging all the sweat the brim of his hat had collected. He turned his head to Marshall and said, "But Terminator isn't even a Disney film."

That gave Marshall pause and he stopped mid-stride. "Oh, right. Well, I heard it was some big summer blockbuster movie." He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his stride. "You can't expect me to know everything, you know," he said reprovingly.

Vaughn glared at Marshall briefly, and asked petulantly, "Well, why the hell not?"

Marshall sighed and grounded out, "Because I'm a secret agent, damnit! I'm not an encyclopedia. I know how to kill and sew, that's it."

Vaughn exclaimed, "But aren't you the gadget guy?! The guy who makes all the cool stuff?"

Marshall shook his head in the negative. "No, no, you have me mistaken with Marshall Flinkman. I'm Marshall Flink-man."

Vaughn scratched his head in confusion and asked, "Aren't they the same thing?"

Marshall again shook his head no. "No, you see, the one you're thinking of says his name with no emphasis or inflection, while my name has the inflection on the Flink. So, my name is pronounced Flink-man."

Vaughn nodded his head and said, "Ah, I see." Which of course he really didn't, but he figured things would be better for him if he just nodded his head dumbly and pretended he knew what he was talking about. After all, he certainly hadn't made it to Senior Analyst by his looks.

Now that the subject of Marshall's name had been settled, a hushed silence fell upon the men as they continued walking down the jungle path.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into more minutes, minutes turned into even more minutes, and eventually five minutes passed. Marshall, tired of the silence that was ruining the chance for quality male bonding finally piped up and said conversationally, "So, American League or National League?"



The blonde pulled the slab of deli meet off of Sark's right eye and glared at the unnaturally attractive woman sitting in a booth no more than six feet away. The woman didn't even flinch under the blonde's glare, and instead, merely looked down at her nails in total indifference. The blonde grew angry at the brunette's indifference and yelled, "Did you have to hit him in the face?!"

The brunette merely nodded her head and kept studying her nails. The blonde wailed, "But his face! His beautiful, flawless face! You bitch!"

That finally got a reaction out of the brunette. She turned her head up and locked a heated gaze on the whining blonde. The blonde immediately shirked back and lowered her head in supplication. There was only one Alpha-female in this deli and her name was Sydney Bristow. She wasn't gonna let some blonde Ho talk to her like that.

Sydney slowly slid across the cheap vinyl of the booth and fully extended her long, shapely, perfectly formed legs... Ummmm...right, back to the story. Sydney stood up to her full height and stalked over towards Sark the Pimp and the blonde woman waiting on him. She cocked her head to the side and stared down the simpering blonde, who turned tail and ran away, leaving Sark to Syd's whims. (Hmmm...I'm starting to sense a general pattern in diction and mannerisms... Dear God! What the hell did I just say!? Ack!)

Sark faced Sydney with an unapologetic glare. Sydney, seeing the defiance on Sark's damaged face, snorted and said contemptuously, "Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Sark just shrugged his shoulders and said, "What? Hello, I'm a pimp. I would think this kind of thing would have been expected. Besides, your ass just looked soooooo good in those leather pants, I couldn't help myself." He paused and then said thoughtfully, "When you think about it, I'm really just a product of my environment. If you had grown up apprenticing under all the finest pimps money could buy, you would understand."

Confused, Sydney asked, "I thought you went to culinary school in Paris before you became a pimp?"

Sark, who had been busy flicking lint off his expensive fur coat, paused what he was doing and looked up at Sydney with a hesitant look on his face. "Ummm...yeah, about that... You see, I may have kind of lied just a little about that."

Sydney's face darkened and she glared at Sark. With clenched teeth she gritted out, "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Sark swallowed audibly and his voice cracked when he spoke, "Yeah, I never really went to culinary school. I was only there long enough to learn a few basic things. How to cook macaroni and cheese, boil water, how to properly butter a slice of bread, and how to properly eat a slab of salami."

Sydney's mouth dropped open in shock and she sputtered, "But...but...the cake! How did you make that cake if you never had any lessons?"

A sad little smile formed across Sark's face and he said fondly, "My former master, Marconi-Wan Dixoni, taught me. He always said that a man who could bake an excellent cake, was a man who would never grow hungry. And he wasn't talking about eating food." Sark then winked at Syd and she blushed. Sark chuckled and then continued his story, "In fact, he was the man who gave me this cane." Sark lifted up the finely crafted cane and said as both he and Sydney looked it over, "He told me it belonged to my father. I didn't believe him at first; I had always been told my father was just a simple business man. But after my uncle and his life partner were murdered by the Brotherhood of Independent Thieves, Con-men, Hit man, Extortionists, and Scoundrels, otherwise known as the BITCHES, I had no choice but to fall under Master Dixoni's care. Once there, he trained me in the ways of the Pimp, just like my father before me."

Sydney suddenly felt a swell of pity and sympathy well up inside of her. Gently, she asked, "What happened to your father, Sark?"

Sark eyes darkened and he said quietly, "I don't know exactly. Master Dixoni would only tell me that one of his former students betrayed and murdered my father. Ever since then, I've been learning the ways of the Pimp. Hoping that I could one day find the man who murdered my father and give him the beat down he deserves."

Sydney, still wary of Sark after the last time she got close to him, hesitantly patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "I'm sorry about your father, Sark. I..." Sydney hesitated slightly before continuing, "...wish there was something I could do. Something that doesn't involve me being one of your Ho's."

Sark's face at lit up at the mention of Sydney's offer, but it had quickly dimmed when she finished. "But I'll pay you good money! More than you could ever dream of making in any other job."

Sydney straightened up and took a step away from the sitting Sark. Firmly, she said, "No."

Sark pleaded, "Come on, please?!"

Sydney shook her head and said derisively, "No, Sark, I will not be one of your Ho's. I'm sorry."

Sark stood up dejectedly and leaned on his cane. "No, no, that's okay. I should respect your wishes. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea about pimps. It's just..." Sark's hand snaked down his body until it slipped inside a pocket on his fur coat. He continued talking the whole time, his voice suddenly becoming cool and sophisticated, "...with you by my side, I could easily crush the BITCHES and take over their empire."

Sark's voice became almost hypnotic and Sydney found herself becoming more open to what Sark was saying. "We could usher in a new era of peace and prosperity amongst all the pimps of the world."

Sark's hand stilled inside of his coat for a few brief seconds, and then slowly started to pull his arm back. He pulled out of his pocket a brilliant gold necklace, that shined brightly in the dim light of the deli. It almost had a kind of unnatural glow. At the end of the necklace, hung a large, gold and diamond encrusted, P.

Sydney, so enamored with the oddly hypnotic quality of Sark's voice, never noticed him slipping the necklace over his head. The P of the necklace settled against all the other bling bling that was weighing his neck down, and a golden sheen surrounded his rugged torso. Sark's next words came smoothly out of his mouth, "I think you've changed your mind about working for me." Sydney repeated back the words. Sark continued, "In fact, you want to be my Ho." Again, Sydney repeated the words and again Sark droned on, "You will work for me and only me and you will be my love slave." Sydney repeated Sark's words for the third time and Sark ended with, "May the Pimp be with you."



"Seriously? The Mets?"

"Yeah, the Mets. What's wrong with the Mets? They're my favorite team."

Marshall shook his head and said, "Oh, there's nothing wrong with them, unless you count totally sucking as something the matter."

Vaughn let out a cry of outrage, "Hey! They do not suck! They were just in the Series a couple of years ago."

Marshall barked out a laugh, "Yeah, where they got their asses kicked by the Yankees. In what, five games?"

Vaughn said defensively, "So? At least they made it that far. That's more than can be said for all the other teams."

Marshall had to concede that point, "I'll give you that much at least. But honestly, they're the Mets!"

Vaughn turned his head to glare at Marshall as he crossed the line that delineated the deli from the unyielding jungle from whence they came. He growled, "Just stop. I don't give you grief about being a Red Sox fan."

Marshall glared back at Vaughn and said scathingly, "That's because there's nothing to give me grief about. The Sox are going all the way this year. Nomar is the man and Pedro is a god."

Vaughn mumbled under his breath, "Riiiiight. That's what you Sox fans say every year."

Vaughn turned away from Marshall and walked further into the deli. Marshall, meanwhile, yelled indignantly, "I heard that!"

Vaughn was about to retort with a haughty remark when his eyes settled on the sight before him and he froze stiffly in shock. Sitting on a chair was the man known simply as Sark. That would have been strange enough under normal circumstances, as Sark was an internationally wanted criminal, but his manner of dress (Vaughn thought it looked oddly pimptastic) and the three beautiful women standing behind his chair cooing and fawning over him, would have given any man pause. But it was the woman sitting on Sark's lap and idly stroking his naked chest that caused Vaughn to stare in open mouthed shock.

With confusion readily apparent on his symmetrical face, he questioned haltingly, "S-Syd...ney?"

The woman in question managed to tear her eyes away from staring into Sark the Pimp's blue orbs and fixed her gaze on her former handler/partner/friend/potential love interest/confident/pussy-whipped boyfriend (At least that's what he'll be in the future, and I am nothing if not prescient.)/etc... (God, he has a lot of titles.) Anyways, Sydney said, in a slightly off kilter tone, "My name is no longer Sydney. It is Madam Bristow."

Vaughn sputtered, "What!? What the hell are you talking about? And for Christ's sake, why are you sitting on Sark's lap!?"

Sydney said happily, "I am Sark's love slave now." Sydney reluctantly slid off Sark's lap and walked over toward the still very confused Vaughn. She grabbed his hand and said, while looking into his eyes to make sure to get her point across, "Don't get me wrong, Vaughn, what we had was great, but I'm with Sark now." Her face brightened and she said cheerily, "I'm one of his Ho's! Isn't that great?" She turned her head and beamed Sark a quick smile before turning back around to face Vaughn.

By now, even Vaughn was starting to catch on and his face reddened slightly in anger. He brought his arms up and grabbed Sydney's forearms and shook her none too gently. "I don't know what the hell he's done to you, but the Sydney I know would not be interested in Sark and she certainly wouldn't be interested in being his Ho. What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sydney's face clouded in anger and she wrenched free of Vaughn's grip. She hissed, "There is nothing wrong with me! Can't you see how happy I am? I want this. It's what I've always wanted, I just didn't know it until now."

Vaughn was starting to get desperate, "Sydney! Listen to me! I'm Michael Vaughn, remember? The guy that has been pining over you for the last year and a half? The guy that loves you and the guy that you love back? Don't you remember!?"

Something flickered in Sydney's eyes and for the first time, confusion entered her voice, "V-v-aughn? What is...going on?"

Sark, meanwhile could see that things were not going well and he leapt from his chair and scurried over to the two not so secret agents. He lifted his cane and placed it between the two agents. He then said, "That's enough, Mr. Vaughn. Sydney has made her wishes known and you should respect that."

Sark then reached up and gently placed a hand on Sydney's arm. Sydney turned her head to face Sark and she smiled. She then turned back to face Vaughn and Vaughn could again see the woman he had met when he had first stumbled into this nightmare. "Sark is right, Vaughn. If you truly care for me, you'll respect my wishes and let me do what makes me happy."

Vaughn had had enough. He violently pushed the cane out of his way and turned to Sark. He grabbed him by the front of coat and he said grimly, "I don't know what you've done to her, but if you don't change her back, your life will become very unpleasant."

Sark just laughed and reached inside his open coat to pull his golden necklace to the forefront. The brilliance of the P soon shone brightly and Sark began, just like he had done with Sydney, to speak in a cool and sophisticated voice. "You will let me go, Mr. Vaughn, and forget this ever happened. You will no longer be in love with Sydney Bristow."

Sark waited for Vaughn to repeat what he had just said, but Vaughn just stared at him incredulously. Sark frowned and repeated himself. Again, he got no reaction out of Vaughn. He exclaimed, "Bloody hell! Why aren't you doing what I tell you?"

Vaughn said, "What are you doing, swinging your P around? You think you're some Pimp? Pimp mind tricks don't work on me, only water. I'm French; we invented this crap."

Sark's face paled and he said, "Ummm..." Sark looked furtively around the deli and he shifted his eyes down to look at Vaughn's fists still grabbing his coat and then up into Vaughn's angry face and he said, "Awwwwwww fuck!"

And then Vaughn's fist came crashing towards Sark face, and soon, Sark's left eye was as black as the right.



Meanwhile, in another part of the deli, two people were getting to know each other.

"Hi, I'm Eric Weiss."

"Hi, I'm Marshall Flink-man."

The two men shook hands and then looked over to the center of the deli where all the drama was taking place. After a few seconds, they looked back to face each other. Weiss nodded towards the three people in the center of the deli and inquired, "So, what do you think?"

Marshall shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know and don't really care. Although, I can understand why they're fighting over her. She does look really good in those pants."

Weiss chuckled, "My friend, she looks good in anything."

Marshall nodded. "But really, that's their problem. I have my own to deal with."

Weiss was intrigued and he asked curiously, "Oh? What's on your mind?"

Marshall took a deep breath and said, "Well, you see, I need this jar. It's a special jar, the Lost Jar of Mayo it is called, and I need it in order to complete this quest to get the Potion of Useless Ramblings. I really want that potion, so that I can ramble and ramble on and on and become king of the geeks. So, you see, I really need it. Plus, my mother has been getting on my case lately about not doing enough with my life, and I figure becoming High King of the Geeks would be an impressive enough accomplishment and would appease her insatiable desire to see me get ahead in life. What do you think?"

Weiss laughed heartily and said, "I think it's an admirable goal. I've always wanted to be king of something myself. I hear the position comes with free concubines." Weiss chuckled and grinned at Marshall.

Marshall grinned shyly back and the two began to discuss Marshall's plan for future Geekdom.



And now we come to the part that all of you are really here for: The Fight!!!! How did we get here, you ask? Well, that's a good question, but sadly one I do not have an answer for. For you see, I'm lazy and I neither have the energy nor the inclination to describe how I got from Point A to Point B. Besides, would you rather I explain, or just get to the half naked wrestling?

I think we all know the answer to that question, but unfortunately, despite what you want, I'm not gonna explain how this event has come to past. Instead, you're just gonna have to settle for Vaughn and Sark wrestling in a giant pool of KY Jelly in nothing but shorts. Horrifying, I know. I hope you can deal.

Anyways, let us begin.



Jean Cirac Paul-Bastiere Guitenau Montclaire Mureau (Ha! Bet you thought I had forgotten about everybody's favorite Quebecen freedom fighter, didn't you?) stood tall as he grasped the mic firmly in his hand. The lights of the deli dimmed and a spotlight shone down in the middle of a pool of KY Jelly. Around the pool stood an eager array of deli customers, all excited to see the fight they all knew was coming.

Jean scanned the crowd briefly and then spoke into the mic in his hand, "Ladies and Gentleman, children of all ages, fix your eyes on the giant pool of KY Jelly currently sitting in front of you. Today, we have the fight of the century. Today, we settle a dispute. And we fight it in a way men were made to fight, slippery and covered in goo.

"This is no meaningless fight, ladies and gentleman. Oh no, it is quite the contrary for this is a fight for the love of a woman. And not just any woman, but the Princess of Espionage, the Spy Barbie in all our hearts." A spotlight suddenly shines on Sydney, who was sitting on a chair near the pool, with a vapid look on her face.

Jean continued his spiel, "And now, ladies and gentleman, we meet our two combatants in this great duel for love. In one corner, will stand the man who has captured our lady's heart and in the other corner, will stand the man who wants it back. Here, they will confront one another, two sides of love's cruel game. And here they will decide who wins our lady's heart."

Jean paused dramatically and gazed across the tense faces of the waiting audience. With a deep breath, he spoke into his mic, "I give you your two combatants!" Jean made a sweeping gesture with his hand towards the back of the deli where the crowd had parted to let the two duelers for love enter the makeshift arena that had been setup.

The first to enter was Sark, wearing his ostentatious fur coat and a pair of shiny purple shorts with his cane leading the way. On each of his arms was one of his Ho's. The light from his bling bling nearly blinded the gaping onlookers as he sashayed his way towards the pool. As he did so, 50 Cent's "P.I.M.P" blared loudly and a pimptastic swagger entered his step.

Jean began Sark's introduction as the music faded slightly into the background, "Wearing the purple shiny shorts thingie, and weighing in at an impressive 170 pounds, I give you your challenger and current possessor of Spy Barbie's heart, Saaaaaaaaaaark the Piiiiiiiiiiiimp!!!!!!!!"

The crowd of onlookers jeered and booed Sark as he finally reached the pool. He froze and lifted his shoulders high for the Ho's trailing behind him to divest him of his coat. Once the coat was gone, he slowly began taking off all his bling bling, with the exception of the P, and handing it to the blonde to his right. Soon, after a loving caress to the big shiny gold ball at the crown of his cane, and a kiss from each of the two Ho's behind him, Sark stepped into the giant pool of KY Jelly and waited for his opponent in this great duel for love (God, even I am getting tired of writing that).

Fortunately, Sark didn't have to wait long. Vaughn entered the makeshift arena soon after Sark had climbed into the pool. Vaughn was clad in a shiny pair of shorts with the print of the French flag down one side and the American flag down the other; Marshall and Weiss trailed behind him. For Vaughn's musical into, the song "Girls just wanna have fun" started playing. A frown graced Vaughn's face when he heard the music, but he just shrugged his shoulders and continued on, silently mouthing the words.

Jean, meanwhile, began Vaughn's grandiose vocal introduction, "Wearing the mixed colors of his birth, and weighing in at a strapping 185 pounds, I present to you the current KY Jelly Wrestling champion of the world, Michael 'I'm a sexy Frenchman' Vaaaaaaaaaaauuuuughhhhn!!!!!!!!!"

The crowd erupted in applause and a big smile formed on Vaughn's face. He moved to the opposite side of the pool, across from Sark, and was about to step into the pool of jelly when a hand grasped his shoulder. He looked over his shoulder to see Marshall and he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. Marshall asked, "KY Jelly champion of the world? You've done this before?"

Vaughn chuckled a bit and smiled sheepishly, "In college I used to wrestle in KY frat tournaments. It's how I got beer and pizza money. I was the best KY wrestler in the greater continental United States. Nobody could wrestle a man covered in slippery goo better than me."

Marshall just blinked several times at Vaughn before letting go of his shoulder and quickly stepping away from him. Vaughn turned back around and stepped into the pool, the warm jelly sliding up to his knees.

Jean walked up to the outer edge of the pool and spoke to Sark and Vaughn, "Now, remember, no blows to the face, your agents would kill me if one of you were damaged, no blows below the belt, and for God's sake, please try to keep each others shorts on. None of us here want to see your kibbles and bits." Jean paused and looked around at all the female faces and amended his statement, "Okay, maybe some of us do, but the writer is male so no dropping trou!"

Vaughn and Sark looked at each other and nodded their head in understanding. Jean saw this and said, "Okay, good. Now, everything else goes." Jean cocked his head to the side and yelled, "Go!"

Sark went on the attack first, with a diving tackle that took Vaughn directly in the chest. Both men went down in a shower of clear jelly and flailing limbs. Vaughn flipped around, using the lubricating effects of the jelly, to pin Sark underneath him with his lower body. Vaughn then wrapped his right arm around Sark's right leg and lifted it into the air, as he pushed down with his pelvis. Unfortunately, Sark's body was so slippery, that Vaughn slid right off. Vaughn had to repeat his pressing down of his pelvis onto Sark's lower body just to keep him still.

A raucous cheer arose from the audience at Vaughn's move, but they screamed even louder when Sark countered it. Using his more limber and agile body, Sark wrapped an arm around Vaughn's back to grab a hold of Vaughn's shorts. Then, with a mighty thrust upward, Sark flipped Vaughn over his head to land on his back, sending a tidal wave of jelly over Sark. Sark lunged up and out of the jelly, only to be body slammed back into the jelly by Vaughn from behind.

Meanwhile, as the clash of spy titans raged on, Jean was calling the fight. "And the wily Frenchman from wherever the hell he's from just landed a sharp elbow jab to Sark the Pimp's ribs! Oh, I think Sark may be down...hold on...no, never mind, he was just adjusting his package." There was a slight pause as some action took place in the pool and then Jean exploded into the mic, "Oh my God! Vaughn just performed the point guy maneuver to Sark's unprotected rear. Oh, ladies and gentleman, never have I seen a move performed so flawlessly. Vaughn easily penetrated Sark's defenses with that move and now Sark the Pimp is not moving. Ladies and gentleman, I think we may have a winner here. The ref is giving the count now..."

Sark was dazed and his vision was skewed horribly. The cheer of the crowd faded to a dull roar as his unfocused eyes stared into the distance. He was incoherent and started mumbling a name over and over again, "Yo Adrian! Adrian! Adri..." (Oh, right, sorry, just a little caught up in the moment) Anyways, this was what he really meant to say, "Dix! Dix! Dix!?" And to Sark's amazement, a man resembling his former master appeared in front of him in the crowd.

A kind of bluish haze surrounded the man formerly known as Marconi-Wan Dixoni. Sark was confused. He didn't ever remember his master glowing blue before. Dix looked at the confused look on Sark's face (despite the globs of jelly matted indiscriminately across his mug), and realized the source of Sark's confusion. He chuckled sheepishly and said, "Oh, sorry, I should have learned by now not to smoke a reefer while on these vision thingamabobs. Screws up the reception." Dix dropped the reefer to the ground and grinded it into the floor with his foot.

"Now, where was I? Oh, right! My message. Hold on, let me get properly dramatic..." Dix gathered himself and made the tone of his voice deeper, "You must go to the OC. There you will meet my master and former teacher, Kendoda, and he will finish your training in the ways of the Pimp. Go to the OC! To the OC!!!!!!!!"

Sark was confused. "The OC? What the hell is the OC?" Unfortunately, he didn't have much time to ruminate on that question as the ref had almost reached the ten-count (Yes, I realize that it's been more than 10 seconds, but if J.J. can speed up time so that two years pass, I can sure as hell slow down time. Damn straight I can! What are you gonna do about it huh!? That's what I thought).

Sark scrambled to his feet right as the ref reached 9. He groggily turned around to face Vaughn, who had taken up a patented KY attack stance. Both men were completely covered in jelly, their bodies glistening in the light. Their shorts were matted to their bodies, offering pretty good definition, the glistening light reflecting off their naked chests gave the audience a good opportunity to ogle the two gladiators locked in an ageless fight.

Sark moved first. He angled his chest just right so that the glare from the lights up above would reflect off his enormous P and into Vaughn's eyes. He then attacked mercilessly. He lunged and caught Vaughn in his torso with a snap kick, and followed up with two open palm strikes to Vaughn's chest. Luckily for Vaughn, his chest was well lubricated, so part of the blow was negated by Sark's hand slightly rubbing Vaughn's chest. The blows were enough, however, to send Vaughn reeling backward.

Sark pressed his attack, sweeping his leg through the thick jelly and tripping Vaughn up. Vaughn fell to his ass, the jelly seeping into all sorts of nooks and even some crannies. Vaughn however wasn't out of the fight just yet. He lunged forward and caught Sark's legs in his arms and he pulled. Sark dropped down to the pool and flopped around like a fish out of water. Vaughn didn't let Sark recover from the fall, and jumped on top of Sark, trying to pin Sark in place again just like he had done at the beginning of the fight.

Sark thrashed around like a man possessed, but he didn't make up much ground as he simply slid around inside of Vaughn's grip. He could not break free of the hold. Then he remembered his P. He grabbed the P with his right hand as hard as the jelly would allow, and wacked Vaughn across the back with the necklace. Vaughn immediately let go of Sark and seized up, frantically trying to ease the pain the large piece of metal and inflicted upon his delicate skin.

Sark sneered and climbed atop Vaughn's back, wrapping his arm around Vaughn's throat and squeezing. Vaughn frantically began clawing at Sark's arm, but he could not break the hold. He started to gurgle and his vision was beginning to go black, when a loud shout cut through the roar of the crowd. Both men turned their heads to see what all the commotion was.

To both their surprise, there stood Sydney looking like...well, looking like the real Sydney Bristow. And she was pissed. She yelled at the two of them, "What the hell are you two idiots doing? Fighting over me!?"

Sark's grip loosened unconsciously and Vaughn was able to break free of the hold. He quickly bucked Sark off his back and slid across to the far side of the pool. He climbed to his knees and took in several deep breaths, spitting out the occasional glob of jelly. The stuff wasn't edible after all.

Eventually Vaughn was able to climb to his feet and he looked warily over at Sark who so far had not moved from his side of the pool. Vaughn figured he could split his attention, and so turned one green eye toward Sydney. Incredulously he shouted, "What the hell do you mean!? I'm doing this for you! I wasn't about to leave you in his vile clutches."

Vaughn noticed Sark glare at him but the British pimp made no move to attack.

Sydney, meanwhile, was irate. She continued yelling, "You're lucky I don't come in there and kick both your asses for being such...men!"

Vaughn blinked loudly in surprise and then looked over to Sark and saw him do the same. Then both men looked back toward Sydney standing near the edge of the pool. Then both men eyed each other again. An unspoken conversation took place between the two and both men nodded.

Suddenly and without warning, both Vaughn and Sark the Pimp exploded forward, each caught one of Sydney's arms in a slippery grip, and then dragged her into the large pool of KY Jelly. They deposited her unceremoniously in the middle of the pool and then moved off together, Vaughn's arm across Sark's shoulders as they talked conversationally.

Sydney quickly became covered in jelly, as she glared impotently at the backs of the two men. The last thing she heard before Vaughn and Sark stepped out of the pool was Vaughn asking Sark, "So, would you please tell me more about this...power of the Pimp?"



As Sark and Vaughn faded into the background of the darkened deli, Jacko the clown stared down at his latest concoction. It was finally finished, and boy did it look spectacular. Carefully and with deliberate movements, he picked up the object and brought it up to eye level.

Oh yes, it would do perfectly.