Disclaimer: It's not mine. It's not yours. It's Warburton's, but we knew that.

A/N: No! I didn't die! I've been having some severe difficulties with my Internet connection lately (a long story about networking different computers and such—really, it's not an interesting tale) so my updates have been sluggish and my reviewing at a status quo of zero over the past few weeks. My deepest and most sincere apologies, but I have no idea when this problem will be fixed. On the plus side, I loaded this onto a CD and uploaded it on my friend's computer, but I don't think she'll let me do it too often, so I have no clue when my next update is coming.

Also, with school in full swing and two AP/Honors classes on my schedule, things are getting pretty difficult and free time is sparse. Once again, my most sincere apologies for lack of reviews. Please don't eat my intestines. I need them.

This chapter is more of a 'foundations in characters' chapter and there's absolutely zero fluffy-ness. I'm sorry, once again, but I really thought it was necessary. Don't eat my intestines...please. I promise the next one will be super fluffy (or at least as much as I can manage)

Stripified: Wow, I feel like such a loser for keeping you waiting so long for a chapter that's not even remotely as good as its predecessor. I'm sorry, but thank you for your loyalty. (Just passing out the apologies here...)

Meh34: I haven't read any of your story updates lately, but according to the Aussie Slang site I use, a 'Happy Little Vegemite' is: "a happy and contented person. Derived from an advertising campaign recently revived where happy children eating Vegemite are described as happy little Vegemites."

Radiohead: Thank you for your compliments, I feel even guiltier for my lack of updating now than ever before.

And to all others, as stated before this isn't a fluffy chapter, it's a flashback-sequency sort of chapter. Sorry, once again.

Operation: AUSTRALIA

Chapter Six

Put Yeh Daks Back on an' Stop this Waffle!

(Put Your Pants Back on and Stop this Nonsense!)

It makes sense in due time...but hey, it sounds pretty darn funny, eh?

"Really, Mum, yeh can be so unreasonable sometimes!"

"Yeh think so? When Ah was your age Ah moved out an' bought meh own house! None 'o this moochin' off meh folks loike you kids today!"

Wally stood in the doorway in confusion while watching the argument. He tried to move, but his feet were bound to the ground by invisible ropes; he struggled with all his might, but nothing could pry them off the wooden floor. It all seemed very familiar to him...but from where?

The young woman sighed and stooped her shoulders in defeat, her shoulder-length blonde hair falling over her face. "Yeh' roight. But yeh know one'uv the reasons why Ah haven't moved out yet is because of yeh cooking."

A smile cracked across the old woman's face as she sat herself down on a nearby rickety rocking chair. "Ah knew yeh'd come clean," she sighed in relief. "Sorry 'bout 'at. Ah'm jus' a little stressed with everythin' that's goin' on lately."

"Ah know, Mum," the younger woman sighed exasperatedly. "Believe me, Ah know. Speakin' of the problem, where's Dad gotten off ta'?"

The older woman let out a disapproving grunt and kicked her scruffy slippered feet up onto the ottoman by the rocking chair. "Who knows? Ah certainly don't."

"Gram! Mum! It's me! Can yeh hear me?!" Wally uselessly hollered from across the room. "Aw, crud," he groaned and slid onto the floor. "Looks loike one'uv them stupid flashback sequence thingies," he sighed. "Why meh? Why can't they hear meh? Am Ah dead?" This new horror occurred to him, but he quickly stashed it to the back of his mind. "If Ah really was dead," he reasoned, "then Ah'd be with a bunch o' dead people, an' Gram is far from dead as far as Ah know."

The flashback continued as tall blonde man strolled into the room accompanied by another shorter man. The taller was smartly dressed in a crisp blue suit, whereas the shorter's face was dirty and he was wearing a simple t-shirt and khaki shorts. The shirt had presumably been white once before, but was far from clean. "Has anyone seen Dad?" the shorter one asked. "We've got a surprise for 'im."

The taller man nodded and eagerly held up a newspaper article circled in red. "It's a beautiful lot; an' besides, from wot Ah've heard the boss is planning on moving again."

"Really? Wonderful." The young woman replied flatly. "Skip," she turned to the shorter man. "Yeh'ra great brother an' all, but Ah can't help but feel that yeh're tryin' ta get us ta move out!" she snapped angrily and the shorter man back-pedaled several steps.

"It's not loike that, sis! Ah'm only tryin' ta help! An' besoides, we've all know that Wozza's probably goin' to be movin' with his company sooner or later!"

The taller man furrowed his lip and cast Skip a glare. "Don't call meh that," he remarked deeply.

"Wot?"

"Yeh know."

"Y'mean 'Wozza'?"

"My name's Warick."

"Ah know! But 'Wozza' is better!"

"Boys!" Fran bellowed from her rocking chair. "Ah don't care if yeh name wuz 'Fuzzy', Warick; roight now we've gotta find where Stan went. If he doesn't show up for dinner Ah'm gonna have to call the police and file anotha' missin' persons report."

The younger woman groaned and flopped onto a streaked moth-eaten green couch. "This'll be the third time this week, Mum! Ah can't do this; none of meh friends call me anymore!" She began to wring her hands, her face bright red in anger against her pale hair. "'Wendy, where'd yeh Dad run off ta?' or, 'Wanda, yeh Dad's still runnin' around the countryside? Isn't it about time yeh sent 'im off to a nursin' home already?' Ah can't take it!"

"Calm down, Wenzi," Skip chirruped and plunked himself down next to the distraught woman on the couch. "Dad's jus' goin' through a phase, you'll see."

"Will yeh stop addin' on extra 'z's to meh name?!" she shrieked and gave Skip a sharp kick in the ankle. Warick watched on in silent amusement and exchanged glances with Fran.

"Wot wuzzat for?!" Skip hollered and held his ankle in pain. "Ah'm only tryin' ta help!"

Wendy sighed and crossed her legs. "Dad's been in this so-called 'phase' for almost foive years. Ah think it's time for 'im to grow up and realise wot's real an' wot isn't. Besides..." she trailed off and looked across the room, directly where Wally was invisibly standing. "Think of how this is for Wally—he can't grow up thinkin' his Gramps is a nut."

Wally was taken aback by his mother's concern—and her eerie stare. It was almost as though she knew he was standing there. It had been a long time since he'd seen his family together in this house and it felt strange, but comforting.

"Speakin' of which, where is Wally?" Warick asked and scanned over the sitting room.

Good question, Wally thought to himself. Where exactly am Ah? Ah don' remember this before...?

Wendy sighed. "He's sleeping in his room—that fishing trip yesterday really tired 'im out, yeh know."

Skip put on a boyish grin and his ears perked up. "That wuz the best fishin' trip Ah've ever been on; the lil' buggerlugs izza natural!" He hopped up from his seat and skipped over to Warick. "Yeh remember, roight, Wozza?! Wozza an' me wuz tryin' for hours to catch somethin' half-way decent, but all we could get was a buncha yabbies. But yeh shoulda seen the whopper Wallaby hooked!" Skip gave Warick a hearty smack on the back and the suited man rolled his eyes. "It's a bloody shame we couldn't a' stuffed it—woulda made a nice thing ta' put over the fireplace."

Wendy and Fran shook their heads in unison and Warick delicately pried Skip's grubby hand off the back of his suit. "Yeh gonna wake 'im up if yeh keep yeh earbashing." Warick grumbled and sat down next to Wendy on the couch. "Ah'm not sure if we have to move or not; but Mr. Boss wasn't very specific with the details so it's a possibility," he gave her a reassuring look and she smiled, both evidently ignoring Skip. "Ah jus' wanted to run it by yeh first so yeh knew about it," he continued.

"She'll be apples, Warick. Ah was just concerned about Dad."

At that moment, as though on cue, a grizzled man of about sixty crashed through the wooden front door and traipsed into the sitting room, his boots caked with mud and swamp grasses. A deep tan covered his face and arms from excessive outdoor activity and a wide-brimmed muddy brown hat slovenly lay atop his salt-and-pepper hair. His mouth was barely visible through the overabundant masses of wiry grizzle in the form a beard. "Yea, there! Is the tea ready yet? Ah've been cravin' that rissole yeh bought the other day, Fran, dear," the man boomed and shook his dirty face like a lion would its mane.

Wally stared in shock. It had been years since he had last seen his grandfather—was this the purpose of the overly-clichéd flashback sequence? He felt the overpowering urge to uproot himself and run to the old man, but his invisible bonds held fast.

"Stan!" the old woman exclaimed in a harsh whisper, her face etched with anger. "Where the bloody hell have yeh been all day?! Ah've been worried sick about yeh! An' keep it down; the boy's asleep!"

Stan gave the woman a hearty shrug and stooped over to unlace his boot. "Too late now, Fran. He's awake," he replied as a little boy scurried into the room and hopped up onto the old man's knee.

"Hullo, Grampie! Didja' git me anything?" The boy chirruped, his eyes shining from underneath his blonde bangs. "Ah was good whiles yeh were gone an' Ah kept yeh secret an' everythin'!" he exclaimed proudly and swung his orange pajama booties in the air. Stan laughed and slapped his dirty hat on the boy's head.

"Wot the heck?! Ah wasn't that short!" Wally exclaimed from his invisible corner by the doorway, and then remembered no one could hear him. He continued to watch in amazement.

"Honestly, yeh two," Wendy cried and rose from her seat. "Ah just gave 'im a bath less than an hour ago, Stan! Yeh don' know where that god-forsaken hat 'o yours has been!"

"Sure Ah do," the old man replied and set the boy back onto the floor. "The loikes of which yeh've neva seen, Ah'll tell yeh!" Younger Wally nodded in agreement, even though it was clear he hadn't understood a word, and he clutched the hat brim tightly around the sides of his head. Fran cast Stan a warning look and Warick averted his eyes from the scene uneasily.

Wendy glared, the fire returning to her eyes. "Ah've had enough of this insanity! It's time yeh grew up and forgot about all this nonsense 'o yours, Dad. Look at wot it's doin' ta Wally! He's a growin' boy an' can't have his head filled with this waffle!"

"Waffle?" Young Wally asked innocently and gazed up at his mother. "Ah wanna waffle, Mum! Ah'm hungry."

Warick stepped over and kneeled down to face his son. "Wally, what yeh Mum's tryin' to say is that Gramps is bein'...ah....well, silly. Yeh know what Ah mean, roight?"

The small boy laughed and took the oversized hat off his head and gave it a tight hug. "Ah know what'cha mean, Dad. Gramps is always silly!"

"Ah, but not this time, Wally," Stan interrupted. "Yeh know how close Ah am to findin' the bunyip—why, jus' today Ah came across wot looked like the remains of an abandoned nest! Ah tell yeh, Ah'm so close Ah can smell it!" Stan exclaimed and began to take off his pants.

"Dad?!?! What in flamin' tarts do yeh think yeh' doin'?!" Skip cried; the first time he had spoken since Stan arrived.

Stan shrugged and tossed his soiled trousers over his shoulder, looking quite foolish in his hunting coat and boxers. "Meh daks got grubby after runnin' through the swamp. Don't get all shirty with meh," he casually replied and Wendy let out an exasperated groan.

"Dad, seriously. It's time yeh stopped this," Wendy said sternly. "Yeh're wasting yeh time—yeh not as young as yeh used to be an' we need you here, not out gallivanting across the Bourke."

Stan froze and slowly raised his head, giving the young woman an icy glare. "Ah am serious about this, Wendy. Dead serious, in fact. Ah don' want to hear anymore o' that from yeh again."

Wendy rose up from her seat and stared at her father straight in the eyes, her own glare equally icy. "So aren't Ah serious, Dad. It's time yeh grew up. Yeh not a little kid anymore, an' Wally won't always be young. It's time yeh put yehself ta use and went back to work. An' if yeh not up to that, then the least you can do is file in to collect yeh pension. Poor Warick's been givin' it heaps at his job, but we can't afford to live loike this forever. Yeh need to contribute somethin'."

Wally stood in the doorway in amazement. It had been so long since he heard this discussion, and even now it remained an indecisive fog scattered amongst the rest of his memories. But this was clear, and everything seemed to fit into place. It all made sense to him.

"Can't afford it, eh?" Stan replied, his eyes shining through his grizzled hair with anger. "If Ah can find mehself a bunyip, a real live bunyip, we won't need ta work ever again. Hell, we could stick Wally through college foive times if we wanted teh," Stan glanced over at Skip, who had been nervously silent throughout the majority of the conversation. "An' yeh too, Skip. Ah don't think that college served yeh too much good—yeh still got too much empty space between yeh ears. Ah'd send yeh back to college too; a man's head isn't just for keeping his hair off the floor."

"Dad, there is no bunyip an' there never will be. It's time to give it up an' move on," Wendy replied quietly.

Fire blared in the old man's eyes. "Yeh don' lissen! There's a bunyip—all o' Australia knows it, but no one's ever caught it—not yet, an' Ah'm gonna be the first," he boomed and younger Wally scurried away from the livid old man and hid behind his mother, still clutching the hat. "As long as yeh livin' under meh roof yeh follow meh rules." (A/N: How many times have we heard that one??)

"In that case," Wendy cried and snatched up the newspaper from Warick's hand, holding it in front of Stan's face. "Ah won't live under yeh cruddy 'roof' anymore! Warick's bein' relocated for his job, so we're movin' out!!" the woman hollered, her face red with fury. It was the first time Wally realized how temperamental his family truly was.

This news came as a crushing blow to the old man. He stood dumbstruck in his hunting coat and boxer shorts, his pants still slung over his left shoulder and the mud from his boots gathering in a murky puddle by his feet. Nobody said anything and the silence hanging in the air was suffocating. Wally felt as though he could scream, but no sound came and he stood, helpless and silent.

Warick began to wring his hands, his eyes nervously darting from the newspaper article to Stan's eyes while Skip merely stood in the center of the room, his own gaze never leaving his sister's face.

"If that's what yeh want," Stan replied finally, his voice dangerously soft. "But don't say Ah didn't warn yeh. Once yeh leave yeh can't ever come back to the way it was before," he remarked and turned on his heel towards the door.

"Stan, where're yeh goin'?!" Fran cried frantically as she tried to rise from the rocking chair. "Ah thought yeh wanted ta eat!"

The man walked from the room in silence and slammed the front door. The group stood in silence and younger Wally sat on the floor, still holding his grandfather's hat. "Do Ah get meh waffle now, Mum?" he asked quietly.

Wendy nodded, still staring off at the closed door. "Yea, Wally, yeh can have yeh waffle now."

"That old fool," Skip spat angrily and began to stride out of the room in fury. "He didn't even bother ta put his daks back on before he left," he choked back grieving sob and turned a corner as he left the room.

Wally stood in the threshold of the room, studying his mother's face while a strange hollow feeling began to well up in his stomach. Or at least, it felt like his stomach—he didn't care anymore; nothing seemed to matter. Ah had no idea... he thought. All those years he never had a clear picture of what happened, he had managed to piece together the fragments of conversations and stories.... The scene blurred and he felt himself losing consciousness as the floor slipped out from underneath him.

"So tell me, uh...Number 38....do you usually travel like this?"

Number 38 tilted the pot atop his head forward and gave a shrug, not bothering to turn around. "Underground is the only way ta' travel if yeh wanna get to where we're goin'. It's a loooong way to Kids Next Door Australian Base from here, yeh don' really wanna walk all that way, do yeh?"

Tommy groaned and bit his lip in frustration, continuing to walk behind Numbers 38 and 39 down the dark dirt tunnel. It wasn't as though he was claustrophobic or anything, but the tunnel gave him the creeps. Plus, it wasn't exactly a pleasant walk—he and Mushi were still toting around their luggage from the airport and his bag wasn't very light.

"How much longer till we get to the...um...." Mushi scratched her head as she dragged her little yellow suitcase behind her, trying to keep up with the rest of the group. "What's it called again?"

Number 39 scuffed his feet in the dirt as he walked along the tunnel. "It's the neatest thing, really it is; yeh get to ride on our R.O.D.E.N.T.; the Rapidly Operating Digging Engine Navigated Tunneler. Yeh'll love it!"

Tommy's previous annoyance quickly dissipated. "Really? How's it work?!"

"Well, it's kinda loike a gigantic jackhammer thingy...." Number 39 gave his older brother a kick. "Hey, 38, how's the R.O.D.E.N.T. work? Ah dunno how ta explain it."

Number 38 continued down the path and raised his eyes to the dirt ceiling in thought. "Erm....well, Ah think yeh descroibed it about roight, yeh jus' gonna have to wait until yeh see it for yourself, Numbah Two," 38 answered after a moment's thought.

Something unpleasant lurched in Tommy's stomach. Ever since he and Mushi had decided to go along and pretend to be Numbers Two and Three of Sector V after 38 and 39 had mistaken them so, he'd been on the edge. Every second he was afraid they'd figure out their lie and leave them all alone in Australia, or even worse, in the tunnel they were traveling.

However, there was a possibility that the consequences could be much more serious, though Tommy had immediately blocked the idea out of his mind—it was too horrible to consider. It was possible that 38 and 39 could report them to the Australian KND base, and they would have their membership qualifications suspended. Tommy was at no risk—he had already been decommissioned, so to speak, so even if he were discredited from his opportunity to register it wouldn't matter. Mushi, on the other hand, wouldn't be so lucky. She'd be immediately dispelled from the KND system and come graduation time she wouldn't be certified—to put it bluntly, they'd never allow her to become a member, and joining the KND was perhaps one of her biggest goals. Tommy didn't think he'd be able to live through the guilt of being the cause of her premature expulsion; it was too dreadful to think about.

To take his mind off the matter, he began to absentmindedly study the path, his eyes glued to the ground. Hopefully they wouldn't be discovered—and if they were the punishment might not be so severe if he knew where the real Sector V was, though Tommy doubted he'd be that lucky; he didn't even know where he was himself. Suddenly, Numbers 38 and 39 halted in front of him and he walked into 39, sending the small boy crashing over into his brother like dominos.

"Ouch! Hey, watch where yeh're goin'!"

"Sorry!"

Number 38 twisted the pot on his head by the handle and gestured to the large pile of rocks blocking the path ahead. "Behold, the R.O.D.E.N.T.! Yeh'll neva see another one, so take notice, kay?"

"Um....it's a bunch of rocks?"

"No, it's under the rocks. For camy-flogue. Y'know, from the predators an' such."

"Underground?"

"Yeh can't be too careful."

"What's going to attack it underground? Rabid moles or something?"

"Exac-tally!" Number 39 quipped and began to do another random victory dance in circles around his irritated brother.

Mushi shrugged and yanked her yellow bag by the handle. "Whatever. Let's get going to the Australian base, we don't have time to lose!"

Numbers 38 and 39 hastily straightened and gave Mushi a stiff salute. She grinned and nodded in approval. Tommy was impressed—she was definitely enjoying her role, though if the two Aussies had any idea what the real Number Three was like they wouldn't be so believing.

"Let's get goin' then, loike the sheila says," Number 38 announced and ran over to the mound of rocks and punched a boulder on the side. Mushi winced; it looked painful. As though an invisible trigger was released, the pile of rubble fell away, revealing a giant mecha shaped like a rat with a razor-like drill for a nose. Tommy and Mushi stared in awe, the falling rock resonating through the cavern.

"Whoa..." Tommy breathed. "That's one big rat." Mushi nodded in agreement.

Number 38 puffed his overall-clad chest in pride. "Yeh bet she is! Ready to roide?"

Tommy and Mushi nodded dumbly. What more was there to say? It was a pretty impressive robot...rat...thingy. (A/N: I'm horrible with mechanical descriptions. Bear with me and use your imagination!) Number 39 hopped onto the top of the robot's hunched metal head and snapped back a window latch where the 'eyes' of the rat were positioned. With a shriek of enthusiasm he hopped into the cockpit and strapped in the seatbelt, the other three following suit.

"Ah can't wait! This is meh first time ridin' in the R.O.D.E.N.T.!" Number 39 squeaked and banged his fists on his pot helmet, sending echoes across the cavern.

Number 38 rubbed the palms of his hands together in anticipation as the cockpit window shield closed over them and the engine roared to life. "Yeah...me too," he grinned and forcefully pushed forward a large red lever, the drill whirring through the tunnel at unfathomable speed. After a moment watching the fascinating drill, the R.O.D.E.N.T. lurched through the cavern at supersonic speed.

Tommy felt his stomach slam against his ribcage and he let out a gargled scream. Mushi on his left managed to maintain a calmer reaction and hollered to Number 38, "Do—you—have—a—license—for—this—thing—?!" her head slammed against the back of the seat from the extreme inertia.

Number 38 didn't take his eyes off the control panel, but he mustered up a toothy grin while the cavern scenery whizzed past. "Not yet, but don't yeh worry, Numbah Three. It's on meh Christmas list."

A/N: Man, I love that line. Once again I shower you all with devout apologies and free invisible candy. I felt this chapter was an added bonus for some insight into Wally's family life. I think I was experiencing some frustration at not getting admitted into the creative writing course at school—the class was too large, but I'll try again next year. Plus, if anyone's curious, 'waffle' is slang for 'nonsense', and 'daks' means 'trousers or pants', just in case you didn't catch it. Please don't eat my intestines, I'm sorry!!