TITLE: "True Blue Austr-alien" (2/2)

Part Two: "Down Under, Up Over."

AUTHOR: Triton

Email: triton-x@yahoo.com

or visit my little library at: http://geocities.datacellar.net/triton-x/Fanfic

DATE: April 26th, 2000 (ps - this is ANZAC Day)

CATEGORY: S/ Humour.

RATING: R - for language and other bits.

SUMMARY: This is Part Two. Part One "Doin' the Slam" was penned by Nicknoc and explains where the chocolate came from.

SPOILERS: None.

ARCHIVE: Sure, Fine, Whatever. Just let me know.

DISCLAIMER: X-Files, Mulder, Scully and all related characters belong to a person called Chris Carter, and also Ten-Thirteen Productions and the Fox Network. I mean no infringement. Blah Blah Blah.

NOTES and ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: at end

*************

PART TWO:

Closing the basement office door behind them, and pulling on her thin summer jacket, Scully ruefully wiped at the chocolate streaks that had dried around her mouth.

"Didn’t I do an adequate enough job, Scully?" Mulder whispered into her ear as he leaned over to check the lock.

"Well, I still feel sticky," she grinned, "and I’d rather feel clean, so I’ll meet you at the car at quarter to?"

"Sure thing," he replied, and with a satisfied grin he loped off in the opposite direction.

*************

True to her word, fifteen minutes later she was approaching the area where her borrowed Barina was parked, hastily finger-combing her dampened hair. As she neared, she noticed Mulder was talking animatedly into his mobile. She groaned inwardly as she deciphered the name Langly within the garble of words that echoed through the empty cement cavern.

Just as they were about to get somewhere on the relationship front, it seemed fitting that one of the ‘Goodies’ would interrupt. Mulder, no doubt, would want to run off to some obscure outback town to pick up on an even more obscure lead.

So, expecting the worst, she moderated her smile and prepared herself for disappointment. He looked up and met her eyes with a delighted grin, reaching out to pull her close. She was amused to discover that her reaction was to mirror back his grin and let herself be enveloped into a close embrace. As his free arm draped around her back, he turned them around so that she was resting against the car door. Scully relaxed into the sensations of a full frontal massage as his body moved against hers.

"Yeah, thanks, Langly," Mulder asserted, dropping his face down to rest against the top of her head. He pressed a kiss into her hair. "How about I drop by Jacko’s place on my way home to collect it?" He nuzzled at her ear. "No, I have an important appointment this afternoon. I’m collecting information vital to my current investigation," he declared, resting his forehead against hers, a mischievous glint aimed directly into her eyes.

Hanging up the phone, Mulder threw it through the open window of the car door. Using his now free arm, he reached down to pull open her jacket, sliding his hand to her waist. Suddenly, he paused. Taking half a step back, he dropped his glanced down.

"Scully, you’re all wet!"

She grinned unabashedly up at him. "My t-shirt was smeared with melted chocolate, so I gave it a quick rinse. My body heat will dry it in no time."

"But Scully, you don’t appear to be wearing a bra!"

"And that is a problem, Agent Mulder, because..?" she murmured.

Mulder growled low in his throat and pulled her close again, wrapping her tightly within his embrace. Leaning low to bury his face within her hair he whispered hot breath into her ear.

"Come on, let’s get out of here."

*************

The car trip to wherever it was Mulder wanted to go seemed to take forever. As soon as they had pulled out of the carpark, Mulder had reached for the Melways and had attempted to give her directions. Usually this wasn’t a problem, but today he was so busy staring at her, he forgot to watch for the street signs they were searching for.

Eventually, they pulled up in front of a Federation style house, its image complete with a picket fence, brightly coloured azaleas poking through the gaps, and golden hakeas spearing scratchy stems across the pathway. A mass of laurel grevillea sprawled through cracks in the herringbone paving. The unisonal beat of Whispering Jack echoed down the driveway, and the smoky smell of barbequing meat wafted around them.

Mulder turned to Scully and grinned.

"I only have to collect some documents from Langly, so either I can run in and out, or if you want to come in, we can have a beer with his mates. It’s up to you."

"Langly has mates?" She quipped, turning her body towards him.

"Yeah, Langly has lots of mates. This current brood have migrated from the colonies, claiming kin ties."

"Langly has kin?" Scully grinned, leaning closer, eyes twinkling in amusement.

Mulder opened his mouth to respond to her jesting, but Scully reached out a hand and laid a finger across his lips. "Actually, Mulder, I will come in. I need to go to the loo, and a Toohey’s does sound...nice," she breathed, sensuously running her finger along his bottom lip.

Mulder smiled under her touch, watching her.

Pulling back, she reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt.

Mulder glanced down at her chest, a flicker of concern wrinkling his brow. "Is your.."

"Yes, my t-shirt has dried sufficiently for me to appear in mixed company."

"Damn!" he whispered under his breath as he opened the car door. Withdrawing his lanky frame, he stood and stretched. He hovered by the car while Scully alighted, locking the door and pocketing the keys. As she drew up beside him, he reached for her right hand, wrapping his long fingers around her own small ones. Squeezing gently, he tugged her close, wrapping her tightly against his body. Scully relaxed against him, releasing a small sigh of contentment, snaking her left arm around his waist.

"This is nice, Scully," he murmured with affection, "To see you so relaxed around me, it pleases me. I really don’t want to spoil the moment by acknowledging our behaviour, but I don’t want to see you close off from me today. Do you think it remotely possible that we can remain in this mood for a whole day?" His hands ran across the denim covering her hips, and rested gently against her bum.

"As long as you don’t ditch me, running after a paranormal oily bee or something." Scully cocked back her head and smiled up at him. Tugging his arm, she pulled him away from the car, and they walked hand in hand through the gate, up the driveway and into the backyard.

They were greeted by a small group of happily screaming children, chasing each other around the Hills hoist, a kelpie leaping amongst their pumping legs. A smaller child stood to one side watching them, sucking on one thumb while the other held tightly to a Humphrey. She looked up as Scully and Mulder approached, breaking into a wide, toothy grin.

"Hey, Snugglepot," Mulder greeted, hunkering down to meet her eye to eye. "Where’s your Uncle Langly?" The small child giggled and pointed Humphrey towards the back shed, grabbing at Mulder’s kneecaps when her balance teetered.

"Careful, Mulder," came the familiar clipped voice of his friend, "that one is due for a nappy change." Scully turned her gaze to watch as Langly moved closer, amused at his surprise at seeing her.

"G’day, Scully, didn’t expect to see you here. You’re usually off somewhere, cutting up somebody, whenever Mulder is visiting his shady informants."

"Is that how you see yourself, Langly?" she quipped back, smiling openly at him. Langly stopped short and looked at her, a puzzled expression mapped across his face. He appeared to be considering a response, but instead shook his head and turned back to Mulder.

"I’ve got those documents back here, both come and take a gander." Turning to Scully, he smiled at her. "It’s nice to see you smiling, Scully. I’ve got some cool autopsy photos that you may be interested in. I’d like to get your opinion of them," and he inclined his head towards the corrugated iron building shaded by a large jacaranda.

"Actually, I would like to use the dunny first, Langly. Could you point me in the right direction?"

Langly did so, and Scully headed towards the backdoor of the weatherboard house, stepping around a collection of colourful Esky’s. Opening the squeaking flyscreen, she stepped into the kitchen, jumping as the screen door slammed shut behind her.

"Hey love, looking for the loo are you?"

Scully turned towards the voice, finding a older woman swathed in a flowered brunch coat standing at the sink, skin reddened from the steam rising out of the hot sudsy water.

"Pardon me?" Scully uttered, taking in the purple-rinsed fine hair, the ruddy complexion and the wide genuine smile.

"You must be Scully," the woman chirped, as she reached for the Morning Fresh and squirted some into her hands.

"I’m sorry, do I know you?" Scully stepped towards the friendly woman.

"Not unless you’ve been to the back of Bourke and beyond, lovey. I met Mulder a few months back, at another barbie. We got to talking over a bottle of Bundy, well, I was drinking the Bundy and doin’ most of the talking, he was sipping on a cold one. Anyways, I was asking him about his life, and he mentioned you in passing. Funny bloke, that one. Seems scared to say too much about you. Ah well, time will tell. So, dear, you want to pull up a pew and yarn for a while? Have a cup of tea with an old sheila."

"Actually, Mrs...?"

"Oh, call me Doris, love. Me old man was a digger, rest his soul, and I haven’t heard meself called by any other name for yonks."

"Well, Doris, I came in use the toilet."

Doris raised a pudgy arm and indicated the correct direction, the movement causing the loose dry skin under her upper arm to sway. "That a ways."

Scully wandered off through the concrete laundry, stopping at the entrance to the small room. Glancing out of the laundry window, she took in the group of blokes congregated around the BBQ. One of them was fiercely concentrating on turning the snags while the others encouraged him. All were standing around decked out in their trustworthy navy blue Yakka’s and Chesty Bonds, grasping cold stubbies in their fists.

For some reason, Scully felt comfortable and happy. She wondered if it was the fact that she and Mulder had finally kissed, thus relieving some of the pressure. That first hurdle was always the hardest. Smiling at the memory, she looked around the yard, trying to espy Mulder. He wasn’t visible, so she drew her gaze away and walked into the dunny.

*

Sitting at the kitchen table with Doris was an enlightening experience. Over a cup of Lipton’s and a plate of scones, Scully realised that this woman was the hub of her family, the central force within a group of chatty open ockers. She watched, content, as the old woman refused to keep still. She was pulling out Nutrigrain to feed hungry children, washing dummies, changing nappies, directing the traffic of people who wandered inside, handing out chores to all.

Whipping up the cream for a pavlova, Doris managed to talk a mile a minute. She regaled Scully with tales of a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains, and amusing recollections of Magda’s ‘Pixie’ from the previous night’s edition of Fast Forward.

Scully offered to assist with the creation of a potato salad, and moved to the kitchen sink to peel the spuds. The window above the sink was decked out in some frilly chequered fabric, pulled to the sides with matching ties. From her position, Scully could see into the backyard again and she automatically searched for Mulder, identifying him immediately.

Turning on the tap, she watched him from the open window. He was standing amongst a group of men, all congregating around the bricked barbecue, beers in hand. Apart from the odd loose flannelette shirt, most of the men where dressed alike in clothing that suited their professions. These men worked with their hands, worked hard for a living. With concrete dust powdered in their hair, or the edges of their fingernails stained with black machine oil so ingrained not even Solvol could remove it. These were men who enjoyed life, enjoyed their families, enjoyed socialising with others. The women were more adventurous in their choice of clothing colours. They happily bantered along with their life-mates, with their friends, and with their children. Infectious laughter, squeals of delight, sharing of stories. A spectrum of professions, a myriad of life experiences, of age groups, of heritage.

Mulder, taller than most, lanky and lean, looked well dressed even in black t-shirt and jeans. He emanated an intensity and a soulful loneliness that didn’t match the comfortable stance of those that surrounded him; he looking uncommonly out of place. Beer in hand, smiling at the folks who conversed with him, but looking around constantly. She wondered what he was searching for, until he finally noticed her at the kitchen window and smiled in relief at the discovery.

She smiled back, hiding her puzzlement. Was he worried about her? No, there was no reason to be. Mulder flicked his head at her, indicating that she go to him.

Widening her gaze, she sent him a non-verbal message. You want me to run to you when you call?

Mulder laughed silently, and shook his head. No, his silent message read, I just want to talk to you.

She shrugged. Soon. I am busy here.

He nodded. Ok, I’ll wait here for you.

Doris touched her shoulder, startling her. The older woman indicated that she should go outside and mingle, offering her a tea towel to clean herself up with. Scully was surprised by an overwhelming desire to hug this woman, and even more surprised when she followed through with it. Doris wrapped her pudgy arms around Scully’s smaller frame and squeezed her tight, then pushed her out the back door. Scully was again startled by the slamming of the screen door behind her.

Mulder met her before she had even stepped down the two steps leading from the small porch. An electric buzz shot through her as he reached out to take her hand.

"What’s up, Mulder?" Her voice dropped in concern.

"I just missed you, Scully," he whispered. Raising his voice he continued, "Come and meet Jacko." Rubbing his thumb along the palm of her hand, he lead her towards the group. Introducing her around, he didn’t let go of her hand.

"Want a stubbie or a tinnie?" one singleted guy wearing thongs offered.

"Want a VB, mate?" another presented. Scully eyed the contribution, then smiled an acceptance. She reached for the cold glass, condensation glistening as wet droplets, tingling her fingers.

"Hey, love, would you rather a Queen Adelaide?" a woman offered. Scully shook her head, raising her drink to her lips. The resonic harmonies of Tina Arena lilted across the yard. Someone offered her a Winfield, which she politely declined.

Mass hysteria hit next, when someone yelled "Snags are up!" and there was a mad rush for the sangers and dead horse. Scully watched it all in contentment, feeling a tingling along her back as Mulder moved behind her and wrapped his arms across her.

"You hungry?" he asked, brushing away a blowie that continually bombarded her face.

"No, not really," she responded, "well, not for food." She moved away from Mulder, sensing rather than seeing his puzzlement, and still grasping at his hand, wandered down to the huge trunk of the jacaranda tree. She rested her back up against the scratchy bark, and tugged him close. His eager grin answered her unasked question.

Resting his hands against the tree, beside her head, Mulder leant against her, taking in a deep breath. Her hands ran along his waist, brushing against the fabric of his t-shirt, teasing at the waistband of his jeans. Looking into his eyes, she lifted up onto her toes until her lips brushed against his, gentle at first, then deepening with each meeting. Running her hands up his back and along the muscles of his upper arms, she stretched up until they curved along his nape, interlacing her fingers. She kissed him again and again, the sweet softness of his lips, the flavour of hops, the warmth of his tongue, all combining into a heady mixture. It was a sensual intoxication that drove all thoughts from her mind, except for the awareness that she was totally and deliciously surrounded by him.

Breathless, they pulled apart. Mulder rested his forehead against hers and again looked into her eyes.

"Oh Scully, you smell so great."

"I do?"

"Did you know, Scully, that a woman smells so erotic when she is menstruating? A primal aroma that could be construed as the equivalent to pheromones."

Scully stared at him, her eyes displaying part amusement, part chastisement.

"That doesn’t make sense, Mulder, it is the wrong part of the cycle for this to logically occur. The menstrual cycle is biologically destined to promote conception, and during the discarding of the endometrium lining it is less likely that a woman would conceive."

"Scully, shut up!" and his lips touched hers lightly.

"So, you can smell me?"

"Oh yes. And as per usual, it drives me crazy with desire," he growled, nibbling at her lobes.

"So, you can always tell when I am...."

"Yes, I think by the second year of our partnership I could even predict when you were due."

"You took notice of my cycles?" Scully placed both her hands against his chest.

"Definitely. It’s a part of you. And also, when I realised how your individual odour affected me, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed with the desire to throw you down wherever we were and fuck you senseless, considering the inappropriateness of it."

"Yes, it would have been inappropriate, Mulder. I would have been royally pissed off if you had..."

"Scully."

"Mulder?"

"Let’s get out of here."

"What? Don’t you want to watch the footy with Robbo, Johnno and Stevo? The Blues are playing the Bears!"

"How about I just yell ‘Carn the Blues’ as we pass by the cheering mobs?" Mulder quipped, grabbing her hand.

After saying their ‘ta-ta’s to all and sundry, and trying not to laugh at Langly’s attempt to remain nonchalant about their obvious behaviour, they left.

As Scully reached into her pocket to pull out the car keys, a scrap of white lacy fabric had snagged to the key ring. Once freed from the confines of her pocket, it released itself from the metal ring and drifted to the ground. Both bent down to retrieve the errant cloth and Mulder’s fingers reached it first. Straightening it out, he suddenly realised he was holding Scully’s discarded bra. His eyes briefly flittered across her breasts as he raised his gaze to meet with hers.

"Mulder, do you remember the jingle for Redheads?"

A sudden release of held breath. "Yeah?"

"Well, do it!"

END.

Author’s Notes and Acknowledgments:

To Nicknoc, for patiently sharing the journey; and for restraining Celine long enough to prevent distractions. Did I mention she was patient?

To Cryst and Diana B, the ‘poor befuddled yanks’ who did their best at beta-ing a story full of unknown quantities. Their advice was very much appreciated.

As mentioned in Nicknoc’s notes, this story was bred from a conversation on pop culture, and differing international terminologies. We wanted to develop a story with an Australian flavour, to demonstrate the effect certain phrases have on the reader, especially if that reader lives in a different part of the world.

Also:

A Country Practise isn’t all that bad, I was brought up on it. I still remember watching Molly die, and feeling very moved by the creative way in which it was done.

I still watch the occasional episode of Neighbours too.

Lamingtons aren’t one of my fav’s, unless served frozen and with fresh cream.

Barina’s are cute, but I prefer Seca’s. Especially red ones!!

Strewth also means "Really!", or "You are kidding me!".

The Redhead jingle was "Light My Fire" by the Doors.