Chapter Seven

Saturday, January 1, 1887
10:08PM
Hill Valley, California

New Years passed uneventfully and strangely in the eyes of Marty. He'd never celebrated the arrival of a (to him) past time as a new year before. And it felt even stranger not to have the celebration televised live from New York Times Square with the lit ball and Dick Clark and fireworks and everything else. Then there was the fact that only himself, Clara, and Doc were there to ring in the new year. Even when he was a kid, Marty had always been surrounded by people at the turn of the year.

Though the three of them had been up 'til after midnight, Doc had prodded Marty awake near dawn to go to his shop and work on the DeLorean. It was a wise move, considering the turn the weather had taken. When the two of them had arrived in Hill Valley, word was spreading fast that a snow storm was heading their way. Marty was skeptical at the news-- How did they predict weather now? he wondered--but Doc took the rumor seriously.

Shortly after lunch, the sky had filled with purple- grey colored clouds, and a startlingly cold wind began to gust. By the time Doc and Marty started walking to the cabin in mid-afternoon, because Doc didn't want his horses out in the elements at the cabin, snow flurries were starting to fall. Marty couldn't help but feel fascinated as he saw the flurries increase in number and size. Sure, he'd seen snow before--enough to last a lifetime back in mid-summer, when he had gone with Doc and his family to 1855 in the midwest--but snow in Hill Valley was somewhat rare. If they were lucky, they might get some snowfall once or twice a year, but even then it was never much. Usually.

"Think they're right?" Marty had asked Doc when they reached the cabin. The snow was falling so fast and thick, now that Marty hadn't even seen the cabin until he'd nearly walked into the picket fence surrounding it. "Think this is going to be a snowstorm?"

"I could almost guarantee that," Doc had replied. "I think I've read somewhere before that the winter of 1886 - '87 is one of the harshest on record in Hill Valley."

Doc's words seemed to ring true, at least with this particular weather. As night fell, the storm grew worse. Marty periodically returned to the window, looking outside at the wild weather, feeling more like he was in the middle of Siberia instead of Northern California.

Doc and Marty were both hanging out in the main room when Clara emerged from the kitchen. "I'm going to bed now," she said softly. Her face was pale, strained. Doc stood up from the armchair where he had been sitting.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Clara nodded, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I'm fine," she said. "Just tired."

Doc went over to her and gave her a hug and kiss. "All right," he said. "But please, don't hesitate to let me know--"

"Don't worry. After me--and the baby--you'll be the first to know when it's time," Clara interrupted with a smile, returning her husband's hug and kiss. She looked past Doc, to Marty sprawled on the couch. "Good night, Marty."

" 'Night, Clara," he said.

Doc watched his wife head towards their room until she vanished inside and shut the door. He sighed once Clara had left, running a hand through his unruly white hair.

"This is starting to bother me," he said.

"What is?" Marty asked. He sat up, his eyes wide at the thought he'd just had. "Something isn't wrong with the time machine, is it?"

Doc shook his head, returning to the seat next to the fire. "No--the repairs are coming along fine, as you should well know."

"Then what's bugging you?" Marty asked. "The storm?"

Doc glanced for a moment at the window. "No, not the storm. Clara's pregnancy is what's bothering me."

Marty leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why's that? Did the doc here warn you their might be complications?"

"No. She's perfectly healthy. It's this waiting I hate. The baby could come at any time. It's nearly a week overdue now." Doc got up again, starting to pace the room. "I can't belive any child of mine would be so tardy," he muttered.

Marty couldn't help but grin at that. "Boy, Doc, you've got a lot to learn about kids! As much as you may want them to be a certain way, they'll just go ahead and do whatever they want."

Doc gave him a hard look. "Are you talking about my future child?"

Marty blinked. "What? No, of course not! I'm just talking about kids in general. Don't you remember what it was like when you were growing up?"

"Of course I do," Doc said, though he didn't elaborate. Doc's past was one area which Marty was pretty fuzzy on. In fact, he was pretty sure he knew more about Clara's family and past than Doc's. All Marty knew were the bare basics--the Browns, then the Von Brauns, had come to Hill Valley in 1908. Doc's father had changed the name to Brown after the first World War. Doc was an only child, born in 1920. His parents had had money. And Doc's interest in science began when he was 11 from reading Jules Verne. Marty wasn't sure why his friend never talked about his family or past.

"What were you like as a kid?" he asked suddenly.

Doc stopped pacing and turned around. "What was I like as a kid?" he echoed. "Well, I was like most boys of my age and time period, I suppose."

"You never talk about it," Marty said.

Doc shrugged. "There's not much to tell."

By the tone in his voice, Marty could tell that Doc didn't plan to discuss the subject further. But Marty plunged ahead with his interrogation. "Why don't you ever talk about your childhood?"

"There's not much to tell," Doc repeated. "Honestly. There is nothing very exciting or unusual to tell."

"Doc, I can hardly see you as an average kid--no offense," Marty added quickly. "Why don't you ever talk about it?"

"I don't hear you talking about your childhood," Doc countered tersely.

Marty shrugged. "What do you want to know? I'll tell you."

Doc sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Marty, this subject is going nowhere fast."

Marty started at Doc, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. "Doc," he said softly. "What happened to you as a kid?"

"Nothing that any other youngster didn't go through, I'm sure," Doc muttered. He resumed his pacing and switched the subject. "I think that the time machine should be ready for temporal displacement on Tuesday, as we discussed earlier. Likely the night hours. If the weather is cooperating, the two of us will get the DeLorean out of the town, then you can drive it back to the future, where my future self will be able to make the more delicate repairs."

"And proceed to kill me, I'm sure," Marty muttered. "Am I going to get in trouble for this?"

Doc paused again, an odd look on his face. "That's a very interesting question," he said. "You took the time vehicle without permission, correct?"

"Yeah," Marty said.

"Then I'm sure my future self will want to have a few words with you," Doc concluded. "It would irk me some, so I don't see why it wouldn't irk my future self as well."

Marty sighed, letting his head fall in his hands. "Perfect."

Doc went over to the window, peering outside again. "How's the storm coming?" Marty asked after a moment, looking up.

"It's still coming," Doc said, frowning. After a moment he let the curtain fall back and returned to his seat by the fire, picking up the thick book that he'd been working his way through. Marty watched him a moment, debating whether or not to bring up the subject of his childhood again.

"Emmett!"

The cry was so sudden and unexpected that Doc actually dropped his book. He sat up, his eyes wide. Marty met his gaze, his heart starting to pound. It was Clara, and she sounded scared.

Doc jumped to his feet, running towards the bedroom door. Marty followed him, right on his heels. Doc pushed the door open so hard that it slammed against the wall, rattling the window glass. "Clara," Doc said.

Clara lay in the bed on her left side, her dark eyes wide. She was holding her round belly, her skin damp with perspiration. A lamp burned beside her bed. "Emmett, my water broke," she said, her voice filled with fear.

Doc rushed to her side immediately as Marty leaned back against the wall for support. "Oh God!" he moaned, feeling woozy already.

"How far apart are the contractions?" Doc asked his wife, grabbing some pillows from nearby and boosting them under Clara's head until she was propped in a sitting position.

"I don't know," Clara said. "I haven't been keeping track. Since dinner I've been feeling cramps, but I assumed it was indigestion." She reached out and grabbed Doc's arm. "We have to get the doctor!"

"I know," Doc said, his voice coming out steady and calm. Marty was shocked at how levelheaded he was acting. Doc glanced over at him. "Marty, can you--" Doc stopped, sighed, and shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?" Marty said, immediately suspicious. "Tell me."

Doc looked at Clara. "I'll be right back," he promised her. "If you feel another contraction, keep track of it on the clock." He gestured to a couple of the timepieces scattered around the room.

Clara nodded. "Hurry back," she pleaded.

Doc grabbed Marty's arm and pulled him into the main room. "What were you going to ask me?" Marty wanted to know.

"I was going to ask you to run to the doctor," Doc said in a low voice, his eyes darting over towards the bedroom. "But you don't know the way."

"Give me directions," Marty said immediately. "I can still do it."

Doc shook his head. "It would take too long--and you'd have to walk. The horses are in the barn in town, remember? Which brings us to our next dilemma."

"What's that?" Marty asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer to that question. He had a terrible feeling that he wasn't going to like the answer.

Doc's eyes shifted to the window. "The storm," he said.

Marty tried to laugh, but didn't succeed too well. "Oh, it can't be that bad," he said, heading for the door. He opened it and stepped on the porch. The cold hit him abruptly, literally taking his breath away. Wind whipped his hair back, off his forehead, tiny grains of snow stinging his cheeks. Determined to get out of the cabin and show Doc, though, Marty stepped off the porch and walked over to the fence. The wind was even worse without the shelter of the covered porch. The snow had piled up nearly half a foot. Marty hadn't even taken five steps when his feet already started to go numb.

After a moment, standing in the cold and whirling snow, Marty turned around and shuffled back to the cabin. Doc waited in the doorway, arms crossed. "Are you satisfied?" he asked as Marty reentered the cabin.

"I wish to God we were in the 20th century," Marty muttered, brushing the snow off his clothes. He looked to his friend, grasping the gravity of the situation. "Doc, what are we gonna do? You don't have a phone, do you?"

"Hardly," Doc said. "Even when such devices become mainstream, Hill Valley will be one of the last to have them."

"Shit," Marty said, his voice rising. "Doc, we're screwed!"

"Shhh, Marty, keep your voice down!" Doc warned, glancing towards the bedroom. "Things will be fine. Clara had an easy pregnancy, no complications were expected. And women have been having children for years with no medical help."

"I can't deliver a baby!" Marty exclaimed. "Are you outta your goddamn mind?"

"Emmett!" Clara called, her voice strained. "I--I think I'm having a contraction!"

Doc rushed back to the bedroom. Marty stayed put, wiping the swiftly melting snow from his hair and struggling to remain calm. His heart and mind raced, though. This can't be happening, not now, not here! Why did I have to get stuck here and now? I can't handle this!

Doc returned to the main room a moment later. "Clara's contractions are about fifteen minutes apart," he reported. "I'm no medical doctor, but I think the baby won't be coming for a few more hours yet."

"Her water broke, though, remember?" Marty said. "I thought that mean the kid would be born within the hour."

Doc waved away Marty's statement with one hand. "You've been watching too many films and TV shows," he said. "Wait with Clara while I get some water boiled and sterilize some supplies."

Marty stared at Doc in despair. "I can't," he murmured.

Doc gave him an odd look. "What do you mean you can't?"

"I can't handle childbirth," Marty said in a whisper, ashamed, lowering his head. "I freak out. As soon as things start getting....messy in there, I'll hit the deck!"

Doc sighed, making Marty feel even worse. After a moment, his friend grasped him by the shoulders. "Marty," Doc said softly.

Marty looked up into his face, reluctantly. Doc didn't look angry. That was good. His face was serious. "I'm not asking you to deliver the baby. I'll handle that part. I just need your assistance with this. I can't do it alone. If childbirth makes you so uncomfortable, then don't watch. Clara needs someone to hold onto during this, someone to talk to her, and I can't be in two places at once."

"So, what, you want me to be a nurse and Lamaze coach?" Marty asked.

Doc nodded once. "Exactly!"

Marty looked at Doc, wary. "Fine," he said, sighing. "I'll help. But I warned you. If I pass out in there, don't get mad at me!"

"It wouldn't be your fault," Doc said. "Why would I be angry with you?" Without giving Marty a chance to answer, Doc rushed ahead with instructions. "Right now, I need you to go in there and sit with Clara. Talk to her, try to keep her calm."

"All right," Marty said softly. Doc patted him on the shoulder, then hurried into the kitchen. Marty headed--reluctantly--for the bedroom.

Clara lay on the pillows, still in her nightgown, fanning her face with one hand. "Marty," she said, smiling wanly as he entered the room. "Where is Emmett?"

"Getting stuff ready to deliver the baby," Marty said. "He wanted me to sit with you." He approached the bed slowly. "How are you feeling?"

"As well as can be expected, considering," Clara said. "Could you open that window a crack for me?"

Marty glanced over at where Clara was pointing. "Oh, sure," he said, heading over to the window and pushing it up a couple inches. Frozen air drifted into the room. Clara sighed, wiping a lock of hair from her eyes.

"That feels wonderful," she said. "Thank you."

Marty stood awkwardly next to the window. "Anything else you need me to do?"

Clara gestured to a chair at her bedside. "Have a seat, Marty. I won't bite."

Marty smiled nervously, rounding the bed and taking the chair she'd offered him. "Am I that obvious?"

Clara shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. You just looked rather uncomfortable, like you wanted to be a million miles away from here."

"Or a hundred years," Marty said. "I gotta tell you, I'm not really that comfortable around women when they're about to have babies."

Clara looked at him, surprise clearly showing on her face. "Really? Why is that?"

Marty shrugged. "I guess I'm kinda squeamish about it. Logically, I know it's natural and there's nothing that should freak me out. But my body doesn't really care."

Clara reached over and patted his hand. "Well, if you feel a little overwhelmed with everything, just leave the room."

"If I can make it," Marty muttered under his breath. Clara suddenly grabbed his hand, hard. Marty winced at the grip.

"Another contraction!" she gasped, clenching her eyes shut and sucking in a deep breath. Marty groaned softly.

"Jeez, Clara, my fingers!"

Clara didn't seem to hear him, her body rigid, every muscle in her body tensed. After several long moments she finally relaxed, letting out a deep breath and opening her eyes. Beads of sweat stood out on her forehead.

"They're getting worse," she moaned. Marty took advantage of the break in contractions to snatch his hand from Clara's grasp. He tenderly rubbed his fingers, trying to get feeling in them again.

Doc returned to the room. "I got some water boiling," he said, opening the chest at the foot of the bed and pulling out some towels and sheets, setting them on the bed beside Clara. "How are you doing?" he asked his wife.

"I just had another contraction," Clara said.

Doc checked one of the clocks, frowning. "They're getting closer," he said. He sat down on the other side of the bed, taking Clara's hand. "You know I'm going to have to deliver the baby."

"I know," Clara said, managing a smile at Doc. "You do know how....don't you?"

"I'm not a medical doctor, but I've been reading some books, just in case a situation like this presented itself. You can never tell in the wild west," Doc added. "Though I certainly wasn't expecting a snowstorm."

"Expect the unexpected," Marty muttered, still nursing his wounded hand. "How long 'til the baby is born, you think?"

Doc looked at the clocks again, then at Clara. He shrugged. "It's hard to tell. These situations vary from person to person. But I'm almost positive that the birth won't occur until after midnight. Meaning our first child will likely be born on Sunday, January 2, 1887."

Clara smiled, though the expression was somewhat strained. "I can't wait," she said. "Are we agreed on the names?"

"Jules if it's a boy, and...." Doc looked at his wife, his eyebrows raised. "What did we decide on if we have a female child?"

"I still like Emily," Clara said. "We could name her Emily Marie, if you like?"

Doc nodded, smiling. "That sounds just fine."

"What are you going to give Jules for a middle name?" Marty asked, genuinely curious. He didn't recall ever hearing it before. "Verne?"

Doc and Clara looked at each other for a long moment. "No," Doc finally said. "We haven't given that much thought, really."

"If we do have a boy, we can decide after he is born," Clara said. She shifted uncomfortably in the bed. "Should I stay on my back until after the birth?" she asked. "Can I walk around?"

Doc considered the question with a frown. "I don't think that is forbidden, but I wouldn't stay on your feet for a prolonged period of time."

"I heard it makes the kid come out faster," Marty said, recalling a random fact he'd picked up from--where? Health class? Television? Some news article? He couldn't remember.

Clara pushed herself up. "In that case, I think I will walk around a bit," she said. "Will you help me, Emmett?"

Doc nodded, glancing at Marty as he helped his wife to her feet. "Will you do a favor for me?"

Marty nodded slowly, though he wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "What is it?"

The scientist gestured to the folded linens on the bed with his free hand. "Change the sheets on the bed. We want to make sure everything is as clean as possible when the baby comes into the world."

That didn't sound too difficult. "Okay," Marty agreed, more cheerfully now. He waited until Doc and Clara shuffled from the room, then stripped the bed of its current sheets and put the fresh ones on. The latter job was more difficult than he had first thought, since all the sheets now were really just sheets--they didn't have any of that elastic to slip over the corners of the mattress. The overall job, when Marty was finished, was a little wrinkled, but he didn't think Doc or Clara would care.

Marty stepped away from the bed and poked his head into the other room. Doc and Clara were standing next to the window, Clara leaning heavily on Doc. Things appeared quiet and peaceful--then Clara suddenly grimaced and bent over.

"Another one," she groaned. Doc held onto her as the pain reached it's peak. Finally, Clara let out a deep breath and straightened up. "Perhaps I'd better lie back down."

Marty ducked back in the bedroom, feeling as if he was intruding on something private. A minute later, Doc and Clara returned to the room.

"I tried to get the sheets as smooth as possible," Marty said quickly, as Doc helped Clara back onto the bed.

"It looks fine, thanks," Doc said, sounding preoccupied. He looked at the clock. "Thirteen minutes apart, now."

"Are you sure I can't get the doctor for you?" Marty asked, hoping Doc had changed his mind. But the inventor shook his head firmly.

"It's far too dangerous. The last thing we need is for you to get lost and disoriented out there in the snow. No," Doc said again, his tone of voice leaving no room for argument.

Marty sighed. He'd tried his best. "All right," he said. "But if you change your mind, let me know."


Chapter Eight

Sunday, January 2, 1887
2:13AM

Clara's face contorted in pain as the latest contraction wracked her body. She had never felt such overwhelming pain before--it was incredible. It consumed her every thought and every inch of her mortal body. Doc Brown watched his wife from the foot of the bed, waiting to deliver their baby as Marty stood next to her, giving her a hand to hold.

"Hold onto that breath," Doc said calmly. "We're almost there."

Clara gave an almost imperceptible nod, feeling beads of sweat drip down her hot face. Her nightgown was so soaked, it felt like a second skin. Without a word, Marty picked up a washcloth, resting in the cool water of the washbasin, and wiped her face with it. Clara glanced at him for a moment, a little concerned. He was sweating almost as much as she was, though his skin was much paler in color. But she didn't contemplate it long. The pain was far too distracting. After what seemed like forever to Clara, it finally dropped to a somewhat tolerable level. She relaxed, panting heavily, knowing that the reprieve would not last.

"Time?" Doc asked Marty, noticing that the worst appeared to be over for his wife.

"Nearly a minute," Marty said. He let go of Clara for a second, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I hope this is almost over."

Doc nodded in agreement, then looked at Clara. "I think we're almost done," he said. "Next contraction I want you to start pushing."

Clara nodded, not saying a word. It took far too much effort to speak now. She drew in another breath as she felt the pain return, reaching out to grip Marty's hand. Marty took it, a grimace crossing his face, likely from the crushing grip with which she held onto him. "It's starting," she moaned softly to Doc.

"Then push," Doc said. He bent under the sheet that covered her from the waist down, preparing himself for the delivery.

Clara bit her lower lip, then started to push. A low moan escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. Marty groaned with her, perhaps due to the force with which she gripped his hand. It felt like millions of little knives were tearing at her insides. Then Doc let out a loud gasp. "I see the baby's head!" he cried. "Clara, I see the head!"

"You see the head?" Marty repeated. Something in his tone of voice caused Clara to look over at him. Marty didn't look so hot, leaning heavily against the table beside the bed. Clara turned her head to her husband, wanting to say something about that; it looked to her like Marty was about to keel over. Then a renewed burst of pain made that a moot point. Clara cried out at the agony that was tearing through her body.

"Great Scott!" Clara heard Doc exclaim, her voice filled with a strange awe. Clara hardly heard him, trying desperately to just breathe and get through the horrible pain.

"What is it?" Marty demanded, hearing Doc as well.

"I see the face!" Doc gasped. "This is amazing! Marty, you have to see this!"

"No thanks!" Marty shot back, his voice unusually sharp.

Doc glanced up for a moment at Clara's strained face. "Clara, I think this is almost it. One or two more pushes and we'll have our baby!"

"Good," Clara managed, the word coming out as a groan. She took two deep breaths, then started to push again, clenching her eyes shut as she did so. In that moment, Clara realized that she was experiencing the worst pain one could feel in a lifetime. I don't see what's so natural about it! she thought angrily.

Suddenly, just as she thought she couldn't take anymore, it abruptly lessened. And then she heard the cry of the child.

"Clara!" Doc cried, holding the screaming newborn up for her to see. "Clara! We have a son!"

Clara's only answer was another moan, though a warm feeling suddenly coursed through her entire body. We have a son, she thought. Emmett Brown and I have a son! It was amazing to contemplate.

Doc looked at Marty with an ear-to-ear grin, holding the baby up for him to see, the umbilical cord still attached. "Marty, it's a boy!"

Marty smiled weakly, letting go of Clara again to wipe at his dripping face. "Great, Doc."

"What's the time?" Doc asked him, lowing the baby and starting to clean him up. "I want to document the precise time of birth!"

"It--it's 2:17AM," Marty said. His already pale coloring suddenly grew even more pale. "Doc, I gotta get outta here!"

"Just a minute," Doc said, not looking up.

"No, now!" Marty insisted, his voice cracking. He took a step away from the bed, but didn't quite make it, hitting the wooden floor with a heavy thud.

"Emmett!" Clara cried weakly, finding her voice. She suddenly felt beyond helpless, here on this bed. "What happened to Marty?"

Doc rolled his eyes for a moment, not looking terribly concerned. He ducked back down. "It's nothing to fret about. I'll take care of that later."

* * *

Something sharp and fragrant suddenly invaded the cool, soothing blackness that surrounded him. Coughing, Marty opened his eyes. Doc Brown's face hovered over his own.

"What're you doing?" Marty muttered, raising an arm to block whatever Doc had in his hand.

"Reviving you," Doc said matter-of-factly. "These smelling salts did the trick nicely. I'd almost forgotten I had them."

Marty groaned, remembering. "Is it over?"

Doc's grin gave him the answer. "I'll let you see for yourself. Can you get up?"

Marty nodded, though he wasn't sure. He still felt rather weak. He sat up slowly, then allowed Doc to pull him to his feet.

Clara lay in the bed, an exhausted but deliriously happy look on her face. Doc practically pushed him to the bedside; Marty dragged his feet, starting to feel like he might faint all over again. "Relax," Doc said in a low voice, as if he could read his friend's thoughts.

Marty swallowed hard, eyeing Clara with obvious unease. "Are you done with the birth?" he asked.

Clara smiled and tilted a quilt-wrapped bundle towards him. "Emmett and I would like you to meet someone," she said softly.

Marty's eyes darted around. "Are you sure everything's over with?"

Doc sighed. "Yes, Marty. I even changed the sheets while you were out. Everything is over."

Marty nodded. "Great," he said. Now that that little problem was cleared up, Marty leaned closer to the bed for his first real look at the baby. "What did you name him?" he asked innocently.

"Jules Eratothenes Brown," Doc said proudly, stepping close to the bed to put a hand on his wife's shoulder.

"Jules what?" Marty asked, not even trying to repeat that tongue-twister of a middle name.

"Eratothenes," Doc repeated, as if it was the most natural name in the world.

Marty couldn't help himself. "Where the hell did you come up with that?" he asked. "I've never even heard of such a name!"

"Eratothenes was a scholar and mathematician in ancient Greece, who calculated the earth's circumference," Clara explained, looking down at the baby in her arms with a smile.

Marty couldn't help grinning with that. It seemed just like something Doc would do. "Oh, okay." He looked down at the baby's face nestled in the quilt--Jules--sleeping peacefully. He just looked like any other newborn, which surprised Marty a bit. He'd have thought he would have been able to detect at least the start of what Jules looked like as an almost-eleven-year-old. "Wow," he said, for vastly different reasons than Clara or Doc probably thought. "This is amazing!"

"Not something I want to go through every night, however," Clara said with a tired smile. Doc seemed to pick up on her subtle hint.

"It is rather late, isn't it?" he said, carefully taking the baby from Clara's arms. "Why don't you get some well-deserved rest now?"

Clara nodded, leaning back with a brief grimace. Marty bet she'd be pretty sore for at least a few days after everything she'd gone through. The mere thought of that, however, gave him that same weak-in-the-knees sensation. Before it could spiral any further, however, Doc distracted him.

"Will you take him for a minute?" he asked, holding the baby out to Marty a bit awkwardly. Marty accepted Jules with a nod, a little nervously. He still wasn't quite sure to hold babies. At least this one wasn't squirming around.

"Hey, Jules," he said softly, as Doc darted around closing the window and turning down lamps. "How're you doin'?"

The baby yawned widely, as if bored by Marty's question. Marty smiled, amazed that he could be here, now, seeing Jules this young. It was rather strange, if he thought about it. The things time travel could offer! It made him wonder what it'd be like to travel ahead about ten or fifteen years and see his own children as infants. But some things were better left to the natural course of time. Marty wasn't quite sure he was ready for an experience like that yet.

Doc took Jules back and set him in the cradle next to the bed, then ushered Marty out of the room. Doc closed the bedroom door and leaned against it with a heavy sigh. "Wow," he said softly.

"Tell me about it," Marty agreed, falling onto the couch. He caught sight of the clock nearby--a few minutes after three in the morning.

Doc walked slowly across the room, his eyes focused on something far away from the small cabin room. "Imagine, Marty," he said slowly. "I am now a father. Did you ever think I'd be a father? I never thought I'd be a father."

"Stranger things've happened," Marty said, yawning.

Doc stopped next to the window, looking outside. It was only then Marty remembered the nasty weather that had been the stumbling block earlier in the night. "Are you gonna get the doctor at all now?"

"Once the weather improves and there is daylight, yes," Doc said. "I'll feel better once Clara and...Jules are examined by a medical doctor."

"Sorry I, uh, fainted in there," Marty said, embarrassed. "That was pretty stupid, but I did warn you--"

"I know, Marty," Doc said softly. "You couldn't help it."

Marty shifted uneasily on the couch. "Yeah--but I hate that! I hope I can get over that little problem before I have kids. I'd hate to do that to my wife!"

Doc's response was not the one Marty was expecting. "Do you think I'll be a good father?"

"What?" Marty asked, trying to get a grip on the conversational shift. "Sure, you'll be a good father."

"There's so much I don't know or understand about babies and children," Doc marveled. "They're such mysterious creatures."

"Give it some time," Marty said, rolling over so Doc couldn't see the smile on his face. "You'll be acting like a father in no time. Lots of it is instinct, I'll bet."

"Yes, well...." Doc paused. "Look at me, Marty. I'll be about 67 on my next birthday. I'm old enough to be a grandfather! What will the other children that my son will socialize with think of that? What will Jules say?"

Marty sighed, out of exhaustion more than anything else. "Doc, first of all, I wouldn't care what other people think about your age an' all." He frowned, something occurring to him. "Hey, wait, why do you care all the sudden? You never did before, and what some of those people've said back in the future was probably worse."

"I don't care what others say," Doc replied. "Not really. But, Marty, I do care if my child is ashamed or teased or hurt due to me."

Marty snorted. "Trust me, Doc, they're not gonna be ashamed of you. They're gonna love you and be proud of you and defend you."

Doc turned away from the window, a half-smile on his face. " 'They,' Marty?"

Marty didn't get it. "Yeah...." he said slowly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You realize that you are implying that I have--will have--more than one child," Doc said, sounding amused.

Marty swallowed hard, then quickly denied the slip. "I was speaking in general terms, y'know? Anyway, don't worry about your son being ashamed of you. He won't. Kids don't start acting like that 'til they're teenagers--and then that's perfectly normal," he added quickly. "You've probably got about 13 or so years before Jules might be like that."

"Teenagers," Doc said, that same half-smile on his face. "That will be very interesting--but I think I can wait a while for that. There is so much to anticipate from here. Jules' first step, first word, his schooling, the 'terrible twos'...."

Marty felt that weird sensation in his brain again, thinking about Doc's words. To him, that stuff was ancient history. He hadn't even met Jules--excluding tonight, of course--until the kid was almost ten.

"It'll fly by," Marty said, smiling.

The quiet of the cabin was suddenly shattered by the sound of a baby crying. Doc ran across the room and went into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar. Marty winced at the sound of the crying, which brought to mind a lot of other stuff Doc hadn't mentioned in the journey of parenting.

Late night feedings, sleep deprivation, changing diapers, potty training--no thanks!

Marty sighed and grabbed a pillow from the couch, pulling it over his head in an attempt to muffle the sound. This night was never going to end!


Chapter Nine

Sunday, January 2, 1887
8:21AM

Doc Brown stood on his front porch, squinting against the glare of daylight on snow as he scanned the immediate area. Though the clouds were far from gone, it had stopped snowing. And the tint in the sky was considerably lighter than it had been the afternoon before. As for the snow accumulations, as close as Doc could figure there had to be at least a foot of the white stuff on the ground.

It wasn't going to be a picnic to get to town, but it could have been worse. And Doc's peace of mind was at stake--he couldn't go another 24 hours, worrying about the health of Clara and Jules. Granted, both appeared to be healthy, but Doc would feel a lot better once he got an educated opinion on that.

I suppose I should be grateful that I knew the basics of delivering a baby, Doc mused, turning to step back into the warm interior of the cabin. He shut the door without thinking about it, then winced in anticipation. A second later, the wailing started from the next room.

"Make it stop," Marty muttered from the couch, not opening his eyes. "For the love of God, make it stop!"

Doc didn't answer him, hurrying for the bedroom. At least Marty had had a bit of sleep--Doc hadn't had the time to hardly sit down in the last 24 hours. It was times like these that he was grateful for his ability to pull long hours without much physical or mental complaint.

Clara was sitting up in bed and holding Jules as Doc entered the room. "I don't know why he's crying," she said, sounding frazzled and looking exhausted. "I just fed him and he was changed only a few minutes ago...."

Doc took the squealing baby from her arms. "I'll puzzle it out," he said. "You lie back and try to rest."

Clara smiled wanly. "Not very likely, I'm afraid," she said, settling back.

Doc went into the other room, jiggling the baby in his arms as he walked, wracking his mind for the source of the baby's discomfort. He wished desperately there was someone else in the cabin with them, someone who'd had kids or was experienced with them in some way--

"Why is he crying?" Marty moaned, sitting up. "What's his problem?"

"I don't know," Doc said, rubbing his son's back. "I don't suppose you do?"

Marty rolled his eyes. "Sure, Doc. You know me, I'm a baby encyclopedia." He frowned, grumpy. "Can't you do something about that crying?"

"I'm trying, Marty, but this is just something to be expected with babies," Doc said evenly. "They can't communicate in any other way."

Marty sighed heavily, laying back and pulling a quilt over his head. "Perfect," Doc heard him mutter.

Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Doc headed towards the kitchen, letting the door swing shut at his back. Jules continued to wail, the sound giving Doc the start of a headache.

"Why are you crying?" he asked the baby, then sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't suppose you can tell me, can you?"

Jules persisted crying, his tiny face red. Doc paced around with the baby in his arms, not knowing what else to do. He wracked his mind for some kind of soothing song or lullaby appropriate for a baby. All that came to mind, though, was 'Rock-a-Bye Baby'--and that certainly wasn't appropriate. It was all about breaking branches and children falling!

Who writes those songs, anyway? Doc wondered idly. But it didn't matter, not now. What mattered was stopping Jules' crying, and figuring out why he was doing that in the first place.

"Shhhhhhh," Doc murmured, patting the baby's back. "Don't cry, everything is all right." He continued to pace around the kitchen. After a few minutes, the crying softened, then trailed off all together. Finally, ten minutes later, Jules was asleep, sucking his thumb.

Doc let out a huge sigh of relief, leaving the kitchen and returning to the bedroom. He set the baby in the cradle--and he didn't wake up, thank goodness!--then looked at Clara, lying awake in the bed.

"I'm going to go to town and bring back the doctor to check you both out," he told her in a whisper. "I don't think I'll be gone for more than an hour. Do you think you'll be okay?"

"Of course, Emmett," Clara said softly. "Is Marty staying here?"

"Yes. If you need anything, just let him know. I don't want you getting out of bed until the doctor has a chance to see you. Is that understood?"

Clara nodded. "Be careful," she said.

"You bet I will," Doc promised, giving her a kiss before leaving the room. He deliberately left the bedroom door open, then bundled up in his coat, scarf, gloves, and hat. Finally, he approached the quilt mound on the couch that was Marty.

"Marty?" Doc said softly, wondering if his friend was still awake. When that evoked no response, Doc pulled the quilt down, off his head. Marty's eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. It appeared he was indeed asleep. Doc shook him gently, feeling bad.

"Marty?" he said again. Marty opened his eyes and looked up at the scientist, squinting.

"What is it?" he groaned. "I was sleeping--finally!"

"I'm sorry," Doc said honestly. "Listen, I'm going to go to town and fetch the medical doctor. I need you to stay here with Clara and the baby."

Marty closed his eyes again and rolled over. "Fine," he yawned.

"That's not all, though," Doc said quickly, before Marty could close the subject all the way. "I need you to be aware and ready to help Clara out. I don't want her getting out of bed, so if she needs something, you're going to have to assist her."

"Fine," Marty said again.

Doc frowned faintly. "I know you're tired, so I'm going to make one requirement of you--leave the bedroom door open. That way if Clara calls for you, you should hear her....right?"

"Uh huh," Marty muttered. "How long will you be gone?"

"Not more than an hour, I hope," Doc said. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should stay anyway--then headed for the fridged outdoors and the town a mile away.

* * *

The sound was as irritating as nails on a blackboard. Marty instinctively jumped, the action jarring him awake. The baby was crying again.

"No," he mumbled, pulling the pillow tight over his head. But even though all that padding, Marty could still hear Jules crying. Marty couldn't believe how much that kid cried and how long it took the baby to shut up.

I'm not having any kids for another ten years--at least! he thought.

After a minute of listening to the wailing, Marty tossed the pillow aside and sat up, knowing sleep would be a lost cause until it was quiet again. He got up and walked to the bedroom, leaning against the doorway. Clara was still in bed, sitting up, leaning over the cradle.

"Shhhh, Jules," she said softly, finally picking the baby up. Clara rocked him softly, patting his back. She glanced up for a second, noticing Marty.

"Oh, Marty, I'm sorry," she said. "Did Jules wake you?"

"Yeah," Marty said flatly, seeing no point in denying the obvious. "Why is he crying?"

Clara looked flustered. "I don't know. I hope nothing is wrong with him."

"Probably not," Marty said. "Babies just cry a lot."

Clara sighed. "There is so much about parenting and children I don't know," she said. "I wonder if Emmett and I are ready for this."

Well, it's too late now, Marty thought. Instead of saying that, however, he tried to reassure his friend's wife.

"It may look like a little much right now, but you and Doc will be great parents," he said, trying to sound as sincere as one could with only about an hour of intermittent sleep under their belt. "All new parents go through what you guys are going through now."

Clara managed a strained smile. "I suppose you're right." She sighed again. "I wish Emmett and I had family that was here now. My family lives back East and couldn't make the trip out here now. It's probably just as well with this weather."

Marty nodded, wincing slightly from the pitch of Jules' crying. Clara looked at the baby in her arms. "Shhhh," she cooed. "You've nothing to fear, your mother is here."

Jules didn't seem to care. Marty decided it was his turn to try something.

"Can I hold him?" he asked. "I have an idea."

Clara hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right," she said. Marty went to her bedside and took the baby from her arms. Jules felt as warm as a hot water bottle, his face flushed from the strength of his cries. Marty carried the kid into the other room and walked around.

"Man," he said softly, "I would've thought you were the quiet one. What kind of example is this setting for your yet-to-be-born brother?"

The baby was not listening, crying still. Perfect, Marty thought. Now what? Not knowing quite what else to do, he started to sing softly the first thing that came to mind--one of Van Halen's new songs, "Dreams."

Might as well introduce him to some good music--and maybe the kid'll get the idea and start dreaming himself, Marty thought as he walked around the room, singing the unlikely lullaby.

" 'World turns black an' white, pictures in an empty room, your love starts fallin' down, better change your tune....' "

Marty ran through the whole song, noticing with satisfaction that Jules' cries were noticeably softer and more intermittent at the end. Marty started another song, then another. By the time he'd done three, Jules was asleep. Marty smiled in satisfaction at the sleeping baby in his arms.

"That was very good," a voice said softly.

Marty jumped, turning around to see Clara leaning heavily in the doorway, smiling at him gratefully.

"Clara!" Marty gasped, more startled than anything else. "You--what are you doing up? You're supposed to stay in bed!"

"I heard Jules starting to settle down so I decided to see what magic you were working on him," Clara said.

Marty felt his face redden. "Well, uh, thanks."

"Emmett told me you were a musician of popular music in the future," she said, as Marty walked towards the bedroom. "You have a very nice singing voice."

Marty couldn't figure out why he felt so embarrassed about Clara catching him the way she had. "Thanks," he mumbled, quickly changing the subject. "Do you want me to put Jules in the cradle?"

"Please," Clara said softly, shuffling slowly towards the bed. She moved awkwardly, wincing with each step. Marty set the baby in the cradle, then went to Clara's side and helped her back into bed.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, once she was settled back on the pillows.

Clara paused thoughtfully. "Could I have a cup of tea? Do you know how to make it?"

"Sure," Marty said quickly. "Boil water, right? Where's the tea and the cups?"

"The tea on the third shelf to your left in the pantry, and the mugs in the cabinet next to the window," Clara said. "Just put in a tablespoon of the leaves."

Leaves? Marty thought, confused. He just nodded. "Anything else? Any food?"

"That's fine for now," Clara said.

Marty headed off to the kitchen. What followed was a half hour ordeal that he hadn't anticipated. First, the stove wasn't gas or electric--it was wood. Once that fire was started, Marty set water to boil. Then he hunted down a mug and scooped what looked to his eye to be about a tablespoon of leaves. When that was finally done and the water heated up, Marty took the mug back to the bedroom--only to find Clara had fallen asleep. He set the mug on the table next to the bed, then closed the curtains over the window without a word.

Marty returned to the main room, threw a couple of logs on the dying fire, then fell back into the couch. It was too much effort to set up the cot. Marty was able to savor the silence in the cabin for only a few minutes before he was dragged into a heavy sleep.

Some time later he woke, disoriented and groggy. The baby was crying again--and Doc was back, standing before the fireplace. Marty watched him, too tired to say anything. Doc turned his head towards the bedroom at the sound of the baby, a pained expression on his face. His eyes flickered to Marty for a second, seemed to notice he was now awake, and returned to the teenager.

"Jules woke you again?" he said, the words more statement then question.

"Uh huh," Marty muttered, his mouth dry. "What time is it?"

"A little after eleven. The doctor is examining Clara and Jules now."

"Only eleven, huh?" Marty mumbled, yawning. "This day is never gonna end, is it?"

Doc smiled thinly. "I'm sorry you've been dragged into this."

"Yeah, well, it was my own fault. If I hadn't been so stupid and used the DeLorean, I wouldn't be here now."

"It's too late now to undo that," Doc said. He looked at the clock with a frown. "How long can it possibly take the doctor to examine them?"

"Long enough," Marty said, sitting up. He rubbed his forehead, wincing at the dull ache that came from stress and little sleep, he'd bet. "Can I get something to eat?"

Doc blinked. "What? Oh, right, it's breakfast time, isn't it?" He started towards the kitchen. "I'll make something."

"I could do it myself--" Marty began, getting up to follow him.

"No, that's all right. Cooking at this time is a bit more complicated than what you might be used to."

"Yeah," Marty agreed, remembering the great ordeal it took to make tea earlier for Clara. He followed Doc into the kitchen and slumped in one of the dining table chairs as Doc busied himself around the stove. "How was the trip to town?" he asked.

"It went better than I had anticipated," Doc said. "The storm looks to be more or less over. There is over a foot of snow in some places out there, though."

"A foot," Marty said, truly awed. "Wow. Who would've thought that in Hill Valley?"

"It's a rare sight, that is certain," Doc agreed. "Are eggs and bacon okay with you?"

"Fine," Marty said. He watched Doc work over the stove, cooking the food. A half-smile crossed Marty's face. "So, you can cook, too."

"Of course I can cook!" Doc said without looking up. "I lived as a bachelor for over half my life, remember?"

"Yeah, but the time I knew you, you were kind of a TV dinner person," Marty said.

"Well, we're now in a time before TV dinners and convenience food like that," Doc said. He looked up with a sigh, irritated. "What is that doctor doing to Jules?"

The baby was still crying, though not as loudly as he had been before. Marty shrugged at the question. "I dunno. Most kids hate doctors, you know." He changed the subject. "So, will I still be able to go home in a couple days?"

"I don't know, Marty," Doc said, distracted.

Marty blinked. "You don't know? But you said--"

"I know what I said. But that was before Clara had the baby--I didn't take that into account in my estimations on the time of the repairs."

Marty frowned. "So wait a minute, how much longer am I gonna be stuck here?"

"I don't know," Doc said again.

"You don't know?" Marty repeated, his voice rising. "Doc, I wanna go home! I don't wanna be stuck here for another week or so!"

Doc turned around and shot Marty a sharp look. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed.

Marty stood up, struggling to keep a grip on his temper and emotions, strained from exhaustion. "Doc," he said through clenched teeth, "why would the repairs take so much longer?"

"Clara will need assistance around the cabin for the next few days--at least," Doc said. "I have to be here for her and the baby."

"Why not get someone else to help out?" Marty asked. "Don't you guys have any friends around here? I thought people did stuff like that now!"

Doc shot him another sharp look. "Marty, keep your voice down! We have a guest in the house."

Marty started at him, silently fuming. There was a soft knock on the kitchen door. "Emmett?" Marty heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Doc turned to the door. "Yes?" he said, his tone of voice considerably friendlier towards this person.

The door was pushed open slowly and a stranger stepped into the kitchen. It was a man, tall, with a full head of grey hair. Marty didn't recognize him, but the man appeared to recognize him. "Hello, Mr. Eastwood," he said, nodding towards Marty. "You're looking much better then the last time I saw you."

Marty started at him blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said tightly, deciding to just go along with whatever this guy said.

"Dr. Peterson was the one who saw you when you were sick with scarlet fever," Doc said, subtly introducing Marty to the stranger and explaining why the man had known his "name." "How are Clara and Jules?"

The medical doctor smiled. "They're in perfect health. Congratulations, Emmett. It appears you did everything you should have with the delivery."

Doc let out a deep breath, looking like a thousand pounds had just fallen from his shoulders. "Oh, thank God," he said softly.

"Clara should take it easy for the next week, no heavy work," Dr. Peterson went on. "I suspect that she won't follow my orders, though."

"I'm sure you're correct," Doc agreed with a smile. "But what of the baby?"

"The baby appears to be one of the healthiest children I've ever seen," Dr. Peterson said. "I'll just need his full name for the birth certificate."

"That's fine," Doc said, nodding. "How much does he weigh?"

"Seven pounds, five ounces," the doctor said. "That's very good."

"What about all the crying he's been doing? Is that normal?"

"Perfectly. I know you and your wife are sure to have many questions regarding these first few weeks of parenthood--"

"Yes!" Doc said quickly. "I don't suppose there is a book out there for that sort of thing?"

Marty rolled his eyes at the conversation, feeling like he was stuck in the middle of some cheesy commercial or parenting group.

"I don't really know of a book," Dr. Peterson said, "but the entire town will be happy to help you out in any way they can. Everyone is real happy for both you and Clara."

"Thank you," Doc said. "And thank you so much for coming by this morning."

Dr. Peterson smiled. "It's my job. Don't hesitate to get me if you have any questions or concerns."

"All right," Doc said, heading across the room. The two of them left the kitchen, leaving Marty behind. Marty heard the rise and fall of their voices through the door. A minute later he heard the front door open and close, then Doc returned.

"What a relief!" Doc said with a heavy sigh, going over to the stove and breaking the eggs into the skillet.

"Yeah," Marty said flatly. "Listen, Doc, can't you get someone to stay here with Clara during the day?"

Doc let out another heavy sigh. "I don't want to burden anyone."

"You won't burden anyone!" Marty insisted. "That's what people did nowadays! Haven't people offered to help you guys out?"

"Clara and I value our privacy," Doc said. "And we really don't want to burden anyone."

Marty sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Doc! So I'm gonna be stuck here for God knows how long just because you don't want anyone to help you out?"

"Hush!" Doc said in a low voice, his tone sharp.

Marty closed his mouth, shocked at the tone of voice. "What is it?" he muttered darkly.

"It appears that Jules has drifted to sleep," Doc said softly. "And I know you would enjoy the silence as much as I would."

Marty ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to drop the conversation that was so important to him. "Doc, I want to get back home by Tuesday," he said softly. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry, Marty," Doc said, sounding sincere in his apology. "It will have to be postponed for a couple days."

Marty felt his temper rise again, his face burning. "Fine," he said bitterly. "Fine, okay, great, perfect! I thought you kept promises!"

Doc turned around from the stove, finally. "Marty--"

Marty held up his hand, warding off whatever Doc was going to say. "No," he said. "I don't want to talk to someone who breaks promises!" Marty turned around and hurried out of the kitchen.

Doc went after him, a spatula in one hand. "Marty, you are being completely childish about this entire matter!"

Marty didn't answer him, yanking his coat off the rack. Doc watched him, scowling. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Marty said shortly. "Not that you would care!" He pulled on his coat, opening the front door at the same time.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" Doc repeated, his voice now rising. "Where are you going?"

"Why should you care?" Marty muttered under his breath. He slammed the front door as hard as he could, taking an angry satisfaction as he heard Jules start to cry again. Marty started through the deep snow as fast as he could walk--he had to get away!


Chapter Ten

Sunday, January 2, 1887
4:22PM

Doc Brown tried not to worry as he paced the length of the main room of his cabin. Marty had been gone for hours and, now that darkness was starting to fall outside, he couldn't help but be concerned. Despite the fact he thought Marty was being completely childish and selfish about the entire matter of the time machine repairs, Doc was still worried about the way he had walked out. It's below freezing out and he had no idea on the layout of this town! Doc thought, pausing to look out the window.

"Emmett?"

Doc turned around at the sound of Clara's soft voice. She was standing in the doorway in her nightgown, leaning heavily against the doorframe. "Clara, get back into bed!" Doc said firmly, taking care to keep his voice low. It was one of those now rare, silent times in the cabin, with Jules sleeping.

Clara ignored his order. "Marty hasn't come back yet?"

Doc sighed, irritated. "No," he said. "And I hate to admit it, but I'm starting to get a little concerned with his absence."

"He probably just went to be alone somewhere," Clara said. "I'm sure he'll be back."

"Hmmmm," Doc muttered. There was a moment of silence, then Clara spoke again.

"You know," she said softly, "if you want to go out looking for him, you should."

Doc waved his hand at the suggestion, dismissing it. "I couldn't leave you and the baby alone."

"Yes you can, Emmett," Clara said, a hard tone to her voice. "I'm not an invalid. Women have babies all the time. It's a perfectly natural and normal event. I can manage alone here for a few hours."

"But the doctor wants you to stay off your feet," Doc said, already expecting Clara's response to that statement. She snorted softly at the words.

"Oh, really, Emmett! You don't expect I'll listen to what he has to say! Now while I understand it may not be the best thing for me to jump on back of a horse and ride a couple miles right now, I don't see how moving around this little cabin will harm me! You have no excuse," she added firmly. "Go out and look for Marty if it will settle your mind."

Doc hesitated, still feeling reluctant to leave his wife alone. "Are you sure ?"

Clara made a shooing motion with one hand. "Yes! Now leave! We'll be fine, I promise you."

"Fine," Doc sighed, giving up from the persistence of his spouse. "I suppose you're right. But please, Clara, take it easy! I don't want you to overdo it!"

"I won't overdo it," Clara said firmly. "I know my body and its limits. I'll probably make myself a bite to eat, then get some sleep until Jules decides he needs to be fed or changed. Don't worry so much, Emmett."

Doc took his coat from the rack. "I will worry," he said softly. "I worry because I love you and our son so much."

Clara's face softened at the words. "Oh, Emmett," she sighed, kissing him quickly on the cheek. "If you can't find Marty, please come back. I'm sure he'll return here eventually."

"If he can," Doc said darkly. "This situation is reminding me too much of his last excursion here, when he wandered off and ended up in Buford Tannen's hands." Doc shuddered at the memory. "I sincerely hope history isn't repeating itself now."

"You worry too much," Clara said again. "I'm sure things will be fine."

* * *

Doc took the horse that he'd picked up from his business on the trip from fetching the doctor and road in the direction of town. He was fairly sure Marty wouldn't wander into the wilds surrounding Hill Valley. The teen knew how to get to and from Hill Valley, unless the snowfall had completely disoriented him. And Doc was hoping that was not the case.

It hadn't started snowing again yet, and Doc realized with a touch of surprise he could follow Marty's footsteps quite easily. They led him straight into town before Doc lost track of them in the mix of other tracks from the townspeople.

Doc went straight to his business, putting Gailio in his stall. Once that matter was settled, Doc took a quick look around, half-expecting to find Marty in the barn. But the structure was dark and silent. Sighing, Doc left the barn and went into the street.

His first stop was the Palace Saloon and Hotel. After glancing around the crowded room, Doc went up to the bar. The bartender, Chester, saw his approach and came right over.

"Emmett!" Chester said in surprise. "Didn't expect to see you here this evenin'! Are Clara and the baby all right?"

"They're fine," Doc said.

"Well, then, congratulations!" the barkeep said, smiling. "What do you want to drink, the usual? It's on the house, in honor of your son."

"Actually, I'm not here for leisure," Doc admitted. "I'm looking for my friend, Ma--uh, J.W. Eastwood. Have you seen him?"

Chester scratched his chin thoughtfully. "No, I don't believe I have. What's wrong? Is he missin'?"

"In a manner of speaking," Doc sighed. He leaned forward against the bar top, rubbing his forehead. "He left the cabin late this morning, and I haven't seen him since."

"He didn't wander outside of town, did he?" the barkeep asked Doc.

Doc shook his head. "No, I tracked his footsteps into town. But that's all I've been able to establish. I don't know which direction he took off for once in town."

"Well, I haven't seen him come in here," Chester said. "I've been workin' here all day, too."

Doc sighed again. "Well, if you do happen to see him before me, can you tell him to return to the cabin?"

"Certainly. Will you be informin' the sheriff about your friend missin'?"

Doc shook his head as he straightened up. "No, it's too early. But I may change my mind about that if I can't find him by tomorrow morning."

"Well, let me know if I can help you out in any way," Chester said.

"Thanks."

Doc headed towards the door of the bar, pushing his way past people without much thought. As he stepped through the swinging doors, to the outside, he bumped into a familiar figure.

"Why, Emmett, what are you doin' in town so late? Congratulations on the birth of your son. That be a piece of good news, certainly."

Doc stopped and looked down at Seamus McFly, paused on the saloon steps. "Thanks," he said. "I'm in town because I'm looking for Clint's brother. Have you seen him?"

Seamus shook his head slowly. "No, I can't say that I have. Why?"

"He left this morning and I haven't been able to locate him. All I know is that he came into town--but I don't know if he's still here," Doc added thoughtfully.

"Have you checked your business?" Seamus asked. "Perhaps he wandered o'er there."

"I checked," Doc said. "I didn't see any sign of him."

Seamus frowned, the expression visible even in the increasing darkness. "That indeed be a puzzler. Is he familiar with this area?"

"Not as well as I am," Doc said honestly. He shook his head in frustration. "I just can't imagine where he is!"

"Is someone stayin' with Clara and your baby now?" Seamus asked.

Doc felt uncomfortable with the question for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint. "Well, no, not now--"

"I'd be happy to stay with them while you're out lookin' for your friend," Seamus said sincerely. "'T'would be a pleasure."

"Oh, I don't know," Doc said. "Won't Maggie miss you?"

Seamus shook his head. "We're stayin' in the Palace Hotel, on the count of the storm. 'Tis too dangerous to go back to the farm now. Maggie won't be mindin' a bit."

Doc sighed, finally giving in. "All right--if you're sure it's not too much trouble," he added quickly. "The last thing either Clara or I want to do is trouble anyone."

Seamus smiled at him. "Well, the McFlys are happy to be helpin' you. Maggie an' I still remember those first few days when Will was born. If'n it weren't for the help of others, I'm not sure what we would've done."

Doc smiled softly, recalling with a bit of surprise again how this man before him was Marty's great-great-grandfather. There was a physical resemblance between them, definitely, but Seamus and Marty acted so completely different that Doc often forgot they were related. "Thanks," he said. "I'll come back in a couple hours, if not sooner."

"I'll be waitin' there," Seamus promised. "Let me just tell Maggie the news."

Doc watched as Marty's ancestor vanished into the bar, then he continued out into the street. Doc walked up and down the main drag a couple times, peering through windows as he struggled to think where Marty would've gone. He saw no sign of his friend, and the few people Doc spoke to had not see him either.

Finally, Doc headed over to the courthouse. The construction had been completed in late summer, around the same time that the bridge over Eastwood Ravine had been finished. Seeing it looking so new, with the clock in perfect working order, gave Doc the strangest sensation. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, Marty wandered over here.

But Doc's optimism was soon dashed. The courthouse was deserted, and Doc saw no sign that Marty had been there. Looking up at the clocktower clock, he saw that it was close to six. Darkness had well settled in, though the snow gave off quite a bit of illumination.

Might as well go back to the cabin now, Doc thought, resigning himself to the fact that Marty wasn't in the town anymore. He trudged to his barn, lighting a lantern to see by as he saddled up Newton for the trip home. As he pulled the horse towards the doors, Doc paused.

Something is out of place.

Doc looked around the barn through narrowed eyes, trying to see what he had missed. His tools were untouched, in the same place he had left them. Nothing stirred; the only sound was the faint tick of some clocks strewn around. The DeLorean sat near the doors, dark, its windows fogged up, the forge was cold and black--

Wait a minute! Doc's eyes snapped back over to the DeLorean. It was uncovered! When he and Marty had stopped the repairs yesterday, Doc had covered it up. He remembered, quite clearly, doing so; the last thing he wanted was someone peeking in the barn to see the time machine! So why would it be uncovered, unless....

Doc strode over to the car, the lantern swinging in one hand. He set the lantern on the hood as he leaned close to the glass, trying to see past the moisture on the windows. It didn't work. Feeling one brief pang of uneasiness, Doc reached for the door latch and tried it. Unlocked. The driver's side door swung up and open. Doc stepped back, his eyes locked on the interior of the car.

It was empty.

Doc frowned, tremendously confused. Then he noticed the pile of quilts in the front seat. Doc leaned into the car for a closer look and saw Marty buried under all the blankets. He was completely zonked out. Doc sighed in relief at having finally found Marty--and perfectly safe, as well.

Thought he hated to do it, Doc reached out and shook Marty, trying to wake him. Marty grunted and rolled over--right into the casing of the flux capacitor. Doc winced in sympathy as his head cracked against the metal. Marty opened his eyes in groggy surprise.

"Are you okay?" Doc asked.

Marty blinked. "What happened?" he mumbled thickly.

Doc did his best to hide a smile. "Marty, I've been looking all over for you! Have you been here the entire day?"

Marty looked up at him, glassy-eyed. "Huh?"

Doc leaned against the door frame of the car. "Did you come here after you left my place?"

Marty rubbed his eyes and looked around, seeming to get his bearings. "I think so," he muttered. "What time is it?"

Doc pulled out his pocket watch for a look. "Five after six PM," he said. "You really had me worried! I didn't know where you went!"

"I came here," Marty said, sitting up. "I needed to be alone for a while--no offence."

"I understand," Doc said. "But you should have told me where you went!"

Marty looked at Doc, frowning. "First off, I didn't know where I'd end up when I left the cabin. Second of all, I was kinda mad at you--remember?"

Doc sighed inwardly at the memory. "Yes," he said evenly. "I recall that discussion. Why did you come here?"

Marty shrugged. "I didn't know where else to go. And I thought maybe I'd try to fix the DeLorean." Marty smiled wryly. "But when I got here, I realized that was kind of a stupid idea and I'd probably end up ruining it even more if I tried. So I thought I'd get some sleep for a couple hours before coming back to the cabin, since it was impossible to sleep there."

Doc nodded at the answer. "Well," he said, "you'll be pleased to know that Seamus McFly is over at our place now, helping Clara out. The townspeople are really supportive over Jules' arrival."

"I told you so," Marty said, pushing the quilts off his lap and onto the passenger seat.

"Yes, well....I just don't want to take advantage of anyone's help."

Marty gave him a strange look as he climbed out of the car. "Doc, if someone in town you knew had a kid, would you offer to help them out for a couple days?"

Doc blinked at the question. "Well, perhaps--"

"And if you didn't want to help out, would you offer?"

"I don't think I would--"

Marty spread his hands out. "Then there you go. Anyone who offers to help you and Clara out now is being perfectly sincere with the offer--they're not just saying it."

Doc didn't quite believe that. "Maybe, maybe not," he said. "But remember, we are in a time that is different then you--and, really, myself--are used to."

"Exactly," Marty said, nodding. "And in a time like this, helping people out was pretty common. You have to have noticed that!"

Doc paused a minute, mulling the words over. "I suppose," he said slowly.

"So let people help you guys out," Marty concluded. "And then you can fix the time machine and get me back to the future before I accidentally cause some weird paradox."

Doc paused again, thinking. Marty had made a very good point, and one that Doc had neglected to consider, in light of the recent events of the last day. "I suppose. I just hate being indebted to people."

"You're not gonna be indebted, Doc. Haven't you ever done things for someone else just because you wanted to? And expected nothing in return?"

"Well, of course--"

"So, same situation. And if Seamus or whoever ask for favors from you later, you can do them. I mean, after all, they're related to me," Marty added with a smile.

Good point, Doc thought, finally giving in to Marty's persuasive arguments. He smiled slightly. "I suppose you're right. But any time machine repairs will have to be put off until tomorrow--Clara is already concerned enough over your absence. If I don't come back for hours more, that will give her more to worry over."

"I understand," Marty said. He sighed heavily. "Man, I wish we had telephones now. I never realized how nice and convenient those things were."

"They'll come to Hill Valley soon," Doc predicted. "I'd say in about ten years."

Marty looked at him, a half-smile on his face. "I'm sure you'll have them before then."

Doc decided to ignore what he thought was a vague reference to his future, ten years from the present time. "We should get back to the cabin," he said, heading to the stable area to saddle another horse for Marty.


Chapter Eleven

Monday, January 3, 1887
10:14AM

As promised, Doc Brown took Marty to his lab the next day to work on the DeLorean repairs. Maggie McFly arrived early that morning to help Clara out with Jules and give the new mother an earful on infants and taking care of them. Doc had managed to usher Marty out of the cabin before he could see his great-great-grandmother--and his nearly two-year-old great-grandfather, whom Maggie had brought with her--for very long. Marty had been a little disappointed, but understood the risks. And he was starting to get really antsy about getting back home.

Marty had thought nothing could have been worse than Saturday night, when Jules had been born. He found out, though, that while the night of January second had been no picnic, January third had been difficult in its own way. Seamus had left the cabin shortly after Doc and Marty had returned, leaving them alone--with Clara, of course--to deal with the new arrival. Marty had always thought it was a myth on how much babies cried at night, but Sunday night he dealt with it firsthand and found the truth to be not greatly exaggerated. Not more than two hours would go by without Jules crying to be fed, changed, or whatnot. Doc, Marty, and Clara all took shifts with the baby, though poor Clara had to deal with most of it, since she was the only one who could feed Jules when he needed it.

The end result was that no one had slept much the night before. Marty had caught a couple fragmented hours, Doc even less. The scientist was starting to look pretty haggard as he went about the repairs on the DeLorean, taking a few minutes out to fix some strong coffee. Marty had no idea what Doc put in the stuff, but after choking down a couple cups, drenched in sugar, he felt pretty wired and jittery.

Massive caffeine, I bet, he thought, setting the mug aside as he joined Doc at the DeLorean. "What's left to do?" Marty asked him.

Doc paused a moment to gulp some more coffee--he was on his third cup. "Not much," he admitted. "The duct tape should hold the windshield together through temporal displacement. The hover circuits are damaged, but that's a moot point in this time. I've run a couple checks on the time circuits and they seem okay. All that's left now is to secure the trunk so it won't pop open as you're driving, tow the car out of town, and send you back.

Marty was stunned. "You mean I could go back home today?"

"Tonight," Doc corrected. "After dark."

Marty stared at him for a moment, then slowly grinned. But the happiness he felt was short-lived. "Are you sure it's safe?" he asked, eyeing the car. It looked much better than it had before Doc had started work on it, granted, but it also looked pretty beat up.

Doc shrugged--not a reassuring sign in Marty's eyes. "It's as safe as I can get it in the time allotted so far and in a time period such as this. My future self will have his work cut out for him."

"Well....okay," Marty said. "So when can I go back tonight?"

"After dark," Doc said. "We could leave town as early as five tonight."

"Great!" Marty said. "Man, I can't wait to get out of here!"

"I hope now you realize why time travel should not be attempted for such trivial reasons as hoverboard repairs," Doc said, examining the hood of the car, still fairly crooked and warped. "The consequences could be a lot more than you first believe."

Marty raised his hands in surrender. "Fine, Doc, I get the idea. No more trips for reasons like that."

Doc snorted softly. "Why don't I believe that?"

Marty opened his mouth to defend himself when Doc spoke again. "Never mind. That's for my future self to handle."

"Sure," Marty said. "Whatever. Now can I actually do anything?"

Doc handed him a roll of duct tape. "We'll have to tape down the hood, since it won't latch now. Go to it."

Marty looked at him doubtfully. "You sure? Won't that mess up the DeLorean's finish or something?"

"It's stainless steel. Nothing a couple good carwashes won't cure," Doc said. He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing slightly. "It's just as well we have little more to do today. I'm exhausted. I don't think me working with fine electrical connections today would be the best idea."

"What else do we need to do before tonight?" Marty asked as he pulled out a length of duct tape to spread across the hood of the car.

Doc ticked the items off on his fingers. "Complete the repairs, load the car, hitch some horses up to it, conceal the DeLorean, and take it out of town."

"Have any ideas where we could go that's safe to time travel?" Marty asked, recalling the last time he'd gone from time to time on the ground. Of course, it would probably be more dangerous to go from a past to future time, what with progress and additional buildings where once there were none.

"I know a location," Doc said. "Don't worry."

Marty looked at him skeptically. "You sure? What about the terrain? I won't rip another hole in the tank, will I?"

"I hope not," Doc said, rubbing his forehead. "Actually, you'll have to help me out on this--have they constructed anything new in the Lone Pine Mall?"

Marty blinked. "No....I don't think so. Why, are you gonna send me back so I end up in the parking lot?"

Doc nodded. "The location where the Peabody farm will be isn't too far from here--and it's currently unowned land."

"What about slamming into parked cars?" Marty asked.

"We'll just set your destination time for approximately 2AM," Doc said. "We know from experience the parking lot is empty by that time." He paused, frowning faintly. "You left on December 27th?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "About six PM."

"What day of the week was that?"

"December 27th? Uh....it was a Saturday."

"Good," Doc said, nodding. "That means you'll arrive early Sunday morning. The mall should be all but deserted then."

"Yeah, right," Marty said, his mind catching on a new problem. "Now how do you suggest I explain my long absence to you? I mean, you'll notice the DeLorean is gone!"

Doc smiled tautly. "Marty, I'll know where you are. The events of the past week will be firmly embedded in my mind. In fact, I'll know about your intentions on December 27th even before you do. But if I prevented it, we'd have a paradox on our hands. So I'm not going to do that."

Marty thought about that for a minute, the concept quickly giving him a headache. "Okay," he said, "I guess I get it. I'm already caught. That's kinda weird, actually."

Doc nodded. "Time travel can create rather strange and unusual situations."

"That's a big understatement!" Marty agreed. He ripped off another long piece of tape, slapped it across the hood, then handed the roll over to Doc. "What next?"

Doc walked around the car slowly, his eyes running along every slope and angle of the car. "I think we're done," he said. "Of course, we might want to check one more thing."

"What's that?" Marty asked.

Doc reached into his pocket and pulled out the DeLorean keys, tossing them to Marty. Marty caught them just before the would have hit his face, letting out a deep breath.

"Gee, Doc, you could've given me more warning before you throw them at me. What do we need to do?"

"Turn the engine over," Doc said.

Marty stared at him incredulously. "What?! You mean you never tried that?"

"It seemed to pale a bit in comparison to the time travel repairs."

"What if it doesn't work?" Marty asked suspiciously.

"I think I'd be able to fix it," Doc said. "All I can say is, it's a good thing the DeLorean's engine is located in the rear of the car and not the front. Otherwise we would have had massive complications with that, considering the impact the front sustained."

Marty nodded, then got in the DeLorean. He put the key in the ignition and turned it slowly, wincing at the anticipation of nothing happening. The engine growled for a moment, sputtering--then it caught. Marty revved it a few times, so it wouldn't stall, and grinned with satisfaction.

"Works," he said needlessly.

Doc nodded once. "Good," he said. "You can shut it off now--I don't want the noise of a gasoline engine attracting anyone's attention."

Marty turned the car off. "Sounded a little noisier than usual," he commented as he climbed out of the time machine. "Think it's just me, since I haven't heard cars for a week?"

Doc shrugged. "My future self can take a look at it. As long as it can get you home, I wouldn't worry about it."

* * *

Darkness began to settle into Hill Valley around four that evening. By the time five had rolled around and the sun had set far below the horizon, Doc Brown had the DeLorean all set for the impending time travel. Instead of pulling the car with horses, though, he had decided to transport it on one of the wagons he had. The risk of the DeLorean being towed over something sharp or potentially hazardous was too great, Doc felt. They didn't need something else going wrong!

"Are you ready, Marty?" Doc asked, testing one of the ropes securing the DeLorean and finding it tight.

Marty nodded from across the barn. "Should I change clothes now?"

Doc thought about it a moment, then shook his head. "No. You wearing those clothes in 1986 won't be as dangerous as you wearing your future clothes now."

"I guess," Marty said, shrugging. He smiled as he joined Doc next to the wagon. "Man, I can't wait to get home!"

"Won't be too much longer, now," Doc said. "I loaded up Mr. Fusion. All that's left for us now is getting the DeLorean out to the future mall sight, programming the time circuits, then getting you up to eighty-eight."

"Are we going to go straight out there from here?" Marty asked.

"Well, yes, that was the plan. Why? Do you have an objection to that?"

"No, not really," Marty said slowly. "I just never got a chance to say good-bye to Clara, really."

"You'll see her very soon, I'm sure," Doc said. "My cabin is in the opposite direction of our destination, so it would only delay your departure if we stopped by."

"Okay," Marty said with another shrug. "You're the doc."

Doc quickly hitched four of his horses up to the wagon--they were, after all, towing a car--then led the animals and the DeLorean-laden wagon outside. The streets were nearly deserted and no one gave Doc's cargo a second glance.

"All right," Doc said to Marty as his friend stepped outside. "Let's get going."

The location of what would someday be Lone Pine Mall was approximately seven miles from Doc's barn, and the center of Hill Valley. The horses' progress was slower than normal, what with the weight being towed and the deep snow. It took nearly two hours before Doc saw the grove of trees that marked the approximate sight--one of which would eventually give the mall it's name.

"Here we are," he announced at long last, stopping the vehicle. Marty looked up from the depths of a blanket he was clutching around him, in an effort to keep warm.

"Great," he breathed. "I thought we'd never make it!"

Doc hopped down from the wagon seat, pulling a knife from the back of the wagon to slice through the ropes. "I didn't really give much though to the weather at the time of selecting a location to send you off from," he admitted. "Let's just be glad it's clear tonight."

"I dunno about that," Marty said. "It's damn cold!"

"Could be worse," Doc said. "Would you rather we have a blizzard to deal with?"

"No way!"

It took twenty minutes to free the DeLorean, then get it onto solid ground. Finally, Doc watched through the open door as Marty turned the time circuits on, set the destination date for December 28, 1986 at 2:00AM, then started the car.

"Well," Marty said as he allowed the engine to warm up, "I guess this is it."

"Just for now," Doc corrected. "At least for you. I guess I'll have to wait a while to see you, huh?"

Marty smiled. "You told me before, you don't want to know too much about your own future."

Doc returned the smile. "I already know enough. I'll see you...in the future, then."

"Yep," Marty said. "Say 'bye to Clara for me, will you? And you guys will be great parents-- trust me."

Doc blinked, his smile wavering for a moment. "Thanks, Marty," he said softly. "That means a great deal to me that you believe that."

Marty's smile widened. "Believe it? Hell, I know it, remember?" He reached for the strap hanging down from the door handle. "See ya later. And thanks for all your help."

"Any time," Doc said, leaning back as Marty shut the door. He watched as the car started forward, slowly at first then swiftly gaining speed. Doc held his breath as Marty accelerated, hoping that he hadn't neglected to repair something necessary. The tail lights of the car grew smaller and smaller--then there was a blinding flash of light as the DeLorean achieved time travel. The sonic boom hit Doc a moment later, causing him to take a step back. Doc watched the twin trails of fire fizzle out, then sighed.

"I hope I don't have to wait another thirty years before I see that kid again," he muttered, recalling sending Marty off--twice--from 1955. Yet, deep inside, Doc was sure that he wouldn't have to be in suspense even half that long until their next meeting.

And, though he didn't know it that night, he was correct.


Chapter Twelve

Sunday, December 28, 1986
2:00AM

Civilization rushed to meet Marty as he reentered his own time period. More precisely, civilization with a large, brightly lit sign. Marty blinked in surprise at the Lone Pine Mall sign, suddenly straight in his path.

"Shit!" he hissed, twisting the wheel sharply and slamming his foot on the break. The car shook at the move, tires squealing sharply on the blacktop. Marty hated to think of what he was putting the DeLorean through, but he hated even more to think of what would happen to both him, the car, and the sign if he hit it.

The DeLorean shuddered, fishtailing at the turn and going into a spin on the damp asphalt. Marty clenched his teeth together as his hands gripped the wheel, groaning with the car. After a long, long moment, the DeLorean finally came to a stop--the passenger door inches from the mall sign.

"God," Marty gasped, letting his hands slide off the steering wheel. He sat there for nearly a minute, trying to calm his racing heart, before he noticed the engine had gone dead. Marty dropped his eyes to the time display. Present time--December 28, 1986, 2:02AM.

Marty reached for the keys, turning them. Nothing. He tried again. This time, the car made a deep grinding sound before falling silent.

Marty slammed a hand against the dash, frustrated. "Damn car," he muttered. He got out of the DeLorean and started walking towards the mall, in search of a phone. There had to be one around somewhere, he was sure.

Marty found one all right--and it was dead. Cursing softly, he set the broken receiver back in its cradle and leaned against the cement wall. He sighed and closed his eyes. All Marty wanted to do was go the rest of the way home and go to bed.

Marty opened his eyes at the sound of an engine. He looked around, seeing nothing but a deserted parking lot around him. A moment later, Marty saw a familiar-looking vehicle drive across the parking lot. It was Doc Brown's station wagon.

"Doc!" Marty shouted, starting to run towards the truck. Doc didn't appear to see him, the car continuing it's path across the empty mall lot. Marty tried using his voice again. "Doc! Over here!"

The station wagon slowed way down, then stopped altogether. Doc poked his head out the open window. "Marty?"

Marty ran over towards the car, Doc catching sight of him halfway. Doc shut the engine off and got out of his family vehicle. Marty skidded to a stop a few feet away from the scientist, suddenly wary.

"Hi," he said.

"Hello," Doc said. "Where's the DeLorean?"

Marty gestured to the far end of the lot. "Over there, by the sign. The car's dead, though. Hey," he added, "how'd you know to come here?"

Doc smiled. "Remember, Marty, I saw you leave 1887. I remembered the time of your arrival here and thought I'd stop by, on the chance the DeLorean couldn't make it all the way to my place."

"Yeah, that was smart," Marty said. He paused, eyeing Doc nervously. "You're not mad at me...are you?"

Doc shrugged. "I am a little miffed you took the DeLorean without my permission--but I am willing to overlook it if you assure me it won't happen again."

"It won't," Marty said, though he didn't really believe his own words. And he doubted Doc believed him, too. But his friend dropped the subject.

Doc looked him up and down. "Why don't you get in the car before someone happens by and sees you dressed like that."

Marty glanced down. Oh yeah--he was still in his old west clothes. "Sure," he said, rounding the front of the car to get shotgun. Doc got back in the car and drove it over to the DeLorean. Marty watched through the window as Doc got in the DeLorean, tried the starter a few times, then finally shook his head as the car remained dead.

Marty rolled down his window. "Well? Do you know what's wrong with it?"

Doc got out of the DeLorean, frowning. "I'm not sure. I'll have to take a look at it in the lab. Looks like I'm going to need to tow it back, but I was prepared for that situation."

Doc opened the hatch door at the back of the station wagon and pulled out some cables and tools, getting the DeLorean hooked onto the back of the station wagon in ten minutes. Finally, once the connections were checked, Doc got back in the car and started it towards his place. Marty slumped down in his seat, watching the dark streets of Hill Valley pass through half-closed eyes.

"You left your truck at my place, right?" Doc asked after a few minutes of silence.

Marty had to think about that for a minute. "Uh huh." He yawned, remembering the reason why he was so tired in the first place. "How'd you handle Jules after I left the past?"

Doc stopped at a red light, his expression thoughtful. "Oh, my, that was a long time ago."

"Funny, seems like just yesterday to me," Marty quipped.

"It would, wouldn't it?" Doc said, half to himself. "Well, after a few weeks, Clara and I got more used to Jules' biological habits. And he gradually slept for longer and longer periods of time." Doc chuckled softly. "Of course, as soon as we got used to sleeping at night again, Verne came along."

"Betcha you'd never wanna do that all over again," Marty said.

"Oh, on the contrary," Doc said, with a funny little smile. "I wouldn't trade those first few years as a father in for anything. They were some of the most rewarding times of my life. You know," he went on, "I always thought science and my work was the most important thing in my life. Then I met Clara and realized that there was more to life than science. Jules and Verne emphasized that point even more and I think the titles of husband and father are more important to me then that of a doctor."

Marty didn't quite know what to say in response to that. "Well, I think I'll still wait a while to have kids, if that's okay. I couldn't handle it now."

"You have plenty of time," Doc agreed. Something in his voice caused Marty to sit up and look at him hard.

"Doc! Do you know when I'll have kids of my own?"

Doc shrugged. "I think you know the answer to that question--you met your son face-to-face, after all."

Marty frowned as he thought about that. "So if my son was my age then, I'll have him in...1998?"

"Or thereabouts," Doc agreed, then sighed. "Please, let's drop this subject. No one should know too much about their own future--especially their own future when it pertains to matters of family."

Marty was too tired to argue. "Fine. But Doc, I want to know one thing and I want you to answer this for me. Remember right before Clara went into labor?"

"What about it?" Doc said, glancing sidelong at him.

"Well, we were talking about kids and I wanted to know what your childhood was like--so what was it like, and why wouldn't you tell me earlier?"

Doc sighed again, looking like he wished Marty hadn't remembered. "Marty, honestly, my childhood was not that abnormal. I didn't have much of an interest in science until I was eleven, which meant in my early years I was....well, like Verne I suppose."

"Like Verne!" Marty exclaimed. He laughed aloud at the thought. "I thought you'd be more like Jules!"

Doc shook his head. "No. Jules is more serious than I was as a lad."

Marty stared at him a moment. "So why all the secrecy?"

"I didn't have the most happy childhood," Doc admitted. "My parents weren't really there much for me and I had no siblings of my own. I was really quite lonely and even before my interest in science, my peers found me a bit odd. My family also had quite a bit of money, which made things worse for me, especially during the Depression."

"Wow," Marty said, sincerely surprised. "I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't," Doc said. "I don't like talking about it, let alone thinking about it. It's all in the past, though, and that's one part of history I have no intention of revisiting--and you shouldn't either!"

Marty couldn't help smiling at that. Now how'd he know I was thinking about doing just that? "I won't, Doc," he said. "I wouldn't wanna risk screwing things up, anyway."

"Good."

"Just one more question, though," Marty said. "How come you didn't tell me all this when I first asked?"

Doc stared straight ahead through the windshield. They were fast approaching his house, just a few blocks away now. "I didn't know what it would be like to be a father then. And I was...I was afraid my children would go through the same thing I had."

Marty snorted softly. "Well, Doc, I think it's safe to say that they haven't."

Doc nodded slowly. "I know. It was a foolish fear to have. Clara and I are not my parents, not by a long shot. But it's justifiable. When you are waiting for your first child to be born, I'm sure you'll have similar fears."

"But my parents raised us okay....at least now," Marty said. "It's weird--I still remember things the way they were before."

"And you will continue to do so, I believe," Doc said. "Memories are strange things to play with in time travel."

Doc pulled into the driveway leading up to his lab and stopped the car. "Despite all this trouble, Marty, I'm glad you were there," he said, turning to look at him. "It was nice to have you there with me for the birth of my first son."

"I'm glad I could be there," Marty said honestly. "Especially now that I know I could get home. So," he added with a grin, "how would you like me to show up at your wedding?"

"It's a nice idea, but you've mucked around enough in my old west past," Doc said, returning the smile. "Do you want to change before you go home?"

"Naw, I can get in without anyone seeing me." Marty opened the door and stepped outside. "See ya later, Doc."


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