"For All Time" Chapters 6

Chapter Six

Sunday, April 16, 1944
6:04 A.M.

Doc listened carefully to Marty's idea, considering it silently from a variety of angles before nodding tentatively. "It sounds like it might work," he said cautiously, stressing the word "might" hard. "It's also damned dangerous."

"What other options do we have?" Marty asked. "You and I both know that these people aren't gonna let us go anytime soon. Especially once they get a better look at your gadgets."

Doc frowned, knowing Marty was right. "We've got to get those things back, too," he said. "All of 'em."

"I know that. That's why I thought we could borrow some of the military duds once we get out of this room."

Doc sighed and leaned back against the wall, looking up at the large vent in the ceiling above the sink. "I just hope the structure is strong enough... if it's not, we might crash through the ceiling."

"Do you have a better idea?" Marty seemed a little hurt that Doc was now having second thoughts.

"Not really. And I think you are correct -- it looks like the only way of escape." The inventor frowned faintly. "I'm somewhat confident that the duct system shouldn't collapse on us, seeing how strongly this building is constructed. We might stand a greater chance of wandering into potentially toxic chemicals that are being vented away, if this building has any experimentation of that nature."

"Boy, you're sure the optimist tonight," Marty muttered. "Did I ever point out any flaws in your ideas?"

Doc closed his eyes for a minute and rubbed his forehead. The entire situation was one more stress he didn't really need right now. "I'm not trying to be negative, I'm just trying to foresee any possible problems," he said. He opened his eyes. "Do you have anything that could pry the screws out?"

Marty nodded, pulling his keys from the back pocket of his jeans. Attached to the keyring was a small pocket knife. He took the device off the keyring and pried a small screwdriver tool from the plastic casing before passing it to Doc. The scientist examined the tool for a moment, then looked up at the vent.

"Looks like it might work," he said, standing up. "The hardest part is going to be getting the screen off."

Marty followed as Doc headed for the sink and carefully pulled himself up to stand on the basin. When he stood, the ceiling was just two inches from the top of his head. He braced one hand against the wall as he used the other to start in on the four screws. Paint chips cracked and fell to the floor as the first one started turning.

"Marty, can you keep an ear to the door?" Doc asked as he worked. "Make sure that no one will be coming in for a visit."

"I don't think they would be -- didn't they say they wouldn't bother us for a few hours? Anyway," Marty went on before Doc could say anything, "wouldn't you rather have me spot you? I mean, didn't you slip off one of these things once, and that's how you got the idea for time travel?"

"For the flux capacitor," Doc corrected, his eyes on the screw as it gradually made its way out. "And it was a toilet, not a sink. This might be a bit of a precarious position to be in, but I think it would be better if you kept a lookout for any interruptions. If someone sees we're doing this, we'll be in even hotter water than we are already."

Marty apparently saw the wisdom in that; Doc heard him cross the room to the door. The lower lefthand screw finally popped out. Doc carefully slipped it into his coat pocket, then set to work on the other bottom screw. The metal groaned faintly as the part finally wrenched loose and began to turn. The sound echoed in the duct. Doc took in a faint breath, hoping that no one would notice the sounds or, if they were noticed, would fail to investigate where they were coming from.

"Careful, Doc," Marty murmured, noticing the noise as well.

Doc turned his face away from the duct to respond. "I'm trying my best," he said softly. "Hopefully, they won't even notice the noises -- or, if they do, they'll think it's the building settling."

Marty nodded. He suddenly looked uneasy as he glanced around the room again. "Hey, you don't think they have surveillance cameras rigged up in here, do you?"

"Very doubtful," Doc said. "The technology didn't exist to the degree they would use it in a location like this -- and, anyway, if we were being watched, do you think they would've let us get this far?"

"No," Marty admitted. "That's a relief. I almost forgot where -- I mean when -- we were. How's the vent coming?"

Doc winced a bit as he pulled free the second bottom screw. "Two down, one to go," he said.

If he had been looking at his friend, the scientist would've seen a frown appear on Marty's face. "I thought there were four screws."

"There are -- but if we loosen up the fourth one, then we can just slide this aside and put it back to buy us more time once they find us missing. Don't want to make our escape too obvious."

"Nice," Marty approved. Silence filled the room as Doc removed the third screw, then loosened up the last one until the screen suddenly swung down, scraping harshly against the concrete wall. He jumped a little at the noise, startled, and nearly slipped from his perch. Marty saw him flounder and darted over, but by the time the teen reached him, Doc had regained his balance against the wall.

"Whew," he breathed. "That was a close one."

Marty still looked a little skittish. "God, you scared me for a minute," he said with a gasp. "Man, Doc, if you fell and hit your head--"

"I didn't," Doc said, waiting a minute as his pulse slowed. When he felt steady enough, he leaned forward and peered into the vent. A thin layer of dust covered the bottom of the dark, rectangular tube, telling him that no one had been up here for a while.

"I don't suppose you have a flashlight or lighter on you..." Doc muttered, half to himself.

"I do," Marty said, almost immediately. "Here."

Doc turned away from the vent to look at his friend. Marty held out a small penlight, attached to his keychain. "Amazing," the scientist commented as he took the device, careful to hold onto the keys so they wouldn't jingle against each other. "What else do you have on your keychain?"

"Well, aside from the pocket knife and penlight, just a thing from the Huey Lewis concert that Jennifer and I went to last January." Marty smiled, looking rather satisfied. "I never really thought the light and pocketknife would come in handy, aside from helping me find things under car seats or popping off bottle caps."

"I'm surprised they didn't take this from you outside when we were arrested," Doc said, thumbing the light on and shining it into the vent. It was a straight shot in, though the penlight failed to reach the end of the shaft.

"They didn't give me a real thorough patdown," Marty said. "Not like you. I think your coat made you look a lot more suspicious, plus your pants have a ton of pockets that would've been good to hide things in. I think they figured I couldn't be packing anything dangerous. Hell, I don't even have a coat on."

His memory jogged by that event and the objects in his hand, Doc turned off the light and carefully climbed down to the floor. "What happened to the DeLorean keys?" he asked. "You had those in your hand, right?"

The smile vanished on Marty's face. "Oh, God, I completely forgot about that! I had them in my hand, yeah, but when I came out and found lights and guns aimed at me, I was so startled that I dropped them." Noticing the inventor's eyes widening at this new bit of information, Marty rushed ahead. "I don't think the military got 'em, though. They told me to freeze, made sure I wasn't armed, took the goggles, and asked if there was anyone else with me. Before I answered, you came out and... well, you were there for the rest."

Doc let out a long breath at the news. He took a minute, thinking back to that moment, and couldn't remember noticing any of the men picking anything up off the ground. "Maybe that's for the best," he said. "If they landed in some bushes or grass, it'll be a hell of a lot safer than if these people here get a chance to look it over."

"What if they were found? Or we can't find them?" Marty's face paled a little. "Oh, God, they could get in the DeLorean, then!"

"Even if they figured out how to work the remote to turn it off and were able to get in the car, they would still need to know certain passwords to start the engine, let alone travel through time." A ghost of a smile flickered across Doc's lips. "Situations like this are precisely why I installed all the security around the time machines."

"But what if we can't find the keys? I mean, for all I know, they fell into a sewer grate."

Doc sighed at that possibility. "If they haven't dismantled the lock pick from the future, there is a chance it could work on the car. I've never tried it, of course, but it does claim that it can crack locks that are years ahead of the DeLorean's...."

Marty looked up at the dark opening of the vent. "What do we do once we get in there?"

Doc had been thinking that same thing. Marty's plan hadn't been terribly detailed -- basically pry open the vent, escape the room that way, collect the odds and ends that the military had taken from them, then leave. Doc frowned as he thought, trying to remember if he had noticed where the men had taken their belongings. They could be anywhere, he realized rather glumly.

"Above all, we'll need to stay quiet," he said. "Any noise will echo like mad in the vent. The only thing I believe we can do, although it's quite tedious and risky, is look into every room the duct system is hooked up to. When we see the backpack and the other equipment, we'll have to find a way to get into that room."

"Why don't we just go out the way we went in?" Marty asked. "Through the vent?"

"Won't work," Doc said. "The slats are too narrow for me to reach around and unscrew the screen."

Marty sighed. "So, are we just exchanging one prison for another, then?"

"No... I'm almost certain that there'll be a way out at some point in there. We just might need some time to find it." Doc paused, examining the two foot by two foot space. "You're not claustrophobic, are you?"

"Never have been before."

"Good. That's one thing in our favor." The scientist returned the penlight to Marty. "Why don't you go first and I'll follow behind."

Marty looked a little uncertain. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. It'll be easier for me to boost myself up without assistance, I think."

Marty eyed the space between the vent and the sink and apparently came to the same conclusion. He nodded. "You're the doc, Doc."

They made a quick check of the room one last time to make sure that they weren't accidentally leaving anything behind, then headed for the vent. Marty slipped the penlight in the pocket of the long sleeved shirt he was wearing over his t-shirt, then pulled himself up onto the sink. Doc took a precarious position by standing on the toilet next to the sink in order to help Marty up into the vent. The teen's movement caused a few bangs inside the duct, which made Doc wince in worry that they would be heard by the wrong people. Marty hissed a sigh out through his teeth as he finally made it all the way inside the vent. "Sorry," Doc heard him say in a barely audible whisper.

"It probably can't be helped," Doc said softly. "Scoot forward a little."

Marty crawled forward several feet, his jeans making a faint sound as they pulled along the metal of the duct. When he had gone far enough, Doc stepped up to the sink and grabbed hold of a small metal lip on the inside of the duct, pulling himself up and into the opening none too gracefully; he made more noise than Marty did. Inside the duct, the noise was like thunder. He hoped it wasn't so extreme outside.

Marty switched on the penlight and turned his head to look back over his shoulder at the scientist. "You okay?" he mouthed.

Doc nodded, gesturing for him to move forward. Marty did so, making the faintest of noises as he moved, the duct creaking faintly from the weight. Doc carefully turned himself around in the narrow space to move the screen back into place and buy them possibly just minutes when they were finally discovered missing. But even minutes could be the difference between escape or recapture.

Marty crept along the narrow passageway slowly, the penlight throwing out a glow that failed to reach the end of their tunnel. Despite the caution he was showing, Doc could still hear the duct system groan and complain, the sounds magnified against the unpadded metal. His own movements weren't much better and the scientist had to wonder if the floor really would support them without buckling.

"Go faster," he whispered. Marty paused, turning his head to look at Doc, the penlight clutched between his teeth. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. Doc nodded to verify that he meant what he said. Marty faced forward again and picked up his pace.

After traveling for about thirty feet, another pathway sprouted out from the right. Marty looked back at Doc again when he came to it, stopping. He lifted one hand to gesture to the new pathway, then the old one, his eyes asking the question. Doc pointed to the new one, realizing that might give them better luck. From what he could see, it looked like there was faint illumination down that way, which might've been caused by light drifting through vent screens. Marty headed in that direction.

Doc's choice proved correct; they reached a new vent a minute later. Marty took a look through the slats, then turned to the scientist and shook his head. As they passed it, Doc glanced at it and noticed it looked in on nothing more spectacular than an empty restroom.

I suppose it would've been asking too much to hit the jackpot on the first try, he reasoned, feeling wistful nonetheless.

The second vent they came across led into what looked like a small cafeteria, the third an office. About the only positive aspect that Doc could see was that all of the rooms were empty so far. Perhaps this military building was staffed with only a few people or perhaps it was just the early morning hour. Doc hoped it was the former, especially since time continued to tick by and it would be daylight all too soon. If additional staff arrived then, it would make their escape that much harder.

The narrow corridor of the duct system branched off again, confronting Marty with another choice. He turned to Doc again, pausing at the juncture. Doc pointed to the left. They hadn't gone far in that direction when they were presented with yet another choice, albeit one slightly odd: the vent veered upward. Marty perhaps assumed that they wouldn't be able to go up or that Doc wouldn't want to; at any rate, he moved past it without hesitation. It wasn't until Doc grabbed his foot to get his attention that the teen stopped and turned around, plainly confused. Doc pointed up, firmly. Marty took the flashlight from his mouth.

"Are you crazy?" he asked, the words uttered in a ghost of a whisper that nevertheless echoed in the duct system. "How would we get up there? There's no stairs or ladder!"

Doc hesitated a moment, then allowed himself to speak, exhaling the words as softly as he was able. "It shouldn't be too difficult," he said. "Follow my lead."

Marty shrugged and backed away a little to allow the scientist to move under the shaft. Doc stood up, carefully, the metal groaning under his feet and reminding him most unpleasantly of the sounds the Titanic had made as it started to break apart -- an event they had witnessed just a month earlier. Trying to ignore it and the possible repercussions that might occur if the sound was noticed, Doc raised his arms up as far as they would go and ran them over the insides of the shaft, trying to see if he could feel the next level of the duct system. He couldn't. After a minute, Doc knelt down until he could see Marty again.

"Let me borrow the penlight," he murmured. Marty passed him the device. Doc aimed the light up the shaft, trying to get an idea of how high up it went. When he stood up, he noticed that the top of the shaft was about five feet above his head. Two feet below that was the opening for the second floor ducts. It could've been better, it could've been worse.

Doc knelt down and returned the light to Marty. "We're going to have to be very careful," he whispered. "Are you wearing sneakers?"

Marty nodded, looking perplexed. Doc didn't answer the question Marty looked as if he wanted to ask; instead, he stood up again and gently pressed against the metal in the shaft, testing how stable it was. It didn't buckle at all under the pressure he applied. Good. Bracing his back firmly against the metal wall, Doc lifted up one leg and pressed his foot against the opposite wall. More than one joint in his body protested the strange contortion, cracking and creaking as he pushed against the wall, hard, and slid up a couple inches.

"You're kidding," Marty breathed, softly.

"If I can do it, you can do it," Doc grunted, lifting his other foot off the ground and slipping it into a position similar to the first. His lower back began to ache as he slowly crept up the shaft, inch by inch, to the next level of the building. When he had finally brought himself level with the new opening, Doc pushed hard one last time against the back of the wall and safely slid himself onto the new level. He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked down the shaft. Marty peered up at him, frowning faintly. Doc gestured for him to make the trip. Marty sighed softly, slipped the still-burning light in his pocket, and started to brace himself in the shaft the way the inventor had done.

Marty's trip seemed to make a little more noise than Doc's, with more bangs, grunts, and muttered curses. When he finally made it to the top, he was out of breath and didn't look terribly happy.

"Now I know how Santa Claus feels," he muttered, lying back with his legs dangling into the shaft as he caught his breath.

Doc smiled faintly. "Hopefully we can find what we need up here," he whispered. "I don't quite relish the idea of going down."

Marty grimaced at the very concept. He pulled the penlight out and rolled over, pushing himself up a shade too fast and high. The back of his head slammed into the top of the vent, rattling the metal and Doc's nerves. His first, immediate, thought as the thunderous noise peaked, was that the entire building must've heard that and most, if not all, of the men currently stationed were probably running to their commanding officers right now. Almost as soon as that registered in his brain did concern for Marty finally take over. The scientist felt his cheeks flush.

When are you going to take other's feelings into consideration first and foremost? a voice in his head asked. You had to immediately think about how Clara's news was going to affect you -- you didn't even consider her feelings until after your reaction made her upset. And now this -- you're not even considering if that hurt Marty, you're just worried about being caught!

Doc bit his lower lip, hard, wishing the bit about Clara and the baby hadn't occurred to him. He had actually not thought about it since Marty had distracted him with the plan of escape, and now that the situation was back in his brain, he found himself already being distracted by it. His stomach twisted most unpleasantly when he realized that it still bothered him and he still wasn't feeling overjoyed at the prospect.

All this occurred in seconds. As the scientist was trying to focus his mind on the present and the rumbling echo from the blow hadn't quite faded away, he saw Marty duck down, his hands immediately going to the back of his head. The penlight dropped, the clatter it made all but guaranteeing that the military men would investigate the noises; it would be hard to write that off as a natural phenomenon. There was a sharp hiss as Marty sucked in a breath through his teeth, his face tightened in pain.

"You okay?" Doc murmured.

Marty nodded once, still rubbing the back of his head. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Something like that was inevitable, I suppose. Let's go."

Doc picked up the penlight and started crawling forward again, at a faster pace now that he was all but certain they were running out of time. When he saw a vent up ahead, he approached it cautiously, half expecting that someone would have their face pressed to it. Such was not the case. The room they peered into was another empty office, but this time Doc saw something most important lying on top of a desk: his backpack, the goggles, and the handful of items that had been seized from his pockets.

"Bingo," he whispered.

Marty joined his side a moment later. "You found it?"

Doc nodded. "That's one goal down," he murmured. "Now we just need to find a way out of this maze."

Their second goal seemed a tad more difficult than the first. Doc memorized where the room was, then continued down the vent. He was fairly certain there had to be an opening that could be undone from the inside. Surely the vents would need maintenance at some point and it wouldn't make sense if the maintenance man would be expected to only go in and out of one place, especially considering that it might be more difficult for him to turn around or maneuver that much with tools.

Just as he was sure they might be trapped in here indefinitely, or at least until they were discovered missing, Doc found the answer to their problem right underneath him. A large screen was set into the floor of the vent, right over a dead end of the hallway -- and the screws were bolted from the inside of the vent, not outside. The scientist wasted no time in undoing them, then slipped to the floor with hardly a sound. After Marty joined Doc on the ground, the time travelers found themselves standing in an empty corridor, quiet the most pervasive sound.

"We've gotta get out of sight," Marty said, still whispering. "We're dead if we're spotted."

Doc nodded. He tried one of the doors nearby and found it to be both unlocked and leading into a dark, empty room. Marty switched on his penlight and the scientist saw they were in a storage room of sorts, with more than one uniform hanging on a rack at the far end of the room.

"Perfect," Doc breathed as he eased the door shut. "Marty, see if they have some spare coats and hats that'll fit us both."

Marty did as asked and returned a minute later with both articles of clothing. "Don't you want pants and shoes, too?" he asked as he passed Doc the larger coat and hat.

The scientist shook his head. "No -- we can't leave ours here and carrying them would be too cumbersome. The coats cover the bulk of our clothes, and the hat does the rest with our head and face - which is just as well, since neither of our haircuts are exactly military standard."

Marty accepted the reasoning and slipped the coat over his clothes as Doc did the same. "So we get into the room with the loot, then just walk out, right?" he asked.

"I doubt it'll be so simple," Doc said as he tucked his white hair under the hat.

"Yeah, I guess these things usually aren't," Marty agreed with a sigh.

* * *

Despite doubts, though, their luck continued to hold. They ran into no one on the way to the room, Doc was able to pick the lock without a problem, and they got inside without an alarm going off -- something the scientist hadn't even considered before it would've been too late. A quick examination of the bag and equipment told him that nothing had been taken or broken as far as he could see. Such probably wouldn't've been the case had they waited even a few more hours. Doc had a feeling that the office where the confiscated belongings were was that of a superior officer who wouldn't be arriving for a few more hours.

Doc slipped the goggles and most of the other odds and ends into the bag, putting only the lock pick and the sleep inducer back into his trenchcoat pocket for quick access. Once he was certain that everything was accounted for, he ushered Marty out of the door and locked it behind him to make it appear that nothing was amiss.

Leaving the building, however, proved a tad harder than even Doc would've believed. They hadn't gone more than five steps from the door when a young man in uniform rounded the corner and headed straight for them. Doc heard Marty gasp softly, but the inventor continued to walk forward without the slightest hesitation. The private paid the two little heed until he was about to pass them, then he stopped.

"Sir, has General Stuart had the chance to see the evidence yet?" he asked, nodding to the backpack.

"I've been told to move it to a more secure location," Doc said, glad he had thought to pull the cap down low over his eyes.

"I see." The private went on his way without another word.

Before the scientist could feel too much relief that they had gotten away this time, they ran into another soldier, who stopped them with a question about filling up a vehicle low on gas. Doc gave a vague reply and the man went away happy, but he felt anxious nonetheless. He looked at a clock and noticed it was nearly seven in the morning. Not good. Especially since their absence from the prison room could be noticed at any time, if it hadn't been already. Once that happened, Doc was sure that the entire building might be sealed while a search would be conducted. The sooner they left the building, the better their chances of escaping completely.

They finally found a hallway that had a door at the end of it, guarded by a couple men. It had to lead to the outside world. Doc sighed a little in relief -- then promptly jumped as an alarm went off. It sounded to his ears like an air raid siren, but he was willing to bet that the reason for the siren was not due to an attack. He picked up his pace a little, not walking but not quite running, either. One of the men turned his way at the sound of his approach.

"Sir, you cannot--"

Whatever else he was about to say was lost as Doc brought up the sleep inducer from his pocket and held it before the man's face. He sagged to the ground. His partner immediately reacted, reaching for what might've been a pistol. Doc spun on his heel and gave him the same treatment. He hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.

"Come on, Marty," he said, glancing at his friend. "Time to run like hell."

Footsteps, smacking against the hallway tiles, distracted Doc for moment as he took the lock pick out to open the door before them that would presumably lead to the outside. Several large men were hurrying their way, weapons in hand. He turned back to the door and jammed the device into the lock. The mechanism clicked after a moment. Doc pushed the door open, grabbed Marty's arm, and shoved the teen through the door before following himself, slamming the door hard at his back. Bullets struck the metal door, sounding like small, hard rocks. Marty threw himself to the ground, perhaps fearing that the bullets would find him otherwise. Doc yanked him to his feet and pushed him forward.

"Run!" he hissed.

Marty whipped his head around quickly. "Where?"

Doc spotted a car sitting a few feet away, empty. "There!" he said, pointing, already starting for it. As he ran for the vehicle, he readied the lock pick, expecting that the car would be locked. Surprisingly, it wasn't; the keys were even left in the ignition. The scientist started the car without even shutting his door all the way and put the pedal to the metal. Marty slammed his door shut and turned back to look behind them.

"They've still got guns!" he said, his voice shrill with panic. "Get your head down!"

Doc hunched over the steering wheel as much as he was able as Marty slumped down so his head was below the top of the seat. The back window shattered, the bullet that created the mess striking the windshield and leaving a rather unnerving hole right in the middle of it.

"Jesus," Marty breathed, his face white.

Doc swung the wheel to the right, cutting across a lawn, and flooring it for the gates up ahead. A figure stepped before the gate, hands held up in an attempt to stop them. Doc frowned, not letting up on the gas, heading straight for the chain link gate.

"Doc?" Marty asked, his voice sounding strangely tentative. "You're not gonna hit the gate, are you?" When the scientist didn't answer him, the teen's tone grew more urgent. "Doc! Are you crazy? You'll get us killed! You'll kill that guy!"

"He'll move," Doc said evenly. "Keep your head down."

Marty looked at him incredulously for a moment, then ducked down and covered his head with his arms. The man before the gate didn't move as the car drew closer. When it became apparent that Doc wasn't going to stop, however, his hardened expression began to deteriorate around the edges. At the last possible second, he darted out of the way. The car crashed through the gate, the impact sending spiderweb cracks snaking across the windshield and creating a rather painful sound as the vehicle drove over the now-fallen gate and the metal scraped the undercarriage.

Marty looked up when the noises stopped, cautiously turning and raising his eyes to see above the back of the seat. "They stopped following us," he said.

Doc smiled without humor. "I don't think that'll last long."

There was a loud, sharp popping sound from outside, then the car suddenly pulled hard to the right. Doc gripped the wheel tightly and managed to guide the now-listing car to the side of the road. Marty sat rigidly in the passenger seat, his eyes wide, as he gripped the bottom of the seat.

"What the hell was that?"

"Tire went out," Doc said, stopping the car. "Get out and head into the woods. Quickly. They're probably getting in a car right now to go after us."

Marty threw open his door and jumped out. Doc made sure he had everything (the ultimate irony would be leaving behind the bag they had worked so hard to retrieve) and followed his friend out the passenger door. As he ran into the trees after Marty, he could hear a car approaching, fast, from the direction of the military base.

The early light of dawn allowed the scientist to see any obstacles in his path and dodge them, though branches and twigs snapped as he brushed by them. He heard tires squeal to a stop on the road, then car doors thrown open, promptly followed by rushing footsteps. Doc caught up to Marty.

"Run to the left," he gasped.

"Why?"

"If we move erratically... we'll confuse 'em. Just follow me."

Marty half shrugged in agreement, falling behind a step to trail the scientist. Doc weaved around trees and brush, sometimes changing direction so that he was running towards the road, with the road, or away from it. Finally, when his heart was pounding so hard he had to wonder if he would induce some kind of attack, he slowed to a jog, then a walk, then stopped entirely. And listened.

Branches whispered softly in a breeze. Several birds chirped nearby. Other than that, there was no sign or sound that any other humans were around.

"I think we lost 'em," Doc said softly, cautiously.

"Maybe," Marty agreed, panting a little. "But we're not outta the woods yet... no pun intended. What next?"

"Simple," Doc said. "We return to Kinsrow and get the DeLorean."

Chapter Seven

Sunday, April 16, 1944
4:55 P.M.

Doc had thought it would be relatively simple to return to Kinsrow. He never knew how wrong that guess could be.

His first inkling that the journey would be more complicated came when he couldn't immediately find the road. He didn't worry about that... at first. But when more than an hour passed and they were still wandering around in the woods, seeing no signs of civilization, Doc knew that they might possibly be a little lost. His suspicions were all but confirmed when Marty noticed some of the trees they were seeing -- particularly one with a wooden platform now rotting away in the higher branches -- were being passed more than once.

They were going in circles.

With no map of the area and no real locating devices like a compass on him, Doc decided the only way to get out of this would be to move slowly, pause to listen for noises like cars on roadways, and perhaps change direction if they were going deeper into the foliage. Time wore on, and there was still no sign of civilization -- ludicrous, since this wasn't the middle of the Pacific Northwest or a forest in the midst of the Middle Ages; this was northern New Jersey in the 1940's!

Marty started to ask questions -- first occasionally, then one almost every five minutes -- about where they were and how they would get out of this. Doc did his best to reassure him and gradually the teen lapsed into silence, perhaps more out of hunger and exhaustion than anything else.

In the late afternoon, the sky thickened with clouds and the wind started to pick up, the sounds it created as it stirred the trees playing havoc with Doc's method of listening for signs of civilization. It started to rain -- lightly, at first, then harder and harder until both he and Marty were soaked to the bone. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance and the scientist grew increasingly anxious at that. It was definitely not safe to stand in the midst of trees during an electrical storm.

Just as he started to get rather concerned, he stumbled over something that felt rather different from the roots and discarded branches that he'd gotten almost used to tripping over in their long hike. He looked down, and in the flash of lightning realized it was a glass bottle. Those certainly didn't grown on trees and it meant one thing, very important -- they were somewhere where people had to be nearby. He all but ran forward, and a moment later burst out of the trees and onto the side of a road.

"Excellent," he breathed, relief temporarily erasing the physical discomforts he was feeling from being so soaked and on his feet all day.

"Where are we?" Marty asked, emerging from the foliage.

"I don't know. I suppose we should just start walking along the road. Sooner or later we should run into a sign."

Marty sighed heavily as he followed Doc. "I hope we're not more than a mile from Kinsrow," he groaned. "I'm going to collapse soon."

Doc understood. He was just as wet, cold, hungry, and exhausted as Marty was. "We can get something to eat at the next stop," he promised. "And we should be home a couple hours after that, if we don't run into any more unexpected situations."

"God, I hope not," Marty muttered.

They had been walking only a few minutes when Doc heard an engine approaching from behind, at a distance. He looked and saw headlights heading for them, perhaps a quarter mile away. Immediately, he removed his Army hat and started to shrug off his soaked coat. "Marty, take your coat and hat off."

Marty stopped and turned. "Why?" he asked.

"If we're spotted in 'em, it might create some questions we don't want to answer."

Marty looked puzzled, but removed the garments and let them fall to the side of the road, in the mud. Doc balled his up and tossed them into the trees. A minute later, a car roared by, not slowing down at all, spraying them with muddy water. Marty scowled as the vehicle as it sped away from them.

They had walked only a few more minutes when another car approached them from the back. This time, however, it slowed down as it grew closer to the time travelers. The scientist was puzzled at first, until he looked over at Marty and saw the teen standing with his thumb jutted out, the classic hitchhiking gesture.

"Marty!" Doc hissed.

Marty glanced at Doc. "Do you want to keep walking in this rain for God knows how long?"

"We can't hitchhike! It's not safe!"

"Maybe where we're from, but it's 1944!"

Before Doc could say anything more, the car rolled to a stop and the passenger side window slid down. A man leaned across the front seat, looking at them.

"Need a ride?"

"Only if you're going through Kinsrow," Marty said.

"That I am; that's where I live. Hop in."

Marty reached for the back door handle. "You can have the front," he said to Doc as the scientist made no move to get into the car.

Doc sighed, rather annoyed at Marty's actions, but shrugged off the waterproof backpack and handed it to his friend as the teen sat down in the back. "Hold onto this," he said softly, hoping the driver wouldn't hear his words. Marty nodded, then slammed the door shut. Doc opened the passenger door and got inside, shutting it and rolling up his window against the elements. He looked at the driver for a moment, trying to judge whether or not the man was really just a nice guy or a killer or robber hoping for some easy victims.

The man looked as if he was in his early thirties, clean-shaven, dressed in what might've been a business suit of the times. His dark brown hair was cut short, a lock or two curling across his forehead. His eyes were brown, and a shade too big for his face. He smiled at the scientist, the expression setting off a wave of familiarity that was strong but so brief, Doc wouldn't even remember it until later. He didn't know the man; he was sure of it.

"You two weren't planning on walking all the way to Kinsrow, now, were you?" he asked. "That's more'n forty miles away!"

"We didn't realize it was so far," Doc said honestly.

"What happened?" the man asked as he pulled back onto the road. "Car break down?"

"More or less," Marty said from the back.

The man turned up the heat in the car with one hand as he drove with the other. "I'm Patrick," he said. "Are you two both from Kinsrow? I don't think I've seen you before."

"No, we're not," Doc said honestly. "We're from out West and were just passing through Kinsrow on business. I'm Emmett and this is Marty," he added quickly.

"Ah. Well, nice to meet you both."

Patrick was quiet for close to ten minutes, his attention focused on driving through the torrential downpour. The interior of the car grew warmer slowly, though the air still had a dampness to it, probably caused by the drenched clothes that he and Marty wore, that Doc found rather uncomfortable. It wasn't long before the windows started to fog up. Patrick frowned and used his sleeve to scrub away some of the condensation on the windshield.

"It might help if you turn the heat down," Doc said. "Sometimes I have to use the air conditioner to defrost the windows."

Their driver sighed. "This is ugly weather. I almost wish I'd stayed another day in Stroudsburg. I've been there on business since Thursday, though, and I promised my wife that I'd make it back today. She's been alone with our daughter all weekend, and she's got a bit of a cold."

"I'm sorry," Doc said.

"How long've you been hiking outside?" Patrick asked, glancing at the scientist.

"A long time," Doc said, not wanting to get into specifics on the chance that their escape had made any local news. "We got a little lost out there."

Patrick glanced at Marty in the rearview mirror. The teen was slumped in the middle of the back seat, where the heat would reach him best, with his head back and eyes closed, possibly asleep. "Is he your son?"

Doc blinked. "Marty? Oh, no. He's a good friend of mine. My oldest son isn't even a teenager yet."

Patrick looked at him curiously. "Really?"

It was his age again; Doc sighed softly, knowing that this stranger surely didn't mean anything by the surprise he showed. "Yes. My oldest is eleven and my youngest nine. Although he won't be the youngest for much longer."

The words were out before he could stop them and they hung in the air for a long moment. Doc twisted around quickly and looked at Marty, but the teen hadn't stirred nor made any move that he had heard.

"Is your wife expecting?" Patrick asked, catching the implication.

Doc looked at Marty again, hard. The driver saw what he was doing and glanced at the teen in the mirror again. "I'd lay money that he's sound asleep," Patrick said. "I don't think you'd have much to fear if he overheard -- if that's what you're afraid of."

The words had just left his mouth when the car hit a brief, uneven patch of road. The passengers were jostled a little, but Marty didn't react at all; his head rolled limply to one side against the seat back and his eyes remained closed. Convinced now that the stranger was correct in his assessment of his friend, Doc turned back to the front of the car and made a decision.

"Yes," he said. "Clara -- my wife -- is going to have a baby."

Patrick was quiet for a minute. Doc realized he was holding himself rather tense, almost as if he expected a negative reaction of sorts from the stranger. When he finally spoke, it was a soft statement.

"Perhaps it's none of my business, but you don't sound as if you're terribly happy."

The scientist blinked. Was he that transparent, even to someone he didn't even know? "I suppose that might be accurate," he admitted slowly. "This wasn't planned. Our youngest will be ten years old by the time this child is born. My wife is over forty; having children then can be dangerous. And I'm not getting any younger, either."

Patrick took his eyes away from the road a moment to look at him. "A man can still be a good father in his fifties," he said.

Doc was surprised again, this time by Patrick's gross miscalculation of his age. He supposed being drenched and seen only in very dim lighting might've helped. "I suppose he can," Doc agreed, deciding not to tell the man just how old he really was; it would definitely create too many questions he didn't want to answer. "But I don't want this child to grow up without a father. I'm not immortal and I could quite possibly die before they're on their own and leave my wife the job of raising him or her alone."

"Are you in ill health?"

Doc shook his head. "No, nothing of the sort."

"Are you in any sort of danger with your life? Do you work a risky line of work."

"Not really, no."

"Is your wife unhealthy?"

"No."

Patrick was silent for a minute. "I don't see why you've good reason for concern, then," he said. "This is just my opinion, mind you, but if both you and your wife are in fine health, I don't see why you're concerned so much with passing away soon. My great-grandfather lived to be ninety; he died only two years ago."

"This wasn't supposed to happen, though," Doc said softly.

"Why?" Patrick asked. "Didn't you want more children?"

Doc considered the question for more than a minute, silently. "We both loved children but decided not to have any because of certain risks. Yet a year after we made that decision, we had our oldest, and almost two years later, another. Although we were surprised when we had our sons, I've never regretted either of them or the unexpected luck that brought them into our lives. Never."

"Maybe this child will be the same," Patrick said. "I know of more than one friend who feels some apprehension when he finds out he'll be a father. Usually it's over a firstborn, but perhaps it's from your being out of practice with babies and all."

Doc half shrugged at the suggestion. It didn't feel quite right to him. "I don't know," he said. "You mentioned earlier that you're a father. Didn't you deal with any fears or doubts when you heard the news?"

Patrick shook his head once. "No. I felt nothing but joy when I found out."

The scientist frowned for a moment, disappointed. "When Clara told me she was expecting the boys, I didn't take the news so well at first," he admitted. "But I had good reasons for feeling the way I did... and those reasons don't apply anymore."

The stranger was quiet again. "It sounds almost that what is bothering you now is that you feel bothered," he said.

It was a very sharp observation. Doc was shocked into silence for a few minutes as he accessed his feelings. Thinking rationally about the news, he couldn't find any fault with it, per se. Clara was in good health, as was he, and, with occasional trips to future times to fix any problems that might crop up brought about by aging, he was confident that he could be around for at least the first eighteen years of the child's life. In fact, if nothing had changed in the future, he knew that he lived until at least 2007 and likely past that. So, dying prematurely shouldn't really be concerning him so much, barring any accidents... and even those could be corrected in most cases with time travel.

Providing for another mouth wasn't exactly bothering him so much, either. He had made many investments, back in the 1890's and in the present, that turned over enough money each month to live, quite well, with four members of the family, and still have enough to sock away in savings for future college educations and all. Some of the investments were gleaned from occasional glimpses into the future, though Doc didn't like to think about it too much. It didn't hurt anyone, though, and it was for his family more than for himself. He found it a tremendous irony that the greatest thing he had ever created was too dangerous to be revealed publicly, and that the subsequent things he had invented that had worked he was too skittish to patent or sell because of secret fears that he had accidentally plagiarized something he had seen in the future.

Adjustments the boys would need to make were a concern, but maybe not enough for him feel the way he did. He didn't have a clue on how they might react, but he didn't think that was the root of his anxiety. When Verne was born, Jules was about two months shy of his second birthday and therefore they saw little, if any, sibling rivalry apart from a small incident where Jules approached his mother and asked when he needed to leave because the "new baby model" had come. The bickering between his sons came later, once Verne had learned to crawl and ceaselessly found fascination with Jules' belongings.

Doc had a feeling that Jules' reaction to the news would be blase compared to his brother's. Verne had always been the youngest child, and having his rank in the family bumped might not sit well with him -- especially if the baby ended up being another boy. Yet even his older son could be more sensitive to changes than the scientist would first think; his reaction to Marty at first had been utterly unexpected, especially since Jules had been almost ten by that time.

At any rate, whatever his sons felt wasn't really what was concerning him so much, either. The boys had adjusted to many changes in their lives and this would be one more that they would have to learn how to live with.

What he felt, however, was concerning him. Why was he so upset by the news? Why did his heart race, his stomach churn, and his palms grow clammy when he recalled Clara's words from earlier in the evening: "Emmett, I'm expecting. We're going to have another baby"? What was it that he was so damned afraid of? It wasn't that he wouldn't live to see the new child graduate from high school or college; it wasn't really from the risk to Clara's health by having such a late pregnancy; it wasn't money or his sons' reactions to having a new brother or sister; it wasn't even that this child's birth and subsequent living would create a life-ending paradox, as he had feared with both Jules and Verne when they were living in the past.

Patrick's statement was very shrewd, and something that had never entered Doc's mind. Was that what was causing all the fuss? That his knee-jerk reaction, possibly echoing his feelings from when he had first heard about the soon-arrival of the boys, was what was really bothering him the most? Why he felt the way he felt, why he wasn't overjoyed immediately by the news?

"Maybe you're right," he finally said. "Maybe that is why I feel so odd. I should be feeling happy about this, excited... but so far I feel more like I want to be sick."

Patrick glanced at him again. "When did you hear this news?"

Doc took a minute to silently calculate how much time had elapsed since Clara had told him. "Ah... about twenty hours ago."

"Then I would just give it some time," Patrick said. "I'm sure the excitement will catch up to you."

"I hope so," Doc agreed. "In the past, it would... but what if it doesn't, I wonder? What then?"

Patrick smiled a little. "I think it will," he said. "Maybe if you stop thinking about your feelings, you'll feel better -- no pun intended."

The scientist supposed that was pretty good advice. "You're right," he said. "And, anyway, I do feel a little better now that I think I might know why this is bothering me so. Sorry to burden you with my problems."

"It's not a burden," Patrick said. "I like to help people when I can, and these drives are mighty lonely, normally. You're helping me much as I might be helping you."

"Thanks for stopping, too," Doc added. "I'll admit I was a little uneasy at first, but I don't know if we could've managed to hike all the way back to Kinsrow on our own."

"In this weather and walking forty-five miles? I should say not," Patrick agreed. "Where do you need to go in Kinsrow?"

"You can just drop us off at a gas station," Doc said. "I can telephone a tow truck from there."

"We have a telephone at our house," Patrick said. "I wouldn't mind at all if you used it, and you both look as if you could use a hot meal and time to dry off."

At the idea of food, Doc could feel his stomach growl. He hadn't eaten for almost an entire day, to his body. But spending any more time with this man could be dangerous, especially if there were people out searching for them. The sooner they left this time, the better.

"I appreciate the offer, but we have to keep an appointment, and we're already running behind schedule," Doc said.

"I understand," Patrick said. "Hope that your homes aren't too far from here."

"If we don't run into any more snags, we should be back in a few more hours," Doc said. And, God willing, I'll be able to face Clara then with a smile and be sincere when I tell her how excited I am that we're going to be parents for a third time.

Chapter Eight

Sunday, April 16, 1944
5:38 P.M.

When they reached the city limits of Kinsrow about twenty minutes later, Doc directed Patrick to a gas station that he had noticed was just a few blocks away from the city hall. The driver watched the scientist as he shook Marty awake in the backseat and prepared to leave.

"If you need any more help, you can walk to my house from here," he said. "It's 111 Foster Drive."

"We should be fine now, but thanks," Doc said as he helped Marty, rather groggy and disoriented, out of the car. "I don't suppose there's anything we can do in return for you giving us a ride...?"

Patrick shook his head right away. "I was glad to help out and to have the company," he said. "I hope you feel better soon."

Doc was quite relieved that the man didn't blurt out any more details than that. He didn't want Marty to find out the news about Clara in that way. "Thanks," he said. "I think I will. Have a good evening."

"That I will," Patrick said. Doc closed his door and watched as the car pulled away from the curb, the darkness and rain all but swallowing it up when it was half a block away.

"Where are we?" Marty asked around a yawn.

"About three blocks from the city hall," Doc said. "And the DeLorean."

"Great," Marty said. He shivered a little as they left the covered porch of the gas station and stepped into the steady rain. "I hope our next stop is somewhere warm. I'm freezing."

"New York City, December 20, 1974," Doc cited from memory. "Not particularly warm, I'm afraid. But I think our first stop before the archives will be a nice, warm café. I can't remember the last time I ate."

"Me, neither," Marty admitted. "That sounds great. I just hope we don't have to put up with too much disco on the jukebox, though." He grimaced. After a moment of silence, Marty spoke again. "Are you feeling okay?"

"As well as can be expected, considering the present circumstances," Doc said. "Why?"

Marty shrugged, his head and shoulders bent forward against the raindrops. "The guy who drove us said he hoped you'd feel better."

"Naturally," the scientist said, quite smoothly. "You're as cold, wet, hungry, and tired as I am. If I saw people in our state, I'd wish them well, too."

Marty seemed to accept that answer and didn't say anything more. When they got within view of the city hall, Doc circled around to the back, not wanting to end their long journey by getting re-arrested. Luckily, the building looked both closed and void of any people in the immediate area. Perhaps the storm helped, keeping those who might normally be outside indoors. Or perhaps there was a city-wide curfew due to begin soon.

"Where were you when you dropped the keys?" Doc asked as they approached the back entrance where they had been arrested less than a day before.

"Maybe three steps out the door," Marty said.

"All right. Hand me the backpack, will you? I think we might need the goggles to find 'em."

There was a rather uncomfortable pause. "Uh, Doc? I don't have the backpack. I thought you did."

Doc closed his eyes for a moment. "I gave it to you in the back seat," he said in a low, calm voice. "I assumed you would bring it with you when you left."

Marty shrugged. "It was all wet. I wasn't going to hold it on my lap, so I set it on the floor and forgot about it. I don't know why you'd think I'd remember, since you're the one who's been dragging that thing everywhere."

Doc sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Marty, do you realize the danger to the entire space-time continuum if that backpack falls into the wrong hands?"

The teen snorted softly. "We sure as hell didn't go after it on the military base for our health. Anyway, what's the big deal? The guy who picked us up seemed decent enough, and you two seemed to've gotten along well on the drive. All we gotta do is go over to his house and pick it up."

The scientist sighed again. It's not really Marty's fault, he reminded himself. You didn't ask him if he had the bag when you left, and he had just woken up. Under the same circumstances, you might've made the same mistake.

"It's dangerous," Doc said. "For all we know, Patrick works for the military. Maybe he was even on the base and saw us when we were escaping."

"Then why didn't he arrest us on the spot?" Marty asked.

"Simple: it was dark outside and in the car, he didn't get clear looks at our faces, and we're both drenched. All can alter a person's normal appearance."

Marty heaved a sigh of his own and looked at the ground for a second. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I--" He stopped, knelt down quickly, and picked something up. "Hey!" Marty said, grinning as he held up his find. "Check it out! The DeLorean keys!"

Doc took the keys from Marty and examined them for a minute as best he could in the weak glow of a nearby streetlight. "Good," he said, confirming Marty's words. "Let's get the car right now. We can drive it over to Patrick's home in disguise, pick up the bag, and get the hell out of here."

* * *

Thankfully, and much to Doc's relief, the DeLorean was exactly how they had left it -- parked in its invisible hologram behind the city hall, clearly undisturbed. It was only when they were in the car and driving through the streets in the impression of a plain, nondescript Packard from 1940 that the scientist realized the date was a Sunday, and the city hall had therefore been closed. Fortunate for them, otherwise it was quite possible the vehicle would've been discovered.

They found Patrick's house easily. Doc stopped across the street from the single story home and looked at it for a moment, trying to debate the wisdom of walking boldly to the door and asking for the backpack. It looked like a friendly home; lamps burned in the windows, flowers were planted and blooming in the boxes under the windows, and the porch light was lit. Patrick's car sat parked in the driveway.

"I guess it won't do much harm if I walk up to the door and ask for the bag," Doc said, tapping a finger against the steering wheel as he considered.

"It's not like this is unusual or anything," Marty said, leaning forward a little to see past the scientist to the house. "You just left something behind in his car. People forget things all the time."

"Yes," Doc agreed. "I just hope he hasn't discovered it already and looked inside." He winced, imagining the scene. "Wait here. Hopefully, this'll just take a few minutes."

Marty nodded and settled back in the seat. Doc kept the car running, hoping to warm up the still-chilly interior by the time he returned. He left the time machine and ran quickly across the street in a rather fruitless attempt to avoid getting even wetter in the still-pouring rain. When he reached the porch, Doc hesitated a moment, then knocked on the door.

A long minute passed. The scientist turned to look back at the waiting time machine, which, to his satisfaction, looked no different than any of the other typical cars of the current time. He could even see Marty watching him through the front driver side window. The door opened then and he quickly turned around. Patrick looked at him, his eyes puzzled for a moment before recognition dawned.

"Emmett, right?"

Doc nodded quickly, both surprised and dismayed that the man had remembered his name. "Yes. I'm sorry to bother you, but we accidentally left our bag behind in your car."

"Oh? Well, come on in. No sense in you waiting outside and getting even more soaked while I fetch it."

Doc hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder at the waiting time machine and Marty. "All right," he said, figuring it wouldn't hurt for a few minutes. And it was rather uncomfortable outside.

Patrick closed the door and reached for a coat hanging on a rack nearby. "Do you remember where you put your bag?"

"Yes. It should be in the back seat, a black backpack."

Doc heard someone enter the foyer and looked over to see a young blonde woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties, carrying a baby in her arms. "Hello," she said, a note of curiousness in her voice as her eyes shifted between the scientist and Patrick.

The young man took care of the introductions. "Amy, this is Emmett. I gave him a lift home and he just came by to pick up a forgotten bag. Emmett, this is my wife, Amy, and our six month old daughter, Susan."

"Nice to meet you," Amy said, smiling as she shifted the baby on her hip. Doc returned the pleasantry with a smile of his own as Patrick left the house to fetch the bag.

"Are you from this area?" Amy asked as the baby tugged on a handful of her mother's hair.

"No, actually, I was just--"

What he was about to say was lost as a telephone rang somewhere in the house. Amy sighed, not moving for a moment. The ringing came again.

"I'm sorry, sir, but would you mind holding her?" she asked. "She's been fussy all day and I can't talk on the telephone and hold her at the same time. Patrick will take her when he comes in."

Doc wasn't sure if he would be a better alternative than setting the baby down, considering he was both soaking wet and a stranger. But he didn't hesitate with his answer. "Of course," he said.

Amy passed Susan to him, then hurried to the phone in another room. The baby looked at Doc with wide, dark eyes.

"Hello," he said softly, hoping she wasn't going to start crying. "Your mom and dad will be back really soon, in just a minute."

Susan's forehead creased for a minute, then her expression changed and she smiled, giggling a little. Doc couldn't help but smile back, realizing with a touch of astonishment that he didn't mind this so much. He bounced the baby a little as he waited for Patrick or Amy to return. Without much thought, he looked at some of the decorations on the wall, most of it apparently family photographs. One of them, an older one, sent a bolt of shivers down his back when he spotted it. He blinked a few times, wondering if fatigue was playing a role in what he saw. He looked away for a moment, at the baby, before turning back to the picture.

Great Scott! It can't be!

Perhaps miffed at not being the center of his attention anymore, Susan grabbed a handful of his hair and cooed, sending a few drops of water down her chubby arm. The scientist winced a little in pain as he tried to gently pry her grip off his hair, then looked again at the photograph.

The scene was a posed studio shot of a family of four, from perhaps the early 1870's, if the clothes were any indication. The parents stood behind their seated children, a boy of perhaps seventeen or eighteen, and a girl of fourteen or fifteen. All looked familiar to Doc, but the face of the daughter in the family was especially well known to him, even so young.

It was his wife, Clara, with her brother and parents.

The door opened, a gust of wind bringing with it a scattering of raindrops. "Is this what you were looking for?" Patrick asked. Doc glanced over for a moment and saw the black backpack clutched securely in his hand.

"Yes, thanks," he said, distracted. He pointed to the photograph with his free hand. "Who are these people?"

Patrick closed the door and stepped over for a look as he removed his jacket. "That would be my great-grandfather, Christopher Clayton, with his family."

"Ah," Doc said as Susan was taken from his arms by her father. Patrick is Clara's great-grandnephew! he realized, stunned. And mine, too.

Now that he knew, he recalled the brief flash of familiarity he had felt when first seeing Patrick's face. Not surprising, he realized, as he looked at the man again; around the eyes, in particular, he saw shades of Jules. Fascinating.

"I hope she wasn't too much trouble," Patrick said, not noticing the scrutiny as he smiled at his daughter.

"What? Oh, no, no, not at all," Doc said, blinking. "Your wife gave her to me when she got a phone call."

Patrick nodded. "Are you sure you don't want to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, no, I can't," Doc said, very sure of that now that he knew they were related in some way. "Marty is waiting for me." He picked up the still-damp bag from the floor. "Sorry to trouble you again."

Patrick waved one of his hands. Susan tried to grab hold of it, leaning forward, but failed. "Don't worry about it. Have a good rest of your trip."

Doc smiled at him as he opened the door, pausing on the threshold. "I will," he said. "Take good care of that little girl."

"Of course. And I'm sure you'll make a fine father again," Patrick added. "Susie isn't usually so nice to strangers that hold her. You must have a way with children."

"Perhaps," Doc said, wondering if that girl sensed the distant relation she had with the scientist and his family. He stepped outside and closed the door. Only when he was heading back to the car did he notice the name on the mailbox, stenciled in white: CLAYTON.

"Amazing," he whispered, truly astounded by the coincidence. He looked forward to telling Clara about it -- she had always wondered what happened to her brother and his family, and now, at least, they knew he would live to be an old age and that the Claytons were still continuing well into the Twentieth Century.

* * *

Despite being cold, hungry, wet, and generally uncomfortable, Marty was close to dozing off again when Doc returned to the car. At the sound of the door opening, he opened his eyes and looked over to see the scientist get in, the backpack now in hand. Doc wore an odd sort of smile on his face as he settled in, shifted the car into gear and started it forward again.

"Any problems?" Marty asked, stretching a little as he drew a hand to one of the car vents. Warm air was finally coming out. He turned up the fan as Doc punched a new code into the HIS keypad.

"No, not at all," the inventor said. He turned to look at Marty as he took the car into the air. "Do you know who Patrick was?"

"A secret government agent who took pity on us?" Marty asked, only half joking.

"That would be more believable to me than his real identity," Doc said, half to himself. "That was Clara's great-grandnephew. Her brother, Christopher, was Patrick's great-grandfather."

Marty blinked. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Doc nodded once as he started to type in their next destination time. "I saw a family photograph from the 1870's with Clara in it on their wall and asked him about it. Once I knew that, I could see a faint family resemblance. Around the eyes, I saw a little of Jules, the way he looked -- would look -- in the future."

"That's so weird," Marty said, shaking his head a little at the coincidence. "Of all the people to pick us up...."

"Yes," Doc said. "Strange how a member of my wife's family was so helpful to me."

Marty frowned a little, sensing more in those words than the scientist just commenting on the ride they had been given. Maybe it was how he said me instead of us.

What were they talking about when I was asleep? he wondered, a wealth of possibilities distracting him enough so that he remained silent as they jumped to the new time. When the glow from their arrival diminished, Marty looked outside and saw New York City illuminated under them, looking more or less like it would in the present.

"Wow," he said, finding the perspective rather impressive. "Where are we going here?"

"To get something hot to eat, first," Doc said. "Hopefully we can dry off then, too. I've timed our arrival so that we have several hours to kill before I planned to break into the city records to slip in the false marriage record for Clara and myself."

"When are we again?"

"December 20, 1974, in New York City, at nine P.M."

Marty watched as a few flakes of snow hit the windshield as they descended. "Hope you park close to where we're going," he said. "Looks like it's going to be uncomfortable outside in these wet clothes."

Doc landed the car on the top of a building with a conveniently placed fire escape to the roof. When Marty asked if this was particularly safe or smart, the scientist responded that it would have to do, since New York City offered few good hiding places and, even invisible, keeping the car out in the open would pose too great a risk. Still, Marty didn't particularly like fire escapes, especially after he'd had to creep down a badly damaged one following an earthquake. The fact that he was all wet, it was below freezing outside, and snow was coming down faster by the minute just made it all the more unpleasant. Fortunately, the building was only two stories tall; just as his hands were going numb, as well as most of the rest of him, he was back on solid ground in an alley.

Doc led them out to the sidewalk, and across the street was a brightly lit café, decked out in gaudy Christmas decorations and sparsely populated. The scientist made a beeline for it. When they stepped inside, they were greeted with a rush of warm air and the sounds of ABBA's "Waterloo." At least it's not a Muzak version of the song, Marty reflected as they were led to a booth.

Neither of the time travelers spoke much as they looked over their menus. Marty was so hungry that he would've eaten just about anything. The prices were pretty cheap to his eyes, being more than ten years removed from the inflation he was used to in the present. When the waitress came to take their orders, he had to restrain himself from getting two meals and chose a fried chicken dinner, while Doc selected some soup, a club sandwich, and requested a large pot of coffee for them both. The waitress eyed them more than once, perhaps confused on how they could be so wet when it was just snowing outside, but said nothing and returned a minute later with the beverage request. Marty didn't like coffee much, but it was both hot and filled with caffeine; he poured himself a generous cup and dumped in a bunch of cream, drinking it without much complaint.

"Where do we go from here?" he finally asked Doc as the scientist took a large sip from his own mug.

"The City Hall, of course," Doc said, speaking softly. "All we've got to do is slip in a document that records Clara and I being wed here on December fifteenth into the stack of papers to be filed." He frowned thoughtfully, tapping a finger against the Formica tabletop. "A pity we can't cut a trip out and just personally file Jules' and Verne's records in 1977, but that would be a little too complicated now. In these times, it's just much easier to slip the new certificates in with others waiting to be filed. We're done with the removals now."

Marty wished it wasn't so complicated now; he was ready to go home. Already this little "couple hour" trip had stretched to more than four times its original projected length. He hoped the coffee he was drinking was really strong so he could stay awake through the movies he'd have to watch with Jennifer and their friends later, whenever they got back.

"So, Patrick was related to Clara," he said, shifting the topic to something he was more interested in. "What did he help you with?"

Doc studied him for a moment. "A personal issue, I suppose," he said.

Marty thought that was rather odd. "A personal issue?" he echoed. "I thought you didn't want either of us to, you know, interact and talk to people more than we have to on this trip... or on any trip. Why'd you talk to someone you don't even know about something personal?"

"I needed to talk to someone," Doc said. "I just didn't realize how desperately until I was."

Marty picked up his spoon and restirred his coffee. "You could've talked to me, you know," he said, watching the brown liquid swirl in the mug. He looked up. "Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't, and I can't," Doc said. "I promised that I wouldn't... not yet."

Marty's curiosity jumped a few more notches. "What's wrong, Doc?" he asked. "Is this the same thing that you've been distracted by since we left '87?"

Doc nodded once. "I suppose, yes."

Marty frowned, leaning across the table. "Then why don't you tell me what it is? It might make you feel better and I know it'll make me feel better. You're not dying, are you?"

"Great Scott, no!" Doc said, sounding surprised at the very idea. "Nothing of the sort."

Doc's denial didn't make Marty feel much better; it wasn't that he didn't believe the scientist, but he knew that whatever was bothering him had to be serious. "Is anyone in your family sick?"

There was a slight hesitation this time. "Not exactly."

Marty waited, but his friend didn't elaborate. The teen took another drink of his coffee, thinking. Doc couldn't tell him what it was, for reasons that Marty was still vague on, but what if he guessed what it was? Doc couldn't lie that well, so if he got any sort of reaction from his guesses, he could find out what it was on his own.

"Is it anything with Jules?"

"No."

"Verne."

"No." Doc sounded a little annoyed, but Marty prodded on.

"It's Clara, then, isn't it?" he asked, though he supposed it could be Einstein. The dog was getting older, after all....

Doc was silent, saying nothing, though a look on his face told Marty he knew exactly what the teen was trying to do. So, Clara was the one who wasn't "exactly" sick. Marty frowned as he tried to brainstorm what that might mean.

"Is she sick, but not fatally sick?"

Doc shrugged vaguely.

"Is she homesick?"

Another shake of the head. Marty silently pondered more possibilities, not coming up with anything very realistic or likely. Clara hadn't seemed very different to him at all the last few weeks or days, but clearly she was. She was the one who was supposed to be sitting across from Doc right now, not Marty; why hadn't she come along? Was it too dangerous for her with what she had? And what was that?

"Is she pregnant?" Marty asked as he raised the mug to his mouth again, the question more of a joke than anything else. It wasn't that he thought such a thing was impossible, but if Doc and Clara were going to have more kids, he'd figured they would've long ago.

But Doc didn't shake his head, smile, or chuckle. Instead, as Marty took a drink, he said, very softly and quietly, "Yes."

Marty gasped at the worst time, just as he was swallowing his coffee. Breathing and liquids were never a good mix; he choked and started to cough, hard, nearly dropping the mug of hot liquid on his lap. Doc leaned forward in concern as Marty managed to set down the drink and continued to cough. His eyes watered as he tried to catch his breath and breathe without gagging. After a few minutes of it, the worst had passed and he was able to take a few slow, cautious breaths. Though he desperately had things to say, he took a long drink of some of the complimentary water before setting it down, wiping his eyes, and staring at Doc.

The scientist eyed him cautiously. "Are you okay?"

Marty cleared his throat and coughed once. "I'm fine," he said, slightly hoarse. "Are you serious? Clara's pregnant?! Jesus, I was just joking around!"

"She's expecting," Doc confirmed, nodding once. "We just discovered this today and she told me a few hours before we were planning on running this errand. I don't want her time traveling in her condition, since I've never run any experiments to see if temporal displacement can harm developing humans, and I have no intention of starting with my own wife and child as the guinea pigs."

"Were you guys trying for this?" Marty asked. Doc hadn't said anything to him about it before, but that didn't mean much. After all, Marty hadn't heard anything about him trying to make a DeLorean into a time machine until it was right before him.

Doc shook his head again, taking another drink before he answered. "No, it was a complete surprise to both of us. And I'm afraid I didn't take it very well when I was told." His face reddened a little.

Marty looked at him curiously. "Why? Did you freak out and yell at Clara?" The idea was almost as ludicrous as Clara being pregnant again, but if that could happen, maybe this guess was accurate, too.

Doc sighed. "Not exactly, no, although I suppose I did 'freak out' a little." He fiddled with one of the spoons on the table, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. "I wasn't happy immediately."

"So?" Marty asked. "I'll probably be flabbergasted when Jennifer tells me she's going to have a baby, and thanks to seeing the future, I sort of have a vague idea of when that'll be. Feeling like that is normal, I'll bet."

Doc looked rather pained. "It shouldn't be for me, not anymore. I reacted similarly when Clara told me she was expecting Jules and Verne, but I had very good reasons for that then. We were in a time that neither of us belonged in, and bringing additional lives into it that had never even existed before was tremendously dangerous to the space-time continuum and the future of my past. But I don't have a damned thing to worry about now, save for the possible effects on Clara's health from having a child so late in life."

Marty took another drink of his coffee, rather cautiously this time, before speaking. "You sound sort of angry," he observed.

Doc sighed again. "If I'm angry at anyone, it's just myself. Patrick thought I was probably feeling upset because I was feeling upset and wasn't able to cite a good reason why. Sounds like a good guess, I think."

"You talked to Patrick about this?" Suddenly, some of the scientist's comments about the driver made much more sense.

"Yes. I accidentally let something slip, and I was rather glad you were sleeping by then. Clara didn't want me to tell you yet, not until we told Jules and Verne."

Marty blinked. "You haven't yet?"

"No -- but I think we'll do that as soon as I get back home. No reason to really put it off, and the sooner they know the better, especially if it's preoccupying Clara and me."

"How is she feeling about this, anyway?" Marty asked.

A soft smile curled Doc's mouth. "She's happy," he said. "We weren't planning this, but I think she's quite glad that it happened. You know, we talked about having another one last summer, after the trip to Ohio, but decided against it in the end. Too much havoc on our lives, but maybe they need some havoc in 'em now. And raising a child in my present will definitely be interesting."

Marty hid a smile as he listened to Doc. His voice grew a little lighter as he talked about the future and his face changed a little, some of the exhaustion and stress leaking away. He was going to be fine with parenthood for a third time, once the shock of it all wore off. "You'll be okay, Doc," he said, confidently. "When's the baby due?"

"Seven months -- by mid-December," Doc said. "At least that's what Clara was told. Knowing our children, though, I wouldn't be surprised if the kid didn't actually arrive until Christmas. Jules was almost a week late, Verne was a week late... wouldn't surprise me at all if history repeated itself a third time."

"Wow," Marty said, the news really hitting him now. It was hard to believe that there would soon be another Brown child. "You know, I wonder why I never saw anything about this in the future?"

Doc leaned forward a little, his eyes narrowing. "You didn't?" he asked. "I was wondering about that...."

"There could've been something there about it, but you kept telling me to hurry, so I skipped over a lot of the articles without looking at them. And we didn't even have the full articles, anyway, remember?"

"Yes," Doc said. "But what if there wasn't anything about the child because he or she didn't exist then? It's possible that perhaps we changed something to allow the conception, which would've happened right after that trip. The future changes every minute, you know. What we saw two months ago probably wouldn't be exactly the same if we took off right now for a look."

"God, I hope not," Marty muttered, remembering the dark twists to their lives that they had had to deal with then -- twists that shouldn't've existed anymore since they'd corrected a couple of mistakes in the past and future. "But I dunno about that idea. Wouldn't that mean my kids wouldn't exist in the future, since they're not around now?"

"Yes, but what you saw was the most likely future from the moment you left," Doc said. "If you and Jennifer decided you never wanted kids and took precautions against it, you might find they're not there anymore when you visit the future."

Marty rubbed his forehead, not really up to debating time travel technicalities or theories. "Fine," he said. "But this kid might've been there and your family kept them away because they knew you wouldn't know about them yet -- or maybe they just lived outside of Hill Valley."

"That's possible, too," Doc allowed. "I guess we'll never really know." He shrugged, looking a tad disappointed.

"If you really want to know if it's a boy or girl, you could always check in the future now..." Marty reminded him, smiling.

Doc winced. "No, thanks," he said. "I'd rather find out in the natural course of time."

There was a moment of silence. In the background, Jimi Hendrix's "Red House" played over the sound system. "Doc, why didn't you just tell me all this sooner?" Marty finally asked, a little hurt.

"As I said earlier, I promised Clara I wouldn't. If she hadn't asked me to keep quiet on the news, I would've let you know immediately."

Marty sighed. "I guess I understand that. But, jeez, I was worried about you. I've never seen you so preoccupied before -- at least not since you fell in love with Clara back in 1885. It sort of scared me."

Doc's mouth quirked in a rather serious smile. "I'm sorry if my behavior gave you the wrong impression. And maybe I should've told you sooner. I know you can keep secrets, and the cat would've been out of the bag soon, anyway. I suppose I just needed some time to work through the news myself before telling others."

"But you told Patrick."

"By accident. If you would've been awake, you would've heard it right then, too."

"All right," Marty allowed. "But if you're gonna take me along on another trip like this and you're sitting on something big, just tell me next time so I won't be wracking my brain trying to figure out what the hell the problem is."

"Agreed," Doc promised.

* * *

They spent almost two hours at the diner, warming up as they ate their first meal in nearly a full day. By the time Doc paid their bill and they left to take care of their business, they were more than half dry. Outside, however, the temperature had dropped more and it was snowing harder. A few inches had gathered in the streets and sidewalks.

Doc didn't notice the chill much, his step much lighter despite his increasing exhaustion as he headed for the city courthouse three blocks away. He took a deep breath of the chilly air, smiling faintly. He was going to be a father again -- and, for the first time since he had heard the news, it didn't fill him with a vague, sick sense of dread or unease. Instead, he felt happy, content, and excited. Somewhere between the car ride and talking to Marty, something had changed inside. Frankly, he was so glad that it had that he didn't want to go deeper into figuring out why, fearful that this mood might pass. He had a feeling it wouldn't, but no use in chancing it.

"How long is this going to take?" Marty asked as their destination came into view.

"It shouldn't take long at all," Doc said. "As long as we don't get arrested again, anyway."

Marty shivered a little, either from the cold or the memories of their capture in 1944. "No thanks," he said.

Doc circled the building once, making sure that there wasn't anyone around. When he was certain that the area was as dead as it was going to get (which wasn't absolutely quiet; more than one person walked by as he made his casual inspection) he went to the door at the back alley behind the building and tentatively slipped the lock pick into one of the three locks securing the door. It unlatched without a problem, as did the other two. He hesitated before opening the door, though.

"I'm not sure if this is rigged to an alarm system," he admitted softly. "If a siren goes off, we run. Got it?"

Marty nodded. "What if it's a silent alarm?" he asked.

"Then we move fast to make sure we're done and gone before the authorities arrive," Doc said. He paused a moment. "Actually," he began, swinging the backpack off his shoulder, "why don't you wait out here?"

"Why? So you can get arrested?"

"No, not exactly," Doc said, unzipping the pack to get the doctored marriage certificate. "I know exactly where to go -- I visited this location last week when I was making the plans for this trip -- and I can move faster without you trailing me. And if police do show up, you can get away. Head back to the DeLorean."

"And do what -- leave you behind?" Marty sounded aghast at the idea. "How am I supposed to find you if that happens?"

Doc pulled out a pair of the night vision goggles. "I'll make sure it doesn't," he promised. He passed the bag to Marty. "Keep this, and don't let it out of your sight. I'll be out in a few minutes, I hope."

Marty accepted the bag with a sigh. Doc turned the goggles on and pulled them over his eyes. He opened the door slowly, his body tensed to react in case an alarm started to blare, but things remained quiet. Quickly, he moved inside, walking rapidly down the hallway and taking a few turns until he reached his destination -- a filing cabinet where the marriage certificates for the week were temporarily stored until they were permanently filed.

Doc opened it up and slipped the paper inside, shuffled among other December 15th weddings. He shut it as quietly as he was able, then traced his steps back to the door where he had entered. He half expected police to be covering the exit and another arrest, but all he found when he opened the door was a rather nervous Marty.

"Good," he sighed when Doc stepped outside. "Did you do what you needed?"

Doc nodded as he shut the door and hurried away from the building, taking the goggles off as he went. "Let's move fast," he said. "It's still possible that I tripped a silent alarm and the police are on their way now."

Perhaps it was a coincidence, but when they were a block from the building, a couple police cars passed by, sirens and lights off. Doc kept his head down and his stride firm, reacting as if he had nothing to react to. The cars didn't stop and passed them. He let out a frosty breath in relief.

"Persistence should be less stressful," he said to Marty as the diner came into view.

"What?" Marty asked, sounding baffled.

"Persistence, New York," Doc said. "It's a smallish town near an Amish community. It's where I decided Jules and Verne would be born, or at least have their certificates filed. I checked it out a while back when I was trying to settle on a location for their new birthplace. I'm almost positive their city hall won't have an alarm system."

"Good," Marty said. "So, we just have two stops left, then we're done?"

"Yes."

* * *

Persistence, New York was silent and dark when they arrived on January 7, 1976, perpetuating the image of the small town that rolled up its sidewalks early in the night. Doc boldly landed the time machine on the small bit of lawn near the back door of the city hall, fairly unconcerned about detection and being caught now. He was quite aware that his state of mind was a little risky -- most mistakes were made when people grew over-confident, after all -- but out of the entire trip, the last two stops had been the two that had cause him the least concern.

Maybe, too, it was because they were so close to finishing their goal. Doc was quite tempted to just throw caution to the wind and skip ahead to 1977, when he would file Verne's certificate, to just do the both of them at once. However, he knew that it would be more time consuming to do so, as that would require actually locating the specific file where the January 2, 1976 birthdays were kept. It seemed easier to just shuffle that paper in with others so he wouldn't have to deal with decoding a new filing system.

Although it wasn't so necessary now to have more than one person help out as it had been in the beginning, Doc brought Marty into the building with him to allow the teen to feel useful. The addition to the certificates waiting to be filed went off without a hitch; when they returned to the same location on November 12, 1977, they found the building and surrounding area just as deserted. The date was almost exactly two weeks after Verne's new birthday, though Doc had also selected it just for old time's sake; in 1977, the date was also a Saturday. Marty volunteered to stay with the DeLorean this time, so Doc completed the final task on his own. When he returned to the time machine, he couldn't help but grin.

"That's it," he marveled as he got into the car. "Everything's taken care of! I can finally breathe easier that no one is going to find those family records!"

"You seem pretty sure of that," Marty said. "What if we get home and everything is all changed for the worst?"

"Perish the thought," Doc said as he started the car. "You do realize what a headache that would be to retrace our steps to figure out precisely where we went wrong, right?"

"Yeah," Marty said. "I don't really think things will be all screwy, though." He paused, thoughtful, as Doc took the car up. "Of course, I never did before when things went wrong."

Chapter Nine

Friday, May 15, 1987
8:30 P.M.
Hill Valley, California

Thankfully, however, when they arrived back in their own time, five minutes after their original departure, nothing seemed amiss. Doc landed the DeLorean before the large double doors of the lab and shut the time circuits off, carefully pulling into the barn. "Can you make your date on time?" he asked Marty.

Marty looked at the clock. "Oh, yeah. I told Jen to meet me at Josh's place, so I don't have to pick her up. As long as I can change into something a little drier, I'll be happy." He opened up the door and got out as Doc turned off the car. "Are you and Clara going to tell Jules and Verne tonight?"

The scientist nodded as he got out of the car, taking the backpack with him. "I believe so. No sense in postponing it, after all."

"Well, good luck with that. Let me know how it goes."

"I will." Doc stopped the teen as he headed for the still-open double doors. "Thanks for your help, Marty."

Marty smiled tiredly. "No problem." He paused, as Doc shut the car door. "Don't worry about having another kid, Doc. You'll do great. And if there's anything I can do to help you and Clara out, let me know. If you need me to watch the boys, have 'em stay with me when you guys go to the hospital, even babysit the new one a few times, anything like that, just ask. I'd be happy to do it, too."

Doc looked at him for a moment, blinking a few times. He smiled, touched. "Thank you, Marty," he said softly. "That means a lot to me."

The teen shrugged, looking a little embarrassed. "Well, you can return the favor in ten years or so," he said. "And congratulations to you -- and Clara, too." He smiled, a little mischievously. "Man, I can't wait to see how this one turns out! Should be an interesting next few years."

"And few months," Doc agreed.

"I'll see ya tomorrow."

"Have fun tonight."

Doc finished shutting down things in the lab, changing the DeLorean's image to that of an old junker car, and locked up the building. He brought the black backpack with him, intending to throw the papers it contained into their fireplace to be burned that night, even if it was the middle of May and rather mild out.

Clara was seated at the kitchen table, looking through a magazine, when he returned. "How did the trip go--" she began, her mouth moving faster than her eyes. She gasped a little when she saw her husband. "Oh, Emmett! What happened?"

Doc supposed his still-damp and rather exhausted appearance made it clear that the trip hadn't been exactly routine. "Nothing much," he said, setting the bag on the table. "We had a few unexpected challenges, but I think it worked out for the best in the end. Where're the boys?"

"Verne's playing videogames and I think Jules is in his room, reading. Why?"

Doc sat down in one of the chairs, scooting close to her. "I think we should tell them."

Clara blinked. "Right now? Well, I suppose there's no sense in putting it off." She looked at her husband carefully. "Are you ready for it?"

Doc nodded, smiling. "Yes. And I'm actually rather happy about it now."

Clara studied him. "Are you?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

Doc nodded again. "Clara, I'm sorry I reacted the way I did," he said softly. "I really had no excuse for it or for feeling so scared about it."

"I know it wasn't something you expected to hear," Clara admitted, "but... well, I was surprised, too, with the news, and I didn't feel any apprehension at all. I thought you might be the same. We aren't in the past anymore, Emmett. Both you and I are healthy, and, unless you've been lying to me, we should have enough finances to support another child." She blinked, still looking a bit wounded. "Why were you so scared?"

"I don't know," Doc said. "I suppose it might've been due to echo worrying from when I heard about the boys. When you told me about them, I really was concerned about the influence they might have on history. I know I don't have to fear that now with this one, but knowing and feeling are two different things. Just like I know that you should be fine with this pregnancy, but I'm still going to worry a little. It just took my emotions a bit longer to catch onto what my mind was telling it."

Clara smiled faintly. A new concern suddenly occurred to Doc. "Are you mad at me?"

"Oh, Emmett, no. I suppose I'm rather puzzled. I'm glad you're feeling better now, but what was it that made you realize all this?"

"Your great-grandnephew, actually." At her both puzzled and surprised expression, Doc chuckled a little. "It's a rather long story, but when we were in 1944, I met Patrick Clayton -- the grandson of your brother, Christopher, who, by the way, lived to be in his nineties."

Clara blinked. "Oh my," she murmured. "I guess you have had quite the journey. I wish I could have come with you."

"No, you don't. I'll tell you everything later," he added quickly at she looked at him curiously. "Do you want to round up the boys? I'd like to get the last thing taken care of before we tell them."

"What's that?" Clara asked, standing.

Doc opened the backpack and removed all the papers he had collected. He spread them out across the table. "We have to destroy these documents," he said as Clara leaned forward to look at them more closely.

"Do we really?" she asked as she picked up one of the Telegraph newspapers, locating Jules' birth announcement. "These are mementos of our family, Emmett."

"Maybe so, but as long as they exist, they present a danger to our family. There's always a chance someone could find them, even if we stored them away in the attic."

Clara sighed. "It doesn't seem terribly fair at all. The first eleven years of our life together is being destroyed."

Doc put an arm around her. "I don't like it, either," he admitted. "But, trust me, it's for the best. I don't think I could ever relax completely knowing these exist. It's just too dangerous. Would you rather have these documents of our past or a safe future?"

"You know which I'd prefer," Clara said. "And I suppose you're right. They're just pieces of paper, after all. But does this mean you want to destroy everything we have from a hundred years ago?" She sounded horrified with the idea.

"Great Scott, no! The only things that caused problems in the past -- or the future -- were documents that could be accessed publicly, not privately."

"I see. But if that's so, then these shouldn't be a problem anymore because they'll be held by us privately."

Doc sighed. "It's still too dangerous, Clara. These are government-issued documents that have our names and dates all over 'em. They're not the same as the photographs and objects we have from a hundred years ago that can be explained away if someone sees 'em. They have to be destroyed. I'm sorry."

Clara frowned, setting down the newspaper in her hand. "All right, then," she said, then changed the subject. "Do you want to change before our family meeting? You look a little wet."

"I suppose so. Can you start a fire in the living room fireplace?"

His wife nodded, then left the kitchen to track down their sons. Doc went upstairs to change, returning ten minutes later to find Jules and Verne waiting in the living room, both rather impatient.

"What did we do this time?" Verne asked, frowning, when his father finally entered the room, the old documents in hand.

"What makes you think you're in trouble?" Doc asked.

"The only time we ever have family meetings is usually when something is wrong," Jules said. "So what is it this time? Are you and Mom still mad because I broke the bathroom window last week when I was practicing my pitching? I fessed up to it right away."

Doc had almost forgotten about that incident. "No," he said. "Should we be angry with either of you for anything?" He raised an eyebrow as he eyed each of his sons. Jules and Verne both shrugged, doing their best to look innocent.

"No one is in trouble," Clara said, straightening up from the fireplace hearth. The flames had finally caught. "Your father and I just have some news to share."

The kids looked suspicious. "Are we moving again?" Jules asked, suddenly looking concerned. "Are we going back to the Nineteenth Century?"

"No fair!" Verne said before either of his parents could answer. "We're finally all comfortable here, I finally have good friends at school, an' you guys said we weren't going to move after last time!"

"We're not moving," Doc said, setting the stack of family documents into the fire. The flames caught the dry, aged paper and attacked it merrily. Behind him, Clara gave a rather wistful sigh.

"Did Dad finally patent something?" Jules asked. He sat up straighter, his face brightening. "I know you were thinking of doing that with some of your security modifications--"

"Are we gonna be rich?" Verne wanted to know, also growing more excited.

Doc looked at his wife. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, her eyes meeting his. Did she want him to say the news? Clara nodded slightly, as if she had read his mind.

"Jules, Verne," he began, trying to think of the best way to break it. "The thing is... well, our family will soon have another member."

Verne's eyes widened. "Are we gettin' another dog?" he asked, excited. "That's so cool!"

"Yeah," Jules chimed in. "I've never minded Einstein, of course," he added, looking at the pet in question who was lying on the armchair nearby, "but I always wished we could pick out our own pet."

Clara coughed softly into her hand, sounding as if she was trying to conceal a chuckle. Doc cleared his throat, already regretting his soft approach. "Not exactly. You see, well--"

"We're going to have another baby," Clara broke in.

Jules and Verne stared at their parents, the grins on their faces abruptly vanishing. "What?" Jules asked, sounding as if he was sure he had heard wrong.

"Your mother is pregnant," Doc said. "You're both going to have a new brother or sister in seven months."

The boys blinked a couple times. "You're having another baby?" Jules asked. "But you're so... old."

Clara frowned. "Jules, that's not polite."

"It's true, Mom," Jules said. "I mean, no offense at all to you or Dad, but... well, I didn't even think it was possible for people your age to have babies."

"Anything's possible," Doc said. "I was well into my sixties when Verne was born."

"And people already think you're our grandfather if they don't know us," Jules said bluntly. "By the time this baby will be our age, they'll probably think Mom is the grandmother."

Clara's face flushed suddenly and Doc knew that she was in danger of losing her temper and reacting in a way that she would later regret. "Jules, that's very hurtful," he said, frowning at his oldest child. The boy suddenly blushed and looked at the carpet.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I guess I'm just surprised." He looked up, suspicious. "Are Verne and I going to have to share a room again?"

"No," Doc said. "I'm going to remodel the loft in the barn and use that as my study, so we were thinking, Jules, that you might move into the downstairs room. The space is a bit bigger than your current one, which is closer to our bedroom and will allow better access to the baby when he or she is born."

Jules looked a little hurt for a minute. "You're going to kick me out of my room? Thanks for asking me!"

"Verne already moved last month," Clara said, having regained hold of her temper. "Besides, you're the oldest. We thought you might enjoy the additional privacy with having a ground floor room."

"And your own bathroom," Doc added.

Jules immediately brightened. "Sure," he said. "I guess I can move."

That potentially sticky matter now settled, Doc looked at Verne, who hadn't said a word since the announcement. The blond boy's mouth was twisted and puckered, his eyes narrowed, as if he was thinking hard. "Verne, how do you feel about this?"

Verne blinked. "About what?"

"About the news that you'll soon be a big brother," Clara said, smiling at him.

Verne's face managed to simultaneously pale and flush. His blue eyes widened. "I don't wanna be!" he said forcefully, scowling. "I like being the youngest!"

"But being an older brother can be fun," Doc said. "You can be the one to teach the new child all sorts of things."

"How would you know?" Verne retorted. "You were an only child!"

"I wasn't," Clara said. "I had an older brother and a younger sister and I enjoyed my place in the family. Chris helped me out, and I loved passing on wisdom and lessons to Charlotte, before she died."

Verne looked as if he couldn't have cared less. "Why do you want another baby?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest. "Aren't we good enough for you?"

"It's not a matter of replacement, Verne," Doc said. "There's enough room in this family for another member."

"No," Verne said. "I don't want to be a middle kid! I thought it was too dangerous for you to have more kids."

"Not anymore," Clara said. "If we hadn't been living in a time that we weren't supposed to be in, we might've had more children than just the both of you."

"So now you're makin' up for lost time?" Verne asked, his eyes widening. "Our family's fine now! We don't need any babies here! All they do is cry and drool and get into your stuff and bug you."

"I'm sorry you feel that, way, Verne," Doc said. "But this is going to happen."

"Then I think you should go back in time and stop this from even happening! You can do that -- I know you can."

The thought made Doc feel faintly ill; Clara's face paled. "Verne Newton Brown, I think you'd better go to your room," she said in a soft, cold voice. "You have no right to speak to your father and me in that manner."

"Fine!" Verne burst out, jumping to his feet. "I wish we were getting a dog instead!" He hurried out of the room, his footsteps pounding up the stairs. A moment later they heard his bedroom door slam, hard.

Jules looked rather uncomfortable with his brother's dramatic words and exit. "I don't agree with him," he said after a long, tense silence. "I'm still rather surprised that we're going to grow as a family, but I wouldn't want you to take it back."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Clara said. "Because we aren't going to stop it from happening." She sighed, sinking down to sit on the edge of the loveseat. "What are we going to do about Verne?"

"Give him some time to adjust," Doc said, rubbing her shoulders. "He's going to have his place in the family bumped -- that'll be hard for him."

"I don't see why it should be so difficult," Clara said, massaging her forehead. "I don't ever recall feeling so angry when Charlotte was born."

"It's different," Jules said. "I don't remember life at all before Verne was born. But this baby'll be born when he's ten, and after being youngest a decade, it'll be hard to change."

"That still gives him no excuse for saying the hurtful things that he did," Clara said, sniffing. "How could he suggest erasing her from existence?"

"Her?" Jules asked, confused.

"Your mother thinks it might be a girl," Doc explained quickly.

While Jules digested this information with a rather odd expression on his face, the scientist hurried to comfort his wife. "Clara, I'm sure Verne didn't mean what he said. He's upset right now. He'll come around, though."

"Maybe you should let him get a pet," Jules said. His parents turned to look at him with expressions of extreme skepticism laced with confusion. "That's what he was expecting, after all, and perhaps he'll take to the news better if he gets something good out of it."

"We're not going to reward him with a puppy," Clara said. "Certainly not after the way he reacted tonight."

"Who says it has to be a puppy?" Jules asked. He looked at his watch. "Can I go now? I wanted to see a program about space exploration at nine."

Doc nodded his consent. Jules hurried off to the family room at the back of the house. Clara watched him go. "At least he seems to be accepting the news without too much trouble," she said. "Although his comments about our age wasn't very appropriate..."

"Any kid finds their parents old," Doc said. "I wasn't surprised at all that Jules said what he did. Anyway, I am old."

"Do you think we're crazy, Emmett?" Clara asked, taking his hand. "Doing this for a third time, so late?"

"No," Doc said, sitting next to her. "Honestly, I have no regrets. Jules and Verne will adjust -- I myself needed some time to do just that before it became a real concept to me, and one that didn't scare me anymore."

Clara was quiet for a minute. "I hope it's the right thing," she said softly. "I hope this baby is able to accept all the things in our world. The age of her parents, the circumstances of their meeting, the time machine.... I hope she doesn't think we're strange and isn't ashamed of us."

"That won't happen," Doc said flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Do you see Jules and Verne acting like that?"

"But this is different...."

"How? Maybe we're living in a different time, now, but I think that would give this child more advantages, not less. I think things will be fine," he added. "In a few weeks, the boys will have grown used to the idea, I'll start working on the loft in the barn, and you can start shopping for baby and maternity clothes. It'll all be okay."

Clara slipped her arms around her husband and hugged him tightly. Doc held her close for a long moment. When they leaned back, he slipped his hand over her still flat stomach and held it there for a minute. Clara smiled.

"It's early, still," she said, placing her hand over his. "Give it a few more months and you'll be able to feel the kicks."

Doc gently patted the place where their third child was currently residing, wishing already that he or she was here. December suddenly seemed eons away. "It's going to be a long seven months, I think," he said softly.