For Nicholas, who manages to be both a scientist and an artist....

"Healing is a matter of time, but it is sometimes also a matter of opportunity." -- Hippocrates

"Other things may change us, but we start and end with family." -- Anthony Brandt

Chapter One

Sunday, December 21, 1997
1:46 P.M.
Hill Valley, California

"Didn't we swear we'd never do this again, after last year?"

The question came from Marty McFly, addressed to his wife, Jennifer, as they made their way through the crowded corridors at the Lone Pine Mall. Being the last weekend before Christmas, things were shoulder to shoulder around them, with seemingly half the population of the city suffering from the same state of procrastination that had befallen the couple.

Not that it was entirely their fault, unlike last year. Last year Marty's career in music had still been rather dormant and Jennifer had been in a perfect state of health, allowing both the ample time to theoretically shop at their leisure and beat the rather fierce and cranky crowds closer to the holiday -- although they had still ended up putting things off.

Over the past year, however, there had been a shift in the popular music tastes and, suddenly, Marty found his songs and his skills at a higher demand. The money it had brought in had been more than welcome, in spite of Jennifer's job at the news station providing for them quite comfortably, but the pace at which Marty had found his life moving had been a bit of a shock. Since September alone, for example, he'd spent at least one weekend a month in Los Angeles, either providing session guitar work on tracks for other bands and musicians, helping with the mixing of tracks, or meeting with important industry people and agents who suddenly wanted to represent him and his talents.

The timing of this sudden success with his career -- after years of feeling like he was beating his head against an invisible wall -- was coming at a point that Marty supposed was convenient, all things considered. A week before Thanksgiving, Jennifer had discovered she was four weeks pregnant. She had broken the news to her husband immediately after the test she had taken had changed to the appropriate color, and his enthusiasm about becoming a parent in about eight months had matched hers -- until she started getting sick, a lot. Morning sickness wasn't quite the best term for it; it was more like all-day sickness. And when she wasn't in the bathroom throwing up, she was nauseated, or suffering from wicked migraine headaches.

When the symptoms had hit, hard, just after Thanksgiving, Jennifer had gone to the doctor in concern and was given a thorough examination to make sure things were all right. She checked out fine, with the promise that her symptoms, though severe, were nothing to lose sleep over and would abate after she was through the first trimester. She was also assured that the babies were fine.

Marty had heard, once, that the kids he had helped to save from a life of crime back when he was seventeen were twins, but the news had been forgotten in the years since, especially since Doc always liked to tell him that the future wasn't set, and what was there one day wouldn't be the next. Therefore, he was just as floored as his wife was with this turn of events. Jennifer had paled swiftly with the news she was carrying two and had asked the doctor and the ultrasound technician about five times if they were sure they were seeing things correctly. Marty had had no such doubts, but he left the office with his wife feeling quite numbed and wondering how the heck they were going to survive parenting two at once, especially for the first time.

Fortunately, Jennifer had accepted a promotion at work the year before as an evening news anchor, meaning that she wasn't due to report to work until three in the afternoon, and would arrive back home around ten. The hours were far preferable than those of the morning anchor and the pay was even a boost. Unfortunately, Jennifer's morning sickness was so bad that she was hardly able to get through the hour-long broadcast without needing to run to the bathroom at least once, and the entire matter was leaving her exhausted and stressed about the pregnancy, impending parenthood, and her job.

And certainly in no frame of mind or body to brave the bustling mall on one of her days off.

"I think so," she said, answering Marty's question a little wearily. "But it's too late, now. I'm still too behind on the gift giving." She half-sighed, half-groaned. "If I was smart, I would've tried using the Internet to do things this year, but I'm not paying the obnoxious overnight shipping charges, now...."

Marty slipped an arm around her and gave her a squeeze. "You could've given me the lists, Jen, and stayed home. I'm not too bad with picking out gifts, especially since you're so detailed on what you want, anyway."

But Jennifer shook her head once more, her complexion tinged an unhealthy green under the makeup she'd managed to put on before they left the house. "I'm not having you pick out your own gifts," she said. "Anyway, this is better than sitting at home watching A Christmas Story for the zillionth time on TV. Can we sit down a minute, though?"

They had only left the car fifteen minutes ago, but Marty didn't argue. "Sure," he agreed easily. He spotted an empty bench after a moment and helped her to it. Jennifer was having no trouble walking on her own, but she didn't brush Marty's aid away. From the look on her face when they sat down, he sort of knew why.

"Feeling bad again?" he asked gently, seeing the grimace that crossed her features.

"Yeah," she admitted. "I'm starting to wonder if this'll ever pass. I don't think I remember what it's like to feel normal. And there's still months of this stuff to come...."

"Yeah, but the medical doc said this kinda thing should go away in another month or so. And when it's all over, Jen, we'll have babies. We'll be parents."

She gave him a rather queasy smile. "Easy for you to say. You've got the easy part of the job."

"I know," Marty said, not bothering to argue her out of that idea. He didn't feel like spending Christmas sleeping on one of the couches, and since she'd gotten pregnant he'd found it a little hard to chart Jennifer's moods. Things that she might normally laugh at suddenly weren't funny, but other times they were, that sort of thing. Pretty normal, according to his friends that were already fathers and had seen similar shifts in their own expectant wives. "But if there's anything I can do to make your life easier, especially in the next few months, let me know."

"I'll keep that in mind when the weird cravings hit at three A.M.," Jennifer said lightly, rubbing her forehead. "I just wish this morning sickness would go away. I thought people were supposed to gain weight when they're pregnant, but I swear I'm losing it."

Marty privately agreed with that assessment, having noticed Jennifer's face looked thinner now than it did even a month ago, possibly because she was having trouble keeping much down most of the time, aside from soup and crackers. "The doc said that's normal, too, remember? You're doing fine, Jen, especially considering it's twins, too."

Jennifer shivered a little at the reminder. "I still can't believe that," she murmured. "I was so positive we'd have kids one at a time, not in pairs." Her hand slipped over her stomach, smoothing her baggy white sweater out flat over the barely-visible rise of her belly, already beginning to grow at just two months from having twice as many babies in it. She stared at the faint bulge a moment, then shook her head once more, in wonder. "I just wish I could enjoy this more...." she said with a little shuddery sigh.

Marty nodded, smoothing her hair and brushing it away from her face. "You will," he said positively, knowing how much she -- and himself, for that matter -- had wanted and waited for this time. Last Christmas, after being married for about five and a half years, they'd finally agreed that the time was right to try to begin their own family. Neither of them had expected it to take too long, considering that people seemed to go out of their way not to get pregnant, but when a few months went by with no results, and they'd both checked out fine at the doctor, Marty had started to worry that maybe something had seriously changed physiologically in one or both of them since the first time they had seen evidence of their future children. He'd even asked Doc about it, if traveling through time could do that, but the scientist's response had been a good long laugh. He and Clara had four kids now, none of them had really been planned, and after the arrival of the last, he had sought out a permanent solution to prevent his then-fifty-year-old wife from conceiving again. Time was all that would be needed for Jennifer to get pregnant, Doc had told him, and, in fact, conception was very much about timing. A day -- an hour -- could mean the difference between a baby or no. Although the doctors had told them the same things, hearing it from his best friend, who knew about things affecting their lives that their doctors definitely did not, had eased Marty's mind a little.

And, now, sure enough, it was finally happening. "I hope," Jennifer said, closing her eyes and once more rubbing her face. "You know, Marty, maybe I should give you some of the lists...."

Her voice had slipped into the weak, breathless note Marty recognized too well, now, as a precursor to her stops in the bathroom. "All right," he agreed immediately. "Do you wanna hit the ladies' room?"

She nodded, grimacing once more and not opening her eyes. He helped her to her feet and glanced around the hustle and bustle surrounding them, searching for one of the helpful signs directing patrons to the restrooms, but didn't see one. Although he'd gone to the mall for years now, he couldn't offhand remember the nearest restroom location, not unless they wanted to go to the second floor with the food courts, and he had a feeling that would be a very bad idea with all the smells.

"Which way?" he asked Jennifer, hoping she knew.

"Can't make it," Jennifer said, faintly, brushing him away. "Oh God...." She took a few quick steps over to one of the mall's garbage cans and leaned over it with only seconds to spare. Marty was at her side in a moment, stroking her back as she got sick and doing his best to ignore the occasional puzzled and disgusted stares from the shoppers. When the worst of it passed, and Jennifer was able to raise her head, she was almost in tears.

"This is so humiliating," she whispered to Marty, holding onto him tightly and turning her face away from some of the curious eyes, towards his shoulder. He said nothing immediately, knowing that she was truly mortified, rubbing her back, instead, in the hopes of calming her down.

"Jen, why don't you go back home and get some rest?" he said softly when her breathing had slowed and she seemed a little less tense. "I can take care of the shopping, and I'll take the bus home. It's no big deal. I know you're gonna be miserable if you keep pushing yourself today."

Jennifer hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right," she said softly. "Thanks." She reached into her purse and drew out several pieces of paper, passing them to Marty. "If you're not sure about something, just call me from the cell. I'm sorry," she added, sniffing a little and looking once more like she was about to cry.

"Why? You can't help this, Jen. And I doubt anyone here noticed what just happened. It's super busy today and everyone's zeroed in on shopping, nothing else."

The newswoman looked at him with a faint, shaky smile. "I dunno, some jerk could've recognized me and'll have fun telling people later that they saw Jennifer McFly puking at the mall. Let's just hope people don't start spreading rumors, thinking I've got some dread disease."

"I really doubt that, Jen," Marty assured her, his confidence in the matter not faked. "The station already knows you're pregnant and that you've had a rough time of it. Don't worry about it, really. I doubt anyone's gonna remember it now, not so close to Christmas with other stuff on the brain, and you were discreet about it. Trust me."

Jennifer sighed. "I hope so," she said. "Thanks, Marty." She gave him a kiss on the cheek for his support. "Call me when you're done here, and I'll pick you up, okay? No need to drag all the loot on the bus, and you know it'll be a madhouse today, what with the snow."

"Sure," Marty said, lying a little. He didn't feel like troubling his wife with driving all the way out to the mall and dealing with the traffic just to pick him up when he was perfectly capable of getting home another way. Normally it took them about twenty minutes to reach the mall from their house, but the holiday traffic had made the journey twice as long, and finding a parking place had been another long excursion. It was only going to be worse later in the day, and spending prolonged time in a car was something that just made Jennifer feel more miserable nowadays.

Jennifer gave him a rather skeptical look, knowing exactly what he was thinking, but spent no time pursuing the matter, instead heading off in the direction in which they had arrived. Marty watched her go until the crowds made it impossible, then took a look at the list she'd left him with and sighed. It was going to take a long time to get everything she wanted, on top of everything he'd had on his own lists, but at least the mall was open late this week....

An hour later, passing the North Pole Santa Land set up and armed with just two bags -- one with a digital camera Jennifer had wanted for her parents, and another with some CDs Marty had picked up for various friends -- he heard his name being called. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, slowly, his eyes searching out the source of the call over the din of cranky children, Christmas Muzak, and the babble of hundreds of voices. After a moment he zeroed in on the waving hand of one of those in line and recognized Emily Brown, Doc and Clara's ten-year-old daughter, standing there. With her was her father and youngest brother, Clayton, now about a month and a half shy of his third birthday. He waved back and headed over to where they were waiting.

"I didn't think you guys would've procrastinated this bad," he greeted them with a smile. "Or did you and Clayton have a few last minute requests from Santa?" he added, smiling at Emily.

The dark-haired girl wrinkled her nose. "That's a little beyond me," she said, tossing back her long curly hair. "Now that I'm ten, I'm a little too mature for that sorta thing. I'm double digits, now."

Her most recent birthday had been just two weeks ago, but Marty smiled to himself at the pride she clearly took in being the age she was now. He remembered turning ten himself, feeling like that had to mean something, but frustrated that little really changed in how people -- his parents, especially -- perceived him. Yet Emily was surprisingly mature for her age, having parlayed her talents with computers into a web design company when she was just eight. The endeavour had been surprisingly successful so far, allowing her to earn more money than her older brothers at their part time jobs, much to their envy.

"Mom kicked us all outta the house to wrap gifts and stuff, so Daddy took us to the mall 'cause Jules and Verne still needed to get some stuff," she continued to explain. "And Clayton wanted to see Santa, again."

"Santa!" the toddler repeated with a sticky grin, having been sucking on a candy cane. "'S'it time, yet, Daddy?" he asked, looking up at his father, his green eyes wide and hopeful.

"A little longer yet," Doc said, ruffling the reddish brown curls of his youngest. "I thought you had the next few weeks off, Marty, and weren't planning on going anywhere near the mall?"

The musician sighed heavily. "I wish. Jen and I have been so swamped since Thanksgiving, neither of us have gotten much shopping done -- and now we really can't put it off anymore. Unfortunately, she's still really sick from the pregnancy, so I've got the honor of doing everything."

"I'm sorry," Doc said sincerely. "I would've thought the worst of that would've passed by now."

"So did I, but I guess when you're carrying more than one kid it kinda doubles everything for the worse. Was Clara ever sick like that?"

The scientist shook his head. "Not really, no. She did get a little bit like that with Jules, but I don't recall it being so bad with the other kids."

Marty sighed and shrugged. "I just wish I could do something about it," he said. "I just feel so bad for her. I mean, I'm kinda responsible for her being sick like that, too. But nothing's really helped at all...."

Doc made a rather thoughtful sound as Clayton tugged on his arm. "Up, Daddy," he demanded, and the inventor lifted him into his arms without much protest. The toddler turned his attention back to gnawing on the half-gone candy cane while his father frowned in a distracted concentration.

"You know, when Clara was expecting Jules, I remember she found relief in a popular patent medicine of the day. I know what you're thinking," he added as Marty widened his eyes. "You can't believe that I'd allow her to consume something like that, when so many of those things were sketchy, at best, but I'd looked at what was in it first, and couldn't find anything harmful to someone pregnant, and it seemed to do the trick."

"What was it called?" Marty asked, hopeful. "I don't think Jennifer's tried anything like that, yet."

"Motherhood Malady Medicine," Doc said after another moment of thought. "But it doesn't exist anymore. I looked into it when we found out we were expecting Emily and Clara had wondered if it was still around, but apparently the company that created it went out of business around the end of the first world war."

Marty sighed, disappointed. "Well, that kinda bites," he said.

Emily looked at her father. "You know, Daddy, he could still find some," she said. "And you still haven't let me do my birthday gift I wanted... we could pull 'em off together."

Doc sighed. "Yes, but the requests are completely unrelated," he said. "Anyway, you haven't given me all the information I asked from you before we do that...."

Emily shrugged. "They're not totally unconnected," she said, dropping her voice a little. "I just wanted to see some of Hill Valley from around the time you and Mom and Jules and Verne left. An' if Marty needs something from then, it could be picked up at the same time."

Doc looked at Marty, who answered the look from the scientist with a shrug. "I'm all for it," he said.

"We'll discuss this later," Doc said to both him and his daughter. "Now's not particularly the best time or place...."

The girl accepted that concession. "All right. Do you wanna wait with us, Marty?" she asked, smiling at him hopefully. From the cradle, she'd had a crush on the musician, and though she had gotten a little more shy about it as she had gotten older, Emily still clearly liked him and looked up to him. The whole thing embarrassed the musician a little and amused Jennifer a lot, but Doc thought it was fairly harmless and would pass when the boys in her class were more grown up.

"I'd like to, but I gotta finish the shopping. Hey, Doc, if it's not out of your way, do you think I could catch a ride with you guys when you leave? Jen took the car with her when she went home and I don't want to drag her out of the house to pick me up, and the bus is gonna be a pain today, with the snow and ice on the roads."

"I think that shouldn't be a problem," Doc said. "Clara doesn't want us to return home before six, and after this, Emily wanted to go see that new Titanic movie at the Cineplex. Will you have enough time to finish your shopping by, say, seven?"

"I'll pull it off -- and if I don't, I can come back later."

* * *

As it turned out, Marty did not have quite enough time to take care of everything he wanted to. The crowds were a huge problem, slowing everything down, and a lot of the stores were getting pretty picked clean. But he accumulated enough bags and boxes of his and Jennifer's gifts that he was quite happy to have a ride home, rather than battle the cranky crowds on the bus. Somehow, Doc was able to cram all of the musician's purchases, along with those of his two older sons, into the minivan and still allow enough room for six passengers.

"Man, I can't believe how much crap we've got in here," Verne lamented as they finally buckled up in the car, Doc and Marty in the front with the younger kids in the first row of seats and the older boys at the back. "I never thought people really got enough bags from the mall that they wouldn't fit in the back of a minivan...."

"My fault," Marty said, turning to look back at the blond, lanky twenty-year-old. "That's almost all the Christmas shopping for everyone Jennifer and I know, and your dad didn't know he was gonna be hauling all that -- and me -- home."

"Is Jennifer still not feeling well, Marty?" Jules asked. The young man -- just a couple weeks shy of turning twenty-two -- was currently in the middle of his third year of medical school at UCLA, home on winter break, and had shown particular interest in Jennifer's condition. Marty wasn't quite sure why, since Jules was majoring in emergency medicine, not obstetrics or gynecology, but he supposed part of being an emergency room doctor would involve the occasional unexpected childbirth. It didn't bother him too much, though he knew it drove Jennifer crazy when she visited the Browns now and Jules happened to be home, as he was only too happy to tell her all about the latest medical technology and findings with pregnancy and what she should and shouldn't do.

"Yeah, she's still pretty sick, but her doctor said it's completely normal," Marty said. "Twins tend to double the fun in that way and it's supposed to pass in another month or so. Another long month."

Emily leaned forward in her seat so that she could look at both her father and Marty clearly. "I'm sure she'll feel better if you get her some of that medicine Daddy talked about," she said, her eyes flickering to her father.

Although he didn't look away from the windshield and the lines of brake lights ahead of them, trying to turn out of the mall parking lot and onto the main road, Doc grimaced. "Emily, you're assuming that Marty will want to go with you, and he very well might not."

"Go where, exactly?" Marty asked immediately.

"To the early Twentieth Century in Hill Valley," Verne said from the back. "When Emmy turned ten a couple weeks ago, Dad let her choose a time and place to visit as her gift from him 'cause she'd been nagging forever about going somewhere. And she wants to see things back here after we left in 1896." He rolled his eyes, clearly thinking his sister was being dense in her selection of such a boring time. "If I had the chance, I think I'd check out a few places much more exciting, like maybe some of those Roman gladiator fights."

Marty wasn't surprised by Verne's preference, nor, really, of Emily's. Verne's tastes skewed towards the dramatic, not terribly stunning considering he was majoring in theater arts at Hill Valley University, after taking a year off after high school to figure out what he wanted to do with his life and to work full time in order to buy himself a car. Marty had been rather surprised that Doc and Clara had let him do something like that when both were quite vocal about the importance of a good education, but Verne got away doing so only with the most solemn vow of not letting his year-long sabbatical extend longer, and he had kept up his end of the bargain. From what he had heard from Doc, the blond was doing well in his sophomore year of college, and it appeared that the break hadn't harmed his study habits, as both he and Clara had feared.

Emily, however, hadn't had as many opportunities to travel through time as her older brothers and found the simpler times and things far more intriguing than huge historical events. Marty had known for a few years that she wanted to visit the Hill Valley that Jules and Verne had grown up in, but Doc had been adamant at restricting trips to that time period, as it had already had its share of time travelers and he didn't want to risk seriously altering the Brown family history. He wasn't sure if such a restriction extended beyond 1896, when Doc, Clara, and the older boys had left, but from the conversations he was hearing so far, it appeared that it didn't.

"You're really gonna let her do that, Doc?" he asked, amazed.

The scientist half shrugged. "Provided she finishes the report I asked her to do on that period so she'll understand precisely what the world of the time is like, and provided her brothers go with her because Clara and I certainly can't. You're welcome to come along, Marty, and I'd actually feel more comfortable if you did -- but only if you want to do that."

"Why can't you and Clara go?" he asked, curious.

Jules supplied the answer. "Dad and Mom would be recognized," he said. "Since Verne and I were just a couple of kids when we left, and now we're not, we won't have as much of a chance in being recognized as who we really are. I dunno about you, though, Marty, because you do look an awful lot like your ancestor Seamus, and there's that whole Clint Eastwood legend to contend with as well. I suppose it depends on what year we go back to, and how much distance there is between that and 1885.... Do you even know yet, Em, when you wanted to visit?"

Emily nodded at once. "1912," she said. "It's when the Titanic sunk, and if I can't go see that, then I'd like to go to at least the same time period."

Marty shivered a little at the mention of that particular historic event, which he had seen firsthand when Jennifer had become interested in it. He wasn't surprised at all that Doc had put his foot down over that, and also wasn't surprised such a thing had drawn Emily's interest, since the new film about the event had been hyped so much in the last few weeks.

"It sounds reasonable," Doc agreed after a moment. "I know for a fact we have the period clothing for that year, and enough time has passed that I don't think you kids should worry over being recognized -- or even you, Marty, if you want to go."

Marty thought about it a moment. "I guess I would," he decided. "I've always wondered what Hill Valley really looked like between the 1890s and 1955. And I could pick up that stuff for Jennifer there, right?"

"There shouldn't be a problem with that," Doc agreed. He glanced at his older sons in the rearview mirror. "Did you boys still want to go, then?"

"Yes," they said immediately, in unison. "No way am I gonna give up a chance to go off somewhere alone," Verne added, sounding almost gleeful at the prospect.

His father eyed him once more before turning his attention back to the traffic, inching slowly in the snowy night. "You know the rules, Verne. I can quite easily find out if you do indeed go beyond the destination I approve of. This is a test, you realize. If you pass it, you may be allowed greater privileges under my discretion. But if you don't, it's back to only personally supervised trips with me -- if that."

"I know that, Dad," Jules said, frowning a little at Verne. "And since I'm the one who knows how to use the train -- and I'm going to assume we'll be using that rather than the Aerovette with four people coming along -- I'll make dead certain that Verne doesn't send us to something on his agenda."

The younger man stuck his tongue out at his brother and made a face. "Aw, c'mon Jules, you know you're itching to stretch your legs in the machine and check out stuff we've always wondered about...."

"How long were you thinking we'd be there, Doc?" Marty asked, changing the subject quickly before Verne talked himself into not going at all.

"No longer than an afternoon," the scientist said. "That should be enough time for you, Emmy."

Emily made a face but shrugged. "I guess," she said. "But it should be early afternoon, so I can have plenty of time to look around an' stuff. I wanna see everything I can with the time -- what people ate, where they lived, what was in the shops, what the square looked like and our house now, if they acted the same way...."

"Not a whole lot different," Verne said. "I think you're gonna be a little disappointed, Emmy. Now, if you wanna, there are some more interesting places we could check out that I'm sure Dad would give an OK for....."

Emily shook her head firmly. "No, Verne, I wanna do this. You probably think things are boring back there 'cause you spent the first part of your life there. But I never got to, and neither has Clayton."

"Is he coming, too?" Marty asked in surprise, glancing back at the toddler, happily playing with a little Viewmaster in his carseat.

"No," Doc said immediately. "He would be too much of a handful for the kids to enjoy themselves, and he really wouldn't be able to understand it or enjoy it, anyway. You and Jennifer have watched him before, and you know how curious he is."

"No kidding." Marty supposed all of Doc and Clara's kids were born with a natural knack at getting into things, but Clayton was constantly into something, never mind if it was dangerous or difficult to get to. He wasn't badly behaved by any means; if anything, he was incredibly cheerful, one of the happiest kids Marty had ever known, always smiling and laughing. But he was also incredibly stubborn and extremely smart, traits no doubt inherited from both of his parents. Almost as soon as he had learned how to walk, he had learned how to climb, and how to create makeshift ladders to reach that which he wanted and was out of easy reach. But while Emily had exhibited an interest with computers since before she could even talk, Clayton was showing no obvious fascination with anything in particular just yet, seemingly very much a typical child of the 1990s and completely unaware of the unusual family and circumstances into which he had been born.

His appearance, too, was interesting. Jules took a great deal after the men on Clara's side of the family, bearing a strong facial resemblance to her father and brother, Verne looked very much like Doc, and Emily looked as Marty imagined Clara might've at her age. Clayton was definitely a mix from both sides so far; depending on his expression or his mood, Marty could see Clara or Doc in his face or posture. It made his name all the more amusing; he was most definitely a Clayton and a Brown.

"I can finish my report tonight, Daddy," Emily said. "It's already almost done, and if I go on the 'net tonight when we get home I can definitely have it done before bed. And so if I do that, we could go tomorrow, right?"

"Why tomorrow?" Doc asked. "I thought you didn't want to go until after Christmas?"

Emily rolled her eyes, her attitude indicating that she thought her father was being supremely dense. "Because if we go tomorrow then Marty can get what he wants for Jennifer so she can have a merry Christmas and all that. And I'd like something to do tomorrow more exciting than sledding out back, or running after Clayton while Mom bakes."

It was a good point, and Doc accepted it. "If you did your research accurately, I suppose that would work," he said, breaking gently as the car ahead of them stopped. "So long as your brothers and Marty have the time for that tomorrow."

"No problem," Verne agreed, and Jules nodded.

Emily looked at Marty when he didn't immediately say anything. "Is that okay with you, Marty? Or do you wanna wait a little?"

"So long as it's in the evening, I'm fine," he said after making sure he wasn't forgetting anything -- like one of Jennifer's doctor appointments -- that might've been scheduled tomorrow. He was almost positive that things were clear until after Christmas. "I'm on a self-granted vacation 'til January fifth, and once Jennifer's gone to work I could come over. Did you have a particular time in mind?"

Chapter Two

Monday, December 22, 1997
3:23 P.M.

As it turned out, Doc did. Since the weather forecast wasn't calling for any reprieve from the snow that had been falling almost constantly for a week, and they were smack in the middle of one of the darkest times of the year in terms of daylight hours, he wanted the trip completed before the sun began to set, around 4:30, so that Jules wouldn't have the unenviable task of maneuvering a flying steam train in the dark and snow. There were no arguments over this and, after considering how long it might take to allow everyone the chance to get into period clothing and endure a pre-flight briefing, Doc requested that Marty arrive no later than three that afternoon.

Unfortunately, the day hadn't been quite as relaxed and leisurely as the younger man had hoped. Marty woke up later than he had wanted, for some reason, with a faint stomach-ache that he was sure had something to do with the spicy take-out Chinese food he'd gotten last night, since Jennifer wasn't up to cooking and he hadn't felt like doing it himself after a day spent braving the mall. When he mentioned it offhandedly to his wife, whom he found downstairs working on a stack of Christmas cards that were, naturally, being sent out late, she teased him that he was experiencing sympathy pains, a phenomenon she'd read about in one of her pregnancy books that befell sympathetic fathers-to-be. Happy that she was feeling good enough to joke about something like this, Marty agreed with a maybe, then took care of the belated job of selecting a Christmas tree at the lot a few miles away. The chore took much longer than he'd expected, and by the time he had retuned home, unloaded the tree from the Volvo station wagon Jennifer had bought just three weeks before in anticipation of a new family, and had something to eat for a late lunch, it was already a little after three. He breezed out of the house quickly, moments after his wife had left for work, and went over to the Browns' with an apology on his lips as soon as Clara opened the door.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm late," he said as she stepped aside to let him into the house. "Are they all waiting out in the lab for me?"

Clara nodded as she shut the door with a warm smile. "I believe so. Emily's been bouncing off the walls all day and Emmett couldn't hold her back from changing into the clothes she's to wear. The boys were quite eager to prepare as well; I don't believe I've seen Jules this excited since he was accepted into med school."

"Really? They didn't seem too into the idea last night...."

The fifty-three-year-old woman chuckled as she headed down the corridor to the kitchen at the back of the house. Based on the smells and her attire -- a flour-smeared apron -- Marty deduced she was in the middle of baking cookies or something of that nature, probably taking advantage of time uninterrupted while Clayton had his afternoon nap and the other kids were in the barn with their father. "Oh, the children have actually been looking forward to this for the last few weeks. You know how they've been fpr years, begging Emmett for the chance to take a time machine out without him accompanying them, especially once they reached seventeen and fell into the argument of how he'd allowed you such a chance at the same age."

"Oh, yeah, but me using the machines back then wasn't really entirely by Doc's choice, either...."

"I know," Clara said. "And I know that he's even more reluctant now because of what he's learned about time travel since then -- and these are his own children, not his best friend. At any rate, he hasn't wavered much on that until Jules passed his MCATs and blindsided Emmett with his argument that if he was mature enough to be trusted with human lives in his hands, he should be trusted to handle a time machine. Emmett didn't agree, at least not immediately, but he did begin to teach Jules the proper operations of the machines when he was home between semesters. Feel free to help yourself to some cookies, Marty," she added as they entered the kitchen, gesturing to the sheets cooling on the kitchen table, a varieties that looked considerably more complicated than the premade slice and bake sugar cookies.

"Ah, thanks, but I think I'll skip it. I don't think my lunch is sitting quite right yet 'cause I ate so fast. So this really will be the first time Doc's willingly let any of the kids go on a trip without him?"

Clara nodded once more as she checked a batch in the oven. "Yes, and it is a test of sorts. If this goes off well, then Emmett is going to allow Jules to borrow the Aerovette and visit a time of his own choice alone for a day as his birthday gift this year. And if Jules does seem a little... odd towards you today, Marty, I know it's because he isn't very happy that you're coming along. Oh, Emily is delighted and since this is her birthday gift, that's most important, and I think it's very sweet why you're going in the first place, to help poor Jennifer. But the original plans had included only him, Verne, and Emmy, so--"

"Me coming along is almost like Doc going," Marty concluded, understanding the point and not taking offense. "That's okay, I get it. If it's gnawing at him, though, I could always have one of the kids pick up what I need...."

Clara shook her head immediately as she shut the oven door. "No, don't do that. Emmett's been considerably more relieved about this trip knowing that you'll be there to keep an eye on things. And I think Emily would be very disappointed if you pulled out now. If Jules believes he's mature enough for his father to trust him with the keys to one of his most fantastic and dangerous inventions, he should behave himself accordingly. I don't think you need to worry about a reaction like the one you received when you first met him."

"I'd hope not... I really can't see him sinking to that kinda level, not now."

"Quite so," Clara said. "He's almost twenty-two, now, and... goodness, you'll be thirty on your next birthday!"

Marty winced a little. "Don't remind me," he said. "Between that and Jen and I becoming parents, 1998 is gonna be the weirdest year yet for us."

Clara smiled, looking at him with a rather wistful expression on her face. "It will certainly be a year of change," she agreed. "Oh, my, Marty, I can't believe you're almost thirty. I suppose it just hit me now. I still remember the way you were when I first met you, as 'Clint Eastwood.' You still look the same as you did back then...."

"Yeah, but I feel a lot different. I think if I tried pulling that stuff now, I'd be laid up for a week. I know I'm not that old, not compared to Doc, anyway, but I also really don't feel like I'm seventeen anymore, either." Especially today; that stomach-ache was still lingering in spite of the Tums he'd taken with lunch. If spicy food was going to bug him this much, especially the following day, he might have to avoid it in the future. "Thank God there's really nothing to worry about on this trip that should involve chasing speeding trains and riding miles on horseback."

"It shouldn't, from what I've gathered. And I suppose I shouldn't delay you any longer or the children will surely have my head. Would you mind taking that plate of cookies near the door out to the lab with you? I promised I'd send some along when they were cooled enough."

Marty nodded at both the reminder of why he was there and in agreement with her request. After collecting the plate and bidding Clara goodbye, he walked briskly to the outbuilding that had once been the property's barn, keeping his head low against the wind and the small, stinging flakes of snow whisking through the air. Someone had to have been posted at one of the windows, for he wasn't quite at the door before it burst open and Verne waved him inside, almost as if he was urging him to hurry. The young man was already dressed in something that looked to be appropriate winter clothing for the journey -- not a suit as Marty had half expected, having had to dress up in one the last time he'd gone to 1912 about ten years before, but what looked to be work clothes or something of the sort from the early part of the century. Very nondescript and plain.

"Is that what we're gonna wear?" he asked as Verne relieved him of the plate of baked goods.

The blond nodded. "Yeah, and Emmy's real tweaked," he said, selecting one of the chocolate cookies covered in powdered sugar and popping it into his mouth. His words seemed to be confirmed by the cry that came from above.

"Daddy, why do I have to wear this dress? It's too plain and totally not what people wore back then!"

"It's very much what people wore back then, in Hill Valley, and it will also be nice and warm against the weather back there, since it's gong to be about the same as it is here."

The voices were coming from the former hayloft, which Doc had converted to a study and office a couple of years after moving back to the future with his family. Marty glanced up at the floor above while Verne chuckled a little and downed another cookie.

"But I thought I was gonna wear something like Rose did in Titanic, with all those beads and gauze and corsets. Why can't I wear a corset?"

"Because they weren't quite for girls of your age, yet -- and they were also rather painful, Emmy."

"Well, then, why can't the dress be nicer? This is so bland and blah.... Looks more like what the poor people were wearing in the movie."

"Emmy, hon, Hill Valley is not particularly cutting edge in fashion. If you don't want to get into any trouble, it's best to dress practically and plainly, so fewer people would be apt to really notice you. It's a requirement for time travelers."

Emily let out a rather skeptical snort and stalked across the room, her footsteps heading for the stairs. She appeared on them a moment later, frowning most unhappily as she headed down. Marty supposed he could see why as he glanced at her outfit, a dark blue wool dress with long sleeves and an ankle-length hemline; its soul elaboration was an Empire waist and a bit of lace at the collar and cuffs. The girl's waist-length hair was pulled back off her face, fastened by a big bow at the back of her head, allowing the dark curls to fall freely down her back. She didn't look terribly out of date at a glance, and perhaps that was the problem that was making her look rather annoyed. Her expression softened somewhat seeing Marty, but it didn't entirely go away.

"Doc's right," Marty said before he could think about it. "You really don't wanna stick out going to a different time. Very bad idea -- trust me."

Emily looked like she wanted to argue against that, but because Marty was the one telling her that, she didn't. "Maybe," she allowed with a half-shrug. "But I was hoping I could wear something that didn't look like a dress I'd wear to church or on a school picture day. And all the dresses in the movie were so cool...."

"But that was how the wealthy dressed," Doc said, following his daughter down the stairs, just as she reached the bottom of them.

Verne rolled his eyes as he set down the plate of cookies. "Don't tell me you're still obsessing over that flick, Emmy. I swear, if that movie hits a hundred million on the back of that wussy Leonardo DeCraprio, I will really lose my faith in the audiences of America."

Emily directed her annoyance towards her brother. "Jack was one of the best characters in that film, Verne. He is not wussy."

"He's a pansy," Verne said, offering a cookie as a seeming peace offering to his sister. She accepted it reluctantly, clearly not wanting to allow him to think she agreed with his assessment. "A wussy little girly-man whose sole purpose in the movie was to make all the teenage girls cry into their popcorn." He shifted his voice and mannerisms, suddenly mimicking the actor in the film and taking Emily by the shoulders, looking her intensely in the eye. "Oh, Rose, you jump, I jump, remember?"

Marty, who hadn't seen the film aside from commercials and clips on television, chuckled softly at Verne's rather mocking but dead-on portrayal. Emily's mouth twitched as she struggled desperately not to laugh. "He doesn't do it like that, Verne," she finally said, taking a bite of the cookie he'd given her. "You're just jealous 'cause you don't have a zillion girls fawning over you like that."

Verne sighed, his hand going to his heart, as if Emily had mortally wounded him. "Oh, the humanity," he said, shaking his head. "At least I look like I'm my age and not like I'm a drippy little fifteen-year-old."

Emily frowned darkly at her brother, looking like she was considering giving him a good smack for his teasing, but Doc gently intervened. "It's already after three-thirty, now, and if you're all to be back in an hour, then it's past time to get on with things. Marty, I set out the clothes for you to change into upstairs, in the study. You can meet us in the cellar, since there are a few pertinent things I'd like to go over with just the kids before they leave."

The musician nodded as Emily turned and hurried excitedly for the hole in the floor, where the stairs were that led to the underground chamber in which the train was stored. "Where's Jules?"

"Already down there," Verne said, following in the steps of his little sister, a bit calmer than she. "He's been messing around in the train for almost an hour now, doing what he claims is a pre-flight check or something."

"Which I asked him to do," Doc said immediately. "It's part of the list I gave him of tasks he needs to remember to do before taking any trip through time, as part of the safety regimen. You all know what happens if there are mechanical problems to the time machine, particularly the flux capacitor."

Remembering those misadventures and the dangers associated with such problems, Marty nodded immediately in understanding. "What if he misses something?" he asked softly, once Emily and Verne had gone down the stairs and were out of earshot.

Doc smiled at him, the expression reassuring. "I'll check his handiwork to make sure he doesn't," he promised. "Don't worry, Marty. The kids know this is a rather awesome test and don't want to do anything to endanger either my trust or their own lives."

"Well, that's a relief, then. So you want me to change and meet you guys down there when I'm done?"

"If you don't mind. It should hurry things along and most of what I'm going to tell the kids you wouldn't want to hear. Standard what to do and what not to do on a trip to another time, which I'm sure you know quite well by now."

Marty rolled his eyes. "No kidding. Okay, I'll go fast, so long as the clothes aren't too tricky to get into...."

They weren't, it turned out; Marty found something that looked pretty much like the clothes Verne was wearing. Worn and warm pants that didn't seem unduly hideous, a white shirt, a tan sweater vest, and some warm socks and boots that seemed almost out of place with the rest of the outfit, until Marty remembered Doc's comment to Emily about the weather being about the same as it was here -- cold and snowy. The heavy double-breasted overcoat, scarf, leather gloves, and a bowler hat, which looked too much like the hat his ancestor Seamus had given him for his comfort, confirmed that idea.

As he exchanged clothes, Marty glanced around the rather cluttered space, not only a place where Doc conducted his company business but where he also tinkered with new inventions, plans, and stored a number of research and personal materials that he couldn't or didn't want displayed publicly in the house. The photographs from his wedding to Clara; early posed photographs of Jules and Verne prior to their move to 1985; some things that looked to be aspects of future technology, like an ahead-of-its time computer. There were also framed copies of patents and newspaper clippings on the wall that hadn't been there four years ago.

It had taken almost a full decade -- and, in reality, two, though only eight people really knew that -- after the completion of his first time machine before Doc finally made the attempt to patent and market working inventions by entering a contest at the University, spurred by an encounter with a considerably more successful version of Emmett Brown from a parallel universe. To his -- but not his family's and friends' -- great surprise, he won and was able to market the security system he had devised originally as a means to protect the time machine on his property. The success of that endeavor had encouraged Doc, and other working creations had followed at long last. Today, E. Brown Enterprises was turning a comfortable profit, although it hadn't for the first year and a half. Most of this new fortune was from Doc's hover technology discovery, which he had quietly patented in June and announced to the world at large as soon as the paperwork and forms had been filled out and received.

That he had been the one behind the discovery that would ultimately lead to the flying cars, hover conversions, and hoverboards had come of something as a surprise -- but there was now no doubt in Doc's mind or to the rest of them that the discovery and preliminary operation designs were his. He'd been dabbling with plans for such things since the 1950s, when the notion of flying cars had intrigued him, especially after he'd heard from a visiting Marty in '55 that the DeLorean had been able to fly. Beyond the news that the car had had a hover conversion done in the early 2000s, Doc hadn't known anything about the systems used to make the car fly and had gotten into the research and schematics of designing a system with positive early results before the work of a time machine deemed the project one to be put off. During his first trip to the future, he had naturally been intrigued by the flying cars, but his unease over discovering things best not discovered about the future had prevented him from investigating the history of the creation, though he had almost immediately opted to get one. He had assumed that the auto companies had come up with the system and that other things relating to hover technology had followed.

It wasn't until he had become stranded in 1885 that Doc had taken a serious look at the system in the DeLorean, as it was one of those damaged by his unanticipated arrival, and he had been surprised to find it had many similarities to his own designs. With more pressing matters to focus on -- the damaged-beyond-contemporary-repair time circuits, and the aspects of living in a world so different from his own -- the scientist had once more put the matter aside and forgotten about it. The matter might've stayed forgotten had the pink hoverboard not remained around once Marty and the DeLorean had returned to the future.

Such an object, far beyond the knowledge and understanding of the minds of the 1880s, could not remain in the past, and though the board had saved both his life and Clara's, as well as Marty's, Doc knew it had to be destroyed. He did just that several weeks into October, dismantling the device with an eye to perhaps using the circuits and wires and what-not in a future project for his eyes only. In the process of taking it apart, he had noted that the design of this more simple hover device was almost identical to the one he had conceived almost thirty years before. Rather than believe that he might've been behind the design -- an almost impossible feat, considering at the time, he'd thought he was all but stranded forever in the past of his hometown -- Doc figured that it was either an extraordinary coincidence or that he had somehow seen more than he thought he had of the DeLorean's hover conversion in 1955, and perhaps copied the design unintentionally.

That latter concern snowballed strongly once he had returned to his present with a family to support, and limited funds from his property on JFK Drive. Most of the money made off the sale of that had been sunk into restoring the old farmhouse that had managed to remain in the family for almost a hundred years. Afraid that anything he now created that worked was something he had ripped off from the future -- subconsciously, at least -- Doc had refused to reveal any of his creations to the public at large, keeping his family comfortably supported due to financial investments made from glimpses of the future. The guilt he felt at taking advantage of time travel for financial gain had gnawed considerably at him over the years, but it wasn't until three-and-a-half years ago that Clara had finally put her foot down over the matter and demanded he find some other means to go about making money -- and if she had to go to work in this time to do just that, so be it.

Between that, and some stern words from an entirely different counterpart of Doc's, the scientist had finally decided he needed to take responsibility for things and had entered that contest at the University. But it wasn't until he had taken a trip to the future about three years ago that Doc had looked up who had been behind the creation of hover technology, wanting to lay to rest that ancient ghost -- and had seen his own name. Although he had been inclined to argue that such a thing did not mean he was the one who had always made it, and he could easily be credited for it now if he wanted to, Clara, the older boys, and Marty had talked him out of that mindset immediately. Such a way of thinking had held him back far too long, and there were too many things that simply didn't work with the theory that he had ripped it off from the future. Particularly since Marty knew for a fact that the '55 Doc had not gotten anywhere near enough to the hover conversion in order to recreate detailed plans of the same technology. There had simply not been enough time for such an investigation. Though Doc couldn't argue against that, he had, insisting he could not have been the original inventor, since during his first critical trip to the future, there had been no trace of him. Jules, however, had reminded him that his curious absence didn't mean another inventor had independently reached the same sort of conclusion, perhaps at a later date, which his father couldn't really deny, either.

And so, after building several prototypes and refining the design somewhat, Doc had patented it and a few creations using hover tech. Demand for the devices had been immediate and plentiful, in spite of the current high costs of it, and Doc suddenly found himself both comfortably wealthy and the subject of local fame. It was an interesting change, Marty thought, but one that had been quite welcome. Although he was having to work considerably harder than he had during the almost-decade of living off money-generating investments, Doc was definitely happier, as was his family, who thought this new fortune was long overdue.

Still mulling over the big changes of the last few years, as well as the forthcoming ones in his own life, Marty left the study and headed down the stairs to the cellar, rubbing his stomach without thinking as he went. The pain wasn't getting any better, but it wasn't something he felt was serious enough to cause him to call off going, not now. Doc was counting on him being there for his peace of mind, and Emily would probably be crushed if he bailed now. He just hoped this wasn't the beginning of some kind of contagious twenty-four hour stomach bug that would end up making a rather miserable Christmas for Doc and his family.

By the time Marty arrived at the train, Doc appeared to be concluding his lecture to his kids inside the cab of the train. The musician was in time to catch the tail end of it, a rather serious but stern, "...and if you aren't back by five this evening I'll be coming after you."

"That won't happen, Dad," Jules said from his place near the front console of the train. His clothes were in the same style of his brother's and Marty's, though worn a tad neater as was his general habit. "If the train is a mile from town, as well as in disguise, there shouldn't be any reason for it to become damaged, and none of us are going to do anything potentially harmful to history. You don't have to worry, I have everything under control."

Verne snorted. "Yeah, and Emmy and I don't? You're not babysitting us, Jules. We can take care of things pretty well ourselves without you breathing down our necks."

Jules shrugged. "Maybe," he allowed. "But Emmy's not been on as many trips as you and I have and she'll definitely need someone to keep an eye on her."

The words from her oldest brother did not sit well with the girl. She scowled. "I'm not a little kid anymore, Jules," Emily declared, rather haughtily. "Daddy's told me loads about what to expect and why people gotta be careful on trips like this. I can handle it."

"I wouldn't worry, Doc," Marty said from where he was hovering just outside the door. "I don't think anyone wants to ruin the trip by causing the end of the world, or worse."

While Emily smiled at him for his support, Jules heaved a rather deep sigh. "Of course, but most of the problems that've happened have been accidental," he said. "There weren't any ways to anticipate them and they required a lot of spontaneous plotting -- after someone screwed up in some way."

"Well, one would hope such experiences had the benefit of teaching you what to avoid in the future," Doc said. "Although, Jules, if you do think it's far too dangerous to be making such a trip, there's no reason why you should...."

By the look on his face, it was clear that Jules didn't want that. "No," he said quickly. "With the right precautions we should be fine, just like you've said before. No need to worry needlessly, Dad, I'm just saying that Emily and Verne might not necessarily understand the ramifications of their potential actions."

"I think they do," Doc said before the two mentioned could defend themselves. "With a handful of exceptions, Verne has been with you on every trip you've taken and has seen what to do and what not to do. Emily has been briefed on the risks. She understands them and has promised to listen to the rest of you. Right?"

Emily nodded earnestly. "So long as Jules isn't gonna be too bossy," she said. "If this is for my birthday than that means I can do what I want, right? Not what they want?"

"So long as your wants haven't changed since we last talked, yes." The scientist stepped down, out of the cab, gesturing for Marty to take his place inside. "If you're to be back before dark, it's time to leave, now. Do you have any questions or concerns, Marty?"

"When are we going, again?"

"December 23, 1912, in Hill Valley, California," Jules said, sounding as if he was rattling something off from memory. "It was a Monday, which is why we aren't going back to December twenty-second -- not much would be open -- and the weather was cold and snowy, quite like it is now. We'll be entering the airspace above this address, since it was abandoned and empty back then, and are to hide the time machine approximately one mile from town in the vicinity of some woods that were on the far edge of the Peabody property and not really used at all. We'll be arriving at noon, and departing no later than five, but since we'll have to hike into town, we'll probably only be there between twelve-thirty and four-thirty." He looked to his father. "Is that all correct?"

Doc nodded. "To the letter," he said. He sighed, suddenly looking rather nervous and every inch his eighty-eight years. "I suppose I should let you all get going, then. Please, be careful."

"We will, Daddy," Emily promised sincerely, sitting down at the bench at the back and buckling herself in. "Nothing's gonna go wrong, and after this you'll see how you can trust us with time travel."

Marty sorta doubted that would happen overnight, but he said nothing to save the girl from disappointment. Doc, for his part, managed not to crack a smile or contradict her hope. "Perhaps," was all he said. He looked at one of the watches on his wrist. "I'll see you at four-thirty."

"Absolutely," Jules promised. With a rather confident smile, he closed the door to the train while he flipped the appropriate switches and dials to start the vehicle. Verne stood just behind his older brother as Marty took a seat next to Emily, not wanting the medical student to feel like he was intruding too much.

"You gotta put the destination in before we can go anywhere, Jules," the blond reminded him with a little smirk. "Unless you wanna go back to the last time this thing was used."

"I know that, Verne," Jules said, sounding annoyed. "Sit down. You want Dad to call this off because you're unrestrained and doing nothing more productive than bugging me?"

"Touchy, touchy," Verne said as Jules quickly punched in the appropriate time and place they were due to go. "Better watch that high and mighty attitude. I don't think Dad would like a report from Marty about you being all egotistical."

"I'm not here to give Doc a report," Marty said immediately from the back, wanting to squelch that belief as soon as possible. "I'm just here to do my own thing, along for the ride and all that. Once we get into town, we don't even have to pal around together."

Emily looked a little disappointed. "Won't you get bored being alone?" she asked, concerned.

"Not if we're just gonna be there for a few hours. What did you want to do back there, anyway?"

"Look at some of the places where Mom and Daddy used to live, see the main square and have dinner in one of the restaurants so I can check out the food and all that. I'm super interested in how people used to live and if they're any different from us."

"Not really," Verne said as the train jolted forward, towards the tunnel that would lead them out. "Jules and I grew up there for most of our childhood, and Mom spent more than half her live in the past. Do we seem weird to you?"

Emily shrugged. "How would I know? You've always been how I remember an' I never got to see you guys living back then."

"Just so long as you don't do anything grossly stupid," Jules said, distracted, as he guided the time vehicle slowly and carefully down the track.

The girl rolled her eyes. "Not any more stupid than some of the stuff you and Verne've done in the past." She sighed, sounding a little wistful. "I almost wish something would go wrong, you know. It'd be neat to be in the middle of some of those stories I hear so much about, for once."

"Nothing's gonna go wrong," Jules said immediately, firmly. "Dad wouldn't let us do this if he sincerely believed there was a great risk to it. Don't try to jinx it, Emmy, because if the trip does go to hell, this'll be the first and only time you'll get to go outside of your time for your birthday. Dull and eventless is definitely much better, today."

Chapter Three

Monday, December 23, 1912
2:00 P.M.

Jules' piloting of the time machine out of 1997 and into 1912 wasn't too shabby -- until they actually arrived in 1912. The snow was falling more heavily than it had been when they had left, and though it was far earlier in the day, the sky was just as dark with storm clouds. The wind was gusting strongly from the northeast and, seconds after entering, the entire train made a rather sickening lurch down and over.

"Watch it!" Verne said immediately, grabbing hard and fast for a handhold, as he was still standing near the front. "Dad'll go nuclear if you crash the train!"

"I'm not going to crash the train!" Jules snapped back, sounding both annoyed and distracted. "And if you don't want to break your neck, sit down!"

Verne scowled at the words as the train took another dip down. Emily let out a soft whimper and her hand snaked out to grip Marty's arm, hard, but the musician hardly noticed from his own nerves at the abrupt and unexpected movements of the machine. "Maybe you should take it a little lower," he suggested as politely as he could. "Might be windier up here."

Jules grunted at this advice, but he either took it or else the wind settled down; at any rate, the turbulence vanished a moment later. Several minutes after that, they were settled carefully on the ground, on the edge of the woods that had apparently once been part of the Peabody property -- likely a larger parcel than what they owned in 1955.

"All right," Jules announced with a rather deep sigh, once he shut off the machine. "We've got about four hours and forty-five minutes before we need to be right back here. The hike to downtown Hill Valley will probably take half an hour, so--"

"Why do we have to walk in?" Emily asked, frowning, as she unbuckled herself from the seat and jumped to the floor. "Can't we just fly in and drop off so we have more time to do things? And so my feet won't freeze from the snow?"

"No," Jules said flatly. "Dad wanted us to do things this way and I'm not going to stray from that."

Marty couldn't tell if he was being so obedient because the musician was there or because Jules simply didn't want to chance anything going wrong. Either way, he wasn't much more enthusiastic than Emily at the idea of the hike. He kept his feelings to himself, though, and managed a smile as he stood. "It won't be that bad," Marty said trying to sound cheerful. "You did bring a coat, though, Emmy, right?"

Emily nodded, picking up the mentioned article along with a large wool scarf, both of which had been draped next to her on the seat. "Of course," she said as she wigged into it. "It was too hot to wear inside at the house, so Daddy made sure I wouldn't forget it and set it in here. Are you sure we won't get lost out there?" she asked her brothers, indicating the world beyond the windows of the train. "I've read books before about pioneers who got lost and died in blizzards. And I don't really see any streets."

"It's not a blizzard," Jules said as he buttoned up his coat. "It's just a little heavy snow. And we won't get lost because Dad told me exactly how to get to the town. And Verne and I both grew up around here so we would recognize some of the landmarks. Don't worry, Emmy."

Verne made a rather skeptical sound as he opened the door. "I dunno, Jules, it's coming down pretty hard out there," he said as a gust blew a chill and snowy wind inside the cab. "Looks like there's at least six inches on the ground, too. It's gonna be a nice, long hike. Why don't we just get a little closer to town?"

"No," Jules said. "If Dad wanted to save us the hike, he would've told me to land somewhere closer. I don't want to do anything to stray from the plan. Do you know how much is riding on the success of this? Better to be a little cold for a half-hour than cause some kind of disaster because we didn't follow things by the book."

Verne frowned once more but didn't say anything else. Even Emily seemed to get the message and grew quiet. After making sure the train was secured and invisible, the group set out, cutting across a field to reach a plowed road that apparently lead into Hill Valley. The walk was uncomfortable, with a brisk, cold wind, heavy flakes obscuring the view ahead, and the choice between walking on a smoothy plowed -- and icy -- road or just off it where the snow came up mid-shin. Marty soon wished, intently, that he'd tried to persuade Jules to disregard Doc's orders and land them closer to town. While one mile was by no means the same as the twenty that the scientist had sent him outside the city when he had made his first visit to 1885, he hadn't been walking very long before he started to get a sharp pain in his lower right side, a very nasty stitch that seemed to get worse the farther he went, not improving his stomach-ache, either. Annoyed that he was so out of shape that a short hike through snow would bother him so much, he didn't mention it to the kids, instead trying to concentrate on their conversation for distraction.

"I wanna see everything that has to do with our family history!" Emily announced, keeping her head down and her scarf pulled tight around her hair and mouth. "The schoolhouse Mom taught at, the place where Daddy did his smithing, the cabin where you guys were born...."

"None of which is standing anymore," Jules said. "You can see where they once were, but Dad told you they rebuilt a lot of those since we left."

"I know," Emily said, a little defensively. "And I don't know why we couldn't go back sooner to see 'em still around."

"Couldn't work entirely," Verne said. "The cabin that we were born in burned down in 1895 when the current schoolteacher -- Miss Perkins, a real windbag -- had the head of the schoolboard over for dinner and he had a bad smoking habit. Made the front page of the paper for a few days. The schoolhouse didn't go up in that, but I know that they tore it down not long after we left to build a bigger one on the same site. And Dad's old workplace came down before then, when some kinda windstorm almost flattened it. Shoddy workmanship. He had to build a new one before we left."

"Lame," was Emily's disappointed opinion. "But I still wanna see where they were -- and it might be kinda interesting to see our house right now, too."

"Won't happen," Jules said. "Not unless we want to take a long detour on foot, and we frankly don't have the time. Where did you want to go first, Emmy?"

The girl shrugged. "Downtown, I guess, and see the courthouse square. And then I wanna walk out to see where the school and cabin were, at least."

Verne made a face. "That's, like, another mile out from the town square," he said. "You sure you wanna do that, Em?"

"Can't we get some horses or something to ride out there?" Emily asked instead, hopeful. "Like, rent or borrow 'em?"

"Doubt it," Jules said, "but I guess we could ask. Dad gave us some money for emergencies...." He looked at Marty, trailing quietly behind them, slowed by the stitch in his side and not feeling that great in general. "Did you want to come with us on Emily's little tour or do your own thing?" By his tone, it was clear that the young man was hoping he'd select the latter option. Marty did, but for his own reasons.

"I think I'll probably just stick around in town and pick up the medicine for Jennifer. It's probably better if fewer people see me, too. Unlike you guys, I have family in town...."

"Then it might be better if you come with us," Emily said reasonably. "We're not gonna hang out in one place for too long. And won't you get bored being alone?"

"I'll be fine," Marty said. "And if I went with you guys I'd probably slow you down. I've already got a hell of a stitch in my side from this little hike. God, I can't believe I'm getting that old already...."

"A lack of regular exercise, along with this cold, could do that," Jules said. "I'm sure you'll find some way to keep yourself busy while we're trudging through the snow."

Marty wasn't too sure -- though, when they finally arrived in town, a little more than half an hour after leaving the train, he was surprised at how much Hill Valley had grown since he had last visited it in 1896, while with Doc on a mission to erase old family records. Streets were now paved with stone and brick, and many of the buildings that had been standing as new during his visit to 1885 were gone, replaced by better constructed buildings. The downtown area was easily three times larger, and boasted a number of different businesses that hadn't yet been around the last time Marty had spent substantial time in the past. The Palace saloon and hotel was modified, now, to simply be a rather elegant-looking restaurant. The train station had doubled in size and now included a second floor. Among the new buildings and businesses, there was a pharmacy with a soda fountain adjacent to it, a bank, a dress shop next to that of a tailor, and a brand new carriage house. A dance hall stood where the Town theatre would be someday, with a sign advertising lessons for only fifty cents every Friday and Saturday night. Other businesses that Marty knew had been around during his stay in the past had migrated a bit; the barber shop and doctor's office had changed locations, to a newish building that hadn't been constructed during his last visit. Just as Verne had mentioned, the old livery stable where Doc had once conducted his smithing business was gone, replaced by a better built structure and with, presumably, an entirely new man running it.

When they reached the beginning of the downtown area, the pace of their group slowed dramatically due to both the sights and the increasing amount of people and traffic in the streets, out in spite of the weather, perhaps eager to finish their last-minute holiday shopping. Emily was all eyes as she looked about, stumbling more than once in her distraction and causing a few of the locals to give her an odd glance. Her brothers and Marty were more subtle in their gawking, but were equally fascinated for different reasons, perhaps. Marty was just amazed so much had changed in the fifteen or so years since he had last seen a past version of the town. Hill Valley no longer looked like a western frontier town but a larger Victorian-era settlement that was clearly on its way up, especially if the wealth of new businesses and buildings was any indication.

"Amazing," he commented as they stopped before the window of what looked to be a much larger general store, currently displaying some china dolls and other contemporary toys. "It looks like Hill Valley, but at the same time...."

"It's different," Verne said, understanding. "Man, half these places weren't here when we left....."

"Natural progression," Jules said, stepping back as Emily pushed her way forward to take a look at the dolls through the window glass. "It's only natural that Hill Valley's going outward and upward if it's as large as it is by our time. This is rather interesting, however. So, should we split up now?" He looked at the clock settled in the courthouse, barely visible from where they stood with the thick snow falling. "We've only got a few hours here and if Emily still wants to do as much as she thinks...."

"I wanna go in there, first," Emily said, pointing inside the store. "And pick out a doll. They don't have things like that at home and Daddy said I could get a small thing from here, s'long as it doesn't mess up anything in history."

Jules looked like he thought such a thing could, but Verne beat him to the answer. "Sure," he said. "I'll take 'er in there while you guys figure out what's going on, 'kay?" The blond didn't bother to wait for permission from his brother, taking Emily by the hand to head for the crowded door of the shop. Once they were out of earshot, Marty didn't waste much time in being blunt.

"Jules, I know what you're trying to do and how you feel about me being here," he said softly, rubbing the still-powerful ache in his side through his coat. "And I want you to know that I'm not here on your father's orders as some undercover spy. I just came so I could get something for Jen so she might stop puking long enough to enjoy the holidays."

Jules looked a little surprised at his words, then suspicious. "We're not going to do anything you'd need to worry about telling Dad about anyway, Marty. We're not kids anymore -- well, I'm not and I suppose Verne isn't, even if he acts like it more days than not."

Marty smiled. "Even if something does happen, I won't tell. I know what's riding on this trip for you guys, Jules, and I know you weren't overjoyed to have me tagging along this time. I understand, though."

The future doctor studied him a moment. "Was I that transparent?" he asked, surprised. "I thought I'd gotten better at keeping my feelings to myself; something I've been trying to do for my career and all that...."

"No, you didn't really do anything to tip me off; your mom told me. And I think you were being pretty mature about the whole thing, considering."

Jules looked flattered at the praise, which Marty had expected. "Thanks," he said. "You know, Marty, you can come with us to look around the town if you really want to.... I'm not sure how exciting it will be for you to stick around here alone for several hours."

The musician politely declined, not bothering to elaborate that he felt he was coming down with the flu. "I'll be fine," he said. "I know Emmy's disappointed, but I don't think I can deal with more hiking in the snow right now, especially if we're gonna have to walk back to the train in a few hours. I'll just get what I came for and maybe look around the main drag a little and see what's the latest thing."

* * *

After agreeing on a time and place to meet -- at the restaurant at three P.M. for an early dinner -- the time travelers parted ways for a of couple hours. While Marty headed off in the direction of the pharmacy, Jules joined his brother and sister in the store, where Emily was agonizing over which doll she liked best. She hemmed and hawed for more than twenty minutes until Jules warned her she was wasting time and that it would be a better idea to get the toy on the way out of town, so she wouldn't have to carry it around as much. Emily agreed after a moment of thought and then they were on their way to the first stop at her insistence -- to see if horses could be rented or borrowed.

To Jules surprise, such a thing was possible. The man who ran the carriage house -- Ronald Statler -- was perfectly happy to rent out three of his animals for a few hours once Verne had approached him, improvising the role of a traveler who had become stranded in Hill Valley for the day with his brother and sister. Statler even tried to talk them into renting a sleigh, but they politely declined, knowing that they could get far more done without dragging a cumbersome vehicle. Emily was so delighted with the idea of horseback riding that she offered not one peep of a complaint about the weather, which grew colder and windier as the afternoon progressed. They rode out to the site of the old schoolhouse and schoolteacher cabin, Verne telling her how things had changed since the time they'd left compared to the time now, as well as miscellaneous stories from their childhood. Some of it was new to Emily as her brothers had both of their memories prodded a bit by seeing semi-familiar sights.

After looking at the site of the old school house and cabin for a few minutes -- which now boasted a larger brick building that would remain the only school in Hill Valley for grades one through eight until the late 1930's -- and being a little disappointed by the entire thing, Emily wanted to stop by the infamous Eastwood Ravine, where their father had dramatically saved their mother's life not once but twice. She had seen it before, but that had been more than a hundred years after the rescue, when it had looked dramatically different and was bordered by upscale homes and neighborhoods. But like the schoolhouse site before it, Emily seemed let down once more by the reality.

"Where's the train wreckage?" she complained, squinting at the snow covered ravine bottom. "Doesn't look anything like the stories Mom and Daddy've told...."

"It's been almost thirty years since that happened," Jules reminded her. "Of course things will have changed in that time span."

"Trust me, Emmy, you ain't missing much," Verne said, leaning forward on his horse for a better look at the ravine. "This place has a finished bridge, now, yeah, but aside from that and the snow and the train Dad blew up to send Marty back home... it's not as different as some of the other places are now. And the train was long gone by the time Jules and I were born. We only saw it ourselves when we came with Marty to the day right after the crash."

Emily let out a rather annoyed sound. "I know. It's not fair, you got to do a lot of stuff with the machines that I can't...."

Jules snorted as he turned his horse around. "Illegally," he said. "Dad didn't exactly give his stamp of approval on them. Anyway, you did get to come on a couple of those unapproved trips with us -- remember, when you were almost two, and again when you were five? It's not your fault that Dad's got them very secured now. Though I suppose Verne and I and even Marty helped contribute to that matter...."

"It's still not fair," Emily said as she reluctantly followed her oldest brother away from the edge of the ravine. "I barely remember those trips. I dunno why Mom an' Daddy had to wait to have me so long after you and Jules.... Same with Clayton. By the time he's gonna start elementary school, I'll be in junior high!"

"You and Clayton were surprises," Verne said honestly. "But so were me and Jules. They didn't wanna have any kids, originally."

Emily's eyes grew very round in spite of the snow whistling through the air. "Why not? Didn't they like kids?" She sounded both confused and horrified with the idea, perhaps because their parents had never seemed the types to harbor those sorts of feelings towards them or other children.

"Dad knew he and Mom didn't belong in the past," Jules said, reciting a piece of family history he knew very well by now. "It wasn't his time at all, and Mom was supposed to have died the first time in the ravine. Before Dad built his first time machine and went back, it was known as Clayton Ravine -- not Eastwood. So bringing more lives into the world that hadn't been around originally was extremely risky. They both wanted children, though, and I suspect if Mom and Dad could've had as many as they wanted from the start, you and Clayton might've been born closer to Verne and I -- and we might have even more siblings running around."

Emily gnawed on that while they swung back to town to get a better look at the main street area and other points of interest to their family history. The church where their parents had wed was still standing, which pacified the girl a bit, and when they stopped by the smithing shop that had been constructed on the same site as the old livery stable where their father had conducted his business, they happened to catch the attention of the new smith, Thomas Blair, who had apparently taken over the business when Doc had left and remembered him and his family quite well. "Are you kin of his?" he asked when the subject of the Browns had come up, giving them a good eyeballing that made Jules very glad the three of them were bundled up so well, with scarves covering half their faces.

"No," Jules said, speaking for the three of them. "I knew the younger boy in the family before we moved away, and I was just wondering if they were still around."

The graying smith shook his head. "Naw, they moved East back in '96. The missus was from that area, originally, and missed it. No one's heard from 'em since, and some wonder if they made it safely. Nice family, if a little odd."

That might've been the end of it if Emily hadn't piped up. "How come you thought they were odd?"

Mr. Blair looked to her for the first time. "Oh, I'm not sure if I could describe it," he said. "Mister Brown was a great deal older than his wife, and the missus was a very assertive women. Not terribly unusual, I suppose, for living out here in the West. Both were interested in sciences, and their two children -- both boys -- were named after a science fiction writer they enjoyed. They were nice people, to be sure, but not the very definition of normal."

Jules was old enough not to be really offended by the gentlemen's remarks, as was Verne, but Emily took the words more personally. She frowned, the expression visible even with just her eyes showing. "Sounds perfectly normal to me," she said with a little sniff of distain. "Just 'cause they weren't like everyone else doesn't make 'em weird."

Before the smith could react to this, Jules quickly intervened. "You have to excuse our little sister. She's not terribly tactful in her responses sometimes -- a problem I think she might've inherited from our mother." While Emily glowered at him over his words, he added, "We've got to go now -- we're borrowing these horses by the hour -- but thanks for your help, sir."

The three of them didn't speak until they were out of earshot of the blacksmith. "Why'd you totally defend the smith, Jules?" Emily wanted to know, annoyed. "He was completely dissing you guys...."

"We heard worse when we were kids," Verne said. "Not nearly as bad as what he was saying. Anyway, Emmy, you have to be extremely careful with what you say and who you say it to, here. Not only with things like that but with slang, too. Like weird wasn't around, now."

"Why? We're not gonna see him again...."

"It's one of those cardinal rules with taking trips like this," Jules said, rolling his eyes at his sister's naivete. "Watch what you say, watch what you do, watch how you act, and so on. You aren't home anymore, Emmy. This isn't some game of pretend."

"I know that. I'm not stupid."

"Then don't act like it. I know you know better -- Dad's had to have mentioned this stuff a million times before."

It was Emily's turn to roll her eyes. "Are you done lecturing me? 'Cause it got old a minute ago."

While Verne chuckled a little at the burn on their older brother, Jules sighed. "Fine. Ignore my advice as always. But if you do anything that endangers the success of this trip, don't come crying to me when Dad doesn't let you within a hundred feet of a time machine again. Same with you, Verne."

"Can it, Jules," the blond suggested. "Nothing's happened at all that's gonna snowball into something huge later." He glanced at the working clock in the clocktower. "Didn't you tell Marty we'd meet him at three? It's a quarter 'til now."

It took them twenty minutes before they actually made it to the restaurant. Returning the horses chewed up more time than Jules had anticipated, and then Emily had veered in the direction of the general store and the dolls. Verne had quickly snagged her and reassured her that they would stop there before they left and, thus pacified and looking forward to seeing Marty again, she gave in easily. Having not strayed, presumably, far from the center of town, Marty had arrived before them and was already seated at a table near the front windows, waiting. After leaving their snow-covered coats, scarves, and hats behind on the racks provided, they joined him.

"How was the tour?" he asked as they sat down.

"Kind of a bummer," Emily said, taking the chair next to him and frowning a little. "Most of the places looked nothing like they did when everyone lived here. Didja get the stuff you wanted for Jennifer?"

Marty nodded. "Two bottles," he said. "That should be more than enough, I think, especially since her doc was saying the morning sickness and all that should pass after the first trimester." He grimaced a little and reached for his glass of water, taking a sip. Jules noticed for the first time he was perspiring a little and looked pale. He was about to ask him if everything was all right when Verne interrupted with his own question.

"What did you end up doing?" he asked. "Walk up and down main street a billion times?"

"Not exactly. I checked out the main square and some of the stores and did a little bit of people watching before I came here." There was a strange strain to his voice and he shifted in his chair a little, clearly uncomfortable. "Uh... maybe this is a stupid question, but did they have bathrooms by this point? I know they did on the Titanic, but...."

At the mention of the doomed ship, Emily sat up straighter, interested. "Really?" she asked. "That's neat...."

"They might," Jules said in answer to Marty's question before Emily could sidetrack them. "I'd check with one of the employees here -- but ask if they have water closets or indoor plumbing or something like that. I don't know if they used the term 'bathroom' yet and that might get you some weird looks."

Marty smiled wanly. "Sure. And if the waiter comes while I'm gone, I'll just have the soup of the day, all right?" He stood, slowly, and a wince crossed his rather waxy complexion. Before Jules could ask if anything was wrong, he was walking away, bent over a little oddly as if he was indeed in pain. Unease gnawed at him, but he ignored it, for now, deciding to wait until the musician returned before giving voice to it.

"I dunno why Marty and Jennifer got to go to the Titanic, but I can't," Emily griped, picking up her menu to examine the choices. "That would've made a really cool birthday gift, but Daddy said no way."

Verne rolled his eyes, obviously tiring of his sister's obsession with that film. "Yeah, being on a sinking boat and watching people drown and freeze to death's a real thrill," he drawled.

Emily gave him a rather exasperated look. "I wouldn't hang around for that -- I'd leave before then. But Daddy thinks it would be too risky, especially since he took Marty and Jennifer there before I was born." She clicked her tongue, clearly annoyed by that. "Not like anything would happen or we'd run into 'em, though that might be a lot more interesting.... Definitely better than here!"

The young men exchanged mutually annoyed looks at their younger sister's complaints. "Then why the hell'd you come here?" Verne wanted to know, not bothering to avoid swearing now that their mother wasn't around to chide him. "You could've picked anywhere and anywhen."

"Uh-uh -- Daddy had the final say. If I got my way, I would've gone to the Titanic, definitely. Or come back earlier to when you guys were still living here so I could see when things still looked like they did in your stories and memories and pictures and stuff." Emily frowned at her brothers, able to know just what they were thinking by the looks on their faces. "You know it's not my fault that I'm not getting to do just what I want. This was as much as I could get from Daddy, and I figured if I couldn't go near the Titanic at least I could see things the same year it happened."

"Dad is always gonna be stingy with the machines," Verne said, glancing at his own menu for a moment when he noticed one of the waiters coming their way. "He seems to think the world will end if he's not there to supervise. That's why Jules and I had to sneak off with the machines so much when we were younger."

There was a pause in their conversation when the waiter arrived while the siblings ordered their food, including Marty's choice, as he hadn't yet returned. "It's perfectly in our father's right to be choosy with the machines," Jules said once the waiter had left, lowering his voice a little. "He's correct, time travel is not something to take lightly. And, Emmy, Verne and I did almost cause the end of the world once or twice -- or at least the end of our world. Verne has told you why you're named as you are, right?"

The girl nodded. "Yeah, but, c'mon, Daddy has to know the harder he makes it for us to do this stuff, the more we want to. That's, like, standard psychology stuff."

"Which is why he's being more reasonable now," Jules said. "Verne and I got to go on a few trips of our choice when we were younger, but never without Dad right there. This is a big development, Emmy. Why else do you think I'm being so careful? If this trip is actually successful, if we can get home without any problems and prove to him that we can handle this awesome responsibility, then we should get to do these sorts of things more often."

"Nothing is going to happen, Jules," Verne said. "Sheesh, you're being paranoid. Emily's been cool on this trip, better than you or me at that age. All we have to do now is eat, then go back out to the train and go home."

"And get my doll!" Emily added quickly. "You guys promised."

Jules sighed inwardly, not looking forward to taking his sister to the store, where she would no doubt linger over the choices so long that they would probably get back to the train later than he or his father wanted. If he put a stop to it, though, Emily would run straight to Dad once they got back home and then he'd find himself in trouble since this excursion was for her birthday and he was under rather firm instructions to let her do what she wanted so long as it didn't pose a threat to the space-time continuum.

"Fine," he said. "And get your doll, but we're probably not going to have much time to loiter there, so I hope you have a choice in mind already."

Their meals took a while to prepare and finally serve in this more primitive day and age without microwaves and instant electrical appliances. A half-hour passed before they found their food set before them. Though hungry, Emily hesitated before starting to eat the fried chicken she had ordered. "Marty's still not back yet," she said, sounding concerned as she glanced at his empty seat.

"Weird," Verne commented, not hesitating to dig into his own meal. "Maybe he ducked outside to do something else."

Jules frowned. "You don't think he lied to us and went somewhere he shouldn't've?" he asked, suddenly losing his appetite.

"If he wanted to do that, he could've earlier," Emily said, rather practically. She glanced between her brothers. "You guys should see if he's okay."

"You can, if you're so concerned," Verne said, grinning slyly at her.

Emily looked scandalized. "He went to the bathroom!" she hissed softly. "I can't go in there! I'm not a boy!"

"They might not even have different ones set up for different sexes, now," Jules said thoughtfully. "I'm not really sure if Hill Valley was advanced enough that they had more than one or two bathrooms in here, tops."

"Still," Emily said, clearly blushing, now. "I'm not gonna go barge in when he could be...." The blood in her cheeks deepened in color. "You know, doin' stuff...."

"What kinda stuff, Emmy?" Verne asked, clearly enjoying this conversation, now. "Brushing his teeth? Playing poker? Writing a song?"

Emily looked like she wanted to crawl under the table or smack her brother. "Verne, you're not that stupid!" she whispered. "You know what I mean! You're a boy an' all that."

"And you're a girl," Verne said matter-of-factly, his face completely straight. "I'm curious, Em, what do you think he's doing in there?"

Before the blond could torment his sister much more, Jules put a stop to it, standing. "I'll check it out," he said, tossing his linen napkin on the table and frowning faintly at his younger siblings for acting so childish. "I'll be back as soon as I know what's going on, all right?"

Neither Verne nor Emily stopped him or bothered to protest, which annoyed him all the more, especially since Emmy had been the one to bring the matter up in the first place. He headed off in the direction that he had last seen Marty going and, following his own advice to the musician, stopped one of the first employees he ran into, one of the waiters. "Excuse me, do you know where the rest-- ah, water closet is?" he asked, hoping that was the correct term of the time.

If it wasn't, the waiter didn't react. "At the back," he said, pointing towards a narrow hallway that looked to be just off the kitchen. "First door on the left is the gentlemen's washroom."

"Thanks."

Jules followed the directions, finding the door marked with an etched sign reading "Gentlemen's W.C." A few feet down there was a second door, this one bearing a "Ladies' W.C." sign. Interesting. The med student wondered when the distinguishing of bathrooms according to the sexes had started, since there really hadn't been anything like that when he and his family had still resided in the past. But, of course, plumbing in general back then had been spotty. Their home had been one of the first in Hill Valley to have indoor plumbing installed, the fixtures ordered from back East through the Sears and Roebuck catalogue, in 1890. It had cost a considerable sum, as they had also needed to have a septic system dug for it all. It wasn't until after they had moved to the future that they were able to get connected to the contemporary sewer system.

The bathroom door didn't appear to have a lock. A sign had been draped over the handle. One side presumably read "Unoccupied, as the one currently facing him said: "Occupied -- Please Knock." Jules did just that, tentatively, and listened hard for a response. When there wasn't one, he tried again, and this time thought he heard a groan.

"Marty?" he asked softly, through the wood. "Can I come in?" Jules paused, then added, "Just say if I can't, all right, because otherwise I'm going to open the door." When a minute passed and he wasn't stopped, Jules turned the knob and eased it open, slowly, peering inside.

The "water closet" was small, not much bigger than a regular closet and, presumably, that's what this room had once been before plumbing came in. It contained little more than a decidedly antique pull chain toilet, with a high water tank near the ceiling, and a sink. All the fixtures were porcelain and looked to be cleaned on a regular basis -- something that couldn't be said for most men's rooms in the future. Marty was indeed inside, sitting on the floor next to the toilet with his knees drawn up and his arms hugging his stomach. He looked at Jules as the young man came in, his face the color of ash and bathed in sweat.

"Are you sick?" Jules asked without thinking about it, stepping inside all the way to shut the door. But Marty didn't need to answer; he knew. Since the fall semester began, had been interning at the medical center at UCLA as part of his coursework and education requirements. The work had been beyond tedious, so far, mostly observing doctors and procedures, but he knew the look of someone ill, and Marty was definitely had it.

The musician nodded once. "I think it's the flu," he murmured. "My stomach's killing me, though; I can hardly sit, let alone stand." He closed his eyes and winced.

"Did you vomit?"

"Uh-huh. Twice."

"How long have you been feeling sick? Since we arrived or before we left?"

"Uh... my stomach's been bugging me since I woke up this morning, around ten, but I thought it was from the spicy food I'd eaten last night." He chuckled, rather humorlessly. "Jen thought it might be sympathy pains since she's been so sick. But since the hike into town it's gotten a lot worse, especially in my side."

Jules turned that information over to himself, than blanched at the first diagnosis that came to mind. Oh no, he thought. Oh no, no, no, no, no, I refuse to entertain even the mere notion of that! "Which side?" he asked, keeping his face and voice carefully calm and casual.

"Here." Still holding his gut with one hand, Marty gestured to his lower right side with the other.

"All right, ah.... can I give you a quick examination? I need to check something, and it's rather important."

Marty picked up on something, perhaps a tone in Jules' voice, that he didn't like. "What's wrong?" he asked immediately, suspicious. "Do you think it's food poisoning? I know I'm not allergic to anything that I ate in the last day...."

"A good physician never ventures a guess until he has some stable evidence that points to a diagnosis -- otherwise you can alarm the patient unduly," Jules said smoothly, kneeling down before Marty for a look at the problem. "Roll your shirt up, please, and lean back against the wall. Let me know if this hurts you, all right?"

The musician followed orders without question, moving slowly and stiffly. Recalling his lessons, and several doctors he had so far observed, Jules gently pressed his hands into Marty's stomach, feeling carefully. After a moment he moved down to the lower part of his stomach, to the right, where the pain seemed to be most profound. Marty winced at the touch, but it wasn't until Jules was pulling back, not pushing in, that he got a strong reaction; he jerked back. "Jesus, that hurts! What the hell'd you do?"

Jules glanced at the spot a moment, tempted to press again but not wanting to hurt his friend, then looked up to study Marty's face. After a moment he reached out and put a hand to his damp forehead. It was warm, as expected, and he guessed Marty was running a small fever. "Rebounding tenderness," he muttered to himself as he lowered his hand. "Pain in the lower right quadrant, guarding, low grade fever, nausea and vomiting...." He took a breath of the stale, sour smelling air in the tiny room and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit," he swore softly.

Jules rarely used profanity -- he found it a rather uncreative, useless way of expressing anger and frustration -- so his mention of such a word immediately tipped Marty off that something was definitely wrong. "Jules, what's the deal?" he asked, tentatively touching the spot that the med student had pressed on to elicit the pain.

"I'm not sure yet," he lied, rather unconvincingly, even to his ears, pulling himself back up to his feet. "Ah, Marty, wait here a minute, all right? I'll be right back...."

Jules left in a hurry, before Marty could ask any more questions he didn't feel like dodging the answers to. Verne and Emily were still at the table, eating, and Jules made a beeline for his brother, leaning in close to his ear for a quiet word. "We got a situation...." he began softly, not wanting Emily to overhear -- a pipe dream. Her head had turned the moment he arrived, and the fact he was practically whispering in Verne's ear had enhanced her curiosity.

"What?" Verne asked in his normal tone. "Did Marty give us the slip and go around wrecking havoc as the evil Eastwood twin?"

"I'm serious, Verne. This isn't funny."

Something in his tone caused the blond to look up from his food, which he had been devouring in large bites. "What?" he wanted to know.

Jules' dark eyes flickered in the direction of Emily, who was watching them with great interest. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Is Marty okay?"

He didn't want to say it, not before her. "Verne, come with me a minute, all right? Emmy, wait here -- we're going to the men's room."

Emily frowned, annoyed and confused, while Verne simply looked at him as if he'd gone mad. He didn't say anything, though, not until they were away from the table and Emily's sharp ears. "What's the deal?" he asked softly as Jules led him towards the back hallway. "Why'd you not want Emmy to hear? Is something wrong?"

Jules bit his lower lip for a moment. "I think so," he said. "Marty's in the bathroom -- he's sick, Verne, and I think it's serious."

Verne sighed, rolling his eyes. "Jesus, can't we take him anywhere with us without him getting hurt or ill? What is it this time? The bubonic plague?"

"No. Worse." Jules paused as they reached the back hallway, lowering his voice just in case Marty was somehow listening through the door. "He's displaying nearly textbook symptoms of appendicitis."

Verne knew how serious that was. Of all the members in their family, he'd been the only one to have his own taken out, when he was fourteen. Fortunately, they had been at home when it had happened and had been able to get prompt medical treatment and surgery before it had burst. He'd been in the hospital only three days and the scar he bore wasn't more than an inch long. Clara had been astonished by that, as in her times such a diagnosis almost always meant death or at the very least a considerably longer recuperation period.

"All right," Verne said, calmly. "Then we gotta leave now."

"We can't." Jules squirmed a little, not liking what he was about to say. "He's too far advanced. He can't walk out to the train now; I don't think he'll be able to stand. And we don't have that much time even if one of us took a horse out there and got the machine and flew it back here. The area is starting to get firm to the touch, and that's a sure sign that if it doesn't come out, like, right now, there are going to be serious, possibly deadly, complications."

Chapter Four

Monday, December 23, 1912
3:44 P.M.

"Nice -- there goes your uneventful trip."

"This is serious, Verne." Jules frowned at his brother, annoyed by his rather flippant attitude. "Stop acting like an ass."

"Well, what do you expect me to do? Might as well keep things light at times like this... did you tell Marty your happy news yet?"

"What news is that?"

Jules and Verne turned around at the sound of the question, finding Emily staring at them both from less than a foot away, concerned, her hands on her hips. "Is something wrong with Marty?"

The brothers looked at each other a moment. Verne shrugged; Jules sighed, then looked at their sister. "He needs to have an appendectomy; his appendix needs to come out," he said, honest.

Emily chewed on her lower lip a moment, troubled by this news. "So we're gonna go home and take him to the hospital?"

"No -- there's not enough time. It's going to have to come out here."

Verne snorted softly at that. "Not by you, I hope. You're not a doc, yet, Jules, and if you tried anything now they'd kick you outta med school faster than you could blink."

Jules wasn't concerned by the words. "They wouldn't know about it, obviously, but I'm not stupid. I know I can't do that sort of surgery alone -- not yet, and certainly not unassisted. I'd only attempt that if we were in extremely dire circumstances where he would die before we could get him to a more reputable and experienced doctor."

Emily paled. "Is he gonna die?" she all but whispered, horrified.

"If he does, there go any future trips without Dad," Verne quipped.

Jules shot his brother a sharp look, already sick of his teasing on that matter. "He's not going to die," he said. "And this could've just as well happened if he'd gone with Dad somewhere. I don't think we'll get blamed for having some spectacular bad luck."

Emily didn't look like she really cared about that at the moment. "Is Marty still in the bathroom?" she asked, creeping towards the door even as she spoke.

"Unless he somehow moved in the last couple minutes, yes."

"Good." She was reaching for the doorknob before either of her brothers could stop her, pushing it open. Marty was still sitting on the floor and he looked only mildly startled at Emily's entrance, the vast majority of his attention clearly taken by the pain he was in. Emily hesitated a moment in the doorway, then hurried to his side and knelt down next to him, putting an arm around his shoulder to console him. "You're gonna be okay," she said confidently, rubbing his arm.

"I hope so," Marty said, lost as to what she had meant by that. He looked at Jules and Verne as they returned to the room, which was far too crowded now, with four people in it. "What's going on, Jules? Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Jules saw no reason to deny that. His education had told him the best way to inform someone of a potentially serious condition was to do it straightaway, directly and honestly. In general, people appreciated that, even if the news wasn't encouraging or pleasant to accept. "Unless I'm grossly mistaken -- and I don't think I am -- you've got acute appendicitis, Marty."

"What?!" He started to move, then settled back against the wall with a grimace twisting his face at the pain that apparently provoked. "That -- that can't happen now!"

Jules sighed. "It is. You're completely textbook -- rather nice, actually, since if you weren't then... well, let's not go there. Appendicitis is a tricky thing to diagnose in general because the symptoms can mimic the flu, UTIs, or something of that nature, which is why some people might end up having unnecessary surgery. Usually a blood test and ultrasound can confirm things and--"

"Jules, stop giving him the history of it all," Verne said impatiently. "If you're right about what you said earlier then you're just wasting perfectly good time."

The med student blinked. "Yes, probably," he said, noticing the way Marty had tensed at Verne's remark. Well, there was really no way around being blunt for the next part, either. "Based on your symptoms and the quick examination I did, you're pretty advanced. The appendix hasn't burst yet -- not unless something's changed in the last five minutes and, God, I hope not -- but we're not going to be able to go back home before it does."

The musician was clearly rattled by the news. He took a breath and accepted the hand that Emily offered him to hold. "So what're you saying? That you're going to have to take it out here?" Marty's voice rose in panic. "Jesus Christ, Jules, you're not a doctor, yet! You've never even done surgery before, have you?"

"Uh... on corpses," Jules said, honest. Marty shuddered, looking like he wanted to be sick. "But I'm not suggesting I perform the operation."

"What are you suggesting, then?" Verne asked. "You never really explained it to me out there."

Jules looked at his brother a moment, then at Marty and Emily. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. "Oh, boy," he muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Don't tell me that you don't know, Mister Nothing's-Gonna-Go-Wrong-On-The-Trip," Verne said, his tone disapproving.

Jules opened his eyes to glare at his brother. "Let me think a moment, Verne! We don't want to do anything rash and forgive me for not coming up with some kinda emergency plan in case someone got seriously sick in the couple hours we'd be here!"

"We need to get a doctor," Emily suggested simply. "They can help Marty, now, can't they?"

All eyes turned to their resident medical expert once more, who half shrugged. "The first recorded appendectomy was back in the late 1700's," he said, recalling that mention from one of his textbooks on surgical histories. "So they have that procedure by now, yes, but a lot of people still died from them because they couldn't get them out quickly enough before they burst and dumped fatal loads of bacteria into the bloodstream. You know medical treatment, now -- a lot of doctors still made housecalls and didn't have access to state-of-the-art equipment."

"Oh, God," Marty groaned, not from the pain. "Jules, what the hell are we gonna do? You're the one who knows about all this stuff!"

The young man didn't like the pressure he was feeling, now. "Fine," he muttered, half to himself. He looked at Emily, clinging hard to Marty as if she was afraid Death Himself would rip him bodily from her hands. "Emmy, go out and ask one of the workers in the restaurant where the closest doctor is, or maybe even a hospital. Once you get some directions, come back here, all right?"

The ten-year-old hesitated to pry herself away from her object of affection, especially now that he was holding onto her almost as tightly as she to him. "What if there's no one to help?" she asked.

"Don't try to borrow trouble, Emmy," Verne said. "Do it, all right?"

Emily sighed, removing her hand from Marty's and standing up. To her credit she did hurry away, knowing on some level the urgency of the situation. Once she was out of the room, Jules turned to his brother. "We're gonna have to move him," he said.

"Figured. Isn't that dangerous, though? I mean, could that cause it to burst in him?"

"God, I'm sitting right here!" Marty reminded them with a little moan. "If this is how you normally handle things with patients, Jules, I don't think you're gonna do real well."

"Sorry," Jules said, wincing a little at the well-deserved criticism. "Can you try to stand, Marty? Verne and I can help you walk, but we can't really carry you. Not without attracting a hell of a lot of attention."

"I'll manage," Marty said. He slowly shifted himself onto his knees, then used the toilet to help push himself up to his feet. Based on the expressions that danced across his face, the move caused him a considerable amount of pain, but he didn't complain. Once he was up, he leaned against the wall for support, bent over a little. "Man, if Jennifer hurts anything like this when she has the babies, I'm gonna be the first one to suggest drugs," he said, gasping a little. "I know she's set on this whole natural childbirth stuff, but.... Goddamn."

"Pain is good," Jules said as he and Verne stepped over to help him keep on his feet. "If you start feeling numb down there or it spreads beyond the appendix, let me know immediately. That would be a sign of rupture."

"Wonderful. If that happens am I -- ow, watch it!"

"Sorry," Verne said for the both of them. "We'll try to move as slowly as possible." He looked over Marty's head to Jules. "You sure this is okay, moving him like this?"

"So long as he doesn't run a marathon," Jules said. "Come on, let's go, just one step at a time."

"Right," Marty murmured. "So if it does blow inside, what does that mean? A death sentence?" His light tone couldn't completely conceal his concern behind the question.

"Not necessarily," Jules said, deliberately lying a little. "So long as you are given antibiotics to fight off the bacteria and infection, and we probably have some of those back at the train. And if the doctor -- surgeon, really -- is skilled, then you stand even better chances of pulling through fine. Don't worry, Marty, we'll get you back home alive."

"Yeah," Verne said. "Dad would kill Jules if he didn't. He'd never see the inside of a time machine again."

Jules didn't have the breath to fire back a sharp response. Marty seemed unable or unwilling to stand up straight, pulling down hard on both of the young men. And although he was supposed to be walking, shuffling was a far better description for what he was doing. "I know it hurts, but do you think you could move a little faster?" Jules finally asked after a couple minutes of progress, which put them only a few feet out of the bathroom. "If we keep up at this rate, we won't make it outside until tomorrow."

"I'm trying, but it kinda hurts to do anything," Marty said, a little snappishly. "Do you even know where we're going, now?"

Emily met them, then, skidding to a stop from the run she'd been at. "Found the doctor," she reported breathlessly. "He's 'round the corner and a few buildings down, 'cording to the guy at the front."

"All right, there's where we need to be," Jules said decisively. "Emmy, show us where."

The girl was happy to do so, though she had to be told frequently to slow down. Heads turned as they made their way through the restaurant, though Jules and Verne tried their best to look as nonchalant as possible about what they were doing. Perhaps because of the stares, Marty tried to walk more on his own, though the tradeoff with the pain it caused made him practically whimper. They finally made it outside, and the cold blast of snow that greeted them reminded all that they'd left behind their coats and hats and other winter gear on hooks in the restaurant. Going back in seemed to be too much trouble at the moment, however, especially since Emily claimed the doctor was just a block away, around the corner. It might as well have been on the other side of town for all the time it took them to reach it. The snow, wind, cold, and ice on the streets made the journey that much more miserable than it had been in the restaurant; Jules and Verne were gasping just as hard as Marty was by the time they reached the office of the town physician.

Emily had already gone up to the door and knocked on it by the time her brothers and Marty had arrived. They had only a minute to wait, then, before it was opened by a tall, dark haired man that they could only presume was the doctor. He wasn't very old -- maybe a few years older than Marty, in his early thirties -- but there was a sharpness in his dark eyes that struck Jules immediately. He glanced at Emily, first, then at the trio of young men hanging a few feet back.

"Are you the doctor?" Emily asked, rather needlessly.

"I am." The voice was vaguely familiar, comfortingly so, and it took Jules aback for a second -- did they know this man? Before he could ponder it further, however, the doctor took a step out on the porch and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Acute appendicitis," Jules said, automatically providing a bullet for the local physician. "Pain started several hours ago but has gotten worse in the last hour or so. He's running a low grade fever now and vomited a couple times. I gave him a quick examination and found there's rebounding and a little guarding present on the lower right side near MacBirnie's Point, so I suspect there's not much time left before it'll burst."

The local doctor stared at Jules for a moment, surprised by the flood of information. "Are you a doctor?" he asked.

"I'm a third year med student," Jules said, fairly certain that the explanation wouldn't cause any problems here. Medical school, even in these times, was a long and involved process. The response didn't provoke any unusual reactions, the doctor merely nodding as he stepped down from the porch to help Marty, once more bent over oddly.

"Can you make it inside?" he asked the musician, who was biting his lower lip against the pain in his gut. Marty took a moment in answering.

"I guess so, if I can get off my feet once I'm in there."

"Absolutely." The doctor helped him up the steps, relieving Jules and Verne of the duty, and called out ahead of him, directing his voice through the ajar door. "Sarah! We've got an urgent case!"

There were quick footsteps from inside, then a young woman appeared in the doorway. She looked to be in her mid or late twenties, tall and slender, with a rather plain sort of face. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and a few stray waves fluttered about her cheeks, giving her a faintly disheveled look. Her blue eyes were kind, however, and she moved forward immediately to assist the doctor.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Possible appendicitis," the doctor said. "This young man here--" He nodded to Jules as they went through the door and into the building, the Brown siblings following immediately behind. "--is a medical student and believes he's suffering from the later stages of acute appendicitis."

Sarah, whoever she was, frowned at this news. She glanced at Jules as they went through another doorway and into what appeared to be an examination room in the back. "How much training have you had?" she asked as she and the doctor settled Marty down on an examination table.

"Two-and-a-half years of medical school," Jules said. "I've been doing clerkship rotations at the hospital since the school year began as well. I just finished my surgical one."

"Then you could be mistaken," Sarah said, her tone matter-of-fact. "That's a challenging diagnosis to make, even fully educated."

"I think he's right, though," Verne said, speaking up for the first time as the doctor rolled up Marty's shirts to get a firsthand look at the problem area. "I got my appendix out about six years ago and looked about as good as Marty is looking now right before it came out."

Jules looked at his brother and frowned a little, unhappy with his use of their friend's name to these strangers. Verne looked back at him rather blankly, not understanding the displeased expression on his older brother's face. It wasn't the time or place to discuss it, however. As the doctor felt around Marty's abdomen and hit the sensitive spot, the musician let out a soft cry of pain and recoiled as much as he could, lying down and surrounded by people on all sides. The doctor smiled at him but, rather than one of reassurance, the expression came out grim.

"Sorry," he apologized, looking to Jules. "You may be right. We've got to get him to the hospital."

"You mean Hill Valley actually has one now?" Emily asked, surprised. "I thought doctors just did house calls now and stuff?"

The local doctor and Sarah looked confused by her words, but not as much as Jules would've expected. While Verne gave their sister a good pinch on the arm for such a remark, Sarah answered her question.

"It hasn't been around terribly long," she said. "They finished building it just two years ago. The doctor still keeps his office out here, but they'd like him to work full time at Morris General. He's been splitting his time between there and here, since he's one of the finest surgeons in the county." There was an unmistakable note of pride in her voice at this news, and Jules wondered for the first time if she was perhaps the doctor's wife. Both, he now saw, wore wedding bands, though he wasn't sure if that meant they were indeed wed to one another.

"Morris General?" Marty muttered from the table, still following the conversation in spite of his discomfort. "Never heard of it...."

"Which you wouldn't because we're not from this area," Jules said, very quickly, realizing immediately that they were going to have to do something about their true identities. He turned to the doctor. "We were passing through on our way to San Francisco, to visit family for the holidays, and this storm slowed us down." He gestured to one of the curtained windows in the back room, implying the snow that lay beyond. "I'm guessing he'll need surgery...?" he added to the doctor, now glancing at Marty.

"Most definitely, and immediately. Sarah, put in a ring to the hospital, will you? Let them know that we've got a patient who will be needing an appendectomy. I'll lead."

"Certainly," Sarah said calmly, heading for the door. "Don't worry," she added to Marty as she passed by him. "My husband is a very competent doctor. You're in good hands with Doctor Von Braun."

The name hung in the air a moment, familiar to both Jules and his brother, if the confused and thoughtful expression that passed over Verne's face was any indication. Marty was the first to react to it, however, pushing himself up into a half sitting position to study the doctor a moment before the pain made it too difficult. He fell back to the exam table with a pale face, but his condition couldn't be entirely to blame for that, apparently. "Goddamn," Jules heard him whisper, the tone more amazed than anything else.

Emily misinterpreted the reason for the word and moved closer to his side, concerned, taking his hand once more. "It'll be all right, Marty," she said soothingly, patting the back of his palm. "They'll fix ya right up, right, Jules?"

Jules hardly heard her, though, his eyes following Dr. Von Braun as he moved quickly about the room, gathering supplies from the looks of it. There was something familiar about the name, something familiar about the way the man moved and spoke.... And then it all came together, the realization so startling that the med student gasped aloud and took a step back. "Oh my God," he murmured.

They had brought Marty directly to the one person they shouldn't've: Emmett Brown's father, their grandfather, Robert Von Braun.

Verne seemed to understand about the same time; he shook his head in amazement. Only Emily was oblivious, her attention fully focused on Marty. "Can you give him anything for the pain?" she asked the doctor, looking up.

"Morphine," their future grandfather said.

"Morphine?" Marty repeated, sounding a little alarmed. "Wait a minute, isn't that a little harsh?"

"Not really," Jules said, speaking carefully in order to give Marty the information he wanted without tipping the doctor off with anything he shouldn't know. "Not with the technology now. It's still an excellent pain killer and I suspect it will be in the future, as well."

"Yeah," Verne assured the musician. "They gave that to me before I got my appendix out. I hated it, though. Made me feel way too loopy, not in a good way."

Marty didn't look happy with that bit of news. "Isn't there anything else?" he asked, directing the question to Jules.

He shook his head minutely as the doctor spoke. "Not really. And it would be best all around if I gave you a shot now so the transport to the hospital won't be terribly trying." That said, the doctor excused himself from the room, perhaps to fetch the said drug.

The moment he was out of the room, Verne said what the rest of them, save Emily, were already thinking. "Jesus Christ, I can't believe it!" he half whispered, lest his voice carry beyond the open door. "Dad's gonna have a stroke over this!"

"Stop being so melodramatic, Verne," Jules told him, not in the mood. "The situation is far too serious."

Verne rolled his eyes. "It's a big deal, Jules," he said bluntly. "No way would Dad want us hanging out with his parents -- especially before he's born!"

Emily dragged her attention away from Marty long enough to frown at her blond brother, puzzled. "What are you talking about? What do Daddy's parents have to do with all this?"

"That's who the doctor and his wife are," Marty said softly, closing his eyes and grimacing. "Doc's parents; your grandparents. And Verne's right -- he's gonna have a stroke when he finds out about this."

Emily blinked, then smiled widely. "You mean they're our grandparents? Cool!"

"Not cool," Jules corrected. "The chances of us inadvertently altering history -- theirs and ours -- is too great to make this enjoyable." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "This couldn't be much worse."

"No way," Emily argued. "This is fantastic! I never gotta chance to meet any of our grandparents before. Do you know how much that sucks, not having any around? And don't say you both know 'cause you at least met Gramma and Grandpa Clayton."

"Jules is right, though, Emmy," Marty said. "If any of us do something that somehow changes your grandparents' past, then we could all be in big trouble."

Emily shrugged and likely would've said more on the matter had their grandfather not returned to the room. In his hand he carried a loaded syringe and the musician frowned at the sight of it. "The pain isn't that bad," he said, clearly lying. "You don't have to shoot me up with anything...."

Dr. Von Braun saw right through that ruse. "Oh? Then you can sit up and walk out to the automobile outside?"

"Sure," Marty said, though it was obviously to everyone that he was lying once more through his teeth. He composed himself a moment, then pushed himself up, quickly. He blinked a few times, eyes widening and his mouth trembling a little, but didn't complain aside from a faint whimper that seemed to come from the back of his throat. Jules watched, both amused and horrified, as he swung his legs over the side of the table and hopped to the floor. Somehow, he managed to stand up straight, though if the barely concealed expression of pain on his face was any indication, it wasn't easy. He shuffled to the doorway in short little steps, then grabbed hold of it and leaned against it, panting hard from his brief journey.

"Give it up, Marty," Verne suggested lightly, though the expression on his face betray a very real concern. "It's not like you'll be less of a man if you can't do it."

Marty didn't answer him. Looking rather annoyed by the unwise behavior, Dr. Von Braun walked over to the musician, tugged back his sleeve, and plunged the needle into his arm before Marty could react. "Hey!" Marty cried, outraged. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Relieving some of the suffering that you're being arrogant enough to prolong," the doctor said bluntly, sounding eerily like the son he would someday have. "We don't have time for this. Ah.... I'm sorry, what are your names?" He gestured to the lot of them.

"I'm Emily," the girl said helpfully, beaming up at her grandfather. Jules said a silent prayer of thanks that she hadn't blurted out her last name in that information. "And that's Verne, Jules, and Marty," she added, pointing to each in turn.

Von Braun, thankfully, didn't press them for further information. "Jules and Verne, can you help him outside?" he asked, waggling his hand at Marty. "I'll fetch the automobile and bring it around."

Jules watched as he hurried away once more, then went to Marty's side to lend an arm of support to their friend, wavering unsteadily despite the solid doorway he was hanging onto. He still looked irked from the unpermitted injection. "Isn't stuff like that against some kinda doctor's code?"

"It depends," Jules said. "The oath is 'first do no harm,' and if the patient isn't cooperating or unable to give their written or verbal consent, we do what we can to keep them alive and well. If someone rejects a treatment or suggestion, though, we have to respect that. But in these less PC times, I'm not surprised that the doctor did that to you. This is still the frontier, after all."

Marty didn't like that answer. "This makes me feel so much better that the guy is gonna slice me open....."

The med student rolled his eyes at the attitude. "Don't bitch," he said. "Morphine may have some side effects to it, but I think you'll enjoy the benefits a lot more right now. Just give it a few minutes to kick in."

Chapter Five

Monday, December 23, 1912
4:38 P.M.

Jules and Verne were both right. It didn't take too long for the drug to kick in -- five minutes, tops -- and, although it diminished the pain in his side, Marty didn't very much care for the numb and spaced-out feelings that went with it. By the time Dr. Von Braun and his wife had fetched the car -- a real impressive antique, though of course, such a thing was cutting edge now -- he was saying little, finding that the ability to concentrate on anything had been stripped from him in the name of reduced pain. While Emily rode in the front seat with the doctor and Verne, Marty found himself sandwiched in between Jules and Sarah Von Braun who, he recalled from comments by Doc at one point or another, was a practicing nurse. The way she kept a sharp eye on him and monitored his pulse only made it clear that she took her job quite seriously.

The drive to the hospital that Marty had never heard of didn't seem to take too long in his view. He wasn't sure if it was because the town was smaller, now, putting everything in a closer proximity, or if another side effect of the morphine was an inability to keep track of time. Personally, Marty suspected it was the latter, especially since the weather was worsening, causing a need for slow and careful driving on the icy roads.

Once they arrived at the hospital -- a building that Marty was completely positive he'd never seen or heard of before -- Jules and Verne helped him from the car and through the doorway marked "Emergency First Aid." Oddly, the lobby that they entered was sparsely populated to the point of being almost dead. Marty guessed that a place like Hill Valley on a day like this wasn't exactly like that TV show Jen liked to watch, "ER."

Sarah showed their group to what looked to be a rather sterile examing room, told Marty to get undressed and into one of the gowns that the institution provided, then left again to move the car while her husband scrubbed up and prepared for surgery. There was a curtain partition set up that, thankfully, provided him some degree of privacy in changing, especially since Emily had followed them into the room. "What's going to happen next?" he called to the others in the room as he started to undress slowly behind the curtain, the pain not entirely vanquished by the drug and the layers on him more complicated only in being period clothing he wasn't used to wearing on a normal basis. As foggy as the morphine made him feel, he had to admit that if he hadn't had it, simple acts like removing his boots would've been impossible right now.

"The operation," Jules said. "I can't see why they'd delay it."

Marty swallowed hard at the answer, his mouth bone dry. A problem that was supposedly a side effect from the morphine, according to Jules. "Wonderful," he muttered, letting his button-down shirt drop to the floor and reaching for the sorry excuse of a "gown" that the hospital provided. "Are you sure they can handle this thing without killing me now?"

"For the most part," Jules said. "Think of it this way -- if you wait and don't get it removed, you'll be all but giving yourself a certain death sentence when the appendix bursts and releases toxic doses of bacteria into your blood stream. People can survive that in our time, yes, but I think the odds are grossly less now. You'll have better odds getting it removed, even now."

Marty half sighed and half groaned at the news, feeling nauseated for a reason he knew wasn't connected to his problem right now. His side gave him a dull stab of discomfort as he took another breath.

"It won't be so bad, Marty," Verne assured him, his voice confident. "You're out the whole time they're slicing you open and when you come out of it, you're still pretty drugged up so it doesn't hurt much -- at least not until the next day."

The musician frowned, not cheered or comforted by the idea of being knocked out, not with whatever methods they had now. "What would they use on me to do that?" he asked. "Chloroform?"

"I'd doubt it," Jules said. "I suspect ether or perhaps nitrous oxide -- laughing gas -- combined with something like halothane, enflurane, or isoflurane. It's safe, but I know they're not using those methods as much in the future because of the side effects after the surgery -- nausea and vomiting."

The news kept getting better and better. Marty gritted his teeth together as he worked on what would probably be the most painful process of changing for him -- getting his pants off. "What about antibiotics -- they have those now, right?"

There was a brief silence from the other side of the curtain. Marty poked his head around the side for a look, seeing a frowning Jules seated on the edge of the exam table, while Emily was occupied with investigating some of the decidedly antique-looking tools laid out nearby and Verne leaned back against the wall near the door, arms folded. "Is that a no, Jules?" Marty asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

Jules shrugged. "I believe so," he admitted, reluctantly. "Antibiotics weren't really put to use until the 1930s and 40s. As I said earlier, though, I think there are some in the train. But we won't be able to get them and bring them back before the surgery, not with the weather like this."

Marty ducked back behind the curtain, unnerved by the answer. "So what does that mean?"

"We should pray for no complications during surgery."

Jules wasn't joking. The musician swallowed again, hard, genuinely scared, now. He finished changing as quickly as he could, stepping back out into the room just as the door opened and Dr. Von Braun came in. He was wearing what Marty could only presume was a contemporary version of scrubs, a rather sterile-looking white smock-like outfit, complete with head cap. Wire rimmed glasses now sat perched on the edge of his nose, making him look a little older and more scholarly than he had upon first meeting.

"Are you ready?" he asked Marty.

"No," Marty said, honestly. "Are you sure we have to do this now....?"

"Yes," the doctor said. "I'm going to scrub in. Sarah will be along in a few moments to prepare an IV and administer a shot before we take you into the operating room. Make yourself comfortable on the stretcher." He indicated the object set near the door.

Marty took a breath when the doctor left once more, making his way to the stretcher. "This is happening so Goddamned fast," he half murmured, looking at Jules again. "This can't be normal.... Why aren't they running any tests? Doing any more exams?"

"Not necessary," Jules said. "The diagnosis has been made, this needs to happen right now, and the technology and methods aren't like they will be in the future, especially in a place like Hill Valley."

Emily gave him a tentative smile as Marty tried to ease himself onto the stretcher, slowly. "It'll be over soon," she said. "You'll be okay, then you can have a real exciting story to tell later, right?"

"I'd rather skip it." He groaned aloud as he had to take a little hop up and back to get on the stretcher. Verne started to move to help, but Marty looked at him and shook his head, denying the offer before it could be made, and simply clenched his teeth together as he scooted back away from the edge and swung his legs up onto the thin mattress. He supposed there was one pro with things being as they were now -- Jennifer wasn't having to worry herself sick, or sicker, over him. On the other hand, if things took a bad turn....

The concern must've been clear on his face. "Emmy's right, Marty, you'll be fine," Verne assured him.

"Will I?" He looked over at Jules, watching him carefully. "They sterilized things now, right?"

The med student nodded after a moment's thought. "Don't think about all this stuff," he said. "The medical personnel, not you, have everything under control. And coming from a time like ours, it would naturally seem a lot more dangerous and primitive. But people did have this operation and survive, Marty, especially if it was caught early enough."

"Yeah," Emily said, nodding. "And Daddy's dad wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Marty smiled wanly at her blind confidence in the matter as he lay down on the stretcher and pulled the thin sheet over him, a rather pointless thing in warding off the chill in the air. The ache in his side eased up a little with him stretching out on his back, rather than sitting or standing, but it was still uncomfortable. Either the morphine was already wearing off or things were getting worse.

He wasn't sure if he was relieved or nervous that Doc's father was going to be the one conducting the surgery. From all he'd heard mentioned about Robert Von Braun -- and it wasn't really that much; Doc didn't tend to discuss his parents or childhood terribly often -- he'd been given the impression that the man had been a talented and competent doctor. If he wasn't in so much pain and so scared, now, he would be fascinated by this opportunity to meet the man -- and the woman -- that would end up producing Emmett Brown.

Ironically, Sarah entered, then, without knocking, pushing a small cart laden with a several bottles, needles, syringes, and tubing. Marty couldn't help tensing up at the sight of it all. What the hell are they gonna do now? he wondered, his blood running cold.

His unvoiced question was answered a moment later by Sarah. "I'm going to start the IV," she said. "Then give you a shot to help you relax before we take you into surgery."

"All right," Marty answered numbly. He extended his left arm for Sarah and she went to work quickly as he deliberately looked away, towards the wall, not up to seeing her stick him with needles.

"I'm sorry your travels were interrupted by this," she said to them all. "Especially with the holidays so close."

"Better it happened here than somewhere else," Verne said reasonably. "I know I'm glad we're not stuck out in that." He jerked a thumb towards one of the curtained windows where, beyond, the snow was no doubt continuing to fall in the darkening streets.

"It's good fortune, to be sure. Are you family?"

"Yes," Jules said immediately, before anyone else could venture an answer. "Marty -- ah, Martin -- is the oldest of us and Emily's the youngest."

"Ah," Sarah said. "But I see you're married?" She directed her question to Marty, now, who looked over at her in surprise, focusing on her face rather than her hands as she was working on setting the IV into his arm.

"How'd you know?"

The nurse lightly touched his left hand for a moment. "You wear a ring," she said, the explanation so simple that the musician immediately felt like a dolt. "Did you want us to let your wife know? We could send a cable if there isn't a telephone where she is...."

Still numbed by the morphine, at least mentally, it took Marty a minute to answer. "Ah.... no, that's okay. She already knew we were stuck and I don't want her to worry now when there's nothing she can do. She's expecting our first baby, now. Well, babies, actually -- it's gonna be twins."

"Oh, congratulations," Sarah said, smiling warmly. "You must be very excited."

Marty returned the smile, if a little woozily. "Yeah," he said, honest. "But she's had a hard time of it so far, so I don't think anyone needs to let her know about this. My... brothers can keep her and the rest of our family posted once things aren't so uncertain."

The woman nodded. "That's sensible. I've got the IV in," she added, quickly changing the subject, "so you can relax, now. It should keep you from getting dehydrated during and after surgery, especially since you won't be able to eat anything for a few days."

"Great...."

"I'm going to give you a shot, now. It should make you sleepy, but it won't put you to sleep. We won't do that until you're in the OR. I think it'll allow you to relax a little, however, and not fret so much about the operation. You'll be in good hands."

Marty nodded, then felt the prick of another needle in his arm as she administered the shot. "Lie still -- I'll be right back," she said, gathering together the supplies she had come in with and then leaving.

The musician eyeballed the IV bottle suspended on a stand next to his stretcher and the tube leading from it that now went into his arm. Although he'd just been given something to help him relax, he felt oddly panicky, more so than earlier. He was trapped, now, tethered to this tube and in minutes he was going to be stuck in an operating room, surrounded by strangers, knocked out and at the mercy of their antiquated medical skills.... Marty felt his heart start to race and a band of pressure tightened around his chest, making it hard to breathe. He knew he was panicking but he didn't feel he was being too irrational, either. In spite of the words of encouragement and calm that the others were saying, he knew that they -- with the possible exception of Emily -- were aware of how grave his situation was. Past medical problems he'd had in foreign times -- which had been quite serious in their own rights -- paled next to this one. Marty almost would've preferred another bullet in the shoulder from a mad Doc now than this.

Sarah returned far too soon and gave him another warm, reassuring smile. "They're ready," she said, moving to push the stretcher into the hallway and what lay beyond. But Marty reached out with his right arm and grabbed onto her, stopping her from doing what she had come to do.

"I'm not," he said in earnest.

Marty sensed, rather than saw, an irritation over his unprovoked protest. "There's nothing to be frightened about," she said, trying to pry his fingers off her arm.

"There's plenty to be frightened about," he countered. "That's why I want him in there if I gotta do this." He gestured to Jules. The young man looked startled by the request, and he wasn't the only one; the words had surprised Marty just as much. To a degree he still thought of Jules as a kid, but it was also clear that he was smart and knew his stuff in the field of medicine. Marty didn't want Jules to actually operate on him, but he was more at ease with the idea of the med student keeping an eye on the procedures to make sure they wouldn't do anything weird or dangerous -- like sticking leeches on him or something.

"I can't allow that," Sarah said. "Only doctors and nurses are allowed in there."

"He's close enough," Marty said, not willing to back down. "I never said I want him doing the surgery, but he can observe, at least. I know he's done that already and it's part of the whole education thing."

Sarah looked at Jules, now. "Where are you enrolled?"

There was a brief hesitation. "Harvard," he finally said, not batting an eye at the blatant lie. Marty didn't get it at first -- then realized that, in this time, either UCLA didn't exist or else had no medical program. Harvard, he knew, had been around for a while and no doubt had some kind of reputation by now. Sarah's nod merely confirmed the notion.

"You're in your third year of education?"

"Yes. I'm returning after the holiday break. I've already started my rotations through the clerkship programs and have had the chance to observe surgical medical procedures. I'll admit I'd be happy to sit in on this, both to put Marty's mind to rest and because I haven't witnessed an appendectomy yet. I don't have to actually do anything."

Sarah glanced at Marty, who was still holding onto her arm, then back to Jules. "I have to speak with the doctor about this," she said. "It's a rather unconventional request." Her eyes turned back to the patient. "He may not permit it."

"Then tell him I won't go in unless he does," Marty said. He wasn't bluffing, not really, but he also knew that it wasn't going to happen that way. Between the morphine, his sideache, and the recent shot given to him -- which, indeed, had a not-so-unpleasant effect of making him feel more relaxed and at ease -- he doubted he could put up much of a fight. And if the local medical personnel wouldn't be trying to restrain him into surgery, Jules and Verne most certainly would.

"I would strongly advise against that, not unless you want to die a most painful and unwarranted death," Sarah said crisply, stepping away from the stretcher and hurrying from the room, no doubt to fetch her husband. As soon as the door closed behind her, Verne put in his two cents.

"Jeez, Marty, did all the drugs they give you go to your head that badly? Why the hell would you want -- let alone trust -- Jules to be in the front row of your operation? Isn't that getting a little too personal, there?"

"If Marty is comfortable with it -- and I'm assuming he is because he asked -- then I am as well," Jules said, raking his brother with a look of annoyance.

"And you don't feel weird about that?" Verne asked his brother. "I thought it was against the rules to deal with treating friends and family firsthand?"

"Hardly," Jules said. "I'm a professional. I know you find it hard to believe, Verne, but people trust me with their lives at school."

"You're right, I do find that hard to believe," Verne said, rolling his eyes. "I heard all they let students like you do is follow around doctors and take notes while they rattle off everything. Play God my ass."

Marty winced, both from the bickering and the pain. In some ways it was amusing that Jules and Verne still did that, especially now that they were both in their twenties. When Jules was away at school during most of the year, things were a little more peaceful around the Brown household, perhaps due to the wide spacings in ages between the remaining kids in the home. But the moment Jules set foot on the property, both young men regressed to their old habits of teasing and irritating one another, familiar with each other's sore points. There was a strange undercurrent of affection to it, though, and Marty knew that it was their odd way of getting along and showing affection. Except, now, such teasing and smart remarks were wearing thinner than the crappy hospital gown he had to wear.

"Look, Jules is just gonna be my insurance that those people aren't gonna do anything weird," Marty said. "He many not be an official doc yet, but he's way better than nothing!"

Verne gave a half shrug. "It's your life," was his opinion. "The doctors might not let 'im in, though."

Fortunately, in the views of both Marty and Jules, they did. Sarah returned a few minutes later with the news, though whether it surprised or displeased her was impossible to tell. After directing Jules down the hall to change, she once more tried to push Marty's stretcher out the door, and this time he let her. Verne and Emily watched him go, the former projecting a rather confident expression and giving a jaunty thumbs up and the latter looking a little scared. Marty didn't blame Emily at all. The fear he had was still there, but there was a certain resignation he felt now, too. He was stuck and there was really no other way out of this.

They went down the hall and up a floor on an elevator that would've made the musician nervous if he hadn't had more pressing things on his mind -- or that shot to relax him, which was making him feel a little sleepy. He kept his eyes open, however, uneasy enough that he intended to remain conscious until Jules put in an appearance, at least.

"How long is this gonna take?" he asked Sarah as she pushed him off the elevator and down another nondescript hall to, presumably, the operating room.

"The surgery? A few hours, perhaps, providing there are no complications."

"So you're gonna have me out the whole time? Unconscious?"

"Of course," Sarah said, her tone indicating that the very idea of a patient being awake for any part of the procedure was ludicrous. "You will not be aware of a thing, I promise you."

They reached the swinging doors that led into the OR and went inside, Marty's feet going first. There were two doctors in there, another nurse, but no sign of Jules. Marty recognized one of the men as Robert Von Braun, in spite of the mask the doctor now wore around two thirds of his face. The other one -- a shorter, stockier man with thick glasses -- was a mystery to him for only a minute.

"This is Doctor Bryant; he'll be assisting with the surgery," Dr. Von Braun explained as the two nurses helped him from the stretcher to the rather cold-looking metallic operation table. "I'm going to give you a quick examination, now, then we'll put you to sleep and get started."

"All right," Marty agreed rather listlessly. The pain was coming back, now, as the morphine most definitely was wearing off, and he didn't relish the thought of being poked again down there. But Doc's father conducted his exam as quickly and as gently as he could, his eyes serious when he finished.

"Let's get started," he said, gesturing to the second doctor, Bryant. The shorter man moved towards Marty with what appeared to be a handful of gauze or cloth, just big enough to slip over his nose and mouth.

"Wait," Marty said, even as the unfamiliar dark-haired nurse covered him with a clean sheet, no doubt in preparation for the imminent incision. "I'm not letting you start 'til Jules is here."

Robert was showing impatience. "Your situation is critical," he said. "If the appendix hasn't already ruptured, it will shortly. We can't delay this any longer." He motioned to the second doctor. "Eugene, administer the ether."

Marty tensed at the approach, but he was startled a second later by a clatter from behind, out of sight. Jules hurried into his view a moment later, the white doctor's scrubs he wore a little loose and ill fitting, borrowed, probably. He was a little breathless, as if he'd been running, and the first words out of his mouth were an apology. "I hurried as fast as I could," he said, holding up his still-dripping and freshly scrubbed hands as proof. "I didn't delay things, did I?"

Rather than annoyance, Marty imagined he saw a smile in the eyes of Jules' grandfather. It was hard to tell with the mask concealing almost his entire face, however. "Not by more than a moment," he said, then looked down at Marty. "May we proceed, now?"

The question was rather rhetorical; no matter his answer, they would. The musician took a breath of the medicinal-smelling air. "Sure," he said. Dr. Bryant stepped forward with the gauze again. Marty's eyes flickered to Jules, standing a few feet behind the doctors. The med student nodded once, his eyes -- the only part of him really visible with the mask over his face from the bridge of his nose down -- calm. Marty stared at him a moment, then Bryant closed the gauze over his nose and mouth. The chemical immediately made his head spin.

"Just take a few deep breaths," the doctor said, his voice carrying a trace of a British accent. "Don't fight it."

But Marty did, out of sheer instinct. It was hard to relax surrounded by strangers, lying on a cold metal table in a place that was very far from home. He held his breath for a moment, not thinking about it, then exhaled and dragged in air through the ether-soaked gauze. The swimmy feeling in his head increased by a tenfold and the edges of the room seemed to dim and mist away. His eyes felt woefully heavy, encouraging him to just close and let go, but Marty fought it enough to blink one more time.

Then he took another breath. His eyes closed. His thoughts grew more muddled as other sensations began to fade out. Is this it? he wondered, not immune to feeling a pinprick of fear. He thought of Jennifer, then, eighty-five years in the future and blissfully unaware of her husband's condition. And what about Doc... they weren't going to make it home on time, for sure. Was he going to come after them? Or would they return back on time in the future, and if so, did that mean that the operation... that's what was going on, wasn't it? Was it a success? Or was he... had he....

Marty let go and drifted off.

* * *

After a moment of holding the ether over Marty's mouth and nose, Dr. Bryant removed it and stepped back. He reached for a stethoscope and listened for a moment to the time traveler's pulse and respiration, though Jules was all but positive Marty was out; patients that were given general anesthesia, like those who were very ill, had a certain stillness about them that couldn't quite be duplicated, not unless they were locked into a coma or something. After a moment Bryant nodded and removed the earpieces from his ears.

"We may proceed," he said.

Sarah pushed a small table filled with tools towards the operating table as the other nurse covered Marty with another clean sheet, pulling this one up to his chin. Jules watched from a few feet away, his view good. He hadn't been entirely lying to Marty about this -- he was definitely happy to watch, excited by both the idea of seeing an appendectomy for the first time and how surgeries were conducted in the past. It did bother him a little that the patient was an old friend, but Jules ignored the rather queasy feelings provoked by that, not finding it acceptable for a professional to have. He took a deep breath, instead, purposely keeping his eyes away from Marty's face and trying to summon the clinical feeling of detachment that he would be needing in his field of study. He felt, almost, that this was a test of sorts. If he could participate in this surgery -- even just watching it -- then he could handle just about anything happening to anyone and everyone he knew.

Robert glanced at him as he selected a scalpel. "Did you want to watch me make the incision?" he asked. "You can come closer, now, and assist. You won't be in the way."

Sarah's brow crinkled in a frown. "Robert, the patient didn't want him to participate directly in the operation," she said. "We should respect his wishes; this is his brother."

"He is also a student and wanted to be in here to better his education," Dr. Von Braun told his wife. "You know that there's a policy at this institution to teach, if possible." He looked at Jules for a moment. "If you're not comfortable, you don't have to help," he said. "I understand if being directly involved with a family member's surgery would be too upsetting."

"I can handle it," Jules said, managing to sound more confident than he felt. To prove just that to the others, he took a couple of steps forward until he was standing next to his grandfather at Marty's side.

Robert had already slid aside the sheets and Marty's gown to reveal the bare skin of his lower abdomen, swelling, now, from the infection. He felt the area a moment, then took the scalpel carefully made a cut almost three inches across -- wide to Jules' eyes, but not for these times -- in the lower right area. Blood immediately oozed to the surface, trickling across the skin and staining the sterile sheets. Jules had seen blood before -- his surgical rotation had required a certain number of surgeries observed, after all -- but seeing this particular incision made him feel weak and lightheaded, almost as if it was his own blood being spilled.

The doctor passed his wife the scalpel for a moment, then reached inside the cut he had just made and... well, presumably went for the appendix. But Jules wasn't exactly sure what happened next, frankly, because in the blink of an eye he found himself suddenly lying down on the floor, as if he'd stretched out in the middle of everything to take a nap. His mind was a little dazed and muddled. Sarah and the other nurse were both staring down at him, having knelt at his side, the former wiping his face with a cool, damp washrag.

"What happened?" he muttered, pushing her hands away and trying to sit up. He hissed a quick breath through his teeth, his hand going to the back of his head, aching dully from a mysteriously formed lump.

"You fainted," Sarah said. "Just after the doctor made the incision. Are you certain you can handle surgery?"

While the med student sat there, blinking rather dumbfoundedly at this news, Dr. Von Braun gave a soft snort. "It's not uncommon to do that as a new physician. I did myself in med school, more than once to my chagrin. Don't be so hard on him, Sarah."

The blonde nurse pursed her lips a moment as Jules mulled over the news. He had fainted? Why? He hadn't had that problem before, not even during some rather gruesome or gory medical emergencies. Not even when other classmates of his had had to leave the room or risk keeling over or getting sick. What was it that made this so different for him to stomach?

The problem nagged at him, hard. "This doesn't normally happen," he insisted as he finally climbed back up to his feet, a little weak, still, but able to manage without help. "I've never fainted during a medical procedure, not even during the most unsightly ones."

The doctor didn't look up from what he was doing, searching for the appendix under the muscle tissue, by the looks. Jules guessed he hadn't been out more than a minute or two. "There's a first time for everything," he said. "Did you want to sit the rest of this one out, or have you regained your wits?"

The mask hid the frown that turned Jules' lips at the implication he was, frankly, a wuss. "I can continue," he said, doing his best to ignore the now-embarrassed feelings gnawing to him at his body's unpermitted reaction. He also tried to do the same with the ache at the back of his head where he presumably struck the floor tiles during his fall. "I don't know why I... did that, but I can assure you that a little blood was not the cause."

"Good. Then hold this."

This was the skin and muscle tissue at the mouth of the incision that was the body's natural protection for the more delicate organs inside. He was used to clamps doing the job and, for some reason, the idea of the task made him inexplicably shudder. But, not wanting to express that discomfort, Jules reached forward and did what was asked of him. The moment his hands touched things through the thick rubber gloves, he felt that same woozy feeling again that had preluded the fainting episode. Before this one could get worse and smack him onto his back, the young man bit his lower lip, hard, the pain slicing through the other sensations in his body and providing a temporary but welcome distraction.

"Good," Robert said, his praise distracted. Jules was tempted to avert his eyes from where his hands were placed, but forced himself to watch instead as the doctor found the cecum to which the appendix was attached and pulled it out through the incision from where it normally lay. The appendix, Jules saw immediately, was definitely inflamed and, thank God, still in one piece.

"How is the patient?" Von Braun asked his colleague, who was keeping a careful eye on Marty's vitals.

"Stable," Dr. Bryant said. "Pulse is strong and steady."

The same could not be said for Jules', who found his heart beginning to accelerate rather uncontrollably, ignorant of his now-throbbing lip. His eyes flickered to the incision, then to Marty's closed eyes, parted lips, and very still face. He felt that sick, dizzy feeling again. Get a grip, Brown, he told himself as firmly as he could, darting his eyes away to the rather bland scenery of the wall. You've seen a lot worse and been fine. It's just an appendectomy and you need to stay with it for Marty's sake.

"Clamp," Dr. Von Braun said to the other nurse. She passed him one and he went to work fastening it between the appendix and mesoappendix to prevent a bleedout once the former was separated from the latter. Jules watched him work for a moment, almost against his will -- and then, when the doctor guided the scalpel to make the critical cut, his hands loosened their hold on the incision and he found himself unable to resist succumbing to violent dizziness.

Some time later, he woke with a start, lying on something hard and rather uncomfortable. He blinked once, a shadow of a person hovering above him. A lock of hair tickled his cheek as the form moved, shifting to unblock the lights above from his eyes. "He's awake, Verne," he heard his sister, Emily, say.

Verne's face popped into view a moment later, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Couldn't take the sight of blood, eh, Jules?" he teased. "The cute nurse who helped drag you out here said you hit the deck not once but twice." He shook his head as some of the fog drifted from Jules' mind. "That's not good for your med career."

The med student frowned at these misconceptions. "How long have I been out?" he asked, not sitting up quite yet. His head was aching now, on the side, and he suspected he'd whacked it on the tiles in the OR once more.

"Twenty minutes, give or take," Verne said. "No more playing doctor for you, though -- doctor's orders. No pun intended."

"Why didn't you tell us you fainted in operations, Jules?" Emily asked, concerned. "Or are you gettin' sick with something, now, too?"

"I don't faint in surgery," Jules said, annoyed. "I never did at school, not even during some rather graphic procedures that turned the other students' stomachs. And I'm not sick, either."

"So why'd you take a dive -- twice?"

The oldest sibling frowned at his younger brother's flippant question. "I don't know," he said. "I didn't have more than a bite of dinner earlier, and that could've caused a drop in my blood sugar that had me faint the first time. And when I hit the floor with my head then, perhaps I sustained a very mild concussion that contributed to my passing out the second time."

"Not if you're still talking like that," was Verne's opinion. "Anyway, I think if they thought you hurt yourself they would've had someone stay here with you or check you into a room -- not drag you out to one of the benches in the hallway."

"Is that where we are?" Jules raised himself up on his elbows a little for a glance around, making a face at the pain in his head as he did so. Someone had removed his surgical gloves, mask, and hat, though he still had on the smocks over his clothes. They were indeed in a hallway just outside the OR, one that looked pretty deserted at the moment, too.

Emily, sitting near Jules' feet at the end of the bench, offered her own rather insightful theory. "Maybe you fainted 'cause it was Marty," she said. "That's gotta be really freaky, operating on someone you know and all that. Did you ever have to do that at school or were they all strangers?"

"No, they were all strangers, or corpses.... But I've treated people I know before and I don't fall apart then!"

"But nothing's been so serious as being laid out on an operating table and being sliced open," Verne said. "It could be possible, Jules. We've known Marty more'n half our lives, now and it's gotta be disturbing on some level to see him... like that." His tone was sympathetic, now, all traces of teasing gone. "I'd probably faint if I had to see that."

"Maybe," Jules allowed. He sat up and swung his legs around the side of the bench, holding his head in his hands as he waited for the room to stop spinning and the pounding headache to diminish a little. "He wasn't in any immediate danger, however. And I don't like the implications that you think I can't handle medical emergencies."

"That's more normal than not falling apart," Emily said sagely. "I just hope Marty's okay with you not being in there. He was really upset at the idea of not having someone there earlier to watch things."

"So do you want to volunteer for that?" Verne asked lightly. "I know you like to watch him any time else...."

The girl squirmed, uncomfortable with the idea. "Not being cut open," she said. "That's creepy and gross. They weren't doing anything weird, were they, Jules?"

"Not anything I could see that would put his life in danger, no." He looked up slowly from the floor and around at his immediate surroundings in hopes of better discerning where they were. After a moment he was able to guess that they were just outside Marty's OR. "I'm assuming nothing's happened while I was out?"

"That's about the gist of it," Verne said. "How long is that operation gonna take?"

"I'm not a hundred percent certain.... Even at home it can take a few hours. Here, with more primitive techniques and equipment, it could drag out longer."

Emily made a soft noise. "So we've got a while to wait?" She sounded annoyed and impatient.

"In all likelihood, yes. There are probably more comfortable places we could be than out here, though."

Verne frowned. "We're not going home tonight, are we?"

Jules hesitated. "No, we're not," he said. "Marty won't be in any kind of condition to be moved, and probably won't for a few days. And I don't think any of us should risk going out in the snow to get the train. It's dark out, now, and with the snow and cold, I don't think it would be the best idea."

"So where're we gonna stay?" Emily asked. "Here? I don't wanna sleep in a hospital, Jules. They don't have anything to really sit on 'cept these kinda benches and hard chairs. And just sitting on 'em is mega uncomfortable!"

"I don't know if they'll let us stay here," Jules admitted reluctantly, rubbing his forehead. "I don't even know if we have enough money to get a hotel room, not after the dinner and the horse rentals and everything else. And I don't have any idea how we'll pay for Marty's surgery and care...."

His brother sighed, wistful. "Some dinner," he said. "I didn't have more than a few bites before you came back from the bathroom with the news about Marty. You think they have a cafeteria in here?"

"Not like they do at Hill Valley Med Center -- they might have a place for the staff to eat and to make food for the patients, but I'm not sure about the visitors. I guess it can't hurt to ask." Jules sighed. "We certainly have the time for it now."

Chapter Six

Monday, December 23, 1912
9:41 P.M.

It felt later than it was by the time Marty was wheeled out of surgery and into a room on the third floor of the four story hospital. By that time, the three Brown children were thoroughly bored and restless, having long ago tired of exploring the hospital. As all of them were about four hours off the local time, their bodies tricked them into thinking it was well after midnight, meaning all were tired and grumpy, though it showed in various ways: Emily fidgeted and frowned and constantly inquired of her brothers if and when they were going to leave the hospital or when Marty would be done; Verne, finding the cafeteria in the institution far from his liking, complained more than once about the lack of amenities like vending machines and took almost a cheerful pleasure in discovering new problems cropping up to trouble his older brother with; and Jules spent his frustrations wearing out the tiles in the hallway as he paced, saying little verbally and more with the frowns he constantly directed at Verne every time the blond opened his mouth with another observation about their situation.

A nurse finally found them around nine with word that the surgery was done and their "brother" would shortly be moved to room 317. The group shifted up there themselves, finding three beds in the room, all of them currently empty. A short while later, Marty arrived on a stretcher, pale and still very much out of it but breathing regularly. Sarah brought him in with the dark-haired nurse, who assisted in moving him from the stretcher to the bed, and then departed while the blonde nurse filled the "family members" in on the news.

"The surgery went well," she said said softly, checking the drip on the IV that was still hooked into Marty's arm. "Your brother should make a full recovery, provided there aren't any complications or infections with his recovery. I think he should wake shortly, but don't think that you'll be able to speak with him long. He will be very groggy, likely sick from the anesthesia, and I don't expect he'll remain awake."

"That's fine," Jules said. "Just as long as we can let him know things went all right."

Sarah finished her adjustment then looked at the siblings, standing on the opposite side of the bed from her. "Have you a place to stay for the night?"

Emily answered immediately. "Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head of long curls. "Can we stay with you?"

Her question was bold and rather rude. Verne shot her a look while Jules frowned at her, obviously annoyed. Emily ignored them. She was tired, she was cranky, she was hungry, and, frankly, she was starting to wish they hadn't even come. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the night here in this past time, but if it had to be done, she'd much prefer it spent in her grandparent's house than a hospital or a strange hotel room.

Sarah blinked at the query, taken aback. "Are all the rooms in town taken?" she asked, her tone indicating that she doubted that very much.

Emily once more spoke up before her brothers could. "I dunno, but we don't have, like, any money left. We weren't supposed to stay here tonight. We wouldn't be much trouble, and I'd sleep on the floor if I had to."

"Cut it out, Em!" Verne hissed at her from the corner of his mouth, his voice pitched just low enough to escape Sarah's notice. Emily glanced at him sidelong, frowning, before turning her attention to her someday grandmother.

Sarah's face was rather impassive. "Well, I don't know," she said diplomatically. "I would have to discuss that with my husband. Excuse me a moment while I run the chart to the nurse's station." She took said chart from the foot of the bed, made a couple of notations on it, then left the room.

Verne turned to face his sister. "Emmy, didn't Mom and Dad teach you anything?" he asked, once they were alone. "It's kinda rude to ask people if you can crash at their houses -- especially when you don't even know them!"

"But they're our grandparents," Emily said. "That makes a huge difference." She arched up on her toes to get a better look at Marty's face, turned away from her towards a wall.

"Not yet," Jules said. "And all the better that we not stay with them. That could create big problems and just serve to irritate Dad when he inevitably finds out."

"Then what else are we gonna do?" Emily asked, glancing over at her oldest brother for a moment. "It's better than staying right here. There's only two beds in this room an' I'm not sleeping on the floor." She gestured to the hard polished tiles under their feet. "Anyway, you don't know if you never ask.... They could stay yes and I'll bet it's loads better to stay with 'em. Daddy said his parents lived in a mansion, remember?"

"Maybe not yet," Verne said cautiously. "I never knew when it was built or when they moved into it. Before Dad was born, yeah, but for all we know, they used to live in a two-room cottage before then."

"Well, if they don't want us, they can just say no," Emily said, hoping with all her might that particular scenario wouldn't come to pass. She knew, intellectually, that Sarah and Robert Von Braun weren't their grandparents yet, and had no idea who they really were... but if they were rejected, it was still going to smart.

Grandparents, in Emily's mind, were kindly old relatives that gave you ice cream at bedtime and took you to toy stores and let you pick out whatever gift you want. They let you sleep over at their houses and watch movies that your parents didn't want you to see. They taught you old things like how to knit or told stories about the old days and how much things had changed since. Or, rather, that's what she'd picked up from friends at school who had at least one living grandparent around.

She had always felt rather jealous of those kids who came from such normal families, ones where the parents had both been born within ten years of one another and had a lot of relatives that lived either nearby or in another state they could visit. Her older brothers had at least had moments of that sort of normalcy, when they had lived in the past before she was born, but both she and Clayton had been completely gypped of it all, born in the Twentieth Century. Their father's relatives were either all dead or too distant in blood to really matter; their mother's relatives were the same, though they didn't dare contact any ones still living unless they wanted to reveal The Big Family Secret to them. And, even at ten, Emily knew that it would be a cold day in you-know-where before that happened. This, she felt, was her only chance to get to know some of the people that had mattered strongly in her father's life. Maybe Gramma and Grandpa Brown wouldn't know who they were, but at least she would know and could have something to tell the kids at school whenever the subject of relatives came up.

So long as she hedged on a few big facts.

"They might do that, Em," Jules said seriously, in response to her comment. "And they have every right to say that, too. Keep that in mind."

Emily did, though she preferred to think positively. She stretched out her hand and touched Marty's cheek with it, hoping to rouse him. Sarah may've said he was all right, but she wasn't going to believe it until he opened his eyes and said so himself. His skin was a little clammy and he didn't so much as twitch at her touch. She sighed, worried.

"Is he really okay, Jules?" she asked. "He should wake up now, shouldn't he?"

"When the ether wears off," Jules said. "It shouldn't be much longer. Patients aren't usually moved into rooms until they're close to waking after the surgery or have already. But I suppose things could be different now, too. I wouldn't force him awake, Emily. He'll come to on his own."

In spite of Jules' opinion, Emily made up her mind to wake him. She shook him gently by the shoulder and called his name a few times. After a few moments, he finally stirred with a rather weak moan, opening his eyes halfway and blinking at Emily's concerned face. He stared at her for a long moment, not saying anything. She was becoming rather concerned about this when he finally asked, in a voice little more than a hoarse whisper, "Is it over?"

Jules came around to the other side of the bed, putting on the doctor air that Emily found rather irritating most of the time. Maybe because it made him seem like such a know-it-all. "You made it," he confirmed with a rather strained smile. "They said everything went smoothly."

Marty groaned, shifting slightly in the bed. "Then why do I still feel so sick....?"

"That's normal," Jules said. "You had major abdominal surgery where they removed something. The painkillers and anesthesia are dulling most of the discomfort, but I think the only way to be completely oblivious to it would be in sleep."

Emily wondered if that was some sort of hint from her brother. She took Marty's hand and gave it a firm squeeze, drawing his attention to her for a moment. "Are you okay now?" she asked gravely.

"If they say so," Marty murmured, grimacing, his eyes not altogether focused on her face. "I really think I'm gonna puke now, though."

He made the announcement so matter-of-factly that none of them reacted for a moment. Verne, who had been hovering near the foot of the bed, perhaps noticed the decidedly peaked shade to Marty's face and hurried out from the room to either fetch someone or something. Jules, still playing Doctor, remained standing where he was, calm.

"Just take a breath and let it out," he said. "That should help you feel better."

Marty took in a breath, struggling up on his elbows, but he let out more than air as he leaned towards the side of the bed where Jules was. Emily let out a little squeal of disgust, stepping away from the bed, but Jules wasn't able to move out of the way fast enough. Fortunately, he hadn't yet changed out of the pristine white smock that he had put on in preparation for surgery, which caught the brunt of it.

As he had been sick earlier in the evening, this current bout -- brought about by the ether -- didn't last long and spent nearly all of Marty's energy. He flopped back on the pillows and closed his eyes without a word while Jules stood rooted where he was, looking a little green himself as he glanced down at the front of him. Verne scurried back in a moment later with a metal basin and Sarah on his heels. "Oooops," he said, catching sight of the mess. "We're too late."

"You think?" Jules asked tightly.

Sarah clicked her tongue in sympathy as she went to the side of the bed where Emily had been to look at the patient. "There's a washroom down the hall," she said. "You can take the soiled smocks to the laundry chute behind the nurses' station."

Jules left, moving stiffly, as Sarah sent Emily to fetch clean sheets and towels from the nurses down the hall. She accepted the task eagerly. As much as she liked Marty there were some things she just didn't want to deal with around him, and helping the nurse clean up after he got sick was one of them. She returned several minutes later, her arms piled high with clean linens and another nurse at her heels with cleaning supplies. Sarah shooed her and Verne out of the room while they worked and, going down the hallway to look out one of the windows at the snow still falling, Emily surprised herself by bursting into tears. Verne heard her sobs and came over right away.

"What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

"Everything," Emily moaned softly, her eyes squeezed shut against the tears pouring down her cheeks. "Everything's me-essed up now!"

"No it's not, Emmy. Marty's okay. Really. I got sick after I woke up from the surgery, too. The stuff they give you can do that, sometimes."

"It's not just Marty," Emily sobbed. "We don't got a place to spend the night, an' Da-Daddy's gonna be mad at us 'cause all this st-uff happened and we can't go back to the t-train tonight."

Verne sighed, then gave her a hug. "Don't worry about everything," he said. "Let Jules and I handle it. We've had more experience with unforeseen disasters in the past than you. Okay?"

Emily nodded but it took her several minutes more before she could stop crying. She was still gasping and hiccuping a little when Jules found them, his only modification to his outfit being that the smocks and his shoes were now missing. The sight of her oldest and most conservative brother walking down a hospital hallway in socks would've normally made Emily giggle but she was so thoroughly drained in spirits and energy that she hardly noticed or cared. She did notice that Verne didn't say a word about the incident with Marty aside from:

"Pretty lucky you were still parading around in the scrubs when Marty lost it, huh? Did it get on your shoes, too?"

Jules nodded curtly. "Yes," he said. "One of the nurses is trying to see if any of the doctors have a spare pair that might fit. What's wrong with Emily?"

"She's just tired," Verne said for her, and the fact that Emily didn't try to deny it only confirmed the diagnosis. "Do you know where we can crash yet?"

"Not really. If we can have someone give us a ride into town we could probably get a room at the hotel there."

Now Emily made a disgruntled sound. "I wanna stay with our grandparents," she said.

"You can't get everything you want," Jules said, a little irritably. "Nothing's gone the way I'd like it to today, for example."

"Maybe that's a good thing," Verne said. "Keeps you humble and reminds you that you're not in control of everything in life -- not even of your own body in the OR, apparently."

Considering the moods, the bickering would've no doubt escalated had Dr. Von Braun not strolled over. At the sight of him, now wearing a simple white doctor's coat, they fell silent. He smiled at them, a tired expression, pausing outside the closed door of Marty's room. "Is this about his reaction during the operation?" he asked, his eyes flickering to Jules, having apparently caught the last part of the conversation. He looked at Verne, his dark eyes kind but serious behind the wire-rimmed glasses he still wore. "Your brother certainly isn't the first to faint during a procedure. I did the same thing during my first few surgeries."

Jules' face reddened at this reminder of things earlier in the evening. "I'm really very sorry about that," he said. "I don't have any idea on why that happened -- though I did end up skipping dinner. Perhaps my blood sugar level caused my behavior in the OR."

Robert studied him a moment, then smiled faintly. "Perhaps," he said. Emily got the distinct impression that he didn't agree with that guess but decided to let Jules go on believing it, anyway. He changed the subject, much to Jules' relief. "Sarah told me you haven't anywhere to stay tonight."

"Or for the rest of the time we're here," the girl piped up. "As long as Marty's gotta be in the hospital."

The older man looked down at her and smiled, a very appropriately grandfather smile in Emily's eyes, except the face it was in was so young. "Through the holidays, certainly," he said. "Or at least he won't be in any condition to travel then."

Emily blinked up at her father's father, widening her blue eyes to an expression that she had been using for years to manipulate those older than herself into giving her what she wanted. "You don't suppose we might stay with you?" she asked in spite of the sudden pinch Verne gave her where his hand had been resting on her shoulder. "If it's not too much trouble and everything...."

Robert smiled. "I was about to offer that myself," he admitted. "Sarah will be off at the end of the hour, though I have to conduct rounds before I can leave myself. We have a rather large house and, aside from Sarah's brother who lives nearby, no family around for the holidays. I suspect you might do us as much good as we can for you."

Emily beamed her thanks while Jules immediately tried to talk him out of it. "We really don't want to trouble you unduly," he said. "You've helped us out enough already with our... brother. We can find a room in town."

"No, Jules!" Emily said before Robert could respond to this in any way. "I don't wanna stay in a crummy hotel room! If he's makin' an offer to us then we gotta accept. That's the polite thing to do, right?" Without allowing either of her brothers to answer, she turned to the doctor and smiled at him, albeit shakily. "We'll stay with you. But can Marty come, too? In time for Christmas?"

The doctor looked taken aback by the question. "I suppose it wouldn't be impossible," he hedged. "But it depends on how much he has recovered in the next day and if he can be moved. I won't do it if there's risk to his life."

That seemed a fair agreement. Emily let the doctor go ahead into Marty's room and was about to follow him before Verne tugged her back, his expression telling her that she was in line for a lecture of sorts. "Emmy, you should've kept your mouth shut."

"Why? He offered and I was just accepting. There's nothing wrong with that. That's more polite than turning it down. And now we've got a good place to sleep tonight. You guys should be glad I'm here, since I'm not afraid to accept offers when they come."

Jules made a noise that was half groan, half snort. Emily pulled away from Verne's grip and pushed open Marty's door just before it could latch closed again behind Dr. Von Braun. Sarah and the other nurse had finished their housekeeping, apparently, and were on their way towards the door as the doctor headed over to the bedside. Emily followed quietly and then halted as the man did a quick examination of Marty, who appeared to be asleep again. She stepped close to the bedside and watched, interested, as he pulled the sheets down and drew back a corner of his gown to show a scrap of gauze, under which was the scar from the operation. It looked nasty to her eyes, stretching close to four inches across and stitched shut with black thread. She shivered, sympathetic.

"Is that supposed to be normal?" she asked as the doctor examined his handiwork.

"The scar? Quite so. That's where we removed the appendix."

"Oh, I know that." Emily felt mildly offended that he thought she was that dense. "I mean, is it usually that big? And is the thread supposed to show like that?"

"Well, we'll remove the stitches in a few weeks and he'll always have a scar."

Emily looked up at the sound of footsteps coming into the room. "Verne, your scar isn't that big, is it?" she asked as he headed over to see what was going on.

Verne glanced at Marty's stitches, shuddered, and shook his head. "No, mine wasn't more than two inches across, tops. Is that typical now?" His question was addressed to Jules, a few feet behind, but the local doctor took it up.

"Certainly. I dare say two inches is decidedly abnormal." Robert looked at Verne rather strangely. "Where is it you had your surgery?"

Although a gifted actor, Verne was so caught off-guard by the question that he couldn't even improvise an answer. "Ahhh...." was all he got out before Jules handled the question.

"On a trip to visit me at Harvard," he said. "They had a doctor there who had a notion that the appendix could be removed with less of a scar and Verne volunteered to allow him a go. He's studying theater so I don't doubt that vanity played a part in the decision, but fortunately it was successful."

Verne bristled at the remark that he was vain, but Dr. Von Braun merely nodded as he replaced the gauze, gown and sheets over Marty's scar once more. The musician was oblivious to the discussion and the examination, snoring softly. "He's doing fine, and unless you wish to stay with him tonight, I'd suggest you prepare to leave," the doctor said.

Emily reached once more for Marty's hand, lying limply on the covers next to him. She took it, not happy with how cool and clammy it felt. "What if he wakes up and no one's here?" It was a very real concern to her and, if she'd been in his place and had that happened, she would've been terrified.

"Not likely," was Jules' opinion. "He's going to be pretty out of it until tomorrow. Although if you want to stay here, Emmy, we can do that."

Emily saw through that offer and let Marty's hand drop from hers suddenly. "No, that's okay. But can you make sure someone tells him where we are if he asks?" she added, turning to the doctor.

"Of course. But I think your brother is right. He's more likely than not to sleep through the night. I'll leave word with the nurses about your whereabouts if he should ask, however."

The girl supposed that would have to do. She cast one more look at their friend, then followed the doctor and her brothers out of the room, back into the hall. In spite of her concern over Marty, she couldn't help feeling a small shiver of excitement at the events to come. Finally, it was her turn to spend the night at a grandparent's house!

* * *

Although he had always wondered about the people who had raised his father, Verne couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive as they headed over to the home that his father would some day burn down, long before his own birth. There was the nagging feeling that they were doing something wrong, a guilt that was a little foreign to him, all things considered. Many a time in life, he'd done things he had blatantly known were wrong, and against what he considered unfair parental rules, and not felt half as badly as he did now. Or maybe it was the feeling that they were putting themselves in a rather precarious position, where the odds would be that much greater of accidentally altering history and erasing themselves from existence. Whatever it was, Verne was certain about one thing. For one of the few times, he and Jules were united against the idea. Being in agreement with his older brother happened so rarely that it tended to give Verne a kind of "what's wrong with this picture?" feeling of disquiet.

And he wasn't really partial to the idea that he was feeling guilty and falling on the side of Jules this time around, especially as it pitted him against his little sister.

They were stuck, though. Emily had successfully manipulated their future grandparents into allowing them to stay at their home and any words to the contrary to the medical couple would probably just cause more problems than were worth it. So Verne and Jules allowed themselves to be driven by Sarah through the snow and storm to 1640 Riverside Drive, where the barely visible outlines of a two- or three-story wooden mansion was located. Electric lights burned outside on the front porch, but the swirling snowflakes made it really impossible to see much else.

Sarah parked the car on the circular driveway in front of the home and led her guests up brick steps to the front porch, then opened the doors without needing to stop and unlock them. All three of the Brown kids gasped as they stepped inside, seeing a richly decorated foyer. The walls were all wood paneling, and a large Oriental rug in warm hues of reds and browns and golds hugged the polished wooden floorboards underneath them. Verne figured the construction alone had cost a small fortune, but the furnishings he could see -- an antique vase, a painting that looked like something that belonged in a museum, tables and chairs that looked as if they had been custom made for the home -- made him realize for the first time just how wealthy his father's parents had been, and how much money Dad had burned through in constructing that first time machine. He whistled softly, the noise unheard by their hostess but prompting a little frown of disapproval from Jules. Emily was too distracted in her own gawking to notice. He wondered if things had looked like this when Marty had visited their father in 1955, when he had still lived here. Somehow he found it hard to believe. This place had more of the air of a museum than a home, and there had never been that feeling in any home of Emmett Brown's that his middle son has seen.

"Wow!" Emily remarked as Sarah removed her coat and set it on a nicely carved wooden rack near the door. "How long've you lived here?"

"Several years," Sarah said. "Robert broke ground on this home shortly after he arrived here in Hill Valley, almost five years ago. It was finished three years ago, and we moved in shortly thereafter, while still newlyweds."

"It's nice," Emily said admirably, gazing around. "Do you have maids that do the chores?"

Verne wasn't sure if that was a question someone should ask now. Emily was either too naive or too comfortable to think about that, however. Sarah looked at her a moment, the expression with which she favored the girl impossible to really scrutinize. "We have a cook and a maid," she said. "Neither are live in, but the doctor and I are both very busy and don't have much time for those things."

She headed down the large entryway that spanned the length of the house, towards a room in the back. Emily leaned towards Verne. "Maybe that's why Daddy's a crummy cook," she half-whispered, having enough sense to do so out of earshot of Sarah. "If his parents never did any cooking then how was he supposed to learn anything?"

Verne couldn't help chuckling over that. Jules rolled his eyes. He was really getting more uppity than was good for him, now, so far as the blond was concerned. "It wasn't unusual for people with money to have outside help like that," he explained to Emily. "And stop asking personal questions like that. It's kinda rude, Emmy."

Emily looked at the med student a moment, then sniffed. "Well, then you stop being such a stiff, Jules," she said. "Ever since we got here, you've been trying to keep me from doing anything remotely fun, just 'cause your afraid of what people might think of us."

"With good reason," Jules said softly but firmly. "You should know about the kinds of dangers that can happen if Dad told you what he claims he did."

The ten-year-old shrugged her slender shoulders indifferently. "The only thing that's happened that's been bad is also the one thing that wasn't caused by anything Daddy covered in his lecture," she said. "Unless you know some way to blame Marty's getting sick here on talking to the wrong person."

Even Jules couldn't do that, Verne knew. He simply sighed and headed off in the same direction Sarah had gone, though Verne had to wonder if that wasn't being a little rude itself. He and Emily followed, the former not feeling especially comfortable in hanging out near the door alone in a strange place. Halfway to a back door that was directly across from the front, where they had come in, Sarah reappeared.

"Beth left some soup warming on the stove and bread in the oven for supper," she said. "I know it might not be terribly polite for me to ask, but could I trouble you three to eat in the kitchen? The dining room isn't set for guests right now. I'm afraid Robert and I make little use of it."

"We practically never eat in the dining room at our house," Emily said, agreeing happily to the request. Verne actually could've cared less where it was they were served the food, and the kitchen in this home was as spectacular as he could've expected, with what he guessed were state of the art appliances and conveniences. They certainly gleamed as if new. Sarah quickly set out dishes and silverware for the three of them in the wide breakfast nook, giving them generous portions of the soup. Even though it had probably been simmering on the stove for a few hours to keep warm, it was tasty enough to give Verne's mother's a run for her money -- and she was no slouch with cooking.

Conversation ceased for nearly ten minutes as the three visitors ate. Sarah shared in the meal, but with not as much zeal as her someday grandchildren. Verne got the impression that she was nervous. Since he had started studying acting in college he'd gotten fairly good at reading people, even strangers, simply based on how they sat or what they were doing or from their tone of voice. So much had to be communicated in simple things like that while in character that he'd had a few professors who had made studying people and the different ways they expressed emotions an ingrained part of the curriculum. Verne had picked up a good knack for it and found that it helped in everyday life as well as his acting one. He could tell, for example, in a moment or two if it was a good or bad time to ask his parents for favors just by looking at them. And it really came in handy with the opposite sex, allowing him to peg which girls he might stand the best chance of getting a date with.

When they were finished with the meal and Emily, without being asked, cleared the table -- surprising Sarah -- the nurse led the visitors upstairs, down a hallway that was as plush as the entryway, with a burgundy rug running down the length of the corridor. "We have three guestrooms and a washroom up here," she said. "Unless the three of you would prefer otherwise, you may each have your own room. I don't suppose you have any changes of clothes?"

"No," Jules said, honestly. "We weren't expecting to be delayed here overnight."

"I thought as much. Well, I believe some of Robert's things might fit the both of you, but I'm at a loss about what to do for your sister. I suppose she can borrow one of my nightgowns tonight, and I'll see what I can do first thing tomorrow morning about more respectable public attire."

"We don't need to trouble you like that," Jules began, only to be cut off by a swift gesture by Sarah and a shake of her head.

"Nonsense. It's plain that you all need some help, and if my husband and I didn't provide it -- especially with the holidays upon us -- I don't think I could sleep at night. Now, let me show you to your rooms."

While Emily grinned, unseen by Sarah, at the woman's words, Jules looked at Verne and shook his head minutely. Verne returned the gesture with one of his own, a shrug. They allowed Sarah to show them all to their rooms -- Emily's directly across from Jules', and Verne's next to his older brother's -- and then, after she fetched them all borrowed pajamas to change into for the night, they had made use of the guest bathroom down the hall, complete with a claw foot tub and pull-chain toilet. Once Emily was safely tucked into bed for the night and out of the way of any potential mischief, the two brothers got together in Verne's room to discuss matters.

"What are we going to do about this, Verne?" Jules asked after he had shut the door, taking a seat in the armchair near the foot of the double bed. The rooms were as richly decorated and furnished as the rest of the house, a fact that simply amazed Verne all the more. He doubted he would spent so much time and money decking out rooms in any home of his that were "spare." But maybe the Von Brauns had a lot of guests.

"What do you mean 'we'?" the blond asked from where he stood at the window, looking outside. He was still a little annoyed by his older brother's attitude. "Isn't this your problem since you're the one Dad put in charge of the trip?"

Jules sighed, the sound weary. "Aren't you more mature than this, Verne?"

"Not if you're not beyond reminding us every other second about how you're supreme ruler of the trip, Jules."

Verne was looking outside when he said that, so he didn't see the look Jules gave him, but he could imagine what it was pretty well. "You and I both know that Emily's going to get all of us in hot water over something here if she keeps speaking before she thinks. Bad enough that we had to have Dad's father perform the surgery on Marty and we're interacting with him and our grandmother, but staying here.... We might not have a home to go back to again."

"Or everything could be just fine," Verne said optimistically, turning away from the sheets of snow still falling. "Just 'cause we saw hell really break loose that one time we accidentally mucked around with Dad's history doesn't mean every time is going to be like that. Jeez, Jules, that was ten years ago! I think we've gotten a little smarter since then. Anyway, Dad got the TIPS installed in the time machines since then so we shouldn't have to go back to a future that might not have any of us in it. Remember?"

"Yes, but that thing can't automatically fix what we made go wrong here if something is awry. I suppose when one of us goes out there to get the antibiotics for Marty we can check and see if we've done anything yet that knocked history off."

"Yeah, but at this rate, that'll be after the new year." The twenty-year-old gestured to the world beyond the windowglass. "It's still coming down like hell out there. I'm surprised that we were able to get to the house at all tonight in the car. By the time it stops, I wouldn't be surprised if we had a foot of the white stuff on the ground, and that'll be a hard hike on foot or on horseback."

"If Marty's life is on the line, we'll have to manage. We may be fortunate -- people made recoveries before antibiotics, and his appendix hadn't burst before it was removed -- but I'd prefer to take no chances and give him the proper medication before there's any sign of trouble. That's standard procedure at home."

"Well, then you can go hiking out to the train in this weather. But count me out. I don't feel like getting lost in a blizzard and turning into a popsicle."

"We're not going to go tonight, Verne. Tomorrow, at the soonest."

Verne shook his head as he sat down on the edge of his bed. "It's still going to be nasty out tomorrow," was his opinion. "Even if it does stop snowing. We'll be lucky if we can just get to the hospital to visit Marty."

Jules was annoyed. "So you could care less if Marty gets an infection?"

"Nooo.... I didn't say that. But Marty's tough, and right now, there's no sign of anything wrong. Jeez, you're always trying to cause trouble, Jules."

"Maybe if you were the one in charge of things you might understand."

"In charge! Jesus! I'm twenty years old! You can't make me do anything I don't want to. You don't have any power or authority over me, Jules. The age gap between us is basically non-existent, now."

"I'm still older, and thus the one who has to look out for you all."

Verne rolled his eyes. "If age was a factor, then Marty would be the one keeping us in line," he said. "Your problem is you have this ego and it's becoming more of a pain in the ass as you're getting older, not less. Just because you're going to be some hotshot doctor doesn't mean you're better than me or Emmy or Clayton or anyone else."

"My choice of a career has nothing to do with this."

"Yeah, you're probably right. You always were kinda stuck up, even when we were kids...."

Jules stood, his lips tightening. "I don't have to listen to this," he said.

"I never said you did -- though if you stay in here you might...."

Verne was feeling too worn out to continue being tolerant with his brother. Jules took the hint; he left without another word, the door closing hard enough that it was clear he was a little angry. Verne wasn't very sorry to see him go, only idly wishing that he'd gotten a chance to get a dig in about his little fainting episodes before the departure. But if things ran true to form, there would be more than enough time for that tomorrow. He doubted, seriously, that a good night's sleep was going to change Jules substantially, or it would've happened long, long ago.

"Well," he muttered aloud, "maybe having things turn south on this trip is for the better. If it went off fine, Jules would just be more obnoxious than ever!"

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