"Oh no," he murmured, realizing he had accidentally fallen asleep in the middle of the family research -- and it was now morning, if the glow behind the curtains was any indication. Marty could also hear someone moving somewhere in the house, faint footsteps and creaking floorboards. He closed the book before him in one quick movement, reaching behind to rub the back of his aching neck from a few hours spent at an awkward angle -- then froze when he realized, somehow, he'd taken a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around his shoulders during his unexpected nap.

Oh, God, I hope I was sleepwalking, he thought. A moment later that faint -- and unrealistic -- hope died at the sight of words that were definitely not his scrawled on the pad he'd been making notes on. Under the last thing he could vaguely remember writing -- R leaves for college w/o apology to S -- there was now the addition of: And they never saw each other or spoke again. The handwriting wasn't entirely unfamiliar, however. Marty swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, as he noticed how identical it was to the scribbles he'd been trying to decipher in the journals before passing out in the middle of one.

"Oh no," he said again, moaning the words out as he dropped his face down into his hands. A moment later his head snapped back up, aggravating the ache in his neck. Footsteps were now heading down the hall, towards the study. Quickly, he pushed back the chair and practically leapt to the bed, his entire body protesting the movement, especially his side. He pulled the covers over him a second before the door opened, quickly pretending to be asleep rather than deal with a barrage of questions or anger that he would no doubt have to face from Robert later. His heart thudded in his ears, both from his burst of exercise and the stress of the moment.

There was a silence from the visitor. Marty tried to keep his breathing slow and deep, which was far harder than it should've been with his heart thudding against his ribs. A moment later a whisper cut through the silence. "Marty?"

The musician opened his eyes at the voice. It wasn't Robert, or even Sarah. Thank God. "What is it, Emily?" he asked.

Emily visibly jumped at his response, perhaps expecting he wouldn't hear her first call or else wouldn't be so quick in speaking. "Did I wake you up?" she asked in a half-whisper, still standing in the partially opened doorway.

Marty sat up. "No," he said honestly. "Come in if you want to talk and shut the door. What is it?"

The girl obliged him, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the foot of his bed. "We should do something about Jules and Verne."

The musician grimaced, having managed to forget about that mess for a little bit. "You mean with them fighting? It's none of our business, Emmy."

"Maybe not for you, but they're my brothers and I gotta live with 'em," Emily said flatly. She wrapped a lock of her long, loose hair around one finger, twisting it as her mouth puckered up. "I'm really worried 'bout 'em."

She had good points, but Marty really didn't want to get stuck in the mess between them. "My advice is to just leave them alone and let them cool down. They'll come around once we leave, probably." The scrawled note on the pad suddenly came to him and he sighed. "I'm almost sure of it," he said.

Emily heard the note of doubt in his voice and pounced on that word. "You're not positive," she said, her blue eyes turned on him almost accusingly. "Marty, this is important! I've never ever seen 'em fight like that. Have you?"

"Not exactly like that...." He sighed again, rubbing his forehead. Awake less than ten minutes and he was already getting a headache. It was going to be a great day. "Emmy, I'm not getting involved in this."

The ten-year-old studied him a moment. "Fine," she said, lifting her chin up. "Then I will. And I'll do it without your help, too."

"Well, great, then. Just don't go about it in the same way you tried to get people to make up last time."

Emily frowned, her brow wrinkling. "When was that?"

"When your dad fought with... well, your dad. In that alternate universe we crash landed in when you were six. You and your counterpart's younger brother went off to try and fix things and nearly killed yourselves -- and me."

Emily rolled her eyes. "I was a little kid then, Marty. I'm not that stupid, now." She got up from the bed and headed for the door, pausing to look back at him with one hand on the knob. "When are we going to get to go home?"

"Soon, I hope. I'll have to talk with your brothers and see. But I'm feeling a lot better now than I was a couple days ago."

"That's good."

Emily left, but a moment later Marty could hear her voice again. "Ooops, sorry Gra-- Doctor Von Braun, I didn't see you."

"Don't worry about it, Emily. Is Marty awake? I thought I heard you talking to him....."

The musician winced, dropping back onto the bed and pulling the covers over his head. Not that that was going to do anything for him. Emily must've nodded in response for his question then continued down the hall, for there were no more words. But there was a tapping at his door a minute later. Robert didn't wait for him to respond, simply opening it after waiting a few seconds.

"I'd like to talk with you a moment, Marty."

Marty shuddered a little but emerged to face the music. Robert stood near the door, his hands behind his back and a frown on his lips. "I'm sorry," he said immediately.

The apology did little to ease Robert's very obvious disappointment and anger. "What do you mean by going through my personal things? My books and albums? And making notes on it all." He took a step to the bed, squinting down at the time traveler. "Who are you?"

Oh, we're just time travelers from the future.... And those kids you think I'm related to are really related to you. Yep, your future son who won't be born for another seven-and-a-half years will someday invent a time machine. Aren't you proud?

Yeah, like he could tell him that. Marty stared up at the figure looming over him, feeling faintly sick. "We're just... passing through," he said. "I just.... well, I think family history is interesting, even if it's not mine."

It was a lame explanation, even to his own ears. Robert wasn't stupid; he didn't buy it. "You four show up at my office with a genuine medical emergency," he said, half to himself. "But no one is telling my wife or I the same thing, and you all seem... you seem familiar. Or, rather, you treat us as if we're familiar to you, that you know us. But I know I've never met any of you before." He paused, pacing around the length of the room once, the mannerisms uncannily like Doc's. "We don't normally take strangers into our home, and Sarah wasn't terribly open to the idea. I was the one who talked her into it, and after the last day, I'm sorely regretting that. It's one thing for your brothers to have a fight in our home, but searching through my personal items is uncalled for. It's not any of your business!"

"No, sir, it's not," Marty agreed meekly, suddenly feeling far younger than his years. "I'm sorry, I really don't have a good excuse for doing that. I was just kind of curious, I guess, since your wife mentioned how you and your brother had a problem like Jules and Verne. I was hoping to maybe see how you handled that and if it could help them." That was a spin on the truth, at least.

"Then I suggest then you look no more," Robert said, bitterness clear in his voice. "Stephen and I went our separate ways after that time. Even when our mother was on her deathbed, we weren't in the same room."

"It can't be that bad.... I mean, it looks like you guys just had a misunderstanding. Why are you still carrying that around?"

Robert stopped pacing, turning to look at Marty with suddenly blazing eyes. "None of your damned business!" The musician shrank back a little, wishing he'd kept his mouth shut. But a moment later, the fire died in the doctor's eyes and he simply sighed, lowering his head. "It's too late now. And he's too damned stubborn to listen to me."

Maybe you're too damned stubborn to even try, Marty thought, but kept that to himself. "It's never too late to change things," he said. "Anyway, you probably learned stuff with this whole thing that might be helpful for how to keep Jules and Verne from repeating history."

"Are you suggesting that I speak with them?"

Actually, Marty hadn't been, but now that the idea was out there, it sounded rather interesting. No doubt the boys would blow off Emily's attempts at reconciling them, but they might not be so quick with their future grandfather. Especially if he had the same kinds of experiences in his past that they were now going through.

"If you want to do it, but I wouldn't wish it on anyone," he said.

Robert sighed, looking down at the books Marty had left out on the desk. "I'm a step ahead of you," he said. "I spoke with both of them yesterday, when I gave them exams and tended to their minor injuries. They were both still too angry to do anything about it, which I also expected, but perhaps as the days go by, they'll think about what I said to them."

"Hopefully," Marty said. "Thanks, then." He paused a moment, then added, "I really am sorry about going through your things. I'm not normally like that. It's probably being cooped up with nothing to do...."

Robert glanced up to him again. "I imagine you'll be healed enough to travel by tomorrow, provided the trains will be running. You should be with the rest of your family by New Year's." He gave Marty an odd look and started to open his mouth, then closed it and shook his head once. "If you want to find out anything else that might be in my books, I would suggest asking me is a better course than going behind my back."

"I'll do that, then," Marty said, though he had no intention of doing so -- or of snooping around anymore. "But I'll respect your decision if you don't want to answer anything."

The doctor nodded once. "Good. Because if you want to know about me, then I'll feel free to pry into your affairs."

Marty gulped a little, hiding his discomfort behind a faint smile. "Fair's fair," he said. "But I can't think of anything else to ask you now. Except that if you really regret what happened between you and your own brother, you should try to fix things now. Worst he can do is slam the door in your face."

Robert returned the thin smile. "I'll keep that in mind, then," he said, his tone so light that the musician had no idea that he meant every word.

* * *

While Marty was dealing with Dr. Von Braun, Emily was in the living room busy brainstorming ways she might be able to bring her brothers together again. It wasn't going to be an easy job, she knew. But if she had to deal with them acting younger than Clayton for one more day, she was going to scream! She entertained the brief, tantalizing notion of leaving them here until they came to their senses while she and Marty left, but knew that wouldn't really happen. However, the idea of isolating them together so they had to cooperate was something she thought she could work with.

By the time they both got up for the day, she had a plan outlined. Although Marty had pleaded to be left out of anything she came up with, Emily needed his help and paid him another visit once her grandfather had finished talking to him. He heard her out, then heaved a sigh and pledged a grudging agreement.

"They helped to do something like that to Doc and I once," he said. "I guess it's only fitting to pay 'em back, even if it's almost a dozen years later."

Her grandparents didn't need to be involved in Emily's plan; they both had to go to the hospital and work for the morning, then go to the doctor's private practice in town for the afternoon. There would be, however, a woman in to clean the house in the afternoon, and the couple's cook was to arrive by noon. Emily figured they had to work quickly so they wouldn't be interrupted.

Jules came down first for a late breakfast, moving stiffly and saying little. Overnight it was apparent how much the fight had taken out of him. His left eye was a nasty purple and half swollen shut. His bottom lip, too, was puffed up to twice its size, and there were a few other colorful marks and bruises on his face. Emily also noticed a small patch of hair at the back of his head had been cut away, showing a half-dozen or so stitches.

"What happened there?" she couldn't help asking as her oldest brother looked through the box of doughnuts that had appeared early that morning.

"I got cut by glass during the fight," Jules muttered. "The doctor had to give me stitches to close it last night. End of story."

"Aren't you gonna wear a hat to cover that thing up? It looks kinda gross."

Jules glanced up and gave her a look Emily knew all too well. Sort of a "I'm being patient with you because you're so young and naive but you're really bugging me" kind of look. It was even more gruesome with his discolored and swollen face. "No," he said.

Emily wasn't offended. She changed the subject quickly. "The doctor said Marty could probably travel by tomorrow. Does that mean we're going to leave then?"

"If it doesn't snow again, probably. We've worn out our welcome here."

The girl sniffed softly. "And whose fault is that? Daddy's gonna go nuclear on you and Verne when we get back."

Jules scowled at her as he sat down at the table with a maple bar. "I doubt he'll appreciate a report of your activities, Emmy."

"What did I do?"

"Interact a lot more with his parents than we would have otherwise. If you hadn't gotten involved, we would be in a hotel right now, not their home."

"Probably not -- Daddy didn't give you that much money. Stop trying to downplay what you did, Jules. It was bad. If you guys would've fought at home, you would've been super punished, and it's even worse that you did it here."

Jules simply rolled his eyes at her and picked up the newspaper on the table. Even more determined to make her brothers make up, Emily left him alone and sought out Verne. He was awake and in the bathroom, looking at his face in the mirror with clear displeasure.

"I swear, Jules almost broke my nose last night," he griped when he saw Emily arrive in the open doorway. "I don't care what Doctor Gramps said, if it's still this swollen tomorrow, I'm getting a second opinion."

The nose was indeed swelled up, bruised. Like Jules, Verne also sported a black eye -- a matched set, actually -- but they weren't nearly as dark or swelled up as his older brother's. There was a small cut on his forehead, but one that hadn't required any stitches. Emily knew that Verne was a little more vain than Jules, because being an actor relied so much on one's physical appearance. Verne joked that he knew he wasn't exactly "pretty boy marquee material" and hoped that he might be able to carve out a lucrative existence as a character actor, but he spent the most time in the bathroom messing with his appearance than any of his siblings. And Emily thought he knew he wasn't as hideous as he claimed. A couple of her friends from school even had crushes on Verne, though Emily did not see what they found so "cute" about him. She didn't ever tell him about that, though, knowing Jessica and Brianna would be mortified and Verne would probably end up teasing his sister about it.

"We'll probably go home, then," Emily said. "But I'm sure that Grandpa knows what he's talking about. 'Sides, Mom and Daddy might not let you do that when they find out how you got hurt."

Verne turned away from his bruised reflection to frown at her. "Why? I didn't start it, Jules did. You saw how he tackled me to the floor -- right after I almost choked to death, too."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and you thanked me loads for saving your life, too," she reminded him, a little annoyed by his oversight. That had really upset her the day before. After performing the Heimlich on her brother, which she had only seen demonstrated in class and tried once, for pretend, on a partner, she had run to the bathroom down the hall in hopes of getting the crying she couldn't help out of her system, out of sight of Marty, especially. Only the crashes from the fight had summoned her back to the living room before she was fully composed.

"I did, too," Verne said. "Right after it happened, before you left the room." He looked back to his reflection with a frown, that matter already forgotten. "Have you see the psycho today yet?"

"Who? Jules? Yeah, an' he looks about as good as you do."

"Well, that's something, then," Verne said with a half smile before drawing his lips back to examine his teeth. "Nothing chipped... that's good."

Emily was tiring quickly of his preening. It was time for Phase One of her plan. "If you don't go down and have breakfast soon, all the doughnuts'll be gone," she said, exaggerating. "Gramma says the cook usually tosses 'em once she gets here."

The ploy worked. Verne stopped fussing with his face and turned away from the mirror. "Doughnuts, eh? Sure Jules didn't steal all the good ones for himself?"

"You're the one who's more of a bottomless pit," Emily said. She turned and headed down the hall for the back stairs. Marty was in the living room waiting for her. Emily raised her eyebrows at him as she approached.

"Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

He didn't look happy with the question. "I guess," he said. "But if this gets me in trouble with your grandparents--"

"It won't," Emily assured him. "Let's get it over with, now."

Ten minutes later, properly composed, she ran from the study into the kitchen, where Verne was expectedly munching on doughnuts and Jules was, not surprisingly, MIA. "Where's Jules?" she asked, feigning both fear and urgency.

"How the hell should I know?" Verne asked, not looking up from the newspaper.

The ten-year-old moaned. "Something's wrong with Marty!"

Verne lowered the paper and looked at her strangely. For a terrible moment Emily was sure he was seeing through her ruse -- he was an actor, after all -- but that terror vanished a second later. "What happened?"

"He said he was feeling dizzy and was gonna go lie down in his room, and then I heard a thud and when I went in there he was on the floor, passed out. And I can't wake him up!"

Verne stood up with both a sigh and a roll of eyes. "Man, just when it looks like we'll get outta here.... Okay, go track down Jules and maybe this time he won't pass out."

"You have to stay with Marty, though," Emily pleaded, sniffing as if she was about to start crying. "That's what they say to do at school when someone does something like that."

"Okay, fine. Sheesh."

Emily marveled how easy that was. She waited long enough to see Verne leave the kitchen -- grabbing a doughnut on the way out -- then headed upstairs where she suspected her oldest brother was. To save her time, she simply bellowed his name, loudly, a few times. He didn't answer her, but she saw that the bathroom door was closed and heard water running inside. She banged on the door, hard, and was answered a moment later.

"What is it?"

"Something's wrong with Marty!" Emily said, able to fake once more the panic in her voice. She was rather pleased by how she sounded; maybe she should try her own hand at acting. "He said he was feeling dizzy and was gonna go lie down, and I heard something heavy hit the floor, and when I went in his room he was passed out on the floor. I can't wake 'im up and Grandpa and Gramma are gone already. C'mon, Jules, you gotta help!"

Jules muttered something Emily couldn't quite catch. The water was shut off, however, and a second later her brother yanked open the door, his hair dripping from a shower interrupted, wrapped only in a borrowed bathrobe. "Fine," he said, his tone so matter-of-fact Emily almost didn't catch the faint tremble in his voice. She almost stopped him as he headed down the hall, quickly, leaving wet footprints in his wake, but then decided it was all the better he wasn't dressed and fully prepared. She couldn't keep a rather evil little smirk from quirking her lips as she followed him down the back stairs.

In the study, Marty had "fallen" to the ground near the foot of the bed, where there was enough room for a couple of people to gather. Verne was kneeling there next to him, trying to revive him and not having any luck. Jules stopped in the doorway so quickly, it was as if he'd run into an invisible barrier. He grabbed the side of the doorway for a moment and leaned against it. Verne looked up as he came on the scene, dropping Marty's wrist where he'd been taking the musician's pulse.

"Now that the doctor's here, I guess I'll be going," he said, a hint of mocking in his voice.

"No," Emily said from behind Jules, her hands on her hips. "This is an emergency. Are you guys both gonna be that immature?"

By the look on Verne's face, he was considering it. Jules, underneath the bruises on his face, just looked pale. He shook himself after a moment, finally venturing into the room and over to Marty. Verne backed away before Jules got there, deeper into the room, not towards the door, Emily was pleased to note. "Did you see what happened?" the med student asked Emily, picking up the wrist Verne had dropped.

Emily shook her head quickly, her loose hair whipping her cheeks. "Nope, just like I said earlier. He said he was dizzy and gonna lie down and then I heard him fall and found him like that and got you both."

Jules frowned, his forehead creasing in an expression of confusion. "His pulse is strong and steady...."

With that, Marty suddenly sat up, so quickly that he nearly collided with Jules leaning over him. The twenty-one-year-old fell back with a startled gasp, almost smacking the back of his head on the edge of the desk. "Good," Marty said, climbing to his feet while Jules and Verne just stared at him. Emily grabbed hold of the doorknob with the key already in the lock, ready to swing it closed the moment Marty passed her.

"What's this about?" Verne asked, finding his voice the quickest, scowling. "That's not a funny prank!"

Marty paused once he reached the doorway, turning around a little stiffly. "You guys are under room arrest 'til you kiss and make up," he said.

Jules and Verne both stared at him, their jaws dropping. "What?" each cried, trying to scramble over to the door. Emily slammed it, quickly, twisting the key as she had practiced earlier. A moment later the doorknob rattled in her hand as someone tried opening it, and fists beat the wood in frustration when it was unyielding.

"Marty! Let us out!"

"Emmy! If you don't open this door you're gonna be in so much trouble!"

Emily sniffed. "Yeah, right," she said. "You're not gonna get out, so give it up. Quicker you guys make up, the sooner you can get out."

There was a moment of silence. Then Verne called out, "Okay, we made up. Now let us out."

Marty laughed a moment. "Try for something a little more believable than a minute," he suggested. "We're gonna go now... yell all you want, no one will be able to hear you."

Emily tilted her head to the side and looked at him curiously. Marty gestured for her to follow and started walking away down the hall. "How long do you think it's gonna take?" she asked softly when they were definitely out of earshot of her brothers.

The musician sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "As long as it takes," he said. "Let's just hope they don't start throwing things at each other in there."

* * *

Verne's fury in the moment he realized they were trapped -- and neither Marty nor Emily were going to be cajoled into letting them out -- knew no bounds. For a few minutes he just stared at the slab of wood bolted in the doorway, steaming, wishing his eyes possessed lasers with which to blast through the wood. Jules, oddly, was calmer, taking a seat on Marty's unmade bed with a deep sigh.

"We might as well accept the fact we're stuck here," he said.

Verne turned his glare over to his brother, noticing only for the first time that Jules looked like he'd been interrupted mid-shower. He couldn't resist a little smirk at his state. "Wow, I guess Emmy caught you with your pants down," he quipped.

Jules scowled. "Shut up, Verne. I thought this was some kind of emergency. If the house was burning down I suppose you wouldn't leave it 'til you were fully dressed, shaved, and had every hair combed perfectly in place."

"I wouldn't run out in only a bathrobe, for sure," Verne said. He stopped when he realized he was starting to enjoying himself, turning away from his older brother. "Surprised you didn't faint when you saw Marty."

He expected Jules to come back with a sharp comment and was caught off guard, then, when he sighed, instead. "So am I, sort of," he said softly.

Verne walked over to the windows, curious but trying not to show it. He lasted a few minutes, trying the windows as a possible way out -- they were on the first floor, after all -- and giving that up when he saw that they opened at an angle only. There wouldn't be enough room for a baby to squeeze through. "All right, I give," he said after a few minutes of silence. "Why the hell are you admitting you have a problem? Did hell freeze over and no one tell me?"

Jules was looking at him with a half-squint that had nothing to do from the bright glow of snow from outside. His brother sometimes did that when he was thinking hard about something. "You wouldn't understand," he said after a moment, adopting that lofty tone in his voice that so annoyed every particle of Verne.

"Try me before you write me off, why don'tcha," Verne couldn't help snapping back, the challenge clear in his voice. "I'm in college now and it's just possible I might be smart -- oooo, imagine that!"

"Yes, your maturity oozes out of every cell of your body," Jules retorted. He stood up, going over to the door and trying it again. Not surprisingly, it remained tightly shut. Jules smacked it once with his palm then whirled, frustrated, pulling his robe closer over his damp skin, and started the pace the cluttered confines of the room. "Damn Marty and Emily... don't they know anything about crying wolf?"

"At least they're not locked in the same room with you for God knows how long," Verne said, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the windowsill.

"Yeah, like you're awesome company yourself," Jules muttered. "You better watch your ego, Verne. I swear, people get into your so-called profession just to have them stroked."

Verne's temper warmed up over the tiresome digs in his acting. "At least actors don't get God complexes like a lot of you hotshot doctors. I'm telling you, Jules, it's given me such pleasure to see you fall apart here. Really, it's like the best Christmas present ever!"

Jules' face flushed, then abruptly paled. "Nice to know what you really think of me, then, Verne," he said coldly.

"Oh, that's not even the start of what I think about you, Jules." Verne rattled off a few things, ticking them off on his fingers. "You can't ever admit that you're wrong. You're a control freak. Your mind is so narrow that I'm surprised at how big your head is. And you're stiffer and more serious than Bill Gates!"

"Well, you're a disorganized slob, you can't take anything seriously to save your life, you have a smartass mouth, and you've got the most unrealistic goals of anyone I know!"

"At least I dream big! Look at Dad -- he dreamed about inventing a time machine for thirty years before it happened! Are you calling Dad a loser, too?"

"Absolutely not! Dad knew enough to keep his mouth shut about that stuff and go to school and study things to help him achieve his goals with inventing and science!"

"Well, what the hell do you think I'm doing, Jules? Acting is not just pretending or improv! It's a serious discipline that requires a lot of memorization and strong nerves to deal with putting part of your soul out there before huge groups of people! Stop dissing it when you've never taken an acting class in your life, or I swear to God I'm gonna come over there and smack you!"

"Sure, because you caused so much damage to me yesterday...." Jules changed the subject quickly before Verne had the chance to lunge at him, or consider the use of one of the heavy books on the table as a good weapon. "You don't seem to understand the pressure I bear as the firstborn. I'm the one who has to succeed and be a credit to Mom and Dad. You, Emmy, and Clayton can just go through life without that on you!"

"Oh, that's such a bullshit, whiny, copout excuse!" Verne snapped. "Mom and Dad've told you as much as me to do whatever the hell you want. I know that Dad chewed you out about that a few years ago, when he was in the future for a month and the DeLorean got trashed. You wanted to be a doctor!"

"And I still do!" Jules said, his eyes darkening with the intensity of his words. "I like it!"

"Well, good for you -- I like acting! It's something I'm actually good at and it makes me feel like I can make a difference in the world! You know, there's more out there than being some geek-brained scientist or doctor! The world needs entertainment to deal with the harshness of life. What do you do if you lost a few people at your job? Go home and stare at a blank wall? No, you probably turn on the TV or the radio and chill. Or go to a dark theater for a few hours. My job is helping people chill, then, and I think it's damned important! As important as saving lives. Actors and entertainers save the sanity of people!"

Verne had to take a breath, having said something he'd been wanting to say for a long time but had never been able to think of quite how to phrase it. Jules was quiet for a minute, blinking at him, unable to conceal the surprise on his face.

"I never thought about it that way," he admitted softly.

"Yeah, there's a lot of stuff you obviously never think about," Verne muttered. "You've never given me any respect, ever. You've always treated me like I'm some repulsive little kid. Christ, Jules, I'm closer to your age than even Clayton and Emmy are to each other. We're not even two years apart. I'm just as much of an adult now as you are!"

Jules was silent again, longer, this time. He turned to study the shelves of books rather than look at his younger brother. "Then why don't you act like it more once in a while?" he finally asked.

"Act how? What is acting like an adult? More like you?" Verne snorted and shook his head. "Sorry, Jules, hate to break it to you, but you're not the ultimate voice of authority in the world. If you weren't one of Mom and Dad's kids, then I just bet you'd be one of the jerks in town who's always saying Dad's crazy! He's never acted like an adult, according to your weird definition."

"I would not! Dad has always acted responsibly!"

"God, Jules, have you heard some of the stories Marty's told about Dad before we were born? I mean, would you call borrowing plutonium from terrorists and trying to trick them being responsible? And Dad was sixty-five when he did that!"

"He had good reasons for doing what he did...."

"Yeah, maybe he did, but it was still kind of irresponsible and stupid. Even Dad'll admit that now, though he cites 'the risks one has to take as a scientist' as to why he did it." Verne sighed, angry, turning to look out the window. "Christ, you don't even understand why I'm so pissed at you...."

"You're not explaining things very well, Verne. This entire trip you've taken a perverse delight in tormenting me about that one incident in the OR--"

"Because you lost control, Jules. And I know that bugs you -- and it bugs me more that you won't even admit it! I just want you to admit it -- you aren't in control all the time and if you lose it, the world won't end!"

"Why is that so important to you? That's so immature...."

Verne turned to look at him again. "The hell it is. You're in denial, Jules. You gotta admit that you have weaknesses or you're gonna be in big trouble later. I can admit I'm not perfect. And from what I've seen, Dad, Mom, and Emmy all can. Hell, even Marty and Jennifer. But you're the one person who won't."

Jules whirled around to look at him, his arms folded tightly across his chest and his posture straight. "That's not true," he said.

Now Verne had him. "Isn't it? Then admit it -- admit that you have weaknesses, you're not perfect, and that the world won't fall apart if you do once in a while."

Verne could practically see the battle waging inside Jules at this challenge. "Why should I give you the satisfaction?" he said, sullen.

"Because I think you need to hear it as much as I do. You, Jules Eratothenes Brown, aren't perfect. You're a human and you can make mistakes and people won't kill you -- though maybe you'll end up killing people if you keep passing out in ORs," Verne couldn't help adding.

Jules sighed, deeply, the sound a frustrated one. "That's not my fault!" he said tightly. "The same thing happened with our grandfather, you know!"

That surprised Verne a little. "No, I didn't."

"He told me yesterday that he used to faint when he had to assist a close friend or family member in a medical emergency, that it's something a lot of doctors deal with. He only conquered that when he had to operate on his wife, our grandmother, when it was a life or death situation. She had a tubal pregnancy that could've killed her. And, you know, that does explain a lot, why they only had Dad and had him so late...."

"So you and Granddad had more in common then a medical interest, eh? And that still doesn't make you feel any better about passing out? Why aren't you admitting that's a problem?!"

Jules suddenly grew angry. He narrowed his eyes at his brother, his hands falling to his sides and balling into fists. "Is that what you want to hear, Verne? Fine. I, Jules Brown, have a problem that I can't immediately solve! I'm a human with feelings -- feelings that you've done nothing but hurt lately! I'm not perfect and I'm not God and I'm really really pissed at you right now!" His voice cracked a little on the last words and he stopped, swallowing hard and blinking a few times. "Verne, just go to hell," he muttered.

Verne, however, was deliciously pleased at this turn. "Good," he said. "Admitting it's the first step. Now why don't you try something really bold and apologize to people for the way you've been acting?"

"What?!"

"Me, Marty, Emmy, our grandparents.... Mom and Dad, too, once we get home...."

"I'm not the only one acting obnoxious, Verne!" Jules snapped.

The blond shrugged. "Hey, maybe I'll apologize after you do it. You're oldest, Jules -- you're supposed to set the good example, remember?"

By the look on his face, it was clear the only thing Jules wanted to do was throw something at Verne. After a moment, the deadly angry look on his face passed, vented by a hiss of a sigh. "All right, Verne," he said through rather gritted teeth. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think you mean that," Verne chided him.

"Oh, gee, what makes you think that? Is it because I'm being forced to say what you want me to?"

"An apology means nothing unless it's sincere -- at least when you're our age."

"How can you expect me to be sincere when you're forcing me to do something? No, Verne! This is ridiculous!" He went for the door again and tried the knob, fruitlessly, gave the door a little kick, then backed away with a scowl.

"I doubt we can get outta here, unless there's some secret passage built into the study that goes somewhere else," Verne said, watching him. "The windows are out."

"Maybe if we had the right tools we could take the door off the hinges," Jules half muttered, eyeing said parts of the door. After a couple minutes of study he straightened up and leaned against the wall with a sigh. "Too complicated," was his weary opinion.

Verne came over for his own look, though he suspected Jules would know better than he at the odds of escaping that way. It looked to his untrained eyes as a simple hinge, with a large bolt keeping the two or three metal teeth together and allowing it to move. If they had a hammer and a chisel, maybe it could be opened -- but not without a lot of noise. Still, it might be nice making Marty and Emily squirm if they thought they were trying to break down the door or something like that.

"If we got a paperweight or rock, with something long and metal, we could maybe pop 'em out," Verne said. "Think there might be a metal ruler around here?"

Several minutes later, after rustling around the desk, a couple of metal rulers were produced, as well as a granite paperweight the size of a fist. Verne grasped together two of the rulers, wedged one end under the top of the bolt, and used the paperweight to bang on the other end in hopes of prying loose the bolt. After a few tries, he started to see it move, with a horrible screech.

"Keep going," Jules urged him quietly, though the words were unnecessary. In a few minutes, the bottom one was out. By that time, the bangings had summoned Marty and Emily to the other side of the door.

"What are you guys doin'?" Emily demanded. "You better not be breakin' stuff or Gramma and Grandpa'll be really ticked!"

Verne glanced at Jules. The young men exchanged faint, sly smiles. Verne went to work on the top hinge.

"Cut it out!" Marty said, sounding concerned.

"Maybe if you open the door," Jules said, keeping his hands braced on the door so that it wouldn't shift and knock Verne off balance.

Emily and Marty exchanged a few murmured words that were impossible to catch through the wood. Verne went on working diligently. He had the bolt popped halfway out before they responded.

"Did you guys make up yet?" Emily asked.

"That would be up to Jules," Verne responded succinctly. He didn't need to look over to know that his brother fumed a little at the comment.

"Dammit, Verne, I'm not letting you force something out of me until I'm ready to say what I want!" he hissed. "Anyway, I'm not the only one acting like a pill!"

Verne clanged the granite on the ruler a couple times before responding. "It's your attitude that's made all the problems," he said. "And you were the one who tried to take my head off yesterday. You owe more, then. If you're sorry for what you did, then I'll apologize, too. But you gotta make the first move or forget it."

There was undoubtedly more squirming from his older brother. Verne finished prying the bolt out and let it drop to the floor with a weighted clang. "Okay, that's it," he said, half to himself, stepping back from the door and setting his improvised tools on the desk. "Let's pop this baby open."

That, actually, proved a touch more challenging than anticipated. Finally, after a few minutes of struggle and cooperation, the brothers eased the door out of the frame and set it aside against the wall, allowing them an easy passage out of the room. Emily and Marty both stood in the hall, watching them with expressions ranging from unease to disapproval.

"You broke the door!" Emily said, sounding both amazed and horrified.

"You locked us in there," Verne said. "What did you expect us to do, wait patiently and be good little prisoners?"

Marty groaned softly, rubbing his forehead. "If you guys don't fix that before your grandparents get home...."

"You were the ones who provoked us into doing that," Jules said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish the shower you so rudely interrupted." He glowered a little at Emily and Marty, then headed off for the stairs. When he was gone, Emily turned to Verne, who was examining the doorframe and making sure they hadn't done any permanent damage.

"You really didn't even try to make up?" She sounded aghast, and a little angry.

"It's up to Jules," Verne said, a little coolly. "He's the one who started it, and he's the one who's gotta finish it."

* * *

It took Jules almost a full hour in the shower -- enough to go through all the hot water the place had available -- before he was willing to emerge and face the problems he wished would just go away. Under the spray of water, he spent a lot of time reluctantly replaying the words his brother had snapped out at him in the study, as well as other things his grandfather had said to him. It added up to a load of things Jules didn't want to deal with then or admit to himself.

They're all right, he realized, annoyed with that as much as saddened by it. It scared him in a lot of ways -- how on earth was he supposed to fix this, fix the very things that made him who he was? -- but he also felt oddly relieved. Almost as if an invisible pressure that had been gradually tightened around him had finally cracked. Things that he had been only faintly aware of had finally been pulled into focus, and now that he saw them there, the possibility existed that he might be able to avoid them in the future.

Or not.

Jules knew that the older one got, the harder it was to change thinking and behavior patterns. He could at least try now; worst that could happen was he would fall into old habits. The part of him that was stubborn, a stubbornness that had borne him through tough times and taunts from peers and classmates, resisted this idea, not wanting to give "them" the satisfaction of knowing they were right. But the idea of turning into a bitter and lonely old man were more persuasive. And he wanted to be good at his profession and be a good doctor. From what he was hearing, if things continued as they were, that wasn't going to happen.

So, after dressing, Jules reluctantly sought out his brother, first. He found Verne in the study, trying to repair the damage they had wrought upon the room by removing the door. Armed with proper tools, now, the bolts didn't apparently want to go in as easily as they had come out. He didn't even glance up when Jules came into the room.

"Are you here to help with this? Nice timing, Jules, I've been wrestling with this for almost an hour. Emmy's too small to help out and Marty didn't want to chance ripping out his stitches so--"

"I'm sorry, Verne," Jules said softly, interrupting the tirade.

Verne didn't appear to hear him at first, continuing on. "--that's left me to put the pieces back and it's a pain in the -- what?" Now he looked up.

"I said, I'm sorry, Verne," Jules said, wishing he didn't have to repeat this more than he had to. "For what I said earlier about your choice of a major, for being a pain in the ass, for nagging. Take your pick."

Verne's eyes narrowed in study of his brother's face. When they could detect no trace of sarcasm or teasing, he stood up from where he'd been crouching down and working on the lower hinge and once more looked hard at Jules. "You mean it," he said, sounding faintly surprised.

Jules nodded once.

"Did you slip in the shower, hit your head or something?"

The older brother frowned. "Verne, are you familiar with the phrase, 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'? You wanted a sincere apology, and after thinking it over I decided to do just that. You don't have to gloat...."

Verne blinked. "I'm not really gloating," he said seriously. "I'm just kinda surprised.... Anyway, I guess I'm sorry, too, for what happened. I know I can sometimes snap things out before I think of how it's gonna be taken...."

"Actually, that probably helped with... things," Jules said, vague when he saw how Verne suddenly seemed rather interested. "So can we get along, now, without any friction?"

"If you don't cop an attitude again, maybe we can make it through the rest of the holidays," Verne said. "After all, we're the oldest. We should probably be setting good examples for Emmy and Clayton. Or something."

Jules smiled faintly, then held out his hand in a gesture of peace. Verne accepted it after a moment of hesitation and they shook formally. "I'm sorry I kept taunting you 'bout passing out," the blond added. "I know that really bugged you, but I also thought you were shrugging it off way too easily...."

"It's okay. And it's fine. I really want to be a good doctor, Verne. If I'm picking up any bad habits that might interfere with that, it'd be good if you pointed them out."

A gleam shown in the blue eyes. "Really? Well you could really work on not coming across as so serious all the time, might want to work on your sense of humor to lighten things up and give your future patients something to chuckle over...."

"I'll leave making people laugh up to you," Jules said. He changed the subject, quickly, before either of them could accidentally fall back into the rift they'd just sealed up. "So, you want help putting that door back?"

It took the both of them about twenty minutes to get the door back to the way it was supposed to be. Once that chore was done, Jules went in search of Marty and Emily, to whom he felt he also owed an apology and explanation. He found his sister first, in the front parlor, sitting on the couch with her feet carelessly propped up on one of the polished end tables, reading an edition of Little Women. She glanced up as he came in, then looked back to the novel.

"Emily?"

The girl looked up after a moment at the sound of her name. "What?" she asked.

"Can I talk to you a minute?"

Emily was suspicious. "Why?" she asked. "Are you gonna lecture me about something again? Locking you both in the room? You guys totally deserved that...."

"No. Actually, I was just hoping to apologize to you."

Like Verne, Emily looked hard at Jules, to perhaps see if he was putting her on. "Why?" she asked.

Jules sat down in the chair closest to hers, turning to address her. "Because I think I owe you that much after the last few days. The purpose of this trip was for your birthday, after all. I should've allowed you more chances to do what you wanted."

Emily chewed on that a moment. "Does this mean we can stop and get a doll tomorrow before we leave?"

"I -- I guess, if you still want to do that."

"Good." Emily started to go back to her book, then looked back to her oldest brother. "You aren't puttin' me on, are you?"

Jules sighed to himself, a little irritated with her attitude of disbelief. "No, Emmy, I'm trying to be serious and sincere."

His sister blinked a couple times. "Oh. Well, thanks, Jules. Maybe there's hope for you yet." She smiled at him, letting him know she was joking, then looked back to her book.

Jules got up from the couch. "Do you know where Marty is?"

"I dunno. He said he was gonna go lie down somewhere and try to take a nap."

That sounded suspiciously like the tale she had fed to him that morning. "Really?"

Emily heard the doubt in his voice. She looked up again with a little smile, understanding. "Unless he was lying to me."

Marty was not lying to Emily. After double-checking the study -- which was empty -- Jules found Marty on the couch in the living room at the back of the house, tucked under a blanket. He appeared to be sleeping, and the doctoring part of Jules thought it might be a good idea to leave him be, seeing he was still recovering from surgery. The more persistent part of him, however, wanted to say what he had come to say and get it out of his system, now. That part of him ended up winning.

"Marty?" he called softly, approaching the musician.

No response. Jules tried again. "Marty, I need to talk to you for a minute."

There was a faint groan and Marty shifted position, burrowing his head under the blanket. Jules sat down on the foot of the couch. "Marty, it's important, please."

"I was sleeping, Jules," the musician moaned plaintively. "I was up half the night.... You can wait to look at my scar!"

"No, it's not about that. It's about... can you look at me for a minute? I don't want to have to say this over and over again."

Marty groaned but complied, squinting hard against the daylight slanting in through the windows. "What?" he asked, cranky.

"I wanted to apologize for the way I've been acting on this trip. To you and to the others."

"That's it? You woke me up to say you're sorry about something you could've told me later?"

"Well, not entirely." Jules fidgeted a little under Marty's annoyed gaze. "There's also... uh... Verne and I finished putting the door back on the study, so you can go back in there if you want."

"Jules...." Marty's tone was one of supreme irritation. "If you're trying to get on my good side, you picked a crummy way to do it!"

"I just wanted to apologize, Marty. I wasn't entirely sure you were sleeping...."

"Well, then, you leave someone alone if you're not sure. That'd be the polite thing to do."

"All right, fine, I'm sorry." He watched as Marty tossed aside the blanket and sat up, presumably going to head off to the study. "So now you're mad at me?"

The musician closed his eyes and sighed deeply a moment. "I'm not mad, Jules, I'm just tired. So, you're sorry about everything that's happened lately. Does that include what you said to me a few days ago?"

Jules blinked, genuinely confused. "What did I say to you a few days ago?" he asked.

"That junk about how people in college shouldn't do creative majors like acting... or, maybe, music?" As Jules tried to remember that conversation, Marty misinterpreted the look on his face for confusion and added, a little bitingly, "You did know I was a music major, right?"

"Oh... yeah, I knew that." It took him another moment to realize why that rankled Marty so badly. "Oh! Well, I didn't mean it like that, you know.... Anyway," he added quickly when he saw Marty looking more irritated, "I can see why the world needs people like that. It probably wouldn't do if everyone was a scientist, doctor, or lawyer."

"Really?" Marty said dryly. He got to his feet slowly. Before Jules could say anything else, Marty added, "I'm going to go to the study with the intention of sleeping. So if you think I'm asleep in there, I probably am."

"You are mad at me, now, aren't you?"

There was another sigh as Marty headed out of the room. "I don't think I'm mad, Jules. It's just been a crazy few days."

Jules let him go without any more apologetic attempts. "At least we're going home tomorrow," he said under his breath. "Then life can finally get back to normal....."

With peace restored for the moment between Jules and Verne, as well as Jules and the rest of their party, the rest of the day after Christmas passed fairly painlessly. By the time the Von Brauns arrived home for dinner, there was no sign at all that the study door had spent several hours out of its home. The brothers decided to take the couple aside and apologize to them privately for what had transpired the day before in their home. The general level of tension seemed to drop after that, and the last evening was one filled with smiles and comfortable conversation.