* * *

Doc smiled as he inspected the handiwork of the washing machine and the dryer he had crafted together. “Excellent,” he proclaimed as he turned around and held up the shirt that he had just pulled free of the large iron dryer. “And even better, the steam from the turbine actually has prevented the material from wrinkling!”

Clara nodded, the gesture rather brisk. She looked frazzled in spite of her husband’s success at what would be an extremely time and labor saving device. Doc had summoned her from the kitchen minutes before, for the moment of truth. “Wonderful, Emmett,” she said. “You’re sure nothing is shrunken?”

Doc eyeballed the shirt once more, one of Marty’s. The teen had offered no protest to using some of his garments in the initial run. “No, I don’t think so. I suppose, though, it’s possible, and we won’t really know until Marty tries these on. I’ll bring these to him and see.”

“All right. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Supper should be ready shortly.”

Clara hurried out of the barn, her burgeoning waistline not hindering her movement in the least. Doc found himself fascinated more than once by his wife’s pregnant belly, at the way it slowly expanded -- now so much that she couldn’t leave the house and go into town unless bundled up in a few layers, in an attempt to hide what was becoming increasingly obvious.

As he had predicted back in August, the movement of the baby had gradually become more consistent, to the point Clara had grown annoyed with it more than once when the child would shift about restlessly when she wanted to sleep or rest. Doc had felt the baby kick several times, and his sense of wonder at the sensation did not fade after the first time. As reluctant as he had been to accept this event, or want it, he secretly found himself looking forward to it more by the day.

It would be perfect if he could simply stop worrying and wondering what kind of effect this would have on Clara’s health...and what it could do to the space-time continuum.

Doc collected the rest of Marty’s things from the steam-powered dryer he had rigged up in one corner of the lab, taking a moment to shake out each article of clothing and fold it up. He held off putting in a new load of things from the automated washing machine, eager to confirm that a run in the homemade dryer had not damaged the clothes in any way. Once the dryer was emptied, he tucked the warm, clean stack of clothes under one arm and left the barn.

Outside, a cold wind was whipping by, and the scent of rain was in the air. It was a miserable day to do the kind of in-depth cleaning that Clara was so eager to tackle now. Doc didn’t quite understand why the urge to do that had struck his wife this particular weekend, but the least he figured he could do was to humor her, within reason. He did not like the idea of her scrubbing floors in her condition, or doing anything more strenuous than sewing, but anytime he tried to bring it up, his wife would simply ignore him. He hoped that as she grew larger, and as the due date loomed nearer, she would slow down a little. If not, he was definitely going to have to have some words with her.

Doc hurried across the yard, eager for the protection of the walls from the wind. Clara did not so much as look up from the stove as he let himself in the back door and cut through the kitchen, thoroughly focused on the supper after a long day of cleaning. Based on the smells emanating from the stove, it would be good.

Doc wasn’t entirely sure where his friend was right now, but he guessed that his room was as good a place to start as any. He walked down the hallway, towards the closed door near the end of the hall. Without pausing to knock, he turned the knob and stepped right in.

Marty was lying on the bed when Doc stepped into the room. In the three seconds it took the inventor to execute the move, his friend bolted into a half sitting position and let out a startled cry. “Go away!”

Doc didn’t understand what all the fuss was about at first -- then his eyes took in more of the scene, including a clear look at just what his friend had been doing, and he let out his own scream of horror, the clothes in his arm suddenly dropping to the floor. He didn’t remember leaving, but seconds later he was in the hallway, the door firmly closed behind him, his back against the opposite wall and his eyes wide and unblinking.

“Emmett?” Clara’s voice drifted from the opposite end of the hall. “Is something wrong?”

Doc closed his eyes for a moment, desperately trying to erase the image he had just witnessed from his brain cells. That didn’t seem to help; instead he was treated to a recreation in living color, projected on the back of his eyelids. He opened his eyes once more and took a deep breath.

“No,” he called back to his wife. “No, not at all. Marty and I just startled one another.”

Quite so, that’s one way to put it.!

“Oh. Well, supper will be on the table in a few minutes!”

Doc couldn’t have cared less at that moment. His appetite had fled at the moment. He stared at the closed door of Marty’s room. Only then did he realize that all the clothes he had brought in had been scattered on the floor of the bedroom. Well, Marty would have to pick those up. He certainly wasn’t going back in there right now!

Doc turned and walked briskly away from his friend’s room, trying to calm down. It wasn’t as if he had caught his friend committing murder in there, or an unforgivable offense. Marty was a teenager, and as a teenager he was full of hormones and curiosity. Certainly such behavior was normal -- no, rather, it was normal. As a man of science, he knew that -- and as a man as well. But knowing and seeing were two very different things! He grimaced at the memory of what his eyes had happened to observe as he pulled open the front door and stepped onto the porch. Fresh air, no doubt, would restore some perspective.

Doc paced up and down the length of the porch, trying to clear his head and vent his unease. Clara finally emerged from the house, her brow furrowed as she took in her husband’s behavior.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “You look upset. Did your steam dryer not work?”

Doc stopped abruptly, turning his head to stare at her. “What?”

“Your dryer, as you called it. Did it harm Marty’s clothes?”

“Huh?” Doc blinked, trying to bring his mind back to that matter. “Oh, uh, no, no that’s not the problem. I was simply, ah, thinking. Did you need something?”

Clara smiled, unoffended by her husband’s blunt request. “No, I thought you would like to know that supper’s on the table, now. Where is Marty?”

“In his room. Ah, don’t go in there.”

Clara blinked. “Why not?”

There was absolutely no way that Doc was going to elaborate more than that. “Uh, I don’t think he’s quite done cleaning his room up.”

The former teacher’s brow knit itself together. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of, and certainly nothing he should be punished for.”

“No, no, of course not. I’ll get him,” Doc added, reluctantly.

Perhaps twenty minutes had passed since the ill timed encounter. Doc followed Clara back inside, hardly aware of how much more comfortable it was inside, out of the chill wind, then veered off down the hall. He paused before Marty’s closed door, then rapped on the surface.

“Supper’s ready,” he said loudly, then turned and walked briskly away, not waiting for an answer.

Doc had just sat down at the dining room table when Marty arrived in the room. He took his seat without looking up, resting his hands on the tabletop. Doc stared at them a moment as his wife entered, carrying a steaming dish.

“You’ve washed your hands, I hope,” he said bluntly.

Marty’s cheeks suddenly flushed. He pulled his hands off the table, out of sight, and gave Doc a quick glance. “Yeah, of course. Have you?”

“Have I what?” Doc asked, his eyes widening at the question. “I don’t think now is the time or place for a conversation such as--”

“Washed your hands, Doc!” Marty said loudly, almost shouting out the words. Clara turned her head and favored him with a puzzled look. The teen slouched down in his chair, his blush darkening even more. “Sheesh,” he muttered softly.

“Oh. Yes, yes I did.”

Clara set down a dish in the middle of the table, then took her own seat near her husband. “I tried something new today,” she said brightly. “You’ll have to let me know how you like it.”

Marty, obviously eager to distract himself and the inventor from the embarrassing encounter earlier, piped up right on cue. “What is it?” he asked, leaning forward to eyeball the contents of the dish.

“Some sausage I found at the meat market a couple days ago. The butcher said it would be nice and juicy, but I’m not sure if I cooked it long enough. They look nice and plump; I think they even grew bigger while they were cooking. I marinated a few spices into it to have the taste come out, as the butcher recommended, and -- are you all right?”

The concern was directed to Doc, who couldn’t suppress a little snort at the words, reading into them a meaning that was utterly unintended by his wife. He raised his glass and took a few hasty swallows, catching sight of Marty from the corner of his eye. The teen appeared puzzled for a moment, then his eyes widened as he seemed to catch on. He gave Doc a dirty look.

“Fine, just fine,” Doc managed after he had composed himself. “I’m afraid I swallowed something the wrong way.”

Clara continued to stare at him, then glanced over at Marty. The teen had looked away, at the table, and seemed fascinated by the patterns in the tablecloth. “I see,” she said slowly. “Well, if you don’t like it, I won’t make it again. Do let me know. I thought you might appreciate it, what with your Germanic heritage, but maybe I was wrong.” She sounded tentative and uncertain.

“No, no, I’m sure it’s fine,” Doc said.

The food was distributed around the table, and supper began. It was a very quiet meal. Marty said barely two words, casting quick, furtive looks over at Doc, and the scientist was afraid to speak, lest he say the wrong thing or something that could be constrained with an unconscious double meaning like Clara’s comment. The former teacher immediately picked up at the tension at the table, but misinterpreted it for something else entirely; when the meal was done, neither Marty nor her husband had barely touched the main course of the sausage. After what had happened that afternoon, it just didn’t seem very appetizing.

“I’m excusing myself,” Marty said as soon as he had eaten enough to appease Clara. He stood up and hastily pushed in his chair. “I’m done.”

“Are you sure?” Clara asked, glancing at his mostly untouched plate. She frowned as she took in the teen. “Are you all right, Marty?”

“I’m fine,” Marty said, a shade too loudly. He practically fled from the room.

Clara frowned, not buying that for a moment. “Perhaps you should talk to him, Emmett,” she said.

“Me?” Doc asked, his voice cracking on the word. “What on earth would we need to talk about?”

Unaware of what went on earlier, Clara shrugged. “I think something is bothering him,” she said. “It must be so hard for him to be out here without any of his friends or family nearby.”

“Oh yes,” Doc muttered under his breath. “Hard indeed.” He jumped to his feet, feeling twitchy and restless.

Clara sighed as her husband rose to clear the plates, thankfully changing the subject. “Well, I don’t think I’ll be making that dish again. It’s too bad we don’t have a dog,” she added with some remorse, surveying the leftovers. “I hate to see that all go to waste....”

Doc thought of Einstein then, at the remark. He didn’t think much about the pet he had left behind, mostly because he would immediately feel a strong sense of guilt wondering what had come of Einie. Hopefully, once he crafted a new time machine, such thoughts would be a moot point. After he let Marty go home, he was going to go straight back to his lab and pick up his dog. He only hoped that Einstein wasn’t aware of how much time was really passing for his master.

After the table had been cleared, he tried to help his wife clean up the kitchen. Clara, however, would have none of that. She booted him out, once more encouraging him to talk to his friend. Doc was sorely tempted to sneak outside and sequester himself in the lab -- but at that thought, he realized he still did not know what the results were with the dryer experiment. So, with a reluctant sigh, he returned to Marty’s room and once more rapped on the door.

From inside, he heard the sound of guitar chords. They abruptly stopped when he knocked.

“What?” came the reply a moment later.

“It’s Doc. Can I come in?”

There was a long pause. “I guess.”

* * *

Marty successfully resisted the urge to climb out the window as Doc slowly opened the bedroom door. He cautiously peeked around the doorjamb. Marty wondered ruefully what he expected to find him doing in here. When he saw that the teen was simply sitting on the bedroom floor, his guitar on his lap and a journal balanced on one knee, he stepped inside and then closed the door behind him. Marty eyed him suspiciously, still fighting off a desire to hide somewhere for a while after the earlier events.

“Did you try on those clothes?” Doc asked, pointing to the garments he had dropped earlier when he had barged into the room.

“No,” Marty said, having given them no thought until then. “Why?”

“I need to know if they have shrunken or were damaged in any way. Clara doesn’t want to let me run anything through the dryer until that’s settled. You can imagine how expensive it would be to replace clothes now.”

“Yeah.” Marty glanced down and plucked a few strings of the guitar, hoping that his friend would take the hint and leave. “Is that it?”

Doc looked as skittish as Marty felt. He took a seat in the desk chair. “About earlier, I--”

Marty cut him off right there. “Doc!”

“I know what you were doing was perfectly normal and healthy. It’s okay to, ah, do that sort of thing. I didn’t mean to...intrude.”

Marty ran a hand through his hair, feeling his blood pressure soar. He pushed the guitar off his lap and managed to look his friend in the eye for more than a few seconds, even as his felt his cheeks turn a slow crimson. “Can we just not talk about this, okay? I just want to forget it ever happened!”

Doc obediently closed his mouth -- but a moment later he opened it again. “You know, when I was younger, I found--”

“Oh, hell, no!” Marty burst out, scrambling to his feet. He looked at Doc again, then restlessly turned to the window. “What you do in your spare time is really is none of my business, okay?”

“Quite so,” Doc said easily. “But you must know that all men--”

“Doc!”

The inventor stopped once more. Looking at the glass, Marty saw his friend’s reflection in the window. Doc looked a little stung. “I’m just trying to make you feel better,” he said gruffly.

“Well, just drop it then.” Marty shuddered. “Jesus Christ, I thought it was bad when my dad had ‘the talk’ with me when I was twelve. This is just....” He couldn’t find the right words to complete the sentence.

There was a scraping noises as Doc stood, pushing the chair back. “Clara doesn’t know,” he said.

Marty turned around fast at the comment, his eyes wide with horror. “God, why would you tell her about that? Why?”

“Calm down, I didn’t tell her anything, and I have absolutely no intention of doing so. This is more of a man sort of issue, anyway. I don’t think she would quite understand. Thank God she didn’t walk in on you.”

Marty blanched at the very thought. He found his way to the edge of the bed and sat down. He glanced over at the bedside table at the photograph of Jennifer, recalling how this whole thing had started, then looked down at the floorboards. “You know, is it too much to ask for you guys to knock once in a while? Not that I’m doing, uh, that in here every time I have the door shut,” he added hastily, “but, you know, I got kind of used to not living with anyone else when you and Clara got married. This whole living-with-people thing is kind of weird to get used to all over again...especially since you and Clara are together and all.”

“No, it’s not to much to ask for at all,” Doc agreed immediately. “You deserve privacy when you want it. I apologize for being presumptuous enough to barge in. I just didn’t think I’d see-- that you would be....”

Marty felt himself grow hot all over at the memory of that embarrassing moment. The look on Doc’s face when he had seen him was probably going to be something the teen would remember until the day he died. “Yeah, okay, I got it. Just spare me any lectures, okay? I’d like to see how sane you’d be if you had to be away from Clara as long as I’ve been away from Jen.”

“I didn’t come in here to lecture you,” Doc said. “I know the scientific reasons behind such biological behaviors. After all, I was a bachelor for sixty-six years, and contrary to what you might think, I, too, felt certain...needs that intellectual stimulation couldn’t entirely fulfill.”

This was the last thing Marty wanted to hear about. He remembered the sense of amazement when he had gone back in time that first time, to 1955, and seen all the girlie photos tacked up in Doc’s lab -- even in the small bathroom out in the garage. And then there was the Playboy in the suitcase from the future. It wasn’t as if Marty had thought his friend wasn’t into girls or had ever thought about sex, but it just seemed like Doc had other things to occupy his mind. Like science. He had referred to a high school dance as a “rhythmic ceremonial ritual,” after all, and didn’t even seem to know the proper term for a date.

Then again, in 1955 he had been much younger, only 35. Maybe Doc hadn’t given up on women yet at that point.

Of course, the Playboy issue had been dated October 1985, too, and there had been a subscription sticker on the front.

“Doc, I don’t want to know this. Actually, I really, really don’t want to know this -- that’s your business, okay? It’s bad enough that I had to listen to you and Clara getting all into each other after we first moved in.”

Doc blinked. “Oh yes, that. Well, ah, if you ever want to talk about anything....”

Believe me, this will be the last thing I ever talk about with you! Marty thought adamantly. He managed a very thin smile. “Sure, I got it, your door is always open and all that stuff.” He changed the subject as fast as possible. “So you want me to try that stuff on you washed?”

Doc looked as relieved as Marty was that the conversation had ended. “Yes, if you would. Just one of the shirts should be enough.”

Marty was happy to oblige, pulling on one of the button down shirts over his clothes. The fabric didn’t seem to be harmed by the new washing devices, and Doc left pleased, not making any more mention about what had happened earlier.

Marty sighed as his friend closed the door as he left. He sat back down on the floor, next to his guitar, and leaned back against the bed, suddenly exhausted.

Wow, he thought. I can’t wait until Doc finishes the machine and undos all this mess. This is going to be one day that I really won’t mind forgetting about at all...though I guess, in some ways, we’re almost even now from all the times I heard him and Clara going at it in their room!