Chapter 9

Saturday, September 5th, 1885

Hill Valley

12:49 P.M.

"Testing one two, one two, one two three – can you hear me, Jennifer?"

"Copy that, Marty. Or roger that. Whatever you're supposed to say."

Marty grinned over at Doc and the kids, bent over a nearby table. "Success, Doc! These things still work! You owe me a dollar."

"Yes, yes," Doc said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Can you really blame me for wondering, though? Batteries do decay."

"Well, it's all loud and clear from my side," Jennifer reported from the bed, holding up her handset. "Or as clear as these things get, anyway."

"I think we're set, Doc," Marty agreed.

"Great." Doc ran a practiced eye over his model as Verne placed the last little tree. "Now that we've established our communications system works, I can explain my plan for getting us home. Come on over here and take a look."

Jennifer and Marty obliged, heading to the far end of the table where Doc and the tentacles had been working so diligently. The entire surface had been converted into a miniature replica of the train line that led to the ravine, composed of various bits and pieces the scientist had scavenged from the shop and the landscape around it. Doc waved a hand over the buildings and tracks. "Please excuse the crudity of this model, it's–"

"Yeah, it's not to scale," Marty interrupted with a smirk. "It's okay, Doc."

But it still doesn't look right! Verne protested, fussing with the scenery. If we had just a little more time. . .and maybe a few more bits of scrub for here and here, and a chance to make that hill a little bigger. . . .

Obsessive much, Verne? Albert mocked.

"Anyway," Doc said loudly, hoping to forestall the argument threatening to burst in his head, "here's what we've worked out. At eight o'clock Monday morning, a train going to San Francisco will arrive at the Hill Valley station. After it leaves said station, it will follow this line." Verne pointed to a stretch of track at the start of the model, then began making minute adjustments. "Leave it, Verne. Over here–" Tommy pointed this time "– is the switch track that leads to the incomplete bridge stretching out over Clay–" Doc stopped and swallowed "– Shonash Ravine. So – Sunday night, we load up the DeLorean here." Tommy grabbed a little toy DeLorean they'd fashioned out of wood and put it on the tracks just beyond the switch. "Monday morning, we ride out down the line a bit, wait for the train–" Jules started a crude little locomotive running around the turn "–stop it right before it hits the switch track, and then we hijack–" he grinned "– borrow the locomotive and use it to push the DeLorean."

"Wait, what about the passenger cars?" Jennifer asked, holding up a hand. "Are we just going to leave them stranded? Won't that change history in a big way?"

"I've been trying to figure out the optimal method for getting around that," Doc said, scratching his head. "The best I've come up with so far is sending an anonymous tip to the station that hijackers may be after one of the trains late Sunday afternoon. Means we'll have to deal with an engineer who's on the alert, but I'm sure the tentacles will be able to handle that." They nodded, clacking their claws. "I briefly considered bribing another engineer to come along after we leave and pick the passengers up, but there's too much risk he'd simply take the money and rat us out. We're already running a worrying chance of getting our names in the history books without making things worse." He sighed deeply. "I don't like it, but given this is our best chance of getting home with any speed, we'll just have to plow on through."

"And keep our fingers crossed," Marty nodded.

"Exactly." Doc used a finger to roll the toy DeLorean along the tracks. "Anyway, back to the matter at hand. We take the locomotive and use it to push the DeLorean, getting the boiler to the appropriate pressure using some of my homemade Presto logs. According to my calculations, we should reach 88 miles per hour just before we hit the edge of the ravine, transporting us instantly back to 1986–" Verne grabbed the DeLorean as it reached the end of the track and sent it flying over thin air "– and allowing us to coast safely across the completed bridge."

Marty and Jennifer glanced at each other, a curious mix of hope and worry on their faces. "You're sure it's safe, Doc?" Jennifer asked.

"Jules and I have been over the equations three times, and it always works out the same. It's as safe as it's going to get."

Marty squinted at the model. "What's this mean?" he asked, pointing to a sign Doc had lettered in white paint on a spare book and leaned against a windmill adjacent to the track. "'Point of No Return?'"

"That's our failsafe point," Doc explained. "Up until then, we still have enough time to stop the locomotive if there's a problem. But once we pass that windmill, it's the future or bust!"

"Very reassuring, Doc," Jennifer commented, chewing her lower lip.

"You're the ones who don't want to wait until winter." Doc grinned, patting her shoulder. "Would a little demonstration help? I've got a crude battery right here."

"This thing's motorized?" Marty said, sounding quite impressed.

"Wait until you see it in action." Verne set the car and train back into place while Doc and Albert hooked up the terminals that would make the train go. Doc gave the activation lever a yank, and with a little whistle, the toy locomotive chugged forward. "Train leaving the station," Doc reported as they all watched it go around. "Coming up to the switch track – throw switch! Coming up to the DeLorean. . . ." The front of the train bumped into the rear of the toy car, then began shoving it along. "Pushing the DeLorean. . .up to 88 miles per hour–!"

The two models raced along the track as Doc pulled the lever up to full power. Tommy reached out and caught the DeLorean just before it could go over the edge of the table. The train continued on, crashing into a pillow Doc had set below. The tentacle presented it proudly to Jennifer as Doc smiled. "See? Couldn't be simp–"

"Don't say it!" Jennifer cried.

Doc blinked, startled. "What?"

"It's a jinx," Jennifer said, folding her arms. "Every time you say something will be simple or easy, it isn't."

"She's got a point," Marty agreed.

Doc frowned at them. "I'm aware that this plan might run into a few issues – having it go perfectly is a near-impossibility. But I doubt I can attract more potential problems just by talking!"

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. "Hello?"

Doc froze, then shot a glare at a smirking Jennifer. "That means nothing," he said through clenched teeth.

Hang on – is that Miss Clayton? Jules asked, tentacle raised in a questioning S.

"Clara?" Doc's annoyance vanished as he ran to check. Sure enough, she was visible through the slats, waiting patiently at the door in a pink-and-white-striped dress that reminded Doc a bit of a candy cane. His heart gave a leap of joy, ignoring the more rational parts of his brain trying to remind him what a problem her being alive actually was. "It is! I didn't expect to see her again so soon!"

"She must have tracked you down," Marty said, then frowned. "Just like my mom with me. . .weird how we keep living the same stuff over and over again."

"Indeed," Doc agreed, not wanting to linger on his sense of deja-vu. Clara was outside, and he was damned if he was going to keep her waiting any longer. His head snapped to the time machine, sitting out in plain sight thanks to a few last-minute tweaks. "Speaking of which, help me cover the DeLorean!"

Marty grabbed the tarp and threw it over the car, Doc pulling it the rest the way. The tentacles zipped under Doc's coat as Jennifer dropped the toy DeLorean and kicked it under the table. Doc did a quick spin to make sure nothing else suspicious was on display, then took a deep breath and opened the door.

Clara gazed up at him, smile sweet as sugar if a touch shy. "Hello."

"Hello," Doc said, doing his best not to get too caught up in her eyes. "Won't you come in?"

"Thank you. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," she said as she slipped through the door around him.

"Oh, no. We were just doing some model railroad," Doc said, waving a hand at the table. "Bit of a hobby. . ."

"Ah." Clara nodded at Marty. "Hello again, Mr. Eastwood."

"Hello, ma'am," Marty said, nodding back. He put an arm around Jennifer and pulled her close. "This is Jennifer Streisand. She's my fiancee."

"Pleasure to meet you," Jennifer said, dropping a quick curtsy.

"Likewise," Clara said. "Your fiancé and Mr. Wayne saved my life the other day."

The three managed to avoid wincing. "They told me," Jennifer replied, doing her best to smile. "I'm very glad they were there."

"So am I," Clara said, glancing back at Doc.

"So are we," Doc replied, easily able to shove his worries about her effect on the space-time continuum to the side in the light of that smile. A sudden wave of concern hit him, prompting him to add, "How are you?" She seemed well enough, but – well, nearly falling into a ravine was a traumatic experience no matter how you sliced it.

"Just fine," Clara assured him, before holding up a familiar slim case. "Although my telescope did get damaged slightly in the fall, unfortunately. I was hoping, since you mentioned being a man of science, that you could fix it." She fiddled with the handle a moment. "I would pay you–"

Force Clara to pay? Especially for something that was for all intents and purposes his fault? "Oh, no," Doc cut her off, waving his hands. "I would never dream of charging you for this." He took the case from her before she could protest. His fingers brushed the side of her hand, sending a tingle shooting up his arm. Her skin was so soft. . .no, no, she's a customer. Have to be professional. "Well, let's have a look."

He led Clara over one of the worktables in the back while Marty and Jennifer moved aside. Doc did his best to ignore their suspicious looks. This wasn't anything to be suspicious about, was it? He was just doing a favor for this woman. This exquisite, loving, intelligent woman. . . .

Your brain chemistry has altered significantly again, Jules said in a resigned voice. Is that going to happen every time she comes around?

Probably, Albert said, with the sense that he'd roll his eyes if he had any. Really, Father, you barely even know her. You shouldn't be feeling anything this strong yet.

Hush – I'm helping a customer. Doc popped open the case to reveal a brass telescope – not anything fancy, but elegant in its simplicity. He picked it up and put it to his eye, squinting as he tried to determine the problem. Everything seemed to be in working order. . . .

"I think a lens may be out of alignment," Clara said from beside him, reaching up to adjust the instrument. "Because when you turn the telescope this way, the image turns fuzzy, see?" Doc nodded slightly – yes, the shop was now a blur of color. "But if you turn it the – other way. . . ."

Doc's eyes snapped wide open. Clara was standing so close to him, he could feel her breath on his neck. He hadn't had a woman be so near him in ages. His skin seemed hyper-sensitive to her presence, like a constant charge of static electricity. "Everything. . .becomes. . .clear," he finished for her, voice hoarse as he dropped the telescope and turned to face her. Their eyes locked again, and suddenly nothing in the world mattered quite as much as those warm pools of brown. Not the telescope, not the shop, not even the space-time continuum.

On the edges of his hearing, he picked up a soft groan from Marty. "Oh, for. . .is this payback for all the times we've gotten goofy around him?"

"Maybe," Jennifer's voice said. "Though I don't know if we've ever gotten that goofy."

"I dunno, Jen – we were pretty goofy when we first met. Hell, I think we had some of the same staring contests."

"Yeah, okay, true," Jennifer allowed with a giggle. "I'd say this is kind of cute, but–" Her voice dropped. "Well, you know. . . ."

"Right. Better do something before they stare each other to death." With that, Marty coughed a couple of times.

Doc would have ignored the teen just on principle if not for the fact that, at that exact same moment, Tommy said, Oh, just smooch already! and gave him a subtle prod in the buttocks. Startled, Doc broke his gaze, turning to the side as his cheeks flushed. Clara did the same. Doc was about to assure her that she had no reason to be embarrassed when –

When he could have sworn he saw Clara's dress ripple all on its own.

He blinked, then tilted his head. What the – had a breeze stirred the garment? He hadn't felt anything. . .and the motion had looked strangely organic. As if the dress itself was a living thing. But that was absolutely ridiculous – whoever heard of living cloth?

Yeah, well, we're pretty weird too, Verne pointed out.

Maybe so, but you're also from a time period that makes things like you possible. There's no way Clara could have any access to futuristic fabrics. He peered hard at the gown. It lay flat against his beloved's skin, refusing to do anything else peculiar. Clara herself didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual either. Must have been a trick of the light, Doc decided, and put it out of his mind, turning his attention back to her telescope. "Doesn't seem to be a major issue. I can fix it this afternoon and have it ready for you tonight," he told Clara with a smile. Hell, he was certain he could fix it right now if she gave him a couple of minutes – but he also knew he couldn't be sure that he'd be able to keep his mind on his work with her standing right there. The teens and the tentacles had given him enough flack over his feelings for one day.

Clara, however, was frowning. "Oh – but tonight is the town festival," she said. "I couldn't ask you to work then." Her expression turned hopeful. "You are going, aren't you?"

Doc hadn't planned on it before now. Marty and Jennifer had expressed an interest in attending briefly, just to sample the food and take in a bit of the local music, but he preferred to shun such social events. Too much risk of the tentacles being found out. But if Clara was going to be there. . . . "Yes, of course – the festival," he grinned. "I'll fix it up this afternoon and return it to you then, how's that?"

Marty and Jennifer stared at him while the tentacles mentally squeaked at each other in surprise. Clara, on the other hand, favored him with another sunshine smile. "Perfect. I'll see you at the festival, then." She dropped a small curtsy, then nodded at Marty and Jennifer. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Eastwood. And meeting you, Miss Streisand."

"Same here, ma'am," Marty replied absently, still eying Doc. "We'll see you tonight."

"Til tonight, yes." Clara turned and headed for the door. Just as she reached it, however, she looked back, obviously trying to stretch out her goodbye as much as possible. "Thank you for fixing my telescope."

"You're quite welcome." Doc watched with a pang as Clara finally exited the shop. Why did she have to leave so quickly? If only they could have had a real conversation. . .or he would have even been satisfied with just looking at her some more, taking in those waves of curly brown hair, those big shining eyes, that cute pert nose, those perfectly-formed rosy lips. . . .

"It's a nice telescope."

Doc snapped out of his trance to find Marty frowning hard at him, while Jennifer seemed torn between annoyance and giggles in the background. "Yes, it is," he agreed, trying to hide his sudden awkwardness by placing it carefully on the table. "Shame it got damaged in the fall."

The tentacles poked their claws out from under his coat hem, chittering disapprovingly. Father, you are acting in the most illogical manner yet, Jules scolded. This woman is a problem to be solved, not a potential love interest.

Doc frowned at the tentacle. "Clara is not a math equation."

Marty blinked. "Huh?"

"Nothing, just – I know it's an issue that's she's alive, but I – she–"

Why didn't you kiss her? Tommy cut in.

"Being poked in the behind rather ruins the mood," Doc informed him.

And besides, Tommy, you shouldn't be encouraging such behavior! Jules added.

But she makes Father happy! And she's nice enough. Don't you like her?

I have no quarrel with any facet of her personality so far. The problem is simply that she's not supposed to be alive in this temporal period! And Father forgets that fact every time he sees her face!

Doc groaned. "Look, I'm aware that we're in a rather precarious position regarding the space-time continuum," he said, looking from the tentacles back to Marty. "But – ever since I first met her, she – we–"

Marty's expression softened into sympathy. "You can't think about anything but her? The first time your eyes met, it was like you'd been hit by lightning?"

"Yes! Exactly!" Doc said, windmilling his arms from relief. "Though I wouldn't use that particular metaphor. But you understand, don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I do," Marty said, glancing over his shoulder to exchange a loving look with Jennifer. Then he sighed and turned back to Doc. "But Doc – forgetting the whole 'she's supposed to be dead' thing for a sec, we're gonna be leaving on Monday. This ain't the best time for romance."

Doc pressed his face into his hand. "I know," he admitted with a long sigh. "I shouldn't let my heart rule my head like this. I'll – I'll try to explain things to her at the festival."

"Do or not do – there is no try," Verne told him. As a famous Muppet once said.

We know you don't want to do it, Father, Albert added. But you haven't really got a choice.

Doc shook his head, trying to ignore just how much the facts made his heart ache. "Right. Come on, kids – we need to make sure the DeLorean's all ready to go for tomorrow."


Mother, really!

Don't "Mother, really" me,Clara replied, holding her head high as she walked down the street. My telescope is damaged – I told you that last night. I had a perfectly legitimate reason to go visit him. You agreed with me then.

That was before I heard the reason! Legitimate my nonexistent foot – you just wanted an excuse to see him again!

Now Rosie, I think I'm allowed to get anything of mine that's broken repaired.

Your telescope's not broken! From what I understand, the image turning fuzzy or clear depending on which way you turn the lenses is something normal folk call "focusing!"

Rosie! Are you accusing me of making it all up just so I had a reason to go to the blacksmith's?

Either that or being too twitterpated, if that is the right word, to notice that your telescope wasn't actually damaged.

Clara fought back a blush, not wanting Rosie to suspect that her latter hypothesis might just actually be correct. Well, it doesn't matter, she declared, putting her nose in the air. If it's not broken, Emmett will find out, and he'll just return it to me tonight.

Rosie groaned inside her skull. That man does horrible things to your head.

I think they're wonderful things. The symbiote grumbled, skirt shifting a little from the vibrations. Clara sighed and looked down at the "cloth." I can't help it, Rosie! I know it's sudden, but – whenever he looks at me, it's like – it's like I'm the only woman in the world who matters to him. Like, in his eyes, I'm perfection incarnate. And I feel just the same about him. Nobody else has ever made me feel like that before. She frowned. Besides, even you can't deny that he was a perfect gentleman while we were there.

I'm not saying he's not nice – he is, Rosie allowed. But I can't help but worry, given our circumstances. You came down here to get away from parents obsessed with you finding a husband, not to prove them right by mooning after blacksmiths. The skirt rippled again. Besides, I think there's something odd about him.

Oh, pish-tosh. Is this because he's older than I am? I admit I never pictured my dream man having white hair, but he looks hale and healthy enough. And I don't think they would have let him take on the job of blacksmith if he wasn't capable of doing it.

No, it's nothing to do with his age. It's – well – there's something odd about that coat of his.

His coat? Clara pursed her lips thoughtfully. All right, it is a bit puzzling that he was wearing his duster inside the shop, but maybe he'd just gotten in from a ride or something and went straight to the model railroad.

It's not that. I thought I saw something moving under it.

That brought Clara up short. What?

I couldn't tell what it was, but I'd swear that I saw something twitch while he and you were having that staring contest. Something that had a bit of a tentacley look about it.

Clara stared into space, hardly daring to believe this. After all her worry last night. . .could it be. . . . Rosie. . .you don't think he might – have another one of you lot?

No – I would have sensed that immediately, Rosie replied with a sad little shiver. This was something else altogether.

Clara pretended to smooth her dress so she could offer the symbiote some comfort. I'm sorry it wasn't one of your kind. But then – what else could it be? Are there any other races like you out there that might manifest differently?

I couldn't tell you, Mother. All the time I spent in space, I was in hibernation. Anything's possible, I suppose.

Hmmm. Clara fiddled with her fingers. Did it seem like Emmett's – friend – wanted to hurt us in any way? That would be all she needed, Emmett bonded to something that ate people.

I didn't sense any hostility from it – I couldn't sense much of anything, really. It just felt – weird. Like it didn't belong here.

Hmmmmmm. Clara resumed her walk down the road. Well, we're going to see him at the festival tonight. Perhaps we can figure out a way for you to discreetly take a peek under that coat.

Maybe. Rosie rippled under her fingers. Speaking of which, though, must we go to the festival?

I should, even if I wasn't planning on meeting Emmett there, Clara thought, sidestepping a horse patty. The entire town will be turning out – it'll give me a chance to get properly acquainted with everyone. Besides, it might be fun.

Yes, but – it also might get – loud.

Clara gave Rosie a reassuring smile. I can't imagine it'll get loud enough to bother you. And if it does, I promise you we'll leave that very instant.

Unless Emmett is there, Rosie said, sarcasm oozing from the words.

Even if he is, Clara replied, mental voice firm. Then she allowed herself a girlish giggle. Though, speaking of Emmett, we're going to have to come up with a very special dress for tonight. I want him to be impressed.

Rosie sighed. Yes, because it's so important that we impress this man we've know for all of a day and a half. A little browsing at the dressmaker's then?

Yes. Clara patted her waist. And stop being so grouchy. This will be fun, you'll see.

If you say so.

I do. Clara rolled her eyes as they made their way to the clothing store. Honestly, sometimes it's like having a bratty child permanently attached to you. Emmett is so lucky he doesn't have to put up with this.