Disclaimer: I don't own Back to the Future.

Author's Note: And yet another time period. Don't worry, we won't be here for very long. Also, a cliffhanger. Do you know how this story will end? ...you probably do, don't you? There goes my attempt to create tension. Well, leave your ideas in the (hopefully thoughtful) reviews anyway. They are very much appreciated!

Chapter Thirty-One

Saturday, December 24, 1994
05:00 PM PST
Hill Valley, California

Staring out of the window of his home, twenty-six-year-old Marty McFly concluded that unless disaster struck in the final week, he could say that 1994 had been a good year for him.

At the start of the year, he'd still been an only moderately successful musician, a rock star, yes, but he hadn't made that much money yet. He was famous, locally, even state-wide, but not beyond California. However, throughout the year he'd scored two big hits, and then the fame – and the money – had started pouring in. In fact, it was almost like it was raining money literally each day, but Marty had a feeling that even if he did receive a money shower on his house every day, he still wouldn't acquire as much as he did now. It simply dazzled him.

Of course, he'd done his best to handle the fulfillment of his dreams responsibly, and he did think he had succeeded. He was still happily married, and he hadn't allowed himself to be pressured into things like other famous musicians did. He had bought a bigger house, though, in a secluded area – these days, privacy was becoming an issue whether you'd like it or not, and, well, he did kind of like a big mansion. It gave him room to think – and of course, given that he knew he and Jennifer would have kids eventually, it was always neat to have a bit of space.

Nevertheless, there was only one thing that counted to him as the culmination of his music career thus far, not the hits he'd made, or even the mansion that was still in the process of being built so that he had to celebrate Christmas in his old home once more. But just two weeks ago, he'd received an award in Sacramento proclaiming him 'rocker of the year'. To Marty, the title sounded a bit silly, but he certainly appreciated the gesture. And it was a prestigious object for sure to have on one's mantle.

Or perhaps, Marty reflected, he wasn't all that happy because of the award… but because he knew it, remembered it, and he had known nine years in advance that he would one day be honored with this. A memory which Doc would probably have preferred him not to have – but well, the inventor was in the past now, and even if he had been here he couldn't wipe it from Marty's mind anyway.

Marty leaned back into his chair, as he thought about the man who had been even more influential than his own parents or his wife in shaping the course of his life. Doc had been his friend since 1975, and they had known each other for ten years before that crazy weekend. Nevertheless, it was during that weekend that Doc – or rather, his time machine – had contributed the most to his life, sending him on a journey back to 1955 that would change his family – and thus him – forever. Of course, to the him that remembered growing up with that family, it had always been that way, and Doc hadn't had anything to do with that. The only ones his post-time travel self had credited were Biff, and of course the mysterious Calvin 'Marty' Klein he'd been named after. But now, Marty McFly knew better than that. After all, he was the Calvin Klein that had brought George and Lorraine McFly together, and then vanished without a trace.

Just as he was musing on what would have been if he could go back in time right now, travel to 1964, thirty years in the past, and visit his young parents again, the door bell rang. Marty stood up from his chair and walked over, wondering who it could be. After all, it was Christmas Eve, and his parents and Jennifer's folks wouldn't come around until the next day. Perhaps Jennifer had ordered a pizza? Marty seriously entertained that thought for a moment, then dismissed it. While he might be up to ordering a pizza on Christmas Eve, Jennifer had enough sense of tradition to never do such a thing. No, it had to be someone else. And as he opened the door, he found out that it was, and almost fainted because of it.

Standing in the doorway were no other than Doc Brown and his family. They were dressed in clothes that were normal for the time period, yet too few for the time of year – Jules and Verne were clearly shivering. Doc, however, was calm, clearly oblivious to the weather. He smiled at the baffled musician. "Good afternoon, Marty" he said. "Surprised to see me?"

Marty had to swallow a few times to get his voice back. "Uh, yeah" he said. "I was kind of wondering who it could be, but I had never thought it would be you."

"Well, you did ask us to come over this year, and today's as good as any" Doc said. "May we come in?"

"Sure" Marty replied, still slightly in shock. "Jennifer? We've got company!"

His wife appeared a moment later, and appeared as stunned by the visitors as he was, if not more so. "This is a surprise" she agreed. "I'll have to go check if we've got enough chicken to feed all of you – but I think we do, so don't worry about that."

"We won't" Clara promised, stepping over the threshold into the house, followed by her husband and then by Jules and Verne, who were – particularly Verne – looking around at everything with wonder. "Is this really your house?" he asked Marty.

The twenty-six-year-old chuckled awkwardly, still somewhat disorientated. "If you think this is big, you clearly haven't seen my new place yet" he said. "Guess you guys aren't used to much living space indoors out in the frontier. Come in, have a seat."

"Thank you, Marty" Doc replied, sitting down on the couch in the living room. Clara selected a place next to her husband, while Jules and Verne took some time before sitting down, staring around at everything with a wonder and enthusiasm you'd expect from young kids who had grown up in the 19th Century. Marty finally sat down opposite Doc, burning with questions but reluctant to pose them.

Thankfully, Doc took away that threshold for him. "It's a nice house, Marty" he told the musician. "How long have you been living here again?"

"Uh, since 1991, if I'm not mistaken" Marty said. "Doc, I've got to admit that I didn't expect you to come over anymore. I know I asked you for it, but from my perspective it has been nine years, you know."

"Now you know how I felt when I first saw you again in 1985, after spending nearly ten years in the past – or when you went back from 1955 to 1985" Doc said, smiling. "I understand your point, though. For you, it has been some time, but for me it's been just a month."

"A month?" Marty repeated, stunned. "So… I guess Clara's still pregnant."

Doc looked at his wife, and they smiled at each other. "Yes, she is" he responded. "It's late April where we're from, and Clara's expected to give birth in November. I was wondering whether to take her along at all, due to her delicate condition, but, well, she insisted on it, and I could hardly say 'no' to her. And I don't think time travel is dangerous in this stage of her pregnancy."

"You're the Doc, Doc" Marty said. "Where did you put the train? Considering it got stolen last time around, you might want to find a secure place for it."

"I've thought ahead of you on that point, Marty" Doc said. "I hid it outside of town at an abandoned area, solidly locked. And I bought a device in the future which is capable of warning me if the locks are circumvented, and can also function as a remote for the train itself."

"Smart" Marty complimented. He stared at Doc, trying to remember the exact specifics of their last encounter – or rather, the last encounter from Doc's point of view, since Marty had seen the inventor last in the morning of October 27th 1985, which was to him roughly six hours later. "So," he began, carefully, "did you… and Clara… talk?"

Doc's wince made the answer obvious. "Not really" the inventor admitted. "We did have some conversation about the subject, but I never posed the question."

"You never posed what question?" Clara asked.

Doc exchanged glances between his questioning wife and his determined best friend nervously, and finally caved in. "All right" he replied. "You might want to sit back – this is a long story." That went for Jennifer, too, who just walked in and sat down with a questioning look on her face.

"When I went to 1885 to drop Marty off on that last trip, Marty and I had a long talk" Doc started. "Apparently, in the newspaper of December 12th, 1994 – the one I had originally taken along from the alternate future – Marty received an award for his music. However, after looking at it, Marty pointed out to me that his future self looked unusually sad, and speculated that the reason for that was… that I wasn't there."

Clara frowned, puzzled. "I don't understand" she said. "You can just go back to the day before the picture was made, and attend the ceremony. That shouldn't be such a complicated errand."

"It is more complex than it seems, Mrs. Brown – Clara" Marty said. "The problem in 1885 wasn't that I was sad because of Doc not attending that party – it was that I was sad about him not being there, or rather here, at all." He sighed. "Do you know when I met your husband for the first time?"

"I was going to say 1955, but that would be from Emmett's point of view" Clara replied. "I believe it was 1975 for you, right?"

"That's right" Marty confirmed. "I was seven then, and Doc rescued me from a bully named Douglas Needles." He was about to add more detail, but the conflicting memories swirling around in his head reminded him that it was one of those differences between the Before and After Time Travel Worlds, which he wouldn't want to confuse their visitors with. "We became friends shortly thereafter, and soon, Doc became my best friend." The musician shrugged, unsure how to explain to Clara. "He was more of a father to me than my real father, even after I fixed the past. Back in 1955, when Doc refused to listen to my warnings about the terrorists, I contemplated just staying behind. If it was going home and never seeing Doc again or living the rest of my life in the past, I would have preferred the latter."

"What are you getting at?" Clara asked. Marty was unsure if she didn't realize it or just wanted to hear it from him.

It didn't matter anyway. "I'm getting at the fact that, frankly, I miss your husband, ma'am – Clara" Marty replied, emotional. "I've been through so much with Doc, I just can't stand the thought of not living without my best friend nearby. These nine years… well, I've had a great family and a nice wife, but… it's just not complete without Doc. I don't want him to leave again." He sighed. "I'm aware how silly this sounds, but it's true."

"It doesn't sound silly" Clara replied. "I know you and Emmett were close, Marty – and I know Emmett misses you." She smiled faintly. "If you lived in another town, half-way across America, I'd support moving there in a heartbeat. But you live in the future."

"I know" Marty mumbled.

Clara turned to Doc. "Emmett, I know that, deep down, you miss the Twentieth Century, you miss Marty, and you miss your garage. And don't tell me that you love the Old West because people are much friendlier there. They may be, Emmett, but if you were truly happy in my time period, you wouldn't get that stubborn but sad look in your eyes every time I mention this time period." She wrung her hands. "I don't want to keep you and Marty apart, Emmett, but I… I…" She sighed.

"You don't have to move, Mrs. Brown" Jennifer said. "Marty and I can't expect that from you."

Clara smiled. "Thank you, Jennifer" she said. "I am glad you're not pushing me into anything. I…" She sighed. "It's a difficult decision for me. Leaving 1895 means leaving my family – granted, I'm not very close to my extended family and I haven't seen my parents in years – leaving the time I'm familiar with, and entering a wholly new time. A new culture…" She sighed. "Jennifer, Marty, I'd be happy to live close to you. But actually moving to this century… well, we have established a lot in 1895. I'm not sure if we could even afford moving into this era."

"That would get difficult" Doc admitted. "However, I would be able to resume inventing, and actually sell things. Without – much – fear for altering the continuum, I'd be able to live a free life, and thus I'd be able to make money easier."

"That's true" Clara agreed. Turning to Jules and Verne, she added: "What do you think of it, boys?"

"I think it sounds kind of cool" Verne said. "The future is so much flashier and more exciting and less dull than the past was, with everything flying and stuff being so much easier. I'd miss my friends, though."

"I agree with Verne" Jules said. "It sounds very interesting to move here, and it would be nice to go where Dad came from. There is also so much more technological progress here, and there are more opportunities for a scientist. On the other hand, it would be a big change, and there would be many things I'd miss. I'll leave it up to you to decide, because all in all, I'm ambivalent on the issue."

"Ambiva what now?" Marty said, surprised. "I don't think I used that kind of words when I was nine."

"Jules is eight" Doc corrected. Glancing at his eldest son, he continued, whispering: "Clara and I suspect that Jules has gotten the strange idea into his head that if he wants to be a scientist when he grows up, he needs to talk scientifically."

"It's not that strange" Marty replied, grinning. "I remember you blowing my mind with that in 1955, too, so it must be at least partly genetic." He frowned, sobering up somewhat. "Perhaps we should have dinner first. Give you some time to think. Is the chicken ready, Jennifer?"

"It should be" his wife replied. "And there's plenty of it, too. I'll go and serve it – Marty, would you mind setting the table?"

"Not at all, dear" Marty answered, standing up and walking over. He noticed Jennifer walking to the kitchen. On the couch, however, Doc and his family remained silent, pondering what had been told to them. Marty sighed. This was bound to become a long night – and a night which would decide the course for the rest of their lives.