6: Get Back
(August 31, 1999)
"Well," Mabel said, "this is gonna be strange."
"Eh, we've seen stranger things," Dipper said. The twins had materialized under an early-morning sky on the tree-shaded lawn of a sprawling three-story building of tan brick and red tile on Broadway in Oakland, California. "The screen has an arrow pointing that way." He held in his hand the thin device they had retrieved from Wendy a few hours before—subjectively. She had actually given it to him about ten years in the future. They had traveled into the past again, and the screen showed the exact time and date: 5:55 A.M., Tuesday, August 31, 1999.
The day they were born. Or would be born—that event was now an hour or two ahead. "We need a disguise," Mabel said. She fiddled with the dial and settled on nursing scrubs. "Hey, look, I even have a name tag," she said.
"Yeah, but it says, 'Mabel Pines.' That's not such a great name."
She gave him a defiant frown. "It is great, too. It's mine!"
"OK, but think. What if Dad or Mom see it and ask if we're related?" Dipper said. "Awkward!"
Mabel nodded. "OK, you got a point. I'll see if I can change it." With a few flicks of buttons, she discovered she could and immediately became, as far as ID went, anyway, Florence Nightenmar. "I like it," she said.
"Needs a final 'e,'" Dipper said.
He couldn't make his own disguise function work properly—he did not want to go dressed as a Vegas showgirl, though Mabel said admiringly, "Good look for you."
"I hate satin, purple's not my color, and I don't think the fishnets work. And bright blue eyeshadow? Please!" He tried again.
"Are you gonna arrest me?" Mabel asked. Now he wore a police uniform.
"How do you do this?" he grumbled.
"Oh, give it here," Mabel told him. She fiddled around and said, "There. You're a hospital orderly. Let me see, change your name tag . . . OK, there you go. Just remember your name is Marco Diaz."
"I don't look Hispanic!" he complained. "And I don't want another disguise! My arms itch after that tattoo incident, and I keep thinking I've got something on my chin!"
"Oh, picky, picky! Wait a second . . . all right, you're Mark O'Medisin."
Dipper rolled his eyes. "We are so gonna get kicked out," he complained, but the device screen was blinking an urgent red, which he took to mean "Hurry up!" "I guess it'll have to do. Let's go."
They found a staff entrance. Evidently a shift change was in progress, and they joined a gang of chattering nurses, candy-stripers, aides, and orderlies without attracting any notice. Inside, they split off from the group, looking for somewhere private. The insistent device directed them to a bank of elevators, up to the second floor, then through a maze of corridors to—
"Yep, pretty much what I figured," Dipper said. "Maternity wing." They stepped through a double door and into a brightly-lit hall that smelled of alcohol and hand sanitizer. They had to keep moving—people in a hurry were coming and going, and they couldn't risk loitering—but Dipper kept checking the locater device. "To the left," he said. "I guess—in there."
Above the door hung a sign: WAITING ROOM
They went in. Sitting on a sofa with their backs toward the door were two men, one dark-haired but graying, one dark-haired and with it worn long, down to his shoulders.
"Dad?" Mabel whispered. "He was a hippie!"
"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper whispered at the same moment.
Stan had his arm on the back of the sofa as if he'd been comforting Alex. "I tell ya, sometimes it takes hours. Days even. Heck, I know of one lady, they sent her home in March and the baby didn't come until May. True story."
"I appreciate your coming, Uncle Stanford," Alex said. "I don't know where Dad is—he's late."
"Eh, Shermie never was very punctual. Don't worry, he'll show up right after the nick of time. Monica coming, too?"
"She doesn't want to come until after the birth. You know Mom."
To Dipper's absolute astonishment, Mabel stepped boldly toward them and asked, "Excuse me, which of you is Mr. Pines?"
Stan jerked his thumb at himself as Mabel and Dipper came around to face them. "Me."
But their father had raised his hand. "I'm Mr. Pines."
"Let me make that clearer," Mabel said, smiling. "Which of you is the father-to-be?"
"Him!" Stan said, jerking his thumb toward Alex this time.
"What's happened?" Alex asked sounding alarmed and rising as though frightened.
"Nothing yet," Mabel said. "I just wanted to make sure I could identify you so when the twins come you'll be the first to know. Second, counting the doctor."
"How—how's my wife?" Alex asked, almost collapsing.
"Wanda will be fine," Mabel said. "But if you need to go out for any reason, be sure to tell the nurse at the station where you'll be and how you can be reached."
Alex held up a little rectangular gizmo. "I've got the pager."
"Be sure to take it with you," Mabel said smoothly. She turned to Stan with a bright smile. "And you're the grandfather!"
"Uncle," Stan corrected. "Grandpop's runnin' late, as usual. I'm Stanford Pines, hon. You're kinda young to be a nurse, arent' you?"
"That's why I'm just an aide," Mabel said. "Oh, this is Chris—"
"Mark!" Dipper corrected hastily. "I'm Mark."
"Sorry, I forgot. He's new," Mabel said to the Pines men. "Mark will be glad to bring you anything you want—coffee, tea, soft drinks, snacks. Have you had breakfast?"
Alex shook his head. "My wife went into labor about four-thirty. I rushed her straight here. But—"
"Mark, see what these gentlemen would like for breakfast and bring them a tray. I'll be around if you need anything else. And don't worry, Mr. Pines. Your babies will be fine, and so will your wife."
"Thank you."
Mabel made her fingers into an imaginary gun and shot Stan with a double click of her tongue. "I'll see you later!" Then she flounced out with a sassy spring in her step.
Stan nudged Alex. "Notice how charmed she was with me? I still got it!" he said. "Hey, you s'pose I should ask that little honey out? I dunno, somethin' about her—I like her on sight!"
"Uncle Stanford, she can't be more than eighteen. At the most. Uh, Mark—" Alex squinted. "Mark . . . O'Medisin?"
"What kind of name is that?" Stan asked. "French?"
"Irish," Dipper said. "Uh, may I bring you something to eat?"
"I could stand a nosh," Stan said. "Most of all, though, coffee. Black, two sugars. Then, whatever ya got that ain't sweet. Gives me gas if I eat sweet stuff too early. Alex, whattaya want?"
Alex said, "I think I'm too nervous—maybe coffee and a roll of some kind? Or a doughnut?"
"You need money, kid?"
"Uh, no, it's on the house. I'll be right back," Dipper said. He went out of the waiting room and leaned against the wall. Where the heck do you get food in a hospital? He walked down to the nurses' station, and a middle-aged woman looked up from her computer. Huh, a clunky CRT monitor, orange letters on a black screen.
"Uh," Dipper began.
"I know, you're Mark and you're new," the woman said impatiently. "Florrie told me you might ask a few questions. Food? There's a serving room down that hall all the way to the end and on the left. Anything else?"
"No, thanks," Dipper said. "Uh—has Florrie worked here long?"
"Oh, she and I are old friends," the woman said, going back to her keyboarding.
How does Mabel do it?
He found the small food-service room, got two cardboard cups of coffee, dumped two sugars in one, and glugged a little two-percent milk in the other, and capped them. The server on the line made Grunkle Stan a scrambled-egg-and-cheese sandwich on challah bread and put it and a fresh doughnut on two paper plates. Dipper trayed the food and paused at the cash register. "For guests in the maternity waiting room," he said.
"Give you the employee discount," the guy said, and he rang it up. "Five dollars thirty cents."
Dipper reached into his pocket. "Five dollars and thirty cents," he repeated. He pulled out his hand and paid with exact change.
He almost got lost finding his way back to the waiting room, but he saw Mabel ahead at an intersection, and she beckoned him. "Where'd you go?"
"Hey, you were the one who said I'd get them food!"
"It's this way. Dip, I just saw our granddad! He 's all frail and skinny-looking. I've only ever seen pictures before. I guess he's already pretty sick."
"Yeah, he didn't live long after we were born," Dipper said, balancing the tray.
She at least held the waiting-room door for him without going in herself. He handed the coffees out first and then said, "Mr. Stanford Pines, scrambled egg and cheese. Mr. Alex, doughnut."
"Thanks, kid," Stan said. "Hey, let me give you a tip."
"We can't accept them, sir," Dipper said quickly. He didn't know if on this journey picking up contemporary stuff was acceptable.
Stan took a long drink of coffee and started to gobble the sandwich. Alex took one absent-minded sip from his cup. "Is this cream?" he asked.
"Two per cent," Dipper said.
"Oh. That's what I always—uh, thanks. Did I tell you that? I don't remember."
"I think you did," Dipper said, starting to sweat a little.
Mabel had ducked out, but she opened the door and came in. "It should be only a few more minutes," she said. "If you'd like to be present at the birth, I'll take the father in. Mr. Stanford, you can watch from the delivery room observation post. Mr. Sherman Pines is there already."
Both men jumped up. "First," Mabel said sternly, "both of you go in there and wash your hands! Use soap and lather for at least twenty seconds!"
They meekly went into the washroom. Hastily, Mabel turned to Dipper. "I checked and it's OK. Dad can go in the room, Stan will wait with his brother in this sort of glassed-in booth. When they can hold the babies, they'll have to put on scrubs and masks. Where's the doodad we're supposed to find?"
"I think it's on Grunkle Stan," Dipper said.
The two men came out, and he asked, "Should I keep your food here?"
Stan grabbed the coffee cup and downed almost all of it, but passed on the half sandwich that was left. "Nah, dump it, but thanks!" he said. "Come on, Alex, and if ya faint, I'll pick you up again."
Before following them out, Mabel snagged and engulfed her dad's untouched doughnut.
Dipper trashed the coffee cups and half sandwich and then trailed them down the hall. He passed a rolling table with a stack of clipboards on it and grabbed one clipboard with a blank form on it—"Linen Check," it said. Pretending to study it, he followed Mabel, Stanley and Alex through another double door and to a dressing room.
Under her direction, Alex got into scrubs and even a cap for his long hair, and then Mabel ushered him into the delivery room. "You gentlemen can go in here," she said, opening a door that led into a very small room with one glass wall. Dipper glimpsed his grandfather, Sherman Pines, already there, leaning on a cane. Though he was years younger than Stan, he was emaciated and looked like a shaky old guy. He greeted his big brother as Mabel closed the door.
"Whoo!" she said. "Shermie told me that Grandma is squeamish about hospitals. She's gonna come and see Mom after we're born—which should be any second now. Come on, I found a way to spy."
"I'm . . . not sure I'm ready for this," Dipper said.
"It's only a TV monitor, and the camera's over the head of the bed looking toward the foot. You can't really see anything you shouldn't! Come on!"
She led him to another small booth, where six TV monitors showed six different labor rooms, only one of which was in use. The black-and-white picture showed a woman, covered by a sheet, with her feet up in stirrups. A nurse and doctor were attending her. "See," Mabel explained, "they tape everything so if something goes wrong, they have a record—oh, look, I just came out!"
Dipper felt woozy. Even in black and white, it was a bloody scene.
She chortled. "Did you see that? The doctor held me upside down by my feet, and I clocked him one with my fist! Attagirl, me!"
A nurse took the newborn to a waiting miniature gurney with a radiant heat lamp over it and began to clean her up. "About three more minutes," Mabel said. "Then it's your debut!"
"I think I'm gonna throw up," Dipper moaned.
She nudged him. "C'mon, Brobro! Be a mensch! How are you gonna stand it when Wendy starts popping out twins if—"
Dipper felt himself turning green. He didn't know how, but he did it. "Please!"
"Here comes the good part!"
Dipper didn't want to watch, but he couldn't take his eyes away. Then the moment came, the second twin was born—That's me, he thought—and a flurry of frantic activity broke out. "Oh, my gosh! What's happening?"
"There's something wrong with you," Mabel said. "Oh, look, they're giving you oxygen! Wait, I think Grunkle Stan once told me when you were born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around your neck—oh, look at Dad! That's so sweet!"
Alex Pines was comforting his wife, hanging onto her hand, his forehead against hers. After a few more minutes, the doctor gave them a thumbs up. "I'm OK," Dipper said, relaxing. A few moments later, Mom was cradling both twins in her arms. Mabel tugged Dipper's sleeve. "Come on, Chris—"
"Mark!" he said.
"Chris, Mark, you think anybody's gonna remember? Let's go. They'll be shooing Grunkle Stan and Grandpop back to the waiting room until Mom and we get out of the recovery room. While we have time, we gotta grab whatever doohickey Blendin left with Stan."
They went back to the waiting room, where Sherman and Stanford were sitting on the sofa. Sherman looked shaky and gray; Stan was crying. "It was beautiful," he sobbed. "Shermie, you're the luckiest of us all."
"I don't know about that," their grandfather said in his quavering voice. "I'm pretty sick, Stanley. Why didn't Stanford come, too?"
"Uh, he's off on a secret government mission," Stanley said. "I'm, uh, coverin' for him while he's outa the country. Fact, I let Alex and Wanda think I'm him. Alex hasn't seen us since he was a toddler, he don't remember Ford's weird hands. Don't let on. It's a matter of national security."
"I don't understand," Sherman complained.
"Just go with it." At that moment, Stanley noticed that the twins had come in behind them. "How they doin', Florence?"
"Mother and twins are fine," she said.
"What happened with the boy?" Sherman asked.
"Oh, a little accident with the umbilical cord. That's why he looked blue. It happens a lot. The doctor administered oxygen, and babies bounce back quick. In a little while Mrs. Pines and her twins will be out of the recovery room and into a regular hospital room. Are you going to see her?"
"Yeah," Stanley said. "Shermie, you better go get Monica. She'll want to see her grandbabies, now that the shouting is over."
Sherman Pines rose, leaning heavily on his cane. "I'll be back in an hour," he said.
"That should be about right," Mabel said. Her voice sounded a little teary. "Goodbye, Mr. Pines. It was good to meet you."
And Dipper, his throat tight, his eyes watery, shook the hand of the grandfather he couldn't remember.
When his brother had gone, Stan said, "Shermie's a great guy. Shame he got so sick. It don't look good for him, I'm afraid. Well, him and me will arm-wrestle to hold the babies. I may even let him win, just so's he'll feel better."
"Mr. Pines," Mabel said, "While you were in the observation booth, instruments indicated that you have something on you that you can't take into Mrs. Pines's room. Would you empty your pockets so Mark can scan your possessions? We'll need to isolate whatever it is that's giving a low radioactive reading."
Stan stood up. "Sure, hon, I—wait, what? Radioactive? You serious?"
Dipper said, "I've got a hand monitor here. If you do have anything dangerous, I can identify it. We'll, uh, isolate it until after your visit."
"Geeze Louise!" Stan said. He rapidly put everything in his pockets on an end table: a deck of cards, a handful of change, his wallet, his keys, a blue marble—
The screen of Blendin's detector device flared red and pulsed. "This is it," Dipper said. "Where did you get this?"
"Found it a couple days ago at my bro—my house up in Oregon," Stan said. "It's a marble, for cryin' out loud!"
"No, it's got some radioactive properties. The signal's not strong. How long have you been carrying it? A couple of days? It hasn't had time to affect you, but it could be dangerous long-term," Dipper said. "For now, I'll take it and put it in a lead box, and then you can—"
"Lead? Like where Superman keeps his kryptonite?" Stan swallowed hard. "Uh, look, kid, just hang onto it, OK? It's a souvenir or some deal. I won't miss it, I just thought it was kinda pretty. Thought I'd give it to Wanda's baby—babies now, I guess. But if it's hot—nah, just take it. Hospital can dispose of it, right?"
Dipper said, "Sure. I have a small containment box in my pocket," and of course as soon as he said that, he did. He carefully placed the marble inside and closed the little metal box.
"Mr. Pines, you just stay put for a little while now," Mabel said. "A nurse will come and take you to the room just as soon as possible."
"Thanks," Stan said in a mildly stunned voice.
"Oh," Dipper added, "if you're still hungry—" he gave him directions to the little food-service room.
"Thanks, uh, Mark," Stan said. He laughed. "Sheesh! I dunno why I feel weak in the knees. I keep thinkin' if I'd been like Shermie I coulda had grandkids of my own. Too late for me now, though."
Mabel patted his arm. "Oh, Mr. Pines," she said affectionately, "it's never too late."