Doc Brown stood on his front porch, squinting against the glare of daylight on snow as he scanned the immediate area. Though the clouds were far from gone, it had stopped snowing. And the tint in the sky was considerably lighter than it had been the afternoon before. As for the snow accumulations, as close as Doc could figure there had to be at least a foot of the white stuff on the ground.

It wasn't going to be a picnic to get to town, but it could have been worse. And Doc's peace of mind was at stake--he couldn't go another 24 hours, worrying about the health of Clara and Jules. Granted, both appeared to be healthy, but Doc would feel a lot better once he got an educated opinion on that.

I suppose I should be grateful that I knew the basics of delivering a baby, Doc mused, turning to step back into the warm interior of the cabin. He shut the door without thinking about it, then winced in anticipation. A second later, the wailing started from the next room.

"Make it stop," Marty muttered from the couch, not opening his eyes. "For the love of God, make it stop!"

Doc didn't answer him, hurrying for the bedroom. At least Marty had had a bit of sleep--Doc hadn't had the time to hardly sit down in the last 24 hours. It was times like these that he was grateful for his ability to pull long hours without much physical or mental complaint.

Clara was sitting up in bed and holding Jules as Doc entered the room. "I don't know why he's crying," she said, sounding frazzled and looking exhausted. "I just fed him and he was changed only a few minutes ago...."

Doc took the squealing baby from her arms. "I'll puzzle it out," he said. "You lie back and try to rest."

Clara smiled wanly. "Not very likely, I'm afraid," she said, settling back.

Doc went into the other room, jiggling the baby in his arms as he walked, wracking his mind for the source of the baby's discomfort. He wished desperately there was someone else in the cabin with them, someone who'd had kids or was experienced with them in some way--

"Why is he crying?" Marty moaned, sitting up. "What's his problem?"

"I don't know," Doc said, rubbing his son's back. "I don't suppose you do?"

Marty rolled his eyes. "Sure, Doc. You know me, I'm a baby encyclopedia." He frowned, grumpy. "Can't you do something about that crying?"

"I'm trying, Marty, but this is just something to be expected with babies," Doc said evenly. "They can't communicate in any other way."

Marty sighed heavily, laying back and pulling a quilt over his head. "Perfect," Doc heard him mutter.

Taking the not-so-subtle hint, Doc headed towards the kitchen, letting the door swing shut at his back. Jules continued to wail, the sound giving Doc the start of a headache.

"Why are you crying?" he asked the baby, then sighed and shook his head. "No, I don't suppose you can tell me, can you?"

Jules persisted crying, his tiny face red. Doc paced around with the baby in his arms, not knowing what else to do. He wracked his mind for some kind of soothing song or lullaby appropriate for a baby. All that came to mind, though, was 'Rock-a-Bye Baby'--and that certainly wasn't appropriate. It was all about breaking branches and children falling!

Who writes those songs, anyway? Doc wondered idly. But it didn't matter, not now. What mattered was stopping Jules' crying, and figuring out why he was doing that in the first place.

"Shhhhhhh," Doc murmured, patting the baby's back. "Don't cry, everything is all right." He continued to pace around the kitchen. After a few minutes, the crying softened, then trailed off all together. Finally, ten minutes later, Jules was asleep, sucking his thumb.

Doc let out a huge sigh of relief, leaving the kitchen and returning to the bedroom. He set the baby in the cradle--and he didn't wake up, thank goodness!--then looked at Clara, lying awake in the bed.

"I'm going to go to town and bring back the doctor to check you both out," he told her in a whisper. "I don't think I'll be gone for more than an hour. Do you think you'll be okay?"

"Of course, Emmett," Clara said softly. "Is Marty staying here?"

"Yes. If you need anything, just let him know. I don't want you getting out of bed until the doctor has a chance to see you. Is that understood?"

Clara nodded. "Be careful," she said.

"You bet I will," Doc promised, giving her a kiss before leaving the room. He deliberately left the bedroom door open, then bundled up in his coat, scarf, gloves, and hat. Finally, he approached the quilt mound on the couch that was Marty.

"Marty?" Doc said softly, wondering if his friend was still awake. When that evoked no response, Doc pulled the quilt down, off his head. Marty's eyes were closed, his lips parted slightly. It appeared he was indeed asleep. Doc shook him gently, feeling bad.

"Marty?" he said again. Marty opened his eyes and looked up at the scientist, squinting.

"What is it?" he groaned. "I was sleeping--finally!"

"I'm sorry," Doc said honestly. "Listen, I'm going to go to town and fetch the medical doctor. I need you to stay here with Clara and the baby."

Marty closed his eyes again and rolled over. "Fine," he yawned.

"That's not all, though," Doc said quickly, before Marty could close the subject all the way. "I need you to be aware and ready to help Clara out. I don't want her getting out of bed, so if she needs something, you're going to have to assist her."

"Fine," Marty said again.

Doc frowned faintly. "I know you're tired, so I'm going to make one requirement of you--leave the bedroom door open. That way if Clara calls for you, you should hear her....right?"

"Uh huh," Marty muttered. "How long will you be gone?"

"Not more than an hour, I hope," Doc said. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should stay anyway--then headed for the fridged outdoors and the town a mile away.

The sound was as irritating as nails on a blackboard. Marty instinctively jumped, the action jarring him awake. The baby was crying again.

"No," he mumbled, pulling the pillow tight over his head. But even though all that padding, Marty could still hear Jules crying. Marty couldn't believe how much that kid cried and how long it took the baby to shut up.

I'm not having any kids for another ten years--at least! he thought.

After a minute of listening to the wailing, Marty tossed the pillow aside and sat up, knowing sleep would be a lost cause until it was quiet again. He got up and walked to the bedroom, leaning against the doorway. Clara was still in bed, sitting up, leaning over the cradle.

"Shhhh, Jules," she said softly, finally picking the baby up. Clara rocked him softly, patting his back. She glanced up for a second, noticing Marty.

"Oh, Marty, I'm sorry," she said. "Did Jules wake you?"

"Yeah," Marty said flatly, seeing no point in denying the obvious. "Why is he crying?"

Clara looked flustered. "I don't know. I hope nothing is wrong with him."

"Probably not," Marty said. "Babies just cry a lot."

Clara sighed. "There is so much about parenting and children I don't know," she said. "I wonder if Emmett and I are ready for this."

Well, it's too late now, Marty thought. Instead of saying that, however, he tried to reassure his friend's wife.

"It may look like a little much right now, but you and Doc will be great parents," he said, trying to sound as sincere as one could with only about an hour of intermittent sleep under their belt. "All new parents go through what you guys are going through now."

Clara managed a strained smile. "I suppose you're right." She sighed again. "I wish Emmett and I had family that was here now. My family lives back East and couldn't make the trip out here now. It's probably just as well with this weather."

Marty nodded, wincing slightly from the pitch of Jules' crying. Clara looked at the baby in her arms. "Shhhh," she cooed. "You've nothing to fear, your mother is here."

Jules didn't seem to care. Marty decided it was his turn to try something.

"Can I hold him?" he asked. "I have an idea."

Clara hesitated a moment, then nodded. "All right," she said. Marty went to her bedside and took the baby from her arms. Jules felt as warm as a hot water bottle, his face flushed from the strength of his cries. Marty carried the kid into the other room and walked around.

"Man," he said softly, "I would've thought you were the quiet one. What kind of example is this setting for your yet-to-be-born brother?"

The baby was not listening, crying still. Perfect, Marty thought. Now what? Not knowing quite what else to do, he started to sing softly the first thing that came to mind--one of Van Halen's new songs, "Dreams."

Might as well introduce him to some good music--and maybe the kid'll get the idea and start dreaming himself, Marty thought as he walked around the room, singing the unlikely lullaby.

" 'World turns black an' white, pictures in an empty room, your love starts fallin' down, better change your tune....' "

Marty ran through the whole song, noticing with satisfaction that Jules' cries were noticeably softer and more intermittent at the end. Marty started another song, then another. By the time he'd done three, Jules was asleep. Marty smiled in satisfaction at the sleeping baby in his arms.

"That was very good," a voice said softly.

Marty jumped, turning around to see Clara leaning heavily in the doorway, smiling at him gratefully.

"Clara!" Marty gasped, more startled than anything else. "You--what are you doing up? You're supposed to stay in bed!"

"I heard Jules starting to settle down so I decided to see what magic you were working on him," Clara said.

Marty felt his face redden. "Well, uh, thanks."

"Emmett told me you were a musician of popular music in the future," she said, as Marty walked towards the bedroom. "You have a very nice singing voice."

Marty couldn't figure out why he felt so embarrassed about Clara catching him the way she had. "Thanks," he mumbled, quickly changing the subject. "Do you want me to put Jules in the cradle?"

"Please," Clara said softly, shuffling slowly towards the bed. She moved awkwardly, wincing with each step. Marty set the baby in the cradle, then went to Clara's side and helped her back into bed.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked, once she was settled back on the pillows.

Clara paused thoughtfully. "Could I have a cup of tea? Do you know how to make it?"

"Sure," Marty said quickly. "Boil water, right? Where's the tea and the cups?"

"The tea on the third shelf to your left in the pantry, and the mugs in the cabinet next to the window," Clara said. "Just put in a tablespoon of the leaves."

Leaves? Marty thought, confused. He just nodded. "Anything else? Any food?"

"That's fine for now," Clara said.

Marty headed off to the kitchen. What followed was a half hour ordeal that he hadn't anticipated. First, the stove wasn't gas or electric--it was wood. Once that fire was started, Marty set water to boil. Then he hunted down a mug and scooped what looked to his eye to be about a tablespoon of leaves. When that was finally done and the water heated up, Marty took the mug back to the bedroom--only to find Clara had fallen asleep. He set the mug on the table next to the bed, then closed the curtains over the window without a word.

Marty returned to the main room, threw a couple of logs on the dying fire, then fell back into the couch. It was too much effort to set up the cot. Marty was able to savor the silence in the cabin for only a few minutes before he was dragged into a heavy sleep.

Some time later he woke, disoriented and groggy. The baby was crying again--and Doc was back, standing before the fireplace. Marty watched him, too tired to say anything. Doc turned his head towards the bedroom at the sound of the baby, a pained expression on his face. His eyes flickered to Marty for a second, seemed to notice he was now awake, and returned to the teenager.

"Jules woke you again?" he said, the words more statement then question.

"Uh huh," Marty muttered, his mouth dry. "What time is it?"

"A little after eleven. The doctor is examining Clara and Jules now."

"Only eleven, huh?" Marty mumbled, yawning. "This day is never gonna end, is it?"

Doc smiled thinly. "I'm sorry you've been dragged into this."

"Yeah, well, it was my own fault. If I hadn't been so stupid and used the DeLorean, I wouldn't be here now."

"It's too late now to undo that," Doc said. He looked at the clock with a frown. "How long can it possibly take the doctor to examine them?"

"Long enough," Marty said, sitting up. He rubbed his forehead, wincing at the dull ache that came from stress and little sleep, he'd bet. "Can I get something to eat?"

Doc blinked. "What? Oh, right, it's breakfast time, isn't it?" He started towards the kitchen. "I'll make something."

"I could do it myself--" Marty began, getting up to follow him.

"No, that's all right. Cooking at this time is a bit more complicated than what you might be used to."

"Yeah," Marty agreed, remembering the great ordeal it took to make tea earlier for Clara. He followed Doc into the kitchen and slumped in one of the dining table chairs as Doc busied himself around the stove. "How was the trip to town?" he asked.

"It went better than I had anticipated," Doc said. "The storm looks to be more or less over. There is over a foot of snow in some places out there, though."

"A foot," Marty said, truly awed. "Wow. Who would've thought that in Hill Valley?"

"It's a rare sight, that is certain," Doc agreed. "Are eggs and bacon okay with you?"

"Fine," Marty said. He watched Doc work over the stove, cooking the food. A half-smile crossed Marty's face. "So, you can cook, too."

"Of course I can cook!" Doc said without looking up. "I lived as a bachelor for over half my life, remember?"

"Yeah, but the time I knew you, you were kind of a TV dinner person," Marty said.

"Well, we're now in a time before TV dinners and convenience food like that," Doc said. He looked up with a sigh, irritated. "What is that doctor doing to Jules?"

The baby was still crying, though not as loudly as he had been before. Marty shrugged at the question. "I dunno. Most kids hate doctors, you know." He changed the subject. "So, will I still be able to go home in a couple days?"

"I don't know, Marty," Doc said, distracted.

Marty blinked. "You don't know? But you said--"

"I know what I said. But that was before Clara had the baby--I didn't take that into account in my estimations on the time of the repairs."

Marty frowned. "So wait a minute, how much longer am I gonna be stuck here?"

"I don't know," Doc said again.

"You don't know?" Marty repeated, his voice rising. "Doc, I wanna go home! I don't wanna be stuck here for another week or so!"

Doc turned around and shot Marty a sharp look. "Keep your voice down!" he hissed.

Marty stood up, struggling to keep a grip on his temper and emotions, strained from exhaustion. "Doc," he said through clenched teeth, "why would the repairs take so much longer?"

"Clara will need assistance around the cabin for the next few days--at least," Doc said. "I have to be here for her and the baby."

"Why not get someone else to help out?" Marty asked. "Don't you guys have any friends around here? I thought people did stuff like that now!"

Doc shot him another sharp look. "Marty, keep your voice down! We have a guest in the house."

Marty started at him, silently fuming. There was a soft knock on the kitchen door. "Emmett?" Marty heard an unfamiliar male voice say.

Doc turned to the door. "Yes?" he said, his tone of voice considerably friendlier towards this person.

The door was pushed open slowly and a stranger stepped into the kitchen. It was a man, tall, with a full head of grey hair. Marty didn't recognize him, but the man appeared to recognize him. "Hello, Mr. Eastwood," he said, nodding towards Marty. "You're looking much better then the last time I saw you."

Marty started at him blankly. "Uh, thanks," he said tightly, deciding to just go along with whatever this guy said.

"Dr. Peterson was the one who saw you when you were sick with scarlet fever," Doc said, subtly introducing Marty to the stranger and explaining why the man had known his "name." "How are Clara and Jules?"

The medical doctor smiled. "They're in perfect health. Congratulations, Emmett. It appears you did everything you should have with the delivery."

Doc let out a deep breath, looking like a thousand pounds had just fallen from his shoulders. "Oh, thank God," he said softly.

"Clara should take it easy for the next week, no heavy work," Dr. Peterson went on. "I suspect that she won't follow my orders, though."

"I'm sure you're correct," Doc agreed with a smile. "But what of the baby?"

"The baby appears to be one of the healthiest children I've ever seen," Dr. Peterson said. "I'll just need his full name for the birth certificate."

"That's fine," Doc said, nodding. "How much does he weigh?"

"Seven pounds, five ounces," the doctor said. "That's very good."

"What about all the crying he's been doing? Is that normal?"

"Perfectly. I know you and your wife are sure to have many questions regarding these first few weeks of parenthood--"

"Yes!" Doc said quickly. "I don't suppose there is a book out there for that sort of thing?"

Marty rolled his eyes at the conversation, feeling like he was stuck in the middle of some cheesy commercial or parenting group.

"I don't really know of a book," Dr. Peterson said, "but the entire town will be happy to help you out in any way they can. Everyone is real happy for both you and Clara."

"Thank you," Doc said. "And thank you so much for coming by this morning."

Dr. Peterson smiled. "It's my job. Don't hesitate to get me if you have any questions or concerns."

"All right," Doc said, heading across the room. The two of them left the kitchen, leaving Marty behind. Marty heard the rise and fall of their voices through the door. A minute later he heard the front door open and close, then Doc returned.

"What a relief!" Doc said with a heavy sigh, going over to the stove and breaking the eggs into the skillet.

"Yeah," Marty said flatly. "Listen, Doc, can't you get someone to stay here with Clara during the day?"

Doc let out another heavy sigh. "I don't want to burden anyone."

"You won't burden anyone!" Marty insisted. "That's what people did nowadays! Haven't people offered to help you guys out?"

"Clara and I value our privacy," Doc said. "And we really don't want to burden anyone."

Marty sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Doc! So I'm gonna be stuck here for God knows how long just because you don't want anyone to help you out?"

"Hush!" Doc said in a low voice, his tone sharp.

Marty closed his mouth, shocked at the tone of voice. "What is it?" he muttered darkly.

"It appears that Jules has drifted to sleep," Doc said softly. "And I know you would enjoy the silence as much as I would."

Marty ran a hand through his hair, not wanting to drop the conversation that was so important to him. "Doc, I want to get back home by Tuesday," he said softly. "You promised!"

"I'm sorry, Marty," Doc said, sounding sincere in his apology. "It will have to be postponed for a couple days."

Marty felt his temper rise again, his face burning. "Fine," he said bitterly. "Fine, okay, great, perfect! I thought you kept promises!"

Doc turned around from the stove, finally. "Marty--"

Marty held up his hand, warding off whatever Doc was going to say. "No," he said. "I don't want to talk to someone who breaks promises!" Marty turned around and hurried out of the kitchen.

Doc went after him, a spatula in one hand. "Marty, you are being completely childish about this entire matter!"

Marty didn't answer him, yanking his coat off the rack. Doc watched him, scowling. "Where are you going?"

"Out," Marty said shortly. "Not that you would care!" He pulled on his coat, opening the front door at the same time.

"What do you mean, 'out'?" Doc repeated, his voice now rising. "Where are you going?"

"Why should you care?" Marty muttered under his breath. He slammed the front door as hard as he could, taking an angry satisfaction as he heard Jules start to cry again. Marty started through the deep snow as fast as he could walk--he had to get away!