When the Clock Strikes Twelve

::13::

The day following the festival, the alarm clocks rang much too loudly for Rosie's liking. She and Marty woke up to the sound of a rooster crowing. They groggily sat up, and Rosie giggled.

   "What?" Marty asked her.

   "Oh nothing," she replied. Marty shrugged it off and turned around, revealing the flap of his pajamas wide open. He grabbed her hand and helped her stand up as she yawned.

   "Doc?" He called out. "Doc?"

   "Did he come home last night?" Rosie asked, imagining that not arriving home would be considered much too scandalous for the era.

   "Hope he knows what he's doin'," Marty said, scratching his head and turning around, seeing his gun holster that he had so confidently received. "I'm gonna try it on."

"No you're not," Rosie laughed. Making eye contact with her, he slipped it around his belt, grabbing a gun and pulling it out, facing the mirror, pointing the gun. "Oh god we better get out of here before your little duel."

"Oh come on. I'd trust Doc with my life. He'll get us out of here," Marty said.

   "Well I'm glad you have confidence in him," Rosie said, slipping her arms around his waist comfortably and leaning her forehead on his shoulder. He turned around and backed her up slightly, kissing her. She set her hands on his shoulders, moving them upwards.

   "I'm never gonna get sick of that," Marty said, separating so their faces were barely apart. Rosie smiled and kissed him again. "We've got some time to kill."

   "Come on Marty. We have to go make sure Doc's okay," she said, wishing she could stay in the room with Marty all day.

   "Fine," he replied. The two got ready for the day, but became distracted constantly by either making fun of the other, or kissing the other. Eventually, the two left the house looking as if they were created to exist in the time. No one needed to know that they were from 1985. That would have to stay between the two of them.

"You're a celebrity here," Rosie said, watching as men and women passed by, tipping their hats and greeting the teenagers. They handed him objects such as cigars and even attempted to give him a new suit.

"There's Doc," Marty said, pointing towards their friend. The two walked towards him.

"Doc! What are you doin'?" Rosie asked, watching as he attached a pin to his jacket.

"Oh, nothing. I'm just out enjoying the morning air. It's really lovely here in the morning. Don't you think?" Doc replied, clearly in a good mood.

"Yeah, it's lovely, Doc. We gotta load the DeLorean up and get ready to roll alright," Marty said as Rosie pulled on his jacket. Immediately after he was done talking, he looked towards her. "Yes, Princess?"

"Look," she said, pointing towards a tombstone.

"Hey, look at that. The tombstone," Marty said.

"Marty, let me see that photograph," Rosie said. Something about the stone looked oddly familiar. He took it out of his pocket and unfolded it, handing it to her. She looked it over and took a deep breath, putting the puzzle pieces together.

"Let me see that," Doc said. Rosie nervously handed it over and took Marty's right hand in both of hers, holding it tightly.

"Whats wrong?" He asked her.

   "My name. It's vanished," Doc said.

   "Hey, that's great, Doc! Don't you get it! We're going back to the future tomorrow, so everything's being erased," Marty explained, and Rosie attempted to think logically.

   "But only my name is erased! The tombstone itself and the dates still remain. That doesn't make sense," Doc explained. "We know that this photograph represents what will happen if the events of today continue to run their course into tomorrow."

   "Right. So-," Marty started, before a tailor walked up behind him.

   "Excuse me Mr. Eastwood. I just need to take your measurements," the man said, measuring his arms length.

   "Oh, look, pal, I don't want to buy a suit," Marty said.

   "No, this is for your coffin," the man replied, and Rosie ran a hand through her hair, praying that they could get out of there in time.

   "My coffin?" Marty asked.

   "Well, the odds are running two-to-one against you," the man said. "Might as well be prepared." He then walked away.

   "I swear to god, Marty, if you die," Rosie said, walking towards him.

   "So, it may not be my name that supposed to end up on this tombstone," Doc said. "It may be yours."

   "Great Scott," Marty said in a high pitched voice.

   "I know, this is heavy," Doc replied. "Marty, why are you wearing that gun? You're not considering going up against Tannen tomorrow?"

   "Doc, tomorrow morning I'm going back to the future with you and Rosie, but if Buford Tannen comes lookin' for trouble, I'm gonna be ready for him," Marty said.

   "Marty you can't-," Rosie started, before Marty interrupted her.

   "You hear what that son of a bitch called me last night," Marty said.

   "Marty you cant go losing your judgment every time someone calls you a name," Rosie said.

   "She's right, that's exactly what causes you to get into that accident in the future," Doc said, and Rosie stopped in her tracks. The other two walked a few steps, before turning back to look at her.

   "Please don't talk about that," Rosie said, and Doc and Marty looked at each other, before backtracking towards the girl.

   "Rosie, what's going on?" Marty asked, setting his hands on her arms. "What about my future?"

   "It's nothing Marty," she said, looking down. He bent down slightly to meet her eye level.

   "Rosie. Babe. You're on edge," Marty said. She looked up, blinking back tears. This was absolutely too much. The past. The future. Now a duel? Rosie was past the limit of things that could happen.

   "I just want you to be safe," she whispered, and Marty pulled her into his chest, kissing the top of her head.

   "I will be. I promise," Marty said as she wrapped her arms around his body.

   "Doc. What's wrong with my future? Rosie's mentioned a few things, but it's not enough," Marty whispered to Doc, still holding his girlfriend tightly.

"Marty, we all have to make decisions that affect the course of our lives. You've gotta do what you've gotta do, and I've gotta do what I've gotta do," Doc said. "Come on. Let's go home."