#sick doc

So I watched the Back to the Future trilogy last week and now I’m obsessed with it! I especially love the romance between Emmett (Doc) and Clara in the third film. Adorable! So I thought it would be great if I created a fanfic about them, which is this. It’s about Emmett having a cold and Clara having to convince him to rest, then taking care of him. By the way, in this fic, Emmett and Clara have settled down in the 21st century for a while but have not yet had their kids. It’s a little au. Enjoy!

“How’s the new invention going, hun?” I asked Emmett, who was kneeling on the floor and tinkering on God-knows-what.

“So far, so good, Clara,” he replied. Then suddenly he sneezed. “Achoo!”

“God bless you.”

“Thanks.” Emmett sniffled and rubbed his nose. “Not sure where that came from. Now where was I? Oh yes! This just might be my--greatest--invention--” His breath grew shaky and then...“ACHOO!” He sneezed even more forcefully than before, hitting his head on the machine. “Ow!” he yelped.

I rushed to his side and quickly knelt down next to him. “Emmett, are you okay?” 

He lifted his head and rubbed it. “I..think so.” His nose was now dripping. I didn’t admit it, but he looked so cute all sniffly and red-nosed like that. Still, I held out a tissue to him; he took it graciously and gave his nose a thick blow. His head may have been fine, but I didn’t think he was fine. I placed my hand on his  forehead. It was warm, not to mention damp and sticky with sweat. Yep, definitely not fine.

“You must be sick, Emmett,” I said, my voice rife with concern. 

“Sick? I’m not sick,” Emmett said. 

But I wasn't convinced. Since his shop was a bit dusty today, I normally would have blamed his sniffles and sneezes on that. But what definitely isn’t caused by dust? A fever.

I narrowed my eyebrows. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying, I feel fine.” But Emmett coughed harshly right after finishing his sentence. He gazed at with glassy brown puppy-dog eyes. “Okay, maybe I don’t feel that fine.” 

It was impossible to be mad at him when he looked so miserable. I stroked his hair. “My poor honey. You really need to rest.”

“No, I’ll be okay, really. I need to finish this invention. It’s not gonna kill me or anything.”

“You can finish it when you’re better. Come on, my little busy bee, it’s time to get in bed.”

“Okay okay, I’m coming,” said Emmett, finally giving in. 

In our bedroom, I took his temperature. “100 degrees,” I said. “Not good.”

“You’re right, Clara. I do need some rest,” he said. 

“And I know something else that will make you feel better. Wait right here.”

 I left the room. When I arrived back, I handed Emmett, who was thankfully in bed by this point, a steamy mug. “What’s that?” he asked.

“Chamomile tea,” I said, “with plenty of honey. Trust me, it’s the best thing for a cold.”