Chapter Text
The first thing BJ hears is the ticking clocks.
He lets himself into Doc’s workshop after nobody answers at the front door, using the spare key from under the doormat to let himself in.
“Doc?” he calls, dropping the key back under the mat.
The workshop is empty, save for the ticking clocks, and the humming equipment, and BJ’s voice echoes in the small space.
“Doc?” he calls again, closing the door behind him. “Einstein?”
Still no answer, which is about what BJ suspected.
It isn’t like Doc to be gone all week – sure, he gets a little scatterbrained, but he’s never dropped off the grid for too long.
He drops his skateboard, letting it roll in the direction of the green velvet couch along the back wall, as he walks further into Doc’s inner sanctum.
Being in the workshop, even alone, still has a soothing effect on BJ.
The room just has so much energy, so much history – from the clocks ticking on the walls to the glass cases full of antique medical equipment.
It’s one of the few places BJ feels sure he can breathe – and today is no exception.
Everything in the lab appears to be in good working order, although BJ isn’t too sure what that means. Things are humming away, some vials are bubbling, and Doc’s jerry-rigged coffee maker is in the middle of pouring coffee into an overflowing coffeepot.
Most of Doc’s equipment is alien to him, and it could be a moonshine distillery for all he knows, but he’s relieved to see that nothing has blown up in Doc’s absence.
Over by the medical equipment – guarded by a model skeleton from Doc’s old practice that is incongruously wearing a cowboy hat – is BJ’s favourite part of the lab: the plasma ball.
BJ always touches it on his visits to the lab, relishing the tiny electric shock it gives him, as if it’s some kind of lucky charm.
Today, he stops in front of it, and places both hands on it, thinking absentmindedly that he can use all the luck he can get.
He doesn’t even realize what happens, but there’s a sound like a bug flying into a porchlight, and suddenly he’s flying backwards into a shelf, knocking it over, and knocking the wind out of himself.
Breathlessly, he lies there for a moment, among all the papers and knickknacks from Doc’s shelf, his hands burning, his heart pounding.
He sits up, staring at the ball, which is shooting off tiny forks of lightning.
“Electrifying,” he mutters, grinning to himself.
And then the phone rings.
BJ struggles to his feet, winded, and manages to stumble over to the phone. “Hello?”
“BJ!” Doc’s voice is cheerful on the other end of the line, which is relief in itself. “Good, you’re there. I tried your home number, but your mother said she thought you’d left already…”
BJ grimaces.
He’d still been home, and heard the phone ring, but his mother clearly forgot to tell him he had a call.
“Still,” Doc concludes, “That was a good hunch.”
“Yeah, I thought I’d check the place out,” BJ replies. “I hadn’t heard from you in… shit, a few days? I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“That’s kind of you, BJ, but I’m fine. More than fine, actually – closer to brilliant.”
“Yeah, Doc?”
“I’ve been busy with my research,” Doc says. “In fact, I’ve made a breakthrough.”
BJ, although clueless as to what Doc is researching exactly, grins into the phone. “Doc, that’s great- oh, is Einstein with you?”
“Yes, he’s right here with me, he’s fine.”
“Okay. Great. And the breakthrough-”
“Yes, yes, I’ll explain everything tonight, I promise. Can you meet me at Twin Pines mall at 1:15 tonight?”
“Wait, wait, 1:15 AM?” BJ repeats, hearing his voice getting more shrill with anxiety, the receiver growing sweaty in his hands. “Doc, I-”
“BJ, I promise, I want you here for this – I’ll explain everything when I see you. Will you be there?”
BJ’s about to protest, already thinking about the track meet tomorrow, but he hasn’t heard this much excitement from Doc in a long time. “Yeah, Doc, sure. I’ll be there.”
“Excellent.”
“Oh, uh… Doc?” BJ grimaces at the destruction behind him. “You might’ve left your equipment on. I didn’t touch anything, and it seems fine, but…”
“But I’ll hate to see my electricity bill,” Doc replies, and then continues, “Oh, speaking of my equipment… You probably shouldn’t touch the orb when you’re there, there’s a slight possibility of electrocution.”
“Right,” BJ says weakly. “I’ll uh… keep that in mind.”
“Good. Now, I’ll see you tonight. Twin Pines mall, 1:15-”
He’s cut off by the sudden cacophony of noise.
BJ presses his hand over his spare ear, turning to look at all the clocks, which are at precisely eight, and loudly announcing the hour.
“Are those my clocks?”
“Yeah!” BJ calls back. “Yeah, it’s eight o’clock!”
“Perfect! My experiment worked!” Doc cries, excited.
“What do you mean? What experiment?”
“Every one of those clocks is twenty-five minutes slow!”
BJ gulps. “Uh, wait… wait, Doc. Are you telling me it’s eight-twenty-five?”
“Yes!”
“Damn!” And then feeling the need to explain, BJ cries, “I’m late for school!”
He slams down the phone, hurrying to grab his skateboard and head out – although despite the fact that he’s already tardy, he remembers to lock the door before he goes.
It’s not his lucky day, lightning be damned.
He makes it to the school in record time, although he’s just running up the front steps when Leo hurries out the front door.
“BJ!”
“Leo,” BJ says, ignoring the heat in his face when he sees his best friend, the way he’s gotten used to doing. “What-?”
“Let’s go around the back,” Leo says, grabbing his elbow. “Houlihan’s on the warpath.”
“Does he know any other path?”
“Only the one that leads to West Point,” Leo jokes, his eyes twinkling. “I think he gets off on it.”
BJ laughs, holding the door open for Leo. “He’s always had a sadistic streak.”
The halls are already empty, although BJ’s heart is still pounding in his ears.
“Looks like you’re in the clear, my friend – but I’d keep my ass out of sight for a few days if I were you. He’s got a long memory.”
“What would he want with me?”
“Because you’re so… good,” Leo says, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “And he loves to see good kids fail.”
“Well it wasn’t even my fault,” BJ says sheepishly. “I was checking on the workshop and Doc said all his clocks were twenty-five minutes slow-”
“Doc?” Principal Houlihan appears out of nowhere, grabbing BJ by the collar and stopping him short. “You’re not still spending time with Dr. Pierce, are you, Mr. Hunnicutt?”
“I am.”
“Well, I can see it’s doing your academic career wonders. Your first tardy…” he says, handing BJ the slip, a gleam in his eye. “And one for you, Mr. Bardonaro.”
“Thank you… sir,” Leo says, before giving BJ a beseeching look, and fleeing.
“Hunnicutt, I understand your need to be a defender of the weak, but your friendship with Dr. Pierce… will only lead to further undisciplined behaviour.”
“Oh yes sir,” BJ mumbles.
“You may have the other teachers fooled, Mr. Hunnicutt, but not me. I see right through your little golden boy routine – you’re just like your father. No discipline… and look what happened!”
“What happened?” BJ asks, daring him to continue.
“Nothing happened,” Houlihan says smugly. “He’s never made anything of himself, and you know why? He’s a slacker. And I have no doubt that you’re just like him.”
BJ clenches his fists, his cheeks flushing hot. “I’m nothing like my father.”
“No? And where do your ambitions lie, Mr. Hunnicutt?”
BJ keeps his mouth shut.
“On the track, I presume? I see your name is down for the track meet tomorrow, but why even bother? You know you don’t have the discipline to see it through. I can tell you that no Hunnicutt ever amounted to anything in the history of Hill Valley!”
“Yeah, well,” BJ musters with a confidence he doesn’t feel, as he looks Principal Houlihan in the eye. “History isn’t set in stone.”
With his dignity somewhat intact, he takes his tardy slip and walks away.
Leo is chatting nonstop as they cut across town square, but BJ isn’t really listening to any of it.
He’s not thinking about the Spanish quiz he barely passed, or the symbolism in Hamlet, or even tomorrow’s track meet.
“Hey,” Leo says, grabbing his shoulder, jolting him from his reverie. “You’re not listening to me.”
“Sure I am, you were talking about how Kellye Nakahara won’t give you the time of day,” BJ says automatically, because this is something Leo has pined after since freshman year.
Leo rolls his eyes. “You’re stewing over what that asshole said, aren’t you?”
“I’m not-”
“You are!”
“Well you heard what he was saying… and he’s probably right, too.”
“You idiot,” Leo says, although he doesn’t seem too exasperated as he says it, stopping in the middle of the parking lot. “He doesn’t know a fucking thing.”
“Well, what if he’s right? I mean c’mon, I’m not that good.”
“You are. And besides,” Leo says, “You can’t skip that meet tomorrow, because there’s going to be a Stanford recruiter there.”
BJ feels a sudden wave of nausea, a clenching of his stomach at the thought, and he has to sit down, unable to take a deep breath. “Holy shit.”
“That’s a good ‘holy shit’, right?” Leo asks, sitting beside him. “I mean c’mon, this is what you want!”
“Yeah, but… what if I go to that meet tomorrow and bomb it? What if the recruiter says ‘sorry kid, we don’t need you’? Then what?”
“Then you do better at the next meet,” Leo says, mystified. “BJ, c’mon!”
“I just… I don’t think I could deal with being rejected like that,” BJ says, and then cringes. “God, listen to me, I sound just like my dad.”
“You really let Houlihan get under your skin huh?” Leo asks, nudging BJ’s knee with his own. “Your dad’s not that bad.”
“Thing is, Houlihan isn’t wrong. And maybe he’s right, maybe I never will be anything-”
“Oh God, here we go again! Look, what is it that Doc is always saying?”
BJ rolls his eyes, but obliges. “He says if I set my mind to it, I can accomplish anything.”
“That’s not half-bad advice. In fact it’s better than anything you’ll get from Principal West Point with the permanent stick up his ass.”
BJ laughs, but is distracted by the roar of a motorcycle driving past, his eyes finding it in the crowd, and he stands up on the bench to get a better look. “Look at that, it’s gorgeous.”
Leo rolls his eyes. “BJ, you’re the only guy I know under fifty who reads Popular Mechanics.”
“Shut up,” BJ says, grinning down at him, distracted. “I mean look at it, just… imagine riding off into the sunset…”
“With a girl on the back?” Leo asks, amused. “You know, it’s not just the recruiter who’s going to be there tomorrow, BJ. Aggie’s gonna be there too.”
BJ swats him, trying to ignore his shaking hands. “That’s not helping!”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s as out of my league as Kellye Nakahara is out of yours.”
“Fuck you,” Leo says, good-naturedly. “And how do you know she’s out of your league if you won’t even talk to her?”
“What would I even say to her?”
“That’s you’re only a fast guy on the track?” Leo laughs, ignoring another swat from BJ. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“She could say no. Besides, I’m not… looking for anything like that.”
Leo snorts. “Right, and I only read Playboy for the articles.”
BJ sighs. “I don’t have time to date, Leo. And besides, any girl I was into, I’d have to bring home to my mom, and you know she wouldn’t approve.”
Leo laughs. “That woman was born a nun, I swear. But not even the hot Julie Andrews kind.”
BJ rolls his eyes. “Look, I gotta go-”
“No, no, c’mon.” Leo grabs his arm, pulling him around so they’re practically nose to nose. “Say you’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Leo-”
“Say you’ll be there!”
BJ gives in. “Alright! Alright, I’ll be there.”
Leo smiles. “Good.”
Before BJ can pull away, ignoring the tiny ribbon of heat encircling his belly that has nothing to do with his anxiety, there’s a rattle and an insistent “Save the clock tower!”
He pulls away from Leo, his face flaming, only to find a fussy-looking old woman who reminds him of his maiden aunts, holding out a can.
“Save the clock tower!” she says insistently again. “Mayor Jones is sponsoring an initiative to replace that clock!”
BJ and Leo glance behind them, only to see the same familiar sight as always: the burned-out clock permanently frozen at 10:04. BJ’s always thought it was a fitting metaphor for how Hill Valley feels.
Stuck.
The lady is still talking. “Thirty years ago, lightning struck that clock and it hasn’t run since. We at the Hill Valley preservation society think that it’s an important part of our history-”
“Hey, hey,” BJ says, pulling out a couple of dollars, gently stopping her. “Here’s a couple of bucks.”
“Oh, thank you!” She flushes pink in her excitement, passing him a piece of paper. “Don’t forget to take a flyer.”
“Thank you.”
She beams, and wanders off.
Leo is laughing himself silly next to BJ. “What is it with you and the Boy Scout routine?”
“What do you mean?” BJ asks, still holding the light blue flyer.
“I mean that you indulge every little old lady who thinks you remind her of her grandson! I’d have told her it was time we needed a new clock anyway!”
“She just needed somebody to listen to her,” BJ says, looking down at the flyer. “Besides, she’s right, isn’t she?”
“That we need to save the clock tower?”
“No,” BJ says, glancing back at the frozen clock. “We should know our history.”
Leo laughs. “That clock hasn’t run since dinosaurs roamed the earth, and there was no color TV!”
There’s a honking horn before he can continue, as his dad’s car pulls up, and he laughs, bouncing to his feet. “See you tomorrow!”
“Wait!” BJ pushes through the anxious lump in his throat. “What’s the name of the recruiter?”
“Here, I’ll…” Leo grabs the flyer from him, writing down the name of the recruiter. He gives BJ a rakish wink that makes his stomach do a few backflips, before hurrying off.
BJ glances down at Leo’s messy penmanship, not seeing the recruiter’s name or phone number, just the three words written at the bottom:
Give ‘em hell!
The sun is sinking towards the horizon as BJ turns off the highway, past the Lyon Estates signs.
Feeling a little silly, he stops to give the worn lion statue a pat on the nose, before making his way down the street.
Even before he gets home, he can see flashing lights in the driveway of #77, dread curdling his stomach.
There’s a tow truck backing into the driveway, and-
“Shit,” he mutters, staring at the crumpled remains of what used to be the family car.
While part of him is itching to get into the guts of it, to hammer out the blows and find the right parts, he can tell at a glance that it’s a write-off.
“Perfect,” he says, pressing a hand to the crumpled metal. “Poor thing.”
He can already hear raised voices coming from inside and has to hold back a groan.
He should’ve known.
“You know, this has a lawsuit written all over it! What if I’d killed somebody else? All because you didn’t tell me where your car’s blindspot was!”
Sighing to himself, BJ opens the screen door, only to find his father, leaning against the wall like it’s all that’s holding him up, being reamed out by his supervisor, Donald.
“Look, Don, I… I’m sorry, but I didn’t ever have a problem with the blindspot when I drove it…” Jay Hunnicutt says, his voice weak, and BJ wants to scream.
Every car has a fucking blind spot you idiot!
“Well if you had just told me where the damn blindspot was, your car would be in perfect condition now!”
“Don, can… can I assume that your insurance will pay for the damage?”
“My insurance? It’s your car! And they won’t know I was driving it, will they?”
Jay capitulates. “No, they won’t.”
“See? Nothing for my insurance to worry about.”
BJ resists the urge – barely – to slam his head off a wall.
“I mean, who’s gonna pay for this? Look!” And Donald is showing Jay his shirt. “Who’s gonna pay to get the beer stains out of my shirt?”
“Okay, okay,” Jay says, and then he notices BJ. “Oh… hey son.”
BJ cringes at the meekness of his father’s voice.
“Have you at least finished those patient reports yet?” Donald asks, putting his hands on his hips.
“Well… no, I thought we’d work on them together.”
Donald dope slaps him. “Jesus, Hunnicutt, don’t you listen? Those reports are your responsibility, not mine. And if I look like I’m going easy on you, I’ll get in trouble.”
“But-”
“No buts. Get them written and bring them to me so I can have them re-typed. Your writing isn’t neat enough.”
“Sure, I’ll finish them tonight, and bring them over tomorrow… Oh, by the way, I noticed that there are some inconsistencies in the medication distribution-”
“Just fudge the numbers, Hunnicutt, and make it look pretty.”
Donald gives BJ a grin on his way by, one that speaks of exploitation, and then wanders off into the kitchen.
BJ wants to leave, but he feels the need to stay, in case his father needs him.
Of course his father is too busy cringing and rubbing the back of his head.
“I have your car towed all the way to your house, and you don’t even have any decent booze to offer me a drink?” Donald calls from the kitchen.
BJ almost wants to point out that his mother has at least two bottles of vodka stashed under the sink, but keeps his mouth shut, wanting this little tragicomedy to be over as soon as possible.
He hates it, hates how Donald makes his dad feel, hates how watching his father play the grinning lackey makes him feel.
Donald comes back, beer in hand, and notices BJ watching him.
He just scoffs, giving BJ the once-over. “What are you looking at, jackass?”
BJ doesn’t answer.
“Say hi to your mom for me,” Donald says with a dirty smirk, before heading out.
Jay looks up, and it’s like he’s seen BJ for the first time.
The words of Principal Houlihan are echoing in his mind: he’s never made anything of himself.
“Look, son…” Jay sighs. “I know what you’re gonna say… and you’re right. But Donald happens to be my superior, and-”
“Dad… the car- if it was just a few dents, I could fix it, but he wrecked it!” BJ can’t help the anger in his voice, and he knows it’s not directed at Jay, but Jay is the only one here. “I needed that car tomorrow, Dad! I mean… do you have any idea what this track meet means to me?”
“I know, and… I’m sorry, BJ.”
“Yeah…” BJ says with a sigh. “You always say that.”
His anger is already dissipating, leaving only the empty helpless feeling that he wears like a favorite t-shirt.
Instead of saying anything else, he grabs his sneakers, and heads outside, hoping that a run in the cold air will help him calm down.
Dinner, as usual, is chaos.
Jay is scribbling down patient reports, the TV is playing old reruns of the Honeymooners – it’s one of Jay’s favourites, where Ralph is dressed up as a man from space – and even though it’s barely seven, Bea is drinking straight vodka, her fingers playing with the honeybee pendant of her necklace.
BJ can’t think amongst the chaos, his older sisters sniping at each other, even as Claire is shoveling in food, her Burger King uniform looking rumpled, Audrey examining her appearance in a compact.
He barely notices when his mother gets up from the table to pour herself more vodka.
Until she clears her throat, and he looks up, only to see the cake she’s carrying, and from the worn-down look on her face, he can already tell what she’s going to say.
“We’re going to have to eat this cake by ourselves,” she says, tossing it down onto the table. “Your Uncle Joey won’t be coming home after all.”
BJ grimaces, thinking of his uncle. “He didn’t make parole again?”
Bea takes a sip of her drink before she answers, “No. He didn’t.”
The name rises like a taunt to BJ’s lips, a jolt of anger almost spurring him to say the words hovering over everyone’s head like a thought bubble: Jailbird Joey.
“Why’d they deny it this time?”
“I don’t know,” Bea says with a weary shrug.
“I bet you money was involved,” Claire, an expert on money since she has none of it, says confidently. “Someone’s bribing prison officials.”
“This isn’t a movie, Claire,” Audrey says. “He probably just didn’t do everything he was supposed to do.”
BJ sighs, as Bea looks at them expectantly. “I think instead of all this speculating, you could use that energy to write to him. I’m sure he’d love to hear from you.”
“Oh do we have to?” Claire groans.
“He’s your brother.”
“I’ll do it,” BJ says, his appetite lost as he pushes his plate away.
“I won’t,” Audrey says, her mouth pursed in disgust. “I mean, can you imagine what my friends would say if they knew I had an uncle in prison?”
Bea’s eyes flicker to Jay’s, sounding tired when she says, “Everyone makes mistakes, Audrey. It doesn’t mean it’s all we are.”
Claire glances at her watch, wincing. “Shit, I’m late. I gotta go… have to catch the bus and all.”
“Claire Elizabeth, watch your mouth!” Bea yelps.
Claire, rolling her eyes, kisses her mother on the cheek before she leaves. “I’ll see you later.”
She doesn’t say anything to Jay, but the slamming door is enough to say how she feels.
BJ stares down at his plate, his stomach churning with anxiety, his legs aching from his run.
“I applied for a new job today,” Audrey says to Bea.
“Oh honey, the one you have right now is fine, why would you want another one?”
“Because it’s not fine. It’s shit.” Bea glares at her, and she amends her statement. “It’s bad. Besides, it would get me out of Hill Valley.”
“Darling…” Bea starts, but then gives up.
“Hey, BJ,” Audrey says. “When you were on your run, Leo called. Twice. I’m not your answering service.”
“I didn’t know you were still spending time with Leo,” Bea says.
BJ bites his tongue, resisting any remarks that she’s not spending time with anyone but her vodka bottle.
“He was probably just calling about the meet tomorrow,” BJ says, his eyes fixed on his plate.
“Meet?”
“Yeah, he uh…” BJ tries to sound casual. “He said there might even be a recruiter there.”
“A recruiter?”
“Yeah, from… from Stanford.”
“Mm.” Bea frowns. “BJ, honey, I don’t think you should worry about a recruiter – he probably isn’t there for you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I just… I don’t want you to be disappointed, chasing after things out of your reach.”
BJ tries to remember a time when his mother actually encouraged the three of them, and can’t find it.
“What really matters will come to you,” Bea says, and her eyes soften as she looks at her husband. “Like the way I met your father.”
“Oh come on,” Audrey groans. “You only met him because grandpa hit him with a car!”
“It was meant to be,” Bea says, quietly.
Jay isn’t listening, he’s too focused on the TV.
“What was he doing in the middle of the road anyway?”
“I don’t remember… what was it, Jay, birdwatching?”
“What?” Jay asks, looking up.
“Anyway… your grandfather brought him inside, with a big bump on his head, and he just… looked like he needed somebody to look out for him. And that someone was me.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Audrey says, frustrated. “And you pitied him, so you said yes when he asked you to that stupid dance…”
Bea, instead of denying that she asked Jay out based on pity, just gives her daughter an annoyed look. “The circumstances don’t matter.”
“Sure they do.”
“All that matters, is when I looked at him on the dance floor… the lights were dim, the band was playing… and when your father kissed me, I knew. I never had to chase him, because he was already mine,” Bea says, looking down into her vodka, clearly wondering where it all went wrong.
It’s a well-worn story, almost like a fairy tale, but BJ wonders if Bea isn’t just trying to convince herself.
If she looks around at her life and wonders what happened to her happy ending.
Either way, he’s lost his appetite.