Work Text:
Sitting at his workbench, he read the flyer again.
MISSING CAT, it read in fuzzy, photocopied handwritten letters. ORANGE AND WHITE. Below that, an equally fuzzy photocopy of a polaroid of the animal in question. An address and a phone number. A pair of names. Emmett considered it.
Heaving a sigh, he got up and went to his armchair. He looked at the cat, lounging in the chair as if it owned the place, entirely contented in his house. Copernicus lay nearby, sulking on the floor, affronted by the intruder on his preferred napping chair.
He picked up the cat. “Let’s look at you.”
He’d never been entirely comfortable with cats – liquid, uncooperative creatures. He didn’t like the way they stared at him. But he held up the flyer beside the cat and triple-checked. No, there was no doubt about it. The polaroid wasn’t a great picture, but the markings on the face were identical.
The cat from the flyer squirming in his arms, wanting down. Emmett clutched it tighter and regarded its innocent face. “Well,” he reflected. “I suppose we’d better get you home.”
*
As he rang the doorbell, it occurred to him that he ought to have called ahead. There had been a phone number on the flyer, after all. If there was no-one home he’d have to carry the beast back across town. And might it be considered rude, to show up on someone’s doorstep with an armful of cat?
The cat was becoming wigglier with every passing second. It seemed to be increasingly coming to dislike him. Perhaps he smelled too much like dog. Perhaps it could sense his discomfort. Looking down at it, for the fourth time that day he second-guessed himself on whether it was even the right cat.
Mercifully, inside there were footsteps. “Coming,” called out a voice. “Just a second –” The door opened and there on the step stood Lorraine McFly. Her eyes went first to his face and then to the cat. “Doctor Brown! I – Peaches!”
“I saw the flyer,” he said by way of explanation.
“Oh, my hero!” she said as he poured the cat into her hands. “Where did you find her?”
“Wandering around the junkyard –”
“You naughty girl!” Lorraine hugged the cat to her chest. “What were you doing all the way out there?”
“Exploring, I imagine,” he suggested.
She looked up at him as if she’d momentarily forgotten he was there. “Thank you,” she said. “Oh – thank you so much – the kids have been just distraught since she ran away.” She ducked her head at the interior of the house. “Won’t you come in?”
“Ah – no,” he said. “I shouldn’t –”
“Do you have somewhere to be?”
She said it in a light, friendly tone and he didn’t doubt that it was in no way intended as a particularly incisive question. But the truth was he rarely had anywhere to be. “Well – maybe just for a little while.”
Once the door was shut tight, Lorraine deposited the cat on the floor. She wandered off, entirely unfazed by her adventure and entirely ungrateful for her rescue.
“Coffee?” Lorraine ushered him through into the living room.
“You don’t have to –”
“It’s no trouble.” At her urging, he sat tentatively on the edge of the couch. “How do you take –”
From another room, there was a sharp cry; and at that sound, a prickle went up his spine. He had half a mind to make his excuses and flee. It was only raw social nicety that kept him on the couch.
“Excuse me just a sec.” She hurried away.
Emmett tried to make himself comfortable, listening to the sound of her coos, muffled through the wall. He looked around the beige room. There was a wedding photo up on the wall. Another picture on an end table of Lorraine and George and two small children – an outdated family portrait.
When Lorraine came back, she had the baby on her hip. “Now, this is Marty,” she said, bustling into the room. “Marty, this is Doctor Brown!” She bounced him lightly. “Are you gonna wave for Doctor Brown?”
The introduction wasn’t necessary. Even if his identity hadn’t been self-evident, Marty had reached a stage in infant development wherein his features were becoming recognisably those that Emmett remembered from 1955. He knew those eyes. It was profoundly strange to see them on an infant and he thought, I shouldn’t have come.
Marty stuck his fingers into his mouth, studying Emmett with idle infant curiosity. After only a moment or two he lost interest, turning his face sharply away and tugging at his mom’s dress.
“You wouldn’t mind holding him while I make the coffee – would you?” said Lorraine.
“I don’t want to impose – if you need me to –” She was already pressing the baby into his arms.
“He gets so fussy when we leave him in his crib,” she said. “We think he knows when he’s being left outta stuff. He likes to be a part of things – don’t you, honey?” She patted his chubby cheek and went into the kitchen. There was a sound of crockery and silverware. “Holler if he’s any trouble!”
Emmett settled Marty on his knee. He looked down at him, his tiny round face, his fingers still stuffed into his mouth, drooling a little. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a baby – probably at least ten years back. He wasn’t sure he knew the right way to do it. Well, so far Marty was being a lot more friendly than the cat.
Babies were – moist, and extremely top-heavy. It was difficult to shake the feeling that any second now Marty was going to topple head-first off his lap onto the floor, which would be a tragedy for his family, a cruel irony for Emmett, and a potential disaster for the timestream. If the baby was a little younger – if he didn’t look like himself – it might not be so disquieting. But Emmett was, unmistakeably, holding a miniaturised version of the kid he’d met in 1955 and the visual unnerved him.
But then Marty looked up at him – and meeting his eyes, Emmett felt a swell of something in his chest. “Oh,” he said softly. “Hello, you.”
Marty took his shiny fingers out of his mouth. “Ah,” he said emphatically.
“So how’s Calvin?” said Lorraine from the kitchen.
Emmett glanced in her direction. He looked again at the baby in his lap. “Oh, he’s, you know,” he blustered. “Keeping well.”
“Where was it his family moved to again?” she said. “Alaska?”
He dredged his mind for a thirteen-year-old offhand lie. “Manitoba.”
“That’s right.” He heard the kettle bubbling. “You’re still in touch?”
“He writes from time to time,” Emmett said; then, for fear that she might try to wrangle an address out of him, he changed the subject. “How’s George?”
“Oh, good!” she exclaimed. “He’s just swell! You know, he just sold a story to a magazine? We’re all very proud – sugar?”
“Please.”
She came back through with the coffees and setting them on the table held out her hands for the baby. “Shall I –”
“Oh, I don’t mind.” As reluctant as he’d been to hold Marty, now that he’d started he found he didn’t want to stop. And after all, he’d probably never get another chance.
As they made polite conversation on the subject of George’s ongoing attempts at science fiction writing – a subject Lorraine spoke about with great enthusiasm and little understanding – with periodic interjections from Marty, who was keen to be a part of the conversation, he gave some thought to what this might be doing to the timestream.
Well, he supposed, it wasn’t as if he knew for sure that this didn’t happen in the unaltered timeline. For all he knew this was always how he and Marty were supposed to meet. It wasn’t like Marty was going to remember.
“Intriguing stuff,” he said in response to her fumbling summary of the story. “I wouldn’t mind reading it.”
“Oh – you’re a science fiction fan too?”
“Comes with the territory.” Marty had begun to take an interest in the lapel of his jacket, clutching at it with wet fingers that left a damp streak against the cloth. Emmett opted to leave him to it. “How would I –”
“We got a couple of spare copies sitting around!” she said brightly. “Let me get you one.”
“You don’t have to –”
“They gave him some extras – they’re in the basement.” She put down her coffee. “I’ll only be a second.”
He listened to her footsteps retreat along the hall. Then he turned his attention to the baby in his lap.
“Look at you.” He lifted Marty, hefting him up to eye level. “Great Scott, but you’re little, aren’t you?” Marty gazed back, bright-eyed and uncomprehending. “You’re gonna be a time traveller one day, aren’t you?” Emmett cooed. “You’re gonna be the first person to travel in time. You’re gonna experience things no human’s ever experienced before, huh? Isn’t that incredible?” He studied Marty’s little face, a grin spreading across his own. “Aren’t you incredible.”
Marty blew a spit bubble and said, thoughtfully, “Ah bwa bwa bwa.”
“That’s right.” In spite of himself, his eyes had begun to mist. “You’re just incredible, aren’t you? Oh, but you’re amazing. Look at you.”
“Mbwuh,” said Marty, and grabbed his nose.
The basement door rattled and Lorraine’s footsteps came back along the hallway. “Sorry,” she was saying. “Sorry – George must’ve put them away – I found one eventually.”
Hurriedly Emmett sat Marty back on his knee and wiped the back of a hand across his eyes. He reached for his coffee, just as she came back in with the magazine.
“Chatty little guy – isn’t he?” he remarked.
“He loves to talk.” She held out her hands for the baby. “Here – I’ll swap you. There we go, sweetie.” She held Marty close to her chest; he wriggled a little and then settled in, pressing his face into his mom’s body.
Emmett looked over the magazine, feeling like he’d got the poorer end of the bargain. “Startling Science Fiction,” he reach aloud.
“They only paid a few bucks, but good to get your foot in the door, huh?” she said. “More coffee?”
“Oh – no.” He tucked the magazine securely into his jacket. “I should be going. Thank you for the –”
“Thank you for Peaches!” she said. “Give us a call some time – we should do dinner.”
“We’ll see,” he said, with no intention of doing any such thing. As he made his way to the door, Peaches hopped up onto the seat he’d vacated and shooting him an imperious look curled up into a ball.
“You gonna wave bye-bye to Doctor Brown?” said Lorraine to the baby. “Huh? You gonna wave? He does know how to wave,” she assured him.
“I don’t doubt it – thank you for the coffee.” He ducked to talk to Marty. “I’ll see you around, okay? Take care, now.”
“Bwa,” Marty agreed.
Outside, in his car, he flicked through the magazine to George’s story. “Remarkable,” he said to himself. “Just remarkable.”