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Doc diligently watched over Marty that night, staying awake by trying to recall what he could from his now-destroyed time travel research. Desperate to record what he could recall, once the sun started to rise, he scribbled down things in a small notebook he had always carried around with him, and had been one of the few things he had been able to take with him when the government agents had come for him. But the majority of his hard work had gone up in flames.
He winced involuntarily, thinking of what he had lost—most of all, the schematic diagram and rudimentary models he had made of the Flux Capacitor, which would have been the keystone to his time machine.
He began to sketch what he could from memory, all the while bemoaning his life choices. That had led to this current situation.
“I should never have gone to Los Alamos,” he muttered, bitterly. “…I could have stayed in Pasadena and worked on time travel in between teaching classes…”
“You’re a teacher?”
Doc gave a start, glancing back at Marty.
“Well, yes—I taught physics. And how long have you been awake?”
“I dunno,” Marty replied, shrugging.
“Well, I think that means you didn’t have any bad dreams,” Doc said, with a smile.
Marty nodded, but he didn’t seem focused on that.
“…You’re sad again,” he observed.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, Marty—wouldn’t you like some breakfast?”
Marty instead leaned over and looked at Doc’s notebook.
“Y,” he said, after glancing at the drawing of the Flux Capacitor.
“Well, because breakfast is the most important meal of the day…”
“Noooo,” Marty said, grinning as he pointed at the drawing. “That Y!”
“Ohhhh… Yeah, I guess it does look like a Y—I call it the Flux Capacitor,” Doc mused. “You know your letters?”
“Kinda. But I wanna learn about Pepsi!”
Doc looked confused.
“…Pepsi…?” he repeated.
“Uh-huh—you said you teach fizz-icks! And I really like Pepsi!”
“Yeah, I taught physics… Ohhhh—you mean fizz…!” Doc trailed off, actually managing a laugh for the first time in months. “Physics isn’t learning about soda, Marty.”
“Oh,” the boy said, losing interest.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you…” Doc trailed off. “…Who was giving a little kid like you Pepsi?”
“Mom,” Marty replied. “The doctor told her to. She said if it worked, I could go to preschool on time.”
“…If what worked?”
“I dunno,” Marty said again. “Something about the Pepsi?”
Doc’s thoughts now went to his own childhood—and how his parents had started him on coffee at a young age to help him focus.
“…Did someone say you might have to start preschool late?”
“Uh-huh. My big brother said it was ‘cause I’m slow.” Marty shrugged again. “I think I can run fast, though…”
“That… wasn’t quite what he meant,” Doc said. “But it doesn’t matter what anyone says, Marty—you can accomplish anything if you just put your mind to it.”
“Yeah?” Marty asked, his eyes wide.
“Yeah—and I can prove it to you,” Doc said, unfolding a handkerchief. “Here—take those two corners while I hold these two corners.”
Marty took the corners; Doc held the other corners with one hand and reached into his pocket for a couple of coins.
“You know what these are?”
“Money,” Marty said, nodding.
“Well, yes, they are both money, but they are a little different—this small one is a dime, and this larger one is a quarter,” Doc said. “Now, watch what happens if I drop the dime on the handkerchief.”
Marty watched.
“It makes a dip!” he observed.
“Because it has mass. And the quarter weighs more—and has more mass. So, what do you think it’ll do?”
“A bigger dip?”
“Exactly!” Doc said, and demonstrating. “Now, what do you think would happen if I had something really, really heavy—something with a lot of mass—and dropped it on the handkerchief?”
Marty thought for a moment.
“If it was really heavy, will it make a hole in it?”
“Yes!” Doc exclaimed. “And that’s how the universe works, Marty—space and time are like the handkerchief of the universe. And when things have more mass, they make bigger dips in the universe.”
Marty’s eyes went wide.
“And if something is heavy enough, it can make a hole in the universe!?”
“You got it—we recently started calling them black holes!” Doc grinned. “Congratulations, Marty—you have just learned General Relativity before you’ve even learned how to read!”
“Wow…” Marty mused.
“You know, some people don’t learn that until they go to high school—or even college,” Doc added. “So you’re not slow, Marty—you’re far ahead!”
“I wanna know more,” Marty said, his eyes wide.
“And I’ll teach you—but after breakfast, alright?”
“Okay,” Marty agreed.
Doc put away his notebook and handkerchief, getting some food from their provisions.
It was true—he harbored many regrets. But he knew that adopting Marty would not be one of them.