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Chapter Text

Sunday, May 14th, 1989

2:11 P.M.

Hill Valley, California

Emmett L. Brown had been listening to his youngest son whine for the past fifteen minutes, but he held fast. “We are not all going to Marty’s house to pick up Einstein. You two need to unpack – and I should call first, anyway.”

“But after you call – “ Verne started. 

“Listen to your father, Verne,” Clara said firmly. Jules sniggered, and Verne stuck his tongue out at him.

“Mother!”

“I saw, Jules. Verne, do not stick your tongue out at your brother. And Jules, do not antagonize him.”

Emmett pulled the Plymouth into their driveway. “Ah, home sweet home.”

“We were only gone one day,” Jules remarked.

“Yes, a very busy day.” Emmett got out of the car, stretching mightily. The ride from the outskirts of Grass Valley had taken less than an hour, but Emmett hadn’t slept well in the motel bed, and he was feeling exhaustion in his bones. Clara exited the car as well, then went to the trunk to remove their small suitcase.

The two boys left the car, each carrying an individual overnight bag, and trudged up to the house. Clara bent to see if they had left anything  behind, then raised her head with a slight frown. “Is that the phone?”

“Phone’s ringing, Momma!” Verne yelled. He and Jules put on speed, trying to beat each other to the house.

“The house is locked, boys!” Emmett called out. He took the suitcase from Clara, and they followed their sons.

By the time Emmett and Clara made it up to the house and Emmett unlocked the door, the phone had stopped ringing. “We need an answering machine,” Verne pouted.

Emmett just huffed quietly. The McFlys had recently gotten an answering machine on their main line, so whenever Jules or Verne wanted to reach Marty, they would call the main line, in the hopes of being able to leave a message. As Marty was still at the dorms at Hill Valley University for another two weeks, calling his parents was usually the better way to reach him, as least until he was home for the summer.

Marty usually stayed at the HVU dorms on weekends when it was close to finals so he could study, but he was home this weekend, as Paul’s family was having a party for his 21st birthday at the nearby park. Doc had initially inquired if Marty had wanted to accompany the Browns on their outing, but when learning of Marty’s plans he’d instead asked the college student if he (or his family) could watch Einstein. Marty had agreed. “Yeah, he’ll have a ball at the park.” In between Paul’s young cousins and other guests, Marty knew that several children would attend the party. “There should be plenty of kids for him to play with.”

Although Marty had been a little bummed that he couldn’t go with Doc and his family. The scientist was going to introduce his family to a resort hotel with an indoor pool and small waterpark. Verne and Jules had only ever swum in ponds or shallow lakes, and they’d never worn modern swim trunks. Marty would have loved to see their reactions to the waterslides and other rides. He figured Verne would have no problem, but Jules was a wild card.

The Brown family had been home maybe ten minutes before a familiar engine was heard outside. Emmett looked out the closest window, and saw Marty’s truck entering the driveway. “How did he know we were home?” he murmured.

Clara peered over Emmett’s shoulder. “Didn’t you tell him when we thought we’d return?”

“Hmm.” Emmett watched as the truck bounced along the driveway. “He’s driving somewhat erratically.” He made his way to the door, stepping outside to welcome Marty.

When the truck stopped and the driver’s side door opened, Einstein bounded out. Verne and Jules, who had tailed their father, both dropped to their knees to fuss over their dog, who in turn slobbered over his young masters. So neither saw that it was not Marty who exited the truck, but his brother Dave.

“Answer your goddamn phone!” he exploded at Doc.

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve been calling and calling!”

Clara hurried outside, unnerved by the yelling. “David? Where is Marty?”

Dave didn’t answer. He was still glaring at Doc.

“We were out of town,” the older man explained. “We just got home.” Marty knew this. Emmett looked over at Clara, then back at Dave. “Why were you – “

“Marty’s been in an accident. He’s in the hospital.”

Both Jules and Verne stood up, Einstein temporarily forgotten. “What happened to Martin?” Jules asked quietly.

Dave just shook his head. “Doc. You have to come. He’d want you there.”

The statement alarmed Emmett more than David’s desperation had.

Marty hadn’t asked for him.

Marty was possibly unable to ask for him. 

Emmett glanced between Clara and his boys, his mouth moving but nothing coming out. Clara stepped up and placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Go with David. I’ll stay with the boys. Call when you know something.”

Emmett nodded mutely. He quickly embraced his wife, then walked numbly to Marty’s truck.

Once Doc was in the truck, he put his seatbelt on and looked soberly at Dave. “Maybe drive a little more sedately to the hospital,” he said hoarsely.

“Sorry.” Dave took a harsh breath, then fastened his own seatbelt. “And sorry I yelled. I was – “

“I know.” Emmett studied the oldest McFly child. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Dave drove in silence for a while. Then, with a small shake of his head, he said, “He got hit by a car.”

“Again?”

Dave looked sharply at Doc. “What?”

“Nothing. When did this happen?”

“Yesterday. At the party. Some kids were playing too close to the street. Marty went to call them back. He wasn’t even in the street! But some guy was coming down the street, driving drunk, and he swerved to miss the kids. . . He drove up on the grass, and hit Marty.” He took a breath. “Linda was there. She saw it all.”

“How badly is he hurt?”

“Bad. He turned just when the car was coming, so he was facing it – the hood ornament – “ Dave choked back a sob, and Emmett instantly became concerned that the young man wouldn’t be able to drive safely if he was crying. “David, please be careful. Do you need to pull over?”

Dave rubbed his eyes. “No. I’m okay.” He pulled up to a stop light, and wiped at his eyes again. “I’m okay,” he repeated. “But Marty lost an eye."

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

As they neared the hospital, Dave informed Emmett that Marty also had a broken collarbone, two broken ribs, and a concussion. He’d had surgery once already, to fully remove the obliterated eye, and would need at least one more surgery, once his condition was improved.

“Has he been conscious at all?” Emmett asked as they pulled into the parking garage.

“Not much. He’s pretty doped-up.” Dave exited Marty’s truck, fumbled with the keyring, and finally locked it. “I thought you had your own car?” Doc inquired.

“I do. It’s at my folks'. I didn’t want dog hair in it.” Dave looked mildly ashamed.

“Ah.” Emmett smiled faintly.

They both walked into the hospital, and Dave led Doc to the elevators. While they waited for the elevator, Dave looked sidelong at Emmett. “Uh, Marty doesn’t know about his eye yet. So don’t say anything to him.”

“I thought he wasn’t really awake.”

“Whatever. Just don’t, okay?”

It wasn’t hard to find the area where Marty’s room was located. When Dave stopped at the waiting room, Doc saw several of the chairs were occupied by Jennifer Parker and her mother, Linda McFly and her fiancé, and Paul Hardy, Marty’s good friend and Pinheads bandmate.

Dave looked around. “Are Mom and Dad with him?” he asked his sister.

Linda nodded. “I was – I had to leave.” She had a handful of tissues, and was repeatedly dabbing at her eyes. “Oh - Doc Brown!” Linda rose, shoving the tissues in a pocket. She went to hug the inventor. “I’m so glad Dave found you.”

“Yes, we were – “ Emmett cleared his throat, his voice again becoming rough. “We were out of town. I had no idea what had happened.” He pulled out of the embrace, and suddenly found Jennifer facing him.

“I was gone too – but I’ve been here since last night,” Jennifer said. “Where were you?”

Betty Parker rose, putting a restraining hand on Jennifer’s arm. “Honey, you only had to come from HVU. You don’t know where Doctor Brown was, or if anyone could reach him.”

“We were on an overnight trip with the boys,” Emmett said quietly. “That’s why Marty had Einstein. He knew we were gone.”

Jennifer’s face crumpled. “Oh God. I knew that.” She fell back into her chair, putting her hands over her face. “I’m so sorry, Doc,” she said, her voice muffled.

Emmett coughed again. “No apology needed.”

Dave, who had been momentarily absent, came back into the room. “Doc? My mom and dad say you can come see Marty.” He waved out into the hall. “His room is this way.”

When Emmett slowly entered the hospital room, George McFly rose from a chair near the bed. “Emmett.” He shook the man’s hand, then brought him in for a quick hug. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.”

George gestured to his wife, who was still sitting by the bed. “Lorraine can catch you up. They only want two visitors at a time, so I’ll go.” George hesitated, then stepped over to the bed and bent to kiss his son on the head. “Doc’s here, Marty,” he whispered.

Emmett never saw George leave. His eyes were rooted on the boy in the bed.

-boy? Young man. He’ll be 21 in less than a month-

Yet Marty looked like a vulnerable little boy. He was wearing a hospital gown, parted at the front to allow the access of a heart monitor. Emmett could see Marty’s left arm was supported by a sling, and that there was bruising snaking down from his shoulder to his chest. There was an IV line attached to his right arm, and the college student also had a nasal cannula, which was almost perfectly set between two livid scratches on the young man’s face.

But the worst part was the elaborate bandage wrapped around Marty’s head, pressing his hair to his scalp. There was an oval-shaped dressing over what had been his left eye, and it poked out from the bottom of the wrapped bandage.

Or maybe the worst part was Marty’s motionless form, and how his remaining eye was firmly closed.

Lorraine was patting the chair George had vacated. “Sit, Emmett.”

Emmett dropped into the chair, still staring at Marty. Then he gasped softly, turning to the woman.

“I’m so sorry, Lorraine.”

She smiled, although it looked forced. “Thank you. But he’ll be fine.” She leaned forward, grasping Marty’s right hand. “He’ll be just fine. His injuries will heal.”

Emmett gestured weakly in the direction of Marty’s missing eye. “That won’t.”

Lorraine shook her head. “He will be fine," she repeated, as if it were a mantra. "He’ll adapt. We’ll get him the best therapy available. Money is no object.”

“If I can help, in any way. . .”

Lorraine smiled again, and this time it seemed more natural. “We have many people offering to help George and I, but. . . I think you would be more help to Marty. When he’s awake, and knows what happened. . .” She drew a breath. “A friend might be better than his parents.”

“He has other friends. Paul, and Jennifer. . .”

“It was Paul's party. He feels responsible, and has been inconsolable." Lorraine paused. "Linda saw it happen. She was nearly hysterical. She can’t sit with him for more than a few minutes.” She tipped her head at Marty.

Doc nodded, unsure how to respond. Lorraine continued.

“And Jennifer – well, I love her, but she’s been a wreck, just like Paul and Linda.  No, Emmett, I really think you’d help Marty the most. You’ve always had his best interests at heart, but you’re also logical and patient. You’re not as swayed by your emotions. You’ve never coddled Marty. He’ll need that now.”

Emmett nodded again.

And it also doesn’t hurt that I have a time machine and can fix this.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Lorraine and Emmett fell into silence. Emmett found himself unable to look at Maty for too long. His eyes took in the entirety of the room. The machine registering Marty’s vital signs. The small rolling table that held a few cups and a partially eaten sandwich. The one window, its curtains drawn. The clock, and the whiteboard at the front of the room, on which was written the names of the on-shift nurses. The large-print calendar, hanging next to the whiteboard.

Emmett was about to ask where he might find a phone so he could call Clara when there was a faint moan from the bed. His head whipped around and he leaned forward.

Lorraine was already tenderly stroking her son’s face. “Marty? Honey?”

Marty licked his lips, coughing weakly. Lorraine reached for a small cup of ice chips, and spooned a few into his mouth.

Marty swallowed, then coughed again. “Mom?” he murmured.

“I’m right here.” Lorraine squeezed his hand.

Marty tossed his head, squinting his eye.

“Just relax, Marty,” she said, her voice soft and soothing. Marty settled, appearing to drop back into sleep.

“We try to make sure at least I or George are in here all the time,” Lorraine informed Emmett, although she didn’t look away from her son. “So he always has a parent nearby when he wakes.”

“Has he been conscious much longer than that?”

“Not more than a few minutes at a time. His doctor says it’s due to the trauma, the pain medication, and the anesthesia from his surgery. They think. . .” She trailed off as Marty stirred again.

“Doc?”

For a moment Emmett didn’t understand how Marty knew he was there, but then he remembered he’d spoken – obviously the young man had not been completely asleep, and had heard him.

Emmett reached past Lorraine to put his hand on Marty’s uninjured shoulder. “I’m here, Marty.”

A brief frown appeared on Marty’s face – his visible eyebrow dipped. “What year izit?”

“It’s 1989, Marty.”

“’kay.” Marty’s face smoothed out again.

Emmett looked nervously at Lorraine, but she didn’t seem unnerved by Marty’s odd question. In fact, she chuckled lightly. “Another time when he woke, he asked for a pipe, to smoke. He’s been a little out of it.”

Doc smiled awkwardly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to laugh, even minutely.

When it was obvious that Marty would not wake again, Emmett asked Lorraine about a phone, where he could call Clara. “I think there are pay phones on the first floor,” Lorraine mused.

Emmett rose. “Do you want me to send someone in to replace me?”

The woman nodded. “See if Paul will come in. Or Jennifer. I know they both plan to go back to classes tomorrow. At least, I hope they do. They don’t need to upend their lives.”  She took Marty’s right hand in both of hers. “He will be just fine.”

Emmett found a small bank of pay phones around the corner from the downstairs entrance. He selected the phone farthest from where anyone might overhear, then fed it a quarter and dialed his home number.

A somber young voice answered. “Hello, Brown residence.”

“Hello, Jules,” Emmett said. “Can you get your mother, please?”

“How is Martin?”

Emmett sighed. “I need to speak to your mother.”

“Is he hurt badly?”

Emmett hesitated. He would be telling Clara the specifics, and she would forward the information to the boys, most likely filtering out the distasteful details. Yet Jules, even though he was just nine, could handle the upsetting news. Verne, on the other hand. . .

“He is. His left eye was damaged terribly, and the surgeons removed it.”

He heard Jules gasp. “He lost his eye?” he whispered.

“Yes.” Emmett coughed back a sob. “Don’t tell your brother.”

“I won't.”

Emmett heard Clara in the background. “Is that your father?” Then she was on the phone. “Emmett?”

“Yes, it’s me."

"How is Marty?"

“He’s, uh –  He’s – “ Emmett lost the tenuous hold on his tears. Just hearing his wife’s lyrical voice, tinged with concern, pushed him over the edge. No, he hadn’t wanted to cry in the waiting room, or in front of Lorraine (and Marty). But in the random hallway of the hospital, with a pay phone receiver pressed to his ear, he began to weep.

“Oh, Emmett,” Clara said, her own voice rough. “Is it dire?”

He coughed, hiccupping back his tears. “He was struck by a vehicle. Yesterday – at the park, where the party was. The driver was drunk, apparently, and while avoiding another accident, he struck Marty.” He coughed again before he continued. “He has several injuries that will heal, broken bones and contusions, but – well, the car that hit him had a hood ornament that pierced Marty’s left eye. He lost it.”

Clara hesitated before she replied. “Are you saying his eye was too damaged to repair?”

“Yes. He already had surgery, and they removed it. David told me he will need further surgeries, most likely.”

“That’s terrible.” Emmett could hear tears in Clara’s voice. “How is he handling it?”

“Well, he doesn’t know yet. He hasn’t been conscious enough to understand something is wrong. But that’s fine. He doesn’t need to know. Because I’m going to fix it.”

“Fix it?” Clara repeated. “With time travel?”

“How else?”

“Emmett. . . Is that even possible?”

Emmett sputtered. “What? How can you say that? He lost an eye, Clara! I have to fix this!”

“I know what you wish to do. I understand, Emmett. But you’ve preached to me, and to the boys, about the variables of time. How when one event is changed, other related events are altered. This accident occurred yesterday, corect?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know when, exactly? Or who else was involved?”

“No, I don’t – I’m not sure anyone knows those specifics, but I can go to the past, I can view the event and make notes, see when Marty needs to be out of the way of the vehicle. . .”

“Emmett, really, now you are going to travel to the past just to witness the accident? And you don’t think that might have repercussions on the event itself?”

“I – I don’t understand why you are against this!”

“Dear, think. Be logical. What was the accident that the driver avoided? If you prevent the driver from hitting Marty, would the first accident happen instead? Or if Marty is not struck, would someone else be struck in his place? Do you know if there was anyone near Marty when the accident happened?”

“I believe his sister may have been nearby. Lorraine did mention Linda saw it happen.”

“Would you sacrifice Linda to keep Marty safe and whole?”

Would he sacrifice the kids that the driver had avoided? Youngsters smaller than Marty, who could have been hurt worse, or killed?

“I wish you were here, Clarabelle.”

“Well, as Jennifer or Marty usually watch the boys, I don’t believe that’s possible, is it?”

“No.” Emmett sighed deeply. “Jennifer is here.”

Clara sighed as well. “Stay there. And think seriously about what I said. You know I’m right.”

Emmett solemnly hung up the receiver.

The thing was, how could Clara be right? How could Emmett not do anything to rectify this situation, when he was the only person able to do so? How could he leave Marty disfigured and traumatized, when it was within his power to prevent the accident from ever occurring?

He turned from the small phone bank, walking slowly back to the elevators.

The was a ‘ding’ before Emmett even depressed the button to call the elevator down. The doors opened, and Jennifer Parker stepped out.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she said. “We need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Emmett just stared at Jennifer. “Doc?” she said loudly.

He winced, then grabbed at her arm. “Not here.”

He pulled Jennifer down the hall, looking around for a private location. He found a small alcove that was a storage area of sorts. There were a few distressed chairs that had been put aside, possibly to be disposed of. Emmett sat in one of the chairs, and gestured for Jennifer to sit. After a moment she did, although she looked at the scientist suspiciously.

“What do you want to talk about?” he started.

“Are you kidding?” she returned. “What do you think?”

“Quiet down, please.”

“Fine,” Jennifer said through gritted teeth. “I’m quietly asking you when you’re going to go back in time and fix this.”

Emmett looked briefly at the single-minded young lady, then turned away, letting out a breath. “I haven’t yet determined the best course of action.”

“You haven’t – what is there to determine? You go back on the train and you stop it! You keep that man from hurting Marty!” Jennifer was vacillating from anger to tears. “He lost his damn eye, Doc! You have to fix it!”

“I know the extremity of the situation, Jennifer. But there are other circumstances to consider. The possibility of the accident occurring to someone else. My own lack of knowledge as to what exactly happened. Even the unknown. The likelihood that the timeline could resist my actions.”

“Is that – could that happen?” Jennifer asked, truly curious.

“Anything could happen. Time is fluid, and it is a mystery. As much as I’ve studied, as much as I've learned, I still know little. I’ve barely scratched the surface of the space-time continuum.”

“Aren’t you even going to try?” she pleaded.

He nodded. “I can’t sit by and do nothing. But this isn’t an easy fix. It’s not like it just happened, and I can jump back a few minutes and correct the error.”

“What about going back further, and warning Marty? Before the party?”

“That is a thought,” Doc murmured. But then he shook his head. “But what is to prevent the man from driving the same route, and possibly hurting – or killing – someone else, while he is driving drunk?”

“Is that our problem?”

“Yes, it is, Jennifer. I know you are only concerned about Marty. And I understand that. But there is a moral issue as well. It is not our place to play God, and sacrifice someone else so Marty remains unhurt.”

“But how do you know the guy will hit someone else? Maybe he’ll just hit a tree, and only hurt himself! He’d still be dragged off to jail for property damage and driving drunk.” Instead of being arrested for OWI and vehicular assault.

“That could happen. But we just don’t know, Jennifer.”

“Well, then incapacitate his car! Slash the tires, or siphon the gas – “

“Vandalism? And what if I were caught by the authorities when attempting this sabotage?”

She threw up her hands. “Haven’t you and Marty done things like that before?”

He tipped his head back and forth. “Anything we might have done would have been when we were traveling through time together. Also we had the DeLorean, which was not as challenging as the train when changing events.”

“What does that mean?”

“For one, the DeLorean had been much easier to conceal. . .”

“Why do you keep coming up with reasons not to do anything?”

Why am I?  “I’m not – I’m just trying to communicate to you how difficult a decision this is.”

“You can’t leave him like this, Doc!” she cried. “You just can’t!”

Doc watched helplessly as Marty’s girlfriend dissolved into tears.

As the afternoon wore on, visitors rotated in and out of Marty’s room. Jennifer, Paul, and Linda stayed briefly, and only Jennifer actually took Marty’s hand and spoke to the unconscious young man. Linda sat restlessly in the available chair, fidgeting even when her father put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Paul wouldn’t even sit. He stood near Marty’s bed, his arms crossed around himself and breathing shakily. He started tearing up within minutes, and quickly left the room.

Linda went home first. She and her fiancé were living in a duplex not far from the hospital. “Call us if anything changes,” she said, hugging her mother. “We’ll be right over.”

Paul left next, after making sure the McFlys would call his parents (who would in turn call him at college) once Marty awoke. Jennifer and her mother left not long after Paul.

Emmett and Dave remained, sitting near each other in the waiting room. They chatted softly to avoid bothering other random people in the room. Doc asked Dave how work was going, recalling that Marty had been bemused by how dedicated his brother had become (as in Marty’s original timeline, Dave had been working a dead-end job as a cashier at Burger King). “I got a promotion a few weeks ago – I don’t know if Marty told you. I’m a senior accountant now.”

“That’s wonderful, David. Congratulations.”

There was a short silence. “You – uh – you have two kids, right? How old are they?”

“Jules recently turned nine, and Verne is seven.”

Emmett had his excuses prepared for how he had a wife and school-aged children that really should have already existed by 1980, but Dave didn’t question him on it. He only nodded. Doc was relieved by the young man’s obvious (and warranted) distraction.

Lorraine entered the waiting room, looking half-asleep. “Can one of you go in there and keep George company?” she requested. Sitting down next to her oldest son, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “I just need to rest a little.”

“You should go home, Mom, get some sleep,” Dave advised.

“No. I am not leaving him.”

“But you’ve been here almost twenty-four hours. . .”

“David, no. I’m not leaving until he wakes up.”

Emmett stood, uncomfortable with the family disagreement. “I’ll go sit with Marty.”

When Emmett entered the room, George was sitting with his hand under his chin, and his eyes were drooping. Once he became aware of Emmett’s presence, he sat up, suddenly alert. “Oh, hello, Emmett.”

“Hello.” Emmett sat, looking over at his injured friend. “Has anything changed recently?”

“His doctor was by not too long ago. Marty’s pain medication has been reduced a bit. He’s hoping that will help him wake more completely.”

“But won’t he be in pain, then, when he wakes?”

George nodded. “Yes. But his doctor is concerned that he hasn’t regained consciousness yet, at least ‘aware’ consciousness.” He rubbed Marty’s right forearm, careful to avoid the IV line. “And I think some amount of pain will be unavoidable.”

Emmett was quiet for a bit, observing the father and son. Recalling the time Verne had been in the hospital, just a few weeks before they’d made their home in the present of 1989.

Emmett and Clara had been finalizing their arrangements for leaving the Old West. Jules and Verne, who had become tired of packing and cleaning, had gone out to play with Einstein. Less than fifteen minutes later Jules had come rushing into the house. “Verne’s hurt!”

A stray dog had wandered near where the boys and Einstein had been playing. The stray had gone after Einstein, and Verne had tried to put himself in between the dogs. Einstein had eventually scared off the stray dog, but not before Verne had gotten bit in the face.

As Emmett had travelled several times to different futures to update the time train (and to get the boys – and Clara – necessary vaccinations), he knew the best year to bring Verne to so that his facial injuries could be properly treated. The whole family had made the trip. And even though Verne had needed only an overnight stay and had left the future hospital with nary a mark on his face, Emmett remembered the anxiousness of waiting for Verne to awaken after surgery.

Doc could only imagine the pain and fear that George and Lorraine were feeling.

Sunday, May 14th, 1989

7:20 P.M.

Jules and Verne had been watching out the front windows for Emmett’s car, and when the Plymouth turned into their driveway, Jules announced, “Father’s home!”

Clara was at the door before Emmett reached it, and as soon as he crossed the threshold she took him into her arms. He embraced her tightly, sighing deeply.

Verne appeared behind his mother. “Is Marty doing better?”

Emmett pulled out of his wife’s embrace and looked down at his son. “Not yet, Vernie.”

“Has there been any change?” Clara asked.

“Not really.” Emmett moved into the kitchen, sitting on a stool at the counter nook. “He hasn’t yet regained consciousness. George told me Marty’s doctor is somewhat concerned by that, so they reduced his pain medication, hoping that will prompt him to wake.”

Clara went to the refrigerator, taking out a plate. “I made you a plate for supper. I’ll warm it up in the microwave.”

“I’m not exactly hungry, Clara – “

“Oh, pish posh.”  Clara took the plastic wrap-covered dish over to the small appliance. “I daresay you haven’t eaten since lunch.” They had stopped at a diner on the way home from the hotel.

Emmett crossed his hands on the counter, slumping. Jules hoisted himself onto a stool near his father. Verne climbed up on the opposite side, nearly tipping his stool over. Emmett grabbed the back of the stool, saving his son from a tumble.

“Thanks, Pop!”

“Don’t mention it.”

Verne stared at his father. “Momma said Marty hurt one of his eyes.”

Emmett looked up at his wife, who was taking his supper plate out of the microwave. “That’s true,” he responded. “Marty hurt his left eye.”

“Are you going to fix it?” Verne continued. “Are you going to take the train? Can I come?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Verne,” Jules said, rolling his eyes. “If Father goes back to the past to correct this, he doesn’t need you messing it up.”

Clara set the plate in front of Emmett, along with a fork and a glass of milk. “Boys, let your father eat.”

“Isn’t it their bedtimes?” Emmett pushed around the food on his plate.

“It’s not eight o’clock yet!” Verne said, pointing at the clock. “Pop, you know that!”

“It’s close enough,” Clara said decisively. “You had a busy weekend, and your father had had a rough afternoon. I think you should leave him be, and go up to your rooms. I’ll be along to tuck you both in.”

Grumbling, Verne slid off his stool and trudged upstairs. Jules hopped down as well, but before he followed his brother he looked seriously at his father. “You are going to help Martin, aren’t you, Father?”

“I’m going to do my best,” Emmett replied sincerely.

Jules gave a short nod of satisfaction, then headed upstairs.

Emmett and Clara turned in early as well, but Emmett tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position, and eventually Clara sat up and turned on the bedside lamp. “As neither of us are sleeping, why don’t we talk about it?”

So Emmett told her of the things he hadn’t yet had a chance to convey. Dave’s desperation and Linda’s distress. Lorraine’s denial, and her and George’s inability to leave Marty (which he fully understood). Jennifer’s anger and Paul’s misplaced guilt.

And of course about Marty. How he’d been so pale and still and how the bandage on his eye had frightened Emmett. The brief moment that Marty had awakened and had recognized his voice.

Emmett’s voice cracked with threatening tears. Clara shushed him, stroking his white hair.

Somehow, they both fell asleep.

Monday, May 15th, 1989

9:05 A.M.

Emmett had just exited the shower and was toweling off when there was a knock at the bathroom door. “Emmett, George McFly is on the phone!”

Quickly fastening a towel around his waist, Emmett came into the bedroom, his hair still dripping. He picked up the extension. “Hello? Hello, George?”

 “Emmett?”

“Yes, it’s me. Has something happened?”

“Marty’s awake. And he’s asking for you.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

After ending the call with George McFly, Emmett dressed quickly and made his way downstairs. Clara had already poured coffee into a travel mug; she handed it to Emmett along with a paper lunch bag. “There is a banana and some mini muffins in here.”

“Thank you, dear.” Emmett kissed her on the cheek.

“Just please drive carefully.” In between Emmett speeding to the hospital and eating in the car, she was a tad worried.

“I’ll be fine.”

“And tell Marty we’re all thinking of him."

Monday, May 15th, 1989

9:54 A.M.

Emmett stood outside Marty’s hospital room, breathing deeply. He had been rushing since he’d received George’s phone call, and his heart was racing from the stress. He wondered if his blood pressure would register as high.

The scientist ran his fingers through his unruly hair, closing his eyes briefly. He didn’t want to appear upset or agitated when he saw Marty. “Calm down, Emmett.”

When the man felt he had his emotions under control, he knocked on the partially open door. “Hello?”

He heard a chair being moved, and soon George McFly was peering at him. “Emmett! Come in!”

“Is that Doc?” Emmett heard a weak, yet familiar voice ask. Then there was a small gasp, and Lorraine said, “Settle down.” Her tone was soft, her words gentle.

Emmett stepped further into the room. Lorraine was seated by Marty’s bed, which was slightly inclined. George went to stand behind the other chair.

The inventor’s eyes went to Marty. His face had a touch more color, although it was still pale. His hair had been smoothed down as much as possible even with the bandage wrapped around his head. Emmett wasn’t sure if Lorraine had attempted to fix his hair, or if Marty had seen himself in a mirror and tried to make himself presentable.

Marty’s gown was no longer as open, so the bruises on his torso weren’t apparent. His left arm, trussed up in the sling, rested on top of the blanket covering him.

The injured young man raised his right hand in an approximation of a wave. “Hey, Doc.”

“Hello, Marty.”

Marty’s right eye turned from Doc to his mother. He tipped his head a bit as he shifted his gaze from Doc’s tall frame to the chair his mother was sitting in.

“Mom? Can I talk to Doc in private? Dad?”

George bent down near Lorraine so Marty could see him better. “You want us to leave?”

“Yeah. For a bit.”

Lorraine rose, then leaned in to kiss her son on his right cheek. “Of course. We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

Marty waited until his parents left the room. “They gone?” he asked.

Emmett stepped to the doorway and peeked into the hall. “They seem to be.” He closed the door most of the way, then went back to the bed and sat in one of the chairs.

The mentor and protégé gazed at each other silently for a few moments, then Doc lowered his head, shaking it slowly. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Marty.”

“Doc, I’ve had my parents and my brother apologizing to me all morning. Can you . . . not?”

Emmett sat up, shaking himself a little. “I’ll try.” He knew he would not be able to ignore Marty’s appearance and weakened voice, but he’d do his best to not annoy the young man.

Marty sighed tiredly. “Thanks.”

“How long have you been awake?”

Marty tipped his right hand in a see-saw gesture. “Not sure. Mom said my doctor was here early to check on my bandages, and I kinda woke up then, but I guess I was out of it. I don’t remember any of that.”

“Are you in pain?”

“A little. I’ve got a headache and my shoulder hurts. My ribs hurt if I move or if I talk too loud.”

Emmett had noticed that Marty was holding himself rather stiffly. He shifted his chair closer to the bed so that Marty wouldn’t need to lean toward him or speak louder.

“Why did you ask to see me, Marty?”

Marty turned his head away from Doc, facing forward. He looked toward the front of the room, blinking his eye rapidly.

“I don’t want you to use time travel to fix this, Doc.”

For a moment Emmett just stared. “. . .you don’t?” he finally said.

Marty turned his head back to Doc. “No. I – I kind of remember what happened. And . . . I don’t think we can change it.”

“Why would you say that?”

 “The guy, driving the car – I think he was supposed to hit me. I think it was supposed to happen.”

“That’s - that’s ridiculous!” Emmett exclaimed. “Why? Why you?”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t deserve this! From what I heard, you were attempting to corral some younger children that were too close to the street. And you think that act of responsibility merits serious injury?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” Marty breathed in, winced, then continued in a softer voice. “I’m saying I’ll recover. So I don’t want you to try to change it. Because if you keep me safe and that guy hits those kids, or someone else, that would haunt me.”

“You wouldn’t know, Marty. The timeline would change, and you wouldn’t be aware of the changes. . .”

“No, Doc!” Marty grimaced again, and his right hand lifted to press against his chest. “Ow.”

Doc stood, leaning over his friend. “Are you all right?”

Marty nodded, although his face had paled. “Just my ribs. I’m okay.”

Emmett settled back into the chair. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“Just – just listen to me, okay?” Marty closed his eye, breathing slowly. “It’s my life, and my decision. I don’t want you to change it. I’ll be all right.”

“How? How will you be all right after what happened to your eye?”

Marty stared. “What do you mean?”

Emmett stared back. “What – can you even feel – “ Emmett was unsure if Marty’s left eyelid still worked – he didn’t know if the area around the eye had been injured as well. “Why do you think your left eye is bandaged?”

“Mom said I had stitches.”

Doc suddenly looked like a deer caught in headlights. They still haven’t told him.

“Your doctor – your parents didn’t say. . . Stitches?”

“My doctor’s doing some surgery, I haven’t actually talked to him.” Marty’s hand went up to the bandage over his left eye. “What happened to my eye?”

“I – I’ve said too much. It’s not my place.”

"Doc. . .“ Marty was pressing his hand against the bandage. His breathing had quickened.

Dammit, I wasn’t supposed to say anything!

“Marty, just relax. . .”

“Get my folks, Doc.”

Emmett stood, awkwardly reaching out to his friend.

“Get my folks!” the young man demanded.

After sending George and Lorraine back into the hospital room, Emmett stood in the hall, unsure what to do with himself. He didn’t want to leave after so short a visit, but he feared he'd no longer be welcome. He also didn't want to go into the waiting room, and possibly run into David McFly. The man had told him not to tell Marty anything about his eye, and Emmett had basically ignored him.

The scientist began to pace in the hallway. He always thought better when he paced.

He had been pacing for about five minutes when an anguished wail came from Marty’s room.

Emmett pulled open the door to the stairway and disappeared downstairs.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Marty’s disturbed raving was so loud that two nurses and Dave McFly rushed to his room.

Marty was flailing on his bed, trying to pull away from his parents, who were desperately attempting to calm him. “What the hell happened? Dave asked.

Marty paused, panting, and turned his head to his brother. “Did you know? Did you know? Did you lie to me too?”

“Aw, fuck,” Dave muttered.

“There are far too many people in this room!” one of the nurses said.

“Deal with it,” Dave answered. As Marty began to struggle again, the accountant edged over to Marty’s left side, helping his parents contain the wayward limbs. Marty had even pulled his left arm from its sling in his frenzy. “Marty, stop it!” George said firmly. “You’re hurting yourself.”

Marty laughed wildly. “I’m already missing an eye! How can I hurt myself more?”

The second nurse positioned herself closer to the parents. “We need your permission to sedate him.”

“No!” Marty cried. “I just woke up! Don’t sedate me!”

“Then you need to calm down.” Lorraine took Marty’s chin into her hand; he whipped his head to dislodge it.  She grasped it again. “Calm down.”

Marty stared into his mother’s soft brown eyes. Her two eyes.

All of the fight went out of him. He began to weep. Tears welled out of his right eye.

The bandage over his left eye darkened with moisture. Feeling the change, Marty lifted a trembling hand to it. “How – “

He was unable to say anything further, as his crying intensified. Lorraine took him into her arms and rocked him. “It’s all right, baby. It’s going to be all right.”

The nurse who had mentioned sedating Marty spoke to George. “Just use the call button if you need us.”

He nodded. “It’ll probably be soon. I think when the adrenaline wears off, he’s going to be hurting.”

Once Marty’s tears had transitioned to random hiccups, Lorraine settled him back into his bed. She continued whispering soothing words to him. Dave gently placed Marty’s left arm back in the sling. “You gotta be careful with this shoulder, buddy,” he said quietly. “You want to be able to play guitar when you’re better.”

Marty wiped at his red-rimmed eye. “My head hurts.”

George leaned forward. “Do you want some pain meds?”

“No,” Marty said, slightly panicked.  “I just want to rest.”

His parents had not told him the truth about his eye after he’d regained consciousness, but they had let it slip that Marty’s pain medication may have prolonged his awakening.

Marty took a deep breath, letting it out shakily. He looked around the room, tilting his head.

“Where did Doc go?”

Although he didn’t have any intention of going back to Marty’s room, Emmett could not bring himself to leave the hospital. He sat in the front entrance waiting room, his head in his hands.

Marty’s distressed howl ran on repeat in his head.

“Doctor Brown?”

Emmett lifted his head. “Oh. Linda.” The young woman was alone. “Where’s your – “

“Fiancé. His name is Alan. He’s still at work, but he’s coming.” The young woman sat next to Emmett. “Why are you down here?”

Emmett made a weak gesture. “Ah, Marty needed to be with his family.”

“I thought you were family.”

Emmett smiled. He patted Linda on the arm. “Thank you for that.”

“It’s true, Doc.”

He nodded, then sighed. “Yet family can have disagreements. I’m down here because I do not know if your parents would want me up there.” He pointed upwards.

“Why?”

“Well, your father called me and told me Marty had awakened, so I came to see him. I assume that is why you’re here?”

“Yeah, Mom called me.”

Emmett nodded again. “I visited briefly with Marty, and I unwittingly told him about his eye. He hadn’t known.”

“Wait.” Linda held up a hand. “He didn’t know? How could he not know? Can’t he tell?”

“Either he wasn’t aware enough, or he dismissed it as pain or discomfort from his head injury. Your mother had told him he’d received stitches, and that was why his eye was bandaged.”

“She lied to him?”

“I believe it was just temporary . . .”

“I don’t care!” Linda raised her voice. “I saw it, right after it happened. I knew it was bad.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “And it’s not right that all of us should know, and Marty, the one who actually lost an eye, didn’t have any idea. I’m glad you told him.” 

“I didn’t give him the specifics, but I said enough that he put two and two together. He confronted your parents, and then. . .“ Doc exhaled. “He became very upset. So I left.”

“Because you felt you were responsible.” Linda shook her head. “I hate to tell you this, Doc, but I think Marty would have gotten upset no matter how he found out.”

“Yes. Which is why your parents hadn’t yet told him.”

Linda rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he still would have found out today. If not from them, it would be from his doctor.”

Emmett sat back in his chair. “Linda,” he said thoughtfully, “if that car had not hit Marty, do you know if there would have been anything else in its path?”

“What do you mean? Like if Marty hadn’t been standing right there?”

“Exactly. Do you recall?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice small. “If the car hadn’t hit Marty, it would have hit me. It almost did.”

Emmett closed his eyes. His hand rested on Linda’s arm again, then slid down to grasp her hand.

“Your dog was looking hot and tired, so I took him to my parents’ house. You know, the park is around the corner from where they live? When I got back to the park, I went to tell Marty – and it happened. I didn’t even know he’d been hit at first – I was staring at this car coming toward me, and then I heard. . .  When the car hit Marty he kinda . . . flew . . . and his body landed right by me – “ She broke off as tears fell down her face.

No wonder she had such a hard time sitting with her unconscious brother, Emmett mused. Linda would probably never forget the image of her brother, battered and bleeding.

“I just stood there and screamed. His face was full of blood. I didn’t even help him. And then everybody was there. Someone called an ambulance – I still don’t know who. Someone else ran to get my parents. They got to the park before the ambulance did.”

“What about the driver?”

“He got out of his car, and a couple guys grabbed him so he couldn’t take off before the cops came. Paul hit him in the face. He was going to do more but someone held him back.”

Emmett gave a single laugh. “I’d like to do more than hit that man in the face.”

“Me too, Doc Brown. Trust me.”  Linda rose, and as she was still holding Doc’s hand, she pulled him up as well. “Let’s go see Marty.”

When Linda and Emmett got off the elevator on Marty’s floor, Dave McFly headed them off near the waiting room. “Marty’s doctor is in his room, talking to him and my folks. So we have to wait.” He nodded at Doc. “Glad you’re still here. Marty was looking for you.”

Emmett shook his head sorrowfully. “David, I’m sorry. I know you told me – “

Dave waved a hand. “It’s in the past. Marty would have found out from his doctor, anyway.”

“I don’t think you should have lied to him, Dave,” Linda said angrily.

“Well, you weren’t here, were you?” David retorted. “So quit bitching!”

Emmett set himself between the siblings, putting his arms out to rest on their shoulders. “Why don’t we all sit down, hmm?” he said, directing them to the seating area.

They sat down in the same position, with Emmett in between Linda and Dave. Even with the scientist between them, the McFly siblings still shot daggers at each other. Emmett was suddenly reminded of Jules and Verne, and he smiled in spite of the serious situation.

“You know, you’re both here to support Marty, not to argue with one another. Maybe you two should table any disagreements for now. At least, I don’t think it’s appropriate to be arguing in a hospital.”

“I’m sorry, Doc,” Dave muttered.

“I’m sorry, too,” Linda said. “It’s just, I don’t know what to do with how I feel. I’m scared, and sad, and just so angry.”

“Thank you for apologizing. But I do think you should apologize to each other.”

Linda stood, going over to sit by Dave. She enveloped him in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.” Dave sniffled. “Doc’s right, we gotta stick together. And help Mom and Dad.”

As if he knew he’d been mentioned, George McFly came into the waiting room. “Linda, did you just get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago, yeah.” She looked sidelong at Doc.

“Well, I’m going to take your mom home so she can get some sleep. Can one of you go – oh, hi, Emmett. Marty was wondering if you were still here.”

“Yes.“ Emmett looked between the siblings. “Is it all right if I see Marty alone for a bit?” 

Once Emmett let himself into Marty’s room, Lorraine stood up. “Hello, Emmett,” she said wearily.

“Hello. I believe your husband is waiting for you in the waiting room.”

Lorraine gave a small scoff. “Go, Mom,” Marty said. “I know you’ve been here forever. Doc and Dave are here.”

“And Linda,” Emmett offered. “She just arrived.”

“See? I’ll be fine.”

Lorraine bent to kiss her son. “I’ll just be gone a few hours.”

After Lorraine left, Emmett stood, looking at Marty critically. “How are you?”

“I don’t know. Kinda numb. I freaked out a little.” Marty looked vaguely embarrassed.

“I know. I heard.” Emmett sat down heavily. “But I had to leave. I couldn’t – I’m sorry.”

Marty nodded. “Better you didn’t see it.” He took a shuddering breath. “Thanks for not lying to me.”

“Well,” Emmett sighed, “I thought you needed to know all of the facts about your injuries. Before you make a definite decision regarding correcting the timestream.”

“Correcting,” Marty repeated.

“Reversing it, then.”

“So I saw my doctor,” Marty said, ignoring Doc’s statement. “I’m going to have another surgery on Wednesday. On my eye, or the socket, or whatever.” His tone was casual, but Emmett didn’t doubt it was forced. To reassure me, or himself?

“He suggested an ocu – ocularist he knows. That’s who I’d see about getting a glass eye.”

“He talked to you and your parents about that?”

“A little. Gave my parents a bunch of paperwork to read. I wasn’t up to it. Plus, one eye.” Marty gestured at his face. "Makes my head hurt if I try to read something.”

“Marty, we need to talk – “

“Do you know how long I have to wait to get a glass eye? Two months! That’s how long it takes for my eye socket to heal completely. I have to wear a patch until then. Guess I just need a parrot and a peg leg, huh?” He laughed, then let out an abrupt sob. He brought his right hand up to cover his mouth.

“Oh, Marty.”

“What am I gonna do, Doc?”

“Whatever you want me to do, Marty, I’ll do it. If you want me to reverse this, I’ll figure out a way.”

Marty rubbed at his eye, sniffling. “You mean you don’t already have something planned?”

“I have possibilities. One idea was approaching you in the farther past, and warning you about the driver. So that you could move everyone out of danger, including yourself.”

Marty shook his head. “I thought about that. If he hadn’t reacted to the kids near the street, he wouldn’t have swerved up on the grass and hit me. If no one was distracting him, he’d drive right by the park. And maybe get in a different accident, hurt someone else.”

“There was also the possibly of disabling his car.”

“Okay. So he wouldn’t be driving the day of the party. But eventually he’d get his car working. And I don’t think he was just coincidentally drunk when he hit me. Jennifer’s dad said the guy’s been charged with OWI before.”

“And he still had his license?”

“I don’t know, Doc. But it’s not like people can’t drive because they don’t have a license. They’ll just get in trouble if they get pulled over.”

“Hmm.” Emmett shook his head in disgust.

“Who would sabotage his car, anyway? You? What if you got caught?”

“As long as I’m successful before I’m caught, it wouldn’t matter. The timeline would be written over and this version of me would fade away.”

“No. I don’t want any version of you fading away.”

“Marty, you wouldn’t know – “

“I know, fourth dimensional thinking, whatever. It’s still a 'no'.”

“All right. How about tipping off the police that the man is driving impaired? So they can pick him up before he gets to the park.”

“Sure. And what if he runs from the cops? Then you’ve got a car chase on your hands.”

Emmett lowered his head, massaging his temples. When he looked up. he saw his best friend was smiling at him sadly.

“You know where I can get a parrot, Doc?”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

After two surgeries and seven days, Marty was discharged from the hospital. He still had the bandage over his left eye, but a smaller wrapped bandage held it in place. He had a follow-up appointment scheduled for the next week, and his doctor expected he would then “graduate” from a bandage to a patch.

Dave had been staying at the McFly house during Marty's hospital stay. While Linda’s room had been converted to George’s study, Dave’s room was now the guest room. The walls had been repainted and Dave’s juvenile posters and wall hangings had been replaced by tasteful paintings, but Dave’s bed had remained. And, even with the stress of Marty’s injury, Dave had slept well in his old bedroom. Better than he slept at his condo, which was in a busy area of Hill Valley.

When it became common knowledge that Marty was home, the McFly house was beset with visitors. George and Lorraine did their best to welcome the well-wishers, but Marty, who was still dealing with the other injuries from the accident, was soon exhausted. After the fifth caller (a woman who played tennis with Lorraine), Marty retired to his room and flopped face-first onto his bed.

Dave knocked on his door. “Can I come in?”

“Fine.” Marty’s voice was muffled.

Dave sat in Marty’s desk chair. “You okay?”

“I don’t want to talk to these people. I don’t know them. They just want to see the freak.”

“You’re not a freak.”

Marty scoffed into his pillow.

“You know, I can stick around. Be your bouncer. Tell these random people to go home.”

Marty sat up, straightening his sling, which had come loose when he’d fallen onto his bed. “Mom and Dad should know I don’t want to be bothered. I just got out of the friggin’ hospital.”

“I think they’re overwhelmed.”

“And I’m not?” Marty retorted. “I just want to hide in here. I’ve got a TV. I’ve got my guitars. I’ve got books – well, I still get a headache if I try to read, so maybe that’s not a good idea.”

“You can’t hide in your room for the rest of your life.”

“Yeah?” Marty again lay down, on his back this time. “Watch me.”

As Marty’s accident had happened right before the end-of-year finals at Hill Valley University, George and Emmett made an appointment to see the Dean. On Tuesday they were able to meet with the man. “He’s not coming back at all this last week,” George informed the Dean. “Hopefully he’ll be able to attend classes again after the summer."

"Marty won’t be taking exams," Emmett said. "So we need to know how his final grades will be ascertained.”

Marty was well-known around the campus, as he worked as a deejay in the school-run radio station, and had even performed at the spring formal with Paul and the two new members of the Pinheads. He was also well-liked by his professors. As such, when they’d heard the news of his accident (partially from Jennifer, but also from a blurb in the newspaper), his professors had already taken his absence into account. Depending on the class, Marty had either received an average final grade determined by his previous work, or he’d been given a placeholder exam score based on a curve of his fellow students’ exam grades. “He’s received a passing grade in all of his classes,” the HVU Dean assured Emmett and George.

Then the man had given George a check. “We gathered some donations – several staff, and even some students, wanted to help. I know it’s not much, considering the cost of medical bills, but I hope it can go to good use.”

George gazed at the check, which was just under one thousand dollars. “This is – thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just take care of your boy. We miss him.”

Two days later Marty came home from his post-op appointment with a black patch over his left eye. He went straight to his room.

Dave had been packing his travel bag together, planning to head home that evening. He stuck his head out of his room when he heard Marty’s door slam. “Everything go okay?” he asked his mother, who had trailed after Marty.

“Things went . . . as expected. He won’t need another surgery until he’s ready for a prosthetic.” Lorraine sighed. “He didn’t speak much to the doctor, and didn’t say a word on the way home.”

“Do you need me to stick around, Mom?”

Lorraine waved a hand at her son. “Dave, you’ve been here over a week, you've been missing work - you should go home."

“I have vacation time, I'm fine. And I don’t like leaving when Marty's having a rough time.”

“You can’t stay for the rest of his life, David!”

Dave backed up a step, surprised by his mother’s outburst.

Or maybe he was just surprised by the words.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Lorraine put her head in her hands. “I don’t mean to yell at you.”

Dave came forward and hugged his mother. “If you need to yell at me, it’s fine. It’s not like you can yell at Marty.”

“Well, someone needs to talk to him. He’s refusing to talk to Jennifer or Paul.” Both had come to call on Marty over the weekend, but he’d stayed in his room, even going so far as to lock the door. And when they’d called to him through the locked door, he’d told both of them to go away.

“What about Doc Brown? Do you think Marty would talk to him?”

Lorraine rubbed at her forehead. “He barely talked to Emmett when he stopped by on Tuesday. He said his head hurt. I don’t know. Maybe it did.”

“Yeah, but Doc was here. Maybe Marty didn’t want to see him, but he’d talk to him on the phone.”

“That’s a possibility.” Lorraine sighed. “I guess I could call him.”

Not only had Marty been refusing visitors and only leaving his room to go to the bathroom and for occasional meals, he also hadn’t been answering his phone. When the incessant ringing got to be too much, he yanked the cord from the wall.

On Friday Marty had returned to his room after eating half a bowl of cereal for breakfast. It was nearly ten o’clock when Lorraine rapped on Marty’s door. “Marty, you have a phone call.”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“It’s Doc Brown, honey.”

There was a beat of silence from Marty’s room. Then his door unlocked, and he peeked his right eye out. Lorraine was holding the cordless phone. She wordlessly handed it to her son.

Marty relocked his door, then went to sit on his bed.

“Doc?”

“Hello, Marty.”

“Hi.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t connect on Tuesday.”

“Yeah. I needed to lie down.”

“I heard you’re hiding out in your room.”

“I’m not hiding,” Marty said quickly. “I don’t feel well. My ribs hurt all the time.”

“I thought your head hurt on Tuesday.”

“It did. My doctor said I’m probably going to have headaches for a while, with my concussion and the injury to my eye.”

“Do you have painkillers?”

“Yeah, and antibiotics. He prescribed me like three different pills.  They make me feel like crap, too.”

“I’m sorry about that. About everything.”

“Yeah. Well. I chose this. So I guess I shouldn’t be complaining.”

“Marty, you wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t complaining. Just because you’ve decided to keep the hand you’ve been dealt, doesn’t mean you have to be happy about it.”

“I just. . .” Marty broke off as he felt tears threatening. “I feel bad for my family. They’re all worried about me, and it’s upending their lives. Even you, Doc. I know you want to fix this, and I’m sorry I won’t let you.”

“You don’t have to apologize. It’s your life. And I commend you, Marty, on how unselfish you are being. I’m impressed by your fortitude.”

“Thanks,” Marty said quietly. He fiddled with his patch.

“Clara and the boys miss you.” The four Browns had visited Marty in the hospital the day before his second surgery, but they hadn’t stayed long, as Verne and even Jules had been unnerved by Marty’s injuries. “And Einstein misses you as well.”

“I miss them. But I’m not really up to seeing anyone yet.”

He heard Emmett sigh. “Marty, please don’t avoid people.”

“I’m not. I just don’t feel like it. Everything hurts, and the pills make me nauseous, and I keep tripping because I don’t have any depth perception. . .” He choked on a sob. “It just sucks, Doc.”

“I know.” Emmett sighed again. “But you are strong and capable. You will be fine.”

Marty didn’t respond. “I think I’m going to let you go. I’m kind of tired. I didn’t sleep well.”

“You know you can call me any time.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks, Doc.” Marty ended the call, then opened the door. “Mom!” he hollered, then immediately regretted it. When Lorraine came to his door he was wincing and rubbing his chest.

“Are you all right?”

“Peachy.” He shoved the phone at her, then retreated into his room.

Saturday, May 27th, 1989

10:48 A.M.

Even though Jennifer had matriculated to Hill Valley University and Paul was attending the community college in Grass Valley, they both finished their spring semesters on the twenty-sixth of May. Neither had any specific schedule for the next week, other than fully moving out of their respective dorms.

When George and Emmett had traveled to HVU to speak to the Dean, they’d also gone to Marty’s dorm to pack up his belongings.

Jennifer drove up to the McFly house to see Paul sitting on the curb waiting for her. “United front again?” she asked, lifting her eyebrows. “Didn’t work too great last time.”

“Maybe he’ll be in a better mood today.” Paul stood, and the two of them walked up to the door. Lorraine opened it before they could knock. She hugged them both, then gestured them into the house. George was sitting at the table, idly leafing through a newspaper. “Hi, kids.”

“How is he today?” Jennifer asked. “I tried calling him earlier – “

“I think his phone is still disconnected. But he knows you were coming. He overheard me talking to you last night.” Lorraine walked down the hall to Marty’s room, Jennifer and Paul following. “He’s been in his room since breakfast; that’s typical.” She knocked on her son’s door. “Marty! Jennifer and Paul are here!”

The trio expected a tired answer, or a directive to leave. They heard neither. In fact, there was no response.

Lorraine rapped harder. “Marty!” She gave the visitors a wan smile. “He’s probably asleep.”

Jennifer gently pushed Lorraine aside. “Marty? It’s Jenn and Paul. We miss you. Can you please come out?”

Silence.

Paul pounded on the door. “Marty!”

Lorraine now looked fearful. She grabbed the doorknob and jiggled it. “Damn it. George! Do you have the key to Marty’s room?”

George came into the hallway. “What’s going on?”

“Marty went into his room after breakfast and now he’s not answering. The door is locked.”

George’s eyes widened. “I think I have the key, somewhere. . .”

“Forget the key.” Paul backed up, then lifted his leg and kicked Marty’s door open. The wood splintered in the door frame, and the door swung open so hard it hit the wall and bounced back.

The four pushed against each other to enter the room.

It was empty.

The window was open, and the curtains moved lazily in the breeze.

“Oh, my God.” Lorraine peered out the window, then turned to study the room. Both of Marty’s skateboards were present. “Thank God he didn’t think he could skateboard. He’s not even supposed to drive – His truck!” She looked in panic at her husband.

“It’s here, I saw it in the garage,” Paul said quickly.

“So he’s on foot,” George said. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

“We’ll go look for him,” Jennifer said, grabbing Paul.

“I’ll go, too.” George gave his wife a brief embrace. “Stay here, in case he comes back on his own.” He grabbed his keys from a basket on the counter. “Call around, see if anyone saw him. And call Emmett. He might have an idea where Marty went.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Marty didn’t know how long he’d been sitting on the bench facing the clock tower. He no longer had a watch, as it had been broken in the accident. And the clock on the tower was no help, stuck as it was at 10:04.

He only knew it had been a long time. He’d gotten a few looks from passers-by, most likely because they noticed the sling on his arm and the patch on his eye. So far, though, Marty hadn’t seen anyone he recognized. Of course, someone could have recognized him. 

He considered getting up and moving to a new, more secluded location. But he was tired. In body and soul.

He was startled by the barking of a nearby dog. And just as Marty thought I know that bark Einstein leapt on the bench next to him. The sheepdog began nuzzling him and licking at him in earnest. As Marty bent down to hug the dog, burying his face in his fur, he realized he hadn’t seen Doc’s dog since the day of the accident.

“Hey, Einie, hey, I love you too,” he said, cuddling the wriggling dog.

Two weeks. I haven’t seen him in two weeks. It seemed like forever. Until he thought that it had only been two weeks since he’d lost his eye.

Emmett followed his dog to the bench. As Einstein was sitting on Marty’s right side, Emmett had no choice but to sit on Marty’s non-sighted side. It didn’t seem to matter, though, as Marty said, “Hi, Doc,” without turning his head.

“Hello, Marty.”

“How’d you find me?”

“Truthfully? This was the first place I looked.”

Marty snorted.

Emmett patted his leg and whistled at his dog. Einstein jumped down from the bench, and Doc took the opportunity to move to Marty’s right side. As if understanding the rearrangement, Einstein jumped back up on the bench and sat on Marty’s left, nudging at his sling. “Einstein, leave Marty be,” Emmett scolded.

“It’s okay, Doc.” Marty adjusted his sling so he could scratch the dog’s head.

“I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, that kind of went by the wayside when I snuck out the window. I haven’t done that with broken ribs before. Took me a while to catch my breath. Thought they’d find me before I even left the yard.”

“Are you all right?” Emmett asked, concerned. “You didn’t injure yourself further, did you?”

“No. Once I got my breath back I was okay. And the fresh air helped my head. For once it doesn’t hurt.”

“I’m glad – but you do realize your family, and Jennifer and Paul, are extremely worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then why did you sneak out of your house?”

Marty turned to stare at the clock tower, so he could avoid the probing brown eyes.

“People look at this stopped clock every day,” he said. “All they know is a random story about how lightning hit the clock tower decades ago. No one knows what it means to me and you. What it represents.”

“Marty, if you’re thinking of undoing – ”

“No, Doc. I know we can’t, even if I did change my mind. It’s been too long. There’s too much to consider.”

“Marty, you went thirty years in the past and changed your future. Then you traveled one hundred years in the past to change mine.”

“That was different, and you know it. I didn’t even know I was changing my future, and the differences to 1985 were hell for me when I got back. And of course I had to go to 1885 – you died, Doc! I wasn’t going to let that happen.” He gestured at himself. “I’m not dead, or dying. I can handle this.”

Emmett sighed. “This ‘running off’ episode suggests otherwise.”

"I just wanted some fresh air." 

"There is fresh air in the garden behind your house."

“Doc - " Marty let out a huff. "Okay, then I needed a break.”

“Well, if you’re done with your break, my car is parked nearby. I can drive you home.”

“No. I’m not ready to go home yet.”

"No?"

Marty took a few deep breaths. Einstein, who had settled his head on Marty’s thigh, lifted his eyes and whimpered.

“I need time. I need . . . to think.”

“Okay.” Emmett looked around the courthouse square, locating a phone booth. “Is it all right if I call your house, let your parents know you are safe?”

“Knock yourself out.”

Before Emmett rose, he studied Marty surreptitiously. He didn't think the young man would bolt as soon as he left, but it was hard to know Marty's current mental state. I'm not exactly alone, though. . .

As Emmett stood, Einstein sat up curiously. “Stay with Marty, Einie,” the inventor directed.

When Emmett returned, Marty was thankfully still on the bench. Einstein was now laying upside down in Marty’s lap, and the young man was scratching the dog’s belly.

Good job, Einstein.

Emmett sat again. “Thank you for remaining here.”

 “Not like I could leave with Einstein babysitting me.” He glanced at Doc. “And since your garage is gone, the only other place that’s inherently ‘ours’ is the ravine.” Eastwood Ravine, so named as Marty’s alias Clint Eastwood had “died” in the ravine on the hijacked steam engine, was also the site of the DeLorean’s destruction (by a 1985 high-speed train). In the original 1885, prior to Doc and Marty altering the timeline, Clara had perished in the ravine in an unfortunate buckboard accident. The name of the ravine then had been Clayton Ravine.

Marty’s casual mention of the ravine caused Emmett to lean closer to the young man. “Marty,” he said, and he spoke the name with sorrow and alarm.

Marty sighed, irritated. “Don’t worry, Doc. I’m not suicidal. I didn’t go there, did I? I’m on a perfectly safe bench.”

“Do you even realize how worried your family is about you? Your friends? Me included.”

“You got a hold of them?”

“Your mother. She was extremely relieved to hear you were all right. She said your father and Jennifer and Paul are still out looking for you.”

Marty scoffed. “Well, they’re looking in the wrong place.”

“Hopefully they will come back to the house to see if you've returned, and your mother can relay the news.”

“Yeah.” Marty continued petting Einstein. The two men were silent for several moments.

“Marty,” Emmett started, “why are you avoiding your parents and your friends?”

Marty sighed before answering. He sat back, rubbing his left shoulder. Einstein jumped down and sat at the mens’ feet.

“My parents are overwhelming me. They're treating me like I’m going to break. At first I understood, I mean I was in the hospital, I had to have surgery, everything was fresh and painful. For everybody. But when I got home – well, I was home. I thought they’d lay off. Let me alone.  But if anything, it got worse. All these people have been coming over with 'get well' cards or sending casseroles. . . I don’t even know half of them. It’s too much.” He sighed again, long and deep. “I just wish they’d treat me like they did before the accident.”

“Have you told them this?”

“No. I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”

Emmett chuckled dryly. “I think they would rather you tell them, as opposed to hiding out in your room or running off.” When Marty lifted his eyebrow, Emmett nodded seriously. “I’m speaking as a parent.”

“You know what I miss?” Marty said, looking up at the broken clock tower. “I used to be able to just pick up and go. Ride my skateboard to 7-Eleven. Go cruising in the truck with Jennifer. Maybe go to the mall, maybe go to the lake. I can’t do that now.”

“That doesn’t mean you won’t ever be able to. I would think you could drive, once you are used to your. . .”

“Handicap? Disability?”

“Impediment. Won’t you be attending therapy, and learning how to do these sorts of things with one eye?”

“When my shoulder and ribs are mostly healed, yeah. Probably not for another couple of weeks.”

“What about seeing a counselor?”

“A shrink?” Marty scowled.  “My doctor suggested that. I said no.”

“Why?”

“Doc, don’t push me, okay?” Marty was now rubbing his forehead. “Damn it.’”

“Headache?”

“Yeah.” Marty looked at his empty left wrist. “What time is it, Doc?”

Emmett checked one of his watches. “Eleven forty-seven A.M.”

“I’ve been trying to wean off the pain pills, but maybe I need some Tylenol.”

“So does that mean you’re ready to go home?”

“Maybe. Wait -  Jennifer and Paul are still there, right? Didn’t you say that?”

“Your mother did say they were looking for you, so yes, I believe they are there.”

Marty grimaced faintly. “And what is your problem with them?” Doc asked.

“I don’t have a ‘problem’ with them. I just think maybe they’re not sincere. Especially Paul. He feels guilty because I was at his party when I got hurt.” Marty gestured at his patched eye. “They’re just putting on a show for the disfigured guy."

“And why would they do that?” Emmett asked, mystified. “Jennifer is your girlfriend – you’re doubting her sincerity? And how long have you been friends with Paul?”

“Since we were kids,” Marty said, his voice quiet. “We met in Cub Scouts. When we found out we only lived a block away from each other, we were inseparable.”

“Are you skeptical of how much he cares for you?”

Marty shrugged his right shoulder.

“Why would you think your girlfriend would be insincere?”

“I’ve never thought I deserved Jennifer. She’s gorgeous, and smart, and funny. . . I’m short and nothing special. And now I’m disabled.”

“Marty. You are smart and funny, too, as well as talented and generous, and loyal to a fault. Don’t sell yourself - “

“Short?” Marty interrupted.

Emmett shook his head. “Poor choice of words. What I meant, is, don't underestimate your. . .” He trailed off, pursing his lips.

Marty burst out laughing. Doc looked at him with a surprised smile, trying to remember the last time he’d heard his friend laugh.

“Seriously, though, Marty.  You’ve taken on this injury so as to not bring harm to anyone else. That speaks tremendously of your character. Jennifer knows this. She is the only one, besides myself and Clara, who you can speak to about the time travel ramifications.”

“Or Jules and Verne.”

“I don’t think you’ll receive appropriate advice from a seven-year-old and a nine-year-old.”

“I don’t know, Doc, Jules is pretty smart.”

“Stop trying to change the subject.” Doc frowned at Marty and the younger man tipped his head, indicating he was sorry.

“Now that we’ve determined your friends are there as friends, and not as people come to gawk at you, shall we go?”

Marty looked down. Einstein was dozing, sitting on Marty’s feet.

“After you drive me home, can you come in with me, help me talk to my folks?”

Emmett didn’t answer right away. Several thoughts swirled in his head. Marty was an adult now. He was nearly 21. He was past the age when he needed assistance while speaking with his own parents. Especially these parents, the Lone Pine versions, who were capable and loving and only wanted the best for Marty.

Yet this disabled version of Marty wasn’t as capable. He’d been hiding from his parents and friends, feeling unable to speak honestly with them.

“Yes, of course I’ll help you,” Emmett said.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, Marty’s behavior slowly improved. Although he still felt more comfortable in the security of his room, he began to venture out more around the house. He’d watch television with his mother, or sit in his father’s study, talking to George about the man’s next project. The three would play board games (they’d tried playing cards, but Marty either couldn’t hold the cards well in his left hand, or he had a hard time reading them).

Marty also started resuming some of his normal chores, although his mother wouldn’t let him downstairs to do the laundry. “I don’t need you falling down the stairs because you can’t see the steps while you’re holding a laundry basket.”

Jennifer and Marty finally went to the mall. When they left the car, she hooked her left arm into Marty’s right arm, and kept it there as they walked up to the building. He knew it was more to steady him so he didn’t trip over his own feet, and considering how Jennifer had also needed to drive, Marty felt slightly emasculated. Jennifer did her best to convince Marty that she hadn’t meant to make him feel that way, and he shrugged it off, not eager to debate it.

At the same time, Marty knew Jennifer was having trouble understanding why he had decided to not alter the past to prevent the accident. He’d attempted to explain his reasoning, but she had cut the discussion short.

They both realized the other had issues, but they avoided talking about them. They just wanted to enjoy the day together.

As Jennifer and Marty entered the mall, her grip on Marty tightened. There was a sudden possessiveness to it. This is my boyfriend. Get your own.

They walked randomly for a while, then eventually stopped at a trendy clothing store. Jennifer was looking for a new dress to wear to her cousin’s vow renewal, and she took several possibilities over to the dressing rooms. Marty stood outside the room, delivering positive or negative reviews each time Jennifer came out in a new outfit.

Tired of waiting, Marty meandered over to a display of hats. He tried on a few different styles, angling them so a shadow fell over his left eye. It wasn’t enough to hide the patch, but maybe a hat would take the attention off his eventual glass eye, and the scars that would be more apparent after he no longer had a patch to hide them.

“Marty, where are you?”

He hurried back to the dressing room. Jennifer was wearing a sundress in a subdued floral print. “What do you think of this one?”

“That’s the one, Jenn. You have to buy that dress.”

She twirled in front of the mirror. “Really? You don’t think I’m showing too much leg?”

“That’s why I like it.”

Paul would come to Marty’s house to just hang with his friend. One day he brought his bass guitar. The two original members of the Pinheads tried to jam, but Marty was unable to properly finger the frets on either of his guitars, even when he removed his sling. His left collarbone wasn’t completely healed, and he didn’t yet have the range of motion he needed to play adeptly. He’d even tried sitting his Chiquita on his lap and playing it similar to a lap steel guitar, but that didn't work either.

“You don’t have to act like we’re at an audition, man,” Paul said. “Just do whatever you can.”

When Marty grew tired of playing poorly in front of Paul, he suggested they go for a drive. “Let’s take my truck.” Digging out the unused keys from a pile of clutter, Marty tossed them to Paul. “It’s just been sitting in the garage.”

The young men cruised around the neighborhood. They stopped at 7-Eleven, and the two went in to buy junk food. Paul drove to the lake next, parking in an overlook spot. They sipped on sodas and ate chips while watching the families bask in the sun and frolic in the waves.

“Look how happy everyone is,” Marty said.

Paul grabbed a doughnut from a box sitting between them. “They look happy. On the surface. But I bet if you dig down, they have problems. Things you can’t see.” He looked at Marty. “Okay, so you have a patch on your eye and you’ve still got a sling. People can see that. But when they look at me they can’t see that my parents got divorced, and the crap that I had to go through with that. How they would yell at each other and I would hide in my room and put my pillow over my head.”

Paul and Marty’s relationship had been the same in both timelines. Marty knew that Paul’s parents had divorced when his friend was eleven. In fact, the event had frightened Marty – he’d been worried his own parents would divorce. At least, in the Twin Pines timeline, when George had been under the heels of his old high school bully and Lorraine had depended on alcohol to get through her days.

“Yeah, I guess,” Marty responded to his friend, his voice a low murmur.

Paul took another doughnut. “Hey, if you want these, take some, or I’m gonna eat them all.”

When they'd eaten their fill of their snacks, they left the lake and Paul drove them back to Marty’s house.

He avoided driving by the park.

The McFlys celebrated Marty’s 21st birthday on June 10th, the Saturday before his actual birthday (on the 12th). There were so many people that they couldn’t fit comfortably in the house, and needed to sit at picnic tables and on folding chairs in the backyard. Dave and Linda and Alan came, as well as Jennifer, Paul, and the Brown family. In between the hors d'oeuvres, the grilled hot dogs and hamburgers, the other food Lorraine had prepared, the dishes Clara brought, and the cake, it was a veritable feast. The friends and family visited and chatted long into the night, as current hits played from Paul’s boombox. Verne and Jules ran around with sparklers, “drawing” words with the lighted sticks.

Marty, sitting at a table cuddling with Jennifer, was surprised to find he was immensely enjoying himself. 

One thing Marty had not done yet this summer, and something he typically tried to do more than once, was spend a few days with Doc (and now the rest of the Browns). He liked to goof with the boys and run after Einstein, and visit with Clara, but he mostly looked forward to just watching Doc tinker in his new lab/workshop out in the barn. It reminded him of when he was a young teen hanging out in Doc's garage, before the time travel. Before everything.

The time he spent with the Browns was usually fun and carefree, and he always felt recharged after a day or two with his surrogate family.

So on the Wednesday after his birthday, Marty packed up a duffel bag, and his father drove him over to the Brown residence.

Wednesday, June 14th, 1989

12:04 PM

Emmett, Jules, and Verne met Marty as he exited the BMW. “Marty, a stray cat had kittens under the back porch! Come look!” Verne grabbed Marty’s hand.

“Martin just got here, Verne,” Jules said arrogantly. “Maybe he wants to unpack?”

“Not much to unpack,” Marty said, holding up his duffel bag.

“I’ll put it in your room!” Verne snatched the bag and took off.

George had gotten out of the car, too, and was standing by Emmett. “I’d say your boys are excited Marty is here.”

“Yeah, considering I just saw them Saturday,” Marty laughed. “But I don’t remember you guys mentioning kittens at the party,” he said to Jules.

“We didn’t know they were there. Einstein located them yesterday.”

Verne came bounding out of the house, again taking Marty’s hand and dragging him toward the back porch.

When Verne and Marty came back from attempting to see the kittens (who were hiding along with the mother, as she had become annoyed with a young boy and a dog trying to reach them), George and Emmett were still talking. Marty looked on with a frown as he saw Emmett was holding a small bag he hadn’t had previously.

George waved at his son. “See you on Friday!” he called. “Have fun!” And he was off.

Marty came up to Doc. “What’s that?”

“Your father said you forgot these.” He held up the bag, and Marty saw a prescription bottle and a bottle of eye drops.

Marty reached into the bag and grabbed the eye drops, shoving the bottle into his front right pocket. “I don’t want the pain pills. I told you I was weaning off them. I don’t like how they make me feel. I get all drowsy and stupid. And Tylenol works fine.” As it had been four weeks since the accident, Marty’s injuries were healing. He still wore his sling around his parents, but he often took it off in his room. His ribs throbbed on occasion, causing him to breathe shallowly, but the attacks were lessening.

If he did take his prescribed pain pills, it was usually before bed, so he could sleep through the night without random aches waking him.

“I’ll hold on to them, then.” Emmett put the bag into one of his many pockets. “So, lunch?”

Somehow Verne had grabbed Marty’s hand yet again, and he pulled him up into the house. Marty barely found his footing on the steps of the porch as they made their way inside. “Verne, please stop manhandling Marty,” Emmett said, as he followed behind the pair.

Jules was already setting the table. Clara smiled at Marty from the stove, where she was preparing something that smelled heavenly. “Welcome, Marty.”

“Hi, Clara.” Marty motioned in the direction of the lower level bathroom. “I’m just going to wash up quick.”

When “quick” became several minutes, Clara looked in question at her husband. “I hope he’s all right.”

“I’ll check on him!” Verne said, hopping up. Emmett placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Maybe it would be better if Jules checks, hmm?”

“Martin? It’s time to eat.” Jules knocked on the bathroom door. It wasn’t shut tightly, and the door opened when he knocked.

Marty was in front of the mirror, refastening his patch. “Yeah, almost done, Jules.”

Jules looked from Marty to the bottle of eye drops on the bathroom counter. “You – you have to put drops in your – eye?”

“Yeah.” Marty adjusted his patch so it was secure, pushing his hair down over the thin strap.

“But you don’t have an eye. . .”

“Well, it’s kind of like a hollow. I have to put drops in it to keep it from getting irritated or infected.” When Marty had first received his patch, he’d needed his parents to put drops in the eye socket, as Marty himself had yet to look at it. He’d finally gotten the strength to lift the patch and look at what was left of his eye one night when he couldn’t sleep. His parents had been woken by his guttural sobs.

“Is it painful?”

“Not too much. Not anymore. It’s mostly just uncomfortable.”

Jules looked at the patched eye with a small frown, then nodded. “If you’re done, Marty, lunch is ready.”

Marty smiled at the oldest Brown child. “You called me Marty.”

“Oh.” Jules looked mildly embarrassed. “Is that all right?"

“It’s great. Thank you, Jules.” Marty clapped a hand around Jules’s smaller shoulders. “Let’s go have lunch.”

After lunch Marty accompanied Doc to the barn. The workshop resembled the garage in a sense, as the walls were covered with clocks and the area was an organized mess. Emmett had many partial projects in different stages of progress; blueprints were tacked on the walls and there were random tools scattered among the inventions-to-be.

Verne had been ready to follow his father and “uncle” out to the barn, but Clara had called him back. “It is your turn to clear the table,” she’d reminded him. Jules, who had settled into a chair with a large book, had sniggered at his brother. 

Marty stood looking around the barn, his right hand on his hip. “How is this messier than the last time I was here?”

“Oh, I really don’t think it is. You just have been away too long.”

Marty let out a laugh. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

Emmett led Marty to several areas, touting the work he had done and describing the devices he had yet to develop. Marty listened with a growing smile. He had missed this. And it was obvious that Doc had, too.

Marty watched Doc attempt to make a repair on what looked like to be a larger version of the 2015 hoverboard. “Your father said you started therapy yesterday,” Emmett said, as he worked on the delicate innards of the apparatus.

Marty made a “hmmph” sound. “If you could call it that. It was mainly the guy talking to me and my parents about what they think I need to work on, how often I would have therapy, and what to expect. A bunch of talking and not much else.”

“So, ‘sound and fury, signifying nothing’?”

Marty stared at his mentor. “Shakespeare, Doc?”

Emmett waved a hand. “Jules has recently become interested in the Bard.”

Doc suddenly stopped working on the adapted hoverboard, looking around the table and the surrounding area for a specific tool. “I thought I had a pair of needle-nose pliers here somewhere.” Marty, slipping easily into assistant mode, took up the search.

“Damn it.” Emmett looked up to the upper level of the barn. “I should have a spare in my toolbox up there.”

“I can go grab it.”

Emmett looked skeptical. Marty scoffed. “I know where your toolbox is. I lost my eye, not my memory.”

The inventor chuckled. He gestured to the loft. “Thank you, Marty.”

Doc watched Marty climb the stairs, holding on tightly with his right hand. The younger man went to the toolbox, and after some rummaging, he held up the pair of pliers. “Success!”

There was a brief knock on the outer door, and then Verne rushed in. “Can I help with something, Pop?”

Emmett’s attention was on his son, so he never saw Marty trip while descending the stairs. He turned at Verne’s gasp and horrified expression, just in time to see Marty land hard at the bottom of the steps.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Emmett was closer to the stairs, and he reached Marty first. Verne was only seconds behind his father.

Marty had come to rest on his back at the base of the stairs. There was a significant welt underneath his right eye. The eye was open (Thank God, Emmett thought) and Marty was staring up at the ceiling, blinking.

Doc knelt near his friend. “Marty, are you all right?”

Marty didn’t move, but his eye slid in Doc’s direction. Other than that, there was no response.

“Marty, can you hear me? Can you answer?”

Verne was hunched over, his hands on his knees. “Look at that mark. That’s gonna bruise.”

Emmett shook his head. “Go get your mother, Verne. Now.”

Verne took one last look at Marty, then high-tailed it out of the barn.

Emmett turned his attention back to his friend. “Marty, please answer me. Marty.”

“’M’here,” Marty forced out. “Can’t breathe.”

“Did you re-injure your ribs?”

Marty blinked again. “Need a sec,” he gasped.

Emmett sat back, hoping Marty just couldn’t catch his wind, and that he was not seriously injured. He looked over his friend’s body, checking to see if he could see any wounds other than the injury to his face. There was no blood, at least.

Marty moved his head. He lifted it slightly, and twisted it back and forth, as if testing his neck.

The outer door of the barn opened again, and Clara hurried in, followed by both boys. “What happened? Where’s Marty?”

Marty held up a shaky right hand. “Over here.”

Emmett let out a relieved sigh at Marty’s lucid answer. The young man looked up at the noise. “Oh, hey, Doc.”

Well, maybe the “lucid” description was a little hasty.

Clara joined her husband, and knelt on the other side of Marty. “Oh, look at his face. Did he hurt himself anywhere else?”

“Well, I know he got the air knocked out of him. He couldn’t talk at first.”

Clara nodded. “Marty, do you hurt anywhere new?”

“New?” Marty tipped his head up again, trying to look at his body. “What’s 'new'?”

“She means other injuries that you don’t already have. Besides your face, does anything hurt other than your shoulder and your ribs?”

Marty closed his eye, resting his head back. “Everything hurts.”

Clara looked at Emmett. “Should we call an ambulance?”

“No!” Marty said. “I’m okay.” He struggled to sit up, as he could only use his right arm.

“Marty, careful, please.” Emmett guided his friend into a sitting position; even with the assistance, Marty panted and groaned through the transition. Once he was sitting, he readjusted his sling, grimacing. Emmett raised his eyebrows at Clara.

“I’m not going back to the hospital,” Marty stated with a determined glare.

“Marty, if you’ve injured your ribs more, one or more could have splintered. You could have internal injuries.”

“I don’t have internal injuries, Doc.” Marty pressed his right hand against his chest, and hissed in pain. “I just have my regular injuries. They’re bad enough.”

Emmett frowned at his friend. “I really don’t think you’re capable of assessing your injuries. . .”

“Emmett,” Clara said softly. She then spoke to Marty. “Do you think you can stand?”

It took both Clara and Emmett’s help, but Marty was able to stand, albeit wobbly. “Did you hurt your legs?”

Marty tested his footing. “No.”

“What about your head?” Emmett bent to look at the injury under Marty’s eye, “Did you hit your head?” He ran his hand over Marty’s head.

“Maybe you should have asked me that before I stood up, huh?”

“Actually, that’s true.” Emmett took a breath. “Sorry, I was a little scattered.”

Marty grunted. “At least you have depth perception.”

“Well, I don’t feel any bumps on your head.” Doc tipped up Marty’s chin. “Not sure what you hit to get that welt. Possibly the edge of a step.”

“Sorry I couldn’t fall in slow motion so you could figure it out.”

“Instead of bickering, maybe we should get Marty over to the house so he can lie down?” Clara suggested.

“Not up in my room,” Marty said quickly. “No stairs. Please.”

The two elder Browns assisted Marty in walking over to the house. Verne and Jules trailed behind. Clara and Emmett needed to stop more than once for Marty to catch his breath.

“Pop should take Marty to that future we went to, where I got my scars fixed,” Verne said to his brother. “To get rid of that mark under his eye.”

“Hush, Verne,” Jules said quietly.

“Why? Marty knows about time travel. He was the first person to do it!"

“It’s not the time.”

Verne tried to protest again, but Jules shook his head firmly.

When everyone arrived at the house and Clara and Emmett brought Marty over to the couch, the young man sat hard on it, rubbing his chest. Emmett regarded him worriedly.

Marty caught the look. “I’m fine, Doc.”

“You’re in pain.”

“Of course I’m in pain! I fell down the stairs! Sometimes all I need for my ribs to flare up is to lift something wrong, or stand up from a crouch.”

“How’s your shoulder?”

“Not as bad as my ribs.”

Emmett sat on the couch next to Marty. “Clara, could you get me a glass of water?”

“I’ll get it, Father,” Jules offered. Clara smiled at her son, then sat on the other side of Marty.

While they waited for Jules, Emmett reached into his pocket and took out the bottle of pills. “How many? One or two? The label says ‘as needed’.”

Marty stared at the pill bottle. “I don’t think this is something Tylenol can fix,” Doc said.

Marty took stock of his pain, sighed, and held up two fingers.

Marty was provided with a pillow and a light blanket, and Jules and Verne were banished from the living room. Marty lay still as he waited for the pain pills to kick in.

Clara brought Marty a small ice pack wrapped in a cloth to place on his right eye. “If put this on my eye, I won’t be able to see anything.” Marty said.

Doc was now sitting in a nearby chair. “Well, as you said your pills make you drowsy, maybe you should go to sleep. Then it won’t matter that you can’t see.”

“Says the guy with two eyes,” Marty muttered. He adjusted the ice pack and settled himself again, breathing through the pain.

Clara sat on the edge of her husband’s chair. They both watched the young man quietly.

“I think we should call his parents,” Clara said softly.

“No! Don’ call ‘em! “ Marty’s voice was slightly slurred. “They’ll make m’leave. Wanna stay here.”

“They need to know, Marty.”

“Tell ‘em later.”

Emmett tipped his head. “He’s not wrong. If we call them, they’ll be here in a heartbeat to pick him up. We’ll tell George or Lorraine when we take him home. We’ll have to explain the mark under his eye, anyway.”

“I like that plan.” Marty lifted his right hand briefly, then dropped it to rest on his stomach.

“Go to sleep, Marty,” Clara directed gently.

“Barely been here two hours, gotta go t’sleep,” Marty mumbled.

A few minutes later he was breathing deep and slow in a medicated slumber.

Marty was awakened by a soft, but serious discussion. He lay quietly in an individual darkness, the result of both eyes being covered. Yet his body told him it was still daytime.

“I think Verne has a good point. You at least need to talk to him.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I understand what this could mean to him. But it’s not without risk.”

“Enough risk to not do it?”

“No, that’s not what I mean – how would he explain it? I have to think. With Verne, no one knew, we never again saw the doctor who stitched him up. We didn’t need to explain the missing scars.”

Fairly certain the conversation was about him, Marty removed the ice pack from his right eye and sat up slowly. “Oh, Marty, you’re awake,” Clara said, uncommonly loud, as if she was making sure anyone else nearby was aware of the new situation.

“Yeah.” Marty rubbed his eye, wincing audibly. “How bad does it look?”

Emmett appeared in front of Marty. He examined the welt critically. “Beginning to bruise.”

“Great. I have two bad eyes. Guess I’ll be symmetrical.” He studied the older couple. “What were you talking about?”

Clara and Doc exchanged glances. “We have a . . . proposal for you to consider,” Emmett said. “But I think maybe Verne should speak to you first.”

By the time Marty had visited the bathroom, peered into the mirror at the bruise under his right eye, and made it back to the living room, Jules and Verne had both returned. Jules was sitting on the floor, lazily petting Einstein. Verne was perched on the couch. Marty sat next to him.

Emmett and Clara sat in chairs facing the couch. They were seated close enough to hold hands.

Verne looked at his father. Emmett nodded.

“Did you know I got bit by a dog right before we came here to live?”

Marty glanced up at Doc. “No, I didn’t hear about that, Verne.”

“We were just about to leave 1895 to come here. Momma and Pop were packing up and stuff and Jules and I were bored. So we went outside to play with Einie. Then this stray dog came along and he started to fight with Einstein. I was worried Einie might be hurt. So I tried to break it up. And the other dog bit me on the face.”

“Jes – geesh,” Marty said. “And you were in the past? Why don’t you have any scars?”

“The doctor back then stitched me up, but he said I would have scars the rest of my life. So Momma and Pop took me to the future, to this plastic surgeon who fixed my scars with lasers. I was only in the hospital one day. And my scars are completely gone.”

Marty shook his head in awe. But then he looked sharply at his mentor. “Why didn’t you just go back to the past and reverse it? You had the train, and it had just happened.”

Doc smiled wryly. “That was my first inclination. But this was not so easily correctable. We needed to rely on a dog – a very smart dog, but a dog nonetheless. Not to mention a headstrong six-year-old.”

“I was almost seven!” Verne said loudly.

“Not for two months,” Jules pointed out.

“A month and a half!”

“Boys,” Clara warned. “Marty does not want to hear you argue.”

“Either way,” Emmett continued, “I could have gone back to prevent Verne’s injury, And maybe it would’ve worked. I would have convinced Clara or my past self to keep the boys – and Einstein – inside, so that the stray dog didn’t interact with Einstein. But then I had to be sure Einie didn’t become aware of the stray, and try to escape the house to scare off the other dog, in an attempt to defend us. If Einstein did leave the house, I had to be sure Verne didn’t go after him to protect him.”

“Also, if Emmett did go back, the timeline would dissolve,” Clara said. “It would be rewritten. Myself and the boys would not know, but Emmett would.”

“You’d fade away,” Marty said, suddenly understanding. It was one of the main reasons he hadn’t wanted his accident corrected. “You’d be the Doc from the timeline where Verne was hurt. If you fixed it, prevented it, you wouldn’t have a timeline to go back to. You’d stop existing.”

“Marty, I don’t think it would be as extreme as what happened to you in 1955 – “

“How do you know, Doc? How do you know what it would feel like?”

“My question exactly,” Clara murmured.

Emmett scowled at his wife. “Well, I didn’t go back, did I?”

Clara reached and ran a hand gently down her husband’s face. “No, you didn’t. We went forward. And everything turned out fine.”

“This time.” Emmett looked pointedly at Marty.

“What?” Marty said, confused.

Verne pointed at Marty’s face. “We can go to the future, and fix your eye. Not just the bruise under the right one, but your left one, too.”

Marty blinked at Verne, then looked around the room randomly as the words reverberated in his head. He was having a hard time breathing, but it didn’t have anything to do with his ribs.

He finally faced Emmett. “Doc?” he croaked.

The scientist nodded. “We could take you to the future. You could be fitted with a bionic eye, and you’d be able to see out of it.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

“When you say ‘bionic’, Doc, do you mean how Griff had bionic implants in 2015?” Marty asked.

For a moment Emmett’s face looked blank, and then understanding appeared. “Oh, yes, I did warn you of that, didn’t I? That he had issues with his bionic implants.” He nodded. “In 2015, the implementation of bionic implants was still young. There were updates necessary - “

“They had bugs.”

Emmett smiled wanly. “One way of saying it, I suppose. But we wouldn’t be going to 2015.” He leaned forward and handed Marty a booklet the young man had not noticed earlier. “This information is from the medical center – the hospital – we took Verne to so he could dispel of his scars.”

Marty squinted at the small print. Misunderstanding his friend’s hesitation, Emmett explained, “When Verne initially mentioned your new facial injury in reference to his scars being healed, I dug out this booklet, and found something that might pique your interest.”

“Can you read that, Marty?” Clara asked quietly.

“I just need some more light.” Marty moved to a lamp on the edge of the couch and flicked it on, turning it to the highest setting. He no longer had headaches when he tried to read – his doctor had suggested that was more from the concussion than the lack of an eye – but he still had problems reading if the lighting wasn’t bright enough.

He’d only studied the medical center booklet for a few moments before he looked up at Doc in surprise. “This is from the future. What if the wrong person gets their hands on this?”

“Unlikely,” Emmett answered. “I keep it in the safe in my study. Although if anyone wanted to prove that I was a time traveler, they could look closely at the forged identification documents for Clara and the boys. Or locate the time train. I do keep the barn secured, but I really want to get that holographic disguise working – I have made some headway – “

“Emmett,” Clara interrupted. “We can talk about that later.”

“Oh, yes.” With a chuckle, Doc gestured at the brochure Marty held. “Please. Look over that material.”

“Why did you keep this?”

Emmett waved a hand. “I guess just that: a keepsake. But also in case we needed to take another family member to the same location. I have Verne’s medical paperwork as well, but I didn’t think that would be beneficial.”

Marty turned back to the guide. On the fifth page he found several paragraphs touting the medical center’s groundbreaking work with implanted bionic eyes. On following pages there were before-and-after photos, comments from satisfied patients, and a timeline of how bionic eyes have progressed since they first became available in the early 2020s. “You had to wear some kind of device on your head?” Marty wondered.

“When bionic eyes were first developed, yes,” Emmett replied. “I read through that while you were sleeping – it implies that those more complicated bionic eyes were first developed to help blind people, individuals who didn’t have working optic nerves.”

“Oh.” Marty read further. “Yeah.” He closed the booklet, and held it in his right hand. “I – I have to think about this.”

“What’s to think about?” Verne asked. “You could get your eye back!”

Marty shook his head, unable to define his reluctance. “It’s just – “ He suddenly stared at Emmett and Clara. “This would be terribly expensive! Just the glass eye is a couple thousand – I’m still under my parents’ insurance, thank God, otherwise with all my medical bills they’d go bankrupt.” He shook his head again. “There’s no way.”

“Let us worry about the cost, Marty.”

“What?!” Marty stood up, dropping the medical guide. “You’re crazy! This kind of medical procedure, in the future – “ He grabbed the booklet again, and on the back page he found the year of publication. “In 2038?”

“We actually went to 2040. That’s just the most recent printed information they had.”

Marty laughed. “2040. It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you pay. I can’t imagine what the cost was for Verne’s procedure. And this would probably be ten times more expensive!”

“I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration,” Doc said. “But money is not an issue. We have plenty.”

“How?”

Emmett smiled at Clara. “200 dollars at roughly 9 per cent interest compounded annually for nearly one hundred years.”

Marty’s head spun – he had no idea how much money that amounted to. “How did you do that, without your past self finding the bank account?”

“It’s under my name,” Clara said. “Emmett did have to sign his permission for me to have a bank account back in 1894, but I was able to put it under Clayton, so that Emmett’s past self would have no reason to suspect that the money might belong to him. When we arrived here in the present, we went to Wells Fargo and I had my ‘mother’s’ account moved into a joint savings account for myself and Emmett. As ‘she’ had named me as a beneficiary, and we had the correct paperwork. . .”

“Forged, no doubt,” Marty muttered. “And Wells Fargo, because they existed back then and you knew they would still exist now.” He looked at Emmett, who nodded, pleased at Marty’s deduction.

“Man, you two really thought this over. So you have. . ?” Marty trailed off.

Emmett picked up the thought. “A lot of money in the bank," he said.

Even knowing that Emmett and Clara would have little trouble footing the bill for the procedure, Marty still couldn’t make a decision. Desiring the privacy of his permanent guest room, he requested Doc assist him up the stairs. “I think I’m okay going up, but I don’t want to chance it.” Marty gripped the right banister, and Emmett guided him gently on his left side, not wanting to jostle his shoulder.

Marty sat for a few moments on his bed, then stepped over to the phone on the nearby desk.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Marty! How is your time going with the Browns?”

“It’s good. We had lunch, then I went over to the lab in the barn and Doc showed me everything he’s been working on. I didn’t recognize some stuff. I haven’t been here in a while, you know, with everything that happened.”

“Well, I would think you’d have been away for a while either way, as you were in school.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Is that all you’ve done so far?”

No, I fell down the stairs in the barn and almost broke through to the bottom level where the train is hidden. Oh, did I mention my friend has a time-traveling train? And that he offered to take me to the future and replace my bum eye?

“We just did some inside stuff,” he said lamely.

“Marty, are you all right?” George asked softly.

“I – I just don’t feel right. Like I have this heavy cloud over me.”

“Are you expecting too much of yourself? Feeling like things aren’t right there because they’re not like they were before?”

“I don’t know.” He wanted to explain it to his father, the supposedly easy but somehow difficult choice he had to make. But how could he?

And that’s when he realized it would be impossible to explain to everyone that he suddenly had a bionic eye.

When Marty opened the door and left his room, Verne appeared out of nowhere. “Do you need to go downstairs? Want me to get my dad?”

“No, I’m not ready to go downstairs yet, but I do need to talk to your dad,” Marty said.

“Because you finally decided to go to the future?”

“Verne. . .” Marty groaned. “Just get your dad, okay?”

Instead, Verne followed Marty as the young man returned to his room. “Do you not want to fix your eye?”

Marty sat on his bed, feeling drained. Maybe it’s still from the pain pills.

“Why is this so important to you, Verne?”

Verne shrugged, then came to sit by Marty. “You’re different.”

“Different.”

“Yeah. You’re not as fun, not as spon- spont- “

“Spontaneous,” Jules said from the doorway.

“What, are you two ganging up on me?” Marty asked, glaring between the two boys.

Jules came into the room, sitting on the chair at Marty’s desk. “What Verne is saying is true, Marty. You’re more serious, less approachable.”

“I just had a birthday. You get more serious when you age.”

“Pop’s had a lot of birthdays, and he’s not as serious as you,” Verne said.

“Well. . .” Marty tipped his head in acknowledgement. Doc had been pretty serious around him since the accident, although that was not the man’s typical mood. He was no longer the wild, eccentric "mad scientist" Marty had met in his teens – marriage and parenthood had softened Doc's rough edges. But the man was still capable of childlike glee. 

“But you two haven’t known me that long. Only since February. How do you know I’m different?”

“We know you enough,” Jules answered. “You were here when we moved in, and over spring break – you weren't very mobile then and you were still more fun than you are now.”

Marty had sprained his knee over his spring break, a result of another time travel predicament. Once he'd no longer needed crutches, he had spent a few days with the Browns. He'd even helped them decorate their freshly painted walls.

“And you came over the weekend before you got hurt,” Verne added. “We know you – or how you were. We’ve even gone to your house.”

When Doc had returned in February 1989 after a three-plus year absence – and with a wife and two sons in tow – Lorraine and George had been very interested in meeting the new family. The weekend that Marty had helped Doc and his family move into the new house, Lorraine had directed him to invite the Browns to dinner. The McFly parents had adored Clara and had been charmed by the boys. They’d never even questioned Emmett’s vague explanations for how he’d acquired this family they’d never seen or heard of before. In fact, the dinners became a regular monthly event.

“Yeah, you were just at my house for my party, and I was fine, then. I had a good time!”

Verne didn’t respond. He looked over at Jules.

“What? What do you two know?”

“Pop talked to us before the party. And after.”

Marty shook his head, closing his eye briefly. “What? Why?”

Jules spoke up. “Father told us, before the party, to not upset you. Because that’s what your parents wanted. He said we should have fun, even if we were concerned about you. Or to act like we were having fun.”

“You – didn’t have fun?”

“No, it was fun,” Verne said quickly.

“Oh, God.” Marty put his head in his hands. He wondered how many of the guests had been treating him “normal” at his party, to make sure he enjoyed himself. How many of them his parents had talked to beforehand.

“We’re sorry, Marti – Marty,” Jules offered.

“Yeah.” Marty lifted his head. “What about after the party? You said your dad talked to you then.”

Verne shifted on Marty’s bed, coughing softly. “Uh, yeah. He said when you came here, that we should treat you like before. When you were happier.”

Marty sighed deeply. “Have I really been that bad? I thought I was doing better.”

Verne shrugged again. Jules spoke. “It’s partly our fault. It was distressing to see you in the hospital. Mother and Father recognized that we were uncomfortable, and they were afraid that you would notice it as well. And Father said you didn’t need to worry about how your injury was affecting us.”

Marty rubbed his suddenly aching head. “I don’t want you guys to pretend for my sake. If you’re uncomfortable, you just are. You shouldn’t have to deny how you feel because you’re worried it’ll upset me.”

Verne abruptly hugged the young man. “I’m not uncomfortable. You’re Marty. You’re Pop’s best friend.”

Jules rose, and standing before Marty, he held out a hand to shake. “I’m not uncomfortable either, Marty.”

Marty took Jules’s hand, then pulled the boy in for a proper hug.

The three were talking amicably when Emmett knocked on the door frame. He frowned at his sons. “They aren’t bothering you, are they, Marty?”

“No.” Marty stood up. “We were having a nice chat.”

“Well, boys, your mother is looking for you. She would like some help with supper.”

Jules, who had also stood when his father had arrived, said “Yes, sir,” and left the room. Verne, on the other hand, groaned and muttered. He dragged himself up from Marty’s bed and stomped out into the hall, still complaining.

“Supper, already?” Marty consulted his new watch, a birthday present from Emmett. “Five-fifteen?” he said in amazement. “It feels like we just ate lunch.”

“Well, you were asleep for a few hours. . . Your watch is all right? You didn’t harm it when you fell?”

“Nope, looks good.”

“Well, if you’d like, I can help you downstairs. Supper should be ready in a half hour or so.”

“Not yet.” Marty sat again on his bed. He waved to his desk chair. “Sit down, Doc. We need to talk.”

“Ah.” Emmett sat. “So you’ve come to a decision?”

“No, and it’s not about that, anyway.” Marty gestured in the direction the boys had gone. “Jules and Verne confessed a couple things to me.”

“Did they?”

Marty thought he detected anxiety in Doc’s voice. “Yes. They said you told them to pretend like they were having fun at my birthday party, so I wouldn’t notice if they seemed uncomfortable. And that you gave them the same instruction for the time I’m here. That they were supposed to treat me like nothing was wrong.”

“Wrong? Why do think – “

“Doc, stop it, okay? I’m wrong! I’m disabled!”

Emmett looked hard at Marty. “Only if you choose to define yourself that way.”

“The state chooses to define me that way! The government! I have to go to therapy. I can’t do stairs. I have to pass another driver’s test and even then I’ll only get a restricted license. And you know, I kind of forgot that stuff at my party. But now I find out it was just a big sham. How many people did my parents tell to act like they were having a good time?”

Emmett shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Even Linda’s fiancé was being nice to me, and he usually treats me like a kid,” Marty huffed.

“Your parents just wanted you to enjoy your party without anything upsetting you.”

“Fine.” Marty figured he could talk to them later. “But why did you tell your kids to treat me differently now? To ignore how I might make them uneasy?” He pointed to his patch.

“I was concerned that they might behave how they had in the hospital. At your party there was plenty to keep them occupied, and there were other people in attendance. But here it’s just us. And I know the boys were afraid for you at the hospital. I’m not sure if you remember, but when I brought them to visit you, we didn’t stay long.”

Marty shook his head. “It’s all kind of a blur. Everyone coming and going. You left early?”

“Yes. Both Verne and Jules were quite scared. You’re family, Marty. To see a family member in pain is difficult. Particularly for children.”

“Oh.” Marty swallowed. “I didn’t know. They alluded to it, but I didn’t know how hard it was for them.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

Emmett gave a dry laugh. “Actually, I think that’s my line. I’m sorry I asked the boys to be dishonest with you.”

Marty smiled briefly. “Well, they fessed up. And we came to an understanding. But I just wanted to let you know – don’t pretend for me, or ask anyone else to. I need honesty. Especially from you.”

Doc put his hand over his heart. “I’ve never tried to disguise my feelings for you, Marty. I hope you know how much Clara and I care for you."

Marty smiled again. He dipped his head in acceptance and thankfulness.

"I know, Doc. I care about you guys, too." His smiled dimmed. “But you’ve been dishonest about other things.”

When Emmett took his time answering, Marty grunted. “It’s okay. I know there are some things I don’t need to know. I don’t tell you everything, either. A guy’s got to have some secrets.” He took a breath. “And speaking of secrets – How am I supposed to go to the future and get a new eye, and then come back and explain to everyone how it happened? What, are we going to say my eye regrew all on its own? Or are we actually going to tell the world about time travel?”

Emmett stood, clapping his hands together. “I think we should go down for supper. After we eat, we’ll talk.” He held a hand out, ready to take Marty’s arm. “Shall we?”

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

Chapter Text

After supper, Marty and Doc again settled in the living room. Typically if they needed to have a private discussion they’d go up to Doc’s study, but Marty knew he’d need to go upstairs to go to bed, and he wanted to reduce how many times he had to ascend and descend the stairs.

Clara and the boys did go upstairs. Marty had considered asking if Jules wanted to stay, as he expected the older Brown child would better understand Marty’s indecision. But then he thought that Verne (who was definitely in the “go to the future” camp) wouldn’t take well to being excluded.

This time Marty and Doc sat in the adjacent chairs. Marty pulled a leg underneath him and swung his free leg. Because of his height (or lack of it) his toes barely reached the carpet.

Doc had sat first, making sure he was seated in the correct chair so that when Marty sat, Emmett could see his sighted eye. It also meant he could study the bruised welt without distraction. “Doc?” Marty inquired.

“Doesn’t that hurt?”

“What, this?” Marty touched the welt. “Yeah, sure, but it looks worse than it is. At least I can see out of this eye.”

“When you fell, I thought about the pliers. . . getting . . . impaled. . .” Emmett shuddered.

“Oh. Yeah.” Marty paled. “That would have sucked. Did I drop them?”

“Honestly, I haven’t looked. I went back to secure the barn, but didn’t go inside.”

The two men for silent for a few moments, each thinking how much more severe Marty’s fall could’ve been.

“You know, Doc, with my track record, you’ll probably take me to that future hospital and they’ll tell me I’m not a good candidate for a bionic eye. That my optic nerves were damaged, or that they don’t want to do surgery when my ribs haven’t completely healed.”

“What would your ribs – “

“The anesthesia. I’m assuming I’d be put under. And maybe I wouldn’t be able to breathe well, or something.”

“Marty, you had two surgeries in a 1989 hospital when your ribs were freshly injured,” Emmett said gently.

“Right.” Marty slowly nodded. “That’s right. I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“All right. But that’s not the issue. We have to talk about the how. If I suddenly have a bionic eye, how would we explain it to everyone?”

Emmett sat back, taking a deep breath. “I have a few ideas.”

Marty snorted. “Sounds like I’ve heard this before.”

“Well, not about this. First, I have a . . . colleague in San Francisco. Specifically at Stanford. He’s not exactly a friend, more of an acquaintance. We could say, without naming names, that I took you to this person at the university. That he was researching a new implant for individuals like you, or for people suffering from blindness. And that you volunteered to test the new implant.”

“Does he even research anything like that?”

Emmett waved a hand. “He specializes in genetic research, actually.”

“So that would be a pretty big lie.”

“In this case, Marty, I think subterfuge will be necessary.”

“I know that, but I don’t want to get some random person involved. . .”

“He wouldn’t be involved. It was just a story I came up with. Also, to keep with that story, you’d need to leave your patch on for a while. Because I don’t think you’d immediately recover from surgery, at least by 1989 standards.” Emmett wasn’t sure how long Marty’s recovery time would be in the future, but that wasn’t an issue, because he’d be able to set the time train to bring him and Marty back five minutes after they’d left.

Marty was frowning. “So I’d have a new eye I supposedly can see out of, but I wouldn’t be able to use it?”

“Not right away. Not in public, at least. Around here, and at home, yes, but you’d still need your patch around your extended family, or friends – besides Jennifer, of course.”

“Wait. Why would I be able to show my parents my new eye? Yeah, Jennifer makes sense, she knows about time travel. But my parents don’t.”

Emmett didn’t answer. He looked away, sucking at his cheeks.

“Doc?”

“This is partly the other idea I had. That we make no story, at least to the individuals who know about time travel. And that the rest are given a rough explanation. That you traveled to see an excellent specialist who fitted you with an advanced implant. Years ahead of its time.”

“And how did my parents get the money to take me to this brilliant specialist?”

“From an anonymous donor,” Emmett said, and winked.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever. But you didn’t answer my earlier question. About my parents knowing about time travel.”

“No, I didn’t.” Emmett cleared his throat. “I cannot say definitely that they know, but I think they know something. I imagine if we told them, and possibly showed them some kind of proof – not the train, but some other kind of proof – that they would believe us.”

Marty rubbed his temple – his head was pounding again. “Doc, how? I mean, well, why do you think – how would they suspect. . . .“

“They spoke to me, Marty. It was maybe a week after that first dinner at your house, when they met my family. They recognized something didn’t add up. I’m actually surprised they didn’t call me on it right there that night. But I appreciate that they spoke to me alone, and did not involve Clara and the boys.”

“When was this?”

“You were at school.”

“My parents didn’t say anything.”

“Well, I asked them not to. As you had accustomed yourself to your new memories, you were no longer struggling. If you became aware that your parents were open to the ‘possibility’ of time travel, I was afraid that you would have a relapse.”

“Relapse. I wasn’t sick, Doc. Yeah, I had some problems adjusting. My band was different – we were practicing songs I’d never done before. My grades were different. My whole family was different! And I had to get used to the fact that I had seventeen years of memories that no one else did, and the only guy I could talk to about it was jaunting through time with his family.” Marty found he was breathing hard after his ramble.

Emmett had a sad frown on his face, and Marty began to backtrack. “Doc, you know I don’t blame you. You didn’t know what was going to happen. I did it myself, anyway, encouraging my dad and all in 1955. And I wouldn’t want them to be miserable again, it’s great to see them successful and happy, my brother and sister, too. And I got my memories from this new timeline, so it’s all good now.”

“We really should discuss this more. I know we touched on the subject when you were in 1885, but as you hadn’t been aware of your ‘new’ present for more than an hour, you hadn’t yet experienced all of the changes.” Emmett stared hard at his friend. “You’ve been avoiding discussing this.”

“There’s not much to discuss anymore. I said, I got my memories. Yeah, it would have been nice to have you around in 1985 when the shit the fan, but that was years ago. My parents settled down after a few months when I stopped acting like an alien or a pod person.”

Doc shook his head. “Well, when your parents spoke to me, and started asking me some difficult questions, they recalled how you began acting – unlike yourself – at about the same time that I ‘disappeared.’ Time travel was never discussed, but I think at least your father wouldn’t be surprised that it exists.”

“Yeah, I can see my dad completely believing it. I guess I’d be okay with that. But my mom – she kissed me, Doc! She was totally infatuated with me in 1955!”

“Yes. That would be unfortunate if she recalls that. But it might be unavoidable.”

Marty groaned, putting his hands over his face. “Although. . .“ He lifted his head. “At least they’d understand why I can’t handle Biff. Even how he is now. He bullied my dad in high school and assaulted my mom, and I saw it all. I was even partly responsible for the thing with my mom. If Dad hadn’t shown up when he did. . .” Marty took a deep, shaky breath. “I’m surprised she can be in the same room with him.”

“Your mother is much stronger than you realize. And more resilient. You get that from her, you know.”

Marty smiled wryly. “No, I do know how strong she is. I’ve seen it, since the accident. She’s a lot stronger than me.”

“That’s debatable.” Emmett tipped his head. “You’ve dealt with much more, in a very little window of time, when you were only seventeen. And now you have this.” He indicated Marty’s eyepatch.

Marty leaned back in his chair. He sat quietly, even closing his eye. Emmett watched him patiently.

“So. . . tell my parents that time travel is real. Or confirm it.” He sat up. “I guess the 2015 hoverboard might prove it. I don’t think they’d just write it off as one of your inventions when it says ‘Mattel’ on it.”

“Possibly. I also have my wedding photos.”

“I have that photo you gave me, too, the one of us by the clock at the festival. I know photos can be faked – hell, you told me that in 1955. But the hoverboard, the photos, and maybe any of the other things you kept from the past or the future.” When Doc raised his eyebrows, Marty scoffed. “I know you did, Doc. Remember, I helped you move.”

“Oh. Yes, Ah, well. . . I suppose there may be some items in this house that don't 'belong' in 1989."

The young man snickered. “If my folks are already open to the existence of time travel, we probably won’t need too much to push them from ‘maybe’ to . . . well, ‘Oh my God,’ I guess.” He rubbed his good eye, and winced at the pain of the bruise. “I’m not thrilled with telling them, and I guess my siblings, but it’s a better choice than the story about going to Stanford and being a research guinea pig. I don’t think my parents would approve that, anyway.”

“Marty – if you wanted to choose to go to a different doctor or location, and you had the means to pay – “ Doc indicated himself “ – you would be completely free to do so, without any approval from your parents. You are an adult – you have been since you were eighteen – but may I remind you that you just turned twenty-one?”

“Well, shit. I am an adult. I can do what I choose.” Marty gave a chuckle of disbelief. “Since I still live at home when I’m not at HVU, I still think of myself as a kid. Plus this accident hasn’t helped. Everyone’s been treating me like a kid again.”

“Us as well?”

Marty did a see-saw gesture with his hand. “It’s okay, though, Doc. I’m used to you treating me that way. I guess I’ll always look like a kid to you.”

Emmett grunted. “Is that a crack at my age?”

“No!" Marty exclaimed. “Definitely not! Me, tease you about your age? Never!”

Soon the two were laughing. Marty held a hand against his ribs, but kept giggling.

When they’d settled, Doc wiping his eyes and Marty sighing in contentment, the scientist gazed at his young friend.

“So, can I deduce by our conversation, that you have made a decision?”

“Yeah.” Marty nodded. “I’m kind of scared – I have no idea what to expect – but I want you to take me to the future so I can get a bionic eye.”

TO BE CONTINUED. . . 

Chapter Text

Although it didn’t really matter when one left while time traveling, Emmett suggested he and Marty leave in the morning, after a good night’s sleep and a fortifying breakfast.

Unfortunately neither Marty nor Emmet slept well. In the morning, Marty pushed his food around on his plate and Emmett only managed to eat some toast and drink a cup of coffee.

“Do you know your social security number?” Doc asked Marty, watching his friend not eat.

Marty looked up from his plate, bemused by the odd question. “Uh. 397 – or is it 379? 14 or 41. . . Guess I don’t.” He reached for his back pocket. “It’s in my wallet, hang on.”

“No!” Doc said abruptly. “And you have it in your wallet? You shouldn’t carry your social security card on you. What if you lose your wallet?”

“As tight as my jeans are, that probably wouldn’t happen. And why did you ask me my social security number if you didn’t want to know what it was?”

“I’ll explain later.” Doc stood from the table. Clara looked at him with a frown. “Can I trust you’ll eat something in the future?”

“Pop, you love Momma’s eggs,” Verne said. “You should eat some,” he coaxed.

“I do love her eggs, you’re right, but I’m simply too anxious to eat, Vernie.”

“Martin’s not eating, either,” Jules pointed out.

“’Marty’,” the young man reminded Jules. “And if I eat I’ll probably puke. I don’t think anyone wants that.”

“Why are you two so nervous?” Verne asked.

“There is just a lot to do,” Emmett answered. “I had to establish documentation for you and Jules when I took you to the future to get your immunizations. Fraudulent documentation, yes, but when I took you back to the future to get your scars fixed, we were able to use that same documentation. As neither you nor Jules – or your mother, for that matter – had ‘existed’ before, I was able to create your identification. Marty, on the other hand, already has a birth certificate and a social security number.”

“Can’t you change his name, like you did with us?” Verne asked.

Marty looked up from his plate, where he was busy cutting up his sausage into little pieces. “You changed their names?”

“I had to, as in 2040 – or in the earlier years I took them to for immunizations and vaccinations – the older Jules and Verne Brown existed, with the identification they have now. I couldn’t use the future forged identification on the same individuals. Jules became Julian Von Braun, and Verne – “

“Was Laverne!” Jules crowed, obviously amused. “He got a girl’s name!”

“Jules. . .” Clara warned.

“Stop it, Jules!” Verne yelled.

“It’s a gender-neutral name,” Doc said wearily, as if this was a common argument between the boys.

Marty snickered, then found himself laughing.

“it’s not funny, Marty!” Verne chastised him. But the fact that a seven-year-old was scolding him made Marty laugh even harder.

And then the laughing ceased and he was hiccupping back sobs.

Verne immediately hugged him. “I’m sorry, Marty. I didn’t mean it.”

“No, it’s not you.” Marty sniffled, drawing back and rubbing at his eye. “I’m just really scared.” He heaved a breath. “I wish my mom could come along.”

“Emmett will take care of you,” Clara said. She looked intensely at her husband.

“Well, of course I will!” Emmett gripped Marty’s shoulder. “You trust me, don’t you?”

Marty nodded, still sniffling. “With my life. Doesn’t make me less scared, though.”

When Emmett went out to the barn to pull the time train up through the barn’s hidden hatch, Verne and Jules accompanied him. Marty typically liked to watch the train emerge from the lower level of the barn, as he’d seen it only a few times and it still amazed him, but he opted to stay in the house. Emmett had directed him to redress and to leave his wallet behind (“you can’t show up in 2040 looking twenty-one but with a license that says you’re seventy-two”). Marty had asked if he could just take any identification out of his wallet but keep it so he still had pictures of his family and Jennifer, but Doc had nixed that as well. “Any anachronistic possessions could be problematic. I only say this because I nearly fell into the same trap when I was first stuck in 1885. For me it was future paraphernalia – luckily I was able to disguise it or store it in the DeLorean when I hid it in the mine.”

Marty was able to keep his regular jeans, but Emmett had provided him with basic, non-fashion shoes and underwear and a future-style shirt. He eventually wandered out of the bathroom and found Clara. “Clara? I can’t figure out how to do the buttons on this.”

Clara tutted good-naturedly. “It’s every other button to the alternate side,” she said, as she fixed the shirt. “The fashions in the mid 2000s are really not that different than now. But fads from the 1980s would definitely stand out. The band tee-shirts you like, for example, are uncommon. Really any shirts with writing on them.”

Marty wiggled his toes in the plain sneakers. “Jeans are still okay?”

“Denim is always popular. It has been since I was a young woman,” Clara smiled.

Marty nodded, swallowing. He smoothed down the re-buttoned shirt. “Thanks, Clara.”

“Of course.”

Marty abruptly embraced the woman. “You and the boys can’t come?”

“I don’t think it would be wise. I would love to accompany you, but I can’t help but think the boys would be in the way.” Clara drew back and held Marty out before her, her hands on his shoulders. “You and Emmett will be fine.”

Before Marty joined Doc at the train, he again hugged Verne, then Jules, and even Einstein (who had followed everyone outside as he’d felt left out). Emmett gave his boys brief hugs, but embraced Clara longer, talking to her softly. After a tender kiss, Emmett turned back to the train. He didn’t see Marty, but once he stepped inside he saw the young man was already sitting on the back bench.

“You left your wallet behind?”

“Yes. All I have on me from 1989 is my jeans and my socks. And how did you have underwear my size?”

Emmett was busy setting the controls and time settings at the front of the train. “Hmm? Oh. I buy several sizes of different clothing from every time I visit. It helps to be prepared.”

Marty sighed. “So what will my name be in 2040?”

Doc stood, turning to his friend. “Calvin Von Braun?”

Marty smiled crookedly. “Martin Eastwood?”

“Eastwood’s a little too familiar. Maybe Clint Martin.”

“What about Martin Clinton?” Marty offered. “I’d kind of still like to be Marty, and not have to remember that when someone says ‘Calvin’ or ‘Clint’ that they mean me.”

“Then Martin Clinton it will be.”

Clara, Jules, and Verne watched from a distance as the train lifted into the sky, turned lazily, and raced away from the house and barn. Upon achieving 88 miles per hour, the train disappeared with a triple sonic boom, leaving a trail of fire in the sky.

“When did Dad say to expect them back?” Verne asked.

“In about ten minutes.” Clara put her arms around her boys’ shoulders. “Just enough time for the two of you to wash the breakfast dishes.”

Doc did not directly drive the train to 2040. He had entered the year 2042 into the time settings, and landed the train on the top of a building which was apparently the parking area for flying vehicles. “What are we doing here?” Marty asked, looking around. “This isn’t the hospital. Or medical center. Unless it’s really changed since 1989.”

“It has – but you’re correct, we are not there. I need to meet with an individual in this building to get your ‘current’ identification. An ID is necessary for any doctor appointments or hospital stays.”

“I guess I’m going with you, then, huh?” Marty was slightly interested to meet the forger. “Since it’s my ID.” Then Marty swore. “Damn it, Doc. The ID will need a picture, right? I’ve got this thing on my eye!”

“Not to worry. I was able to acquire your school ID photo.” Emmett pulled an envelope out of a small storage area at the front of the train. “It’s a few years old, but should do fine.”

“How did you – You know what, never mind.” Marty sighed. “You were prepared, right?”

“Precisely!”

There were a few stairs that led down from the upper parking area to a level with a group of elevators. Marty gripped the stair rail hard and Emmett walked along his left side, ready to assist if necessary. “It’s only a couple stairs, I’m okay,” Marty muttered.

“Famous last words,” Emmett replied.

They took an elevator down to the tenth floor. Emmett led Marty to what looked like a data processing office. Men and women were scattered in cubicles separated by transparent walls. Several of the walls had been written on with markers – Marty saw formulas and charts and graphs scrawled in different colors. Many of the people had small laptops before them, smaller than Marty had ever seen, and most also had bright handheld devices. Cell phones, Marty thought. He had seen cell phones in 2015. These devices seemed much sleeker and more compact than the few he’d witnessed in 2015.

There was soft music emitting from unseen speakers – currently “I’ll Melt with You” was playing. The 1982 song by Modern English was seven years old in Marty’s world. But we’re in 2042. It’s sixty years old!

A young man near the front of the room, wearing a backwards baseball cap, was sitting on his chair backwards and also writing words and numbers backwards on his transparent wall. Marty could read the symbols as they were facing him, although he couldn’t make heads or tails of them.

The “backwards” man noticed Doc and Marty, and he stood. “You folks can I help?”

“I hope so,” Doc replied. “We’re looking for Max.”

“Maxie!” the man bellowed. “For you people are here!”

“Why’s this guy talking like Yoda?” Marty said in an undertone.

Doc nodded at the man’s cubicle area, which was decorated with Star Wars memorabilia and vinyl Yoda figures. “Ah." Marty grinned.

A woman with spiked red hair came bouncing up. “M!” she said, giving Doc a hug. “Been a while!” She tipped her head to look at Marty. “Fresh meat?”

“You could say that.”

Max led the two back through the office. “M?” Marty asked.

“’Em’, basically. She doesn’t like to know her clients’ ‘real’ names.”

“O-kay.”

Marty and Doc followed Max to a smaller room. She pressed a thumb to the lock and popped the door open. “Entrez-vous.”

In the office addendum there were more computers and several different kinds of printers, as well as a clear box with spools of plastic-like material attached. Marty jabbed Doc with an elbow and pointed to it. “What’s that?” he whispered.

“Shh,” the older man said.

“So what are we doing?” Max sat at a computer.

“Simple identification.” Emmett nodded at Marty. “For him.”

Emmett handed the envelope to the woman. She opened it, pulled out a small computer chip, then raked her fingers over several bills. Marty stared in wonder.

Max shut the envelope and tucked it in a drawer. “Looks good.” She placed the computer chip into a tiny hole on the computer, then danced her fingers over a mouse pad. Well, it looked like a mouse pad to Marty. Except there was no mouse. He figured it was a touch pad that was attached to the computer.

Marty’s school ID photo suddenly appeared on the screen. Max turned to look at him. “So that’s what you look like without a patch. Not bad.”

“Uh . . . thanks?”

Max snorted. “Noob or purist?”

“What?”

Emmett shook his head. “Not now. Max. I need something we can use at the medical center.”

“All righty.” Max went back to the computer, now going between a keyboard and the touch pad. Soon Marty’s school ID photo was in the corner of a futurized, but blank, ID image. “Name?”

“Martin Clinton.”

“Address?”

Emmett continued giving the young woman data that meant nothing to Marty, including a fake social security number. He also provided Marty’s weight (which was accurate within about three pounds) and his height (prompting a chuckle from Max and a scowl from Marty). Marty himself didn’t volunteer any information until birthdate was mentioned. “June 12th – “

“2019,” Doc finished.

Max looked at Marty. “Twenty-three? Really? He looks eighteen.”

“Hey! I happen to be twenty-one!”

Max rolled her eyes. “And what date did he get this ID? Remember, you have a six-year window.”

“June 5th, 2038.”

After Max had all of the pertinent facts, she prepared the ID for printing. Marty bumped Doc again. “Why did you make me twenty-three?”

“You would be twenty-three now, in 2042. But in 2040, you will be twenty-one," Emmett murmured.

“Oh.”

“All right. Before I print, you need to sign.” Max gestured to the touch pad.

“Sign.” Marty looked at the woman. “On there?”

She shook her head. “Noobs.” She wrote with her finger on the pad, and the name “Max” appeared in the signature area of the ID. “See?” In a second she had deleted the word. “Write your name.”

“Yes, Martin,” Doc said.

Before Doc’s slight reminder, Marty almost wrote "Marty McFly." With a shaky hand, he wrote “Martin Clinton” on the mouse pad, and watched his handwriting appear on the screen.

Once Max was satisfied with the signature, she finalized the ID and sent the image to a printer. When it finished printing she plucked it out between to fingers, blew on it gently, and then handed it to Doc. Marty looked over his shoulder. He whistled in awe.

“Yeah, I know,” Max said. “Primo work. That’s why I get the big bucks.”

After they left the offices, Marty was still marveling over his ID. “Where is all the info you gave her, Doc? I just see my picture and signature, and this weird code.” He pointed. “Kinda looks like a UPC code.”

“That’s a QR code. All of your information is in that.”

“QR? What does that stand for?”

“Quick Response. Those codes have been around for quite some time. All electronic devices can read them. Computers, cell phones, watches, mini-tabs. . .“

“Huh.” Marty ran his finger over the code.

“Put that in your pocket. It should be a little distressed. Although if someone comments on how pristine it appears in 2040, we can always say you damaged your original ID and recently received a replacement.” Emmett pressed the “up” button outside one of the elevators.

As Marty shoved the ID in his back pocket, he asked, "What did she mean by 'noob or purist'?"

"Noob is short for 'newbie', as in someone who is inexperienced with the newest computer equipment. A purist is one who eschews anything electronic."

"I guess I am a noob, then."

After they were back on the roof and approaching the train, Marty said, “Are we going to 2040 now?”

“We are. But we may only be able to make you an appointment with a specialist. Of course, we won’t have to wait for the appointment – we can just go ahead a little further to the date of the appointment.”

“I didn’t know this was going to be so complicated,” Marty mumbled.

“Well, one thing that hasn’t improved in the future is the complexities of the American health care system," Emmett lamented.

True to Emmett’s prediction, the most that Marty was able to do was to make an appointment with an ocular specialist, nearly a month in the future. Marty and Doc made their way back to the train (on another roof parking area, now on top of one of the buildings of the elaborate medical center). Doc took the train to the air and flew to a previously located area that rarely had traffic. He engaged the time circuits, and in a matter of moments they arrived on the date of Marty’s appointment. Emmett flew back to the medical center and deftly landed the train. He looked back at his young friend.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

TO BE CONTINUED.  . .

Chapter Text

Monday, July 16, 2040

3:10 P.M.

Hill Valley, California

Marty rose to leave the time train (now parked on top of the building where many specialists had their offices), but paused as Emmett grabbed another envelope from the front storage area. “How many of those do you have?” Marty asked.

“As many as needed.” Doc tucked the envelope out of sight. “Let’s go.”

“Not yet.” Marty crossed his arms, able to do so as Emmett had made him leave his sling in 1989. (“I know you’re not wearing it regularly – your father told me,” Doc had informed the young man. “And it would draw unnecessary attention if you wore it.”)

Emmett sighed in frustration. “Marty, your appointment is in twenty minutes. . .“

“We’ve got time. Or are doctors much more prompt in the future?”

Doc rubbed an eyebrow, grumbling. “Not exactly.”

“Then tell me what’s going on. I think I deserve an explanation.” He uncrossed his arms and started gesturing. “I saw that money you gave Max, and I know it wasn’t cash from 1989. I’ll bet this envelope has cash for my doctor. Right? So how do you have all this future cash? And where’d you get the social security number?” When Marty had made his appointment, both he and Doc had been holding their breath when the appointment clerk had scanned Marty’s forged ID, but apparently she had not doubted its authenticity.

“Marty, really, I can explain later – “

“You said that once already, but you haven’t.”

“Really, we don’t have time – “

“Don’t have time? We’re in a time machine!” Then Marty’s face suddenly cleared. “Oh, I’m so dumb. How did I not figure this out?” He brought his right hand to his brows. “You took the train out after I agreed to go to the future! That’s why you didn't want us to to leave until morning.You snuck the train out the night before."

Emmett didn’t answer, but he didn’t discount Marty’s conclusion. He merely cleared his throat and looked away.

“Did anyone know you snuck it out?”

“Clara. I was careful to fly the train far from the house before traveling to the future, so that the sonic booms wouldn’t be as loud. And it must’ve worked, as no one in the house heard. Clara was even listening, and she told me it just sounded like distant thunder.”

“How long were you here setting everything up?”

“Not long. Just long enough to convert my 1989 cash and procure a social security number for you from an individual not as – reputable – as Max.”

“Why did you do this yourself? I would have gone with you.”

“Marty, I’ve had to drag you through enough already. And I wouldn’t have done that except for that it was necessary you be present to receive the ID and to make your appointment.” He checked one of his watches. “Which we will be late for if we do not leave right now.”

“That’s another thing.” Marty pointed at his wrist. “You made me leave my nice watch in 1989, but you have two future ones.” He scowled. “You could at least give me one.”

“Not possible.” Emmett extended his other wrist. “These are advanced watches, specifically adapted to my biochemistry. They wouldn’t work on you.” He admired one of the timepieces. “They also adjust to the correct time, no matter where I land the train – as long as it’s a time after the watches have been invented. They are nothing more than elaborate bracelets otherwise.”

When Emmett lifted his right wrist, Marty caught sight of the envelope, sticking out of the sleeve of the man's future shirt. “You must have gone to the future in 1989 first, huh? To get the cash to convert. Unless you keep a lot of cash in your house. We left before the bank opened.”

Emmett looked upward, letting out a huff.

“Doc, I told you to be honest with me,” Marty said quietly.

“I didn’t lie to you, Marty. I just kept some information from you. You acknowledged that we both do that. And I was planning to tell you all of the details, at some point. After your surgery.” He checked the time again. “And now, can we please go?”

When Doc and Marty found the correct waiting room and the young man checked in, they still sat for fifteen minutes. Marty felt unaccountably exhausted. Even though he and Doc had flown to 2042 and to 2040 twice, not even two hours had passed for the travelers. But as Marty hadn’t slept well the night before. . . He began to doze in the chair, which was much more comfortable than the waiting room chairs in 1989.

When a nurse finally called out “Martin?” Marty stood up so fast he had a head rush. Emmett stood as well and grasped Marty’s left arm to steady his friend. The young man hissed in pain, suddenly very awake. “Careful!”

“Sorry.”

Marty and Doc followed the nurse to a fancy office/exam room. There were diplomas on the wall, as well as some framed accolades. There was a bookcase in the corner, with an elaborate anatomical display of the Eye sitting on the top shelf. A large poster of the Eye was also on the wall, with arrows pointing to well-known features such as the ‘pupil’ and the ‘iris’ but also to lesser-known details. Marty studied the poster. He’d seen a similar one in his regular eye doctor’s office, but he’d never paid much attention to it. Since he’d lost his eye, though, he’d become knowledgeable in many parts of the eye. The rectus muscles. The retinal blood vessels. The optic nerve.

The nurse had Marty sit on an exam bed that looked very similar to the present-day ones Marty was familiar with. The blood pressure cuff was a tad different – it was completely automatic, reminding Marty of the blood pressure units in some pharmacies. The information from the cuff was somehow sent to the nurse’s watch, and she watched it closely. “A little high,” she said. “140 over 60.”

“He’s been somewhat stressed,” Emmett offered from the further chair.

Marty didn’t answer, only rolling his eye.

The nurse turned to a nearby mobile computer, typing some information into it. “Dr. Brooks should be here in a moment.” She smiled at the two, then left the room.

Marty’s shoulders slumped; he kicked his legs idly as they hung off the exam bed.

“Are you all right?” Emmett asked.

“Not really.”

“How is your pain?” After all, Marty’s fall had only been the day before.

Marty shrugged, then winced. “I’m a little sore. But I didn’t sleep well, so I was tossing and turning all night. And yeah, I haven’t been wearing my sling as much at home, but mostly in my room or at night. I didn’t know my dad knew that.”

“You’d be surprised how much parents are aware of.”

“Yeah? Well, you’d be surprised how much kids get away with. Even your kids.”

Doc sat up straighter. “Do you have specifics?”

“I’ll tell you later," Marty said with a smirk.

There was a knock at the door, and then an older gentleman (but still younger than Emmett) entered the room. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed mustache, and was wearing a casual suit jacket over a triple-buttoned shirt. And I thought my shirt was complicated to button, Marty thought.

The doctor approached Marty first. “Martin? My name is Doctor Baxter Brooks.”

Marty shook his hand. “Actually, I like to go by ‘Marty’.”

“Fine, fine. And this is..?” He turned to Doc.

Emmett rose to shake the doctor’s hand. “Emmett. I’m Marty’s great-uncle.”

“Very nice to meet your both.” The doctor sat on a wheeled chair, and rolled it so he was facing Marty. “You are here to see if you’re a candidate for a bionic eye, yes?”

Marty nodded stiffly. “Now I’m at a bit of a disadvantage,” the doctor continued, “as I have no information on the injury – or birth defect?”

“Injury,” Emmett said.

“All right. But as I was saying, I have no previous information from your regular doctor. Did you have an enucleation?”

“Ah, yeah. That.”

“If I may,” Emmett interrupted. “Marty was raised in a purist compound. He recently turned twenty-one, and fought for his independence. That is how he came to stay with me. His injury happened in the compound. There are no records of who treated him.”

“Ah, that explains things.” Brooks leaned back with a sigh and a nod. “I had noticed the antiquated eye patch.”

Marty glanced over at Emmett. The man had just explained Marty’s poor – or no – knowledge of the future computer enhancements in one fell swoop. “Wow, Doc,” he said softly.

“Yes?” Dr. Brooks asked.

Marty let out a weak chuckle. “I meant him.” He pointed at Emmett. The older man waved with a wan smile. “A nickname. It usually doesn’t cause much confusion, except for in a hospital setting.” He looked seriously at Marty. “So maybe you’d better stick to 'Uncle Em' here.”

Dr. Brooks stood in front of Marty. “Can I ask you to remove your patch, please?”

Marty pulled off his patch, but kept the lids closed over his left eye. “Marty, I need to see what we’re working with,” the doctor said gently.

Marty was breathing in quick shallow gasps. Doc stood and went to his friend’s side, grasping his right hand. “I’m right here, Marty.”

Gripping tightly to Doc’s hand, Marty slowly opened the lids covering his “eye.”

The doctor spent several minutes examining the eye socket, and the small scars alongside it. He made various noises, pulled a small cell phone from his jacket pocket and took pictures, and then went to a nearby sink to scrub his hands and put on some gloves. Taking a sterile-wrapped implement out of a drawer, he removed the wrapping and then returned to Marty.

“What’s that?” Marty said uneasily, moving away.

“I just need to take some measurements. It’s nothing intrusive.”

Marty still found himself blinking during the examination, and then his left “eye” began to water. “Sorry, sorry,” he said, rubbing at the tears. The movement brushed the bruise under his right eye, and then that eye began to water as well. “Ah, shit,” Marty muttered.

“The bruise is fresh, correct?”

“Yes,” Emmett answered. “Marty’s depth perception has suffered since he lost his eye, and he recently fell.”

“Well, I can take care of that, as well as his other scars, during the surgery.” Dr. Brooks moved to the mobile computer and entered some information, possibly the measurements he had taken. He dropped the implement into a slot on the counter.

“So – “ Marty inhaled shakily. “So you can do it? You can fit me with a bionic eye?”

“I believe I can. We’ll need to get images of your eye in radiology to check the nerves, but from what I can see it seems to be an adept enucleation, as there is no swelling or obvious damage to your muscles. Overall the socket looks well.” The doctor removed his gloves. “Of course I’m going by my visual input, but I have been doing this for fifteen years, and I am confident that I’m correct. It also helps that you are young and healthy.”

Marty’s eyes began to tear again, and he cast out blindly for Doc’s hand. “Did you hear? He thinks he can do it.”

“I heard, Marty.”

Marty was sent to radiology. The ease and quickness of the process surprised him. He stood while an adjustable-height machine took a 360-degree image of his head. The whole procedure took less than five minutes.

Soon Marty was back in the doctor’s office. He immediately re-applied his patch, and sat in a chair next to Emmett. The doctor had received the scans of Marty’s head within moments of Marty returning. Standing, Brroks viewed the images on the screen of the mobile computer, clicking through the scans on a “mouse pad” similar to what Max had used.

“Yes, yes, this looks good. Optic nerve is undamaged. We’ll need to prepare your eye for the implantation, as you didn’t receive typical intermediary care, but that isn’t an issue. It’s rare nowadays, but not unheard of. Especially with the nature of your upbringing.”

“Prepare it..?”

“We’d need you to come in the night before the surgery, and receive an injection that will prompt your eye to receive the prosthesis. This will also ensure that the bionic eye’s color will truly match your sighted eye. “

Marty nodded, letting out a nervous breath.

“And when would he be able to receive the surgery?” Emmett asked.

The doctor returned to the mouse pad and flicked through several different pages on the computer. “The actual procedure takes a little over an hour. . . I think I can fit Marty in my surgical schedule this Thursday.”

“Thursday?” Marty breathed. “Today’s. . .”

“Monday,” Doc said quickly.

“So in three days?”

While Marty was marveling over how fast things were now going, Dr. Brooks sat and again spoke to Emmett. “Marty has no insurance, does he?”

“No, but that won’t be an issue. I will be paying. With cash.”

The doctor’s eyebrows raised slightly. “Cash?”

“Yes. In fact, I have a deposit.” Emmett drew out the envelope, handing it to the medical doctor.

Dr. Brooks looked at the contents of the envelope. “This is more than a deposit. Even taking the cost of this appointment and Marty’s tests into account, I would say this is roughly half of what the procedure will cost.”

“And the hospital stay and any medication is included in that?” Emmett knew that in 1989, several bills could be sent to an individual for a single procedure, as the hospital, the doctor, and the anesthesiologist were often paid separately. But he remembered that was not the case when Verne had surgery for his scars.

“Yes, everything is on a single bill,” the doctor confirmed.

“Then, when would you like the rest of the payment?” Emmett asked.

“I think after the surgery, and before Marty is discharged. If everything goes well – as I expect it will – I believe he could go home on Saturday.”

Marty began to breathe quickly again. Both Doc and the medical doctor turned to the young man, and both were alarmed by his pallor. “Put your head down between your knees,” Dr. Brooks directed. Marty immediately dropped his head, staring at his shoes.

“Don’t pass out on me, kid,” Doc pleaded, placing a tentative hand on Marty’s back.

“He’ll be all right,” Brooks said. “I have reviving scents, if necessary.”

“No,” Marty mumbled. “I’m okay.” He sat up slowly. His face had begun to regain some color. “Don’t need smelling salts.” He rolled his shoulders, grimacing faintly. “I’m okay,” he repeated.

Marty and Doc spent another twenty minutes in the doctor’s office, going over the instructions and times for Marty’s admission and surgery. All of the pertinent information was sent to Doc’s watch(es), but the pages were printed as well, for Marty’s benefit. He was given a folder-type binder, and Marty was dismayed by the many sheets of printed paper.

The two made their way back upstairs to the train. There were other people in the elevator, so Marty and Doc were not able to speak privately until they made it up to the parking area. “We aren’t going to go ahead to Wednesday evening, when I need to go to the hospital, are we?”

“We could,” Emmett answered, "but I don’t think we should. I think we should let the few days progress naturally. I know you need rest.”

“So do you, Doc. If you were flying around between different times last night when you were supposed to be sleeping.”

“Touché” the older man said.

“Well, where will we go?”

Emmett opened the train with a remote. “First, if we are going to be here longer than an hour, I have to hide the train. I don’t trust it in an open-air parking area like this for several days in a row. Then, we’ll get a room at the hotel near the hospital. As you are scheduled for surgery, we’ll get a discount on the charge.”

“What will we do for clothes and stuff, if we’re staying a few days?”

“There is a suitcase under the bench. I have several shirts and some trousers for the both of us, as well as underclothes, pajamas, and personal items.”

“Were you ever a Boy Scout, Doc? “

“I was indeed.”

Marty scoffed. “I never would’ve known.” Marty himself had been in Scouts, but the “be prepared” motto had never really caught on with him.

The young man stepped into the train after Emmett and moved back to the bench, bending to search for the suitcase. It was wedged so that it wouldn’t shift while the train was in motion, which was why he hadn't previously noticed it. “Where will you hide the train? And then how do we get places?”

“There are cab companies and local drivers who transport individuals, plus self-driving public transportation.” He tapped one of his watches. “I can take care of getting us anywhere by calling on this.”

“I’m such a noob,” Marty said, grinning.

Emmett smiled back, bolstered by Marty’s humor, especially after the young man had been so upset in the doctor’s office.

“And as for hiding the time train – I have a place. I actually purchased an unused storage building at an old airfield when I brought the boys here for some vaccinations. That was 2039. . . We hid the train then, too, and did some sight-seeing.”

"Sight-seeing?"

“Yes. The future is the place to do it. For one thing, we won’t return to an extremely altered present, as you did after your original trip to 1955.”

"Well, yeah, but how did you know you wouldn't run into your future counterparts?"

Emmett turned from where he setting the train controls. "I wouldn't have a double in 2039."

Marty paused. For Doc to live to see 2039 the typical way, he'd be almost 120 years old. Apparently the older man didn't think that possible. Although it pained him, Marty had to agree. "Okay, but what about Clara, or the boys? Or me? I'd be how old, like 70? I'd still be around."

"We really weren't here for long, and we didn't stay in Hill Valley. There was a museum in Auburn that the boys wanted to see, as they hoped to find personal memorabilia from both the 1880s and the 1980s."

Marty sighed, tired of the debate. "I guess I get that. It's what made that Blast From The Past store so interesting. I just hope neither of your boys left that museum with a sports almanac."

Emmett chuckled, then returned to the train controls.

A moment later the train took to the sky, flying toward the nearby defunct airport.

The hotel had a restaurant on the lowest level, and as neither Marty nor Doc had eaten much before leaving the present, that was the first place they went after obtaining a room. It was almost five-thirty and the restaurant was busy, but since they were a party of two, it didn’t take long for the men to receive their orders. Marty was pleased to find that even in the future, restaurant fare hadn’t changed drastically. But he started nodding off over his plate, and when Emmett informed the server that he wanted to pay, a good portion of Marty’s meal was placed in a to-go container. “At least we have a fridge in the room,” he said, yawning.

“That container is its own refrigerator,” Emmett said. “You can reheat your food in it as well.”

Marty examined the container. “So it’s a fridge and a microwave?”

“In essence, yes.”

After they returned to their hotel room Marty dropped the to-go container on the counter in the little kitchen, then flopped onto the bed that he had previously chosen as “his.” He kicked off his sneakers and curled up on top of the covers.

Doc came over to swat at his feet. “I have pajamas for you. If you are going to bed, you are not sleeping in your clothes. It’s about time you outgrew that.”

Marty rose, rubbing at his face. “Future pajamas?”

“Of course. But they are not much different than present sleepwear.”

“As long as they don’t have funky buttons.” Marty took the pajamas that Doc handed him, and went into the bathroom to change. When he emerged he went straight back to the bed, this time stripping down the covers and burrowing underneath.

Emmett went into the bathroom next, and found Marty’s jeans and shirt discarded on the floor. He picked them up with a sigh, bringing them out to the main room, planning on reprimanding the young man.

Marty was already asleep, his head deep in the pillow.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Emmett hadn’t been sleeping as soundly as was typical (and since he’d become a father, sound sleep was hard to come by), so when there was movement in the hotel room and a far lamp was lit, Emmett sat up in his bed, blinking.

The man traced the movement to a table somewhat separated from the sleeping area by a partial wall. Marty was sitting at the table, going through the paperwork he’d received from Dr. Brooks.

“Marty?” Emmett said, and the young man quickly turned his head. “Aw, Doc, I didn’t want to wake you.”

Emmett checked one of his watches, which automatically glowed in the dim light. “What are you doing up? It’s two thirty-three A.M.”

Marty shrugged, his left shoulder not raising as much. “If I don’t take one of my pain pills before I go to bed, my shoulder and my ribs start to hurt and wake me up. But I guess it’s good I forgot them – Dr. Brooks said he wanted me to stick to acetaminophen.”

Emmett threw aside his covers, stretching. “I have your pills, Marty. But I also have Tylenol – it was in the first aid kit I took from the train.” Emmett had tossed the first aid kit into the suitcase before they had left the train in the storage building at the old airport. 

“Oh.” Marty snorted. “Shoulda figured.”

“Would you like some Tylenol?” Emmett moved to the luggage rack in the open closet, opening the suitcase.

“Yeah.” Marty rubbed his eye. “I’m so over this. It’s been a month. I don’t know why things still hurt.”

Doc took a bottle of water from the refrigerator (when they had returned from the restaurant, he’d found it stocked with fruit, water, orange juice, and other amenities). He placed the bottle of water next to Marty, along with the bottle of Tylenol.

“It takes longer than a month to recover from broken ribs. As for your collarbone, it depends on the severity of the break, although as you’ve neglected wearing your sling at home, possibly that is not bothering you as much?”

“Sometimes it bugs me.” Marty swallowed two Tylenol. “But the sling was getting annoying.”

“Hmm.” Emmett took the bottle of Tylenol. “I’ll put this in the bathroom.” When he returned to sit near Marty, he said, “You do realize you aggravated your injuries when you fell. I’m sure that has increased your pain. And I know it can be uncomfortable traveling in the train."

Marty massaged his temples. “Whatever. I  - Hey. Where did the water come from?”

“The refrigerator is quite stocked – I noticed it after you fell asleep.  I believe people who reserve rooms have full refrigerators when they arrive. As we were day-of occupants, they filled our refrigerator after the fact. We just happened to be at the restaurant when it was done.”

“Huh. That’s pretty cool.” Marty took another drink.

“How long have you been looking at this paperwork?” Doc pulled over the binder.

“I don’t know. Twenty minutes?” Marty waved dismissively at the papers. “Some of it I can’t understand. You know, 'future speak', I guess. And the representation of the bionic eye isn’t as fancy as the 3-D one Brooks showed us on his computer. Kinda wanted to see that again.”

“Oh, well.” Emmett lifted his wrist, tapping on a watch. “Turn that light off, would you?”

Marty did as directed. The room became dark again. Emmett aimed his watch at a blank wall, hit a button, and Marty’s paperwork suddenly projected on the wall. Doc slid his finger on his watch until he’d come to the 3-D picture of the bionic eye. “This one?”

“Jesus.” Marty glanced at Doc’s watch. “What can’t that thing do?”

Emmett just smiled.

Marty rose, and went to stand near the projection. The picture of the bionic eye was automatically rotating, as it had on the screen of the doctor’s computer. “This thing is amazing,” he said softly. “I can’t believe they can insert it in like an hour.”

“I know surgeries during this time period are computer-assisted. Plus as the eye is a computer itself, it should automatically attach. . . Well, after you receive the injection. From what I understand, that will prompt your muscles and nerves to be receptive to the prosthesis.”

Marty came back to the table, sitting down heavily. Emmett deactivated his watch’s projection feature, and the room fell into darkness again. Marty touched the nearby lamp, relighting it.

“It’s not just my shoulder and ribs that woke me up. I’m really nervous, Doc.”

“Will it help if I told you everything will be fine? And to remind you that your doctor said the same?”

Marty shook his head. “It should. But I can’t help it. My stomach is all upset. Nerves.”

Emmett grunted softly. “Well, let’s look at it another way. Right now you have no eye. If this doesn’t work, you won’t be any worse off.”

Marty clapped a hand over his mouth. Then he bent over, beginning to snicker. “Doc!” he gasped, starting to laugh harder. “All this work, the fake social security number, the fake ID – all your cash!”

“It’s only money.” Emmett joined in on the laughter.

Marty put his hands over his face, still giggling. “Oh, my God. Verne would be so mad.” He sighed. “But at least I wouldn’t have to tell my parents about time travel and deal with my mom realizing she kissed me.”

Emmett chuckled briefly. “Do you think you can get back to sleep?”

Marty stood, rolling his shoulder experimentally. “I can try.”

After the lamp was again extinguished, the two returned to their beds.

Marty didn’t fall asleep again until almost four. Once Emmett was sure the young man was asleep, he dropped off not long after.

When Marty and Doc rose at a more appropriate time, they had a combined breakfast that included some of the items in the refrigerator and Marty’s leftovers from the restaurant. After they’d each had a shower and dressed for the day, Emmett suggested going out to explore the future Hill Valley, hoping the excursion would distract Marty from his anxiety. “As much as you see that is different, you’ll be amazed at what has remained the same,” he said.

Once the two stepped outside of the security and comfort of the hotel, though, Marty’s unease only increased. He wasn’t able to enjoy the mix of flying and on-the-road vehicles, or the self-serve fast food restaurants, or the policemen that buzzed around on flying scooters (although he did mention that the scooters reminded him of the speeder bikes in Return of the Jedi).

But during the impromptu sight-seeing, Marty kept scanning any individual they passed, looking for possible doubles of their time-traveling family. It didn’t matter the age – maybe they’d run into a very young Jules and Verne, in the future to receive immunizations or vaccinations. And if Jules and Verne were there, Emmett and Clara couldn't be far behind.

“I didn’t take the boys to this specific time for any of their shots,” Emmett tried to reassure his friend.

“But when did you take Verne to get his scars fixed? That was in 2040.  Maybe your whole family is here right now!”

Doc shook his head again. “No, that was a few months ago, from this date. And it was in a completely different part of the medical center. Pediatric plastic surgery.”

“And you were there, just a few months ago. And now you’re here, with me – won’t they recognize you?”

“I’d say it’s unlikely, but if they did, I gave the name Emmett then as I did now. Plus I don’t think it’s unbelievable that I could be your great-uncle. When people pay in cash, few questions are asked.”

“Well, even if we don’t see your family, I could be here! Jennifer could be here!”

“What makes you think you would still be in Hill Valley?”

Marty shook his head, twisting around to look at another small crowd of pedestrians. “When you took me and Jenn to 2015, my parents still lived in Hill Valley, and they were close to eighty!”

“Yes, well. . . I did tell you and Jennifer both that your future was unwritten, if you recall. As you avoided injuring yourself in a drag race against Needles, that 2015 you saw would cease to be.”

“I know that.” Marty sat on a nearby bench, almost falling over as it was hinged so it could face either direction. Emmett placed his hand on the bench, steadying it, and then sat next to his friend. Marty scowled faintly, looking around to see if anyone had noticed his near fall.

Once he felt he and Doc were not being scrutinized, Marty went on. “I know that 2015 I saw wouldn’t happen that way – but what would it have to do with my parents staying in Hill Valley all their lives? You’ve stayed in Hill Valley all your life. And 72-year-old me might be walking down this block in five minutes!”

“That would be very coincidental.”

Marty sighed in frustration.

“And as for your parents. . . There is always the possibility that they stayed in Hill Valley because that is where you lived. And they didn’t want to leave you.”

“Leave their grandkids, you mean.”

Doc tipped his head. “In the unfortunate 2015, where you had injured yourself and you and Jennifer had a weak marriage and problematic children. . . Your parents remained because they didn’t have the funds to leave."

“How do you mean? In this better timeframe, they’re doing well. My dad’s book is a best seller, and I’ve got a killer truck. What happened?”

"Well, first they paid to settle the legal matters with the driver of the Rolls Royce that you hit when you were drag-racing. Then after your wedding, they gifted you and Jennifer some money to help you purchase your home.”

“Oh, God.” Marty put his head in his hands. “They stayed because they had to take care of me.”

“That was my opinion.”

Marty lifted his head, but his expression was desolate. “You’re really not helping my mood, Doc.”

“Would you like to go back to the hotel?”

Marty stood. “Can we?”

Marty didn’t leave the hotel again after their brief outing. Emmett thought the young man would get a little stir-crazy, but then he remembered the lavish hotel they were staying in. There was an arboretum in the middle (which they had passed on the way to and back from the main restaurant), a tech center with all of the extras, and a mid-size library that held only paper-and-page books. There was also a small breakfast restaurant and an all-night ‘50s-style diner. Emmett’s family had visited the diner once Verne was discharged after his scar surgery. The boys had loved the atmosphere and Clara had been charmed, but Emmett had found it lacking. It was nothing like Lou’s Café. Other than the music, which had been very accurate.

Marty and Emmett strolled in the arboretum. Emmett dodged the computer center, as in the present, it was still several years before most households would even hear of the Internet. It was even longer than that before the onset of social media. As Marty was clever, Emmett knew the young man would possibly catch on to the future technology. What Emmett didn’t know was how Marty would feel, knowing he could look up his life (and everyone else’s) with a few keystrokes. Would Marty be able to abstain from self-researching, or would the urge, the craving to know overcome him?

It was better to just avoid the tech center completely.

The two men spent some quality time in the library. Emmett suggested two future series to Marty: the Game of Thrones books, and the Harry Potter series. “Both of these series have been made into films – in the theatre and on cable.” Emmett decided not to explain streaming television. “I know you won’t be able to read all of the books in two short days, but if you read the first of either series and find you enjoy it, I have the rest at home. Jules is fond of Martin's books, while Verne is taken with Harry Potter. Those books are aimed more for teens, but Clara and I have been reading aloud to Verne at night, and we’ve both been enjoying the stories.”

Doc was holding a book, and when Marty glanced at the cover he smirked. "That's not a future, book, Doc. I mean, I guess it's a 'future' book, but I know that exists in 1989." The book Emmett had chosen was Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time: From the Big Bang to Black Holes.

"Oh, yes, this came out last year - well, last year in our present time. I have a copy at home. Actually, I think there are two, a hardcover and a paperback." 

"So why check that one out, instead of something you haven't read?"

"Ah, this is one of my favorite books." Emmett lifted the book, paging through it. "I have read it several times, and I never tire of it." 

Marty chose to start with the first book of George R.R. Martin’s series, A Game of Thrones. The library let hotel guests check out the books, and he read while sitting on a bench in the arboretum, or resting in bed in their room. Emmett found himself watching Marty more than reading the Hawking book. He was happy to see how absorbed Marty was in his literary choice, and was even happier that the young man hadn’t mentioned his gnawing unease in a while. While Doc didn’t think his friend was no longer anxious about his surgery, Marty was at least able to focus on something positive for a few hours.

They sampled the food at the diner on Tuesday, and the breakfast restaurant on Wednesday. Marty tried to read some more after breakfast, but he soon put down the book. “I can’t concentrate,” he muttered. “You want to go walk around the arboretum?”

When Emmett and Marty had first visited the arboretum, Marty had thought the flowery smells would be overpowering. And while there was definitely a floral aroma once one first walked in, the scent was mild, as the arboretum was well ventilated, and there were non-fragrant grasses among the individual flowers.

Marty was drawn to the botanical garden, which surprised Doc (and frankly, surprised Marty as well). But there was a peace about the place. You could sit on a bench and watch the butterflies and the random birds and just breathe.

Marty and Doc walked for about ten minutes before taking a seat on a bench. They were comfortably silent for several moments, until Marty gestured to a group of light blue flowers, swaying softly on their green stems. There was a goldish-yellow color in the middle of each flower.

“Doc, do you know the name of those flowers? I can’t see the marker from here.”

“Why don’t you ask?” the scientist said.

“. . .I thought I did. . .”

“No – ask out loud. You’ll get an answer.”

Marty looked suspiciously at his friend, then shrugged. “What are those blue flowers with a yellow dot in the middle?” he said in a louder tone.

“That is iris sibirica, also known as the Siberian Iris,” an unseen voice said. "This particular iris is called Blue Moon."

Marty whipped his head around, looking for the individual who had spoken. “What the. . .”

Emmett just smiled.

“Huh,” Marty said. “The future. Cool.” He settled himself, and gazed again at the flowers. “Jennifer told me once those flowers reminded her of my eyes. Eye.” He snorted. “I can’t believe I couldn’t remember the name. Iris. Ironic, huh?”

"I didn’t think of the name in that nature. Yes, quite ironic.”

They sat for a few more minutes, until the warmth and quiet got to Marty, and he started to doze. When he almost slipped off the bench (which woke him quite nicely), Doc frowned. “You didn’t sleep well again, I take it?”

“No. I didn’t want to wake you, so I just stared at the ceiling and thought about everything that could go wrong with my surgery.”

“Do you think you could take a nap? I don’t like that you won’t have any substantial rest before heading over to the hospital this evening.”

Marty grunted. “I bet I could curl up on the bench here and take a nap, but somehow I don’t think that would be acceptable.”

Back in the room, Marty lay on his bed in his clothes, only removing his sneakers. Emmett kept the lights off and the curtains drawn, but Marty still moved around in the bed, grumbling to himself.

Doc removed one of his watches, tapped the screen, and then set it on the table in between the beds. A soft whirring sound emanated from the timepiece, which Emmett had aimed in Marty’s direction.

Marty lifted his head. “What’s that?”

“White noise. It’s supposed to be relaxing.”

“Oh, yeah. I think I’ve heard of that.” Marty turned toward the noise, closing his eyes.

Marty awoke in time for lunch, which was a light fare from the refrigerator. Marty’s doctor had requested he start fasting after lunch. For once Doc was watching Marty to make sure he didn't eat too much, as opposed to worrying about his friend's recently waning appetite. 

After cleaning up the small kitchen, Marty looked at one of Emmett's wrists. "What time is it?"

"It is 1:12 P.M." 

"And I'm supposed to go over to the hospital at six, right?"

"Yes - in four hours and forty-eight minutes." 

"Aw, man." Marty put his head on the table. "That's forever." 

"Maybe watch the entertainment screen." 

Marty shook his head. He'd tried watching the fancy "television" the day before and had not understood or appreciated the current fare. There were some "antique" movies to choose from, and he'd cued up both Ferris Bueller's Day Off and The Breakfast Club, but he hadn't watched either film all of the way through.

Marty located his book, and sprawling on his stomach on his bed, he found where he'd left off and started to read. When he realized he'd been staring at the same page for several minutes, he groaned, tossed the book aside, and flipped over onto his back. 

"What time is it now?"

"1:21 P.M." 

Marty groaned again.

Wednesday, July 18, 2040

7:25 P.M.

Hill Valley, California

Marty moved his legs around restlessly as he lay in the inclined hospital bed. His fascination with the future advancements ("Velcro on the gown, Doc! Velcro!") had quickly abated. The machines that monitored his blood pressure and oxygen were much smaller, but they were still there. He still had an IV inserted in his arm, and a pole next to his bed that held up the IV bag. The room had attractive pictures on the wall and the window was showing the beauty of twilight in Hill Valley, but Marty noticed neither. 

He sighed, tossing his head on the pillow. "Can't they just get things going, Doc?"

The older man was sitting near the bed, two bags by his feet - one holding the clothes Marty had arrived in, and the other an overnight bag Marty had packed to take to the hospital. That "bag" was actually a tote from the hotel.

"It is my experience that there is a lot of 'hurry up and wait' in a medical setting," the man replied to Marty's question.

A moment after Doc had spoken, a nurse came into the room, pushing a small cart. The uppermost shelf held a syringe and a vial of liquid. She pushed the cart over to Marty's left side. "Mr. Clinton, it's time for the pre-op injection Dr. Brooks has ordered." 

"Finally," Marty said. "That's why I'm here." He lifted the arm with the IV in it. 

The nurse was drawing on gloves. "Oh, no, I'm sorry, this doesn't go into the IV." She took the syringe and plunged it into the liquid, drawing it out of the vial. She then looked over at Doc. "Sir? What was your name?"

"Emmett." 

"Could you help me?" She gestured toward Marty's head. 

Doc stood slowly, stepping around the bags. "Help you with what?"

"Well, first I need his patch removed." 

"Why?" Marty and Doc asked at the same time. 

The nurse smiled patiently. "So I can administer the injection." 

"Administer it where?" Marty asked, his voice cracking. 

"Your eye needs to prepped to receive the prosthesis. Dr. Brooks said you didn't have the typical intermediary care, so we need to inject the quick-growth serum."

"Doc. . ." Marty turned his head to look at his friend in fear. 

"It'll be all right, Marty." Emmett slowly removed Marty's patch. "I'm right here." 

Once Marty's patch had been removed, the nurse leaned closer with the syringe. Marty twisted his head to avoid it. "Emmett, please hold his head still for me," the nurse asked briskly. 

Doc gripped Marty's head so that he couldn't move away from the syringe. "I'm sorry, Marty," he whispered. 

As the needle stabbed into Marty's left eye socket, the young man screamed. 

TO BE CONTINUED. . . 

Chapter Text

Marty’s face had reddened when he’d screamed, but after the nurse had completed the injection and placed a suction patch onto his eye, the young man had paled considerably. He was breathing heavily and trembling.

Emmett had stepped back once he no longer needed to restrain Marty’s head, but he was still near the bed. He grasped Marty’s right hand. His young friend squeezed his hand weakly, then released it.

“Is he all right?” Doc said, as the nurse packed up her cart. “He’s awfully pale.” The welt under Marty's right eye stood out vividly against the pale skin.

“He should be fine. The worst is over.”

Marty glared at the woman. “You couldn’t have sedated me for that?” he choked out.

“Sedation would negatively affect the serum."

"Even a local anesthetic?" Emmett asked.

"Yes, any kind of sedation disrupts the necessary structural reaction."

“You could have warned him, at least,” Doc said angrily.

“I was under the impression that Dr. Brooks had informed you about the injection,” the nurse said. She frowned, appearing less self-assured. “Was that not the case?”

“Yes, he did mention Mar-tin would need an injection, but neither of us were quite expecting this.” Emmett gestured at Marty, who was still trembling slightly.

“I am sorry.” The nurse reached toward Marty, as if to touch his shoulder in reassurance, then thought better of it. “I’ll leave you two alone. If you need me, just press the button.”

Once the nurse left the room, Marty wheezed, “That hurt like hell.”

“I’m sorry, Marty. I didn’t realize the injection would go into your eye. I’m so sorry.”

“Wasn’t your fault.” Marty was holding his body rigidly, gasping between words.

“I still should have researched, asked your doctor. . .”

“Me too.” Marty waved a hand briefly, then let out another gasp.

“Is it still very painful?”

Marty turned his head toward his friend; just the movement made him shudder. “I’m trying really hard not to cry.”

Emmett swallowed back a dismayed sigh. Watching Marty shiver in pain, whimpering, made the man feel helpless. He was reminded of Clara’s labors with the boys. He had truly hated to see his beloved in any type of discomfort, and the fact that he couldn’t relieve her of her pain made it all the worse. If possible, Emmett would have gladly taken on her pain for her so that she could get a few hours of relief. And not only had she gone through incredible agony, but she’d given him two perfect sons, a family that he’d never thought he’d have.

It took about five minutes before Marty’s pain began to ebb. Emmett sat beside the young man, letting him grip his hand. He talked softly, telling Marty tales of his sons’ exploits, hoping to distract his friend from his suffering.

When Marty’s gasping breathing settled and his grip lightened, Emmett tilted his head to look closer at the young man. “Is it starting to feel better?”

Marty lifted a hand to lightly touch the suction patch on his left eye. “It’s . . . weird. It doesn’t exactly hurt like it did, but it’s warm. And itchy.”

“Maybe that’s the serum working.” Emmett shrugged.

“Maybe.” Marty lowered his hand. “What time is it?”

“Nearly 8 P.M.”

Marty tipped his head down and looked at Doc from under his brow. Understanding the expression, Emmett said “7:54.”

“Are they gonna kick you out of here? Do they still do visitor hours?”

“Typically visitors are asked to leave patient rooms at 8 P.M., but it’s not a hard and fast rule. And I’m not planning on going anywhere.” Emmett settled himself comfortably in the visitor’s chair. “Clara and I spent the night in Verne’s room. These chairs recline nicely.”

Marty shook his head. “If all I’m going to do is sleep, you should go back to the hotel. Sleep in a bed.”

“I’ll be fine. And I’d have to be over here bright and early to see you off for your surgery, so I’d rather stay here.” He peered at Marty. “Do you mind?”

Marty smiled. “Not at all.”

Marty was indeed correct that the most he would be expected to do was sleep. Another nurse (not the one who had injected the serum) came in and checked his vitals, then directed him to get some rest in preparation for the next day’s surgery. She raised her eyebrows at Emmett, but before she could say anything to the older man, Marty said, “He stays.”

The nurse nodded. “Would you care for a pillow or blanket, sir?”

“Both, if it’s not too much trouble.”

Once both Emmett and Marty were settled for the night, though, neither could rest. Emmett had slipped his book into Marty’s tote, and he reached in to get it out, knowing how reading calmed him. But when he dug into the bag, he touched Marty’s book first. Bringing out A Game of Thrones, he snapped on the small light.

Marty looked his way. Emmett lifted the book. “Would you like me to read to you?”

“Uh. . . Yeah. That would be nice.” Marty grinned. “You see where I left off?”

“I do.” Opening to the correct chapter, Emmett began to read. “Chapter 43 – Eddard.” He cleared his throat. “Through the high narrow windows of the Red Keep’s cavernous throne room, the light of sunset spilled across the floor, laying dark red stripes upon the walls where the heads of dragons had once hung.”

Thursday, July 19, 2040

7:56 A.M.

Hill Valley, California

Marty had fallen asleep within twenty minutes of Doc reading aloud. The older man had still felt wide awake, but instead of changing to the Hawking book, he'd continued to quietly read A Game of Thrones until his eyes became heavy.

The two were woken early by a parade of medical personnel stopping in the room. Marty's IV was checked, his temperature was taken, and a special gel was placed on his welt and on the scars around his left eye socket (which were visible as the suction pad was much smaller than the patch he had been wearing). The anesthesiologist had introduced himself to Marty and then had spoken to both men. He'd explained that Marty would receive a initial shot (in his IV) while in his room, and once that had taken affect he'd be moved into surgery, where he'd be fully anesthetized. "When the surgery is complete and if there are no complications, you will be brought back to this room." He'd nodded at Doc. "You won't need to leave or go to a waiting room – you can wait in here. Of course you can leave if you'd like – just leave your watch info so you can be contacted."

Dr. Brooks knocked on the door a little before 8:00 A.M. "Hello, Emmett, Marty." He made his way to the bed, and sat his hip on the edge of the mattress. "I hear I owe you an apology," he said. "I was told of what happened with your injection last night. I am very sorry that I did not warn you of how invasive the process would be." He glanced over at Emmett. "I know you haven't been raised in an environment with medical terminology, but I incorrectly assumed your uncle was aware where the injection would be located, and that he would have alerted you." 

"Yeah, neither of us expected it," Marty said. "It's over and done, but maybe think about warning a guy, huh? In case he misunderstood."

Dr. Brooks nodded somberly. "Noted." He offered Emmett a contrite look, and the scientist smiled briefly.

"Now I'd like to check your eye, see how it's reacted to the serum," the doctor said next. He deftly removed the suction patch, even avoiding smudging the gel. "How does it feel?"

"It was warm and itchy last night. It's not itchy anymore, but it feels kind of achy." 

The doctor replaced the patch. "Everything looks good." He patted Marty's shoulder. "In a few hours, you'll be back in here with a new eye." 

Marty leaned back in his bed after Brooks left. "Who's gonna come in next, Doc, huh? The custodian?"

Who came in next was a male nurse, pushing another cart with another syringe. Marty sat up, startled, and Emmett was immediately at his side. "What is this?" 

"His pre-surgery medication," the nurse said, bemused. "I thought the anesthesiologist spoke to you - " 

"This goes in my IV, right?" Marty asked. 

"Yes, right in the port."

It didn't take long for Marty to feel the effects of the medication. He blinked a few times, then waved his hand in front of his face. "Wow." 

"Are you all right?" Emmett asked, smiling mildly. 

"Huh? Yeah. Yeah. I'm goog. Good. Good." Marty laughed. "Goog." He looked at Emmett. "Man, your hair is wild." 

"Is it?"

"Hmm." Marty closed his eye, letting out a long sigh. "You know when you get a song stuck? In your head? Like, what's that?" 

"An earworm?"

"Yeah! That!" Marty grinned. "I have one. An earwormie." He inhaled, then started to sing: 

"I can see clearly now, the rain is gone,

I can see all obstacles in my way,

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind,

It's gonna be a bright, bright,

Sun-shiny day."

Even while drugged, Marty's voice was on-pitch and the words were clear and crisp. But that was the last sensible thing that came out of his mouth. When two nurses came to retrieve Marty and move his bed down to surgery, the young man was staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look on his face. 

Emmett rose, watching quietly as Marty's IV bag was removed from the pole and placed into the bed for travel. One of the nurses spoke to Emmett. "He'll be fine. He should be back in here in an hour or so."

Doc nodded. He reached to grasp Marty's right hand. "I'll be here when you wake up." 

Marty's eye rolled slowly toward Emmett. "See you," he mumbled. 

Emmett's gaze followed Marty's bed as it was pushed down the hall. "With two eyes, God willing," he said.

Thursday, July 19, 2040

11:22 A.M.

Marty was unsure what woke him up. Was it his alarm? He tried to remember what time of year it was. He had a feeling it was summer. Was it summer? Why had he set his alarm? He liked to sleep in when he was home from school.

Or was it his dorm-mate, Dalton? They had bunk beds in their dorm, Marty in the top bunk and Dalton on the bottom. Marty often awoke to Dalton attempting to quietly masturbate.

But no. He wasn’t in a bunk bed. So he had to be home.

It was dark, or he was sick. He couldn’t see well.

He could hear someone else breathing nearby. Was that what had woken him? If he was sick, maybe his mother was there.

“. . .Mom?”

The other person spoke. “Afraid not.”

“Doc?”

“Got it in two.” Marty felt a hand rest gently on his arm. “How are you feeling?”

“Feeling?” Marty repeated. “Am I sick?”

“No. . . But you are in a hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

Marty didn’t answer. His face scrunched up.

“I can’t see you.”

“No, your eyes are bandaged.”

Marty’s hands went slowly to his face, and he felt the bandages. “Wait. A hospital? What happened?"  His head turned abruptly in the direction of Doc’s voice. “Why is my right eye bandaged?! I could see out of the right eye! What did they fucking do? I’m blind!”

“Marty, calm down – “

“Doc, no, what did they do? What did they do?” Marty cried.

“Marty, you’re fine – “

“No. . .” Marty shook his head. “I’m not. I want to go home.” His voice was slurring and slowing down. Emmett sighed, grasping Marty’s hand. Obviously his friend was only partially alert.

“Rest, Marty. Go back to sleep.”

“Will you stay?”

“Of course.”

In a matter of moments Marty’s breathing had become deep and even. Doc leaned back, sighing again.

He hoped Marty would be more rational once the anesthesia had completely wore off.

Marty began to stir again less than an hour later. Emmett, who had been reading, put aside the Stephen Hawking book and directed his attention to his friend. “Marty? Can you hear me?”

Marty coughed, then cleared his throat. “Yeah, Doc. What time is it?”

"It is now twelve minutes past noon."

“They’re done? My surgery?”

“Yes. Dr. Brooks stopped by recently to see if you were awake yet. He should be back soon.”

“Why can’t I see?” Marty raised his hands to his eyes. “Why did they bandage both?”

“They healed the welt under your right eye, the injury you received when you fell down the stairs?” Marty nodded slowly. “As well as the scars around your left eye. What you have on are pressure bandages, which greatly minimize swelling. Verne had them as well, when he came out of surgery. The bandages only needed to remain on for a few hours.”

“How long has it been for me?”

“Well, I was told you came out of surgery around ten, but I didn't see you back in here - with the bandages - until ten-sixteen. So it’s been at least two hours.”

Marty nodded again. He pushed himself up in bed, which was only slightly difficult without vision. But then he froze.

“Doc, my shoulder doesn’t hurt.”

“No?” Emmett said. “How do you mean?” Even without seeing the man, Marty got the idea Doc was feigning surprise.

Marty swung his left arm out. “I’m not going to hit anything am I?”

“No – they removed your IV.”

Marty rotated his arm, hunched his shoulder, and then felt it with his right hand. There wasn’t one iota of pain.

“Okay. . .” Next Marty pressed both hands to his chest, breathing deeply. A look of joy came on his face.

“My ribs don’t hurt! I can breathe without pain!”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

Marty paused with his hands still on his chest. “You did this, didn’t you? You asked them to fix my injuries.”

There was a beat; Marty got the impression that Doc had made a gesture, momentarily forgetting  his young friend couldn’t see it. “Repairing broken bones is relatively easy in 2040. Especially as your injuries were not fresh. They have a device that they pass over the area of the injury, and the pulses and vibrations cause the broken bones to knit together.”

“Holy crap.” Marty smiled widely. “Thank you, Doc. God, thank you!”

“You’re very welcome.” Emmett replied. “You wouldn’t allow me to go to the past to prevent your accident, but you didn’t say anything about me not repairing your broken bones in the future.”

“No, I didn’t, did I?” Marty laughed.

A brief knock was heard at the door. “Well, based on the laughter I hear, I believe my patient has awakened. Hello, Marty.”

Marty turned toward the voice, suddenly becoming serious. “Dr. Brooks.”

The young man felt the doctor press a hand on his bed. “And how are you feeling?”

Marty smiled. “Pretty great, actually.”

“Are your eyes bothering you at all?”

He shook his head. “No, no pain or anything. Maybe a little itchy.”

“That’s most likely from the bandages. If you’re ready, I can remove them.”

Marty nodded vigorously. “Oh, yeah. Go for it.”

“I’ll do the right bandage first, as all we did to that eye was repair the injury underneath it. Your vision may be a bit blurry at first, but that will pass.” The doctor slowly removed the white bandage from Marty’s right eye, peeling it downward.

Light broke through the darkness. Marty opened his eye. He could see the shape of the doctor standing before him, as well as Emmett standing nearby, but the features weren’t detailed. Marty blinked several times, squinting, and was gratified when the blurriness began to ease.

“Look at that,” Emmett said. “The welt is completely gone.”

Marty touched underneath his eye. “Far out,” he breathed.

“Now for your left eye. Your vision with both eyes may not be as you remembered it. The bionic eye is set in the same prescription as your sighted eye, which is 20/20. The only difference is that while your natural eye may degrade enough so that you need laser surgery – or glasses – your bionic eye will never lose the 20/20 vision.”

“But it won’t last forever,” Emmett said.

“It doesn’t need to last forever, Do– Uncle Em. Just for the rest of my life. Or, I guess until I’m 72.” He tried to wink at the Doc, but it looked more like a blink.

“Well, it definitely should last fifty years, with regular appointments of course,” Brooks said. “Any computer needs maintenance.”

“Computer . . . yeah,” Marty murmured.

The doctor moved over to Marty’s left side, and began to undo the sticky pressure bandage. Marty tried not to move his head. His throat clenched.

“Breathe, Marty,” the doctor advised.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

Emmett stayed on Marty’s right side. He took his friend’s hand. Marty latched on gratefully.

Once the doctor had finished removing the bandage, Marty sat with his left eye squeezed shut, still gasping for breath. “I’m afraid to open it.”

“Take your time,” Brooks said. “Get used to the idea.”

Marty nodded. He closed his right eye, and with both eyes closed he fought to regulate his breathing. In, out, in, out, in out.

Then he opened both eyes at the same time and gasped in shock.

He could see. Out of both eyes.

“Oh my God oh my God my God,” he babbled. “Jesus. I can see. I can see!” He was gasping again, unable to process his extreme emotions. “Doc, Doc, look!”

Emmett was staring in wide-eyed wonder. “I see it, Marty. But I can’t – it’s amazing. It’s perfect.”

“I want to see! I want to see!” Marty threw aside his covers, meaning to go look in the bathroom mirror.

“Wait, Marty.” Brooks put a staying hand firmly on Marty’s shoulder. “I know you said you feel fine, but you just had surgery. I’d like you to stay in bed. I’ll bring you a mirror.”

When the doctor left the room, Marty grabbed at Emmett. “What does it look like? Does it look okay?”

“It looks wonderful. I’d swear it was your eye – wait.” Emmett looked closer. “Your pupil. It’s like a lens on a camera. But you can only see it if you know to look for it. Anyone else would just assume it’s your natural eye. The color is exact.”

Dr. Brooks re-entered the room with a hand mirror. “Here, Marty. Take a look.”

Marty took the mirror in a shaking hand, then lifted in front of his face.

He stared at the flawless reflection. No scars. No bruise. Two identically colored eyes. When he looked left or right, both eyes moved in tandem. When he blinked or squinted his left eye acted exactly as it had done before. It was like Doc had said. The bionic eye looked like his natural eye.

Marty began to cry. 

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

Marty had barely collected himself before another doctor knocked on the door perfunctorily before entering. Dr. Brooks turned and nodded at the new visitor. “Marty, this is Dr. Suman. She repaired your bone injuries,” he informed the young man. Marty quickly wiped at his eyes and gave the woman a weak smile.

Emmett delivered several tissues to Marty, then turned to shake the woman’s hand. “We spoke before Marty’s surgery.” He gestured to his friend. “He is very happy with the results – we both are.”

“I’m glad,” the Indian woman said. She had an odd type of “stethoscope” around her neck, that seemed thicker and had what appeared to be eye pieces instead of ear tips. “May I check how you are healing?”

“Uh, sure.”

Brooks stepped aside as the woman moved closer to Marty. She first pulled a pair of glasses from her pocket and slipped them on, then lifted the device and hooked the eye pieces onto her glasses. Next she powered on the thicker part of the apparatus. As Marty sat still, the woman ran the now-glowing device over his left collarbone, and then over his ribs.

Satisfied, the doctor stepped back, turning off the small machine. “Everything looks on track. How do you feel?”

Marty eyed the device, which he guessed was some type of mobile x-ray. “I was feeling pretty good. But I’m a little achy now, and tired.”

“I’m not surprised.” Dr. Brooks raised his eyebrows. “I must iterate, you need to stay in bed today, and rest. Not only did you receive an eye prosthesis, but you had corrective injury surgery. I’m sure Dr. Suman would not be happy if you re-injured yourself while your bones are still pliable.”

“I thought they were fixed – they don’t hurt anymore. Yeah, I’m kind of achy all over, but I don’t have the pain in my shoulder or my ribs anymore.”

“They are fixed, in layman’s terms,” Dr. Suman said. “But if you were to fall, or trip and catch yourself with your arms, the healed bones could re-break. By tomorrow they should be as strong as they were before the injury. I will check you again tomorrow morning, and if everything looks good, you will be able to walk around the hospital and see how you feel.”

Both doctors left not long after that, both again shaking hands with Emmett. Once the two men were alone, Doc looked intently at Marty. “You heard what Dr. Brooks said. You just had two surgeries. You need to rest.”

“Yeah, fine.” Marty squinted at Doc. “So when did she do my bone surgery?”

“After Dr. Brooks implanted your eye. Dr. Suman only needed another fifteen or twenty minutes to repair your injuries, and as you were already anesthetized, it was timely. The two physicians actually work together commonly, as certain eye injuries can include broken occipital bones or skull fractures and concussions.”

“You mean they can even cure concussions in 2040?”

“Not exactly cure, but they have treatments that can greatly reduce many challenges of a concussion, such as blurry vision or pain or nauseousness.”

“Wow. That would have been nice.” Marty had suffered random headaches for two weeks after his accident, and had thrown up a few times in the hospital.

He lay back now, crossing his arms. “You know, I still feel pretty good. I don’t know why I can’t get out of here tomorrow, why Brooks was saying Saturday.”

“Well, maybe you will get discharged tomorrow. If you follow directions today and stay in bed.”

“What if I have to go to the bathroom?”

Doc lifted his head and sighed. “Do you want me to walk you to the bathroom?”

Marty spent an unexpected amount of time in the bathroom, so long that Emmett knocked on the door, concerned. “Are you all right?”

Marty opened the door. “Just looking at my eye.” He returned to the mirror above the sink. Doc saw how Marty was leaning on the sink for support. “Bed,” he ordered.

After Marty was again settled in his bed, the tiredness hit hard. He blinked, fighting it.

“Marty, just go to sleep.”

“Are you going back to the hotel?”

Emmett looked around the room. “Maybe I will. Just for a few hours.” A real bed sounded nice.

But what if something goes wrong?

“Wrong? How do you mean?”

“What if they figure out my ID is fake?”

Emmett chuckled. “What do you think they’ll do, take back the eye?”

“I don’t know.” Marty frowned. “What if I get an infection, and they want to keep me here longer?” He yawned. “Now that this is done, I just want to go home.”

“And we will go home. Marty, you’re worrying needlessly. Everything will be fine.”

“Okay. . .” Marty’s reply was doubtful, but he did close his eyes.

And most everything was fine.

Emmett came back to visit Marty later in the day, finding his friend was still being cranky (Marty had barely eaten any of his supper, which was a bland post-surgery fare, and was now complaining that he was hungry). Anything logical that came out of Doc’s mouth was refuted with an argument and a scowl.

Marty’s behavior was explained later when he spiked a fever in the middle of the night.

Doc, who had been back at the hotel for the night, never knew that Marty had become ill. And when Doc came back the next morning, Marty was awake, alert, and eating a surprisingly edible breakfast. “Sorry I was a pain yesterday,” he said, after taking a drink. “I guess I was getting sick. I had a fever last night.”

“You had a fever? Why?”

Marty shrugged, spooning some eggs into his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, “What I was worried about. An infection.” He pointed to his right eye. “See, it’s a little red? Brooks said that happens sometimes, with all the stuff they did, that the natural eye gets overwhelmed. He put some drops in it. It was worse last night. Looked like pink eye.” He bit into a piece of toast and chewed. “They gave me some kind of liquid medicine, too. Knocked the fever out really fast.”

Emmett shook his head. “I don’t like not knowing you were sick.”

“I’m in a hospital, Doc. They took care of it.” Marty opened his arms out. “Don’t I look fine?”

“I’d still like to talk to your doctor.”

“Well, Dr. Suman should be here soon, to clear me so I can get out of bed and explore this place. I guess you can talk to her if you want. Brooks is in surgery.”

A half hour later, Marty and Emmett were roaming the halls that branched out from Marty's room. Marty still had his gown on, but had charmed Dr. Suman enough that she’d found a small pair of scrubs pants that he could wear. He also had put on his sneakers, marveling in how easy it was. When his left shoulder had been freshly injured and he’d had no choice but to wear a sling, putting his shoes on had been difficult (dressing at all had been a challenge). But his shoes – he’d needed to tie them loosely before even shoving his feet inside, and then had attempted to tighten the laces with his right hand without bending and aggravating his ribs. On occasion he’d needed to ask his family (and even Jennifer) for help.

Only now – not only could he bend without pain, he could tie his laces with both hands. Doc had been amused by the triumphant grin on Marty’s face after he’d tied his shoes. He’d reminded him of Verne, when the boy had finally learned how to tie his shoes on his own.

Marty and Doc strolled to the large waiting room, which had an entertainment screen like they had in the hotel. There was also a ticker display on one wall that reminded Marty of pictures he’d seen of the stock market. “What is that?” he asked.

“That shows who is in surgery, or in recovery, et cetera. It’s listed alphabetically by the doctor’s name, and the patient is only identified by initials. The information repeats and updates in real time.”

They passed the nurses’ station, a locked pharmaceutical closet, a lounge, a therapy room. Every time they saw a staff member the individual would nod at them pleasantly, and some greeted Marty by name (although they called him Martin). Marty was somewhat taken aback. “How do these people know me? I don’t know them.”

“It’s possible some were involved in your surgery, or transporting you when you were. . .”

“Out of it on drugs?”

Emmett cleared his throat, grinning wryly. “That’s one way to put it.”

Their walk eventually took them back to Marty’s room, and he sat on the edge of his bed, swinging his legs. “Oh, I’m so bored.” He flopped onto his back. “I don’t want to read, I don’t want to watch the weird TV. I just want out of here.”

“We could use the time to our advantage,” Doc said. “We could discuss how we are going to tell your parents about time travel. What proof we can show them.”

Marty sat himself up on his elbows. “I don’t think I can just show them my eye. They’d freak. We’re gonna have to build up to it.”

“I agree.” Emmett nodded to the hotel tote bag. "I have your patch in here."

“What about showing them your watches? They have to have a brand insignia on them, don’t they?”

“Yes, but the watches won’t work in 1989. They only work in the year they were invented, and in years after that.”

“Oh, yeah. You said otherwise they’re just fancy bracelets.”

“Exactly.”

“So that kind of leaves us in the same boat. The hoverboard, the photos of your wedding, the photo I have of the two of us by the clock, and any other things you might want to bring. I suppose we could also bring the guide you showed me of this medical center. And the paperwork Dr. Brooks gave me.”

The conversation was interrupted by the aforementioned Dr. Brooks knocking on the door. He entered, and smiled warmly at Marty.

“How would you like to get out of here today?”

Marty sat up completely. “Please don’t joke.”

“I’m not. I’d like you to eat one more meal, and if everything checks out with me and with Dr. Suman, you could be out of here before supper.”

Marty looked at Doc, and the young man’s face glowed. “We could leave for home tonight.” 

Thursday, July 15th, 1989

9:44 A.M.

Hill Valley, California

Emmett kept the train in a low hover before the open barn doors, using a remote to raise the trap door to the bottom level. Once the trap door opened, he lowered the train onto the modified tracks that led to the “hidden” level.

After parking the train, Doc looked back at Marty, who was sitting on the edge of the bench seat. “Are you ready for this?”

Marty tipped his head with a wan smile. “I’d better be. If I can’t handle your family’s reactions, I’ll never be able to face my parents.”

When the two walked up the stairway into the main level of the barn, no one was waiting for them. They left the barn, Marty holding the suitcase and waiting while Doc locked up the building. Emmett took the suitcase from Marty, and they began to walk to the house.

“Oh, boy,” Marty murmured. Verne was staring out the window, having obviously heard the train. He let out a scream, then came bounding out of the house.

“You did it Marty! You have two eyes!”

Marty was nearly knocked to the ground when Verne barreled into him. “Verne, please calm down,” Emmett directed.

Verne quickly stepped back. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did I hurt your ribs?”

“No.” Marty shook his head with a grin. “I’m better everywhere. No bad ribs or shoulder.” He glanced back at Doc. Not only had the man given Dr. Brooks an envelope containing the balance owed for Marty’s eye surgery, he’d also given Dr. Suman an envelope of cash. Marty had asked the inventor if he’d anticipated the additional surgery (and cost) before they had made the trip to the future, but Emmett had not given his friend a direct answer.

“Let’s go into the house,” Emmett said, and the three walked on. Verne held tightly to Marty’s hand.

Clara and Jules were waiting at the entrance. Dropping the suitcase, Emmett gave his oldest a brief hug. Then he turned to Clara. “I missed you,” he said, his voice full of emotion. The couple embraced, then kissed. Marty looked toward the floor, feeling responsible for keeping the husband and wife apart.

“How long was it for you?” Clara asked. They still had their arms around each other.

“Oh, adding in the three different stops, not more than four and a half days.”

"Come see!" Verne waved Jules over, and both boys stared at Marty’s new left eye. “I see they took care of your scars, as well,” Jules said. “Just like with Verne.”

“And his ribs and shoulder are better, too!” Verne exclaimed.

Clara peered curiously at Marty. “Is that true?” 

Doc smiled at his friend. “Any pain, Marty?”

“Nope. Not one bit.”

Clara moved over to the young man. Gently pushing her sons aside, she took Marty by his shoulders and looked into his face. Into his eyes.

“Welcome back, Marty.”

Marty fought back tears as Clara hugged him, but a strangled sob eventually broke through. Clara pulled back. “Are you all right, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Marty wiped at his eyes. “I’m great.”

“Then why are you crying?” Jules asked.

“I don’t know,” Marty sighed. “I guess I’m just a little emotional.”

“Well, I should think so,” Clara said. “Your life changed in an instant when that car struck you. And now it’s changed completely again.”

“Yeah, it’s like the accident never happened!” Verne said.

Marty uttered a low grunt. “Except it did.”

TO BE CONTINUED.  .  .

Chapter Text

Even though it was just ten in the morning, Emmett and Marty had left 2040 well after dinner. After Marty had been discharged from the hospital, they’d walked over to the hotel from the closest skyway that connected the hospital to the hotel. They’d packed up the room, had a small supper from the last of the perishables in the refrigerator, and then went to check out. While Emmett had been taking care of that, Marty had run their books back to the library. “You don’t need to do that,“ Emmett had told his friend. “You can just leave them in the room and housekeeping will make sure the books are returned.” But Marty had felt better taking care of that task rather than leaving more work for the housekeeping staff.

Then the two had needed to get transportation back to the old airport, so they could retrieve the train. It had been past eight in the evening before they’d traveled back to 1989.

So, when Doc and Marty were sitting in the living room, describing the particulars of their trip to Doc’s family, Marty settled back in the couch and began to nod off. Occasionally he would perk up enough to answer a question or add a detail Emmett had missed, but eventually he stopped talking.

“Momma, Marty fell asleep,” Verne said. Then he jabbed Marty lightly in the ribs.

“Oh, Verne,” Clara chastised, as Marty awoke. “I’m awake!” he said quickly.

Doc chuckled. “I’m bushed, too. We’re on a different time – to us it’s closer to nine at night.” He leaned closer to his friend. “I think we could both use some sleep. I believe we’ll sleep better here, at least.”

The two men had retired upstairs, and both did sleep well, at least until distant yelling awoke Emmett. Grumbling, he got out of bed to reprimand Jules and Verne for being loud when they knew he and Marty were trying to sleep.

Only when Emmett left his room he found the yelling was coming from Marty’s room. The door was slightly ajar, as was typical because Marty often welcomed Einstein into his room. When Doc pushed the door open further, he saw Marty thrashing in his bed, in the throes of a nightmare.

Emmett didn’t waste any time – he went directly to his friend and started shaking his shoulder, calling his name. “Marty. Marty, wake up.”

It took a fair amount of jostling, but finally Marty awoke. He stared up at Doc with clouded eyes.

“Doc. . . What?”

“You were having a nightmare. When I heard yelling, I thought first that it was Verne or Jules.”

“Oh, God.” Marty rubbed his hands over his face. “I was yelling?”

“Mmm.” Emmett sat on the edge of Marty’s bed. “Do you recall what it was about?” When Marty frowned, Emmett mirrored the expression. “Am I being presumptuous? Maybe it’s private.”

“No, it’s okay.” Marty sat up. “I’m just trying to remember, sort it out.” He sighed. “It was my parents – well, my mom. I told her about time travel, and she said I wasn’t her son. That her son was the Marty I saw go back. . . She kicked me out. I was pounding on the door yelling at her to let me back in.”

Doc’s frown deepened. “I thought we had settled that. There are not two Martys. There is only you. You have the memories of growing up with this George and Lorraine. You are their son.”

Marty shook his head. “I have the other memories, too, Doc. Sometimes it’s still a fight, figuring out which memory is supposed to take precedence. I’m better at hiding it now, is all. I don’t want my parents to freak out over me like they did back in ’85. They wanted me to see a shrink. They were really worried I was becoming schizo.”

“I know – they told me about it, remember.” Marty’s inability to remember past events (often remembering “incorrect” events), his social withdrawal, and his sudden problems at school had terribly concerned his parents. “Of course, as it was years after and your issues seemed to be resolved, they were no longer as troubled.” Emmett looked thoughtful. “Does that experience have some root in why you didn’t want to see a psychologist after the accident?”

Marty tipped his head back and forth. “Kinda. I was worried my folks would bring up my past issues – although one thing really had nothing to do with the other.”

“Well.” Doc heaved a sigh. “When we talk to your parents, maybe don’t bring up your opinion of there being ‘two’ Martys. I’m not saying you can’t speak to them about that in the future, but I think we’ll have enough to handle just telling them about the existence of time travel.”

“Talk to them ‘in the future’,” Marty muttered. “You know, common sayings like that mean something completely different to us now.”

“Ah. Like ‘good timing’.”

“’Time flies’.”

“’From time to time’.”

“Yep.” Marty gave a short chuckle. “And it’s about time I tell my parents about time travel."

Friday, June 16th, 1989

9:15 A.M.

Hill Valley, California

When Lorraine heard a nearby engine, she glanced out the kitchen window just in time to see Emmett’s Pontiac turn into their driveway. “Marty’s home,” she said.

George bent down the paper. “Earlier than I expected. I just started my second cup of coffee.”

The door opened and Marty entered, wearing both his patch and his sling. Emmett followed him. The scientist was carrying the hotel tote, which had been repurposed; it was now holding a few framed photos and the booklet from the future hospital (as well as Marty’s pre- and post-surgery paperwork). The hoverboard was sticking out of the tote, wiggling to be let free.

“Hello, Emmett,” Lorraine greeted the older man. “Would you like some coffee? There’s still some in the pot.”

“Yes, that would be nice. Cream, please, no sugar. Thank you.”

Emmett sat at the table. Marty sat as well, and fidgeted with his sling.

“Is your shoulder bothering you today?” George questioned.

“Uh. Not really.” Marty lowered his right hand. “Just nervous.”

Lorraine set a cup of coffee in front of Emmett. “Why would you be nervous?”

Marty rubbed at his right eyebrow. “Okay. Um. Doc and I need to talk to you guys.”

George completely lowered the paper. He slid his eyes to his wife as she took the seat next to him. “Talk to us about what?”

Marty was now kneading his forehead, his right eye squeezed shut. He and Doc had discussed how to start the conversation, but the younger man was drawing a blank. “Oh, how should I start. . .”

“At the beginning,” Emmett advised softly.

“Yeah.” Marty set his right hand in his lap. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Mom, Dad, do you remember how Doc used to have a tricked-out DeLorean, with big black exhaust vents on the back and cords and lights wrapped all around it?”

Lorraine tipped her head, confusion wrinkling her brow. George looked thoughtful. “A DeLorean. Hmm. I think I remember – Emmett, you picked Marty up or dropped him off or some such in that car once? Yeah, even Biff mentioned it.”

“Biff?” Emmett repeated. “He saw it?”

Marty snorted. “No wonder. Always thought there had to be some explanation for him figuring it out in 2015.”

Now both George and Lorraine were regarding Marty through squinted eyes. The young man cleared his throat.

George turned to Emmett. “So where is this DeLorean?”

“It was destroyed, several years ago. Late October of 1985 – the twenty-seventh. A Sunday.”

“Oh!” Marty stood quickly. “I have the article! I saved it.” He trotted to his room, then returned with the picture of him and Doc bookending the clock in 1885. Removing the back of the personalized frame, he pulled out a folded-up piece of newspaper, slightly faded. Unfolding the article, he handed it to his father. “Remember this? It was in the next day’s paper. How a train plowed into a car on the tracks near Eastwood Ravine? That was Doc’s DeLorean. I was driving it, and just barely got out in time.”

Lorraine leaned over to read along with George. “I do remember this,” he murmured. “There was little left of the car, but witnesses said it had been a silver DeLorean.” He looked up sharply at Emmett. “This was your car? And Marty was driving it on the train tracks? Why would you let him do something so dangerous?”

Lorraine touched George on the arm. “Oh, hon, Marty’s teasing.”

“No, I’m not,” Marty said, at the same time that Emmett said “No, he’s not.”

“So explain this," George said with a glare.

“Doc didn’t know the train – I mean, he was supposed to be there, and warn me, but he stayed behind. If I knew, I would have stopped the car and gotten out. The brakes still worked.” Marty looked in question at Doc, and the man nodded. “So, yeah. I had just let it roll to a stop. I could have braked and gotten out in plenty of time if I’d known.”

“This makes no sense,” Lorraine complained.

“Yeah, sorry. Kind of skipped ahead.” Marty smiled wanly. “All right. The fancy DeLorean? Before it got destroyed, it was a working time machine.”

“Time machine.” George raised his eyebrows. Lorraine tsked. “Marty. Please.”

Marty looked at Doc with a sad frown. “Keep trying,” the older man said.

Marty sighed. He lowered his gaze to the table, then lifted his head and faced his parents with resolve.

“Doc demonstrated the time machine for me on October twenty-sixth, 1985, in the middle of the night, in the mall parking lot. It used to be Twin Pines Mall. That’s what I remember. Not Lone Pine. Anyway, he sent Einstein one minute ahead as a test. In the DeLor – in the time machine. And it worked. I was – I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was taping the whole thing for Doc – Jesus, Doc! The video tape!” Marty slapped his forehead. “Show them that!”

“I would, but if you remember, it was in the car when I was sent back to 1885. Along with the recorder.”

Marty stared. “What? No. . .“

Doc nodded. “My fault, for not removing it from the trunk before I went to the future.” The JVC recorder, with the tape inside, had been in the trunk of the DeLorean along with Emmett’s luggage and the extra plutonium when he’d originally gone to 2015. Once the Mr. Fusion had been installed on the DeLorean Emmett had no longer needed the plutonium and had sold it to a research facility in 2015, but he’d neglected to empty much else from the trunk. In fact, more had been piled on top of the video recorder – his money case, clothes for Marty to wear while impersonating his future son – and when the DeLorean had been hit by lightning and sent to 1885, those items had gone with it. Emmett had not wanted to bring future technology into 1885, and had left the JVC recorder in the trunk when he’d sealed the DeLorean in the mine. After seventy years, the delicate machine had degraded, and the tape had become warped and unraveled. Emmett had tried to at least repair the tape in 1955, as he’d often needed to mend his reel-to-reel tapes, but he’d been completely unsuccessful. He hadn’t told Marty, as the teen had had enough on his plate at the time, preparing to go back to 1885 to save his friend from Mad-Dog Tannen’s bullet.

“Well, can you take the train and get the tape, maybe at some point in the future when you know you won’t be around the car?”

“Possibly. I was away from the car when it was getting hover-converted, so I could retrieve the recorder or the tape then without running into myself. . . But that can be discussed another time, Marty.”

“Oh! Yeah!” Marty turned back to his puzzled parents. “I was telling you about Doc showing me the time machine. So he had a successful test, and then he was going to go exploring in time himself. But then some stuff happened, and it ended up I got sent thirty years into the past by mistake. I traveled to November of 1955. And I thought I was stuck there. You see, the time machine runs on plutonium – well, it did – and there was no access to plutonium in 1955. But I went to find Doc – younger Doc – in 1955, and I remembered about the lightning strike that stopped the clock tower, and he figured out a way to harness the lightning and use it to power the time machine so it would travel back to 1985.” Marty heaved a breath – talking so much without a break had literally taken his breath away. “I was only there for a week.”

“You were in 1955 for a week.” George said flatly.

“Yeah.”

Lorraine regarded Marty with sad eyes. “Honey. You need to stop this.” She looked to her husband. “I think he needs to see someone.”

“I’m not crazy! And this doesn’t have anything to do with my accident! Or I guess it does, kinda, but we’re not there yet. Time travel is real! Doc invented it!”

“Is this why you’re here?” Lorraine asked the scientist. “To let us know he’s having delusions?”

“It’s not a delusion!”

“Lor, wait.” George held up a hand. “What did you do in 1955, Marty? Where did you go?”

“The diner. School. I hung out with Doc – I told people he was my uncle. I couldn’t exactly say you guys were my parents, since you were both seventeen.”

“The diner.” George looked hard at his son, viewing him carefully. Then his eyes widened.

“You were Calvin Klein.”

Marty shrugged. “Marty, actually. Mom was the one who thought my name was Calvin.”

Lorraine scoffed. “That Marty – Calvin – was taller than you. And his hair was completely different.”

“My hair was different because I had to wear that stupid grease in it. And I was the same height I am now. Mom, your dad hit me with the car. He almost hit Dad, but I pushed him out of the way. I woke up in bed and you were taking care of me. I thought I was home, and that time traveling had been a bad dream. But then you turned on the light, and I saw – you. Only you were seventeen. Then Grandma came upstairs to check if I was awake, and I got dressed and came downstairs for supper. Meatloaf, I think. Yeah, meatloaf.

Lorraine stared. “How do you know those things? I never told you.”

“I was there, Mom. It was me.” Marty had skirted over the fact that when he had woken up he’d had no pants on, and that they’d been on his mother’s hope chest. He was still unsure who had taken off his pants. Obviously Lorraine had seen his underwear, but whether she’d undressed him or just peeked, he didn’t know. He did know his family had not found his wallet. It had been in the pocket of his puffer vest. And as several people mistook it for a life preserver, most likely they didn’t expect it to have pockets. He was glad no one had found his ID – how would he explain having a future license that said he hadn’t been born yet, and listed his address as a non-existent street?

Lorraine continued to stare at her son. Then she gasped and put a hand over her mouth. “My God! Oh my God! Calvin ‘Marty’ Klein! You told us about setting fire to the rug – I never understood how you would know that – Oh, no. Oh, no, no. I was infatuated with you.”

Marty dropped his head. Emmett set a comforting hand on his shoulder.

George was also rubbing Lorraine’s arm. “You didn’t know, Lor. How would you?”

“But I did! Somehow I knew – I kissed him, George! My future son! I kissed him, and I knew. I knew it wasn’t right. But then Biff opened the car door – “ She suddenly looked very angry. “He hurt you.”

Marty blinked. “Mom. He hurt you.”

Lorraine shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about – No, what did he do to you? What did his goons do?”

“I was fine, Mom. I wouldn’t have been able to rock out on the stage if I was hurt.”

“But you collapsed!” George said. “I remember the music sounded odd, and I looked up at the stage, and you were nearly keeled over. I thought it was nerves – God knows I was nervous, dancing with the girl of my dreams.”

“No, that wasn’t because of Biff, or nerves. But I was okay. I mean, after that. I came back strong.”

“I still want to know what Biff’s gang did to you," Lorraine said. "I know he hit you, and he tried to hurt George, but I don’t know what happened to you.”

Marty waved a hand. “They threw me in the trunk of a car. Just to get rid of me and so I couldn’t stop Biff. It was the band’s car, and they were inside, so they heard everything. They ran Biff’s guys off, then got me out of the trunk. I ran back to the car to save you from Biff, but Dad already had.”

Both George and Lorraine were silent for a few minutes. Emmett jostled Marty. “Maybe mention that you made other trips?” He indicated the tote bag. “We should do that before the reveal.”

Marty nodded. “Okay, if you guys believe now that time travel exists – Doc and I actually went to some other times. He took me to the future, and then we went far into the past. We’ve been to 2040, 2015, and to 1885. Well, Doc stayed in 1885 for a while. That’s why he was gone for a couple years.”

“That is where I met my wife, and where she gave birth to our sons,” Emmett explained.

“In the future? What years did you say, Marty? 2040?” Lorraine was holding her head.

“Yeah.  But Doc meant he met his wife in 1885, and then he and her stayed in the 1880s and 90s for a while, and that’s where they were when Jules and Verne were born.”

Emmett reached into the tote bag and brought out his wedding pictures. He slid them over to George and Lorraine. “We were married in 1886.”

“Oh – and yeah.” Marty turned over the photo frame that he had taken the newspaper clipping out of, so the picture was visible. “This was in 1885. I know you’ve seen this, and you thought it was one of those fakey vintage photos that you get at a tourist place, but it’s the real deal. Doc and I posed by the clock that eventually got put on the clock tower in the square.”

The McFly parents took turns reviewing the photos. After a few moments, George pushed them back. “And you said you went to the future, too?” he said, massaging his brow.

“Um, yeah. We have some things from there, too.” Marty pulled the hoverboard from the bag, and set it on the floor. It hovered above the surface. “This is a hoverboard. It’s like a skateboard, but it hovers several inches off any surface. You can ride it like a skateboard, but you can also do tricks against walls and whatever, as long as you have your foot in the strap so it can’t fall off your foot.” Holding on to the chair, Marty placed his foot in the aforementioned strap, then let go.

“Marty, careful!” Lorraine said immediately.

“I’m fine.”

George stood as well, reaching out for his son. “Marty, you can’t see like you used to.”

“I said I’m fine!” Marty kicked backwards out of George’s reach. “Just look at this – see how it hovers? This is from 2015.”

As soon as his parents had seen the hoverboard in action, Marty dismounted, handing it back to Doc. The scientist placed the board back into the tote.

“I need you to understand that Doc’s time machine can go to the future, too,” Marty told George and Lorraine. “Because we went to 2040 the other day.” He glanced at Doc. “Yesterday?”

“Correct. Yesterday morning. As we were there nearly a week, it is confusing.”

George rubbed under his nose. “I feel like I should be taking notes. Didn’t you say your time machine was destroyed?” He took the newspaper clipping. “Here? In 1985? So how did you go to the future yesterday?”

“The DeLorean time machine was destroyed, yes. But I have built another machine. I fashioned a time machine from a steam engine, when Clara and I were in the Old West. That is how I was able to return to our present time. And this time train is how Marty and I traveled to 2040. We did spend several days there, but we returned merely ten minutes after we had left. You see, I had designed the machines so that you could enter the date and time you wish to visit."

George shook his head. Lorraine frowned at the inventor. "Why did you and Marty spend time in 2040?"

Marty and Emmett exchanged glances. "Because I had surgery," Marty said quietly. Standing, he removed his sling, then extended his left arm wide and rotated it, bending it back and forth. "My ribs are healed, too." Marty took his seat again.

"They fixed that in 2040?" George asked, amazed. 

"Yes," Doc said. "But that's not all." He nodded at his young friend.

Marty nodded back. "Okay, Doc. Here goes." He reached for his patch and pulled it off, then gazed at his parents with two eyes.

George choked out a gasp that sounded more like a croak. Lorraine whimpered; her face paled considerably. "Mom, don't faint!" Marty said, alarmed.

Lorraine did leave her chair, but it was not to topple to the floor. Instead she went to stand in front of Marty. She took his face into her hands and studied his new left eye. 

"You can see out of it?"

"Yeah. Better than before."

Lorraine knelt before her son, took him into her arms, and began to weep.

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

Chapter Text

When Lorraine drew back from Marty, they both needed to wipe at their eyes. George was hovering behind Lorraine, trying to get a close look at Marty’s new eye. “So it’s not some new-fangled type of glass eye?” he wondered.

Marty wiped again at his eyes. "No - it's bionic." 

Lorraine snorted spontaneously. "Like that show with Lindsey Wagner? I remember how Dave had a crush on her."

Marty sighed. "Not exactly. I'd be more like The Six Million Dollar Man. He had a bionic eye."

"The left one, if I remember right," George said. "I mean, correctly."

"That's true, I forgot about that." Marty had been fairly young when the Lee Majors show had been on the air, but he'd seen the "bionic" couple in a TV movie a few years ago. "I'm sorry, but my eye doesn't have a zoom lens or anything fancy. But like I told Mom,  I can see out of it."

George looked skeptical. 

“Test me," Marty said. Picking up the patch, he turned it inside-out and fiddled with the strap so that it would now fit his right eye. Once his right eye was sufficiently covered, he looked expectantly at his father.

George moved back to his original chair, and held up one hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” He made the “peace” sign.

“Two. Peace, Dad.”

George smiled. “Okay. Now?” He lifted his index finger and his pinky, covering his middle two fingers with his thumb.

“Rock and roll!” Marty crowed. He turned to Emmett. “Remember I taught you that one? You kept popping your thumb out. That’s ASL for ‘love,’ not the rock and roll sign.”

Emmett gestured to George. “Oh, sorry,” Marty said. “Do you need any more proof that I can see out of this eye, Dad?”

George picked up the paper he’d been reading while drinking his coffee. He turned it so Marty could read the front page.

“Light Earthquake Causes No Injuries or Damage,” Marty read. He went on to the article under the headline. “An earthquake hit Northern California Thursday, near the city of Eureka. The light earthquake registered as 3.4 magnitude – “

“That’s good.” George slowly lowered the paper. His face had paled as well, but Marty wasn’t as concerned about his father possibly passing out.

“Your shoulder and ribs are better?” Lorraine clarified. “How many surgeries did you have?”

Marty pulled off his patch and tossed it on the table. “Just one, but there were two doctors. One did the bionic eye implant, and the other mended my injuries. I wasn’t even out that long. Or, I guess I was out of it but the surgery didn’t take long.”

“So. . . how long has it been, then, actually, since your surgeries?” George asked.

Marty shook his head. “I have a hard time with this. Doc?”

Emmett checked his watch. “Well, if we are discussing  linear time, it’s been about fifty-five hours. Marty had his surgery on a Thursday morning and he was discharged the next day, late in the afternoon. Later that evening we traveled back to yesterday morning of the present, ten minutes after we’d left. We’ve been here in the present almost exactly one day.”

Marty looked at his father. “Fifty-five hours,” he said with a grin.

“I do have Marty’s paperwork.” Emmett reached into the bag and drew out Marty’s pre- and post-op paperwork. “In the future this information is typically shared in electronic form, but as Marty didn’t have the appropriate device, he received paper instructions.”

Lorraine took one sheaf of papers, giving the second set to George. “And how was this paid for?” she asked. “I’m assuming you didn’t stiff the hospital or the doctor. Although I guess they couldn’t chase you through time to send you a bill.”

“No. . . We didn’t skip out on the bill.” Marty side-eyed Doc.

“I paid for it,” Emmett said.

“You. . .” George looked up and blinked at the older man. “You did?”

Doc nodded. “It was no problem. I have the money. I can explain it to you later, but for now just know that I was happy to do this for Marty. He’s done a lot for me and my family. They wouldn’t exist – I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for Marty.”

“You’ve done the same for me,” Marty said, his hand unconsciously moving to his neck.

“I stopped keeping score a while ago,” Emmett chuckled.

George and Lorraine traded papers. “Just amazing,” George said. “Look at this image.” He prodded Lorraine, then studied Marty. “Is that what it looks like?"

“inside? Yeah. You should have seen the 3-D image.”

Lorraine set her papers down and placed her clasped hands on top. “What now? What do we tell people? I don’t think we can tell everyone about time travel.”

“No.” Emmett shook his head firmly. “The only ones who know are my family, and Marty.”

“And Jennifer,” Marty reminded him.

“Yes, and Jennifer.”

“You told Jennifer before you told us?” Lorraine said, her voice registering obvious hurt.

“Not about my eye, no, but Jennifer’s known about time travel since ’85. She came with us on our first trip to the future. So when she sees my eye, she’ll understand.” Marty looked awkwardly at his parents. “But I don’t think we can even tell Dave and Linda about it.” It would help explain some things, though, Marty thought.

“Marty’s right. I’d rather keep this between us,” Emmett motioned between himself and the McFly parents. “It made sense to tell the two of you, as Marty interacted with you both in 1955.”

“Then what do we say when they see Marty’s eye?”

“Can’t we just say I got a glass eye?” Marty said. “Not everyone needs to know I can see out of it.”

“One hell of a glass eye,” George murmured.

“Plus you needed to wait until your eye injury completely healed before you could get a glass eye, and it would be a more invasive surgery and you’d need a longer recovery time. . .“

“Unless you took Marty to a different doctor, for a second opinion,” Emmett answered Lorraine. “A doctor who was able to implant the glass eye early. No details – be vague.”  He gave Marty an apologetic frown. “If that is the story, you’ll need to wear your patch out in public for a little while. Until you and your parents can work out the necessary time to 'go away' to a present-day hospital in a different city.”

“I hate this thing.” Marty flicked at his patch. “I get a new eye and I can see, and you want me to put the damn patch back on.” He glared at Doc. “It’s on you if I fall again.”

“Fall?” George repeated. “When did you fall?”

Emmett smiled dryly. “I give you permission to remove the patch if you are climbing up or down stairs.”

Once Doc had left, Marty called Jennifer. “Can you come over after lunch?”

Jennifer showed up a little before two. Marty met her at the door. He wasn’t wearing his sling, but he was wearing his patch. “Mom, we’re going in my room,” he told Lorraine.

“Keep the door open,” she directed.

“Mommm – “

“Oh, come on, Marty,” Jennifer said. “We have to keep my door open at my house, too.”

Neither mentioned that they had been together in their dorm rooms with the door closed several times.

Jennifer took Marty’s sleeve and pulled him down the hall.

Marty and Jennifer were in his room for about five minutes when Jennifer cried out in joy. Lorraine tip-toed over to her son’s room and peeked through the small gap left by the ajar door. Marty had removed his patch. Jennifer was holding his face in her hands as she kissed him repeatedly – pecks on his cheeks, his forehead, his lips, and his eyelids.

Marty was smiling in pure happiness, laughing between the kisses.

Lorraine hadn’t seen her youngest that happy since before the accident.

George was sitting in the living room, perusing the future hospital information. He lifted the booklet when Lorraine walked in. “Can you believe our little Hill Valley General transforms into this big medical center?”

Lorraine sat down by her husband. “I looked in on the kids. You heard Jennifer?”

“I think the whole block did.” George laughed.

“She’s thrilled – not shocked, like we were. And Marty’s – well, he’s just so happy. So content. But not because of anything we did. We couldn’t help him, not like Emmett did.”

George shook the booklet at her. “Because he took Marty to the future! I’m sorry, Lorraine, but that would never be an option for us. We did the best for Marty by 1989 standards.”

“Did we, though?” Lorraine smoothed the knees of her slacks. “We could have taken him to another doctor, a different hospital. We could have researched, gotten him better care.”

“Lor, it’s a moot point now.”

Lorrane shook her head. “I feel like we failed him. He had to go to Emmett for help.”

George set the papers aside, taking his wife into his arms. “Lorraine, you’ve been by his side through all of this. We both have. I know you love him dearly – he’s our baby, and you feel like you need to protect him more than Dave or Linda.”

Lorraine opened her mouth to protest, then closed it. George grinned.

“But I think we have to admit that Marty has a lot more strength than we thought. Yes, he was having a hard time adjusting and accepting his handicap, but it had only been a month. If Marty had never gone with Doc Brown to the future, I think he still would have come through this. It would have taken longer, but he would have made it. Because of you.”

Lorraine cast her eyes down, smiling softly. When she looked up at George, it was with a small scoff. “Time travel. Who would’ve known.”

George tipped his head. “Well, I had hope that it would be discovered in my lifetime. I never thought my son’s friend would be the one to invent it.”

Lorraine gave George a gentle push on his arm. “You’re already writing your next book in your head, aren’t you?”

“Just not sure about the title. I’m thinking ‘A Match Made in Space-Time.’”

EPILOGUE WILL FOLLOW 

Chapter Text

Tuesday, July 4th, 1989

Hill Valley, California 

The Browns hosted the McFlys for Independence Day.

In addition to the McFly parents, Marty, Linda and Alan, and Dave and his new girlfriend Johnna, there were several other guests. Jennifer and Paul came, of course, and two younger boys (Robby and another Paul) who had been invited by Jules and Verne. When Emmett had taken his family to a hotel swim park in May, his boys had been enthralled. They’d begun begging to again swim in a present-day pool. Doc had gotten them memberships at a rec center with an outdoor pool, and the two boys had quickly made friends.

There were little flags stuck in the ground lining the driveway, and Clara had patriotic tablecloths on the picnic tables and the one table holding non-perishable food. Anything that needed to be refrigerated was kept in the house.

Before lunch there was croquet and badminton, and an impromptu game of catch broke out – until Verne attempted to catch an errant toss and nearly upended the food table.

Emmett grilled hot dogs and hamburgers. Both George and Dave came over to lend their “expertise.” They were dragged away by Lorraine and Johnna.

When it was time to eat, everyone started in the house, loading up their plates, then came outside to select a hamburger or hot dog (or both). The picnic tables filled up quickly. Jules and Verne and their friends sat on the ground on an old blanket, and fed Einstein so many tidbits that the dog became full. He eventually went to sit under the shade of a picnic table. He found Marty and sat on the young man’s feet.

Marty had revealed his new eye to everyone about two weeks ago. A few days after Doc’s visit (when he and Marty had told George and Lorraine about the existence of time travel), the McFly parents had taken Marty on a week-long trip. The three had traveled down to the outskirts of San Francisco, where George’s agent had a vacation home. He’d often suggested George take the family there for a long weekend, and it was the perfect place for the three of them to stay while Marty “visited a renowned ocularist.” When they had returned to Hill Valley, Marty was no longer wearing his patch.

Marty was still receiving random compliments. Many of his friends, neighbors, and extended family had seen his eye. The most common remark was how good it looked, how real. That the glass eye was so realistic in color and appearance that it was hard to tell it was a fake eye. On advice from Emmett, Marty tried to be aware of occasions when his pupils would dilate based on light sources. If someone saw the pupil in his left eye dilate, Marty would have a hard time explaining it, as glass eyes didn’t react in that fashion. In an abundance of caution, Marty started wearing lightly tinted sunglasses, sometimes even inside. Most accepted this as Marty being uncomfortable with how he looked with the glass eye.

“You can’t wear sunglasses forever,” Jennifer said, while they sat eating cake. It was a white cake with red and blue Jell-O designs running through it. Clara had found the recipe in a magazine.

Marty shrugged. “Blind people wear sunglasses, so other people aren’t unnerved by how their eyes look.”

“But you’re not blind – not even half-way, like before. And I like to see your eyes.”

“Yeah?” Marty lifted his sunglasses and grinned, then winked with his left eye.

Paul was going to leave the festivities early, as he'd be going on a trip to Arizona with his parents. He had brought his bass guitar, though. Marty had his Chiquita, and after lunch he and Paul plugged into Paul’s travel amp and played a few familiar patriotic songs. They sang softly but were soon joined by the voices of most of the guests.

Once they finished playing, Paul put his guitar in its case. Marty walked him to his truck, carrying the amp.

After the gear had been loaded, Paul hugged Marty. “I’m so glad you’re doing better, man.” He pulled back. “Your eye looks great.”

“Thanks.” Marty reinitiated the hug. “Thanks for putting up with all my shit.”

Paul waved a hand. “No problem. You’re my best friend.”

Marty stood watching as Paul’s truck drove away. He felt a presence behind him, and turned to see Emmett. “Hey, Doc.”

“How are you doing, Marty?”

“Good, really good. This party is wonderful, Doc. You guys went all out.”

Emmett started to walk toward the house, meandering away from the bulk of the guests. “I didn’t ask if you were enjoying yourself, Marty, although I’m very glad you are having a good time. I wanted to know how you were doing.”

“What’s the difference?”

Doc came to a stop, and Marty looked up at the inventor. “I spoke to your father earlier. He said you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Marty shrugged but didn’t answer. He stuck his hands in his pockets.

“You’re having nightmares?”

Again Marty didn’t answer, but he sighed, looking away.

“About the accident?”

“I had nightmares about it after it happened, yeah. So did Linda and so did Paul. That’s normal, right?”

“Yes, but your parents are concerned that you are having bad dreams about it now. After you’ve recovered.”

Marty frowned. He sat on the porch, and pushed his sunglasses up into his hair.

“it’s weird. Remember how Verne made that comment, after we got back from the future, that it was like the accident never happened? Because my injuries were better and my eye got replaced?”

Emmett nodded.

“I'll wake up thinking I only have one eye, and I still expect my shoulder and my ribs to hurt. And for a minute, before I wake up completely, I’ll think the trip to the future was a dream. Well, I guess it all bothers me, because I've been having crazy nightmares.”

"How often?"

"Often enough." Marty sighed. “I got over them before, when it first happened. I’ll get over these, too.”

“I wish you’d talk to me about this kind of thing, Marty. So your parents don’t have to be the messengers."

“How can I, Doc? How can I put that on you, when you did so much for me? I’m so grateful for everything. I don’t want to saddle you with more of my problems.”

“Marty. . .” Emmett shook his head fondly. “I’m more than happy to help you with any problems you have. I’ve told you before you’re like a son to me. If there is anything you feel you can’t speak to your parents about, or anything they can’t help you with, please come to me.”

Marty tipped his head down and gazed up at his friend. “You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure! I’ve always been here for you – whether it’s to patch a scraped knee or help you study or take you to the future to get a new eye.”

“I know – I just don’t want to ask for too much.”

“Not possible.” Emmett smiled warmly. “You’re the apple of my eye, kid.”

-END-