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Doc had gotten used to working with Marty’s guitar playing as a backdrop; once his tasks in the lab were done and Doc was left working on the intricacies of what would eventually become the Flux Capacitor, Marty would spend time working on some songs, or learning how to play the latest popular songs on the radio, often by ear. The music, oddly enough, helped Doc’s otherwise scatterbrained self to focus, and, quite often, Doc couldn’t resist humming along to whatever melody Marty was playing.
It was on one such occasion that, upon hearing Doc’s humming, Marty had stopped playing, causing Doc to look over his shoulder.
“Was I off-key?” he asked, slightly embarrassed.
“No—you’re actually pretty musical yourself, Doc,” Marty noted, with a chuckle.
“Well, I did play saxophone in high school,” Doc mused, indicating the instrument mounted on the wall. “I guess you never really forget it, even if it’s been a long time…” He shrugged. “Well, please don’t stop your playing on my account—I rather enjoy it.”
“I can tell,” Marty said, sounding grateful. “It’s not you, Doc; I’m just…”
He trailed off, prompting Doc to put what he was working on down so that he could turn the chair around to face Marty directly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Marty looked at the guitar in his hands.
“…Am I really that good? I mean… playing for you is one thing, but… I dunno if I’ve got what it takes to really be that kind of musician that people will want to hear. And it’s a competitive world out there. Do I really have a chance to stand up with all the other aspiring rock stars? Some stars just… burn out, right?”
“But some become something full of energy that gives life to other worlds,” Doc reminded him. “The sun, for instance—focus on that instead of worrying about a white dwarf.”
“But what if I am just a white dwarf and not a sun?” Marty blurted out. “Do you think I’ve got a chance?”
“Marty, you’ve got far more than just a chance,” Doc assured him. “You can accomplish anything if you just put your mind to it.”
“Well, I dunno about that, but that is a catchy saying,” Marty admitted.
“It’s been my credo since I was your age,” Doc noted. “So, as long as you're spending time here, you may as well get used to hearing it—a lot. Dreamers like us can’t forget it.”
“…That wouldn’t be so bad,” Marty admitted, quietly. After all the naysaying he heard from others—even his own family—this was a new, welcome view.
Doc gave him an encouraging smile.
“Alright then—play it, Sam!”
“…Who’s Sam?”
“…A movie reference you’re too young for,” Doc realized. “Well, nevermind that—go on and put your mind to it!”
“You’re the Doc, Doc,” Marty grinned.
And they both resumed work on their dreams, silently encouraging each other.