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Things were quiet around the garage. Emmett tinkered away at his latest project, the gentle clinking and clacking the only sounds in the room. He stuck his tongue against the inside of his cheek in focus as he carefully, slowly, inched the pieces together.
They fell apart almost immediately.
Emmett sighed and hung his head, leaning hard against the table.
“You alright there, doc?” Marty piped up from behind him.
Emmett turned around to face the young man who was sat on his bunk, holding one of Emmett’s books in his hand. Emmett frowned. A physics textbook? “Why are you reading that?” he asked.
Marty shrugged. “You don’t have a lot else.”
“Fair enough,” Emmett sighed. “And yes, I’m alright.”
“Things not working out?”
Emmett nodded.
“Well, you always tell me to take a break when I start getting frustrated on my songs,” Marty pointed out.
Emmett hummed. He supposed that was true. Marty had begun writing songs to pass the time, and often got annoyed when the words wouldn’t come, and Emmett often had to remind him that sometimes one needed a break to refresh the mind.
Marty put down the textbook and stood up. “While you’re working on that,” he said, “I’m going out.”
“Where to?” Emmett inquired.
Marty shrugged again, looking away. He hesitated before answering: “Out. On a walk. Maybe the arcade? I dunno.”
“Well, have fun.” Emmett turned back to his project.
He heard footsteps walking away, then the sound of the door closing.
Emmett tried to focus, but his mind kept wandering. After fifteen minutes, he gave up and put down his tools, walking to the kitchenette to fix himself a snack.
Emmett frowned at the clock. It had been two hours since Marty had left, and he still wasn’t back yet.
Of course, Marty was free to come and go as he pleased; but he never went far, and never for this long. Not anymore. The last time he’d been gone for longer than usual had been when the alternate versions of themselves had shown up.
Emmett sighed. It wasn’t his business, he told himself. Marty was an adult, he could do what he wanted. It was just… strange, was all. Not to mention how Marty had been acting lately. Quiet. Subdued.
Emmett hadn’t pried. He’d asked, but Marty was closed off, had built a wall around himself and wasn’t letting Emmett past it. Emmett respected that. But Marty had come to be opening up lately—so his sudden retreat into himself again was odd and worrying.
Another hour passed. And another. It was growing dark now, and Emmett was very worried. Had something happened to his companion? Perhaps he should inform the police. Ah, but what good would that do? Even with Tannen gone, the corruption was taking a long time to clean out. The police wouldn’t help a crackpot scientist find his young companion.
Maybe he should go find him himself.
But Marty could be anywhere, he thought.
Regardless, he was in the process of grabbing his coat, thinking that it was better to start somewhere rather than not at all—when abruptly the door opened and Marty came stumbling in.
Emmett blinked. “Marty?”
Marty didn’t answer him. He staggered by, and Emmett noticed in shock he had a bottle of something in his hands. The young man made his way over to the kitchen table and all but collapsed into the seat, swirling the bottle before taking a long gulp. He let out a breath once he was finished.
“Marty?” Emmett asked again, tentatively.
“Hey, doc,” Marty muttered.
Emmett replaced his coat on the hook and walked over. “What are you…?”
“Drinking,” Marty answered his unfinished question brightly. “What else?”
Emmett’s heart sank. The last time he’d seen Marty this drunk, they’d been but mere acquaintances. Marty living on the streets selling the only thing he had left—his body—and Emmett unable to do anything but offer the kid shelter when he needed it. The memory of how helpless he’d been pained him.
He shook it away. He needed to tread carefully here—something was seriously wrong. “Why are you drinking?” he asked.
“‘cause I wanna,” said Marty.
“Marty-”
“Wha’s wrong with me drinking?” Marty slurred. “Like mother like son, right? Like asshole ‘father’, too, now that I think ‘bout it. Though he drank diff’rent stuff.” He moved to take another swig of the bottle but Emmett snatched it out of his hand just in time. Marty scowled. “Tha’s mine. Give it back.”
“I think you’ve had enough,” Emmett said stiffly, examining the label. “Where did you even get this? How did you get this?”
Marty’s scowl deepened. “None’f your business, doc.”
Emmett sighed. He highly suspected Marty had stolen from him to get this bottle, for he’d noticed some money had gone missing a few days ago, but that could wait.
“I’m legal drinking age anyway!” Marty exclaimed, reaching for the bottle.
Emmett carefully redirected his hand before placing the bottle on a higher shelf in the kitchen. Returning to the table, he sat down opposite Marty and tried to look him in the eye, but the younger man averted his gaze.
“Marty,” Emmett said, “I thought you stopped.”
Marty shrugged. “I started again. So what?”
Emmett let out a slow exhale. What could have possibly triggered this? And what had Marty meant—like mother like son? A thought occurred to Emmett: “Marty,” he said slowly, “where did you go today?”
Marty looked away. “The arcade.”
“No, you didn’t.” Emmett interlocked his fingers atop the table. “Marty, did you go to the jail?”
Marty didn’t say anything.
“You were gone a long time. You went to see your mother, didn’t you?”
Marty still didn’t say a word, but Emmett could see his eyes were growing shiny.
Emmett leaned forward. “Marty,” he whispered, “what happened?”
“She was complaining how they haven’t let her have a drink,” Marty murmured.
Well, yes, Emmett thought, I’d imagine inmates aren’t- he cut off that train of thought. It wasn’t important.
“She shouldn’t be in there, doc,” Marty went on brokenly. “It should be me. Me! I should be the one in there! I’m the one who killed him! I…” He buried his face in his hands. “It’s never left me, doc. And when I went to see her… I knew it was a bad idea. But I couldn’t not see her. And after… I couldn’t handle it.”
“So you drank,” Emmett said softly.
Marty glared at him from beneath his fingers. “No shit!”
“Marty, drinking so much can do irreparable damage to-”
“I don’t need a lecture right now!” Marty stood up so fast his chair squeaked. He threw his arms in the air and stalked off to the right, coming to a stop in the middle of the garage. He huffed. “My head’s a mess.”
“Sleep it off,” Emmett offered, standing up as well. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
Marty looked up at him from beneath his damp, greasy hair. “Are you mad at me?” he asked in a small voice.
“Mad?” Emmett shook his head. “No, I’m not mad. Concerned, yes. But that can wait.” He took Marty by the shoulder and guided him across the garage to his cot. “Lie down. Sleep it off. We can talk about everything in the morning.”
Marty nodded slowly. “Okay, doc,” he whispered.
Emmett slept fitfully that night, his mind a whirlwind. The poor kid’s had such a rough life, he thought, staring off through the darkness. Marty snored loudly a few metres away. I wish I could actually help him.
Morning came, and Emmett was in the process of fixing himself some breakfast when Marty’s snoring stopped and was replaced by a low groan.
Emmett turned around in time to see Marty slowly rising, bringing his hand to his head. “Ow…” he moaned.
“Good morning,” Emmett greeted.
Marty’s eyes snapped to him. “Doc,” he said hoarsely.
“Want some toast?”
“Uh… sure.”
They ate in silence. Marty remained at the table, head low, hands in his lap as Emmett cleaned up before he returned to the table and interlocked his fingers atop the surface.
“Marty-” he began, but Marty talked over him.
“God, doc, I’m sorry,” Marty blurted.
“It’s quite alright.”
Marty rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that shit. It wasn’t. I…” He fumbled for words for a moment, then fell into silence.
Emmett waited a beat. “Marty,” he said, “what happened last night?”
Marty hesitated before answering: “I swear I didn’t mean to, doc. I meant to just go to the arcade or something, really. But the next thing I knew I was on the bus.” Marty rubbed his forehead and groaned. “It was a stupid idea. It didn’t even help.”
“These things can be painful, Marty,” Emmett said. “But… on the contrary. I don’t think it was a stupid idea.”
Marty glared at him. “I nearly drank a whole bottle of—what did I even drink? It tasted disgusting.”
Emmett chuckled. “Visiting your mother,” he continued, “I don’t think it was stupid.”
“Why?” Marty eyed him carefully.
“You had to see her at some point. She’s your mother. She clearly cares about you, and you her. Depriving yourself of seeing her, and depriving her of seeing you—I wouldn’t expect that.”
Marty sniffled softly. “But afterwards…”
Emmett nodded. “It’s true. Maybe you could have dealt with the stress a different way. But… You still came back here. Where you knew I was.”
“I always come back, doc,” Marty said solemnly.
Emmett smiled. “And I’m glad for it.”
“You’re real good at this, you know, doc?” said Marty.
“Good at what?” Emmett asked.
Marty gestured vaguely. “This. Making me feel better, I don’t know. I mean, hell. I can’t imagine who I’d be without you. You know?” He looked away and cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh. Thanks.”
Emmett’s smile widened. “You’re welcome, Marty. And… if you ever choose to see your mother again-”
“I won’t drink again,” Marty cut him off. “I promise. I’ll just come right back.”
“Good.” Emmett nodded.
“I like it here, doc,” Marty whispered.
Emmett grinned. “Well, I’m glad. And you can stay here as long as you want.”
Marty gave a nod, his eyes expressing the gratitude his words could not.