This is the prequel to my BttF series, The Time Circuits Trilogy. The original was written nine years ago when I was a junior in high school, and it can be found in my profile under "Light Up The Sound." I am leaving it up as a reminder to myself of how much I have grown as a writer since the conception of this idea. Any and all feedback is welcome. It's 2015, so it's time to celebrate BttF moreso than ever. And I'm gonna do that by sending this out into the universe for all the fans as devoted as me.

This story is dedicated to my dad, with whom I share an undying love for these movies and a father-daughter relationship I will forever cherish. Though we are quite different from Doc and Emma, it is our relationship that inspires me to explore the trials and triumphs of the father-daughter paradigm through writing and this fandom.

Disclaimer: I own nothing from BTTF.

Claimer: I do own Emma, however.

Part I

Wednesday, October 2, 1985
5:40 PM

"Marty, finish your roast," Lorraine McFly chided.

Her mildly distracted son sat next to her with his chin propped up in his hand. Marty looked up from poking the smallest pea on his plate and scanned the table, watching his family eat like it was going out of style as they stole glances at the television set. He sat up slowly.

"Uh, I'm just gonna go out for a bit," he said, rising from his chair. His family continued to eat, half-ignoring him. "I'm full. Mom, where's that clock?"

"There on the bar," she said. "What are you using it for again?"

Marty shrugged. "Science project," he said, picking up the creepy, plastic black cat clock. He wanted to cover its giant eyes.

"You need that for Chemistry?" Linda asked, buttering a roll. Marty said nothing, heading for the door with the clock and his skateboard.

"If you happen to see Biff," George called after him, "tell him that presentation for the board meeting will be ready in the morning!"

Again, Marty said nothing.

He left without word, rolling his eyes. He had no intent on running into that chump Biff Tannen. He would probably have his head too far up his butt to notice Marty anyways. And even if he did acknowledge the "no-good kid," all Biff would do is make some pigheaded remark about his mother. Someday, karma would make Biff its bitch, and Marty hoped he was there to see it. The Humbling of Biff Tannen. Oh, the tickets that would sell.

Jumping on his skateboard, Marty tucked his mother's old clock under his arm and grabbed the tail of a pickup truck at the entrance of Lyon Estates. He swapped cars a few times before grinding the back of his board into the pavement in front of an old, large garage. He picked up his skateboard, entered the tall chain link fence surrounding the place, and knocked on the front door.

"Doc! Doc, you there?"

He was about to reach under the doormat for the spare key when the door flew open. Marty leaned back as Doc's head appeared with its big, wild eyes and untamable white hair. He was in a lab coat as well, carrying several large rolls of paper under his arm.

"Marty! Hello," he said hastily. "Is that clock for my experiment?"

"Yeah. Did you want me to hang it with the others?"

"Just set it there on the bench. I'll get to it later," he said before dashing away. Marty stepped inside and shut the door, watching Doc run around frantically grabbing things here and there. He sat the cat clock on the workbench and raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Doc, if this is a bad time…"

"No, no, Marty, you're fine," Doc said from across the room. "I'm just trying to finish up on a little project tonight." He stopped in front of Marty as he ran by. "Can you be here tomorrow night about this time?"

"Sure." It meant having to think up an excuse to skip out on dinner tomorrow night, but he was more than happy to do it to see anything Doc had to show him.

"Great. And bring your guitar." With that, he ran off again.

"My guitar?" Marty repeated to himself. Casting the scientist a confused look, Marty followed after him. He disappeared behind a big, medium-blue curtain across the lab.

"What are you working on, Doc?"

"Stay back, Marty!" Doc said sharply. "It's not ready yet!"

Marty stopped a-ways back, but he still stretched his neck out of curiosity, trying to see.

"But what is it?"

"You'll see soon enough!"

Marty sighed at his fruitless attempt to coax a satisfying answer out of him. He didn't like this "you'll see" crap, but he knew Doc was set in his ways, so he wasn't getting anything no matter how much he asked.

Years back, Marty would have never thought that someone like him would become the unspoken assistant to the resident "crackpot" scientist; he barely passed his science classes, and Doc wasn't exactly going to have jam sessions with him. Still, a solid partnership had manifested from each other's refreshing company, and Doc provided the only consistent blip of 'interesting' in a boring world that more or less sucked.

And usually, Emmett Brown always had something in the works that he could help with. Whatever the project, three things were guaranteed: definitely out there, probably awesome, and possibly functional. Of course, there were some things Doc kept entirely to himself - stuff Marty could never even hope to understand - but now he wasn't even letting him help on the pet projects.

Marty sighed. Helping or not, he was not about to go back home.

"If you won't tell me what that thing is, can you tell me where Em is?" Marty asked, shoving a hand in his pocket.

"On the couch, last I saw," Doc answered, reappearing from behind the curtain to grab a wrench from a cluttered tabletop. "Tell her that she has to walk Einstein." He vanished again.

"Alright."

Marty leaned his skateboard against the wall beside the front door. He ventured into the depths of the sectioned-off garage, passing Doc's bed crammed in the corner, a section of wall filled with random clocks, and a refrigerator with a few feet of counter space next to it.

Meandering into the large, open sitting room, he found signs of life strewn all over its faded crimson-red decorum – the television was on, the couch had an open textbook and notebook at one end, and there was a plate on the coffee table with a half-eaten sandwich and some rippled potato chips on it.

But she wasn't there.

Marty crossed the living room, turning into a small alcove with two doors. He leaned into the doorframe on the left, smiling at the familiar flurry of movement as this girl tear furiously around her bedroom, her light blonde hair trying to keep up with her.

She lost something again.

Emma was stressed. Disgruntled. Beleaguered.

She hated when things got misplaced, even more so when she had been the absentminded imbecile who misplaced whatever it was she couldn't find. It's not like these notes just up and flew away; the organization of her schoolwork was essential to her sanity, as one could currently observe. It was now getting to the point that she was desperate enough to start looking in places that just weren't logical.

But before she started checking in the freezer or between her dad's mattresses, Emma upended her school bag on her bed. Pencils and a protractor trickled over the books, binders, and folders, some of them rolling off the quilt to the thick, daffodil yellow carpet. She threw the book bag up by her pillow and sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, her back to the door as she straightened the messy heap of materials.

Peanut butter would be eaten before the night was out. Not the sandwich-for-dinner kind of consumption, but the devouring-with-a-spoon kind. Whether it would be out of frustration from not finding these notes or for the celebration merited by finding them, this night could only end with a jar of Peter Pan and Andy Griffith.

Marty glanced at the clock on her wall, half-offended that she still hadn't noticed him standing there. He reached inside the doorway for a rubber band on the floor next to the decorative four-panel screen, flexing it between his fingers mischievously. Without a second thought, he held his arm out and looped the rubber band around the tip of his finger, pulling it back with his other hand. He narrowed his eyes, aimed, and released.

Emma jumped, yelping and grabbing at the sting on the back of her neck. In the process, she lost her balance and toppled backwards off the end of the bed, landing on her back. Face distorted from the shock of how fast it had just happened, she scowled upon seeing Marty sniggering upside-down in her doorway.

Quickly rolling over to her feet, the corner of her lips began to rise. Marty turned his head, raising his eyebrows challengingly. At this, she promptly walked up to him, pinched the skin on his forearm, and gave it a good twist. His mouth immediately fell open.

"Ooow!"

She let go, a self-satisfied smile blossoming over her face. "You're lucky I wasn't near any power tools."

Emma returned to her bed, putting her bag on the floor and sitting back against her pillow and headboard. Seeing the sea green chaise near her bookcase covered with laundry and the desk chair sporting a hefty pile of its own, Marty took the foot of the bed, glancing at the innards of her book bag dumped haphazardly between them. He shook the pain from his arm.

"Couldn't you have just shot it back at me?"

Smirking, Emma revealed the rubber band stretched between her thumb and index finger. Before Marty had time to react, she pulled back the lower piece of the taught band, hovered over the red spot on his arm, and snapped it against his skin. Again, he cried out, clutching his arm against his chest protectively.

"Hush up, you big sissy," she chuckled, tossing the rubber band over to her desk. It bounced off the teal curtains to the side of the floral lampshade, and she resumed flipping through the folders in her binder.

"So, what brings you into the depths of the evil lair? Dad not letting you play Mad Scientist with him, either?"

"No. You don't know what he's doing?"

"Nope. I can't even seem to wake up when he's asleep t-!" She gasped at a paper suddenly, but her shoulders immediately slumped again. She shut the folder and moved to the next. "I'm never going to find these stupid notes."

"What notes?"

"The Chem notes from last week on organic nomenclature. I need them to finish the unit review for tomorrow. I had them when I did the lab report, but now I can't find them."

"Is that why you were dismembering your locker before lunch?"

"I'm desperate. Obviously I'm going to have to work on a better organizational system for college next fall. I can't have this happening."

Marty would ask why she didn't just ask her father for help, but he knew she'd say something about being expected to know it. He'd offer up his notes, but they were back at home, and her notes were extensive to the point that she was rewriting the book word-for-word, so he wouldn't be much help there. And even though she could be every inch the science whiz her dad was, she was young and had her weaknesses; organic chemistry was not for the faint-hearted. He'd already resigned to the fact that, even with her help, he was barely going to pass that unit review.

"Speaking of college, did you hear back from anyone yet?"

Emma left the bed, kneeling at her bookcase and targeting the encyclopedias on the lowest shelf. "Whitman offered me a full scholarship."

Marty made a face. "Isn't Whitman clear up in Washington?"

Emma shrugged. "Yeah, but it's a free ride. And they have physics and chemistry."

"Well, what's wrong with sticking around here?"

"I am not going to Hill Valley."

"Who said 'Hill Valley?'" he asked innocently.

Marty received a level look that said it all. She wasn't taking the bait. He swung himself up and walked over to her, leaning against the antique bookcase as she silently continued her hunt.

"Come on, Em. It's been thirty-some years since he taught there."

She gave an exasperated sigh. "That's not why, Marty."

Well, maybe it did have a little something to do with it. She didn't want pegged as "the old physics professor's daughter" whose departure from the university had been "on questionable grounds." People don't let you forget stuff like that, and it's just not the way you want to start your freshman year of college.

"Do you really want to be that far away from your dad?"

Emma sighed, moving up to the next shelf. "I still haven't heard back from Stanford. They've got everything: Biomolecular Chemistry, Applied Physics, Quantum Engineering. And it's a lot closer than Whitman. I still don't see why you didn't want to apply there. Stanford's music program is phenomenal."

"If you're playing cello in an orchestra."

Emma replaced the books to the shelf and stood. "What's wrong with the cello? Or the orchestra?"

"Says the girl taking Music History for an elective," Marty said, now following her to her desk. "I didn't expect you to take Study Hall, but why not another science? Or did you take them all?"

"My deepest respects to Oceanography," she quipped with a smile, "but when most of my days involve nothing but equations, graphs, and arithmetic, it's nice to break up the monotony with a symphony or a sonata. And my other elective is Woodshop."

"You are an enigma, Em."

Suddenly, she slammed a book down on her desk with a frustrated grunt. Marty jumped, rattling nearly as much as her desk and the cluttered bulletin board beside the windows. The rubber band fell off the lampshade lifelessly. When she spun around, he saw the distinguished wild look in her wide, brown eyes. Things were about to escalate.

"I'm going to check the freezer."

Marty immediately grabbed her wrist, pulling her back to him. "Your notes are not in the freezer."

"But I might have –"

"Em, calm down. Calm - down," Marty said, making her look him in the eye. When the crazy settled, he spoke evenly to keep her from shooting back up into space. "Now, your dad said you had to walk Einstein. Let's take a break, and when we come back, I bet they pop right out at you."

"Let me just check my desk again."

Marty snatched the papers from her hand, laying them on the desk behind him where they were safely out of reach. She went to protest when he held out his arm to block her.

"Fifteen minutes," he said, "isn't gonna kill you. So let's get Einstein and go."

She finally gave a resigned smile. "You win."

"Do you know why Doc wants me to bring my guitar tomorrow night? Is he going to tweak it or something? Because he's not allowed to tweak it. I need it for auditions in three weeks."

"You have more than one guitar. Don't tell me you don't."

"But why does he want me to bring it?"

Emma shook her head as they turned up the block, Einstein eagerly leading the way. "He hasn't been letting me help much in the lab," she said somewhat dejectedly. "Every time I ask to help or even go to move something, it's 'Don't touch that!' or 'No, no, not now.'"

Marty looked over at her. In the four years they had been friends, they hung out in the lab building stuff and performing experiments, not going to movies or skating around town like he did with his other friends. And there was a reason for that - she had always been up to her elbows in whatever Doc was working on. He had been a little put off by Doc's sudden seclusion, too, but it was clearly bothering his lifelong apprentice. It occurred to him that she just didn't know what to do with herself.

"He's been like this before," he tried gently. "Gets really excited and just goes to town."

"Yeah. I hope that's all it is."

Marty's eyebrows deepened. "What do you mean?"

"He's just…isolated himself. And not just behind that curtain, either. There's paper in the windows and a heavy duty padlock on the storage room at the end of the hallway."

Beyond the small kitchen area and the entrance to the living room in the converted garage, Marty envisioned the large double doors at the end of the hallway. The storage room had walls lined with spare parts, boxes of junk, and projects on hiatus. Marty remembered that after first befriending Doc and Emma, the three of them had taken a whole weekend to organize the room, after which they went to Burger King for milkshakes. Maybe he was trying to condense the brainwave analyzer again.

"What do you think he's hiding?"

"It's a decent-sized room. There could be anything in there," she said as they rounded another corner. "When I woke up last Thursday, I was coming out of the living room and he was coming out of the storage room still in his clothes from Tuesday. He was in that room for over a day."

"You think it's got anything to do with what's behind the curtain?"

"No, this is wholly different. That room has never been off limits."

Marty slowed a bit, falling out of step with her. Emma looked back over her shoulder as Einstein continued to heartily pull her along.

"What are you doing? Come on."

"You know what's behind the curtain, don't you?"

"No."

"Then how do you know it's not part of what he's doing in the storage room?"

Emma laughed. "Marty, I have no idea what's going on! Did you not hear me a few minutes ago? I haven't been allowed to touch stuff."

Marty narrowed his eyes, shaking his finger at her. "No, I think you know."

Suddenly, Einstein started running, jerking Emma from beside him and down the stretch of sidewalk. "I do not!" she yelled back at him, stumbling to keep up. "Einie! Whoa, boy!"

Marty watched them fly around the corner before he took off after Einstein's barks and Emma's rising voice. He heard a crash and, heart hammering, wheeled around the corner. Thankfully, instead of finding her in the street washed in headlights, Emma was lying in an awkward tangle with a garbage can, its lid shining in the streetlights as it spun to a stop on the sidewalk. Up the road, Einstein ran for the lab, leash snapping off the pavement behind him.

Emma pushed herself up on her elbows with a game chuckle, shaking out the wrist she had wrapped the leash around. Seeing Marty jogging towards her, she smirked and kicked the garbage can at him. After a flash of panic crossed his face, he cleared it, landing on both feet in front of her. She nodded approvingly as he panted.

"Five."

He huffed out a laugh. "That's it?"

"Listen, Donkey Kong. You do a front flip, then we'll talk about a score of six."

Marty took her hand and pulled her up. "Six?"

Emma dusted herself off, picked up the trash can, and shrugged as they started walking again. "I mean, if you think you can do a side aerial…"

"What's behind the curtain, Em?"

She sighed. "Fine. I know what's behind the curtain."

Marty's eyes lit up. "What?"

She looked around, leaning towards him conspiratorially and whispering, "My dad."

The ends of Marty's lips curled into a tight smile, and he took the back of Emma's arm, holding her next to himself as she grinned at the ground.

"Remind me why I put up with you."

"Your science grades."

"Oh y—"

"Hey! That's where my notes are!"

Marty let go of the back of her arm, but they made little effort to increase the space between themselves. He quirked an eyebrow at her as they reached the garage where Einstein sat happily on the doormat wagging his tail.

"Where?"

"Mathematic Foundations of Quantum Mechanics," she said excitedly, taking the leash off Einstein and letting him in the house. "It's that really old book of my dad's that we've used on several science projects. Hilbert Space, the Eigenvalue Problem, Quantum Theory –"

"What does naming organic compounds have to do with quantum mechanics?" Marty asked, not sure he would even understand the answer she would supply. He didn't know his way around the interconnectedness of sciences, but it didn't seem likely to him that she'd be using a book with that title for reference on an organic chemistry unit review.

"I did my homework at the work bench last week when Dad set up that giant curtain, and he had that book out," she said. "I was trying to get a look at whatever it was, but he said it was a surprise. They must have gotten closed in the book."

"Guess we'll find out whatever it is tomorrow then," he said, reaching past her for his skateboard inside the door. He stood tall in front of her, staring her down. "Or, at least, I will."

Emma pushed him off the doormat playfully.

"Work on that side aerial, McFly."

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