A/N: PATIENCE! Life has been insane lately and I just started college classes again. :/ The good news is, there's another chapter for you to enjoy. The bad news is, I have no idea when I can post the last- and final! -chapter. Please excuse my lack of knowledge about cars...I never learned to drive myself!

Friday, May 25, 1984. 4:49 PM.
McFly Family Residence

"Dad?" asked Marty as he walked in through the front door and dropped his backpack on the floor in the living room.

George sat at the kitchen table with a stack of notes and an ancient typewriter in front of him. His brand new black reading glasses kept sliding near the end of his nose as he bent over his work, and he pushed them up. The man didn't even look up at his son as he typed. "Yeah, son?"

Marty hesitated, eyeing the large pile of work George had in front of him. His heart began to sink, but he was determined to state his case. "Remember...how we talked about the permit?"

The middle-aged man squinted, still staring at the typewriter. "What permit?"

Marty's stomach began to twist, but he fought it down. "The learner's permit, remember? I got it last month...?" Like everyone else in his grade, Marty had taken Driver's Education. He had passed the written exam with flying colors and now was the proud owner of a learners' permit...but had yet to sit behind the wheel. His father had been overwhelmed with unpaid overtime by his new supervisor and so was left with little time to call his own.

George frowned as the typewriter went 'ding!' and pushed it back to the other side. "Oh. Right. What about it?"

Again? You gotta be kidding me! Marty's shoulders fell. "You promised to teach me to drive...?"

The bespectacled man flinched and finally turned around. "I did?" Seeing the crestfallen look on Marty's face, he cringed. "Oh! Right! I'm sorry, son. I guess I just forgot." He turned back to his work. "When would you want to go?"

"Oh, uh...any time." Marty forced a hopeful smile and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Would you have time tonight?"

"No...sorry. There's still a lot of work to be done, and if it isn't handed in..." George shrugged. "How, uh...how about next week?"

"That's what you said last week...and the week before, and the week before that." Marty's face twisted with the strain in trying to fight back his anger and disappointment.

"I know, son. I'm sorry."

Marty turned away and ran a hand through his thick brown hair. He'd heard his father apologize countless times...but nothing ever changed. Nothing ever would change, either. At this rate, Marty would be stuck taking the city bus like his older brother, working at a dead-end job. "C'mon, Dad. You promised."

George looked over his shoulder, face etched with sympathy and strain. "I know...next week for sure. OK?"

Marty's face twisted in disappointment and he backed up, eyes stinging. "Yeah...right..." With that, the young man wheeled around, picked up his backpack, and stormed out the door, slamming it as he went. His skateboard was put down, and he rode off, not even sure where he was going.

It was almost force of habit that sent him toward John F. Kennedy Drive.

Dr. Brown was in the middle of working on the engine of his large white van when the sound of skateboard wheels caught his ears and made him frown. He knew something was up when he saw his young friend riding up the driveway at four in the afternoon on a Friday. Usually Marty's visits were over the weekend and previously arranged so he could dog-sit Einstein or help with one of the many experiments.

And so, as Dr. Brown emerged from around the opposite side of the van with a crescent wrench, he stopped mid-stride and waited. There was no need to confront Marty. He would talk in his own time.

Marty's eyes were red, as if he'd been crying, but he plastered a smile on his face. "Einstein!"

The dog in question had been sitting quietly next to the van, keeping his master company. His ears pricked and his tail wagged upon seeing the young man.

Marty stepped off his skateboard and knelt so the dog could approach, tail wagging. "Hey, boy. How you doing, huh?" He either couldn't see Dr. Brown or was ignoring him.

The scientist-turned-grease-monkey decided the time was right to say hello. He approached slowly. "Well! Marty, what a pleasant surprise," he began with a slight smile.

Marty glanced up from the dog with his own halfhearted smile. "Hey, Doc."

"I must say, I wasn't expecting company," said Dr. Brown cautiously. "So, what brings you out here on a Friday afternoon?"

Marty shrugged, but didn't answer. Clearly he wasn't in the mood for talking.

Dr. Brown was never one to push, so he let it go. He took the wrench and slid back under the van, which was jacked up about eighteen inches off the driveway, and began working a nut lose.

Marty, ever the curious teenager, rose and walked over to where Dr. Brown's stained coveralls stuck out from under the van from the waist down. "Making a new engine?"

Dr. Brown scoffed at the suggestion as he strained with the bolt. "Hardly."

"Fixing the transmission?"

"No."

"Making the engine run better?"

"No." Dr. Brown nearly laughed at the teenager's ideas of what a scientist was doing under a van. "I'm changing the oil."

Marty took a step back. He had not expected the wacky inventor to be doing something so ordinary. "Oh." He bent over at the waist and peered under the van. "Need any help?"

The scientist's mouth quirked sideways in a slight smile. He could change the oil of the van in his sleep, but it wouldn't hurt to give the youth something to do...something to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. "Indeed, I do. Could you retrieve that circular petroleum containment device?"

Marty frowned for a second, then grinned, remembering Doc's penchant for big words. He saw a shallow red bowl sitting nearby and picked it up. "You mean this?"

Dr. Brown nodded. "Thank you." He grabbed the pan and set it under the drain before loosening the plug and pulling it out. Dark motor oil spilled out and landed in the catch pan. "I suppose you should learning this sort of thing anyway. You must be about ready to take Driver's Education, correct?"

The sullen look returned to Marty's face. He nodded. "Yeah. Just got my learner's permit."

"So, how do you like driving?"

"I wouldn't know. Haven't sat behind the wheel yet."

The sour comment made Dr. Brown poke his head out from under the car. "Isn't behind-the-wheel instruction required?"

Marty, who had been leaning against the van, scowled. "Yeah. And at the rate I'm going, I'll never get in the hours I need to get my d-ed license!" He hit the van with his palm, making a loud 'bang'.

Dr. Brown edged out from under the car and rose to his feet, eyeing the young man with caution. "Calm down, Marty. It isn't the end of the world if your instruction is delayed."

Marty pushed back from the car and began to pace. "I know, Doc, but..." he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and spun around to face the scientist. "See, my dad promised to teach me how to drive, but he keeps putting it off. It's been a month, and I'm..." he shrugged, hesitant to speak his fears.

The wild-haired scientist wiped his greasy hand on a shop rag. He didn't pry. He just stood and waited, having learned long ago that patience was the best way to deal with Marty's outbursts.

After a long while Marty looked up, hands shoved into his pockets. "My older brother never got his license 'cause Dad kept saying the same thing to him. After six months, he gave up and started taking the bus, Now it looks like the same thing's gonna happen to me."

Ah, now it made sense. Dr. Brown nodded slowly in understanding. "I see. Well then, you're simply going to have to learn how to drive."

"How? I can't go to driving school alone since I'm a minor."

"I'm certain a solution will present itself. Now, let's see if we can finish changing the oil."

With the help of Marty's skateboard, the oil in the van was soon changed. The two of them ended the job with smears of oil up to their elbows, but it was nothing that a good washing with warm water and dish soap couldn't fix. Later, Dr. Brown wanted to run a couple of errands and invited Marty to come along. Rather than take the van, the scientist selected his classic cream-colored Packard convertible.

Rather than get in on the driver's side, Dr. Brown fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to Marty. Marty fumbled and caught them, eyes wide with surprise. "Uh...Doc?"

Dr. Brown regarded Marty with wide eyes. "I thought you wanted to learn how to operate a motor vehicle."

"Yeah, but-"

"What's the matter, not fancy enough for you ?"

"No...I mean, it's not that, it's..." Marty pushed back the hope that rose within him. "Are you sure? Putting a teenager behind the wheel of a classic?"

"I trust you, Marty. Besides, if we crash, you know I'll make you work it off." Dr. Brown broke into a brief smile, then began motioning with his hands. "Well, go on! Get in!"

Marty broke into a wide grin and eagerly hopped into the classic car. After checking his rear-view mirrors, he turned to his friend. "Hey, Doc?"

Dr. Brown looked at Marty. "Yes, Marty?"

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet. We haven't left the driveway."