Happy Epilogue, everyone! Part I is complete! Part II: Where You Are is still a few months off, but I hope to see you there when it happens (Thanksgiving-ish, optimistically). Feedback is very much appreciated and goes a long way, too! I hope you have found the same satisfaction and joy in reading this story as I have in writing it. I love flying this fandom flag and will be back soon!

EPILOGUE
Due Course

Saturday, October 26, 1985
9:13 AM

When Emma woke up, she could feel the sun on her aching shoulder and the tulle bunched beneath the sheets. The side of the wardrobe glowed in the morning light, and her eyes drifted to the white pumps discarded against the wall. Emma stared at the shoes as she sat up. Her throat went dry.

Of course it all happened. The shoes were proof, lying there on her bedroom floor. The most mundane and singularly exquisite proof that she had lived through possibly the most significant, successful science experiment ever conducted. She went to 1955. She went to 1955 and brought back a pair of shoes. And a dress.

And her father.

Emma ripped aside her quilt and leapt up.

Her father was not in his bed, but his radiation suit and bulletproof vest were. She approached the bed carefully in the silent, gracious sunlight, the clammy bottoms of her feet exaggerating the chill of the cement floor.

Emma grazed one of the rounds on the bulletproof vest before picking up the radiation suit. She ran her finger down the zipper's teeth as she spread the suit open under her hands and examined the holes. She tilted her head, looking at the vulnerable, soft flesh of her palm beneath the fabric. Then, with an emerging smile, she held up the window of the bullet hole over the bulletproof vest, lining it up perfectly with one of the flattened rounds. He probably had quite a bruise now; all of that force had to go somewhere even if the projectile didn't.

Laying down the radiation suit, Emma glanced from the clean kitchenette to the workbench.

There was a distinct lack of the promised peanut butter-stuffed French toast. No cinnamon or syrup on the air, no dirty dishes, a full carton of eggs.

She immediately spun to the doors of the storage room as she closed the fridge, marched up to them, and threw them open.

No time machine.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Emma went to the overhead garage door in the back of the room, standing on tiptoes to look out its windows into the rear driveway. The step van was there, but her hopes of finding him in the back of it with the DeLorean were met with another large, empty void. She felt herself growing more rigid with every corner she turned, with every DeLorean-sized space she encountered that the DeLorean didn't occupy.

Where are you, Dad? I trusted you.

Emma took a deep breath, seeing herself out of the step van and back into the lab.

"Back by morning", he had said. She had a whole wall of clocks telling her it was morning even with them being twenty-five minutes slow. Plus, it was hard to argue with the star nearly ninety-five million miles away whose light was pouring through the windows at an angle that consistently suggested it was morning. Why wasn't he here? Was he just not here yet?

Emma nodded to herself.

"Yet". Let's go with that.

Not that she had much choice unless she built her own time machine to hunt him down through time. She allowed herself to be amused by this train of thought as she got a shower, doing her best not to get her dressing wet until her father was there to change it for her. She had acclimated to a routine around this wound and knew how to listen to it now, and in no way was it encouraging her to try to change her dressing on her own. She imagined she wasn't long for the hospital once her dad did get home.

Yeah, another part of her piped up indignantly, I've got a bullet wound and you're putzing around in the future? What gives?

Emma took two steps back into her room, picking at a few papery puckers of dry skin on the sides of her fingers. She listened for any sounds – footsteps, a door, a cup set down on the counter, Einstein trotting around – but there were none. She tussled her hair with the towel and threw it back into the bathroom, combing the ends out with her fingers.

After managing to pull on a pair of khakis and red shirt, Emma took a hanger and slid it into the shoulders of the Enchantment Under the Sea dress she'd somehow wrestled herself out of without damaging it further. She stretched to hang it over the door of her wardrobe, fluffing the skirt back into shape and straightening its layers.

Maybe she would wear this to her dance with Marty. The look on his face when she had stepped into his stay room would be worth seeing again.

She checked the mint silk for any tears, happy to find that the few she spotted were either easily hidden or able to be repaired. She would have to get it cleaned on Monday, then find someone later in the week who could repair the snagged lace. The pumps may need replaced, but she had the pearl necklace – in her own jewelry box this time.

Emma stole a glance at her alarm clock; it was just after ten. Technically, there were two hours of "morning" left, but she was not going to be patient enough to sit through them and stare at a door, waiting for her dad to get back. She could buy a DeLorean to start modifying in that amount of time. He had the schematics in the van. Or somewhere. And before the Libyans had shown up, he said he planned to go twenty-five years into the future. She could start there.

Whoa, Emma, she told herself, quirking her lips to the side. How about we come up with something other than "build another time machine and chase Dad through time"?

Emma stared at her rumpled quilt.

…She had nothing. She was becoming more and more fixated on this ludicrous plan by the minute. She could feel her eyes getting wider and all rationale going out the window, so she made straight for the phone and dialed Marty's number. Maybe just hearing him say "Calm down, Em" would be enough to stem the budding panic from being stupid enough to let her dad use a time machine after the shit she'd just been through.

It took a few rings, but he picked up. He sounded dead.

"Uh?"

"Marty?"

"Uh huh?"

"Marty, wake up," Emma demanded sharply, clutching the phone cord. "My dad is gone. H-he went to the future last night after we got home, and he isn't back yet. I don't know what to do. I think I'm freaking out."

A soft snore came through the receiver.

"Marty!"

A wet gurgle sputtered into her ear next, and Emma shut her eyes, frowning deeply as she slammed the phone back onto the post.

"You are utterly useless, McFly."

When did Marty's family get a BMW?

Emma hadn't been to Marty's house in nearly two months, since the first week of school. Was this, like the Twin Pines Mall becoming the Lone Pine Mall, something that was a result of their escapades? Maybe they won it and it was just delivered. It was being waxed to a shi—

Emma stared at Biff's name on the side of the service truck.

Dear God, what is happening?

"Em?"

She jumped, sighing as Marty materialized in his garage next to a new pick-up truck. Emma blinked between him and the truck, fearing for half a moment that he was somehow compromised alongside all of the changes she was noticing. But then he lifted his eyes to hers, and it was clear how disoriented he was by the way the relief flooded into his face.

"Let me get this straight," she said, meeting him in the middle. "You nearly erase yourself from existence and get patted on the back with a new truck?"

Marty feigned a pout over his shoulder at the Toyota.

"I'm a little pissed it's not red."

He got a tiny smile out of her. It was the most grounded he'd felt since he woke up. Everything was different. Better, yeah, but different from before. He was half-terrified to see the world beyond his front door, but for Emma, he would risk the driveway.

Marty took her hand and squeezed it.

It was 1985, and here they were.

They did it.

"So, you didn't get a cool new car?" he asked, stepping closer.

"Didn't even get to wake up in a mansion," she said, willing herself to relax at his proximity. "I am mildly disappointed that I did not wake up in a mansion this morning."

Marty raised an eyebrow as he slid his arm around her waist. "We were trying to avoid that."

Emma shrugged. "Still…"

Marty envisioned the other outcome of their adventure: standing in the doorways of their stay rooms after they woke up, mortal in the pall of their failure. Even then, as the grandfather clock cruelly ticked on beside them, he had a feeling he would still be kissing her. Here or there, it made no difference.

He felt Emma return the kiss for only half a second before she pulled away, eyes down and a gentle, restraining hand low on his sternum. She cleared her throat, speaking in a rushed whisper.

"Marty, we're in the middle of your driveway."

His confusion melted into a faint, curious smile as her cheeks colored.

She was shy.

It endeared her and amused him to no end. He had to stifle his smile when she looked back up at him.

"Street's empty, Em," he said, tossing his chin towards it.

"Front door."

Marty looked over his shoulder. His parents were there, behind the screen door. They smiled to themselves and took their leave, disappearing back into the house to allow Marty and Emma their privacy. Marty felt a little twist in gut, quickly grasping Emma's stance that being alone in a dark car wasn't the same as being watched in broad daylight by someone's parents. The tips of his ears felt warm.

"Did you hear anything I said to you on the phone earlier?"

Ah, that's why his phone was on the floor when he woke up.

He shook his head. "If I did, I don't remember it."

"My dad is gone."

Marty's arm went slack around her, and she took a deep breath to fight off the trembling in her chest from saying the words aloud again.

"What do you mean?"

"He went to the future last night," Emma said, watching Marty's brow crease. "He told me he was, but he was supposed to be back by now and he's –"

A familiar, thunderous series of schwooms suddenly cracked through the air, and Emma shut her eyes, exasperated as her hair blew into Marty's face. She raked it away apologetically as she turned around, glaring at the DeLorean as it screeched to a halt in Marty's driveway, a full can's spray of garbage heralding its return to 1985.

It was getting exhausting, being this frustrated and relieved at the same time. As soon as she got her dad home, she was padlocking him in the storage room so she could finally get some decent sleep. She didn't need power tools to threaten him with, either; the shovel hanging in Marty's garage would do just fine.

Marty approached the DeLorean as its gull wing door opened. Once the time machine had powered down, Doc sprang into the driveway wearing some kind of chrome, wraparound sunglasses and what was akin to a rain suit made of yellow-gold satin. A transparent tie glinted at him from atop a bright red shirt that echoed the color of the front of his boots, but as always, the shock of white hair remained.

"Marty!" he shouted, raising the glasses, "you've got to come back with me t—"

Emma made a face as her father's entire demeanor suddenly changed upon laying eyes on her. He clammed up, stiff and expressionless as he stared at her. It made her feel like she had committed some ultimate wrong.

"Emma." His voice was now subdued, a low grumble compared to the exuberance of a moment ago. "You should be at home."

She was about to fire off that he was the one that should be at home, but something in the way he was holding himself wasn't right. She exchanged a look with Marty; why did her dad want to hurry him off into the DeLorean? Marty looked to be grappling with the same question. Emma narrowed her eyes at her father, taking a step forward.

"No, I think I should be here," she said slowly, trying to find a crack in his composure to manipulate.

"What's going on, Doc?"

Emmett remained locked in a stare-down with Emma. "Marty, get in the DeLorean."

"'Marty, get in the DeLorean'?" Emma repeated, laughing incredulously. "What is this? I'm supposed to just walk on back down the sidewalk while you time jump with Marty?"

"I gave you an opportunity last night," Emmett said evenly, picking a few pieces of trash out of one of the garbage cans he hadn't knocked over. "You declined."

Emma's mouth fell open as he walked away, lifting a white thing on top of the plutonium chamber and throwing the garbage inside. Last she checked, she was the one who should be disgruntled right now, not him. Why was whatever this was more important than letting her know he was safe?

There must be a reason, an objective part of her allowed. There must also be a reason for why he was rather upset to see her at Marty's house, and that didn't sit right with her. She thought her father would be brimming over with everything he wanted to tell her when he got back. Instead, he was making her feel like an intruder.

Marty didn't like this.

"Doc, some other time, huh?" he asked, trying to diffuse the tension a bit. "I just got here. We're gonna take the new truck for a spin."

"I'm afraid that's out of the question," Emmett said, closing Mr. Fusion. "This is urgent."

He looked up at his young assistant to tell him to get into the DeLorean tout suite but stopped; Marty was looking him directly in the eye as he took Emma's hand. Watching their fingers lace in solidarity, Emmett silently sighed through his nose.

Fine.

"It's your kids, Marty," Emmett said to them, a measure of vigor returning to his eyes. "Something has got to be done about your kids."

Marty's face fell. "Our kids?"

They hadn't even had their first date yet!

"I thought you said we were going back," Emma managed, feeling her hand grow slick in Marty's. "Back to 1955."

Emmett shook his head as Marty lifted the passenger side door.

"No, no, to the future. We need to return to the future I just came from."

He looked at Emma over the top of the DeLorean before she got in, and another short-lived standoff manifested between them.

"Last chance."

Emma worked up the nerve to smirk.

"How did it work out last time, when you tried to sideline me in 1955?"

"Yes," Doc countered readily, "how did it work out?"

All humor dropped from Emma's face. Her father sank into the driver's seat.

That was a cheap shot.

Ignoring the knots tightening in her stomach, Emma tried to arrange herself comfortably on Marty, but that was sort of impossible after just being told they had multiple children together. She was also not in the habit of sitting on boys' laps, let alone doing so with her father right there, so that was actively contributing to the inferno on her face.

Marty was probably enjoying this too much. He'd never seen her so red in the face. She, who could one day solve the mysteries of the universe between Gilligan's Island reruns, was unraveled by having to sit on him.

Emma pulled the gull wing shut, leaning against it as they backed out into the street. The bright mischief in Marty's eyes levelled her brow. He could be such an ass sometimes.

"Down, boy."

Doc hit the brakes. Marty and Emma surveyed the suburban stretch of road in front of them.

"Hey, Doc, we better back up," Marty said. "We don't have enough road to get up to eighty-eight."

Emmett raised his eyebrows, shifting the car out of reverse.

"Roads?"

Oh, these sweet, innocent children.

"Where we're going, we don't need roads."