Disclaimer goes here about me not owning anything related blah blah blah… Enjoy the next chappie!

Chapter 13

August 5th 1989
12:16 p.m.
Brown family home, Hill Valley

Doc stared intently at Marty, refusing to allow the image to register in his brain. He refused to accept that the person who had died three years ago now sat before him very much alive – breathing, moving, thinking, feeling…

Six bullets had clearly left imprints. Those very six bullets had stolen Marty's life and now they were the proof of something only short of a miracle (if that was the right phrase to use). It was the very proof that could only point to the possibility that Marty had been brought back to life.

Doc didn't respond for a long while, the shock stealing his ability to talk. He could feel the sharp ache in his heart as old wounds were painfully reopened. Marty started to panic – the silence that had fallen between them was failing to end and was making him uneasier as it continued to pass. He feared wanting to know the revelation Doc had made, but then felt an overwhelming need to end the dread of unknowing.

"Doc, what is it?"

Doc's eyes began to glisten as eventually everything began to sink in. He finally lifted his eyes to Marty's, revealing to the teenager his pain.

"I'm so sorry…this should never have happened…"

Marty felt uncomfortable with the ordeal, and quickly fastened his shirt. Doc laid his head in his hands, trying desperately to refocus himself.

"Doc – please tell me what it is."

Marty's tone had become stern. Doc could sense his desire to know the truth, and cleared his throat in an attempt to remove the constriction that had developed.

"Do you have any idea what happened three years ago, on January 22nd, 1986?"

Marty shook his head almost immediately, the date obviously holding no significance whatsoever. Doc tried to wipe away the tears from his eyes as he prepared himself for the story that lay ahead. This was not going to be easy for either of them.

"About four years ago I made a deal with this…group to acquire some materials I needed for an experiment I had been working on for a number of years." Doc chose his words carefully. Marty was already growing suspicious though.

"What sort of deal?"

"Nothing much-" Doc stopped abruptly as he caught a glance over at Marty. The teen wasn't buying his cover-up, so Doc decided to give in. After all, didn't Marty deserve to know the truth?

"All right. I made a deal with a group of Libyan nationalists. They were planning on blowing up this building or something, and they wanted me to build the bomb for them."

Marty's eyes widened in disbelief – Is this guy serious? He clearly thought. Doc continued before Marty even had the chance to add his comment.

"I know, I know – it was stupid of me. It was insane, in fact, but I made the deal in order to acquire the plutonium I needed. I wasn't planning on using the plutonium in the bomb at all! I may have been able to build a bomb, but I wasn't prepared to allow a group of terrorists hell-bent on killing people for the good of their 'cause' to use it on innocent civilians. So instead I replaced the plutonium with some old pinball machine parts that were lying about, in the hope that they wouldn't notice."

Marty shook his head in almost total disbelief. How could Doc be so stupid? "What did you need the plutonium for?"

Doc frowned for a moment in confusion. "I needed the plutonium to power the Delorean, you know that." Marty's own expression also switched to confusion at the comment. "Oh, I forgot you don't remember."

"The Delorean? Since when do cars run on plutonium?"

"No, the actual engine of the car didn't run on plutonium," Doc knew he needed to explain things further.

"You see, way back in 1955 I was hanging a clock in my bathroom – in the house where I used to live on Riversi-" Doc shook his head, presuming once again Marty already knew the story. "Never mind. I struck my head on the edge of the sink, which knocked me unconscious. When I came to, a vision came to me of a device I named the Flux Capacitor – a device capable of allowing solid matter to travel through time!"

Marty looked as though he was taking it all in. Whether he understood a word Doc was telling him or not was another matter.

Doc continued on. "It took me another thirty years to finish the project, but I finally completed the time machine early in June 1985. In order for the time machine to power itself through time I needed something that would create 1.21 jigowatts of electricity. I needed a nuclear reaction to produce such energy – hence the plutonium."

"So what does this have to do with whatever it was you saw before?"

"I asked you to meet me at Lone Pines Mall on the morning of October 26th 1985. Do you remember?" Doc asked, a slight trace of hope appearing in his voice.

"No, I don't remember that at all. I'm sorry."

Doc's face sunk once more, the hope evidently fading. He continued anyway, although with less enthusiasm than before. "That morning I wanted to show you the time machine on its first test run. I wanted you to record the experiment for me, to prove it if it was a success. I…I also wanted you there as my friend. You did, after all, help to construct the time machine."

Marty still looked confused, although somewhat more comforted to hear that he was appreciated.

For a wide stretch of time following Doc went through the entire story of the time machine's first adventure (or misadventure) back to 1955. He explained how on the night he had met Marty on Lone Pines Mall the terrorists had managed to track him down to kill him. In the original timeline they had succeeded, shooting Doc squarely in the chest at close range. Luckily for him Marty had jumped into the Delorean in a desperate bid to try and outrun the terrorists before they killed him as a potential witness. In doing so Marty had been transported to 1955 on the very night Doc had invented time travel – November 5th 1955. If this hadn't happened, Marty wouldn't have been able to warn Doc of the impending fate that was awaiting him thirty years ahead, and Doc would not have been alive in this day.

Doc then moved further on in the story, briefly explaining how he had come to meet Clara in 1885, and how the original time machine had been destroyed on the train tracks when Marty had returned home.

The whole time Doc was reliving his memories Marty remained engrossed, trying both to recall anything of what he was relating whilst at the same time trying to remember the story for future reference. If this had been such a big event in his life, why couldn't he remember any of it?

Then came the part Doc had been particularly dreading. "The Libyans didn't succeed that October night obviously, thanks to you," he smiled gratefully, but faintly. "I've still got the letter upstairs."

"So what happened to you and Clara? How did you get back to 1985 if the time machine was destroyed?" Marty had unknowingly diverted the conversation.

"We didn't come back from the past straight away. We lived in the old west for just over ten years while I built the second time machine. We also had children to raise – Jules and Verne – and so we both had to continue to work to pay for both our housekeeping and parts for the time machine."

"Eventually I was able to build a very simplistic time machine, using a locomotive that was no longer used because it was in bad need of repair. From there I was able to travel ahead into the future and make any other final adjustments that I wasn't able to do in the 19th Century."

"Didn't you like living in the 1880s, Doc?"

"Very much so! But Clara and I both felt it would be better if we moved forward to 1985. It would be much better for Jules and Verne educationally, and I felt it to be much safer in terms of the better medical care and lifestyle. Though I must admit, it was a lot quieter back then. Things seemed to be so much smoother and not as hurried…"

Doc felt himself beginning to pull off the track of the purpose of the story, and so swiftly he steered himself back on the main path. "We returned on November 16th 1985, to give you a little bit of time to adjust to a steady life back home after the hectic time we'd had with the Delorean." Doc's nerves were beginning to tense even more as once again he neared the part of the story he favoured the least.

"I can't imagine how hard it must have felt for you to adjust to all the changes that had happened in my life – in both our lives. I'm only sorry I let you down…"

Marty's face showed signs of another question about to appear, but Doc didn't let it come to surface this time. "January 22nd, 1986 – that's when it happened. The terrorists came to reclaim their 'stolen' plutonium and to kill me. They came out of the blue, taking away someone who was very close to me. That was the day you saved my life – by giving yours." Doc glanced up at his friend, waiting for his expression to change. Silently Doc cursed himself for being so blunt about the matter, but wanted it out so badly just to release the pressure in his mind. He felt so selfish.

"What do you mean?" Marty spoke slowly but clearly. He gave Doc the unsure look again, wanting him to clarify further.

"You were shot six times…square in the chest. You saved me, by pushing me out of the way." Doc paused at this moment, to allow Marty the chance to process the words before he continued. After what seemed like minutes passed Doc felt that he should continue, as Marty was obviously in some state of shock. Doc didn't know exactly what to say next. "I know this has come as a bit of a shock to you –"

"A bit? That has to be the understatement of the year!" Marty suddenly cut in. "Doc, do you even realise what you're saying? You're telling me I was killed? That…that I was shot?!?!"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying. Marty please –"

"But how is that so – this all has to be impossible, right? How, then, can I be alive after…how long? How long ago did I die? Wait a minute – you said something before when I mentioned my age, didn't you? When I said I was seventeen. Has that got something to do with this date in January you keep mentioning, Doc?" Marty rushed through his questions in panic – all of them asked in one long breath. It was now Marty's turn to be the question master.

"Yes, Marty it does. Just calm down! You see, you were born in June 1968, and you…died…in 1986, which makes – made – no, makes – you seventeen, technically. Only, it's now the 5th August – "

"August?!"

"- 1989." Doc completed his sentence whilst Marty sat wide-eyed before him. The fact that it was August had overwhelmed him somewhat, but now he sat in complete silence, obviously finding it hard to accept that he had been dead for over three years.

Marty's face passed through many different expressions – from shock to confusion, and finally through to deep upset. He was feeling more lost than ever before, and wished that the ground could swallow him up until he realised the meaning of the phrase.

Marty continued to remain in a trance for a long time, frightening Doc more than when he'd fainted outside the night before. Doc didn't like to ask his next question, but he felt he needed to clarify where Marty stood.

"Are you remembering anything? Anything at all?"

Without moving his eyes from wherever it was he had fixed his gaze, Marty slowly but clearly shook his head to say no. His mind appeared to be working overtime to its full capacity. Doc decided to leave him be to allow himself to collect his thoughts. He pushed himself away from the table and moved over to the kitchen worktop nearby. He wanted to give Marty some distance, but didn't want to move too far away in case the young man needed him for anything.

The long silence blanketed them for a good while. Marty eventually moved, but only to lean forward onto the table. At long last he lifted his head to turn to Doc for further conversation.

"What about my family?"

"Your family?"

"My family – do I even have a family?"

Doc turned to look at Marty with a peculiar expression – the question appearing completely unexpectedly. Though then again, he could understand the anxiety his friend must have been going through not even knowing if he had a family that cared for him or not.

"Yes, you do have a family that cares for you very much."

Marty's eyes seemed to brighten somewhat at the thought of having a family to support him. Although his memories of them were non-existent (which upset him) he felt a warm feeling inside, though only briefly.

"I don't remember. My own family, and I don't remember them!" Marty laughed softly to himself, more in disbelief than anything.

Doc could sense that Marty wanted to ask him about them, and so proceeded to take up the conversation.

"I don't know why you don't remember. I'm afraid I don't know that much about them, but what I do know is that you love them very much." Doc made his way back to the table to seat himself down once again. Focusing on Marty, he continued. "You have two siblings – a brother and a sister, and they are both older than you. Your sister – Linda – is two years older and is a very headstrong young woman who hates being told what to do. Dave – your older brother by five years – is a bright young man who has a promising career ahead of him."

"Your mother is called Lorraine, and she…well…she's a good mother, judging by how she has raised you. Your father – George – is a talented and successful writer and is a man of many responsibilities."

"Wow! You weren't wrong Doc!" Marty answered in surprise. He hadn't expected any of that. He'd expected the kind of low-down family who were struggling to make ends meet. Only Doc knew the real answer…

"So what about me, Doc? What is there to know about me?"

"Where do I start! For one thing, you're a talented musician. Music has been a passion of yours for as long as I can remember. Your ambition, I believe, is to be a famous rock star one day."

"Really?"

"Really."

Marty sat back in his chair with the warmest of smiles. Folding his arms, he slowly took in what Doc was saying – and he liked the sound of it. Maybe his life wasn't going to be such a drag after all!

Doc carried on with his analysis. "You're also my assistant with any projects I may be working on, and – if I'm not mistaken – you were the first person to travel through time!"

"The first?"

"Not including Einstein, of course. He was the first time traveller, but you were the first human time traveller."

Marty shifted with excitement in his seat. He now felt more relaxed where he was, – he felt somewhat safer in Doc's presence. Even after the revelation that he had in fact been dead for three and a half years – a fact that remained at the forefront of his mind – he still felt inclined to feel good about himself. He didn't let his guard down completely though.

"How long have we known each other Doc?"

"About six years – er, well, nine years…if you –"

"If you count the years I've been dead. That's alright Doc, I get it," Marty filled in for him, understanding the implications made by Doc's apparent uneasiness.

"Er…yes…that's right." Doc felt his apprehensiveness creep in again without question. Eager to move on, he turned the discussion to another direction. "You also have a girlfriend called Jennifer."

"A girlfriend? What's she like?"

Doc felt his throat become rough, and so tried to cough to clear it. When this didn't work he left the table to make his way over to the sink for a glass of water. Marty, however, endeavoured to continue.

"You make my lifestyle sound so good Doc! I can't believe it! I must have the best life going! What's Jennifer like? Is she tall, pretty with blue eyes?"

Doc returned to the table once again with the glass of water at hand. "Almost," he replied in response to the last of Marty's questions. "She's about the same height as you, and she has hazel eyes, with wavy blonde hair. But she is very pretty, as you would agree I'm sure."

Somehow he already knew Doc's description of Jennifer. It felt strangely familiar to him, as though he had seen the woman in question before somewhere.

"You know, it's funny you should mention Jennifer having wavy blonde hair. I remember, when I was trying to find my way here, I saw a young woman in a brown station wagon stop at the lights. She was really attractive, and I remember thinking I'd seen her somewhere before. Like she was someone I vaguely knew though didn't know very well."

Doc instantly picked up on the little details. "A station wagon? Jennifer's dad owns one of those. He lets her use it to drive to and from work because it's cheaper than having two cars. Where did you see her?"

"Near the clock tower, outside the cinema. She headed out to what seemed like the outskirts of town. I lost track of her before –"

Then something occurred to him. Marty seemed to realise that he could remember all the details of the previous day – something he couldn't do before. He felt this was what Doc had picked up on from his body language (and his sudden frown), so he pushed the issue further.

"Hey Doc, you think my memory's coming back?"

"No, no – that's not what I was thinking about. It's just that Jennifer drove over here yesterday to drop off a present for my birthday. She came over in her father's station wagon at about quarter past eleven in the morning. She would have taken the road past the clock tower and on through the local estate just a couple of blocks from here. I think it was Jennifer who you saw yesterday, and followed to the outskirts of town. She was on her way here."

"That was Jennifer? No wonder she seemed so familiar. Does she…does she still think about me?" Marty was beginning to press both the issues at hand and his emotions too far, allowing himself to feel the harsh pain all over again. Doc could feel that Marty could continue this for the rest of the day, so decided to try and direct the conversation to a close.

"Marty – she's never forgotten about you! She's…she's moved on, she's met new people, made new friends –"

" – found a new boyfriend?"

Doc reluctantly nodded in response, knowing there was no way to avoid the truth. "It's been three years, Marty. She loved you very much, but she needed to overcome her grief. I know it's hard to accept that she is seeing someone else, but you have to learn to let go."

Marty sighed softly to himself in defeat. He knew Doc was right – he had been right about most other things – but he still couldn't help having the feeling of abandonment. "I guess so," Marty resigned.

The awkward silence threatened to return, so Doc felt it was the perfect place to end the conversation. "Anyway, I think it's time we ended this discussion. You need to rest yourself – you've been through enough as it is. You don't need this extra emotional strain."

"Yeah, you're right Doc."

Doc pushed himself from the table once more, preparing to end the dead atmosphere the conversation had produced for them both.

"We'll just have to see where the future will take us next."