calliopes_pen (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
calliopes_pen) wrote2011-01-01 11:26 am
calliopes_pen) wrote2011-01-01 11:26 am
Entry tags:
Fic: If You Could Read My Mind
Title: If You Could Read My Mind
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
calliopes_pen
Rating: PG
Written For:robling_t
Pairing: There are Doc/Clara moments, and a reference to Marty/Jennifer.
Fandom: Back To The Future
Word Count: 3968
Author’s Notes:robling_t specified the following in her prompt: “Well, there's all of time, if not space; what adventures other than what's been seen in canon might the Doc and Marty have got up to, either in an AU where they both ended up in the DeLorean during the initial test or in the steam-train vehicle after the films? Bonus points for crossovers with any other time-travel canons...” As you requested, there are references to Bill and Ted at the beginning, as well as a hint of Doctor Who. A huge thanks to seandc and persiflage_1 for beta reading. Cross-posted to the Yuletide collection at AO3 here.
Summary: After pausing to deal with a collision between the train and another time machine, Doc goes off to work on inventions and let off some steam. His mind reading device is perfected, and he discovers something unexpected. There’s stream of consciousness, Doc Brown style.
Marty: Doc, you gotta help me--
Doc: Don't tell me anything. Quiet, quiet. I'm gonna read your thoughts. Let's see now, you've come from a great distance?
Marty: Yeah, exactly.
Doc: Don't tell me! Uh, you want me to buy a subscription to the Saturday Evening Post?
Marty: No.
Doc: Not a word, not a word, not a word now. Quiet, donations, you want me to make a donation to the coast guard youth auxiliary?
Marty: Doc, I'm from the future. I came here in a time machine that you invented. Now, I need your help to get back to the year 1985.
Doc: My God, do you know what this means? It means that this damn thing doesn't work at all! 6 Months of work!
--Doc and Marty in the first movie—after Marty goes back to 1955, he tries to tell past Doc why he’s there, but Doc just wants to test an invention.
Some days it just didn’t pay to jump the train tracks and fly off into a new adventure in time and space. Some days one just hoped would be lazy as one drifted through time. Other days were filled with adrenaline as they hurried to save the timeline. Doc Brown had been hoping the former to be the case on this particular day, but such was not in the cards, it would seem.
Doc swiftly turned his gaze upon Marty as they boarded the train once again. Marty calmly held up his hand, in an effort to ward off the scientist’s angry (and more than a little bit frazzled when it came right down to it) look. The scientist had been like this with those others out there, growing steadily annoyed and disgusted as he heard the account of what was going on with those others. “Don’t look at me, Doc. I didn’t know those two, I didn’t give your plans to them.”
Doc sighed, knowing his anger was being directed at the wrong person. That phone booth had collided with their train--luckily causing no real damage to either side. It was doubtful that any insurance company covered collision by fellow time traveler…or phone booth. If it had been the DeLorean crashing into it, there was a high probability that one or more from both parties would have been grievously injured. The DeLorean would have been a spectacular--and likely smoldering--wreck, floating through that vast space of nothingness between past and future for the rest of eternity.
He had been particularly worried for Clara and their boys. Nobody had lost his or her footing, but everyone had been knocked about. He gave an apologetic shrug before continuing, “I know that, Marty. With them in charge of a time machine--no matter how cramped and out of date it looks when you get right down to it--just think of the catastrophic changes to the timeline they could cause.” Marty knew what was coming, and nodded along with him.
“The consequences could be disastrous. Far worse than Biff being your stepfather.” He paused as he realized he was pacing. “Our galaxy beginning to implode, the stars going out...my best, working inventions in shambles, although that’s worse for me, not really a true drawback for the human race as a whole.” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in aggravation while realizing just how far off track his speech had gone. “You get the picture, Marty! If they talk to themselves, they’ll create a paradox! Maybe a small crack, if not that. If they do, then all that trouble we went to just to avoid our past selves in 1955 was for naught.”
“Maybe we should relax, Doc. They almost seemed like they were dealing okay...between all the stuff going on.” Despite Marty’s words, it was apparent even he didn’t feel inclined to believe them. They were already gone, so Doc couldn’t offer them a ride, or teach them how to do it without disrupting things that should happen.
“We’re talking making the alternate 1985 look like a game of tiddlywinks. Or, to be more precise, complete and utter mayhem enhanced by people who don’t entirely understand the consequences of their actions, thus escalating the damage immensely. All for a history paper, if I understood them correctly. Marty, don’t ever try anything like that.”
Marty finally got the picture, and frowned. He ignored that last comment. “You mean like dominoes. Everything falls over, and that’s it. Nothing left, not even our galaxy? Like your idea of what could happen if Jennifer met herself.” He had been wrong then, but who really knew? Maybe all that survived would be cockroaches and Biff. Biff couldn’t control that civilization, no matter how hard he tried or how well he would fit in. And if he managed it, that right there was one point for not messing with history. “Hey, Doc? If we were in this vortex thing between the time periods if they finally screwed it all up by grabbing the wrong thing, would we just vanish? Or just be stuck on this train until we ran out of juice?”
Doc’s eyes widened as he pondered that question. “Oh, Marty. We would be trapped here until we were spat out...after running out of juice, as you say. Crumpled up like a paper ball, or cracked like a walnut, depending on centrifugal force. But only after a fixed period of time, you see. Until that happened, my best hypothesis might not even be close to the truth.” He added with a grimace, “But…I would say erasure from the space-time continuum was the least of everyone’s worries by that juncture.”
“Great,” Marty sighed. Just what they needed. “So until they show up again--if they do--there’s nothing to do? And who was that with them in the phone booth? Behind Lincoln, wearing a robe?
“That, my boy, was Socrates himself,” Doc marveled with a grin. It had been a pleasure to meet the man himself, for however short a time. No matter the circumstances. “To answer your other question, no. We wait, unless we notice traces of a major ruination of history in one of our history books. Until then, well…find a distraction. Work on a hobby, play a game with Jules or Verne?”
He put his hand on Marty’s shoulder, adding, “Just distract your thoughts from the possible pitfalls and any perils that may lay ahead of us. Or else we’ll both go crazier than we already are.”
Marty laughed weakly. That would be something to see in Doc’s case. “Got it, Doc. See you in the morning?”
Doc nodded in acknowledgement. “Or later. I have a few projects that need seeing to.” With that, he turned to leave, heading for the small alcove he preferred to use for a laboratory. He only paused to wave good night to Marty before rounding the corner. It was fortunate he had thought to include as many rooms as he did while designing the train, or else he would have gone stir crazy.
--
Half the day had passed by before Doc peered up again from his workbench, screwdriver in one hand, and tweezers in the other. He was currently struggling to recreate that invention he had tried once before. The contraption he had made, hoping to read minds, which Marty had later told him resembled a colander gone bad. This time around, he believed he knew where he had failed.
Once that was done, he would start on something else somewhere down the line, as time permitted. Possibly another invention could stave off the effects of other time travel meddling, if properly utilized? He wished other time travelers besides those two weren’t going for haphazard joy rides through the future and the past, thus forcing the space-time continuum to resemble nothing so much as a giant slab of Swiss cheese that had begun to rot. Or a knot tied too tightly, and beginning to fray around the edges. If he had been brilliant enough to transform both a car and a train into time machines, who knew what there might be in store for them to marvel at. Submarines that slowly drifted through the waves of time? Toy wagons? He chuckled and shook his head at how ridiculous a time traveling toy wagon would be. Maybe a covered wagon, although how some of those possibilities would get up to 88 mph without some sort of remote device deterred him.
At that, his thoughts turned back to the boys who had collided with the train. The quarters inside that accursed phone booth might be able to start it...but how would you program it, without his (granted, not always as reliable as the model for the train--and still jumpy around lightning even after being rebuilt entirely from pieces retrieved from the DeLorean, after it was scattered across the landscape; still, worth using since he did go to all the trouble of keeping it from falling into the wrong hands for a second time) old timey grid? Some outside device that you could attach to it, or simply hold onto? Maybe a screwdriver? He should really stop considering the repercussions of those two. In the name of Isaac H. Newton, if those two ended up married and with children, and those children were involved in the so-called family business, well...he shuddered to think of what else they might cause to go wrong.
If they couldn’t steer the thing, were they just twirling all over creation with no rhyme or reason? Their explanations weren’t clear. That would explain a few things.
His gaze turning to some old planks in the corner, he had another idea. Maybe he could whip up some steam powered jet skis one rainy day? While he believed he might be a little old for that particular recreational activity, his children--or Marty--might want to partake in it. It was worth a shot, once he finished this telepathy device. And eventually gave it a better name, because telepathy helmet wasn’t right. No mad scientist would hear that and respond with anything except amusement or scorn. While he had dubbed it a brain-wave analyzer in the past, that wasn’t entirely accurate if you were only meaning to read the thoughts and not download a descriptive explanation straight into your brain as well.
And while he was at it, once he had fixed the giant head-sized helmet version, maybe he could draw up some blueprints for a smaller one. Gradually progressing down to a hearing aid size or telephone size. Less intrusive, for that most intrusive of possible hobbies. Connecting a particularly hardy coil of wire to the screws in one instance, and tinkering with the original drawing of the schematics in another, and he could see where he went wrong all those years ago. To his older eyes, it was almost an unforgivable error on his part. It just took a lot of trial and error and adding parts from old arcade machines to get things right, he thought with a sigh. The metal geodesic framework merely needed a bit of reinforcement with an extra cylindrical attachment or two. Three at the most.
That, and his tendency to travel through the garbage heaps of Hill Valley in a quest for unbroken pieces of machinery was proving useful. A few items had become part of his lab, and one of the larger bolts that someone considered useless was becoming vital to the helmet. Given his getaway vehicles tended to fly and traverse space and time, there was a good reason for the man in charge of the dump to just look the other way. Who would believe him, after all?
One last twist, and it was done, Doc realized, leaning back with a sense of relief. He would give Marty some time to relax, before searching him out to test it. He just needed to get the balance right, so he wouldn’t look absurd as it tipped over and off his head and smashed on the floor.
Emmett Brown just had trouble stumbling across other time travelers lately. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at this late date that he wasn’t the only one dedicated to traversing all of time and space, but to run into two teenagers--boys to him, really--who couldn’t possibly hope to ever understand the ramifications of stealing important figures from history... It just made him want to tug haphazardly at his hair and pace the halls even more than he already was. Dealing with the mess they had caused once they landed had been a long and arduous task.
Marty had risen to that task so well that he would most likely let him steer the train to their next destination in a few days. They would just have to avoid Salem in the days of the horrid Witch Trials and ergot poisoning, if scholars were half right. He didn’t want to be hanged or, he thought with a slight wince, pressed to death. With his knowledge of the course of history, his theories, his clothing, and his inventions, he would truly be branded for a witch, as he had told Marty in the past…or maybe the future. He wasn’t sure at the moment. Best to avoid Europe of the same period, or else he would be roasted thoroughly.
Well. Some explorers through history had more sense than others, he knew. Not just Marty or himself. For instance, that man with the screwdriver, who just wouldn’t tell him the methods he used to create his own time machine, or exactly how it functioned. It was no Mr. Fusion, he had to give him that. It almost appeared to be a living entity at times. The two had thrown theories back and forth, intrigued and delighted by someone else who understood quantum physics on a very high level. Marty and Clara had cleared the area at that point, not all that interested in the topic. To play with the children? To tuck them in? Whatever the case, it the sun had been slowly rising to dawn another day as they parted ways, and the fellow had disappeared in that strange machine. He had been distracted on that day. He wasn’t sure what game it might have been, probably that blasted game of Clue again.
The last time he played with Jules and Verne, he thought with a small smile, it was Professor Plum in the library with the revolver. It must have been that one, given Jules’ current interest in mysteries and all they entailed, while Chinese Checkers was the game that had become Verne’s favorite. He had gathered as many board games as they could find throughout time and space, just to spoil them rotten once they reached the proper age and mindset for them. Fondly, he mused that it figured they would prefer the simple classics…just like their old man.
It had been very interesting showing Clara how to play all those games as well. She had been just as eager to learn, as she was to teach, as she always was on any occasion that involved something small and mundane to him, but that signified something important to the time he originally lived in.
He really should throw her to a ‘thank you for dealing with my eccentricities’ party. Thinking back on 1885, while he wasn’t the best when it came to dancing, it just felt like things clicked with her. There would be a pained look or two as he missed the floor and instead landed squarely on her toes, but he would make that up to her, too. Possibly with an invention that made shoes sturdy enough to withstand and reflect sudden and extreme pressure upon the extremities. Now where was a recorder or notepad when you needed one? He searched his pockets, as he wanted to make note of that idea.
“Drat. Must have left them in my lab coat again.” He rubbed his tired eyes, finally packing up the tools, save one or two that might be needed to tighten a screw or three as needed.
And with that, it was time for bed--and then, in the morning, he would use Marty as his guinea pig.
--
“Marty! Stand still for a moment, would you? I need your mind! You have to think of something I would never guess!” Who cared if he looked strange? It was worth ambushing Marty at 7 AM, if only for the look on his face when he realized what was on Doc’s head.
Marty’s look turned to mischief as he realized just how things could go if the colander on Doc’s head actually did what it was supposed to. Marty focused on several planned trips with Jennifer, the increasing--and likely shocking for Doc if he wasn’t expecting it--detail of a date night they had planned. And much more. Finally, he asked, “Well, Doc? What’s the verdict? Can you read my mind?”
Doc’s expression was downright comical as the images filtered from Marty’s brain down into his own. His eyes widened in horror, before he shook his head in the vain effort to dislodge the pictures. Had Marty discovered the Kama Sutra at some point? He didn’t want to know. He truly, utterly and wholeheartedly did not want to know.
His sudden intake of air—one he would never admit to being almost a startled gasp of awe--progressed into a strangled cough before he returned to his senses, likely to Marty’s eternal disappointment. Maybe he ought to locate Clara later, was almost his only coherent thought for another few seconds. “The verdict? Yes, of course...the verdict is that I should have found someone without teenage hormones crashing through their bloodstreams. So...it works!”
The joy of that was enough to cancel out any remaining horror in Doc, and he ignored Marty’s laughter. One last bit of tinkering to get the head strap tighter, and he would show it to Clara at some point later.
Then again, maybe not. The dainty footsteps of his wife could be heard in the hallway, meaning he could test things out now. He attempted to spin around to greet Clara as he heard her footsteps, only for the device on his head to cause him to topple into her arms with a grunt. Which, while a nice place to be at the best of times, was not good if he crushed her. He was grateful he had managed a twist so as not to do that.
“Oh, Emmett,” Clara chuckled, once she regained her bearings. “How did you ever make it through the doorway?”
“Very carefully, with grace and precision, my dear,” he nodded gravely. However, it didn’t take long before a grin appeared. In reality, it had taken very careful maneuvering as he navigated through the corridors of the train, and then a careful head tilt here and there, so as not to snag stray bits on anything and risk having it rip anything off what he had just pieced together. That was another tip that his inventions should be gradually made smaller.
He blinked in confusion for a brief moment as he felt something tickle at his consciousness--two somethings, near as he could determine. One was Clara, he couldn’t mistake that voice, even if he was accidentally reading her--presumably it had been activated by the jostle, or he simply hadn’t switched it off when he finished the test on Marty. And so it was, that without even a warning to prepare her, Doc had shouted with a sudden joy and clasped her to his chest. It was a scream he hadn’t truly let loose since he had successfully sent Marty back to the future. He didn’t care that he had partially crushed her hat against him, he would buy her a new one. He would take her to the best century for the best hats!
He managed to swing her around with the invention remaining on his head…this time without knocking them both into the wall, although it was a near thing. There wasn’t room for the little dance he had desperately wanted to do, just that small twirl...but it was enough for him. Marty gave them a wide berth. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Is it true? There’s another little one on the way? If it is, oh, Clara, if it’s twins—how do Isaac and Newton as ideas sound to you? Perhaps Nikola and Tesla? We have a Jules and a Verne already, we’ll have to look in another favorite novel, or just a regular old book of scientist names.” While Tesla Brown might not work all that well, it certainly wasn’t a boring name like John Smith. It wasn’t something millions of people across the globe would already have.
Clara had been startled when he had shouted, worried he was injured or the thing on his head had managed to drive him completely over the edge. Somehow. The surprise changed to relief. “Oh, Emmett. That’s what you’ve been working on all day without stopping...something to read minds? I was waiting for the best moment to tell you,” she said, her dueling expressions of amusement and curiosity belying the sternness of her words. "Just one child now, unless you listened in on something I didn't know from that precious baby's mind? No? We'll get a future hospital…22nd century, maybe...to scan me later on, but not tell us the sex. See if your hope was correct." When he shook his head at the former and nodded at the latter suggestion, she wryly added, “Those names are all nice, but how do you feel about Michel? And you’ll let me know if you pick up any extra signals, I trust.”
That only required a moment’s thought. “The son of Jules Verne? Another excellent choice.” Doc turned to the doorway where Marty was waiting. He could see realization dawning on the boy’s face as he understood what had just transpired. Calling out with a shout that mixed both glee and a joy that was never going to get old. “Marty! Tomorrow, you get to steer the train to a destination of your choosing. Partly because you’ve earned it as a token of our appreciation after our travels.” Here, he shared a small smile with Clara, before continuing, “And partly as a way to celebrate.” He heard Clara’s delighted laughter, and added, “This time, you might actually get to be there at the birth...but we won’t be hopping ahead and spoiling the surprise of whether it’s a girl or a boy.” Surprises were best in this case.
Having turned away from him, he sensed rather than saw Marty choosing discretion as he backed out of the room, but stopped him with a raised hand and a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, of course. Marty! Find the trunk of streamers! Go to the last closet, take ten paces, turn left, and it should be right there, holding up a table that’s missing a leg. It was blown off during an experiment. Don’t knock over the vase, that was a gift from Clara’s aunt.” Once he saw the instructions had sunk in--and that Marty was also writing them down, he threw his arms up in joy, shouting, “We’re having a ‘Great Scott, she’s pregnant again’ celebration in one hour and twenty-five minutes! Don’t be late.” Only giving him time for a heartfelt nod of acknowledgement, he scooped Clara up in a hug.
Another child or two was the most enchanting of prospects to him. It made him want to land the train somewhere, get out, and just run around whooping and hollering for a few minutes at the very least. And when it came to thinking of the future…well, a moment like this was far greater to him than anything he could have envisioned when he fell off his toilet back in 1955.
Doc sighed happily as he clasped Clara to him in a tight embrace. He still had the sleep inducing alpha rhythm generator squirreled away somewhere in one of his steam trunks--it had managed to survive all the hectic days and nights since the alternate 1985, the trip back to 1955, as well as those long months in 1885. Once a month in safe mode, at the most. If need be, if he couldn’t manage to rest for the chaotic swirling of his animated thoughts once his head hit the pillow, he could send himself off to blissful slumber until Clara, Marty, the children, or the timeline had need of him once more.
Then again, something was to be said for the natural way, he mused as he looked at his lovely wife.
Finis
Author:
calliopes_penRating: PG
Written For:
robling_tPairing: There are Doc/Clara moments, and a reference to Marty/Jennifer.
Fandom: Back To The Future
Word Count: 3968
Author’s Notes:
robling_t specified the following in her prompt: “Well, there's all of time, if not space; what adventures other than what's been seen in canon might the Doc and Marty have got up to, either in an AU where they both ended up in the DeLorean during the initial test or in the steam-train vehicle after the films? Bonus points for crossovers with any other time-travel canons...” As you requested, there are references to Bill and Ted at the beginning, as well as a hint of Doctor Who. A huge thanks to seandc and persiflage_1 for beta reading. Cross-posted to the Yuletide collection at AO3 here.Summary: After pausing to deal with a collision between the train and another time machine, Doc goes off to work on inventions and let off some steam. His mind reading device is perfected, and he discovers something unexpected. There’s stream of consciousness, Doc Brown style.
Marty: Doc, you gotta help me--
Doc: Don't tell me anything. Quiet, quiet. I'm gonna read your thoughts. Let's see now, you've come from a great distance?
Marty: Yeah, exactly.
Doc: Don't tell me! Uh, you want me to buy a subscription to the Saturday Evening Post?
Marty: No.
Doc: Not a word, not a word, not a word now. Quiet, donations, you want me to make a donation to the coast guard youth auxiliary?
Marty: Doc, I'm from the future. I came here in a time machine that you invented. Now, I need your help to get back to the year 1985.
Doc: My God, do you know what this means? It means that this damn thing doesn't work at all! 6 Months of work!
--Doc and Marty in the first movie—after Marty goes back to 1955, he tries to tell past Doc why he’s there, but Doc just wants to test an invention.
Some days it just didn’t pay to jump the train tracks and fly off into a new adventure in time and space. Some days one just hoped would be lazy as one drifted through time. Other days were filled with adrenaline as they hurried to save the timeline. Doc Brown had been hoping the former to be the case on this particular day, but such was not in the cards, it would seem.
Doc swiftly turned his gaze upon Marty as they boarded the train once again. Marty calmly held up his hand, in an effort to ward off the scientist’s angry (and more than a little bit frazzled when it came right down to it) look. The scientist had been like this with those others out there, growing steadily annoyed and disgusted as he heard the account of what was going on with those others. “Don’t look at me, Doc. I didn’t know those two, I didn’t give your plans to them.”
Doc sighed, knowing his anger was being directed at the wrong person. That phone booth had collided with their train--luckily causing no real damage to either side. It was doubtful that any insurance company covered collision by fellow time traveler…or phone booth. If it had been the DeLorean crashing into it, there was a high probability that one or more from both parties would have been grievously injured. The DeLorean would have been a spectacular--and likely smoldering--wreck, floating through that vast space of nothingness between past and future for the rest of eternity.
He had been particularly worried for Clara and their boys. Nobody had lost his or her footing, but everyone had been knocked about. He gave an apologetic shrug before continuing, “I know that, Marty. With them in charge of a time machine--no matter how cramped and out of date it looks when you get right down to it--just think of the catastrophic changes to the timeline they could cause.” Marty knew what was coming, and nodded along with him.
“The consequences could be disastrous. Far worse than Biff being your stepfather.” He paused as he realized he was pacing. “Our galaxy beginning to implode, the stars going out...my best, working inventions in shambles, although that’s worse for me, not really a true drawback for the human race as a whole.” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in aggravation while realizing just how far off track his speech had gone. “You get the picture, Marty! If they talk to themselves, they’ll create a paradox! Maybe a small crack, if not that. If they do, then all that trouble we went to just to avoid our past selves in 1955 was for naught.”
“Maybe we should relax, Doc. They almost seemed like they were dealing okay...between all the stuff going on.” Despite Marty’s words, it was apparent even he didn’t feel inclined to believe them. They were already gone, so Doc couldn’t offer them a ride, or teach them how to do it without disrupting things that should happen.
“We’re talking making the alternate 1985 look like a game of tiddlywinks. Or, to be more precise, complete and utter mayhem enhanced by people who don’t entirely understand the consequences of their actions, thus escalating the damage immensely. All for a history paper, if I understood them correctly. Marty, don’t ever try anything like that.”
Marty finally got the picture, and frowned. He ignored that last comment. “You mean like dominoes. Everything falls over, and that’s it. Nothing left, not even our galaxy? Like your idea of what could happen if Jennifer met herself.” He had been wrong then, but who really knew? Maybe all that survived would be cockroaches and Biff. Biff couldn’t control that civilization, no matter how hard he tried or how well he would fit in. And if he managed it, that right there was one point for not messing with history. “Hey, Doc? If we were in this vortex thing between the time periods if they finally screwed it all up by grabbing the wrong thing, would we just vanish? Or just be stuck on this train until we ran out of juice?”
Doc’s eyes widened as he pondered that question. “Oh, Marty. We would be trapped here until we were spat out...after running out of juice, as you say. Crumpled up like a paper ball, or cracked like a walnut, depending on centrifugal force. But only after a fixed period of time, you see. Until that happened, my best hypothesis might not even be close to the truth.” He added with a grimace, “But…I would say erasure from the space-time continuum was the least of everyone’s worries by that juncture.”
“Great,” Marty sighed. Just what they needed. “So until they show up again--if they do--there’s nothing to do? And who was that with them in the phone booth? Behind Lincoln, wearing a robe?
“That, my boy, was Socrates himself,” Doc marveled with a grin. It had been a pleasure to meet the man himself, for however short a time. No matter the circumstances. “To answer your other question, no. We wait, unless we notice traces of a major ruination of history in one of our history books. Until then, well…find a distraction. Work on a hobby, play a game with Jules or Verne?”
He put his hand on Marty’s shoulder, adding, “Just distract your thoughts from the possible pitfalls and any perils that may lay ahead of us. Or else we’ll both go crazier than we already are.”
Marty laughed weakly. That would be something to see in Doc’s case. “Got it, Doc. See you in the morning?”
Doc nodded in acknowledgement. “Or later. I have a few projects that need seeing to.” With that, he turned to leave, heading for the small alcove he preferred to use for a laboratory. He only paused to wave good night to Marty before rounding the corner. It was fortunate he had thought to include as many rooms as he did while designing the train, or else he would have gone stir crazy.
--
Half the day had passed by before Doc peered up again from his workbench, screwdriver in one hand, and tweezers in the other. He was currently struggling to recreate that invention he had tried once before. The contraption he had made, hoping to read minds, which Marty had later told him resembled a colander gone bad. This time around, he believed he knew where he had failed.
Once that was done, he would start on something else somewhere down the line, as time permitted. Possibly another invention could stave off the effects of other time travel meddling, if properly utilized? He wished other time travelers besides those two weren’t going for haphazard joy rides through the future and the past, thus forcing the space-time continuum to resemble nothing so much as a giant slab of Swiss cheese that had begun to rot. Or a knot tied too tightly, and beginning to fray around the edges. If he had been brilliant enough to transform both a car and a train into time machines, who knew what there might be in store for them to marvel at. Submarines that slowly drifted through the waves of time? Toy wagons? He chuckled and shook his head at how ridiculous a time traveling toy wagon would be. Maybe a covered wagon, although how some of those possibilities would get up to 88 mph without some sort of remote device deterred him.
At that, his thoughts turned back to the boys who had collided with the train. The quarters inside that accursed phone booth might be able to start it...but how would you program it, without his (granted, not always as reliable as the model for the train--and still jumpy around lightning even after being rebuilt entirely from pieces retrieved from the DeLorean, after it was scattered across the landscape; still, worth using since he did go to all the trouble of keeping it from falling into the wrong hands for a second time) old timey grid? Some outside device that you could attach to it, or simply hold onto? Maybe a screwdriver? He should really stop considering the repercussions of those two. In the name of Isaac H. Newton, if those two ended up married and with children, and those children were involved in the so-called family business, well...he shuddered to think of what else they might cause to go wrong.
If they couldn’t steer the thing, were they just twirling all over creation with no rhyme or reason? Their explanations weren’t clear. That would explain a few things.
His gaze turning to some old planks in the corner, he had another idea. Maybe he could whip up some steam powered jet skis one rainy day? While he believed he might be a little old for that particular recreational activity, his children--or Marty--might want to partake in it. It was worth a shot, once he finished this telepathy device. And eventually gave it a better name, because telepathy helmet wasn’t right. No mad scientist would hear that and respond with anything except amusement or scorn. While he had dubbed it a brain-wave analyzer in the past, that wasn’t entirely accurate if you were only meaning to read the thoughts and not download a descriptive explanation straight into your brain as well.
And while he was at it, once he had fixed the giant head-sized helmet version, maybe he could draw up some blueprints for a smaller one. Gradually progressing down to a hearing aid size or telephone size. Less intrusive, for that most intrusive of possible hobbies. Connecting a particularly hardy coil of wire to the screws in one instance, and tinkering with the original drawing of the schematics in another, and he could see where he went wrong all those years ago. To his older eyes, it was almost an unforgivable error on his part. It just took a lot of trial and error and adding parts from old arcade machines to get things right, he thought with a sigh. The metal geodesic framework merely needed a bit of reinforcement with an extra cylindrical attachment or two. Three at the most.
That, and his tendency to travel through the garbage heaps of Hill Valley in a quest for unbroken pieces of machinery was proving useful. A few items had become part of his lab, and one of the larger bolts that someone considered useless was becoming vital to the helmet. Given his getaway vehicles tended to fly and traverse space and time, there was a good reason for the man in charge of the dump to just look the other way. Who would believe him, after all?
One last twist, and it was done, Doc realized, leaning back with a sense of relief. He would give Marty some time to relax, before searching him out to test it. He just needed to get the balance right, so he wouldn’t look absurd as it tipped over and off his head and smashed on the floor.
Emmett Brown just had trouble stumbling across other time travelers lately. He knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at this late date that he wasn’t the only one dedicated to traversing all of time and space, but to run into two teenagers--boys to him, really--who couldn’t possibly hope to ever understand the ramifications of stealing important figures from history... It just made him want to tug haphazardly at his hair and pace the halls even more than he already was. Dealing with the mess they had caused once they landed had been a long and arduous task.
Marty had risen to that task so well that he would most likely let him steer the train to their next destination in a few days. They would just have to avoid Salem in the days of the horrid Witch Trials and ergot poisoning, if scholars were half right. He didn’t want to be hanged or, he thought with a slight wince, pressed to death. With his knowledge of the course of history, his theories, his clothing, and his inventions, he would truly be branded for a witch, as he had told Marty in the past…or maybe the future. He wasn’t sure at the moment. Best to avoid Europe of the same period, or else he would be roasted thoroughly.
Well. Some explorers through history had more sense than others, he knew. Not just Marty or himself. For instance, that man with the screwdriver, who just wouldn’t tell him the methods he used to create his own time machine, or exactly how it functioned. It was no Mr. Fusion, he had to give him that. It almost appeared to be a living entity at times. The two had thrown theories back and forth, intrigued and delighted by someone else who understood quantum physics on a very high level. Marty and Clara had cleared the area at that point, not all that interested in the topic. To play with the children? To tuck them in? Whatever the case, it the sun had been slowly rising to dawn another day as they parted ways, and the fellow had disappeared in that strange machine. He had been distracted on that day. He wasn’t sure what game it might have been, probably that blasted game of Clue again.
The last time he played with Jules and Verne, he thought with a small smile, it was Professor Plum in the library with the revolver. It must have been that one, given Jules’ current interest in mysteries and all they entailed, while Chinese Checkers was the game that had become Verne’s favorite. He had gathered as many board games as they could find throughout time and space, just to spoil them rotten once they reached the proper age and mindset for them. Fondly, he mused that it figured they would prefer the simple classics…just like their old man.
It had been very interesting showing Clara how to play all those games as well. She had been just as eager to learn, as she was to teach, as she always was on any occasion that involved something small and mundane to him, but that signified something important to the time he originally lived in.
He really should throw her to a ‘thank you for dealing with my eccentricities’ party. Thinking back on 1885, while he wasn’t the best when it came to dancing, it just felt like things clicked with her. There would be a pained look or two as he missed the floor and instead landed squarely on her toes, but he would make that up to her, too. Possibly with an invention that made shoes sturdy enough to withstand and reflect sudden and extreme pressure upon the extremities. Now where was a recorder or notepad when you needed one? He searched his pockets, as he wanted to make note of that idea.
“Drat. Must have left them in my lab coat again.” He rubbed his tired eyes, finally packing up the tools, save one or two that might be needed to tighten a screw or three as needed.
And with that, it was time for bed--and then, in the morning, he would use Marty as his guinea pig.
--
“Marty! Stand still for a moment, would you? I need your mind! You have to think of something I would never guess!” Who cared if he looked strange? It was worth ambushing Marty at 7 AM, if only for the look on his face when he realized what was on Doc’s head.
Marty’s look turned to mischief as he realized just how things could go if the colander on Doc’s head actually did what it was supposed to. Marty focused on several planned trips with Jennifer, the increasing--and likely shocking for Doc if he wasn’t expecting it--detail of a date night they had planned. And much more. Finally, he asked, “Well, Doc? What’s the verdict? Can you read my mind?”
Doc’s expression was downright comical as the images filtered from Marty’s brain down into his own. His eyes widened in horror, before he shook his head in the vain effort to dislodge the pictures. Had Marty discovered the Kama Sutra at some point? He didn’t want to know. He truly, utterly and wholeheartedly did not want to know.
His sudden intake of air—one he would never admit to being almost a startled gasp of awe--progressed into a strangled cough before he returned to his senses, likely to Marty’s eternal disappointment. Maybe he ought to locate Clara later, was almost his only coherent thought for another few seconds. “The verdict? Yes, of course...the verdict is that I should have found someone without teenage hormones crashing through their bloodstreams. So...it works!”
The joy of that was enough to cancel out any remaining horror in Doc, and he ignored Marty’s laughter. One last bit of tinkering to get the head strap tighter, and he would show it to Clara at some point later.
Then again, maybe not. The dainty footsteps of his wife could be heard in the hallway, meaning he could test things out now. He attempted to spin around to greet Clara as he heard her footsteps, only for the device on his head to cause him to topple into her arms with a grunt. Which, while a nice place to be at the best of times, was not good if he crushed her. He was grateful he had managed a twist so as not to do that.
“Oh, Emmett,” Clara chuckled, once she regained her bearings. “How did you ever make it through the doorway?”
“Very carefully, with grace and precision, my dear,” he nodded gravely. However, it didn’t take long before a grin appeared. In reality, it had taken very careful maneuvering as he navigated through the corridors of the train, and then a careful head tilt here and there, so as not to snag stray bits on anything and risk having it rip anything off what he had just pieced together. That was another tip that his inventions should be gradually made smaller.
He blinked in confusion for a brief moment as he felt something tickle at his consciousness--two somethings, near as he could determine. One was Clara, he couldn’t mistake that voice, even if he was accidentally reading her--presumably it had been activated by the jostle, or he simply hadn’t switched it off when he finished the test on Marty. And so it was, that without even a warning to prepare her, Doc had shouted with a sudden joy and clasped her to his chest. It was a scream he hadn’t truly let loose since he had successfully sent Marty back to the future. He didn’t care that he had partially crushed her hat against him, he would buy her a new one. He would take her to the best century for the best hats!
He managed to swing her around with the invention remaining on his head…this time without knocking them both into the wall, although it was a near thing. There wasn’t room for the little dance he had desperately wanted to do, just that small twirl...but it was enough for him. Marty gave them a wide berth. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Is it true? There’s another little one on the way? If it is, oh, Clara, if it’s twins—how do Isaac and Newton as ideas sound to you? Perhaps Nikola and Tesla? We have a Jules and a Verne already, we’ll have to look in another favorite novel, or just a regular old book of scientist names.” While Tesla Brown might not work all that well, it certainly wasn’t a boring name like John Smith. It wasn’t something millions of people across the globe would already have.
Clara had been startled when he had shouted, worried he was injured or the thing on his head had managed to drive him completely over the edge. Somehow. The surprise changed to relief. “Oh, Emmett. That’s what you’ve been working on all day without stopping...something to read minds? I was waiting for the best moment to tell you,” she said, her dueling expressions of amusement and curiosity belying the sternness of her words. "Just one child now, unless you listened in on something I didn't know from that precious baby's mind? No? We'll get a future hospital…22nd century, maybe...to scan me later on, but not tell us the sex. See if your hope was correct." When he shook his head at the former and nodded at the latter suggestion, she wryly added, “Those names are all nice, but how do you feel about Michel? And you’ll let me know if you pick up any extra signals, I trust.”
That only required a moment’s thought. “The son of Jules Verne? Another excellent choice.” Doc turned to the doorway where Marty was waiting. He could see realization dawning on the boy’s face as he understood what had just transpired. Calling out with a shout that mixed both glee and a joy that was never going to get old. “Marty! Tomorrow, you get to steer the train to a destination of your choosing. Partly because you’ve earned it as a token of our appreciation after our travels.” Here, he shared a small smile with Clara, before continuing, “And partly as a way to celebrate.” He heard Clara’s delighted laughter, and added, “This time, you might actually get to be there at the birth...but we won’t be hopping ahead and spoiling the surprise of whether it’s a girl or a boy.” Surprises were best in this case.
Having turned away from him, he sensed rather than saw Marty choosing discretion as he backed out of the room, but stopped him with a raised hand and a twinkle in his eyes. “Oh, of course. Marty! Find the trunk of streamers! Go to the last closet, take ten paces, turn left, and it should be right there, holding up a table that’s missing a leg. It was blown off during an experiment. Don’t knock over the vase, that was a gift from Clara’s aunt.” Once he saw the instructions had sunk in--and that Marty was also writing them down, he threw his arms up in joy, shouting, “We’re having a ‘Great Scott, she’s pregnant again’ celebration in one hour and twenty-five minutes! Don’t be late.” Only giving him time for a heartfelt nod of acknowledgement, he scooped Clara up in a hug.
Another child or two was the most enchanting of prospects to him. It made him want to land the train somewhere, get out, and just run around whooping and hollering for a few minutes at the very least. And when it came to thinking of the future…well, a moment like this was far greater to him than anything he could have envisioned when he fell off his toilet back in 1955.
Doc sighed happily as he clasped Clara to him in a tight embrace. He still had the sleep inducing alpha rhythm generator squirreled away somewhere in one of his steam trunks--it had managed to survive all the hectic days and nights since the alternate 1985, the trip back to 1955, as well as those long months in 1885. Once a month in safe mode, at the most. If need be, if he couldn’t manage to rest for the chaotic swirling of his animated thoughts once his head hit the pillow, he could send himself off to blissful slumber until Clara, Marty, the children, or the timeline had need of him once more.
Then again, something was to be said for the natural way, he mused as he looked at his lovely wife.