A Visit With an Old Friend
Title: A Visit With an Old Friend
Author: someidiot
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Doc Brown, Marty McFly, Original Character
Genre: Friendship / Drama
Spoilers/Setting: None
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 2,400
Story Summary: Doc Brown visits an old friend at a nursing home.
Alternate Link: FF.net
Doctor Emmett Brown had always hated nursing homes.
The very idea had always disturbed on a fundamental level. There was no reason to come and stay at a place like this except to sit and wither away in what was presumably comfort. Yet he couldn't imagine being comfortable in a place like this. He had explicitly told his children he did not want to wind up in a place like this. He was in his nineties now, and still going strong thanks to futuristic rejuvenation treatment, so perhaps such a choice would never have to be made in his own lifetime.
Some people were not so lucky.
He checked in at the front desk, giving his name and the resident he was here to see. The room number was written down for him but he kept it shoved in his pocket, instead strolling through the facility a bit before really seeking out who he wanted to see. The facility was a maze of hallways, nothing but hallways, radiating out in a semi-circular patter from a central point, each wing spanning one or two long halls of rooms where the elderly wasted away before their death. The décor suggested the colors had once been bright, but had faded over time - pink to a reddish gray, sky blue to a dull, yellowed green, an unintentional metaphor for the contents it housed. The air was stale, smelling of hospital-grade cleaners and cheap air fresheners. It was unsettling and falsely cheerful, a place that forced a smile while you wasted away. Perhaps things were different now, but Emmett wasn't willing to find out firsthand what it was like to live in a place like this.
One hallway had an offshoot that led into a small dining room, nearly empty save for a few groups of young people chatting with their elderly relatives. Emmett paused a moment, then stepped inside, glancing around. It was small, only about seven tables or so, each seating four people. There was a counter, sink and cupboards near the entrance with a coffee machine full of stale decaf, and every two or three tables were occupied with a resident and one or two relatives.
Emmett's gaze swept the room, mostly out of curiosity, but he stopped as his eyes fell on the far corner of the room. A man sat alone at the table, back to the windows, staring straight at Emmett and smiling warmly.
Wordlessly, Emmett approached the table and sat down across from the elderly man, far older than he, and managed a sad smile. They said nothing at first, and Emmett took that moment to look him over. The man was wheelchair bound, his body having shaped itself to the seat after God knows how much usage. His weathered face was a map of his life, with each crease and wrinkle along his face alluding to the thousands of times he'd smiled over the course of his lifetime. Hooked around his ears and under his nose was a tube leading to the oxygen tank fastened to the back of his wheelchair. Despite his state of poor health, he was dressed sharply, though plainly, just a collared shirt and comfortable slacks, with his thin hair combed back as best as neatly as possible.
Emmett knew the man was inspecting him, too - assessing him. They locked eyes again, and Emmett felt his chest tighten as he looked into those bright blue eyes, the familiar spark of youth long since gone from them, replaced by the wisdom that comes from age and experience. Emmett wanted to speak, to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't come to him. His old friend watched him quietly, knowingly, before finally breaking the silence with his low, tired, gravelly voice.
"Hey, Doc."
The greeting struck Emmett like a slap in the face. His resolve shattered and he buried his face in his hand, failing to hold back the tears he'd promised himself he wouldn't shed. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here. It hurt to see his old friend, the boy bursting with limitless energy and life, in this sickly, tired state. "Marty," he choked, leaning on the table, gaze turned downward. He tried to swallow his sobs, managing to regain his resolve after a moment and looking back up at his old friend with another sad smile. "Marty," he repeated, more steadily this time. "How are you doing?"
Marty reached across the table, as far as he could, and Emmett mirrored him to take his hand. The grip was tight and familiar, though strangely alien coming from such frail fingers. Emmett took in every vein, bone, and paper-thin muscle he could feel, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this old man was no ancestor, no look-alike descendant, this was Marty. He wanted to leave, wanted to get out of there and wipe this moment from his memory. He could hop back into the DeLorean, go back to 1987, and have more crazy adventures with his young protegé living in blissful denial of the fact that his friend would ever grow into such a sorry, pathetic, heartbreakingly painful state. Yet it was too late for that. He wouldn't get this chance again.
"I'm alive," Marty said, managing a shrug. "Can't ask for much more at my age."
Emmett felt his eyes burn with more tears and he nodded silently. He didn't dare open his mouth, for fear another sob might escape.
Marty watched him, then gave a warm, understanding smile. "So, today's the day, huh?"
No, Emmett wanted to tell him, no, you'll be fine, can't I just visit a friend when he needs me? But he opened his mouth and he couldn't find the words, only a quiet, breathy sob emerged. There was no point hiding it then, and he finally just nodded, dabbing at his tears with his fingertips. It was information about the future, he knew, but at this point Emmett knew nothing could be done to prevent it.
Marty let out a long, relieved sigh. "It's about damn time."
Emmett looked up sharply, staring at him in shock. "Marty!"
"I'm old, Doc," Marty said, his tone tired and relieved. "From the look of you, I'm old enough to be your father, and then some." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Actually, when are you from right now? How many kids have you got?"
"Both of them."
Marty's eyes twinkled. "Only two, then," he chuckled, tapping the table and giving a knowing smirk.
Emmett balked. "Only?"
But Marty brought his free hand to his face, miming a zip across his lips.
Emmett had to smile, then, despite himself. He was about to say more, but a new voice cut into his thoughts before he could think of what to say.
"Hey, Granddad!" A young man approached the table, setting down two styrofoam cups of coffee. "Sorry I took so long, the stuff they had was out for hours and tasted like manure. I just went ahead and made a whole new batch." He was young, maybe in his early twenties, with a long face accentuated with square, thick-rimmed glasses. His red hair was styled into this bizarre upward sweep, and his clothes were adorned with mismatched, obnoxious clashing patterns. Ah, future fashions, always looking more and more ridiculous. There was something familiar about him. He could definitely see Marty in this boy, for sure, but something else tugged at the edges of Emmett's awareness with just a glance.
The young man looked at Emmett, then grinned. "Oh, hey there. Sorry, I don't think we've met."
"I'm just visiting an old friend," Emmett told him with a warm smile. "Are you Marty's grandson?" The question was merely a formality, really. They were obviously related.
"Great-grandson, actually," he said, with a grin.
Though the shape of his face was different, and the spread of his features, he had Marty's eyes, right down to that youthful sparkle his great-grandfather once had. Yet the smile was off. That wasn't Marty's smile. Who else did he look like?
The young man extended his hand. "Jeff Tannen."
"Tannen!" Emmett choked, eyes wide, shaking his hand in return. "I, uh, yes. Nice to meet you. Emmett Brown."
"Brown? No kidding?" Jeff shook his head. "Crazy. Hey, Mister Brown, can I get you a coffee?"
"Er, yes," Emmett said, still recovering from the shock. "That'd be wonderful, thank you. I'll take it black."
Jeff was on the other side of the dining room in moments, and once he was out of earshot, Emmett leaned in and stared wide-eyed at Marty. "Tannen," he hissed, "your great-grandson's a Tannen?"
"Well, one of them is. There's still a gaggle of McFlys running around, don't worry." Marty chuckled, shakily taking a sip of the coffee. He paused to flex his left hand a moment. "He's a brilliant young man. Working on his Master's in physics."
"A Tannen, though?" Emmett was still having trouble processing that.
"He gets his brains from his mother," Marty assured him. "My granddaughter was a world-renowned chemist. Doctor Marie Tannen." He stopped to take another sip of coffee, then set the cup down, smiling at Emmett. "Née Brown."
Emmett's jaw dropped and he found himself at a complete loss for words as the realization sunk in. "You mean to say... at some point, our children...?"
"Small town, Doc. Everyone's related to each other after a generation or two." Marty smirked. "Heavy stuff."
"Great scott!" Emmett breathed, shaking his head, his heart swelling with joy. He didn't dare ask which children married which, but he was sure he couldn't choose a finer daughter-in-law. He stared down at the table, letting it sink in. Marty had always been family, as far as Emmett was concerned, but to make it official by means of marriage... it must have been a joyous day for all involved.
Emmett looked up and was about to say more when Marty's smirk fell, and his face contorted in pain. He cried out and doubled over, clutching his chest.
Emmett was immediately at his friend's side, clutching his right hand. The joy in his heart had frozen and shattered, leaving him with only a heavy lump of ice in his stomach. He felt helpless as Marty's breathing became labored and raspy. No, not yet, Emmett begged silently, not bothering to hold back his quiet tears. Just a little more time, just a few more minutes!
He thought he'd been prepared for this. He had come to this date, this time, specifically to be here, to comfort his closest friend as he slipped away into death. He'd steeled himself against the knowledge of Marty's oncoming passing and thought he'd be able to handle it more gracefully. But each raspy breath was like a stab to Emmett's heart, each moment looking into those frightened eyes only sent more tears rolling down his face. Why couldn't he have slipped away in his sleep, peacefully and painlessly? Why did it have to be like... like this? Awake and aware and hurting?
There was a commotion around them, nurses gathering and Jeff talking frantically. Someone tried to pull Emmett away but he stayed put, reaching up, running his fingers through Marty's thin, hair.
"It's all right, Marty," he said softly, his voice choked and ravaged with sobs, "it's going to be all right."
Marty's breathing calmed, and he managed a small smile, relaxing against the back of his wheelchair. "I know, Doc," he said softly between ragged breaths. "I'm ready."
The grip on Emmett's hand went slack, and with one final sigh, Marty's eyes dimmed and his whole body relaxed. Someone pulled at Emmett's arm again and this time he let himself be torn away as the nurses rushed to resuscitate Marty. Emmett didn't stick around, already knowing their efforts would be in vain. He took one final look at Jeff, his beautiful, brilliant great-grandson, the descendant and legacy of two best friends, before quietly slipping out of the dining room unnoticed.
When he got back in the DeLorean he stayed there, sobbing loudly and unashamedly for a long, long time.
-----
Marty arrived at Doc's house just as the DeLorean popped back into 1987 from God-knows-when. He grinned, parking his truck on the side of the street and hopping out just as Doc pulled into his driveway.
"Hey," Marty cried with a wave, "How's it going? I was wondering..." he trailed off as Doc looked up at him, staring at him with a strange, sad... distant look on his face. His eyes were pink and swollen. Marty could tell he'd been crying. "Doc," Marty's tone was more concerned as he approached, "Doc, what's wrong? What happened?"
Doc didn't answer. He just stepped forward and pulled Marty into a tight embrace. Marty stopped, flailing in surprise, but quickly wrapped his arms around Doc and hugged him in return.
"I'm so proud of you," Doc whispered.
"Doc?" Marty stepped back, gazing up at his friend in concern. "Come on, spill. Where did you go? What the hell did you see?"
Doc didn't answer right away, but after a moment a warm smile crossed his face. "Your great-grandson," he said. "Our great-grandson."
"Our?" Marty balked, as Doc strolled back toward his house. "Hold on, Doc, come on! What do you mean our?"
Doc turned and gave a mischievous smile, zipping his lips. "The future can wait, my boy. Right now, we've got a life to live!"
Author: someidiot
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Doc Brown, Marty McFly, Original Character
Genre: Friendship / Drama
Spoilers/Setting: None
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 2,400
Story Summary: Doc Brown visits an old friend at a nursing home.
Alternate Link: FF.net
Doctor Emmett Brown had always hated nursing homes.
The very idea had always disturbed on a fundamental level. There was no reason to come and stay at a place like this except to sit and wither away in what was presumably comfort. Yet he couldn't imagine being comfortable in a place like this. He had explicitly told his children he did not want to wind up in a place like this. He was in his nineties now, and still going strong thanks to futuristic rejuvenation treatment, so perhaps such a choice would never have to be made in his own lifetime.
Some people were not so lucky.
He checked in at the front desk, giving his name and the resident he was here to see. The room number was written down for him but he kept it shoved in his pocket, instead strolling through the facility a bit before really seeking out who he wanted to see. The facility was a maze of hallways, nothing but hallways, radiating out in a semi-circular patter from a central point, each wing spanning one or two long halls of rooms where the elderly wasted away before their death. The décor suggested the colors had once been bright, but had faded over time - pink to a reddish gray, sky blue to a dull, yellowed green, an unintentional metaphor for the contents it housed. The air was stale, smelling of hospital-grade cleaners and cheap air fresheners. It was unsettling and falsely cheerful, a place that forced a smile while you wasted away. Perhaps things were different now, but Emmett wasn't willing to find out firsthand what it was like to live in a place like this.
One hallway had an offshoot that led into a small dining room, nearly empty save for a few groups of young people chatting with their elderly relatives. Emmett paused a moment, then stepped inside, glancing around. It was small, only about seven tables or so, each seating four people. There was a counter, sink and cupboards near the entrance with a coffee machine full of stale decaf, and every two or three tables were occupied with a resident and one or two relatives.
Emmett's gaze swept the room, mostly out of curiosity, but he stopped as his eyes fell on the far corner of the room. A man sat alone at the table, back to the windows, staring straight at Emmett and smiling warmly.
Wordlessly, Emmett approached the table and sat down across from the elderly man, far older than he, and managed a sad smile. They said nothing at first, and Emmett took that moment to look him over. The man was wheelchair bound, his body having shaped itself to the seat after God knows how much usage. His weathered face was a map of his life, with each crease and wrinkle along his face alluding to the thousands of times he'd smiled over the course of his lifetime. Hooked around his ears and under his nose was a tube leading to the oxygen tank fastened to the back of his wheelchair. Despite his state of poor health, he was dressed sharply, though plainly, just a collared shirt and comfortable slacks, with his thin hair combed back as best as neatly as possible.
Emmett knew the man was inspecting him, too - assessing him. They locked eyes again, and Emmett felt his chest tighten as he looked into those bright blue eyes, the familiar spark of youth long since gone from them, replaced by the wisdom that comes from age and experience. Emmett wanted to speak, to say something comforting, but the words wouldn't come to him. His old friend watched him quietly, knowingly, before finally breaking the silence with his low, tired, gravelly voice.
"Hey, Doc."
The greeting struck Emmett like a slap in the face. His resolve shattered and he buried his face in his hand, failing to hold back the tears he'd promised himself he wouldn't shed. He was beginning to regret his decision to come here. It hurt to see his old friend, the boy bursting with limitless energy and life, in this sickly, tired state. "Marty," he choked, leaning on the table, gaze turned downward. He tried to swallow his sobs, managing to regain his resolve after a moment and looking back up at his old friend with another sad smile. "Marty," he repeated, more steadily this time. "How are you doing?"
Marty reached across the table, as far as he could, and Emmett mirrored him to take his hand. The grip was tight and familiar, though strangely alien coming from such frail fingers. Emmett took in every vein, bone, and paper-thin muscle he could feel, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that this old man was no ancestor, no look-alike descendant, this was Marty. He wanted to leave, wanted to get out of there and wipe this moment from his memory. He could hop back into the DeLorean, go back to 1987, and have more crazy adventures with his young protegé living in blissful denial of the fact that his friend would ever grow into such a sorry, pathetic, heartbreakingly painful state. Yet it was too late for that. He wouldn't get this chance again.
"I'm alive," Marty said, managing a shrug. "Can't ask for much more at my age."
Emmett felt his eyes burn with more tears and he nodded silently. He didn't dare open his mouth, for fear another sob might escape.
Marty watched him, then gave a warm, understanding smile. "So, today's the day, huh?"
No, Emmett wanted to tell him, no, you'll be fine, can't I just visit a friend when he needs me? But he opened his mouth and he couldn't find the words, only a quiet, breathy sob emerged. There was no point hiding it then, and he finally just nodded, dabbing at his tears with his fingertips. It was information about the future, he knew, but at this point Emmett knew nothing could be done to prevent it.
Marty let out a long, relieved sigh. "It's about damn time."
Emmett looked up sharply, staring at him in shock. "Marty!"
"I'm old, Doc," Marty said, his tone tired and relieved. "From the look of you, I'm old enough to be your father, and then some." He paused, raising an eyebrow. "Actually, when are you from right now? How many kids have you got?"
"Both of them."
Marty's eyes twinkled. "Only two, then," he chuckled, tapping the table and giving a knowing smirk.
Emmett balked. "Only?"
But Marty brought his free hand to his face, miming a zip across his lips.
Emmett had to smile, then, despite himself. He was about to say more, but a new voice cut into his thoughts before he could think of what to say.
"Hey, Granddad!" A young man approached the table, setting down two styrofoam cups of coffee. "Sorry I took so long, the stuff they had was out for hours and tasted like manure. I just went ahead and made a whole new batch." He was young, maybe in his early twenties, with a long face accentuated with square, thick-rimmed glasses. His red hair was styled into this bizarre upward sweep, and his clothes were adorned with mismatched, obnoxious clashing patterns. Ah, future fashions, always looking more and more ridiculous. There was something familiar about him. He could definitely see Marty in this boy, for sure, but something else tugged at the edges of Emmett's awareness with just a glance.
The young man looked at Emmett, then grinned. "Oh, hey there. Sorry, I don't think we've met."
"I'm just visiting an old friend," Emmett told him with a warm smile. "Are you Marty's grandson?" The question was merely a formality, really. They were obviously related.
"Great-grandson, actually," he said, with a grin.
Though the shape of his face was different, and the spread of his features, he had Marty's eyes, right down to that youthful sparkle his great-grandfather once had. Yet the smile was off. That wasn't Marty's smile. Who else did he look like?
The young man extended his hand. "Jeff Tannen."
"Tannen!" Emmett choked, eyes wide, shaking his hand in return. "I, uh, yes. Nice to meet you. Emmett Brown."
"Brown? No kidding?" Jeff shook his head. "Crazy. Hey, Mister Brown, can I get you a coffee?"
"Er, yes," Emmett said, still recovering from the shock. "That'd be wonderful, thank you. I'll take it black."
Jeff was on the other side of the dining room in moments, and once he was out of earshot, Emmett leaned in and stared wide-eyed at Marty. "Tannen," he hissed, "your great-grandson's a Tannen?"
"Well, one of them is. There's still a gaggle of McFlys running around, don't worry." Marty chuckled, shakily taking a sip of the coffee. He paused to flex his left hand a moment. "He's a brilliant young man. Working on his Master's in physics."
"A Tannen, though?" Emmett was still having trouble processing that.
"He gets his brains from his mother," Marty assured him. "My granddaughter was a world-renowned chemist. Doctor Marie Tannen." He stopped to take another sip of coffee, then set the cup down, smiling at Emmett. "Née Brown."
Emmett's jaw dropped and he found himself at a complete loss for words as the realization sunk in. "You mean to say... at some point, our children...?"
"Small town, Doc. Everyone's related to each other after a generation or two." Marty smirked. "Heavy stuff."
"Great scott!" Emmett breathed, shaking his head, his heart swelling with joy. He didn't dare ask which children married which, but he was sure he couldn't choose a finer daughter-in-law. He stared down at the table, letting it sink in. Marty had always been family, as far as Emmett was concerned, but to make it official by means of marriage... it must have been a joyous day for all involved.
Emmett looked up and was about to say more when Marty's smirk fell, and his face contorted in pain. He cried out and doubled over, clutching his chest.
Emmett was immediately at his friend's side, clutching his right hand. The joy in his heart had frozen and shattered, leaving him with only a heavy lump of ice in his stomach. He felt helpless as Marty's breathing became labored and raspy. No, not yet, Emmett begged silently, not bothering to hold back his quiet tears. Just a little more time, just a few more minutes!
He thought he'd been prepared for this. He had come to this date, this time, specifically to be here, to comfort his closest friend as he slipped away into death. He'd steeled himself against the knowledge of Marty's oncoming passing and thought he'd be able to handle it more gracefully. But each raspy breath was like a stab to Emmett's heart, each moment looking into those frightened eyes only sent more tears rolling down his face. Why couldn't he have slipped away in his sleep, peacefully and painlessly? Why did it have to be like... like this? Awake and aware and hurting?
There was a commotion around them, nurses gathering and Jeff talking frantically. Someone tried to pull Emmett away but he stayed put, reaching up, running his fingers through Marty's thin, hair.
"It's all right, Marty," he said softly, his voice choked and ravaged with sobs, "it's going to be all right."
Marty's breathing calmed, and he managed a small smile, relaxing against the back of his wheelchair. "I know, Doc," he said softly between ragged breaths. "I'm ready."
The grip on Emmett's hand went slack, and with one final sigh, Marty's eyes dimmed and his whole body relaxed. Someone pulled at Emmett's arm again and this time he let himself be torn away as the nurses rushed to resuscitate Marty. Emmett didn't stick around, already knowing their efforts would be in vain. He took one final look at Jeff, his beautiful, brilliant great-grandson, the descendant and legacy of two best friends, before quietly slipping out of the dining room unnoticed.
When he got back in the DeLorean he stayed there, sobbing loudly and unashamedly for a long, long time.
-----
Marty arrived at Doc's house just as the DeLorean popped back into 1987 from God-knows-when. He grinned, parking his truck on the side of the street and hopping out just as Doc pulled into his driveway.
"Hey," Marty cried with a wave, "How's it going? I was wondering..." he trailed off as Doc looked up at him, staring at him with a strange, sad... distant look on his face. His eyes were pink and swollen. Marty could tell he'd been crying. "Doc," Marty's tone was more concerned as he approached, "Doc, what's wrong? What happened?"
Doc didn't answer. He just stepped forward and pulled Marty into a tight embrace. Marty stopped, flailing in surprise, but quickly wrapped his arms around Doc and hugged him in return.
"I'm so proud of you," Doc whispered.
"Doc?" Marty stepped back, gazing up at his friend in concern. "Come on, spill. Where did you go? What the hell did you see?"
Doc didn't answer right away, but after a moment a warm smile crossed his face. "Your great-grandson," he said. "Our great-grandson."
"Our?" Marty balked, as Doc strolled back toward his house. "Hold on, Doc, come on! What do you mean our?"
Doc turned and gave a mischievous smile, zipping his lips. "The future can wait, my boy. Right now, we've got a life to live!"