Chapter Text
"In every conceivable manner, family is a link to our past, bridge to our future."
- Alex Haley
Edison’s gruff barking was what sent Emmett almost tumbling off his cot at—he squinted at one of his many clocks through the darkness—just past two in the morning. With a grumble, Emmett got up and went to silence the dog, for it was probably just a motorbike engine or a group of teenagers out well past curfew that had set Edison off.
“Edison, quiet,” he commanded.
Edison was sat in front of the side door. He turned his head towards Emmett and barked once more, then whined.
“Nothing’s out there,” Emmett said.
Edison whined again and pawed at the door.
Emmett sighed. “Do you need to go out? I took you on a walk before bed, but alright…” Switching on the outside light, Emmett reached for the handle and opened the door.
But instead of leaping out the doorway, Edison merely stopped after a single step and bent his head down to sniff at something.
Emmett frowned. “What’s wrong?”
And that was when he saw it. Or rather, heard it.
Because as soon as he laid eyes on the basket that was now on his doorstep, the baby inside began to cry.
A baby in a basket! Emmett stared at it, dumbstruck. He thought that kind of thing only happened in the movies. And what kind of irresponsible parent would leave their child here of all places, in front of his dilapidated garage? Had they really needed to leave their offspring anywhere, they couldn’t have done it at an actual house? Or better yet, the police station? Somewhere where they were actually equipped to handle such a case.
Emmett knelt down, ignoring the cracking of his knees, and gently pulled back the blanket the baby was swaddled in. The baby grew quiet and stared at Emmett with wide blue eyes and a quivering lip.
On top of the blanket sat a folded-up slip of white paper. Emmett took it and opened it.
His name is Marty, it read. And that was it. No mention of any last name, or parents, or even a birthday.
Emmett was no childcare expert, but he gauged the boy to be about six months old, judging by the amount of hair on his head. Six months old. And here he was, just left here like so much garbage.
Emmett exhaled through his nose and looked up at the child—Marty—who had begun to cry again, softer this time. Like he knew the world was asleep and he had to be quiet. “Well, Marty,” Emmett said, “I suppose I can’t just leave you out here in the cold.” With that, he picked up the basket and brought it inside, shutting the door with his foot behind him.
He set the basket down on his workbench after clearing off some space. Edison sat at his heels, tail wagging slightly, tongue poking out. He seemed curious about what Emmett had brought inside.
Emmett began to poke around at the basket around Marty, searching to see if the baby had anything with him. Toys, supplies, anything. But aside from the card that told Emmett his name, there was nothing.
Fantastic. Not only had he suddenly acquired a baby, he hadn’t a single item on hand that could be of any use for the tot. No diapers, no formula. Who knew when Marty had last eaten? It could have been hours ago now, depending on when he was dropped off.
The right thing to do would be to call the police. And Emmett almost did. He was on his way to the phone when Marty began to positively wail. The kid was using all his lung capacity, it seemed, and Emmett barely restrained a flinch at the noise. He turned back around, and the crying stopped almost instantly. Marty seemed to be trying to reach out but couldn’t get his hand out from underneath the blanket.
Gently, Emmett released Marty’s trapped limb, and the kid instantly locked his hand around Emmett’s finger. He started to pull it towards his mouth.
“Um, no thank you,” Emmett said, taking the finger back.
Marty’s lower lip began to quiver. To stop another crying spree, Emmett frantically glanced around for something that Marty could chew on. There was a dog toy on the floor nearby, but Emmett was certainly not about to use that, and he was hardly going to pass the baby a screwdriver or a wrench to use. As Marty opened his mouth and sucked in a breath, Emmett stuck his hand back in the basket.
Marty grabbed on instantly and brought it straight to his mouth.
Emmett grimaced at the unpleasant sensation. But it kept Marty quiet, at least. He supposed it wasn’t any more repulsive than letting a dog lick one’s face, and besides, hands could be washed.
After about ten minutes of this, Marty’s eyelids began to droop, and Emmett could finally pull his hand back without him making a fuss. Marty dropped into sleep almost instantly, allowing Emmett a moment to wash his hands, pet Edison, and ponder upon what he was going to do.
He glanced at the phone. He should call the police, shouldn’t he? Let them take the baby away, find him a good home, a good family, that would raise him as one of their own.
Or would they?
Suddenly all Emmett could remember was an old classmate of his back in middle school. A girl by the name of Andrea. She was always so thin, so pale, and she never smiled. She was always late to hand in homework and often came to school with bruises on her arms in the shape of fingerprints. Rumours flew around, as they always did, but one that stuck to Emmett now was the common rumour that her family wasn’t her birth family.
If Emmett handed Marty over to the police, what would become of him? Would he really receive a good home, or would he be stuck in a personal hell that he wouldn’t be able to escape for eighteen years?
Emmett looked down at the sleeping baby in the basket. The right thing to do would be to hand him over and forget this all ever happened. But somehow, Emmett knew he’d never be able to do that. He’d always be left wondering what had happened to Marty, if he was in a good home, if he was safe. And the not knowing would kill him.
It was selfish. But suddenly, he found himself unable to let go of the child he’d known for all of half an hour.
Emmett sighed and leaned heavily against the desk, watching Marty in his slumber. At least one of them was resting peacefully, he thought.
The next morning, Emmet rushed right to the store and bought as much baby formula as the basket could carry. He also bought diapers and a pair of pacifiers. The teenager at the cash register gave him a strange look, perhaps recognising him as the town resident “crazy old scientist”, but didn’t ask why he was buying such items, for which Emmett was relieved. He did not feel like trying to come up with an excuse, and any excuse would probably be flimsy anyway.
Leaving Marty home alone was not ideal, but Emmett made sure to be quick, and left Marty in a place where he could not hurt himself.
The chorus of Marty crying and Edison barking greeted Emmett as he walked through the door. Rushing over to the kitchenette, Emmett began to put together the bottle of formula as fast as he could, stopping twice to check on Marty and sagging in relief when he noticed the boy seemed fine, just hungry.
Once the formula was ready, Emmett picked Marty up from the basket and sat down on his cot. He cradled Marty in one hand and held the bottle in the other. “Alright,” he muttered to himself, “let’s try this.” Cautiously, he brought the bottle up to Marty’s lips.
Marty latched on and began to suckle eagerly, a contented look crossing his chubby little face. He drank until the bottle was empty, and Emmett barely remembered to burp him. Unfortunately, Marty got spit-up all over Emmett’s shirt. Emmett made a mental note to sling a towel over his shoulder next time.
Placing Marty back in the basket, Emmett changed clothes and returned a couple minutes later to find Marty wriggling around.
“Are you bored?” Emmett asked.
“Ah,” Marty cooed.
Emmett reached into the bag that held the baby supplies and brought out one of the new pacifiers. He washed it first, then carefully pressed it to Marty’s mouth. Marty chewed on it happily for a few moments, then abruptly his little brow furrowed and his face reddened.
Which was when a putrid smell wafted up from within the basket.
Emmett held his nose and leaned back. Fantastic. Utterly fantastic.
Midway through changing Marty, it occurred to Emmett that he really did not know how to take care of a baby. He didn’t have a mother’s instinct, or even a father’s at that. He’d never planned on having kids of his own. Sure, he knew the basics, the obvious stuff, but that was the extent of his knowledge.
After finally managing to get a clean diaper on Marty—and after washing his hands religiously for a solid two minutes—Emmett sat back and gave himself a minute to think while Marty cooed and wriggled about in his basket.
He needed a guide. The library would surely have books on childcare, but that meant leaving Marty alone again. If he could find a way to bring Marty with him—but that required a car seat, which he didn’t have.
Then it hit him: Of course! Julie! She was a high-schooler who sometimes dog-sat Edison when Emmett would go away for long stretches of time and couldn’t bring him. He knew from talking with her that she also babysat the neighbourhood children. Perhaps, if he gave her enough money, it would convince her to keep quiet.
Now, didn’t that sound nefarious?
Emmett went right for the phone and dialled in the number. It rang twice before Julie picked up.
“Hello?”
“Julie! This is Doctor Brown.”
“Oh, hey, Doc. Do you need me to come over and watch Edison again?”
Emmett glanced back at the basket. “Erm, not exactly.”
“Oh?”
“You see, I… Well, perhaps it’s better if you come over so I can show you.”
Over the line, Julie sighed. “Not another experiment again, Doc. I told you, I can’t help you with that. My mother already thinks it’s weird enough that I dog-sit for you.”
“No, no, not an experiment!” Emmett reassured her quickly. “You’ll see when you get here.”
“…Alright. I’ll come over after school. Bye, Doc.”
Emmett replaced the phone on the hook. Okay. He could deal with a few hours on his own.
He walked back over to Marty and peered inside the basket. Marty was happily suckling on his soother, his hands clenched into small fists near his head. He glanced around the garage, probably not really seeing anything, before his eyes landed on Emmett.
Emmett smiled.
Marty cooed around his soother.
“Well, Marty,” Emmett said, “what are we going to get up to?”
Not much. Emmett tried to get some work done, but every time he vanished from Marty’s line of sight for too long, Marty would start to cry. Emmett took to positioning the basket so that Marty could see him as he worked, but that proved to be a little too dangerous. Eventually, Emmett gave up on working entirely, and sat around reading books and old newspapers as he rocked Marty’s basket back and forth. Edison lay on the couch next to him, his head resting on Emmett’s lap.
So he was more than a little relieved when the knock at the door came at 3:30. Julie Rymer stood on the doorstep with her backpack slung over one shoulder, apparently come straight from school. White snowflakes clung to and melted in her black hair, for it had begun to snow lightly sometime in the early afternoon, but it didn’t seem to be sticking.
“Julie,” Emmett exclaimed, stepping aside. “Come on in.”
As Julie entered the garage, Edison bounded right up to her, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth and tail wagging eagerly.
“Hey, Edison! How are you, boy?” Julie greeted the dog, who woofed in response. Julie gave him some quick pats, then stood up. “So, what’s this all about, Doc?”
“Well, you see…” But that was as far as Emmett got before a high-pitched cry pierced the air.
Julie’s eyes widened. “Is that a baby?”
“Erm, yes.” Emmett hurried over to the basket which was still on the couch. “Hush, now, Marty. Put those tears away. Now’s not the time for that.” He continued to whisper meaningless nonsense to the child until Marty quieted down enough for Julie to speak again.
“Why do you have a baby?” she asked. “I thought you weren’t married.”
“I’m not,” Emmett said. “You see, I…” He faltered of his own accord this time. What was he going to say? That he found Marty on his doorstep? He really didn’t think this through, and now he had approximately two seconds to come up with a reasonable explanation before Julie got too suspicious.
“I… adopted,” Emmett explained lamely.
Julie stared at him in disbelief. “You adopted.”
“Yes.”
“You adopted,” Julie repeated more emphatically. She looked around the messy garage filled with bits and pieces of experiments, and Emmett knew exactly what she was thinking—that this place wouldn’t be safe for anyone, let alone a baby. “And they let you.”
Emmett merely shrugged and smiled.
“I thought you didn’t want kids, Doc.”
“Well, until I saw Marty here, so did I.” As he said it, Emmett realised it was true. He hoisted the boy out of the basket and held him in his arms. Marty babbled softly.
Julie shook her head. “I can’t believe it. So, what, you want me to babysit for you, is that it?”
“If it’s no trouble,” Emmett said quickly.
“No, not at all. It’s just…” Julie pursed her lips. “Weird. That you’d suddenly decide to adopt a kid.”
“Believe me, I find it weird too,” Emmett muttered under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. How soon can you start?”
Julie shrugged. “How soon do you want me to start?”
“…Right now?” Emmett tried.
With a smirk, Julie shook her head. “Afraid not, Doc. I got homework. But I can come around tomorrow morning. It’s a weekend, so I’m not doing anything.”
Emmett nodded. “Tomorrow will be fine.”
“What’s his name?” Julie asked then, gesturing over to Marty.
“Marty,” Emmett answered. “His name is Marty.”
“Marty. That’s adorable.” Julie stepped closer and waggled her finger in Marty’s face. “Hello, Marty.”
“Careful,” Emmett warned. “He really likes sticking whatever he can get his hands on his mouth.”
Julie laughed. “Well, of course he does! He looks to be about teething age. Don’t you know anything about babies, Doc?”
Not really, Emmett thought, but he merely offered another sheepish smile in answer. By this time tomorrow, he would surely be well-versed in all things baby and childcare.
“Well, I should go home,” Julie said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Doc. And I’ll see you tomorrow as well, Marty.”
Emmett took Marty’s hand and brought it up to wave as Julie slipped back outside, closing the door behind her.
Julie came back around the following morning as promised to look after Marty while Emmett went to the library. He borrowed as many books as he could find and carry that involved anything related to child-rearing and read them cover to cover that night.
Throughout the next few days, as Julie watched Marty, Emmett went out and bought various supplies the books said he’d need. Toys, extra blankets, new clothes. He’d need to clear out space for a crib. Who needed a changing table when you had a half dozen workbenches scattered around? He tried looking for a car seat, but couldn’t find one within his budget.
Children were expensive.
One day, Emmett returned to the garage to find Julie and Marty on the floor on their stomachs. Marty had a bedsheet underneath him. He didn’t seem very happy about his current position.
“What are you doing?” Emmett asked.
Julie glanced up at him. “Tummy time,” she responded simply.
Emmett frowned. “What’s that?”
“You don’t know?” Julie shifted into a kneeling position and rolled Marty onto his back. “It strengthens his neck and shoulders so he can eventually crawl. How old did you say he was again?”
“Er, six months,” Emmett said, not adding that it was merely a rough estimate.
Julie’s eyes widened. “I thought he was younger. His development is a bit behind, then.”
“Oh. That’s bad, isn’t it?”
“Not bad,” Julie said, picking Marty up, “but it’s not great. You’ll have a tougher time getting him to walk and talk, I think. You should also start giving him more solid foods so he gets used to them.”
“You sure know a lot about this,” Emmett commented.
Julie smiled. “I helped raise three sisters and two brothers. It’d be strange if I didn’t know.”
Emmett set down his bags of that day’s haul next to the cleared-out spot that was to soon house Marty’s crib, then reached out to take Marty off Julie’s hands. “How much do I owe you?”
After handing off the money to Julie and bidding her goodbye, Emmett set Marty in his basket and put the basket down on the couch, making sure Marty was within line of sight from the workbench. He noticed absently that in the week and a half he’d had the boy, Marty had grown slightly.
He had to finish work on the crib soon.
Emmett was building it himself. He had the spare wood and metal, the tools to be able to do it. Besides, why spend money on something you could easily make yourself?
He had the blueprints all drawn up. All he had to do was get started.
Were Emmett alone, he was sure he could have gotten the crib built and ready within a week. But then again, were he alone, Emmett wouldn’t be building the crib in the first place.
As it was, it took him nearly three weeks before he was finished, for he had to keep most of his attention on Marty. Feed, bathe, and clothe the boy. Christmas passed them by during this time, and though Emmett hardly ever celebrated the holiday anymore, he went out and bought a new stuffed animal just for Marty: an inaccurately coloured blue dinosaur. Not that the boy would remember. But it seemed like the right thing to do.
Upon receiving the dinosaur, Marty immediately began chewing on it contentedly.
Emmett snorted, then turned back to his work.
Finally, finally, he got the crib finished and ready to be used. It was a little rickety and one leg was a little shorter than the others, but it would have to do. He’d already gone and bought a crib mattress for the thing, and fortunately, it fit almost perfectly.
Emmett shoved the crib into a corner of the garage, within a few steps of his own bed, then set down the sheets and went to pick up Marty.
Marty babbled as Emmett brought him over to the crib. Cradling the boy’s head, Emmett set him down gently inside.
Marty stared up at him with those bright blue eyes of his. “Ah,” he said.
“I take that to mean you like it,” said Emmett.
Marty wiggled a bit. “Ahh.”
Emmett chuckled lightly. “Thank goodness that’s sorted. And just in time, too.” He poked Marty in the belly and Marty giggled. “You were getting too big for that basket.”
Emmett watched as Marty explored his new environment, grasping loosely at the bars of the crib, and even rolling himself onto his side, but he couldn’t seem to manage to get onto his stomach. He began to cry, so Emmett flipped him over, remembering what Julie had said about “tummy time.”
Never in his life would Emmett had imagined he’d be here fussing over a child like this. His entire life had been dedicated to his work, from before he’d even started high school. Children had been the last thing on his mind.
And yet here he was.
As he watched Marty roll from his belly onto his back again, Emmett found himself smiling. And Marty smiled right back.
It seemed like every week held a new adventure for Emmett and Marty.
Marty had taken to making as much noise as possible, from squealing to blowing raspberries to random shrieks at times that were often inopportune. Emmett knew children were loud, but maybe a part of him wasn’t prepared for how loud, especially when they were still so small.
But Marty was growing, and growing fast. His muscles were strengthening, and soon he was sitting up all on his own inside his crib. Emmett cleared off part of the floor so he could teach Marty to crawl, which went… not great, at first. Marty didn’t like being on his stomach. This included crawling. He cried a lot at first, thrashing about, but Emmett persevered as the books told him to do, and eventually Marty was scooting across the garage floor.
The first time he pulled himself into a standing position inside the crib, Emmett had to do a double take. When he was sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him, he walked over.
“Marty,” he said, “you’re standing.”
“Ah-bah,” Marty said, reaching for him.
“Oh. You want out, don’t you?”
Marty’s hand closed into a fist then opened again.
“Alright,” Emmett sighed, hoisting him out of the crib. “Maybe we can watch some television. Hopefully I can find something that won’t scar you for life.”
Along with pulling himself to stand, Marty was reaching milestones at an alarming rate, contrary to what Julie had said about it possibly being difficult. He was laughing, clapping his hands, and had finally gotten used to crawling. He was able to push himself both onto his back and front by himself with ease.
When Marty was approximately eight months old, Emmett decided they were overdue to try solid foods.
If they could be called that.
“You can’t just… give him an apple slice, Doc,” Julie said. She’d come over after school that day upon Emmett’s request.
“Well, I know that,” said Emmett, bouncing Marty on his lap as he sat on the couch. “He doesn’t have the teeth for it yet.”
“Have you got any softer foods?” Julie asked. “Like bananas? Peas?”
Emmett gestured over to the kitchenette, where a pair of bananas sat in the fruit basket on the counter.
Julie plucked one up, then reached for a bowl out of the cupboard and a fork from the drawer. Emmett watched over her shoulder as she mashed the banana into yellow mush. She then reached for the half-full bottle of formula that sat on the counter, screwed off the cap, and poured some in.
“What are you doing?” Emmett asked.
“He’s more likely to eat it if it smells familiar.” Julie held out the bowl, then glanced around. “Don’t you have a highchair?”
“Uh…”
Julie shook her head. “Jeez, Doc. You’re really underprepared. Come on, sit him on your lap.”
Emmett sat back down on the couch. Julie placed the bowl of mashed banana next to him and handed him a spoon. Emmett took it, stared at it.
Julie rolled her eyes. “Feed it to him, Doc.”
“Oh. Right.”
Emmett scooped up some of the banana-formula mixture and rather awkwardly held it to Marty’s mouth.
Marty appeared to consider it, then leaned back.
“Press the spoon to his lips,” Julie suggested.
Emmett did so, and Marty opened his mouth.
It was all rather messy, but Marty managed to get some of it down. Julie smiled and said, “Success,” so Emmett considered it to be one.
They got about a third of the bowl into Marty’s mouth before Marty began refusing. Julie advised him not to force it, so they put the mashed banana in the fridge for later.
Emmett set Marty back down in the crib as Julie got ready to leave.
“Let me know if you need anything else, Doc,” she told him.
“Your assistance has been invaluable,” Emmett said.
Just as Julie was heading out the door, she suddenly stopped and turned around. “Oh, Doc.”
Emmett glanced up. “Yes?”
“Don’t you think you ought to think about moving?” Julie shrugged. “It’s just, you know… this garage might not be the safest place for a child. Especially when he gets to toddler age.”
“…It’s been on my mind,” Emmett admitted.
Julie smiled softly. “Might want to think about it some more.” And then she was gone.
Moving.
The garage had been Emmett’s home for the past six years. It was all he could afford on top of the expenses for his many experiments and projects. But he couldn’t deny that what Julie had said was true: the garage was not the safest place to rear a child. He had so many dangerous tools lying around, and once Marty started running around…
Emmett looked down at Marty who was now fast asleep in his crib. That was one quirk of his Julie had pointed out was rare: he slept well. Emmett had hardly ever been rudely awoken during the night to the sound of Marty fussing.
Marty was in his care. Emmett had been scared that, if he handed Marty over to the police, whatever home they placed him in wouldn’t be safe. So he owed Marty a safe and stable life now. As safe and stable as he could manage as an old scientist, that was.
Which meant he couldn’t continue living out of his garage if he wanted to keep Marty.
Which meant sacrifices had to be made.
He of course wanted to keep the garage on hand as his workspace, but he had perhaps enough money to purchase a two-bedroom home here in Hill Valley as well. Furnishing it properly would be another matter. That would come later.
Anyway, he had to wait for one to come up for sale. The garage was all they had for now. Emmett was determined to make the most of it.
That night, Emmett spent the entire time rearranging the garage as quietly as possible while Marty slept. He hung up all his discarded tools on the tool rack, put anything sharp well out of reach. He cleared out the floor space. By the time he was done, the place was almost unrecognizable, and the sun was just beginning to come up.
Emmett sat down heavily on the couch and closed his eyes.
Ten minutes later, Marty started to cry.
Winter gave way to Spring. What little snow that occurred in Hill Valley turned quickly to rain.
And Marty continued to make progress.
He could sit up for long stretches of time, and while holding Emmett’s hands, he could walk nearly across the entire garage. He was eating well; he seemed to have a preference for sweeter foods. He was even grabbing some of them on his own, making a mess, but it was all part of the process. Sometimes, Emmett would play music as he worked, and he discovered that Marty liked to dance to it.
And one day, as Emmett was placing Marty down in his crib for his nap, Marty suddenly looked him right in the eye and articulated, “Da.”
Emmett froze.
“Da… da,” Marty said again.
“Are you…?” Emmett hesitated.
Marty hoisted himself up, jumped for a bit, then fell back down and giggled as he bounced on the mattress.
Emmett blinked at him. “Are you calling me ‘Dada’?” he whispered.
It should have been obvious, shouldn’t it? He was, for all intents and purposes, Marty’s parental figure. And yet, it didn’t hit Emmett until that moment, that Marty might actually consider him his father.
Unless Marty was just saying random sounds. Which was entirely plausible. But somehow, Emmett doubted it.
Warmth along with strange anxiety blossomed in Emmett’s chest. He reached down and tickled Marty under the chin. Marty giggled again and kicked his feet.
“You have a good nap, now,” Emmett said.
“Ah, ah,” Marty responded.
Emmett turned off the overhead light in the garage and went over to the couch to read by torchlight. He could hear Marty rolling about in his crib, followed soon by soft sniffles. This happened rarely, but Emmett usually let Marty alone and he fell asleep eventually.
This time, however, it continued on for a good fifteen minutes. The rolling around, sniffling, and eventually the crying.
Sighing, Emmett stood up and headed back over to the crib. “What is it?”
Marty stuck out his lower lip and reached out towards Emmett.
Emmett put down the torch, turned on the overhead light, and scooped Marty up into his arm. “What’s wrong?” he asked again, knowing full well Marty didn’t have the capacity to respond yet.
Marty nestled against Emmett’s neck and stuck his thumb in his mouth. His eyelids began to droop.
He wants to be held, Emmett realised. He’d read about this apparently clingy phase in a couple of the parenting books. It was said to be fairly normal.
“Oh, alright,” Emmett relented. “You can nap on me if you want.”
Holding Marty prevented him from reading or doing anything, really, but Emmett found he didn’t really mind. Marty was warm against him; a comforting, solid weight in his arms. Unconsciously, he began to rock and back and forth, and the motion soothed Marty into comfortable sleep.
This wasn’t how Emmett had planned his life to go, especially not so late into it. It certainly threw a wrench in all his plans. But despite all this, Emmett discovered he was looking forward to what the future had in store: for both him and Marty.