Author's Note: I know I didn't mention this one earlier on. I am sorry. Anyway, this is about Doc in 1885, on the day before he finally sends the letter to Marty. You may be confused, but in my sort of 'rational thinking' Doc buried the DeLorean the evening before he wrote the letter. Anyway - enjoy the story. I'm not sure if I should put my other 1880s vignettes up apart of this one, or together? Suggestions please!

About the title - I just thought it was fitting. At this point in the movie, Doc's present time is 1885, while Marty's is 1955, and they both belong in 1985! Confusing, huh?

Your Present Is Always Relative

Monday, August 31, 1885
10:28 PM
Nine miles south of
Hill Valley, California

It was done.

Emmett Brown sighed, stood back, and looked at his work. He had finally pushed the DeLorean into the mine on his own, had placed some dynamite for stones to cover it, and had thought to mark the wood planks close to it with his very own initials – ELB. Now if the Hill Valley residents would leave it alone and not notice this side-tunnel for the next few decades, Marty might as well receive it in 1955.

The inventor sighed. Fate really hadn't been fair to him. Hoping that he would get a long life after surviving getting shot by Libyans, as well as getting a renovation job in the future, he'd gone back to '85 and grabbed Marty and Jennifer… but it hadn't been. Biff had stolen the time machine and created an alternate world, which caused Doc to be flying around in the famous Hill Valley lightning storm. A storm that had hit him…

Lightning might've been the rescuer in 1955, but thirty years later it had been the unfortunate fate of him, causing him to be trapped in a time period not his own. Granted, he liked the Old West, and had slightly liked the way things had turned out – this was a good excuse to spend the rest of his years in his favourite era – but there was one thing he missed – Marty.

The teenager had been his best friends for many years, and they hadn't seen each other for eight months, now. Or no… almost eight months. Another period of thirty-one days would be passed in one hour and twenty-nine minutes, and then September would begin. A new month, a new adventure, a new struggle to survive in the eighteen-eighties.

The worst thing was that he couldn't much blame anybody but himself. Granted, he could see it as being Marty's fault for buying that almanac, Jennifer's for wanting to know more about her future, Biff's for giving the almanac to his younger self. He could even try to blame the universe itself for creating such a terrible lightning storm at that exact date.

But in fact he was the one who should've known better. All the others had just gotten into the knowledge of time travel – he'd had thirty years with it, and studied things before. If he hadn't gone back to fetch Marty and Jennifer and warned the kid instead… if he'd just made more sure the almanac was gone and the DeLorean was safe… if only he hadn't invented the infernal thing in the first place! Doc slapped onto the wall of the mine, then grabbed to his hand in pain. Things sure would've gone better if he hadn't invented the time machine. If he had just not gone to hang a clock in November of 1955, none of this would've ever happened.

Doc sighed once again, and prepared to leave. He could just stay here, guarding the mine the DeLorean was hidden in and blaming himself forever, but he didn't have all day. It was 10:33 PM right now, and it was real dark outside. Emmett Brown wasn't the person to fear darkness, but with Buford Tannen being out… he shivered. The resemblance to Biff was so striking that Doc often wondered about it. It seemed to be a common thing in Hill Valley to resemble your ancestors and be able to pass for them. The McFly males from the past Century had resembled either Marty or George – Seamus, William and Marty Jr looked like Marty, while Arthur looked like George – and so there were many families in town. Doc started to wonder how his descendants would have looked out, had he any kids. Would they resemble him, too?

The inventor shook his head. He shouldn't think about this. The already tiny chance of getting married one day had shrunk to about nothing since he'd been zapped back to 1885, and the idea of meeting a girl in this time period and risking to screw up the space-time continuum made him go mad. He better go home, now, or he'd catch a cold.

Climbing on his horse – Archimedes – he looked once again over to the mine. He hadn't left anything that he could see, and it sure looked like everything was out of the way. The mine was ready for it's long wait until the year 1955, when it would meet up with the 1955 version of Doctor Brown, as well as with Marty McFly.

Doc almost felt like crying, as he thought about Marty McFly. It felt just like yesterday that Marty had called out through the walkie-talkie that he should watch out for the lightning… and that he actually had gotten hit by it. He recalled having one last glance at the horrified figure down below in the black leather jacket before the spinning around reached the speed of 88, temporal displacement kicked in and he had been send back to the Old West. It sure was fresh on his mind, however the event had happened months ago.

The scientist then began to think of his younger self, and of the experiment that had send younger Marty home. Would the older teenager eventually have caught up with the 1955 him? He sure couldn't remember anything about that. All he remembered was seeing Marty go back to the future, run down the street yelling wildly, then head over to his Packard and go home after seeing the clock tower was struck forever at 10.04 PM. There was no recollection about another version of Marty running up to him, asking for help. Would Marty have, somehow, not found him? Was it because the letter still wasn't posted that Doc didn't have any memories about it? Or was it because he was in 1885, a hundred years out of his own time, that he didn't recall the changes to 1955? Doc shook his head and yawned. It was late, and he was tired. He could spend a long time thinking about it, but in his sleepiness he wasn't going to discover anything. He'd better go home. "Go, Archie" he told the horse, and began to ride back to the town.

Hill Valley was quiet as Doc arrived in it. He lived on the other side of town, and felt bad about having Marty seek that far to find the DeLorean. But there was no other good place closer to town, and the Delgado Mine had been too perfect. Out of order for a long time, many side-tunnels, wood and stones enough to cover the tunnel with so that no one would ever find it until 1955…

As Doc passed the station and entered Hill Valley Main Street, he got once again a feeling of déjà vu, like he always got. Town square 1885 reminded him of the way it had been in his home time, in the future, the fifties… but it was still a far cry from the way it was. Even in his very early youth, in the 1920s, town was different. There was grass in the town's square, the roads were actually roads, stone roads, and not just sandy paths… the courthouse was a solid structure with a clock, not a wooden frame with a clock that wouldn't be started until next Saturday. The thing wouldn't even be delivered to the station until Friday, if Doc recalled correctly when he had researched the 1880s in his youth, fascinated about this part of history and still hoping to be a cowboy sometime. After 1931, forty-six years ahead of the here and now, that dream had flooded when he'd found the books of Jules Verne, and later H.G. Wells, and had gotten fascinated with science, with physics and chemistry, astronomy, and later time travel.

Doc whistled angrily. If he hadn't come up with time travel, if he hadn't invented the time machine he would be home now. As would Marty. They would both be in the good old 1985. He wouldn't even have interfered with those stupid Lybian nationalists, and wouldn't been almost shot. Marty's parents might've been less happy, but at least he still got a chance for a nice guitar career because there was no chicken problem, or even a 4 by 4 Toyota to travel to the lake with at all, if Doc understood 2015 Marty's explanations about his original set of memories well. And oh, it could've been so simple. He could've returned from 2015 straight away, solved the mess with Marty Jr by himself – he could've just made sure the teen was knocked out so that there was no one for Tannen to meet at the Café – and he could just have told Marty. Maybe if he had done that, if Marty had avoided the Rolls Royce incident there would be no jailing of MJ at all, because the teen would've been smarter than just race an idiot like Needles.

The inventor's thoughts were paused as he looked across the street and saw a person he recognised. "Marshall Strickland" he said. "How are you today? I thought you would be off to San Fransisco for that meeting of Marshall's of California?" However Doc had a tendency to dislike the Strickland family, since both the vice-principal and the local officer (this Strickland's son) had treated the Browns like nutcases, he made an exception for the local Marshall. The guy was nice, and he was one of the few people who actually dared to stand up against Buford 'Mad Dog' Tannen. However he was as discipline-fascinated as his future grandson, Doc couldn't help but like the guy for all the nice things he had done to protect him and Hill Valley from the various criminals who swerved all around the road in this era. After all, the 1880s wasn't all what it in westerns was cracked up to be.

Marshall Strickland noticed Doc, and greeted him. "Howdy, Emmett" he said. "You're right about that meeting, but I missed the last train. The next one won't be leaving until tomorrow morning at 7am, so I'm just walking around a little bit. Inspecting my town one more time before I'll temporary leave it to solve some national messes. The government is afraid some criminals are out on the run again, and we have to catch them… I'd rather stayed home to catch Buford Tannen, but I'll have to leave." Looking at Doc's face, he smirked: "I bet you would've liked me to stay and catch Tannen first too, wouldn't you? I know how much Buford hates you, Emmett. I don't know how, but he seems to have hold a grudge against you for who knows how much time. Keeps telling you that his horse broke a shoe. Didn't that happen three weeks ago?" The lawman smirked. "Tannen really is one character. Too bad I didn't know him in my youth, then I would've punched all that lack of discipline out of him for once and for all!"

Doc nodded. "Yeah, he sure is a dangerous person" he muttered. "I almost considered not settling here when I arrived in Hill Valley in January because of him. Chester from the Palace Saloon managed to convince me to stay and take over the blacksmith's job. Without him, I might not have settled here." That was true, but the lack of wanting to stay away from Hill Valley was not completely because of Buford Tannen and his gang… it was also because of the possibility that he might screw history up if he stayed back in Hill Valley instead of moving to some other place. Chester had managed to convince him, however, and seeing as that staying in other, more important places in world's history might screw history up also, possibly even more, he had finally given in and settled himself in the local blacksmith shop of 1885 Hill Valley.

"Anyway, I should be going" Strickland muttered. "I have to go home – to my wife and children. They're missing me already. It's 11:10 PM, and while Mary knows I'm the Marshall, she still isn't comfortable with me being out so late. You know how the woman are." He smiled, and continued his walk to the 1880s Strickland household.

Doc looked after him, pondering about all of the things they had talked about, especially Mad Dog Tannen. The inventor had to admit that he would like Buford being behind bars. The guy was really dangerous, and he hated Doc. Doc just shivered, as he thought of Buford actually shooting him. That might as well happen. After all, he'd had quite some damage to the horse… or so he thought. Mad Dog wanted him dead, and with him wanting to kill the scientist, it wasn't really safe anymore for him in Hill Valley.

It almost felt like déjà vu, Doc reflected. Back in the future, it hadn't been safe for him to stay hanging around too, because the Libyan terrorists had wanted to kill him. He had barely escaped their attempt to murder him back at Lone Pine Mall, and he really wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for Marty's hard struggles thirty years earlier to warn him about the whole event. He really owed Marty for that, and as he figured that out, it became much harder for him to leave Marty behind in 1955 with the mission to find the DeLorean and go back to 1985 alone with it.

Then there had been the time they had thought they had travelled home from 2015, but instead had ended up in a horrifying alternate reality, in which Biff was rich, powerful and corrupt, and owned a nuclear waste plant cooperation called BiffCo… very, very original of course, Doc noticed with some sarcasm. Biff had only committed the other version of Doc in this timeline, but that had been two years ago, and seeing as how he had shot George McFly and threatened to shoot Marty, Doc could easily figure out what would've happened if Biff had caught him asking about the almanac. Luckily for him they had escaped back to 1955.

Doc tried to put those thoughts out of his mind. The Biff-horrifying 1985, 1985A, was gone now, or so the newspaper which still showed Doc winning an award instead of being committed indicated. Marty's father was alive, and Biff was most likely back to the auto detailer they knew, waxing cars all over Hill Valley. The inventor started to wonder what seeing the DeLorean fly away with Marty on his hoverboard hanging onto it had done with Biff. History might've been altered by this as well. Maybe he should write something about that in the letter… but there of course was the fact that how more information, how less likely the thought was of Western Union holding onto the letter for such a long time.

Doc shivered, as the letter might not reach Marty at all. What would the teenager do in that case? Just stay at the spot of the time machine's disappear, waiting for Doc to be back again and take him home? Or would he be wise and go to Doc's 1955 counterpart, and they would figure out what to do? It was possible that 1955 Doc, knowing lots about the Old West as they'd studied it as a kid, had figured out that the Delgado Mine was the most likely place for a time machine to be hidden for such a long time. Maybe he should place a copy of the letter by the descriptions of how to repair the thing.

As the inventor looked up, he saw that he and the horse had passed the clock tower's wooden structure, and had arrived at Doc's blacksmith shop. After parking the horse, he opened the door and got inside. He then checked the time at one of the clocks, and yawned. "11:25" he muttered. It sure was about time to go to bed, now. In thirty-five minutes, the month would be September. Tomorrow he'd deliver the letter to Western Union. He figured that he might as well pay them good, to make sure they'd deliver it to Marty at 10 PM on November 12th, 1955. After all, what sane person would hold on a letter that long?

Maybe if he'd pay them money they did. The inventor checked his wallet, stored behind the refrigerator because someone might want to steal it, and discovered forty-nine dollars and seventeen cents. "I should be able to pay thirty, maybe even forty bucks without getting an amazing amount of trouble" he whispered. And even if he did get in trouble, this was worth it. Marty was helpless, stranded in 1955, forced to live the rest of his life in a decade he hated just a day after he'd thought he'd finally be back in his own present…

"No" Doc said aloud, firmly. "I'll make sure Marty will make it out of this adventure alive and well to the future even if it's the last thing I'll do! And if it will cost me the last of my blacksmith saving money… well, it'll have to do. After six or seven weeks, I'll be ready to continue my further life again without money trouble." Doc lied the forty dollars apart, stuffed the other nine back into the wallet and walked away from behind the refrigerator. He then walked over to the table, lit a lamp, and began to write his journal of the day.

"Monday, August 31st, 1885" Doc wrote, making it a point to also write "Friday, June 27th, 1986" at the front, like he always wrote the date he would've been at if it hadn't been for that infernal lightning bolt at his journal. It was October 27th, the date he would've returned to, as January 1st, plus an amount of dates similar to the amount of time he'd spend in 1985. It had helped him to set his real birthday here in the 1880s at May 28th, when he had celebrated his sixty-sixth birthday anniversary, for once with a lot more people than usually just Marty, or before that day in 1975, nothing.

Doc ignored these thoughts, and concentrated on his journal. "Today was a relatively normal day for me. I have had a meeting with mayor Hubert, and he promised me to send me the details about the school teacher I'm going to pick up on Friday at Thursday, September 3rd. I had a normal work day for the rest, with a few broken horseshoes and wagons. After I bought my dinner and ate it, around 7:03 PM I left the house to bury the DeLorean. I first drove the car over to the Delgado Mine, of whom I've inspected the exact location on Friday afternoon, the twenty-eighth, then placed all wood in front of it – I made it a point to mark one with 'ELB', so it'll be easier for my 1955 counterpart and Marty to find – and blew the tunnel up. Now it's just to hope that no one will ever enter that tunnel again, and I can continue my life knowing that there's something valuable in that tunnel that won't be discovered for another seventy years."

"I finished the biggest part of the letter to Marty, and I'll have to think of an appreciate goodbye tomorrow – after all, I'm never going to see the kid again, not unless I will live until 148 which is even with my renovation job from twenty-fifteen highly unlikely, if not impossible. After that I'll also draw a drawing of the mine and of where the DeLorean is hidden. I hope Marty and my 1955 self will find it with that. After that, I'll post the letter in the afternoon, and then finally be ready with this work and not have to think about time travel ever again. It's just too dangerous to worry about every day of your life, and I can't help but say I'm glad to have that problem solved, now. Emmett Brown, Monday, August 31, 1885, 11:52 PM, Hill Valley Time."

Doc looked over the journal, checked for errors, then yawned again. "It's about time to go to bed, Socrates" he told the dog who was standing next to the chair he was sitting on. "I'll post the letter tomorrow, and then I'll have a whole life in front of me. Too bad Marty won't be there to share it with me, but that could screw up the space-time continuum in a major way. Better keep him in 1985, and me in 1885 – that will certainly be a whole lot easier." He unlit the candle, changed his clothes and looked at the clock one more time. "12:07 AM, Tuesday, September 1st" he said. "Happy new month, Newton."

Doc stepped into the bed and lied down. He reflected once again at his life, at the letter he was about to post, and on one of the most important persons who had been in his life ever – Martin Seamus McFly. Hell, he wondered where the kid was. Would he be back in his home time, 1985? Would he be all right?"

"Good night, Marty McFly," he whispered just before he fell asleep, "wherever you are. I hope that you are living a nice life after 1985, and that you will avoid the Rolls Royce accident. You have been a kind and loyal friend to me for the past ten years, and deserve a special place in my heart." He barely heard himself whisper those last few words as he fell asleep.

THE END.