#(time) the future

           He's sure--

              (About 90%. He trusts his memory--                mostly. But there's a twinge of doubt.)

                            --that he hadn't parked the DeLorean                               there. And yet-- there it was. Look-                               ing,well, slightly newer. Different. But                               it really wasn't anything he could quite                               put his finger on. He was really starting                               to think this DeLorean might not be his                               at all (a thought he'd had from the start,                               but had been worried to follow through                               with), when he heard someone ap-                               proaching from behind. The car's owner,                               no doubt. Heart pounding, palms sweating,                               practically cringing with anticipation of                               what might happen if he so much as looks                               at who he thinks he'll see (Will he even                               recognise me?), Marty turns around.

       Marty looked down at the worn scrap of paper, completely held        together at this point by scotch tape. He was lucky to have it at        all, the one bit of evidence that this girl had ever been part of his        life. One corner of the paper was scorched--  the first two letters        were missing-- after barely making it through the destruction of        the DeLorean on the day he'd gone back to the future from 1885.        Back then, October 27, 1985, 2014 had seemed so far off. Ages        away. And for a while he'd done well not thinking about it. Doc        had barely known Kim back in 1955 and Marty couldn't quite bring        himself to ask his best friend for help. For a little while he even        managed to convince himself that the feelings he'd felt for Kim were        a passing thing, nothing but a result of the situation they'd found        themselves thrown in together. It wasn't real.

       He was wrong.

       September 10, 2014. That was the date she'd given him. And he        was an idiot, the biggest idiot, because here he was in Middleton. He        could've avoided Kim for the rest of his life, he'd told himself as he'd        booked the plane ticket a few days before. Sitting on the plane he        tried to convince himself to not go further than the airport. What good        could possibly come from this? But before he knew it-- there he was.        Parked across the street from her house. He couldn't move, couldn't         think, could barely breathe. This was wrong. He shouldn't be here. He        should've left whatever they'd had back in 1955. But he had to tell her.        He couldn't leave her wondering and imagining what could've been.