Chapter Text
Wednesday, January 15th, 1986
Hill Valley, California
12:16 P.M.
"Hola, hermano," Martín Alejo said.
Marty was briefly speechless, and then his face broke into a grin. "Martín - what - what are you doing here?"
The Hispanic teen shrugged, also with a grin. "I was in the neighborhood."
"When did you get out?" Marty asked. He didn't specify the "where"; it wasn't necessary.
"Last week."
"Hey, happy belated birthday!" Marty said, beaming. Then his grin faltered. "Shouldn't you be back in school?"
Martín nodded. "Starting back in a few weeks, when second semester starts."
"Yeah, our second semester starts next week. I just finished an exam - you were lucky to catch me!" Marty's grin returned.
Martín rubbed at his arms. "Uh, you gonna invite me in?" He jerked a thumb at the car parked at the nearby curb. "The boat doesn't have great heat, and I'd like to get somewhere warm."
"Oh, jeez, sorry!" Marty backed up and waved Martín into the house. Before he followed, he took another look at the car Martín had driven, which was a 70's-era pea-green Buick. "That's your car?"
Martín cast a brief glance outside and rolled his eyes. "No, that's my tia's car." Marty furrowed his brow, and Martín quickly amended, "Aunt. Well, my dad's aunt."
"Yeah, um, I knew what tia was," Marty said, closing the door. "It just took me a second."
"Right." Martín smirked at his friend, although a genuine smile soon overcame the teasing grin. A second later he reached for Marty, and pulled his old roommate into a hug. "Damn good to see you, amigo. You look great."
Marty was surprised by the hug and the compliment, but he wrapped his arms around Martín, and the teens embraced tightly. "Good to see you, too," Marty said, his voice muffled by Martín's shoulder.
Martín backed away first, still smiling. He took off his jacket, but left his hat on. Marty automatically looked at Martín's left arm, to see how his scar was faring, but the Hispanic teen had long sleeves on. Martín didn't seem to notice Marty's directed gaze; he had turned his attention to the house. He whistled softly. "Nice place, ese."
Marty took Martín's jacket and hung it on the hook his mother's coat usually occupied, and then turned back to his friend. "Everything used to look at lot different before," Marty said without thinking. The other teen raised his eyebrows in question, and Marty, realizing what he'd said, hastily added, "Before we remodeled. After we were all in school, my mom got a job, and then my dad's writing started to sell, so we had more money and . . . we . . . remodeled."
Martín nodded slowly. "Okay. Relax, Marty."
Marty nodded back, swallowing. "Uh, you want the tour?" He started waving around the house before Martín said anything. "This is the kitchen, obviously, over here is the dining room/living room - open floor plan. Ah, back patio, it's a little cold to enjoy it right now but there's a garden; my mom spends a lot of time out there when it's nice." Marty turned away from the patio window and led Martín back through the living room and to the hallway and the bedrooms. "This is my sister's room - she'll be home from HVCC - Hill Valley Community College - in a little bit. Bathroom, my brother's room, my - "
"Where's your room?" Martín interrupted.
"Oh. Yeah." Marty slowed a bit, hoping that his anxiousness about his room wasn't obvious. He passed by his parents'
(Mom's)
room and showed Martín to the room at the end of the hall. "Here."
Martín strode into the middle of Marty's room and paused, seeming to drink it in. "Wow. You have a lot of music shit."
Marty took the guitar off his bed and put it back in its stand. "Yeah," he said, the word a soft exhalation. He gazed around, trying to see his room through Martín's fresh eyes. The guitars, the music group posters, the amp, the stereo, the small electric keyboard, the sheet music piled on his desk and headboard. . . He could remember when his music and the Pinheads meant so much to him, meant everything, when they first got together - it had been a welcome distraction from his father's abuse, which had started at right around the same time. He had wondered, since coming home from Bedford, if he hadn't had his bandmates and that distraction, if he might have fallen into a suicidal depression sooner.
As Marty considered that alternate possibility, he stepped back toward the doorway of his room, unaware of his movement . . . until Martín looked up with a mildly bemused expression. "Where're you going?"
"Uh. . ." Marty looked at the new distance between himself and the other teen. "Nowhere. . . I just . . . I don't spend a lot of time in my room. This is where - where I slit my wrists."
"Oh, yeah." Martín's face cleared. "With what - kitchen scissors?"
Marty nodded jerkily. "They disappeared. I don't know what my mom did with them - I came back from Bedford and they were gone."
Martín shrugged that off. "So where. . ." His eyes wandered the room.
Marty took a breath. He dipped his head toward the floor in front of his bed. Martín stepped over to where Marty had indicated. "Here?"
Marty backed up farther. "Yeah. Hey, I was going to eat lunch, are you hungry?"
"Nah, I grabbed a bite a little bit ago." Martín looked down at the floor. "You were what, sitting here?"
"Martín. . ." Marty moaned.
Not heeding the pleading in Marty's voice, Martín plopped himself down on the floor, sat cross-legged, and peered up at Marty. "Like this?"
Marty was at Martín's side in an instant. "Don't, Martín. Get up." He reached for Martín's arm and started to pull. "Stop it."
Martín put his hand on top of Marty's. "Marty. Look at me. I'm fine."
"No, no, Martín, please. . ." Marty's gut clenched painfully. He was breathing hard and his hands were shaking. His grip on Martín's arm was tenuous at best. "Please, get up."
Martín shook his head, and adjusted his hands so that he was now pulling at Marty. "I'm fine, and so are you. Sit down, amigo. Sit. You're fine."
Marty moaned again, but something in Martín's voice and manner was too powerful to ignore. One moment all he wanted was to be as far away as possible from that spot on his bedroom floor; the next moment his legs were folding under him and he was dropping beside the Hispanic teen. Martín helped to ease Marty down so that he didn't completely fall. As the two teenagers faced each other, Martín reached to grasp Marty's arms; Marty shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. "I'm gonna lose it, Martín."
Martín sighed softly. "No, you won't. Look, Marty. Look. Open your eyes. You are okay. This room, this floor can't hurt you."
Marty took a few more deep breaths, trying to not hyperventilate. When his heart was no longer pounding in his ears, he squinted his eyes open, blinked, and then finally completely opened his eyes.
Then Martín leaned in and kissed Marty on the mouth.
ooOoo
The first thing that Marty noticed was that it had been a while since he had kissed someone his own age. Not since he had last made out with Jennifer, like really made out with her. The last time that had happened had been roughly a week after Labor Day weekend, when he and Doc had first gotten together. Marty had been conflicted over his physical interaction with Doc - it had seemed so easy, so satisfying, so right . . . and yet, so wrong. And it wasn't even the fact that Doc was so much older than him - it was more the idea of Marty being attracted to a man. He hadn't been able to recall feeling an attraction to a guy before, and concerned about his sexual identity, he'd deduced that if he was still physically able to enjoy himself with Jennifer, well, then he was still okay. So the first opportunity that he'd had, he'd turned a routine date with Jennifer into a major make-out session. She'd first responded with pleasure, until he went a little too far too fast, wanting to prove to himself that he could still get it up when with a girl. Jennifer had shut him down before they'd gone past the point of no return, but he'd gotten what he wanted - a hard-on - and had been relatively satisfied, even if he hadn't been satisfied.
But that had been months ago. Sure, he'd kissed Jennifer after that last big encounter, but he'd been drawing away from her and becoming enmeshed in his relationship with Doc, so his kisses had been obligatory and had held no heat. His kisses with Doc held heat, and passion, and electricity, but at the same time they were a little, well, expected. Not that that was bad. There was a sense of security, of mutual enjoyment, of knowing each other.
Marty didn't expect or know what Martín's kiss would feel like. So when the other teen's lips met his, Marty was initially shocked and amazed at the intimate touch. And then he found himself focusing on how soft Martín's lips were, how warm, and how Martín smelled so young and fresh and exciting and not like chemicals and grease and then Marty was kissing back and he felt Martín's lips curve into a smile -
Marty ceased the kiss, pushing Martín away and pulling himself back at the same time. The two looked at each other silently.
The sudden noise of a car engine was noticeable, as a vehicle approached nearby, and then seemed to pause outside the house. Feminine voices were heard next, speaking to each other in words of farewell. There was the sound of a car door being slammed, and then the car engine began to get softer, as the vehicle drove away.
"My sister's home," Marty said, his voice flat.
"Okay," Martín said.
Again the two just stared. The front door of the house opened, then shut. Within seconds of the door shutting, Linda called out. "Marty? I'm home! Hey, whose car is that?" When Linda didn't hear a response, she called her brother again, somewhat louder.
"I gotta answer her. They worry."
"Okay," Martín said again.
"Marty? Where are you?" Linda's shout was mildly anxious.
"Coming!" Marty tried to call back. His voice was weak and cracked noticeably. He forced himself into a standing position, then skirted past Martín to exit his bedroom.
As Linda had been making a beeline for Marty's room, she nearly ran into him in the hall. When she saw her brother was all right, she visibly relaxed. "Why didn't you answer me?" she scolded him.
"I did." Marty moved around Linda to head to the living room. "You just didn't hear me."
Linda shook off the response with a soft scoff. She followed Marty. "So which one of your bandmates borrowed his grandma's car? Paul? Where is he?"
"It's not Paul. And it's not my grandmother's car - it's my auntie's."
Marty's shoulders tensed, but Linda had turned back at the new voice, and didn't notice her brother's reaction. Linda studied the stranger, glanced at Marty, and then looked back at the other boy. "Who are - I'm sorry, I'm Linda, Marty's sister. Who are you?"
"Martín Alejo."
At first Linda nodded blankly, and then she let out a short laugh. "Martín? You have the same name - " A look of recognition doused the amusement in her eyes. "Martín. Wait. You're the one Marty met at that pl- at Bedford." She aimed a hard glare at Marty. "Does Mom know he's here?"
Marty glared right back. "Why can't he be here? Mom doesn't care if my friends come to visit. Well, except for Doc," he added quietly.
"Yeah, I know, but he's -"
"What?" Marty demanded. "You think he's going to be a bad influence on me because he was in a psych hospital? Well, so was I! Or are you saying if I spend too much time with him, I'm gonna relapse?"
"Marty. . ." Martín put a gentle hand on Marty's shoulder.
Marty ignored the touch and the warning tone. "Or are you saying because he attempted suicide, you think less of him? Do you think that of me, Linda? You think I'm less of a person because I was so screwed up I tried to kill myself?"
Linda tried to sputter out a negative response, or maybe just say that she hadn't remembered that Martín had also attempted suicide, but she soon found she was speechless. Marty was staring at her with moist eyes, his expression a mix of anger and despair. Martín stood quietly by, unsure if he was making things worse with his presence or if his recent kiss had helped fuel Marty's outburst.
Linda's shoulders slumped, and her eyes seemed teary as well. "I'm sorry," she said, looking at the two boys. "Both of you. I'm really sorry."
Marty blinked a few times, his face softening. "Oh, God, me too, Lin. I'm so sorry I yelled at you like that." He drew his hands up to his face and rubbed at his eyes. "It's just been a day. I was up all last night studying for my physics final, and then I ran into Needles at Burger King -"
Linda rolled her eyes. "You should have told me that. No wonder you're in a mood. What did that asshole do?"
Before Marty could answer, Martín spoke up. "Burger King? The one like a mile or so away?" When Marty nodded, Martín grinned crookedly. "I was just there. You know? That's where I ate before I came here."
Marty paled. He tried to remember if he'd seen Martín's car when he'd been sitting in Needles's pickup, or when he'd left Doc's in his truck. He'd kissed Doc goodbye before he'd hurried home, just a quick peck because he'd been running late, but suddenly Marty couldn't recall if they'd been standing in the open doorway, or within the safety of the garage.
Linda was still looking expectantly at Marty. He suddenly realized what she'd asked, and shrugged with a half-smile. "He didn't do anything, except confuse me, I guess. He wanted to talk, and he was . . . nice." He turned back to Martín. "I never went inside the restaurant - I was just in the parking lot, sitting in a truck. But I was there until almost noon; we must've been there at the same time."
"Just missed each other," Martín said, his voice soft.
Linda waited until Marty was looking at her. "Mom wanted me to make sure you ate lunch. Did you eat at Burger King?"
Marty huffed a non-response. Linda grumbled, again lifting her eyes. "Marty, I'm not going through this with you!" she said in exasperation. "You finally gained the weight back and look like yourself again - "
"Fine!" Marty said, his voice nearing a yell. "You want me to eat, I'll eat!" He stomped the short distance to the kitchen, but then whirled back to again holler at his sister. "Did you eat lunch, Linda?"
"Yes, I did, Deb and I stopped at Beans after class," Linda answered, her hands on her hips. Beans was the nickname for Hill of Beans, the coffee shop near Hill Valley Community College. Linda frequently ate there with her classmate Deb, who was dating one of the servers - the girls often got discounts on coffee drinks or food. "But I'm not the one who couldn't eat, who was fifteen pounds underweight," she continued.
Marty glowered at Linda, but didn't respond. Martín seemed surprised and worried by Linda's statement, and he looked at Marty with concern, then decided to again step into the fray. "Marty was going to eat - he said so to me. I just distracted him, is all."
Marty turned his glower from Linda to Martín. A distraction? Is that what you call it?
Linda was somewhat appeased by Martín's words, but still gave Marty a meaningful look and made a motion at the refrigerator. With a loud sigh, Marty pulled the fridge door open, took out the Saran Wrap-covered bowl of chicken salad, and slammed it on a nearby counter. Next he opened the breadbox and grabbed the open loaf of bread, fairly mutilating it as he pulled two sliced pieces from the loaf. He got a spoon out of the silverware drawer next, and after ripping the cling wrap off the bowl, he plopped an amount of chicken salad onto one of the pieces of bread, smooshing it around with the spoon. Placing the other piece of bread on top, he lifted the sandwich to his mouth and took a large bite. "Happy?" he directed at Linda, through a mouthful of food.
Linda sighed as well. She had just turned away when Marty began coughing as he tried to swallow the big bite. Linda immediately went back to her brother, but Martín was already pounding Marty on the back. "Maybe don't talk with your mouth full, ese," Martín joked, as Marty was finally able to force himself to swallow.
Linda went into the fridge and grabbed a Pepsi; cracking the can open, she held it out to Marty. "Drink, idiot."
Marty stared at the regular Pepsi. Linda, understanding his look, sighed again. "So it's not diet. It won't kill you, and you need the calories. Drink it!"
Marty obediently took a drink of the soda, then winced. "Too sweet," he rasped.
"Too bad." Finally assured that her brother was eating and not choking, Linda moved past the two boys to grab her school bag from where she'd deposited it in the entryway. "I have to go study. I'll be in my room."
After Linda had disappeared down the hallway, Martín turned to Marty. "Your sister's intense."
"Yeah," Marty answered. "Like I said, they worry. Gets annoying." He took a plate from the cupboard and placed his partially eaten sandwich on it, then carried the plate and his open Pepsi over to the dining room table. Martín followed, and sat down when Marty did.
Marty took another, smaller bite. After chewing thoroughly, swallowing, and taking a sip of soda, he gazed at Martín. "You sure you don't want anything?"
"Nah. You eat."
Marty hmmphed, then was silent for a while as he worked on his sandwich. Martín eventually took up the conversation. "You - uh - still weren't eating, huh?"
Marty held a hand out and see-sawed it. "Had no appetite. Everything tasted bad. When I did eat, I'd end up puking. Because of stress, anxiety, being exhausted from not sleeping. . . My psychiatrist said I had PTSD." He gave a half-shrug. "I guess I still do, but it doesn't trigger as much. Pills help. Do you know what PTSD is?"
Martín made a similar motion as Marty had, a "kinda-sorta" flip with his hand. "Something to do with past trauma, like reliving what happened, or getting really upset when you're reminded of it?"
Marty finished another bite, then nodded. "I wouldn't be surprised if you have it too, to a degree. That anyone who tried to commit suicide would - just from the trauma of however we tried to kill ourselves. Like with Tyrell, I'll bet anything that sounds like a gunshot is gonna freak him out for years."
Martín rubbed his knees with his hands. "Yeah, they talked about that in group a few times, how that was one reason why they still want us to see a shrink when we get out."
Marty popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and next took a long drink of Pepsi. He belched quietly, then looked intently at Martín.
"I don't want to talk about Bedford anymore," he said. "I want to talk about what happened in my bedroom."
Martín's mouth tipped up in a sly grin. "Was it so bad that you didn't realize it was a kiss?"
Marty tried to keep his face stern. "Don't be cute, Martín." When the other boy nodded and cleared his face, Marty took a breath, spread his hands, and said, "Why?"
Instead of answering, Martín asked, "Did you think about me? After you got home from Bedford?"
Marty looked off to the side thoughtfully. He had thought about Martín, several times, but not exactly in a romantic sense. Before he could reply, though, Martín continued. "I thought about you all the time. It didn't make sense to me. . . We only knew each other three days. But it was a couple of days before I got a new roommate, and I missed you. A lot. I thought it was maybe because I was lonesome, but after my first roomie offed himself, I didn't feel that way. I actually kind of liked being in a room alone. Well, until I met you. Then you left. And alone became lonely." Martín smiled sadly at Marty. "I got two more roomies before I got out. First they put this psycho arsonist in my room. He didn't last long. He set a fire in the garbage can in the day room about a week after he got there, and he was gone the next day. I don't where they sent him. Then they moved Rocky in with me - "
"What did they do that for?" Marty interrupted.
"Oh - uh, his roommate got out, and they had a new girl who came in and they needed space for her. Gave her Rocky's old room, and he moved into my room until he went home. And Rocky was the one who figured out I had a thing for you. I couldn't stop talking about you. Finding ways to bring you up. I just figured it was because we got along so good, you know. But I started having dreams about you,"
(wet dreams)
"and well, Rocky heard me talking in my sleep. . ." And more.
"You were dreaming about me?" Marty said in wonderment.
Martín nodded.
"But - " Marty shook his head, still confused. "You were with Amber!"
"You were with Jessica."
"Jennifer," Marty corrected.
"Yeah, Jennifer, that's what I said," Martín grinned again, but then he became serious. "You told me you weren't sure if you were gay. I didn't think I was - before I met you, I would have said I definitely wasn't gay. I slept with Amber, you know? A lot. I still don't know if I 'feel' gay. I just know I like you, as more than just a friend."
Marty leaned back, running his hands through his hair. He closed his eyes briefly, then sat forward and stared at Martín. At his creamy honey-toned skin, his perfect thick eyebrows, his sparkling walnut-brown eyes, and the faint peach fuzz of an emerging mustache above his lip. (Why do I keep equating his looks with food? Marty thought). Martín was attractive in an easy, modest way, as if he knew that he looked good but didn't care. Seeing that Marty was studying him, Martín pulled off his knit hat, to reveal thick, dark waves. The curls were still short, maybe two or three inches long, but a far cry from the close-cropped style he'd had in October.
"You . . . let your hair grow," Marty said, slightly breathless.
Martín twisted his hat in his hands, smiling nervously.
Marty wasn't sure what did it. If it was Martín's confession, that he'd had dreams about him. If it was the Hispanic boy's statement that he "liked him as more than just a friend." Or if it was the hair. The hair that Marty wanted to touch, to tangle his fingers in and marvel at its richness. While Martín's long, soft fingers stroked his face and cupped his chin and drew him forward toward his moist, full lips -
Marty stood up, pulled Martín to his feet, and then still holding the boy's hand, Marty guided him out of the dining room and down the hall toward the bedrooms. Martín was still gripping his hat, but when Marty pulled the boy into his bedroom, Martín let his hat fall from his hands. It landed in the hall, just outside the threshold, and disappeared from view as Marty closed his door.
TO BE CONTINUED..!