Archive of Our Own

He'd had this new job for only a few months and already he feared what white collar work was doing to him. Well, white collar work on top of staying out until two for gigs. And job wasn't exactly the right term either. Geographically contingent internship was more accurate. Still, it was a steady paycheck (something Marty's nascent music career had failed to produce thus far) so he couldn't look a gift horse too closely in the mouth. And FMC seemed like a decent company. As decent as big tech could get anyway. 

When the huge clean energy startup had started construction on its sprawling campus in the foothills of Hill Valley two years ago, there'd been talk of hiring from the local population. Most everyone had been skeptical. All these big tech firms promised they'd be good for the area only to bring in outside talent, slowly drive up real estate prices, and eventually force the native population out.

But to date, FMC had been good to its word. There were outside scientists of course. But all the manufacturing, HR, finance and lower level tech work was offered to Hill Valley's populace first. It had created hundreds of jobs and really revitalized the town. 

Marty, a graduate of the local community college, never expected to use the computer science degree his parents guilted him into. He was a musician. But when the internship was emailed to him by his brother Dave (with the charming subject: Mom said she wants you off her cellphone plan) steady employment in his preferred field had not yet materialized. Marty applied and a month and a half later he was employed at FMC. 

There were a few other cars in the lot when he parked and made his way up to the engineering wing. He scanned his badge again and heard the locks click letting him into the building. For the next forty minutes he worked without seeing any other humans. There was a reason this work was set aside for a lowly intern. It mostly consisted of checking that the internal systems' programs ran over night. It was rote. Mindless. He didn't really understand at all how it fit into FMC's actual purpose, making Flux Cell technology to create clean energy. But he had health insurance! And his mom was off his back about the phone. 

Around seven-thirty, Marty finished up the day's first tasks and decided to head to the vending machines for a pick-me-up. He was trying to decide between an energy drink and a Pepsi when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Someone. 

A man, tall with a wild shock of platinum hair, came traipsing out of the research and development hall and through the lobby. A smile lifted the corner of Marty's mouth. They couldn't have hired a more scientisty-looking guy if they'd gone through central casting. (He was wearing a white lab coat, for goodness sake!) The scientist stereotype went out through the outer double doors towards the parking lot. 

Thoroughly intrigued, Marty finished purchasing his Red Bull and walked to the big glass window. The man had disappeared. Marty frowned. He scanned the few cars in the lot and was just about to head back to work when he saw him again. He was leaning into a beat up old van that somehow looked even older than Marty's Civic. 

After rummaging for several minutes, the scientist emerged with an armful of electronic looking...stuff. Junk was probably a better descriptor. And there was a lot of it. The man kept dropping things then stooping to pick them up and dropping others. Marty felt a little guilty watching him struggle and fought back a laugh. But the dude wasn't evoking 'professional scientist' so much as giving off serious Gene Wilder as Doctor Fronkensteen vibes. 

Marty, grinning ear to ear, was just about to head out to ask if he needed help when the klutzy doc finally seemed to shore up his armload. He turned back to the building. When he got to the double doors he stopped. 

The twenty-seven-year-old witnessed the exact moment the man realized he'd forgotten his ID card. 

More items clattered to the ground while the poor guy felt around in the pockets of his pants and coat (to no avail.) Marty took pity on him and jogged over just as some cylindrical metal thing rolled down the sidewalk towards the parking lot. 

"Here, let me help you, doc," he laughed, propping the doorway open. 

The scientist's head shot up. 

"Oh! Oh, thank you so very much," he said, taking Marty in with wide, surprised eyes. He smiled. 

It was a nice smile, Marty noted before dashing down the sidewalk to retrieve the cylinder. When he returned to the door he helped pick up the last few items. 

"Really. Thank you again," the scientist said. He added sheepishly. "I'd lose my head if it wasn't attached so there was never any hope for the swipe card." 

Marty laughed. "No worries. I won't tell if you don't report me for opening the door to a stranger. I just finished the phishing training on corporate espionage." 

For a second the other man looked confused. But then comprehension dawned in his warm brown eyes. 

Smiling that nice smile again he leaned towards Marty and whispered. "Da, Mother Russia vill be much obliged." 

Marty snorted. Not only nice but funny.

The pair stood in the doorway, their arms full of weird science junk for several more moments. Then Marty raised his eyebrows and asked, "Where to?" 

"Oh! Of course, of course. To the lab!" the nice, funny man pronounced and Marty followed as he led to the R&D corridor. 

"Hmm. Now, here's the problem." the scientist said, frowning at the entrance doors. "I've got to swipe to get into this part too. I don't suppose you've got lab credentials?" 

The younger man laughed again. "No. I've barely got employment credentials. I'm an intern." 

"Oh! Here's Stanford!" the other man said, knocking determinedly on the glass and waiving his hand, "Stanford! Stanford, I forgot my—oh good, he's seen me." 

He turned back towards Marty. "Intern, did you say?" He began shifting the objects he was holding around and together they were able to transfer everything back into the taller man's arms. 

"Oh. Yeah," Marty scratched his neck. "I, uh, graduated from HVCC a while back and they had these spots open for—" 

"Who left this door propped!" 

An angry voice from the lobby made Marty's head whip around. 

"Ah, shit. I better go back and—" he took several backwards steps towards the building entrance.

"Thank you again for all your help," the scientist paused and looked at him expectantly. 

Marty couldn't help but notice his nice, brown, friendly eyes once more. 

"Marty," he answered. 

"Marty," the older man echoed softly. 

He opened his mouth, maybe to tell Marty his name in return, but at that moment the lab door opened and a stern voice inside said, "Again? Really?" 

At the same time, more voices could be  heard in the lobby. Suddenly, Marty realized he was probably going to be late for the eight o'clock staff meeting if he didn't get back soon. 

"See ya," he waved over his shoulder to his new acquaintance. 

"Bye," the friendly doctor called back. 

Thankfully, he was only a couple minutes late for the meeting. And aside from a pointed look from his supervisor, no one said anything about his tardiness. There was a lengthy lecture about the dangers of door propping, however. 

For the rest of the day, Marty kept his head down and his nose to the metaphorical grindstone. But periodically he'd think of Young Frankenstein and smile. And when he got back to his apartment later that afternoon, and after he made himself a lunch/dinner of scrambled eggs, he fell asleep on his futon thinking about propped doors and the world's sweetest, clumsiest corporate spy. 

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