DISCLAIMER: Never owned, never will, very sad

READ AND REVIEW PLEASE!!

Author's Note

Well, friends, this is it...the last chapter :( I've put it off as long as I could. But, like all good things, this too must come to an end. Fortunately for you, I've decided to continue the series and write a third (and final) installment! I've also been playing around with ideas for other fics including Amelia. I'm going to put them on my profile page, so if you're interested shoot over there and send me a PM with your thoughts/concerns/flames/marriage proposals :P jk.

Thanks to everyone who has helped make this fic a success! You guys are the best and most loyal readers out there!

!Warning!

Yeah, you know what I'm gonna say. It's probably not necessary, but don't say I didn't warn you ;)

1985—Hill Valley

November 25th

3:30 pm

Marty and Amelia walked home from school together that afternoon. Amelia was a little apprehensive about it, she was afraid that Jennifer would see them and another fight would erupt, but Marty told her she was just being paranoid.

"We're not doing anything wrong, Aims," Marty said as they descended the stairs in front of the school. A playful look came into his eyes and he smirked. "If you really want to feel bad about something, I could jump you. It wouldn't be any trouble."

Amelia laughed and shoved him away.

"You're disgusting," she smiled.

"Thanks," Marty grinned.

Once they had made it a safe distance away from the school, Marty reached down and took Amelia's hand in his. Warmth spread through her fingers and up her arm, and she couldn't help but smile goofily. It had been so long since he had touched her; she had almost forgotten how good it felt just holding his hand…good, and a little more exciting than it should have been.

Emmett had left early that morning, and Amelia's heart sped up at the thought of the empty house that awaited them. She wondered nervously what would happen when Marty found out. Her whole body suddenly went very warm and she thought about pulling her hand away in case it started to sweat. She didn't though, the contact was too nice.

Einstein started to bark manically when he saw them coming up the walk. Marty and Amelia could hear him throwing himself against the door in excitement, and when Amelia opened the door he bounded out and launched himself at Marty's chest.

"Oomph!" Marty grunted, staggering backwards under Einstein's weight. Einstein began attacking Marty's face with his tongue. "Yeah, I've missed you too, Einie."

Einstein barked happily and danced around Marty's feet, making it impossible for him to move forward into the house. Amelia finally lured him away with a Milkbone, and they were able to squeeze their way inside.

Marty dropped his backpack by the door and flopped down on the sofa. He scooped up the remote and began flipping through channels. Einstein, bone in mouth, settled contentedly at his feet and started chomping away. Amelia set her bag down next to Marty's and hovered a moment over the couch, her stomach felt like it had been infested with butterflies.

"Do you—um—want something to drink?" Amelia asked, inching her way toward the kitchen.

"Yeah, sure," Marty said, not taking his eyes off the television.

Amelia went into the kitchen and filled up two glasses with water. Then she leaned over the sink and tried to catch her breath. She had no idea why she was so nervous; she had been alone with Marty before, it wasn't like she didn't know what to expect. She downed her glass of water in two gulps, refilled it, and emptied it again. The butterflies in her stomach still fluttered madly, although now they were slightly soggy.

Amelia, this is stupid, she thought as she chugged her third glass of water. Just go in there; nothing is going to happen if you don't want it to. It's Marty for Christ's sake!

Refilling her glass for the last time, Amelia picked up Marty's drink and carried it back into the family room.

Marty scooted over on the couch and Amelia settled down next to him. She passed him his drink and set hers down on the coffee table. Then, still ridiculously nervous, she leaned back and did her best to keep her composure.

"What's the matter?" Marty asked, taking a drink. Her strange mood had not gone unnoticed by him.

"Nothing," Amelia said, her squeaky voice deceiving her. "How's the water?"

"Wet," Marty laughed. He set his glass down and twisted his body to face her. "Where's your dad?"

"He went out," Amelia said.

Marty smiled and moved closer to her, reaching up and running his hand through her short hair.

"And when do you think he'll be back?" he asked.

"Um…" Amelia said, her voice shaking, "this weekend."

"Really?"

Marty's voice had gone very soft and velvety. He moved even closer and brushed his lips against the side of her neck. Amelia shivered and sat very still. His mouth traveled up the side of her neck to her cheek and then grazed over to her earlobe. Marty took the sensitive skin in his mouth and teased it with his tongue. Amelia tried and failed to stifle a little moan.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Marty whispered in her ear. He kissed the side of her head gently.

"Tell me what?" Amelia whispered back, her brain foggy with pleasure.

"About what I did," he murmured. "I can't imagine how much you've hated me."

With Marty's lips brushing lightly over her skin and his hands pressing against the small of her back, Amelia couldn't imagine hating him either. She leaned into him further so their chests were touching.

"I'll get over it," she said, her voice catching as his attentions turned to her collar bone.

"I did it for you," he said into her shoulder, "everything I did was for you…for us."

Amelia was feeling very dizzy and hot. Marty's hands (not to mention his lips) were seemingly everywhere; on her back, her thighs, her breasts, her arms, everywhere. She could feel her heart trying to thump its way out of her chest, sometimes skipping beats in its haste. Something was flaring and burning between her legs, something that ached and made her feel cavernous and empty, and Amelia squeezed her thighs tighter trying to get rid of it. Marty's lips found her own and his tongue dove into her mouth. She could feel the pressure of his palm on her breast, she could feel his heart beating against her own, and Amelia began to lose herself to a haze of ecstasy.

Marty pulled her on top of him, and the fire she had almost successfully extinguished roared to life once more. She ran her fingers through his hair, tugging gently. Marty nipped at her bottom lip and snaked his hands up the back of her shirt. He was just fiddling with the clasp on her bra when Amelia pushed herself away.

"What?" Marty panted, a flush rising to his cheeks.

"Promise me something?" Amelia began. Marty nodded. Amelia looked at him intently. "Promise me you'll never—ever—do that to me again. Promise me next time you'll tell me when you have to be a complete asshole."

Marty smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"Deal."

Amelia pulled him to her and they started to kiss again. This time, Marty managed to work out the clasp on her bra. Amelia felt his cool hand move hesitantly upward and she gasped slightly when he cupped her. She kissed him harder and wondered if he was feeling the same aching fire she was.

Einstein suddenly bounded past the couch, successfully knocking over Amelia's water glass and splashing both of them.

"Einstein, bad dog!" Amelia shrieked, sitting bolt upright.

But Einstein didn't particularly care if he was being a "bad dog" or not, he was too busy spinning in circles and leaping excitedly at the front door.

"What's his problem?" Marty asked as Einstein started to bark heartily.

"Dunno," Amelia grumbled, shaking water from her arm. "Einie, can it!"

Einstein barked louder and pranced on the spot.

Then the doorbell rang.

Amelia and Marty looked at each other, both equally perplexed. This was the 80's, nobody rang doorbells anymore. Nobody but Tupperware salesman and Jehovah's Witnesses. Neither of which Amelia had any interest in speaking to at the moment.

So, nobody made a move to get up.

The doorbell rang again.

"Who do you think it is?" Marty asked.

Amelia shrugged.

The doorbell rang again.

"Let's just wait for them to go away," she suggested. "We were kinda in the middle of something, after all."

Marty smiled and started to climb on top of her.

The doorbell rang again.

"Jesus," Marty whispered fiercely, sitting up. "Can't they take a hint?"

The next time the doorbell rang, it was followed by a knock and a muffled voice calling, "Western Union!"

Amelia frowned; Western Union? The telegram place?

"I'm gonna answer it," she said finally.

"Why?" Marty asked, watching her stand up and reclasp her bra.

"Frankly, because I want them to go away," Amelia laughed.

She crossed to the door, nudged the still dancing Einstein away, and opened it. A man in a smart business suit stood on the other side, his finger poised over the doorbell as if he were just about to ring again. He beamed when he saw Amelia.

"Hey! I was just beginning to think no one was home!" he said with a chuckle. "Are you Amelia Brown?" Amelia nodded. The man's smile widened. "Got something for you."

He fished around in his suit jacket pocket and produced a very old, very battered looking letter. He passed it to her.

"We've had that at our office for the past…well…hundred years or so," he said, looking at the letter in complete awe. "We've had a bet going for ages. Some of my coworkers doubted you'd be here, you see. I mean, can't blame them, not with a letter that old. I, however, said you would be here," he stated proudly. "And here you are! And here I go to collect my two hundred and fifty dollars. Have a nice day, Miss."

And he left with a noticeable bounce in his step.

Amelia closed the door and returned to the couch, more baffled than she was before. She sat down next to Marty and placed the letter in her lap, starting at it. Her name was scrawled across the paper in the unmistakable loopy and disjointed handwriting of her father. But what was he doing sending her mail from a hundred years ago?

"Well, open it," Marty prompted.

Amelia gave a little jerk and then ripped the letter open. Her eyes scanned the sentences, gradually widening as she worked her way down the page. Marty sat anxiously next to her, trying and failing to read the reactions on her face.

"Well?" he asked after several painfully slow minutes.

"You're never going to believe this," Amelia said slowly, setting the letter back down on her knees.

"Try me."

Amelia turned to him with eyes round as saucers.

"My father is stuck in 1885."

To Be Continued...