Equals

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
It started with the little things.

A mug left half-full on the kitchen counter, the coffee inside cold and untouched. A stack of unread mail sitting by the door, gathering dust. The faint scent of something burning in the lab one afternoon, though when Sue went to investigate, Reed waved her off without explanation.

Reed forgot things sometimes. He got so wrapped up in his work that everything else faded into the background. It wasn’t new. Sue had spent years learning to live with his distracted nature, his mind forever ten steps ahead of everyone else.

But this wasn’t just distraction. It was neglect.

His notes were usually pristine, stacked neatly in color-coded files. But they had started piling up in uneven stacks, scribbled equations crossing over each other in frantic, messy lines. The lab, once organized with meticulous precision, was becoming a chaotic tangle of wires, tools left where they shouldn’t be, screens left running even when no one was using them. She even caught him wearing the same shirt two days in a row.

That was the moment she knew.

Reed wasn’t just losing track of things. He was unraveling.

Sue tried to ignore the uneasy feeling gnawing at her, but it was impossible when he barely spoke to her anymore. Days passed where their only interaction was a brief nod from across the room. When she touched his arm in passing, something she had always done without thinking, and he barely seemed to register it.

And the nights…

The nights were the worst. Reed had always worked late, but he used to come to bed eventually, slipping under the covers sometime between midnight and dawn, his body warm against hers, his breathing steady as he finally allowed himself to rest.

Lately, the bed was empty every morning when she woke. It wasn’t just work. It couldn’t be. Even when Reed buried himself in research, he still functioned. He still responded when spoken to. He still ate.

Sue had spent enough time around Reed’s brilliance to know when he was hyper-focused. But this was different.He was slipping away, and she didn’t know how to pull him back.

That night, she sat alone in their bedroom, staring at the digital clock as it flickered past 1:58 AM.

She could let it go. She could roll over, close her eyes, pretend she didn’t care that her husband hadn’t spoken to her properly in weeks. That the weight in her chest was getting heavier every day.

Or—

She pushed back the covers, got to her feet, and walked downstairs to the lab.

It was time to stop pretending.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ. ɪ’ᴅ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʙᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ.]
Sue Storm had long since given up trying to predict when Reed would come to bed. Most nights, he didn’t.

She wasn’t naïve. She knew who she married. Knew what it meant to love a man whose mind never stopped moving, whose restless genius made him brilliant but impossible. She had accepted, long ago, that there would always be nights where he lost himself to equations, experiments, and theories she couldn’t begin to grasp.

But lately, it had been every night.

Sue stood outside his lab, arms crossed, jaw tight. The glow of the monitors bathed the room in harsh blue light, casting deep shadows under Reed’s eyes. He was hunched over his desk with his back to her, utterly still, an unusual sight. Normally, he moved constantly, hands stretching and twisting in ways human limbs weren’t meant to, reaching for tools or scribbling down thoughts faster than anyone else could process them.

Tonight, he wasn’t moving at all.

"Reed," she said, stepping inside. "It’s past two. Again."

No response.
She exhaled sharply, irritation prickling up her spine. "Are you even listening to me?"
Still nothing.

"Reed!"

He flinched. Just slightly, but enough that she saw it. Her frustration wavered. She stepped closer, frowning. "Hey. What’s—"
Then he turned, and she saw his face.
Reed Richards did not get flustered. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t lose composure. Even when Doom loomed over them, he had spoken in calm, measured tones, already calculating possibilities. That was Reed. He was always thinking, always solving. But right now, his hands were gripping his temples, fingers digging into his scalp. His breathing was shallow, uneven. His usually sharp eyes were unfocused, darting over his desk as if searching for something, anything, to ground himself.

"Sue," he said, and his voice now flat sent something cold through her.

Sue softened immediately, crouching beside him. "Hey. What’s going on?"

He inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose, controlled, controlled, controlled. "I can’t—" He stopped, pressed his lips together. Frustration flickered across his face, his fingers twitching. "It’s not working. The equations— they aren’t… aren’t aligning properly. I’ve adjusted for every possible variable, I’ve accounted for every anomaly, but the numbers still—"

His breath hitched. He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw locking. Sue reached out, resting a hand on his. He was shaking. "It’s okay," she said softly. His eyes snapped open. "It’s not okay, Susan," he said, and the sudden sharpness in his voice made her blink. "If I can’t figure this out, then—" He cut himself off again, turning away, fingers gripping his temples harder.

He looked lost.

And just like that, her frustration melted entirely. "You don’t have to figure it out right now," she said gently.
Reed let out a strangled breath, his whole body rigid, as if the very idea was offensive. "Yes, I do," he muttered.

Sue squeezed his hand. "No, you don’t," she said firmly. "Reed, listen to me. You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re so desperate to solve everything that you’re—" She hesitated, searching for the right words. "You’re spiraling." His lips parted slightly, as if to argue. But he didn’t. Instead, his shoulders slumped. He looked down at their joined hands, brow furrowed in something that wasn’t quite understanding. Maybe he hadn’t even realized he was shaking until she touched him. Maybe he hadn’t noticed how tightly wound he’d been, how frayed at the edges he was becoming.

Sue squeezed his hand again. "Come to bed," she murmured.

Reed hesitated. His eyes flickered back to the screen, numbers still flashing, unsolved equations taunting him. But Sue tugged gently, guiding him away from the desk.

After a long, tense moment, he let her.

Sue had felt him slip into bed nearly an hour after she coaxed him out of the lab, his movements awkward, hesitant. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his breathing measured but not quite relaxed. Reed lay stiffly beside her, his body tense as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Sue turned on her side, resting her head against her pillow as she watched him. Even in the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the window, she could see the exhaustion lining his face. “You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured.

A beat of silence. Then. “I can’t help it.”
Sue smiled softly. “I know.”

Another pause. He shifted slightly, but his hands remained where they were flat on the blanket, fingers twitching like he wanted to move but couldn’t quite make himself do it. She reached out, covering his hand with hers.

Reed’s breath caught. Just slightly. Sue squeezed gently, encouraging. Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his palm upward, letting his fingers curl around hers. His grip was too firm, like he’d forgotten how to just hold instead of cling. Sue rubbed small circles into his palm with her thumb, easing the tension from his hand. “You don’t have to overthink this,” she said softly. “Just… come here.”

For a moment, she thought he wouldn’t move at all. But then, something in him relented.

With a quiet exhale, Reed shifted closer, his body pressing against hers but it was still too controlled, too careful. Like he was trying to calculate the exact right way to hold her instead of just feeling it. Sue could practically hear the equation running in his head.

“Reed.” She nudged her forehead against his. “You’re not assembling a circuit board.”

A huff of something that almost sounded like a laugh. Then, finally, he let go of whatever invisible formula he was working through and just melted. His arms wrapped around her, one sliding beneath her waist, the other looping over her shoulders. But then, he stretched and his limbs began to wind around her in a way only he could, pulling her impossibly close, enveloping her in warmth.

Sue let out a small, surprised laugh. “Okay, octopus man.” Reed made a soft sound, something caught between a chuckle and a sigh and then buried his face in her hair. For a long time, they just stayed like that.

Then, quietly, Reed murmured, “I forgot how much I missed this.”

Sue’s chest ached, but she didn’t let it show. She just ran her fingers through his hair and whispered back, “Me too.”

His grip tightened, and for the first time in weeks, he let himself rest.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ, ᴅᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛᴀᴅᴛ, ʟᴀᴛᴠᴇʀɪᴀ]
Reed was dreaming.

The world around him was dark, the air thick with the scent of metal and fire. His feet dragged against cold stone as he stumbled forward, his limbs heavy, sluggish. He recognized this place.

Latveria.

The throne room of Doom’s castle stretched endlessly before him, the walls lined with towering, faceless statues. The air hummed with unseen energy, something oppressive pressing down on his chest. And then…. footsteps. Steady. Measured. A voice followed, smooth as silk, edged with something sharp.

"Reed."

Reed turned, but the shadows swallowed everything. "You always thought yourself better than me." A figure emerged from the darkness. The green cloak billowed, heavy with an unnatural wind, the polished mask reflecting flickering light from nowhere. Doom stood before him, still as death.

"And yet, here you are. Helpless."

Reed tried to move, but his body wouldn’t obey. His arms refused to stretch, his limbs bound by some unseen force.

"Look around you, Richards."

Reed’s breath came faster. The walls of the throne room felt like they were judging him, staring at him.

Sue. Johnny. Ben. He felt their eyes on him with a distrust. A leader failed and turned to a puddle of weak mortal flesh under the gaze of Doom. Their voices were distant, not a word understandable. Reed turned, frantic, but he couldn’t see them. Doom took another step closer. "Tell me, genius. What went wrong?"

”I can’t figure it out…” he growled. He stared into the masks eyes, seeing a small glint of the eyes underneath. “Doom.”
”Doom does not tell you the answer. You should solve this yourself. Mr Fantastic.”

Reed gasped as the world caved in around him—

—And then he woke up.

His body jolted forward, lungs straining for air, sweat cold against his skin. It took a moment to register where he was. The bedroom. The faint glow of the city outside. The warmth of Sue beside him.

But the panic didn’t fade. His breath came in sharp, uneven gulps, his heart hammering as though it were still trapped in the nightmare. He pressed his palms against his temples, trying to steady himself, trying to grasp onto something solid—

A hand touched his wrist.
“Reed,” Sue’s voice was quiet but firm, grounding. “You’re awake. You’re safe.”

Reed squeezed his eyes shut. Safe. The word felt foreign in his mouth, in his head. Sue didn’t push. She just waited. Eventually, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. And when her arms opened, he didn’t hesitate this time.

He buried his face in her shoulder, his breath still uneven, body still trembling. She rubbed soothing circles into his back, whispering reassurances against his temple.

She didn’t ask what he dreamed about.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
The smell of coffee and something vaguely burnt drifted through the air as Sue stepped into the kitchen, Reed trailing behind her. Ben was already at the table, flipping through the newspaper, a massive mug of coffee in one hand. Johnny was at the stove, poking at a pan of scrambled eggs with far more confidence than skill.

"Morning, lovebirds," Ben greeted without looking up. "Sleep well?"

Sue shot a quick glance at Reed, who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Better than usual," she said, sliding into a chair. Johnny turned, eyebrow raised. "Oh, so that’s why Stretch actually left the lab for once. You finally put him in a coma?"

"Haha," Reed muttered, settling into the seat beside her. Johnny smirked, then turned back to his eggs, only for a small flame to flare up from the pan. "Oh, crap—Ben, plate!" Ben sighed, setting down his coffee to grab a plate just as Johnny scraped the slightly overcooked eggs onto it. He dropped it onto the table with a flourish. "Boom. Perfectly edible."

Sue eyed the eggs skeptically. "That’s debatable."
Johnny slid into the chair across from her, unbothered. "You’re welcome."
Ben grunted. "Shoulda just let me make pancakes."

Reed, still half-asleep, reached for a piece of toast, taking a slow bite. Sue could feel the exhaustion still clinging to him, but there was something easier in the air this morning, something lighter. Johnny nudged his foot under the table. "You good, Reed? You look like you actually shut your brain off for once."

Reed blinked, processing the question. Then, to everyone’s mild surprise, he exhaled a quiet chuckle. "Not entirely."

Ben snorted. "Figures."

Reed was halfway through his second cup of coffee when Johnny clapped his hands together. “Alright, Stretch. We’re staging an intervention.”
Reed blinked. “Excuse me?”

Ben folded his arms, nodding. “Yup. You ain’t stepping foot in that lab today.” Reed frowned, already shaking his head. “That’s not—” Johnny cut him off, waving a fork at him. “Nope. No excuses. You’ve been holed up in there for weeks, dude. You need a break.”

Reed adjusted his glasses. “I assure you, I function perfectly well without—”

“Reed,” Sue interrupted gently, giving him a knowing look.

He hesitated.

Johnny smirked. “See? Even Sue’s in on it. You’re outnumbered, man. Just give in.” Reed sighed, glancing at Ben for backup. Ben shrugged. “Ya got two choices, Stretch. Either ya take a day off willingly, or I physically carry ya outta here.” He cracked his knuckles for effect.
Reed rubbed his temple. “That’s unnecessary.”
Johnny leaned back with a grin. “Then say it. ‘I, Reed Richards, am taking the day off.’” Reed glanced at Sue again. She just smiled, sipping her coffee, waiting. After a long pause, Reed exhaled. “…Fine.”

Johnny fist-pumped. “Yes! Victory!”

Ben grinned. “Smart choice, pal.”

Sue squeezed Reed’s hand under the table, warmth in her eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

Reed sighed again, but this time, there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Maybe, just maybe, a day off wouldn’t be so bad.