Equals

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
The living area was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside. Sue stood near the couch, arms crossed tightly, watching Reed as he sat at the edge of his seat, hunched over with his fingers steepled together. His mind was elsewhere, as always. She’d let this go on too long. “You’re barely here anymore, Reed,” Sue said, voice steady but firm. “Not for me. Not for the team. When was the last time you even had a real conversation with us?” Reed exhaled through his nose. “Sue, I-”

“You what?” She took a step closer, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re busy? You’re thinking? You have a thousand things in your head, so you can’t be bothered to acknowledge the people who actually care about you?”

He finally looked up, but his expression was unreadable. “I don’t mean to shut anyone out.”

“But you are.” Sue’s voice rose. “You’re disappearing into yourself. You’re shutting me out, shutting The team out, shutting everything out! I keep telling myself you’ll snap out of it, but it just keeps getting worse.” Reed’s jaw tightened. “I’m working, Sue. You know I don’t have the luxury of stepping away from my responsibilities.” That earned a scoff. “Responsibilities?” She let out a bitter laugh. “You haven’t even been doing your work lately! You disappear into the lab, but you’re not producing anything. You’re just hiding.” A heavy silence settled between them.

From the kitchen, Sue could hear the faint clatter of dishes. Johnny and Ben had stopped talking. They were listening. Reed leaned back, rubbing his temple as if this conversation was just another problem he had to solve. “You don’t understand,” he muttered. Sue’s chest tightened. “Then make me understand.”

His hands curled into fists. “It’s not that simple.” He was about to leave but... “It is that simple! You don’t talk to me anymore. You barely sleep. You don’t live outside of that lab.” Her voice cracked, but she pushed forward. “You used to let me in, Reed. You used to want me there. But now you just sit in the dark and pretend you don’t need anyone.” His gaze flickered, and for just a second, Sue saw it. hesitation. Doubt. The smallest crack in his armor.

And then it was gone. Reed exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can’t afford to stop, Sue. Not now.”
“Not now? When, then? When you’ve completely wasted away? When you’ve pushed us all too far to come back?” She forced herself to breathe. “Reed, I am begging you. Look at yourself. Look at what you’re doing.”

Silence.

Reed looked down at his hands, the tension in his shoulders evident. Sue swallowed, voice softer now. “You don’t have to do this alone.” For the first time in the entire argument, something in his face changed. She had gotten through. Not completely, not enough, but enough to make him stop and think. The room was too quiet.

“I can’t make you listen to me, Reed. But I won’t sit here and watch you destroy yourself.”
Reed stared at the floor. She waited for him to say something. Anything. After a long moment, he finally spoke. It was barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know how to stop.”
And then, suddenly, he wasn’t in the Baxter Building anymore.
He was twenty years younger, in a dimly lit dorm room at university.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[ᴇᴍᴘɪʀᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱɪᴛʏ]
Victor sat across from him, leaning back in his chair with effortless confidence. The dim lamp cast shadows across his sharp features, making his expression unreadable. A bottle of cheap whiskey sat between them, two glasses half-filled with neither of them drinking fast, but neither of them stopping, either.
"You know what your problem is, Richards?" Victor’s voice was low, smooth, too casual, like he was dissecting Reed instead of speaking to him. "You still think you can fix people."

Reed arched a brow, the warmth of the alcohol settling uncomfortably in his chest. "And you think people can’t be fixed?"
Victor scoffed. "I think people are broken beyond repair. And the sooner you realize that, the better off you’ll be."
Reed frowned, fingers tightening around his glass. "That’s a lonely way to live."

Victor tilted his head slightly, studying him like he was something under a microscope. "Lonely? Or liberating?" He took a slow sip, then set his drink down with a deliberate clink. "You cling to the idea that people matter, that they’ll always matter. But they’ll disappoint you, Richards. They’ll abandon you. They’ll look at you one day and realize they don’t understand you. And then you’ll be left with nothing."

Reed shook his head, more at himself than at Victor. "Maybe they’d understand if you let them."
Victor smirked. He was mocking, condescending. "Is that what you tell yourself?"

Reed froze.

Victor leaned forward now, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze sharp. "Do they understand you, Reed?" His voice dropped, quieter now, more insidious. "Or do they tolerate you?"

Something twisted in Reed’s chest.
"You act like you don’t care," Reed muttered. "Like it doesn’t bother you. But I don’t think that’s true."

Victor’s jaw tensed, but the smirk stayed. "And you act like it shouldn’t bother you. That if you just keep going, keep working, everything will fall into place. But we both know that’s a lie." He leaned back again, arms folding. "You are a lie, Richards. A man pretending to be something he's not."

The words struck deeper than they should have.
Reed exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "That’s not true."
Victor just laughed. Low, bitter, like he had already won. "Keep telling yourself that."

______

"Reed."

Sue’s voice pulled him back like a ripcord.
The dorm room dissolved. The years rushed forward. The dim lamplight became the soft glow of the Baxter Building. Reed blinked. Sue stood in front of him, her frustration giving way to something quieter. "You don’t have to do this alone," she murmured.

But Victor’s voice still echoed in his head.
'Do they understand you, Reed? Or do they tolerate you?'

He swallowed hard. And for the first time in a long time…
He didn’t know the answer.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ!, ᴍᴀɴʜᴀᴛᴛᴀɴ, ɴʏ]
Manhattan at night had a certain stillness to it, despite the distant hum of the city that never truly slept. The streets weren’t empty, but they were quieter, the usual chaos softened under the glow of streetlights. Sue walked beside Reed, her hands tucked into her coat pockets, waiting. She wasn’t sure how she’d convinced him to come out with her. But maybe it was exhaustion, maybe something else, either way he hadn’t protested when she suggested they take a walk. He hadn’t said much of anything.
They walked in silence for a while.

Reed’s shoulders were stiff, his hands curled into fists in his coat. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the pavement. Sue let out a quiet breath, watching it curl into the cold air. "You’ve been somewhere else lately," she said gently. "I don’t just mean in the lab." He didn’t respond right away. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, eyes distant.

Sue gave him a moment before pressing, "Reed."
His fingers twitched. Then, quietly, he said, "I see things."
She frowned. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed, like the words were thick in his throat. "Memories. Resurfacing at the worst moments. Like they were waiting for me to let my guard down." He let out a slow breath. "Sometimes, I think they’re trying to tell me something." Sue tilted her head, studying his face. He looked haunted. "What kind of memories?" Reed’s jaw tensed. He hesitated for a long time before he finally admitted, "Doom."

The name settled heavily between them. Sue’s steps slowed, her brows knitting together. "You mean-"
"Victor," Reed corrected, voice quieter. "Not just the mask. Not just the enemy we know now." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Before that. Back when we were…" He trailed off, struggling with the word.

Sue filled it in for him. "Friends?"

Reed flinched.
He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. "I don’t know if we ever really were," he murmured. "But there were moments…” He exhaled, his breath coming out shaky. "I think about them too much lately. The things he said. The way he used to talk to me."

Sue walked a little closer, their arms almost brushing. "And what did he say?" Reed was quiet for a long time. The only sound was the distant rumble of traffic, the soft rustling of a breeze between buildings. Finally, he admitted, "That I was a lie."

Sue stopped walking.
Reed did too, but he didn’t look at her.

"What does that mean?" she asked carefully. Reed’s throat bobbed. He turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye. "That I act like I belong in the world. Like I know how to be a person. But deep down, I don’t. And sooner or later, everyone else will realize it too." Sue’s heart clenched. She reached for his hand, hesitating only when she saw the way his fingers twitched. But he didn’t pull away when she touched him and his hand was cold, tense, but he let her hold it.

"That’s not true," she said, steady and sure. "You do belong. And you don’t have to figure everything out alone."
Reed swallowed hard. "But I do, Sue," he said, voice tight. "I have to control everything. If I don’t, if I let go of that, I’ll lose everything." He clenched his jaw. "I can’t just let things happen. It’s too dangerous. It’s too… unpredictable." Sue studied him for a long moment, her gaze gentle. "That’s not strength, Reed."

Reed’s head snapped up, eyes wide. "It’s fear," Sue said softly. "You’re so afraid of losing control, of losing everyone, that you build walls. You try to fix everything before it breaks, before anyone has the chance to leave. But control isn’t strength, Reed. It’s a defense mechanism." Reed’s breath hitched. She squeezed his hand gently. "You don’t need to fix everything. You don’t need to be perfect. Not for me. Not for anyone."

His fingers trembled against hers. "I don’t know how to stop," he whispered.
Sue smiled a little, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. "It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. Together." Reed let out a shaky breath, but this time, it didn’t feel like he was suffocating. He felt lighter, if only for a moment. For the first time in a long time… he didn’t feel so alone.

"You know," she said, her voice quieter but full of warmth, "we don’t have to fix anything tonight. But I could definitely use some company." Reed looked at her, his brow furrowed in mild confusion. "Company?"
"Yeah," Sue said with a small, knowing smile. "I found this documentary the other day. You might like it. it’s about the early space missions, all the science behind it. I thought it might be something you’d enjoy, something we could watch together. Just… us. No work. No fixing. Just watching." Reed blinked, surprised at the simplicity of it, but something about the offer seemed to settle in him. He could do that. No equations, no pressure, just… sharing something he loved with her. Sue gave him a playful nudge. "What do you say? You get to be the expert and I’ll just ask all the annoying questions."

Reed finally smiled. It was soft, genuine, and unguarded. "You always ask the best questions," he murmured. "Okay. I’d like that."

Sue’s smile widened. "Good." She squeezed his hand once more before linking her arm with his. "Let’s go back. We can watch it in peace, just like we used to."

As they turned back toward the apartment, Reed felt a weight lift off his chest. It wasn’t a solution to everything, but for tonight, the simplicity of Sue’s offer, of a quiet evening together, felt like a lifeline.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
Reed was staring at the screen, but Sue could tell he wasn’t really seeing it. His mind was elsewhere, tangled in thoughts too complicated to voice. She shifted slightly beside him on the couch, turning toward him. “You never answered my question,” she said gently.

Reed blinked, pulling himself back into the moment. “What question?” Sue gave him a patient look. “Earlier, when they were talking about the Apollo 11 mission. And you got quiet. I asked if you ever imagined what it would’ve been like, being up there. In space. If things had gone differently.”

For a moment, Reed hesitated. Then, he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face before finally speaking. “I used to dream about it constantly. The idea of leaving Earth, of reaching beyond what we knew at the time… It was everything I wanted.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “But I think, even back then, I understood that I wasn’t built for that kind of adventure. Not in the same way others were. I was too preoccupied with controlling every variable, running every possible scenario. I wanted to explore, but I also wanted certainty. And those two things don’t coexist.” Sue studied him carefully, hearing the unspoken words beneath his confession. “Is that why you push yourself so hard? Why you try to control everything?”

Reed swallowed, his fingers curling against his knee. “It’s… it is a defense mechanism, like you said.” he admitted, the words coming slowly, like he was still getting used to saying them out loud. “I don’t do well with unpredictability, Sue. I never have. When things feel uncertain, I….” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I double down. I try to fix things, to make them fit into a framework that makes sense. It’s not about power, or even about arrogance, the way people think it is. It’s about fear.”

Sue nodded, letting the weight of his words settle. “Fear of what?”
“That if I don’t hold everything together, it’ll all fall apart,” Reed murmured. “That I’ll fall apart.”
Sue reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “Reed… you don’t have to carry everything alone.” He looked down at their joined hands, flexing his fingers slightly as if testing the sensation. “I know,” he admitted, but it sounded like he was still trying to believe it. A long silence stretched between them before Reed spoke again, his voice quieter now, more fragile. “There’s something else,” he said. “Something I’ve been trying to ignore, but I can’t.”

Sue waited, patient and steady.

“I miss Victor,” Reed confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not the man he is now… the man he became.. but the friend I used to have. The person who challenged me, who understood me in a way no one else did. There was a time when he was the closest thing I had to a true equal. And now…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

Sue squeezed his hand, grounding him. “Now, he’s someone you can’t have in your life anymore.”

Reed nodded, his throat tightening. “I know it’s foolish to dwell on it. He’s not that person anymore. He hasn’t been for a long time. But sometimes I wonder… If things had been different, if we had found a way to stay on the same path instead of diverging-“ He cut himself off, exhaling a shaky breath. “But that’s just another variable I can’t control.”

Sue studied him for a moment before speaking. “You’re allowed to grieve that, Reed.”
He frowned slightly. “Grieve?”

“Yes,” Sue said gently. “You lost someone who mattered to you. You don’t have to justify that loss, or rationalize it away. It hurts because it was real.” Reed was silent for a long moment, his gaze unfocused. Finally, he nodded, though the motion was small. “I don’t know how to let go of something like that.” Sue’s expression softened. “Maybe you don’t have to let go of it completely. Maybe you just have to learn how to live with it.”  

Reed let out a quiet, shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”
“You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” Sue reassured him. “One step at a time.”

Reed looked over at her then, his eyes searching hers for something he wasn’t sure how to name. But whatever it was, he seemed to find it because for the first time in a long while, he let his shoulders relax. He didn’t have all the answers. He might never have them. But, for once, that uncertainty didn’t feel quite as unbearable.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[31ꜱᴛ ꜰʟᴏᴏʀ]
“Alright, hear me out.”

Ben Grimm sighed and lowered his newspaper, already regretting being in the same room as Johnny Storm. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.” Ben gave him a flat look. “It’s you, Hotshot. Whatever it is, it’s gonna be dumb.” Johnny ignored him and plopped down onto the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. “Okay, so, I was thinking… marshmallows, right?”

Ben raised an eyebrow. “This already sucks.”
“No, no, listen! You know how every time I try to roast marshmallows, they just incinerate?”

“Yeah,” Ben said dryly. “’Cause you don’t roast ’em, you just torch the whole damn thing.”

“Exactly!” Johnny pointed at him like he just made his case. “But what if- what if- we made flame-proof marshmallows?” Ben stared at him. “The hell does that even mean?”

“Marshmallows that don’t burn! You could hold ’em over the fire forever, and they’d still get that perfect golden brown!” Johnny leaned in like he was unveiling a world-changing invention. “I did some research, and I think I can whip up a heat-resistant coating that keeps them from bursting into flames. Imagine it, Ben! Torchmallows.” Ben dragged a hand down his face. “That’s the worst name I ever heard.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it.”
“I ain’t jealous, I’m just wonderin’ why I ever let you talk near me.” Ben folded his newspaper and got up. “This is gonna end with the fire alarms goin’ off, ain’t it?”

“Only if it doesn’t work.” Johnny grinned. Before Ben could get the chance to stop him, Johnny was running out of the living room and to the kitchen. It only took one hour for a result. The kitchen smelled weird. A mix of burnt sugar, melted plastic, and something vaguely chemical. Ben watched from a safe distance with his arms crossed, standing behind a chair while Johnny hovered over the counter, carefully coating a marshmallow with some concoction from a test tube.

“Alright,” Johnny said, holding up the sticky creation. “This bad boy should be able to withstand any heat source.”

“Uh-huh.” Ben shifted slightly, making sure he had a clear path to the fire extinguisher. Johnny grabbed a skewer, stuck the marshmallow on it, and then, without a second thought, engulfed the entire thing in flames. There was a pop. Then a sizzle.

Then, an explosion.

Johnny yelped as the marshmallow detonated like a tiny sugar grenade, sending molten goo flying everywhere. A chunk hit the ceiling with a loud plop. Another piece smacked onto Ben’s arm.

Ben did not look amused.

Johnny, meanwhile, stood there in stunned silence, his face splattered with bits of failed Torchmallow. “Huh.” Ben peeled a glob of burnt sugar off his forearm and flicked it onto the counter. Then, he turned to Johnny. “Any other brilliant ideas, Einstein?”

Johnny wiped his face, frowning. “I mean… Maybe just a little less accelerant?”
Ben grabbed the fire extinguisher and aimed it at Johnny.

“Whoa, whoa—”

TSSSHHHH

White foam covered Johnny from head to toe.
Ben slung the extinguisher over his shoulder. “Now that’s a good idea.”