Equals

[ᴛʜᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇ ʀᴏᴏᴍ, ᴅᴏᴏᴍꜱᴛᴀᴅᴛ, ʟᴀᴛᴠᴇʀɪᴀ]
The marble was too cold beneath Reed’s bare feet. He didn’t expect that, assuming he was standing up from bed to pad to the bathroom. But once he stood from the bed, it vanished. He looked down. He hadn’t realized he was barefoot until the chill bit at his toes. The air was still, impossibly still, like something was holding its breath.

His eyes adjusted to a false sight. Darkness, a hall stretched forever, vaulted ceilings lost in shadow, pillars lined with ancient banners bearing the green and gold crest of Latveria.

The throne sat at the end of it all, untouched by time.
Victor sat upon it.

Or….no…. Not quite. Reed squinted, trying to focus, but the figure refused to come into view. Doom was there, unmistakably yet blurred, warped at the edges like a memory poorly preserved. The cape flowed with a wind that didn’t exist. The mask glinted in dim torchlight, and yet somehow stayed just out of clarity. Every time Reed tried to meet his eyes, something in his brain recoiled.

“You came again,” Doom said, but the voice didn’t come from the throne. It came from the walls. From inside Reed’s head.
“I didn’t mean to,” Reed said. His voice echoed strangely, distorted like he was underwater.

“You always do. When you feel weak.” Doom didn’t move, but Reed could feel the accusation as if it were shouted. “When you lose control. When you question who you are.” Reed began to protest but it rang hollow. “I didn’t lose control.”

He took a step forward. The throne did not get closer. “You’re not supposed to be here,” Reed murmured, half to himself.

“And yet here I am. As I always will be.” Doom’s voice was softer now. More familiar. Less a tyrant, more a ghost. “You don’t really fear me, Reed. Not anymore. You fear what I left behind.” He heard Victor for the briefest moment.

Reed’s hands curled into fists. He hated this part. The part where Victor sounded like him. Where the words echoed thoughts he refused to voice. He wanted to argue, to fight, to scream but his throat felt tight, and his chest ached.

“You never beat me,” Doom said simply. “You beat the tyrant. But not the man. Not the friend.” The voice blurred again as it distorted, glitching through time. “You never fixed it.”

“I couldn’t fix it,” Reed growled. “You fucking know that-!” he barked, a bit startled by his own shout. It bounced less, like it was spoken in the room he once slept in rather then the hall he saw,

The shadows behind the throne rippled, darker now, and Doom’s silhouette stood but not walked, but appeared suddenly closer. Not fully formed. A phantom wrapped in green velvet, eyes glowing with judgment. Not human, too cold, but still present like a wound in the mind never permitted to heal.

“You mourn me,” Doom said.

Reed’s voice cracked. “I mourn what we could’ve been.”

“It wasn’t ever a reliable concept. Like the many things you cannot create.” Silence. The kind that crushed. The kind that filled lungs like smoke. Reed looked down at his own reflection on the polished floor. It wasn’t quite right. His face flickered. Young, older, younger, older again. Exhausted. Stretched thin by sleepless nights and too many thoughts he couldn’t contain. His limbs felt jelly. He feared they would spindle down to the floor and he would become a pile of flesh with no meaning, no sense of self. 

“You blame me,” Doom said. Closer now. Reed could hear the metal of the mask scraping the air. “But you built this world without me. You built a future. And yet, you keep coming back.”

Reed tried to speak, but the words caught. His throat was tight again. His chest ached and a sharp, hot pressure built behind his ribs. His lungs never took a meaningful breath, and he swore he could feel his pulse behind his eyes. Face warm, was he crying…?

“I didn’t want to be alone,” Reed whispered. Finally, he met Doom’s eyes briefly. Behind the mask, there was no rage. No smugness. Just silence. Reflection. His eyes didn’t look like victors but rather his own. Like a mirror with an unreliable reflection. A flicker of that young man from university. The boy with impossible dreams and a laugh that used to shake Reed’s shoulder. The friend he lost in fire and pride. Then himself. Youthful and excited, then scarred from the mutilation he caused his team, then now. Awake, asleep and stuck. Reed Richards.

“You always were,” Doom said softly. The floor cracked beneath Reed’s feet. The pillars twisted. The banners burned.

He was falling again. Backward. Weightless. Doom’s silhouette staying still as the world shattered around him.

Reed’s last breath before waking was a silent question that never made it past his lips. 

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
The morning light was soft, but even that felt too sharp.

Reed sat hunched at the edge of the bed, shoulders tight, hands clasped in a white knuckled grip between his knees. The sunlight pooling through the window made the room look gentle, peaceful but in Reed’s head, everything still echoed. His heart hadn’t slowed down yet.

Sue stirred behind him. She didn't speak right away. Just watched him in silence, the way someone does when they’re not sure if their presence will help or hurt. When she finally said his name, it was quiet. “Reed?”

He didn’t look at her, but his voice came after a moment. Stiff. Tired. “I didn’t sleep much.”

“I know,” she said, and didn’t press.

Another silence. Reed exhaled through his nose, like he’d been holding the breath all night. “It was Latveria again. Him again.”

Sue sat up slowly, crossing her legs beneath the blanket. She waited.

Reed’s hands shook slightly. He looked down at them like they belonged to someone else. “I need to set some things down,” he said. Sue listened and then blinked. “Things?”

“Boundaries,” he clarified, though the word felt too clinical for what he meant. “Not… not to shut you out. But because I’m trying to stop getting lost in it. I don’t like the arguments we have had. It’s not… it’s not who we are. We shouldn’t be this messed up. And I’m trying to fix it.” Sue stayed quiet, nodding slowly. She shifted  to sit accross from him, legs crossed as she tied up her hair.

“I think I need to ask for space when I start feeling…” He broke off, jaw clenching. “When I start slipping. The nightmares, the noise in my head, the flashes… when they hit, I don’t want to be touched. I don’t want to be spoken to right away. I need quiet. I need to be alone until it passes.” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper “I know that might feel like I’m pushing you away, but I’m not. It’s the only way I can find myself again.”

Sue’s expression was soft. Steady. “I understand.” She gently assured him, before kissing his palm. They both felt a bit startled by how pliant his body was, easy to stretch and manipulate. It made Reeds heart hammer, and Sue’s eyes gloss over.

He took a shaky breath and spoke. “I need to say it out loud. So that next time, I don’t get stuck in my own silence.”

She nodded again. “That makes sense, Reed. That’s not pushing me away. That’s protecting your peace.”

“I still want to talk. To let you in. But sometimes it takes me longer. And sometimes... the fear doesn’t make sense. It’s old, but it feels now.” His voice broke slightly. “I don’t know how to explain it when it happens.”

“You don’t need perfect words,” she said. “You just need to tell me what you can, when you can.”

Reed finally tilted his head up to face her. His eyes were glassy with exhaustion but focused and grounded in the quiet courage it took to admit all of this. He saw her eyes eyes were the same, and reached up to hold her face.

“And sometimes,” he added, “I do want closeness. Just… on my terms. After. When I’m steady again. I don’t always know when that’ll be.” He averted eye contact again, and expected  her to be annoyed. “You’re allowed to have space,” she said. “And you’re allowed to come back when you’re ready. No explanations owed.”

He nodded, jaw trembling slightly. “I don’t want to feel broken.”

“You’re not,” she said. “You’re just carrying something heavy. And now we’re carrying it together.”

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[33ʀᴅ ꜰʟᴏᴏʀ]
The lab felt different today.

Not because the machines had changed. Reed’s consoles still blinked in gentle rhythm, and the air still carried the quiet hum of low-level energy cycling through the equipment. But because there was no pressure here this morning. No towering expectations. No emergency. Just the quiet permission to be.

Reed stepped inside first, pausing like he was bracing for something. Sue watched him scan the room, the way his eyes flicked toward the far workstation where he’d broken down not too long ago. But instead of turning away, he simply exhaled.

“I thought we could run that soft-spectrum field model together,” Sue offered gently, stepping in behind him. “The one Johnny accidentally fried by microwaving pizza under the sensor dome.”

A tiny twitch of a smile at the corner of Reed’s mouth. “Yes. That... was memorable.” Sue pulled her hair back into a ponytail and grabbed a tablet from the counter. “Only if you want to. We don’t need to do anything complex.”

“No,” Reed said, quieter now, but firmer. “I think I’d like that.”
They moved easily beside one another while typing, analyzing, sharing short exchanges. There was no rush to the work. No deadline bearing down on them. It was one of those rare, golden moments where science felt like play again. Like the early days. Then came the familiar squeaky whirrr of tiny wheels.

HERBIE zipped around the corner, his bright orange optic light blinking curiously.

“Good morning, HERBIE,” Sue said warmly.

“Hello, Mrs. Storm. Hello, Dr. Richards,” HERBIE chirped in his usual chipper tone. A part of Reed internally smiled, always thanking his past self for giving the robot such animated vox controls. 

“Running diagnostics?” Reed asked, leaning on the console and watching the robot glide in slow little circles around them. HERBIE beeped once. “I was attempting to recalibrate the internal thermostat, as we expect a warm summer.”

Reed blinked. “Of course.” Sue laughed softly, glancing at Reed and was surprised to see him smiling. Not one of the strained, polite expressions he usually wore lately, but a real, tired, present smile.

HERBIE beeped again and rolled up to Reed, nudging gently against his shin.Reed didn’t move away. In fact, after a long moment, he crouched down and put a hand on the side of HERBIE’s round face. His fingers lingered. “…You’re always here,” he said, barely above a whisper.

HERBIE’s optical light blinked. “Yes. I am always here. My coded territorial range spans floors 33 to 35 as requested.”

Reed didn’t let go right away. He let himself hold onto the small robot. Sue leaned against the desk and watched, heart aching a little. Reeds face always appeared more intimidating under the harsh LEDs, but with HERBIES subtle analog glow he just appeared softer. “You know,” she said gently, “if you ever want someone else here with you while you work, not to help, just to sit, I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind.”

Reed didn’t respond at first. But then, still kneeling beside HERBIE, he looked up at her with tired, grateful eyes.

“I think… I’d like that.” Sue walked over and crouched beside him. Not touching. Just close. After some silence Reed perked up. “I know!” He sprang up and pulled Sue along with him. They stood side-by-side, staring at the console that controlled the soft-spectrum field model. It was a sleek, somewhat experimental piece of technology that operated on low-energy emissions to create various field densities.

“Looks like the core relay capacitor was damaged by the surge,” Reed murmured, fingers moving swiftly across the console. Sue stepped closer, peering over his shoulder at the readouts. “That’s why it’s been misfiring during low-sensitivity tests. I think if we recalibrate the external stabilization coils, we can divert some of the overload.”

Reed’s eyes softened as he looked at her. She had a way of simplifying things without talking down to him, a way of reminding him that sometimes, working together meant just working together. “I’ll handle it,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “I’ll do the recalibration.”

They separated, but it was natural. No stress, no forced silence, no tension. Just the way they’d always worked. Reed’s precision matched by Sue’s adaptability. Sue grabbed a toolkit from the shelf and started fiddling with the relay circuits. Her hands were quick, practiced, and her fingers danced across the wiring with an almost meditative focus. As she worked, Reed turned his attention back to the stabilization coils, examining their power supply.

“Phase-locking sequence is off,” Reed murmured. “If I adjust the input parameters here—”
Sue glanced over her shoulder. “I trust you, Reed. Just don’t overcomplicate it.”

He shot her a small smile. “No promises.” Sue laughed softly, a sound that always seemed to settle the air between them. “Just get it done before the time breaks something else.” As she finished rewiring, Reed carefully adjusted the stabilizer, his fingers barely touching the console as the input data flowed into the system. It was delicate work as with one wrong move, and it could short out again but his focus was absolute. After a few moments of fine-tuning, Reed’s hands slowed, then stopped entirely. The console blinked green. The perfect synchronization.

“There,” he said, the word almost a breath of relief.

Sue finished securing the backup circuit, then stood up, wiping her hands on her suit. “Looks like we’re good.” She watched as Reed checked the diagnostic panel again, running a final sequence of tests. The field model hummed to life, the light on the screen glowing softly as the coils reactivated.

“Much better,” Reed said, satisfied, cracking his knuckles. Sue smiled, a bit of pride in her eyes. “You’re welcome.“
Reed gave a little nod, but this time, his smile was a bit more genuine. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[42ɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ, ᴍᴀᴅɪꜱᴏɴ ᴀᴠᴇɴᴜᴇ, ɴʏ]
The smell hit them first.

Johnny was the first one through the door, nose up like a cartoon bloodhound. “What is that? And why does it smell like... not takeout?” Sue followed close behind, raising an eyebrow as she noticed the dining area actually set. Glass cups. plates, silverware, folded napkins. No lab gear, no half-finished devices or chemical containers, just real food and an effort at ambiance.

Ben lumbered in behind them and blinked. “Am I in the wrong place? This ain’t a parallel universe or somethin’, is it?”

“Hi,” Reed said simply, stepping out of the kitchen with a faint smile and an apron still tied around his waist. “Dinner’s ready.”

Everyone froze.

Johnny pointed a dramatic finger. “You cooked? Like, with a stove? And fire? And not, I don’t know, a fusion reactor?” Reed shrugged modestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “It seemed like the right time to try.”

“You didn’t clone the food or pull it from a time loop, right?” Ben narrowed his eyes. “’Cause last time…” he was interrupted. “I cooked, Ben,” Reed said, looking mildly offended. “I followed a recipe. From the internet.”

Sue stepped forward, cautiously peeking into the kitchen. “You did. And you didn’t cause a mess?” Reed chuckled, and it sounded genuine. “Just a little olive oil on the burner. I took care of it.” He gestured for them all to sit down, and they did while still wide-eyed and suspicious, but curious enough to humor him. The food was simple, homey. A pasta dish with roasted vegetables, warm bread, and salad. Everything looked a little uneven, like it had been fussed over too long, but that only made it more charming. Reed even added flavors, experimenting with the neglected spice and herb rack. 

Johnny took a bite and blinked. “Okay, I hate how good this is.”
Ben stuffed half a roll in his mouth and mumbled, “It’s weird, but I ain’t complaining.”
Sue took a bite, then looked at Reed thoughtfully. “This... this is really lovely.”

Reed sat down at last, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish little smile. “I figured if I was going to try reconnecting with everything I’ve been neglecting... dinner was a good place to start.”

Silence settled for a moment. soft, warm.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” Sue said, voice gentle. Johnny leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Next time, make burgers. And maybe don’t set anything on fire.” Ben thwacked Johnnys neck and Reed shot him a deadpan look. “No promises.”

They laughed, and for once, Reed laughed with them. He didn’t feel like he was performing, or holding himself back. He didn’t feel like he needed to disappear into equations to justify his presence. For the first time in a long while, he had made something not to solve a problem but to share a moment.

And for Reed Richards, that was no small thing.

˚⋆🔬🔭➃🧪🥽⋆˚

[ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʙʀɪʟʟɪᴀɴᴛ.]
The day was winding down, the apartment still warm from the laughter at dinner.
Johnny and Ben had headed off to the lab, more out of habit than necessity and Sue and Reed were left alone in the space they had shared for so long, now feeling both familiar and new.

Reed was at the desk, absently scrolling through data on his tablet, but there was a softness to his posture that hadn’t been there before. A stillness. He wasn't hiding behind his work, and he wasn’t trying to fix anything, he was simply being. Sue had been sitting on the couch, scrolling through a news article on her phone. After a moment, she looked up, catching Reed's gaze.

"Hey," she said gently, "thank you for dinner tonight. It... it meant a lot. More than you know."

Reed blinked, as if the compliment caught him off guard, then smiled. A small, shy thing that was beginning to feel more like him. "It was nice. I enjoyed it. I think... I think I’ve been needing something like that."

Sue set the phone aside and stood, moving toward him. She reached for his hand, drawing him to his feet as well. "Reed... you’ve been through a lot, and I know it hasn’t been easy for you to open up about what’s been going on. But I’m proud of you."

Reed’s lips parted, a hesitation lingering there. His thoughts were like a maze he was only just starting to navigate. He stepped closer to her, his eyes focused on the floor for a moment. "Sue... I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting to fix things. But I’m learning..” He paused, swallowing, “I’m learning that some things can’t be fixed. They can only be lived through. And i don’t need to be stuck in my head to handle these things when I have you and our family to get me through it.”

Sue gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “We’ll live through them together.”

He nodded. Then, after a moment’s pause, Reed looked at her, vulnerability clear in his eyes. "I need to take better care of myself. For you, for me... for us."

Sue’s heart fluttered at his words, at how genuinely Reed they felt. She nodded, squeezing his hand again. “We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to do it alone.” Reed pulled her into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping her gently. He felt her warmth and her steady presence that had been his anchor for so long. And for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to simply breathe. His limbs coiled around her, his hands lost in her hair as he nuzzled her scalp and exhaled.
“I won’t be perfect,” he murmured into her hair.

Sue pulled back slightly to look him in the eye. “Neither of us are. But we’ll keep trying. Together.” The moment was quiet, but filled with so much unspoken understanding. The kind of intimacy that came from shared silence and shared healing. Reed knew there was still work ahead. He wasn’t magically fixed. But standing there with Sue, her steady hands on his back, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a while. Hope.

As they stood together, the light from the window softened the edges of the world outside, casting them in a quiet, warm glow. For the first time, Reed felt that the world wasn’t just something he needed to control. it was something he could navigate, live in, with Sue by his side.

And maybe that, in its own way, was the solution.