Winter 1990 - Christmas Break
When winter break arrived, Ben extended an invitation that touched Reed more deeply than he initially realized.
"Why don't you come home with me for Christmas?" Ben suggested as they packed for the holiday break. "My mom's been asking about you ever since I told her how you helped me with my classes. She wants to meet the famous Mr. Fantastic."
Reed hesitated, thinking about the complicated dynamics of spending holidays with someone else's family. "I don't want to impose on your family time."
"Are you kidding? My parents are dying to meet you. Besides, you don't want to spend Christmas alone in the dorms, do you?"
The alternative was returning to Springfield and dealing with Gary's inevitable hostility and resentment. The idea of spending the holidays with Ben's family, people who might actually appreciate his contributions to Ben's success, was incredibly appealing.
"If you're sure your parents won't mind," Reed said finally.
"They'll love you," Ben assured him. "Fair warning though... my mom's going to want to feed you constantly, and my dad's going to ask a million questions about your football strategies."
The train ride to New York was Reed's first real trip away from campus since starting at MIT. As they traveled through the New England countryside, Ben entertained him with stories about his family, his neighborhood, and the chaos Reed should expect to walk into.
"So there's my little sister Katie, she's thirteen and thinks she knows everything," Ben explained as they passed through Connecticut. "Then there's my cousin Tony who lives with us since his dad got laid off from the docks. He's about our age but thinks college is for rich kids and weirdos."
"Great," Reed said with mock concern. "So I'm both."
"Nah, you're cool," Ben grinned. "Besides, once mom gets done feeding you, you'll be part of the family whether you like it or not."
Ben's family lived in a working-class neighborhood in Queens, New York, in a modest house that felt warm and welcoming from the moment Reed walked through the door. The front yard was small but well-maintained, with a garden that Mrs. Grimm clearly took pride in despite the winter dormancy. The house itself was two stories of brick and siding, with a front porch that held a collection of chairs where Reed could imagine the family gathering during warmer months.
Mrs. Grimm was exactly as Ben had described, a small, energetic woman who immediately began fussing over Reed like he was another son. She had Ben's kind eyes and a smile that could light up a room.
"So you're the young man who helped our Benjamin with his studies," she said, pulling Reed into a hug that reminded him painfully but wonderfully of his Aunt Mary. "We can't thank you enough for what you've done for him. Benjamin talks about you constantly."
"Mom, please don't embarrass me in the first five minutes," Ben groaned, but Reed could see how much he loved the attention.
"I'm not embarrassing anyone," Mrs. Grimm protested, still holding Reed at arm's length to get a good look at him. "I'm just expressing gratitude to the young man who probably saved my son's college career."
Mr. Grimm emerged from what appeared to be a workshop in the basement, wiping his hands on a rag and wearing work clothes that had seen better decades. He was a bigger, older version of Ben, with the same solid build and practical demeanor that Reed had come to appreciate in his friend.
"So this is the genius," Mr. Grimm said, extending a calloused hand for Reed to shake. "Ben's told us all about your football wizardry. I have to admit, I never thought much of all that strategic stuff until I saw you boys win the championship on TV."
"Dad's been bragging to everyone at the union hall about knowing the family of someone who knows Mr. Fantastic," Ben said with obvious affection.
Over dinner that first night, Reed found himself part of a family dynamic he'd almost forgotten existed. The Grimm dining room was small but filled with warmth, the table barely large enough for the six people gathered around it. Katie, Ben's thirteen-year-old sister, peppered Reed with questions about MIT while Tony, Ben's cousin, maintained the skeptical attitude of someone determined not to be impressed.
"So you really never played football?" Katie asked, clearly fascinated by the idea that someone could become famous for thinking about sports rather than playing them.
"Never," Reed confirmed. "I'm probably the least athletic person you'll ever meet. I got winded just carrying my luggage up to your guest room."
"But you understand all that strategy stuff?" Tony asked, his tone suggesting he was testing Reed somehow.
"Strategy is just applied problem solving," Reed explained, accepting a third helping of Mrs. Grimm's famous meatballs despite his protests that he was already full. "You identify patterns, predict responses, then develop counters for those responses. It's like chess, but with twenty-two pieces and a lot more variables."
Mr. Grimm nodded approvingly. "That's what I tried to tell the guys at work. It's not just knowing plays, it's knowing how people think."
"Exactly," Reed said, warming to the subject. "Ben taught me that football players are incredibly smart about reading situations and making split-second decisions. My job is just to give them the right framework for those decisions."
"Ben taught you?" Mrs. Grimm asked with obvious pride. "Our Benjamin?"
Reed glanced at his friend, seeing Ben's slight embarrassment at being the center of attention. "Ben understands things about practical applications that I never would have figured out on my own. I can tell you what should work in theory, but Ben knows what will actually work on the field."
The praise clearly meant something to Ben, who had spent most of his life being valued primarily for his athletic ability rather than his intelligence. Reed made a mental note to remember how good it felt to have his contributions recognized and acknowledged.
After dinner, the family gathered in the living room, where Reed got his first real taste of Grimm family traditions. Mrs. Grimm brought out photo albums chronicling Ben's childhood, much to Ben's horror and Reed's delight.
"Oh, this is perfect," Katie said, settling beside Reed on the couch. "Mom, show him the one from Ben's first football game."
"I was six years old," Ben protested as his mother flipped through pages of carefully preserved memories. "And I was terrified."
The photograph showed a tiny Ben in an oversized football uniform, helmet crooked, looking absolutely miserable on a field full of other equally small children.
"He cried for the entire first quarter," Mrs. Grimm explained with maternal affection. "His father had to sit on the sideline just to keep him from running home."
"That's adorable," Reed said, genuinely delighted by this glimpse into Ben's past. "What changed your mind about playing?"
"I scored a touchdown by accident," Ben admitted sheepishly. "I was trying to run off the field, but I got confused and ran the wrong direction. Turned out the wrong direction was toward the end zone."
The story prompted a flood of other family memories. Reed learned about Ben's disastrous attempt at Little League baseball, his brief phase of wanting to be a chef after watching too much cooking shows, and the chaos of his middle school years when the family moved to Springfield for a few years.
"Remember that science fair project when we lived in Springfield?" Mrs. Grimm asked, flipping to a photo that showed Ben standing next to what appeared to be the charred remains of a volcano model. "Eighth grade, right before we moved back here?"
"Oh God, the volcano," Ben groaned. "I still can't believe they let me near chemicals after that."
"What happened?" Reed asked, already grinning at Ben's expression.
"Most kids, their volcano just fizzes over," Mr. Grimm said proudly. "Ben's actually exploded. Set off the fire alarms, evacuated half the school. That's when I knew our boy was smart... takes real thinking to make something fail that spectacularly."
"Dad was so proud," Ben said sarcastically, but Reed could see the affection in his eyes. "Meanwhile, I was banned from the science fair for the rest of middle school."
Reed found himself laughing more than he had in months. The Grimm family had a gift for turning even embarrassing memories into sources of affection and humor. There was no judgment here, no expectations to live up to, just acceptance and love freely given.
As the week progressed, Reed discovered the warmth of the Grimm family's traditions. The house held traces of both their Jewish heritage and their embrace of the broader holiday spirit. A beautiful menorah sat on the mantelpiece next to Christmas stockings, and Mrs. Grimm explained their approach with characteristic warmth.
"We light the candles for Hanukkah because it's important to remember where we come from," she said one evening as the family gathered for the lighting. "But we also celebrate Christmas because this time of year is about giving, about being kind to everyone, about making the world a little brighter when it's dark outside."
Reed watched Ben light one of the candles, understanding something new about his friend's family. They took the best from both traditions, creating something uniquely their own. It wasn't about religious doctrine but about finding reasons to celebrate, to be grateful, to show love.
As the evening wore on, Reed began to understand something fundamental about Ben that he'd never quite grasped before. His friend's confidence, his ability to make Reed feel accepted and valued, came from growing up in a family that practiced unconditional love as a daily routine. The Grimms didn't love Ben because he was a football star or because he was smart or because he achieved things. They loved him because he was theirs, and that love had given him the security to extend the same acceptance to others.
"This is what I always imagined families were supposed to be like," Reed confided to Ben late that night as they settled into the guest room they were sharing. Ben had insisted Reed take the bed while he used a sleeping bag on the floor, despite Reed's protests.
"You're family now," Ben replied simply from his makeshift bed. "My parents have basically adopted you. Mom's already planning what to cook for you next time you visit."
But being with Ben's family also made Reed acutely aware of the people he was missing. On Christmas Eve, as the family prepared for their evening celebration, Reed found himself thinking about Enid, Danny, and Hope, wondering how they were spending the holidays and whether they ever thought about their absent cousin.
"You okay?" Ben asked, finding Reed staring out the guest room window at the quiet neighborhood street.
"Just thinking about my cousins," Reed admitted. "I wonder how they're doing. Enid's probably in her senior year of high school now. She was always so curious about science and mathematics. Danny would be a sophomore, I think. And Hope... she'd be in middle school now."
"Why don't you call them?"
Reed considered this, then shook his head. "Gary would probably hang up on me. Besides, I'm not sure what I'd say. 'Hi, I know I haven't contacted you in over two years, but I was wondering how you're doing?'"
"You could start with that," Ben suggested gently. "Family is family, Reed. The good parts are worth fighting for."
Christmas morning with the Grimms was unlike anything Reed had experienced since his parents' deaths. The family gathered around a modest tree in the living room, with presents that were clearly chosen with care rather than expense. Mrs. Grimm had somehow found gifts for Reed despite having never met him before, including a wool scarf she'd knitted herself and a book about the history of MIT that she'd special ordered from the local bookstore.
"I know it's not much," she said apologetically as Reed unwrapped the scarf, "but Ben said you get cold easily."
Reed found himself fighting back tears at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. "It's perfect, Mrs. Grimm. Thank you."
"Call me Ma," she said firmly. "Anyone who's this important to Benjamin is family."
The day continued with a massive family dinner that included not just the immediate Grimms but also various aunts, uncles, and family friends who had been invited to meet "Benjamin's genius friend from college." Reed found himself the center of attention in the best possible way, with people genuinely interested in his work and his friendship with Ben.
"So you're the one teaching our boy about rocket ships," said Uncle Frank, a retired machinist who spoke with the same practical intelligence Reed had noticed in Mr. Grimm. "Ben showed me some of those drawings you two made. That's some serious engineering."
"Reed does all the theoretical stuff," Ben said proudly. "I just try to figure out how to actually build it."
"That's the hard part though," Reed protested. "Anyone can come up with ideas on paper. Making them work in the real world is where the real genius happens."
The mutual respect between them was obvious to everyone present, and Reed could see how much it pleased Ben's family to witness their son in such a positive partnership.
As the week progressed, Reed settled into the Grimm family routine with surprising ease. He helped Mrs. Grimm with cooking, learned basic carpentry from Mr. Grimm in the basement workshop, played board games with Katie, and even managed to win over Tony by helping him fix his motorcycle engine using principles from their aerospace engineering coursework.
"You know, for a college boy, you're not completely useless," Tony admitted grudgingly as they got the motorcycle running again.
"Thanks," Reed replied, understanding that this was high praise coming from Tony. "You're not bad at mechanical engineering for someone who thinks college is for weirdos."
"Maybe I was wrong about the college thing," Tony said quietly. "Seeing what Ben's learned, what you guys are working on... maybe there's more to it than I thought."
The breakthrough moment came on New Year's Eve, when the family gathered to watch the ball drop on television. As midnight approached, Mrs. Grimm pulled Reed aside for a private conversation.
"I want you to know something," she said seriously. "Benjamin was struggling before he met you. Not just with his classes, but with figuring out who he was supposed to be. He was so focused on football that he forgot he had a brain worth using."
Reed started to protest, but she held up a hand to stop him.
"I'm not saying you did all the work," she continued. "Benjamin had to do that himself. But you gave him permission to be smart. You showed him that being an athlete and being an intellectual weren't mutually exclusive. That's a gift we can never repay."
"Ben's done the same for me," Reed replied honestly. "He taught me that being smart doesn't have to mean being alone. Before I met him, I thought intelligence was just something that made me different from everyone else. Ben showed me it could be something that brings people together."
Mrs. Grimm smiled, her eyes bright with tears. "That's what family does, Reed. We help each other become the best versions of ourselves."
As they prepared to return to MIT, Reed felt a profound sense of gratitude for the week he'd spent with the Grimms. For the first time since his parents' deaths, he had experienced what it felt like to be part of a family that valued him not for what he could do, but for who he was.
"Thank you," he said to Ben as they packed their bags. "For everything. For including me, for sharing your family with me, for... for giving me a place to belong."
"Thank you for giving me a brother," Ben replied simply.
Reed decided to send cards to his cousins, carefully choosing messages that expressed his love while avoiding any mention of his success or happiness that might anger Gary. He had no way of knowing whether the cards would reach Enid, Danny, and Hope, but sending them felt like maintaining some connection to the family members who had shown him genuine love.
As their train pulled away from New York, Reed found himself looking forward to the spring semester with renewed energy and purpose. The Grimms had reminded him what family could be at its best: a source of unconditional love, unwavering support, and the security to take risks knowing that someone would always be there to catch you if you fell.
More importantly, his friendship with Ben had deepened into something that felt like brotherhood. They had shared not just academic challenges and football victories, but the deeper experience of becoming family to each other. Whatever challenges lay ahead, Reed knew he no longer faced them alone.
—
Spring 1991
Returning to MIT for the spring semester brought a level of recognition that still felt surreal to Reed. The campus that had once seemed overwhelming now felt like home, and the whispers that followed him across the quad had shifted from curiosity to genuine respect. Students and faculty alike knew who he was now, not just as Ben's tutoring friend or the football team's one in a lifetime strategic advisor, but as a legitimate researcher making real contributions to science.
"You look terrible," Ben announced one morning in February, finding Reed hunched over his desk surrounded by empty coffee cups and equations that had been keeping him up until 3 AM. "When's the last time you actually left this room?"
Reed looked up from his electromagnetic field calculations, blinking owlishly at his roommate. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and there were dark circles under his eyes that made him look older than eighteen. "I left yesterday. I went to the lab."
"That doesn't count," Ben said, grabbing Reed's jacket from where it had been draped over a chair for the past week. "Come on, we're going for a run."
"Ben, I don't run," Reed protested, but his friend was already pulling him toward the door. "I have work to do. Professor Williams is expecting my analysis of the thrust vectoring calculations by tomorrow, and I still haven't finished the power coupling simulations."
"The work will still be there in an hour," Ben said firmly. "But you're gonna collapse if you keep this up. When's the last time you ate something that wasn't delivered in a pizza box?"
Reed opened his mouth to argue, then realized he couldn't actually remember. "I had a sandwich yesterday. I think."
"That's it," Ben declared. "We're implementing the Ben Grimm fitness program, starting now."
What followed was the most painful thirty minutes of Reed's life. Ben, who could apparently run forever without breaking a sweat, jogged alongside Reed as his roommate wheezed and stumbled through what Ben generously called "a light warm up around campus." Reed was ready to collapse after the first quarter mile, but Ben kept him moving with a mixture of encouragement and gentle mockery.
"Come on, Reed," Ben called out as Reed bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for air beside the engineering building. "My grandmother could lap you right now, and she's been dead for ten years."
"Your grandmother," Reed panted, "probably wasn't carrying an extra twenty pounds of brain tissue."
Ben laughed. "Yeah, well, all that brain tissue isn't gonna help you if your body gives out. Dad always said you can't build a race car on a broken chassis."
Over the following weeks, Ben made Reed's physical fitness his personal mission. Every morning brought some new form of torture disguised as exercise. Push ups in their dorm room, chin ups on the fire escape, more running than Reed had done in his entire previous life combined. Reed complained constantly, but he found himself looking forward to these sessions with Ben.
"You know what's weird?" Reed said one morning as they finished a circuit training session in the campus gym. He was actually sweating in a way that felt good rather than miserable, his heart pumping with the kind of energy he usually only got from solving complex equations. "I think I'm starting to understand why people do this voluntarily."
"See? I told you," Ben grinned, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. "Exercise isn't punishment. It's like maintenance for your body. Same way you maintain those crazy machines you build in the lab."
Reed was surprised to discover that Ben was right. As his physical fitness improved, his mental performance actually got sharper. He could focus for longer periods without fatigue, his memory seemed clearer, and he had energy reserves he'd never possessed before. More importantly, these morning workouts had become a bonding ritual between him and Ben that felt almost sacred.
"You're actually getting some muscle definition," Ben observed one morning as Reed managed ten consecutive chin ups for the first time in his life. "Keep this up and people might stop mistaking you for a scarecrow."
"Gee, thanks," Reed said sarcastically, but he was secretly pleased. He'd never thought of himself as someone who could be physically strong, but Ben's patient encouragement was proving him wrong about his own limitations.
But it was Reed's research that was generating the most dramatic developments. What had started as undergraduate theoretical work was evolving into something that was attracting attention from the highest levels of government and industry.
The call came on a Tuesday morning in February. Reed was in Professor Williams' office, discussing refinements to his electromagnetic propulsion equations, when the professor's secretary knocked on the door with an urgent expression.
"Dr. Williams? There's a call for you from Washington. They say it's about the Richards propulsion research."
Professor Williams raised his eyebrows and glanced at Reed. "Washington? That's... unexpected." He picked up the phone with a cautious expression. "This is Dr. Williams... yes, hello Dr. Morrison... we submitted the preliminary findings last month, but I wasn't expecting..."
Reed watched his professor's face change from mild curiosity to complete shock as he listened to whatever Dr. Morrison was saying on the other end.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat that? Twenty... twenty million?" Professor Williams sat down heavily in his chair, his face going pale. "Dr. Morrison, with all due respect, I think there might be some mistake. Reed is brilliant, absolutely brilliant, but he's still an undergraduate. He's eighteen years old."
Reed felt his stomach drop. Whatever was happening on that phone call, it was big enough to shock Professor Williams, and that was saying something.
"No, I understand you've reviewed his work thoroughly," Professor Williams continued, his voice gaining strength. "But surely you realize the unprecedented nature of... yes, I see... no, his age hasn't diminished the quality of his research, but..." He paused, listening intently. "You want to speak with him directly? Right now?"
Professor Williams held out the phone to Reed with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Reed, Dr. Elizabeth Morrison from NASA's Advanced Propulsion Research Division wants to talk to you."
Reed's hands were shaking as he took the phone. He'd never spoken to anyone from NASA before, let alone someone important enough to make Professor Williams look like he'd seen a ghost.
"Hello? This is Reed Richards."
"Mr. Richards," came a crisp, professional voice from the other end. "This is Dr. Morrison. I'll get straight to the point. We've reviewed your electromagnetic propulsion research, and frankly, it's some of the most innovative theoretical work we've seen in decades."
"Thank you, ma'am. That's... that's very kind of you to say."
"I'm not being kind, Mr. Richards. I'm being accurate." Dr. Morrison's voice carried the weight of someone who didn't waste time on pleasantries. "Your plasma containment equations solve fundamental problems that have stalled our propulsion research for years. We want to offer MIT a twenty million dollar grant over five years to establish a dedicated research center with you as the primary theoretical lead."
Reed's vision went slightly blurry. "I'm sorry, did you say twenty million dollars?"
"That's correct. We're prepared to fast track approval through Congress if MIT is interested. The only question is whether you're prepared to take on this level of responsibility."
Reed looked at Professor Williams, who was still staring at him in shock. "Dr. Morrison, I'm honored beyond words, but I should mention that I'm still working on my undergraduate degree. I'm not even nineteen yet."
"Mr. Richards, age is irrelevant when you're producing work of this caliber. Einstein was twenty six when he published special relativity. You're solving problems that PhD candidates struggle with. We're not offering this grant because we're impressed by a clever student. We're offering it because you've developed technology that could revolutionize space exploration."
Reed's heart was pounding so hard he was sure Dr. Morrison could hear it through the phone. "This is incredible. I mean, this is everything I've ever dreamed of."
"I'm glad to hear that enthusiasm, Mr. Richards. We'll need someone who's genuinely passionate about pushing boundaries. Can I assume MIT will be interested in hosting the Richards Advanced Propulsion Research Center?"
Reed looked at Professor Williams, who was nodding so vigorously it looked like his head might fall off. "Yes ma'am. Absolutely yes."
Reed took a deep breath before responding to Dr. Morrison. "Dr. Morrison, this is incredible, and I'm honored beyond words. But I need to ask something that might sound strange."
"Go ahead, Mr. Richards."
"Would it be possible to structure this so I can complete my undergraduate degree properly? I know you mentioned fast tracking, but honestly, I'm finally in a place where I feel like I belong. I have friends, I'm learning so much beyond just my research, and I don't want to rush through what might be the only normal college experience I'll ever have."
There was a pause on the other end. "That's... actually quite mature of you, Mr. Richards. Most people would jump at the chance to skip ahead."
"I've been the youngest person in every room for most of my life," Reed explained, glancing at Professor Williams who was listening intently. "For the first time, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, learning at the right pace, with people who accept me. I want to earn this degree the right way, and I think I still have more to learn from MIT before I take on something this big."
"I see. So you're thinking of starting the research center after you graduate?"
"Actually, I was wondering if we could maybe start smaller? Maybe begin with preliminary research while I finish my degree, then transition to full scale operations when I'm ready? I know it sounds like I'm delaying an incredible opportunity, but I think I'll be a better scientist if I don't rush this transition."
Dr. Morrison was quiet for a moment. "You know what, Mr. Richards? That shows exactly the kind of judgment we want in a principal investigator. Let me discuss some modified timelines with my team. We can certainly start with foundational work and build up gradually."
"Thank you for understanding, Dr. Morrison. This really does mean everything to me."
"Excellent. We'll have contracts drawn up within the week for a phased approach. Congratulations, Mr. Richards. You're going to do remarkable things."
After Reed hung up, he and Professor Williams sat in stunned silence for a long moment.
"Reed," Professor Williams said slowly, "I've been in academia for thirty years. I've seen brilliant students, I've seen groundbreaking research, I've seen careers that seemed destined for greatness. But I have never, in my entire career, seen anything like what just happened. And more importantly, I've never seen an eighteen-year-old turn down fast tracking to NASA leadership because he wanted to earn his degree properly."
Reed felt his cheeks warm. "I just... I'm finally happy here, you know? I have Ben, I have the football team, I'm actually enjoying being a college student for the first time in my life. I don't want to skip past all of that just to jump into being some kind of research director before I'm ready."
"Your theoretical framework for generating sustained magnetic plasma containment fields could revolutionize space propulsion," Professor Williams said, his voice filled with pride. "But what impresses me even more is your maturity in handling this opportunity. You're not just a brilliant scientist, Reed. You're becoming a wise one."
The magnitude of what was happening hit Reed like a physical blow. His theoretical work, the equations he'd been developing in late night sessions in his dorm room, could actually become real spacecraft engines. But he was finally in a place where he felt like he belonged, and he wasn't ready to give that up.
"I keep thinking about what my father would say," Reed admitted. "He always told me that the universe has more secrets to reveal, but he also taught me that the journey of discovery is just as important as the destination."
Professor Williams smiled. "I think he'd be proud that you're taking time to grow into this opportunity instead of rushing toward it."
"What about Ben though?" Reed asked, his practical side kicking in. "I mean, our collaborative work on structural engineering. The propulsion system is only half the equation, and I don't want him to feel like I'm holding back his opportunities."
Professor Williams nodded approvingly. "NASA specifically mentioned that they were impressed by the integrated approach you two have developed. A phased timeline actually works better for Ben too. He can finish his degree, maybe do some preliminary consulting work, then transition into a full partnership when you're both ready."