September 2003
Reed stood at the front of his Advanced Physics classroom, flipping through his notes even though he'd gone over them twice already. His coffee was getting cold. Third cup today, which usually meant he'd either stayed up too late working or was more wound up about something than he wanted to admit.
Probably both.
The room smelled like cleaning supplies and stale coffee. September light came through the windows, hitting the empty desks that would fill up with graduate students in a few minutes. Some would actually care about physics. Others were just trying to get through their requirements without failing.
Four years at Columbia had worked out better than he'd expected when he'd left MIT. His students kept him sharp, made him explain things in ways that actually made sense. The research mattered now. Medical imaging that helped doctors see problems earlier. Communication systems that emergency responders actually used. Materials that made buildings safer. Nothing like the grand space dreams he'd had, but stuff that helped real people with real problems.
His collaboration with Bruce and Betty was going well, even if he worried about where their military funding might lead. Ben had taken to the private sector like he was born to it, turning Reed's theoretical work into things they could actually build and sell. Richards Research was small but profitable, and Ben's engineering sense kept Reed's ideas grounded in reality.
The patents had been steady. Not revolutionary, but solid. Useful. His office walls had certificates for electromagnetic applications in everything from hospital equipment to cell phone towers. He'd found his niche.
Teaching had surprised him. He was good at it. Students who'd been scared of physics suddenly got it when Reed showed them how the same principles that made their phones work also explained how stars burned. How the abstract math they were learning described real forces holding the universe together.
Reed checked his watch. Ten minutes early, but students were already coming in. He knew most of them. Martinez up front, always with questions that made everyone else look lost. Thompson in the back, sleeping through lectures but somehow acing every test. Johnson with her notebook that looked more like a technical manual.
"Hey Martinez, how was your summer research?" Reed was saying when the door opened and someone walked in who stopped him dead in his tracks.
Blonde hair in a ponytail. Beat-up messenger bag. Jeans and an old Columbia sweatshirt. She was double-checking her schedule against the room number.
Something about the way she moved made Reed look again. The way she held her head, the angle of her shoulders as she read.
She looked up.
Oh shit.
"Sue?"
The girl's head snapped up, and Reed watched her face cycle through confusion, recognition, and then pure joy in about two seconds. "Reed! Holy shit, what are you doing here?"
A couple students looked over when she swore, but Sue didn't seem to care. She was walking toward him with this easy confidence that caught him off guard.
"I teach here," Reed said, trying to wrap his head around what he was seeing. This was Sue. Little Sue who used to sit on MaryGay's porch reading biology textbooks and asking him questions about everything. Except she wasn't little anymore.
She looked almost exactly the same, which was somehow more jarring than if she'd changed completely. Same height, same blonde hair, same serious light blue eyes. But something was different. The way she moved, maybe. Like she'd figured something out about herself in the past four years.
"What are you doing in my physics class?" Reed asked.
"I'm a junior here," Sue said. "Double major, biology and physics. Transferred from Berkeley last semester."
That smile was still the same. The crooked one she'd get when she was pleased about something. But now it was... Reed caught himself staring and forced his brain back online.
"Wow. That's..." He was going to say amazing, but the word felt too loaded somehow. "Good for you."
Beautiful. The word popped into his head before he could stop it, and Reed felt his face heat up. Christ, what was wrong with him? This was Sue. Sue Storm, who he'd helped with homework and who'd asked him about protein folding while Johnny tried to teach Herbie to skateboard.
But she was also twenty now, and there was something about the way she was looking at him that made it hard to think straight.
"You look good," Reed said finally.
"Thanks." Sue grinned. "So do you. Though I have to say, this is going to make things interesting."
Reed laughed, grateful for anything to break whatever weird tension was building in his chest. "Don't expect me to go easy on you just because you used to quiz me about Johnny's math homework."
"I wouldn't want you to, Dr. Richards."
"Dr. Richards?" Reed raised an eyebrow. "Sue, come on. You can still call me Reed."
"Not in class," Sue said, and there was that mock-serious tone he remembered from when she was sixteen and trying to prove how mature she was. "I have a reputation to maintain."
Reed was about to say something when he noticed the classroom had filled up while they'd been talking. Two dozen graduate students were watching their reunion with expressions ranging from curiosity to amusement. A few were whispering.
"Right," Reed said, trying to get back into professor mode even though his brain was still trying to process what had just happened. "Let's get started."
The lecture was a disaster. Reed had taught advanced physics dozens of times and could usually walk through quantum mechanics without breaking a sweat, but today he kept losing his train of thought every time he caught sight of Sue in the third row. She was taking notes the same way she always had, completely focused, occasionally looking up to ask questions that showed she'd actually done the reading.
About twenty minutes in, Reed was explaining wave functions when he completely blanked on what came next. He stood there for a solid five seconds, staring at the equation on the whiteboard like he'd never seen it before.
"Um," Reed said, his face heating up. "Sorry, where was I?"
A few students exchanged glances. Reed never lost his train of thought. Ever.
"Wave function collapse," Martinez offered helpfully.
"Right. Wave function collapse." Reed could feel Sue's eyes on him and it was not helping. He managed to stumble through the rest of the explanation, but his usual smooth delivery was shot.
"Dr. Richards," Sue said halfway through the lecture, raising her hand, "when you're talking about wave-particle duality, how does that apply to biological systems? Like, do the same principles work on a cellular level?"
The question was sophisticated enough that several grad students looked impressed, but what threw Reed off was the way Sue was watching his face while she asked it. Like she was as interested in his reaction as she was in the physics.
"That's..." Reed started, then his voice cracked slightly and he had to clear his throat. Christ, what was he, fifteen? "That's actually a really good question. The quantum effects we're discussing do operate at cellular scales, but they're usually overshadowed by thermal noise in biological systems."
He tried to explain the intersection of quantum physics and biology, how quantum tunneling played a role in enzyme reactions, how some researchers thought quantum effects might explain photosynthesis efficiency. As he talked, Reed found himself watching Sue's face, seeing how her expression shifted from curiosity to genuine excitement as she made connections between physics and her biology background.
"So you're saying living things might actually be using quantum mechanics?" Sue asked when he finished.
Reed heard something in her voice that sounded like wonder. "Yeah, in some ways they might be. Nature's been doing quantum computing for millions of years, we're just starting to catch up."
He was feeling more confident now, back in his element, when Sue smiled at him. Not the polite classroom smile, but the real one. The crooked grin he remembered. Reed completely lost track of what he was saying mid-sentence.
"And the... uh... the coherence time is..." Reed stared at the board again, his mind blank.
Thompson raised his hand. "Should we be taking notes on coherence time?"
"No, sorry, I'm..." Reed rubbed his forehead. "Apparently I'm having an off day. Let me just..." He looked at his watch. "You know what, let's call it here. We'll pick up with quantum decoherence next class."
The students started packing up, looking slightly confused but not complaining about getting out early. Sue hung back until the room was empty, and Reed was pretty sure he was still blushing.
"Well," Reed said, gathering his papers, "that was embarrassing. I don't usually fall apart in front of my students."
"You didn't fall apart," Sue said, dropping into a chair near his desk. "You just seemed a little... distracted."
"Yeah, well." Reed shot her a look. "Wonder why that could be."
Sue grinned. "Are you blaming me for your teaching difficulties, Dr. Richards?"
"I'm not blaming anyone. I'm just saying, some people are more distracting than others."
"Some people?"
Reed felt his face heat up again. "You know what I mean."
"I really don't," Sue said, but she was still grinning and Reed could tell she was enjoying watching him squirm.
"Sue Storm," Reed said, shaking his head. "Three PhDs, multiple patents, and I can't get through a basic quantum mechanics lecture without forgetting my own name."
"Your name's Reed," Sue said helpfully.
"Thanks. That's very helpful."
Sue laughed, and Reed felt some of the tension in his chest ease. This was familiar territory. Sue giving him a hard time, him being awkward about it.
"So," Sue said, settling back in her chair. "Dr. Reed Richards. Teaching at Columbia, patents, the whole thing. Not bad for someone who thought his life was over four years ago."
Reed leaned against his desk. "Took me a while to figure out what I actually wanted to do. Turns out the world doesn't really need another theoretical physicist dreaming about Mars missions."
"Tell me about the patents," Sue said. "What are you actually working on these days?"
Reed found himself talking the way he used to with her, explaining things because she genuinely wanted to understand. "Medical imaging mostly. Better MRI systems. Some communication stuff for emergency responders. Materials that make buildings safer." He shrugged. "Nothing revolutionary, but it helps people."
"That's exactly revolutionary," Sue said. "You're solving real problems for real people. That's better than theoretical breakthroughs that never leave the lab."
Reed was surprised by how good it felt to hear her say that. "Yeah? You think so?"
"I know so. That's what I want to do with biology. Find ways to actually help people, not just publish papers that other scientists read."
They talked for another twenty minutes, gradually shifting from professional catch-up to more personal territory. Sue told him about her academic journey. Finishing high school with academic excellence Reed had expected, earning a full scholarship to Berkeley, then transferring to Columbia specifically because their biology program offered better research opportunities in the areas she wanted to explore.
"What about Johnny?" Reed asked, remembering the hyperactive nine-year-old who'd tried to teach Herbie to skateboard. "How's he doing?"
Sue's expression became more complicated, a mixture of pride and exasperation that Reed recognized from their childhood summers. "Johnny's... Johnny. He's fifteen now, a sophomore in high school, and he's one of those kids who barely shows up to class but somehow maintains a perfect GPA."
"That sounds exactly like Johnny," Reed said with a grin. "Still channeling that energy in creative directions?"
"Oh, you have no idea," Sue replied, shaking her head with obvious affection. "He's become completely obsessed with cars and motorcycles. Spends all his free time either working on engines or racing them. Mom's convinced he's going to get himself killed doing something reckless, but he's actually incredibly talented. And responsible, when it matters. He just needs excitement in ways that regular school can't provide."
Reed felt a familiar fondness for the kid who had brought such energy and creativity to their summer adventures. "Some people need more stimulation than traditional educational systems can offer. It doesn't make them irresponsible, just different."
"Exactly what I keep telling Mom," Sue said gratefully. "Though she'd probably listen better if it came from you. Johnny still talks about you all the time. 'Reed would understand why I need to modify this engine.' 'Reed always said the best way to learn how something works is to take it apart.' You made quite an impression on him."
The idea that Johnny still thought about their summer conversations made something warm settle in Reed's chest. "He made quite an impression on me too. Some of my best memories from those summers involve Johnny's completely unique approach to problem-solving."
Before Reed could figure out how to respond to that, his next class began arriving, chattering about assignments and looking around the classroom with the confusion of students who weren't sure they were in the right place. The moment of unexpected intimacy between Reed and Sue evaporated as the practical reality of his teaching schedule reasserted itself.
"I should let you get ready for your next class," Sue said, standing up and gathering her messenger bag. But she hesitated by the door, looking back at Reed with an expression that suggested their conversation had been as significant for her as it had been for him.
"Sue," Reed said, taking a step toward her before he could second-guess himself. "Would you like to get coffee sometime? I mean, outside of class. It's been so long since we really talked, and I'd love to hear more about what you've been up to."
Sue's smile was radiant, transforming her face in ways that made Reed's heart skip. "I'd like that very much. Are you free this Saturday afternoon?"
"Perfect," Reed said, feeling something shift in his chest as he looked at Sue's expectant face.
Saturday afternoon found them at a small cafe near Columbia's campus, settling into comfortable chairs with steaming mugs. Reed had been looking forward to this all week, though he wasn't entirely sure why the prospect of spending time with Sue felt so important.
"Tell me about Ben," Sue said after they'd covered the basics of Reed's work at Columbia. "Are you two still in touch?"
Reed's face lit up. "Actually, yeah. Better than ever, really. The Air Force made him a liaison for my research projects about two years ago. He gets to work on the engineering side of what I'm developing, and I get someone who actually understands how to build the stuff I design."
"That sounds perfect for both of you."
"It really is. Ben gets to work on cutting-edge technology without being stuck behind a desk, and I get to work with my best friend again. Plus, he keeps me grounded when my ideas get too theoretical." Reed grinned. "He still tells me when I'm being an idiot."
"Some things never change," Sue said, and Reed caught something warm in her voice.
They talked easily, falling back into the rhythm they'd had years ago. Reed found himself watching Sue as she spoke, noting how her gestures had become more confident, how she listened with complete attention.
"What about you?" Reed asked. "How's school really going?"
"Good. Really good, actually." Sue stirred her coffee. "Berkeley was fine, but transferring here was the right choice. The research opportunities are incredible, and the professors actually seem to care about what students think."
"Any particular area you're focusing on?"
"Genetics, mostly. I want to understand how environmental factors influence genetic expression. There's so much we don't know about why some people with the same genetic markers develop completely different outcomes."
Reed leaned forward. "That sounds like exactly the kind of work that could help a lot of people."
"That's the idea." Sue met his eyes. "I keep thinking about something you told me when I was younger. About how being different wasn't a problem to be solved, but a gift to be developed."
Reed felt his chest tighten. "You remember that?"
"I remember a lot of things you told me. That one especially helped when I was trying to figure out how to fit in at Berkeley." Sue's voice got softer. "I was still trying to hide how much I cared about science, thinking I had to choose between being smart and being social."
"And now?"
"Now I know you were right. Intelligence isn't something to apologize for. The right people appreciate it." Sue looked directly at him. "You taught me that."
Reed felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Sue, I think you would have figured that out on your own."
"Maybe. But it helped having someone I respected tell me it was okay to be myself."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Reed found himself really looking at Sue. Not the thirteen-year-old he remembered, but the woman sitting across from him. The way she held herself, the confidence in her voice, the intelligence in her eyes. She was beautiful. Really beautiful. When had that happened?
"What?" Sue asked, catching him staring.
"Nothing, I just..." Reed shook his head. "It's weird seeing you all grown up. Good weird," he added quickly. "You've become this incredible person."
Sue's cheeks colored slightly. "Thanks. You're not exactly the same person I remember either."
"How so?"
"You seem happier. More settled. Like you figured out who you wanted to be instead of who you thought you should be."
Reed considered that. "Maybe I did. It took a while."
"What changed?"
"September 11th, partly. Made me realize I was wasting time worrying about the wrong things." Reed paused. "I was supposed to be in one of those towers that morning. Had a meeting on the 47th floor."
Sue's hand went to her mouth. "Reed, my God."
"I overslept. My alarm didn't go off right, and by the time I got the call about being late, the first plane had already hit." Reed looked down at his coffee. "Made me think about what really mattered. Who really mattered."
"That must have been terrifying."
"It was. But it also made me realize I'd been living like I had unlimited time to fix things, reconnect with people." Reed met her eyes. "I should have called you. Should have written. I kept thinking you and Johnny had probably moved on, didn't need some older guy from your childhood bothering you."
Sue reached across the table and touched his hand. "We would have loved to hear from you. Both of us."
"I know that now. Seeing you here..." Reed turned his hand over, catching her fingers. "I wish I hadn't waited."
"What about Herbie?" Sue asked gently. "How was he doing?"
Reed's expression grew sad. "He passed away about two months before 9/11. Just got old, you know? It was hard. He was one of the only good things that came from living with Gary and Aunt Mary. They gave him to me when I was twelve, and he was with me through everything."
"I'm sorry. He was such a good dog."
"He was. And when 9/11 happened, when I realized how close I'd come to..." Reed paused. "Losing Herbie so recently, then almost dying myself, it made me think about how I'd been wasting time being careful instead of just living." Reed squeezed her hand. "That's what made me change my approach to everything. Stop trying to prove I was the smartest person in the room and start actually helping people."
"That's what I love about your work now. It's not about recognition anymore. It's about impact."
"Exactly."
They talked for another hour, and Reed found himself getting lost in conversation the way he hadn't in years. Sue asked thoughtful questions about his research, made connections he hadn't considered, challenged his assumptions in ways that made him think harder. And every time she smiled or laughed, Reed felt something warm settle in his chest.
"What about Michael?" Sue asked eventually. "How's he doing?"
Reed's face lit up. "Michael's incredible. He finished medical school, got his PhD in bioengineering, and now he's training for the Olympics. Decathlon."
"Wait, what?" Sue laughed. "Michael? The shy computer genius is going to the Olympics?"
"I know, right? Turns out when Coach Peterson got hold of him, he discovered Michael had this incredible analytical approach to athletic training. He basically turned himself into the perfect athlete through pure science and determination."
"Coach Peterson," Sue repeated, grinning. "Let me guess. He gave Michael some ridiculous nickname too?"
Reed felt his face heat up. "Mr. Terrific. Because apparently Coach Peterson has a thing for dramatic names."
"Oh my God, that's perfect. So you were Mr. Fantastic and Michael was Mr. Terrific?"
"We don't really use those names anymore," Reed said, embarrassed.
"Speak for yourself, Mr. Fantastic," Sue teased, and Reed groaned.
"Please don't."
"I don't know, I kind of like it. Has a nice ring to it." Sue's eyes sparkled with mischief. "So Coach Peterson basically created a legend factory with you two?"
"Something like that. The football team still talks about our strategies. And Michael's training methods are being studied by Olympic coaches now."
"That's amazing. I always knew he was special, but I never imagined he'd become an Olympic athlete."
Students started filtering into the cafe, and Reed realized they'd been talking for over two hours. Time had completely gotten away from him.
"I should probably head back," Sue said, but she didn't make any move to leave. "I have a lab report due Monday."
"Yeah, I should grade some papers."
Neither of them moved.
"This was nice," Sue said. "Really nice. It's been a long time since I talked to someone who actually got what I was saying."
"Same here." Reed looked at her directly, struck again by how beautiful she was. "Sue, can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Are you seeing anyone? Dating, I mean."
Sue's cheeks flushed slightly. "No. Not currently. Are you?"
"No." Reed felt his heart speed up. "Good. I mean, not good that you're not dating. Just good that you're... available. If you wanted to be. Available, I mean."
Sue laughed. "Reed, are you trying to ask me out?"
"Maybe? I'm apparently terrible at this."
"You're not terrible. You're just nervous. Which is sweet."
Reed felt his face heat up. "I haven't done this in a while."
"Done what?"
"Asked someone I actually care about on a date. Someone whose opinion matters to me."
Sue's expression softened. "My opinion matters to you?"
"Always has. Even when you were thirteen and correcting my approach to problems."
"I was a know-it-all kid."
"You were brilliant. You still are. Just now you're brilliant and..." Reed trailed off.
"And what?"
"And beautiful," Reed said quietly. "And confident and funny and I can't stop thinking about you."
Sue stared at him for a moment. "Reed..."
"I know this is complicated. You're my student, and we have history, and I'm probably too old for you, and—"
"Stop." Sue reached across the table and touched his hand. "First, I'm auditing one class. Second, our history is exactly why this makes sense. And third, you're thirty. I'm twenty. That's not exactly scandalous."
Reed looked down at her hand on his. "So you'd be interested? Hypothetically?"
"I'd be interested. Non-hypothetically."
Reed felt something unlock in his chest. "Okay. Good. So would you maybe want to do something? Outside of campus, I mean. Something that's clearly a date so there's no confusion."
"What did you have in mind?"
Reed thought for a moment. "There's this ice skating rink in Central Park. I'm probably terrible at ice skating, but it could be fun."
Sue's face lit up. "I love ice skating. Well, I used to when I was little. I'm probably terrible at it now too."
"Perfect. We can be terrible together."
"It's a date," Sue said, then seemed to realize what she'd said. "I mean, literally. It's literally a date."
"It's literally a date," Reed agreed, grinning.
They arranged to meet at Wollman Rink the next evening. As they walked back toward campus, Reed found himself hyperaware of Sue walking beside him. The way she moved, the sound of her laugh, how she occasionally bumped his shoulder when she was making a point.
"Reed?" Sue said as they reached the campus gates.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you asked. I was hoping you would."
Reed felt his heart skip. "Really?"
"Really. I've been thinking about you all week. Not just nostalgia stuff. Thinking about you now. The person you've become."
"Same here," Reed admitted. "It's confusing."
"Good confusing or bad confusing?"
Reed looked at her, taking in her hopeful expression, the way she was looking at him like he might be something special. "Definitely good confusing."
The next evening, Reed arrived at Wollman Rink twenty minutes early, which gave him plenty of time to pace around the entrance and second-guess every decision he'd made in the last twenty-four hours. He'd changed his shirt three times, debated whether to bring flowers (too much for a second date), and spent an embarrassing amount of time staring at himself in the mirror trying to decide if his hair looked okay.
When Sue showed up wearing a red wool coat that made her blonde hair look golden and her cheeks pink from the cold, Reed forgot why he'd been worried about anything.
"Hey," she said, slightly breathless like she'd been hurrying. "Sorry I'm a couple minutes late. I couldn't decide what to wear."
"You look perfect," Reed said, then felt his face heat up at how that sounded. "I mean, you look great. Really great."
Sue smiled, and Reed caught something pleased in her expression. "Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself, Dr. Richards."
"Ready to make complete fools of ourselves?" Reed asked as they approached the skate rental counter.
"I was born ready to make a fool of myself," Sue replied, echoing his words from the coffee shop. "It's apparently one of my hidden talents."
"Good, because I just remembered I haven't been on skates since I was maybe twelve. This could be a disaster."
"The best kind of disaster," Sue said, and Reed felt that warm flutter in his chest again.
They paid for their skates and found a bench to lace them up. Reed watched Sue bend over her skates, noting how she bit her lower lip in concentration, how she double-knotted the laces with the same methodical precision she brought to everything else.
"Okay," Sue said, standing up carefully on the rubber matting. "These feel weird. Like wearing knives on my feet."
"That's basically what we're doing," Reed agreed, wobbling slightly as he stood. "Strapping sharp metal to our feet and hoping for the best."
They made their way to the ice entrance, both moving carefully on the blade guards. The rink was moderately busy for a weeknight, with couples skating hand in hand, a few teenagers showing off, and some families with small children clinging to the walls.
"Here goes nothing," Sue said, stepping onto the ice first.
Reed followed, immediately grabbing the wall as his feet tried to go in different directions. "Okay. This is definitely harder than it looks."
Sue was also clinging to the rink wall, looking slightly panicked. "I may have been wildly overconfident about my skating abilities."
"We could just hold onto the wall and call it skating," Reed suggested. "Nobody has to know."
"Absolutely not. I'm going to actually skate if it kills me." Sue's competitive streak was showing. "How hard can it be? People do this for fun, right?"
"I love that you're still convinced this should be easy."
"It should be easy," Sue said stubbornly, then immediately wobbled and had to grab the wall again. "Okay, maybe not easy. But doable."
They spent the first fifteen minutes basically walking on ice, using the wall for support and trying to remember how human locomotion was supposed to work when the ground had no friction. Reed found himself laughing more than he had in months, partly at their mutual incompetence but mostly at Sue's running commentary.
"Okay, I think the trick is small steps," Sue announced, attempting to glide forward. "If I can just... oh no, that's definitely not right."
"Maybe we're overthinking this?" Reed suggested.
"I don't overthink things," Sue said, steadying herself against the wall. "I just like to understand how things work before I do them."
"Fair point. Though I think when you were eight, you probably just went for it."
Sue laughed. "Eight-year-old me was an idiot. She thought she was invincible."
"Maybe eight-year-old you had the right idea."
"Eight-year-old me also thought she could fly if she jumped off the garage roof with a towel tied around her neck."
"Did you actually try that?"
"Once. Johnny dared me. I had bruises for weeks, but I was too proud to admit it hurt."
Gradually, though, they began to gain confidence. Reed discovered that if he didn't think too hard about it, his body seemed to remember some basic principles of balance. Sue's natural athleticism started to show through once she stopped trying to plan every movement.
"Look!" Sue announced, letting go of the wall for a full ten seconds before grabbing it again. "I'm practically a professional!"
"You're definitely getting better," Reed said. "I, on the other hand, still look like I'm trying to walk on marbles."
"You're doing fine," Sue said, and Reed noticed she was watching him with genuine encouragement. "You just need to trust yourself more."
"My instincts are telling me to find something solid to hold onto."
"Then hold onto me," Sue said, extending her hand.
Reed looked at her outstretched hand, noting the small smile playing at her lips, the confidence in her voice. "That seems like a recipe for disaster."
"The best things usually are," Sue replied.
Reed took her hand, and they pushed off from the wall together. For a terrifying and exhilarating moment, they were actually moving across the ice without support, holding each other steady.
"We're doing it!" Sue said, her voice bright with amazement. "Reed, we're actually skating!"