June 1993
Reed Richards stood in front of 42 Marlborough Street in Boston's Back Bay, holding a folded newspaper clipping and wondering if he'd made a terrible mistake. The Victorian townhouse looked respectable enough, red brick, black shutters, and the kind of architectural details that suggested it had been built when people took their time with craftsmanship. But after four years of dorm life at MIT, the idea of living with strangers felt more intimidating than his first day of graduate school.
"Room for rent in quiet household," the classified ad had read. "Graduate student preferred. References required. Contact MaryGay Dickins." The rent was reasonable for Boston, the location was perfect for his commute to MIT, and Professor Williams had assured him that finding decent housing near campus was nearly impossible during the summer months.
Reed checked his watch. Three o'clock, exactly on time for his appointment. He'd learned from Gary's household that punctuality mattered to older adults, even if he'd never figured out most of Gary's other unspoken rules.
The woman who answered the door was probably in her fifties, with graying brown hair pulled back in a practical ponytail and the kind of direct gaze that suggested she didn't suffer fools gladly. She wore paint-splattered jeans and a MIT t-shirt that looked like it had seen better decades.
"You must be Reed," she said, extending a hand with a firm grip. "MaryGay Dickins. Come on in."
The interior of the house was nothing like Reed had expected. Where he'd imagined formal furniture and delicate decorations, he found comfortable chaos. Books were stacked on every available surface, including the stairs. Scientific journals competed for space with art magazines and what appeared to be several works of serious literature. A half-finished oil painting sat on an easel in the living room, surrounded by tubes of paint and brushes soaking in coffee cans.
"Sorry about the mess," MaryGay said, though she didn't sound particularly sorry. "I'm between projects at the moment, which means I'm starting about six new ones simultaneously."
"Are you an artist?" Reed asked, studying the painting. It showed the Boston Harbor at sunset, rendered with the kind of technical skill that came from years of practice.
"Art teacher at Boston Latin. Physics minor from Wellesley, class of '64." She noticed Reed's surprised expression. "What, you thought liberal arts people couldn't understand science? I may not build rocket ships, but I know my way around a spectrometer."
Reed felt his cheeks warm very quickly. "I didn't mean to assume—"
"Relax, kid. I'm giving you grief because you look terrified." MaryGay gestured toward the staircase. "The room's on the third floor. Fair warning though—I've got my niece and nephew staying with me for the summer, and they're not exactly quiet."
As if summoned by her words, the sound of running feet echoed from somewhere upstairs, followed by a crash and a voice shouting, "I'm okay! Nothing broke!"
MaryGay sighed. "That would be Johnny. He's six, and he's apparently made of rubber and pure kinetic energy. His sister Sue is eleven and significantly more civilized, though she asks about a million questions per day."
They climbed two flights of stairs, passing family photos that showed various combinations of adults and children at beaches, graduation ceremonies, and holiday gatherings. The third floor had been converted into a comfortable studio apartment, complete with a small kitchenette, a desk area, and a window that looked out toward the Charles River.
"It's perfect," Reed said, and meant it. The space was larger than his dorm room had been, and the natural light streaming through the windows would be ideal for studying.
"Before you decide," MaryGay said, "you should probably meet the kids. They'll be living here all summer while my sister sorts out some things in New York. If you can't handle children, this arrangement won't work."
They descended back to the main floor, where MaryGay called out, "Sue! Johnny! Come meet our potential new roommate!"
A girl appeared first, emerging from what looked like the kitchen with a book in her hand. Reed's first impression was of serious light blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and blonde hair that had been braided back with mathematical precision. She wore jeans and a NASA t-shirt that was probably hand-me-down from an adult, and she studied Reed with the kind of careful attention usually reserved for interesting scientific specimens.
"Susan Storm," she said, extending her hand with surprising formality for an eleven-year-old. "Are you the graduate student Aunt MaryGay told us about?"
"Reed Richards," he replied, shaking her small hand and trying not to smile at her grown-up mannerisms. "And yes, I'm starting my master's degree this fall."
"In what field?" Sue asked immediately.
Before Reed could answer, a blur of motion exploded into the room. The boy who skidded to a stop in front of them had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as his sister, but where Sue radiated careful intelligence, Johnny Storm was, well, a storm of pure energy barely contained in a six-year-old body. His t-shirt was on backwards, his shoes were untied, and he had what appeared to be peanut butter in his hair.
"Are you gonna live here?" Johnny demanded, bouncing slightly on his toes. "Are you gonna be fun? The last guy who looked at the room was super boring and he smelled like old cheese."
"Johnny," Sue said with the long-suffering tone of someone who'd been managing the little guy's unique brand of chaos for years, "you can't tell people they smell like cheese."
"But he did though," Johnny protested, now spinning in a circle for no apparent reason. "And he had nose hair that was like, super long and gross."
MaryGay watched this exchange with obvious amusement. "Reed, meet Johnny Storm, age six, destroyer of everything he touches. Johnny, this is Reed. He builds rocket ships."
Johnny stopped spinning immediately, his eyes going wide. "Real rocket ships? Like the ones that go to space?"
"Theoretical rocket ships," Reed corrected, but Johnny's enthusiasm was infectious. "I'm working on propulsion systems that could make space travel more efficient."
"That's so cool!" Johnny exclaimed, then immediately started asking rapid-fire questions. "Do they go really fast? Can they go to Mars? Can they go to the moon? Do you know any astronauts? Can I see your rocket ships?"
"Johnny, breathe," Sue said firmly. She turned to Reed with an apologetic expression. "He gets excited about everything. Last week he spent three hours asking questions about the garbage truck."
Reed found himself genuinely charmed by the siblings' dynamic. Sue clearly felt responsible for her younger brother, but there was obvious affection beneath the exasperation. Johnny was hyperactive in the way that suggested high intelligence with nowhere to direct itself, rather than actual behavioral problems.
"To answer your questions," Reed said to Johnny, "they would go very fast, they could theoretically go to Mars and the moon, I don't know any astronauts personally, and you can't see my rocket ships because they only exist on paper right now."
"Aw, that's lame," Johnny said, but without real disappointment. "When are you gonna build real ones?"
"Johnny," MaryGay warned, "don't interrogate the man. He hasn't even decided if he wants to live here yet."
But Reed was looking at Sue, who had remained quiet during Johnny's outburst. She was still holding her book—something thick that looked far too advanced for an eleven-year-old—and studying Reed with obvious curiosity.
"What are you reading?" he asked.
Sue held up the book, and Reed felt his eyebrows rise. "A Brief History of Time by Stephen Hawking. It's about cosmology and theoretical physics."
"Sue's really smart," Johnny announced proudly. "She reads books about space and math and stuff. She tried to explain black holes to me but I got bored after like five minutes."
"That's because you have the attention span of a goldfish," Sue said, but she was smiling at her brother with genuine fondness.
"Do you understand it?" Reed asked Sue, gesturing at the Hawking book. "It's pretty advanced material."
Sue's expression became slightly defensive. "Most of it. Some of the mathematical concepts are above my current level, but I can follow the general theoretical framework."
Reed studied her more carefully. There was something in the way she spoke, the precise vocabulary and careful phrasing, that reminded him of himself at that age. "What's your favorite part?"
"The discussion of event horizons and time dilation," Sue said immediately. "The idea that time moves differently depending on gravitational fields is fascinating. It suggests that our perception of temporal flow is much more subjective than most people realize."
Reed blinked. That was not the answer he'd expected from an eleven-year-old, no matter how bright. "Have you read any other physics books?"
"I've worked through most of the popular science section at the library," Sue said, warming to the topic. "Carl Sagan, some molecular biology textbooks, genetics primers. Aunt MaryGay lets me sit in on her chemistry classes sometimes when the material isn't too advanced."
MaryGay nodded. "Sue's been coming to my summer classes for the past two years. My students love having her around because she asks questions that make everyone think harder about how chemistry relates to biological processes."
"That's incredible," Reed said, and meant it. He'd met very few adults who could discuss Hawking's work intelligently, let alone children. "Are you interested in pursuing science as a career?"
Sue's face lit up in a way that transformed her from a serious, scholarly child into someone radiant with enthusiasm. "I want to study biology, maybe genetics. I want to understand how life actually works at the molecular level, not just memorize facts about organisms."
Johnny, who had been fidgeting during this conversation, suddenly perked up. "Sue wants to be like you! She's always talking about DNA and cells and boring science stuff!"
"It's not boring," Sue protested, but without heat. "Just because you can't sit still long enough to understand anything doesn't mean it's boring."
"I can sit still," Johnny said, then immediately proved himself wrong by starting to bounce on his toes again. "I just don't want to."
Reed found himself grinning at the exchange. There was something refreshing about being around children who weren't intimidated by his intelligence or trying to compete with him. Johnny's energy was infectious, and Sue's genuine curiosity reminded him of his own childhood fascination with understanding how things worked.
"Well," MaryGay said, "what do you think? Can you handle living with these two for the summer?"
Reed looked around the comfortable, chaotic house, at the woman who seemed to effortlessly balance artistic creativity with scientific knowledge, at the little boy who vibrated with barely contained enthusiasm, and at the serious girl who talked about event horizons like other kids discussed their favorite movies.
"I think this could work," he said.
"Excellent," MaryGay said. "First month's rent and security deposit. You can move in whenever you're ready."
As they worked out the practical details, Reed found himself looking forward to the summer in ways he hadn't expected. After four years of dorm life and the emotional intensity of graduation, the prospect of living in a real home with people who seemed genuinely interesting felt like exactly what he needed.
—
Two days later, Reed arrived with his few possessions loaded into Ben's car. His former roommate had driven down from his Air Force orientation to help with the move, despite Reed's protests that he could handle it himself.
"You own like three boxes of stuff," Ben said, carrying Reed's computer equipment up to the third floor. "This is the easiest move in history."
"I travel light," Reed replied, following with a box of books and research materials. "After four years of dorm living, you learn not to accumulate too much stuff."
They were making their final trip when Johnny Storm exploded out of the house like he'd been launched from a cannon. The six-year-old took one look at Ben and froze, his eyes going wide as he processed the sight of someone who looked like he could bench press a small car.
"Whoa," Johnny said quietly, a rare moment of speechlessness. "You're huge."
Ben grinned, setting down Reed's final box. "You must be Johnny. Reed told me about you."
"Are you a superhero?" Johnny asked with the blunt curiosity of childhood. "Because you look like you could be a superhero."
"Just a guy who works out a lot," Ben replied. "I'm Ben, Reed's friend from college."
Sue appeared in the doorway, taking in Ben's impressive physical presence with the same analytical attention she brought to everything else. "You're the one who plays football," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Used to play football," Ben corrected. "Now I'm in the Air Force. Reed and I went to school together."
"Aunt MaryGay told us you turned down the NFL to pursue advanced education," Sue said with obvious approval. "That shows remarkable prioritization of long-term intellectual development over short-term financial gain."
Ben looked at Reed with raised eyebrows. "Does she always talk like a textbook?"
"Pretty much," Reed said with obvious fondness. "Sue's vocabulary is more advanced than most college students."
"I read a lot," Sue said matter-of-factly. "And I pay attention to how smart people express complex ideas."
Johnny, meanwhile, had been circling Ben like a small satellite, studying him from every angle. "Can you lift me up? I bet you can lift me really high!"
"Johnny, don't bother Ben," Sue said automatically.
"He's not bothering me," Ben said, then looked down at Johnny with the kind of grin that suggested trouble. "Want to see how high I can lift you?"
"YES!" Johnny shouted, and before Sue could object, Ben had scooped the boy up and hoisted him above his head. Johnny shrieked with delight, spreading his arms like he was flying.
"Higher! Higher!" Johnny demanded, and Ben obliged by lifting him even further.
Sue watched this display with the expression of someone who'd spent years being the responsible one. "Be careful. Johnny has no sense of self-preservation whatsoever."
"I can see that," Ben said, carefully lowering Johnny back to the ground. The boy immediately started jumping around, begging for another turn.
"Again! Do it again! That was the best thing ever!"
"Maybe later, kiddo," Ben said. "Reed and I need to finish getting him settled in."
They spent the next hour organizing Reed's belongings in his new room while Johnny provided constant commentary and Sue occasionally appeared to ask thoughtful questions about Reed's research. By the time they were finished, Reed felt more at home than he had anywhere since his parents' house.
"This is nice," Ben said, looking around the completed setup. "Real nice. You're gonna be happy here."
"I think so too," Reed agreed. "It feels like a real home instead of just a place to sleep."
They were interrupted by MaryGay calling from downstairs. "Reed! Ben! Dinner!"
The dining room table had been set for five, with Johnny bouncing in his chair and Sue reading while she waited. MaryGay emerged from the kitchen carrying a large pot of what smelled like homemade pasta sauce.
"I figured we should have a proper welcome dinner," she explained. "Nothing fancy, just spaghetti and meatballs. Johnny helped make the meatballs, which means they're probably irregularly shaped but enthusiastically seasoned."
"I made them really big!" Johnny announced proudly. "Some of them are like the size of baseballs!"
"That's not how meatballs are supposed to work," Sue said, not looking up from her book.
"Says who?" Johnny challenged. "Maybe I invented a new kind of meatball. Maybe they're gonna be super famous and everyone will want Johnny's Giant Meatballs."
"Johnny's Giant Meatballs sounds like a terrible restaurant name," Sue replied, but Reed could see her trying not to smile.
Ben laughed. "I don't know, kid. I'd eat at a place called Johnny's Giant Meatballs."
"See?" Johnny said triumphantly to his sister. "Ben gets it."
The dinner that followed was unlike anything Reed had experienced in years. MaryGay was a natural storyteller, regaling them with tales from her teaching career that had Ben laughing so hard he nearly choked on his spaghetti. Sue contributed thoughtful observations about everything from the physics of pasta cooking to the mathematical principles underlying recipe scaling. Johnny provided constant motion and commentary, managing to consume enormous quantities of food while never sitting completely still.
"So Reed," MaryGay said as they finished eating, "what's your research focus going to be for your master's thesis?"
"Electromagnetic propulsion systems," Reed replied. "I'm working with Professor Williams to develop more efficient plasma containment methods for theoretical spacecraft engines."
"That's so cool," Johnny said through a mouthful of meatball. "Are you gonna go to space?"
"Probably not personally," Reed said. "I'm more interested in building the technology that would let other people go to space more safely and efficiently."
Sue had put down her book and was listening with obvious interest. "Are you working on fusion-powered systems or something more exotic?"
Reed paused, surprised by the sophistication of the question. "More exotic. We're looking at using controlled electromagnetic fields to accelerate reaction mass to much higher velocities than chemical rockets can achieve."
"Like an ion drive, but scaled up?" Sue asked.
Ben stared at her. "How does an eleven-year-old know about ion drives?"
"I read a lot," Sue said with a slight shrug. "And I pay attention when the Space Shuttle missions are on TV. NASA's been experimenting with ion propulsion for satellite station-keeping."
Reed felt that familiar spark he got when discussing his work with someone who actually understood scientific thinking. "Exactly like that, but designed for much larger spacecraft with human crews. The energy requirements are enormous, but the efficiency gains would make missions to Mars practical rather than heroic."
"What about the biological challenges?" Sue asked immediately. "Wouldn't prolonged exposure to microgravity cause serious problems with bone density and muscle atrophy? And how would you maintain a closed ecosystem for life support during multi-year missions?"
"Those are some of the biggest challenges," Reed admitted, impressed by her grasp of the biological constraints. "The engineering problems are actually easier to solve than the physiological ones. We're looking at rotating habitat sections to simulate gravity, and closed-loop life support systems that would need to function perfectly for years."
Johnny had been listening to this exchange with growing impatience. "Can we talk about something that's not boring space math?" he demanded.
"It's not boring," Sue said automatically.
"It's super boring," Johnny countered. "Can we talk about something fun? Like dinosaurs? Or explosions? Or exploding dinosaurs?"
MaryGay laughed. "Johnny, not everything has to involve explosions."
"But explosions make everything better," Johnny said with the absolute certainty of a six-year-old. "Except maybe ice cream. Exploding ice cream would just be messy."
"Although," Reed said thoughtfully, "there are some interesting fluid dynamics involved in ice cream production that relate to controlled pressure release..."
"Reed," Ben said with a grin, "you're about to explain ice cream using rocket science, aren't you?"
"Well, the principles of rapid phase change and pressure differentials are actually quite similar..." Reed began, then caught the amused expressions around the table. "Sorry. Occupational hazard."
"Don't apologize," Sue said earnestly. "I want to hear about the biochemistry of food preservation in extreme environments."
Johnny perked up. "Is this gonna be about explosions?"
"Not explosions exactly," Reed said, "but rapid expansion of gases, which is sort of similar..."
The conversation that followed was unlike any Reed had experienced. Sue asked genuinely sophisticated questions about enzymatic processes and cellular preservation, while Johnny interjected with increasingly creative suggestions about how to make ice cream more exciting. MaryGay and Ben provided amused commentary, and somehow the whole discussion became both educational and hilarious.
By the time Ben left that evening, Reed felt like he'd found something he hadn't even known he was looking for. Not just a place to live, but a family that appreciated both his intelligence and his quirks.
"This is good, Reed," Ben said as they stood on the front porch saying goodbye. "Really good. These people are gonna be good for you."
"Thanks for helping me move in," Reed said. "And thanks for... well, everything. I wouldn't have made it through MIT without you."
"Sure you would have," Ben said, pulling Reed into a quick hug. "You just would've been miserable and probably would've lived on nothing but pizza and coffee for four years."
"I already lived on nothing but pizza and coffee for four years."
"Exactly my point." Ben grinned. "Now you've got Sue to make sure you eat vegetables and Johnny to make sure you don't take yourself too seriously. It's perfect."
After Ben left, Reed found himself sitting on the front steps with Sue, who had emerged from the house carrying her Stephen Hawking book and a glass of lemonade.
"Are you nervous about starting graduate school?" she asked, settling beside him on the steps.
"More than a little," Reed admitted. "It's not just graduate school—I'm also continuing my research partnership with NASA. The pressure is pretty intense. They're funding my education because they expect real breakthroughs, not just academic exercises. And I'll be working on problems that could actually affect future space missions."
Sue nodded thoughtfully. "That's the exciting part though, isn't it? Working on questions that nobody's answered before, especially when the answers might help people explore space?"
Reed looked at her with new appreciation. "Exactly. Most people would be terrified by that kind of responsibility, but you understand that it's where the real discoveries happen. Even if it means I might fail spectacularly in front of some very important people."
"Aunt MaryGay says that's what makes good scientists different from everyone else," Sue said. "Good scientists get excited by questions they can't answer yet, instead of being satisfied with what they already know. Like how we still don't fully understand how consciousness emerges from neural networks, or how genetic expression gets regulated in complex organisms."
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching the evening traffic move along Marlborough Street. The summer air was warm and carried the sounds of the city—distant sirens, the rumble of the subway, conversations from nearby apartments.
"Reed?" Sue said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you decided to live here. It's going to be fun having someone around who actually understands the stuff I'm interested in."
Reed felt something warm settle in his chest. "I'm glad I'm here too, Sue. I think this is going to be a really good summer."
From inside the house came the sound of Johnny's voice raised in what sounded like an argument with a piece of furniture, followed by MaryGay's patient voice trying to negotiate some kind of bedtime routine.
"I should probably help Aunt MaryGay get Johnny settled down," Sue said, standing up and brushing off her jeans. "He gets extra hyper when there are new people around."
"Need any help?" Reed offered.
Sue grinned, and for a moment she looked less like a serious scholar and more like the eleven-year-old she actually was. "Trust me, Johnny's bedtime routine is like a one-man circus. You're not ready for that level of chaos yet."
As Sue headed back inside, Reed remained on the steps for a few more minutes, processing the events of the day. In the space of a few hours, he'd gone from feeling uncertain about his living situation to feeling like he'd found exactly where he belonged.