The next morning, Reed woke to the sound of something crashing downstairs, followed by Johnny's voice cheerfully announcing, "I'm okay! Nothing important broke!"
Reed checked his clock. Seven-thirty AM. He'd planned to sleep until at least nine, but apparently the Storm siblings were early risers. He could hear MaryGay's voice, patient but firm, explaining something about kitchen safety, followed by Sue's more matter-of-fact tone providing what sounded like a scientific explanation for whatever disaster Johnny had just created.
By the time Reed made it downstairs, Johnny was sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal while Sue cleaned up what appeared to be the remains of a failed attempt at making toast. MaryGay stood at the stove, cooking eggs and looking like she'd been up for hours.
"Good morning," MaryGay said without turning around. "Coffee's fresh, and there are bagels if you want them. Fair warning—Johnny tried to make toast using the toaster oven's broiler setting, which explains the smoke alarm and the charcoal that used to be bread."
"I thought it would be faster," Johnny said defensively, milk dripping from his chin. "How was I supposed to know it would catch on fire?"
"Because we've explained fire safety approximately one thousand times," Sue said, disposing of the burnt toast remnants. "And because the settings are clearly labeled."
"The labels are boring," Johnny replied, which seemed to be his standard response to anything that required reading instructions.
Reed poured himself coffee and settled at the table with a bagel, watching the morning routine unfold around him. There was something comforting about the controlled chaos, the easy banter between the siblings, MaryGay's patient management of Johnny's chaotic energy.
"What are your plans for today?" MaryGay asked Reed as she set a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him.
"Meeting with Professor Williams this morning to finalize my research schedule, then I need to register for fall classes and figure out the graduate student orientation requirements," Reed said. "Pretty boring administrative stuff."
"Can I come?" Sue asked immediately.
Reed paused, surprised by the request. "To MIT? I don't think they'd let an eleven-year-old just wander around campus."
"I wouldn't wander," Sue said seriously. "I'd observe. I've never seen a real research university up close, and I'm curious about how graduate-level scientific research actually functions."
MaryGay looked up from the stove. "Sue, Reed has important business to take care of. He doesn't need to babysit you."
"It wouldn't be babysitting," Reed said thoughtfully. "And actually, Sue might find some of it interesting. Professor Williams loves talking to bright students, and there's no harm in her seeing what MIT looks like."
Sue's face lit up with excitement. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"
"I wouldn't mind at all," Reed said, surprised by how much he meant it. "Just promise me you won't touch anything in the laboratories without permission."
"I promise," Sue said solemnly. "I'll be completely professional."
Johnny, who had been listening to this exchange while systematically destroying his cereal, suddenly perked up. "Can I come too? I want to see the rocket ships!"
"There are no physical rocket ships," Sue said patiently. "Reed designs theoretical propulsion systems. They exist as mathematical models and computer simulations."
"That's lame," Johnny said, but without real disappointment. "What about explosions? Are there gonna be any explosions?"
"No explosions," Reed said firmly. "Just a lot of talking about math and looking at computer screens."
Johnny's face fell. "That sounds super boring."
"It is super boring if you're six years old," MaryGay said diplomatically. "Why don't you stay here with me? We can work on that art project you started yesterday."
"The one with all the colors?" Johnny asked, immediately distracted by the prospect of making more mess.
"The one with all the colors," MaryGay confirmed.
An hour later, Reed and Sue walked across the MIT campus together, Sue's excitement palpable as she took in the iconic buildings and the clusters of serious-looking students carrying complicated textbooks and laptops.
"It's different than I imagined," Sue said, studying the architecture with obvious fascination. "I thought it would be more... futuristic looking."
"The buildings are pretty traditional," Reed agreed. "But the work happening inside them is definitely futuristic. Some of the research projects here won't have practical applications for decades."
They made their way to Professor Williams' office, where Reed found his mentor reviewing what appeared to be grant applications and looking slightly overwhelmed by paperwork.
"Reed," Professor Williams said, looking up with obvious relief. "Perfect timing. I've been drowning in administrative details for your research program. And who's this?"
"Professor Williams, this is Sue Storm," Reed said. "She's eleven years old and she's been reading Stephen Hawking for fun. Sue, this is Professor Williams, the man who's going to supervise my graduate research."
Professor Williams' eyebrows rose with interest. "Stephen Hawking? What did you think of his discussion of the information paradox?"
Sue's face lit up at being asked a serious question by a real professor. "I actually find the biological analogies more interesting than the physics. The way he describes information processing in complex systems reminds me of how genetic information gets transcribed and translated in living cells."
Professor Williams stared at her for a moment, then looked at Reed. "Did she just make a connection between information theory and molecular biology?"
"She did," Reed confirmed, grinning at Sue's obvious pride. "Sue's been working through advanced concepts in genetics and biochemistry on her own."
"That's remarkable," Professor Williams said, then turned back to Sue with obvious interest. "You're absolutely right about the parallels—information processing in biological systems and cosmological systems share some fascinating mathematical properties. Even graduate students rarely make those kinds of interdisciplinary connections."
Sue beamed at the praise, and Reed felt a warm surge of pride on her behalf. It was clear that Sue rarely got the chance to discuss her interests with adults who took her seriously.
They spent the next hour in Professor Williams' office, discussing Reed's research schedule while Sue listened intently to their conversation about plasma dynamics and electromagnetic field generation. She asked occasional questions that demonstrated not only her comprehension of the basic concepts but her ability to identify potential problems and applications.
"Sue," Professor Williams said as they were wrapping up the meeting, "would you be interested in attending some of our undergraduate biology lectures this fall? I think you'd find them fascinating, and it might help you prepare for when you're ready for formal advanced coursework."
Sue's eyes went wide. "Really? You'd let me sit in on college classes?"
"With your aunt's permission, absolutely," Professor Williams said. "MIT has always encouraged exceptional students to challenge themselves academically, regardless of age. I have a colleague in the biology department who would love to meet someone with your perspective."
As they walked back across campus, Sue was practically vibrating with excitement. "Reed, did you hear that? He wants me to attend college biology lectures! Real college lectures!"
"I heard," Reed said, charmed by her enthusiasm. "You made quite an impression. Professor Williams doesn't offer that opportunity to just anyone."
"I can't believe this is actually happening," Sue said, then stopped walking suddenly. "Reed?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For letting me come with you today, for introducing me to Professor Williams, for taking me seriously when I ask questions about science. Most adults just pat me on the head and tell me I'm smart for my age."
Reed felt his throat tighten slightly. "Sue, you don't need to thank me for that. You're genuinely brilliant, and you deserve to be around people who recognize that."
"Still," Sue said quietly, "it means a lot. I've always felt kind of... different from other kids my age. Like I was interested in the wrong things or thinking about stuff that didn't matter to anyone else."
Reed knelt down so he was at eye level with her. "Sue, being different isn't a problem to be solved. It's a gift to be developed. The things you're interested in, the way your mind works, that's not wrong. It's special."
Sue's eyes welled up slightly, and Reed realized this might be the first time an adult had explicitly told her that her intellectual gifts were something to be celebrated rather than hidden.
"Come on," Reed said, standing up and offering her his hand. "Let's go home and tell MaryGay about your invitation to audit college classes. I have a feeling she's going to be very proud."
As they walked home together, Reed found himself thinking about the strange turns his life had taken over the past few months. A year ago, he'd been celebrating his fourth consecutive football championship, saying goodbye to Sarah Garcia, and preparing for his final semester at MIT with Ben as his roommate. He'd had recognition, success, and genuine friendships, but there had still been something missing—a sense of family beyond the bonds he'd built with his teammates and his brotherhood with Ben. Now he was living with people who had somehow made him feel more at home than he'd felt anywhere since his parents' deaths.
Sue was chattering excitedly about the research topics she wanted to explore and the questions she hoped to ask the biology professors when they next met. Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Reed realized that having someone to share his passion for scientific discovery was making him appreciate his own work in ways he hadn't expected.
They were almost home when Sue suddenly grabbed Reed's arm, her expression shifting from excitement to concern.
"Reed, look," she said, pointing toward their house.
A familiar golden retriever was sitting on the front steps, looking tired and slightly bedraggled but unmistakably alive and well. The dog's ears perked up when he saw Reed, and his tail began wagging with the kind of desperate enthusiasm that suggested he'd been waiting for this moment for a very long time.
"Herbie?" Reed whispered, hardly believing what he was seeing.
The dog barked once and launched himself down the steps, covering the distance between them in three bounding leaps. Reed dropped to his knees just in time to catch seventy pounds of overjoyed golden retriever, who proceeded to cover his face with kisses while whimpering with happiness.
"Herbie, boy, what are you doing here?" Reed asked, burying his face in the dog's familiar fur. "How did you even find me?"
Sue watched this reunion with obvious delight. "Reed, is this your dog?"
"This is Herbie," Reed said, his voice thick with emotion. "I haven't seen him in almost four years. He's been living with my aunt and cousins in Springfield."
MaryGay appeared in the doorway, smiling at the scene on her front steps. "Reed, you have a visitor. Your aunt called about an hour ago to say she was driving down from Springfield with a surprise for you."
Reed looked up to see Aunt Mary climbing out of a sedan parked across the street, followed by Enid, Danny, and Hope. They looked tired from the drive but happy, and Mary was carrying a bag that Reed recognized as containing Herbie's food and toys.
"We thought it was time Herbie came home to where he belongs," Mary said, approaching with a smile that was equal parts joy and sadness. "He's been moping around our apartment for months, and when we heard you'd found a place with a yard..."
Reed stood up, Herbie pressed against his legs and still whimpering with happiness. "Aunt Mary, I don't know what to say. This is incredible."
"Don't say anything," Hope said, launching herself into Reed's arms for a hug. "Just be happy. Herbie missed you so much, and we knew you missed him too."
Sue stood quietly to the side, watching this family reunion with obvious fascination. Reed noticed her observing the dynamics, the way his cousins interacted with each other and with him, the careful balance of love and loss that defined their relationship.
"Everyone," Reed said, keeping one arm around Hope while Herbie continued to lean against his legs, "I want you to meet Sue Storm. Sue, these are my cousins Enid, Danny, and Hope, and my aunt Mary."
Sue stepped forward with her characteristic seriousness. "It's nice to meet you all. Reed talks about you a lot."
"This house is beautiful," Enid said, admiring the comfortable chaos of books and art supplies that filled every room. "It feels so alive."
"That's MaryGay's doing," Reed said, watching his landlady effortlessly manage the logistics of feeding eight people on short notice. "She's an artist and a physics teacher. The combination makes for interesting decorating choices."
Johnny had initially been overwhelmed by the sudden influx of new people, but Hope's natural way with younger kids had him chattering excitedly within minutes. She was showing him her collection of small toys while explaining some elaborate game that seemed to involve complex rules and dramatic sound effects.
"Hope's always been good with little ones," Danny observed, settling beside Reed on the living room couch while Herbie dozed contentedly at their feet. "She practically raised half the neighborhood kids back in Springfield."
"How are things there?" Reed asked quietly. "With Gary, I mean."
Danny's expression darkened slightly. "Mom filed for divorce last month. Dad's been staying with his brother, and honestly, the house feels a lot more peaceful without him. We're moving to a smaller place in August, but Mom says she's happier than she's been in years."
Reed felt a mixture of relief and guilt. Relief that Mary and his cousins were finally free from Gary's toxicity, but guilt that his confrontation at graduation had been the catalyst for tearing their family apart.
"Don't," Enid said, settling on Reed's other side and apparently reading his thoughts. "Don't blame yourself for what happened at graduation. Dad's been heading toward this for years. You just gave Mom the push she needed to finally stand up for herself and for us."
"Enid's right," Danny agreed. "We're all better off without him. And Mom's already talking about going back to school to finish her nursing degree now that she doesn't have to manage Dad's moods all the time."
Sue appeared in the doorway, holding a book that Reed recognized as one of MaryGay's molecular biology textbooks. "Reed, your cousin Hope is really smart. She's been asking me about DNA structure, and she actually understands the double helix concept."
"Hope always was curious about everything," Reed said with a smile. "When she was little, she used to ask me to explain how everything worked. Cars, televisions, thunderstorms, you name it."
"She reminds me of myself at that age," Sue said, settling into a nearby chair with her book. "Except she's better at talking to people. I was always more comfortable with books than with other kids."
Reed watched Sue flip through the molecular biology textbook with obvious familiarity. "How much of that do you actually understand?"
"Most of it," Sue said matter-of-factly. "The basic principles are straightforward once you understand that DNA is just a really complex chemical storage system. It's like having a library where all the books are written in a four-letter alphabet."
Mary appeared from the kitchen, carrying a cup of coffee and looking more relaxed than Reed had seen her in years. "Reed, I have to say, you've found yourself a wonderful situation here. MaryGay is delightful, and these children are remarkable."
"They really are," Reed agreed, watching Johnny attempt to teach Hope some complicated game involving jumping over furniture while Sue provided running commentary about the physics of momentum and trajectory.
"Sue's going to be auditing biology lectures at MIT this fall," Reed told Mary. "Professor Williams thinks she has genuine potential for advanced scientific work."
Mary's eyebrows rose with interest. "At eleven years old? That's incredible."
"She's been reading molecular biology textbooks for fun," Reed explained. "Her questions about my propulsion research focused on the biological challenges of long-duration space flight. She thinks like a scientist, not just a bright kid who's memorized some facts."
They spent the evening in comfortable conversation, with Herbie moving from person to person to receive attention from everyone. The dog seemed to remember Mary, Enid, Danny, and Hope from their visits to Springfield, but he clearly understood that Reed was his primary person. He kept returning to Reed's side, as if reassuring himself that this reunion was real and permanent.
"He never really settled in with us," Mary admitted as Herbie dozed with his head on Reed's lap. "He was a good dog, never caused any trouble, but you could tell he was waiting for something. Or someone."
Reed scratched behind Herbie's ears, feeling a contentment he hadn't experienced since childhood. "I missed him more than I realized. Having him back feels like getting a piece of my parents back too."
As the evening wound down and Mary prepared to drive back to Springfield with the cousins, there were emotional goodbyes and promises to stay in better touch. Reed hugged each of his cousins, feeling the strange mixture of gratitude and sadness that came with family connections that had been interrupted by years and circumstances.
"We're proud of you," Enid said quietly as they said goodbye on the front steps. "Everything you've accomplished; the person you've become. Your Mom and Dad would be so happy to see you now."
"Take care of yourself," Danny added. "And call us if you need anything. We're family, remember?"
Hope's hug lasted the longest, and she whispered, "I'm glad Herbie gets to live with you again. He was always your dog."
After they left, Reed found himself sitting on the front steps with Sue and Johnny while MaryGay cleaned up inside. Herbie lay contentedly at Reed's feet, occasionally lifting his head to make sure Reed wasn't going anywhere.
"Your family seems really nice," Sue observed. "They obviously care about you a lot."
"They do," Reed agreed. "It took me a long time to understand that caring and being able to provide a good home aren't always the same thing. Mary loves me, but she couldn't protect me from Gary. Sometimes the people who love you most have to make difficult choices."
Johnny, who had been unusually quiet during the goodbyes, suddenly looked up at Reed with serious eyes. "Is your mean uncle gonna come here and be mean to you again?"
Reed felt his throat tighten at the genuine concern in the six-year-old's voice. "No, Johnny. He can't hurt me anymore. I'm old enough now to make my own choices about who I spend time with."
"Good," Johnny said firmly. "Because if he tries to be mean to you, I'll tell him to go away. And Sue will use big words at him until he gets confused and leaves."
Sue laughed despite herself. "That's not how it works, Johnny."
"It could work," Johnny insisted. "You use big words at me all the time and I get confused."
"That's different," Sue said patiently. "I use accurate vocabulary to express complex concepts. That's not the same as using big words to confuse people."
Reed watched this exchange with growing affection for both children. Johnny's protective instincts and Sue's precision with language were both endearing in their own ways. They were so different from each other, but clearly devoted siblings.
"What happened to your parents?" Reed asked gently, realizing he'd never heard the full story of why Sue and Johnny were spending the summer with MaryGay.
Sue's expression grew more serious. "Mom's in New York helping our grandmother, who broke her hip. She's going to need care for several months, and Mom couldn't bring us with her because Grandma's apartment is tiny and she needs quiet to recover."
"Mom said we could either go to summer camp or stay with Aunt MaryGay," Johnny added. "We picked Aunt MaryGay because summer camp sounded boring."
"What about your dad?" Reed asked.
Sue and Johnny exchanged a look that suggested this was complicated territory. Sue spoke carefully. "Dad travels a lot for work. He's not around very much, and Mom didn't want us staying home alone all summer."
Reed sensed there was more to the story, but didn't push. Every family had complications, and he understood better than most how difficult it could be to explain family dynamics to outsiders.
"Well, I'm glad you're here," Reed said simply. "This summer is going to be a lot more interesting with you two around."
"Are you gonna teach us about rocket ships?" Johnny asked hopefully.
"If you want to learn," Reed replied. "Though I should warn you, there's a lot of math involved."
"I like math," Sue said immediately.
"I hate math," Johnny said with equal certainty. "But I like explosions."
"There are no explosions in my research," Reed said firmly. "Just controlled electromagnetic fields and plasma dynamics."
"What's plasma?" Johnny asked, perking up at the unfamiliar word.
Reed launched into an explanation of plasma as the fourth state of matter, using simple analogies that Johnny could follow while including enough detail to keep Sue engaged. Before long, they were conducting an impromptu science lesson on the front steps, with Herbie providing moral support and occasional interruptions when interesting smells required investigation.
The next few weeks fell into a comfortable routine. Reed spent his mornings at MIT, working with Professor Williams on research proposals and attending orientation sessions for graduate students. The NASA partnership added layers of complexity to everything, with additional meetings, security clearances, and coordination with researchers at other institutions.
Sue often accompanied him to campus, auditing undergraduate biology lectures and spending time in the library reading journals that most graduate students found challenging. She had been introduced to Dr. Sarah Johnson in the biology department, who was delighted to mentor such an exceptional young student.
"Sue asks better questions than half my graduate students," Dr. Johnson told Reed after Sue's first week of auditing lectures. "She has an intuitive grasp of systems thinking that's unusual even in advanced students. Her questions about protein folding and genetic regulation show genuine scientific insight."
Reed felt a surge of pride on Sue's behalf. "She's been reading molecular biology textbooks for fun since she was nine. I think she sees patterns that others miss."
Johnny, meanwhile, had appointed himself as Herbie's primary companion and exercise coordinator. The six-year-old had boundless energy that perfectly matched the golden retriever's enthusiasm for play, and they spent hours in MaryGay's small backyard engaged in increasingly elaborate games.
"Johnny's good for Herbie," MaryGay observed one afternoon as they watched boy and dog chase each other around the garden while Sue read in the shade. "The dog needed someone who could match his energy level."
"Johnny's good for all of us," Reed replied, watching the little boy attempt to teach Herbie to jump through a hula hoop. "He keeps us from taking ourselves too seriously."
The peaceful routine was interrupted one morning in mid-July when Reed received an unexpected phone call from Ben. His friend's voice sounded strained and excited in equal measure.
"Reed, I need to tell you something, and you're not going to believe it," Ben said without preamble.
"What's going on?" Reed asked, immediately concerned by Ben's tone.
"I've been selected for an accelerated program," Ben said. "They want me to finish my master's degree in eighteen months instead of two years, then transfer directly into a joint NASA-Air Force research program."
Reed felt his heart race with excitement. "Ben, that's incredible! What kind of research?"
"Advanced materials science with applications to spacecraft construction," Ben said, his voice growing stronger with enthusiasm. "They want me to work on structural engineering problems for long-duration space missions. Reed, they're talking about missions to Mars."
"The same missions my propulsion systems are being designed for," Reed said, the implications hitting him immediately.
"Exactly," Ben confirmed. "They want us working together again, officially this time. The program director specifically mentioned that my undergraduate collaboration with you was one of the reasons they fast-tracked my application."
Reed sank into a chair, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Ben was describing. "We're really going to do this, aren't we? Build spacecraft that can take people to other worlds."
"We're going to do exactly what we dreamed about when we were twelve years old," Ben said, his voice filled with wonder. "And Reed? There's one more thing. The program includes provisions for joint research projects during the development phase. If everything goes according to plan, I could be stationed at MIT for part of my graduate work."
"You mean you might be coming back to Boston?"
"I mean I might be coming back to Boston to work on the same project you're already leading," Ben said. "The Mars mission project, Reed. They're actually planning to send people to Mars, and they want us to figure out how to do it safely."
After hanging up, Reed sat in his room for several minutes, processing the conversation. The scope of what he and Ben were being asked to accomplish was staggering. They weren't just designing theoretical systems anymore; they were developing technology that would actually be used to transport human beings across interplanetary distances.
Sue appeared in his doorway, holding one of her biology textbooks and looking concerned. "Reed? You look like you just got some really big news."
"I did," Reed said, then smiled at her worried expression. "Good news, actually. Great news. Ben might be coming back to Boston to work on the Mars mission project with me."
Sue's face lit up with excitement. "Really? That's wonderful! When?"
"Sometime next year, if everything works out," Reed said. "We'll be working together again, officially this time, on the most ambitious space exploration project in human history."
"Are you nervous?" Sue asked, settling into the chair across from his desk.
Reed considered the question seriously. "Terrified," he admitted. "But also more excited than I've ever been about anything. This is what I've been working toward my entire life, and now it's actually happening."
"The best discoveries come from being brave enough to ask questions that scare you," Sue said solemnly, repeating something she'd obviously heard from one of her professors.
Reed looked at this remarkable eleven-year-old who somehow always knew exactly the right thing to say. "Sue, how did you get so wise?"
"I read a lot," Sue said with her characteristic small smile. "And I pay attention to how smart people handle scary situations."
"Well, you're definitely smart people," Reed said. "What do you think I should do about being terrified of the most important project of my career?"
Sue considered this seriously. "I think you should remember that the universe always has more secrets to reveal, and you're one of the people smart enough and brave enough to reveal them."
Reed felt his throat tighten with emotion. Sue had just quoted his father's favorite phrase back to him, though she couldn't possibly know its significance. "Where did you hear that?"
"You said it during one of our conversations about space exploration," Sue said. "It sounded like something important, so I remembered it."
Reed stood up and impulsively hugged Sue, who seemed surprised but pleased by the gesture. "Thank you, Sue. For reminding me what's really important."
"What's really important?" she asked, returning the hug.
"Curiosity," Reed said simply. "Being willing to explore the unknown, even when it's frightening. That's what makes us human, and that's what will take us to the stars."
The rest of July passed in a blur of preparations and planning. Reed's graduate coursework was intense, requiring him to master advanced mathematical concepts while simultaneously conducting original research. The NASA partnership added layers of complexity, with regular progress reports and coordination meetings that sometimes felt overwhelming.
But having Sue and Johnny around provided perfect balance to the academic intensity. Sue's questions about his research helped him see his work from new angles, while Johnny's boundless energy and enthusiasm reminded him that science should be fun as well as serious.
"Reed," Johnny announced one morning over breakfast, "I figured out what you should put in your rocket ships."
"Oh really?" Reed asked, suppressing a smile. "What's that?"
"Trampolines," Johnny said seriously. "That way, if people get bored during the long trip to Mars, they can bounce around and have fun."
Sue looked up from her biology textbook with the patient expression she wore when correcting her brother's more creative ideas. "Johnny, trampolines wouldn't work in space. There's no gravity to provide the resistance necessary for bouncing."
"Then we should bring gravity too," Johnny said, undeterred by this minor technical obstacle.
"We are bringing gravity," Reed said, charmed by Johnny's problem-solving approach. "The spacecraft will rotate to create artificial gravity through centrifugal force."
Johnny's eyes went wide. "Really? The whole ship spins around?"
"Part of it," Reed confirmed. "Like a giant carnival ride, but in space."
"That sounds awesome!" Johnny exclaimed. "Can I go on the first trip?"
"By the time we're ready for human missions to Mars, you'll be old enough to apply for astronaut training if you want to," Reed said.
Johnny bounced in his chair with excitement. "Sue! Sue! Reed says I can be an astronaut!"
"He said you could apply for training," Sue corrected patiently. "That's not the same thing. You'd have to study really hard and pass lots of tests."
"I can study hard," Johnny said with the confidence of someone who had never actually tried to study hard. "How hard could it be?"
Sue and Reed exchanged amused glances. Johnny's optimism was infectious, even when it was completely unrealistic.