October 2001
Ben showed up at Reed's apartment on a Friday evening in October, carrying a duffel bag and wearing civilian clothes that made him look younger than his Air Force uniform ever did. Reed opened the door and just stared for a moment, taking in his best friend's face in person for the first time in eight years.
"You gonna let me in, or are we having this reunion in the hallway?" Ben asked, grinning that same easy smile Reed remembered from college.
"Get in here," Reed said, pulling Ben into a hug that lasted longer than either of them had expected. "Jesus, look at you. You look exactly the same."
"Liar. I've got lines around my eyes now." Ben ran a hand through his sandy brown hair, which was still the same color Reed remembered from their MIT days. "But you look good, Reed. Really good. Different somehow."
They settled in Reed's living room with beers, the initial awkwardness of eight years of separation slowly giving way to the comfortable familiarity that had defined their friendship in college. Ben told Reed about his life in the Air Force, about his work with experimental aircraft, about the promotions and assignments that had kept him busy but not particularly fulfilled.
"The thing is," Ben said, leaning back in Reed's armchair, "I love flying. I really do. But I keep thinking about those conversations we used to have about space travel, about actually making it to Mars someday. The military's great, but it's not getting me any closer to the stars."
Reed nodded, understanding exactly what Ben meant. "I've been thinking about space travel again too, actually. Not the same approach as before, but... I don't know. Maybe there are different ways to get there."
"Like what?"
Reed got up and pulled out several notebooks from his desk drawer, filled with sketches and equations he'd been working on since September. But these weren't just electromagnetic field calculations anymore. There were biological diagrams, chemical formulas, materials science charts, quantum physics proofs, even some theoretical computer science algorithms.
"What if instead of trying to build one massive propulsion system, we focused on solving all the problems at once?" Reed flipped through the pages, showing Ben his work from the past month. "Better materials, more sophisticated guidance systems, improved life support, radiation shielding, closed-loop ecological systems, artificial gravity generation..."
Ben studied the drawings with obvious interest. "Reed, this isn't just aerospace engineering. This is like... everything. Biology, chemistry, physics, computer science. When did you become an expert in all this stuff?"
"I didn't," Reed admitted. "I'm learning as I go. But after September 11th, I realized I'd been thinking too narrowly. Space travel isn't just about propulsion. It's about creating entire self-sustaining environments that can keep humans alive and healthy for months or years away from Earth."
Reed had thrown himself into research with a desperate energy since 9/11, but not just in his familiar electromagnetic theory. He'd been auditing biology courses, collaborating with chemistry professors, reading materials science journals until his eyes burned. The near-death experience had sparked something in him - not just gratitude for being alive, but a driving need to make every moment count.
"I've been working with a team at Mount Sinai on biomedical applications," Reed continued, pulling out another notebook filled with cellular diagrams. "Turns out electromagnetic fields can influence cell regeneration and tissue growth in really interesting ways. And I've been collaborating with the chemistry department on developing new polymer compounds that could revolutionize spacecraft hull design."
Ben flipped through page after page of detailed work spanning multiple scientific disciplines. "This is incredible, Reed. But how are you absorbing all this information? I mean, becoming competent in one field takes years. You're talking about mastering like six different areas of science."
"I'm not mastering them," Reed said. "I'm learning enough to see the connections between them. Like, understanding protein folding helps me think about materials that could self-repair in space. Learning about closed ecosystem biology gives me ideas for waste recycling systems that could work on long missions."
Reed's voice grew more animated as he talked. "It's all connected, Ben. Everything. The same mathematical principles that govern electromagnetic fields also describe fluid dynamics, which relates to how air circulates in enclosed spaces, which affects how plants grow in artificial environments, which determines what kind of food we could produce on a Mars colony."
They spent the weekend talking, walking around Manhattan, visiting the site where the towers had been. The raw wound in the city's skyline was still shocking, even weeks later. They stood at the viewing area, both of them quiet for a long time.
"You really were supposed to be in there," Ben said finally. It wasn't a question.
"Forty-seventh floor. Conference room 4712." Reed had memorized those details, though he wasn't sure why. "Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night thinking about that room, about the people who were in meetings just like mine."
"But you weren't there."
"No. I wasn't there." Reed looked at his friend. "Ben, I know this sounds weird, but I'm grateful I overslept. Not just because I'm alive, but because it made me realize I was sleepwalking through my life. I was so focused on electromagnetic theory that I forgot there's a whole universe of knowledge out there."
Ben nodded slowly. "I get that. I really do. When I heard what happened, my first thought wasn't about the war or the politics or any of that. It was about calling you and my parents and making sure the people I love were okay."
That weekend marked the beginning of a new tradition. Ben started visiting New York whenever he had leave, and Reed began making regular trips to New Jersey to visit Ben at McGuire. They went to Yankees games and Giants games, spent hours talking about everything they'd missed in each other's lives, slowly rebuilding the friendship that had defined their college years.
—
December 2001
Reed spent Christmas with the Grimm family for the first time since college. Ben's parents welcomed him like nothing had changed, and Reed found himself sitting around their familiar dinner table, listening to the same comfortable chaos he remembered from his undergraduate years.
The house was decorated for both holidays again - the beautiful menorah on the mantelpiece next to Christmas stockings, just like Reed remembered. Mrs. Grimm was lighting the Hanukkah candles when Reed arrived, and she immediately pulled him into helping with the ritual.
"Reed, sweetheart, it's so good to have you back," she said, handing him one of the candles. "This is what family looks like - everyone together, celebrating light in the darkness."
"You boys look good together," Mrs. Grimm said later, watching Reed and Ben argue about whether the Yankees or the Red Sox had the better pitching rotation. "Like brothers again."
"We always were brothers, Ma," Ben said. "We just forgot for a while."
But this time, Reed noticed things he'd missed before. Ben seemed restless in ways that had nothing to do with their friendship. He kept checking his phone, seemed distracted during conversations, and Reed caught him staring out the window with a distant expression.
"What's going on with you?" Reed asked during a quiet moment when they were helping with dishes. "You seem... I don't know. Unsettled."
Ben dried the same plate three times before answering. "I'm shipping out to Afghanistan next month."
Reed nearly dropped the glass he was washing. "What? When? I thought the Air Force had you on research projects here."
"They did. But after 9/11, everything changed." Ben's voice was quiet but steady. "They need experienced pilots over there, and I volunteered."
"You volunteered?" Reed felt his stomach drop. "Ben, why would you..."
"Because I need to do something that matters," Ben said, setting down the towel and looking directly at Reed. "I've been sitting in meetings and flying test flights while people are dying. While our country is at war. I can't just stay safe on a base in New Jersey anymore."
Reed felt a mixture of pride and terror. "How long?"
"Fifteen months, if everything goes according to plan." Ben's jaw was set in a way Reed recognized from their college days when Ben had made up his mind about something. "I ship out January 15th."
"Does Debbie know?"
Ben's expression darkened slightly. "We broke up two months ago. She said she couldn't handle dating someone who was going to keep putting himself in danger. Said she wanted someone who would choose a safe life with her."
Reed felt a pang of sympathy. "I'm sorry, Ben. That must have been hard."
"It was the right call," Ben said, though Reed could hear the pain underneath. "She deserved someone who could give her the life she wanted. I couldn't be that guy when part of me knew I needed to be over there."
Over dinner, the conversation was more subdued than usual. Mr. and Mrs. Grimm tried to keep things light, but Reed could see the worry in their eyes every time they looked at their son. Ben talked about his deployment like it was just another assignment, but Reed caught the underlying tension in his voice.
"You'll be flying combat missions?" Reed asked quietly.
"Close air support, mostly. Helping ground troops. It's what I trained for." Ben met Reed's eyes. "I'm good at what I do, Reed. This is where I can make a real difference."
Reed wanted to argue, to point out all the ways Ben was already making a difference, but he recognized the look in his friend's eyes. It was the same determination Ben had shown when he'd decided to walk onto the football team, the same resolve that had carried him through Air Force training.
"I'm proud of you," Reed said finally. "And scared as hell for you, but proud."
"Thanks, man. That means a lot." Ben's voice was rough with emotion. "Will you write to me? Keep me updated on what you're working on? It'll help to know there's still people back here pushing boundaries, asking the big questions."
"Of course I'll write," Reed said. "Every week if you want."
Mrs. Grimm had been quietly listening to their conversation, tears in her eyes. "My brave boy," she said, reaching over to squeeze Ben's hand. "Just promise me you'll be careful over there."
"I promise, Ma. I'll come back home safe."
Later that evening, as Reed prepared to leave, Ben walked him to his car. The December air was cold and crisp, and Reed could see his breath in the streetlight.
"Reed, can I ask you a favor?" Ben said.
"Anything."
"If something happens to me over there..." Ben held up a hand when Reed started to protest. "I know it's not likely, but if something does happen, will you look after my parents? They're going to need someone, and you're the closest thing to family I've got besides them."
Reed felt his throat tighten. "Nothing's going to happen to you, Ben. You're too stubborn to die in Afghanistan."
"Maybe. But promise me anyway."
"I promise," Reed said, pulling his best friend into a fierce hug. "But you better come back, you hear me? Sue and Johnny are going to want to meet you properly, and I've got plans for us to work together again when you get home."
"Sue and Johnny?"
Reed felt his cheeks warm. "It's... complicated. I'll tell you about it in my letters."
Ben grinned, the first genuine smile Reed had seen from him all day. "Now I definitely have to make it back. I need to hear about this."
—
Spring 2002
The invitation to lecture at Culver University came at the perfect time. Reed had been throwing himself into new research with renewed energy, developing practical applications across multiple scientific disciplines. A guest seminar on "Interdisciplinary Approaches to Space Exploration" would give him a chance to share his expanded methodology with a broader scientific community.
The drive to Virginia was pleasant, giving Reed time to organize his thoughts about the presentation. He'd been invited by Dr. Bruce Banner, a biochemist whose work on radiation exposure treatment had caught Reed's attention through several published papers. Banner's research seemed to complement Reed's own expanding interests in interesting ways.
Reed arrived at Culver University to find a surprisingly large audience for his afternoon seminar. Dr. Banner met him in the lobby of the science building, a quiet man about Reed's age with intelligent eyes and a slightly nervous demeanor.
"Dr. Richards, thank you so much for coming," Banner said, shaking Reed's hand. "I've been following your recent work on electromagnetic applications in medical imaging, but also your papers on materials science and bioengineering. It's really groundbreaking stuff."
"Please, call me Reed. And thank you for the invitation. I have to admit, I'm curious about your radiation research. From what I've read, you're working on some fascinating problems that cross multiple disciplines."
They walked toward the lecture hall together, Banner explaining the setup and timeline for the presentation. Reed noticed that Banner seemed genuinely excited about the scientific possibilities, but there was also something guarded about him, as if he was carefully choosing his words.
"Will you be staying for dinner afterward?" Banner asked. "My girlfriend Betty and I would love to continue the conversation. She's actually working on the same project I am, and I think you'd find her perspective really valuable."
"I'd like that very much."
The seminar went better than Reed had hoped. The audience was engaged, asking thoughtful questions about practical applications of his interdisciplinary approach. Several faculty members approached him afterward, interested in potential collaborations. But it was the dinner conversation with Bruce and Betty Ross that really captured Reed's attention.
Betty was brilliant, with a sharp wit and an infectious enthusiasm for scientific discovery that reminded Reed of his best MIT professors. She and Bruce clearly shared not just a romantic relationship but a genuine intellectual partnership, finishing each other's thoughts and building on each other's ideas in ways that made their research stronger.
"The project we're working on is... well, it's complicated," Betty explained as they sat in a small restaurant near campus. "Officially, it's about developing treatments for radiation poisoning, which obviously has huge medical applications."
"Unofficially?" Reed asked, sensing there was more to the story.
Bruce and Betty exchanged a glance. "Unofficially, we think it has the potential to do much more than that," Bruce said carefully. "We're looking at applications for treating cancer, autoimmune disorders, maybe even enhancing the body's natural healing processes."
"The challenge is that we're working with gamma radiation exposure, which is incredibly dangerous," Betty continued. "We need to find ways to harness the beneficial effects while minimizing the risks to patients."
Reed leaned forward, genuinely intrigued. "That's where multiple disciplines become essential. You'd need electromagnetic field theory for controlled exposure, materials science for shielding, biology for understanding cellular responses, chemistry for developing protective compounds, and probably computer modeling to predict outcomes."
"Exactly!" Bruce's face lit up with excitement. "That's exactly what we've been trying to figure out. The current methods are too crude, too risky for human testing."
They spent the next three hours discussing potential approaches, with Reed sketching field configurations, cellular diagrams, and chemical formulas on napkins while Bruce and Betty explained the biochemical challenges they were facing. By the end of the evening, Reed felt like he'd found kindred spirits, scientists who shared his passion for using interdisciplinary knowledge to solve real-world problems.
"You should come visit us in New York," Reed said as they prepared to part ways. "I'd love to show you my lab, and I think some of the equipment I've developed might be useful for your research."
"We'd love that," Betty said warmly. "Bruce has been looking for collaborators who understand that the biggest breakthroughs happen at the intersections between fields."
—
Summer 2002
Bruce and Betty began making regular trips to New York, usually staying for long weekends when they could get away from their research obligations at Culver. Reed enjoyed their visits immensely, finding in them the kind of intellectual companionship he'd been missing since his graduate school days.
"This is incredible," Bruce said during his first visit to Reed's laboratory at Columbia. "You've actually built working prototypes that integrate electromagnetic fields with biological monitoring systems?"
"Most of them, yeah. The key is understanding that the human body is essentially an electromagnetic system operating within a chemical framework," Reed demonstrated one of his medical enhancement devices, showing how it could monitor cellular activity while providing targeted field therapy. "When you stop thinking about disciplines as separate categories and start seeing them as different languages describing the same phenomena, all kinds of new possibilities open up."
Betty was particularly interested in the practical applications. "Bruce, look at this. If we could adapt this multi-system approach for our gamma radiation work..."
"We could potentially create targeted exposure protocols that protect healthy tissue while treating damaged cells," Bruce finished, his excitement building. "Reed, would you be willing to consult on our project? I mean, officially? We could probably arrange for some research funding."
Reed considered the offer carefully. He was intrigued by their work, and he genuinely liked both of them as people. There was something refreshing about collaborating with scientists who shared his post-9/11 focus on comprehensive problem-solving rather than narrow specialization.
"I'd be interested," Reed said. "But I have to be honest, I'm not entirely clear on what the ultimate application is supposed to be. You mentioned medical treatments, but the approach you're describing seems like it could have much broader implications."
Bruce and Betty exchanged another one of their meaningful glances. "That's... that's part of what makes this project complicated," Betty said carefully. "The funding comes from the military, and sometimes their priorities aren't entirely aligned with ours."
"We're focused on the healing applications," Bruce added. "The potential to help people recover from radiation exposure, to treat diseases that current medicine can't touch, to enhance the body's natural resilience. That's what matters to us."
Reed sensed there was more to the story, but he also trusted Bruce and Betty's commitment to using their research for beneficial purposes. "Alright. I'm in. What do you need from me?"
—
Fall 2002
Reed threw himself into new research with an energy he hadn't felt since his MIT graduate work. But this time, instead of pursuing one narrow breakthrough, he was developing integrated approaches across multiple scientific disciplines that could be implemented immediately, including his consultation work with Bruce and Betty's project. Part of him knew he was channeling his worry about Ben into work, but the results spoke for themselves.
His first major patent after 9/11 was for an improved communication system that integrated electromagnetic field theory with materials science and computer programming. Working with the New York Fire Department, Reed had developed a way to create self-organizing communication networks that could adapt to changing conditions in emergency situations.
"The problem with most emergency communication is that it treats each component separately," Reed explained to the patent review board. "But if you design the hardware using advanced materials, program the software with adaptive algorithms, and integrate everything with electromagnetic field management, you create a system that becomes more effective under stress rather than breaking down."
The technology was immediately adopted by emergency response teams across the country. Reed donated all the patent royalties to 9/11 first responder charities, but the real satisfaction came from knowing that his interdisciplinary approach was directly helping people who ran toward danger instead of away from it. He wrote to Ben about it in his weekly letters, describing how the system was already being tested by military communications units.
Bruce and Betty had driven up from Virginia for one of their regular weekend visits when the first successful field test results came in. Reed found their company especially valuable with Ben overseas; they understood the weight of having someone important to you in harm's way.
"They're saying it could revolutionize disaster response," Reed said, reading the report from multiple agencies. "Not just communication, but coordination, resource allocation, real-time risk assessment. All because we stopped thinking about these as separate problems and started treating them as one integrated challenge."
"Ben's going to be so proud when he hears about this," Betty said gently, knowing how much Reed missed his best friend.
"Have you heard from him lately?" Bruce asked.
Reed nodded, pulling out Ben's latest letter from his jacket pocket. "Got this yesterday. He's doing well, flying close air support missions. Says the desert reminds him of some of the more desolate parts of New Mexico, except with more people trying to shoot at him."
"That sounds like Ben," Betty said with a small smile. "Making jokes to keep everyone from worrying."
"He asked me to tell him about all the projects I'm working on. Says it helps him remember there are people back home pushing boundaries, asking the big questions." Reed looked at his friends. "I've been developing designs for modular habitation systems that could work on Mars, but the engineering challenges are enormous. Life support, radiation shielding, materials that can self-repair, communication systems that work across interplanetary distances."
Bruce leaned forward with interest. "That's ambitious. What got you thinking about Mars habitation again?"
"Ben, actually. Before he deployed, we talked about working together when he gets back. Made me realize I never really gave up on space exploration, just on my old approach to it." Reed pulled out his project notebook. "I keep writing to him about the theoretical frameworks, and he writes back with practical questions about implementation. Even from Afghanistan, he's helping me think through the engineering challenges."
"Long-distance collaboration," Betty observed. "That's actually kind of beautiful."
"It is. Ben sees problems I miss, even through letters. Last week he pointed out that my life support recycling system would be vulnerable to dust storms because I hadn't considered particle infiltration through the air processing units." Reed shook his head admiringly. "Guy's in a war zone and he's still thinking about how to keep astronauts alive on Mars."
Reed had been getting offers from companies wanting to license his patents, and the idea of starting his own research company was becoming more appealing. But he'd decided to wait until Ben came home. Some partnerships were worth waiting for, especially when your partner was risking his life halfway around the world.
"Fifteen months feels like forever," Reed said quietly. "I keep working on these projects partly because it gives me something to write to him about, something to look forward to building together when he gets back."
"He'll be back," Bruce said with quiet confidence. "And when he is, you two are going to build something incredible together."
Reed looked at his friends, grateful for their support during what felt like the longest year of his life. Ben's letters were the highlight of his weeks, full of descriptions of the Afghan landscape, stories about his fellow pilots, and always, always, questions about Reed's research that showed Ben was thinking about their future collaboration even while flying combat missions.
"You know what?" Reed said, feeling a surge of determination. "Ben's over there doing something that matters, something bigger than himself. The least I can do is make sure we have something amazing to work on together when he comes home."
"Now that sounds like a plan," Betty said, raising her coffee mug in a mock toast. "To building the future, one letter at a time."
Reed raised his own mug, thinking about his best friend somewhere in the Afghan desert, probably writing another letter full of engineering insights and terrible jokes. "To Ben, and to all the impossible things we're going to make possible when he gets back."
—
Winter 2002
Reed spent Thanksgiving with his aunt Mary and cousins in Springfield for the first time since high school graduation. The reunion was emotional and healing in ways he hadn't expected, but it was also eye-opening. He found himself telling them about his expanded research interests, his new friendships with Bruce and Betty, his correspondence with Ben overseas.
"It's good to hear you talking about working with others again," Mary said as they sat around her kitchen table. "Instead of trying to solve everything by yourself."
"That's what I've learned," Reed agreed. "The biggest problems can't be solved by one person working in isolation. You need people who understand different pieces of the puzzle."
—
January 2003
Ben's return from Afghanistan was subdued but deeply meaningful. Reed met him at the airport, and they embraced for a long time without saying much. Ben looked older, more serious, but his eyes still held that spark of curiosity that Reed remembered.
"You ready to change the world?" Reed asked as they drove back into the city.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Ben replied, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. "I spent a lot of nights over there thinking about those project notes you sent me. We can really build this stuff?"
"With the right team, the right resources, and a lot of coffee? Yeah, I think we can."
The Air Force had made Ben an offer he couldn't refuse: serve as military liaison for Reed's research projects while transitioning to civilian contractor status. It was the perfect solution, giving Ben the freedom to work on cutting-edge technology while maintaining his military connections and security clearance.
"Best of both worlds," Ben said when he explained the arrangement. "I get to work with you on the kind of projects I've always dreamed about, and the Air Force gets direct access to whatever we develop that might have military applications."
"And I get my best friend back," Reed added.
—
Spring 2003
Richards Research had been operating as a small consultancy, but with Ben back as both partner and military liaison, Reed was ready to take the next step. They found office space in an old building in Manhattan called the Baxter Building, a beautiful Art Deco structure that had been converted for research and development companies.
"The Baxter Foundation," Reed said, standing in their new lobby and looking up at the renovated marble and brass fixtures. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"
"Better than Richards Research," Ben agreed. "Makes it sound like we're trying to help people instead of just make you famous."
The Baxter Foundation officially opened in April 2003, with Reed as Director of Research and Ben as Director of Engineering and Military Liaison. They started with twelve employees across multiple disciplines - materials scientists, biologists, chemists, computer programmers, and traditional engineers. Bruce and Betty became frequent consultants, driving up from Virginia for extended collaborations.
"You've really found your calling," Betty observed during one of their visits, watching Reed coordinate between three different research teams working on integrated life support systems. "This suits you so much better than trying to solve everything alone."
"I couldn't have done it without friends like you and Bruce and Ben," Reed replied. "Having people who understand both the science and the human applications makes all the difference."
The patent applications kept coming, but now they covered multiple integrated fields. By the summer of 2003, the Baxter Foundation had filed patents in electromagnetic engineering, biomedical devices, advanced materials, computer systems, and environmental technology. Their consultation work with various government projects had led to breakthroughs in radiation therapy, communication systems, and materials that could function in extreme environments.
But the real breakthrough came when Reed realized their biggest limitation wasn't technological - it was psychological. They'd been so focused on preventing failure that they weren't taking the risks necessary for genuine innovation.
—
Late Summer 2003
As September approached, Reed found himself reflecting on the two years that had passed since 9/11. He had rebuilt his relationship with Ben, reconnected with his family, started a successful research foundation, developed meaningful friendships with Bruce and Betty, and created technology that was genuinely helping people.
But he'd also been playing it safe.
"You ever think about calling them?" Ben asked one evening, noticing Reed looking at an old photo from their summer adventures. Bruce and Betty were visiting for the weekend, and they were all relaxing in Reed's apartment after a day at the foundation.
"Calling who?" Betty asked, curious about the photo.
"Some old friends," Reed said carefully. "Sue and Johnny Storm. I knew them when they were kids, spent summers with them and their aunt. They were like family to me for a while."
"Why don't you call them?" Bruce asked gently.
Reed shrugged. "They're probably living completely different lives now. Sue would be about twenty, Johnny would be fifteen. They're now completely different people with their own interests and friends. I don't want to be the weird older guy who intrudes on their lives because of nostalgia."
"Reed, you were like family to them," Ben said.
"When they were kids. People change, Ben. They've probably moved on."
Betty studied Reed's face with that perceptive intelligence he'd come to appreciate. "Or maybe you're afraid they have, and you don't want to find out."
Reed didn't answer, but her words stayed with him. Maybe he was afraid. The connections he'd rebuilt with Ben and his family, the new friendships with Bruce and Betty, had been safe choices. People who needed him professionally or intellectually.
Sue and Johnny represented something different. They'd known him before he became successful, before he learned to spread his interests across multiple fields, before he figured out how to be useful to other people. They'd just loved him for who he was.
So he focused on the work, on the foundation, on building technology that helped people. The Baxter Foundation was thriving, with government contracts and private investors interested in their interdisciplinary approach to complex problems. Reed's collaboration with Bruce and Betty continued to yield promising results, and Ben was proving invaluable at turning theoretical breakthroughs into practical applications while maintaining their military connections.
But late at night, when the foundation offices were empty and Reed was alone with his equations and his memories, he wondered if he was missing something essential. He'd learned to be valuable, to be useful, to be impressive. But had he learned to just be Reed?
As Reed prepared for the fall semester at Columbia, he felt settled in ways he hadn't experienced since childhood. The Baxter Foundation was making a difference, his friendships were strong, and he had found a way to honor his parents' memory by using science to help people.
But Betty's words kept echoing in his mind. Maybe you're afraid they have, and you don't want to find out.