Reed was about to respond when he looked over at Sue's face, glowing with excitement and pure joy, and completely lost track of what his feet were doing. His left skate caught a rough spot in the ice, his balance went completely, and since they were holding hands, he pulled Sue down with him.
They went down in a tangle of limbs and laughter, sliding several feet across the ice before coming to a stop. Sue ended up half on top of him, both of them breathing hard from exertion and amusement, still giggling like kids who'd just pulled off the world's most spectacular stunt.
But then their laughter slowly faded as they really looked at each other. Sue's hair had come loose from its ponytail and was falling in soft golden waves around her face, framing eyes that were bright with lingering laughter and something else Reed couldn't quite name. She was beautiful. God, she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
Sue found herself staring down at Reed, really seeing him for maybe the first time. The way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners from smiling, how his hair was messed up from their fall, the way he was looking at her like she was something precious. Her heart was beating fast, and it wasn't from the skating anymore.
The moment stretched between them, suddenly charged with something neither of them had expected.
"Hi," Sue whispered, her eyes never leaving his.
"Hi," Reed whispered back, reaching up to tuck that strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek.
For a moment they just looked at each other, the world around them fading away. Sue's eyes fluttered closed as she leaned down, and Reed met her halfway, their lips finding each other in the softest, sweetest kiss. It was gentle and tentative at first, then deeper as Sue melted into him, her hand coming up to rest against his chest.
Reed's other hand found the back of her neck, holding her close as they kissed like they had all the time in the world. Sue's lips were cool from the ice rink air but warm underneath, and Reed felt like everything he'd been waiting for his whole life had just clicked into place.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing softly, smiling at each other like they'd just discovered something wonderful.
"Wow," Sue said, her forehead resting against his.
"Yeah," Reed agreed. "Wow."
They looked at each other for another long moment, and Reed felt something settle deep in his chest. This wasn't just nostalgia or curiosity anymore. This was real.
"We should probably get up," Sue said eventually, though she made no move to stand. "People are starting to stare."
"Probably," Reed agreed, also staying exactly where he was.
They eventually did manage to get back on their feet, helped by a kind older couple who skated over to make sure they were okay. The rest of their time on the ice went better, partly because they'd both relaxed and partly because they skated closer together, hands linked, steadying each other.
"I think I'm getting the hang of this," Sue said as they managed several consecutive minutes of actual skating without major disasters.
"You're definitely better than me," Reed replied, watching how she moved with increasing confidence. "I think you actually have balance."
"It's all about not panicking when you start to wobble," Sue said, then immediately wobbled. "Which I'm still working on."
"Maybe it's not about balance at all," Reed suggested. "Maybe it's about having someone to catch you when you fall."
Sue smiled at that, squeezing his hand. "That might be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me while wearing rental skates."
"That's probably not setting the bar very high."
"You'd be surprised. I've been on some truly awful dates."
Reed felt a spike of curiosity and maybe jealousy. "Yeah? How awful?"
"Well, there was the guy who spent the entire dinner explaining why biology was 'just memorization' and not real science. And the one who asked me to pay for his meal because he 'forgot his wallet.' Oh, and the one who brought his roommate along because he was 'nervous about being alone with a smart girl.'"
"He brought a wingman? To a date?"
"Apparently I was intimidating. The roommate spent the whole time trying to convince me I should date him instead." Sue shook her head. "I was nineteen and thought that was normal."
"That's definitely not normal," Reed agreed. "What did you do?"
"Pretended I had a family emergency and left. Then avoided that dining hall for the rest of the semester."
"Smart move. I probably would have climbed out a bathroom window."
"I considered it. But there wasn't a window."
They skated in comfortable silence for a while, getting better with practice. Reed found himself watching Sue more than focusing on his own technique, noting how she moved with increasing grace, how she laughed when she wobbled, how she bit her lip when she was concentrating.
"What are you thinking about?" Sue asked, catching him staring.
"Just... this," Reed said. "How much fun this is. I haven't done anything like this in forever."
"What, ice skating?"
"No, just... silly things. Things that don't matter except that they're fun." Reed paused. "Things with someone who makes me want to be silly."
Sue's expression grew softer. "I know what you mean. I spend so much time trying to be serious and responsible. It's nice to just be goofy for once."
"We're pretty good at being goofy together."
"We always were," Sue said quietly. "Remember that summer you helped us build that ridiculous fort in MaryGay's living room?"
"The one that was supposed to be earthquake-proof and zombie-resistant?"
"That's the one. Johnny's specifications were very detailed."
"I'm having fun now," Sue said quietly.
"So am I," Reed replied, and meant it.
When they finally returned their skates and walked back out into the night, Reed felt like the evening was just getting started. Central Park was beautiful in the early fall, with the leaves just starting to change and the city lights creating a warm glow against the dark sky.
"Want to walk for a while?" Reed asked as they left the rink. "I'm not ready for this to end yet."
"I'd love to," Sue said, slipping her arm through his.
They walked slowly through the park, taking the long way toward the exit. The paths were well-lit and still busy enough with other couples and dog walkers that it felt safe and romantic rather than isolated.
"I love the city in fall," Sue said, looking around at the trees just starting to show hints of gold and red. "Everything feels like it's full of possibility."
"It's beautiful," Reed agreed, though he was looking at Sue rather than the scenery. "I don't take enough time to notice things like this usually."
"What do you usually notice?"
Reed thought about it. "Problems to solve, mostly. Research questions, student assignments, grant deadlines. Useful stuff, but not particularly beautiful."
"Maybe you just need someone to point out the beautiful stuff," Sue suggested.
"Maybe I do," Reed said, squeezing her arm against his side.
They walked out of the park and onto Fifth Avenue, where the city was alive with traffic and pedestrians and the bright lights of shops and restaurants. Reed found himself seeing it all through Sue's eyes: the elegant architecture, the way the lights reflected off the pavement, the energy of people moving through their evening lives.
"Oh, look," Sue said, stopping in front of a bookstore with an elaborate window display. "They've got the new poetry collections. I've been wanting to read those."
"Poetry?" Reed asked, surprised. "I didn't know you were into poetry."
"There's a lot you don't know about me yet," Sue said with a smile that made Reed's heart skip a beat.
"I'm looking forward to learning," Reed replied, surprised by how much he meant it.
They continued walking, stopping to look in shop windows, sharing stories about places they loved in the city. Reed discovered that Sue adored old movies and had been working her way through classic film noir. Sue learned that Reed had taken up photography but was too shy to show his pictures to anyone.
"I'd like to see your photographs sometime," Sue said as they paused at a crosswalk.
"They're not very good," Reed said automatically.
"I doubt that. You see things differently than most people. I bet your photographs are beautiful, even if they're not technically perfect."
Sue had a way of making him feel like the best version of himself, like everything about him was worth discovering. It was intoxicating.
"Okay," Reed said. "But don't blame me if you're disappointed."
"I won't be," Sue said with such confidence that Reed almost believed her.
They walked through Midtown, past the bright lights of Times Square, which Sue declared "wonderfully ridiculous" and Reed found charming with her beside him. Down through the quieter streets of Chelsea, where Reed pointed out restaurants he'd never had anyone to take to, and Sue told him about the small bookshop where she'd discovered her passion for genetics.
"I used to spend entire Saturdays there when I first moved to the city," Sue said as they passed where it used to be. "The owner would let me curl up in the back corner with a stack of textbooks. That's where I fell in love with the idea that we're not prisoners of our genetics, that we can actually influence how they work."
Reed heard the passion in her voice and felt something warm bloom in his chest. He'd known Sue was brilliant since she was thirteen, but seeing her as a woman, hearing her talk about her dreams with such fire in her eyes, was something entirely new.
"That's what I've always admired about you," Reed said. "You see hope where other people see limitations."
"You do the same thing," Sue replied, looking at him with something soft and wondering in her expression. "You've always believed impossible things could become possible if you just worked at them long enough."
They were in Greenwich Village now, past the small cafes and jazz clubs that gave the neighborhood its character. Reed realized they'd been walking for over an hour, but he felt like he could keep walking all night as long as Sue was beside him.
"Are you getting tired?" Reed asked. "We've been walking forever."
"Not tired," Sue said. "But maybe a little hungry. Is there somewhere we could get something warm to drink?"
Reed knew exactly the place. A small bistro tucked away on a side street that served incredible hot chocolate and stayed open late. The kind of place he'd walked past countless times but never had reason to enter alone.
"I know the perfect spot," Reed said, guiding her around the corner.
The bistro was warm and dimly lit, with small tables and the kind of atmosphere that made you want to lean close and share secrets. They found a corner table near the window where they could watch the city move past outside.
"This is perfect," Sue said, sliding out of her coat. "How did you know about this place?"
"I've passed it a thousand times, but I've never actually been inside," Reed admitted. "It always looked like the kind of place you'd want to share with someone special."
"And now you are," Sue said softly, her eyes meeting his across the small table.
"And now I am," Reed agreed.
They ordered hot chocolate and sandwiches, and settled into the kind of easy conversation that had characterized their relationship since they were kids. But now there was an undercurrent of something more, an awareness of each other that made every casual touch feel significant.
"Can I ask you something?" Sue said as they waited for their food.
"Anything."
"What made you say yes? To dinner, I mean. You could have just been polite about running into me and left it at that."
Reed considered the question seriously. "Honestly? You were the first person I'd talked to in months who made me feel like myself again. Not Dr. Richards the professor, just... Reed."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. Most of the time I feel like I'm playing a part. The brilliant professor, the successful researcher, whatever. But when I saw you in that classroom, I just felt like the guy who used to sit on MaryGay's porch talking about everything and nothing."
Sue smiled. "I know exactly what you mean. I spend so much time trying to prove I belong in my classes, trying to show I'm serious enough, smart enough. But with you, I can just be Sue."
"You were always just Sue to me," Reed said softly. "Even when you were thirteen and correcting everyone's logic."
"I didn't correct everyone's logic."
"You corrected Johnny's logic. Daily."
"Johnny's logic needed correcting," Sue said, laughing. "Remember when he decided he could teach Herbie to use tools?"
"And spent two hours trying to get him to hold a screwdriver in his mouth," Reed finished. "That was actually pretty logical for Johnny."
"Everything was logical for Johnny if you followed his reasoning far enough. That was the scary part."
Their food arrived, and they ate slowly, swapping stories about their summers together. Reed found himself remembering details he'd forgotten - how Sue used to steal his coffee when she thought he wasn't looking, how she'd get completely absorbed in books and not hear anyone talking to her, how she'd always been the one to suggest the practical solutions to Johnny's wild ideas.
"Do you miss it?" Sue asked. "Those summers, I mean."
"All the time," Reed admitted. "They were some of the best times of my life. Felt like being part of a real family, you know? Not just people who were stuck with each other, but people who actually chose to spend time together."
"We did choose each other, didn't we? I mean, MaryGay could have told you to find somewhere else to live, and you could have avoided us completely."
"Why would I want to avoid you?"
"Because we were kids. You were this brilliant college guy, and we were just... kids asking annoying questions."
Reed reached across the table and touched her hand. "Sue, you were never annoying. Either of you. You made me feel like being smart was something to be proud of instead of something to apologize for."
"You did the same thing for me," Sue said quietly. "I was always the weird kid who read too much and asked too many questions. But you acted like that was normal. Like it was good."
"It is good. It's one of the best things about you."
They finished their meal and reluctantly prepared to leave. The night was getting late, and Reed knew he should probably get Sue home, but he found himself walking as slowly as possible, taking the longest route back to her apartment.
"Thank you for tonight," Sue said as they walked through the quieter residential streets near Columbia. "I had the best time."
"Even though we spent most of it clinging to walls?"
"Especially because of that." Sue laughed. "When's the last time you did something you were genuinely bad at?"
Reed thought about it. "I honestly can't remember. I think I've been avoiding anything I might fail at."
"That's sad."
"Yeah, it kind of is." Reed looked at her. "What about you? When's the last time you let yourself be terrible at something?"
"Tonight," Sue said with a grin. "And it was the most fun I've had in months."
They reached Sue's building too soon, standing on the sidewalk neither wanting to say goodbye. Reed walked her to the entrance, both of them moving slowly, prolonging the moment.
"So," Sue said, turning to face him. "This was our first official date."
"It was," Reed agreed, though something twisted in his stomach. He was her professor. She was twenty, he was thirty. What was he doing?
"It was perfect," Sue said, stepping closer to him. "Reed?"
"Yeah?" His voice came out rougher than intended.
"I'm going to kiss you goodnight now."
Every rational part of Reed's brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should step back, maintain professional boundaries. But when Sue rose up on her toes and kissed him softly, sweetly, all those thoughts evaporated. Reed cupped her face in his hands, kissing her back with all the tenderness he'd been holding back all evening, and for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be anywhere else or anyone else.
When they broke apart, both of them were smiling.
"Goodnight, Reed," Sue whispered.
"Goodnight, Sue."
She turned to go into her building, then looked back over her shoulder with a grin that made his heart stop.
"Sweet dreams, Mr. Fantastic."
Reed stood on the sidewalk long after she disappeared inside, his heart pounding and his mind reeling. Sue Storm had called him Mr. Fantastic, and it didn't sound silly or embarrassing. It sounded like love.
He walked back to his apartment in a daze, replaying every moment. The way Sue had laughed when they fell on the ice. How she'd looked at him in the bistro like he was the most interesting person in the world. The soft warmth of her lips against his.
Part of him knew this was complicated. The age difference, the professional relationship, the fact that she was auditing his class. But a larger part of him, the part that had been empty for years, felt full for the first time since he could remember.
Reed had thought he'd been in love before. With Sarah in college, with a few women since then. But this was different. This wasn't desperate or convenient or based on shared interests and compatible schedules. This was Sue seeing all of him, the awkward parts and the brilliant parts and everything in between, and choosing him anyway.
As Reed unlocked his apartment door, he realized that for the first time in years, he wouldn't change a single thing about his life. Not his failed NASA project, not his quiet teaching job, not even the long years of loneliness that had led him here. Because all of it had brought him to tonight, to Sue, to this moment where everything finally made sense.
He'd spent thirty years thinking love was about finding someone who completed you, who filled in your missing pieces. But Sue didn't complete him. She made him realize he'd been whole all along.
Reed Richards stood in his doorway, grinning like an idiot at nothing and everything, finally understanding what all the poets had been writing about.
So this is love.