Adventure for dinner, Cheetos for breakfast

September 3, 2014: Johnny Storm shares his curious breakfast habits with Susan and Reed Richards.

The Baxter Building

Home of the Fantastic Four



Mood Music:

"Not now, HERBIE, I'm cleaning. If Sue finds the living room looking like this she'll take away my Cheetos Privileges!"

Johnny Storm has been, well, a bit celebratory over the weekend, since his racing team won at the USA 500 in Atlanta. The room in question isn't actually the shared lounge that the team uses for Happy Fun Together Time (Johnny has it written on the calendar like that.) This is the one he brings his friends and occasionally girls to, but usually not when the rest of the FF is around. Except maybe when his pet rock is around, because Ben Don't Care.

"Mr. Storm, simply remove the soiled laundry and allow me to clean the surfaces," the robot begs. Because otherwise, Johnny is likely to bring in one of Reed's lab-cleaning devices, and that will probably damage something. Like, the fundamental structure of spacetime.


The sound of high heels clicking against the floor of one of the rooms adjacent to this one. It's a warning of sorts. Hide your cheetos, Johnny! Big sis is lurking about… or Ben has chosen to wear heels?

The sound stops for a moment, its imminent threat seemingly distracted by something else. Like maybe her dissertation? If Johnny listens carefully he might think he hears the click, click, click of Sue's keyboard.

But then it stops.

Still no heels.

A blonde head peeks around the corner and glances around the room. It appears that Sue aims to look and move on, but she does a double-take and stands askance in the door way.

Her lips part, her eyes widen, and she stares at the state of the room. Susan looks professional today. Between her dark brown pencil skirt, her button up blouse, and the dark thick-rimmed glasses that perch on her nose, she could pass as an office worker. Except her feet. Which are, currently, shoeless. "Johnny," there's an edge of warning in her tone.


A brown mass of hair laid back into the head rest, and Reed Richards looked at the ceiling. He brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He could only stare at a problem so long before he would have to take a break, get a glass of juice, and see what was going on in the world around him.

He grazed his fingers across the glass table, closing off the experiment with telescoping armour that jutted out from the floor to create a semi-circular dome. He squeezed his eyes together and then allowed them to flutter open as he pushed off on the rolling castors of his chair, rising to his feet before it had come to a stop.

Once in the kitchen, he grabbed himself a glass, stretching his arm to reach the appropriate cupboard, and stretched another arm for the fridge, bringing the juice and the glass to the island table. He vigourously shook the orange juice to get the pulp to move, and then poured himself a glass. On his way out, he would return the orange juice to the fridge.

But then he heard Sue and made his way towards Johnny's room. He hasn't touched the orange juice, letting the pulp rise towards the surface, since that's the best part. He has good timing. He arrived just in time for H.E.R.B.I.E. to say, "Sorry Johnny, but your cleaning privileges are still revoked for another 2 days, 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 32 seconds."

Smiling as he leans in to peck his lips against Sue's neck, he says, "Oh, I don't know H.E.R.B.I.E., Johnny's been good, he hasn't burnt down the Baxter Building, why don't we reinstate his cleaning privileges now?” H.E.R.B.I.E. dutifully says, "But Reed, you told me not to allow you to reinstate his privileges unless Susan agreed." Looking to Sue, he smirks, "Well, he has me there."


Eyebrows drawing together, Sue stares at her brother. "That was… last week," her finger taps idly at her chin while her eyes flit to where she probably saw socks and underwear. Probably. But it's gone so quickly she's not 100% sure anymore.

"Destroying laundry rather than cleaning it now?" she asks wryly. "When are you going to grow up?" her eyes rolls emphatically. It's only when the kiss is pressed to her neck that she takes a deep breath and releases some of her tension. "I don't agree," she mutters quietly as she twists around to catch Reed's gaze. Her hands drop to her sides and she sighs while she glances around the room. "Socks don't grow on trees."


"Ratfink," Johnny mutters at H.E.R.B.I.E. "Be that way, you were all 'let me help you' until Sue and Reed actually showed in the room."

He sighs, and after he puts the handful of video games in their bin, he says, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" and flames on. The flash of fire, very carefully controlled, burns off the most obnoxious of the detritus on the couch and other surfaces. Hardly anything get singed.

"Flame off!" Johnny says, and smiles. "Hello, Reed. You guys are back early."

He stalks over to the broom closet and gets out the Wiffer(tm) and starts wiping the thin layer of ash from all the surfaces.


"Laundry by immolation, that's a new one," Reed smirks as he is voted down by Sue on the H.E.R.B.I.E. front. "And technically Susan, the Thanagarians have a silk worm that spins a garment that closely resembles socks." Why does he know that? What possible reason does he have to know about Thanagarian silk worms? For situations just like this one.

H.E.R.B.I.E., for an artificial being with a mechanical body, is still able to convey a shrug. It's made all the more impressive by his lack of shoulders. From a compartment in his body, he seems to pull out a fire extinguisher, just in case.

"So, Johnny, did you have a good time while we were away?"


"You mean, did I have fun keeping the Future Foundation running smoothly against another take-over attempt by the Mad Thinker, while fending off Paste-Pot-Pete and some idiot named Big Wheel, oh yeah, and having to banish a demon with a nova-flame burst? I suppose that was fun," Johnny says, lopsided grin going as he de-ashes his living room.

"Oh, and … what was that other thing. Oh yeah. My real life. MY TEAM WON THE USA 500 IN ATLANTA!!" he yells excitedly. This is BIG. This is, after all, the thing Johnny used to do before he got turned into the Firey one on the hazard-symbol of heroism.


Sue arches an eyebrow at the pair, her gaze shifting between them. "The world doesn't have infinite supplies of things you know." Her lips hitch up on one side. She finally steps into the room, and issues Johnny a large grin. "Well congrats, but that doesn't exactly make it okay to—" But she's distracted by his excitement.

She fights the creeping smile, and attempts to maintain her stern expression, but it's fruitless. "Well, congrats," she finally settles on. "But that doesn't mean I want Cheeto stains and laundry everywhere." Her lips purse lightly as she glances at the room's couch. "Should this be fumigated or something before anyone sits on it?"


Listening to Johnny recount the issues he's had to deal with, Reed considers each and every one of them, cross-referencing them against the news articles he read when he got back. But when he gets to the part about a demon, Reed scoffs, "that's preposterous Johnny. You know that demons aren't real, though there are beings resembling the mythological record."

Reed has differing views on the supply and demand than Sue. She thinks in terms of this world, while Reed is of the opinion that sooner or later, humanity will leave the Earth behind and settle on new worlds. In the cosmos, new worlds are born more often than old worlds die. Supply will outstrip supply until the universe begins to contract around itself, and by that point, humanity, should it still exist, would be so different from how they are now that it would no longer matter.

He whispers in Susan's ears as he notes her attempts to maintain her expression, "don't give in, you can do it, I believe in you," but it's fruitless. He joins in the revelry, moving forward from Sue to offer his hand to Johnny in a shake, "congratulations Johnny. I'm sorry that we couldn't have been there. Did you save a holographic recording of the race?" He has little personal interest in racing, but Johnny likes it, and he tries to share in his interests and especially achievements whenever possible.

H.E.R.B.I.E. chirps up at Sue's question, and pulls out another spray from his chest cavity, spraying the couch with something that would solve any contamination issues, "certainly Susan, it will be ready for human seating in a jiffy."


"Nah, I just need to run the vac over it to get any stray ash off," Johnny says, "Or, H.E.R.B.I.E. can make it part of the couch forever. Thanks, guy."

The Torch baps H.E.R.B.I.E. gently, and runs a finger over the surface.

"Not too bad. I've done worse things to it. SO! Reed, what did you guys do out there?"

He has no intention of trying to argue with Reed about it being a demon. Nope, nope, nope. He might introduce him to those two dudes he helped out, though. The Olympian god Phobos, and the Norse monster Fenris, though only Phobos introduced himself by name.


Reed's whispers are met with a sardonic smirk. Susan tried. She wanted to stay mad, but excitement is one of those things that can distract her, particularly when it's excitement from someone she actually cares about. Her arms hug herself tightly while her eyes tick between H.E.R.B.I.E., Johnny, and the couch. "Do I want to know about the bad things that have happened to this couch?" There's a pause. "Or should we just light it on fire and get a new one?" It's wasteful and Sue knows it, but sometimes caution is worth the cost.

Her nose wrinkles as she ponders demons. "A lot of strange things have happened in the universe. Maybe it was like a demon on earth, but entirely something else somewhere else, right?" She raises a single eyebrow to punctuate the question.

"So… what's next for your team? Is winning the 500 like…" her eyes squint slightly as she tries tot hunk of something remotely equivalent, "…winning a Nobel prize? Or an Oscar? Is it like… the top thing?" she cringes around the unknown lingo.


"What did we do? That could take a while, and tonight is about you, Johnny. You've wanted to win the USA 500 for some time now, I believe. What was it like?" And, sensing how it might have felt to achieve something without friends or family, he asks, "was Ben there?"

Reed is equally confused on the vernacular. He could describe in detail how a formula one vehicle is constructed, the hows and whys of its operation and design, but if it's not something that can be described by physics, chemistry, or the other sciences, he's usually not too interested.


"Nah, I burned anything bad off it just now," Johnny grins. "As for the demon thing? I dunno, there's probably an explanation you could make up for it that uses seven-syllable words, but it basically possessed one of the Vanderbilt brats," and Sue would know them as one of several too-rich-for-anyone's-good families with grown children who still acted like they were nine and ten, but with grown-up games. "It transformed one of them into a giant monstrous thing with claws and tentacles and too many eyes and stuff. And when I burned its body it tried to take over some guy on the street, but I put a ring of fire down around it, like the one that my doppelganger did, from that thing before when the 1800s steampunk-alchemy universe was trying to leak across and steal the lower east side."

Yeah, THAT adventure was before the two lovebirds went off on another trip together and left Johnny to run Sue's company. Which, yeah, he does owe her so it's not that bad.

"Anyway, the Wolf and the god of Fear killed it. Or sent it home. Whichever. If it wasn't a demon, it walked like a demon and quacked like one."

He grins at the reminder of the '500. "It's the first national level race we've won since I had to stop driving, and I'm chuffed. And, nah, Ben wasn't there. He had something to do with his aunt Petunia, he said." Does that woman really exist?


Susan's eyes squint at Johnny's story while her fingers rub at her temples in an effort to figure out if Johnny is serious or not. Finally deciding that he probably is, if only because it's too ridiculous a story otherwise, she asks, "So basically, this being could change average people into monsters?" She cringes lightly. "That can't be good." The notion of it being sent home is met with another dose of scepticism, "If it's not dead, is it possible it'd come back?" She turns to face Reed, "Demon or not, something that can alter beings on a molecular level should be taken seriously…"

Her lips twist to the side. "Maybe there's a way to figure out if there's more like it? I mean, the Vanderbilts aren't very pleasant people, but…" she frowns. "Who are the Wolf and god of Fear?"

Then chatter goes back to the race, "Well I'm proud of your team. Did you celebrate? Or…" her eyes scan the room quickly, "was this the celebration?"

She smirks at Reed's response about what they did. "We mostly worked." Her lips twist to the side. "And looked at things." As far as taking care of the company is concerned she clucks her tongue, "It'd do you good to maintain some of that responsibility. I need to finish writing this dissertation thing, and I think learning more of the business end is a good for you, baby brother."


"I get that, Sue, but I have my own business to run, and I still managed to keep the Foundation going, right? Anyway, yeah, you know I'll keep running things for you so you can work on your dissertation."

OK, this is the usual family dinner conversation, but fortunately they're not eating.

"This was my celebration, which was me and two of the drivers' families, because they couldn't go down to see it. I could've flown down but I thought you guys were still gone and I wanted to be here in case Doom or someone decided to do a holiday visit. So yeah, it was a little messy."

OK, that was the second most important question.

"And the demon thing. Honestly, I don't know from demons, you know that, I know that. I ashed its body. The Wolf is Jeremiah Wolfson. He's a … ranger, or something. The god of Fear is this guy who's been in the news. Phobos, I guess."

He puts the Wiffer(tm) away and goes over to hug Sue and Reed if Reed doesn't dodge.

"Good to have you guys back. I can stop being the only responsible guy around now."


Reed has no clue who the Vanderbelt family is, let alone their allegedly bratty children. But everything Johnny described could be explained away by science. With a bit of time, he could recreate it if he had the inclination or desire.

When Ben's Aunt Petunia is mentioned, Reed shrugs his shoulders. "I’ve known him for almost two decades, and I have yet to see, speak, or hear Petunia Grimm, but Ben swears that she does in fact exist." Reed has his doubts, but then again, for a while, he didn't believe there was a Yancy Street Gang until he saw it for himself.

"And it will be," Reed nods to Susan about the demon, "should it ever return. I'm sure that Johnny filed all relevant data in the computer, with any readings taken by his suit. I'll have a look at it later tonight." Did he just let it out that he's bugged their suits, did they know, and are they cool with that?

He agrees with Susan, but defers to her judgement. She's been something of a mother figure to her younger brother, ever since their mother died, and that is not something he wishes to intervene in, unless called upon. In a strange manner, he is akin to a stepfather.

Reed listens to everything Johnny has to say, considering it all. But he needs more than just a verbal explanation. He needs visuals, readings, details. What Johnny provided was hearsay and he deals with hard data. But he doesn't pull away from the hug. In fact, he embraces it, feeling happy to be home, and even happier to be with his family.


Susan reaches a hand to her neck, rubbing the back of her neck lightly as she issues Johnny a small nod. "I think," she begins, "maybe we should work on the Foundation together. My writing is…" her eyes narrow as she attempts to find a pragmatic word, finally settling on, "something. And it would seem focus isn't my strong suit these days. So help would be useful."

While Sue can get onboard with the idea of reviewing data, sceptically she eyes Reed. "Did you bug our suits?" Her eyebrows twitch into a solid V as she poses the question, her arms cross over her chest a little tighter, and her fingers drum against her opposite arms. "Were you reviewing the data from them while we were on our trip? That wasn't supposed to be a working trip—" She holds up a hand, "I'm writing a dissertation. I get a free pass on working."

Johnny also earns the same stance, "But you'll still be a responsible guy just the same… right?"


"Yeah, I'm sure he did. I mean, he secretly uploads the info from mine every time you guys come back to see if I've come up with any new tricks, or been attacked by any new technology," Johnny grins. Not that Reed seems to really make an effort to hide that he's doing that.

"Yeah, I'll def. be responsible, of course, but just … not the only one all the time."

He pauses for a second. "So. Where DID you guys go?"


As Susan began to rub the back of her neck with a hand, it would be aided by two more hands. Reed stretched his hands to gently massage the back of her neck and her shoulders, kneading any kinks out of it. So when she asks him if he bugged their suit, he answers honestly, "well, yes, sort of. It has an A.I. program." He's probably getting a look from both of them, as he tries to explain.

"It's triggered by a combination of adrenaline, anxiety, and several physiological factors." Then he backtracks, "it only activates when facing a supervillain of some description." Oh, he's not going to win this one. He really should have asked, but Reed sometimes just goes, this would be a good idea, and does it.

Then, when Sue asks him about their trip, he removes a hand from her neck to hold it up, "I swear I wasn't working on demon readings during our trip." But Reed doesn't believe in demons, or anything magical. He thinks of them as simply beings that need to be catalogued appropriately.

As for what they did, Reed explains, "We visited Xandar, where I spoke a scientific convention. We toured the Nova Corps, went to the Astilnok, the Plantennial, and the Swaltron. During the course of our trip, there was an emergency on Thanagar and we had to make a short stop over to assist with a crisis there."


"Good. Because responsibility needs to be," the hands at her shoulders help relieve some of the mounting tension, and despite herself, Sue's arms drift from their crossed position back to her sides, "shared." But the kinks obviously find their place again at the notion of A.I. technology built into their suits.

And along with the kinks, a small psionic mental push prods those magic fingers away from her neck. No touchy. Not when Sue is trying to get answers.

She looks at Johnny for a moment, her expression clearly asking, Are you okay with this? before she spins around to face Reed. "Seriously? I don't think I believe you." Her blue eyes squint as if squinting will aid her in assessing whether Reed is telling the truth or not. What she doesn't believe is left vague. "I am perfectly capable of handling myself. And I don't need every single word recorded."

The discussion of Xandar has her falling silent while she finally sits on the couch that might need to be burned.


"I don't mind it, Sue. If I don't want Reed recording me I just don't wear the suit. It's not like he'd do anything weird with the data, right?"

Johnny perhaps doesn't mind so much because, well, he and his racing team use something similar to monitor them when they're racing. Nowhere NEAR as fancy or detailed, but for a while now, race drivers have had their vitals on the screen for the pit crews.

"Oh, speaking of monitoring, NASA contacted the Future Foundation again to ask when your space drive will be safe enough for them to start licensing it. I told them you were still testing it."


The fingers withdraw when the invisible force pushes them away from Sue's neck, and Reed retracts back to a normal person's stretchiness. Reed looks serious. He also looks like he doesn't believe he did anything wrong. "Susan, I installed those in the last upgrade to help us identify threats."

He's had version of that built into his own uniform for years, but he only recently started recording his teammates during battles. "… if you want, I can deactivate them. I… I was only trying to help." He slumps into a seat on the couch, near Sue, but not right up against her.

He puts his face in his hands, feeling like a heel, but thankful for Johnny's support. Looking up from those hands, he says, "thanks Johnny, on both counts." He appreciated the support, and he's glad that Johnny told them to wait. After all the troubles they've had over the years with the government, he's just not sure that the time is right to advance human technology that far. The galaxy is no place for amateurs. He learned that the hard way.


Johnny's cavalier attitude about being recorded doesn't help Sue's case. Not even a little. She pinches the bridge of her nose and attempts to explain: "It's not the intention that's the problem. It's the not knowing about it. Or talking about it. And just doing it." She sighs. "It's the whole 'just because something can be done should it?' thing. And maybe it should. I'm sure the data is helpful, but it still needs to be discussed. And the violation of privacy. And trust. I just… would like to be considered when it comes to my own body."

She presses the heels of her palms against her eyes and leans back into the couch. Purposively, she forces her hand back to her sides, emitting a quiet sigh as she does so. "I hope NASA hasn't been too challenging. They need to recognize things take time."


"Huh. Sis, I kinda always figure he's just always doing that kind of thing. He's always been like this. It's not really disrespect," but then Johnny really knows better than to push this. He's pretty much figured that getting between Sue and Reed is an excellent way to accidentally take an invisible baseball at 300 miles an hour upside the head.

"Nah, no challenge. I just go all blond on them," Johnny laughs. "Aw, gosh, Mr. Undersecretary, I don't even know what those patents would look like, I mean, I just work here."


This wasn't the first time that Reed has done something asking permission. It's not even the tenth. But he's honest enough not to say it won't happen again. It will. But he does say, "I’m sorry about that Susan. Sometimes I can see the benefits and just act. I'll deactivate it on all our suits tonight, and leave it that way until the team has discussed it and chosen a course of action."

Reed is thankful for Johnny's humour, even if it wasn't intended to be taken as such. "Johnny, that's a stereotype, and you really shouldn't be doing anything to prolong its use. Follicle pigmentation has no correlation with intelligence whatsoever, and the sooner people realise that, the better. However, I do feel that blondes have more fun warrants further study."


Susan's eyes tick between the men, her case clearly being lost, at least in translation, if not altogether. She nods once, only to stop herself mid-action: "Unless this counts as a discussion." Which it might. She forces a weak smile. She takes solace in the acknowledgement that she'd like to be asked, even if no one understands why.

She allows the discussion to turn to blondes because that's lighter in all things. "I wonder if the strategy works for all blondes?" Her eyes lid lightly and she tries to envision herself playing stupid. It's not the best visual she can create of herself. "I think any study about blondes' fun would be pure social science and how others react to them. Probably the stereotype causes others to treat them different." She speaks as if she is not, in fact, blonde. Like somehow she's outside this scenario.


Johnny grins at that. He did, in fact, learn the blond trick by watching Sue deflect the attentions of pushy boys when she was in high-school… pretending not to understand their pushy questions. Although, technically, it didn't necessarily work because she was blonde. They just thought it was her being blonde and not smarter than them. And he grins at the way she gets all sciencey — big sis has always been more than people saw in her.

"It could count as a discussion. How about, Reed puts an opt-in mode on the monitors. That way if we're, like, somewhere that we'd like to have the info available we can turn it on, and otherwise we can turn it off?" Johnny asks.


"It certainly could function as the discussion of the surveillance issue, if you wished, but I thought you might appreciate looking at the stimulus particulars that trigger the recording devices, and have everyone present, before we discussed it Susan."

But as the conversation transitions to the blondes, Reed cracks a joke, a rarity, "I happen to think I have been studying whether or not blondes have more fun for some time now," and he winks at Sue. "Dare I say it, it has been the single most interesting, thought provoking, and exhilarating study of my entire scientific career."

And then Johnny goes and turns the discussion back to the monitoring device, "that is certainly possible. In fact, I am sure that yours could be coded by the mention of flame on and flame off."


"Any conclusions, Doctor Richards?" Sue's head cants to the side to catch Reed's gaze. Mischief colours her expression, an easy playfulness that causes her smile to extend from one ear to the next. "Or still need more data? I'd hate to rush any analysis before hearing your conclusions."

The topic of uniforms has Susan's teeth playing at her bottom lip and she muses, "I would like to see the triggers, but, I also think we can agree that missing out on important data in the meantime could be problematic." There's easy appreciation for what the intention had been all along. Johnny's suggestion gets the Susan Storm seal of approval. "I like that. I'd like to be able to turn it off and on as needed. And that should satisfy everyone involved." She pointedly raises her fingers in the air, taking a count of what it offers, "We'll have a better understanding of who we're up against. Maybe a better understanding of our physiology. And control over the tech."


"I'm pretty sure the Pet Rock will agree when he gets back from Poker, since it means you can get more data about ways to let him turn back when he wants to," Johnny says, "so, I like mine being 'flame on' and 'flame off' since I don't have to say those words, I just do it for drama."

Johnny opens the door of the coffee table/storage in front of the couch that might have to burn, and peers inside. A half bag of cheetohs. Breakfast!

"Cheetoh?" he says, offering the bag to Sue.


"Oh, this is a strictly long term analysis, something I plan to study for many years, perhaps even the rest of my life," but, realising where that line of thought ventures, he clears his throat, pretending to have a scratch in it. Reed pulls out his smart phone, which looks like any smart phone, except his can project holograms, and he sets it to play on a delayed loop the parameters of the sensor array. It may not make much sense to Johnny, but Sue will understand it.

He winces at the mention of Ben's plight. It is his greatest setback, the one regret in a lifetime of success. Subconsciously, his hand stretches out for Susan's. "Ah, Ben…" but then Johnny pulls out Cheetoh's for breakfast, "Cheetoh's Johnny, really?"


Reed's thought about collecting data prompts a dimple to form on the blonde woman's cheek. He's sent a soft smile in turn, but otherwise, the thought is left to the ether. Not pushed or prodded. Not in this corner anyways. Instead, Susan allows herself to be distracted by the hologram, her eyes squinting to bring the image into focus. Her forehead creases as her face scrunches to understand everything contained therein.

Even as she watches the phone, she offers Reed's hand a quick squeeze and interlocks her fingers with his. It's only when her eyes peel away from the specs that she side glances Johnny, "It'd be nice if you stopped calling him that. But yeah, I think he'll be fine with it. The parameters seem to make sense."

The Cheetos are regarded with skepticism, but Reed has already asked the question, earning a small shrug followed by, "Not exactly part of a well-balanced diet. Unless synthetic cheese is now on the food guide."


"It's after ten in the morning," Johnny points out. "And it's the same as corn puffs, just with all-natural processed cheese food product and hot spicy instead of sugar syrup. I could pour milk on it but that would be gross."

He looks at the holo-display. It's mostly a bunch of lines. If he knew what the labels meant it might help, yeah, clearly there was pulse and ekg and blood pressure but what the heck is n/s3 and kkz and how come they're plotted into a 3-d space? Nerdstuff.

"I'll stop calling him pet rock when he stops calling me matchstick," Johnny says. "Besides, if I didn't pester him when he gets into those gloom and doom brain-spiral-down-drain things, he'd be off in that ratty trench coat shambling through the Projects, and nobody needs that."


"Susan, please don't get me started on the food guide." He shakes his head, "a disproportionate amount of dairy due to advocacy groups, too much protein, too many calories, and not enough vegetables. They were originally designed to give us the qualities the government looks for in soldiers." It's a sore spot for him. He hates when politics clouds science.

Nodding to Johnny, Reed says, "in their own way, they provide moral support for each other. A symbiotic relationship, of give and take, and in its own way, as close as our own." He gives her hand another squeeze, their fingers still entwined. Though Johnny might not like that Reed just said that he and Ben were a plutonic couple, there is of coruse the chance that Johnny might have missed the suggestion.


Even if Johnny misses Reed's insinuation, Susan certainly doesn't. A fan of fingers is pressed lightly over her lips to conceal the chuckle that dares to escape. Evidently the whole thing is quite comical to her. She squeezes Reed's hand a little tighter and she can't help but try to envision Johnny and Ben frolicking hand in hand. Once she manages to push that picture in her head, she observes, "I suspect our relationship is very different than theirs." She shrugs and then looks back towards Johnny, her snickers requiring concealment once more as her palm clamps over her lips.

Her throat clears, "I have been wrong before." And can admit she'll be wrong again. Back on the subject of Cheetos for breakfast, however, she hmmms, "Well corn puffs don't count as adult breakfast either."


Johnny doesn't miss it either, and he quirks an eyebrow and deliberately eats a cheetoh at Sue when her hand goes into 'no laughs escape my lips' mode.

"This is not a complete breakfast. I'll probably get a sandwich downstairs since I think that Raylene's kids ate my refrigerator down to the bare metal yesterday."

He takes another handful, though, because while incomplete, it's adjacent to his future nutritious breakfast.


Reed isn't sure why Susan is working so hard to stifle a smile, but then, he doesn't have her imagination. He was being serious when he judged Johnny and Ben to be involved in a symbiotic co-dependent relationship. Any psychiatrist would agree with him. Though most might have found a more tactful way of describing it, not so clinical as Reed was.

Though the thought does cross his mind, wondering if Johnny and Ben have ever showered together, as Sue and Reed had earlier in the day. And that makes him break into a smile. Yes, Mister serious, Reed Richards, actually smiles and laughs at the mental image of Ben and Johnny in the shower, and something about a dropped bar of soap.

"Sorry Johnny," he shakes his head, "sorry, but, yes, you should get a sandwich, in fact, I'll make it for you." Anything to escape the mental image of the flaming one and the ever loving blue eyed Thing…

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