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8am, The Baxter Building, breakfast.
HERBIE’s voice chirped over the clink of dishes. “Franklin Richards: eleven months old as of zero-eight-hundred hours. Current weight: twenty-four pounds, three ounces. Height: seventy-four-point-two centimeters. Head circumference: forty-six-point-five centimeters. Number of teeth: six. Number of times he has pulled Ben’s ear this week: twelve.”
Ben grunted. “Feels like more.”
“Probability of projectile spit-up during today’s meals: twenty-nine percent. Probability of first word occurring within the next thirty days: sixty-eight-point-two percent.”
Reed looked up from his coffee. “Actually, HERBIE’s estimation is close. Statistically, most infants produce their first intelligible word between eleven and fourteen months; around seventy percent between—”
Johnny’s head snapped up. “So it could be any day now? Perfect! Let’s make a bet.”
“Johnny. Grow up.” Sue said coolly, buttering her toast.
Johnny was by no means discouraged. He grinned at his big sister. “Too late. When his first words turn out to be ‘Flame on,’ I promise you I’ll be insufferable.”
“You already are,” Ben muttered.
Sue sighed.
10am, Living Room
Johnny sat cross-legged on the floor, Franklin plopped in front of him on a soft little rug.
“Okay, kid, here you go,” Johnny whispered, holding up a tiny action figure, a miniature Human Torch. Johnny pressed a small button on the base, the action figure started beeping enthusiastically, “Flame on! Flame on!”
Johnny leaned in, making sure Franklin’s eyes were trained on the action figure. Slowly, carefully, Johnny enunciated, “F… la… me… on. Flame… on.”
He handed the figure over. “C’mon. Just two little words. Flame… on.”
Franklin grabbed the toy and promptly began to chew on its head.
Johnny’s face fell. He sighed, prying the toy free. “That’s not the part you’re supposed to copy, genius.”
Just as Johnny was gearing himself up to try again, Ben strolled into the living room, hands in his pockets and with a knowing smirk on his face.
Johnny’s eyes darted towards Ben then back to the toy figure in his hand. In one lightning fast move, he snatched his hand behind his back and immediately started pretending to play with Franklin, who was happily babbling beside him.
Ben’s gaze sharpened. He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “Johnny.”
Johnny froze, caught. He forced an innocent grin. “Hey, uh, Ben. Nothing to see here. Just… you know, spending time with this magical baby here.”
Ben narrowed his eyes. He crossed his arms, unimpressed. Johnny wilted slightly under his gaze. Ben let Johnny sweat for a few more seconds, then he turned to Franklin and said, “Nap time, kiddo.”
Before Johnny could protest, Ben scooped up Franklin, who yawned and rubbed his eyes.
They walked out of the living room. Johnny sighed, “Guess I’ll have to try again later.”
3pm, Franklin’s Nursery
A well-rested Franklin sat comfortably on the couch, happily nibbling on a handful of baby puffs. Beside him sat Ben, eating his adult popcorn. The TV was playing an old Fantastic Four cartoon—Ben was squaring up a villain, bellowing “It’s clobberin’ time!”
Sue strolled past the open nursery door, catching sight of Ben and Franklin on the couch. She paused; after a moment of hesitation, she doubled back and stepped through the doorway. Leaning on the doorframe with an eyebrow raised, she spoke up, “Ben, what’s going on here?”
Ben kept his eyes on the screen. “Just watching a cartoon with my favorite nephew.”
Sue’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Hmm, that episode sure looks… familiar.”
Ben was unfazed. “Yeah, HERBIE picked it out at random. Must be fate, huh?”
Franklin giggled at the screen.
7pm, Dinner in the Baxter Building
Dinner was anything but peaceful.
“—he’s obviously gonna say ‘Flame on’ first,” Johnny was saying, jabbing a fork in Ben’s direction.
“In yer dreams, matchstick. Kid’s got good taste. ‘It’s clobberin’ time’ is way more fun to say.”
Reed, seated between them, attempted a diplomatic interjection. “The statistical likelihood, based on phoneme acquisition patterns, is overwhelmingly in favor of ‘mama’ or ‘dada.’ Complex consonant clusters such as those in ‘clobbering’ and ‘flame’—”
“No way.” Johnny ignored Reed completely. “Flame on’ is way catchier.”
“Clobberin’ is iconic!” Ben shot back.
Voices rose.
“Boys.” Sue attempted to put a stop to this. They ignored her.
Sue set down her fork with exaggerated care, “You two are setting a terrible example for Franklin. If I hear one more word of this—just one more word—I’m going to put each of you in a soundproof force-field.”
Johnny was too riled up to give up this squabble. He opened his mouth, “Then please tell this one that—”
A force-field materialized around his head, shimmering and fluorescent.
Ben barked out a laugh, “Ha Ha Ha! Not so hot now, are—”
A second force-field popped into place, a slightly bigger one, but no less shimmery.
Dinner was much more peaceful afterwards.
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That night, Sue tucked Franklin in while Reed distracted Johnny and Ben with an “urgent experiment.”
At 11pm, all the day-time commotions died down, the lights went out, and the Baxter building settled into a rare, peaceful night.
Hours later, Sue stirred awake to the faint murmur of voices on the baby monitor. She reached out an arm—Reed’s side of the bed was empty.
Curiosity piqued, she slipped out of bed and padded quietly down the hall towards Franklin’s nursery. Pausing in the doorway, she caught sight of Reed sitting with Franklin. A small smile touched her lips. Better turn invisible, she thought, I don’t want to disturb them.
Reed sat in the rocker, Franklin nestled in the crook of one arm. With his free hand, he held out a framed photo of Sue—the one that had stood on his bedside table for as long as she remembered, now evidently borrowed just for this. The soft lamplight spilled over them, painting gentle gold across Reed’s face and silvering strands of his white hair. It caught in Franklin’s golden curls, making him look even more like a little angel.
Reed pointed at the picture. “Mama,” he said softly, enunciating each syllable with care. “Ma… ma.” He smiled and tapped the frame gently, then touched Franklin’s chest. “Your mama.”
Franklin stared at the photo, his little brows knitting as if trying to puzzle out some profound secret of the universe.
Reed repeated it again. “This is Mama. She is the bravest person you will ever meet.”
Franklin reached for the photo. Reed smiled. “Once, when the world was in danger, Mama stood in front of an army and made them stand down.” His voice softened even more, almost a whisper now. “She stood tall and fair, and so brave… the brightest and mightiest existence in all that chaos.”
Reed’s voice turned reverent. “This is Mama. She is the one question that doesn’t have an answer; she is my theory that ends with an ellipsis.”
He glanced down at Franklin, tidying his curls. “She is my hypothesis that no experiments can prove…”
Franklin’s eyes grew heavy. Reed continued, softer still. “She is the one mystery that I cannot solve…”
Franklin’s eyes fluttered shut. Reed held him close for a few seconds longer, then he got up, careful not to jostle Franklin. He laid him back in the crib and tucked him in.
Reed straightened, and there—standing quietly in the doorway, was Sue. His eyes widened. He paused, then asked softly, “How much did you hear?”
“Since you held out the photo.”
“Oh…" Reed trailed off. "I woke up and went to check on Franklin. He was awake and didn’t want to go back to sleep. So I started telling him stories…”
Sue stepped forward and reached for his hand; she entwined her fingers with his. “You know I don’t care what his first word is, right?”
“I know.” Reed nodded. He looked down to their entwined fingers. After a long, pregnant pause, he whispered, “But I still want it to be ‘Mama.’”
Sue’s answering smile was warm and radiant. She gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Together they left the room, closing the door quietly behind them.