{Chapter: 36 - Becoming A Therapist For The Bombshell?}
Aiden stirred from a brief, restless nap as a quiet knock echoed through the door. His eyes blinked open, still clouded by the fog of fatigue and the weight of unresolved thoughts. When the door slowly creaked open and Susan stepped inside, his lips curled into a familiar smirk, though his voice held a certain gravity beneath the charm.
"Hey, beautiful," he said softly, as if trying to ease the tension with warmth. "I knew you wouldn't leave without seeing me."
Susan stood frozen for a few seconds, eyes locked onto him, her lips slightly parted. Her heart raced—not from fear, but from the flood of emotion crashing over her. Relief, confusion, guilt. He wasn't angry. He wasn't distant. He was still him. For now.
"I… I came to apologize," she finally said, her voice low but unwavering. "For everything. For me… for Johnny. We judged you too quickly. We let fear and assumption blind us."
Aiden tilted his head, his smile deepening—but not without weight. There was a flicker in his eyes, something unreadable. Something tired. "Come in," he murmured. "We can talk without anyone getting in the way."
As she stepped forward, Aiden quietly closed the door behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing like a seal on a moment neither of them fully understood yet. He turned to her with that familiar spark dancing in his eyes—a teasing smirk tugging at his lips, one meant to loosen the weight wrapped around her chest.
"And don't apologize, beautiful," he said, voice smooth like velvet dipped in mischief. "If my ascenders ever heard I made a woman as stunning—and fierce—as you say sorry, I'd have them storming in here with pitchforks and a ten-page lecture on 'emotional intelligence.'"
He grinned, then added with a wink, "...and probably forced me into a 'how not to upset beautiful women' training course. Again."
Then, quieter, more serious, "As for Johnny… he's already faced what he needed to. But this isn't about revenge. It's about the truth. And trust."
A small smile tugged at Susan's lips despite herself, a flicker of warmth breaking through the haze of guilt and confusion. His words, his tone—it was clear he was doing his best to make this feel lighthearted, even if everything inside her felt like a storm barely held together.
She stepped closer and sat down on the edge of the bed he'd just woken from, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she spoke. "Even though it was all a misunderstanding… and yes, Johnny was reckless for attacking you—he was just trying to protect me. That's all. So why punish him by taking away what defines him? His powers?"
Aiden leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his expression shifting into something more serious—though the twinkle in his eye never left. "Because Johnny Storm wouldn't have lasted long in the hero game with that childish bravado, his inflated ego, and that charming talent for running into explosions first and asking questions later."
He took a step closer, voice dropping to a smooth, persuasive tone. "There are only two ways that road ends for someone like him: he matures... or he dies. I simply gave him a preview of option one to keep him from ending up in option two. Consider it a favor."
Susan raised an eyebrow. "A favor that comes with power removal? That's some tough love."
Aiden grinned. "Well, if I didn't do it, who else was going to? Reed? Please. That man lectures better than he loves. Besides…"—he tapped his temple playfully—"I was gentle. I didn't take everything."
Her brow furrowed slightly as curiosity overtook concern.
"I left him a way back," Aiden continued. "Thanks to the cosmic storm that gave you all your abilities, there's residual cosmic energy in your bodies. So technically, Johnny's powers aren't completely gone. I left a sliver, a spark. He'll regain them eventually. Maybe in six months. Maybe two years. Maybe two weeks, if Reed gets his act together and focuses on this issue alone and stops treating science like a marriage substitute."
That earned a laugh from Susan—short, genuine, and surprising even to herself.
"Until then," Aiden added, taking a step closer, voice lowering just enough to make her pulse skip, "maybe you can teach him a few things about humility… and heroism. He listens to you. Sometimes. And next time…"—his gaze locked on hers—"…try not to get blackout drunk just because Stretchy-McEmotionless decided to run another emotional experiment on your heart."
Susan snorted. "Wow. So now you're a relationship expert too?"
"Only with the dangerously beautiful kind who storm into my life and leave chaos in their wake," he said with a wink. "And for the record… you look much better sober, but I do kind of miss drunk-you calling me 'hotter than Doom in armor.'"
Her face flushed instantly. "I did not say that."
"You did. Twice. And I've treasured it ever since."
She shook her head, but the smile she gave him was softer this time—grateful, amused, and laced with something uncertain. Something unspoken.
Susan sat there, her fingers loosely laced in her lap, a blush creeping onto her cheeks—not from flirtation, but from shame. The chaos of the last few hours weighed on her like gravity was tugging at her thoughts. She finally exhaled and murmured, "Thank you."
Aiden smiled gently, brushing a hand through his hair with practiced ease. "It is a gentleman's duty to help a lady. And whatever we talked about here… should stay between us."
He moved with a lazy confidence, strolling past her until he raised a hand—and with a subtle flex of telekinesis, pulled a small table across the room. It glided smoothly through the air before gently landing in front of her.
Susan flinched slightly, caught off guard. Her body tensed instinctively at the display of closeness. Her emotions, already frayed, gave a quick lurch. For a second, no one would have been able to guess what she was thinking— as she didn't let it show on her face she also quickly reined herself in. She arched an elegant brow at him, her posture stiff but composed—as if to say, Really? What are you doing now?
Aiden didn't notice as she didn't let them on her face, And with a soft, amused chuckle, he leaned forward on the edge of the table.
"You know, Sue… if someone isn't respecting you in a relationship—if they don't listen, if they treat your voice like background noise—it's okay to walk away. It's better to break a few hearts than to live every day crying and blaming yourself for staying quiet."
She folded her arms, not looking at him, but not looking away either. Now she was sure she told him more than she even knew she had in her heart. Her lips were pursed, as though trying to hold back a flood of things she wouldn't—or couldn't—say aloud.
"I know it's personal," Aiden added, voice lowering to something warmer, "and maybe I am just a stranger you met a few hours ago, but even this stranger can see what's written in someone's eyes."
Susan finally looked at him. A sharp, defensive look. "And what exactly do you see in mine?"
He smiled—not mockingly, but with the confidence of someone who had seen too much of people's pain and learned to recognize the patterns. "I see a woman who's tired of explaining her heart to a man who only listens to equations. I see someone who's always been the glue, holding a team together, but no one notices unless she's coming apart. I see… a woman too used to putting herself last. I see… someone who's scared that if she stops holding it all in, everything might fall apart—and worse, no one would care enough to help pick up the pieces."
That struck something.
Her arms tightened. Her fingers pressed into her sleeves. She looked away, blinking faster than she wanted to.
"You're not a therapist, Aiden," she muttered.
"No," he said, with a grin. "But I'm excellent at reading beautiful minds. Especially ones that belong to bombshells who could give Aphrodite a run for her money."
She snorted—surprised by the ridiculousness of it. She tried not to smile. Failed. "Flattery won't make me feel better."
"Didn't say it would, Just hoping it might give your smile a reason to hang around a little longer." he replied. "And sometimes a little smile helps you carry the weight better."
He leaned in, voice softening. "You do know you're a bombshell, right? Any man lucky enough to be with you would have Lady Luck's hand on his shoulder so tightly, he'd bruise."
Susan laughed—an involuntary, breathy sound. She covered her mouth, then dropped her hand and shook her head. "You're impossible."
"Only when someone's letting their worth get dimmed by someone who doesn't even know how to hold it properly."
Her expression sobered again. "Reed's not a bad person. He's just… he's wired differently. Always has been. Doom was a nightmare. Reed is… frustrating, not cruel."
"Yes, I'm sure he's not a bad person. Just emotionally removed—tethered more to quantum math than to the people who love him. And yet," Aiden said softly, "you're still not happy. You're here. Sitting with a stranger. Trying not to cry. That says a lot."
Susan looked down at her hands. She didn't argue.
Aiden's voice dropped to something gentler, steadier—like he was speaking to her soul now. "You don't have to orbit around anyone else's gravity. Not Doom. Not Reed. Not Johnny. Not the team. You are not a side note in someone else's story. You're Susan Storm. A force of nature. You've been breaking quietly for a long time. You know how many people would trade everything just to stand at your side?"