#ucm

Johnny reveled in the idea of never being afraid of anything.

He had never once trembled when fighting an enemy: from Galactus to the Mole Man, he was always there—steady, defiant, with that trademark grin and unshakable confidence. Johnny Storm always knew what to do. Always ready, always fast, always willing to throw himself into the chaos before anyone else.

But from the very first moment he heard his daughter’s cry in that delivery room…

Something inside him changed.

That sound—so fragile, and yet so powerful—cut through him in a way nothing and no one ever had before. When he finally held his daughter in his arms, Johnny didn’t look like the same man who had faced monsters without blinking. He was trembling, his hands sweaty, his eyes wide as if terrified of holding her the wrong way, as if the smallest movement might hurt her. She was so tiny, so light, that he was almost afraid to breathe too hard.

You watched him from your hospital bed, exhausted but unable to stop smiling at the sight. You had never seen him so focused on anything that wasn’t a battle, a joke, or his own reflection in the mirror.

Johnny spent long minutes just staring at her in silence, rocking her gently in his arms with that sweet clumsiness of someone who wants to do everything right but isn’t sure how. From time to time, his gaze grew cloudy, and though he tried to hide it, you could see how his eyes started to glisten.

"Are you okay, Johnny?" you asked, breaking the silence with a soft laugh as he lifted his gaze to you for a moment before dropping it quickly back down.

"Yeah…" he murmured, sniffing, his voice slightly unsteady. "It’s just that she’s… she’s…"

He didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t. But you understood immediately.

"I know," you replied softly, your eyes following your daughter’s tiny head from the bed. Her little golden tufts glowed under the light of the room, so much like her father’s that it was impossible not to smile. "She’s beautiful."

Johnny nodded slowly. Finally, a genuine smile crossed his face, and his tense shoulders began to ease.

"Yeah… but she’s so small," he whispered, lowering his voice even further, as if afraid to wake her. "The truth is… I’m a little nervous right now." He let out a shaky laugh, tilting his head as he watched her sleep.

You frowned, curious.

It was the first time you had ever heard him say something like that. The man who joked even in the most dangerous situations, who never showed fear, was admitting something you never thought he would. And yet, seeing him like this didn’t make him seem weaker in your eyes—if anything, it made him even stronger.

●●●

But that was only the beginning of your torment.

Johnny had become unbearable because of his little girl.

Even though they had filled the entire building with all kinds of baby-proof measures, nothing was enough for Johnny. Your daughter couldn’t even crawl yet, and he had already fortified the entire floor: all the rooms secured, doors with special locks, furniture corners padded, and even the outlets covered with triple protection. Back then, it still seemed normal to you, even kind of cute, because you thought it would pass with time.

Even when you caught him at dawn, sitting in front of the crib, eyes red with sleep but body tense, making sure the baby was breathing well and that there was nothing nearby she could choke on. It made you laugh a little to see him fighting his own eyelids while murmuring, “Everything is under control,” as if he was in the middle of a mission.

But then the baby kept growing.

And with growth came new problems. First, she started crawling, fast like a little rocket escaping everywhere. Then, she began pulling herself up using the crib bars. And then, the worst: wanting to climb as if she was training for a competition.

That’s when your real headache began.

"Johnny, just decide on one of the two. There are only two options!" you raised your voice, tired, rocking your daughter in your arms.

He was standing in front of the two cribs in the store, striking a ridiculously solemn pose, one hand on his jaw and eyes narrowed, as if analyzing high-tech weapons.

"Hey, this is a tough decision, alright?" he replied without looking at you, turning his head from one crib to the other. "This little one is too clever to jump the barrier. We have to choose the safest option."

You rolled your eyes. "I already told you to pick the second one. The bars are higher, that will surely work until she’s four and we have to buy her a small bed."

Just imagining that in two and a half years you’d have to go through the same process made you sigh in frustration.

But Johnny seemed immune to your exhaustion. He glanced at his daughter, then at the crib, then back to the baby, several times, as if comparing invisible proportions. Finally, he stretched out his arms to take the baby from you with an almost triumphant smile.

"Let’s try with this one," he said, crouching and using that high-pitched voice he only used when talking to the baby. Carefully, he placed her in the second crib.

Your daughter looked at both of you with curiosity, first at you, then at her father, as if she understood this was an important test. Johnny began to coax her with gentle pats on the mattress. You crossed your arms, waiting to see what would happen.

The baby slowly stood up, resting her little hands on the bars and, as soon as she managed to stand, she tried to push herself up. Her tiny body seemed too small for so much determination, but there she was: pushing with her legs as if she was seriously going to climb.

Your mouth fell open in disbelief. "Johnny, she’s going to fall!" you exclaimed, stepping forward.

But he was already laughing, proud, and lifted her before she could make the next move. He hugged her tightly against his chest and planted a loud kiss on her forehead.

"See? It’s not an easy decision," he told you with a mischievous smile, never taking his eyes off you while stroking the baby. "That’s why our daughter is lucky... because daddy will build her a safe crib."

"What?" you blinked incredulously. "Johnny, we’re not going to build a crib from scratch!"

"Of course we are," he insisted, puffing his chest with pride. "Do you know anyone better than me to do it? I’ll make the safest crib, the strongest, the—"

"Fireproof?" you interrupted him sarcastically.

Johnny smiled even more, giving the baby a little kiss on the nose. "Exactly. Proof against everything. Because my daughter deserves the best."

●●●

"What is he doing?" murmured Ben behind you. Both of you were looking in the same direction, wearing the same mix of confusion and amusement on your faces.

"According to him… a crib," you answered, crossing your arms while your brow furrowed deeply.

Johnny was on the floor, surrounded by metal pieces, loose screws, and a couple of poorly folded blueprints. He had been struggling for quite a while with what was supposed to be the crib he had designed and welded himself, because, in his own words, “no one else was going to touch his baby’s crib.” And there he was, sweating, grumbling, and muttering curses under his breath while trying to fit two pieces together… only for them to fall onto each other with a loud metallic clang.

Ben couldn’t hold back a deep, rumbling laugh that echoed through the entire room, which made Johnny immediately turn around, face flushed red and a screwdriver in hand like it was a weapon. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, though it was already too late—your eyes were sparkling with amusement.

Johnny looked at you both, offended, pointing at you with the tool.

"If you’re here just to make fun of me, you better leave," he threatened, while Ben doubled over with laughter.

You shrugged calmly.

"For someone who makes fun of everyone else, you sure ask for a lot, Jonathan Storm," you reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

He huffed, offended but keeping his hands on the crooked pieces.

"I joke about everything, but not about my little girl," he said seriously, turning back to his “masterpiece.”

"But you’re an idiot!" Ben burst out laughing, pointing at the mountain of parts that looked more like an impossible puzzle than a crib. "I doubt you’ll manage to build anything with that. Why didn’t you at least ask Reed to draw up the plans?"

"I don’t need Reed, or anyone else, got it?" Johnny snapped with that stubbornness that was so typical of him.

You rolled your eyes. You knew perfectly well this would end badly. Ben leaned toward you, still laughing.

"Don’t you think his overprotectiveness is going just a little too far?" he asked in a low, amused voice.

You patted his shoulder, shaking your head.

"Don’t even try, Ben. I already did and it didn’t work," you warned him, remembering the countless arguments you’d had with Johnny over the subject.

Meanwhile, Johnny seemed determined to prove to both of you that he could handle the challenge. He even used a small burst of flame at his fingertips to weld a piece that refused to fit. The result: a burnt chunk of metal and a strong smell of scorched iron.

"When you see how this crib turns out, you’re going to feel ashamed of doubting me," he declared, puffing out his chest as if he were about to march into an epic battle.

Ben let out another laugh.

"Sure, champ. The little Storm is going to sleep safe and sound… on that pile of junk?" he said, pointing at the mess of pieces.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, and laughter slipped past your lips, which only made Johnny glare at you even more indignantly. You tried to compose yourself, but the situation was far too ridiculous.

Minutes passed in failed attempts. Johnny knelt, lifted a piece, placed it in position, and within seconds, it collapsed, taking two others down with it. Dull thuds against the floor, screws rolling across the room, and Johnny’s constant swearing filled the air. Ben leaned against the wall, enjoying the spectacle as if it were the best comedy movie he had ever seen.

Finally, when Johnny managed to lift what looked like the side of the crib, it came crashing down immediately, collapsing the entire structure in seconds. The metallic noise was so loud that even Ben stopped laughing for a moment in surprise, and you had to cover your mouth to keep from bursting out with another, louder laugh.

Johnny stared at the wreckage, still holding the screwdriver, a blond strand of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He let out a defeated sigh.

"…Maybe… just maybe…" he murmured in a tired voice. "…Reed could give me a hand with this."

Ben couldn’t take it anymore and broke out in laughter, doubling over as if his stomach hurt from laughing so hard. You, on the other hand, walked over to Johnny and gently rubbed his back, offering a little comfort as you watched him surrender.

"That sounds much better," you told him softly, with a small smile.

Johnny huffed, letting the screwdriver drop.

"I don’t want him to think I can’t do it alone," he admitted in almost a whisper.

You pressed his back a little more firmly.

"No one said you had to do it alone," you replied calmly. "Besides, if it’s about your little girl, the important thing is that she’s safe, right?"

Johnny lifted his gaze toward you, defeated but with a spark of tenderness in his eyes. In the end, he nodded slowly, accepting that, for once, he couldn’t do it on his own.

●●●

"This crib is perfect," you murmured with shining eyes, gazing at it as if it were the most important piece in the entire room. The wood gleamed, the bars were tall—far too tall for your daughter to even dream of reaching—the mattress looked soft yet firm, and the painted details gave it a colorful touch that seemed made exactly for her.

Johnny turned toward you with a proud smile, puffing out his chest.

"And I built it all by myself," he emphasized, as if it were necessary to remind you for the umpteenth time.

You rolled your eyes affectionately and nodded, stepping closer to him.

"Yes, you did very well, babe" you replied before giving him a soft kiss on the lips. But the moment was interrupted by a sweet babble coming from Johnny’s arms, forcing you both to pull away with stifled laughter.

"Well…" your husband sighed, looking at her with excitement. "It’s the moment of truth."

He leaned down slowly and placed the baby onto the mattress. She blinked a couple of times, curious, and began moving her tiny hands as if she already wanted to explore. Both of you leaned over the crib, caressing her arms, encouraging her with soft words to try standing up. The little girl clung tightly to the bars and, after an adorable effort, managed to pull herself up, wobbling, though she was clearly nowhere near reaching the top.

Johnny raised his fist in victory, beaming with joy.

"See?! I told you, it’s perfect," he exclaimed triumphantly.

You couldn’t help laughing and clapping at his success.

"Alright, I admit it… you did a great job," you said, enjoying the enthusiasm lighting up his face.

"This is perfect!" Johnny shouted, still celebrating as if he had just saved the world all over again.

But then, a loud crack shattered the joy.

Both of you turned immediately to the crib. The sight froze you in place: the baby, with all the innocence in the world, was holding one of the bars in her tiny hands as if it were nothing more than a toy she had just yanked free.

Your eyes widened. In a second, you scooped her up quickly, pulling her away from the mattress and the piece of wood she was still clutching with delight.

"You didn’t secure the bars?!" you yelled at Johnny, frowning in indignation.

Still in shock, Johnny dropped to his knees in front of the crib, running his hands over the gap where the bar had been. He tried tugging on another, pulling with all the strength he had, but nothing moved. They were solid, firmly in place.

You exchanged a look of confusion. Johnny ran his hand along the edge of the empty slot and discovered small ridges in the wood, as if the pressure had given way at that exact point. It wasn’t a construction mistake. It was brute force.

You swallowed hard, slowly turning toward your daughter. She, completely oblivious to her parents’ panic, smiled brightly at you, rosy cheeks glowing and pure happiness shining in her eyes.

Johnny looked at the destroyed bar, then at the baby in your arms, then back at the empty gap in the crib. His pride in having built it crumbled in an instant.

"Keeping her safe is gonna be mission impossible, huh?".