She meets with Fury and Maria as Clint is being debriefed, more worried than she’s ever been about what’s going to happen next.
If they fire him, she’s leaving too.
If they want her to kill him, she’ll kill them all.
If, if, if, all float through her head as her legs carry her to the warehouse. Her bulletproof vest is heavy under her jacket but she doesn’t trust they don’t have snipers on the roof or in the warehouse.
Maria greets her with a nod and a folder, motioning for Natasha to read it.
There’s three scenarios.
The first is detainment.
The second is that they go off grid.
The third is the avengers.
She stops in her tracks. This is kind.
Looking up she sees Fury, it’s the first time she’s seen him since Coulson’s funeral.
“Romanoff,” he greets.
“Is this you?” She asks, waving the paperwork.
He nods, “there’s concerns for his health; we’ll go with whatever you recommend.”
Her stomach drops, she’s never been in charge of someone else’s well-being before, never been trusted enough to do so.
“He can’t be alone; don’t detain him,” she requests, aware that leaves two options.
“So?” Hill prompts, “do you want us to set up a safe house? Or the tower?”
Fury stands.
“Rogers and Banner have already agreed to go, and Tony lives there.”
She feels there’s a right answer here, and it’s not going off just the two of them.
“Fine,” she concedes, “fine. We’ll go to the tower.”
They both nod, like they hadn’t set up that exact scenario to make her agree.
We can leave if things get bad, she tells herself, making a plan in her head of escape. The world is in chaos, no one would know.
.
They’re all put in therapy. It’s an occupational hazard that she accepts. Doesn’t mean she likes it.
It’s a therapist that Tony sets up and the woman is lovely. It doesn’t discount that she makes her talk about things she doesn’t want to and is called out again and again.
Therapy days happen fortnightly.
She takes Clint; makes him go and waits outside; takes him back to their rooms, then waits for her appointment.
He doesn’t seem to realise the toll it takes on her too, mostly because she’s designed it that way. When she gets back, he’s always asleep and she’s always shitty that he is.
There’s no “how was it?” or “are you ok?” Like she does for him, just a zoned out Clint recovering in the way that his brain can handle.
Sometimes she’s fine. Sometimes she’s not. But there’s no one to check.
And whilst it’s true that she shouldn’t need anyone, there are some days she just wants someone to take care of her.
Natasha knows it goes Steve, Tony, Clint, Bruce and then her on therapy days; and whilst she’d like to be a fly on the wall, she also knows that likely it’s not something she wants to hear.
They’re all deeply damaged people; and her history is nothing.
The therapist had asked, who she talks to, when she’s feeling low, or angry or happy; and in a tower full of people it should have been an easy answer, but the only person she wants to talk to, can’t handle her shit as he’s got too much of his own going on.
The dynamics of their relationship has shifted and she’s not quite sure how to protect him as well herself.
.
Bruce comes into the kitchen whilst she’s eating, and it feels intrusive. She’s deliberate in the times that she eats and she thought she’d be alone at midnight.
Like clockwork, Clint’s nightmare had woken her.
Luckily, it hadn’t woken him as she’d whispered, calmed him down and then left; knowing he’d sleep.
Natasha stands as Bruce enters and empties the rest of her food into the bin.
She wants to leave.
Bruce makes small talk and she responds by rote, smiling and ignoring most of what he says; until he asks what the therapist gave her for homework.
They’d spoken of course about how much she’d been neglecting herself to take care of Clint, and all the metaphors had come out; that you can’t pour from an empty cup, put your mask on yourself before others, and Natasha had cognitively known what she meant.
The therapist had encouraged her to trust the others to help.
She can’t.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
It’s still hard just being here, with everyone and trusting them not to turn on her and Clint.
Eating at midnight, alone, was all she had in taking care of herself, when she knows Clint is asleep and safe.
“Small acts of trust,” she admits.
Glancing at Bruce, she sees him nod, contemplative.
Natasha feels her stomach ache, as it reminds her all she’s eaten is half a bowl of cereal.
Small acts of trust, she’d said out loud.
She pulls some cheese out of the fridge and opens it in front of him, eating it slowly, forcing herself to swallow.
Maybe it’s something she can try.
.
Clint starts moving around the tower more confidently, finding hiding spaces and keeping his distance; even from her.
She knows why.
His dreams have turned violent.
Where once they were met with wide eyes and panic attacks, the anger that he feels with no way to express it filters into his subconsciousness.
Guilt makes him push her away.
Natasha doesn’t know what to do.
Apologise? Go against his wishes? Push her way in?
She wants him to know she doesn’t care.
This body can take it.
She just wants him to be okay.
Natasha knows she’s not good at this. Clint is the one that has the reassuring words, he’s the one that knows what to say when she’s breaking.
She sucks at it and she’s failing him.
.
There’s a day that she can’t sit still.
She needs to be moving and the displaced energy crawls under her skin. Her mind doesn’t stop thinking about the past, and the only way it stops is when she starts mapping and roaming around the tower.
Hours later she stops in the kitchen, and sits with her head in her hands, making her heart rate drop and dampening down the feelings of panic that come sporadically.
She needs to eat something.
Drink something.
But the effort to move is too much.
Natasha hears movement and expects Bruce but when she lifts her head, it’s Tony.
She still hasn’t quite forgiven him for his blunt comments but if she let all the words people had said to her in her life affect her, she likely wouldn’t be here.
He’d only said that she didn’t belong, and that was old news.
Displaced, abandoned, defected. Why should it matter if he thought it too? If all of them thought so?
Standing, she nods to him.
“I can go?” He tells her.
Anger bubbles under her skin.
“It’s your house,” she replies. “I’m only here because of the perks of living with a billionaire.”
She watches the guilt cross his face, and wonders at the emotion.
“Sit.”
The command comes across as so forceful that she does as he says.
Wordlessly, he starts making her food, rice, just like she’s been doing for Clint.
She wants to stop him, tell him she’s not hungry, but the way he seems to want to help, makes her feel like crying.
“Do you know you eat rice when you’re sad?” Tony asks handing over a bowl of plain rice and butter.
Natasha stares at him.
She feels naked in front of him, and reassesses how observant Tony really is. It should be obvious.
Swallowing, she retaliates with a snarl.
“You eat cheese burgers when you’re stressed.”
Angrily, she mashes the butter into the rice, but as she does so, she realises it’s the nicest thing that anyone has done for her in a very long time.
“Safe foods,” she mumbles.
She wants to apologise for being mean; and as Tony sits across from her, with a questioning gaze, she continues.
“We eat foods we know that are safe and manageable when we’re sad or stressed. For you it’s cheese burgers, for me, now, it’s rice.”
Natasha doesn’t feel well. It’s the crash she knew was coming. She needs to leave.
“I’m sorry, I’m not hungry,” she apologizes.
Tony nods as she puts the rice in the fridge.
“You know this is your home too?”
His words hit her like a truck. She’s never had a home, and if this is what it feels like, she’s not sure what to think.
“Thanks Tony,” she says, sincerely.
All the fatigue, grief and sadness that she’s been holding at bay, seem to attack her at once and as she walks back to her room, she can’t stop the tears that pool in her eyes.
.
The gym is familiar, easy, and helps to build routine. First with the treadmill and then with sparring. There’s a levity it brings.
Things aren’t so serious when they’re sparring each other, or racing each other on the treadmill.
Even Steve seems to notice. He asks to spar Clint and Natasha thinks that this is perhaps what the therapist meant; let someone else help.
So she does.
.
Old habits die hard.
The click of the handcuffs bring a clarity she’s been missing and sleep comes easy for the first time in months.
She doesn’t hate it, but thinks she likely should.
Clint would be so disappointed.
.
“Come with me,” she whispers.
She leads him into the rafters helping him up.
“Just like Budapest,” she smiles.
She’s left a blanket and food and when he sees it he smiles back; it’s the first one she’s seen in a long time.
Pleasure curls in her gut as she realises she’s done something good, something right.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, as she lays on his lap. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
He threads his fingers through her hair and she closes her eyes at the gentle touch.
“I’m sorry,” his gravelly voice responds, “all I seem to do is hurt everyone around me.”
She shakes her head and sits up.
“Is that what you think? Clint, I see you fight every day to get back what you lost, you battle through everything and work hard at being here and I just..” she pauses, “I don’t know how to help.”
“Nat..”
She shakes her head.
This is not about her. This is not about how she’s struggling.
But she does need need him to know that she’s not good at this. She’s not good at being someone’s fall person, she can fight for him and have his back in the literal sense but all of this?
She hasn’t got the words.
“I’m just.. Sorry.”
Clint offers her a marshmallow that she’s left, knowing that it’s one of his favourite foods.
Shaking her head, she lays back down.
“I’m okay, Nat,” he lies. “Honest.”
.
Steve hits her in the gym and Clint comes to her with words of apology, words she doesn’t want or need.
She tries to explain it away, but fails again.
They make her food and she just feels worse, she’s just tired; so tired.
Nightmares come without the handcuffs and she blames Clint for calling her out on shit coping mechanisms, even though, his haven’t been good either.
She tells the therapist, almost losing her composure as she tries to explain that she doesn’t want their help, that she needs to get through this on her own, and that she just wants Clint to be better, to be over this and get back to work.
To her credit, the therapist nods and offers her the chair to sit down again.
“What do you think will happen if you let them in?” the therapist starts, “If you trust them; just a bit? And that the emotion and sincerity behind their actions are not a trick?”
Natasha knows.
They’ll leave.
They’ll betray her.
They’ll judge her.
She’s not worthy, and she can do this on her own.
“No.”
The thought is clarifying, she can do this on her own.
The rest of the session is just service words, she’s made her breakthrough.
She’s been put in the tower to protect these idiots, it’s a mission. It’s nothing less than what she’s done before; just like when she was Natalie.
She can do this on her own.
She doesn’t need anyone.
.
Viewing living in the tower as a mission makes things better. It give a clarity and role expectation that for the past couple of months she’s been living without.
Natasha now knows she’s playing a role, and because of this, she feels more herself.
She researches engineering, and biomechanics; just to hold her own with the science twins.
She practices fighting styles to try on Steve.
It’s like she feels more herself, when she isn’t herself and she doesn’t want to dwell on that.
The only time she sheds the mask is when she’s in bed, or alone with Clint.
Conversations become easier because she can use them to draw out information, she can focus on others and to her surprise it means she focuses better on herself.
She eats breakfast, often with one of the boys, monitoring how they’re going and supports they need. She doesn’t need to but she writes it up and sends it to Fury.
Clint shakes his head, disapproving and glum when she tells him.
“What do you tell him about me?” He asks quietly, betrayal in his voice.
“Nothing,” she replies, honestly.
Whilst she tells Fury that Bruce and Tony have become close friends, and Steve is reintegrating nicely, she omits that Clint is also healing in this environment.
And maybe, so is she.
She notices small changes in herself.
She eats and shares meals with Clint, they try cooking together and her laughter is genuine. She notices how much energy she has on these days and sees it in him as well when they spar.
She’s almost happy.
.
Active duty for both her and Clint is a tick box check from the therapist and they both are placed on missions, mostly babysitting Steve and Tony.
They’re cake walks as they all learn to play nicely with each other, to work as a team and functionally trust one another.
Natasha decides she likes Steve’s authority, the way he thinks through missions, and takes on board suggestions. Captain indeed, she thinks.
It takes her more time to get used to Tony, his impulsivity often making things harder than they need to be, although considering he’s never had to work with anyone before, she thinks he’s trying harder than they know.
She appreciates Tony’s adaptive nature when missions don’t go as planned. She tells this to Clint and he agrees with a quick grin.
“Getting comfortable with a team?” he asks.
His assessment causes her to assess her own priorities.
Living in the tower has made her soft. Her mission here is done.
She asks for a solo mission the next day.
.
There’s a peace in coming back to a place where an AI greets you, and there’s all the comforts she’s ever known. She kisses Clint’s sleeping form and goes to find an ice pack for her face.
“I know,” Tony greets her in the kitchen.
Natasha feels cornered and too tired to deal with his cryptic messages.
She doesn’t reply. There could be so much he knows given his computers and intelligence. The mission, albeit a success, has made her somber.
She had contemplated going back to her apartment, but Clint had convinced her to come back. The message from Steve telling her he’d made Mac and cheese had made her grin and she couldn’t think of a reason to be alone.
The realisation that she likes working with this weird group of people, has made her gut curl, especially at the recognised peace at coming … home.
Is this who she is now? She looks to Tony’s serious face as he touches the table and opens a hologram of her notes, displaying them on the table.
“Always the double agent, hey? Even here, in your home.”
He’s not done, as she sees the correspondence she’d sent to Fury months ago, assessing Steve, Bruce and Tony.
“Your assessment of everyone, of me,” her heart sinks, knowing he’ll ask her to leave. She only hopes he gives Clint the choice.
The images disappear.
Natasha says nothing, waiting for him.
“It was fair,” he concedes.
“I prefer working by myself, and I know you do too.”
The coil loosens.
“Don’t do that again,” he asks, “trust us a little?”
She nods, not sure what to do with his kindness. The therapist would be so proud, because the nod, is not a lie. He hasn’t asked her to leave, he hasn’t judged her and from what she knows, he hasn’t betrayed her either.
The silence holds them, both lost in thoughts.
“Steve hit you again?” he jokes, in reference to her black eye, pointing to the ice pack.
She shakes her head, tries at trust again.
“I misjudged a security guard and he kicked me in the face.”
Tony winces and sits down across from her.
The coil unravels again.
“At least it didn’t bruise much.”
He opens a packet of skittles and offers them to her.
Natasha smiles as she takes one.
“It’s because I have like two pounds of make up on.”
The frown that goes across Tony’s face is fleeting but she catches it anyway. The concern for her well-being is misplaced but nice.
The only other person whose done that is Clint, and maybe Steve.
“Hey Nat?” he holds out the bag again.
“Mmm?” She hums, wondering what bombshell he’s going to drop at 2am.
“Can you stop hiding food in the vents?”
A laugh bursts out of her.
“Okay,” she agrees, “blame Clint more though.”
“Oh don’t worry, he’s the one that gave you up,” he laughs too.
“We decided on a team dinner when you were back.”
Natasha bites her lip, wondering at the emotion holding her heart.
He seems to mistake it for something else.
“Don’t worry, Steve’s going to cook, he said risotto?”
She nods.
“Tonight?”
Standing Tony taps the table.
“Are you okay?” the concern genuine.
“Nothing some sleep won’t cure,” she replies, taking away the ice pack and placing it back into the freezer.
Turning at the door, she pauses.
“Thank you Tony… for not judging,” she gulps down what she wants to say, “for everything,” she finishes.
He nods, seemingly understanding.
“Im glad you’re home,” he says sincerely.
“See you at dinner, Nat.”
.
(Thanks to everyone who’s commented/reblogged/liked this series, it’s always appreciated and motivating - slightly out of my comfort zone of writing the others but boy have I missed writing Tony and Nat. Thanks legends <3)
Usually Alan would pull Gordon in on his trouble making plans, but not this one. This one he wanted the glory all to himself. Apparently, the forest on the island – which Gordon had always liked to characterise as a jungle – was impenetrable, with crossing from one side to the other impossible. Alan had every plan to film his journey across the great green landscape and prove his brother’s wrong.
Knowing the oldest three, they’d probably never even tried to venture in there, just listened to Dad’s every word and warning against it like good sons.
But Alan wanted to know. He wanted to know what was in there. Gordon always described it like the jungle out of The Jungle Book, which John always claimed was due to the blonde knowing of no other jungle to compare it too. Virgil had painted it, but only ever from the outside, never anything else and Scott did nothing but tow the line that it was impassible.
Well, youngest and bravest had every plan to change that, so he had decided. He’d packed his rucksack with drinks and snacks just in case he was stuck out there for a while, and he’d made sure his camera had enough charge to film the whole journey. Yes, this was going to be good. He couldn’t wait to see his family’s faces when he proved them all wrong.
He prepared himself with a deep breath, before sneaking out of his room, and into the quiet, dimly lit hallway. He didn’t switch any lights on so as to lessen his chances of waking anyone and he moved with a much speed and silence as he could. It was hard, because he was so excited to finally be doing this, but he wouldn’t be doing it if he got caught, so he continued on course, quiet and determined, though excited.
He made it out of the house easily enough and then quickly dashed off into the lifting cover of night. It would be light enough by the time he made it to the forest, and there was no reason why he shouldn’t be able to make it back before darkness fell again. He was hoping to make it back for lunch.
Alan felt apprehension creeping in the closer he come to the green forestry, but he pushed on still. He was determined to be the first to cross that land, to prove to everyone that there was nothing to fear in there, that it was possible to go in and come back out. That was his reason for being here, and he was prepared, he wasn’t turning back.
Deep breath in, and off he went-
“Where are you going?”
Oh no… That was Gordon. He sighed as he turned around to see the smiling, smirking form of the brother closest to him in age, just as he’d predicted.
“I thought I didn’t wake anyone.”
“You didn’t.” Gordon smiled, wide and bright like usual when he was planning trouble, and for once Alan worried he too was in the impact zone for said mayhem, even though he was usually excluded due to being part of the trouble causing.
“Good.”
“Because we were already awake.”
And that was Scott. Unless Gordon had suddenly become some kind of expert in ventriloquism, which Alan couldn’t rule out of the realm of possibility. But, no, Scott appeared behind the swimmer and Alan felt his heart sink. His escapade was clearly flawed and there was likely little chance of him getting in the forest now.
Great. All that planning for nothing.
And it really was for nothing, because soon John and Virgil appeared to stand at the eldest’s side and Alan knew luck couldn’t have been rooting for him.
“Don’t tell me you all just happened to be awake?”
That was an odd thing to happen at… six in the morning. Well, odd for Virgil and Gordon at least: Scott was military trained, and John was an astronaut, so for them it was perfectly plausible.
But Virgil laughed.
“I woke them.” Gordon explained and Alan felt somewhat betrayed. “I knew you were planning something, and you left me out. Cheek of that.”
“And this is to teach me not to?”
“Hey, little brother, what can I say? If you’d let me in on the plan… This wouldn’t have happened.”
Yeah, he felt very betrayed.
“Anyway,” Scott began, arms folded, brows raised, “What are you doing heading for the forest?”
“I’m going in.”
This time, they all laughed. All four of them.
“What? What is so funny?”
“You’re not going in there.”
“Yes, I am, Scott. I’m going to prove you all wrong.”
“What are you trying to prove wrong?” Virgil inquired, brows frowning incredibly akin to Scott’s.
“That there’s no reason why we can’t go into this forest.”
“Other than the fact that it’s nearly impossible to navigate?”
“And covers most of the island, and is mostly impenetrable?”
“And it’s darker in there than it ever is out here, even in daylight?”
“And it’s massive.” Gordon finished off, only for three older sets of eyes to turn to him. Alan found that rather comical. “What? You three took all the good points.”
John shook his head. Virgil chuckled.
“So, Alan, knowing all that, you’re still planning to go in?” Scott began, “Because you know, despite all that, there’s a reason no one goes into that forest alone.”
“I know, it’s because Dad said- Wait, did you say alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone, but not, not at all?”
“Correct.”
“At least we know he can still hear ok- ow!”
Virgil had whacked Gordon’s chest in response to that.
“But I thought no one had ever been in there? It’s not allowed.”
“With good reason.” John muttered, although Alan could expect that from his second brother.
“They’ve been in there.” Gordon began, something in his tone sounding remorseful. “I would have loved to have a wonder through.”
“Feel free, but I’m never going in there again.” John stated and Gordon smiled. Alan had a feeling his trouble making partner knew the story he didn’t here.
“Me neither.” Virgil agreed. “The art wasn’t worth it.”
“Art?” He was well and truly confused. “But you never paint the inside of the forest.”
“I did intend to, but I never really got a look at anything different from the outside. I was too busy trying to find a way out.”
“You’ve been in the forest? Why wasn’t I told this sooner? Ok, you have to tell me this story now!”
“Ok,” The eldest relented. “You see, Virgil here thought it would be a great artistic opportunity to see the inside of the forest.” Scott began. “So, he ‘wisely’ ignored Dad and went in there.”
“And got lost.” John concluded.
“I prefer to say I misplaced my sense of direction.”
“Whatever you like.”
“So, John and I – good brothers we are - went in after him, and we were pretty lucky in being able to find him, but-”
“We also ended up getting lost.” John added, “For all Scott had promised me he’d be able to get us out with his amazing sense of direction.”
“I did get us out, thank you very much.”
Gordon suddenly started chuckling again, and Alan knew there was more that he was missing. This wasn’t a simple lost and found.
“Yes, after we ran into half of the unique wildlife out there.” John contributed.
Virgil groaned. “Don’t remind me! I’m still haunted.”
“I looked it up on the internet, I don’t think it’s that scary.” Gordon added and Alan really wanted to know what he was still missing. Virgil didn’t scare easily either, but his middle brother was cringing and moving away from Gordon as he spoke. “Lots of legs, quick moving and slimy.”
“And bites.” The astronaut added almost bitterly.
“What does?” He was sure his brothers could be talking about any number of things, especially if there was wildlife in that forest he’d never seen before.
“Centipedes.” Gordon answered, clearly still on a mission to tease Virgil.
“But they’re tiny.” He’d seen some which had made into the house. They were always nothing scary, just little fast-moving bugs that usually got themselves stuck in the bath before they met their end.
“No, eight inches long-”
“The size of a golf tee, give or take.” Virgil helped with his visual imagining of the now big issue which dwelt inside the scary forest.
“-And with a dangerous bite.” Scott explained.
“Poisonous bite.” John corrected, with venom of his own.
“Woah, really?”
“You should expect there to be something poisonous on this island, little bro.”
“I know, Gordon, but a centipede?”
“Yeah. Definitely a centipede.” Virgil agreed with shivers going down his spine anew.
“But – hang, I don’t get… how that’s relevant to you getting lost?” Alan asked, it being his turn to frown now, and Scott sighed as John and Virgil’s eyes turned to him. Gordon was smiling like a clown.
“Ok, so John and I rushed after Virgil, forgetting that neither of us had shoes on. I had socks on, but John had bare feet. After we’d managed to find Virgil, we were trying to find our way back and found the centipede’s instead.”
“Right…”
“It has to be this way.”
“How do you know that, Scott?”
“I don’t, John, but I’m pretty sure we came this way… See look, there’s a tree.”
“It’s a forest, Scott!”
“There are trees everywhere!”
“Virgil, I don’t need you stating the obvious too.”
“You’re the one stating the obvious, not me. I just pointed out what you clearly didn’t see!”
“I did too see the trees, hence why I said it.”
“Not at all helpfully.”
“Well it wasn’t helpful of you to just run off here.”
“I didn’t think it was going to be this…”
“What? Everything Dad said it was?”
“I just thought I could use the scenery.”
“Great, did you hear that John? We’ve got ourselves lost for the sake of scenery.”
“I really couldn’t care why. Let’s just get out of here.”
“-it all looks exactly the same, there’s nothing to remember!”
“Well maybe you should have thought more about rushing in after me!”
“Maybe you should have thought more about not rushing in-”
“Ow!”
“John? What now?”
“I’ve got bare feet-”
“Should have put some shoes on then.”
“-And I think something just bit me.”
“Probably because you’ve got no shoes on.”
“Virgil…”
“Here, hold onto me before you fall over.”
“Can we jus- eww! What are all those things!”
“They’ve got loads of legs.”
“They’re centipedes.”
“They’re disgusting!”
“I think that’s what bit me.”
“They don’t bite… do they?”
“Why are you looking at me, Virgil? John’s the genius.”
“Genius or not, I don’t know. I don’t have x-ray vision to see through my feet!”
“Great… just great.”
“Well, you obviously made it back.” Alan summarised once his elder brothers finished recounting their encounter, Gordon having enjoyed the whole thing despite the youngest being able to tell he’d heard it all before. Honestly, having lived long enough on the island, he was used to the bugs, though he wasn’t very keen on the thought of centipedes anymore either. And the things had been known to make their way towards the house… little tiny ones, but still. “You found a way out?”
“Eventually.” Virgil groaned. “It took ages.”
“Yeah, and I even had to carry John.”
“Considering you were the one who pulled me out the house without leaving me any time to get my shoes, Scott, I don’t think that piggyback was unfair.”
“Me neither.”
“Hey, we were only in there because of you, so you don’t get a vote!”
“Besides, I couldn’t have walked back anyway, considering the fact I’d been poisoned.”
“Yeah ok, but Brains said it wouldn’t have been fatal.”
“We didn’t know that!” John and Virgil chorused, and even Gordon wasn’t smiling now.
“Nor did Dad. He all but blew up when you returned, and I had a front row seat! Heck, you all say I’m loud; I say that’s where I got it from.”
“Hang on- So, let me get this straight.” His brothers turned their focus to him. “Virgil went into the forest even though we’re not meant to. You two went in after him and got just as lost. John got bitten by a poisonous-”
“Venomous.” Scott interjected.
“-Centipede and somehow you found your way home. Did I miss anything?”
“Well, you skimmed it down a lot.” Virgil corrected.
“But I don’t think you missed anything.” Gordon interjected.
“Right. So that’s why I shouldn’t go into the forest alone?”
“Yeah, and why you shouldn’t go in there at all, little brother.”
“You do not want to get bitten by a centipede.”
“No?” Gordon asked, clearly trying to find some humour, but John refused to oblige the swimmer.
“No. I don’t care that it’s not fatal, it still hurts like level four on Schmidt index*.”
“Well, I think we should head home before anyone else wakes up.” Scott decided, making his opinion and it was met with three more sets of agreement before those blue eyes turned on him. “Alan? You coming with, or are you still going through the forest?”
He gave the forest one last glance. He still could if he wanted to, but his opinion on braving the forest had changed drastically since he left the house.
“Maybe I won’t bother.”
“Good call.”
“Oh no, don’t you all go getting the wrong idea. My decision has nothing to do with any of you.” Alan assured. He wasn’t certain that his brothers believed him from the skeptical glances, but he was definitely going to run with his story. “I just wanted to be the first. There’s no point bothering if I’ve already been beaten to it.”
Pushing past, Alan tried to further his argument by being the first to walk back up the hill. There really was no value in It for him if he wasn’t the first, and his brother’s cautionary tale had made it seem… well, it confirmed everything he’d always been warned of when it came to the forest.
They all headed back up to the house, with no one else any the wiser that the forest had ever been on the exploration list, but at the same time, Alan had a feeling he was going to be sharing Virgil’s bug based shivers for quite some time now. Whilst he would have believed Gordon to pull such a prank, John wouldn’t lie about being bitten by a centipede, which meant the things really were as horrible as he thought they were ugly.
No, there was a reason why not one went into that forest alone, and it was the same reason that no one should go in at all.
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*Schmidt string pain index – list the pain sale of different large order insect bites. It ranges from 1-4, with four being described as ‘blinding’ levels of pain.
So, when I travelled to the rain forest, I was warned to look out for “the eight-inch centipedes” with a sting “worse than a hive of bees”. So for anyone unsure, 8 inches is the equivalent size of a golf tee, or a little bit more than a brand new, sharpened pencil with an eraser on top. Basically, the locals don’t like them, they’ve just become used to them.
If you do want to look it up (which I wouldn’t personally having already done so), the species of centipede to likely inhabit Tracy Island would be the Amazonian giant Centipede (Scolopendra gigantea) which grow to 8 inches minimum, with a maximum length of 12 inches (so the size equivalent of a full ruler). It is reported to have a venom which isn’t fatal, however one four-year-old child has reportedly died from it. Its classification has remained venomous, not poisonous however, and it is thought anyone in good health and not of an extremely young or old age would be able to survive. Many people have been reported to fall ill after being bitten by a giant centipede. With recent discoveries of the first amphibious centipede, and reports of two more poisonous Scolopendrra Subspinipes (Thailand and Mexico), it is likely that the main genus of the Scolopendra family will soon be reclassified.
Before anyone asks why I’ve said it’s nonfatal in this story, that is because I have referred to it as matches its current classification, although if that is ever redefined (which I think it should be), I will edit this to match.
So, personally, I think I am very lucky to not have encountered one whilst I was in the rainforest! I felt very much like Virgil as I walked around, constantly on the lookout with goosebumps going up my arms. I had some excellent guides though, and attribute my survival and learning to them. If I sent this their way, they would probably laugh at what I’m using all that knowledge they gave me for!
