Chapter Text
A tiny scratch could mean death. The microbe world was very hostile. During a hunt Jim got the thorn of a plant into his shin and when he had jumped through the little rivers to catch the prey, the small wound got infected. Although Incacha had immediately applied a bandage with healing and antiseptic plants Jim came down with fever. The antibiotics he'd swallowed didn't work at all. The last time he'd taken his temperature it had been 106F. Now he was too weak to even use the thermometer. But he was sure it had climbed higher. He had shivers, his teeth were rattling and he shifted in and out of hallucinations. He was aware that Incacha held him in his arms, rocking him and gently stroking over his buzz cut. He knew distantly that he should feel odd that he was held by another man like a hurting child. But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered any more. He was sure he was going to die. The leg was infected, his body would lose the fight. He was completely calm about it.
He dreamed about his family and friends and that they would never know what had happened to him, that he'd perished in a hut in the Amazonian jungle. It made him feel sad for them. Although he didn't leave someone behind who loved him and that was good too.
Incacha whispered to him "You have to fight, Enqueri."
He kissed him on the temple, then on the mouth. It made Jim curious. He forced himself out of his apathy and turned his head toward his friend. Incacha, understanding, kissed him again, longer. Long forgotten tender feelings surged up and clamped his chest. It made Jim sob, he didn't want to die.
Not now.
Exhausted, tears ran down his face as he clutched at the shaman. Incacha smiled down at him, a promise in his face. Jim smiled back and relaxed. It was going to be okay. Peacefully he slipped into deep slumber. Next morning the fever was gone. Jim was so weak that he couldn't sit up, but felt like he had been reborn last night and the world was utterly beautiful...
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