Wild Wild West Drabble Times Four

[przed]

The next entry in the drabble meme. This one's Wild Wild West for dorinda, and is 400 words even. Prompt: fever.



Fever Dreams


I've never seen Jim quite this ill before. He's feverish, and his sweat keeps his nightshirt and sheets constantly damp. The two of us have kept the town's laundresses in business the past two days.

I take the cloth, wet it, wring it out and return it to his forehead, trying not to be alarmed at how hot to the touch his skin is. The doctor has told me what to do: keep him cool, keep him drinking liquids, wait for the fever to break. Which doesn't make it any easier, of course. I've seen people die of fevers like this. We both have.

I remove the cloth again, and this time Jim opens his eyes. The blue-green orbs are glassy, but lucid for the first time in a day. I smile and prepare for a great performance.

"Artie," he says through cracked lips, his voice a fractured whisper.

"Jim! I'm so glad you're awake." I try for a cheery, hail fellow well met air. I fail miserably, but either Jim is in no condition to notice the weakening of my acting skills or he is past caring.

"How long?"

"Just a day," I say, though there is no "just" about it. It's been a long 24 hours since he last broke through the delirium. "You'll be better soon."

"I hope so," he says, and I can see him fading already, drifting into the twilight world he has lived in since this fever claimed him, three days ago.

"Sleep," I say, and place the cloth gently back on his forehead, but there is no need. He's already slipped into the darkness. He tosses on the bed, murmuring words I can only occasionally distinguish.

I spend the night battling the fear ravaging my soul as Jim battles the illness ravaging his body. I have so much fear.

I fear this fever. I fear losing Jim. I fear he will die without knowing the depth of the affection I harbour for him. I fear I will keep my silence if--no, when--he recovers. I fear breaking my silence will break the bond between us. I fear keeping my silence will break my heart.

But for now, I will share none of this with Jim. My strength is what he needs now, not my doubts. And my strength is what he will always have, as long as I have it to offer.

Comments

[nsandik.livejournal.com]

Wonderful! Oh, you write WWW so beautifully! Must. Find. Zines!
Must re-read! ::sigh::

You light a fire with your casual drabble, word wizard! (spoken with sinister accent of your choice)

Thanks!

[przed.livejournal.com]

Awww, thanks, Linda. So do you, you know. Write WWW beautifully that is. (Now I want to go back and re-read some of Marian's stories.)

[dorinda.livejournal.com]

Oh, thank you! Such luscious hurt/comforty goodness! And really, it's a double-reverse hurt, because while Jim is suffering through his physical fever, poor Artie is suppressing an emotional fever of his own. Sigh!

I love nurturing-Artie soooo much. Not to mention worrying-Artie. (Sorry, Artie, but you know you suffer just as beautifully as Jim does...) I hope Jim gets well soon, and when he's feeling better maybe Artie will let something slip.

(And boy, I wish I'd had Artie around while I was feverish. It sure would've made a difference in my morale, I tell you what! :D )

[przed.livejournal.com]

I do rather enjoy having Artie nurture Jim. I'm funny that way.

I think we should be able to request Artie when we're feeling poorly, don't you? *g*