This was written for a rarepair/small fandom fic exchange a few years ago, but never made it to tumblr. Black Jack is a hardcore love of mine and I need to write more of these terrible doctors.
Peace (Black Jack/Kiriko)
For once, they seem to get along. That doesn't mean they're at peace.
You can also read it on AO3!
“You know,” Black Jack’s voice broke over the sound of waves and the shrieking of seagulls. “We should really stop taking jobs like this.”
His statement is so matter of fact, so innocent and obvious and true that it makes his shoulders shake in an effort not to snicker at the irony of it all. It didn’t work, and instead led them both into nigh hysterical laughter. The refugees and rebels in the makeshift hospital and bombed out town below have probably assumed they’ve lost it; Kiriko couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. They’re all lucky to be alive and in mostly one piece. As bad as it had been, it could have ended on a much worse note.
They’re laying out on the decaying roof of one of the seaside buildings, the one that’s been haphazardly repurposed as a medical facility. The town has been abandoned for years amidst the brutal civil war the little country has been embroiled in. It’s not anywhere near ideal, but it’s better than nothing. Better than the hellhole they had crawled their way out of.
Black Jack shouldn’t even be up there with him, considering it was a scant few days ago that he had gotten stitched back together. He should really tell him to get back in bed. But for now he won’t fight him on it.
“I suppose that’s a good idea.” Kiriko rummaged around in the pockets of his discarded coat, looking for the half empty pack of cigarettes that he knew where hiding somewhere. “But it’s not likely we’ll follow that advice.”
Black Jack huffed out another laugh, attempted to sit up, and fell back with a wince. In a way he deserved that vicious stab wound; maybe in the future he wouldn’t put himself in between and fanatical psychopath and their intended target. As if that would happen. “You’re one to talk.”
Kiriko ignored him at first, focusing on finding the crumpled pack and trying not to think about how close the man beside him had come to being stone cold dead. Contrary to popular belief he did know the value life, and as much as he wanted to strangle Black Jack most of the time, he didn’t deserve to perish at the hands of some fractured, radical government. Ah, there where the smokes, buried deep to keep the tobacco dry and with a battered lighter keeping it company.
“You can be the pot and I’ll be the kettle, then.”
“You’d better be sharing those.”
“I should probably tell you no,” Kiriko was fishing out a second one for him anyway. “Some doctor you are.”
“You’re an ass.” His words held less heat than they normally did. Or maybe he’d gotten so used to his abrasive personality that this was normalcy, where reading between the harsh words had become an art. Maybe he was just in a good mood.
The next half hour passed in relative silence, save for the noisy seabirds and vague whispers of commotion coming from other rundown buildings. It should have been awkward instead of a comfortable sort of peace. Kiriko tried to remember when it had changed, when things had shifted from being constantly at each other’s throats and stabbing each other in the back to something that could grudgingly be called friendship. To be fair, they seemed to get into an unseemly number of dangerous incidents with each other. Most people would say it was coincidence; He was beginning to think some deity had a personal vendetta against them.
At least this round hadn’t been the worst thing to have ever happened to them collectively. It had been a messy business, with Black Jack hired to save the refugees from the mysterious plague sweeping through their ranks and him asked to relieve those who couldn’t be saved. What the bumbling government hadn’t told them was they had infected their own people, using them as human test subjects for biological weapons. They’d been stupid enough to think that him and Black Jack wouldn’t have noticed what they were doing. They had been awfully surprised when they started helping people get out of the danger zone.
It was one thing to end suffering when there was no hope. There was no shame in death, in ending pain. But it was a very different thing to be brought in as an accomplice to attempted genocide. He had morals, even if some people didn’t agree with them.
“So.”
“Hmm?”
“Any idea how we’re going to get out of here?”
Black Jack shrugged at his question. “They’ll probably be looking for us at the borders, and at the airports. We’re officially wanted men after that little stunt.”
“And by ‘stunt’ you mean ‘organizing one of the largest rebellions this place has ever seen’ and ‘exposing grievous human rights violations’.” Really, they should get this to the international media. They’d have a field day with it. “I think they’re a little pissed about that.”
“Good thing they already paid me.” He grinned at Kiriko, and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but there. There was simultaneously too much history and too little common ground all buried in one moment. This was ridiculous. And he was too old for this.
He lit another cigarette, hoping the distraction would help. It didn’t. Black Jack fell silent again and this time he didn’t dare break it. How many more times could they do this, getting dragged into the dark underworld, gambling on life and luck? He wasn’t concerned for himself; he knew better than anyone that when death came for him that he wouldn’t fight it. Considering he’d been borrowing the name for so long, he really didn’t have the right to. At this point he was cold and lost and had gone too far to ever hope for a semblance of what people might call a normal life.
Yet there where some fires that deserved to burn, to raze everything in their path and unapologetically leave ash on the tongue and a hole where ones heart used to be. It was hard to admit it.
“…think they’ll ever figure it out?”
“Figure what out?”
“That killing each other doesn’t fix much of anything.” Black Jack sighed. “I guess it’s hopelessly romantic to wish for peace.”
Yes. Yes, it was.
“Maybe someday.” He mumbled back.
“Maybe.”
Maybe someday they’d all figure it out, and the answers would fall into their laps like they’ve always prayed. Today wasn’t that day, and tomorrow wouldn’t be it either. But maybe someday.
O povećanju zakupnina stanova razmišlja preko 50 odsto stanodavaca, a skoro 30 odsto njih će to uraditi, pokazalo je istraživanje nevladine organizacije (NVO) Udruženje podstanara Crne Gore – Moj Dom, piše portal RTCG.
Iz te NVO su kazali stanodavci kao razloge za povećanje zakupnina navode svakodnevna poskupljenja i sve težu platežnu moć.Istraživanje je urađeno u nekoliko crnogorskih opština u…
