to warn the sailors on their way (1/1)
title: to warn the sailors on their way
rating: pg-13
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none explicit
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day twenty-nine challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: a tale, of sorts, of the lighthouse and his keeper.
the prompt
He is the lighthouse.
Things don’t fall to pieces when he’s the one guiding the way; ships dock and captains survive, and all because the lighthouse is the protector, the preventer. He is the bright and shining beacon, a hope to others with no hope for himself. He is the lighthouse, lonely and automated, careful and without a keeper. He signals the way for others, his own future locked in place, motionless. At his center, his most vulnerable and breakable place, he burns, his life sacrificed for those who take him for granted. He makes things run smoothly, keeps things on time. The lighthouse.
But one day, one utterly unfamiliar day, his carefully timed warnings fail and his secure walls collapse, exposing everything the lighthouse holds dear and lighting a spark he is powerless to crush. For the first time since the fire, he is broken open and exposed, irreparable. Retired.
Strong arms hold him up, keep him going, however reluctantly he lets them. His body is silent, aching, bruised from the breaking and scored with betrayal, with his own maddening betrayal. Bodies in motion, ships crashing on his shore, the waves breaking higher and higher until he knows a long withheld release and the walls start falling down, brick by brick, pulled by surprisingly gentle hands.
For a while he believes it is for safety, the demolition. That any moment will bring complete deconstruction, ruins and rubble, the place where the wilderness was once held at bay. But those same gentle hands bring new walls with them, walls that smile and laugh in a way that is almost familiar. Those careful, protective hands smooth out creases in the brick, make their indelible mark. And the lighthouse remembers what it feels like to burn, burn like the sun shines out from within him.
There are words inside of him, remembered words. The things he said to the woman who brought him to life the first time, who gave his light a meaning. He cannot say them now, will not say them any longer, because these hands do not believe it, these hands will not hear it. But the lighthouse remembers, the lighthouse breathes it, and the lighthouse finally lets it in.
Strong and white, he stands brightly, his body strong and his light alive. Worn by the weather and the waves, the lighthouse and his keeper are the last defense against the rest of the universe. And, surprisingly, they are happy.
rating: pg-13
pairing: jack/ianto
spoilers: none explicit
disclaimer: rtd and the beeb own pretty much everyone. i'll have to check, but they might even own me.
writer's note: also for the horizonssing day twenty-nine challenge. feedback welcome.
summary: a tale, of sorts, of the lighthouse and his keeper.
the prompt
He is the lighthouse.
Things don’t fall to pieces when he’s the one guiding the way; ships dock and captains survive, and all because the lighthouse is the protector, the preventer. He is the bright and shining beacon, a hope to others with no hope for himself. He is the lighthouse, lonely and automated, careful and without a keeper. He signals the way for others, his own future locked in place, motionless. At his center, his most vulnerable and breakable place, he burns, his life sacrificed for those who take him for granted. He makes things run smoothly, keeps things on time. The lighthouse.
But one day, one utterly unfamiliar day, his carefully timed warnings fail and his secure walls collapse, exposing everything the lighthouse holds dear and lighting a spark he is powerless to crush. For the first time since the fire, he is broken open and exposed, irreparable. Retired.
Strong arms hold him up, keep him going, however reluctantly he lets them. His body is silent, aching, bruised from the breaking and scored with betrayal, with his own maddening betrayal. Bodies in motion, ships crashing on his shore, the waves breaking higher and higher until he knows a long withheld release and the walls start falling down, brick by brick, pulled by surprisingly gentle hands.
For a while he believes it is for safety, the demolition. That any moment will bring complete deconstruction, ruins and rubble, the place where the wilderness was once held at bay. But those same gentle hands bring new walls with them, walls that smile and laugh in a way that is almost familiar. Those careful, protective hands smooth out creases in the brick, make their indelible mark. And the lighthouse remembers what it feels like to burn, burn like the sun shines out from within him.
There are words inside of him, remembered words. The things he said to the woman who brought him to life the first time, who gave his light a meaning. He cannot say them now, will not say them any longer, because these hands do not believe it, these hands will not hear it. But the lighthouse remembers, the lighthouse breathes it, and the lighthouse finally lets it in.
Strong and white, he stands brightly, his body strong and his light alive. Worn by the weather and the waves, the lighthouse and his keeper are the last defense against the rest of the universe. And, surprisingly, they are happy.