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This diary entry is written by ‹defineMANIAC›. ( View all entries )
Previous entry: Tommy shit... in category OCs

SkommyCategory: OCs
Wednesday, 12 September 2012
05:54:03 PM (GMT)
There was a large crash, followed by several smaller ones in the distance, and the
blonde soldier ducked down closer to the stale mud.  His face was streaked with
blood, sweat and dirt, and the only part of him that still looked as alive as he felt
was his piercing metallic gaze that scanned the land in front of him.  He raised
himself into a crouch, edging cautiously forward with his weapon raised.  A faint
whistling cut through the deafening bangs and explosions, and the soldier froze,
looking to the sky just in time to be blown backwards in a blast of blazing heat and
burning white light-

Thomas O'Connell awoke with a scream, his right hand clutching at the decoration
around his neck for safety.  His fingers tangled in the golden chain as he struggled
to stop his panicked cries that were echoing around the other beds.  A nurse hurried
over, putting a hand on his shoulder and urging him back into a horizontal position.
"Wha-?  Where am I?!  Leggo!  Wha's goin' on?!"
Even his own voice sounded unfamiliar and foreign to him, his accent rolling
awkwardly from his tongue.
"Please, Thomas, calm down, it's alright...."
"Who t' ruddy 'ell's Thomas?!"  He was looking at the nurse desperately now, feeling
lost inside his own body, "Why do I hurt?"
"You're Thomas.  Thomas O'Connell.  You're twenty-three years old."
"About three weeks ago, you were found by a man called Phillips, barely breathing. 
He carried you back to your trench and kept you going until the medics arrived."
Thomas lay perfectly still.  This all sounded like a bizzare story.  This couldn't
have happened to him, surely?  And why was a word floating around his mind?  It
didn't make sense.  Sky.  Sky...  Why did that word bring back such familiarality? 
Of course he knew what the sky was.  He frowned to himself, testing the word out,
"Sky... Sky."
A flash of colour...  Blue. Cerulean blue.  It was so, so beautiful, and yet he
couldn't place it...  He frowned at the nurse, whose ordinary brown eyes were
watching him curiously.
"Yes, she's been in several times...  The first week you were unconscious, she
wouldn't leave your side.  Then she had to go..."
"What...  What're ye talkin' bout?"
The nurse's face flickered through several emotions, but Thomas only caught a few- 
most prominently sadness... pity.  "Agent Langkilde.  Skye Langkilde."
Ah.  The pity wasn't for him.
"Who?"  He frowned, looking around the wing for the woman he was apparantly supposed
to know.  Have feelings for, even.
"Shh, Thomas.  Sleep now.  Get some rest."
"But... The nightmares..."
"At least lie down?"
The soldier paused, looking around, hardly having noticed that he was still sitting
bolt upright with his hand clutched in a white-knuckled fist around the clockwork
angel around his neck.


The soldier had a name now.  Thomas O'Connell, aged twenty three, peered cautiously
around the field, hiding behind a mess of rotting wood and barbed wire.  His ears
caught a sharp sound, a whistle, and he froze.  Whizzbang.  A shudder ran through him
as the whistle stopped, and he looked to the smoke-filled sky, closing his eyes,
screaming, and clutching an angel as he was consumed by a searing heat-

Another scream of pure terror, and Thomas opened his eyes, breathing heavily from the
adrenaline of the dream.  He was sitting up, as usual, with his right hand securely
gripping the angel.  Only one change.  One change over countless times of waking like
this.  His other hand was occupied.  He looked sideways, met with worried (scared?)
cerulean eyes, tinged red from tears.  Such a familiar face... He knew this woman.
"Tommy?  Tommy, 's'okay, yer safe..."
He hesitated, cautioning a glance at their interlinked hands, which the woman caught,
pulling hers away and into her lap, "S-sorry..."  Thomas frowned, staring at his own
hand for a long moment in silence before speaking.
"You...  You fixed me arm... In...."  He scrunched his eyes shut, trying to
concerntrate, "Ruddy 'ell..."
"Paris!"  Thomas nodded eagerly, clutching at the memory as it threatened to escape
him again, "An' on the station..."  He trailed off again, remembering /something/...
Something important... It made him smile a little, although at what, he wasn't sure. 
He closed his eyes more lightly this time as images flickered faintly just out of
reach.  As if they were photos illuminated in the dying light of a candle that had to
be reckognised and recalled before they eluded him forever and it was too late.  Her
smile.  It was there, lurking just out of reach...
"The kiss..."
Thomas nodded, eyes still closed as he fought to remember, "I...  Yeah..."  His voice
was a whisper, until he realised that it wasn't Skye's voice that had reminded him. 
Well, it was, but not then.  Another time.  A passing sentance with the words in it,
and yet, he'd remembered.
He looked at her again, smiling almost sadly, "I kissed you.  On t' station in
France.  Wit' a bandaged up, broken arm, an' a rucksack wit' barely anythin' in it."
Skye stared for a moment, seemingly holding back tears for all she was worth.  She
nodded faintly, recalling the memory that was permanantly locked into her mind.
"An' I'd done something... Tryin' ter apologise, an'... I kissed ye..."  He laughed
airily, hardly believing it himself, "Skye Langkilde...  Ye call me Tommy 'cause I
didn' used ter like it... But it's okay wit' you."
He reached out, offering his hand to her, which she took.
"Around your neck..."
"You as well?"
Skye nodded, looking down at her hand.
Thomas brushed his thumb over it lightly, nodding, "O' course.... It's always been

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