Orkney, Scotland

The storms that had delayed his journey had finally started to slacken, although not without a few finally scatters of sleet to really make sure everyone knew that winter was on it's way. Which was hard to miss given the snow already dusting the hills in central Scotland but the weather seemed to want to really drive home the point that it was time to batten down the hatches and get the whiskey out.

Not that he hadn't been grateful for a few extra days to put off the multiple ferries, taxi's and flights it was going to take to get him back to the city. The extra family time had been a bonus too given he hadn't gotten a chance see much of his aunt and uncle and they were over the moon when he'd announced his plans to visit out of the blue. The previous year had been.....taxing for Artair and he wasn't proud of how poorly he'd dealt with it. Alcohol was a pretty easy, and damn cliched, response to his experiences but he wasn't a picture of health at the best of times and he'd nearly some some really serious damage to himself. It had taken more than one minor hearth attack to finally drag him out of the spiral. And a lecture from Doc. Damn could the man talk when he was annoyed as a reckless Scot.

The main reason he'd come was still sitting up the hill from the small house his Aunt and Uncle owned. It would probably still be there the next time he came too but that wasn't a good enough excuse to not hike up to it. Especially now that the wind had died down enough to not be dangerous.

"It's now or never lad. Yer boats coming in soon and he's not gonna be happy if ya wussed out now." His aunt had always had a......wonderful way with words and while she was saying in the gently teasing way his family interacted it did sting a little. Only because it was true, if there was anyone he hadn't wanted to see as he was it was him.

A quiet, deep voice rumbled from across the table, breaking his concentration. "She's right lad. Yer da might not be going anywhere but you are. Miss ya chance to talk now and you might not get another." Why did his family have to be right all the time?

"I know. Doesn't make it easy though." Pausing he glanced up at the carved stone he knew that they were right. "Mind loading my stuff into the car? This might take a few minutes."

Panting a little after the exertion of the climb, Artair let his eyes wander over the rolling waves. The tightness in his chest wasn't only down to his recent physical activity and the myriad of scars on his torso ached to see so much water stretching towards the horizon. After his eyes focused for a moment on a small outcrop of rocks peeking occasionally over the waves the dull ache sharpened quickly in a spike of pain.

He still couldn't look at them, even after all the years since the incident. He could barely even remember the rocks themselves or the time he was on them but apparently his body did. Pain was hard to forget it seemed.

Turning his attention to the stone, the reason for his short hike, he once again took in the delicate swirling patterns crossing its surface. The patterns called back to some truly ancient parts of his culture but the carvings themselves were relatively fresh. A bit over a decade if a passerby was to guess. New for a standing stone on the isles but it's meaning was the same as any of the true markers. The only concession to modern thinking was the precise words inscribed in Gaelic near the centre of the grave. A name, some dates and a favoured phrase was all that said to the world that this was a memory to the lost. It didn't even have the good decency to be a real grave either, with no body to be found and no things to bury in his stead. No, the only left of the elder Hawke was a windswept stone facing towards the cruel seas that had killed him.

Not his choice but Artairs aunt had insisted. Her little brother had loved the sea apparently and no amount of pleading would change her mind on that matter.

The silence was heavy, hard to break but he was here for a purpose. Opening his mouth, the words unconsciously came out in Gaelic. "Hey Dad. Been a while hasn't it?" It felt stupid talking to a stone, he'd never been a particularly religious person and his own experiences had jaded him somewhat to a loving deity but some things always ran a little deeper. Talking to him, even in this limited form was good. If not bl***y difficult. "It's.......different than I'd hoped. Everything's getting more grey the longer I study, the more I do."

Outlining his experiences over the past couple years, only going into detail about some of the more 'interesting' episodes the words got easier and poured out quicker as he went. Some tears came to his eyes, unwanted and uncontrollable.

"I feel pulled in five different directions at once. Doing whats good and doing what's right is getting harder to match up and I just......I don't know what to do anymore."

Roughly wiping his stinging eyes, doing nothing really to stop the heated tears for slowly forming, "The one person who might be able to help me in all this can't even f***ing talk back and here I am crying in front of a damn stone." He felt shame at getting angry and it took more than a few deep breaths to calm himself enough to finally voice his deepest problems.

"I'm scared dad and don't know what of. I feel like I'm unravelling at times and nothing I'm doing is stopping it." Faint shouts echoed from below pulled him back towards reality and he realised how much time he'd actually used up talking to an inanimate object. He had to go back, to what he had no idea, but time wouldn't wait.

It rarely did.