McKay sat with his forehead against the cold glass of the taxi window, gazing out as the scenery whipped past. He had to admit, albeit not aloud, that as far as scenery went Scotland rated pretty high. Majestic hills and mountains swept up into the clouds, their mysterious summits hidden from view. Tiny, winding streams bubbled their way through the rock, and every so often they passed a loch. A childish part of his brain wanted to enquire into the presence of monsters; since Atlantis, he was willing to believe in almost anything, but for once in his life McKay decided to keep quiet. He didn't feel much like talking at all right now.

Carson was gazing out of the other passenger window, a faint smile on his face. Every so often, he reached across to give Rodney's hand a reassuring pat, and for his part Rodney pretended he was fine. The English taxi driver had started giving them suspicious glances in the rear-view mirror. Rodney had started listing insults that applied to him. Ignorant, backwater lowlife, scum of society, prejudiced little twerp…

"Wait," Rodney lifted his head, "what's that smell?"

The car pulled to a stop in the driveway of a white-walled house, and Carson leapt out, almost tripping over his seat belt and his own legs.

"Tenner, mate," said the driver, and Rodney fumbled in his pockets until he found the British money from the airport. As soon as the note was handed over, the driver muttered "have fun, girls."

Carson just managed to grab Rodney and haul him out of the car before he did any damage, and they watched the car vanish into the village. Carson shook his head.

"We're not in the big city now, Rodney. We're going to get a lot of that. Many people here are very religious, and… well, let's just get inside, shall we? I can smell dinner already."

Rodney's face lit up at that. "I thought I could smell something food-related."

Dinner, to Rodney's disappointment, would have to wait out the introductions. The door was opened by a stout man with a stern face. Carson grinned and shook his hand vigorously.

"Rodney," he said, "this is my uncle Rob."

Uncle Rob ignored the hand Rodney offered him. "An duine agad?" he asked Carson, accusingly.

"Hey," snapped Rodney. "I don't speak Scottishese here."

"Sorry, Rodney. And yes, uncle, Rodney is my…" They exchanged a glance. They hadn't discussed the semantics of their relationship. Mostly because they hadn't needed to tell anyone. Those close to them seemed to have known before they did, and those not so close didn't need to know at all.

"Partner," Rodney finished for him.

"Aye, well, I'm off then, lad. You're my sister's boy, but I could do without that sort of thing in the family." Carson's uncle clapped him on the shoulder, then headed off to a car parked nearby. Rodney stared after him, then opened his mouth to retort.

"Don't, Rodney."

They hefted up their luggage and headed into the house. Rodney trailed a little way behind Carson, his mind still reeling from the bluntness of the old man's tone. It wasn't as if he had expected to be with Carson and breeze through life without anyone objecting, and… well, it was fair to say he wasn't planning to tell his own mother anything for the foreseeable future, but Rodney had only ever been on the receiving end of a jibe or a smack-down when he had well and truly earned it. That was fairly often, but he wasn't used to being judged by someone whose intelligence he hadn't had the chance to insult yet.

The house was small and poky, with three doors leading off the hallway, and a flight of elderly stairs disappearing into the darkness. Photographs lined the hall, so that hundreds of different faces smiled down on visitors. Rodney quickly realised that a high proportion of them were Carson at various stages in his life, although it was hard to spot which childhood photos were him, and which were his cousins. He would, however, put money on the kid with the plastic stethoscope, checking the pulse of a teddy bear.

Carson vanished into a sitting room, and there was a sudden explosion of sound. A dozen voices rose up in greeting, and the first creeping sensation of fear rose up Rodney's spine. This was a very close family. How would they react to Rodney, stealer of their son? He didn't have much time in which to wonder, because Carson reached round the door and dragged him inside.

Something must have happened, because the next thing Rodney knew he was sitting in an over-stuffed armchair with a mug of tea in his hand and his feet on a stool. There was pink lipstick on his cheek, visible in a large wall-mirror, and a young man was shaking his free hand and talking at him in ninety miles per hour Scottish.

"…What?"

"Ah sed, ah didnae ken oor Carson wus bringin ehnybudy haem," said the man again – or, at any rate, that was how Rodney would have written it phonetically, if he'd had an hour and a thick book on linguistics.

"We're all dead chuffed," said a girl with a northern English accent.

"Dead chuffed," repeated Rodney. "Great. Um, yeah. Great…" He looked to Carson, who was perched on the arm of the chair, for support.

"These are my cousins, James and Sandra," he explained. He proceeded to introduce half a dozen aunts, a few more cousins, and a couple of uncles who were sitting in the corner pretending nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"Wow. Big family."

"These are just the guys who live round here. Oh, and that's my mum." A grin spread across Carson's face as an elderly woman handed him a mug, then enveloped him in a hug. When they broke apart, Rodney thought for a moment that she would hug him next, but she just squeezed his hand and politely introduced herself. He got some very mixed vibes from her, and since he had enough trouble deciphering unmixed vibes, he sat in confusion while Carson and his family talked and laughed and reminisced, wondering why he hadn't just stayed with the rest of the Atlantis team instead of allowing Carson to drag him out here.

An hour or so later, the house had emptied with the exception of cousins James and Sandra, who vanished into the kitchen to help Mrs Beckett with dinner. Rodney tried not to look like he was totally uncomfortable in his skin.

"Relax, Rodney. They all loved you."

"I sat in a corner and mumbled at them. What the heck is there to love?"

"Oh," said Carson coyly. "I could think of a few things." He ran his fingers over Rodney's knuckles, then leaned in for a kiss. Rodney was dimly aware that they had used the L-word, however indirectly, but he tucked his fingers into Carson's hair and let the moment wash over them.

"Say cheese!"

Slightly blinded by the camera flash, Rodney glared at the girl, Sandra, who was leaning nonchalantly in the doorway.

"Dinner's up," she said. "'Cept apparently you two couldn't wait."

"Is she always this annoying?" Rodney said, as they followed through to the dining room.

"Always," said Carson.

The meal was surprisingly delicious, since Rodney had been expecting something unidentifiable that had been beaten to death then boiled for three days in a sack. He barely even flinched when James casually mentioned he had slaughtered the lamb himself that morning, and instead came out with a handful of fairly standard lines that nevertheless got more of a laugh than they deserved.

To Carson's increasing amazement, Rodney managed to actually be polite, and barely insulted anyone present, and even managed a degree of civility regarding the country in general. The only issue Rodney seemed to have was with Carson's mother. She was mostly interested in Carson, and attempting to whittle out of him information about his job, and whether it was dangerous, and why he didn't come home and set up his own practice. The few questions she had for Rodney were met with polite yet basic answers. Carson made a note to mention it to Rodney later, once they were alone.

Eventually Mrs Beckett made her excuses and stood up.

"It's good to have you home, love," she said, pausing to brush some invisible dust off Carson's shoulder. "But I've got to call it a night. I left your room how it was." She glanced along the table. "Oh, and Rodney, dear, you can pull out the couch and make it into a bed. Goodnight."

"I can… Oh." Rodney watched her go, obviously dying to protest. He looked to Carson for help.

"It's not my house, love." Carson kissed him on the forehead. "I'll see you in the morning."