Margaret Porter was an observant woman, especially when it came to her family and customers in her coffee house. As a result, she saw the change in Alison's relationship with Carson the moment they arrived home from Albuquerque. Carson held the door for Alison, laughing at something she said as he rested his hand gently on the small of her back. And Alison beamed at him, her blue eyes sparkling as she turned to face her mother.

"Hey, Mom!"

Burying a smile, Margaret finished making a latte for Mrs. Engleside. "Alison."

Carson gave her a look somewhere between a smirk and a smile. "Hello, Margaret." He spoke softly with Alison while Margaret finished the transaction with Doug's wife. As soon as the woman turned, however, Carson's smile faded. A dark bruise covered the left side of Mrs. Engleside's face, quite noticeable in spite of the heavy makeup and large sunglasses she used to hide it. He touched the woman's arm. "Mrs. Engleside, are ye okay?"

Mrs. Engleside jerked her elbow away from him, shaking her head quickly. "I'm fine, Doc."

Carson's chin lowered slightly, a sign he didn't believe her. "You're certain?"

"Yes." Mrs. Engleside smiled to hide the tension in her shoulders. "I went out riding earlier today and took a tumble from the horse's back."

"Very well." Carson accepted that for the moment, though Margaret could see he wasn't sure whether to believe her. "How's Debbie recoverin'?"

The familiar topic dispelled some of the tension in the room. "She's good. Doug has her going to Albuquerque once a week to see a psychologist, and he's insisted on tests to make sure she stays clean." The woman put a hand on Carson's arm. "Thank you again, Doc," she said with tears in her voice. "I can't imagine. . . ."

Carson reached over to steady her when she started trembling. "It was my pleasure, Mrs. Engleside."

The woman left with a nod, and he turned back to where Margaret pretended complete absorption in cleaning the espresso machine. Alison openly watched him, thrilling her mother. Carson's sparkling eyes reappeared when he saw Alison, and Margaret couldn't resist teasing the two. They were just too obvious. "How was Albuquerque?"

Alison flushed. "Wonderful." She slipped behind the counter and reached for two mugs. "Carson took me to this restaurant called Vesuvius."

Margaret's head came up with a jerk, and she blinked. Given the size of Esperanza—or lack thereof—she stayed up on which restaurants came into the nearby cities. She usually referred at least one couple to one of them a year, and she normally enjoyed giving those references. When Vesuvius had opened in Albuquerque a few months back, it had been impossible to even get a reservation. The high prices of the food—and the reputation that preceded the restaurant from its origins in Vancouver—couldn't keep people away. And she'd heard and read nothing but good about the place. Rave reviews about everything from the atmosphere to the quality of the wine to the wonderful recipes made her wish to go there one day.

Margaret eyed Carson, her grin not quite hidden. "Did he, now?"

A flush started at the collar of his shirt and crept up his neck. "Aye," he said softly. Leaning closer, he lowered his voice. "What did I tell ye about why I came to this town, Margaret?"

"That you didn't come to have your head turned," she replied just as softly, happy that Alison was obliviously occupied with making two peppermint mochas. "But I'm smart enough to know that your head was turned by my daughter before you ever came to Esperanza."

He stared at her for a few moments before closing his eyes and shaking his head. He let out a slightly exasperated tone. "There might be some truth to that."

"I know there is." She patted his hand. "And I wholeheartedly approve."

"Margaret," he said in a warning tone.

She met his eyes while raising her voice. "Alison, a pie just came out of the oven a while ago. Would you mind cutting three pieces? I think I could use a break and a snack." As her daughter nodded and headed for the kitchen, Margaret waved a hand at Carson when he pulled out his wallet. "From now on, you don't pay for anything here. You and my daughter are seeing each other—whatever that means to the two of you—and that makes you family."

He gave her another one of his indulgent mock glares. Instead of commenting, he took the two peppermint mochas and carried them to a table near the counter. Margaret fixed her own coffee and followed Alison as she set the fresh apple butterscotch pie on the table. It would go quickly, Margaret knew. The Scottish dish had become a holiday favorite, and she already had an abundance of orders for them to be filled before Christmas Day. For now, though, she decided to simply sit with her daughter and a man who had become a surrogate son. As she sipped her coffee, she hid a grin. If she had her way, he'd be more than just an adopted family member. He'd become a permanent part of the tiny Porter family. And she was more than happy with that.

oOo

Carson had barely awakened on Sunday morning when the phone next to his bed rang. He'd subscribed to cell service when he first arrived back on Earth and had been thrilled when the provider actually had a tower near Esperanza. Now, he blinked at the phone number and frowned. "'ello?"

"Carson, it's Margaret." Her voice was quiet, almost as if she was whispering. "I apologize if I woke you."

"You didn't." He threw his covers back and sat up suddenly. Her voice was tense, telling him that something was wrong.

"Good." She sighed over the phone. "I hate to impose, but I was wondering if you could come stay with Alison today. She woke up with a bad migraine, and I've got. . . ."

"Say no more," Carson interrupted. "Give me half an hour to get over there."

"Take your time." Margaret's smile could be heard over the phone, as could her relief. "I don't need to be at the church for another few hours." She paused and then came back on the phone. "I've gotta go. I'll see you in a bit." She hung up before Carson could say anything.

He sat and stared out the glass doors in his room. The day was bright, with fluffy white clouds whispering across the sky. He hadn't known that Alison suffered from migraines, but the brightness would make the day tough on her. Pushing to his feet, he took a shower and ate breakfast in a brisk manner. Then, after gathering his medical kit as well as a new medical journal that came in the mail while he was in Albuquerque, he walked across town.

Margaret answered the door with a smile. "Right on time. Thank you for this, Carson."

Carson stepped through, noticing how she'd whispered. "Och, don't mention it," he said just as softly. He peeked into the living room and saw Alison lying on the couch, a damp cloth over her eyes and bag-lined trash can next to her. A blanket lay on one of the chairs. "How is she?"

Margaret shrugged. "She says she'll be fine in a few hours. But I've never seen her so sick with one of these."

"How often does she have them?"

"Only once a year or so." Margaret smiled sadly. "They started after my husband passed away."

He nodded and quietly walked across the room to kneel next to the couch. "Alison?"

She turned toward him. "Carson?" Her voice was weak, not quite a whisper but nearly as soft.

"Your mum's a bit worried, an' so am I." He reached out and carefully touched her hand, aware that she might react badly. When she didn't immediately pull away, he smiled. "On a scale of one to ten, how's the pain?"

She bit her lip slightly as she thought about that. "About an eight. Sometimes up to a nine."

He nodded again and reached for his medical kit. "Well, I know you're not feelin' great, but I need ye to take some warm tea if you're able to hold it down. The caffeine will help, as will the medication I brought."

"I'll try." She didn't look too thrilled with the instructions.

Carson smiled at that and patted her hand before rising to talk to Margaret. "We'll be fine here," he said reassuringly.

The older woman nodded uncertainly. "I would stay, but I've got a meeting after church. I'm supposed to cater the local Christmas social, an' I've got to stop in to the coffee house to get some accounting paperwork to do."

Carson touched her elbow. "Take your time." He tilted his head in the direction of the couch. "She'll likely sleep most of the day, an' I'll make certain she's got somethin' to eat when this wears off."

Margaret hugged him, and Carson watched her slip out of the house. She didn't want to go, not with her daughter in such pain. "Right," he whispered to himself. He moved to the kitchen to make the tea and carried it back to the couch along with the sumatriptan he'd picked up at the pharmacy and another damp rag. Before he even left the kitchen, he heard Alison mutter something. He found her leaning over the trash can. Quickly setting down the tea, medication, and rag on the dining table, he hurried to her side and put a gentle hand on her shoulder as she finished retching. The rag that had been over her eyes had fallen to the floor, but he ignored it as he helped her lie back on the couch. A glass of water sat next to her, and he encouraged her to rinse her mouth.

"Thanks," she whispered. Then, in spite of the pain and light sensitivity, she rolled her eyes. "Real romantic, isn't it?"

Carson smiled at that. "I'm a doctor, love," he said as he helped her adjust into a semi-upright position. "This isn't going to push me away."

Alison gave a tiny laugh. "Good to know." She lifted a shaking hand and covered her eyes. "I'm sorry about this."

"Don't be." He stood, moved the trash can to clean in a few moments, and reached for the tea. "I added a bit of peppermint to the tea. It should hopefully help with the nausea."

She accepted the medication he offered and swallowed it willingly. Then, she sipped the tea. "That's really good."

"Aye," he agreed with a smile. Seeing that she'd settled somewhat, he rose to take care of the mess and returned to find that she'd finished the tea and was again lying on the couch. Returning the trash can to its original place, he refreshed the cool rag he'd left on the table and gently laid it over her eyes. She reached for him, and he took her hand. "Are you just light an' sound sensitive, or do smells bother you?"

She shook her head slightly. "Just light and sound." Her forehead wrinkled. "Why?"

"When you're better, you'll need somethin' to eat." He smiled as he laid her hand on her stomach. "I was thinkin' some soup would work."

She shifted in place. "I would say that sounds good, but. . . ."

"I understand." He touched her shoulder. "Go to sleep, Alison. I'll be here when you wake up."

Her lips tipped up a bit in a weak smile. "Thank you, Carson."

"You're welcome." He moved to Margaret's easy chair and watched as the sumatriptan worked its magic. Her face eased, and the lines disappeared almost completely as she drifted to sleep. Finally certain she'd rest well, he reached for the blanket on the back of the couch and covered her. Then, he slipped into the kitchen to explore.

Several hours later, with chicken soup simmering on the back burner of the stove, Carson was pulled from the medical journal he'd eventually begun to read by Alison shifting on the couch. She rolled toward the front of the couch, and the rag over her eyes fell to the ground. Carson moved to pick it up, careful to avoid making too much noise. Some migraine sufferers recovered after just a few hours, and some agonized for days. He didn't imagine that Alison had many of the headaches, or she would never have been recruited by the SGC.

When she settled back into sleep, he headed for the kitchen to stir the soup and fix two more cups of tea. This time, he made it a bit stronger and added some sugar. Alison would likely be hungry if she hadn't eaten anything since last night. A glance at his watch told him it was late afternoon, and he knew that Margaret would appear soon.

With a sigh, he returned to the living room to find Alison still sleeping. Returning to his chair, he kicked back and closed his eyes. Now that the worst of it had passed, he could afford to give in to the pull of sleep. Smiling at the thought that Margaret had trusted him enough to care for her daughter, he dozed.

oOo

Alison woke slowly, a dull ache in her neck and shoulders reminding her of the day-long ordeal. She'd felt the migraine coming on last night and had taken some pain killers when she went to bed, hoping to stall it. She didn't get them often, and they tended to attack at the worst possible times. This was the first one in several years, which is why it surprised her.

Cautiously blinking her eyes, she realized the light sensitivity was gone. The room was dim, though, with only a light burning in the kitchen. The sun had likely set a short time ago. She heard voices from another room in the house but didn't have the energy to get up and follow them. Her mother's chair had been moved slightly, and a medical journal lay open on the table beside it. Smiling at the subtle sign of Carson's presence, she pulled the blanket around her shoulders and enjoyed the absence of pain.

A shadow crossed the doorway, and she opened her eyes in time to see Carson smile at her. Thinking that she could handle seeing that grin every day of her life, she returned it. "Hey."

He crouched next to her. "How are you?"

"Better." She shifted her head on the pillow. "Thanks for being here."

His smile widened and changed, became gentler. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." He glanced over his shoulder. "Your mum came home about an hour ago. She's workin' on accounting right now, but I can tell her you're awake."

Alison shook her head. "I'll tell her myself. I need to. . . ." Then, she flushed as she realized what she'd been about to tell him.

Carson clearly got the message. "While you do that, I'll get some soup served up."

"Sounds great." She waited while he headed into the kitchen before pushing the blanket away from her shoulders. Sitting up caused the world to tilt slightly, but she waited a few moments until that subsided. She didn't need Carson hovering as she went to the bathroom.

Just down the hall, her mother's office door was closed. She knocked lightly and pushed it open, blinking at the bright light. Margaret glanced up from her desk and then jumped to her feet. "How are you, Sweetheart?"

"I'm fine, Mom." Alison shrugged. "Thanks for having Carson come over."

Margaret gave her a sly grin. "I knew you'd appreciate that. Besides, he is a doctor. And he knows how to cook!"

Alison laughed at that. "Yeah, I noticed. The soup smells great."

"It is great." Margaret dropped back into her chair. "I'm going to be here most of the evening, Ali, so don't worry about me. I won't eavesdrop."

"Mom!" Alison flushed at the insinuation, causing her mother to laugh and shoo her out of the room. A quick stop at the bathroom later, she found Carson setting a bowl of soup on the table next to the couch. She slowly settled into the couch, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as she tucked her feet up. Carson returned a few moments later with silverware and ice water. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"Don't mention it," he replied. Then, he abandoned her mother's chair to join her on the couch.

They chatted lightly while they ate, and Alison was surprised to find the chicken vegetable soup he'd made helped settle the residual queasiness from the migraine. The broth was tasty without being overly spicy, and she allowed herself to imagine him in the kitchen, putting it all together with the same ease he'd displayed in his own kitchen. For some reason, the image appealed on more levels than just the surface. When she finished eating, he took the dishes back to the kitchen and returned with two cups of tea. This time, it was stronger than earlier that day, and Alison wrapped her hands around the warm cup. "You really are something."

He blinked at that comment, and she couldn't help laughing at herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "When I've got a migraine, I sometimes lose the ability to filter what I say."

"Alison." His voice was firm while still being gentle. When she looked at him, he shook his head. "You don't have to keep apologizing. I'm happy to have been here."

She saw how much he meant it and found she couldn't look away. "It's just. . . ." Breaking eye contact, she stared into her tea. "Thanks."

He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it before allowing his thumb to rub across her knuckles. Instead of saying anything, he motioned to the television across the room. "We can visit or watch a movie or whatever you'd like to do."

Alison grinned at him. "Let's watch a movie. Something light. Not too heavy."

He smirked at her. "Are ye sure? Ye'll find I'm just a big softie."

"I knew that already."

He chuckled as he pushed off of the couch. "Thanks a lot," he said wryly.

"No charge." Alison grinned as he moved to the shelf next to the television stand. She allowed herself to check him out a bit as he picked out three different movies. When he turned, she caught the cheeky smile on his face and realized that he knew what she was doing. Somehow, she wasn't as embarrassed by it now as she was yesterday.

He carried the three DVDs to her and, when she'd chosen, inserted the movie into the player. Alison waited until he'd settled on the couch before scooting closer to him to lean into his side as The Holiday began to play. Carson naturally wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Alison watched Kate Winslet and Cameron Diaz trade homes for the Christmas season and fall in love with men from different countries. Realizing that she was doing exactly what the women in the movie had done—falling in love with a man from a totally different country—she smiled and snuggled closer to Carson. He glanced at her with a grin but made no comment as she allowed herself to get lost in the plot of the movie.

When the credits finally rolled, Alison admitted something to herself. She was falling in love. And she liked how it felt.

~TBC