Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

Chapter 4: 

Saturday, December 31st, 2242
Unmarked Drive in BFE
On the Outskirts of Aberdeen, Scotland, Earth

The moment he got there, Corry understood all of a sudden exactly why Scotty had been so nervous first walking up to his house in Maine. It wasn't so much the uneasiness of being in a strange place; in this case, on a long driveway outside of Aberdeen proper, half-secluded in the woods, with a stiff wind blowing out of the North and the underlying smell of another country altogether.

No, it wasn't that, it was knowing that you were going to talk to people who you didn't know, and try to make a good impression because that was what was no doubt expected of you by your best friend and co-conspirator. That was why he stood outside of the brightly lit house for a good twenty minutes in the cold, mustering his courage.

The house itself was a story and a half of stone and wood, and the windows glowed in a cheerful welcome. All around were people's vehicles, and that alone was an odd lot, from an actual shuttlecraft off in the clearing to the right, to a horse-drawn carriage tied to the fence along the drive. Raucous laughter occasionally drifted out from the cracked door, and every once in awhile a shout was heard for something or other.

So Corry took his time getting up his courage, trying to figure out how he would fit into Scottish customs, since from what he had heard rumor of, they were far flung and varied. He paced, rubbing his hands together, and hoped for salvation.

Of course, what he ended up getting could only dubiously be called that.

"So ye plan on standin' here all night, just bidin' yer time?"

Corry turned back, raising an eyebrow at his roommate, who had snuck up in the shadows. "I'm-- I'm just admiring-- I mean, I'm taking a breath of fresh air. Long ride here, you know."

"Aye, right." Scotty stepped over, sticking his hands into his pockets. "I didna think ye'd make it."

"Didn't," Corry corrected, though more jokingly. Near a year ago, he'd been more serious about toning down that accent for the sake of getting Scotty through Basic Language; now it was halfway habit. "And I did."

Scotty twitched at the correction, probably suffering flashbacks to when he was being stopped every sentence. "Sorry, didn't. And speakin' of, my cousins decided tae tell me I was talkin' odd."

Corry grinned. He counted that as a success. "Yeah? Well, that just makes my day. But I haven't quite succeeded in getting you ostracized yet."

Scotty smirked at that briefly, something flashing across his face for a split second before he shrugged. "I've ostracized myself. Mum went and put me in charge o' watchin' the whole lot o' brats. And while they may well be bonnie lads an' lassies every other day, they've been spoiled rotten all evenin'." Tossing a glance back at the house, he snorted. "I'm in no rush whatsoe'er tae get back in."

"Makes two of us, then," Cor muttered, leaning on the fence that lined the driveway, side-eying the horses a few meters down from him for a moment before looking back to Scotty. "Anything I should know before going in there? Like-- culture-specific greetings, or um-- and do I have to eat haggis? Or wear a kilt? Or do some sort of weird sword dance?"

"What?" Scotty blinked, then shook his head, amused. Dropping his voice to a conspiring whisper, he leaned forward and confided in perfect deadpan, "Corry, whatever idiot tourist guidebook ye read tellin' ye this muck, throw it out.  How the hell have ye lived in Belfast for almost four years, where ye can practically spit the distance tae Scotland, and ye still buy intae this nonsense?"

Corry frowned. "But I thought--"

"Know what she made? Steak an' potatoes, oysters, um-- Chaudrée de l'Atlantique au saumon--"

"Huh?" Corry asked, trying to ignore how the French accent was utterly butchered.

"Salmon chowder. French salmon chowder."

"Like chowder as in something not unlike New England Clam Chowder? Red or white?" This was already beginning to look a little brighter. Corry was almost sure he would have to go through arcane rituals, and now someone was presenting him with a sort of homelike dish.

"White, and it's somethin' like that, aye," Scotty admitted, with a barely concealed smirk.

Corry thought about it for a moment. "So I won't have to eat haggis?"

"Nooooo."

"And you have something like clam chowder?"

"Ayeeeee." Glancing to the door again, then back at Corry, Scotty raised his eyebrows. "Ready tae give this a try, or should I go and slay a sheep first, bathe in its blood and chant a spell tae keep the demons away from ye?"

"I think I'm ready." Corry steeled himself as well as he could, walking towards the house. He wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the door, exactly, but he certainly noticed that there were people everywhere. Everywhere. Older people, people his age, children-- it was a madhouse.  Even for Cor, who loved a good party, the sheer chaos of the place made him feel like he was being assaulted.

Backpedaling slightly, he ran into his roommate, who gave him a shove. "Uhhhh..."

"Now who’s the chicken?"

That got Corry to blow off his surprise and knock his shoulder against Scotty’s. "Am not."

Scotty rolled his eyes in exasperation, leaning on the doorframe and pointing. "All right, we'll start nice and easy. That's my mum Caitlyn back there, the one dishin' out soup. She's the reason we're eatin' French food. And o’er there's my father, Robert. He's an artsy type-- does interior designin'. The sterling example of humanity he's talkin' to is Clara. She's my sister, and thinks she's the best thing to come to the art community since Monet. Still with me?"

Corry nodded seriously, filing the names in his mental cabinet. "Still here."

"Good." Scotty nodded to a middle-aged woman sitting on the couch, surrounded by children of all sizes. "And that'd be Colleen, one o' my aunts, and that brood beggin' her for candy consists of -- in no particular order, mind -- Mary, William, another Robert, Tara, Heather, Heck -- I still think he was named as a joke -- Fiona (for my Nan), Kathleen, and Eileen. Now, they don't all belong tae her; some're Stuarts, a couple o' McGowans, yet more Scotts."

"Is that all? Please say that's all," Corry whispered aside, just trying to remember a few of those names -- and that was only about a fourth of the people actually in the room. He was suddenly glad his family was so contained.

"No, we still have the rest o' the aunts, uncles and cousins.  Includin’ the ones outside on the back deck." Apparently taking some mercy, though, Scotty grinned. "But I'll let ye take a--"

"Montgomery! Who've ye got there, lad?"

"--break." Taking a deep breath, Scotty shrugged at Corry and started weaving his way through the people, clearly trying hard not to step on any children who happened to be underfoot. After looking back over his shoulder to make sure his roommate was following -- which Corry was -- he made his way to the back table where his mother was. "Mum, this is Cor-- er, Andrew Corrigan, my roommate at the Academy."

"Oh, I'm so happy tae meet ye!" She seemed to be, too. She practically beamed. "Ye ken, it's really good Monty has a friend, he was always so shy as a bairn--"

Scotty wasn't quite able to stifle a tortured grimace. "Mum--"

"Ne'er ye mind, Montgomery, ye just be a good lad and get a few more bowls from the kitchen."

"Aye, Mum," Scotty said, with a sigh, slinking off down the dark hallway towards the other brightly lit room.

Corry resisted the urge to take his turn to smirk, though some part of him was wincing internally in sympathy. But it was kind of nice to see the tables turned somewhat, and he offered over his best schoolboy smile to Caitlyn. "Ma'am, it's a pleasure. And this chowder smells just terrific."

"Ye mean that? Here, let me get ye a bowl, ye poor thing, ye must be starved after flyin' o’er here from Maine." Smiling in turn, she went to ladling out some of the white soup.

Taking that few seconds to get his bearings, Corry finally started relaxing. Aside from the hustle and bustle of so many people, the house itself was very-- warm toned and lively. It wasn't as brightly lit as his parents house, instead having a sort of mellow lighting, and a fire was burning in the stone fireplace. Every spare piece of furniture was in use, and it seemed like everyone was relaxed, just a rather large family gathering.  Though, he did idly wonder how Scotty managed to survive living in a place that got this loud on the regular.

Taking the bowl that was offered to him, he smiled thankfully at Caitlyn. Cripes, but it was almost uncanny how much Scotty looked like his mother; same coloring, same lines. It wasn't hard to see who had inherited what from whom. "You're a professional chef, right?"

"Aye, spent my whole life cookin'. Monty told me ye hailed from Maine, and I thought ye might like somethin' that reminded ye o’ home a bit." Pausing for a moment to fix a lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, she looked around the room. "And speakin' of, where's that lad gotten tae? It doesna take much tae distract 'im, does it?"

Corry nodded in diplomatic agreement, though in the back of his mind he was wondering where she got that from -- trying to distract Scotty when he was working was like trying to get blood out of a stone. Admittedly, it still remained one of Corry's favorite hobbies. He took a bite of the soup, then asked, "Want me to go find him?"

"If ye like. Kitchen's just right down there."

Nodding smartly, Corry took his bowl with him as he made his way back towards the kitchen. Stepping in, he didn't immediately find Scotty; well, not until he looked around the corner of the counter and found him fiddling with the garbage incinerator, anyway. "Your mother's looking for you."

"In a minute," Scotty replied, distractedly, sitting back for a moment to squint at the readout panel. "I just got this thing workin' a few days ago, and the ancient piece o'-- never mind." Taking a moment to sigh, with an expression that could only be described as 'henpecked to bloody ribbons', he looked back up at Cor. "Bowls, right?"

"Yeah. I'll get 'em if you want, though."

"Ye'd have my eternal thanks."

Corry chuckled, shaking his head and searching through the cabinets until he found the bowls that matched the one he left on the counter. "You look like you need to get out of here."

Scotty scoffed, quietly. "Understatement o' the century there."

"So what're we gonna do?"

Scotty stood, brushing his hands off and leaning on the counter, thoughtfully. "I was thinkin' that if we decided to avoid runnin' around the whole o' Aberdeen with the family, we could be smart lads and spend Hogmanay doin' a little -- how to put this politely? -- ditchin' the relatives and gettin' stupid at the pubs."

"Hmmm. Hang out with your brood or go drink, hang out with your brood or go drink--" Corry grinned, mischievously. "I think I'll take option B."

"Aye, I thought ye might," Scotty said, looking downright relieved, before picking up the asked-for bowls.

Corry had been intending to do that, but with a shrug, he just finished the chowder while Scotty took the bowls out to his mother instead.

It wasn't that he would have minded going around and doing whatever they were supposed to be doing, but after seeing just how many people were there and how messy it all felt, the idea of branching off seemed a lot more appealing. And he was getting the impression that his roommate needed some kind of rescuing at this point, too.

(Only later would he realize that his being invited at all was almost certainly the set-up for an excuse for Scotty to leave.)

For now, he rinsed the bowl out, then crossed his arms, waiting until Scotty made his re-entrance looking even more harried and frazzled than before. "Clean getaway?" Corry asked, not without sympathy.

"Clean as it ever gets, in this house," was the surprisingly cynical answer, given in a mutter. Zipping his jacket, Scotty tossed a glance to Cor. "Ready?"

Corry shrugged, standing up straight. "Ready as I'll ever be."

"So, here I was, took off like a bloody fool in the middle of a gale-- a'right, wasnae the middle o' the gale, but the wind was kickin' up. An' me, bein' the patent divvy I am on occaaaasion, jus' stayed aloft, clingin' tae the bar for dear life." Downing what had to have been his umpteenth straight shot, Scotty leaned on the bar with a distinctly plastered look. They still hadn't made it into the actual city, having stopped off at one of the smaller roadside taverns for just one drink.

That was several just one drinks ago; they had started the night pretty much like they had every time they'd gone pub-crawling over the past several months, by eventually leaping into a wager on who could drink more quicker and still remain standing.  After knocking down a couple of shots, Scotty finally seemed to relax; after several more, he somehow stumbled into telling a hang-gliding story.

Corry laughed, as much for the way the whole comedy of errors was relayed as for the mental images it produced, shaking his head and wiping at his eyes. "Didja land safe?"

"Nooooooo, oh no, nu uh. I'm really--" Nodding a few times, Scotty leaned closer, practically draped against Corry's shoulder, whispering, "--dead. As a doornail." Sitting back up again with a bright grin, he continued, "O' course I landed safe. Right smack in the middle of a bale o' hay, had tae wade through cattle, got back tae Edward's stinkin' tae high heaven. Was a right bonnie trip, that."

"I once took the boat out alone in a storm." Corry nodded as well, with a seriousness that was bordering goofiness, draining his own glass and gesturing for another. "Was all kinda windy out there, white capped waves, and here I was on a skiff getting the hell beat outta me. Made it back alive, though, unlike you."

"Aye, poor dead me. I'll drink tae that."

"And I'll drink to being alive."

Picking up his shot, Scotty took it in one belt, which was no doubt less painful this late in the festivities. Slamming the glass down on the bar upsidedown, he looked at the clock, squinting; when Corry followed the look, he saw it was almost 2200, and they still weren't even into the city proper, having been ranging around the woodlands surrounding. "We havetae go."

"I dun wanna move, though," Cor complained, though he pulled himself up off of the barstool reluctantly. "Tell me again why we took the horses?"

"Couldnae convinced anyone tae let us take a real vehic... ve..." Not quite able to get the word right, Scotty finally settled on, "ye ken."

"Ayuh." Tossing down a handful of credits and not even bothering to count them -- and shaking his head at Scotty giggling over the ayuh there -- Corry half-walked, half-staggered out to the tree where they had tied the two horses they'd hijacked quite slyly from the carriage.

Looking up at the largish beast, he tried to figure out how to climb up, what with riding bareback like that. Hard enough when he was sober, but now that he was officially getting just a bit tipsy, it was proving to be impossible. "Can't we just lead 'em?"

"Ye wanna walk?" Taking the bridle and half using it for support, Scotty led his steed (the put upon beast that it was) over to the steps of the tavern. After about three tries, he succeeded in getting up onto the horse's back, and promptly gave Corry a smug little look. "See? Easy as can be."

"Smartass."

"Just c'mon."

Following the other cadet's example, Corry took a few tries of his own before clambering up. Taking the reins into his hands, he looked down both ways of the darkened road, pretty oblivious now to the cold wind that was still powering down from the north. "Which way?"

"Thattaway," Scotty said, nodding proudly towards a footpath (or maybe bridle path) into the woods. "I know a short... short..."

"...shortcut?"

"Aye, that."  Then Scotty paused and started giggling again. "I mean, ayuh, that."

Corry rolled his eyes so hard he almost fell off the horse again, though he ended up chuckling himself even as he asked, "Is that a good idea?"

"Ye wanna get there afore midnight, aye?" Pulling on the reins and bringing a whole new meaning to the term drunk driving, Scotty headed for the path, singing some barely-coherent Gaelic-sounding tune. 

After a moment, still not sure it was a good idea, Corry followed.

"We're lost." And forgotten, and with no hope of rescue. Corry was getting a little more clear-headed by that point, at least clear enough to notice that the path they had been on was long gone and it was a bit chilly out there. Add in the fact that the horses were about ready to declare a strike -- if he was reading the occasionally laid back ears right -- and it was starting to look bleak.

"We're not lost, just--" Scotty pulled his horse up short, looking around blearily. "Tempor-- uhm, misplaced."

Corry shook his head, then took to surveying the area again. The moon was out, which shed a little light into the trees, but that didn't offer much in the way of direction. "Is all of Scotland this sparsely populated?"

"Nu uh, we shoulda come 'cross somethin' somewhere by now. Unless we're goin' in circles." 

Which was possible, Corry had to allow. They were engineers, after all, not navigators.  "Time is it?" he asked, rubbing his eyes briefly.

"Dinna ken."

"Great."

"Mum's gonna murder me.  Aye, she'll just string me up an' that'll be the end o' that." Leaning over the horse's neck for a moment, Scotty groaned. "I'm a dead man."

Corry was laughing before he could stop himself. "We established that, didn't we?"

Shooting an irritated glance back, Scotty sat up straight again. "A'right, really dead this time. Double dead."

"I won't let 'er kill ya. Who'd design the ship if you bit it?" Cor nudged his horse up until he was alongside Scotty. "Besides, you're only my best friend. And think about it! How many Starfleet cadets can say that they got lost in the woods on horseback, drunk, and lived to tell about it?"

Apparently deciding to take advantage of the setup, Scotty lowered his voice to an almost sinister level, eyeing Corry with a wicked look, "Who says we're gonna live?"

Frowning, Corry held that gaze. "Of course we're gonna live. Someone's bound to find us."

"But how soon?" Clearly having all too much fun, Scotty set his horse to a slow walk, circling Corry. "There're stories of all sorts in these parts. In fact," he continued, lowering his voice further still, until it was just above the sound of the wind in the trees, "once I heard 'bout this group o' highwaymen, y'ken, the men who usetae jump from the trees and cut the throats of innocent travelers."

A little spooked, either because of the booze or because his friend was very good at taking advantage of bad situations, Corry swallowed hard.  In some part, he knew he was being taken for a metaphorical ride, but he still found himself shivering at a breeze that cut through the trees.  

"That's bullshit," he said, trying to sound sure, turning on the horse's back to keep an eye on Scotty. "There haven't been reports of highwaymen for centuries."

"Oh, but ye never know, do ye? Maybe they're just waitin'; waitin' for someone daft enough to wander away from the lights, away from the safety o' the city. Common 'round these parts, all the way up past the third world war. Cut-throats, radioactive mutants--"

"If there were highwaymen, they'd never bother with two cadets," Corry tried, lamely.

"Waitin' in the trees, watchin' for a chance tae leap down--"

Something rustled loudly in the brush, and that was all the influence Corry needed to lose his sense of reality. He almost jumped out of his skin and kicked the horse in the side entirely by accident, and then he held on by the sheer force of terror when it half-reared up, and only just managed to grab onto its mane in time when it took off at a full gallop.

The sound that escaped from Corry's throat was one he would never admit to under pain of death, and was subsequently followed by a number of yelps that numbered something higher than a baker's dozen.

He was getting close to screaming at the tops of his lungs -- perhaps with the result of convincing any Scots within hearing distance that a murder or a supernatural event was taking place -- when Scotty managed to catch up and reach out, getting hold of Corry's runaway horse by the reins and slowing them down.

It was only after both horses were stopped that Scotty started laughing his damn head off, almost falling off his own horse for the force of it. "Cor-- oh, god, the look on yer face--!"

Corry glared ice chips, panting for breath, feeling multiple welts on his arms, his chest, his head.  Not caring whether he'd be able to get back up -- and shaking hard enough he probably wouldn't be able to -- he slid down and broke off a thin branch from a sapling nearby. "Just keep laughing."

"It was a stick--! I threw a bloody stick, an' ye lost yer mind." Oblivious to the fact he was due some payback, from the receiving end, Scotty was rubbing the tears out of his eyes and giggling all the way up until Corry swatted him across the arm.

Corry waited until the yelp quit echoing before saying, "Well, you have your stick and I have mine."

"I'm not apologizin'," Scotty said, then fell to rubbing at his arm with a pout, even though Corry was pretty sure it was more surprise than real pain, given his coat. "Ye dinna have to get mean about it."

"You scared the hell outta me!" Corry had a brief debate with himself about whether to also explain that he could have died, decided that was maybe melodramatic, then finally decided he had gotten the point across and dropped the branch. "Now, before we get into any more trouble, do you have any idea where we are? Or what time it is?"

"No," Scotty answered, looking a bit more sober now.  Relatively speaking, anyway, compared to what he had been. "I suppose if we head in one direction, we should end up somewhere.  I mean, there's only so far ye can get before hittin' another road."

Corry nodded, still breathing off the wild ride through the forest, dragging himself back up onto the horse's back with some difficulty and taking the reins in hand. He held a hand over his (still pounding) heart for a moment, then gestured. "All right, lead on."

Scotty eyed him askance. "Turn my back on ye? Ohhhh no, by all means," he said, with a sweeping after you gesture.

Corry counted to ten quickly in his mind, then pointed out, "You know your way. I don't."

Raising an eyebrow, Scotty asked, "Ye sure? We are lost, after all."

Corry had little choice but to concede that point, but he still sighed as heavily as he could before nudging his horse into a walk, taking the lead.

It was the booms of the fireworks going off in Aberdeen, signaling the new year, that finally gave them the right direction. Of course, by that point, they were both too cold and tired to think about turning around and heading into the city, so they simply sang a few verses to Auld Lang Syne, talked back and forth about the great days gone by, and came to the conclusion that this jaunt would probably be remembered simply because of its relative stupidity.

So when the lights of the house came back into view, and the two cadets trudged their tired horses up the lane, it was a welcome sight. One of those, 'you're still alive no matter how stupid you've been' sights, which generally greet the baffled, the moronic, and the young and foolish. They had fulfilled at least two of those requirements, and if they hadn’t yet fulfilled the other two, then they were certainly close.

Most of the vehicles were gone, though the carriage that the horses had come from and the shuttlecraft in the field were still there. Shaking his head, Scotty was the first one to stop; slid off of his horse and tied the reins to the fence, close enough to the water trough that had been set up for them.

"My butt's gonna hurt for a month," Cor complained, following his friend's example, then patting the big animal’s neck in thanks for not killing him. "I've never ridden a horse that long.”  Then he paused, squinting, doing a quick skim over his memory.  “In fact-- I’ve never ridden a horse at all. Just those little ponies at the Lincoln County Fair when I was-- I dunno, five?  Six?"

"Well," Scotty said, amiably, "if anyone tells ye it's like bein' with a woman, ye can tell 'em to take a hike."

Corry scoffed; talk about an erroneous comparison. "That's pleasurable. This wasn't."

Shaking his head, Scotty chuckled and headed for the house, then paused; after another moment of petting the horse, Corry realized he was being waited for and followed.  His whole body ached, he could feel at least one good welt on his brow from his wild ride through the understory of the forest, but thus far, he wasn’t regretting the trip.

(In retrospect, he should have knocked on wood when he had that thought.)

A gut-wrenching, blood-curdling, almost inhuman howl came out of nowhere.

One second, Corry was freezing in place in absolute terror, barely making out the shadow-shapes that glowed in streaks and were black otherwise and immediately flashing back to tales of highwaymen and radioactive damned mutants of all things--

--and in the next, he hit the ground on his back hard enough to knock him breathless.

There was a bit of a scuffle somewhere off to his side; Corry was just about to start swinging himself when his assailant asked, "So, what d'ye think we should do tae our horse thieves 'ere?"

"Oh, I dinna ken. Skin 'em, maybe?" another voice asked back; there was a brief beat and a thump and then it added, “Ach, nephew, watch where ye’re slingin’ that elbow, lad.”

The one sitting on Corry didn’t seem to pay any mind to that second part. "Aye, that'd work mos' times. Wouldna learn anything that way, though."

"D-- do I get a vote in all o' this?" Scotty asked, sounding breathless and shaken.

"'Course not." The man who had been pinning Corry to the ground stood up and offered a hand down.

Corry took it and clambered to his feet, trembling head to toe; through some kind of bioluminescent paint, the face of the nightmare that had tackled him to the ground grinned broadly, thus making itself even more nightmarish.

Needless to say, Corry edged over until he was side-by-side with Scotty, who was shaking about as hard as he was.

"Cor, these--" Scotty paused for a moment, where he clearly tried to find a polite word instead of a curse, before gritting out, "--gentlemen happen t' be my uncles."

"Wonderful family," Corry murmured, eyes still wide and heart still hammering.

"Charlie's the name, lad," the one who’d had Corry pinned said, grabbing his lifeless hand and shaking the stuffing out of it. "The horses ye decided to borrow happen tae be mine."

"Nice to meet you.”  It really wasn’t, but Corry said it anyway for politeness sake.

"This one's Edward," Scotty muttered, gesturing to their other assailant. "Mum's brothers, an' both a bit wrong in the noggin."

Edward frowned, swatting at his nephew’s head lightly, though clearly not trying to actually land said swat. "Watch yer tongue, Montgomery. We prob'ly saved ye a chewin' from yer mother."

"A chewin' would be preferable to bein' scared gray!" Scotty protested, ducking away. "Were ye just layin' in wait?"

Charlie grinned, oblivious to the way Corry cringed when he threw an arm across his shoulders, though he had to reach up to do it. "We saw ye ridin' back the road-- just got here maybe twenty minutes ago. Thought we'd don some warpaint and give ye a proper greetin', o' sorts. O' course, lad, if'n ye want us to tell Cait what happened--" Seeing Scotty blanch even in the low light, he chuckled, "Well, we didna tell 'er yet."

"So how 'bout we just use this as a learnin' experience? Ask afore ye borrow a man's horses." Seemingly satisfied with how this was playing out, Edward nodded and headed back for the house; after giving Corry a friendly squeeze, Charlie headed off after him.

Scotty waited until the men were out of earshot before leaning on the fence with both hands and taking a few good, deep breaths, shaking his head. "Unfair."

"If you wanna call foul, I'll deny knowing you," Corry replied, leaning beside his roommate, trying to come to grips with his second big scare of the night.  His heart was still pounding, which wasn’t helping his various welts and scrapes any.   "Man, I'm half tempted to just hop the shuttle back to Belfast tonight. At least I know I'm safe on campus."

"Take me with ye, if ye do,"  Scotty said, in a rush. Looking back at the house, he added, "I love 'em, Cor, but ye know that old sayin', 'too much of a good thing' an' all that."

Nodding emphatically, Corry had no problem agreeing, "Aye."