The elevator door glides open and Rick kicks the bags out into the hallway. Her purse and the empty baby carrier follow, which earn him a dirty look, but it's half-hearted at best. Rick has a vase of flowers in each hand, waving yellow tulips at the sensor so the doors don't close before Kate slips out with her newborn son curled up in a blanket against her chest.

She insisted on taking Ethan out of the carrier in the lobby to Eduardo could get a good look. She wants to bring Ethan into the apartment herself, which Castle started to point out wasn't entirely necessary, but three words into voicing that opinion, he was compelled to shut up. Not because of a withering look or a sharp retort, but because she leaned in and kissed him into submission.

He will always submit to that.

The lure of actually being home is strong and they leave the bags in the middle of the hall floor for the moment. Kate trails a step behind, more intent on bundle in her arms than watching ahead, and she bumps into Castle as he hugs both vases one-armed to his chest and fishes out his keys.

Rick stills, turning over his shoulder to meet his wife's gaze, and flashes back to another moment in the same hallway. It's in her eyes - she's thinking the same thing. Her gaze flicks away to the stairwell door for a minute, followed by an odd twist of her lips. Kate shakes her head resolutely. "Not today."

"Right," Castle agrees, unlocking the door. "Not today."

When the door swings inward, they are greeted by the fragrance of lemon floor wax and the rich, spicy aroma of Martha's green chicken chili. Kate blinks - the great room positively sparkles, the floor shining like a mirror. A few steps further into the room, she spies the over large crock pot on the kitchen counter, and believes with her whole heart she's about to weep again when the sound of her mother-in-law's heels click on the stairs.

"Darlings! Your here!" Martha exclaims in a stage whisper, coming to meet them. "Perfect timing!"

Martha bypasses the grownups to plant a lipstick kiss on her snoozing grandson's head and turns with a flourish in the direction of the kitchen. "The chili is on warm and the cornbread is nearly ready. Don't get too excited, it's just Jiffy from the box."

"Dad! Kate!" Alexis slides in the front door, dragging their bags from the hallway, along with one of her own.

Martha jerks a thumb toward the kitchen. "Soup's on, kiddo."

"I'll be two minutes." Alexis dumps the other bags inside the door and heads up the stairs to deposit her own bag in her old room.

Rick carefully places the vases on the kitchen table and looks around. Aside from the small disaster by the sink where Martha earlier prepped their dinner, the rest of the room is spotless. Two glass bowls on the bar are overflowing with bananas, apples and oranges. The pantry door is open, and overflowing with staples. Kate shoots Rick a little look, her shoulders sagging in exhaustion, but an undeniable smile tugging at her lips.

"Mother, did Rebecca come clean early?"

"Oh Richard, I called the service. You're going to have a host of well wishers in and out of here over the next few days, and I couldn't imagine anyone here feels like picking up. They sent over a small army. They even brought that portable scissor lift thingy and cleaned up in the rafters." Martha's arms sweep dramatically toward the ceiling, a wave of aqua silk flapping in their wake. "You could perform surgery up there. The house hasn't been this clean since you bought it. That sweet Rebecca, she changed the sheets and did all the laundry. Eduardo had the valet service deliver your dry cleaning. And I had groceries sent over. Other than the little one's doctor appointment, neither of you has to go anywhere for a couple of weeks if you don't want to."

"I love you," Kate blurts out, followed immediately by the growl of her empty stomach. "...and your chicken chili."

"Katherine, I didn't lift a finger but to dial the phone. I've always had a knack for spending Richard's money. And before you get all misty, I had them clean my place, too and charged it all to Richard's Visa." Martha winks and reaches for Ethan. "Give me that baby and go get cleaned up. Supper in ten."

Martha kicks her heels off under the table and floats away with Ethan. It's odd, watching Rick's mother do that. She'd done the same thing a few days before, the night the baby was born, dropping her heels under the hospital bed before she accepted the boy from Alexis. Only weeks before, she'd had a little "tumble" as she described it, at her school. Just a few bruises and a mild ankle sprain due to missing the bottom stair coming down from her office at the school. And while they didn't talk about it much at the time, it scared them all a little. Kate catches her husband's eye for a moment, and he shrugs. "She's just being careful."

Kate nods, grateful, and a little sad, snagging the tail of Rick's shirt as he scoops up their two bags and heads for the bedroom. She trails behind, watching over her shoulder as Martha waltzes through the kitchen with her newborn grandson.

Martha is a lot closer to 70 than 60 now, and it is showing. She parties a little less, rests a little more. Her beloved school is a bona fide success. At first she applied her star power and connections nonstop to get students and funding in the door, and productions off the ground. She beat down doors and schmoozed with the high fliers, scraping for any advantage, all the while, attending all the rehearsals, scouring for students and carefully selecting material. But now she spends a lot more time observing and advising, and letting her modest but gifted staff and not so modest endowment supply the day-to-day operations.

New York is overrun with rich folks, some of whom genuinely want to support the arts, and others who are more interested in being seen about town and having their name listed in the topmost tier of a program handed out on opening night - a gold donor, platinum donor, legacy donor, whatever sounds better (or richer) than everyone else on the list. Martha has charmed them all, from the genuine theater maven, to the crass moneybag, and leaves them all feeling like they've contributed materially to the enrichment of the theater.

She's the grand dame, having quietly, relentlessly worked her little school into a genuine, pint-sized artistic phenomenon. Every year, The Little Black Box Theater School sends another, newly, lovingly polished gem to the Great White Way. And she's settled into her role with such grace and good humor that not even a prickly pickle like her old nemesis Una Marconi can find fault with Martha Rogers anymore. And sly fox that Martha is, she guaranteed the woman's good will by funding a little scholarship, the Marconi fellowship, that welcomes a promising new candidate of modest means, every January, for a year-long, intensive foray into stagecraft. Martha even gave Una a little walk-on role as a crazy aunt, and spun it so masterfully that her rival declared it the opportunity of a lifetime.

Of course, now it's impossible for Una to review Martha's work with any critical credibility, and so every review, and they're all favorable nowadays, begins with a disclaimer about how she can't possibly be objective about the dear, dear Little Black Box Theater, but since she's typically correct about these sorts of things anyway, the reader should take that into account.

Lots of people adore Martha. All those years ago, Kate never realized the degree to which she would be one of them.

She always liked the woman's welcoming spirit, admired her spunk, appreciated her warmth and good humor. But following her husband into their bedroom now, Kate is overwhelmed with the possibility, however far in the future, that Martha won't be around. The postpartum fiesta of emotion striking again, of course. She swipes quickly under her eyes before Castle can turn around and see her.

Her husband dumps a suitcase full of dirty clothes in the hamper and deposits their toiletries in the bathroom while Kate wrestles off her jacket and pitches it in the direction of the corner chair. Kate sinks down on the foot of the bed, sorely tempted to pull the covers over her head and surrender to the siren call of their space age California king and thousand thread count sheets. But no. Martha made them dinner, a wonderful dinner. Kate's favorite, no less, she thinks to herself with a sniffle. Chili first, exhaustion later.

She gives her eyes one more quick swipe, attempting to mentally reboot before Rick figures out exactly how close his wife is to crying in her soup. He's banging around in the closet for a minute, putting up the suitcases and whatever else, and suddenly he's standing in front of her, so close she's staring at the rivet on the pocket of his jeans.

"When'd you get so stealthy?" It's huskier than she hoped for, and her husband palms the back of her head, carding his fingers through her hair.

"I know you're exhausted, but is it really worrying you that much? Mother's...situation?"

She looks up into eyes that know too much, see everything, just like always, and shrugs.

Castle sits down beside Kate, drawing her into his side. She goes easily, turning her face into his flannel shirt.

"I never told Mother, but when I got my first big check for Flowers for Her Grave, I paid a private investigator to find out what became of her father. Six weeks later the PI called, sounding so regretful. Her father had made an art form out of misdemeanor assaults and petty theft, and even spent seven months in his early seventies in the Ohio state pen for assaulting a waitress who brought him the wrong kind of pie." Rick pauses, shaking his head at the insanity of that. "He died eight years ago in a state nursing home outside of Cincinnati - emphysema.

"Sometimes I wonder if I should tell her, but I'm not sure it would be much of a comfort knowing he never mended his ways. But the part of this story that's relevant now is that when he died, he was four days short of his 91st birthday. If that kind of longevity, as hard as he lived, is any indication, then Martha Rodgers is going be around to see her grandson graduate from high school, and maybe even college...provided she doesn't take up smoking in her seventies."

She laughs at that, a light airy gasp against his shoulder, and he gives her a sideways squeeze. "Do you want to crash? Mother would totally understand."

"No, never," Kate asserts, sitting up straight and running hands through her hair. "I want that chili. It's the singular, unqualified masterpiece in her universe of culinary disasters, and I had a hospital turkey sandwich for lunch. I want to feed Ethan and shower and fall asleep on a full stomach and get four completely uninterrupted hours of sleep before he wakes us up."

"That's a good plan." Kate's husband stands, dragging her upright as well, and steers them out into the great room, where Alexis is setting the table and Martha is dishing up steaming bowls of chili. Ethan is still sleeping, propped up in his carrier at the end of the table for all to see.

Castle deposits Kate at her chair and returns a minute later with two heaping bowls. Kate leans over, nose almost in the bowl and inhales. Green chilis, shredded chicken, sweet corn, onions and navy beans float in a savory broth, over a bed of crushed tortilla chips. A few slices of freshly added avocado float on top. Castle butters a steaming wedge of cornbread and hands it to Kate. When she looks up to take it, the other ladies are taking their seats. Martha passes a bowl of shredded jack cheese and Kate adds a heaping spoonful and pokes it so it melts over the whole top of her bowl and sticks and strings on her spoon.

She hasn't even taken a bite yet, and she's so happy she laughs out loud before she knows it's coming. The conversation around her halts, spoons suspended in mid air. Kate looks around, and for a moment considers being embarrassed, and finds its not worth the effort. "I haven't had any heartburn since the delivery. So I'm going to positively hurt myself tonight. Fair warning."

Martha's stack of wildly-colored bangles rattles against the tabletop as she pats Kate's arm. "It's all right, dear girl. I was a loon when I brought Richard home from the hospital. All we had in the larder was a couple of tins of sardines and a box of saltine crackers. My father ate them all the time, and my whole pregnancy long the smell made me sick as a dog. When Richard and I dragged in from the hospital, the landlord's wife had pity on me and brought up a sack of groceries and the biggest pot of beef stew I'd ever seen. I think I ate it two meals a day for a week, and at the time I was sure it was the best thing I ever eaten. Ever since, I've had a very emotional connection to home cooking." Martha leans in, as if she were sharing a secret. "It's one of the reasons I've blessed Richard, our master chef, with my sage and comforting presence, so nearby, for so long."

"All I had to do was stop cooking?" Castle quips, and narrowly ducks a flying napkin ring.

Martha scowls past Kate at her son, but only briefly, his cheeky grin belying his words.

"Martha, thank you for all of this. It's the best homecoming I can think of. It's perfect."

It's the older woman's turn to feel the tug of emotion, and Martha's voice is a little rough when she replies. "Anything I can do."

Kate doesn't trust her own voice, but nods, focused intently on her bowl. She takes a bite, and hums in approval. It's very, very good.

And then Ethan startles awake.

"My turn." Alexis is up before any of them can move, carefully unbuckling him from the carrier. She leans in, gently lifting the boy to hold against her shoulder before she pulls to her full height, just like a pro. He's little enough yet that when she sits again, she can support him with one hand, and handle her spoon with the other.

It looks so practiced, like Ethan isn't this brand new fixture in their lives. Like Alex is has been waiting all along for this. Rick wondered what it would look like, his baby girl, with her baby brother. It should be weird but it's not at all. Ethan is just one more person to love, and that's something Alexis has always done with aplomb.

Alexis pauses eating to pat her squirming brother on the back. "Unless you have other plans, I'll take the first shift. I took a really long nap this afternoon and I need to study, so I'll be up anyway. If that's okay."

Kate doesn't even look up from her dinner. "I'll feed him before bed. Can you bring him to me about two o'clock? He may not wake up by then, but he'll need to eat."

"Perfect," Alex assents.

Rick looks between his wife and daughter, and over to his mother. A sly smile is tugging at Martha's lips, but she says nothing. This is a well-oiled machine, whatever this is. A family, it occurs to him, dumbly. It's not like it hasn't crossed his mind before now. He's even used the word, frequently. My family. And it's Ethan, of course, bringing that all to pass. Or maybe the boy is just serving to highlight for Rick exactly how far they've come. Together.

"Hey," Castle interrupts his own musings. "I've almost been afraid to ask. What's going on with this dinner? Nobody said anything to me."

"Just striking while the iron is hot, my boy," Martha reassures him. "A little impromptu planning on our part. You're not opposed, are you?"

Two other heads pop up at that, Kate and Alexis intent on him. "I...no. I think it's good. I mean, I hope it's good. I was just surprised."

"If it craters, you can blame it on me, my son. We need to bring your father in from the cold, so to speak." Martha smirks. "And frankly, the last time I saw your father was in very low light, as I was closing down the theater for the night. I need to see if she's still as handsome as he always has been."

"He is," the other two women at the table chorus together.

"Aha!" Martha exclaims gleefully, and raises her glass. "To handsome men!"