Ian entered the screened in porch, calling out his sister's name. Emily and Alex followed behind him, finding it decidedly ominous that all the light were off but for a lone bulb's glow emanating from the kitchen off the porch. Neither woman said anything, far too wary of the situation into which they were walking...

As they entered the kitchen, the Doyle matriarch stood at the head of the table. She reached for her cigarette where it lay in an ashtray amidst the immaculately set table. She took a long, slow exhale, then declared, "I hope you like pork chops."

Neither woman answered that. It was mostly rhetorical anyway. Instead, Alex approached, hand extended for a handshake.

"You're the grandma," Moira said. A beat, during which her gaze flicked over to Emily. "One of 'em..." she amended.

"Alex Miller," she introduced herself, shaking the other woman's hand with a polite smile.

"Moira Doyle."

Withdrawing her hand and retreating to the safety that was Emily's side, Alex said, "Thanks for having us."

Moira turned to Emily. "And you're the law woman?"

"Retired, ma'am," she said and it was strange to hear her defer to someone like that, "Emily Prentiss."

Gesturing to the waiting table, Moira said, "Shall we take a seat at the table?" She waited until they'd both sat, then nodded to the bottle of whisky on the table. "Now, who can I interest in a glass?"

"No, thank you," Alex said, never really one for drinking, least of all in a situation such as this. Emily too turned down a glass, which surprised Alex, though she knew better than to say anything on the matter just then.

It apparently surprised Moira as well. She turned to Ian with a little laugh, watching him pour the two of them each a glass. "Well, I don't mind drinking alone." She took a greedy sip from her glass, then another drag from her cigarette. What followed was a lesson on the family history of the Doyle clan...not that Emily and Alex were all that interested, but they listen politely nonetheless. "But you didn't come here to listen to me yak," Moira finished. She laughed. "You came to eat." She moved to take the pork chops from the oven.

The porch door creaked open then, admitting two young men who both bore the piercing blue eyes that seemed to be the hallmark of a Doyle.

"These are my boys," Moira introduced. "The tall one's Liam, the other is Cormac." To her sons, she said, "Say hello to our guests."

Emily had had all of the social niceties she was willing to tolerate at that point. "Where's Finley?" she asked. "Where's the boy?"

"Well, he's not here," Moira said with a grin like a shark. She settled back at the head of the table, somehow all the more intimidating from a seated position. "He's with his father."

"His father!?" Alex very nearly growled. If there was one surefire way to make Alex lose her cool, it was disrespecting Ethan's memory... Emily patted her shoulder in a silent reminder to mind her manners and she huffed, but didn't finish her statement, though her lips were mashed together so tightly it was surely painful.

"We came to see our grandson," Emily once again reminded.

Moira raised a brow. "You mean you didn't come here to eat my pork chops?" Laughter rang out at that.

Emily's expression was decidedly unamused. "If you brought us all the way out here for the sake of a joke..."

"Maggie said you were rough bark," Moira said to Emily. Then gesturing to Alex, she added, "And I can see already that you're no day at the races..." (If Alex took offence to that, she wisely didn't say so.) "Come on, everybody, sit down. It's not going to get any better cold."

Alex turned to Emily and the two women exchanged a silent conversation. She entwined her fingers with Emily's, taking comfort in the small gesture of solidarity. And silently, she convinced her wife to settle into the chair next to her.

As everyone dug into the food, Moira corrected herself, "Your boy's with my Killian. He took Finley along to pick up the boy's mother from work.

"Maggie? We could've seen Finley and Maggie in town?" Alex said, visibly displeased that they'd been jumping through hoops all day, only to find out it had been unnecessary.

"Oh, now I am feeling insulted by you! You really don't give a damn about sharing a meal," Moira snapped.

For several moments, Alex's jaw hung open slightly as she felt fear freeze in her veins. "I just meant..."

Then, Moira laughed. "Oh, breathe easy. Anyone who knows me knows I can't be insulted. Eat my chops or don't."

Alex plastered on her most demure smile. "Well, we'd certainly hoped to meet Killian's family one day." It wasn't necessarily the truth, but it seemed the right thing to say just then to defuse the building tension.

"Oh, had you?" A beat. "Well, I'm glad to learn that. I thought we should meet too...have ourselves a chat. Would've been nice if it had been at the wedding, but... Maybe it was too much to ask that his mother be invited. Or his brothers." Her volume rose as she spoke, anger clearly coursing through her.

Ian chimed in, "Or his uncle."

"You weren't invited?" Alex asked. The information genuinely surprised her.

"Do you recall seeing us there?"

Alex laughed a little, nervous. "And that's our fault?"

"You didn't stop to think to yourselves he must've come from somewhere? Must have family?" Moira asked pointedly.

"Frankly, we thought only that Killian was a grown man," Alex retorted, polite but with a knife's edge of threat beneath.

"Your son's dead. It's understandable that you'd forget," Moira said, the words also a knife's edge...successfully drawing blood with it. Several moments of tense silence followed. "You're never really done raising 'em. Teaching 'em the right way. That's why I had to bring my boy home." She shook her head slowly, as if lost in thought. "Your boy's perfect now. It's not really fair to compare him and Killian."

"We would never compare Killian to our son." Alex had never come quite so close to physical blows as she was in that moment...

Moira seemed to sense this. With a little snort of amusement, she said, "He said you two don't approve..."

"I'm surprised to hear he gives a damn what we think..." Emily said under her breath and yet still audible. "He couldn't be bothered to tell us they were leaving."

"My boy doesn't have to answer to you."

Reluctantly, Emily agreed, "No...he does not."

"And we don't have to answer to you," Alex fired back.

Laughter.

"We'd better get some food in our bellies before this turns into a real blood feud..."