Disclaimer: I own the word processor this was typed on, but little else.

Summary: Formerly 'Back from the Dead.' - Martha deals with her son's turbulent relationship with his muse.

A/N: I hadn't meant to make this a mult-shot story, but the kindness of the fandom required it. Plus, I like writing Martha far more than I thought I would

Martha waved as she passed the doorman, Sam, and headed back to the elevator. She pushed the button for her son's floor and watched the doors close, but pressed the button to stop them when a flash of red passed by.

"Thanks," Alexis said, getting into the elevator, "Oh, Grams! I didn't think I'd see you today! I thought you were out in the Hampton's?"

"I was, kiddo," Martha replied to her granddaughter. She looked Alexis up and down. The girl was exhausted, but elated, her emotions raw and playing out rapidly on her expressive pale face. Not for the first time, she wished she been able to get her granddaughter interested in the craft. "How was your sleepover party?"

"I think you have to sleep for it to be a sleepover. It was fun. Lauren knew all the places that would be open and okay with under twenty-ones. It was like a club crawl, but now I'm tired and can barely hear anything."

"Those are usually the signs of a memorable night. And I'm here because a dear friend of mine got a last second opportunity to do a table read. I'm going to provide some last minute coaching and then maybe a celebratory dinner."

Alexis knew what 'dear friend' meant well enough not to ask further. The elevator dinged, and the two women went to the loft. Martha was surprised to find that the lights were all on, the fireplace running, even though it was a little after 1pm. She wondered if her son had stayed up too late, fallen asleep on the couch. She leaned her head into his study - nothing.

"Do you think Dad is here?" Alexis asked. Martha could hear the worry in her granddaughter's voice. They'd both been there, the morning two days ago when he'd come home, looking like Beckett had been shot again. They'd managed to get most of the story out of him, about Beckett's decision to put her mother's case above him, about his decision to move on from the precinct and from her. They'd both been ready to cry, watching Alexis' strong father, Martha's strong son, look so destroyed.

"He's probably just asleep. He'd mentioned some all night movie marathon."

"Um, Grams. Is this yours?"

Martha turned to find Alexis standing near the kitchen, holding a waterlogged black jacket from a single finger. It was slender cut, certainly a woman's, but not particularly hers or Alexis' taste. She shook her head no.

Alexis dropped the coat on the kitchen island, took a few steps forward, and picked up a shirt, a woman's blouse, that had been lying on the floor closer to the study. Like the jacket, it looked like it had been left out in the rain. Martha followed the line between where Alexis stood and her son's bedroom door. There, close to the door, sat a single woman's boot.

Alexis balled up the blouse, walked back, dropped it on top of the jacket. She sat down on a bar stool, blew out a breath between pursed lips. "This is going to be worse than Gina, isn't it?"

Martha could only nod. Her son had a routine he used to recover from a broken heart - Vegas, Atlantic City, maybe the purchase of a new stupid sports car or some stupidity like hang gliding done under the guise of research. Next would come the paparazzi baiting, the dinners with starlets or socialites. Eventually there would be a woman that would last a night or a week, and he'd be done. He'd come back, be a son again, be a father. Be their Richard, rather than the public's.

Martha looked at the pile of women's clothes. That he was starting at the end was troubling. Martha didn't have any problem with Richard's routine. Hadn't he learned at her feet, after all? But she was bothered by the pile of detritus that her granddaughter was collecting on the kitchen island. Richard had always been discrete in his dalliances. With the exception of Gina, whom he'd married after all, Alexis had never had to deal with her Dad's ... women ... as anything more than a note or a picture on Page 6. That Richard wasn't thinking about shielding Alexis now said more about his mental state than if he had been screaming and crying and throwing things.

Martha got mad then. Her son was forty, but he wasn't above a good talking to from a parent, especially one who knew that he would soon crawl out from this self-destructive spiral, realize he'd wasted his last weeks and months with his daughter, and would kick himself. It seemed far more efficient if she just kicked his ass now.

"Alexis, kiddo, hand me those ... things."

Alexis cocked her head to her side, not sure what her grandmother was thinking, but she picked up the pile of woman's clothes and handed them to Martha. Martha stormed into the study, picking up the boot along the way, and stopped at her son's bedroom door. She saw a scrap of lace out of the corner of her eye, bent down, picked up a bra that was under the door, half in the study, half in the bedroom. Crouched over, her ear was close to the door, and she heard two distinct crashes, followed by the laugh of whatever woman Richard had chosen to bring back to the loft. A second later, her son's own laughter joined in with the woman.

The deep, happy, infectious laughter from the bedroom's occupants stilled Martha's anger somewhat, but not her resolve. She stood up, took a deep breath, and knocked loudly on the door.

Counting to three, she opened the door without warning, not enough to see what was going on in the room, but far enough to drop the pile of clothes on the floor.

"Richard, your daughter is home. And you left ... that ... strewn about the house," she said, and before anyone could reply, she slammed the door shut and went back into the kitchen.

"Grams, are you sure that was ... I think I'd rather just go to bed, deal with this later."

"You are a Rogers, dear girl, and we deal with our problems head on."

Richard emerged from his bedroom seconds later, still pulling on a green t-shirt as he rushed through the study into the kitchen.

"There's my beautiful graduate!" He said, pulling Alexis into a hug. She remained stiff under his embrace, but he didn't seem to notice. He let go, held her at arms length. "Did you have fun? Break any laws? Get in any trouble?"

"No Dad, of course not," Alexis said, unable to keep the wariness or exhaustion out of her voice.

"Alas, dear daughter, then I have utterly failed to set the proper example for you." He turned to his mother. "Mother, I didn't expect to see you today. The Hampton's not exciting enough?"

"Richard."

The steel in Martha's voice seemed to deflate Castle. He let go of his daughter, took a step back, his gaze flickering back and forth between his mother and his daughter. Both redheads looked ready to squish him like a roach.

"Oh god, what did I do? This can't possibly be because we left some clothes on the floor..."

"Richard... are you sure this is the best course of action?"

"Dad, I'm not here too much longer. I was hoping you wouldn't spend it running off to Vegas or whatever."

"Whoa, as much as I really like that idea," Castle replied, "I'm pretty sure she'd kick my ass if I suggested we run off to Vegas and get married."

An identical wave of grim disgust washed over both women's faces. Castle startled.

"Hey! Hey! I'm not suggesting it either. But ... Seriously Alexis, I'm not going anywhere. We can still have time to run through all the stuff on the summer to-do list I know you have."

"Dad..." Alexis said, just as Martha said, "Richard."

Castle collapsed onto a barstool.

"Look, you're going to have to help me out here," he said, "because there is obviously something about this situation that bothers you that I'm just not seeing. So, please, just out with it."

Martha knew she was a hypocrite, in some ways, for being the one to lead this conversation, but... far better for the parent to do it, rather than the child. "Richard, it's your life. but are you sure this is a routine you want to start again? The one that starts with you bringing home some random girl and ends with trying to explain to Judge why you've snuck penguins into the penthouse of the Soho Grand?"

"Hey, he liked my reasons well enough to dismiss the charges, didn't ... wait, some random girl? What are you talking about?"

"It's hard to hide her in your bedroom when we've already found her clothes all over the loft."

"I don't hide girls ... she's just drying her hair ... besides, that's so ... you think I just went out, brought home some..." he trailed off. He seemed to figure out something in his head then burst out laughing. "Oh, I do love you two. Looking out for me. That's very sweet." He bounded up off the barstool, went into the kitchen proper. "I'm hungry. Can I make either of you lovely ladies breakfast? Or lunch. I guess its lunchtime now. What time is it, actually?"

"Its one," Alexis said, "I think I'm just going to go to bed."

"Really, sweetheart? Okay, well, we'll be quiet. Dinner tonight? I want to hear about all the fun you had. Was it all Adventures in Babysitting?"

Despite her anger, Alexis rolled her eyes. "Dad, you know they did continue making movies after 1990, right?"

"They did? How odd. Maybe tonight you can show me one of these mythical movies of which you speak?"

Alexis smiled, a real smile. If her dad could be childish and dumb, instead of debauched and dumb, there was still hope. She leaned over the counter, kissed him on the cheek. "'Night, Dad."

Martha and Castle both watched her head up the stairs. When her door closed, Castle turned back to the pantry, started grabbing bread and other fixings.

"By the way, Mother, what are you doing back in the city so soon?"

"Don't change the subject, Richard. I am not done discussing this with you."

"What are we discussing with Castle?" Kate asked, coming into the kitchen. She was dressed in her jeans from the night before, and a shirt she'd borrowed from him. As she walked, she tied her hair back into a ponytail. She walked around the island, wrapped her arm around him, kissed a spot along his jaw. Castle's heart did a little flipflop over the casual ease she was displaying. He turned back to his mother, laughed when he saw her standing there, flustered. He was pretty sure he'd never actually seen her flustered in ... well, he was pretty sure he'd never actually seen her flustered before.

To her credit, or maybe to her training, Martha recovered quickly. "Kate, dear. How wonderful to see you. I don't think we expected to see you here today."

"That's what they were lecturing me on. Bringing home lose women, apparently."

Kate's eyes got big, but she didn't say anything.

"Richard, dear, in all fairness, we wouldn't have felt the need to say anything if we'd known who it was you were with."

"Got it, Mother. Should I put up a sign on the door? 'I have a guest over, and by the way it's Kate.'"

"If you have a 'guest' over, Rick, it better be me, or you won't have hands to write signs with."

"So you're otherwise alright with signs announcing that we're sleeping together? Good to know. I do have a billboard guy."

"I changed my mind. No need for signs, since it's obviously never going to happen again," she said, but the pout on her face was completely fake.

"Alas, and they would've been such good billboards."

"Will you please just feed me? I am rapidly losing the energy to keep up the good graces I think I've displayed thus far this morning."

"Of course, food. Can't have you ... running out of energy."

"Christ, Castle, you're using innuendo in front of your mother?"

"We have a very special relationship, dear," Martha said. She knew Kate well enough to know this giddy openness was a bit out of character. She assumed it must be a side that Kate's reserved just for her son. She had always liked the smart detective, liked the traits she brought out in Richard, but she'd never quite seen why Richard was so taken with her, at least until now. Both of them, her son and his detective, always had presence, but together like this, they popped. They gave off little electric sparks into the air. She could make a play from their relationship. She was oddly certain that people would pay to watch them interact.

She looked back at the new couple. They were flitting around the kitchen, handing off plates and bantering back and forth. There was a familiarity in their movements, mixed with an element of discovery, that made them hum and vibrate. They had completely lost track of the fact that Martha was there, that they weren't alone. Martha watched for a moment longer, then quietly left the room to clean up before meeting her friend. As she climbed the steps, she made a mental note to amend her summer, find ways to be in the city more often than she'd planned.

After all, she loved the theater, and she'd just discovered she had front row tickets to the best show in town.