Disclaimer: All I want for Christmas is rights to Castle. Currently they belong to ABC, Marlowe, et al.
Part I
She's drunk.
It surprises him, not because he's put her so high on a pedestal that he thinks she's infallible to alcohol, but because she has a reputation.
Everyone's told him-Lanie, the boys, hell even Kate herself-that Beckett can hold her liquor. That she's drunk fellow cops under the table more than once.
But right now she's just drunk.
Walking toward him she's listing to the side, slightly unsteady on her four inch heels. From his corner of the booth he watches her.
Lanie, Ryan and Esposito have all glanced toward her too but they seem unconcerned. Almost like they don't know how close she is to collapsing in a drunken heap on the bar floor.
Which actually...he continues to watch her and realizes how minute the signs really are. It's the angle of her step, the slight glean in her eyes, the...no one else is concerned because they can't read her like he can.
That final realization hardly surprises him.
He's made it his job to watch her.
Does this mean Beckett can't hold her liquor as well as they all claim? Or is something just off tonight?
She slides into the booth next to him and he breathes a sigh of relief that she's sitting.
Sitting a little closer to him than she normally would be, another sign of lowered inhibitions.
Lanie slides a drink in Kate's direction and Castle inwardly groans. Why are they giving her more to drink?
Except they don't know. Right. And it's not like he can say anything.
He's not the boyfriend, and even if he was he knows Kate wouldn't take interference well. Saying something would get him kicked out of the booth (maybe even kicked out of the bar) and he has a sudden uncomfortable urge to make sure that doesn't happen. To stay and make sure she's okay.
"Thanks, Lanie," Beckett slides the drink toward herself.
He watches the slick trail the motion leaves on the table, then glances at their friends.
Her cadence is off. Barely. No one else notices.
Castle's relieved to see that she doesn't sip the drink right away. It remains nestled in her hand.
They're all laughing now, even Kate. Esposito is telling them a story from his beat cop days.
Castle plays his part, interjects innuendo where expected. He'd definitely enjoy this story if he wasn't concerned.
Kate's breathless from laughing and takes a large sip of her drink. He cringes inwardly, concerned about the addition of vodka and cranberry juice.
He's being ridiculous really. Beckett's a grown woman, she can get drunk if she wants. Again, he reminds himself that he's not her boyfriend and certainly not her father.
He tears his eyes away from her and joins the conversation fully, purposefully pushing the concern aside.
It's back full force when half an hour later she leans toward him.
"Hafta pee," she slurs into his ear, her hair ghosting his cheek.
The combination of her voice and her words, both totally un-Beckett-like let him know she's finished the drink.
"Me too!" he says, which is a total lie but allows him to do what he wants.
He helps her scoot out of the booth, the hand propelling her forward low enough on her back that their friends on the other side of the booth remain clueless.
"Bathroom break," he explains to them.
Lanie gives him a quizzical look but it fades when he rolls his eyes at her. She knows he cares way too much about Beckett for their first time to be in a bar bathroom.
Luckily their booth is at the edge of the room, so he's able to thread his arm around Kate's back within moments. Steadying her minuscule swaying the second they're out of sight.
She doesn't say anything, just leans into him heavily, and if he had any doubt about how drunk she is he doesn't anymore.
They get to the bathroom without saying a word. There's only one, a single toilet in a bathroom that's dirty in a way that only bar bathrooms can be.
Kate stumbles inside pushing the door shut behind her.
He leans heavily on the wall next to it. There's no urgency, he didn't need the bathroom, he's just waiting for Kate.
"Shit," he hears her mutter and he can't help but laugh. Even drunk her typical Beckett exasperation shines through.
"Beckett? Can I help?" he leans toward the door, listening to make sure she's all right.
"Yeah, Castle, com'ere".
He shrugs and eases the bathroom door open, actually hoping that she's decent. Where did that come from?
She's swaying in the middle of the bathroom, glaring down as her hands fumble with her pants.
"Too hard," she mumbles in his direction, her bottom lip drawn into her mouth in adorable concentration.
He really wants to make a pun but it's too easy and now is not the time.
"Let me help," he says gently, and he walks into the bathroom, grimacing as his feet squelch on the floor made sticky with what he sincerely hopes is too many spilled beers.
He uses one hand to steady her as he unbuttons her pants. Of course this would happen when she's drunk. Because what's a little more taunting from the universe?
Her eyes meet his in thanks and she lurches toward the toilet pulling down her pants before he's even shut the door.
When she rejoins him he lifts her shirt to double check and chuckles softly. He refastens her pants for her and has to admit that they're tricky. Who in God's name thought that slippery buttons and tight jeans were a good combination?
"Kate," he says softly as he holds her steady, "I think it might be time to go home".
"No". She shakes her head adamantly, a motion better suited to him than to her.
"We had a tough case today and we're all tired" and you're drunk, he adds internally.
"No," she says more adamantly, "Wanna stay and drink here".
He sighs and tightens his arm around her waist.
"Beckett, we can stay but I really don't think you should drink anymore, you're drunk".
"Nuh uh don't get drunk".
He has to laugh at that.
"Castleee," she drags him back toward the booth and he follows because really where else would he go.
When they slide back into the bar Beckett is firmly pressed against him. He's surprised their friends don't comment.
Except Lanie and Esposito are clearly tipsy and have eyes only for each other. And Ryan's clearly distracted by his fear that a make out session is about to erupt on their side of the bar.
"I think we're gonna go-" Esposito starts.
"Water my plants!" Lanie finishes.
Ryan grins at Castle, "That's the best they could come up with?"
They watch their friends leave the bar.
Ryan stands up to get another beer and Beckett leans her mouth against Castle's ear.
"Prob'ly having sex," her breath is hot on his face and he swallows hard wondering if she knows what she's doing to him.
Ryan come back with his beer and Beckett frowns at him.
He catches her look and apologizes, "Sorry boss, didn't know you wanted anything".
"She's good," Castle interjects but immediately realizes he's overstepped as he's treated with the Beckett glare.
"I am not drunk!" she snaps at him, "I'm gonna get my own drink and prove it".
Castle breathes a sigh of relief, no bartender in their right mind would serve someone that drunk.
"I really don't think she's drunk," Ryan says as he watches Beckett head toward the bar.
Castle stares at Ryan in amazement then swivels his head to watch Beckett. He has to admit she's putting on a great act. He wonders how she's even finding the control to walk so steadily toward the bar.
When she comes back with two shots of tequila he realizes Ryan's not the only one who bought the act.
Ryan's phone rings and he grins at it. "Jenny!" he exclaims happily and in less than a minute he's said goodbye and is walking toward the exit.
Castle looks back at Beckett and is surprised to see she's already taken one of the shots. She's still standing at the end of the booth and both her hands are on the table. He strongly suspects it's the only thing keeping her upright.
He reaches toward the second shot.
"Get your own," she slurs at him yanking it out of his reach.
She downs it and the alcohol seems to hit her system instantaneously. Her eyes slip shut before she blinks them open again.
She looks at him through half-lidded eyes. He's out of the booth arms steadying her within moments.
"I'm taking you home," he says and it's not a question.
"Maybe little drunk," she concedes as she stumbles toward the exit letting him dictate her movements.
He grins and shakes his head at her stubbornness.
She relaxes into his side in the town car. He's exorbitantly thankful for the black privacy panel. He doesn't need this to end up as some drunken tryst on Page Six.
Not that he doesn't trust his driver, but you don't take chances with Kate Beckett.
"Kate, what's wrong?" He asks now that they're in the privacy of his car.
"Later," she murmurs and he somehow believes her. She doesn't hide from him as much, not anymore.
She's fighting to keep her eyes open.
"Go to sleep," he tells her.
"No," she replies stubbornly even as her eyelids drop shut and her head lands on his shoulder.
He lets himself stroke her hair because, really, she's so not going to remember this and he'll probably never get a chance again.
She hums and nuzzles in closer to him.
They're at her place in record time and her slow breathing tells him she's almost asleep.
He oversteps again (except this time he's pretty sure she won't stop him) and carries her inside.
It may be the first time he's ever been thankful that her building doesn't have a doorman.
Once they're in her apartment he hesitates only briefly before entering her bedroom. It seems like an invasion of privacy; she'd never let him in here if she was sober. But she's still half asleep, her arms curled around his neck and her forehead pressed against his shoulder, and he needs to put her to bed.
He places her on the bed and she blinks her eyes open.
"Castle?"
"Shh," he leans over her and strokes her hair again, "Everything's okay, go back to sleep".
"K," she mumbles and her eyelids slide shut again.
He doesn't think she'll be comfortable sleeping in her tight jeans. It doesn't really seem like a good idea to remove them. But somehow it only seems fair...he's already seen her without pants tonight and this way she'll know that.
He gently removes her jeans and drops them in a heap on her floor. He contemplates putting some kind of PJ pants on her, but she's heavy with sleep and he's not sure if he can get her into them.
She's wearing a tunic shirt and boy shorts and eh, that's good enough.
He rolls her onto her side, carefully propping a pillow behind her so that she doesn't end up on her back. She's survived a bullet; he's not letting alcohol take her down.
She's fast asleep now, her breathing deep and steady, and he thinks about her couch. He knows from experience that it's not comfortable to sleep on and he really doesn't want to be that far away from her (obviously for safety reasons). He decides to sleep on the end of her bed, perpendicular to her so that she'll know nothing happened.
AN: Please R&R. Happy Holidays!