Maybe that last tequila shot had not been the best idea, Casey thought as she struggled to take quick even steps to match her partner's no nonsense stride. She had never had a problem keeping up with him before. Unfortunately, there seemed to be some miscommunication between her brain and her feet which caused her to lean heavily against Walsh who might as well have been carrying her. Not that she minded. She just didn't want him to think that she was a pain in the ass.

Having Walsh's respect and friendship was extremely important to Casey. Considering his negative reaction to her when they first met and were partnered up, Walsh had come around fairly quick to become not only a good and loyal partner, but her best friend and mentor as well. Whenever she screwed up, like with the guy who faked his own kidnapping when they had that awful protection detail, he was right there beside her to help her fix it. He didn't take over, either, but gently guided her and assisted however he could while she fixed her own mistakes.

Oh, and he smelled really good.

That was something she noticed after sitting in a vehicle with Walsh for long periods of time during their shifts. He had a light, clean smell with a faint undercurrent of French fries. It had to be a mixture of his soap, laundry detergent and grease from the fryers at the diner, especially on the days when he was open to customers. At the moment, Casey was fighting the urge to lay her face against his neck and just breathe him in. Apparently, tequila made her a little slutty, funny, it never used to.

It took her a minute to realize that they had stopped and it wasn't because they had arrived at her apartment. They were standing in front of Walsh's diner.

"This is your place," Casey said, scrunching her nose and turning her head to look at him.

"It's good to see that alcohol has not affected your deduction skills, Inspector Casey," Walsh said, his cheek brushing against hers.

Casey jerked her head away when she realized that she was dangerously close to just sagging against him and going to sleep. It wasn't like she didn't feel safe enough with him to do just that, but she still had enough control over her facilities to know that she would be extremely embarrassed later and did not want to hear his taunts about her inability to hold her liquor the next day. Even if he did smell like fresh laundry and French fries, and was warm and toasty at her side, she refused to just melt against him. Well, her brain refused but her body seemed to have its own ideas since it wouldn't detach itself from him.

"But you were supposed to take me home," she said, a bit petulant.

"And I did, to my home, not yours."

"Why? Did you leave one of your freaky science experiments in the oven? A pie made out of spaghetti and M&M's or something?"

Walsh rolled his eyes but smiled as his partner made a grossed out face similar to one a little kid made when they were told that they had to eat all of their veggies.

"Hmmm, M&M's and spaghetti. Interesting concept, but no, there's nothing in the oven I'm afraid," Walsh said, rubbing his jaw with the hand that was not holding Casey up as he pretended to think about the merits of the disgusting combination.

"Why? You hungry?" he asked.

"Ugh, no. Not in the least."

"To answer your question from earlier, my place is much closer than yours and you aren't really in a condition to walk anymore. I've pretty much been dragging you the last few blocks and I'm getting tired," he said. "It's not like you haven't crashed here before."

"I'm not sleeping on the counter again," Casey protested loudly. " I need a bed or a mattress. Do you have a couch? I forgot. Or a sleeping bag?"

"Relax, Case. You can take my bed, I'll take the floor. You also have a change of clothes here, remember, so we won't have to worry about you being late to work," Walsh said, guiding her to the glass door and pulling out some keys from his pocket to unlock it.

Oh, she definitely remembered. It had happened a few weeks ago. Casey had chased down a guy who had stolen a bunch of hotdogs from a vendor near where she and Walsh had gone to interview a witness over a double homicide that had occurred earlier that day. Since they were right there, a block away, they took the call and somehow Casey had managed to outrun Walsh and collared the guy before he could get to him. Unfortunately, the perp had somehow managed to scarf down about half of the two dozen hot dogs he had made off with and ended up barfing on her. It made her queasy just thinking about the way the vomit had flown from his mouth all over the front of her shirt, like the projectile puke they showed in movies.

The only spare clothes she had were in her locker at the station and there wasn't enough time to go back for them. Luckily, Walsh had a spare undershirt he gave her that he kept in the car and she was able to clean herself up and change while Walsh handed Puke Face over to a uniform who had arrived. She was also lucky that she had left her jacket in the car during the chase because she had to put it on and button it up to cover the fact that Walsh's shirt was white, thin and practically see through, showing off the red, push up bra she had been wearing. Ever since then, she tucked a spare set of clothes everywhere she could think of, including her desk, the car and Walsh's place.

Walsh also had spare clothing all over, even at her apartment since he sometimes came over to watch T.V. and eat take-out with her, especially after he broke up with Beaumont. Surprisingly, he had kept the story about Puke Face to himself although he did love to crack jokes at her expense when it was just the two of them, like calling her Barfy Boobs or Red Hot (in honor of the bra).

Walsh helped her through the door and sat her on a stool while he turned on the lights and reset the alarm. Casey stayed upright for about two whole seconds before slumping against the counter.

"I thought you didn't want to sleep on the counter," Walsh said, putting his arm around her waist again and hauling her to her feet.

"Shut up and take me to bed."