HAT: Only thing I have to say is enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't anything but the plot.

He wouldn't always get drunk. Maybe a little buzzed, but he always tried his best to not getdrunk around the kids. Stanley had told him to stay away from the kids for more than his natural paranormal magnetism. Stanley'd seen the flask that he'd pulled out after the kids went to bed and Soos left when he thought he wasn't looking.

He could see that it was a very real problem, but perhaps decades of practice allowed him to still think clearly despite the alcohol in his system. It was a reason he started trusting Stanford with the kids.

Stanford kind of wishes that he didn't.

There have been times when he roughhouses with the children and he applies too much pressure when he tickles them or tosses them a bit further than he intended toward the couch or loses his balance and accidentally hurts them. He knows that if he hadn't had a drink earlier that he wouldn't have hurt them- even if it was minor- and yet he still takes a few swigs now and again.

He often prays that he won't have to drive somewhere to get the kids when he's had a few drinks and so far- thankfully- Stan and Soos have been available to pick them up for everything that they've needed to be picked up from something or another.

Even though he knows the consequences and knows how bad it can get, he still drinks. He still takes those chances.

And he hates himself for that.

For not being strong enough to break the habit. Not have the will to put the kids first and put the bottle or the flask down. He's still weak.

"Grunkle Ford, what's that you're drinking?" Mabel asked.

His body automatically hid the drink he's been nursing- as if that would change his state of being or keep her from seeing that side of him. "Nothing, honey."

She giggled. "That's not nothing silly."

His fingers gripped the glass tightly- he didn't want to expose either child- especially Mabel- to this. To the fact that he was doing something he knew was bad or himself and harmful to others.

"What're you doing up?" He asks instead.

"I wouldn't sleep," she admits somberly. "You?"

"I couldn't sleep either," he answers, willing her to go to bed- for her not to see him like this.

He never thought the thing he'd be most scared of was his niece seeing him drunk and her views of him changing. He wants to hide from her, afraid of her gaze of admiration to turn into a glare of accusation upon the knowledge of what he has gripped in his six-fingered hand.

Please, go back to bed.

"What's… ber…. bore-bon?" Mabel asked, looking at the half empty bottle he left out foolishly.

"Nothing," he lied, snatching it away and putting it in the liquor cabinet quickly so she can't see it.

"This smells terrible- why're you drinking this?" Mabel asked innocently after sniffing the glass he left on the table in his haste.

He was quick to take the glass in his hand and lie, "It's- uh- medicine."

"Oh, so it's good for you?"

"This particular drink, yes," he nodded.

"So I should take it only when I get sick?" Mabel asked.

God, you're innocent, he thought with guilt nagging at him. "Only with permission."

She nodded. "Okay. You'll get better soon, right?"

"Of course," he said with a smile. "Now, go back to bed."

"Okay," she says and then hugs him and kisses his cheek. "I love you, Grunkle Ford."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," he says with a smile and then watches her leave and then turns his gaze to the drink in his hands.

If he really loved her and her brother, he'd be strong. He'd be strong enough to pour out the rest of this drink. He'd be strong enough not to use this as a crutch anymore.

And he hates himself all the more for breaking her trust and taking another gulp of the alcoholic beverage with teary eyes.

He's weak… and he knows it.

HAT: Honestly, I have nothing to say... nothing.

Stan: Of course you don't... why did you write this?

HAT: Dunno, just felt like it.

Stan: Ooof course. Anyway, review everyone.