Title: Demons Don't Go Lightly

Summary: Kate steps in before she loses her father to the memory of her mother.

Disclaimer: I don't own most of the characters I write about. If you recognize a name, odds are it isn't mine. But seeing as this is a fanfic website, you probably knew that already.

Thanks again to Sunshiny-Kate, the best beta a writer could ask for!

Jim Beckett startled awake. His mouth felt like it was laced with cotton and everything was blurry, like his eyes were incapable of focusing on any details. His head was pounding and the knocking that had awoken him wasn't helping. It took several moments for him to seperate the drums in his head from the rapping at the front door. He choose to ignore the latter. Until he heard her call out.

"Dad? Are you in there?"

Even in his current state, he could discern the concern in her voice through the heavy oak and distance that separated them. He arose from the couch, his joints protesting as he moved for the first time in well over two hours. When he reached the door, he released the locks and opened it up. His daughter was staring back at him, grief and worry pouring from her eyes. Her mother's eyes. Thin, earthy brown circles directly bordered her widened pupils, surround by emerald green. He'd always loved the multiple colors of those irises; he'd always been entranced by the seemingly ever changing eyes of the two most important women in his life.

"Katie."

It wasn't really a greeting, it was barely nothing more than a grunt of recognition. Kate sighed as she looked her father up and down. The sparkle was gone from his steel blue eyes, but it had been for years now. The whites were stained pink, but she didn't know if it was from the tears she knew he still cried, or from the alcohol, or both. However, the almost imperceptible tinge of yellow at the corners of the no-longer-whites was definitely from the alcohol. The dark bags under his sickened eyes made them appear sunken. His entire face was shallow, and his cheekbones were protruding far too sharply. Course scruff, at least three days worth, covered the lower half of his face. His hair was disheveled and his clothes were rumpled. Kate shook her head and walked inside, taking his hand from the doorknob so she could close it behind her.

"Dad, when was the last time you ate something?" She asked as she locked the deadbolt into place. "And peanuts and pretzels at the bar don't count."

He didn't answer because he wasn't sure. Kate sighed again, frustration at the edge of her expulsion. She set down the small duffel bag she'd been carrying and shrugged her jacket off.

"What're you doing?" Jim mumbled.

"It's time to get you sober, Dad. You're drinking yourself to death."

"I'm fine, Katie."

"Dad, you look like you have one foot in the grave. You can barely stand, and don't try to deny it because I can see you swaying."

"Look." Jim huffed. "I am your father. You can't just waltz into my house and tell me how to live my life."

"What life, Dad?" Kate didn't try to keep her tone calm. She was pissed off and tired of all this. "You barely leave your house, and when you do, it's to go to the bar or buy more to drink. You are killing yourself."

"I have it under control." He hissed.

"No you don't." She crossed her arms. "Mom is gone, Dad, and you're not going to get her back at the bottom of a bottle. All you're going to do is make me an orphan. It's time for you to open your eyes and stop being selfish." Tears brimmed hard against her lower eyelids, but she blinked them away. "I miss her too, Dad. More than I know how to say. I can't lose you too." She stepped closer and took his hands in hers. "Please let me help you."

"Katie." He whispered, his tone suggesting that he was trying to think up an argument.

"Dad, if you won't do it for you, do it for me. Or Mom. She deserves to be remembered and honored, not used as a reason to slowly kill yourself."

Jim stared at her, silent, his brow furrowed in thought. Kate stared back, loving defiance blazing in her eyes. He knew she wouldn't leave until he agreed. His daughter was the only person he'd ever met who was more stubborn than his wife had been.

"All right." He swallowed and sniffled. "I'll stop drinking."

She sighed loudly, her relief reverberating throughout the room, and a small, hopeful smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Even so, there was still grief in her eyes. It wasn't going to be that simple. But together, they could get him through this. They had to. She needed her Dad back.

"You won't be facing it alone." She nodded down at the bag. "I'm going to stay with you for as long as you need me to."

"Katie, you don't need to do that." He pulled his hands free and ran one over his face. "I'll join a twelve step program or something."

"That can come later." She replied. "We've got to get you clean first, get it all out of your system." She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Dad, over these next few days you aren't going to feel like being around yourself, let alone me. Being around strangers will just make it worse."

Her words fell heavy on his ears. The increasing intensity of his headache told him it'd been at least a few hours since he'd had his last drink. It made it hard to process all this, made him just want to fill a glass and nurse it down. He could almost imagine the magnificent burn of the smooth liquid, and his eyes closed of their own accord with the power of his desire.

"Dad." Kate's voice tore him from his silent wishing.

"What?" He opened his eyes and met hers.

"Why don't you go get cleaned up, and I'll cook us some dinner."

"I'm not hungry, Katie."

"That wasn't a question."

Dull steel met fiery emerald as they wordlessly challenged each other.

"Okay." Jim relented first, only because a shower would actually feel fantastic right now. "I'll be back out in a bit."

"The food will be waiting."

Jim didn't say another word as he turned and headed for the hallway. Kate waited until she heard his bedroom door close before she went into the kitchen. It didn't take long for her to realize that there was little in the way of proper food supplies. She found a scrap of paper and a pen and jotted down a note to herself to call in a grocery order in the morning. Then she set about making a meal with what she had.

In the refrigerator there were some eggs that had not yet reached their expiration date, so she pulled them out and set them on the counter. A few minutes later she had a pot of coffee brewing and some borderline stale bread sitting in the toaster, waiting to be lowered down between the heating elements. As she stirred the eggs around a frying pan, she contemplated what awaited her over the next few days.

She'd traded shifts like crazy to work it out so she'd have a whole week off. It meant at least a month of weekends without a break, and she'd used up the few favors she'd banked, but it was worth it. The journey to sobriety would take her father longer than a week, she knew that, but she hoped the worst of it would be over by then and he wouldn't need constant supervision. There was one thing she was sure of though. This would be hell compared to what she dealt with while wearing her NYPD blues.