Castle can hold his liquor, but even he's starting to feel a little hazy after contributing to the reduction of the bottle's contents. He chases the phantom of her hand as it returns the bottle to the table.

"Whoa," he says with a laugh, catching her around the waist when she tilts off kilter; his arm loops her just long enough for her to get her balance back under control. Her brunette bob swings under his nose, trailing perfume. He tries not to think about it. "Well, you dance better than most epileptics," he admits, "so that's not bad."