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"Juliet," Gus said stiffly, leaning over her left shoulder from behind. "Could you please let Shawn know that if he wants a ride home, he'll have to call his father and beg for one because I have better things to do than cart his soft, pasty glutes all over the city."

Juliet opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by Shawn in haughty tones over her right shoulder.

"Jules," he snotted. "Kindly convey to Burton that my ass is in fact as firm as the surface of a sweet, sweet nectarine, and that the correct adjective is alabaster."

This was ridiculous. "Boys," she said sweetly. "I'm pretty sure giving one another the silent treatment only counts if you're both actually, you know. Silent?"

Shawn made a scoffing noise, warm and moist against the side of her neck. His breath smelled like red vine liquorice. "I'm not giving him the silent treatment, Jules. That would be juvenile. I am simply refusing to acknowledge his presence until he admits that I was right and he was wrong and he owes me dinner at the skeevy restaurant of my choice."

"I don't owe you anything Shawn," Gus began hotly before he realized who he was speaking to. With an affronted cough he straightened, brushed his thumb across the tip of his nose and stalked away across the bullpen.

Shawn's cackle was unexpected, and she swung around in time to see the victorious upswing of his arms. "I win!" he crowed. "Gus broke first – you saw it Jules. You're my witness." Then he frowned. "Wait. You don't think he really left without me?"

Juliet watched his hasty exit with a smirk, hearing his voice rise in pitch as it fell in volume. "Gus? Gus! I'm sorry, buddy! You know I didn't mean it, right? Gus…?"