"You need to get a car."

"A car?" Shawn asks, tightening his grip around her waist. It doesn't help; she's still stumbling all over the place.

"Yes, you know, those big boxy things with four wheels and a radio?"

"Yeah, I've seen them around," he replies sarcastically.

She frowns at him. "Hey, it's just a suggestion. If you had a car we wouldn't be walking around right now. We'd be........."

"In a car?" he helpfully finishes for her.

"Exactly," she says carelessly. She steps on his toes -again- and it hurts like hell -again. Her face scrunches up into a bewildered frown. "You know, usually I can walk in heels a lot better then this."

"Yeah, well, usually you're not drunk," Shawn points out to her.

"Hey!" she exclaims indignantly and pokes him in his shoulder. Hard. "I am not drunk. I am merely tipsy."

"Okay," he says, not even bothering to pretend he's convinced.She is silent for a few moments.

"Hey Shawn."

"Yes Jules?"

She tilts her head back to look at him. "Why again are we walking?"

"Because it's three in the morning," he replies, as if that explains everything.

"Oh."

He sighs as she leans into him slightly. He's still got an arm around her waist and it probably feels way more natural then it should. "Beside's, in your condition if we'd have taken my motorcycle you'd have probably fallen off and broken your neck. And then Lassie would have my neck. And that's not a position I want to be in right now."

She laughs and the sound of it is warm and hazy; it's got that sunshine on a tropical beach kind of feeling.

Not that Shawn has had much experience with that sort of them. He just figures if he were ever on a tropical beach it’ll be a lot like Juliet's laugh, peaceful and home-y like.

"Aw, you're so sweet," she teases, leaning into him and patting him fondly on the arm.

"Sure," he rolls his eyes.

"No," she continues grandly, "you are."

He feels a bit out of his element with the direction this conversation is heading in. But anything to do with Juliet usually has that effect on him. It's a fact he's come to term with over the years.

"Allison Jenkins is engaged," she announces suddenly.

He's so focused on trying not to let her step on his feet that it takes a second or two for him to react.

"Who?"

She continues on, uninterrupted. "And Samantha Burkhart is pregnant. Again."

He's trying really hard to put the puzzle together in his head but it's hard to do with her pressed softly against his side."I'm sorry Jules but I'm not following here."

She slams her shoulder clumsily against his as she turns to glare at him. "Pay attention Shawn. Allison is engaged and Samantha is pregnant. Again."

"And?"

The glare in her eye turns to an expression of sadness. "And I'm not."

"Ah." Now Shawn understands what Juliet was doing at Tom Blair's Pub on a Friday night. Why she called him, slurring her words after one too many drinks, asking him how many margueritas were too many.

Her grip on his arm tightens. He doesn't think she's even aware of it. "That should be me by now. It was supposed to have been me," she says softly. "I had it all planned out."

"Jules."

They have stopped walking by now.

"What if it doesn't happen Shawn? What if it never happens?"

"No," he says firmly, meeting her eyes. "It will happen. I know it will."

She is staring at him. Her eyes are really, really blue. Her hand is still around his arm and her fingernails are biting into his skin but he doesn't care. She's looking at him in that way that they like to pretend they don't look at each other. Possibly this isn't smart.

After a moment she turns away and looks away. "Thanks for coming to get me," she says softly.

"Thanks for calling me," he replies as she leans into him once more, her grip even more unsteady then before. They start to walk.

For a few blocks there is nothing but silence between them.

"Hey," she says all of a sudden, thoughtful.

He's got a bad feeling about this. "What?"

"Remember the time you almost kissed me at the station?"

Definitely a bad feeling. "Yeah."

"Why'd you do that?" she asks, eyeing him curiously.

A sliver of something rolls up his back. "I don't know," he replies, shrugging his shoulders. "I guess I felt like it."

She's silent for a couple seconds. "Huh."

"You've thought about it?" he asks, not meaning to, almost in a whisper. It's stupid.

"Well yeah," she admits uncomfortably. Her cheeks are flushed, whether it from the alcohol or the conversation he doesn’t know. "Once or twice."

“Oh.”

She breathes in. “Do you?”

The smart move here would be to lie.But the thing is, he rarely makes smart moves.

“I---“ he starts.

“Oops!” Juliet exclaims and giggles as she stumbles into him, tripping over something invisible on the sidewalk. “Man, walking is hard!”

“We’re standing still right now,” he reminds her, bemused, his grip tightening around her waist.

“Well, that’s tough too,” she replies, untroubled.

He can’t help but grin.

 “So what do you think?” she asks a few moments later as they start to walk.

“About what?”

She gives a small huff as they turn down the street towards her house. “And I thought I was the one impaired here. I’m talking about you, me, kissing.”

Yeah that feeling is definitely back. “I um-”

“’Cause I think we should try it again.”

If she wasn’t already hanging onto him, he is certain he would have dropped her.

“I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he says, after he can get his brain working again.

“Why not?” she demands.

“Well, for one thing, you’re not going to remember any of this in the morning,” he says as rationally as he can, taking a few steps forward. It’s hindered by the fact that she’s suddenly not moving again.

“What?” he asks.

She just looks at him. Her expression changes –turns softer somehow. There’s moonlight in her hair. “I’d remember.”

She does stupid, stupid things to him.

“Yeah?” he can’t help asking.

“I’d remember,” she repeats. She’s talking quietly but there’s insistence in her voice.

Suddenly, kissing Juliet doesn’t sound like a bad idea. And judging by the way she’s leaning closer to him, eyelids suddenly heavy, her lips parting slightly, she’s thinking the same exact thing.

There’s a second where he’s going to do it –seize the day, live in the moment, all that bullshit that he definitely doesn’t believe in- but then, with her this close, the scent of alcohol hits him hard. He falters.

Maybe he has thought about kissing her once or twice. But in all those scenarios, she actually remembers it the next day.

He pulls back gently. “We better get you home.”

Her eyes open all the way and she’s looking at him in a way that makes him just want to say the hell with it.

But he doesn’t. That’s the important thing.

The moment passes.

“Okay,” she agrees softly.

They spend the reminder of the walk up to her front door in not quite-so-comfortable silence.