DEDICATION: To every fanfic writer who's ever posted anything which doesn't exist on the show.

Disclaimer: I don't own psych but I own my inalienable right to imagine whatever the heck I want to about it.

Rating: T

Summary: Befuddled by a comment on my recent Karlton story (which the commenter admitted she hadn't even read) suggesting that it's wrong for any psych fan-fic to be non-Shules, I had to write this little thingy.

. . . .

. . .

Juliet looked at her boyfriend. "Shawn, stop eating my food."

"But you aren't eating it, Jules." He took another four fries off her plate.

"Only because while I take one bite, you're stealing the rest."

"Sweetie, you know you'll never be able to finish this." He took another five fries.

Juliet gripped her fork and tried not to stab his hand. "Stop. Stealing. My. Food."

Shawn stared at her innocently. "Isn't it, really, our food?"

"Did you pay for this lunch?" she asked tightly.

He blinked. "No, you did. So that makes it our food."

"Actually, sweetie, it makes it my food." She grabbed his plate and hers and stalked to another table. Putting her plate securely in her lap, she scraped the weird sauces off his burger and had half of it eaten before he'd made it across the room.

"That was mine," he said plaintively, his five-second memory about boundaries already back in place.

"Nope." She wiped her mouth. "Mine. Are we still going to the movies tonight?"

He sat down, eyeing his lunch and peering briefly under the table at the plate in her lap. "Uh, sure."

"You're driving."

"I can't. Gus has a thing tonight for work."

"Get another car," she suggested.

"Dad always gets pissed when I borrow his truck." He grinned. "We can take yours, and as you requested, I'll drive."

"He gets pissed because you don't ask. You basically just steal it. And it's not that I don't want to drive, Shawn. It's that I want you to provide transportation for our dates now and then."

"Well, there's the bike."


"Then…" He was at a loss. "Is this about gas money for your Bug?"

Juliet rolled her eyes. "No. Like you've ever even given me a dime for gas money, not that I'd accept it, because that's not the damned point!"

He sighed. "Are you really going to eat both our lunches? Because honestly, I'm famished and I can't think straight when I'm famished."

"Famished? Really? On the way over here, you made me stop for tacos!" She pushed his empty plate away and put hers on the table, her weapon in her hand between them in case he reached for it.

Shawn was shocked. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"I'm tired of this, Shawn. I'm tired of you stealing my food. I'm tired of you mooching off me and Gus. I'm tired of you always expecting me to do what you want, when you want it, how you want it. I'm tired of you lying. I'm tired of you abusing Gus' trust by stealing his credit card and his food, too. I'm tired of you making fun of my partner. I'm tired of you disrupting crime scenes and upsetting witnesses and making the whole department look bad. You are very very good at seeing what other people don't see and that helps put bad guys in jail, but you are totally blind to what everyone can see, which is, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, that you're an ass. And I'm an idiot to put up with your behavior. I look like a fool for tolerating how you treat me and everyone else."

Shawn blinked at her in confusion. "So what are you saying?"

She took a deep, deep breath. "I'm saying we're breaking up."

Incredibly, he laughed. "Oh, Jules. We're not breaking up."

"Oh, Shawn," she mocked. "Yes, we are."

"No. You don't understand. It's canon for us to be together. It's the only possible view of our world. We're together, I get to act like an immature jerk, you get to look at me adoringly, and we stay together, forever."

"Canon?" she repeated. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Canon," he repeated. "It's the rule which says no one is ever allowed to imagine any other viewpoint than the one which currently exists. We're together, so we have to stay together. Anyone who imagines any other scenario—you with Lassie, me with Lassie, Lassie with Vick, me with Gus—is just wrong-headed. Don't you see? It doesn't matter how I act or how I treat you or anyone else. We're supposed to be together, and Everyone. Else. Must. Conform."

Juliet frowned, her fingers tightening on the gun. "That's crazy."

Shawn smiled. "Resistance is futile, Jules."

"Shawn, we live in fanfiction. People who write fanfiction can take any viewpoint they want, including you with Carlton, me with his sister, Buzz as a sexual dominant, Gus as a mental patient, you with seven sisters, six daughters and two moms—anything. That's why it's called fiction. As long as you can spell, use punctuation properly, and make the plot believable, anything goes. It's about imagination and having fun and seeing aspects to characters which maybe warrant a little more exploration."

He just stared at her, shaking his head.

"In fact," she went on, "as long as the story summary clearly states the pairing, readers have every opportunity to shun stories with differing viewpoints. It's not like anyone ever really gets blindsided. 'Oh no! I thought it was a Shules but it was a Shassie! Gasp! Horrors!'" She smirked.

"Resistance, Jules, is futile." He wasn't smiling. "There can be only one view, and that is of us together, madly in love, no matter how I treat you or anyone else. We have to be together. Period."

She felt so weary. "You need to get over yourself. Besides, the one who fits you best—other than a clone of you—is Gus. Everyone can see that."

"No! That's not canon!"

"Canon, schmanon," she retorted, and ate another of her fries. "Next you'll say we can't have crossover stories, especially between different networks, because that's not canon either. God forbid you should run up against Dr. House or Horatio Canethey're on Fox and CBS!" She mock-shuddered.

"Shules!" he suddenly shouted. "Shules! Shules! THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE! SHULES! SHULES!" He got up, dancing around shouting and grabbing items off other tables, flinging them hither and yon. "AND I WILL EAT YOUR LUNCH!" he yelled, trying to snatch her plate.

Juliet sighed. "I don't think so, Bubba," and shot him.

. . . .

. . .

[Thanks to torchil for the crossover bit.]