A/N: Whoa! This is my first fanfic for Psych. It's my first fanfic in years, actually. Which is totally crazy to think. But you get ideas and you know that some outlets are better than others for following through. And for whatever reason, this glimmer of an idea seemed to lend itself to the Psych fandom pretty well.

So, yeah. I have a basic idea for where I'm going with this, but as a warning: this isn't done. Nor is it beta-ed. This is about as work-in-progressy as you can get. That aside...well, while I've grown to enjoy the idea of A Shawn/Lassiter pairing, I think this story is going to be a pre-slash sort of deal. So if you're not into drinking that Shassie kool-aid, this is unlikely to really offend your sentiments.

I don't own anything/all that jazz. I mean, I do own a few things, like a pair of shoes, a tiny sparkly hat, and a candy bar, but when it comes to this show, it's all in good fun. You know?

Let's get this show on the road. If anyone has any questions in regards to the art alluded to, let me know. I'm a little bit of an art dork. I won't lie.

"You don't think this looks like one of those seeing eye things, Gus? I bet if you looked hard enough, you'd see a schooner."

"Shawn, this looks nothing like those folders you had in middle school."

Shawn had crossed his eyes and tilted his head to the side, staring intently at the large canvas in front of him as he rocked back and forth on his feet. Suddenly, he jumped back and flailed his arms. "No way, dude. It's so much better than a schooner, look!"

Gus leaned in closer, but immediately recovered, furrowing his brow, and placing his hands on his hips. "There's nothing there, Shawn."

"You're just mad because you never figured out what was on those folders."

"I did too. I told you I could see the shapes just not what they were." Gus looked back at Shawn. "Plus you always ruined it and told me what it was before I figured it out."

Pointing to the painting, the corners of Shawn's mouth curled upwards. "Bear with a fez hat, by the way."

"No it's not, Shawn."

Shawn quickly took his friend's head and tilted it to the side. "If you just cross your eyes--"

Gus pulled his hands off and punched him in the shoulder, taking a few steps back in case Shawn decided to retaliate. Shawn feigned a look of hurt and rubbed his shoulder melodramatically. "Look, you told me I needed to appreciate art. I am appreciating it. You know, in my own special way."

"You're mocking it, Shawn. This painting is an important part of American history. Do you know just how influential of an artist Jackson Pollock was?"

"No, I quit that art house movie theater the week before that film was released."

Gus shot him a glare.

Shawn finally relented. "I get paintings of naked women. I get soup cans and flowers and Washington Crossing the Delaware. I guess I'm even ok with those weird vaginas Georgia O'Keefe painted--"

"She didn't paint vaginas, Shawn."

Exaggerating his air quotes, Shawn corrected himself, "her 'flowers.' That stuff's fine I guess. But when it comes to squares and paint splatters and canvases that are just blue, I'm not really a fan."

"You just don't like them because there aren't any clues about what the artist is trying to say."

He had to admit, sometimes he forgot just how perceptive his best friend was. Sure, Shawn didn't appreciate a lot of art. He certainly didn't appreciate it the way Gus apparently did. But growing up, besides the odd field trip to the art museum with his class or a random weekend outing with his mom, there hadn't been a lot of room in his life to cultivate that appreciation. Henry definitely hadn't included art in his lesson plan for Shawn's future career as a cop.

"Well, I'll tell you what I do like. Check out this crazy painting with the lightning bolt!" Shawn bounded over towards a smaller yellow canvas filled with a collection of odd shapes and lines. "And that's totally a pineapple. Check it out!"

"This is Kandinsky. He had synesthesia," Gus replied in his best rendition of a Jeopardy question-answer voice.

"What does putting people under during surgery have to do with art?"

Gus just sighed heavily. "Synesthesia, Shawn. He saw colors as music so that's what he painted."

Shawn cocked his head to the side and squinted his eyes. "Not really a Top 40 hit in my opinion. I mean, the chorus is all wrong" Shawn noticed the information card next to the painting. "And what sort of name is 'Wassily?' That's like the name of the weird kid at school that's friends with the lunch lady."

"Oh, I thought that kid's name was Shawn."

Shawn pretended to act hurt, but that perpetual playful glint in his eyes flashed. "Dude, that's not even fair. Mrs. Fischer gave me an extra chocolate milk for free every day because we were friends."

"She gave you an extra milk because you always lied and said yours was expired."

"No use crying over stolen milk," Shawn shrugged. "Speaking of chocolate milk. This place has a cafeteria, right? All this art appreciating has inspired me to appreciate a burger. Which is a work of art in its own right."

"I hear that," Gus agreed, nodding slightly. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a museum map, which Shawn immediately scoffed at. Gus ignored him and unfolded the map, glancing over it before pointing to a large square on the second floor. "Cafeteria, second floor. Right next to the Contemporary collection."

"Unless the Contemporary gallery has some installation involving free food samples, I am not stopping until there is an expertly crafted burger in my hands."

"All right. But we're picking up where we left off after we get lunch."

Shawn barely heard the end to the sentence as he bounced off (in the wrong direction) towards the cafeteria. A guard eyed two of them warily as they entered the next exhibit room, but Shawn stopped abruptly as he noticed something in the adjacent room.

"Lassie?" Shawn asked, surprised to see the detective, who appeared to be alone, staring intently at a small photograph.

Lassiter slowly glanced up, a pained expression on his face. "Spencer," he replied brusquely, looking as though he believed ignoring Shawn would drive him away. Like what parents told kids to do when a bee was buzzing around them.

"What are you doing here?" Shawn asked, walking over to him and momentarily forgetting about his need to eat. Well, not so much forgetting as storing the thought in the to-do pile.

The taller man visibly stiffened and looked away. "I'm undercover," he said quickly through clenched teeth.

Undeterred by the porcupine act, Shawn edged even closer so that he was now right beside Lassiter. He leaned in towards the photograph and inspected it with interest. "Why Lassie! Who knew you were such a patron of the arts? Why, I bet you even paid the suggested donation price."

Exasperated, Lassiter looked down at his unwanted companion. He glanced over and saw Guster standing at the entrance to the room. Of course the two of them were there. Of course.

"Cops don't pay entrance fees," Lassiter replied quickly, stepping outside of the comfortable viewing range of the photograph.

"So you're not here undercover then?" Shawn enjoyed catching people in lies, even though it was his least favorite thing in the world when he was on the opposite end of it. Catching people in lies was almost as good as finding the toy prize at the bottom of the cereal box. He figured catching Lassiter in a lie was maybe even a little better. Except for that totally sweet decoder ring he got when he was ten.

Realizing what he'd admitted to, Lassiter attempted to amend his previous statement. "I'm not undercover. It's…more of a stakeout."

"Well, you look like you're really busy looking at this picture of a naked dude, so I'll let you get back to your stakeout." His Cheshire Cat grin played across his face as he spun around and left the room. In the wake of Shawn's obtrusive appearance, Lassiter immediately deflated. He'd have to figure out if a masseuse was covered in his insurance policy before Spencer caused his strained muscles irreparable damage. And Shawn Spencer-related injuries were unlikely to qualify him for workman's comp.

----

"You're not even remotely curious why Lassiter is hanging out in an art museum?" Shawn asked, stuffing just slightly more than a reasonable amount of fries into his mouth.

"No. I'm more interested in this collection of California artists they have in the Contemporary gallery." Gus was looking at the unfolded map intently, likely mentally charting their course through the white rooms of the museum.

Shawn was more intent on figuring out why Lassiter, the least cultured person he knew, would be hanging out alone in an art museum, staring at photographs by himself. It hadn't even been a photo of a gun, which would have made sense. As far as he knew, there weren't even any gun-related pieces in the museum, making the detective's appearance even more of an anomaly. If there was one thing he'd been conditioned to find interesting, it was anomalies.

"Do you think he was on a date and got ditched?" Shawn asked aloud, needing to verbalize his thought process.

"Why would he stay if he got ditched?"

"Good point. Since he didn't pay the suggested donation." Shawn replied. "Which you don't actually have to do, seeing as how it's 'suggested' and all."

Gus looked up, a flash of annoyance swiftly washing over his features. "If everyone thought like you, they'd have to close the museum due to lack of funds."

"Maybe I'm just a revolutionary, Gus."

"That's anarchy, Shawn. It's important to support the arts."

"Yeah, yeah," Shawn said, glancing out the large glass windows. It was still bugging him that Lassiter was in the museum, doing a very un-Lassiter sort of activity. Unless he actually was on a stakeout and was just acting weird for no reason.

"Has anything been stolen from the museum recently?" Shawn asked suddenly.

"Not in Santa Barbara," Gus replied, not looking up from the map.

"So that rules out a stakeout."

"No, wait," Gus interjected, folding the map quickly. "Not in Santa Barbara, but there's this street artist--I forget his name. He's been going to museums and galleries on the West Coast and hanging up his own paintings."

"That's not really illegal, though. It's just annoying."

"No, Shawn. It's brilliant. Think of the statement he's making about how we contextualize art in the gallery format."

"What? Gus, no. We're not doing any of this theory stuff right now, we're enjoying burgers."

"Well, it sounds an awful lot like you're trying to discuss theories with this whole Lassiter situation. Maybe the guy just likes art. Some people are cultured, you know."

Shawn shook his head. "No, that's not it."

"Why don't you just forget about it?"

"Do people rehearse for dates? Maybe he's taking a date here and he wants to pretend like he knows something about art."

"That seems a little desperate, Shawn." Gus picked at the few remaining bits of his lunch.

"Juliet did say he'd been striking out with the ladies. Maybe he's past the point of desperation."

"Why are you talking to Juliet about Lassiter's dating habits?"

Shawn shook his head. "Trust me, I wasn't the one that brought it up."

"Let's just drop it. I want to check out a few more exhibits before the museum closes."

Acquiescing, Shawn stood up as the two of them bussed their own trays. He half-heartedly followed a determined Gus back into the gallery, but his mind was still reeling, trying to determine why exactly Lassiter was at the museum alone on a Saturday, likely on his day off. So completely of his own volition.

As Gus made his way through the rooms, inspecting every painting as if it were a new car he was thinking about buying, Shawn made an effort to keep himself entertained by wandering around until something brightly colored caught his eye. The Contemporary collection didn't have a whole lot of that going on, so he did more aimless walking than stopping.

He passed by a small painting of an Astro-Pop and stopped. A popsicle sounded like a good idea. Too bad that poor attempt at a cafeteria had nothing of the sort (not even remotely close). He glanced at the information card on the wall next to it briefly before doing a double take. Shawn looked at it closely and grinned, taking off towards where he'd remembered leaving Gus.

Gus was standing in front of a giant painting of a neon beer sign, absolutely motionless.

"Dude, I found Waldo," Shawn said, just a little too loudly.

Gus, annoyed, turned towards his friend. "What are you talking about?"

"That guy. The guy that puts his stuff in museums. He's got one here!"

Gus shook his head. "There's no way, Shawn. One of his paintings was found in Seattle yesterday."

"That doesn't mean he put it up yesterday, it just means he got caught yesterday. Plus, who's to say he did this recently? Maybe no one's noticed and it's been up for awhile?"

"How do you even know it's him? You hadn't even heard of this guy until I told you about him."

"Look, dude, I'll show you how I know. Come on!"

Gus followed Shawn quickly as he sprung off towards the Astro-Pop painting. Gus looked at it, clearly unconvinced.

"Gus, these information cards, look at them," Shawn said, pointing to the cards next to adjacent paintings. "They're a slightly brighter white and it looks like the font on them is slightly smaller."

Instead of comparing the cards, Gus stepped forward and stared at the corner of the painting. "This is him, Shawn."

"Wait, what are you looking at?" Shawn edged in closer, trying to figure out what exactly it was that Gus was focused on so intently.

Pointing towards a small symbol in the corner that nearly blended in with the background. It looked like a pitchfork.

"Dante, that's his name," Gus suddenly supplied.

"The information card says Michel-Jean Taiuqsab," Shawn said, frowning.

Gus looked at the card as his face fell into one of deep contemplation. "Jean-Michel Basquiat. He was a graffiti artist…which is what Dante started out as. This is an homage…they must all be homages to other artists!"

"But I thought you said this guy didn't steal art," Shawn said, leaning in closer towards the name card.

"He doesn't. That's not part of his work."

Shawn tore the fake card off of the wall, revealing a card for another piece. A piece that clearly wasn't there any more. "It looks like it is now."

tbc