Okay, so this is my absolute, number one, favorite show on TV. I took so long to write a fic because I've agonized over whether I could do it justice. Decided I couldn't but went forward anyway.

Note: I have never written anything like a script before. The only script I've ever read was one belonging a friend in the high school play. Likely this is all wrong. Forgive me, please.

Disclaimer: Despite the shameless plug for this show I am in no way affiliated. I simply donate this story to the any interested audience, feel free to re-post, cut, copy, steal, etc. I claim nothing.


Completely dark room. Nothing visible except a thin ray of light coming from a small window near the room's ceiling. The camera moves from the window, following the path of light until a bound and blindfolded man is shown. All other speaking is done in whispers ,faceless interrogator no distinguishable gender.

Kidnapper: Who is your contact?

(No answer)

Kidnapper: Your silence gains you nothing, Finelli. You're just going to stay here until you talk. I need that name.

(No answer)

Kidnapper: Fine, then stay here until you're willing to talk. I'll come back tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. Maybe that will loosen your tongue.

Sound of duct tape being ripped and a strangled cry is cut off as camera moves off Finelli's face. View moves into dark hallway. There is the sound of a door opening and a vague outline of a figure locks the door. The figure moves swiftly down the hall and choir music is heard, gradually becoming louder. The figure steps up into a sanctuary and her face become visible. She is a nun and paces across the hall to join the rest the singers, also nuns, holding her hymnal and smiling piously.


Shawn Spencer (holding his hands to his temples): I'm seeing Santa Monica. Three two one zero, zero to hybrid theory. Hybrid Theory?… Linkin' Park. "don't know how I got this way, I know it's not alright so I'm breaking the… hmmm hmmm"

Juliet: Habit? (Shawn glances up)

Shawn: Linkin' Park, really Jules? (Inhales, sharp breath). But yes, habits. And polar bears no… reindeer no…penguins. Penguins! (sneezes)

Vick: Colds? Somewhere cold?

Gus: I think that was just a sneeze.

Shawn: Penguins, habits, a piece of toast selling on EBay for 28 thousand dollars. (sneezes again)

Juliet: Bless you.

Shawn: (jerking his head up and pointing at her.) Yes! Blessings. That's it Jules, you've got it!

Lassiter: (snaps his fingers) The Santa Barbara Convent.

Juliet: Penguins? Shawn isn't that a little disrespectful?

Shawn: I can't control it, Juliet. Unfortunately the spirits aren't are politically correct as one might like. I do what I can. (sneezes).

Vick: God bless you. Mr. Spencer, are you feeling alright?

Shawn: I'm fine, Chief. It's the spectral energy. It's just trying to escape, through my nose of course.

Lassiter: It's got a wide enough exit.

Shawn: Ouch Lassie. Just, ouch. (sniffles and wipes his nose across his sleeve. Juliet discretely hands him a tissue and he looks grateful.)

Lassiter: So what about the convent?

Shawn: Come on Lassie, do I have to do all the work myself? (Holds hands to temples.) Umm… nope, that's all I've got. The spirits think that there's information to be found at the convent. Also that your tie is spiffy.

Vick: Well that's good enough for me. Mr. Spencer, would you and Mr. Guster be willing to assist on this case?

Shawn: As long as we're home in time for the John Hughes marathon tonight.

Vick: What?

Gus: What he means, Chief, is that we'd be happy to help in any way we can.

Vick: Good. Then follow behind us on the way to the Convent. And Mr. Spencer (he looks up from blowing his nose) let's keep the penguin jokes to a minimum.

Shawn: I'll submit your request to the spirits, Chief.

Group exits. Gus lingers behind to talk to Shawn in whispers. They walk towards the Blueberry while talking.

Gus: Are you really going to do this?

Shawn: Do what?

Gus: Act like you're not sick.

Shawn: Acting is one of my many talents, Gus. A constant visage is important to being a good lesbian.

Gus: Don't you mean thespian?

Shawn: Yeah, like that's a word.

Gus: You do this every time. You get a simple cold and pretend you're okay, then you wear yourself out until you get really sick and end up Robo-tripping on my couch.

Shawn: Gus, I'm hurt. We've had some of our best talks that way.

Gus: Last time you asked me to marry you.

Shawn: Still waiting on a response by the way.

Gus: Whatever. You don't touch anything in my car.

Gus crosses around to drivers side. Shawn scowls and then licks each of his palms before opening the passenger side door.


At the convent, Lassiter is talking to a young, frightened-looking nun while the rest are speaking to the abbess.

Lassiter: So have you seen anything suspicious around here lately?

Nun: No Detective, nothing out of the ordinary.

Lassiter: (studying her) What about you sister? Were you familiar with the deceased?

Nun: I never spoke to him if that's what you mean. He did come for mass every morning and that attracted a bit of attention. He always wore the most colorful outfits with large, sparkling jewelry.

Lassiter: Oh sure, the flashy bling bought with drug money always impresses ladies.

Nun: Excuse me?

Lassiter: Have you ever seen a dead body?

Vick: (calling from afar) Detective Lassiter, get over here.

Lassiter leaves the nun crossing herself.

Juliet: Sister Mary Marguerite here was just telling us about a large donation Finelli made last time he was in.

Sister MM: Normally one of his "friends" drops a few dollars into the collection box as they leave. But just last week, he was actually alone for once. He seemed to be bearing a heavy burden. He stayed for mass and then for another two hours, spent entirely in prayer. I was here when he finally left and I heard him drop something heavy into the donation box when he left. When I had finished my penance I went to look. It was a roll of money, nearly $10,000 in the donation box.

Gus: (whistles through his teeth) That's a lot of host.

Sister MM: And he hasn't been back since then.

Juliet: Do you still have the money? Maybe we can trace it…

A crushing noise erupts from the organ and all stop talking to look at Shawn.

Shawn: Good thinking. While you and Julie Andrews check out the money, I'm going to hang out here and try to get a vibe on the room.

All leave except Shawn and Gus.

Shawn: Okay I'm starving, let's get out of here. Lasagna?

Gus: You haven't even looked at anything.

Shawn: What's to see? He was here days before his death. He probably knew his number was up and decided to make a latch ditch effort at the heaven thing. Nothing more to see.

Gus: (looking around) Well what about this? According to this plaque, this organ was donated by Giovanni Domingo. Isn't that the known alias of Alfredo Panacia, Finelli's biggest enemy?

Shawn: 'Alfredo'? Are you kidding me? Man I could go for some fettuccini right now. Don't they keep any food around here?

Gus: Focus, Shawn. Now why would Finelli go to a church frequented by his nemesis?

Shawn: (Discovers wafers and starts to eat them). Maybe it's a good location, close to his arms dealer? Ew, these crackers are horrible. (Spits it back out and replaces the lid on the container).

A priest approaches.

Priest: Can I help you gentlemen? I'm Father Anthony Simpson.

Shawn: (Tries to talk but ends up coughing)

Gus: Hello father. We're working as consultants for this SBPD, this is Shawn Spencer and I'm…

Shawn: (spluttering) …my esteemed partner Ezra Goldberg-Berkowitz.

Father Simpson: I think the rest of your team is in the office.

Shawn: Of course, we'll be going then.

Gus: (looking puzzled) Hold on a minute, Father. To Shawn: Don't you think we should see what this guy knows?

Shawn: huh? Oh yeah. Yes, Father, I'm divining that there is an Italian restaurant in the vicinity.

Father Simpson: You must mean Bertucci's down on 3rd St.

Shawn: I'm seeing chicken parmesan? Do they have chicken parmesan?

Simpson: Best in the neighborhood.

Shawn: Thank you for your help. (departs with Gus following).

Gus: Do you think something went down at the restaurant?

Shawn: Not yet, I do think something's going to go down. Pasta, perhaps with a nice side of breadsticks.

Gus: Shawn, I know you're not blowing off this case because you don't feel good.

Shawn: I'm feeling fine, relax. We'll just fuel up with some delicious Italian food, then right back to work. Come on buddy… tiramisu?

Gus: Tiramisu?

Shawn: With a foamy coffee thing in one of those little cups you love.

Gus: It's called a macchiato, Shawn. And you're supposed to use those little cups. (Pauses). Fine, let's go.

Shawn: That's what I'm talking about.