A/N: Do yourself a favor and stop reading now if you haven't yet seen this episode. You want the ending to be a bit of a surprise, trust me. Then, come back later to let me know what you think of this tag!
Still here? Great!. So many great things about this episode—Lisbon's abject fear that Jane might die, their first meeting in the hospital, gingersnaps, ass cupping, and, of course, the ending, where I was yelling at the TV: "No way! Oh God!" and other expressions of disbelief. Anyway, I wrote this tag because I so wanted five more minutes at the end (at least), and I wish we'd had the missing scene of their drive to Malibu. So, here's my take. Lot's of good tags out there for this episode; I hope you like my attempt.
Episode Tag: Fugue in Red, 4x10
The drive from Sacramento to Malibu was a long one, and for Lisbon, it was painfully awkward. Trips with Jane used to be almost fun. He would play pointless trivia games with her and the team, point out interesting (or sometimes uninteresting) landmarks along the way. He'd been everywhere in his carnie days, and was so knowledgeable about the state's geography that he was like a living almanac. He'd known where all the best greasy spoons were in every town from Yreka to San Diego. But the man sitting next to her now was a stranger. He knew nothing of how to make her laugh, to press her buttons, to make her think.
"Where are we going?" he asked for the millionth time. She smiled bitter-sweetly at the old, childish Jane's brief reappearance. God, how she missed him.
"You'll see."
He sighed and huffed a little bit, turning back toward the window as the darkening landscape zipped past them.
"You know, Teresa, nothing you can show me will make me want to stay with the cops. I mean, it was fun and all, and I seem to be pretty good at it, but the money's for crap. Whoever I've become that would endure such slave wages, I don't want to be him."
"It didn't make you feel good to put the bad guy away?"
He snorted a little. "Bad is a little relative, don't you think? Believe it or not, some people might consider me to be bad."
"You are bad. You stole all that money. You fake being psychic to get into women's pocket books or into their pants. I don't think many people would think bad is a relative term compared to you."
"Well, I've seen worse. At least I haven't killed anybody."
He felt her tense up beside him, and he turned his head to shoot a startled glance in her direction. "Have I?"
She remained quiet, but her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly.
"Never mind," he said in resignation. "I don't want to know. See, that's precisely why I want to be allowed to go on with my life, to start anew."
I'm happy now. Let me be happy.
His words from the previous night echoed in her head, along with the second thoughts that had been plaguing her since they began this journey. The doctor had said this fugue Jane was in could last months, years even. Who was she to deny him this time of forgetfulness, of contentment? Maybe this had been a gift from God for him, a release from guilt and sorrow and vengeance.
But Lisbon had already seen what would become of his newfound freedom, how he would squander it with his old womanizing, thieving, conman ways. It disgusted her to see him like that, to see him devolving back to what he was before life had shaped him into the Jane she knew, the sensitive Jane who hated who he used to be, not relished it. She'd told Cho that there had always been good in him, and it was obvious even in his current state the way he did things like buy a new doll for a little girl. Lisbon was saddened that it had taken such a tragedy to bring that caring personality to the fore, and that what she was about to do would make him have to relive it all over again.
She sighed in the darkness, her hands relaxing on the wheel. "You agreed to come with me before you made up your mind. Why don't you just take a nap and I'll wake you when we get there."
"I'm not tired," he said almost petulantly.
She chuckled in disbelief. "You're not tired? You're always tired. You catch cat naps anywhere you can."
He shrugged. "I slept like a baby last night; I didn't wake up until eight."
At those words, she almost turned the car around and headed back to Sacramento. Of course, he was sleeping through the night now. He no longer felt guilt, no longer had nightmares, no longer went over and over every clue about Red John, every dead end, every missed opportunity until he was nearly driven insane with it all. How could she do this to him?
They both lapsed into a tense silence, until finally, Jane seemed unable to help himself.
"Is there a reason why we haven't slept together?" he asked at length.
She abruptly reached out and flipped on the radio in consternation, choosing to ignore him as classical music flooded the car. She heard him chuckling softly to himself as he turned his head back toward the window.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
If he recognizes the house, we won't have to go inside, Lisbon told herself hopefully as they pulled up into the driveway. But he didn't seem to, and confirmed that he didn't as they walked up the steps.
Lisbon's heart pounded with each step up the inside staircase. Her legs felt heavy as lead. Jane was looking curiously around, still not recognizing the location of the worst event of his life.
What if this didn't help him remember? What if it did?
Both possibilities seemed equally terrifying.
Without her prompting him, he continued on to the door at the top of the stairs, and Lisbon stood back on the landing, her hands sweating, her legs shaking as if she'd climbed a thousand steps. She watched Jane as one would watch someone about to jump off a cliff, her breath seizing up in her throat.
And then he opened the door, and he stood there, his back to her, transfixed on what she knew he would see.
"I'm sorry," she said impotently.
Oh, God. He remembers.
He seemed to shrink two sizes as he hunched over a little, the weight of the world once again bearing down on his shoulders. His hands moved in strange, helpless gestures as his mind began to process, to relive, to re-experience all the horror as if it were the first time. At last, he fell to his knees, his shoulders shaking in silent grief.
Lisbon rushed forward, dropping down beside him.
He had been alone that first time. If he had to go through this again, the least she could do was ensure he wasn't alone now. She reached out a tentative hand to his arm, and he shuddered at her touch. She felt in that instant that she had been the one to murder his family all over again. Her eyes welled and spilled over, hot tears coursing down her cheeks unabated.
She waited for him to turn an accusing eye to her, but he didn't. Instead, he let her continue to comfort him as he cried quietly, her hand moving softly on his back in lazy circles. The minutes passed until he seemed to finally get hold of himself. He reached into his coat pocket, fishing out a white handkerchief.
He wiped his eyes and nose, still facing away from her. Lisbon had no choice but to use the backs of her hands on her own face. He sat down heavily on the floor, his back against the wall just outside the door. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his face red and blotchy. She sat down beside him, the specter of the bloody smile now out of sight.
"Lisbon…Why are we here," Jane asked softly.
"What?"
He opened his eyes and turned to look at her. "I can't remember why we're here. How did we get here? It's all just a…blank."
"You don't remember the past few days?" she asked tentatively, her voice trembling a little.
"Days? What are you talking about?"
"What was the last thing you remember?"
He thought a moment. "We were at a crime scene. Near the water. A firefighter was murdered, yeah." He shook his head. "I don't remember anything else after that."
She wondered if she should tell him what he'd done, how he'd behaved, the things he'd said…She decided to focus for now on the clinical.
"You've been in a dissociative fugue for three days. Someone tried to drown you at the crime scene. You nearly died…" She swallowed, remembering her own renewed horror.
"A fugue? You're telling me I've had amnesia for three days? That's ridiculous, Lisbon."
She touched his arm again, catching his eye in the dim light. "It's true. You remembered nothing of the last…eight years."
The significance of that number touched his tear glossed eyes, and they grew shadowed with pain and confusion. Then they cleared and he realized what must have happened.
"You brought me here to snap me out of it."
"Yes,"she whispered. "You were leaving the CBI. I didn't want you to be alone when your memories finally came back. I didn't want you to be—"
"To be what?"
"Who you used to be." She looked away now, ashamed to meet his eyes.
"What did I do, Lisbon?" he asked suspiciously.
"You were you…before Red John." Her eyes narrowed. "I didn't like you very much."
He smiled a little at that. "I don't imagine you would have. Huh," he marveled. "A fugue. Never met anyone who's gone through that. I thought it was probably a bunch of psychological nonsense."
"Apparently not." She was quiet then, and Jane felt the unspoken guilt coming off her in waves. And if anyone recognized guilt, it was Patrick Jane.
"Don't feel guilty about this," he said, holding up a hand to indicate their current location. "You did the right thing."
"Did I?" she asked, her eyes watering anew. "You were so happy, Jane. So carefree. I've taken that away from you."
"It's okay. I don't deserve a reprieve. This is a life sentence, remember?"
"Jane—" she protested.
"Well, at least I don't remember what freedom was like. But being here, when I opened that door—it felt like it was happening all over again." His hands slid over his face and into his curly hair.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
He shook his head. "I'm not. Amnesia isn't all that it's cracked up to be. At least, I don't think so," he finished, bemused.
Suddenly he got up, then reached down to pull Lisbon to her feet. She looked up into his face, relieved beyond measure that he was at last, himself—damaged and vengeful and guilt-ridden and all. Good or bad, these characteristics made him Jane. Her Jane.
"I could really use a cup of tea," he told her, and for all his professed sleep the night before, Lisbon noted sadly how tired he sounded, now that he remembered. "And maybe some eggs. I know this great all-night diner down the road a piece."
She grinned a little. "Of course you do."
They turned back toward the stairs, but not before Jane reached out and closed the bedroom door, purposefully avoiding looking at the face on the wall. He held out a hand, indicating that she go first down the stairs. He followed her, not looking back, but suddenly anxious to leave the heavy gloom of this giant mausoleum.
Outside, they both let out breaths neither of them realized they'd been holding. They got into the car.
"Tell me one thing, Lisbon. About when I was all fugued up."
She smiled at his pun, at the same time worried about what he wanted to know.
"Okay."
"I know how I used to be. I know who I was then. Did I do anything well… untoward?"
Her smile widened at his old-fashioned term-so very Jane. She couldn't resist messing with him a little though, despite all the hell she'd so recently put him through. She started the vehicle and backed out into the street, sharing his unspoken desire to hightail it away from the macabre setting.
"Does cupping my ass count?"
He drew in a sharp breath, looking at her in shock. "I didn't."
"You did."
"Did you punch me in the nose for it," he asked, reaching up automatically to touch said proboscis. It didn't seem sore.
"No."
"Well why the hell not?" he asked, offended and angry for her as if it had truly been some strange creep in a bar. Any man, himself included, would have deserved that and more for treating her in such a disrespectful manner.
"You, uh, weren't yourself, obviously."
"That's really no excuse, Lisbon."
She shrugged. "You also assumed we were sleeping together, and invited me to share your bed."
He groaned into his hands. "Son of a bitch," he murmured, mortified.
"It wasn't you," she reiterated dryly.
Jane was quiet again, pondering his alien behavior. His lips suddenly quirked at the humor of it all, and he glanced through his fingers at her profile, a study in dry amusement. She was messing with him, trying to cheer him up, he imagined.
"You know," he ventured thoughtfully, "I don't think I would have done those things without some deep-seated desire to do so, even if I wasn't acting normally. The subconscious mind is a curious thing, Lisbon, full of repressed emotions and stifled actions. Being in the fugue state allowed me to act on things I normally would have suppressed."
"What?" she croaked, taken aback.
"You heard me. Maybe I've secretly always wanted to cup your ass, and just never had the guts to do it."
She was quiet a beat, then: "There is no statute of limitations for a nose punching, Jane; you should remember that." She gave him a sidelong glance, fairly dripping with menace.
Of course, he never could resist taking things just one step further than he should.
"You do have a very nice ass, Lisbon."
"I'm warning you Jane…"she said through gritted teeth, but inside, she felt so relieved and happy that she could barely restrain herself.
"Did I use both hands or just one?" But this time he didn't hold back his wide smile.
"That's it," she said, pulling sharply over to the side of the highway. Jane cowered back into his chair, knowing full well what was coming. He put one hand on the door handle, in case he had to make a hasty exit.
The next thing he knew, she was removing her seatbelt and throwing herself at him, and into his arms, hugging him across the console for all she was worth.
"Thank God," she said against his neck. "Thank God you're back."
His arms hung stiffly at his side for a minute, shocked that this wasn't exactly the kind of attack he'd expected. Then, slowly, his arms enclosed her small torso to his, and he closed his eyes, reveling in her warmth and security. They stayed that way a little while, as the close proximity of late-night traffic made the car shake alarmingly. A mischievous thought occurred to him, and he grinned against her hair.
Jane slowly slid one hand down until it rested on her left buttock. Then, with great affection, he gave it a gentle squeeze. Lisbon's eyes widened, but she only laughed and hugged him even tighter.
A/N: I did a little research on fugue states, and apparently, the victim doesn't remember what happened during their temporary amnesia, so that's the approach I took here. I hope you enjoyed this. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
I'm working on another Christmas fic, so hopefully I'll have that posted before the holiday. Thanks for reading!