A/N: Don't own, not-for-profit, blah, blah. Title and lyrics from Still Crazy After All These Years by Paul Simon. Don't own that either.
Still Crazy
He's flung some twenty years into the past the moment he opens his eyes and discovers her tousled blond head half on his pillow and half on her own, her left arm still linked through his right.
It's a sight for his sore, old eyes, and one he never thought he'd see again. She'd laugh herself silly if she were awake to see the dopey smile she's brought to his face, and probably call him a sentimental old fool to boot, but he thinks he could quite easily live with that if meant getting to fall asleep with her again, even just one more time.
Sentimental old fool may not be far wrong. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Lucinda's face is peaceful and relaxed in sleep in a way it rarely is when she's awake. Her lips are slightly parted, her breath escaping in tiny puffs. He reaches over and traces the fingers of the hand that is lightly clutching his arm, but his eyes don't leave her face. Her lashes flutter and he thinks for a moment he's woken her, but she only sighs softly and turns her head, burrowing deeper into the bedding. He returns his hand to his side.
It occurs to him that perhaps he should be relieved she's still there, still asleep beside him. After all, last night's reunion had been impulsive, rash even by their standards. But that's always been them, hasn't it? Come big or stay at home, as the young people say. Their first go-round had been that way too, sudden and all-consuming, caught up as they were in the sudden realisation that their mutual animosity had been hiding an attraction too strong to ignore any longer. That time, they'd woken up married. This time he hadn't put a ring on her finger to bind her to him, but still, here she is.
And there is no doubt in his mind that when she wakes, she'll still be committed. It's like he told her before. He knows her - better than anyone before or anyone since. He knows her. And this time, this time, he's going in with his eyes wide open. She's a fighter; she doesn't know any other way. But he does.
Do your worst, old girl, he promises silently. You won't shake me again.
She's on her feet almost the instant her eyes fly open.
"I'd forgotten how you do that," he says from the bed, yawning and waving a hand in the general direction of the whirling dervish she's become.
She stops, turns to face him, hands on her hips.
"Do…what exactly, John? What do I do?" she asks imperiously.
"This, this," he says, hand sweeping widely to encompass both her and the room. "You leap out of bed, attack your day at full gale force. Hurricane Lucinda. There's no transition, no easing into it."
"Transition," she scoffs, but she's smiling. "Who has time for transition? I have things to do! I have to pack, call Dusty, doff the cloak of power at Worldwide…" Her voice trails off and she comes to sit beside him on the bed.
He rises up on his elbow and waits, eyebrow raised.
"Darling, are you rethinking any of this?" she asks abruptly. "Remembering, perhaps, what you'd be getting yourself into…with me?"
He looks at her askance.
"Amterdam, Amsterdam!" she clarifies. "Do you still want me to go to Amsterdam with you?"
"What? Of course, of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"
"Oh, John," she begins in a tone too even to be genuine nonchalance. "You realise that I don't look quite the same as you may remember." One hand gestures vaguely at her chest, currently covered one of his dress shirts which had been conscripted into serving as sleepwear.
Ah. Well. He's dug his own grave on this subject already. It's a conversation they have to have, they whys and wherefores of his absence during the worst period of her life. The scars it's left her with aren't only physical. He knows. He's been there himself.
But if he can, he'll delay it until they're more settled in together.
"Bah," he says, throwing an arm around her and rubbing her shoulder firmly. "Who does? Twenty years will do that."
"Cancer will do that," she retorts. "Surgery will do that."
"You're beautiful," he answers and holds her eyes for a long moment. Apparently whatever she finds in his own gaze is reassurance enough for now, because she's off again, into the bathroom to dress.
"Are you going to call Lily before we leave?" he calls to her.
The answer comes back immediately. "No. She wants to be left alone? I'll leave her alone. I do need to call my grandson, though. I sure he'll tell his mother…Oh!" she exclaims, as she walks back into the room. "Luke! I nearly forgot. I told him I was going to set up an endowment honouring his young man. Perhaps I'd better stay for a few more…"
"I've been assured," he interrupts, "that both telephone and internet service are available in Amsterdam. You can work on setting all that up when I'm teaching. All right? Deal?"
She smiles. "Deal."
He pushes aside the covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "I'll come with you while you tidy up your loose ends."
She laughs, then shakes her head. "Afraid I won't come back, John? No, no. It will be quicker without you. Three hours. I'll be back in three hours."
He nods in acceptance. Most likely she's right. His presence would demand explanation and they don't have time for all that now. Time, or really, an explanation to give.
"Still crazy after all these years," she sings softly, as she moves about the room, gathering her belongings, sliding her phone and lipstick into her bag.
He catches hold of her wrist as she passes by the bed and pulls her to him. Laughing, she tumbles into his lap.
"Make it two hours," he says.
Oh, still crazy after all these years.
AN: I used to watch ATWT when I was in high school, about a million years ago. I loved John & Lucinda back when they were married and only recently came to learn that they were reunited before the show ended. This is the result of that happy discovery. Please note that I stopped watching the show shortly after they divorced, so this is based entirely on a few YouTube clips and my twenty year old memories.