So, this story has been something rolling around in my head for a little bit. I kept only having bits and pieces written, but I finally pieced it all together. I don't usually write DR stories, but this one was something I couldn't not write.
A lot of it is my canon on what I feel like DR were, especially in the beginning. I think it may fit in what the show has told us for the most part. If it doesn't, then whoops. lol. Then its AU. I don't particularly focus on show details to much when it comes to this kind of stuff.
She could feel herself practically shaking, as she moved off the stage towards the familiar face.
"Now that is what I call God given talent." His eyes sparkled playfully all the way up to the slight grays in his hair. "Now, was Uncle Watty right, or was he right?" He opened his arms dramatically, waiting for her response.
She found her voice again, quiet. "You think they liked me?"
"Rayna," He looked at her with pursed lips. "They clapped for a sixteen year old girl they never heard of before. I think it's safe to say you left an impression."
She let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sure you giving me that intro meant something to them."
He shrugged. "Still wouldn't mean anything without that voice." His attention drew to the back. "You gonna be alright here for a couple secs? I have a few people I gotta shake hands with."
She laughed, reserved. "Go ahead, I'll find a way back home."
He held her arm tightly. "You let me know if you can't, I'll be around." Seeing her nod in affirmation, he moved forward to meet a few tall men towards the bar.
She shook out the coat in her arms, slipping it over her shoulders lightly, tossing her hair.
"Hey there."
She turned on her heel quickly, seeing a young man looking at her earnestly.
"Can I help you?" She bit her tongue a bit.
He raised his hands in surrender at her defensive stance. "Not here to cause any trouble. I just overheard you and Mr. White talking, and I was wondering if you needed a ride home, that's all."
She narrowed her eyes. "Didn't your daddy every teach you that eavesdropping is rude?"
"My daddy didn't teach me much of anything actually. At least nothing worth remembering." He clicked his tongue. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop…it's just that it's not everyday Mr. Watty White introduces a newcomer to debut at the Bluebird."
"Ohh." She smirked knowingly. "So that's why you came over. If you think you're gonna get hooked up with him through me, I think you might wanna move along."
The young man let out a short laugh, face crinkling a bit. "Are you always this hostile?"
"Only to people who have the pleasure of pissing me off." She stuck out her shoulders, shifting away from him. "So congratulations."
He moved his body so she was effectively trapped from her direct line to the exit. "Now, you know what they say about assuming…"
She rubbed her forehead. "I'm exhausted. Is there any chance we could finish this mind game another time?"
He grinned, wordlessly looking at her like he had won a game show.
"What?" That stupid grin pissed her off enough to warrant an explanation.
"Well Miss Jaymes," he stretched his arms out cockily, "I believe you guaranteed me a second date."
"Excuse me?"
"You said 'another time' " His fingers raised in the air to mimic quotes. "That means I'm locked in for a second date."
"If this qualifies as a date to you, you must have a shitty dating history."
He leaned closer to her face, so she could feel his breath close. Despite everything, her breathing grew shallow. "I guess we'll have to wait and see on that one, won't we?"
She looked at his crinkled jeans, his crinkled shirt, his guitar in hand, until finally looking at his face fully. Something about him felt oddly familiar and yet brand new at the same time.
Breaking her trance, she pushed his body to the side slightly, as she walked towards the door. "You'll be waiting a long time."
"For you," Without turning back, she heard the voice boldly exclaim behind her. "I've got all the time in the world."
Every Thursday, she seemed to find herself at the Bluebird for singer-songwriter night, behind the piano. Week after week, the lights felt more comfortable on her skin, and the applause was no longer taken with a grain of salt, but it was relished.
She knew it; this is what she was supposed to do.
If only that damned boy wasn't there week after week, at the back table watching. He never went up and took a turn at songwriter night. He just sat in the back and kept his eyes on her.
Every. Damn. Week.
"Great job." His voice rang behind her, as she grabbed her music quickly, slipping it into her bag.
She turned, eyeing him up and down. "Do you have somewhere to be?"
"Yeah." He looked around at the other patrons around them. "Here?"
"Here." She repeated, shaking her head. "Either you're stalking me, or you're just a terrible musician. I've never heard you actually get up there and play."
He shrugged. "Never felt like it was the right moment to."
"So you're bad then?" Her father would probably grimace at how rude she was being to a complete stranger, but she didn't care. What her father didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
"Don't think it's as simple as just 'good' or 'bad' you know?" He crossed his arms, looking at her carefully. "There's a whole lot of space in between that's for growth."
She tilted her head at him carefully. "If you're always stuck in the middle, how are you ever going to grow? You gotta know whether you're good or bad in order to know what way you gotta grow."
He looked at her carefully, like she had shocked the hell out of him.
"What?" She prodded, curious as to his reaction.
"Nothing." He shook his head, smiling at her a bit. "You just… surprise me sometimes. That's all."
"Surprise you?" She rolled her eyes. "You don't even know me."
He turned without a response, talking to one of the band members on the stage. After a bit of back and forth, she saw a nod between the members on stage, and she saw this mysterious man take the spotlight.
"Hey y'all." He drawled, sitting himself on the stool in the middle of the stage with his guitar. "For those who don't know me yet, my name is Deacon Claybourne."
Her shoulders perked a bit. So he did have a name.
"A couple months ago, I wrote a song, sitting in the back of this place, listening to a new artist take the stage." He pointedly looked at her, grinning. But it wasn't his normal cocky grin. It was subdued, almost sad. "So here it is."
No long explanation of how he came to write the song, or sad sob story. Simple, sweet, and to the point. That seemed to be his method of operation. As he pulled on the strings of the guitar, the notes rang straight through her body, coursing through her veins.
Two arms around me
Heaven to ground me
And a family that always calls me home
She stood frozen, listening to the words that called out to her. He was magnificent. His voice seemed to fill every corner of the room in a way that was almost unprecedented.
But more than that, the words felt… right.
At the end of the day
Lord I pray
I have a life that's good.
The audience erupted in applause, with a sound as large as if he was playing at the Ryman.
She steadied herself against the bar carefully, as he walked over towards her steadily.
"So." He looked at her, almost nervous. "On a scale of 'good' to 'bad', where do you think I am?"
She scoffed, not looking at him directly. "You weren't half bad."
He cocked his head. "Half bad or half good?"
"Does it matter?" She raised her eyebrows at him. "Isn't that where that 'growth' you talk about comes in?"
"I guess so."
"So." She wanted to ask, but looking at him froze her into a standstill. So she went a different direction. "You know, I could use a guitar player. My songs are getting kinda dry on just the piano."
He looked at her with piercing eyes that made her shiver. "I think I can work that out for you."
"Great. And now that I know your name," She avoided eye-contact carefully, "I was wondering if you would be willing to give me a ride home."
He smiled brightly, without the hint of sadness he had on stage. "I think that can be arranged."
Driving up to her house, he whistled lowly. "Nice digs you have there Miss Jaymes. Didn't realize you lived in a complex." The engine of his truck lulled as he took out his key.
She looked at him carefully. "Are you new in town or something?" Her last name should have been the biggest tip off. "You clearly don't keep up with town gossip."
"I'm newer than you might think." He looked at her carefully. "Plus, gossip has never been my thing. I don't particularly run in those circles."
"Right." She nodded, looking at him. "Thanks for the ride home."
"My pleasure." He got out of the car, pulling open her door for her.
She stepped out carefully, unsure of what came next. Words spilled out. "You know, you don't have to call me Miss Jaymes all the time. You can call me Rayna."
The corner of his mouth rose. "Rayna. I like that."
"And I can call you… Deacon. Right?"
"Well, that is my name." His eyes twinkled.
She clenched her nails into her palm, trying to squelch her breathlessness. "So, I'll see you around? I have a couple song ideas I'd for you to fill in with your guitar."
"I'll be around." He stepped backwards, moving back towards the drivers seat. "Any time you want."
"Rayna, what the hell?" He saw her manically throw a duffel bag the back seat of his truck.
"Deacon, just drive. Quick!" Her voice was hoarse, full of emotion.
She saw him look at her. "I'm not driving you anywhere until you tell me what the hell is going on."
"Deacon." She looked at him as she ran her hands through her hair swiftly. "Please. Just get me out of here."
Without another look at her, he drove.
Everything in her was numb. Nothing existed but them and this car, as far as she was concerned.
She felt the car stop suddenly, a few blocks from her house.
"Rayna." She felt his hands soft on her arm. "Tell me what's going on."
"I need to leave." Her voice let out, soft and timid. It was a voice she hadn't used in a while.
"Leave?" His eyebrows rose. "Where?"
"Anywhere." She choked back emotion, turning away from him towards the window. "I just can't go back there."
"You can't go back home?"
She nodded, even though she knew with her head turned he couldn't see her. But she felt the car move, as the streetlights flashed and moved in her line of vision. Everything felt like it was moving so fast outside, but in the car was a stillness that was almost painful. Time had frozen in a way that felt like a heavy burden.
Stopping outside a garage door of a house, she could hear the engine turn off. Wordlessly, he grabbed her duffel bag from the back seat, pulling it over his shoulder.
Stepping out of the car behind him, she examined her surroundings and got no clues as to where she was.
"This is where I live." He quietly opened the door to the small garage for her, revealing a bed, a desk, and a microwave. "It's not much but… it's what I can afford right now."
Wordlessly, she grabbed her duffel bag from his hands, pulling it on the floor next to the bed.
"The people I rent this place from aren't here right now." He looked towards the main center of the house, before looking at her. "You hungry? Thirsty? I think I got some mac and cheese I can warm up."
She shook her head firmly, still silent. Sitting on the bed, she felt the springs creak under her body a bit.
"Ray." He sat on the bed next to her, arm around her shoulder. "You gotta talk. You're scaring me here."
She teeth clenched.
"I need to know what I'm dealing with here." He looked at her carefully. "I need to know what we're dealing with here."
She closed her eyes. "He kicked me out."
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because. Why?"
"Because he fucking hates me Deacon." Tears spilled from her eyes. "He thinks I'm a waste of space. He told me if I wanted to waste my years struggling as a singer like all the other common folk of Nashville I wasn't allowed to come back. So I left."
She saw him look down at the floor. "And it has nothing to do with me?"
She bit her lip. "He told me I had end it with you, and with music."
He sighed. "Ray,"
"I can't." She felt her eyes sting, as she grabbed the ends of his shirt. "I looked at that pink room and I just didn't know what my life was. I had to go. And I can't go back."
"Ray." His hand slipped into hers. "I don't wanna be the reason for this."
"This." She squeezed his hand back. "Is the sure thing. It always has been."
She pulled him down to the bed with her, resting her head on his pillow softly. His lips rest on her forehead lightly, as her breathing slowed.
"We'll talk about it tomorrow then." He whispered in her ear. "We still have tomorrow."
She sat across from him, looking at him with a heavy heart. Shambles of the man in front of her were all that were left.
"I can't do this anymore Deacon."
His hands drumming against the wooden table stopped. "Can't do what?"
She choked back tears. "I can't do this. This back and forth."
"What are you talking about?" His voice rose, and she quickly looked around to signal to the attendants that everything was ok.
"Deacon." Her voice felt heavy, trapped in her throat. His entire posture was tense and confused.
But it was still Deacon.
"Are you," his voice cracked before recovering. "Are you telling me you're done with me?"
Her fingers clenched around the ring on her finger, focusing on its rough texture. "Deacon, I'm getting married. You know that. I can't keep coming here."
The words remained unsaid. I can't keep giving you hope.
"I'm not your lap dog Rayna." He spit out in a way she was meant to hurt her. "You keep telling me you're getting married, telling me you love him, and yet you keep coming here to visit me. Stop throwing me spare bones."
Her filled with anger. "Are you kidding me?"
"Tell me I'm wrong." He leaned closer, craning his head at her. "Tell me you don't keep coming here to see if I'm good enough for you yet. How many check boxes do I have filled in on your list? And what about that Conrad boy, how many more does he have then me?"
"I'm not even gonna dignify that with a response."
"You never do." He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "You know I'm right."
Angrily, she moved forward. " Look at where we are Deacon. You're in rehab. Again." Her voice broke a little as his face shifted from her direct eye contact. "I can't keep doing this with you. You have an illness that I can't help you with."
"You used to want to help me." His eyes wouldn't look at her.
She reached over, grabbing his hand softly. "I still do. That isn't going to change. Ever."
He pulled his hand away quickly
"But I have to think about you. You need to get better, without me." Her hand rest on her stomach lightly. "And I have to think about the baby."
His head jerked "What?"
She felt his gaze pierce her, everywhere. But he rested on her stomach with intent. "You're…"
"I am." She nodded. "Teddy and I have to move forward." She bit down nausea at the words. Instinct seemed to always work towards his favor, not hers.
Everything lay in front of them, unknown but final. It had to be final. For her. For him. For this baby.
"He's never fit." Deacon finally spoke. "He's never fit in our story. And now he'll be there forever. You changed it."
You let him be inserted. She wanted to lash out at his unfair accusation. But what good would it do?
"I had to." She whispered. She had to change it. For the baby. She'd gladly stay in hell for the rest of eternity, but a child didn't need that.
"I get it." He lowered his head. He was defeated; she could see it. "You gotta give her a fighting chance."
"I don't know the sex yet." She looked at her stomach, still unchanged. "I need you to focus on just getting better. For yourself."
She had to give him the chance to get better without her.
"Time's up." The attendant stepped behind her, motioning to Deacon. "It's time for group."
"I think we still got another minute." He looked at the clock, and looked back at her carefully. "Am I wrong?"
The attendant looked at him carefully, before stepping away a bit. "Fine. I'll give y'all a few more. But after that… that's it."
"A few more minutes." She heard her own voice speak. "Just a few more."
"I think she killed him." Deacon spoke in the waiting room, loud enough for only her to hear. "He was supposed to come back when the baby was born to let us know."
"Deacon," she scoffed. "I think they might be a little busy. They just had a baby."
"I think she might have killed him with her words. That tongue is sharper than a knife." His leg shook nervously. "12 hours of Juliette in pain? How could that have possibly gone well for him?"
"Avery knew what he was getting into." She turned back to her Us Weekly, flipping over yet another gossip article about how she was jealous of Luke Wheeler's new blonde girlfriend. The headline caught her attention though. "Are you kidding me?"
"What?" Deacon turned to her, balloons still gripped in hand.
"Do you think that this woman is an upgrade from me?" She turned the magazine towards him to show the picture of the blonde. "According to this article, I'm jealous of her "entire look" and am thinking about undergoing surgery to upgrade myself to this standard."
"Since when do you read gossip?" He leaned back in the uncomfortable hospital chair, wincing a bit.
"Since there's nothing else to do while waiting." She rolled her eyes. "As if I would want those fake boobs and hair extensions. No thanks."
She looked over to see him gripping the chair slightly, still wincing. "Hey, you alright?"
He nodded, gripping his side a bit. "Yeah, just a bit nauseous. That's all."
"You, nauseous?" She looked at him incredulously. "I've never seen you sick a day in your life. Has your immune system finally caught up with you?"
"I guess it has." He said stiffly, tying the balloons to the chair. "The press still hounding you?"
"They've gotten a lot better." She threw the magazine carelessly on the table. "At least having to stay home more means more nights with just the girls and I."
"That's nice Ray." He smiled over at her.
"Maddie loves that new guitar you got her by the way." She looked over at him. "I have to take it away from her at night. She's always trying to play when she's supposed to be sleeping."
"She's persistent, that's for sure." He rubbed his neck a little, laughing. "That's definitely something she got from me."
"Something she probably got from both of us." She rested her head against the wall. "You know, I'm starting to buy your theory that Juliette really did kill him."
"Hey."
They both rose quickly, seeing the young man come towards them in a daze.
"So?" She trailed, waiting for him to say the words they had been waiting to hear.
His eyes shone, glistening with an emotion that could only be described as joy. He looked at both of them before speaking again. "I'm a father."
Deacon's voice broke the atmosphere, laughter loud and full of life. "Congratulations!" He grabbed Avery's shoulder tightly, shaking it with force.
"Good lord, we've been waiting here forever to hear that!" She pulled the young man into a quick hug. "Are Juliette and the baby up for a visit?"
"She would really love that." He nodded, looking at both of them again. "I came out to get you guys."
Deacon grabbed the balloons quickly, as they followed the young man into the hospital room to meet the new mother.
She could feel his hand on the small of her back, leading her through the narrow hallway into the hospital room. And even though the touch threw her off a bit, it felt comfortable at the same time. She leaned a little against the touch before moving towards the bed.
"Hi." Juliette whispered, rocking the tiny body in her arms lightly.
Deacon moved towards the side of the bed, giving Juliette a quick kiss on the top of her head. "You did good. Look at her!" He rubbed the edge of her newborn's fingers.
"12 hours girl. How did you do it?" She whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed on the opposite side of where Deacon stood.
"Don't remind me." Juliette groaned.
"Don't remind me either." Avery winced, groaning from the corner of the room.
"Don't you even dare Avery." Juliette shot him a death glare. "That idiot was having sympathy pains for the first six hours."
She turned towards Deacon knowingly as they bit back laughter. "We did have a theory that you had killed him Juliette."
"I almost did." Juliette shot Avery a sickeningly sweet smile. "But I decided I didn't want my child to grow up an orphan, since her father would be dead and her mother would be in prison."
"Not that this isn't enjoyable to have to sit through," Deacon interrupted, still looking at the infant, "But does this sweetheart have a name yet?"
"She does." Juliette smiled. "Melody Jolene Barkley."
"Melody." Her head craned towards the sleeping girl's face. "She's gonna be a little songbird, just like her mama." She grabbed Juliette's hand, shaking it reassuringly. The young girl in front of her had become a woman and a mother in such a short time.
Juliette's eyes shone, as they shared that moment. "You wanna hold her?"
She nodded, opening her arms for the infant to be placed in. The young girl started to stir a little, wrestling limbs lethargically. She bounced the infant back and forth in her arms, lulling her back into a sleep. "This sure does bring me back. Feels like just yesterday my girls was born."
"You guys better love every moment you got with her." Deacon looked at the new parents proudly before his gaze settled on her. "Before you know it, they're all grown up."
Her stomach shifted guiltily, as the words filled a heavy atmosphere in the room. They all felt it.
"Actually," Avery broke the uncomfortable silence in the room as discreetly as possible, moving towards Juliette's side. "There was something we wanted to ask you two."
Juliette looked up at him with a grateful look that she thought they didn't see. "We were wondering… if you guys would be willing to be Melody's godparents."
She looked down at the baby girl in her arms. So full of life and promise, with all the time in the world. "It would be my honor."
She looked over to see Deacon's eyes shining, but not in the way she would have expected. His eyes were clouded. Burdened.
"I don't think I'm the right choice, but I'm honored that you would ask me." His hands slipped into his pockets, as he looked at Juliette.
"What are you talking about?" Juliette shifted her body to face him fully, looking back at Avery for support. "There's no better choice than you."
"Juliette," His eyes closed, as the baby shifted in her arms again. "I just can't."
"Deacon." Juliette's voice filled with emotion, looking at him confused. But he had already left the room, without another word.
"I don't get it." Tears spilled from Juliette's eyes.
Quickly standing, she handed the newborn to Avery. "I'm gonna try to catch him before he leaves."
She quickly ran through the halls, watching the elevator door closing. Bolting, she jammed her body into the elevator. Pushing the hold button on the elevator, she pointed at him angrily.
"What the hell was that?"
"It wasn't about her." Deacon shifted uncomfortably, moving towards the corner of the elevator.
"She sure as hell doesn't think that."
"I'll call her later and let her know." He ran his hands through his hair, looking down.
"Deacon." She moved towards him, catching his gaze. "Talk to me."
He remained silent, still looking down, jaw locked.
"Deacon." She repeated, pulling her hands into his. "Talk to me. What is going on?"
He shook his head, still silent.
"You have to talk to me, Deacon." Her fingers entwined in his calloused ones. "You're scaring me."
His hands let go of hers, trailing on her neck softly, cupping the back of her head. Her eyes closed instinctually, feeling the warmth of his presence.
"I'm sick Ray."
Her blood ran cold, as she opened her eyes.
"What did you just say?"
"I said," He stepped back, still looking at her fully. "I'm sick."
"Sick." The words were heavy like lead. "What do you mean sick?"
"I'm sick."
"Will you stop fucking telling me your sick and tell me what you actually mean?" She clenched her fists tight.
"Cirrhosis of the liver." He looked at her fully, the way he always did. "Cancer."
"Cancer." She backed away from him, gripping the wall of the elevator.
"Cancer." He whispered back, nodding in affirmation.
"So, what are you gonna do, chemotherapy?"
"They're gonna try." He nodded. "But I might need a new liver. I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Her voice snapped. "Didn't you and your doctor talk about a treatment plan?"
"Ray." His eyes were careful in their approach. "The doctors… they don't seem hopeful."
Her legs gave out, but he caught her before she fell to the floor.
"This isn't happening." Her voice was clenched. She couldn't breathe.
This was a dream. A horrible dream. She was going to wake up and this would just be one horrible dream.
"It is." He pulled her head into chest, as she sobbed.
She had always thought they would have time. That their story still had pages left to be written.
Suddenly, the book was significantly shorter in length.
"How long?" Her hands gripped his shirt. He was still there. His blood still coursed underneath her fingertips. His heart still beat. He was still here.
"For you Ray," he whispered in her ear, lips trailing against her neck, "I've got all the time in the world."