It was a gloriously beautiful day in Nashville when Lamar Wyatt was laid to rest. Ironic, some would say. Others, however, would say something somewhat harsher in nature: the heavens were rejoicing the day that corpse was finally buried under. But for Rayna, things weren't exactly black and white.. She was fuming and mourning in tandem. And the thing about mixing anger with sadness, well the two are like oil and water. They don't mix too well. And they tend to bring a lot of other extra shit bubbling up to the surface. So before long, while mixing up that anger and sadness, you find youself blending in regret, guilt, shame, fear, and an overall taste of insanity. It makes for a pretty volatile concoction.
For someone like Rayna who has lived her life by compartmentalizing every ounce of emotion that she doesn't want to deal with...For someone who has been forced to learn under the bright public lights of fame and fortune that it is so much damn easier to pretend than to feel...For someone like Rayna who thought she could successfully juggle her emotions while blindfolded with one hand tied behind her back...For someone like that...the coctail of messy emotional ingredients had proved to be like poison and wine.. So eventually the inevitable occurred. Her cup runneth over.
The first thing Deacon thought when he saw Rayna standing at the gravesite was that she had never looked more beautiful, and he had to swallow hard past the gulp in his throat as the sight of her literally whisked his breath away. Maybe it was that she was wearing black, and he had always loved the way that black lay in perfect contrast against the color of her skin. Maybe it was because he could see beneath her sexy designer sunglasses and cool collected demeanor that her eyes were wet and her lips swollen from crying, and he had always beeen a sucker for Rayna in tears. Or maybe it was the simple basic acceptance, deep down in his soul, that despite everything, he just plain loved this woman more than life itself.
She carried herself with the quiet grace of the southern bred lady she was as she respectfully listened to condolences and polite goodbyes. He watched her stand tall, a pillar of strength among the weary, and he couldn't help but feel pride in the strong steel magnolia she had become. And, as one by one, friends and family slowly began to leave, Deacon watched as Rayna stood alone, waving at Maddie and Daphne while Tandy whisked them away from yet another tragic memory that would chip away at their seriously battered innocence.
He watched. While Rayna pretended...he stood alone and watched. Because he knew that beneath her steel determination and iron pride, she had a heart that was larger than life and it was shattered in to pieces. He waited and watched, silently offering her spiritual strength as she endured the painful task of laying her father to rest, six feet under, beside her mother.
And after everyone was gone and the sun was beginning to set, he waited while Rayna carelessly tossed a wilted rose on the spot where Lamar Wyatt's cold dead body now resided, then turned and slowly walked across the cemetary towards him, falling into his eager outstretched arms as he offered solace to her soul. As she threw her arms around his waist, burying her face is neck, he watched as her armor fall off.
And he waited. While Rayna stopped pretending.
He held her as her muffled cries turned into sobs of loss and regret.
He stood strong while she fell apart in his tight embrace.
He whispered his condolences into her hair and tear streaked cheeks while she clung to his chest, and swallowed in his scent, and let herself fall apart in the arms of the only constant she had ever known.
He waited. And waited. And waited. Until she emptied her pain and unloaded her sorrow, and was ready to start pretending again.
A/N : Nashville isn't mine, nor Rayna and/or Deacon. Special Thanks to Roxy206 for the objective eye and giving me that extra push to post this. Last but not least, the story is rated M due to impending adult theme(s) in upcoming chapter(s).