A/N: An odd idea I got while writing my latest fic. It's a little one-shot. (For now?) (I may get inspired.)

Deacon knocked on the half-open door before he called out, "Ray?"

"Come on in."

He pushed it open and walked into the dressing room. Rayna was sitting in a plush velvet chair, the soles of her boots pressed against the edge of a coffee table. They'd been back on tour for one week, but they'd barely had time to see each other offstage.

"You're alone?" he asked. She never was. There was always someone needing something from her, whether Bucky or her publicist or a label guy or a hairdresser or a makeup artist or a costume designer or... take your pick.

"Not anymore," she quipped.

He smiled. "Do you want to be alone?"

"No, and your timing is on point. Can you close the door?"

He executed, and took a seat in the chair next to hers.

"I've been wanting," she started, reaching for the large purse lying at her feet on the floor, "to show you this."

She pulled a few photographs out. The atmosphere shifted between them, like it did every time they talked about it, her other life, her family life, the life she'd built with a man who wasn't him. A few years ago, when they were trying to work out the kinks of how to be in each other's lives without being each other's lives, he'd sensed she'd been willing, yet cautious, to discuss it with him. He'd reassured her that she could, that she should.

"Her fourth birthday," she explained. He took the photos she was handing him and started to examine them carefully. He was aware she was staring. "In the middle of the party, she asked if she could sing for her friends, so we set up a little pretend stage."

"With a real sound system?" he teased, pointing at the mic Maddie was holding.

"It's a toy," she laughed, "but she said she didn't know what to do with her hands if she didn't hold something while singing."

He smiled. "Must be in her genes," he let it slip.

A second went by before they both realized what he'd just said.

"What?" she asked, unsettled. He didn't answer. Shit. "Deacon?"

His eyes were begging her to let it go. Why wouldn't she? Why would she want to destroy this delicate balance they had spent so long to reach?

"Ray," he murmured and what she heard was a yes to the silent question she'd asked.

"How—" she choked. She felt incapable of forming a full sentence.

"I can do basic math," he deadpanned, although there was no real bitterness in his voice.

"Why—" she tried again, but it came out as nothing more than a strangled whisper. He waited for her to find the words. "Why did you pretend, all this time?"

"Because it was the right thing to do."

He couldn't have been sure, at first, of course. It was Rayna who'd achieved to convince him. Some time after his fifth stint in rehab, he'd received a call from her. She'd proposed they meet up to talk, she'd asked if he would like to meet Maddie. They'd settled for the park, a safe and neutral place. The minute he arrived, he just knew – he could read her like a book – but the minute he first saw Maddie, he also knew he would never say anything.

"Maddie deserved better than me back then. So did you."

"That's not true, you—"

"Ray," he cut her off. He didn't want some comforting lie. They were having the first real, honest-to-god conversation they'd had in years. He wanted the truth. "Ray, you felt the need to marry another man to protect her from me. This was when I knew I had finally fucked up beyond repair."

There was part of him which had always wondered if Rayna was aware he knew, if it had been some sort of unspoken agreement between them all along. Her genuine shock had now persuaded him she'd had no idea. She looked like her whole world had been turned upside down.

She was silent for a while before she breathed, "I didn't want it like this."

"I know," he assured her and this was when she eventually lost her fight against tears. He crouched down next to her, put a hand on her knee. "Hey." She gripped his fingers.

"Why don't you hate me?"

"This would imply you did something wrong. You were just protecting our little girl."

It didn't mean it hadn't been painful. Being around his daughter and not being allowed to be her dad. So damn painful at times, he'd thought more than once about putting an end to the situation. But his truck never made it to Rayna's house. He needed to stay sober. He needed to prove that he could. He needed to earn the right to be a father.

"Why don't you hate me?" he asked.

She slid from the chair to the floor and they both sat down on the ground, her side against his.

"Because you're you and we're us and nothing you will or won't do could make me hate you."

What now? was hanging heavy around them, but he wasn't ready to articulate it yet. It sounded too consequential, too dangerous. Both their lives had just been upended by a simple slip of the tongue. He couldn't believe they'd made it four years without the truth coming out and this was how it had all happened.

She nestled against his shoulder, he kissed the top of her head.

"Babe," she said and he couldn't remember the last time she'd called him that. It sounded both odd and familiar. "What now?"

She'd always been the one to ask the tough questions.