A/N: I didn't finish this one on time, and I wasn't sure if I should post it at all, but I finally decided to give it a go.

"What is he doing?"

Rayna glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time. At this point, Bucky doesn't bother to take his eyes off his laptop anymore. He's sitting at the kitchen table, going through his emails while Rayna is pacing around.

"He still has," Bucky starts, and he looks at the time on the screen before continuing, "four minutes before he's officially late." Rayna sighs and sits down again. "What's going on, Ray?"

"I don't know, it's just... I've got so many things to think about right now."

Luke will be back tonight, but for 48 hours only. After that, she'll be alone for two weeks to deal with all the last-minute preparations. Whose idea again was it to get married right before Christmas? She would have been fine waiting for the summer, it's Luke who had managed to persuade her. Except it wasn't planned he would be on tour until the very last moment when they'd set the date.

She's not being entirely honest, though. "And I guess I'm a little nervous too," she admits.

"About this co-write session? The guy comes highly recommended by Watty."

"I know, it's just—"

The bell spares her from having to elaborate. She gets up, heading to the door.

When she opens it, the guy standing outside gives her a bright smile. He's wearing jeans, brown boots and a black coat, and he's holding a beat-up guitar case which has probably seen better days. There's something about the way he looks at her, she's not sure why, but she doesn't feel so nervous anymore.

"Hi, I'm Deacon Claybourne. I hope I'm not late?"

"No, you're... right on time."

—

She steps aside so Deacon can walk in, and she closes the door behind him. As she's guiding him to the kitchen, he stops all of a sudden, looking around. "You... really like Christmas."

"Oh, no, it's not... it's only for this Christmas special Luke and I are going to shoot tomorrow. They thought it would show up better on TV or something."

The production had spent the whole morning setting everything up and when Rayna had come back home, it looked like a Christmas elf had thrown up green, red and gold all over her house. A little extravagant was the word Bucky had used when she'd asked for his opinion about it. Hideous would have been her own choice of word.

She and Deacon get moving again, and when they reach the kitchen, Bucky is gathering his things, getting ready to leave.

"This is my manager, Bucky Dawes," she introduces them.

"Of course, I know who you are."

"Nice to meet you, Deacon. Watty certainly has a lot of good things to say about you." Deacon smiles, out of politeness, though Rayna can see he's not one comfortable with compliments. "I'll leave you two to make beautiful music then." Bucky gives Rayna's shoulder a quick squeeze before he heads to the door.

"Thanks, Buck. I'll check with you later, alright?"

—

They've settled in her music room, Deacon on the couch and she on a chair across from him. His guitar case is lying on the coffee table between them.

"I like it in here."

"Because it's the first room where you don't feel like you're trapped in a Hallmark movie?" she asks, and he chuckles at that. She loves it, the sound of his laugh.

"No, it looks like it's all about the music, and I like that." He clears his throat then. "So... Watty White has been a bit vague about exactly why I'm here. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful, but there's probably not a writer in town that doesn't want to work with you."

"I need someone new," she explains. "Someone who hasn't been carefully picked and pre-approved by my label."

If Marshall Evans knew about this, he would throw a fit.

"Does that make me some sort of a wild card then?" Deacon asks, looking like he finds the idea amusing.

She smiles. "Sort of. Listen, you put out a bunch of hits. That fame starts coming. My experience is, I've just gotten further and further away from why I decided to do this in the first place, which was about sharing my truth with people. My first album... I'd written every song on there. On my latest album, they were all cuts. And it's even worse since the wedding announcement. I don't know anymore what's me, what's Ruke..."

"Ruke?"

"Rayna and Luke." She pauses. "You don't read the press much, do you?"

"Probably not the kind of press that calls you Ruke, no," Deacon admits, and she smiles. "So you want to find your voice again?" he asks.

"To find my voice now, yeah." It's weird, when she thinks about it, she's only 25 years old and she already feels like she's been doing this forever. "Lately I've been feeling more like a... performer than an artist," she adds.

The last three years have seen her career skyrocket. Oddly, the more her music career was progressing, the more she was losing touch with the actual music. She needs to course-correct. Now. Or she won't be able to call herself an artist anymore.

"You know, it sounds like a good start for a song."

"So... will you help me?"

—

He's good at this.

Really good.

And when he'd started to play... she hadn't expected that. She shouldn't be surprised as she trusts Watty's judgement, but still. Why is it she'd never heard of him before?

"Rayna?" he asks, and she realizes she must have zoned out for a minute.

"Sorry." There's a pause. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Writing songs? I'd say all my life. If you mean how long I've been making a living off this, then about a year, since I moved back to Nashville."

"Back? Does that mean you've lived here before?"

"I moved here about eight years ago when I was eighteen, lived here for a couple of years but then had to leave again."

She's tempted to ask more, but she bites her tongue. She's been too curious already. She doesn't usually consider herself nosy, but there's something about him that makes her want to learn more.

There's a long silence after that as he scribbles down a few words, and it's only when he looks back up that she registers she's been staring at him the whole time.

"Well," she spurts out, trying to hide her embarassment, "where were we again?"

"The second verse."

"Oh, right. The second verse."

—

She genuinely doesn't remember when she's moved from the chair to the couch. She doesn't remember when they've pushed the coffee table or when they've sat on the floor or when Deacon has taken his boots off.

The table is now a mess of wrinkled paper, pencils and books. An open carton box is lying on the left of it.

"Have you eaten at all today?" she asks, amused, as she watches him devour a sizable slice of the pizza they've ordered a moment ago.

"To be honest, I had to skip lunch."

"You should have told me sooner."

"It's okay, we were on a roll," he says, gesturing at Rayna's notebook, "I didn't want to break the spell."

"I don't know how you think you're gonna play guitar with those greasy fingers," she mocks, handing him a napkin.

"Look, if I can play a guitar solo while I eat a triple-decker cheeseburger..."

"Yeah, see, I don't believe that."

There's a playful glint in his eyes. "Are you calling me a liar, Rayna Jaymes?"

"Oh, I wouldn't dare."

She smiles. Again. It feels like it's all she's been doing this afternoon. Smiling. Smiling and writing what is shaping to be the best song she has written in years.

He wipes his mouth with the napkin and looks at her, more serious this time. "You know, you first album? It's my favorite too."

She doesn't smile.

She beams.

—

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Luke?" Rayna asks like he is a ghost. He's standing in the doorway, hands in his jeans pockets and looking pissed as hell. Before he'd talked, she hadn't even noticed someone had opened the door.

"Yeah, Luke, the guy you were supposed to pick up at the airport an hour ago."

"No, it's only..." She looks at the clock. Oh, crap. Crap, crap, crap. It's 7pm already. It means she's been writing with Deacon for... five hours. How is it even possible?

She jumps to her feet and she sees Deacon trying to quietly slip his boots back on and put his guitar in its case. She doesn't blame him for not wanting to be there for the argument that is sure to follow.

"I'm just gonna..." Deacon ventures, pointing a finger at the doorway.

"Thanks, Deacon. For everything. I'll call you to schedule another session if that's okay for you?"

Deacon nods, and Luke steps aside to let him walk through the door. He doesn't say anything, but he's fuming.

Rayna feels like her evening is going to be a lot less pleasant than her afternoon.

—

TBC