Author's Note: This story has been something roaming around in my brain for a while now, but I just recently had a chance to start writing it. I know that we've gotten a little Deacon/Rayna backstory, but basically this is based in between his stints in rehab. There's no specific timing necessarily, but considering they were together for eleven years & she's been with Teddy for about twelve, this would be set around thirteen or fourteen years ago. I just wanted to write something that went into the struggle they were both going through during that time, and how even though she might have been mad, she still loved him (and arguably she still does, but that doesn't come into play here).

Disclaimer: It should already be obvious, but suffice it to say I don't own these characters, and therefore am receiving no compensation, etc. My only hope is that I did them justice.

He liked the sound the ice cubes made as they clinked softly against the sides of the glass. Deacon watched intently as the amber liquid swirled around before he tilted it back and took a sip. He felt defeated; like he'd lost some kind of battle with himself. While it had only been his first sip, he'd been holding the glass for several minutes, daring himself to put it down. The wind kicked up, rustling the branches of the trees and causing the clouds to stir overhead. The afternoon weather report called for rain but he hadn't seen or felt any yet.

He rocked back onto his heels, breathing in deep. While he probably should be calling his sponsor, it wasn't something he felt up for, and he tried telling himself that he wasn't really defeated yet. It was just one drink after all, he thought, and he didn't actually intend to drink the whole thing. Truth be told, he hadn't actually intended to drink it at all, but he liked the feeling of the glass in his hand and the scent of it wafting up at him with the breeze. His mouth grew parched and he lifted the drink to his mouth only to pull it away again. Clenching his jaw, Deacon knew in that minute that he never should've poured it in the first place. The thirst burned his throat, itched him so bad it was a wonder he didn't take the whole thing in one gulp. Shaking, the glass was halfway to his lips again when he heard her behind him.

"Deacon," her voice called out to him, but it wasn't angry like he might've expected. Surprised, possibly, and disappointed most definitely, but not angry. "Hey," she called softly.

Rayna. He closed his eyes, his back still facing her, and he couldn't bring himself to see the look in her eyes. "Just take it."

He felt her fold a hand over his before the weight of the glass was pulled away, and for a moment he didn't feel her near, until her hands pressed against his waist, begging him to turn around. "Deac, look at me. Please," her voice had gone raspy, afraid. "Look at me, Deacon. Talk to me."

Slowly, Deacon turned to face her. Lifting his eyes to hers, he was afraid of what he might find. Over her shoulder, he could see his drink sitting on the patio table, mocking him. He felt the warmth of her palms press against his cheeks, willing him to focus on just her.

"How much?" Rayna asked, and it was all she needed to say.

"I just—" he wavered under the weight of her stare, the one that conveyed all of her fear and doubt. The one he'd seen countless times and prayed he'd never see again. "I found an old bottle stashed away when I was cleanin' up. There was…there was only a little bit left. It was the last of it. I just—"

"How much did you drink?" Rayna asked, this time more forcefully. Her thumb brushed over a scar on his cheek he'd gotten from one of the last times he'd been in a bar fight. In time it would fade away and be unnoticeable, but to her it was yet another reminder of a time she'd nearly lost him. "Give me the number," she said. "Or you could do it. Either way, you need to talk to your sponsor."

"It was just a sip. I'm—"

"Deac—"

"I'm fine, Ray," he said, pulling one of her hands from his face. He traced his fingers across her wrist, drumming a tattooed beat. Staring at their hands, he spoke slowly. "I just wanted to prove to myself I could do it. That I could hold it in my hand and not drink," Deacon paused for a second, shaking his head. He turned her hand over and ran his fingertips, calloused from countless hours playing guitar, over the back of her hand. He traced the veins, feeling and remembering every curve of every finger. She'd come again, just like she had the last time and just like she always would. "Guess I'm not as strong as I thought I was," he laughed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. I guess you probably wanna be turning right back around now."

"Babe, you feel this?" Rayna asked, pressing his palm to her heart. "I am here, and I am holding on. I'm fighting for you, Deac. You can do this," she whispered, her eyes growing misty with tears. She nodded slowly, wanting the words to sink in. "You can fight this. I know you can."

"Why? After everything I put you through, after all the times you've seen me strugglin', why fight for me?"

"You know why," she replied, a tear slipping out and sliding down her cheek. She let go of his hand and wrapped an arm tightly around his waist. "Come on, let's go inside."

Deacon remained still where he stood, refusing to budge. The wind kicked up and the temperature dropped, and he knew that soon the rain would be falling, but still he couldn't force himself to move. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders, and if he didn't voice his thoughts he was afraid he never would. "I mean it. If you wouldn't have shown up when you did, I would've finished the whole thing whether I meant to or not. We both know that. But you're here anyway. I don't deserve—"

"Deacon, don't you dare start talkin' to me about what you do and don't deserve. I'm here because I love you. I am here because I believe in us, and I believe in you getting over all this, okay?" Rayna stood quiet for a second, hoping he understood, knowing full well the battle that was raging inside him. "Now, for the last time, do you need to call your sponsor? I'll even dial it for you if it's what you need, or I'll drive you to a meeting. Whatever you need."

"I just need you," he replied, shaking his head before pulling her into his arms. He buried his face in her neck, feeling more grateful that she was a real, tangible presence to hold on to. Rayna, the one who'd bailed him out of tough situations more times than he could count. The one he owed so much to and yet was still there, refusing to back down. He wasn't sure how long they stood there on the back porch under the glow of the patio light, but eventually he lifted his head, seeing the glass sitting there on the table. He breathed in deep and pulled back, gesturing to it. "And I need you to get rid of that."

"Whatever you need," Rayna repeated. She tugged at him, pulling him back towards the door, stopping herself to pick up the glass on the way inside. Wordlessly, she walked to the sink, dumping the drink down the drain. "Where's the bottle?"

"Ray—"

She turned her head, resting her hip against the counter. "I'm doing this for you, Deac. You wanted my help and now you've got it. You want some coffee?"

Deacon sighed and ran a hand over his face. He hated what his problems were doing to her and wished not for the first time he could break his habit. "Yeah, sorry. It's in the living room, on the coffee table."

Rayna went about making the coffee, pulling out two mugs and setting them by the coffee pot. She was putting the grounds in the filter when she heard his voice from behind her.

"What's this?" he asked, shifting a notepad that was sitting on the kitchen table next to her purse so he could get a better view.

She craned her neck over her shoulder, slipping the filter into the basket. "It's the reason I came over. I've got a new song in mind, but I can't quite figure the second verse out. I figured you might wanna help me. But if you're not up to—"

"No, I'm up to it. I just need to focus on something, you know?"

Rayna pressed the correct button and turned, crossing her arms as she studied him. His shoulders sagged as he sat in the chair, pulling the notepad closer and studying the words she'd already written. Tonight wasn't the first time she'd come over to find him in the middle of a fight with himself, but she wanted so much for it to be the last. He'd tried so hard, had gone to meetings even in the middle of tours, but after his last stint in rehab he was different. Not in a bad way, but he seemed more determined than ever to make it stick. She walked over to him, massaging his neck as he read. "I know it's not the greatest, but it's a start."

He relaxed at her touch, grateful for the feeling of something familiar. "No, it's good. Can you grab my guitar? I think I got something."

She nodded and started to move to leave before he pulled her back.

"Hey," he said. "I'm sorry. I really am."

She smiled back at him sadly, running a hand through his hair. "I know," she said before planting a kiss on his head and heading through the kitchen doorway. Stopping in the living room, she spotted the empty bottle sitting on the table and was reminded of the times she'd gone through his things in an attempt to get rid of all the alcohol she could find, at Deacon's request some of the time and in others because he'd soon be released from rehab and she didn't want it to be there when he got back. Frustrated, she grabbed the bottle from the table and resisted the urge to hurl it across the room. Instead, she quietly slipped out the front door and put it in the trash can by the curb before heading back to the bedroom in search of the guitar he'd asked for.

By the time she got back to the kitchen, Deacon had already poured their mugs and they were sitting next to each other at the table. "Just the way you like it," he said, nudging hers in her direction once she sat down.

"Thanks," Rayna replied, handing him his guitar before picking up the mug and taking a slow sip. She watched as he pressed his fingers to the strings, settling the instrument comfortably against himself before strumming a few chords. After crossing her legs beneath her, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a hair tie, slipping her hair into a messy bun.

Deacon slowed his movements, looking up at her even as his fingers slowly kept up a beat. "I uh…I called my sponsor, while you were outside," he said, looking down at his guitar while he continued to play. "I didn't tell him what happened, but he's meeting me for breakfast tomorrow."

She looked down, laughing to herself. Apparently her trip to throw the bottle away hadn't gone unnoticed. "That's good, I'm glad to hear that," Rayna replied, her words genuine. She placed a hand on his leg, giving his knee a squeeze. "Hey. I love you. You're gonna get through this."

He knew she did. He probably would've lost her a long time before if she didn't. And he wanted so much to prove that she was right, not just for loving him but by him getting through it all. "I love you too, darlin', and hey—" he said, pushing the notepad in her direction. "You got a pen? I got an idea for that second verse."

Rayna smiled, pulling a pen from her purse. She wasn't sure how to feel about things returning to normal so soon after what she walked in on, but what they were doing—this sitting up late at night, playing guitar while figuring a song out—this was normal, and if that's what he needed she wanted to give it to him. She'd promised to help however he needed, and if this was it she'd be willing to stay up as late as necessary.