He's always felt at home with a guitar in his hands. Whether he's on stage, on a tour bus, or sitting in a camping chair, as long as he has that instrument in his hands he feels grounded.

All of his songs are about her. It's been that way ever since he met her, even when she didn't realize it. She struck something in him, played his heart strings like he played those of his guitar. When he met her he swore up and down that he wouldn't let anything happen, but that promise was broken before it was made. He fell for her hard and fast.

All these years later, he's still breaking promises he makes to himself when it comes to her. He won't rejoin her band. He won't sing those songs with her again. He won't let on to the way he feels about her. He won't kiss her. He won't come to her beck and call. He won't think about a future with her.

He's on stage at the Bluebird, a place that has been his home longer than any other place, other than her heart. He used to look out at the dimly lit audience and wish to see her face. As he sang, he would close his eyes and think of her. Flashes of her smile would cross his mind, bringing him back to the days when she used to share his stage and his bed.

Now she's there, sitting at the corner table that they'd claimed as their own the first time they came in together, her eyes trained on his. The memories he has of her are days old, hours old, and minutes old instead of over a decade old. When he sees her smile it's there in the same room in real time. It's still sinking in that this is his reality again, finally. The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile as he hits the chorus. He's right back home.

###

After the set is over, he saddles into the booth next to her. His arm slips around her waist and he pulls her closer. If he had it his way he would call her up on stage every week, but he understands that she doesn't want to go back to the way things were before. They've both changed and so has their relationship. They're still in the early days, still working out what everything means now that they're romantically entwined again.

"You were great," she tells him. She kisses his neck before resting her head on his shoulder.

They used to order double whiskeys after a performance back in the day. Tonight two tonic waters sit in front of them, hers almost empty. He leans his cheek against the top of her head and breathes in her scent. He's waited for this ever since he got out of rehab that fifth time when everything had clicked. When he had a moment of clarity and his hands reached for the guitar instead of the bottle, he knew he had to stick with it if he was ever going to get her back. From then on any time he had an urge to drink he thought of Rayna and poured his feelings into chords instead of a glass.

###

Stepping out of the booth she reaches for his hand as she says, "Let's go home, babe."

Deacon takes her hand, but instead of following her he gently tugs on her arm so that she steps back. She turns, her face inches from his. Quickly he closes the gap, his mouth finding hers. His tongue moves at a pace which is almost painfully slow, like he's trying to draw out every kiss they have missed over the years.

When he breaks away from her she moves her hand up to cradle his face.

"I love you, Deacon," she tells him.

"Rayna." A swell of emotions crashes through him. It's not the first time she's said those words recently, but they get to him every time. "I love you, too."

They don't have things figured out yet, but one thing he knows with all his heart is that he's right where he's supposed to be.