I am beyond loving this new season, but if someone could just trip and fall and knock Rayna and Deacon into the same room and lock the door...thanks.

It was well after midnight when she slammed the car door. If anyone had told her that morning she'd find herself racing across a darkened East Nashville street in pyjama bottoms before the day was out, she'd have laughed them out of town, but Rayna wasn't laughing.

The phone call had pulled her from a vague, restless sleep, and she'd squinted at the screen at first in confusion and then in fear, the voice on the other end panicked when she'd hit the answer button.

'I'm so sorry to call you, Rayna, I really am, I know it's late, I just didn't know what else to do -'

'What is it Scarlett? What's happened?'

Coleman had always known to spit it out, tell her the bad stuff quickly; Scarlett wasn't used to this yet. Rayna knew from the prickling behind her eyelids that she'd held her breath, terrified of what was coming. Coleman had left town, Deacon had refused a new sponsor. Relapse had flickered through her head. She'd sharply pushed it and every other thought away.

'Can you come over?'

There had been a sweater draped over a chair in her bedroom and she'd blindly yanked it over her head, shoving her feet into boots she found by the door as she hurried through it and into her car. She'd started driving again a couple of weeks earlier, and the few times she'd been out on the road she'd gripped the wheel until her fingers hurt, but there was no hesitation as she started the engine this time, only a deep breath as she pulled out of the driveway and into the empty streets.

She knew the front door would be unlocked. The steps felt steeper than they usually did, harder to climb, and she paused for just a moment before she turned the handle, trying to prepare herself for what was on the other side.

'Rayna,' Scarlett said in relief as she appeared. 'Thank God you're here.' She looked like she'd been crying; her hair was dishevelled and she was wearing a dress, full make-up, no shoes. Next to her stood Juliette, a look of weary distress on her bare face. She offered a grim hello, one that said that she knew this, that it was familiar to them both. Rayna managed a nod of her head in greeting.

'I'm so sorry,' Scarlett continued, 'I wouldn't have asked you, only…I didn't know what else to do.'

'Where is he?'

'In his bedroom. He's not doing so great. Will had his first solo gig tonight, I went out to see him play, and when I got back… they were yelling.'

'Who was yelling?' Rayna asked, and she didn't like the look on Scarlett's face as she paused before she answered. She was going to need her to learn how to cut to the damn chase.

'Deacon, and my grandpa.'

'Deacon's father was here?' Rayna felt sick. She looked around the room, taking in the broken vase, the table that had been tossed onto its side. Which one of them had done it, she couldn't have said.

Scarlett nodded. 'It was more him yelling, really. Deacon wasn't saying much at all. He left when I got here, but he got a few choice words out first. I can only think what he must've said to Deacon before I interrupted.' She looked at Juliette, reluctant to say anything more, but Juliette nodded. 'He knows about your accident. And about Maddie.'

Rayna knew Deacon hadn't spoken to his father in years. She couldn't imagine he would have picked up the phone and told him he could add a second grandchild to the mantelpiece photo collection. If he knew about Maddie, it must have come from Scarlett's mother. She still tolerated her father for the sake of their mother, who had never taken anyone's advice or accepted their help in leaving Jack Claybourne, and still lived with him in the family home. Deacon's Christmas cards were addressed only to her.

'What did he say?' Rayna asked faintly.

'Some things about you having almost died, that it was Deacon's fault. That he saw it comin' right from the start.' She looked down at the floor. 'And that Deacon's no more a father than he was.'

Rayna swallowed hard, stuck somewhere between wanting to find Jack and kick the shit out of him, and wanting to run to Deacon and wrap him up in her arms.

'Has he…'

'He hasn't been drinkin',' Juliette cut in. 'But he has been sayin' your name.' She looked sadly at Rayna. 'Over and over.'

'I called Juliette first, I thought…' Scarlett shifted awkwardly. 'I thought it might be easier for him.'

'Turns out you're the only one he wants, though,' Juliette said. 'No surprise there.' It wasn't the bitter tone she would have used in usual circumstances; she spoke with a resignation Rayna more than understood.

She took a breath, slipped off her shoes and walked down the hallway, Scarlett and Juliette behind her. The door was open, Deacon curled on the floor in a corner, taking up as little space as possible, his feet tucked underneath him. His hands were scrunched into fists that held tightly onto a plaid shirt. It was hers, Rayna saw right away. She'd been wearing it the night before he'd found out about Maddie. She hadn't put it back on when she'd dragged herself reluctantly from his bed, knowing she had to go home but wanting nothing more than to stay with him. She was glad she hadn't known it would be the last time.

'Deacon?' she said softly, and he lifted his head in confusion. 'Hey.' She lowered herself to her knees in front of him, careful not to startle him.

'Ray,' he croaked, his eyes fixing on her.

'I'm here,' she said, and when he took a shaky breath she pulled him to her. He wound his arms around her and buried his head in her chest and she stroked his hair, murmuring words of comfort to him, no idea what she was saying but it didn't matter. She was there.

'I'm sorry,' he said, 'I'm so sorry.'

'For what?'

'I hurt you, Ray. I damn near killed you. My daddy's right - I'm just as bad as he ever was. Worse, even, 'cause he never loved my momma the way I love you.' His voice cracked, and she felt rather than saw the tears rolling down his cheeks. 'I love you with everythin' I got and I nearly killed you. What kind of a man does that make me?'

Rayna felt her chest grow tight. She'd seen Deacon in plenty of states, furious and terrified and so full of sorrow he shut himself away in a silent hell. Seeing him broken, defenceless - that was the hardest. She looked up at Scarlett, hovering by the door, her face full of worry, Juliette on the edge of a chair with her hands clasped together. She gave Rayna the same look she had the night Maddie had run away, when she'd broken it to her that she knew Deacon was her father. Like she got it, finally, how complicated they were, how intricately they were twisted and tied. It was a newfound respect she had for Rayna, one that had surprised them both.

'I want you to listen to me, Deacon,' she said, tightening her arms around him. 'The accident wasn't your fault. What happened that night was because of everything that came before it, all coming to a head, all the mistakes we've made - both of us.' She let her tears fall too, no need to hold them back. 'You are not your father Deacon - you're a good man.'

A bunch of strangers in a church hall and Rayna, they were the only people he'd ever told about his childhood. Vince, a little, but he'd never gone into much detail, preferring to drink his pain away rather than talk it away. Rayna knew it all. She'd seen some of it for herself, the few occasions he'd allowed his father anywhere near him in his adult life - and anywhere near her - proving all too clearly that he hadn't changed, never would. He was a perfect gentleman towards Rayna; the bastard could be the picture of chivalry when it came to people he didn't know, when he chose to be. When he didn't choose to be he was aggressive, provocative, nasty to a fault. It was the second time he'd met Rayna that he'd cared nothing about knocking his wife around in front of her - he seemed to almost find a sick kind of enjoyment in it.

Deacon had been reluctant for a long time to allow his parents to meet her, wanting both to protect her and not to let her see the family he'd come from, too ashamed and too proud. He'd all but cut himself off from them when he'd moved to Nashville, and in later years had estranged himself from them completely. Rayna could only imagine what a shock it must have been for Deacon, his father turning up on his doorstep. Jack hadn't dipped so much as a toe into the city to see his son play in the prestigious halls he'd been too much of a fucked up drunk to ever see the likes of himself, and how he resented him for it. If he'd been spiteful before Deacon had made a success of his life just like he'd told him he never would, it was nothing compared to the venom he'd spat in his direction later. Apparently he still wasn't done. 'My father's dead,' she'd heard Deacon tell more than one person over the years. She knew he wished it was true.

'A good man wouldn't do what I've done.'

'I don't know if I've ever told you this Deacon, but I've never met anyone like you. I hadn't the day you walked into my life and I haven't in all the days since. I'm thankful to know you at all, but to have been loved by you, all this time? I can't tell you how lucky I feel for that.' She closed her eyes, her voice shaking. 'You've become who you are in spite of your father - that says a hell of a lot about what kind of a man you are.'

He surprised her when he reached for her left hand, toying with her wedding finger, the ghost of the ring she'd worn for only a night as heavy as it always had been. 'I wanted a family Ray, so badly, do it all over and have what I never had. I wanted that with you. And I messed it up.' He shook his head, the grief hitting him as it had done so many times since he'd learned the truth. 'You said yes to marryin' me, you were pregnant with my baby. I had everythin' I wanted, right there in my grasp - and I lost it.'

'You haven't lost it Deacon,' she said quietly, her throat thick. He looked up at her, an involuntary joy spreading across his tired face. It lasted for just a moment, overshadowed by the all too fresh memory of his father's words.

They sat in silence for a long time, Rayna rocking him back and forth gently, but his hold on her was strong and there was no lessening of the tension in his body. He sat with his knees pulled up, curled around her like a child.

'He said I wasn't worth enough to be a father,' he said eventually, his eyes on the carpet, 'said he was glad you had the sense to keep it from me.'

Anger surged through Rayna; she hated Jack, for all he'd done to Deacon, for the way he'd destroyed the family he'd had, and even now, all this time later he was still trying to take what was left of him. 'That's not true. You've struggled your whole life because of him, because of what he did. You're worth so much more than he'll ever see.' She pressed her palm to his cheek and made him look at her. 'But I see it. I always have. That isn't why I kept it from you, I know you know that.'

She knew in that moment that she'd been lying to herself in the months that had passed since the accident. She was his family, the only one he'd ever had. The same was true for her. She could never - would never - break that. He laid his head down in her lap and she cradled him to her stomach, swirling her fingers in little circles in his hair the way she used to when he was fighting his urges, trying to keep his demons at bay, when he would lose himself in her instead of a bottle. He would have given up without her back then, she knew it, but tonight his biggest demon of all had appeared out of the blue and he hadn't given up.

We each need to save ourselves now, she'd told him. He'd gone out, found himself a programme. She knew he'd opened up about his father. When Coleman had told her it had taken everything she had to stop herself from running to his house to be with him so she could tell him how proud she was of him, that she knew what a monumental step that was. He'd been to physical therapy, was writing again, wasn't sitting at home in the gloom that had claimed him so many times before. He'd even started dating, she knew that too - his lawyer, by all accounts. That stung every time she thought about it, and she thought about it a lot. She scolded herself for it - she didn't want him pining after her for another fourteen years, wishing for a life he'd missed out on and punishing himself. It was time they both stopped punishing themselves.

Rayna hadn't noticed Scarlett and Juliette leave the room, but when she glanced up they were alone, the door pushed to. A thin strip of light from the hallway peeped underneath it, casting just enough light around for her to see how exhausted Deacon looked. The lines on his face were deep, his eyes rimmed with dark circles.

'Come on,' she said, 'you need to get some rest.'

She knew just how tired he was from his lack of protest, and he let her help him to his feet and lead him to the bed. She gave him a gentle push and he sat down, saying nothing while she rifled through the chest of drawers where he kept his clothes.

'Lift up your arms,' she instructed, pulling his shirt up and off. He sat with his hands in his lap and watched her while she folded it and put it on the chair against the wall, and she slipped a clean T-shirt over his head. He raised one arm and then the other, the cotton falling over his chest, his eyes never leaving her. When she motioned for him to stand, he let her unbutton his jeans and slide them off his hips, placing his large hands on her shoulders to balance himself as he stepped out of them, and stood in his boxers, waiting until she turned back to him.

'Sit down,' Rayna said, stretching past him to pull back the covers, and he dropped onto the edge of the mattress obediently.

'Thank you, Ray,' he said in a small voice, and she couldn't help but reach out and stroke his cheek, offering him a hint of a smile.

She should go home. She was as exhausted as Deacon was, and now that he had calmed down enough to sleep she thought he'd be okay until the morning when she would come back. She took a step away from him, backing towards the door, ready to say her goodbyes.

His hands on her hips stilled her.

'Deacon?'

'Stay with me?' he whispered, looking up at her. He looked so vulnerable, so in need of her, that she couldn't do anything but nod.

He pulled her closer and eased her into the space between his legs. She started in surprise when he reached for the buttons on her shirt, but he shushed her with a look that told her his intention was only to return her favour to him. She dropped her arms and let him mirror her actions; he pushed the rest of them open and the material pooled on the floor behind her, a chill raising goosebumps on her skin, and she shivered. He grasped the top of her jeans just as she had done and she tried not to feel the flutter in her stomach when he flicked the zip open and tugged them down her legs. Deacon stood, brushing lightly against her as he moved to the drawer she'd left open. He took out one of his shirts and she waited for him to hand it to her, but he dropped it on the bed instead.

Her heart quickened when his hands moved around her waist and up towards the clasp of her bra, his gaze on her eyes and not on her chest. He unhooked it and slid it down her arms, letting it fall to the pile of clothes on the floor, and picked up the shirt, holding it open for her. She turned so that her back was to him and lowered her arms into the sleeves; the fabric was soft and it warmed her instantly - it smelled like Deacon, and for a moment she felt dizzy, like he was everywhere. He stepped closer to her, his chest against her back, and reached around her to fasten a couple of the buttons; she watched him watch her in the mirror on his dresser as his hands moved, willing herself to stop holding her breath.

When she turned back to him he was climbing into bed and moving over to make room for her.

'C'mere Ray,' he said, holding out his hand. She took it, joining him, and he pulled the covers up over both of them, tucking his arms around her waist. He'd left her top buttons undone, and he scooted down the bed a little and burrowed his head into her chest, breathing her in. She felt his body relax into hers, and she was overcome suddenly; for all she'd sworn to herself since the accident, that she couldn't have this, they couldn't have this, it felt so good to lay there with him, so right. She wasn't as good a liar as she wished she was. Saving yourself was one thing, letting each other drown was another altogether.

'Goodnight Deacon,' she breathed, kissing the top of his head, and she smiled at his incoherent mumble into her chest.

#

She must have been in a deep sleep when she was jerked awake. It took her a moment to calm the hot fear that flashed through her, to prise open her eyes and become conscious of where she was. It came back to her in the same second she felt Deacon clutching her to him painfully, his skin burning and coated in sweat. He was breathing rapidly, the remnants of a cry echoing in her sleep-addled ears.

'Hey,' she shushed, her arms around him, 'Deacon, it's okay.'

He gasped her name a couple of times, his grip on her so tight she couldn't breathe, and she smoothed his damp hair, his face in her neck.

He'd always had trouble sleeping, ever since she'd met him. He'd told her long ago that the only time he ever got a proper night's rest was when she was with him and he felt secure enough to let himself drift off. She knew he wouldn't have fallen asleep that night if she hadn't been there. She used to stay with him so he wouldn't be tempted to drink, would let him sleep in her bed long after they'd broken up, back when their boundaries were fuzzy and the only solace they could find from the ache in their bones was in each other. Funny, really, how they were both the cause and the cure.

'It's okay babe,' she murmured, 'it's done, it's done.'

'It was one of the bad ones Ray,' he choked, and she kissed his temple, rubbed her fingers up and down his arm, her heart breaking for him.

'It's over now, I'm here. You're okay.'

He lifted his head and looked at her with bloodshot eyes full of fear and regret. As he focused on her they changed, giving way to a dark, searing longing that shot through her in response the instant she saw it. He was kissing her before she could remind herself she shouldn't, he shouldn't, that somewhere there was a woman calling herself his girlfriend and a child calling them both her parents. Before she could think of all the reasons they'd stepped back from each other and all the reasons they were doing it differently this time, she was tangling her fingers in his hair and letting him roll her onto her back, making no move to protest as he plucked desperately at her shirt. He tore at the buttons and pulled it open, leaving it on her, and they both stripped his T-shirt over his head, her hands wrenching his boxers down and her legs helping them the rest of the way. He pushed her knees apart and all other thoughts fled, nothing mattering but the weight of him above her.

They moved frantically together, breathing into each other's mouths and clawing at each other's skin. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him in deeply and gripping his solid arms, his hands everywhere, hers on his neck, his ass, her fingernails digging into him.

'Baby,' he gasped, and for a moment she thought she might cry - at the relief, the feel of him, at the way he looked at her. There was no moving on from this, no other way it could ever be. She'd been a fool to think there might be, an even bigger one to think she'd want it so. She cupped his face and kissed him, let him forget, let herself forget, about everything that had been, about whatever would come next.