fic [1/1]
Title: Used
Pairing: Deacon/Rayna
Words: 1294
Spoilers: Missing scene from 1x19
Summary: ‘Why was he always stupid enough to fall for it? Over and over. And at the end of the day he felt like he was always the one lying on the ground, battered and bruised and struggling to grip onto the will to ever get up again.'
He stormed out of the building, not entirely sure where he was going. For a few moments he paused on the steps and looked out at the street, not sure where to go.
He felt stupid, used, again. Why was he always stupid enough to fall for it? Over and over. And at the end of the day he felt like he was always the one lying on the ground, battered and bruised and struggling to grip onto the will to ever get up again.
‘Evening, Deacon.’
He didn’t even register who was talking to him as they walked past.
It didn’t matter where he went.
Anywhere.
As long as it was away from Rayna and Juliette and everyone else he knew.
He turned left, back towards the river and his car. He found himself walking quickly, trying to block out all the emotions that were quickly rising within him. Why didn’t she understand? She was his world, his everything, and yet she kept throwing blow after blow in his direction and not understand that there was only so much he could take.
Or maybe it was him who had to realise that.
Maybe he should have jumped on a plane and gone elsewhere thirteen years ago. He could have gone to New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. Maybe he should have gone to Seattle and followed a career in grunge. Music was music right?
Although his heart was probably a little too broken for any other form of music.
He barely even registered his walk back to the car, his mind spinning with all the things he should have done with his life instead of following around Rayna. He could have had a solo career, he could have been the one with his name up in the lights.
Instead he spent his evenings at the Bluebird, singing about her.
And the worst part was knowing that when she stood up on stage and sang, her songs were about him. Every. Single. One.
That was what hurt the most. Knowing that she loved him, but that she had chosen Teddy anyway, because Teddy seemed like a good idea. Who wouldn’t choose the rich investment banker over the broken hearted guitar-playing addict?
He was damaged goods, in every way. Partially because of her, but mostly because of himself and his inability to control addiction. Coleman was right, he was addicted to Rayna in the same way he had been addicted to alcohol and drugs.
No matter how many times she hurt him, he was always there, waiting.
He reached his car, yanking open the door, taking a seat.
‘Damnit.’
He slammed his hand into the steering wheel, the loud sound of the horn cutting through the quiet Nashville night, blocking out his thoughts for a few moments and attracting the attention of a few people nearby. He didn’t care.
He was broken.
Deep down inside he knew she loved him. He knew it. So why would she do this do him? Again? Why would she do this again?
It had to be something big, something she actually couldn’t tell him.
He sat still in the driver’s seat, his hand on the steering wheel, staring out at the river.
After a few moments he got back out of the car, wandering towards the water, less determined, slower.
She loved him.
The thought was going around and around in his head, as though it was the first time he had actually let the happenings of the last 24 hours sink in.
It was her who had showed up at his door.
It was her who had turned back and met him halfway for the kiss.
It was her.
She had done this.
Whatever she was hiding, it probably wasn’t something she wanted to be hiding.
He slowly felt the anger fading away, replaced with the sad realisation that it was entirely possible he had just screwed everything up again. Overreacting about something that could have turned out to be a complete non-issue.
This was what he wanted. He loved her, he had loved her for well over half his life, and he wasn’t willing to let that go because there was something she couldn’t tell him, something he was sure she would tell him when she was ready.
The last time he had suspected she was hiding something major from him and overreacted, it had been her divorce; something that had nothing to do with him.
He had to remember that there were things in her life that he wasn’t a part of, and as much as he hated it, it was the truth. Sometimes when she hid things from him it wasn’t because of him, it was because of her.
He hated it, he hated not knowing what was wrong, because it meant he couldn’t help her, he couldn’t hold her and tell her it would be okay, because he wasn’t going to tell her that if he didn’t know that it would be.
In the end it didn’t matter.
She loved him, and he loved her.
They had always loved each other, and everything in the middle was just some terrible mess that, at the end of their lives, they would look back on and be glad it hadn’t lasted forever.
That was how he had always imagined his life: the two of them, eighty years old, sitting on the swing on his porch, singing and playing guitar together. There would be grandkids running around, whether they were directly related to him or not was beside the point.
He took a seat at the river’s edge and looked at the bridge.
Everything in the city reminded him of Rayna, and he wanted that again. He wanted to make new memories. Not memories of standing on a bridge talking about what could have - what should have - been. No, he had enough of those.
He wanted to remember standing on the bridge and kissing her, to sit in the park and watch her kids run around. He wanted to play guitar with them, sing with them, take them to concerts.
He knew Teddy would have something to say about that, but he was willing to fight Teddy for the opportunity to create some of those memories. He didn’t want to steal his kids, but he wanted to spend more time with them.
In his head he had half-convinced himself that Maddie was his daughter. Sometimes he felt that connection to her and he had to shake it off. Rayna would have told him something like that. She would have.
He felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he tried to push away the fantasy that Maddie was in fact his daughter. He couldn’t let himself think like that, because it was a fantasy, just that. He had done the math, it was possible, and the whole time he had been in rehab it was what he told himself to get him through it.
But he had never asked.
And she had never said anything.
He knew in all likelihood it was false hope, and something he only very rarely let himself consider, because he wasn’t sure how he would deal with that information.
He wasn’t sure he could deal with a thirteen year old lie.
Not from the woman he loved.
Slowly he found himself standing up and wandering back towards where he knew everyone would be leaving. He had to talk to her. Alone.
He had to make sure she knew, that she understood he didn’t care, that he had given up absolutely everything for her and if she didn’t want to tell him whatever it was, she didn’t have to. He wasn’t going to be that guy.
He had to win her back.
Pairing: Deacon/Rayna
Words: 1294
Spoilers: Missing scene from 1x19
Summary: ‘Why was he always stupid enough to fall for it? Over and over. And at the end of the day he felt like he was always the one lying on the ground, battered and bruised and struggling to grip onto the will to ever get up again.'
He stormed out of the building, not entirely sure where he was going. For a few moments he paused on the steps and looked out at the street, not sure where to go.
He felt stupid, used, again. Why was he always stupid enough to fall for it? Over and over. And at the end of the day he felt like he was always the one lying on the ground, battered and bruised and struggling to grip onto the will to ever get up again.
‘Evening, Deacon.’
He didn’t even register who was talking to him as they walked past.
It didn’t matter where he went.
Anywhere.
As long as it was away from Rayna and Juliette and everyone else he knew.
He turned left, back towards the river and his car. He found himself walking quickly, trying to block out all the emotions that were quickly rising within him. Why didn’t she understand? She was his world, his everything, and yet she kept throwing blow after blow in his direction and not understand that there was only so much he could take.
Or maybe it was him who had to realise that.
Maybe he should have jumped on a plane and gone elsewhere thirteen years ago. He could have gone to New York, Chicago, Los Angeles. Maybe he should have gone to Seattle and followed a career in grunge. Music was music right?
Although his heart was probably a little too broken for any other form of music.
He barely even registered his walk back to the car, his mind spinning with all the things he should have done with his life instead of following around Rayna. He could have had a solo career, he could have been the one with his name up in the lights.
Instead he spent his evenings at the Bluebird, singing about her.
And the worst part was knowing that when she stood up on stage and sang, her songs were about him. Every. Single. One.
That was what hurt the most. Knowing that she loved him, but that she had chosen Teddy anyway, because Teddy seemed like a good idea. Who wouldn’t choose the rich investment banker over the broken hearted guitar-playing addict?
He was damaged goods, in every way. Partially because of her, but mostly because of himself and his inability to control addiction. Coleman was right, he was addicted to Rayna in the same way he had been addicted to alcohol and drugs.
No matter how many times she hurt him, he was always there, waiting.
He reached his car, yanking open the door, taking a seat.
‘Damnit.’
He slammed his hand into the steering wheel, the loud sound of the horn cutting through the quiet Nashville night, blocking out his thoughts for a few moments and attracting the attention of a few people nearby. He didn’t care.
He was broken.
Deep down inside he knew she loved him. He knew it. So why would she do this do him? Again? Why would she do this again?
It had to be something big, something she actually couldn’t tell him.
He sat still in the driver’s seat, his hand on the steering wheel, staring out at the river.
After a few moments he got back out of the car, wandering towards the water, less determined, slower.
She loved him.
The thought was going around and around in his head, as though it was the first time he had actually let the happenings of the last 24 hours sink in.
It was her who had showed up at his door.
It was her who had turned back and met him halfway for the kiss.
It was her.
She had done this.
Whatever she was hiding, it probably wasn’t something she wanted to be hiding.
He slowly felt the anger fading away, replaced with the sad realisation that it was entirely possible he had just screwed everything up again. Overreacting about something that could have turned out to be a complete non-issue.
This was what he wanted. He loved her, he had loved her for well over half his life, and he wasn’t willing to let that go because there was something she couldn’t tell him, something he was sure she would tell him when she was ready.
The last time he had suspected she was hiding something major from him and overreacted, it had been her divorce; something that had nothing to do with him.
He had to remember that there were things in her life that he wasn’t a part of, and as much as he hated it, it was the truth. Sometimes when she hid things from him it wasn’t because of him, it was because of her.
He hated it, he hated not knowing what was wrong, because it meant he couldn’t help her, he couldn’t hold her and tell her it would be okay, because he wasn’t going to tell her that if he didn’t know that it would be.
In the end it didn’t matter.
She loved him, and he loved her.
They had always loved each other, and everything in the middle was just some terrible mess that, at the end of their lives, they would look back on and be glad it hadn’t lasted forever.
That was how he had always imagined his life: the two of them, eighty years old, sitting on the swing on his porch, singing and playing guitar together. There would be grandkids running around, whether they were directly related to him or not was beside the point.
He took a seat at the river’s edge and looked at the bridge.
Everything in the city reminded him of Rayna, and he wanted that again. He wanted to make new memories. Not memories of standing on a bridge talking about what could have - what should have - been. No, he had enough of those.
He wanted to remember standing on the bridge and kissing her, to sit in the park and watch her kids run around. He wanted to play guitar with them, sing with them, take them to concerts.
He knew Teddy would have something to say about that, but he was willing to fight Teddy for the opportunity to create some of those memories. He didn’t want to steal his kids, but he wanted to spend more time with them.
In his head he had half-convinced himself that Maddie was his daughter. Sometimes he felt that connection to her and he had to shake it off. Rayna would have told him something like that. She would have.
He felt tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he tried to push away the fantasy that Maddie was in fact his daughter. He couldn’t let himself think like that, because it was a fantasy, just that. He had done the math, it was possible, and the whole time he had been in rehab it was what he told himself to get him through it.
But he had never asked.
And she had never said anything.
He knew in all likelihood it was false hope, and something he only very rarely let himself consider, because he wasn’t sure how he would deal with that information.
He wasn’t sure he could deal with a thirteen year old lie.
Not from the woman he loved.
Slowly he found himself standing up and wandering back towards where he knew everyone would be leaving. He had to talk to her. Alone.
He had to make sure she knew, that she understood he didn’t care, that he had given up absolutely everything for her and if she didn’t want to tell him whatever it was, she didn’t have to. He wasn’t going to be that guy.
He had to win her back.