AN: Onward we go! Will the duo continue on their journey, or turn around and go home? What kind of training does Rylynn have that helps with flashbacks and PTSD? Can Daryl keep his emotions in check? And what is Rylynn's real name?
A big ol' THANK YOU to those of you who are following, favoriting and reviewing!
The cessation of moans was followed by a few moments of silence, with Daryl and Rylynn's short breaths and the rustling of the leaves the only sounds to be heard. Finally, Rylynn turned her head to look at Daryl, who saw the movement and gave a curt nod. It's clear.
Rylynn rose to her feet and brushed the damp leaves from her body, with Daryl following suite. Her head swiveled to look up and down the decrepit highway, searching for any stragglers. She turned to her traveling companion.
"Good thinking," she acknowledged. He gave her another nod, and then jerked his head in the direction of her face.
"Ya' got somethin' there," he said. She looked puzzled. He reached up to her hair and plucked a soggy leaf from her ponytail.
"Oh, thanks," she said. "So, what do you think? Should we head back or keep going?" She wanted to know if he was feeling steady enough. She highly doubted that he would ever admit to anything other than being fine, but she wanted to put options on the table.
"Keep goin'," he said. "Still got plenty of daylight an' still need those parts."
They continued on in their original direction, a silence settling between them. Rylynn knew that she had gained some relatively major ground with this mysterious man, and she was coming to the realization that he was more than the grouchy loner he tried to be. She didn't want to lose that momentum with him.
"I'll trade you," she said, smiling at him. It was his turn to look at her, confused.
"Trade what?" he asked.
"An answer for an answer," she said. "Unless you wanted to walk the next two miles in total silence?"
Daryl had to admit that two miles of silence wasn't completely ideal, as most of the silences he participated in felt awkward. And, having the attention of the pretty woman couldn't be too bad, either.
"Sure," he said.
"But," she rushed, "they have to be of the same caliber! No answering an easy question and then asking a hard one."
"Fine."
"You go first."
He wasn't prepared for that. He had just assumed there was some answer she had wanted to get out of him.
A million thoughts raced through his head. How did you get here? What was your group before? Did your family love you? Did you get an education, unlike me? Why are you so confident? Why don't you like guns? Why are you talking to me? Why are you trying so hard?
But instead he settled for, "Where did ya live before…all of this?"
She gave a small smile. "Before the end of the world, I lived in Colorado. Right outside of Denver, to be more precise."
"What brought ya out here?"
"Ah! Nope!" she laughed. "One answer for another answer! You don't get two in a row!"
"Fine. Go then."
She chewed on her lip, scrutinizing him with those laughing eyes. Finally, her eyes got wider.
"Got it! Where did you learn to fix bikes?"
He shrugged. "Just being around em. My brother Merle, he had this bike. I had it until…" he trailed off. She watched his face, concerned that this had not been a good game after all. But he kept going. "I worked in some shops, before. Just picked it up."
She nodded, accepting his answer as satisfactory.
"Now tell me how ya ended up out South," he dove straight in. She gave a small laugh at his speed.
"My little sister was in school out here. I came down for a week in the summer to stay with her, and that's when all hell broke loose."
He almost asked, "Where is she?", but remembered the rules she had set. So instead he said, "Your turn."
Her mouth scrunched to the side, her eyes studying him carefully. He almost laughed at how ridiculous she looked, but caught himself and instead turned his eyes to the concrete, pretending to focus on kicking up loose gravel with his boots.
"Why do you dislike me?" she finally asked. He looked up in surprise; she wasn't looking away in shame, and she didn't seem uncomfortable or self-conscious. She just seemed curious.
"What?" he responded, half in surprise, half in an effort to get more elaboration.
"You are always trying to get rid of me, you snap at me, and you push me away," she said matter-of-factly. "Why?"
He was the one to look away in shame. He didn't dislike her- he didn't mean to be so hostile. Everything she said was technically true. She was just a bizarre creature to him, so full of positivity and confidence and ambition. She was so unlike anyone he had ever encountered. But he didn't know how to respond to that kind of energy and light, so he just treated her like everyone else.
But there was no way in hell he could say that to her. He was painfully aware of how pathetic and weird it sounded in his own mind. So he went with…
"It ain't you. Just like that with everyone."
She sensed a cop-out, as he suspected she would. "Bullshit. If you were like that with everyone, you wouldn't have your group. Rick wouldn't trust you so much. Aaron wouldn't invite you out for scouting with him. Tell me the truth."
The defensive part of his mind wanted to snap That is the truth! But his growing, empathetic, social mind whispered Tell her the truth.
"Ya…you're weird," he said, and she promptly burst out laughing. He blushed and inwardly cringed at his poor phrasing.
"I'm weird. Fair enough," she grinned widely.
"Not like…ya are different. Everyone in this damned world has shit, is jumpy. They're afraid. And ya ain't. Ya don't carry a million weapons."
"Neither do you," she pointed out. "Just the crossbow and a knife."
"Ya kept doin' what ya were doin' before all this," he continued.
"You are, too," she persisted.
"Ya ain't afraid of other people," he insisted.
"And you are?"
"It's different."
"How?" she challenged. He opened his mouth but quickly shut it. He had no answer ready for that.
"That's another question," he covered. She rolled her eyes.
"Fine then. Go."
He was silent for a few seconds, wondering what to ask her. Then it dawned on him.
"I said ya were doin' the same thing before all this, and ya' didn't correct me." He said. "You're a runner now, right? Ya were a runner before?"
She shook her head. "Running was just a hobby, something my sister and I did together. I was decent, but not a professional."
"So what did ya' do?"
Rylynn held up two fingers, smirking- two questions. She went ahead with hers. "How are you and I different in not being afraid of people?"
He sighed. "I dunno. I ain't afraid of no one cuz I have a group, and we have guns, and we got each other's backs, see. Ain't nobody that can hurt us easily. And ya…" he trailed off, trying to put his finger on how to describe her fearlessness. "Ya let everyone in. Ya aren't afraid to socialize, to connect. Ya aren't afraid that they will hurt ya with trust, or with words."
He looked over and saw a puzzled quality to her eyes, so he tried one more time.
"I ain't afraid of dyin', see. And ya ain't afraid of living."