AN- In the spirit of the season finale tomorrow, I am attempting to post two chapters this weekend! Additionally, I will be out of town for the next two weeks as I celebrate my recent engagement with my family in California! So my apologies in advance, as it is unlikely I will be posting while on vacation. Maybe you guys will get a few chapters out of the plane ride over!

Onwards and upwards!

Daryl returned to the porch after relaying his decision to Rick, and found Rylynn now sitting on the railing of the porch, shoes kicked off and bare feet swinging in the moonlight. He resumed his previous position, leaning down with his arms crossed over the railing. This time, he dared to be within six inches of her.

"Everything okay?" she asked, eyes still set up at the night sky.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just remembered something I had to tell Rick."

A silence settled between them, with Rylynn staring up at the starry sky and Daryl watching her feet kick back and forth slowly.

"She said I don't trust anyone," Rylynn whispered, so quietly that Daryl almost thought she hadn't actually spoken at all.

"Who? Deanna?" he asked. Rylynn wordlessly nodded.

"She said," Rylynn continued in an uncharacteristically soft voice, "that everyone tells me everything, and I tell them nothing. It's a one-way street."

Daryl didn't know how to respond. This soft, uncertain side of Rylynn was something he hadn't imagined was inside the dynamic, confident woman.

"Oh," he said, mentally kicking himself for such a pathetic, unhelpful answer. She looked over at him and saw him flinch at his own response. It was endearing to her- he really wanted to try, he just didn't know how to.

"What do you think?" she said, guiding him in the proper direction.

He rolled his lips between his teeth, and she felt bad putting him on the spot.

"Never mind," she rushed. "Screw Deanna," she said, back straightening. "She'll make her own decisions, and I'll make mine."

Daryl recognized her walls of self-assurance going up. Suddenly, he saw the similarities between them. I ain't afraid of dyin', see. And ya ain't afraid of living. But the truth was, he was afraid of watching others die, and she was afraid of living alone. They were both liars, trying to put up fronts that were the opposite of their true selves.

"Why don't ya tell nobody yer name?" he asked, instead of responding to her final statement. She smirked and gave him a mock seductive smile.

"Because I'm mysterious," she cooed, and then rolled her eyes. "Plus, it's going to be way more fun to watch you figure it out."

"I ain't never gonna figure it out, and ya know it," Daryl pointed out. "Ya haven't ever told anyone here, and there are a million names ya could have. It's impossible. An' yer smart, ya know it is."

She nodded in acknowledgement of his truth.

"I guess I'm not ready to reveal everything to an Angel I just met yesterday," she shrugged.

He was shocked as he realized that she was also speaking the truth- they had only been introduced yesterday. He felt like he had known her for a lifetime, as if she had been there at the farm, at the prison, at the grassy meadow where he put down Merle, at the hospital when Beth had been shot, in the barn where Aaron had found them.

As she sat there, her attention turned back to the stars, he decided to take a risk. He had always been the guarded one, the one to hold everything in secret. But this was a woman he, for no good reason, trusted. And he wanted her to trust him, because he felt like they could. Because who knew what Rick was planning, or when Deanna would make her decision. She's with us. They might not ever have a chance to talk like this again, and their lives may depend on trust someday soon.

"I'll trade ya," he said. She smiled broadly, not taking her eyes off the sky. "But," he continued, "on some terms."

"What are your terms, my dear Angel?" she jested at him, swinging her legs skyward. His heart stuttered at the phrase, but he swallowed his nervousness and plowed through.

"I'll tell ya something about the group and our past," he explained, "and ya tell me some clue to yer name."

Her face split into a full, toothy grin. "I accept these terms and conditions. You start."

He leaned over the railing again, deciding on what to start with.

"Lil' Ass-Kicker," he began.

"Rick's little baby?"

"Yeah, Judith. Her mom died givin' birth to her. At a prison we had for a few months. Carl an' Maggie were in the room. They were cut off from the rest o' us by walkers. Maggie delivered her and Carl put out his mom. Rick ain't ever been the same since."

Rylynn nodded, chewing over this bit of information. She accepted it as worthy and said, "My parents were hippies. They preferred 'bohemian'. Like, my mom was born into a hippie family, but my dad was the rebellious son of corporate bigwigs who never outgrew his 'phase'. So they named myself, my sister and my brother a bunch of hippie names."

He thought hard about her clue. "What, like 'Moon' an' shit?"

She laughed quietly. "Somethings like that. But Moon is not correct. Your turn."

There was a pause. He didn't want to give out anything too personal about single members of the group, in case they wanted to choose if Rylynn knew things about them.

"There was, ah, this guy. The Governor, called himself. We had the prison and he had this town nearby, kinda like Alexandria. This guy was unhinged, man, just crazy, violent. He wanted us gone, no reason for it…"

He trailed off. He wasn't sure, now that he had started, why he had chosen this piece of information. While the loss of the prison had happened long ago, and they had gone through so much since then, the prison still felt like a lost home, more so than any other home he had ever had.

Rylynn saw his hesitation. She extended a hand and rested it on his shoulder.

"Hey, Daryl," she murmured. "It's ok. He took your home. I get it. You don't have to say it right now."

He looked into her eyes, filled with gratitude. "How do ya do that? Know what people are thinkin'?" he asked.

"Are you forfeiting a name clue for the answer to that one?"

"Aw, common', Ry, just…" he faltered again. Just what? Just talk with me? Just tell me? Just fall into my arms an' tell me yer life story and abandon everythin' and join my group that's fallin' to bits? the voice in his head sneered.

Her answer took over his focus. "I was…a teller at a bank as a job, before the world went to shit. But what I really wanted to do… I was studying psychology, specifically counseling and therapy for PTSD."

"Ya went to college?" he inquired. She nodded.

"Bachelor's degree and three semesters of a master's," she sighed. "With about 100 hours running group therapy for homeless veterans." She gave an ironic laugh. "I was going to have to do at least 300 more hours, plus at least three more semesters, before I was legally allowed to even apply for counseling jobs. And then the dead rise, and suddenly I'm more than qualified to take on an entire world of patients."

He stared at her, suddenly intimidated. She gave him a frown. "Oh come on, Daryl. Don't do that. That's exactly why I don't tell anyone anything, especially that I studied psychology! They start freaking out and acting weird."

He shook his head, almost as if to get rid of the thoughts. "Sorry," he mumbled. "It ain't the psychology part, it's the college part. Ya were really smart. Like, educated and everything."

"Doesn't count for anything now," she replied. "This world makes equals out of us all, if you really think about it."