Warnings: Potential spoilers from seasons 1-4 of TWD and Jean Webster's "Daddy-Long-Legs". Rated for themes and language. All the highs of this story belong to Jean Webster and all the lows are mine.

Disclaimer: I do not own AMC's "The Walking Dead", Jean Webster's "Daddy-Long-Legs" or Marvel's "Avengers".

Special thanks to my lovely BETAs - doctorkaitlyn - she is the best.

Dear Mr. Hawkeye,

This is my last email to you, Daryl. The last time I'm addressing you as "Mr. Hawkeye". Perhaps I'm being overly sentimental. Perhaps I should've talked about this with you in person, but it feels like writing is a more preferable option. I'm not sure if I could've gathered the courage to say everything in person. In a way, this gives me some sort of a closure…

Ah, I'm babbling again. I'll cut to the chase.

After all, we both know that the identity of my "mysterious" benefactor is not such a mystery to me. It hasn't been for almost a month. And… if I were you, I would uninstall that obnoxious email messenger program. Its interface should be offensive to the aesthetic senses of anyone who has taste. Also, think of a good password to prevent your future hypothetical guests from using your laptop.

To clarify any possible misunderstanding between us: I didn't snoop through your emails or personal files. If you didn't realize it already – the moment I sent an email to you or, if you prefer Mr. John Smith, using your laptop, the message bubble appeared on screen, which informed me - and I quote: "You have a new email from Glenn Rhee!"

Imagine my surprise. Tbh, for a second there, I thought that I was getting the shakes (even though I didn't drink that much that night) and I half expected to see little green men running around the room. I couldn't understand what had happened or how it was possible in the first place. I didn't understand why, or how, you and Mr. Smith, my mysterious benefactor, could be connected. It was so surreal…it didn't make any reasonable sense!

I had to know. And I couldn't wake you up of course. Then again, to be completely honest, I probably couldn't have confronted you in person, even if you had been awake at that moment. But I needed more solid evidence than an email connection. So, I gave a quick look through your apartment… I'm sorry for crossing the line here and I'm not proud of this… but I had to know!

I'm not sure what exactly I was looking for… luckily, it didn't take me long to find more proof for my theory. There it was - sitting on the lower shelf of your bedroom closet, right on top of your poncho. My old red baseball cap. The one that I'd lost in October. And then all the pieces of this weird metaphorical puzzle started to fall into their places…

Anyway. Now that I've said that, where do we go from here?

I should've started this email by thanking you for saving mine and Maggie's lives. But I already have, when you came by to visit me with Rick and Agent Michonne a couple of hours ago. Not that we could discuss much in the presence of the third party… Though, I guess you can't thank someone enough for saving your life, can you? So, yeah… I couldn't be more grateful to you.

You were our last chance, Daryl. You've probably heard this story hundreds of times over the last two days but I want to say it again. If it weren't for you, Maggie and I would be dead right now. Murdered by those Woodbury cult members and it would've been staged as a double suicide…

It was my fault. I shouldn't have let my vanity cloud my judgments. I should've listened to my instincts, which were screaming at me that it was the worst idea ever. But no.

I wanted to get that stupid high mark on my assignment. I wanted to impress my professor and prove to myself and my family that I don't need their support to make my own career; that I can become a great journalist one day. I thought that this would be nothing more than a fun adventure. So, I didn't stop Maggie from going on that personal vendetta against that creepy cult after they almost recruited Beth. I encouraged her investigations and took an active part in this fiasco. I don't even want to think about what might have happened… In fact, I'm not sure if I can ever look Maggie in the eyes again. Or Hershel. I wasn't able to protect his daughter from that psycho, that Governor guy. Thank god they didn't... That maniac assaulted Maggie and threatened to rape her! My blood boils at the thought…

Like I said, we only wanted to gather some information for my article about this cult. We pretended to be interested in their brainwashing BS and joined their community (thanks to Beth "friend's" recommendation – the one that attempted to recruit her). We didn't plan on staying there more than a day. But how were we supposed to know that Merle was among the members of this cult? And that he was one of the trusted henchmen of this Governor? I mean, even you didn't know and you're his only family!

Either way, if Merle hadn't ratted us out, everything might have gone smoothly.

Turns out, our arrival to the community couldn't have happened at a worst possible moment. The Governor already suspected that someone was leaking information about the cult's shady affairs to the cops and when Merle exposed us as fake followers, they automatically assumed that we were sent there to spy on them.

[Damn, it's taking me ages to type this email with my left hand only, what with my right arm being in a cast.]

You know, they told Maggie that they'd chop both my hands off if she didn't tell them everything she knew about the mole. They "interrogated" us in separate rooms, so I don't know all the details but from what I learned while we were waiting to be executed… I have a feeling that my bruises and other physical injuries from the brutal beatings will heal much faster than the emotional trauma Maggie suffered because of those monsters.

Looking back, we didn't have much of a chance at surviving, did we? Once they realized that we didn't have anything to do with the cops, it was obvious that they could neither let us go nor keep us there. We were the unwanted witnesses that had to be silenced and there was only one way to do it.

As I understand, they intended to drug us, put us in a car and push said car off a bridge or something. By threatening Beth and Hershel's safety, they got Maggie to write a suicide note addressed to Hershel and they made her post a similar one on her Facebook page so that it would look believable.

I was a less complicated obstacle in this respect – Merle knew that my family was far away and that I'm not on the best terms with any of my relatives to begin with. With Dale being off on his trip and Maggie's suicide note, no one would've suspected anything. Well, except you, perhaps…

Luckily for me, Merle didn't know about our correspondence. I'd managed to convince them that I had to send a farewell message to a close friend, a friend who would worry and start asking questions otherwise; not to mention that I deserved to be granted one last wish before my execution, though the part about having a suspicious friend was most likely the clincher that persuaded them.

Thank god Martinez (who was appointed to supervise me writing that email) didn't notice my crappy cipher hidden in the message. We would've totally been screwed if he had.

Tbh, I'm not sure if I actually had faith that it would work or, more importantly, if you would've been able to help us anyways, what with you being off in Florida with Carol and Sophia at that moment (btw, I'm happy to know that Carol's case is going well and that it seems like they both will return home soon)… I guess I hoped that you would contact Rick, and the local police would handle everything else. Which you did. But what I didn't expect is that you'd also call Merle and somehow make him help us to get out of that mess.

I mean, Merle was the one who sold us out in the first place, who beat interrogated me and ultimately was indirectly responsible for Maggie's suffering. He was the last person I would've expected to save us. Turns out I underestimated the strength of your brotherly bond.

Rick told me that we owe Merle for delaying our execution until the police arrived. He betrayed his boss for you. And now Merle is the key witness against this Philip Blake dude and his cult. With Professor Mammet's evidence it should be enough to put that creep away for a lifetime in prison. Btw, another surprise – who would've guessed that our college professor was doing scientific research for the cult? They were trying to work out the process of resurrection or something? Who would've guessed that Milton Mammet was also Agent Michonne's mole and was the one leaking information to the FBI all this time? And if I understood Rick's explanations correctly today, Andrea (as in: our Andrea) was somehow involved with this case too? That's why Maggie had seen her with the Governor. Since Andrea was friends with Agent Michonne, she tried to help her to catch the bastard somehow? My mind is blown from all this information.

I have no idea why I'm writing you this since you probably know it all, since you were here at the hospital with Rick and Agent Michonne, when they questioned me… That FBI lady looked kind of pissed, didn't she? Idk if it's the morphine talking but she looked very intimidating to me. It seems like our interference with the Woodbury Army of Resurrection (WAR) almost disrupted their operation. Glad that everything ended well in the end…

I feel like the drugs they gave me are really starting to kick in. The pain in my arm is bothering me less, so I can type faster. Nurse Karen just gave me another warning about using my laptop and overworking myself. She threatened to call Dr. Subramanian (my attending) and tell him all about me disregarding his direct prescriptions about resting. She's probably right and I do feel like my whole body has turned into one massive bruise. But I do need to write this now. I'm not sure if I will have the time, opportunity or, let's be honest, the courage, to do it later.

I had some time to think in that Woodbury cellar, where Merle beat the shit out of me. I realized that life is short and I could die at any moment. I promised to myself that if I get out of there alive, I'd use every second and make it worthwhile. I'm tired of pretending and lying to myself.

I care about you, Daryl. And not just like a friend. I'm sexually attracted to you and I'm not going to have a gay panic attack about this. That's how things are. I've had this crush on you for several months now. And I know that you feel the same about me too. I'm not a fool, I've noticed the way you look at me sometimes and I've been suspecting that something was going on for quite a while.

Of course, I had no idea that you were my Mr. Hawkeye until the night I spent at your place. But that revelation, combined with my old baseball cap in your closet, couldn't have been more obvious indicators that it wasn't just my wild imagination.

I'm not sure why I waited so long to let you know this. I should've talked to you the next morning after my discovery, but I was afraid that it was all just a bizarre dream. That you'd freak out or laugh at me (or punch me in the face) if I made the first move. So, I waited. I mean, I never was good at pretending and playing such games, so you probably had figured out from my behavior that I knew. At the least, I tried to drop some clues in my succeeding emails.

The last couples of emails I sent you were the hardest part, tbh. I couldn't address you as "Daryl", since I didn't want to come forward first; but I couldn't keep addressing to you as "Mr. Hawkeye" either. In my mind, "Mr. Hawkeye" was an abstract person to whom I could tell all my worries and my secrets. Someone whom I never expected to meet irl but who cared and never judged… It all changed once I found out the truth. So, I went by that crappy name your lawyer gave me.

Perhaps you figured all of this out yourself, though? I couldn't understand why you didn't seem to be picking up on my not so discreet hints. There was a moment there a few weeks ago when I wanted to confront you and come clean. But the timing didn't seem right – what with Carol's situation and everything…

Yet, I'm tired of pretending. I realized today when you came by with Rick and agent Michonne that you're not going to make the first move. So, I'm making one myself.

You couldn't even look me in the eyes. Is that because of Merle and what he did to me at the community? It's not your fault, Daryl. You can't choose your family. I'm not mad at him for beating me up or pushing me down the stairs back in November. We both know that it was him, don't we? I kept my mouth shut because he was your brother and I didn't want to be the reason for him going to jail again. I know that you kicked him out of your apartment mostly because of that incident. I overheard you fighting that evening… and then later, when you showed up at my place with painkillers and informed me that Merle had moved out – it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.

Thus, I'm not angry at Merle for what he did to me. I'm angry at him on Maggie's behalf. What happened to her matters more to me than what happened to me. I'm not sure if I can ever forgive not just Merle, but myself.

Rick said today that because of Merle's cooperation with the police and FBI, he will probably be released on probation and that he'll move in with you again.

I know that at the end of the day, I owe my life to him but I can't live in the same building as your brother. I can't go back to the way things were – acting as if you and I are nothing more than neighbors, or casual friends at best. I don't want to be just friends with you; I want something more. I'm sick of wasting time pursuing something that I can never get.

My folks are right, and for once I'm going to listen to them. They're discharging me tomorrow and my older sister is coming to pick me up.

I talked to my father on the phone earlier today and we made a deal. Dad will cover all the hospital bills and will take care of all my student loans (which means I'll be able to return your money) on the condition that I'll quit college and return to Michigan. They already got me a job as an intern at my uncle's law firm and next year they want me to apply to law school.

I hate law… and this proposition embodies everything I despised and ultimately ran away from a couple of years ago. But maybe I was wrong? Maybe it's time to finally grow up and make responsible adult decisions? Not to mention that nothing is holding me here anymore…

It's only four days until Christmas and for the first time in my life, I don't feel the holiday spirit. I don't have bright cheery hopes of some wonderful miracle waiting for me just around the corner.

I'm tired of chasing pipe dreams. And it seems like my journalistic career is one of them. My article about the Woodbury cult, figuratively speaking, will be my swan song in this respect. Funnily enough, I already have a couple of offers from local newspapers – a guy named Abraham Ford, the chief editor of "On a Mission," is the most persistent – he called me twice today. Looks like I'm going to sell my story to him.

Anyway. What I'm trying to say is that I'm moving back to Michigan. Permanently. I'm giving up my apartment. My sister will collect my stuff (not sure if I'm able to climb up all the stairs in my current state) and then we'll catch our flight.

On the bright side, I'll be able to give you back all your money. I know that we had a deal and everything… but that was before I learned your identity. Tbh, I'm not even sure where you got that money. Did you sell your old chopper for this? Because the timing suspiciously coincides… FYI, I loved that bike. I hope you can get it back… Or maybe buy a new one. Motorcycles kind of suit your personality.

Well… It looks like I've got carried away – this email is inappropriately huge, isn't it? But I'm too tired to edit it now. What I'm trying to say is that I want to try it out with you… This… Whatever it is that we're having. But it doesn't look like you're interested anymore. Or maybe you care too much about other people's opinions (hint: Merle)? Either way, you know my number and you know where to find me, if you want to talk.

As for now, I wish you a merry Christmas (if we won't see each other again). Send my love to Carol and Sophia, as it looks like I won't be here when they get back. In case you never give me that call, and in case this is our last (one-sided) "conversation", I want you to know that there are no hard feelings between us. I wish you all the happiness in this world, Daryl. You deserve it. I'm glad that I had this little adventure in my life and I'm glad to have met you.

Yours, much grateful, Glenn.

A/N: Thank you all very much for reading and supporting this little fic! It really means a lot to me! Thank you for all your reviews and kind words! :3 I would've never finished this story without you guys.

That being said, I'm terribly sorry that it took me so long to update! I appreciate your patience greatly! I probably don't deserve such wonderful readers. 3 Also, happy holiday weekend to everyone living in the US! :)

It took me almost two years to write but I'm now almost done – this is the penultimate chapter (the last one is being edited by my lovely beta doctorkaitlyn at this very moment). The finale chapter will be published next week.

NB: "WAR" is an abbreviation of the cult's name: the Woodbury Army of Resurrection. I mentioned it in previous chapters but most probably not everyone remembers those chapters since it's been almost half a year since my last update. This name of the cult would be both a nod to the general zombie theme + the reference to the s3-4 war between the Prison and Woodbury. :) Also, it's a little nod to In the Flesh (BBC3) – there is a group of zombie extremists there who call themselves the Undead Liberation Army.

There are more nods to previous chapters such as like Milton Mammet being Glenn's college professor (the very first email), someone stealing Glenn's baseball cap (Ch. 3), someone pushing Glenn down the stairs (Ch. 5), Glenn addressing to Mr. Hawkeye as "John Smith) (Ch. 1) is also a reference to the Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster - the book upon which this fic is based.

Thank you again for reading! -)