"Ro," Daryl said, coming up to the picnic table Rosie was sitting at. She was drawing one of the people who were eating lunch at another table. She wasn't great at drawing people, so she was trying to get better. Anyway, when Daryl came up to her, she closed her sketchbook and looked up at him. "C'mon. I need your help with somethin'," Daryl said. 

After shoving her sketchbook and pencil into her backpack, Rosie stood up and followed Daryl as he began walking. "With what?" she asked as they walked. 

"You were talkin' with that girl last night, right?" Daryl asked. For a moment, Rosie thought about lying and saying no, but look where that led her last time. Nowhere good. Either way, Daryl obviously already knew that she had been talking to Lydia, so Rosie nodded. "I need you to talk to her again. She's been talkin' to Henry, but Henry's too damn stupid to know what not to tell her," Daryl explained.

"What about Ian? He's still in there, ain't he?" Rosie asked. She wasn't sure how she felt about tricking Lydia into giving her information. It felt wrong, but at the same time, her people killed Jesus, and probably had something to do with Alden and Luke's disappearances. So maybe it was morally wrong to manipulate Lydia into giving up the truth, but it was definitely morally wrong to kidnap and kill people for no good reason. 

"I let him out last night," Daryl said, shaking his head. 

"Why?" Rosie asked, furrowing her eyebrows. That meant that she was going to have to talk to him about... everything. 

"What, you want me to lock him in there forever just so ya don't gotta see him?" Daryl asked, raising his eyebrows. Rosie rolled her eyes and looked away, not wanting to think about it anymore. "He wasn't talkin' or nothin'. He wasn't as wasted as Henry was, either. No point keepin' him in there any longer," Daryl explained. 

"I'm not gonna do what you and Michonne and Tara were doin'," Rosie told him.

"I'm not askin' you to. I'm just askin' you to talk to her," Daryl said. Rosie could do that. That's what she had been doing last night. She wasn't looking for any answers about anything last night, though. She was just trying to be nice. "You've got some in common. I'm thinkin' she might talk to you 'cause of it," Daryl added.

"What, 'cause we're both teenage girls who had shitty dads?" Rosie asked, giving Daryl a look that said really? 

Daryl shrugged. "Yeah," he murmured.

"Great," Rosie muttered. 

"Ya don't gotta do it if you don't wanna," Daryl reminded her.

"Nah, it's fine. I'll do it," Rosie said, shoving her hands into her pockets. Now the only two things in her pockets were Daryl's lighter and her velociraptor toy. It felt a lot better that way. More normal. Less tense. 

"Thank you," Daryl said ruffling Rosie's hair as they got to the door to the cellar. As Rosie smoothed out what Daryl had messed up with her hair, he pulled something out of his shirt pocket and put it in Rosie's jacket pocket. It was an orange bottle with a few pills in it. "Give her this. She keeps tuggin' on her ear like it hurts. Think she's got an ear infection or somethin'," Daryl said.

"'Kay," Rosie said, nodding her head. Daryl gave her shoulder a squeeze before she went down the stairs. She was happy to have a job. It gave her some sense of normalcy. At camp, she had plenty of jobs. Checking and resetting the snares, of course, but also gathering firewood and hanging up clothes to dry after Daryl washed them as best he could in the river. She liked those jobs a lot better than this one, though. This one sort of made her feel bad for Lydia. But she tried to remind herself of what Lydia's people had done. "Hi," Rosie said as she leaned up against the wall across from the bars. 

Lydia was sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest and her back leaning up against the cement walls. "Did you get in trouble for talking to me?" Lydia asked, her voice more quiet and raspy than it had been before.

"Nah. Got in trouble for smokin' cigarettes," Rosie admitted truthfully. Again, it felt nice to admit these things to someone who didn't know her- someone who had no opinion on who she was or what she had done. "And for lyin'," Rosie added.

"Who cares if you smoke cigarettes?" Lydia scoffed, looking away. Rosie looked at Lydia, kicking her right foot into her left. Just the sight of her made Rosie feel bad. She had this sad, dark, absent look on her face and she stared at the wall. "Everyone's gonna be dead before you get to the age that it actually affects you," she said, her voice sad. 

"I guess I... I get real bad, like, anxiety. Smokin' cigarettes apparently makes it worse," Rosie explained. 

"Oh," Lydia whispered, nodding a little. Rosie sighed and sat down on the floor like she had the day before. This time, though, she didn't have any food to offer. Only medication and someone to talk to, she supposed. "Why'd you smoke them in the first place?" Lydia asked.

"Don't know. Guess it made me feel better. My, uh, my dad from before- David-  smoked 'em. And he put 'em out on me sometimes. Knowin' that I had control over 'em now kinda made me feel better about it, I guess. Doesn't matter. David's dead and I ain't doin' it again," Rosie explained, fidgeting with the ends of her shoelaces. She'd never really said any of this out loud before, and she wasn't sure if she even wanted to say it out loud, but Daryl said to get Lydia to talk, and maybe telling her these types of things would get her to tell Rosie those types of things. Secrets. Things you keep to yourself, not because you don't want to get in trouble, but because you're scared to say it out loud. 

"What happened to him? David, I mean," Lydia asked. 

Daryl was right. She really was tugging on her ear a lot. Rosie hadn't noticed until now. Daryl was smart like that. He always noticed those types of things. Rosie thought that was probably how he knew she was lying. She probably had some tiny thing that she did when she lied, that only Daryl would notice, because he was Daryl. He'd noticed her tugging on her shirt back in the Atlanta camp, and Merle did, too. Maybe it was a Dixon thing. It was strange that just that subtle movement had led to all of this. Maybe if Rosie hadn't been tugging on her shirt like that, she would still be with David. Or maybe she'd be dead. But there was no used thinking about it, so Rosie took a breath and shifted her focus back to the question at hand. 

"Daryl's brother killed him," Rosie answered. Sometimes she wondered if Daryl ever thought about killing David, but she didn't want him to feel bad if he hadn't, so she never asked. Either way, she didn't really care if Daryl didn't do the right thing back then, simply because he'd done the right thing for almost every moment after. He didn't have to, but he took care of Rosie. He took her as his own, despite how difficult things could be with her. That made up for everything.

"Did that happen here? Or... or somewhere near here? Like another community?" Lydia asked, perking up a little. That sad look was replaced with a determined one and she sat up a little straighter. 

Now, Rosie wasn't stupid. She knew exactly what Lydia was trying to do. She was trying to find out more about this community and other communities, so that if she was released, she could report back to her people. But the answer to the question wouldn't put anyone in danger, so Rosie told the truth. 

"It was in Georgia. Outside a' Atlanta," she said. Lydia seemed a bit disheartened by the answer. She only hummed and looked away again. That wasn't the answer she wanted. "What about you? What happened to your dad?" Rosie asked. She wasn't down there to tell Lydia about herself, she was down there to get Lydia to tell her about her. But Lydia didn't seem to want to answer that question. She looked away, tugging on her ear again. Rosie scooted herself a little bit closer to the bars and pulled the orange bottle out of her pocket. She shook the bottle, making the pills rattle around inside, catching Lydia's attention. "Your ear hurts, don't it?" she asked. Hesitantly, Lydia nodded. "This is s'posed to help," Rosie said, tossing the pill bottle between the bars. 

"Thanks," Lydia whispered, pulling the bottle towards her. Rosie nodded, even though Lydia wasn't really looking. She took the pills out of the bottle and held them in her palm. "Can I have some water?" she asked. 

"Sure. I don't know how I'm allowed to give it to you, though. I could go get Dar-"

"No!" Lydia quickly interrupted, shaking her head. Rosie sighed in understanding. Daryl had threatened to kill her. He'd held a knife up to her face. Those were good reasons to be scared of someone. "He... he gave me some with that ladle," Lydia said, gesturing to a ladle that was hanging up on the wall. 

"Oh. Ok," Rosie said, going over to the ladle. She grabbed it and dipped it in a pot full of water. Lydia carefully approached the bars of the cell. "Here," Rosie said, sticking it through the bars. 

Lydia began to sip the water, but after a moment, her hand lashed out and grabbed onto Rosie's, violently pulling her towards the bars. Rosie didn't understand what Lydia thought she was doing. It wasn't like she had the key. Maybe Lydia was just getting desperate. Rosie tried to rip her arm out of Lydia's grasp, but just as she did, Lydia's sleeve got caught on one of the bars and lifted a little, revealing about three long, red marks on her arm. Rosie pulled away quickly, her eyes wide as Lydia retreated back into her corner with a terrified and angry look on her face. Rosie didn't know what to say or do. She knew what those marks were from. But it didn't make sense. Lydia said her dad was the bad one, and her dad was dead. If her dad was dead, then how did she get those marks on her arm? 

The sight alone made Rosie's stomach hurt. She felt like she should tell Daryl, but she wasn't sure if it was her business to tell. When she was younger, having someone tell someone else about something they saw on her was her worse nightmare. But Daryl said that that was what they were supposed to do. It was what Coach Smith should've done. But he didn't, and that was bad. Telling would be for the better, right?

Rosie turned towards the stairs, about to leave. "No! Please, Rosie, please. Please don't tell him! Please don't," Lydia begged her eyes wide and afraid. 

"I have to," Rosie said, frozen in her spot. She tugged on the end of her shirt anxiously, trying to decide what was best. She was taught that these types of things were a secret up until she met Daryl. Lydia must've thought it was a secret, too. And it sort of was. It just wasn't the kind of secret that you keep for yourself. It was the kind of secret you keep for someone else. 

"No, you don't," Lydia said, shaking her head. She looked angry, but so scared at the same time. Rosie wondered if that was what she looked like when she was little. 

"I do. It's safer for you here. I know it don't seem like it, but whoever did that to you doesn't give a shit 'bout you. I felt the same way about David. I thought he was doin' it 'cause it made me better, 'cause I deserved it, but I didn't deserve any a' that shit. I was just a kid, and so are you. I gotta tell, 'cause you don't deserve it either," Rosie said, her voice shaky. 

"No! Rosie, no!" Lydia shouted as Rosie went up the stairs. 

She felt bad about it, but Rosie ignored Lydia's pleas. This is what she knew she should have done for herself when she was young. She should have gone to someone and asked for help, but she didn't know that she needed it, back then. Now she knew that it was wrong, and she could help someone else. So she let her eyes scan over Hilltop, searching for brown hair and an angel-winged vest. It took a moment to find him, but there he was, talking to Henry- or arguing with Henry, rather.

"Daryl," Rosie shouted as she neared him. She felt panicked, but this wasn't an absolute emergency. At least Lydia was safe here. It would be more urgent if Lydia was out there with whoever had been hurting her. Upon hearing Rosie calling his name, Daryl quickly turned to the sound of her voice. Rosie took a few deep breaths as she approached him, because she was feeling a bit anxious. She looked between Daryl and Henry and decided that this wasn't Henry's business. "I need to talk to you," Rosie said, her eyes wide as she looked at Daryl.

Daryl looked at Henry, giving him a look that probably had some eye words in it, then turned to Rosie. Henry backed off as Rosie started taking Daryl back towards the cellar. "You a'right?" Daryl asked, not failing to notice her slightly shaky breathing. 

"I think she's lyin' about her dad. Or maybe she's not, and it's just another person. I don't know," Rosie said quickly as they stopped outside the door to the cellar. Her dad was the asshole, but her dad was dead. So either he wasn't the asshole, or he was an asshole and she now had a new asshole, too. 

"What're you talkin' 'bout?" Daryl asked, his eyebrows pinched together with both confusion and concern. The shakiness in her voice was starting to scare him. 

"Someone was beatin' her. She said her dad was an asshole, but he's dead. She doesn't want me to tell you," Rosie explained. Daryl's eyebrows furrowed. "On her arm. She's got marks. I think from a branch, 'cause it don't look like it's from a belt. And it ain't old, either. It's fresh."

"Ok. I'll talk to her 'bout it. You don't gotta," Daryl assured Rosie, chewing on his lip. Apparently, this topic made him anxious, too. 

"Ok," Rosie breathed out, nodding her head to herself. "Ok."

"I'mma talk to her, and you're gonna talk to Ian," Daryl said, patting Rosie's shoulder before turning and pulling open the doors to the cellar. 

Rosie's eyebrows furrowed again. "What? No. Why? I don't-"

"What I tell you, Ro? The longer ya put it off, the harder it's gonna get. Go talk to him," Daryl said. He nodded his head over to one of the picnic tables. Rosie looked over and saw that Ian was sitting with Addy. At least it wasn't Gage or Rodney. Addy was at least nice. "Go," Daryl said before disappearing down the stairs. 

"God damnit," Rosie muttered to herself, turning to go talk to Ian. She really, really didn't want to do this. But Daryl was right. The longer, she put it off for, the worse it would hurt. Plus, Rosie didn't just want to have to avoid Ian for the rest of her life. He was her favorite person to hang out with. She hoped that this whole situation wouldn't ruin that. When she got to the table, she was standing behind Ian, so he couldn't see her. Addy, however, could. She paused what she was saying and looked up at Rosie. "Um, hi," Rosie said awkwardly, looking down at her shoes as she kicked her left foot into the side of her right. 

Ian turned around quickly upon hearing Rosie's voice. Only a moment later, though, he turned back around, his posture shrinking. "I'll see you later, Ian," Addy said knowingly as she got up from her seat. 

"Yeah. See ya," Ian murmured as she walked off. Hesitantly, Rosie sat down across from Ian and pressed her pointer finger and thumb into her eyes before finally looking at Ian. He awkwardly clasped his hands together on the table. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he said.

"We gotta," Rosie muttered, absentmindedly tapping her fingers against the table. Ian looked away, staring at some tree or something. "How 'bout I just talk and you don't say anythin'?" Rosie suggested.

"That sounds fair," Ian said sarcastically, finishing off with a small scoff.

"Ok, fine. How 'bout I just talk and you don't say anythin' unless you wanna?" Rosie suggested next. Ian seemed to fine with this, as he nodded. Rosie let out a frustrated breath and avoided eye contact before speaking. "I don't know why, but I don't like you in the way ya like me. I tried to, so you'd be happy, but I can't. Daryl says it's not my fault and it's just how it is. I don't know why. But that doesn't mean I don't wanna hang out with you still, 'cause you're my best friend and I don't really like hangin' out with anyone else. 'Cept for Henry, sometimes. And Addy ain't that bad either, I guess. But you're my favorite. And you're allowed to be mad at me, 'cause I know it sucks. And I'm sorry for embarrassin' you. Prob'ly coulda been more discreet," Rosie rambled.

After a moment of processing all of Rosie's words, Ian sighed. "Yeah. It sucks, and it feels like shit, but I..." he bit his tongue for a moment and looked away again, shaking his head at himself. "I know it's not something you can choose. That's part of why it sucks so bad. But I'll get over it. And I'm not mad at you," Ian said. Rosie furrowed her eyebrows with confusion. She was sure he'd be mad about this, but he wasn't. Seeing her confusion, Ian decided to explain himself. "I'm not mad 'cause I shouldn't've done that in the first place. Not with everybody there, not without asking, and especially not drunk. It was stupid, and I know it's not a good excuse, but I drank too much. I wasn't thinking straight. But now that I am thinking straight, I can see that it was shitty on my end, too."

"So, you're really not mad?" Rosie asked, raising her eyebrows at him. 

"No," Ian said, scoffing and shaking his head. He was really good, Rosie decided. Not even just good. He was a really good person. "I'd be an asshole if I was mad," he said.

"That's what Daryl said," Rosie murmured, nodding her head.

Ian's eyes widened. "You told Daryl?" he asked. 

"Yeah," Rosie said, as if it were obvious. Ian scrunched his face up, tossed his head back, and groaned in complaint. "What?" Rosie asked, confused. Was it supposed to be a secret? Ian looked away again, then covered his face with his hands, rubbing his eyes. Rosie's eyes widened with realization. "Are you still scared a' him?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm scared of him! Have you seen him?" Ian asked, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I've seen him. He's not scary," Rosie said.

"He doesn't glare at you like he glares at me," Ian said, shaking his head and sighing.

"He doesn't glare at you," Rosie said, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, he does!" Ian insisted. "He's been doing it even more since yesterday. Makes sense now."

"You're bein' dramatic," Rosie told him. 

"No, I'm not," Ian assured her, his serious expression exaggerated. "He looks at me like he wants to skin me alive. He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you. He just doesn't like most people," Rosie said, shrugging her shoulders. It felt like a huge weight was off her shoulders. She hoped that it would stay this way. She hoped that she would never, ever have to avoid Ian again, because this was her favorite thing. She loved hanging out with him and talking to him. She just hoped that he was really ok about it on the inside.