Good that this conversation isn't happening months ago, while he was reeling from grief and drunk for the first time in years. He can still hear himself, Is that what you think of me?, cold and furious. Like an asshole. Ashamed of lashing out at someone who didn't deserve it, who just thought everyone had been in the drunk tank at least once.

Daryl is motivated to behave, now, no matter that he still seems standoffish. But he's had to be prepared to defend himself since he was a child, and he doesn't know how to turn it off. He may never; he may always seem like he could become hostile at any moment, even just sitting around.

His head tips. Observing Spencer. "That how you could tell?" Wry. "Gossip?"

Seems about as useful as lie detectors. But he shrugs, and answers anyway.

"Dunno. They've done alright by me, most of 'em. Like to think I've done the best I can in return."

He's underselling it, but he doesn't know that. Unaware of how much some people care about him, because he doesn't think he deserves it. Daryl's gaze falters and he looks away out at the street-turned-walkway. Plain, old-world insecurity. He doesn't care what broader society thinks of him, didn't then and doesn't now, but he cares about what his people think of him.