TWD- Little Heart Of Iron

60. Normal.

Blake sat in a chair, her left leg bouncing nervously as she waited to be called in by Deanna to answer some questions. Everyone else was gathered around outside the interview room as well. Rick had gone first, as Aaron suggested. Then Daryl, then everyone else. Blake was the last to go. Every few seconds she glanced up at the door, dreading the moment that Elliot walked out. When he was finished answering questions, it'd be her turn.

"Dad, I'm nervous 'bout this," Blake said quietly, looking up at Daryl who was standing up against the wall next to her.

"She ain't gonna do nothin'. Not with us here," Daryl assured. "All ya gotta do is answer a few questions, that's it."

"But what if it's hard questions?" Blake asked, furrowing her eyebrows. Before Daryl could respond, the door to the room opened. Elliot walked out and Deanna stood at the door.

"Alright. Is that everyone?" She asked kindly, her hands folded in front of her. Deanna was a kind white women with shoulder-length hair. She looked no younger than 50.

Blake was half-hoping that no one would say anything.

"Blake hasn't gone yet," Elliot said, smiling kindly and pointing out Blake to Deanna. His smile faded when Blake shot a mean glare at him.

"Ah," Deanna breathed out, still smiling. "I'm sorry dear, I didn't notice you there before. Why don't you come on in, it'll only be a few minutes."

Blake, looked up at Daryl, hoping he wouldn't make her go. "Go on," he mumbled quietly, patting her shoulder and urging her to stand up.

Very hesitantly, she did so. She stood up off the chair and followed Deanna into her office. She sort of stood there awkwardly as Deanna closed the door behind them and sat down on a couch. "You can take a seat sweetie," Deanna said, gesturing toward a comfy-looking chair that was across from the couch.

Sweetie? No, only Maggie or Lori would ever call her sweetie. Not some lady she met a few moments ago.

Biting the inside of her lips, she sat down on the chair. "I hope you don't mind. I'd like to record our conversation," Deanna said.

"Um...why?" Blake asked cautiously, shifting in the chair as she glanced at the camera.

"We keep records of these interviews so we can look back on them later. Nothing more or less. Do you mind?" Deanna asked, still bearing that warm smile.

"Okay," Blake said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Thank you," Deanna said. She took a moment to set up the camera and grab a clip board. She sat back down, setting the clipboard on the table in front of her. Blake tried not to look directly at the camera, but the constant little red flashes signifying that the camera was recording made it hard. "Alright. So, what was your name?" Deanna asked nicely.

"Blake," she answered briefly.

"Blake Dixon, I assume?" Deanna guessed. "Daryl told me you two are related. You look alike," Deanna complimented. "How are you two related?"

"Oh, um...he's my dad," Blake answered, her tone hesitant for some reason.

Deanna's eyebrows furrowed slightly at that response, which made Blake's stomach churn with anxiety. "You seemed hesitant to answer. Can I ask you why, Blake?"

No, you can't. Is what Blake wanted to say, but that would be rude. She wouldn't be rude to Deanna until she gave her any reason to.

"Um...he's not my real dad. I mean, he's my uncle, so we're related. But he ain't my true dad," Blake explained, her mouth becoming dry. She hated explaining this, yet she always found herself doing it anyway.