The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter nine

The hours passed slowly, stretching and folding in on themselves until Measi lost track of time entirely. She stayed by Beth's side, perched on the edge of the bed or sitting cross-legged on the floor, never straying far enough that she couldn't see the rise and fall of the girl's chest. Patricia came by at one point with a plate of food, setting it gently on the nightstand like any loud movement might break the fragile calm.

"Eat," Patricia said softly. It wasn't a suggestion.

Measi obeyed, tearing pieces of bread and chewing without much thought. Not long after, the door creaked open again. She looked up, expecting Lori or Maggie—but it was Nathan. He stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him.

"You didn't have to come," Measi murmured around a bite of bread. "I can handle being by myself."

"I know," he said, moving to lean against the wall near the bed. "But I wanted to be here."

Something in his tone made her glance up. Not pity. Not obligation. Just choice. She gave him a small, genuine smile before turning back to Beth. Carefully, she placed her hand on the girl's forehead, relief softening her shoulders when she felt the heat wasn't as bad as before.

"Fever's down," she said under her breath. "At least that's something."

Nathan nodded, watching her more than Beth. After a moment, he spoke again, quieter this time. "Earlier... when Patricia asked how you knew all that."

Measi stilled, her hand still resting lightly against Beth's skin.

"You said, 'been there,'" he continued. "What did you mean?"

She didn't answer right away. The silence stretched, heavy but not uncomfortable. Nathan didn't push, didn't rush her. He just waited.

Finally, Measi drew her hand back and wiped it on her jeans. "Shock," she said. The silence lingered again, but this time it pressed differently—less like a wall and more like an open door. Measi stared at Beth for a long moment, watching her breathe, steady and shallow. Nathan didn't rush her. He never did. That, more than anything, made her finally speak.

"I never knew my mom. Not even a memory. She died when I was a baby—before I could even mess it up by forgetting her face." Her mouth twitched, but there was no humor in it. "Daryl and Merle... they're my brothers, but they're a lot older. Daryl like ... ten years or so, Merle even older. Different mom. Same dad."

Nathan frowned slightly. "That's... a big gap."

"Yeah," she said. "Big enough that people never believed me when I called them my brothers. Teachers thought I was lying. Kids thought I was weird." She shrugged. "Guess they weren't wrong."

He stayed quiet, letting her go at her own pace.

"Our dad," she continued, "wasn't exactly... present. He existed. That was about it." Her fingers picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "Sometimes the fridge was full. Sometimes it was empty for days. When it was empty, I learned how to hunt. Traps, squirrels, birds. Daryl taught me how to shoot before most kids learned long division."

Nathan's eyes flicked briefly to the sniper she always carried, understanding dawning.

"At school," she went on, "they called me a freak. Genius, they said." She scoffed softly. "Like that was a compliment. I skipped grades. Didn't fit anywhere. Kids stared at me like I was broken—or like I thought I was better than them." She looked up at him then, searching his face. "I didn't. I just wanted to eat lunch without wondering if I'd have dinner."

Nathan's jaw tightened. "That's... a lot for a kid."

"I didn't get to be one," she replied simply. "I learned real fast that if I didn't take care of myself, nobody else would." She paused, then added more quietly, "And if I didn't take care of my brothers... I'd lose them too."