The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter seven

Morning came gently this time.

No sharp intake of breath. No instinctive flinch. No scramble for distance or a weapon that wasn't there.

Measi woke to warmth.

Nathan's arm was loosely draped near her waist—not holding her, not trapping her, just there. His breathing was slow and even, the kind that meant real sleep. For a split second, her body reacted out of old habit, muscles tensing as awareness set in.

Then she remembered.

Where she was.
Who was beside her.
That she was safe.

The tension eased before it could take root.

She lay there for a moment, watching him. The early light filtered through the watchtower slats, catching on his lashes, the faint scar near his jaw. He looked younger like this. Softer. Not the man who fought walkers and made impossible choices—just Nathan.

She leaned in, slow and careful, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth.

He stirred immediately.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep, eyes still closed. "That real or am I dreamin'?"

She smiled and kissed him again, this time properly. "Definitely real."

One eye cracked open. Then the other. He shifted onto his back, looking at her like he was double-checking reality. "You didn't bolt."

"I didn't," she said quietly.

Something unreadable crossed his face—pride, relief, maybe both. "That's... good."

"Yeah," she agreed. "It is."

They lay there in the comfortable quiet, the world outside slowly waking. Distant voices. Metal clinking. Life going on.

Nathan turned his head toward her. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded. "No nightmares. Not even the almost-kind."

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Guess the watchtower's got good vibes."

"Or," she said, nudging him lightly with her knee, "I just trust you."

That earned her a crooked smile. "Dangerous thing, that."

She rolled onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. "You scared I'll steal your boxers and disappear?"

"More scared you'll make me get up and do work," he said.

Her smile turned thoughtful. "I do wanna help out today. Rick and Carl are working the farm."

Nathan hesitated, concern flickering across his face. "You just got out of—"

"I know." She met his eyes, steady. "But I need to move. If I sit still too long, my head starts... going places."

That was something he understood.

He nodded slowly. "Okay. I'll walk you down."

They dressed quickly and quietly, the watchtower returning to its usual stillness. As they stepped outside, the prison yard opened up around them—rows of crops catching the sun, people moving with purpose instead of fear.

Rick was already out by the fields, sleeves rolled up, Carl beside him with a shovel far too big for his hands.

Measi took a breath, squaring her shoulders.

"Guess I'm on weed duty," she said lightly.

Nathan smiled, brushing his thumb once against her wrist before letting go. "Go get 'em, farmer."