A/N: So I've been rewatching old episodes and I was inspired to write this little one-shot set around Season 4 Ep 14, The Grove, exploring Lizzie's character and possible motivations a little—the title is taken from the song of the same name by Talking Heads. This is my first fic for TWD, so thank you for reading, I'd love to hear what you think of it...

(Nothing But) Flowers.

"So what will it be like—do you think there'll be other children at Terminus?" I ask, settling down close beside Carol on the porch, stifling a yawn because I don't want her to see how tired I am and send me off to bed quite yet. The evening is warm, and the sweet scent of the flowers climbing up the side of the house is strong in the nighttime air.

Carol glances across at me, the corners of her mouth lifting as she smiles a little. "Yeah, maybe. Maybe you can make some new friends. Would you like that, Lizzie?"

"Sure." I shrug at her, happy that she seems happy with my answer. Because I don't really need to go to Terminus to make new friends—not when they're everywhere all around us, when all they want is to be with us.

oOo

I sit up and swing my feet over the edge of my bed until they touch the cool floor, creep carefully across to the door as I try to make out what my parents are saying—avoiding the floorboards that creak and following the route I memorised a long time ago. My sister is finally sleeping, her chest rising and falling in that slow gentle rhythm of sleep, her breathing calm now, not ragged and uneven anymore; her hair fanning out across her pillow as she hugs her doll.

I don't know how Mika can sleep so easy; why she believes them when they told us its gonna be fun, be some big adventure. How can leaving everything behind and running away be a good thing? Not when they won't even tell us where we're going—or why.

Holding my breath, I turn the door knob so the door swings open a half inch, count to ten before I open it a little wider and tiptoe closer to the kitchen and listen to them arguing.

"No, honey, we don't have any other choice. We need to go in the morning and get to somewhere safer, where there'll be food, where we can find out what's really going on," Daddy insists, repeating the same thing he's been saying over and over all day, since everything changed.

I wish they would stop fighting. Stopping next to the hall table, I reach out and stroke the dark red petals of the roses, barely visible in the evening gloom. The petals are so soft and velvety against my fingertips; so pretty. Such a lovely colour, just like—

"Ouch!" I snatch my hand back, away from the thorny stems, the crystal vase wobbling and rocking on the table before shattering as it hits the floor. The noise bringing them running into the hall while I stare at my hand, watching as the blood trickles down my fingers.

"Lizzie, honey, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Daddy asks, scratching at his beard.

"Yes, I'm fine," I say with a smile as I move towards him. "I—"

"No!" He yells. "Stay there!"

I can feel the tears stinging in my eyes, wondering why he's shouting at me. "I'm sorry," I sob. "It was an accident, I didn't mean to."

Staring down, I can feel the panic rising in me, as I see glittering shards of glass surrounding me. They're so pretty, sparkling in the torch light. And despite them both urging me to stay still, I can't seem to stop myself from taking a step towards dad, my breath hitching in my chest as he sweeps me into his arms—too late to avoid the searing pain shooting through my foot.

"Oh, baby, you're hurt. Come on, let's go clean you up." Mom smoothes a hand across my forehead, kisses the top of my head as Daddy carries me towards the kitchen, my eyes fixed on the floor as his heavy work boots crush the flowers to a pulp.

oOo

Catching the mice should be real easy. There's plenty of places around the farmhouse to set traps where no one will see them, where no one will disturb them. A box, a stick, a little food is all I need. And nobody ever notices if I push a little of my dinner—maybe half a cracker, or a couple of pecans, whatever's easy to carry that might tempt them out of their hiding places—into my jeans pocket. Well, maybe Mika does, 'cause sometimes I catch her watching me, but she doesn't say nothing, and I know she ain't gonna tell on me. Because she never once told on me back in the prison.

Sometimes I think Mika gets why I'm doing it, but then other times she'll ask me something that makes me wonder if she really does. She doesn't hear them or understand them like I do, she's still too frightened. Maybe she's just too young still. But she doesn't need to be scared, all they want is to be our friends. They ain't no different to me or her. I think maybe she's forgotten that Mom is just like them, that Daddy would be too, if it wasn't for Carol. And Mom and Dad would never hurt us.

But one day I'll show her; make her—make all of them—understand. Somehow. There has to be some way I can make them see how things really are.

oOo

"Mika! Lizzie! You girls need to go out in the yard and get in the car. Now!"

"No, Daddy, I don't wanna go; let me stay with Mom. She's fine, see, she won't hurt us, she only wants to play with us."

I lurch towards my mother, reaching out for her as she shuffles towards us, swaying and grabbing at me from the corner of the bedroom. Not her bedroom, or even mine. Just some room in some house where we've stopped for the night. Some house that wasn't quite abandoned like daddy thought.

But it doesn't matter none, 'cause they ain't no different, they're just people. All they want is to be friends with us.

But Daddy won't let me go to her or hug her. Instead he's shoving me back across the room, and then my sister's pulling me by the hand, dragging me towards the front door, and out onto the porch. Mika's struggling to open the car door and I think about bolting back inside. Only Daddy is already in the doorway, his backpack slung over his shoulder as he shoves me back outside, slamming the door shut behind him.

"In the car! Now!" he yells, bundling me into the backseat beside my sister before he sprints around, the noise of our shouting and the car engine turning over bringing more of them lumbering down the street.

Mika's stroking my hair as I scream and yell and struggle to open the car door; begging daddy to go back for Mom, because she's still our mom, and she wants to look after us. But he just drives faster, while I stare out the rear window of our car, until my sister nudges me.

"What?" I snap, sniffing and wiping at my eyes.

"Look," she says, pointing at the hedgerows, her soft voice slowly repeating the words Mom said to me so many times these past few months. "It'll be alright, Lizzie, I promise. You need to look at the flowers. Look at the flowers and count."

oOo

I don't understand why they can't see it, hear it. Why they don't want to.

We were only playing tag, she only wanted to be my friend, but Carol had to stop her, hurt her.

Carol. Tyreese. Mika.

None of them can see how lonely they are. How lonely I am.

Well, maybe Tyreese does a little, 'cause he left my other friend there on the bridge; didn't kill him after I asked him not to—even though he could have. Carol would have.

And maybe Mika gets it too, 'cause she wouldn't hurt nobody given the choice.

But not Carol. Why can't she see that they're not walkers; that they're people, the same as us? There's no reason for people to be so frightened just because they can't speak like us no more, or don't look quite the same.

So I suppose it's for the best that Carol doesn't know about him, that he's still out there tangled up in the rail tracks. I think I'll call him Eddie. And I reckon he'll be real pleased to see me. He has to be real hungry—and lonely—stuck out there, and I finally managed to trap a big fat mouse for him. I thought it'd be easier out here in the country, but it turns out there was a heck of a lot more critters living about the prison than there seems to be here.

Maybe he can help me think of a way to help Carol see them as they really are.

oOo

"Look at the flowers, Lizzie."

Both of their voices—Carol and Mika—are going round and round in my head, over and over on repeat as all I can think of is daddy lying there on the bed so pale and quiet while Mika hugs me as Carol... As Carol takes care of Daddy.

"Lizzie, we need to talk..." Carols voice cuts into my dreaming as I scan the walkers on the fence trying to find him. It isn't fair, why couldn't she leave him be, let him turn? Daddy wouldn't hurt me, he'd never hurt me, he loves me. He's not bad, he's just different, like Mom is. Or at least he would be, if Carol hadn't killed him. Now he's gone forever.

My eyes dart across the bunch of them crowding at the fence. Where is he? Why can't I see him...he has to be here, somewhere...because he wouldn't leave me, not after I've been taking such good care of him. But no, it can't be. Why would they hurt Nick too? He hasn't done nothing wrong, he hasn't hurt anybody. Why did they have to kill him?

oOo

"Come on, Lizzie, why don't me and you go pick some flowers. For your sister?"

"Ready for when she wakes up?"

"Yeah, sure," Carol says, smiling at me, her hand on my shoulder.

I smile and nod my head because finally Carol sees what I can see. How they really are, because me helping Mika be like them has proved to her once and for all that they ain't no different to us, that we can all get along and live together, have a home here. I can't wait for her to see Mika once she's changed, to see she's the same person as before. I wish I could have turned Judith too, would have if they hadn't come back so soon; but I guess Carol's right, it probably is best to wait 'till she can walk at least.

Carol still seems a little cold though, she don't hug me or nothing like she normally would as we walk out the house across the yard—and I think I've figured out why. I'm sorry that I pointed my gun at her, but she needed to listen to me. I know she'll forgive me, because she loves me, is always looking out for me, tries to do what's best.

Maybe if I pick her some flowers, as well as getting some for Mika, then she'll know I'm sorry for making her mad, see why I had to do it...orange flowers for Mika, so pretty and golden like her. And for Carol the yellow ones, I reckon she'll like those ones, bright like the sun...

Carol clears her throat, shifts a little so the grass rustles beneath her feet as I stretch out my hand towards the blooms. It's so peaceful here, her voice so soothing as she speaks to me. "Just look at the flowers, Lizzie."

And I just know we're all going to be so happy here. Together.

oOo