A/N: Here we are. Writing. Music. Anger. Perfect.

This story has a deep personal meaning. A few years ago, my cousin Graham came back from Iraq, as a paraplegic. This is devoted to him. I love you Graham.

Warnings: A violent situation.

Disclaimer: I do not own Legend of Zelda; this fanfiction is used as a nonprofit recreational use.


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Crashed

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The city lights were like fireflies: only pinpricks of light flashing before vanishing behind the skyscrapers.

A lone car fled down the deserted interstate. Like lightning over the asphalt, the scarlet sports car with tinted windows roared with sound. The tires were rumbling against the road. Buildings -in all their dark glory- blotted out what moonlight managed to make it through the clouds. The waves of Lake Hylia lapped the pier and beach below.

Shaking the strands of golden hair away from his eyes, Link Héroe stared ahead, fingers hanging limply on the curves of the leather wheel. There was classical music on, the notes compelling, but faded to nothing under the roar of the engine. Not even bothering to check his rear mirrors, he shifted mindlessly to a higher gear and changed lanes, struggling not to implode upon his fragile mind.

He hadn't been in Hyrule City long, especially since his scarlet Epona-700 HP effortlessly flew over every speed limit imaginable. Glancing out over the cresting lake shores, the man tried to calm himself. What had once been a traditional black jacket, a crisp dress shirt, and matching black slacks were wrinkled and irreparable; the white collar was open and letting in the frigid air conditioning, and the slacks were creased. The light jacket was discarded on the seat next to him. And the red rose was settled nicely into it.

Seeing that burgundy flash in the corner of his eye caused something to stir deep within. The feeling made his tanned hands shake. Blindly, he ran a hand through his hair again, smelling her perfume in his calloused palm.

Midna.

Swearing, he jerked the shifter up and over, angrily. The RPM hissed. Hadn't Dark told him all about her and her deceitful ways? He remembered his brother's words this morning, black eyes dark as he lounged in the office chair.

"You'll regret her," the dark man had whispered, for once in his life serious on his brother's behalf, "She'll coax and twist your tender, courageous little heart out and then…" He sank an imaginary knife into his chest, raising an eyebrow sternly. Swirling his martini, he swore, "Just like that, bro. I would dump her. She'll already going to get you."

How had his brother known? Link had a headache.

So now, here he was. Out. Alone.

Closing his eyes, he jerked one gauge higher, hoping it would take away the pain with speed. A caution sign whipped past, making his heart leap. Every thought was wiped from his mind as he tried to focus on what was happening. Uncontrollably, the headlights swung around a corner wildly; his feet slammed on the brakes, and he felt them screech. For a split second, Link saw the construction lights swarming the concrete bridge.

Then something exploded, sounds reverberating in his eardrums.

His body jerked forward, ribs crashing into the airbag.

XXX

Being alone was...heartbreaking.

A long, shabby overcoat covering her body, she walked in the freezing sand along the shores of Lake Hylia, heart heavy. It was quiet. Her white feet were bare, the silver shoes dangling in her hands. They had cost her a fortune, and she was glad to finally be free of that ridiculous job as a classy waitress.

She didn't want to admit it, but money was hard to come by ever since her father had perished in a car accident last spring. It had been sudden, and abrupt, and he had died on the way to the hospital, lungs giving out after being pinned in car for three hours. Zelda had been informed by the Dean while she was studying in her college physics class. After being asked the few questions by the tottering old man, she had come to realize that he was more worried about the money disappearing than her. In a fury, she had dropped out on the spot.

It had only gotten worse. Selling off her valuables (the car especially hurt) had been the only way to pay off the school, leaving her with a small cash sum. Immediately, she began to work at the Milk Bar as a waitress, walking back and forth along the pier every night. Tips ranging from 50 to 100 rupees a night kept her from losing everything. Her small apartment took up most of the money, although her savings deposit remained pristine at 45,000 rupees until she was 21.

And she was done. Ingo had fired her for 'being lazy'.

Blinking back the tears, she felt the guilt. Would her father be proud of this? Of her life? His smiling face and calm attitude had kept them close, even when she moved away to college. He had promised her that she would have anything she asked for, including a stout education. That way, she could gain skill and talent in the real world based on her knowledge. She could help people with that knowledge, he reminded her, and she should continue her community service while in college. He had given her trust and love, while she had only nodded hastily and sped on.

She had never fulfilled that promise. She hadn't done anything to help anyone. She was a failure, a selfish-

That was when she heard the tires, swift and ferocious. She whirled in time to see a scarlet racer, looking more like a horse than a car, speeding straight towards the construction she had passed earlier. There was the sound of a bottle being crunched. Metal tore. A light came from above the pier.

No.

Her hands numbly dropped the shoes under the boardwalk; she was already running and gasping, breath pounding her lungs. The creaking wood bowed as she took three steps at a time to the street level. When her feet hit the pavement, she was racing, blonde hair streaming out behind her.

Oh Din…please not again…!

All she could see was the car slammed against a cement brace, and the fuel leaking out like acid to the cement. Miraculously, it was still running, dredged up from the bottom of the engine. There was no time to wait. Before she knew what she was doing –how had she gotten here so fast?-, she had jerked open the driver's side door. Trapped between the seat and the airbag, there was a body. It was like a ragged doll, clothes ripped in too many places and twisted around the steering wheel with blood pouring from the forehead. Beneath all of the carnage, she realized it was a man, and he was barely breathing.

His shocking blue eyes were slits.

But he's moving…

"Oh goddesses…Please let me help him…"

Hoping, she began to lever her arms under his shoulders, the hours of training in emergency situations finally coming to bear. His legs were easy enough to remove, although they were limp, with no twitching. Tugging at his waist, she grunted, managing to release the chokehold of the seatbelt. He fell on top of her, dead weight. Blood was streaming down, on her hands, her hair, her dress.

"Listen to me!" she shouted into his ear, "Wake up!"

On her wounded feet, she could feel the gas leaking, quicker and quicker towards the broken electricity pole that was always lit at construction sites. Blue sparks were skipping closer and closer, ready to attack. Her heart was beating wildly, fluttering in her chest. She began to drag him, feeling unknown strength course through her limbs.

"No!" her scream burst from her lips, seeing the chemicals finally touch the burning, twisting sparks.

They were only twenty yards away when the car exploded.

XXX

Link saw the colors -orange and red and blue- at the edge of his vision. He couldn't move.

When the saving hands reached in, and the feminine voice was shouting at him, he could feel something being tugged. It was so hard to feel anything below his hips.

She was dragging him. Mind wandering, he realized that she was much smaller than him. And beautiful. Her hair was the sun, shining as clearly and sweetly as a dream.

A loud noise broke into his waking nightmare.

He fell.

XXX

She felt the energy blast forth, scorching the surrounding supports into nothingness. Gasping, she felt the heat race up her back. It was dancing, singing cruelly in the pitch-black night. She hoped the emergency veterans were on the way. Already in shock, she felt the tears on her cold skin. If this man died, she could never believe in healing again.

She couldn't do this on her own.

At the lack of any soft padding, she laid the man down on the cement sidewalk, ripping her beautiful sapphire dress. Murmuring prayers, she bound his head, seeing the jagged crack from where his head had slammed into the steering wheel. She bound it tightly, hands painted red with slick blood.

In a moment, she realized he wasn't breathing.

Terrified, she leaned down, listening hysterically for any kind of breath. There was nothing, not even a wisp. Without thinking, she tilted his head back, and gave him two breaths. His lips were so soft. Breaking away from that thought, she was lost to anything else except his chest. It rose slightly. Shaking like mad, she locked her elbows, and rising straight above his chest, she began to press sharply, pumping his heart. CPR. How many times had she learned this? In grade school, it had been drilled so sharply into her mind she knew she could do this. She had to.

Minutes dragged on, and she thought she heard a thump from under her hands. Then the red and blues slipped over her, bathing both of them in a surreal light. Tears had been dried onto her face long ago, she knew. But they flowed back, straight from her heart.

Thank you goddesses…

When she gazed back down at his bandaged head, stroking his hair, she realized he was staring up at her. His eyes, however dulled and painful, focused on her, etching her into memory. Trying to speak, his firm jaw moved, and he choked, breathing again. Amazed and feverish, she slipped her hand into his, and she felt it weakly try to grasp hers.

The on-call physicians were racing for them with a stretcher. She was pushed away gently, and then the medical jargon was replacing the strange silence in her ears. She gazed at the man, barely breathing, barely alive. Against all odds, she had saved him. Numb, she watched the doctors load him straight into the vibrant yellow Ordon County Emergency Transit, and the doors shut, enclosing him with a solid bang.

Crying, she held her hand to her face, staining it with blood. The concrete in front of her moved slightly in her vision thanks to the flames, and she knew that she was in shock. She was shaking, cold, and terrified.

But her father would have been so proud.

When the other transit that had come moved closer, she was still there. The tall, muscular man came close, spreading a blanket over her shoulders. She gazed up into his eyes, trying to swallow the guilty feeling. In slow tones, he began speaking calmly, "I am Darunia Goro from Ordon Valley Emergency Division. Please, come with me back to the hospital. You are in shock."

"Where is he?" she asked softly, letting herself be shepherded into the ambulance. It was beeping and warm as the team checked her pulse. At her side, the man hesitated, before saying quietly and quickly, "We are taking you to the same hospital, Ordon Valley Medical. Please, come with me."

The same hospital...

She felt herself heave a deep sigh, and she fell straight into the medical doctor's arms, no longer fighting it. Zelda Nohansen could only think of the broken man, and her shoes left carelessly below the docks.

XXX

Beep. Beep. Beep…

Listening quietly, she breathed in and out, the fresh air bombarding her senses. It was cool enough to snuggle further in the bed. She was comfortable under a thick woolen blanket. Opening her eyes, there was no doubt of where she was.

This hospital was different than most. It was nice, for a change. The room was small, and colored a warm sunflower yellow; a plush armchair was settled in the corner and a small table was next to her side. The medicinal scent of antibiotics, cleanser, and starched sheets were gone. Even though the window was open in the dark, it was nearly morning. Her eyelids closed in exhaustion. It felt nice to relax in a place without a TV blaring through the walls accented by an old woman shouting obscenities. Despite that, Zelda smiled wistfully.

If only she hadn't been fired. If only she hadn't insisted to her father that she could take care of herself. If only he hadn't died.

The haunting thought caused her to stir restlessly, opening her eyes in shame. Trying to keep her mind busy, she looked at her body. She was still dressed in her destroyed, bloodied bodice, but the blood was scrubbed from her face and hands. Somebody had cleaned her feet wounds from the shrapnel; they stung, but weren't bleeding anymore. Peeking around the room, she noticed a pair of flat shoes by the door. She smiled. There was still decency left in the world. She threw back the covers, standing.

Quietly, she opened the door and headed towards the first intersection, searching for a desk. When she found it, the nurse sitting behind it was a slim, gentle looking woman. She was filing paperwork, but when she saw Zelda's face, she smiled brightly, eyes lighting.

"Look who's up," she greeted, "I'm Uli. Would you mind filling out these papers? They are for medical histories and future events." Her eyes were sympathetic, and Zelda couldn't help but face the growing fear within her chest.

"How is he?" she asked, voice strangely hoarse.

Giving Zelda a worried glance, the nurse looked bound in two ways: hospital or patient? In a few seconds, the answer was given. Without much ado, she stood, stepping lightly to the clipboard hung on the white washed wall. Sliding back into her office chair and twirling, she shifted through information rapidly, murmuring to herself. Zelda stood with her hands on the desk, waiting, hoping.

She glanced up, and showed Zelda the clipboard over the clean counter, nearly knocking over some beautiful white flowers. "He's in the intensive ward, on the first floor. We're here, on the third." Smiling, she continued, "I think he will be in room 16. There is a waiting room just outside. Ask for Ilia."

Zelda wasted no time in nodding furiously, and turning away, she paced to the elevator.

The first floor wasn't too crowded, but there were doctors swarming, and the sound of heavy machinery. Beeping, air circulation, scraping chairs, and people speaking in low tones assaulted her ears, causing her to shake again. This was a place for those in the most dire of need. She had been here once before, and coming back made her eyes burn from suppressing tears. If not for the man, she would have headed straight to the road, and walked three miles to her apartment.

There was a waiting room, full of magazines, books, and comfortable beige couches. Settling herself in one, Zelda put her head in her hands, smelling the acrid scent of dried blood and burnt asphalt. Rubbing her temples with a clean hand, she tried to look through a window for a doctor.

Miraculously, one appeared as if summoned. Sweeping up, the young woman smiled, eyes kind and blonde twists of hair curling beautifully around her neck. "Hello," she stated, extending a hand to Zelda, "I am Ilia, the head nurse of this floor. I'm glad you're up." Retreating, her apron shifted on her slender frame, adorable.

No sense to think about that. Zelda nodded quickly, asking hurriedly, "There was a man booked into this floor last night…He was in a car accident. I was wondering…?"

"Of course," Ilia's face had closed uncertainly. She held her hands together loosely, seeming to be wondering what the nurse on the third floor had. Sighing, she rubbed her forehead, eyes suddenly darkening. Quietly, she drew close to Zelda, settling beside her on the chair. "Link Héroe? Is that who you are looking for?" Seeing Zelda's curt nod, Ilia bit her rainbow painted fingernail absentmindedly, before taking a deep breath, and addressing Zelda as plainly as she could. "Link was in a car accident, with no alcohol in his blood. So…we don't know exactly what caused the crash, other than speed and the explosion. However, he is mostly stable. We're just working out all of the kinks…"

Zelda let out the breath she had been holding, threading her hands through her ragged hair. "Will he be all right?" her voice slipped out before she could stop it, hoping.

Ilia coughed, and then gently, she said, "Yes, he will live, miraculously. However, during the deployment of the airbag and the front of his car smashing, he seems to have lost movement in his legs." Seeing Zelda's shocked, frightened glance, she assured, "We aren't sure how permanent this paralysis is. With therapy and a good attitude, he could make sufficient steps to recovery."

Paralyzed?

A soft, tanned hand touched Zelda's blood-covered shoulder, asking soothingly, "Would you like to see him?"

Paralyzed…

"Yes," her voice shook, "Please."

XXX

In the numerous blankets, scarves, and monitors, Zelda wasn't quite sure it was him. Braces and bandages kept the body strapped to the bed; he was terribly inactive and unresponsive. Only the steady beeping of the heart monitor could tell her that he was alive, and waiting to awaken.

Ilia had left her some time ago, on rounds around the forty rooms, leaving Zelda to her own devices. That had included watching this man, pacing, and wondering what he was dreaming of...or if he were dreaming at all.

She shivered, looking through the glass, checking her watch quickly. It was nearly six in the morning, and clearly, he wasn't going to be waking soon, especially with the way several hospital staff returned to check on the immobile form, and perform various procedures. Her breath hitched every time until the white-robed doctors left him alone.

Why had he been streaking down the road so fast, so late at night? What had driven him to that extent? All she knew was that she was not leaving until he was awake.

When she was alone, save for the clerk on the swooping desk twenty yards away, she pressed her forehead into the glass, regretting the way it left streaks of dried blood, and dirt on the pristine surface. But she waited, hands aching to hold his. Tears of regret formed in her eyes once again, and she lowered her head to let them trail down.

I won't leave…

I won't.

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