Disclaimer: If I had a fairy godmother, maybe.

Child's Play

She decided that she didn't like the color blue.

To clarify; she hated the color blue.

The waiting room had completely ruined the color for her. Everything, from the walls, to the couches, to the stiff plastic chair she had been sitting in for hours, was coated in the same shade of washed-out blue. Even the glossy health magazines on the tables were blue. The furniture and décor wasn't bad on its own, but she thought that the room would have been a little more bearable if they hadn't chosen such a depressing color to be the main accent. It reminded her of when her mother washed her jeans too much – the color had almost been completely sucked out, leaving only a subtle hint of blue that could only remind you of what it once was.

When her father first told her to wait in the room, her nose wrinkled in distaste as soon as she set her eyes on the walls. She tried to tell him that she didn't want to wait in here, but he was already out the big white doors before she could finish her sentence. So, she did what her father asked. She waited. She waited so long in that blue-gray room that the color of it seemed to burn itself into her retinas, making her feels dizzy just from looking at it.

Feeling sick, she glanced at the door.

She honestly didn't know how long she had been waiting there. She had lost count after three hours; counting in the hundreds was still somewhat of a mystery to her. She didn't even bother with the clock that ticked high up on the wall. Her knowledge of reading time was just as spotty as her counting. Her teacher wasn't very good at explaining the mechanics of numbers to her, and she really wished that she had asked her mother to teach her. It sure would've come in handy for her now. She continued to fiddle with a loose string on the hem of her dress, dropping her head down to her lap with defeat. She wished she had brought a book with her; it would have made things a lot more tolerable.

Even though there weren't any windows to look out of in the room, she knew it was pouring outside. Raindrops slammed against the walls relentlessly, and she could hear the sound of heavy rain splatter against the roof. It hadn't been raining when her and her father drove over, so she deduced that it must've been building up all day if it was raining that hard outside. The storm outside wasn't exactly soothing for her, but she couldn't really complain about the sound. It made her feel less alone – like there was something other than her shoes tapping on the floor that could make noise. She really wished she wasn't the only one in there.

She glanced at the door again.

This time she felt her neck crack at the motion, finally feeling the effects of keeping her head low for the majority of her wait. She rubbed it idly, chancing her queasiness as she looked around the room. The blue seemed to suck her in full force the moment she looked up. How long had she been staring at her lap? It didn't seem like it could've been that long, but she couldn't be sure; the loose string on her skirt had been pretty interesting. She must have been looking at her lap for a long time if the wall color was hitting her this hard. Luckily, the ache in her neck seemed to be going away. She turned her head side to side – eyes closed to avoid the blue – to ease the pain when an idea popped into her mind.

A little walk around the halls couldn't be too bad, right? She'd be right back; it would be like she hadn't even left. She nibbled on her bottom lip as she stared longingly at the door. No, she shouldn't. Her father wouldn't like it. He would probably scold her for leaving the little blue chair she had been ordered to sit in. But then again, a little voice nagged, he wasn't the one who had been waiting for hours, completely alone in a near-silent room. A teensy, tiny walk would be an ample reward for being so patient. So why not go?

Feeling her resolve chipping, the little girl gingerly flattened her feet against the tile and stood up. The chair squeaked from the loss of weight, and she cringed at the sound. Goddesses, it was so quiet in there. The idea of a walk to escape the silent room seemed all the more enticing. She started tip-toeing towards the door.

She was about the twist the doorknob – ready for sweet relief from the blue walls - when a series of muffled voices outside the door made her pause. Their voices were barely audible, but she was sure that she could hear what they were saying if she cupped her ear to the door. She half-thought about doing it too, until the voices got a little bit louder.

A wave of panic rolled through her when she recognized her father as one of the two voices. Was he here to scold her? Probably; her father seemed to always know when she was misbehaving, although she debated whether or not going on a little walk could really be called 'troublemaking'. Still, it didn't lessen the urge to bolt back to her seat and pretend nothing had happened. She made a move to turn around, but her feet seemed to be cemented in front of the waiting room's doors.

A nagging feeling in her gut told her to find out what they were talking about. It seemed serious enough, if they were using such hushed tones. She frowned, not wanting to get into any more trouble, but it didn't stop her curiosity. She cupped her ear to the door, leaning against it until the voices came in clearly.

"-the doctor's are saying they're running out of options. She's too weak for chemo, and the new medicine they put her on last week doesn't seem to be working."

A frustrated sigh; she could practically see her father running his hand through his hair. He sighed like that a lot when he was on business calls. "Is there really nothing else we can do?"

"Other than placing her in hospice and waiting it out, no," the other man said grimly.

There was a small pause where the two speakers seemed to be mulling over the current conversation. She wondered what 'hospice' was. Maybe she'd ask her mother when she saw her.

"Finest medical team in Hyrule, huh?" her father mumbled. "Two years with Madeline and her condition hasn't improved at all. If anything, she's just gotten worse. When I get home..." her father trailed off threateningly.

"Daphnes, you can't blame the doctor's. They've been trying their hardest to-"

"My wife wouldn't be dying if they were 'trying their hardest'."

Her father's words sent ice down her spine. Her mother was dying? No, she thought, shaking her head. Her mother was too strong to die. She was the strongest person that she knew, and she fully believed that whatever was making her mother sick would be beaten soon. It was only logical that her mother made a full recovery. The last time she had seen her over two months ago her mother seemed fine to her, if not a little weak. Surely she wasn't dying.

"Look," her father started quietly, "I'm extremely grateful for everything this hospital has done for me and my family, but I just can't accept the excuse that there's nothing left for us to try."

"I have looked over your wife's case with her medical team, and the only options I've found left for her are too aggressive and will only worsen her condition. A treatment plan with a 5% chance of actually working should be the least of your worries right now, Daphnes, and you know I'm right."

Another sigh; her father sounded more defeated this time.

"You and your daughter only have so much time left with your wife," the other man continued softly, "and I encourage you to spend as much of that time with each other without any distractions."

"There has to be something, I can't just drop all of this on my daughter-"

"You haven't told her, have you." It wasn't a question, it was an accusation.

Zelda shifted her weight, flattening her ear against the door as another paused ensued. Told her what? Her father's voice was tight when he finally answered. "No, I haven't. She's too young to understand-"

The other man bristled. "You've been keeping that little girl in the dark, and it's completely unfair to both her and Madeline," he said hotly. "She has every right to know what's going on-"

"What am I supposed to tell her, Gaebora? Tell her that her mother is getting sicker by the day and the doctor's aren't doing a damn thing to fix it? Tell her that she only has so many more weeks with her mother before she burns out? I can't. She's too young to have that kind of heartache, and as her father, it's my duty to protect her."

There was a slight jingling, as if the man was shaking his head while wearing a necklace or a watch. "You're a fool, Daphnes."

She briefly wondered who the other speaker was. If her father had spoken to her like that, she would have already been shaking in her boots, but whoever it was didn't have a hard time keeping his tone even. He had even insulted her father. If this had been any other situation, she probably would have cheered for him.

The conversation picked up again a minute later, but Zelda couldn't listen anymore. She felt dirty for prying when she had no reason to other than sheer curiosity, and she felt sick. She stumbled away from the door, feeling sicker than the blue walls had ever made her feel. She had a million questions running through her mind as she walked across the room. She dropped herself into the plastic chair like a rag doll, staring at her lap. Zelda didn't have enough time to mull over the new information before the waiting room doors burst open, revealing the two men in the doorway.

She had seen her father look haggard only once before, and the worn-look in his eyes frightened her more than any lecture ever could. His suit was immaculate, of course, but his long, wavy hair look flat against his face and she could tell her hadn't shaved in awhile. The other man looked a little better than her father. He stared at her grimly from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles for a moment before he turned away, leaving her father behind. A shiver ran down her spine.

"Come, Zelda," he said stonily. "I think you've waited here long enough."

She couldn't agree more, but any comments she had thought of caught in her throat. When was the last time she had any water? Her mouth felt cottony. She eventually obeyed, gingerly sliding off the seat. She met him in the doorway after an agonizing walk towards the door.

The rain had picked up considerably. Wind pushed against the walls of St. Hylia's Hospital and Treatment Center, howling at the windows that lined the sanitized maze of hallway as the two traveled through them. The hospital was the finest medical center that Hyrule had to offer, and judging by the décor, it was also the richest. Every hallway they walked down was brilliantly decorated with a mixture of reds, greens and blues, but it focused on cobalt for the accent colors. The white marble floors glinted with professional grade polish whose scent mixed with the overall hospital-clean scent. Dozens of expensive looking paintings hung from the walls, but she couldn't stop to look at them like she wanted to.

If she wasn't so worried, she thought that might've enjoyed exploring the vast, beautiful building.

Zelda wrung her hands, not liking how rigid her father was. She decided that the silence between them as they walked was 100x worse than the waiting room's silence. Her ballet flats tapped loudly against the marble as she alongside her father's expensive Oxfords. They turned a corner, entering a more private section of the hospital where Zelda knew her mother was living in. A nurse waved to her father and he spared her a curt nod before they stopped in front of the furthest room.

"Go on in, Zelda. You're mother should be awake right now," he said, standing away from her.

Zelda gulped, but made no move towards the door. She glanced between the door and her father unsurely.

Seeing her reluctance, she expected him to run an exasperated hand through his hair and mutter something about her being a 'petulant child'. He wasn't an affectionate man, and he rarely did anything other than pinch his nose and shake his head at her with disapproval. Her mother always said it was his way of saying 'I love you'. Zelda was more than a little surprised when his eyes softened slightly, and he nudged her forward with a little push on her back.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he said gently. "You're mother has been waiting just as long as you have. She wants to see you, so go on in. I'll be waiting right outside the door until you're done."

Zelda nodded slowly before she reluctantly curled her fingers around the doorknob. If she had been here hours ago, she would have had no trouble bouncing into her mother's room with a big smile. But after everything she had heard, she felt nothing more than dread as she opened the door and crept in.

Even though her color palette had dimmed considerably from what she normally looked like, Zelda still thought she was the most beautiful women in all of Hyrule. Her mother was lying stick-straight on the bed with her eyes close, and Zelda stopped herself from thinking that it made her look already dead. She checked to make sure she was still breathing by looking at the heart monitor ; her mother's chest barely seemed to rise when she took a breath. Her skin was pale and waxy in the lamp-light, with her short golden hair spilling from her head onto the pillows like a waterfall. Her father had told her that her mother might lose her hair from the cancer treatments, but when it did, it grew back rather quickly. Zelda remembered the bandana that she had given her mother when her hair was first shaved off a year ago.

She glanced back at the door, wondering what her father would say if she decided to abandon ship, but a small cough brought her attention back to her mother. A prickle of guilt ran through her from even considering leaving before she even spoke with the woman.

"Mama?" she said hesitantly, creeping towards her mother. "Mama?" she repeated once she was up against the rails of the hospital bed.

Madeline Nohansen's brilliant blue eyes slid open immediately, blinking away spots before settling on her frowning daughter. "Hey, Zel-Bell," she grinned.

"Hi Mama," Zelda greeted quietly, wringing her hands. Her mother's eyes looked glassier than they were last time, but the blue still seemed to sparkle as Madeline's grin widened.

"Look at you," she whispered, turning her head to the side so she could get a better look at her. "You've grown so big since I've last seen you. And you're wearing the dress I bought you. How tall are you now?"

Zelda fought the urge to cringe at how quiet her mother's voice had gotten. It used to be so strong. When had it gotten so small? "4' 7," she muttered.

Her mother chuckled; it sounded like little bells. "I hope you're tall like your dad."

Zelda nodded slightly. "Me too."

Madeline's eyes slid up and down her daughter's frame, examining her lightly. Zelda felt a little self-conscious at the outfit she had picked out for herself that morning when her mother's gaze lingered on her clothes. It was thoroughly mismatched, with a striped long sleeve shirt and flower printed overall dress, complete with lacy socks tucked into little white flats.

"Come closer." she instructed kindly. She slid her hand out of her lap towards her daughter, reaching off the bed to tug on the loose string on Zelda's hem until she had ripped it out. "One little string was trying to escape," she chuckled. "I thought I'd help it out."

"Mama, are you dying?" she blurted, immediately slapping a hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say what she had been thinking of since she overheard the conversation with her father and the man called Gaebora, but it rushed out of her mouth so suddenly that she didn't have the time to stop it. Her eyes widened with shame as Madeline's smile dimmed slightly.

"Yes, sweetheart," she said softly. "The doctor's are trying very hard, but your momma's not doing so hot right now."

Death was still a vague concept in Zelda's young mind, but she knew enough about it to know that once someone died, you never got to see them again. The thought of never seeing her mother again made her heart clench in her chest.

"But you can still get better, right?" she asked quickly. "I heard father talking about how there had to be something else that the doctor's could try. I know the new medication isn't working very well, but when I get home I can go to the library and look up how to fix you faster and-"

Zelda clamped her mouth shut as her mother chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You're so smart, Zel-Bell," she beamed. "Just like your dad."

The little girl stared at her mother. "And you."

Madeline's smile widened. "And me. Only you're a lot smarter than I ever was at your age. How old are you going to be on your birthday? It's in a few months, right?"

"I'm turning 7, Mama." She nibbled on her lip as she rocked back and forth on her heels nervously. "You're going to be there, right? Father said you might be well enough to even bake me a cake, and play games with me."

Her mother's eyes dimmed, so her bright smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "I don't know, baby. I really want to, but I've been so tired lately."

A comfortable silence lulled between them, with only the slight beeping of the machine's next to her mother's bed as background noise. Zelda looked down at her shoes.

"I don't want you to be tired, Mama." She mumbled, breaking the silence.

Madeline reached over the side of the bed, lacing her cold fingers with her daughter's. "You're so brave, Zel-Bell," she whispered back, squeezing her hand. "You are so so brave; braver than me, and braver than your dad." Zelda noticed the moisture that accumulated at the bottom of her mother's blue eyes. She bit her cheek as she looked away; suddenly unable to look at her mother's face anymore. She hated to see her cry. "I'm so sorry to have to put you both through this. It was very selfish of me to have gotten so sick."

Zelda's head shot back up. "No Mama! You're not selfish at all!" she insisted shrilly. "You didn't choose to get sick!"

Madeline chuckled at her daughter's surge of fury, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand. "Maybe not," she said, her voice cracking a little. "But I did get sick, and at the rate I'm going, I think I'll to have to leave you soon."

Zelda's heart deflated at the defeat in her mother's voice. She swept over her mother's face, taking in the small tears that rolled down her cheeks to the misplaced smile on her lips. Zelda frowned for her.

She thought back to all the things her and her mother did before she was put in the hospital. Zelda was much younger, but she felt like she remembered every second that she spent playing and laughing with her. Her favorite memories were when she would help her mother in the kitchen or outside in the garden. Playing games in their backyard was a close second. Their favorite game was the one where her mother would play as a bank robber, and Zelda was the policeman who tried to stop her mother from robbing the tool shed. Realization hit her hard; her mom wasn't going to be able to do any of those things with her if she left.

"But if you go, who'll play cops-and-robbers with me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don't know, baby. Have one of your school friends or your dad play with you," she suggested, giggling a little at the childish question. Madeline wiped her cheeks off with the back of her free hand, but it was a vain attempt at getting dry. "Your father would make a pretty good bank robber, don't you think?"

As a fresh wave of tears began to roll down her mother's face, Zelda felt anger start to boil in the pit of her stomach. "But I don't want to play with my school friends and I don't want to play with father! I want to play with you!" she whined.

Madeline simply squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry Zel-Bell, but that's just the way it has to be-"

"Why? Why does it have to be like this?" Zelda yelled suddenly. Her eyes filled with tears immediately, and she shook her hand out of her mother's as she jumped back from the hospital bed.

The injustice of it all hit her like a ton of bricks, and although a part of her felt bad for the surprised look on her mother's face, she couldn't seem calm herself down. She knew she was being selfish now, but it didn't seem to matter. She was angry at what was making her mother sick, and she was even angrier with the doctor's for not reversing it.

"It's not fair! I don't want you to go! I want you to come to my birthday party, and I want to swing on the porch with you when it rains, and I want you to make s'mores with me when it's warm outside!" she blubbered hysterically. "I want you to drop me off at school on my first day, and I want you to tuck me in and read me stories before I go to bed at night, and I want you to teach me how to count in the hundreds and how to read clocks! And I want to play cops-and-robbers with you! Who's going to do all that if you leave?" Zelda balled her fists and rubbed them into her eyes, plugging up any more tears that tried to roll down her cheeks. "It's not fair, Mama! You can't go!"

She reached for Zelda's hand again, but her daughter snatched it to her chest defensively. "I'm so so so sorry, Zel-Bell," she whispered, her smile holding steady. Zelda didn't like the hurt undertones in her voice. "I want to be there for all of those things, but I don't think I can."

The door flew open, revealing her father. "Is everything okay in here? I heard yelling." he asked, looking startled. His eyes passed between his hysterical daughter to his crying wife before pressing his mouth into a thin line. He started walking over to the hospital bed. "Zelda, why are you yelling? You know you can't be doing that in here, especially with your mother being so fragile right now -"

"Mom's dying and it's not fair!" she shrieked. Zelda wanted nothing more than to crumple to the ground in a heap of mismatched clothes, but her body felt frozen. "It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair…" she chanted like a mantra, sobbing into her hands.

Madeline fought to sit up, but Daphnes put a halting hand on her shoulder. "I think it's time I take her home." He said calmly.

"Daphnes, it's okay. She's just upset." her mother insisted quietly, taking his hand. "Give her some time with me and she'll be alright."

"No, Madeline. I need to take her home. You are in no condition to deal with her right now; make rest your top priority right now and let me take care of our daughter. I'm sorry, honey, but we have to go. I'll come tomorrow at lunchtime."

Madeline nodded slightly. "I understand," she said softly, easily sinking back into her pillows without any fight. Zelda noticed belatedly how much the conversation had taken out of her mother. Normally, her mother would protest to being told to rest, but today she didn't. It made Zelda's whole body feel cold.

Daphnes squeezed his wife's hand slightly before kneeling in front of his crying daughter. "Zelda, I know you're upset, but we need to go."

Zelda didn't budge. The front of her shirt was soaked with tears, and she kept her fists in tight balls. Her hair fell over her face, which thankfully created a golden curtain between her and her parents. Did they not understand the injustice that had been dealt to them?

"It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair…" she repeated, ignoring her father.

"Sweetheart, please," Daphnes insisted.

"Zel-Bell, listen to your father," her mother said weakly.

But Zelda wasn't having any of it. A hurricane of emotions whipped through her small frame, leaving the little girl to mourn in the eye of the storm. She hated that her mother was so sick, and she hated that the doctor's could do nothing more for her than wait. She hated that her father, her incredibly intelligent and successful father, couldn't do anything for her mother. And most of all, she hated that she had made her mother cry.

Standing in her mother's lavish hospital room was like being in the waiting room again, only much worse. An overwhelming urge to run as far as she could from her parents filled her entire body.

She didn't hear her mother's weak cries for her to come back, nor did she hear her father chasing after her as Zelda ripped open the door and flew down the hospital's hallways. She blindly ran through the maze of hospital wings, startling the nurses when a flash of pink flowers and stripes flew by them.

Tears blurred her vision as she bounded out of the automatic main entrance door and out into the hospital courtyard. It was only after she was soaked to the bone with rain that Zelda's energy flat-lined and she crumpled to the sidewalk in a heap of fabric and wind-whipped hair.

She didn't protest when her father gingerly scooped her up moments later, taking her back to their car where he wrapped her in a blue hospital blanket before buckling her into the backseat. Her father climbed into the front seat, turning the key to start the ignition. He was just as wet as Zelda was, but it didn't seem to faze him. She was sure that he was going to be furious later when he realized that he had ruined his suit. But as they started to pull out of the parking lot, he was strangely quiet.

Zelda stared at retreating shape of the hospital with a growing resentment in her stomach. The color palette of the day was one that she wouldn't forget; from the washed-out blue waiting room, to the cobalt accents throughout the hospital, to her mother's sapphire-colored eyes that she had left blinking with tears.

No, she decided, she didn't hate the color blue.

She loathed the color blue with every fiber of her being.

Author's Note: Okay, I know you're all judging my lack of a proper A/N but to be fair this is only my second story and I still don't know how to use this thing. Maybe I did it? I put lines?

Oh, the woes of being a newbie. But I'm here aren't I? Go me!

So, I've had the idea for this story for months. The only reason I'm posting it now is because I've had the first two chapters written since July and I have to submit it before the story grows dust on my laptop and I lose the will to write it. I made a promise that I'd always finish a story unless something awful happens to me, so here I am forcing myself to honor that promise. I really hope you guys enjoyed this. And hey, if you didn't, tell me how I can make it better! Sorry this is so long but I have so much to say and little room to say it. Boy, this is hard. Anyways, hope you guys stick around for this. I'm proud of what I've done so far, even though I'm not too sure if it's good. I have a lot to learn.

Okay I'm done. I hope you find money on the street for reading for this long. Bless your heart.

-callmeordinary