Zombie Cake

10.0

Gloves and the Rabbit Hole

"Zel, are you sure you don't want to go home?" Sheik asks me, watching me nearly hack up a lung in the back office of the bakery. He sighs as leans against the doorframe, waiting for my coughing to lessen up so I can actually respond to him.

Finally, I manage to choke out, "No."

"Come on, Zel," he says, the slightest hint of a whine in there. I roll my eyes. "You can't work like this. You're hands are red from you having to continually wash them."

"Don't have a fever. I can work," I tell him stubbornly, grabbing another tissue to blow my nose with.

"Says the health inspector, but really, Zel, go home," he snaps at me. "We'll be fine here. You have me and Malon here today to help Link-"

I interject, throwing my tissue down into a waste bin, "The cake orders-"

"Can be done by Link," Sheik says, cutting me off. "You've been training him on everything in this joint; I think he can handle it now."

I retort, "You didn't see his dessert mountain."

Sheik's brow creases. "His what?"

"Never mind."

"Get your ass back home and in bed. Relax. All we've been doing today is basically take orders for next week. I think we'll be fine." He sighs. "You really don't look good, Sis."

I stare down into the wastebasket in front of me. It's only been a few hours, but the basket is already almost overflowing with my tissues. "Fine," I concede. "I'll go. But if you guys fuck it up-"

"You can kick my ass," Sheik offers.

"How noble of you."

"I try," he chuckles, peeling himself from the doorframe. "Now get your keys and go." He turns and disappears back out into the shop.

I swish my chair to face the desk and start shuffling around all my papers to find my keys and grab my stuff. Stepping out of the office with my all my belongings in hand, I call out to Sheik, "Call me later!" and head out the back door of the bakery. The late autumn air is bitter today as it swipes at my skin. I huddle into myself and make a run to my car, the wind pulling loose my hair from my ponytail. My bangs and the fly-aways poke at my eyes and forehead as I throw myself into the driver's seat.

Starting my car, all I can think of is home.

…

Music drifts through the air in like lilting crystals, twinkling in the dim room with the laughter and light conversation of the party. I try to stifle a yawn, for the sake of looks, as I glaze over the swimming crowd. Faces of men I do not recognize approach me and speak with me, but even though I respond, I can't understand them. So I sit, alone, watching the party swing in time with the music, a frown pulling at my lips. I'm not displeased by my lack of company, but rather of the company that I'm forced to endure – by the party itself. Endless stuffed shirts come and go, to greet, to invite me to dance, to flirt, and I'm just plain uninterested in them all.

"And why is such a pretty face looking all sour?" I turn, and I see Link settling into a seat next to me. He shakes his head in an attempt to move shaggy, dirty brown-blonde bangs out of his face. I scowl at him, but he only laughs it off, tugging at the sleeve of his green tunic. "I'll sit here as long as it takes," he tells me, a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

I tug a little at the skirts of my dress and complain, "This thing is so uncomfortable."

"I'll never understand women's fashion," Link says grimly.

"Neither will I," I agree. "Who thought breathing was a bad idea? Honestly." I tug a little at the low collar, as if doing so would free me from my constricting corset.

Link breaks out in a smile, mischief spreading over his features in full force. "Well," he says softly to me, "if thou would let me, I could help with that."

I have to stop myself from slapping the man, even if it no one would really notice among all the commotion. "I can't believe you," I snap quietly back at him, appalled by his boldness – by his… his gall! "You would take such an informal tone with me and then imply that?" I spit.

My anger does nothing to dampen his humor or his good spirit. He laughs gaily, mixing it with the light, joyous music that fills the room. "And thou would take such a formal tone with me?" he asks slyly. Lines pull at the corner of his eyes from his wide, wry smile. And this, I smack him for and stubbornly turn myself away from him. "I thought we were certainly past using 'you' by now," he chuckles.

"You say within public ear," I add.

"And what has the tiger growling about today?"

I glance back at him and reply with snip, "None of your business."

"And yet I'm still 'you'," he says with exasperation, a dramatic hand raised to his forehead in mock hurt.

"If you must know," I snap, looking over my shoulder at him again, and his face lightens in curiosity, "I find that my present company is more than just displeasing."

Link frowns at me. "I see that my ego's suffered a blow," he pouts, rubbing his chest.

"I believe that's where your heart is located, buffoon."

Surprise lights his face. "It's not the same?" he asks as I turn away from him with a scoff. We sit there, Link, I'm sure, with great amusement as I fume, for what seems hours, watching the many dancers float and swing and swish on by us. It seems hours, but I'm sure it's in reality only a few minutes. Link continues to keep his roots in the chair next to me.

"I'll have thy know, that I'm not dancing with thee," I inform him, finally addressing the reason he approached me in the first place, despite him never even mentioning the subject to me directly.

He only chuckles and then rises from the chair to come round to face me. I struggle slightly keep my glare in place as he smirks brightly at me. "Ah, but I see that you have conceded," he teases, putting emphasis on his formalities. "The war has not been lost!" he proclaims merrily, hands balled into fists on his hips.

"Thou art but a leech on my side."

"I'd like to think I have some skill in that department," he says with good humor, teasing me even more.

"Wilt thou just leave me?"

"I prefer to leech from thee figuratively as well," he replies, right in time, his wit not missing a beat.

"Fine," I say indignantly, finally conceding. "You may have your stupid dance, sir."

"And I'm back to square one," he sighs, offering his hand to me.

"Keep it up, and thou shall find thy self in square zero," I reply plainly, taking his hand for him to lead me out into the moving mass. He only snickers in response, and soon, even I'm smiling and giggling away like a fool as we move in step with the music. We twist and turn, in and out, through the pulsing crowd of dancers.

"Milady, why didn't the sun ever shine on the castle?"

"Link," I say sternly, forcing my smile down. He only gives me a lopsided grin and waits for my response. I sigh, conceding to him once more, and I respond with, "Because the castle was full of knights."

"Thou hast gotten pretty good at these," Link chuckles.

"I'm sure there will be more opportunities," I say, with a roll of my eyes.

"What're you talking about?"

"The jokes."

"What? What jokes?"

"The jokes. On the sticks."

"I think you're delirious. Come on, Zelda."

"I thought we were past 'you'," I say dazedly.

"Zelda, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Shove it, Link. No more jokes."

There's a pause before: "I'm not Link."

I loll my head over. And there's a mop of blonde, but it's indeed not Link. Link doesn't have rusty eyes or such bright blond hair. "Sorry," I mumble in apology. "I could have sworn I was just talking to him."

"Well, he's in your kitchen. I got him making you some soup," the blonde says. He shifts awkwardly on his feet. He offers, "Are you sure you're okay? Want me to get him for you?"

The blonde mop begins to shift, spinning round like clockwork. It pulses to and fro until it disappears into the bright light. "- Don't know what her de-" Then the golden hues return in flashes. Two twin suns poke out into the darkness in which I lay.

"I got it, I got it."

The lumps pulse and morph like goo.

"Zellie-"

"- Told you she was out-"

One lump jolts closer to me. My skin crawls and prickles at the sensation of sticky ice cradling my forehead. I pull away and roll into darkness.

"It's bad."

…

I let loose a yawn. Sucking in a breath of air, I stretch my aching limbs and look around, but there's nothing to see. I sit up, a soaked washcloth falling from my head, and find that the only light sources from the crack in the door frame and my alarm clock. It's almost ten. I swing my legs out from under the covers and get out of bed. I walk haphazardly from my bed and out of my room. My own weakness is apparent from the way my bones feel like shriveled limbs from a dying tree. I walk out of the hallway and into the kitchen where food has been left out, the smell of spices filling my nostrils.

"OH!"

"Godsdammit!"

I walk stiffly over to the den where Link and Sheik sit playing a shooter game. Sheik looks up at me from the couch. "Hey! Look who's up? How you feeling?"

"Like I've had my knees removed."

"You missed seeing Sheik get completely bombed by some sniper," Link tells me, craning his neck to look at me from the chair.

"Shut up," Sheik mumbles, throwing his legs from the couch. He motions for me to come over. "Sit down, lady, it's your house."

"You're too kind," I retort, and I take a seat next to him.

Sheik slaps the back of his hand to my forehead. "Looks like it finally broke… That's good." He pokes me in my side, and I swat at his hands, squirming away from him. "We made some soup earlier by the way," he says. "Have you lost weight?"

"What?"

Sheik frowns at me, and Link chuckles to himself, turning his attention back to the game. "Yeah, we cooked you some soup, but you were too busy talking about some jokes on sticks or something." Sheik shrugs and focuses back on the game at hand.

"Popsicle jokes," Link interjects, tapping away at the controller in his hands. There's a round of pounding gunfire and an exclamation of "What!" from Sheik. Laughter bubbles up from Link as he takes Sheik out on the game.

"I don't remember anything about Popsicle jokes," I say, trying to rack my brain for anything they might be talking about, but nothing comes up.

Sheik tells me, "You had a pretty bad fever there for a bit – like you were not making any sense, woman. We can re-heat the soup for you, if you want."

I shake my head and rise from the couch. "That's okay. I got it," I reassure him, despite my wobble as I make my way back into the kitchen. "It's on the stove, right?" I call back to them. Of course, I only get grunts in response as the boys go in for another round to kill each other. Idiots.

I poke at the cold soup on the stove with a wooden spoon. Noodles and cut veggies break the surface. I grab a bowl out of a cabinet and dump some of the soup in it and toss it into the microwave.

Sheik calls out to me. "Zelda!" I roll my eyes, falling back onto the counter and feeling the way my hands shake. I really do need to eat, I guess. "Zelda!"

"What!"

"What're you doing? You need to see this."

"I'm getting cancer," I shout back, peeling myself from the counter to grab a spoon. "Give me a minute."

I can hear Link grumble to Sheik, "Oh, just leave her alone."

When the microwave finally goes off, I troop back into the den and flop onto the couch next to Sheik again. I sip on the soup, only blandly aware of the hot liquid rushing down into my stomach. The sounds of gunfire and shouts from the game go in one ear and out the next. Sheik's still losing. I can hear his whining and Link's soft chuckling.

The soup bowl rests in my lap, still emitting warmth. The lolls of sleep tug at my eyes. Link's shoes shaking back and forth on the coffee table flickers with the black.

"You alright, Zellie?"

"Huh?"

"You should go back to bed, Zelda."

"Uh…"

Their laughter ripples in the air.

"Come on, lady."

Hands find their way onto my upper arm.

"She ate pretty well."

…

"Don't forget, everything but the egg breads gets steamed. I wrote out everything in that notebook on the baker's table, and Link's scribbled a bunch of notes in there," I tell Sheik, to which I get a "Yes, Mother," and I smack him on the head. "Remember too, that if you get anybody irate, you're dealing with them. Not Malon."

"I got it! I got it! We can call you too, you know," Sheik insists. "Would you like to straighten my hair, Mother?"

"I will baby you until you can grow up."

Sheik pouts at me, but I've long since grown immune to this. "What about Link?" he whines.

"Quit it," I snap, smacking him on the forehead with the palm of my hand. "I think you're a lot worse than he is."

"Fine, fine," he says, waving me off. "We'll get it done. Besides, Malon's pretty good at baking…"

"She bakes a bit out on the ranch," I remind him as I give him a shove out the door. "Get going, before you leave her stranded out there."

"I'm going, I'm going," he says. He bounces and bounds down the steps of my porch before he spins on his heel to face me again.

"What?"

"I never got to ask you," he tells me. "Did you see what they're building on the outskirts of town?"

"What? You mean Dragmire's super-mega-humungous warehouse store?"

"So you do know."

"Link said he might be trying to aim for the tourist season," I say, crossing my arms. "They got a nice big ol' sign out there to mark it."

Sheik shrugs. "Wouldn't put it past him. He wants it to open by summer, and anybody in town could tell you the tourists bring in the dough around here."

He shifts on his feet. "You talk to Impa about it yet?"

"No. Not yet. Been too busy being sick and then worrying about this week," I laugh.

"I kind of worry though," I admit. "Not just about the bakery, but for everybody else."

He nods. "I know," he says lightly. "Kakariko may be old, and we may be fairly big, but this town doesn't want to be a city, you know?"

"I do."

"I can promise you, that shit will end up in the Gossip Stone," he insists, pointing a finger at me. "Promise you. You just wait."

"That's not polite," I tell him, pushing his finger away from me, and he frowns at my jab.

"You're not my mother!"

"Then what was it you were calling me not two minutes ago?"

"Oh shove it, woman," he says dismissively, turning away from me to walk to his car.

But as he gets into his car, he pauses again. "It'll be alright, Zellie," he promises me.

Zellie.

Hah.

I turn back inside. The headlights fade from the hallway and I kick the door shut. "Link!" I call out, my voice reverberating through the house, but I get no response. "Fucking a'!" I hiss tromping through the house. He's not in the den or the kitchen. He's right where I left him. In my room. Stupid boy. I told his dumb ass to get up. I suck in a deep breath as I climb up onto the bed and then push him with all my might right off the edge.

He yelps as he makes contact with the floor.

I poke my head out over the side of the bed. "I thought I told you get up off this bed or you'll doze off."

"Oops." He gives me another lopsided grin. I only shake my head at him and roll off on the other side of the bed. He pops up, still giving me a sheepish look. "Sorry," he says to me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Did you really have to push me off?"

I say as I stomp out of the room, "You barely wake up to an alarm."

"You know," he says as he shuffles after me, "it's nice to have you back."

"It's nice to be back." He chuckles some. "That was some cold. Flu. Whatever it was."

"Aren't you tired at all?" Link asks me through a yawn.

"Not really, but I will be soon," I say with a shrug as we enter the kitchen. "So in the meantime, want to get a head start on your cartoons?"

Link laughs heartily, nodding at me. "Sure. Cereal too?"

"Why not?"

Once we've settled in on the couch, the usual superhero cartoon on the television, I glance over and see Link delicately poking through his cereal. I contain my laughter, my chest lurching and the milk and cereal threating to spew from my mouth, remembering this is exactly what Knil told me he often does. "What?" Link asks me, picking through his marshmallows to get the cereal first.

"Nothing," I say quickly. "I'm fine."

He blows a puff of air through his lips, mimicking a fart. He's calling me out on my bullshit, but I'm not saying anything.

I change the subject instead. "Sheik was talking about Dragmire's newest project in Kakariko before he left this morning."

"What'd he say about it?"

"What you said. This kind of shit isn't for Kakariko."

"And it's not."

The thing about Kakariko is that while it is one of the oldest towns in Hyrule, has a fairly large population and is a popular tourist destination (because of its history), it stubbornly maintains the idea of it being a small town. In Kakariko, there is no such thing as a parking garage or a mall. Those are city things. There are outlets and other retail hubs like the strip, but there's not actual retail mall. The draws to Kakariko are not any of these conveniences like that that someone would find in a city, but the historic area which includes the infamous graveyard and the temple that lies beyond it.

In the historic area, you can even see old taverns and inns and all that jazz; these are buildings that have stood in Kakariko for at least five hundred years. Some of the homes are still private, however, so not everything is open to public viewing. Then there's Death Mountain that lies west of the town. Old, abandoned mines line the mountain, and talk of hauntings of the mines and the graveyard bring in their own draw of people. However, people come from all over to see that kind of shit – the ghosts, the buildings… the history. It's amazing, honestly, because other than the university here, we've really got nothing else; that's all city shit. I'm actually surprised Dragmire got through the city council.

"I can't wait to read about it in the Dominion Times," Link tells me, referring to our local newspaper. The newspaper runs a section titled "The Last Word" in which the town's residents write to. The paper doesn't have any comics in it, so it's a good substitute. I distinctly remember one person writing to the paper about a sale a store had last winter. He (or more probably a she) wrote that he waited outside for three hours in his pajamas, and then he complained that he got a cold, blaming the store. Sometimes, I wonder where these people's brains are. Some days there's gold, and others, just little nuggets or nothing at all.

"Sheik said he bet it'd make the Gossip Stone."

"Oh-ho! Going national now, huh?"

"Who knows? There's not much else going on in the country right now."

We fall silent for a beat before Link says, "Well, this is it."

"It is."

This is it. This is the Monday before the Harvest Moon. Essentially the only Monday of the year that the bakery is open, and of course, I'm not working it. Sheik and Malon will spend the day running the bakery and prepping it for the slaughter that's to come. Link and I will swoop in in the middle of the night to start the morning bake for Tuesday, and we'll do the same for Wednesday. To say that I'm lucky I have Sheik and Malon backing us up is a very big understatement. I probably would have sold my soul for their help, but I'm lucky that it doesn't come that high of a price.

To prepare us for the two days to come, Link and I have, as per the usual, stayed up through the night. Well mostly. Link did take that doze on my bed. Idiot.

I yawn. "Don't start," Link snaps, and I snicker. "Zelda!"

"Wimp."

…

Dear Din, if I could have five minutes to myself, I think I would pass right the fuck out.

"Hey Zelda," Sheik says tentatively. "We're out of sourdough."

"What? Completely?"

"Well, we still have the loaves, but we're out of the light sourdough. The boules." He sucks in a breath. "And when I say we're out, I did check to see if there were any par-baked."

"Why didn't you fucking tell me we were low?"

"I kind of did. Like twenty minutes ago."

Fuck. Did he?

"I'll uh… just take the sign out of the window then?"

"Yeah," I grumble, already heading to the freezer. "It's going to be three hours at least. We're baking it from the dough."

To say it's fucking madhouse in this bitch, is right. I got Link churning out pies, and it's never enough. It's like he's feeding a black hole cornucopia. Sheik's been busting ass on the register for most of the day while Malon and I try to juggle bread and help Link out on the pies. The motherfucking pies. The only other time of the year that's so hard to keep them in stock is the day before and the day of March 14th. You know. Pie Day. 3.14. Clever, right? Motherfucking pies.

As soon as I get the sourdough into the proofer, Link shuffles up to me. I see his hand twitch to rub the back of his neck, but remembering the gloves on his hand, he plants it firmly at his side. "We're out of cherries," he tells me. Well. Shit.

"Fucking great," I grumble under my breath, but Link seems to catch this, chuckling to himself. "Well, fuck it! No more fucking cherry pies, no more godsdamn cherry turnovers, no more cherry… whatever. Awesome," I say, giving Link a thumbs up. "Fan-frickin'-tastic."

"Right," he says. "We're going to run out of everything. Aren't we?"

I sigh. "At this rate, probably." I try and stifle a yawn.

"Maybe you should go take a nap," Link suggests to me.

I wave him off. "No, I'll be fine," I say. "Besides, there's only like… six more hours and we're home free until the Grand Illumination."

"Zelda."

Great, now he's using my actual name. "I'll be fine," I insist. "Besides, you've been here as long as I have."

He frowns at me.

"Fine," I snap. "I'll go eat and sleep a bit in the car. You do your pie thing."

"Minus the cherries."

"Minus the cherries," I repeat, peeling the gloves off my hands. Of course, my stomach takes this opportune moment to groan. I pat my belly. "I guess you could use some cherries," I comment to it. Link's howl drifts to my ears as we turn away from each other, him, back to work, and me, off to feed the grumbling monster that I've ignored for so long, I actually forgot about it. Oops.

I'm solicited for another yawn, but this time I let it come, and I slide into the back office. I dig through the little fridge for my sandwich, and I don't waste one second before shoveling the thing into my mouth. There's a light knock on the door. Great. Malon pokes her head in. "When do you want us to pull the sourdough from the proofer?" she asks, lifting an eyebrow as I about choke on the sandwich. "You should slow down, by the way," she advises.

I beat my chest with my fist before swallowing and answering her. "It should take like two hours. Keep checking on it is all I can tell you; I pulled it from the freezer," I say. "When it doesn't thaw out overnight, it's pretty unpredictable."

She nods.

Her eyebrows scrunch.

"What?"

Malon's jaw bobs a bit before she throws a glance back into the bakery. She skitters into the office, kicking the door shut, and she takes hold of my hand. "Malon!" I yelp as she forcibly pulls my arm to her.

"What!" she exclaims with wide eyes. "When did you get a tattoo?"

"A tatt-"

Oh no. Fuck.

"And what in Nayru's name were you thinking when you got it on your hand?" she demands, looking over my hand. Shit. Shit. I try to pull it out of her grasp, but she only tightens her vice grip on me. She mumbles, "I thought you had more sense." Malon looks over my right hand in disbelief and asks, "Has Sheik seen this?"

"Why would Sheik care?" I snip.

She shrugs. "I was just wondering what he thought of it, considering he's the reason you pierced and then stretched your earlobes," she says, tugging at the plug in my ear.

"Cut that out!"

"What would your dad say?" she says sheepishly, and I scowl, finally wrenching back my hand from Malon. Dad always hated the plugs, the nose screw. He hated it when I chopped my hair off and it was an inch from my scalp. He hated it when he showed up at my high school over an attendance issue (my homeroom teacher forgot to mark me present) and saw that I had dyed my whole head of hair pink. He actually stormed out of the school over that. So what would my dad say if he thought I tattooed a giant rendition of a religious symbol on my hand? Content aside, I highly doubt he'd be happy. ("Zelda, what have you done now!") You'd think I've lived up until this point to get under his skin.

I purse my lips.

But the idea of it being a tattoo is a pretty good scapegoat. Din bless you, Malon. It's brilliant. Really. I can't very well explain that the stupid thing just appeared on my hand out of nowhere, steadily taking shape over the past few weeks. It's prickled, stabbed and burned my skin, raised itself, reddened – the final result, or I hope it is, is a tanned mark on my hand, something like a birthmark, in the shape of three triangles forming one large one and intricate line designs outlining it. Of course, Malon knows I have no such birthmark, just as others do.

Up until now, I've gotten by with nobody really noticing, or rather, nobody really saying anything about it. At least so directly. Working with food all day offered me the opportunity to hide it under gloves, and the cold late autumn weather outside allows for the perfect excuse for mittens and gloves.

I should roll with the sentiment that it's a tattoo if anybody asks about it, otherwise, just let them think I have some strange birthmark or ignore it.

"Anyway, I'll keep up with the sourdough," Malon says. "Link's pretty busy with the pies and all."

"Okay," I say, turning back to my sandwich. Hello, my nugget of golden sustenance. "I'm going to let him eat and take a snooze after me."

"Alright.

"Should I keep the whole tattoo thing on the DL Sheik?" she asks.

"Yeah," I say. "I was just going to let him find out when he notices it."

…

All evening, Malon's been shooting me curious glances, which I've pointedly been trying to ignore, but I can't shake that damn feeling of her looking at me. I sit at the opposite end of the table from her, but yet I still sense her. She's eyeing the fingerless gloves that I still haven't taken off since I put them before going outside earlier.

I can feel from the mark the shiver it emits, scaling my arm in waves of gooseflesh right up to the shoulder. I shudder slightly.

The table's filled with food, drink, laughter, love and companionship, but I'm set at a slight unease that I can't pinpoint or describe. Like something private is on display. I don't have a formal dining room, so we cram ourselves around my kitchen table, the platters of food sitting on the island. Sheik sits to my left. Anju is seated across the table from us, sandwiched between Malon and Link. To Sheik's left sits Knil's now empty chair. He'd stopped by for a little while, despite his previous polite refusals to come.

"Zelda," Sheik calls, nudging me with his elbow. "You did make the pies right?"

I roll my eyes, mushing some of my mashed potatoes. "Yes," I say with exasperation. It's not like he hasn't asked me this a few dozen times today already.

Poor Anju, wanting to contribute to the dinner, had originally made the traditional Harvest Moon pies, but ultimately failed. She called me over last night to her house, frantic over her desserts. ("I'm sorry, but can you come over right away? I've made a mess of things again. I'm sorry!") Anju and her clumsiness had botched the recipe for making the crusts of the pies, and when she finally got it right, of course she forgot to set the oven timer. Needless to say, dessert turned into overly large pieces of charcoal.

I scrape some of the remains of my potatoes back into the pile. Link glances up my way and furiously tries to reassemble his potatoes. Oh no, boy, not today. I carve out some windows in the mashed potato castle on my plate, tuning out Sheik's talk of politics with Malon and Anju. Well somewhat Anju. I only hear snippets of her voice every now and then. I look over across the table at Link's plate, where he's steadily morphing a ship out of his potatoes. What a sea lubber.

Anju's sneaking us glances, amusement lining the corners of her mouth and eyes as she watches us play with our food. I slide a glance in at Link and his progress once more. He's still concentrated on his own potatoes. I pluck a pea off my plate and launch it over to Link's. He jumps, startled when it plows into the deck of his potato ship.

Anju covers a bout of laughter with a snort.

Malon shoots Link and me a look, seeing out mashed potato creations, as she works through her cut of turkey. I shrug innocently.

The war is on. Link flicks a slice of carrot at me, and it slaps right into the face of my castle. What a butt. I get a slimy green bean into his beer as payback. It's not long into our exchange of flying cooked veggies that Sheik and Malon take notice. "This is why I can't take you anywhere," he says as Link and I quickly try to cover our tracks, both of us taking a chuck out of our potato creations and shoving it in our mouths.

"Link started it."

"What!" Link exclaims, sputtering some potato out of his mouth. He swallows and licks his lips. "Anju saw it all!" he reminds me with an accusing finger.

"You're just being a baby because I was winning."

Link opens his mouth to retort when Anju slides her spoon over and smushes both his ship and my castle. He stares dumbfounded at the smashed remains of his potato ship. "You sank my battleship," he mumbles.

Later, after we finish dinner and have our fair share of pie, I take help Sheik take care of the dishes while the others wallow in their food comas over in the den. He shoots me a grin, and I chuckle. "What?" I ask him, loading up my dishwasher.

"You don't want to do that by hand and play with the bubbles?"

"No thanks."

Sheik laughs and shakes his head. "It's good to let loose every now and then, Zellie," he tells me with a nudge to my side as I bend down to toss some utensils in.

I pause on my way up, thinking about it. "Yeah," I admit. "It is."

…

It's Link, Sheik and me. Just the three of us lazily lying on my bed. Sheik pokes at another slice of pie. I think his stomach has gotten the better of himself; he looks longingly at what's left of the pie, but only poke it with his fork. Eventually, Sheik lets out a sigh and sets the plate down on my nightstand, officially surrendering for the night.

"Some week. I'm ready to go back to the pawn shop," he says with a yawn and patting his stomach. Sheik nudges me. "Hey, Zelda. Do I have a whatsit? Rotundo belly, yet?"

"Oh shove it."

"I think it's a good look."

I scowl at him, and then I loll my head over to my other side. Link's dozing again, and I smack his arm. He stirs, sucking in air like a vacuum. "Don't fall asleep," I tell him, and gives me a small "oh" as he looks around. "You'll spill the beer."

"You want me to finish it?" Sheik asks him.

Link shakes his head and knocks back what's left of the bottle. He sets it on the other nightstand and resettles himself on the bed, jostling Sheik and me. "What in the world are you watching?" he asks groggily.

"A little of this, a little of that," Sheik says.

"History shit," I say. "The same stuff that was on before you nodded off."

"I don't even remember what I was watching," he laughs softly. I turn my head, and Link closes his eyes. He sniffs.

Sheik slaps my leg. "I better go, Zel," he says. "Else I'm never going to be able to pull myself out of your bed."

I glance over at Link again. "I think Link's hit that point."

"You guys busted ass the past few days."

"My ass certainly feels busted," I retort. I poke Link. "I suppose I could push him off."

Sheik sighs. "Could you push me?"

"Your rotundo belly makes it difficult. I don't wish to strain myself," I reply, closing my own eyes to the world. But Sheik rolls off the bed without my help. He lays still for a few minutes on the floor before I finally hear him pull himself back up. "Very graceful," I comment, my eyelids refusing to lift themselves.

"You talk to Impa tomorrow?"

"Sure," I say. "I need to. I'll let you know what she says. And if she's heard from Malo."

"Good," he says. "Because you know-"

I cut him off harshly. "I'd rather not think about it, Sheik," I say.

"Right," he says.

I feel him grab hold of my arm, and he drags me up and off the bed. "You're going to make me walk you out?" I whine, rubbing my eyes.

"You're a terrible host."

I walk Sheik to the door, where we say our very tired good-byes. I throw my hand through the air, letting it slap my hip and leg when it falls. That's about as good of a wave as anybody's going to get out of me right now. I stay standing there, leaning against the doorframe as Sheik gets into his car and drives off. Mostly because I'm too lazy at this point to move. I watch his car disappear off in the distance before turning back inside.

I'm so beat. It's a good thing all the dishes and the food were taken care of earlier. I don't care if a stampede of rodents came through the house to devour it all. I'm ready to plop down into my bed and-

Fuck. Right.

Instead of trying to wake him or move him or well… anything, I throw myself over lightly snoring Link and onto the bed, landing on top of his stomach. Because you know, I'm sensible. He yelps in surprise, and I crawl off of him. Peeling the covers back, I slide into my bed and snuggle in. Link shifts again, trying to get comfortable, and I remind him, "I'll push you off eventually. Just you wait."

I get a grunt in response.

I close my eyes.

I don't know how much time passes when my eyes open again, and I shake Link awake. "Hey, aren't you cold?" I ask, rolling over. He hasn't moved one bit, still lying in his shirt and jeans on top of the covers, his hat barely perched on his head. It's funny how even though we're not at work, he still keeps it on. It's almost an extension of his head and hair, making him seem out of place without it now.

"Mmpf." He pulls the covers out from underneath him and throws himself under. The whole bed shakes with the shockwave.

We lay there in silence, the bedside lamp still casting its glow alongside the television. Can laughter from the sitcom bounces within the room. I roll on my back. The lights still brighten my vision even behind eyelids. "Link," I say, breaking the sleepy silence between us. "Can you turn that light off? It's fucking bright."

There's a sharp inhale of air whooshing into lungs as Link rolls and shuts the light off. The blankets fluff and wave as Link digs himself back under. We lay still on our backs, letting the mattress eat us. It's not as comfy as his or Sheik's bed. Now those are mattresses that suck you in and surround you like a glove. I stretch and yawn, blinking through the television's glow.

"Hey."

"Hm?"

"When'd you get a tattoo?"

"What're you talking about?" I grumble. Link reaches over and taps the back of my gloved hand, then lets his hand drop. Oh-OH. Crap. I make a dodge. "Malon said something about it yesterday too," I say, all too aware of his arm and hand resting on my own arm and part of my stomach. My senses and nerves are on edge, all of them pointing at the foreign warmth emitting from Link's limb.

"I'll sink your battleship one day."

"For now, I remain elusive," I say. "But I'm pretty sure I built a castle."

"It'll float."

"If you say so."

He asks, "Why'd you get the Triforce?" He pulls his arm back towards him some, the heat of his palm soaking into my forearm.

I bite my lip, rolling it in between my teeth. "I didn't have much choice, honestly."

"That's what I thought."

"I had a weird dream," I tell him, "when I was sick. We were dressed in like… I dunno. Old clothing. Like people were wearing tunics, doublets and these dresses that sucked the air from you."

"People?"

"It was like a party… or a ball of some sort. I called you a buffoon."

He snickers. "You do that anyway."

"You just wanted a damn dance, and I was being stubborn. I don't know about what or why though."

"You're just stubborn to be stubborn."

Ignore.

Link snorts into the beat of silence.

"You told me another Popsicle joke."

"Did I?"

"Something about light and a castle?"

"Why didn't any light ever shine on the castle?" Link asks.

I answered it right the first time, but I still have to think about it. Fucking brain, work properly. "Because it was full of knights," I finally answer, yawning. Again.

"You've gotten better," he says, chuckles lacing his voice.

He sucks in another breath, sharp and quick, and holds it as he rolls onto his side. His arm retracts from me, but the other reaches out and peels me from the mattress. "What're you doing?" I mumble into his shirt, but he doesn't answer. I shift and squirm in his hold into a more comfortable position, and then I can hear his breathing in my ear. It's all I can hear, the television mere grumbles in the background. Everything else seems to shut down but the vague awareness of both his arms around me, cuddling me like a stuffed animal.

"Why're you breathing so hard?" he asks.

"You're the one that's breathing hard, stupid."

He pulls back somewhat. "You're so mean to me," he pouts.

"I didn't realize you were such a wuss."

Just to prove me wrong, I feel his breath trickle across my cheek and the hot and wetness of his lips on the corner of my mouth. There's a brief moment following where the two of us freeze, and then we break out into snickers and giggles, like this was long overdue.

I wiggle my right arm though the small opening between the bed and his neck and head. "You lost your hat," I say, when I feel hair instead of knitted yarn under my palm.

"A small price."

"Link?" I open my mouth, but I'm unsure of how to ask, and words fall flat from me.

But Link catches on, knowing. "I had some help."

"You're so dumb," I breathe, and he laughs, pulling my left leg to rest in between his. I slowly scratch at the back of his head. "You're weird."

"You're weird."

"Boy, I will beat you out of this bed," I threaten.

He lets out that breathless, airy chuckle of his, but I cut him off with fervor. He matches me, and I push against him, feeling him tug loose the cami that was tucked into the waistband of my jeans. Link bumps my nose, and I break the kiss, jerking away when I feel the sharp scrape of the titanium screw against the inside of my nostril. "Sorry."

"It happens more than you think with the boxes and pans at the bakery." He laughs, and I rub my hand through his hair. "I used to work in a shoe store in high school," I tell him as he nuzzles into my neck. "I like just pierced it with Sheik like three weeks before. Since you know, your nose is made of cartilage, it takes a long time for it to heal, and it still hurt when I sneezed or just moved it at that point. I go to fix a shoe from the top shelf of the bin, and it comes flying out of the open box and into my face." I tug a little at his short hair, and he lets out a low, wolfish laugh. "It hurt. So fucking bad," I say, laughing some myself.

Link traces thin lines along my spine and lower back with his fingers. It's nice. Soothing almost. I breathe deeply.

"Hey Link," I say.

"Hm?"

"Still tired?"

He pulls away while snickering. "I think I'm drunk," he says, his torso shaking with his laughter.

"I think I'm sleep stupid."

He sniffs. "I guess we're in the same boat now."

"Can't sink my battleship anymore, you goob," I say.

"Tired?"

"Not yet." And I kiss him again.

That took forever to write. You guys still there? Haha. I dunno. I'm not sure if I'm particularly happy with this chapter. I may go back over it. I don't knooow. Opinions? I wanted to do more in the bakery itself, but I ended up cutting it down. Same with the dinner. I really wanted to focus on changes that have occurred in Zelda.

Anyway. I ended up starting a blog: rumandthesea (dot) blogspot (dot) com, just remove (dot) with actual periods. I've posted a few sketches and drawings up there of both Zombie Cake and Coin-Operated. I think I'll try to get some sketches of the scenery up as well.

Also, for those of you that were interested, the doll Link story I was talking about is up. It's titled Coin-Operated, and like I said, you can see sketches of Link and Zelda from that on the blog too.

I really, really need to skedaddle before I'm late for work. Peace out guys! Stay fresh.

;3