1. April 9, 1813

I don't own Zorro. Hopefully, soon, the nice folk who do own Zorro will put it on video and it will be much easier to write fanfic.

**April 9, 1813**

Don Alejandro, his graying mane shaggy from the wind, raced into the room and grabbed Felipe by the shoulders. "The _Anne Marie_ is in port! Pedro saw her in the harbor this morning. They could be on the way here right now."

Felipe's breath caught. "Did he see?" he signed.

The old man sobered. "No. It hadn't docked yet. But I'm sure...."

Felipe patted his arm. "They are coming home. Everything will be fine."

They both found excuses to linger in the front garden. Two hours later, every last flower bed and pot was perfectly weeded and watered and trimmed...and both of them were still earnestly tending the roses when the hired carriage came down the road.

The butterflies that had been filling Felipe's stomach turned into bats or seagulls or raging bulls and began to fight with one another. Swallowing hard so he wouldn't disgrace himself by vomiting all over the courtyard, Felipe stood up, brushed off his knees, and went to stand beside Don Alejandro.

Even before the carriage wheels stopped turning, the narrow door flew open and Diego leaped out, nearly running the few steps between the carriage and the gate. With a soft groan, Don Alejandro held out his arms, and the two came together fiercely. For a moment they clung to one another, frozen, and then Don Alejandro shoved Diego back and looked him up and down, searching for something. "My son...thank God...."

A second figure hopped neatly from the carriage. Dignified and arrogant, Gilberto was every bit the de le Vega heir. Eyes flicking over the courtyard, he strode forward and greeted his father formally...and then all his grandeur collapsed into warmth as he was swept into his father's embrace. "'Berto. My God, I would swear you are taller! Both of you." He dabbed at his eyes.

Stepping back, Gilberto's sharp gaze fell on Felipe. "And who is this?" he asked.

Don Alejandro stroked his mustache to hide his widening grin. "This? Just a new man I hired. He seems to be working out rather well."

Diego was also smothering a smile. "Say, what happened to that boy who was always hanging around? What was his name?"

"You're thinking of Felipe," his father reminded blandly.

"Yes, that's right. What ever happened to him?"

Unable to control himself any longer, Felipe patted his chest and signed, "I'm right here."

Gilberto looked at Diego and shook his head. "That can't be right. Your little shadow was much shorter."

"I grew! It's me! Don't tease!"

"You grew? That much? Is it even possible for someone to grow that much, Father?" Diego craned his neck, as though seeing Felipe from behind would somehow help verify his identity.

Don Alejandro was laughing openly now. "_You_ are asking that?" Diego was taller than his father by more than two inches.

"Well, then," Diego said thickly. "Come here before you are too big to hold!" He swept Felipe against his shoulder, and suddenly the worry of the last months tore away. This was Diego. He was here. He was well. Everything would be fine.

"Felipe?" Diego asked, his breath brushing past Felipe's cheek.

He stepped back and nodded.

Diego smiled tenderly. "How much?" he asked.

Felipe shrugged and looked at Don Alejandro.

"Low sounds and very high sounds...no," he shook his head sadly. "He hears the birds sing, if they're close. He can follow a conversation without looking at you, if you don't speak too softly. There hasn't...There hasn't been any change in several months. It isn't likely to improve."

Felipe shook his head vigorously. "No," he signed. "Don't worry about me. It doesn't matter. I don't care. Diego, you--"

Gilberto interrupted by the expedient of wrapping one long arm around Felipe's shoulders and shifting him three feet to the left. "Father," he said very loudly, "we have just traveled halfway across the world, and I am hungry. I don't suppose you have any food, somewhere in the house? Perhaps a crust of bread?"

He laughed. "You know, I didn't even think of it. But if I knew to expect you, I'm sure Maria did as well. Let's go see, shall we?" He ushered the boys toward the door.

A gentle rumbling in the ground made Felipe glance up, and a moment later the other three had turned as well. Coming up the road was a military patrol, lead by the alcalde himself. When the line of horsemen had cantered past, Diego laughed hollowly. "Good heavens. What is that?"

Alejandro sighed. "_That_ is trouble. But. Let's not discuss it now. I promised you food."

z

Felipe served at lunch. It wasn't the first time, of course, but this time he was nervous. He wasn't fond of the idea of making a mistake in front of Gilberto, who had always enjoyed--just a little--finding fault. But mostly, he wanted to please Diego, even though the younger twin had never been unkind about the mistakes of others.

Diego, for his part, spent the meal asking about old friends and neighbors and trying to convince his family that a trip to town after lunch was in order.

"You've been gone four years," Don Alejandro protested. "Another day won't matter."

"I've spent the last couple of months relaxing on a boat, Father. A trip to town is hardly taxing."

"The carriage," Gilberto said softly. "There is no reason not to go if we take the carriage. If we go after siesta, well, a little rest would be welcome."

"I don't need a carriage; I remember how to ride a horse. And I don't need a nap."

Gilberto sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'm in no hurry to see town, actually. In fact, I'm very curious about the state of..." he glanced at his brother, "the barn."

Very, very mildly, Diego said, "A carriage will be fine. We'll go after siesta."

Don Alejandro glanced from one to the other. "It's decided then." After a moment's hesitation, he turned the conversation to cattle and they stayed on harmless topics until Diego had retired--more or less peacefully--to his room.

"'Berto? This trip to town?"

Gilberto waved "He'll be fine. Anyway, we can't keep him locked in his room forever, and it's not worth the fight...."

"Exactly how ill--"

"No. I promised we would not have this conversation behind his back. I promised him." He sighed. "I should change. Excuse me."

Felipe didn't go with them to the pueblo. The noise and chaos still made him uncomfortable, and he thought he'd be more useful unpacking Diego's things and making sure his room was in order.

When they returned less than three hours later, the argument was loud enough that Felipe could hear it before they even came in the door. He raced to the parlor to find the twins had reached the point in their debate that they weren't taking turns, but talking over each other. Don Alejandro followed several steps behind, looking stunned. Or perhaps horrified.

Felipe stepped directly into Diego's path and signed, "What happened?"

"What happened," Gilberto announced, reflexively turning Felipe to face him, "is that my idiot baby brother came this close," he held two fingers an inch apart, "to challenging the alcalde to a duel." He turned away, already forgetting Felipe. "Never mind that it was a disastrous idea at all. If anyone were to challenge him, it would be me. What were you thinking?"

Diego quirked a smile. "I was thinking that I'm better with a sword than you are."

Gilberto's eyes went so flat and hard and bitter that Felipe eased away from him. "Oh, yes. You are much better with a sword than I. You are much better at everything than I. But if this Ramone is good enough to hold you off for three or four minutes, you're a dead man anyway, aren't you?"

The silence that followed that was hard and cold and ugly. For long seconds no one even seemed to breathe. Then Gilberto retreated--there was no other word for it--to the other side of the piano and Diego withdrew to sit on the settee under the window.

It was their father who finally broke the silence: "Is it that bad?"

"Nearly," Gilberto answered.

"No," Diego countered. "The one time we tried to fence, I went faint and nearly passed out. But I was hardly in danger of...No."

Slowly, looking so very much the old man, Don Alejandro took a seat. He looked from one to the other. "Let's have the rest of it," he said softly.

The twins shared an unhappy look. They were clearly disagreeing about something. Felipe had lived with them for three years. He could follow the silent argument well enough to spot the moment Diego won.

Gilberto came back and took the chair across from his father. "He is better than he was, even compared to when we left Spain. He seems to have more strength than he did, and the episodes only come...three or four times a week, now. And most of them are not so...not so bad." He turned and looked hard at Felipe, hovering by the door. "A bad episode is a terrible thing to behold. And frightening. But I swear to God, if you panic, either one of you, I will lock you out--"

"What my tactful brother means to say is that the burden of my illness is much lighter when we are all pretending not to be afraid of it."

Felipe was still not sure just how much fear was warranted. Diego didn't look sick, not exactly....The accounts Gilberto had written during the autumn had made it clear that it was unlikely that Diego would ever fully recover, though; and the symptoms he'd described...there was no way to pretend they weren't serious.

Probably Don Alejandro had only one question in mind, and probably it was the same questions as Felipe's. The boys didn't present the issue, though, and Don Alejandro couldn't seem to ask. Instead, he said, "Did the doctors in Madrid say...do they have any idea _why_?"

"No," Gilberto said unhappily. "A number of the students got sick._ I_ got sick. And it seemed such a minor illness...a little fever, a sore throat, headache, a rash. One after another we all recovered, and then Diego...a few days later the rash and fever came back and this time....Father, I'm so sorry."

"He is hopelessly arrogant," Diego said, leaning down to remove his boots. "Still. He can hardly be at fault for a quirk of biology. Watch, Father, he'll be apologizing for the weather next."

Gilberto firmly ignored this. "We don't know why it was so much worse for him, or what damage it did, that he continues to be so ill. There are some medications that seem to help. Actually, he's been tinkering with them and they seem to have improved a little... And I hope...now that he's home...perhaps...."

Amazingly, none of them had broached the most important question. They talked around it and around it, but ignoring it didn't make it go away, and the weight of not knowing was unbearable. Felipe walked up to Diego and asked, "Will you die?" His hands only shook a little.

Gilberto jumped to his feet, but at a gesture from Diego, turned a way and studied the mantle. Diego gently guided Felipe down to sit beside him. He glanced hesitantly at his father's face and Gilberto's rigid back and said carefully, "Everyone dies, Felipe. That is an absolute law of God and nature. And whenever we die, it is always too soon. Always...." He closed his eyes briefly. "The doctors in Madrid tell me that it's possible I could live as I am for a decade or even two." He forced a small smile. "Which is not so bad. But. Then again, maybe not."

Felipe caught a couple of quick breaths, managed somehow to keep his hands steady, and asked, "Not tomorrow?"

"Probably not," Diego whispered. "But we don't know what will happen."

He was going to cry. Right here in front of everyone he was going to embarrass Diego and burst into tears. He moved to rise, to get away before his resolve crumbled. Diego would have none of it. He caught Felipe in an irresistible grip--and how could he still be so strong, when he was dying?--And pulled Felipe close. "There is no pain, and that is a good sign. And I--I've just come home. I mean to stay. How could I leave you all again? I haven't given up. I'm not gracefully accepting this fate--"

Gilberto stalked out of the room. Diego ruffled Felipe's hair and said, "Don't worry about him. He's not upset; he's just going to sedate me."

Don Alejandro pulled out a handkerchief and discreetly wiped his eyes. "I'll send for Dr. Hernandez tomorrow... to take a look at you."

Diego nodded. He was still holding tightly to Felipe, who hid his face in Diego's jacket and tried to get back under control. Diego was quite calm. _If he can bear this, then I can. If he can face this, then I can face it with him._

Gilberto returned with a glass of cloudy water. This time Diego lost the silent argument. He took the glass and downed the contents before complaining: "It isn't much help. And the consequences of doing this too often...."

"I'm not asking you to take it every day, and I'm not giving you a whole dose." Gilberto was the very image of a calm and reasonable man. Since that was more usually Diego's role, it seemed odd.

After drinking the water Diego got very quiet. He didn't meet anyone's eyes and seemed disinterested in the conversations around him. He didn't tell any stories, didn't ask any questions, didn't argue with Gilberto about anything. At dinner he hardly ate, and after dinner, when Gilberto played the piano, he drifted off to sleep in a chair. When, only a little later, Gilberto gently guided his brother off to bed, Felipe turned to Don Alejandro. "What was the medicine?" he asked.

In the lamplight, Don Alejandro looked very old. "Tincture of opium, very likely." He turned away and walked out into the back courtyard.

_tbc_

	2. September 5, 1806

**September 5, 1807**

The smells of blood and manure were familiar. The thick, wet taste of the fog was not. And the lingering stink of spent gunpowder--if it weren't for that, this might be the smell of a cattle slaughter.

But it wasn't. Gilberto wasn't home. And the bodies on the ground were men, not animals.

Senior Alvarez rode first, slowly since they'd left the road and the ground was uneven. Diego came after him, and after that Gilberto. Juan was last, leading his own horse and the pack horse. Gilberto didn't look back. Juan had given his mount to a man they'd found at the edge of the battlefield. His hand was crushed and bloody. Even tightly wrapped, it dripped blood onto Juan's saddle.

He was the only one they'd come across who was still alive. The bodies of the revolutionaries had been left on the trampled grass. Even now, a flutter of heavy wings revealed another group of buzzards, startled off their feast by the horses.

Senor Alvarez turned aside, but looking down, Gilberto could see that this one had been torn across the gut by a bayonet. Although the birds had been scared away, the flies had not, and they swarmed thickly around body.

The smell of blood was _nearly_ familiar.

Diego had not vomited yet. Gilberto would be damned if he broke first.

Senor Alvarez called back to Juan, checking his orientation. The heavy clouds made it hard to tell just where the sun would be setting.

"If we keep on," Juan said, "We'll meet up with the road. It can't be far now."

Abruptly, Diego slid from the saddle and shoved his reins into Gilberto's hand. "Don Diego--" Senor Alvarez protested, but Diego was already headed for a line of scrub about ten yards away. Gilberto could have saved him the trouble: Diego only followed rules when he didn't have a_ good_ reason to break them.

Juan started to pass the reins he was carrying and retrieve his straying charge, but just then, Diego stopped, his shoulders slumping. Then, slowly, he walked forward again, leaned down, and picked something up. When he turned around, he was carrying a child.

Gilberto slid out of the saddle onto shaky legs that didn't hold him. Kneeling on the torn ground, he emptied his stomach.

When he forced himself upright, Juan handed him a canteen. The warm water washed the burning out of his throat. Diego was crouched on the ground, trying to get the child to drink from another canteen.

Senor Alvarez swung down and crouched beside him. "There's blood," he said heavily.

"Not fresh," Diego answered, gently probing the dark mats that caked the hair on the small head. He offered the water again, steadying the canteen. "What's your name, hmm?" he asked gently.

The boy scrubbed at his eyes with a grubby hand, took another gulp from the canteen, and turned his face into Diego's shoulder.

"The mission, Don Diego," Senor Alvarez urged firmly. "As it is, it may be dark before we get there."

"We have to find his parents--"

The old man sighed heavily and tugged Diego to his feet. "Pray they aren't here," he said.

They met the road only a few minutes later. After that, the little party could set a much faster pace, and they rode west as fast as the wounded man could manage. Senor Alvarez had been right, though. It as full dark by the time they reached the mission. Already it was crowded with wounded survivors and refugee families. The monks could offer a bed to the maimed man, but the de le Vega party was left to camp inside the walls with a couple of dozen villagers who'd fled the fighting. Juan and Senor Alvarez set about organizing their small campsite, and Gilberto was left to see to the horses alone. Diego was occupied with the child, which had refused to let go of him even long enough to dismount.

By the time Gilberto had the horses settled in the corral, Diego had cleaned the child enough for Senor Alvarez to examine him for injuries. Gilberto hesitated for a moment and then joined them on the pile of clean straw the monks had given them to sleep on. "What's wrong with him?" he asked.

Senor Alvarez shifted, trying to get a better angle from the firelight. "The cut on his head is shallow, but the knot around it is large. His face and neck are bruised and swollen.... Some cold compresses might bring down the swelling a little." He shook his head. "We can ask one of the monks to come look at him, when they have time. I just don't know. It doesn't look like a serious injury, but...."

"'Berto, I think there's a little cheese in the bag. Would you--?" He smiled down at the boy. "Perhaps we can get you to eat something, hm?"

The child gazed at Diego with uncomprehending blankness. When they showed him the cheese, he took a couple of bites and then shut his mouth and buried his head in Diego's shoulder again. Gilberto felt a sting of irritation: they'd rescued the ungrateful mutt from a battle field, and he didn't like their food?

Diego was unfazed. He set the cheese aside and began to talk to the boy. He introduced himself and talked about home in California. He asked questions. He even sang a little song. The boy never once looked up.

Juan returned and began supper: soup from dried beef and cornmeal--the usual fare when they had to camp. Gilberto found he was famished, but the child took reluctant, tiny sips, all the while staring at Diego's face and saying nothing. Finally, he fell asleep, his head pillowed on Diego's shoulder.

Juan began to collect the tin bowels they'd used for dinner. "Nobody here recognizes him. We could reach Jala by tomorrow afternoon, maybe someone there...."

"That will take us away from the coast," Gilberto pointed out.

Senor Alvarez shrugged sadly. "What else can we do? We can't just leave him, and we can't take him back to Alta California with us."

"If he would tell us where he's from or his name--" Gilberto began.

"He's deaf," Diego said, speaking for the first time since the child had fallen asleep. "He can't hear our questions. And if he knows how to talk...his throat is so swollen he can barely swallow, let alone speak." Slowly, he shifted the slack body and laid it beside him on the hay. "We can't leave him with the mission. A deaf orphan, you know what would become of him."

Senor Alvarez and Juan looked at one another. The tutor and the ranch hand had not known one another well before they had been sent with the boys to Mexico, but it had been a long and difficult journey. "Legally, he is the Church's responsibility."

"Not if he has family," Diego protested. He turned to Gilberto. "We can spare a few days." Please, his eyes said. Side with me. We can bring them around. "Someone must know him."

Gilberto could never refuse Diego when he _asked_ for something. Perhaps he knew that, because he very seldom did ask. And he had a point--no one here had the time or interest to give the child proper care. "We can spare a few days. And when we got home--I would be ashamed to tell Father we found a child and did nothing."

"It's not safe here," Juan protested.

"We aren't children, he is. Father would expect us to do the right thing." There. He had made the case that would buy them a few days. He glanced at Diego and accepted the gratitude written plainly on his brother's face.

_tbc_

	3. April 10, 1813

**April 10, 1813**

Felipe woke up to Diego glaring down at him. "Shall we discuss why you are on the floor of my sitting room?"

Felipe shrugged, rubbed his eyes, and scampered up to fold the blanket he'd brought in with him the night before.

"I'm not kidding," Diego said. "This cannot continue."

Felipe grinned at him and signed that he couldn't hear what Diego was saying. Could he speak more loudly?

Diego gave a startled laugh. "My God! You used to be such a sweet child. You've turned into a monster."

Felipe ignored that and asked how he was feeling.

"Good. I feel good. I'm home."

Diego seemed....himself at breakfast. He told tales about the mischief Gilberto had gotten up to at school, praised Maria's cooking, performed a magic trick making his spoon disappear and come out again from his brother's ear. And after breakfast, when Doctor Hernandez arrived, he led the way to his bedroom, cheerfully joking about the odd quirks of physicians in Madrid.

When they turned the corner, Gilberto stood abruptly and announced that he was going to inspect the lower orchard. At his father's surprised look, he added, "I have listened to over a dozen doctors. I am sorry, Father. I can't do it again."

For the next hour, Felipe and Don Alejandro played chess. Neither of them played very well. When the doctor emerged, Don Alejandro walked him to out to his horse. Felipe followed, hoping to be unnoticed. "Emmanuel, my old friend."

Doctor Hernandez gathered the reins of his horse from the hitching post and ran his hand over the animal's neck. "He's better than Gilberto's letters led us to expect. But the news isn't good, even so. I'm sorry. This sort of condition seldom improves very much, I'm afraid."

"Is there anything you can do?"

Felipe stepped into the shadow of the gate, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, holding his breath so he wouldn't miss on word of the Doctor's answer.

"No. The medications he is taking are already of more help than I'd have thought. He has been experimenting with composition and dosage, and has had some success. At this point, he is in a better position to prescribe for himself than I am."

"He told us...he might live for many years, despite his illness."

It was a question, but Doctor Hernandez stared into the distance for a long time before answering it. "I'm sorry, Alejandro. I can't rule it out entirely, but it's not...likely. Diego's heart is very weak. The end, when it comes, will probably be quite sudden. One day, one of his seizures will simply...take him. Or he will go to sleep and not wake up. And it could happen five years from now, yes. Or it could happen next month."

"I see. Thank you for hour honesty, Emmanuel. I appreciate your coming out." Don Alejandro waited politely until the doctor was on the road, then turned and walked calmly to the barn. Pedro was there, mending tack. Don Alejandro sent him on an errand. When the man's footsteps had faded, he shut the door, sat down on a bench, and wept silently.

Felipe sat down on the clean hay and buried his face in his hands. His own tears burned as they fought their way out.

It could happen tomorrow. Diego had recovered enough to travel, survived the long sea voyage home...but he might not wake up tomorrow.

After a long time the tears stopped coming. Felipe's eyes and throat stung. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up to find Don Alejandro watching him.

"Never again," the old man said. "He will not see us crying. He would try to comfort us, and I will not let him spend his strength on that."

Felipe shook his head. Never. Diego would never see him cry again.

"You have no other duties now. Just Diego. Are you old enough for this responsibility?" His eyes seemed to burn right through Felipe. "I am giving you my son. Whatever is necessary to care for him. Whatever comfort you might be."

Felipe gulped. He was too dazed with gratitude to even lift his hands to give thanks for this incredible gift.

Don Alejandro dunked his handkerchief in the water trough and wiped his face roughly. "If he needs anything, you will come to me."

Felipe nodded.

"I am going to...see Don Carlos. Just for a few hours. I need...I need just a little time."

Felipe nodded and replied that he would tell the boys.

Two hours later found him in the library with Diego, unpacking the crates of books that had come from Madrid. It was a very leisurely activity: every book had to be examined and fussed over and actual work was interrupted by long discussions of how to organize (and then re-organize) the existing collection in order to incorporate the new arrivals.

Once they had settled on a system (whereby Diego sat in a chair and set books on the shelves while Felipe did all of the shifting and carrying) conversation moved to other topics, particularly what had happened in the pueblo the previous day.

"He is quite mad, Felipe. Father's descriptions did not do him justice. Ramone enjoys the fear he inspires in the peons and soldiers. Terror isn't a tool, it is an end itself. The look in his eyes--" Diego sighed and handed back the book Felipe had just passed him. "That will go over there, third shelf from the bottom--The hunger, the thrill. They say he conducts his own floggings. I can only imagine how much he must enjoy that."

"Who would give a man like that power?" Felipe asked.

"Family connections. Or bribery. Or Blackmail. God alone knows." Diego laughed humorlessly. "Perhaps they have sent him to our humble backwater to get him out of the way."

Felipe sat back on his heels and said, "He is making everyone angry--the peasants, the landowners, the businessmen--"

"One businesswoman, certainly," Diego said, with a strange little smile.

Felipe rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, she is very beautiful." He stretched out the gesture and batted his eyes. "You've said. But be serious!" He slapped Diego's shin with the back of his hand. "People are getting angry. He's going too far."

Diego sobered. "He is. Some of the people in town were talking about rebellion."

"Why doesn't he understand?"

Diego sighed. "Oh he does understand. He'll push the people until they rebel, and when they do, he'll take great pleasure in crushing the opposition and punishing all his enemies." He cleared his throat. "And if you're trying to scare me to death, 'Berto, you're going to have to try harder than that."

Felipe jumped and spun around. Gilberto was standing right behind them, very nearly within arm's reach. Which was impossible, since Diego's chair had been facing the door.

"I wasn't trying to scare you. You're about the only one I can't sneak up on." He grinned, showing even, white teeth. "I was after your shadow."

"Very nice," Diego drawled. "You'll leave the invalid alone but take advantage of the poor handicapped orphan."

"Ouch. You wound me, little brother." He laid a white handkerchief on a side table, produced an orange from his pocket and began to peel it, tidily leaving the scraps of peel on the handkerchief. "You are the biggest pain in the...neck...on two continents." He flipped a segment of fruit into Diego's hand and then passed another to Felipe. "You were right, by the way. Again. You _can_ ride a horse in through the cave." He ate a piece of orange. "You have to duck down, though...."

Diego turned to Felipe. "There is a secret passage behind the fireplace. An escape in case of Indian attack--grandfather was a bit...."

"Paranoid," Gilberto said, handing Diego another piece of orange. "Father sealed it up, but we found it when we were...ten?"

"About that, yes."

Gilberto finished the current orange and produced another. "How are you feeling today?" he asked.

"I'm quite well," Diego answered.

"He was dizzy before," Felipe said.

Gilberto's head snapped around. "Was that word 'dizzy?'" he asked.

Felipe nodded and added that he'd made Diego sit down.

His eyes narrowed. "How long did it last?"

Felipe wasn't sure: three, maybe five minutes? "But he's better now. Look--his color is good."

Scowling, Gilberto examined his brother (also scowling) for pallor. Suddenly, he grinned and threw an arm around Felipe's shoulders. "Young man, you are my new best friend."

Felipe glared up at him suspiciously, but for once Gilberto showed no trace of mockery. He handed Felipe a segment of orange and led him over to the fireplace. "Let me show you. There is a little lever--here, give me your hand--yes. The mechanism creaks a little. It could use some whale oil."

Felipe eyed the opening warily. He hadn't heard anything.

"So," Diego said. "This is what takes for the two of you to call a truce."

"No, I have just discovered you were right all along, that's all. Again. Clearly, the boy is clever and dependable. A veritable paragon."

"I'm not a boy," Felipe signed. But he understood what the twins were talking about. He and Gilberto were allies, now. None of the old jealousy mattered, not in the face of Diego's illness.

Gilberto held out his hand. "Come, take a walk with us, little brother. Get some--well, not _fresh_ air. To be honest, it's a little musty. But it's cool."

There was a surprising amount of space behind the fireplace. A short passage led to a set of stairs and a large room shored up with stone and plastered on three of the walls. A horse was waiting there, looking eerie in the dimly lighted cave.

Diego brushed off one of the steps and sat down. "I'd forgotten how pleasant this was," he said. "It's...very easy to breathe down here."

"I don't remember. Why did we stop playing here? It must have been before the...Felipe came."

"Mother got sick," Diego said heavily. "And then later Senor Alverez arrived and we were too busy doing school work...."

Although he knew it was testing their new alliance--perhaps too much--Felipe touched Gilberto's sleeve and asked, "How did she die?"

"Ah." He glanced at Diego and shook his head. "Her illness was very different. It all happened very quickly, a couple of months, no more. There was a great deal of pain and she just...faded. She hardly knew us, at the end." He stumbled a little, then collected himself. "It's not the same."

"No," Diego agreed sadly. "Not the same. We have that mercy, at least." He and his brother shared a look that Felipe couldn't follow.

He wished he hadn't asked.

Diego and Felipe returned to the library just before Don Alejandro arrived home. Diego suggested lunch in town--at the tavern, which was no surprise to Felipe--and since he agreed readily to the carriage, his father gave in and indulged him. Gilberto might have objected, if he had been present, but he'd taken his horse around to the barn and by the time he came in through the front door it was already decided. Don Alejandro did make both boys leave their swords behind, so there would be no repeat of the previous day's near-incident.

Felipe thought the twins could get into plenty of trouble, armed or not, but he kept this opinion to himself. It was just as well. When the carriage returned later that afternoon, Don Alejandro wasn't on board and both of his sons were in a temper.

"Father has been arrested," Gilberto ground out.

"You're lying," Felipe responded. Apparently, their truce was over as quickly as it had begun. Gilberto was a terrible tease.

"True, I'm afraid," Diego said, Stripping off his cravat and tossing it onto a chair. "He was arrested for assaulting a government official."

Felipe goggled helplessly.

Diego undid his collar and ran his hands through his hair. "He punched the alcalde because he was arresting Victoria for sedition." He wasn't kidding. He was also quite pale. Felipe thought for a moment and took his hand. "Come look. Come on. It might still be there."

Diego protested a little, but Felipe knew how to coax and beg and shortly they were crouched in the secret cave watching a young vixen watch them back.

"Oh," Diego said. "That is something, yes." He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a couple of slow, deep breaths. He rolled his shoulders and sighed, then took another look at the vixen. "Hunted as they are for their beautiful pelts, it's amazing any survive."

"They're very intelligent," Felipe answered.

"Oh, yes. Very cunning," Diego said. He laid a hand on Felipe's shoulder and the weight of it was terribly reassuring.

"Are you all right?"

"I don't know what to do. My father is imprisoned, at the mercy of a madman. Everything I love is in danger. I am sure--sure--that if something is not done soon, people will start dying...and there is nothing I can do."

Felipe nodded. That was not what he'd meant, but this answer was actually more important than the one he'd been looking for. It was a painful truth to face--that sometimes the world was too wounded to fix. He wrapped his arms tightly around Diego's waist. It was the only remedy for grief he knew.

When they finally returned to the house they found Gilberto setting leftover tortillas and cold chicken on the table. "I sent Maria to her son's. We're alone in the house. I thought we needed to talk."

"It will take three or four days to get our lawyer here. It will take a week to get word to the governor, if we can assume he will do anything to help," Diego answered at once.

Gilberto filled a plate and set it in front of his brother. "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about." He said. "We are going to have to fix this ourselves."

Diego set his mouth and waited for Gilberto to continue.

"The caballeros are on the verge of revolt. They need only a leader. I think they would follow me...and if you were managing 'my' strategy, we could take the fort in a couple of hours."

"I'm not mad enough to fight against soldiers."

"You'd think of something. Maybe even something clever enough to avoid bloodshed entirely."

"And then what? We would be rebels. The government would send troops."

Gilberto shrugged and filled a plate of his own. "We would surrender and hand over that bastard Ramone for trial. It is no crime to 'overthrow' a madman."

"That is where you are wrong. No, 'Berto. At the very least, our success would embarrass the government. They would have to make an example of the ring leaders. I won't be party to getting you shot."

"All right. So much for the direct approach."

Absently, Diego took a bite food. "I hesitate to ask what you consider an indirect approach."

"Assassination."

Diego's mouth full of tortilla went down the wrong way at this. He grabbed his lemonade and used half the glass to wash it down. "Very funny," he said when he could finally speak. But Felipe could see in his eyes that he knew Gilberto wasn't kidding.

"Your heart medicine would make a very effective poison."

"Poison is notoriously sloppy," Diego answered. "Bad enough if you try and fail, but how will you live with yourself if you catch some innocent in your trap."

"Fair enough," Gilberto conceded. "A knife in the back is more precise. Or a sword from the front. I am not choosy."

Diego cursed softly and pushed his plate away. Worried, Felipe moved to stand beside him, but Diego waved him off. "No." he said. "Just no."

"Tell me you didn't see what I saw today. Tell me you think the pueblo will survive the week. Say it, and I'll believe you."

"I will not help you make it worse!"

"Then tell me what to do to make it better. You have something in mind. I know you--you always have something in mind. If anyone can figure out how _everyone_ can survive the next week, it is you. So tell me what to do, little brother."

"I have nothing," Diego said flatly.

"If you don't have a plan, I'll use one of mine."

"I can't help you."

Gilberto paused, leaning slightly forward to look his brother in the eyes. "Why not, Diego?"

Diego looked away. "Because there is no guarantee that everyone will survive. It's--absurdly dangerous. And I can't do it myself and I can't ask you to take the risk, not you--"

Gilberto laughed. Both Diego and Felipe jumped at the sound. "If it's your plan, I guarantee--_I_ guarantee--it is not a bad one. I'll take what you consider a risk any day."

Diego looked at his hands for a long time. He drained the rest of his lemonade. He rose and paced the room once. Through it all, Gilberto waited patiently.

Finally, Diego sat down. "You must attack Ramone through his weaknesses, and you must have a way to do it without giving him a target for reprisal."

"Aside from the obvious weakness of needing not to be dead?"

Diego smiled thinly. "That would not solve the second problem. The government could hardly overlook an assassination, even of a man who must be an embarrassment."

Gilberto conceded the point with a quirk of his lips. "Go on. What weaknesses present themselves?"

"He likes control. He likes keeping people helpless. He..." Diego glanced at Felipe and edited whatever he was about to say, "I suspect he likes causing or witnessing pain, although that won't be of use to us today. He is--possibly--even more vain than you are, which means embarrassing him will itself be a form of attack."

"You're so funny...."

"He seems quite urbane and controlled, but I suspect that is only on the surface. If we can break through that surface....I think it won't be too hard to push him into enough of a rage that his decisions...suffer."

"I see it, yes. And it would be easy to provoke him. And after I did that, he would shoot Father, me, and possibly you just for pique."

"Not if he has no idea _who_ has defied him, taken away his control, and humiliated him."

Gilberto's head snapped back. "Dear God. Diego, that is--"

"Very, very dangerous."

"Brilliant. Incredible. Magnificent. My God."

"Dangerous."

"Well...yes. The soldiers."

Diego stared into the distance. "I've given some thought to that. Lancers fight fiercely against the enemy they understand, one who fights by the rules they've been taught to expect. Against the unknown, however," he shrugged. "I had a talk with that sergeant today. He gave me some ideas. We must disguise you not just to conceal your identity, but to conceal your nature. They must not know _what _they are fighting."

Searching their own wardrobes--and their father's and a trunk of old clothing in one of the guest rooms--the boys produced a complete set of clothing in unrelieved black. After a short disagreement on the best way to conceal Gilberto's face, Diego sacrificed a black satin dress that had been their mother's. Since both of the boys were hopeless with a needle and thread, however, it fell to Felipe to fashion the slick cloth into a mask.

By the time they'd finished it was full dark. Diego examined his brother in the lamplight then disappeared into his room. When he returned, he was carrying a sword.

"No," Gilberto said. "That is yours."

"And as you pointed out yesterday, I will get no use out of it. Fencing is more than my poor heart can manage. Gilberto, hush. There is not a sword to match it in all of California. You will need it."

It was a very plain sword. The guard was sleek and smooth, but unadorned. It was large, and it looked...heavy. Somberly, Gilberto unsheathed the weapon he'd been carrying and exchanged them.

The quarrel they didn't have over the sword they _did_ have over how they would get Gilberto in and out of town. Diego wanted to sneak him in under the pretext of Diego making a visit to try to negotiate with the alcalde. Gilberto wouldn't hear of it. Diego must be nowhere near the pueblo. Absolutely not.

Felipe suggested that he take a hay cart into town. Nobody noticed a servant with a mule cart. Diego was initially against involving Felipe, and Gilberto was initially against leaving Diego alone in the house. He put his point baldly enough that Diego was momentarily distracted from his own objection.

Diego was so reasonable. "What do you think is going to happen to me in the house? A dozen of our men are sleeping in the bunkhouse a hundred feet away. Public disorder has not yet reached the point that people are rioting in the streets. You will be gone two hours at most. Do you think I'm going to wander off and get lost?"

"You might become ill."

"And if I do, being alone will make little difference. Will it?"

Gilberto's fists opened and closed in frustration, but he'd lost this one.

Diego said calmly, "The sky is clear and the moon is in the first quarter. If you reach town at moonrise, the light should be just enough for you to orient yourself without being clearly seen."

Felipe, of course, missed all the action. He drove slowly through the pueblo gates to let to let Gilberto--Zorro, there was no Gilberto de le Vega in town tonight--slip off the cart and went around to wait by the mission.

Less than a quarter hour passed before he heard shouting from the Cuartel. Felipe couldn't make out the words, but the tone seemed surprised and scared. Slowly, lazily, Felipe roused the mule and looped past the livery stable and toward the rarely used North Road out of town. He made no motion when Gilberto hopped onto the wagon and burrowed into the hay. He let the mule plod until town was out of sight behind them, then turned onto a narrow track leading east.

In the darkness among the trees Felipe didn't dare drive the mule too fast, but the cover did mean that Gilberto could change back into his own clothing and join Felipe on the bench. In an excited whisper, Gilberto recounted how absurdly easy it had been to slip into the jail through a skylight and release the prisoners. Don Alejandro and Senorita Victoria had been held in cells, as befitting their status as important political prisoners, while the peasants who were being held for back taxes had been herded into a pen between the fort's armory and the kitchen. There had only been two men on guard, and one of those had been asleep. The prisoners had been halfway across the plaza before the alcalde himself had happened to step outside and discover the escape. They had fought--briefly. Zorro had ended the fight tidily by using Diego's wondrous sword to cleave the alcalde's blade at the hilt.

When they finally turned onto the main road, they were able to go a little faster...and, in any case, they were very close to home. Leaving the cart behind the barn, Felipe unhitched and corralled the mule while Gilberto made sure no sign of their activities had been left in the wagon. They hurried, but even so, as they were entering the house, Gilberto signed that he heard his father and Senorita Victoria coming up the road.

Diego was waiting in the library. There was no time to explain anything. Gilberto ran to the fireplace and shoved the bundle of clothing and weapons behind the hidden door, while Felipe signed that Don Alejandro was just behind them.

Pausing only to grin at Felipe, Diego stalked over to his brother and snatched several strands of hay out of his disarrayed brown hair. He was shoving the evidence into his pocket when the front door opened. He even managed to look convincingly shocked, when, a moment later he asked what his father and Senorita Victoria were doing here when they had been arrested.

Senorita Victoria looked practically giddy, even after the two-mile walk from town. She laughed and did a little dance. "Your father and I escaped from the jail. It was incredible."

"You escaped?" Gilberto repeated.

Diego sat down heavily. "But how did you. . .?"

Felipe had to turn away to hide his smile. He hadn't realized the boys had learned to dissemble so neatly. If he hadn't been there himself when they planned he rescue he would have been fooled by this act.

"A man in a mask came in and released us," Don Alejandro paused, his eyes flickering over his sons in turn. Perhaps he did suspect something. Or perhaps he was only concerned. After a moment he continued, "He was dressed in black with a long flowing cape. . ."

"And a whip. . ." added Victoria, smiling. "And a sword."

Diego and Gilberto shot each other concerned, dubious glances. "A masked man? Really?" Gilberto asked.

"It's true," Victoria answered, frowning at them. "How do you think we escaped?"

"It seems very odd...." Diego muttered.

"What about the Alcalde?" Gilberto asked "The soldiers?"

Don Alejandro laughed. "He overpowered them all singlehandedly. Never in my life have I seen the like."

Surely, Felipe was the only one who noticed that the twins were not refusing to look directly at one another. Diego said, "That is impressive. Who is he?"

"He said his name was. . ." Don Alejandro glanced at Senorita Victoria.

Senorita Victoria looked back and hesitated a moment before answering, "El Zorro."

Don Alejandro smiled wryly. "Zorro," he agreed.

"El Zorro? A fox?" Diego sat back and folded his arms over his chest. Felipe was sure he'd gone too far this time, but no. Their own father and a woman who had known them since they were all children, and they had no idea.

"Yes," said Victoria happily. "And like a fox, he disappeared into the night."

"The alcalde can't be pleased," Gilberto said. "There is bound to be trouble."

Don Alejandro snorted. "Right now, I'm not very concerned with that man's feelings."

But Senorita Victoria met Gilberto's eyes and nodded worriedly. "If only...If only we could find this man in black. This Zorro. Well, he could help us fight the Alcalde."

Diego, still not looking in Gilberto's direction, said, "I wouldn't count on that. I mean, men who run around in masks breaking into jails are probably not terribly reliable."

Senorita Victoria spun on him impatiently: "I wish you could have seen him. Then you'd know what a true hero looks like," she snapped.

Felipe thought he was the only one to notice that Diego looked as though he'd been slapped. Expression and color alike slowly drained from his face.

Don Alejandro had already moved onto other topics. "There will be a meeting of the caballeros tomorrow. This can't be allowed to continue. In the mean time, we'll stay out of the alcalde's way." He laid a hand on Senorita Victoria's arm. "You will stay here tonight. Felipe, run and fetch Maria. Victoria should be chaperoned. Gilberto, you'll come with us to the meeting tomorrow."

Gilberto slipped a sheet of paper from the table beside Diego, crumbled it, and tossed it into the fireplace. "I suppose this ends the argument about what to write the governor to protest your detention."

Diego roused himself to mutter, "I was winning."

Felipe slipped out then. Since Maria was out of the house till morning, he ran down to the servant's quarters to fetch one of the girls to come watch the senorita. When he returned a few minutes later, the library was empty. He found Diego in his room, slowly prying off his boots.

Felipe dropped to the floor and gently batted Diego's hands out of the way. "Are you dizzy?" he asked when he'd set the boots aside.

"No, I'm fine. It's been a very long day, but I am all right." He smiled wearily. "Really. Now you must tell me what happened. Tell me everything."

Crossing his legs on the floor, Felipe repeated the story he'd gotten from Gilberto. Diego's relief and satisfaction were almost palpable, and Felipe found himself flushing with pride at his own role in the rescue.

"What about the cart? Did you have any trouble? Were you noticed?"

Felipe shook his head. "No. Nothing. But the cart is too slow. If they had been able to mount a search right away...." He shook his head regretfully.

"No," Diego agreed. "To finish this, we will need a better solution. But that is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, there is only one more issue we must discuss. Why is there a bedroll under my armoire?"

Felipe raise his chin and pointed at the open space on the floor of Diego's sitting area. "It will be more comfortable than just a blanket," he signed.

For just a moment, anger showed in Diego's eyes. Then he cleared it and asked kindly, "How long are you planning to sleep on my floor, my friend?"

Slowly, broadly, Felipe answered, "Your father has given me to you. I have no other work. Nothing else matters. Only you."

"You'll do better work if you can sleep at night," Diego said gently.

"I will not leave you."

"I'm not asking you to abandon me in the desert. I'm asking you to go sleep in your bed."

"In my room...If you called for me, I would not hear you. It's too far."

Diego dropped his head, and for a minute Felipe assumed he was marshalling his arguments or reining in his temper. Then he saw the glitter of a tear as it dropped into Diego's lap. At once Felipe grabbed Diego's arm in contrition. "Don't be upset," he begged. "I'll do anything you want. I'll sleep out in the hall--"

Diego caught his hands and stilled them. "I'm not upset. I'm only....You were such a little child when I left," he paused to scrub at his eyes with the back of one hand. "Never mind. Sleep wherever you wish. I think you'll soon grow tired of nursing me...."

Felipe stood up and wrapped his arms around Diego's wide shoulders. When he felt the tension ease, he went to the wardrobe to get Diego's night shirt.

_tbc_

	4. April 11, 1813

**April 11, 1813**

The next day was overcast, and it was past dawn when he woke. Diego was still sleeping soundly. Felipe slipped out and found the others getting ready to head out to Don Pasqual's for the meeting.

Gilberto drew Felipe aside and said softly, "He's determined to go out today, did he tell you? I think he will be all right, but _you_ pick the horse and _do not_ leave him."

Felipe's eyes widened. "Why? What is he doing?"

"We need--no, there isn't time to explain. Just stay with him." And then he was on his way out the door and Felipe had nothing to do but assemble a light meal and bring it to Diego's room.

They spent the morning tracking through the back-country east of Diablo Canyon. The concern--as Felipe understood it--regarding Diego and riding was that he might have a dizzy spell and fall off. When he came out, Felipe had already saddled Esperanza, one of the older mares. She was biddable and unlikely to startle. She was also rather tall--a necessity for Diego's long legs, but Felipe gauged the distance to the ground and winced to himself.

They were out until late afternoon, and when they returned Diego was leading a huge black stallion behind them. How Diego had managed to capture the magnificent animal was a mystery to Felipe, and he'd watched the entire process. At no time had Diego moved faster than a very slow walk, he'd never once raised his voice, he'd never touched a rope. Diego had always been good with horses, but this, _this_ seemed to be pure sorcery. Felipe had lived most of his life on the ranch and he had never seen anything like it.

The animal was wild, unbranded, uncut, seventeen hands high at least...and it had patiently stood there while Diego bridled him. It had nuzzled his hand.

When the reached the cave, Diego sent Felipe back around to the barn with the saddle horses and led the animal inside alone.

Mindful that he had been instructed not to leave Diego, Felipe raced to return through the hidden door, but Don Alejandro and the others had just arrived home and of course they settled in the library to talk.

Gilberto kept trying to catch Felipe's eye, but there was no way to make a report in full sight of everyone. He said only that Diego had gone riding that morning and now he was resting.

It was half an hour before Gilberto got everyone else out of the library so he and Felipe could slip through the secret door. Diego was fine. The impossible horse was fine. Gilberto signed Felipe to stay still and out of the way and slowly walked forward to join Diego. More magic happened then. The twins didn't speak to each other at all, and the voice they used with the stallion was both quiet and irresistibly commanding. After a while, Diego stepped back and leaned against the wall with his arms folded. Gilberto continued, turning the horse in the narrow space, walking it forward and backward, soothing it when it balked or tried to pull away. His touch, while smooth and confident, didn't have quite the magic of Diego's. It took him half an hour to bring the stallion under his spell.

Grinning for a moment, he glanced at Diego for confirmation, and motioned Felipe over. Slowly. Slowly. Long before he was within arm's reach the stallion shied away. Gilberto signaled a stop, spoke quietly to the horse for several minutes, then brought Felipe forward again. It took several tries before the animal would allow Felipe to lay a hand on its warm neck.

Gilberto's smile included Felipe this time. "What shall we call him?" he asked.

At once, Felipe signed a cyclone.

Gilberto considered that. "Yes, I imagine he does run like the wind."

From his place by the stairs, Diego corrected "Toronado." He studied Gilberto and the horse for a moment and nodded. "Enough for now. Father will be looking for us. Felipe, you are not to go near unless one of us is here. At least not yet."

"He will need to eat," Felipe rolled his eyes. "You are going to look silly, wandering around with bags of oats."

Diego quirked an eyebrow. "Thank you for your gracious offer. Yes, we will need your help. But stay away from him. He isn't ready yet. Not nearly."

"How long?" Gilberto asked.

"I need a month. If we're lucky...we'll have three days."

Felipe wasn't sure what they were talking about. They were speaking quietly--perhaps he'd misheard them. Before he could ask they were on their way into the house proper. As soon as the door shut behind them, Gilberto's restraint vanished. He spun on his brother and swept him into a hug. "My God, Diego! He is magnificent. You are a genius."

Diego smiled wearily. "So they told me in Madrid."

Gilberto laughed. "And you call me overconfident?"

"Never," Diego corrected. "Only arrogant. How ironic; you're going to need that arrogance now. I have to change for dinner." He sniffed himself. "And perhaps a bath would be in order."

Supper was formal, and half a dozen guests attended, men talking about the problems in town. The alcalde had had patrols out all day, searching for the outlaw who 'assaulted' the cuartel, but he had had no results. The peasants liberated from the holding area had all gone to ground, and were likely safe...but nothing was to prevent Ramone from rounding up another batch tomorrow or the next day. The situation could not continue.

The supper guests stayed until past ten. Diego glanced wistfully at Victoria--still in anxious conversation with his father--and excused himself. "I'm a little tired," he said to Gilberto, but his hand made the sign for a horse.

Gilberto's eyes strayed toward the library and he nodded slightly. He would take care of it.

When Felipe poked his head into Diego's sitting room a few minutes later he found that he had changed into his night clothes but was sitting in a wing-back chair beside the window. The only light came from a single candle, and a slight breeze revealed that the casement wasn't quite closed.

Something wasn't right, but Felipe couldn't place what it was. He asked Diego what was going on.

"I'm not feeling very well," Diego answered quietly. "I'm going to sit up for a while. It's all right. You can go on to sleep."

Felipe took a step closer. "You should rest," he signed cautiously. "It is late."

Diego seemed to consider his response for a long time. "If I try to lie down the symptoms will get...much worse." He took a deep breath. "It will pass. It won't be very long. I'll go to bed later."

"I will get Gilberto." Felipe realize that his sign for Diego's brother--he had not specifically thought about it for a very long time--was 'the shorter one.' On bad days he had often meant it as 'the lesser one.' He would have to change it. They were allies now.

"There is nothing he can do for me," Diego said reasonably. "And he needs to sleep tonight. We may need Zorro again as soon as tomorrow. I won't send him out exhausted."

Felipe swallowed hard and signed, "Your medicine?"

"I have already taken all I can safely take."

"The sleeping medicine!" Obviously he had not taken that.

"Laudanum. If I take it at this stage....it will make me very calm. But it won't slow my heart. And I will forget how to breathe properly. It is dangerous, Felipe."

He felt a lump growing in his throat. He swallowed the tears down and asked--with hands that didn't shake and a gaze that didn't waver-- "What can I do? Tell me."

"Nothing. It will pass." He paused again. "Give me your hand." Diego's own hand was ice cold, but his fingers were sure as he guided Felipe's finger tips along his wrist. "Just there. Do you feel that?"

It was a strange flutter beneath the skin. With his hand held, Felipe could only shrug his question.

"Has father taught you any biology at all? That is my pulse. It reflects my heart." He paused for a moment and then captured Felipe's other hand. "Here, this is _your_ pulse.... A bit fast, I think, yes...but it would be; I'm frightening you." This close Felipe realized that Diego wasn't pausing to think, he was pausing to breathe, great slow breaths that seemed to take a great deal of concentration. "And even so, yours is much slower and stronger than mine."

Felipe pulled his hands free. "Why?"

But of course Diego didn't know.

Felipe took the blanket from the bed and tucked it around Diego. He retrieved the straight-backed chair from the desk and set it beside the window and sat down. There really wasn't anything to say, so instead he took one of Diego's icy hands in his own and tried to rub some warmth into it.

The episode got worse before it got better. Diego didn't complain. He leaned his head against the chair's fluting and took those deep, desperate breaths. When the moon rose, the little of bit of light that came in the window threw the lines of strain on Diego's face into sharp relief.

Felipe gently chafed his cool hands and wished--really wished in a way that he never had before--that he could speak. If he could pray or tell stories or make promises or sing, surely, surely that would help. But Felipe could not give Diego a single word of encouragement. Even that little bit of comfort out of reach. Could he possibly be more useless, just sitting there and watching while Diego was using all of his strength just to get enough air?

The little flutter in Diego's wrist grew so faint that for a while Felipe could barely find it. The moonlight had angled past the window by that point, and the candle had burned down. In the darkness, Felipe could only make out the outline of Diego's shoulders as they heaved up and down with each slow gasp.

Unable to bear it any more--afraid he would give way to grief or fear, and he had promised himself that Diego would never, ever see that--Felipe lit another candle, offered Diego a little water from the pitcher and cup on the dresser, got another blanket. Although his hands were still ice cold, Diego was sweating, so Felipe took a handkerchief and wiped his face.

The seizure, when it passed, left more quickly than it had descended. Diego sat forward a little, catching his breath, and lines on his face eased into exhaustion. Felipe decided exhaustion looked much better than desperation.

"I'm all right," Diego whispered, speaking for the first time in over two hours. His voice was so quiet that Felipe was mostly lip reading. "Just give me a moment."

In a couple of minutes, though, it was clear he'd fallen asleep. The chair Felipe was in was uncomfortable. He pushed it out of the way, put out the candle, and seated himself on the floor at Diego's feet, letting his head rest against Diego's knees.

When Diego roused him it was still dark out, although Felipe thought he could hear birds calling. Diego rose stiffly and used the chamber pot. He squeezed Felipe's shoulder and told him to get some sleep before climbing into bed himself.

Felipe closed the window, collected the bedroll from under the wardrobe, shook it out on the floor at the foot of Diego's bed, and went back to sleep. When he woke again it was full light. Diego, he was pleased to see, was sound asleep and snoring. He slept until ten, and then--with the cover of a quiet walk in the kitchen garden--led Felipe down the hidden passage and out through the cave.

In the sandy ground at the base of the shallow ravine, Gilberto was walking the horse in slow circles. Diego didn't interrupt. He sat down on a boulder and watched. Every once in a while Gilberto would look over. Diego would nod. Or frown. Or point in a different direction. Mostly, he nodded, looking very pleased.

After an hour, he sent Felipe to fetch a saddle and tack. As he saddled Esperanza and led her from the barn, he felt guilty, as though he were--well, not stealing, obviously. But getting away with some similar crime. He was sure one of the vaqueros would challenge him, but only the stable boy was around and he never gave Felipe a second glance. After all, what could be less suspicious than Felipe collecting Diego's horse?

He led her around the house, past the kitchen garden and the springhouse and down the narrow track that led to the bottom of the dry ravine where the twins were waiting. Toronado was already acquainted with the elderly and placid mare. He barely flicked his ear when they arrived.

He was less happy when Gilberto began to transfer the tack from the mare's back to his. He stamped and snorted and shook. Diego came over and held the stallion's head, murmuring far too quietly for Felipe to hear. Even so, it took half an hour to get him saddled.

"We're rushing this," Gilberto said, frowning.

Diego patted Toronado's nose. "He's not near to spoiling yet. He doesn't like that saddle, but he'll take it for us." Slowly, he led him in a circle. "We'll get you on him after lunch." He glanced at the sky. "Which will be soon, I'm afraid."

"I can manage myself this afternoon, Diego. You've done enough for a while."

Diego lowered his eyes and said sweetly, "Yes, it is so strenuous, sitting in the shade watching you walk a horse."

Gilberto shrugged. "I'm not going to argue in front of the horse, and you aren't going to argue in front of Father. Do you really think I can't tell when you've had a bad night?"

Diego lost that one, despite the lack of actual arguing.

Lunch was three squabbling caballeros, the doctor, and the owner of the dry-goods store. Don Alejandro and Victoria spent the meal soothing ruffled feathers and trying to keep the discussion on topic. The alcalde had been quiet for more than a day now, and as anger cooled, the men began to question just how necessary action was and endlessly analyze what action would be best.

After a while, Diego began to ask them pointed questions, obviously trying to lead them to a particular conclusion. A couple of times he shot a look at Gilberto, asking for help, but each time Gilberto made a sour face that made it clear--at least to Felipe, who had watched him very carefully for three years--that he thought the effort was wasted.

When lunch was over, Diego coolly excused himself and retired to the back courtyard for siesta. When he walked past Gilberto he didn't say anything out loud, but his hands gestured, "Don't break an arm when you get dumped on your rear."

Felipe collected the history book he'd been neglecting since the twins came home and followed him outside. Diego was seated in a high-backed cane chair among the rose bushes. His eyes were closed but he was too erect to be asleep so Felipe tapped his shoulder. "Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm quite all right"

"I want to ask..."

"Oh? What is it?" He motioned Felipe to take a seat on the bench across from him.

"What were you trying to do during lunch?"

Diego shrugged. "Get our neighbors to think about their long term goals for the territory. They are so wrapped up in their immediate problems that they haven't given much thought to the future or how they are going to live in it. Which, I admit, would bother me less right now if any of them showed any signs of being able to cope with the problems of the present." He snorted. "Senor Estevez is thinking only of his business. Don Roberto is angry that the business owners are being consulted at all, and he is personally affronted that the rest of us are willing to listen to the opinions of a woman."

That took Felipe by surprise. "How do you know?"

Diego's lips turned down in annoyance. "The way he looks at her every time she opens her mouth. She runs the most profitable business in the Pueblo. Her family has been here almost since the mission was established. Her father was a retired naval officer. But she is a woman, so she is beneath his notice. Of course, I am an invalid, so I am also beneath his notice."

Oh. Felipe hadn't been paying attention to Don Roberto. Still, that explained a great deal. If Gilberto had noticed any disrespect to Diego, he wouldn't give the man the time of day, let alone cultivate him and bring him around. Felipe said as much.

"Gilberto can charm the birds off the trees, when he bothers. And these are our neighbors. We need their goodwill." He stopped and glanced up. Felipe followed his eyes and saw Senorita Victoria just turning the corner.

"Hola, Don Diego. No, don't get up. I don't want to disturb you."

Diego's smile illuminated his face. "You are hardly a disturbance. Please sit down. Join us." He motioned to the bench next to Felipe.

She sat down on the edge of the seat. "We haven't really had a chance to talk since you returned...." She began uncertainly.

Diego's smile turned wry. "Civic crisis will do that, I'm afraid."

She gave a startled laugh. "Yes, I suppose so. You've come home to a huge drama in our little pueblo."

"Drama or not...it's good to be home," he said seriously.

"Yes, we...your friends...we've all been quite worried, since we heard...."

"I'm a great deal better than I was, but I admit I'm still somewhat inconvenienced," Diego responded. His eyes didn't quite meet Senorita Victoria's.

She reached across and laid a hand on his arm. "Let's talk of something more pleasant. Before you left, you promised to tell me all about Madrid. I've been waiting four years...?"

Felipe realized that very little, in fact, had been said about Madrid. As Diego began to speak of towering cathedrals and wide, cobbled avenues he could only sit astonished at a world so crowded and walled-in. There were theaters and concerts in Madrid. Diego had met artists and poets. He had seen huge parades, important lectures, and--once--an elephant.

Senorita Victoria listened eagerly, her eyes going dreamy at the descriptions of the capital. Diego's eyes were rather dreamy as well, but though he was speaking of far away places, he was looking at the beautiful woman across from him.

After a while Senorita Victoria excused herself briefly and Diego sighed as he looked after her.

Felipe thought he should say something, but he had no idea what, so he opened his book and began to read about the Second Crusade. By the time Senorita Victoria returned, Diego had fallen asleep in his chair. She paused, biting her lower lip, and then motioned Felipe to step away with her.

He asked what she needed.

"Felipe, I do not want to ask Don Alejandro...he has so much on his mind. And Don Gilberto and I were never close friends. But perhaps you will tell me," she glanced over Felipe's shoulder, at the chair where Diego was sleeping. "How is he? Really?"

Felipe panicked. This wasn't even something he wanted to think about, and it certainly wasn't a conversation he wanted to have, not behind Diego's back, and not with the woman he looked at with such longing. "Why are you asking?"

"Why...what? Oh! Why do I want to know?" She frowned and looked over Felipe's shoulder again. "You know how boys are, sometimes, when the reach a certain age. Rough or even cruel. They can be so horrible, and they don't even seem to notice that they are horrible, or care...."

Felipe nodded once. Yes, he knew.

"He never was. Never to anyone. To peasants, to girls, to Indians, to servants...he was always polite and kind." She blushed slightly. "When I was much younger, I used to, well, I used to think of him. You understand. I was too young to realize it couldn't come to anything." The blush got a little brighter. "But he has been a good friend, and that has not changed just because we've grown up."

Oh.

She looked at Felipe hard. "His father has been a good friend, too. With my parents...gone he has been very generous with advice and encouragement. Diego's illness has hit him hard. Don Alejandro will be devastated if--"

"No!" Felipe signed it so fiercely that she took a step back. He balled his fists, breathed out, and tried again more mildly. "No. He is not dying." His hands fumbled on the lie. He tried yet again. "We don't know. Diego is...ill. We are taking care of him. Maybe it will be all right."

Of course she looked confused. That had been completely incoherent.

Felipe patted her arm. "Pray for him," he signed. "Don't worry. It will be all right."

She nodded gravely. "Thank you."

She went back to the house and Felipe went back to his book. This time he couldn't concentrate on history.

When Diego woke his father wanted to speak to him. He cast a longing look in the direction of the library and signed tersely behind his back, "Check on them. Keep back," before following Don Alejandro into his office.

Gilberto and Toronado weren't in the cave, of course, but at first they didn't seem to be outside, either. Then Felipe felt the hoof beats through his feet and looked up to see them galloping along the sandy bank of the dry creek bed. They bore down on him like a wave crashing on the shore. Felipe stepped backward nervously, but laughing, Gilberto turned the stallion neatly aside and continued past.

Gilberto was annoying, but there was no denying his skill.

Gilberto was rubbing down Toronado and Felipe was checking the tack when Diego finally entered the cave a couple of hours later.

Diego briefly examined both the horse and his brother, tisking mockingly over the dark mud that stained Gilberto's left hip.

"What did Father want?"

"A number of things....He wanted to know what I was getting at over lunch....he wanted to talk about my health," here he rolled his eyes, "he wanted to talk about the stock bloodlines. Actually, it was a very odd afternoon. I don't think he ever did get to what was really bothering him."

Gilberto gave Diego an impatient look. "What is bothering him is he hasn't seen us in four years and now we're here and he is terrified he can't protect us."

Diego looked up sharply. "You don't think he'll do something rash."

"Not if we can do something rash first."

The twins suddenly swung to look toward the passage to the house. As one they rushed to the peephole that looked into the library. Gilberto pressed his ear to the wall and Diego put his eye to the opening. After a moment, Diego leaned back so his brother could have a turn.

Felipe could hear heavy footsteps in the house now...and men's voices...and Don Alejandro, outraged. An endless, terrifying minute passed, and then the front door slammed.

As one, Diego and Gilberto spun around. Felipe had never seen them in such a rage, not even at each other. Diego reached for the saber that was hanging from a protrusion in the stone wall.

Felipe stepped in front of him and pushed him back as hard as he could. "No."

"Lancers just arrested them," Gilberto snarled.

"They came for Father right here in his own house. I'm going to kill Ramone," Diego tried to move Felipe out of the way.

Felipe shoved him back and let go to trace a letter Z in the air. He managed to grab Gilberto, who was already headed for the lever that opened the door, and push him in Diego's direction.

The reminder brought Gilberto his senses. He groaned aloud and caught his brother's arm. "Stop. He's right. Stop. You saw how many there were. If we get ourselves arrested we can't help him." He closed his eyes briefly. "Also, Father would kill me."

Diego ground his teeth, but he nodded, giving in to the necessity. "All right. Yes. Yes. We have to think." He sank down onto the top step and rested his forehead in his hands.

"They'll be waiting for me this time," Gilberto said. "We'll need a diversion."

"I'd hoped we'd have a little more time," Diego said softly.

"But you didn't really think so, did you? Poisoning the bastard is starting to look more attractive every minute."

"If the best we can do is kill people," Diego snapped, "then we are pathetic indeed. Now be quiet and let me think!"

Diego thought. Felipe and Gilberto watched him nervously.

Slowly, Diego got to his feet. "Stop looking at me like that. I'm fine. I need to see what we've got in the way of supplies. Felipe, you and I are going to stores. 'Berto, you are going to the pueblo to find out exactly what is going on. Keep your temper. See Father if you can. Allow him to talk you into returning home and 'looking after' me." He started up the stairs, nodding for Felipe to follow him.

He looked in the storeroom, the shed, the barn, the pantry. He opened boxes, tested the weight of cloth, counted things, bent a bit of wire around the tip of his finger. Felipe had no idea what he was looking for.

When he was finished with his brief inventory, Diego sat down on the bench in the back courtyard and stared up at the sky for a long time. After a couple of minutes, Felipe began to worry. He lifted up one of Diego's hands and found the little flutter in his wrist. The tiny movement was slow enough and strong enough that he could feel each beat distinctly, which was surely an improvement on the night before. Still...'better' was not necessarily 'good.' How would he know?

Diego gave him a scolding look. "I'm not dizzy, I'm thinking about the weather."

It was such an odd thing to say--and so like Diego to say something so unexpected--that Felipe nearly laughed, despite how serious the situation was. "I think it is not going to rain today," he signed with broad precision so that Diego would know it was sarcasm. It hadn't rained in a month.

Diego snorted and clouted Felipe gently across the back of his head. "It's the wind I'm thinking of. The idea I have...if the conditions are right, the soldiers won't be able to offer him any coherent opposition. But if the weather doesn't cooperate...it could be disastrous."

Felipe had no idea what to say. He waited, looking at the cracks in the flagstones, until Diego made up his mind and set him to gathering materials. When Gilberto came home at dusk, Maria had been sent back to her son's, the dining room table was covered in strange drawings, and Diego and Felipe were building--something--out of thin strips of wood, wire, and hemp cord.

Gilberto stormed into the house, his back rigid with barely suppressed rage. He tossed his hat onto a chair and froze at the sight of the drawings. "Mother of God, Diego, De Vinci?"

"You saw the models work last spring."

"I saw half of them crash."

"Not mine," Diego said mildly. "And look at the bright side: you will serve as your own diversion."

"Especially if I crash and break my neck," but he said it without heat. His anger faded, only to be replaced by worry as he looked at his brother. "Diego..."

"Hmm?" Diego tied off his section and looked up. "What is it?"

"Diego...what I'm about to tell you is going to...make you very angry. And we can't afford...I cannot build this damn contraption without you. You need to remember that...as bad as it sounds, we _will_ fix it."

"I see," Diego said after a moment. "No, we can't afford an episode just now. I promise to keep my perspective and not do anything rash. You...you say nothing irrevocable has happened?"

"No. Nothing." He pulled a chair out and turned it to face Diego. He sat down and composed himself. "There is some good news. Victoria Escalante has been released, charges withdrawn."

"That is good news," Diego agreed guardedly.

"Ramone has declared Father guilty of treason. He is to be hung at dawn."

Diego was silent for a long moment. Then he nodded and said, "You were right to warn me."

Gilberto reached for Diego's hand, but he was waved off. "We have work to do," he said, turning back to the table.

_~TBC_

	5. December 19, 1812

**December 19, 1812**

Alejandro read the letter five times. When he could not bear to read it again, he folded it carefully and laid it on the desk.

He should do...something.

His boys were halfway around the world; there was nothing he could do. Gilberto--everything had fallen to him, alone.

Slowly, numbly, he stood up and wandered through the empty house, looking for Felipe. He found the boy in the kitchen garden with Maria. Last night it had rained a little, and they were pulling weeds out of the softened ground. Alejandro walked between the rows of herbs and called, "Felipe." He had to repeat it three times before the boy heard. "Come inside with me."

When he pointed to the settee and motioned him to sit, Felipe looked surprised, but brushed off his pants and sat. "What's wrong?"

Uncertain what to say, Alejandro sat down and looked at his feet. "A letter arrived from Gilberto today," he began.

When he didn't continue, Felipe, looking puzzled, signed, "A letter from Gilberto?" His sign for Gilberto was 'short,' an old joke; despite being older by twenty minutes, Gilberto had never been as tall as Diego.

Alejandro swallowed the lump in his throat and said thickly, "Diego has been very ill." Felipe only looked more confused; he still had trouble following spoken Spanish, even when the speaker was speaking distinctly. Alejandro carefully signed, "Diego is ill."

Felipe made no movement at all.

Speaking both aloud and with his hands, Alejandro forced himself to continue. "He was bedridden for a month with some kind of fever. Over the last few days there had been...improvement. The doctors think it is likely--" his voice stumbled here. The letter had not said 'likely' it had said 'possible,' but that thought was much too terrible to bear, "that he will survive...but he is still very weak."

Felipe jumped forward and grabbed Alejandro's arm. "We'll go," he signed frantically. "We'll help him. A boat."

"No. No." Alejandro stilled him, shaking his head. "This was written over two months ago. Whatever has happened--"he stopped and closed his eyes. Diego might well be dead, his brother alone in Madrid and grieving....Gilberto, oh Gilberto. He was intelligent and accomplished and brave and confident and he would be completely lost without Diego. "He may be quite well by now. There is nothing we can do for him...."

Felipe stepped back, shaking. His eyes were wet, but even crying, the boy made no sound. "Please," he signed. "Please. Diego." The sign for Diego was 'friend.'

Alejandro rubbed his hands over his face. He had no comfort to offer his sons, but surely, for this child Diego had left in his care, _surely_, he could do something. "Gilberto waited to write until there was some sign," he said, longing to believe his own words. "He waited. That he finally sent us word, he must have believed that Diego was recovering. He may already be back in class, attending public debates or--or the opera....even fencing. He may be quite well! A great deal can happen in two months."

Felipe dropped his eyes. He had nothing to say and nothing he wanted to hear. Alejandro could scarcely blame him. The child adored Diego. _As do I. Dear God, have mercy on my sons._ He swallowed hard. "We're going to the church. We'll pray for him. For them. That is all we can do now."

_ tbc_

	6. April 13, 1813

**April 13, 1813**

It was chilly. Felipe shivered a little, but didn't complain. Dawn was close and there was light enough to see that Diego had dark circles under his eyes. Gilberto had insisted he take a rest sometime around midnight, but he hadn't slept.

Felipe couldn't have slept, either.

A brisk pounding of hooves announced Gilberto's arrival. He reined Toronado to a sharp halt and gaped openly at the monstrous black bird strapped to the back of Felipe's wagon. "Little brother, you are the devil himself. They were wrong in Madrid, you know. You aren't a genius. You're mad as a hatter." Nevertheless, he dismounted lightly and handed Diego Toronado's reins.

Diego caught his arm as he started to turn away. "This will work. There is no question. I wouldn't have hesitated at all if I were taking the risk myself."

Gilberto looked wryly at the contraption. "I know it."

"Felipe knows what to do. As for you--just remember, it's a sail, not a kite. Don't fight the wind."

Gilberto paused for a moment, then said gently, "I'll bring him home." He hopped onto the back of the wagon, and Felipe headed out to circle to the west to catch the morning wind off the ocean. Diego mounted Esperanza and led Toronado to the north to arrange Zorro's exit once his work at the pueblo was done.

The run down the hill went exactly as Diego had said it would. Even so, it was absolutely terrifying. The wind howled around the wing, which in turn tugged and pulled at its leather restraints. The moment Gilberto cut the strap securing the great wing to the cart and came away with a shudder and an ominous silence--as the glider rose and shaded the sun, Felipe felt stark terror slice through him like a knife. He could not imagine how Gilberto bore it, rising like a dark bird into the sky.

He slowed the horses and turned them back south. With his hat low over his face and the horses at a walk, he would look, well, like a peasant with a cart. Nothing noteworthy. He did crane his neck to watch the black bird glide low over the wall of the livery stable. It narrowly missed the church roof before disappearing down into the pueblo.

Felipe crossed himself and continued his slow journey.

About ten minutes later, as he turned the cart onto the road that would lead home, he looked over his shoulder. He could just make out a dark figure on a dark horse streaking off cross-country headed south-west. He grinned to himself, kept his hat low, and didn't give in to the urge to hurry the horses.

He was almost half-way home when Diego caught up with him. He had--somehow--coaxed the placid Esperanza into a canter. Felipe stopped the wagon and waved as they pulled along side.

When Diego dismounted he stumbled sharply and would have fallen if he hadn't grabbed the stirrup. For a second, Felipe could only stare: it hardly seemed possible that Diego had lost his footing. Felipe scrambled off the buckboard and went to Diego's side, his surprise already giving way to worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Diego said. "A little lightheaded, that's all. I'm fine."

Urgently conscious of the fact that, should Diego fall, Felipe was not strong enough to catch him, he placed Diego's hand on his shoulder, led him the few steps to the wagon, and hovered while he climbed carefully into the seat. When Diego was settled, Felipe tied Esperanza to the back of the wagon, hopped back up, and got the horses going again.

"I'm all right," Diego repeated. He was holding tightly to the seat, though, and in the morning light he looked pale. Felipe leaned over and patted his back. Just a little longer, just a mile or so, now. Diego could rest soon....

They didn't have to worry about sneaking back into the house, at least. The bunkhouse was empty: everyone who wasn't out with the stock out at Yellowrock had gone into town. Gilberto, his shirt buttoned crookedly, came running out of the house even as Felipe stopped the wagon behind the little carriage house out back. Gilberto looked up at Diego for a long moment, then held out his arms to steady him as he lowered himself awkwardly to the ground.

"Come on, Little Brother. Let's get you inside." He kept an arm around Diego's shoulders as they turned toward the house.

Felipe glanced resentfully after them as he unhitched the horses...but he couldn't begrudge Gilberto, or, honestly, wish to trade places. If Diego should faint, Felipe was simply too small to catch him.

He rubbed the horses down as quickly as was decent and hurried into the quiet house. He found Diego in bed, arguing with Gilberto. Their voices were too low for him to make out most of the words, but it should have been a reassuring sight--he'd spent countless hours watching them squabble. This time, though...they seemed strangely subdued, shadows of their usual selves. Neither gestured or raised his voice. Diego looked weary and fragile and Gilberto looked frustrated and worried.

Felipe could only make out a few of the words: "--here already--" Diego was protesting. He was propped up on a couple of pillows.

Gilberto sat on the side of the bed, shaking his head slowly. "--pueblo in chaos. It hasn't been that long."

"If I was wrong...if I misjudged....Ramone is a madman."

"--just fine--any moment now--"

"--angry enough to murder for spite....Father--"

"Diego--yes, I am sure he is angry enough to kill Father and everyone else who saw him humiliated--"

Quietly, Felipe drew closer. Diego's lips were strangely pale. "Then you see--"

"But he can't. Not by himself. Without the garrison he is only a petty bureaucrat. _They _are his only true strength."

"He might rally them. They have followed him so far. Mendoza--"

Gilberto was shaking his head slowly. "A young corporal pissed himself this morning, Diego. When Zorro _looked _at him. They won't defy Zorro today. Or tomorrow. And maybe not for the next month. Ramone doesn't even dare try to rally them right now--"

"Because if he tries and fails he will lose whatever authority he has left," Diego sighed as he closed his eyes. "You did it."

Gilberto smoothed his brother's hair back. "For now. For now, everyone is safe. And it was your plan that did it, Diego. You have saved us. So now you can rest for a while."

The echoes of the quarrel died away, and Felipe sagged a little in relief. Peace, for however long it would last.

"Was it magnificent?" Diego whispered after a moment.

Gilberto laughed. "It was. Oh, yes, it was everything you said! It was as if God himself had taken me up in his hands....Ha. But, I'll tell you this: never again. I nearly pissed _myself _when the ground rushed up at me. I kept thinking of that fellow Firnas, whom you admire so much. Broke both his legs, I remember. Thank you, no."

"Well, he made wings, not a glider," Diego smiled faintly.

Gilberto grinned. "Never again."

"No, never again....That was almost all of the silk I had...and I'm sure our alcalde will burn this one." He breathed in and sighed deeply. "Never mind. It flew."

"It flew beautifully," Gilberto agreed.

Diego's eyes drifted shut. "Can you open the window? It's rather close in here...."

Frowning, Gilberto opened the casement and then returned to his seat on the edge of Diego's bed. Almost casually, he lifted his brother's hand and slid his fingers along his wrist. "Felipe, hand me that pillow, would you?" He lifted Diego forward and tucked the pillow behind him. "When do you need your medicine next?"

Diego allowed himself to be manhandled and shifted without protest. "Ten-thirty. I should stay awake--"

"I'll wake you when it's time. Rest for a while."

Diego's eyes shot open, and as one the boys turned. A moment later, Felipe heard the front door slam shut and Don Alejandro bellowed, "Gilberto? Diego? Diego!"

Gilberto bounced up and raced into the hall. Diego moved to get up, too, but Felipe blocked his way and motioned him to stay still. Diego complied, but his eyes remained, longingly, on the empty doorway. Felipe wondered if Diego could hear the conversation in the hallway. Probably, they were talking about Diego's health....

Felipe squeezed Diego's shoulder.

Don Alejandro came in quietly, calmly. He didn't run to the bedside or exclaim over his son. Felipe stepped back, and Don Alejandro smiled politely and took one of Diego's hands.

Diego was not so restrained. He pushed himself unsteadily upright and pulled his father closer. Don Alejandro hugged him hard and then pressed him back into the pillows. "I'm so sorry for worrying you, Diego. You weren't to know--"

"Don't blame him. It wasn't as if anyone were talking of anything else." Diego took a deep breath. "I'm not ill. Tired, I suppose. I haven't slept...but I defy you to find anyone who could, under the circumstances." Diego needed a breath before he could go on. Then another. "Was it a bluff, then?"

"I truly don't know. I still think it might have been...but it seems the alcalde has an enemy. Or else the Pueblo of Our Lady, the Queen of the Angles has a protector. Never mind." He smiled, leaned down conspiratorially "I promise to tell you all about it later. What matters now is that it is over. Hmmm?" His voice lightened, as though he were speaking to a small child. "None of us has had a good night's sleep. Close your eyes. That's right. There is nothing to worry about." He set Diego's hand down and kissed him on the forehead. Diego was already asleep.

Don Alejandro sat for a long time, his head drooping wearily, before rising and signing to Felipe, "You'll stay?"

Felipe nodded and pointed to the chair beside the bed. He'd stay.

Gilberto took his father's arm and led him from the room. Felipe shut the door behind them and sat down beside Diego to wait.

~end

End file.

Saving the Fox: Hermanito by Therrae