Domestic Affairs
By Thera
I own nothing and make some profit. Hopefully the people who do will put it out on video soon.
The Word (1)
Diego didn't have to pretend to be pacing the floors worriedly when his father and Felipe returned. Both the pacing and the worry were completely genuine. When Father had left the house over four hours before he'd been bleeding from a long, deep pistol graze in his arm. Even if he had taken the time to clean and cover the wound, it still might fester....and that was assuming that the bleeding had stopped, that shock hadn't set in....
As for Felipe, he was surely all right. Surely. Zorro had escorted him to within half a mile of the pueblo. The prisoners in his wagon had been securely tied, and much more afraid of what would happen if they escaped than even the hanging that awaited them under the king's justice. Diego had kept his temper well enough to stay his hand, but not his tongue. The men deserved much more suffering than a clean death would provide, and Zorro had threatened them with exactly what they deserved. They shouldn't have given Felipe any trouble.
But that had been more than two hours ago, and the trip back from the pueblo--even in the wagon--was less than an hour. So where were they? And was Felipe all right? He'd seemed to have himself well in hand when they'd parted, but that was hours ago. He had to run for his life today. He'd been menaced with swords and guns. And he'd spoken--for the first time in more than a dozen years, he'd spoken out loud.
Hours ago.
The sound of hoof beats at the gate sent Diego to the door. Juan hurried up to take the horse and wagon, and Felipe, beaming, came to the door already telling a story: Don Alejandro and the sergeant had refused to tell the alcalde that Zorro had captured the bandits.
Diego glanced over Felipe's shoulder at his father, who was following much more slowly. "What?" he said.
Felipe shook his head and began again. They wouldn't translate. Everybody in the pueblo knew that Zorro had captured the bandits, but the alcalde had publicly thanked and congratulated Felipe. It was very, very funny.
Diego didn't see the humor, but perhaps he was just tired.
Felipe looked Diego up and down and frowned as excitement gave way to concern.
Diego found he needed to swallow. "Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. Are you all right?"
The question earned him a surprised grin. Well, of course. What could be wrong? Diego at last returned Felipe's smile and drew him in for a hug.
"Well," Father said, pausing in the doorway. "He's safe and sound. No thanks at all to you. Zorro rescued him."
Felipe stiffened, and Diego patted him once and let him step back. Maybe if his father knew that Felipe was following the conversation he'd temper his criticism.
No such luck. "Did you know, Diego, that for all your peculiarities and weaknesses and apathy...I always counted how well you've raised Felipe among your virtues. You've been his family. You were patient and compassionate and--and tireless on his behalf! And today, when he was beset by murderers you wouldn't lift a finger to help him. I simply do not understand you."
Diego opened his mouth, but, naturally, there was nothing to say to this, so he forced it closed again.
Alejandro sighed. He said to Felipe, "I am sorry, my boy," turned on his heel, and stalked off.
When he slammed the door to his office, Felipe grabbed Diego's arm and shook his head wildly. What had happened?
Diego laughed miserably. "I panicked. I saw you lead them away from the house and...it completely unmanned me. I could not think of a single excuse to separate me from my father and the lancers. I wound up saying that I would wait here to guard the house in case they came back. Wait here! Father is convinced that I am a complete coward."
Felipe's eyes widened. "Sorry," he signed. "So sorry."
Diego clasped his shoulder. "Don't be. The blame is hardly yours. I couldn't do anything at all pinned down here in the house. Leading them away was a sound tactic. You were...magnificent. Then, and later, in the hay shed. The--the courage you showed today! I'm overwhelmed." He smiled wanly. "You saved my life, you know."
Felipe shook his head and shrugged off Diego's gratitude.
"I disagree. Without your warning...well, the fight might have turned out quite differently."
"You saved me," Felipe answered, shaking his head. "I knew you would."
Diego had to sigh at that. "No, you have never doubted me."
For a moment, Felipe smiled at him. Then he winced dramatically and motioned toward Alejandro's study. "What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? I can't explain this away, and anything I say will just make things worse--no, don't look so worried. My father will forgive me, eventually. He's very tolerant, really. Give him a little time."
z
Alejandro stormed into his study and rapidly downed three shots of brandy. A waste of decent liquor, but a two inch strip of flesh had been torn from his arm and it hurt like hell. It burned, it ached, it throbbed. He poured the forth shot, but sank down into a wingback chair without drinking it.
How much alcohol would it take to make him forget his Diego problem as well as his physical pain? Dear God. What was wrong with the boy?
Some days--most days--Alejandro could almost forget that there was a Diego problem at all. He didn't drink or carouse or gamble or seduce women. True, most of his hobbies were purely frivolous, but they weren't also expensive or offensive. And over the last couple of years, his involvement with the newspaper had seemed to improve things. It wasn't just an opportunity to put Diego's obscure talents to use. Publishing the Guardian was a very real service to the community, and one that only Diego could provide. Alejandro had begun to hope that this tangible involvement in the problems of the pueblo would lead to other, more direct, actions.
But of all Diego's peculiar moods and embarrassing shortcomings the raw cowardice he'd shown today was by far the worst. How could he shift so quickly from reasonable and practical and stalwart ...to panicked and incoherent? On any given day it was impossible to guess if Diego would be prim and slightly eccentric or erratic and completely useless. Some days he was an excellent rider and others he didn't even have the seat to stay on the back of an elderly donkey. One day he would be kneeling in the dirt, planting and testing new varieties of seed, and the next he slept past noon and barely stirred himself from the parlor. Was he ill? Was he harboring some secret vice? Had something terrible happened to him in Madrid?
Alejandro drained the glass and put it down. Mother of God, Diego, what is wrong with you?
A brief tap preceded Felipe through the door. He hovered nervously, hands folded in front of him. Alejandro waved to an empty chair. "Sit down," he said tiredly.
Felipe sat down.
"Don't apologize for him."
Felipe shrugged, wouldn't meet his eyes.
"I do not understand my son."
Felipe signed very slowly that Diego was intelligent, patient, talented, kind....and something else Alejandro couldn't follow.
Alejandro nodded and poured another drink.
Felipe signed Diego rescuing a horse. Oh. "Yes, he saved the mare. And the foal." He'd stayed up two nights to do it, when the foreman and the blacksmith had both shaken their heads and said nothing could be done. "I haven't forgotten my son's good qualities."
And Diego had caught the woman who lied.... "What woman who lied?" Conversations with Felipe were hard enough when he was sober. And not exhausted. And not in pain.
"The woman who talked to the dead," Felipe gestured patiently: the medium. And yes, it was Diego who set up the trap for her, for all that it had been Zorro in the end who had forced Alcalde Ramone to bring her to justice.
Felipe continued that Diego had taught all of the ranch hands and servants to read.
Alejandro laughed, "Yes, I have the most literate employees in all of California. Felipe, the problem isn't that he lacks ability. The skills he lacks are equaled by the ones he has! The problem is that he--sometimes--simply fails to act. To care. To take reasonable risks. I don't know how to reach him or motivate him...." He considered another swallow of brandy, pushed the bottle away instead, and rubbed a hand across his face.
Felipe tapped his hand for attention. When Alejandro looked up, Felipe traced, "Diego loves you," slowly in the air between them.
"He will not act on my behalf," he whispered. "And now that I know he won't even act on yours...I don't know what to do with him."
Felipe spread his hands in confusion.
"My son was sixteen when he brought you home. Not even a man. And you were a small child and...in a bad way." He frowned, remembering how hopeless it had seemed at the time. "You barely ate. You couldn't communicate. You would sit and shake, some days.... But from the beginning, Diego was--it still amazes me! I'll never know how he knew that you...." he sighed and shook his head. "He was patient, he was tireless, he was gentle. He cared for you when you were sick. He educated you himself. He never complained or lost his temper....For most of the first year, I kept expecting him to come to me, to say that this responsibility--this parenthood was too much for him, that he needed me to step in. He never did. Just as surely as Diego was mine, you were his."
Felipe dropped his eyes and swallowed hard.
"He was practically still a child himself, and, my God, look at what he accomplished." Alejandro stopped and waited for Felipe to look up again. "I thought for you--if not for himself or for me--he would learn to handle this ranch, to step into his place in the community. But today you were hunted by murderers, and Diego completely lost his nerve. He fell apart. And now...."
Felipe signed that Diego was a good man, he'd be all right--
"I don't know what will become of us, Felipe. There is no one else, and I'm getting old. I think...I think it may be you taking care of him, in the end."
That earned him a long, very shocked look. Then, slowly, a promise. Each sign was broad and precise. "I...will do...anything...for...Diego."
Z
Diego was in no hurry to see his father again, so he took his time making the poultice. He crushed the garlic, then ground it to paste, slowly, not stopping until it was completely smooth, though that was more than necessary. Then honey. Then a little mustard--he ground it fresh, there was no reason to hurry. Alejandro wouldn't be happy to see him.
He shouldn't dwell on his frustration. Or his embarrassment. Or anything else. It was a day to be grateful. Two assaults on the hacienda, and no casualties. The desperate men had been apprehended, so the countryside was safe for now. Felipe had spoken--
A single word, true, but it was proof that the capability was there. Now there was only the need for hard work....
Felipe had already worked so hard to recover from the tragedy of his childhood. The injuries hadn't all been physical. It had taken so long, and they had tried so hard.
So yes, today was a good day. A good day. A triumph not only for justice but for compassion and hope as well. I should be happy for him, not sorry for myself.
Felipe came in, so slowly he was almost creeping. He sat on the bottom step and hunched forward. After a few minutes of stirring, Diego said, "So, how did your talk with my father go?"
Felipe hunched even further and shook his head.
"Oh, that badly? He isn't angry with you, is he?"
Felipe looked up and answered, "He isn't angry with me. He isn't angry with you, either. He's afraid."
"Of what?"
Felipe shook his head. "For you.... And the ranch. The future. Everything." He frowned. "You should tell him."
Diego snorted and gathered the poultice on a tray with a pile of bandages. "If you think he's afraid now, wait till his finds his helpless, cowardly son is also mad and thinks he is Zorro."
Felipe drew a Z in the air and nodded reasonably. Diego was Zorro.
"Even worse. He'd be convinced I was doomed. My helpless act is very good. Diego as Zorro--what a disaster!" Diego stepped around Felipe and mounted the steps, leaving the comfortable quiet of the cave for the painful quiet of the house.
Alejandro said nothing when Diego appeared in the doorway. After long moments with no invitation, Diego said, "I know you're upset with me, but that's no reason to risk infection."
"Very well," Alejandro waved him in, and Diego set the tray on the desk and helped his father ease the torn shirt off his arm. The bandage beneath was only slightly bloodied. Diego cut it away and revealed the long, deep gash.
Diego eyed the line of uneven stitches with a frown. "This isn't Dr. Hernandez's work," he said.
"He was not in town. Victoria and Private Diaz took care of it."
Well. Victoria, at least, was competent. With the small wooden spatula he scraped half of the paste he'd made into a pottery cup and set it aside.
"That smells like the medicine you used on Dulcinea's hoof," his father said suddenly.
"Similar. But there are a few herbs that work well on humans but which horses don't tolerate." He scooped up the remaining paste and paused. "Father, this is going to sting."
"Go ahead. I'm quite drunk, Diego."
Nevertheless, Alejandro ground his teeth together as Diego troweled the paste thickly across the wound and wrapped a fresh bandage snugly around it.
"Dear God, but that reeks."
"Sadly, it will taste even worse," Diego said apologetically as he handed the shallow cup and wooden spoon to his father.
"You must be kidding."
"As salubrious within as without, I'm afraid. It's mostly garlic and honey, if that's any consolation."
Alejandro downed the paste quickly and chased it with brandy. Diego handed over the last item on the tray, a wide tankard of orange juice. "All of this, too," he said, and Alejandro took the juice in his good hand.
Diego watched him drink, gathered up the remains of his doctoring onto the tray and turned to leave. Neither of them said good night.
z
Felipe didn't undress for bed until he was sure Diego and Don Alejandro were asleep themselves. Even then, he left his door open so he could hear any movement in the house. He was afraid that Diego, restless, would ride out on Toronado. He understood the impulse, but in Diego's state of mind it was a terrible idea. Distracted, Zorro would be at a disadvantage if he stumbled across a patrol or a band of cattle rustlers or a bounty hunter. Even a riding accident wasn't impossible: Toronado was intelligent and cooperative, but not particularly gentle. You had to pay attention riding him, even someone as skilled as Diego. And in the dark--
Oh, Diego. It was so unfair. Where Felipe had trust and approval (though he could claim no special accomplishments) Diego, who was truly extraordinary, had neither. Felipe could imagine what it was like to have a father and to be a disappointment to him, but he had never suffered anything like it. Diego was not Felipe's father, forced to accept him by fate and blood. Friend? Protector? Ally? Whatever was between them was by choice.
It wasn't the same.
Anyway, Diego had never shown any disappointment, never once despaired of him or rejected him, but only loved him as he was.
When Diego had learned that Felipe's hearing had returned he'd been delighted on Felipe's behalf, but the change hadn't made him suddenly more valuable or more worthy. Diego had never pushed him to speak--had hardly even discussed it--until Felipe himself had begun to complain about the limitation. And today, when a single panicked word had sprung free...it hadn't changed anything. Diego didn't love him more or trust him more or respect him more.
But today, because of failings that didn't even truly exist, Diego had lost his own father's trust and respect, and the love, while still there between them, was all tangled up in frustration and fear. It was so unjust, and poor Diego was already carrying the problems of the pueblo, already putting his own plans for a future and family on hold, already doing such dangerous work.
The strained relations with Don Alejandro had been a painful burden even before today. Felipe was afraid the added tension, the added distraction, might get him killed. It would only take one mistake, one misjudged leap, one poor parry, and Zorro could be wounded or caught. Or worse.
Things would get harder for Diego soon, anyway, as Felipe got older. Felipe was useful to Zorro because he was young and harmless and invisible. Easy enough when he'd been a boy, but lately he'd begun to look more and more like a man. Even with the lie they presented to the world--that Felipe could neither speak nor hear--as an adult he would be more liable to elicit suspicion. Soon, Diego might start limiting Felipe's participation and there was no one else to take up the slack.
Things were bad now and getting worse, and Felipe saw no way out of it. Without Zorro, there were only two alternatives: submit to tyranny and allow the authorities to oppress the peons to death, or engage in open revolution--which would bring mass slaughter on both sides. It was the same set of choices they had always had, and, as always, there wasn't any choice at all.
z
Diego retired as soon as he'd tended his father. He had no problem falling asleep, but he woke well before dawn with a nameless anxiety that sent him all but fleeing the bed. He couldn't settle down to read. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't thinking clearly enough to finish testing the soil samples he'd collected last week. It was too early to wake the house by playing the piano. It was too dark to paint...although in half an hour it would be dawn, and he could catch the early light if he set his ease in the garden. Of course, for that to be productive he would need a subject in mind and the desire to paint.
He was still standing indecisively in the parlor when Felipe appeared carrying a pair of fishing poles and a basket. Diego dredged up a smile. "Going fishing?"
Felipe turned the poles to emphasize that there were two of them.
"Oh. Both of us."
Felipe nodded.
Diego had no more interest in fishing than anything else this morning, but Felipe was clearly concerned and it would be ungracious to reject this attempt to cheer him up.
The sky was streaking with pink when they reached the creek. Felipe led him to a spot on the bank. Mindful of the concerned looks Felipe was casting his way, Diego baited his own hook and dropped the line in. Felipe tapped his arm, motioned him to be quiet, and pointed to a half-rotted log in the water.
Diego nodded and reset his line closer to the log.
Felipe braced his pole and signed, "While you were in Spain, I fished almost every day."
Diego nodded, watching the water lap at the bank. "You don't have as much time to fish any more."
Felipe rolled his eyes and answered that he had better things to do now.
Oh, yes, Diego thought sourly. Much better things to do now. Felipe spent his days helping a masked outlaw with a price on his head wage a private war with the local tyrant. The name of the tyrant might change, the latest outrage might change, but the position of the citizens--the powerlessness of the citizens--somehow stayed the same. Felipe was barely an adult, and already he'd sacrificed six years of his life to Diego's endless venture. Time he should have spent fishing or playing....
Felipe had sacrificed his childhood, but at least he had made the choice himself and knew what came in return for his loss. Victoria was still waiting for marriage, children of her own, and she didn't even have Zorro's honesty for compensation. As for Diego's father--what could possibly repay him for the grief caused by all this deception?
As the sun came up the breeze freshened a bit, and the line began to dip and twitch as fish came to the surface for food. For a little while the only sounds were birdsong and the soft splash the fish made as Diego and Felipe pulled them out of the water. It was calming; the wait, and the strike and the pull of the fish. Watching the line kept other, less pleasant thoughts at bay. They caught three fish each before the fish lost interest in breakfast and their lines grew still.
"Tomorrow is Sunday," Felipe signed. "We could ride to the mission later for confession."
Diego nodded, cutting some grass to line the basket so the wet fish wouldn't spoil it. "Yes, that would get me out of the house for a while. It's probably best if I avoid my father. Although I still have to re-dress that arm."
Felipe frowned. "I'm not just trying to distract you....It's been a long time. Piety is good."
"And I have a great deal to confess," Diego agreed. He wondered how, exactly, to classify his sins: Bless me father for I have sinned, I has been three weeks since my last confession. I have betrayed everyone who loves me and failed everyone who depends on me.
It sounded absurdly melodramatic.
Perhaps some of the problems could be solved. "Felipe, I--we can find a way for you to do it. To join the army. I know our secrets have held you back, but--"
Felipe signed--with the same gentle patience he'd shown all morning--that he had no idea what Diego was talking about.
"We can put it about that we are sending you away to school. Someplace special, in Mexico City or the United States. Once you're away from home--You won't have to lie anymore. You'll be free to--"
Felipe interrupted with the vehement statement that he didn't want to be a soldier. Since he had claimed the opposite just a few days before, Diego wasn't convinced.
"Felipe. It's all right to have your own dreams. You're growing up, I understand that. You want to see the world--."
"I do not--not--want to be a soldier. I don't need to see the world, I need to be a man, I need to do something important. But not--" He threw up has hands and turned away briefly. Then he came back and started again. "I see the soldiers in the garrison. They don't keep order or defend us from enemies. They collect taxes, they harass peons, they hunt a fox. I don't want that life."
"But, Felipe, you said--why did you say you wanted to enlist?"
He blew out a sharp breath and rolled his eyes. "For you." He traced a Z in the air. "Obviously. As a man in uniform, I could help you more." He threw his hands up and shook his head, apparently despairing of Diego's denseness.
Diego swallowed hard. "That was a very clever idea."
Felipe bowed graciously.
"And I completely forbid it, of course."
Felipe nodded heavily and signed, "Impossible."
"Even if it were possible--It's not what you want. Soldiers obey. They follow orders, against enemy armies and unarmed peasants alike. You couldn't do that. I wouldn't let you."
Felipe looked affronted.
"It's not a matter of ability. It's a matter of--of--of--"
Felipe raised his chin slightly and signed, "I'm soft hearted?"
Diego frowned and laid a firm hand on the back of Felipe's neck. "I would have said intelligent and compassionate. Honorable."
Felipe looked both doubtful and puzzled. "Your father was a soldier. It is honorable. Isn't it?"
Diego felt his stomach twist. "Not here," he said. "What you said before--you were right. The soldiers in the pueblo, they are as badly exploited as anyone else, but all the worse for them, as they are themselves instruments of oppression. Felipe--how does sergeant Mendoza sleep at night? How does he live with being Ignacio's errand boy?"
Felipe frowned. "He tells himself it's not so bad." Diego waited. "He tells himself he's following orders. And if it gets too bad...Zorro will fix it." He shrugged.
"Ah, yes. The dear sergeant is very fond of Zorro. How many times this year do you think he has been ordered to fire on him? Ten? A dozen?"
Felipe winced.
"And how do you think he will sleep at night if he ever succeeds in hitting me? If you choose to join the army, I will support you. But I won't let you do it here."
Slowly Felipe nodded, and Diego started to step away. A sharp tug on his sleeve stopped him. "I want to help you," Felipe signed firmly.
"Help me?--If you mean you want to take up a sword and fight beside me, the answer is no."
Angry, signing more broadly, Felipe began, "I'm good with a sword!"
Diego didn't let him present his case. "You are not good enough. And even if you had the skills, you don't have your full height yet, or the strength in your shoulders. Felipe, I was four or five years older than you when I started. You are not ready."
Sullenly, Felipe glared at the ground.
"You already help me--"
"I creep around town. I feed your horse. I want to do more for you, for the pueblo. I can do more."
Diego took a breath. "You're right. You're a man now. You have choices. You...you could help edit the newspaper, if you wanted to make a difference. A newspaper is absolutely necessary to liberty--"
"And civil society and a just government." Felipe signed. Even angry, he rolled his eyes and huffed a silent laugh.
"Perhaps I have mentioned that before," Diego conceded. Felipe had had to invent the sign for civil society, the topic came up so often. "If that doesn't suit you, you could become a doctor. Dr. Hernandez doesn't have an apprentice. You have steady hands, a very good mind, and you have to admit that you would be useful both to the community and to me."
Felipe responded that he hated blood.
"You never mentioned," Diego said.
Felipe's gesture encompassed the length of Diego's body: he meant that it was bad enough seeing Diego's blood without going looking for more.
"You could become a lawyer. The nearest now is almost a hundred miles away. Ignacio might be more careful about his schemes if he knew someone was watching who could speak for the laws of the king."
"A lawyer who can't speak!" Felipe answered bitterly.
"It's your mind and intent that matter, not your voice. We could manage if it came to that...But, oh, Felipe. I never meant you to keep living this lie for your whole life. I know, I know it's already gone on too long, but I will find a way to end it."
The lie protected their lives, Felipe reminded him. A simple necessity. His eyes softened and he patted Diego's arm, adding "Don't look so sad."
"I owe you better than this, and someday, I promise you...."
Felipe smiled gently and patted his arm again before releasing him and bending to collect the basket and poles.
"Felipe, I'm quite serious."
He nodded and started back to the house.
z
The morning was half gone when Alejandro awoke. His head throbbed in counterpoint to the ache in his upper arm. He squinted against the bright light and focused on Diego's form in the doorway. He pushed himself on his good arm and nodded permission to enter.
Diego was balancing a tray against his hip. He drew a chair close to the bed and set it down. "How are you feeling this morning?"
Old, mainly, but he wasn't going to say that. "A little sore, as you would expect."
Diego nodded and pushed back the drape, flooding the room with sunlight that felt like a sword passing directly through Alejandro's forehead. Diego seated himself on the edge of the bed and gently unwound the bandage circling Alejandro's arm. "Well, it's weeping and a little swollen," he said thoughtfully. "No pus, though...and no fever. This may heal cleanly."
He produced a bowl of water and a cloth from the tray and began to sponge clean the wound. Alejandro ground his teeth and held still. Diego's hands were careful and unhurried as he first cleared away the crust and then began to pack on the pungent ointment with a small paddle.
"Tell me I don't have to eat that again, son."
He was rewarded with a very small smile. "Today, this is my prescription." He pointed to a tall glass of water still on the tray. "It will help with the headache, as well."
"You don't drink. I didn't realize you had a cure for overindulgence...."
"I was a student, Father. There skills one just...picks up." He covered the wound and a clean square of muslin and began to wrap the poultice in place.
In Santa Barbara, Tomas de la Gambon's sons were continually quarreling with each other and spending foolish amounts of money on clothing and fine carriages and drink. Only about a dozen miles away, Emmanuel Delgado's son continually complained about colonial life, publicly sympathized with revolutionaries and (Alejandro had long suspected) mistreated the household staff.
None of the young caballeros he knew were the sort who would so patiently and gently dress a wound, searching for traces of infection, preparing the medicines themselves. Usually, in fact, it was the work of women or servants. For all that Diego made a poor caballero, he was a kind and humble human being. "Thank you. You're....quite good at this, Diego."
Diego glanced up almost nervously. "It's nothing." He shied away from the unpleasantness between them by turning his attention back to his task.
Unable to bear the silence, Alejandro changed the topic. "How is Felipe this morning?"
"Hmmm. Undaunted, apparently. He doesn't seem to be dwelling on either the violence he witnessed or the danger he was in himself."
"Oh? What does he seem to be dwelling upon?"
For a long minute, it seemed Diego wouldn't answer--perhaps unwilling to share his concerns or else uninterested in his father's input. But finally he said, "Felipe is searching for the man he will become. He's trying to imagine the path he wants." For just a moment Diego looked very sad, as though he were carrying a terrible burden. "He is also quite worried about us--you and me, Father. That seems to be on his mind more than anything."
"Diego," he began tentatively, "about what happened yesterday...."
"You had every reason to be angry," Diego said formally. His eyes had become blank and calm.
There wasn't any good response to that.
"We narrowly escaped tragedy yesterday," Diego continued, glancing fleetingly at the soiled bandages. "I might have lost you both. Felipe and I are going to the mission this afternoon to offer thanks. You're welcome to join us, if you feel up to it. Although it wouldn't do you any harm to spend the afternoon resting."
Diego had always been dutiful in his piety, but not particularly zealous. For the most part. As with anything, Diego's behavior was hard to predict. "I'll let you know a little later." He paused. "Diego, if something were wrong...if you needed help with something or were facing some difficulty...?"
"There is no 'help' for my shortcomings, I fear." He pressed the glass of water into Alejandro's good hand and turned away, swiftly collecting his things.
TBC