Does Tomorrow Ever Come?

The lightning flashed, thunder boomed across the landscape. The darkness of the night took on a terror for all those trapped outside at the mercy of the elements. Soldiers at their posts, battle hardened for many years, shivered in their boots, and not because of the sudden chill the downpour of icy rain had brought with it. Childhood terrors of ghouls and goblins, and things that go bump in the night filled their heads and hearts. Spain with all its luxuries was so far away.

The Alcade looked up from his paperwork on his desk in his office, and gazed into the fire in the hearth. The chill did not enter into his rooms, or his heart. A storm was a storm, and the fears of the common soldier no longer had any place in his soul. Other obsessions overrode those things. He wondered silently if Zorro was out in the horrendous weather, and smirked. He was welcome to it, the Alcade and his men would not be venturing out into the wild winds.

Zorro was indeed braving the elements. Victoria was worrying about him, poor Diego had had his fill of her wonderings and sighings. Diego had had as much as he could take of the moping of Zorro's beloved, sometimes wishing that he was another man who could challenge the fairy tale character to a duel and actually wipe him away. He knew that Victoria deserved better treatment than what she was receiving, but the alternative was just too confusing to even begin to think through. For all his strategizing, it seemed like the only thing he couldn't think his way out of, was a maze of his own making.

He was drenched through when he finally swung himself with a catlike grace from the back of Tornado, and released him to wander. He stuck to the shadows as he sought some sort of shelter at the back of Tavern Victoria. His mind wandered to the Alcade, who was no doubt in his office across the street, and was mindful of the closeness of his enemy. Zorro had seen nothing of the soldiers of the pueblo, and smiled to himself. Their laziness made him lazy in turn, but he was grateful of it tonight.

He eased the back door of the Tavern open slowly, and silently. Victoria was washing dishes, as she sometimes did at this time of night. He was not so clever – she washed dishes at this time of night, in the hopes of being interrupted by her silken black outfitted friend. A way of passing the time while she waited, and something done was better than undone, especially if her hopes were dashed. She was humming a little cheerful tune, that Zorro thought familiar but couldn't identify and he paused to listen to the pretty sound.

His body shuddered and he sneezed. The sudden noise made himself jump and Victoria whirled around to face him. She had automatically seized a long carving knife, her face fearful and her body tense.

Zorro's body reacted to the felt threat and retreated carefully. His eyes took in the fear on his beloved's face, as well as the sharpness of the knife in her hand. It gleamed in the candle light; it was very sharp. He paused, and watched her as her whole body relaxed, and she placed the knife down with a nervous laugh.

His arms were around her, almost faster than she could imagine. His sleeves were cold and wet, and she laughed, wriggling free to guide him towards the fireplace.

"Has my poor fox caught his death of cold out there?"

"I hope not, my love."

"I should like to get you into dry clothes before the chill sets in…."

"That is unfortunately not an option for me, right at this moment." His eyes danced. "I could permit the removal of my shirt, but decency restricts much else. Even that is more than a gentleman would be comfortable with."

"I will fetch a warm blanket, and then I will get some stew," Victoria responded with a deepening blush. She was embarrassed, and Zorro found that sweet. It reflected her innocent demeanour, something that was always attractive. Most ladies of quality, in his opinion, had minds that weren't always sweet. Victoria was in many ways still a child; in many other ways, very much a woman.

He struggled out of the saturated silk blouse, and cape. Sweeping off the black hat, he sat lightly on a chair close to the fire, and warmed his hands. The shivering travelled from his shoulders to his toes, and slowly calmed as he warmed up. He was unaware of the picture that he presented. His muscular shoulders and chiselled torso at rest revealed his calm and confident natural strength, and Victoria held out the blanket with a nervous blush, turning her eyes away.

He wrapped it around his upper body and the warmth was complete. She handed him a bowl of steaming stew, and a spoon. He took a deep breath in. It smelled of tomatoes and beans, and well cooked chicken. It was wonderful. This was how it was meant to be - the warm fire, the lovely woman whom he loved, warm food. A deep need in his life was met in that exact instant, regardless of all the dangers of his life. The soldiers and the Alcade meant nothing at all, not against the feeling of completeness being with Victoria satisfied in him.

He realised he was amazingly hungry, and the stew was soon gobbled down. Victoria smiled at his empty bowl, and offered to refill it. He refused, since it was already his second helping for the night.

"Have you eaten dinner at your home?"

Zorro looked at her questioningly. It was after nine, and he had eaten very early. At the tavern, with Victoria watching on. With his father and the boy that was fast becoming as close as a son. He wondered if Diego and Zorro had the same manners when it came to food. He had been starving. Riding through storms was always invigorating and daring, and brought out his appetite. Diego appreciated Victoria's food more than most, but part of the masquerade was apathy with most things. A studied apathy that fooled almost everyone.

"I've eaten tonight, yes. The cold out there, well," Zorro said slowly. He brought the bowl to where it could be washed and placed it down. He was aware of the tired woman's beauty. Sweat and dust and flour could not hide what she was, a beautiful lady worthy of his love and his home and his family. A lady he very much wanted in his arms, in his life, in his bed….

He shook himself. The idea of taking clothes off had gotten to him.

"Aren't you going to kiss me tonight?"

"I don't think that would be wise," he began, eying his cape and blouse drying near the fireplace. A few more minutes and they would be dry. Then he could hold her, he would feel more in control of his body and his feelings of desire.

She had moved closer, slowly and cautiously. Zorro grabbed for a towel and started to dry the dishes in front of him. She paused and watched him fumble with the task, realising she was making her hero very nervous indeed.

"Ever the hero, now you take on my chores… Have you had much experience as a kitchen hand?"

"Quite a bit," he said, nodding at the floor. A dish fell through shivering fingers and shattered on the tiled floor. He jumped and his eyes flew to the curtain separating the kitchen from the tavern itself. She gasped with a little fear. There were still customers drinking and eating in the tavern, and Maria was still serving as they spoke. They felt the danger, and it chilled them both.

"Put the dishes down and step away from the towel," she said softly. Her eyes were twinkling but her heart was thudding with dread. She didn't think there were any soldiers still in the tavern but the reward increased every week. "You are a very bad kitchen helper. Butter fingers," she breathed.

She had closed the distance between them again, and his hand was on his blouse and cape. He shrugged into the now steamy outfit, and sighed. She wanted him almost as much as he wanted her, with a confused innocence. The desire that coursed through him was barely controllable, but under her influence, they would both be doomed.

He swung her into his arms, and held her. "All my promises, I mean every word. In time, we will be together always. When there is peace in Los Angeles, I will never let you go. I will give you so much, I will give you everything you desire."

"You talk as if that were so easy. Desires…."

She was pouting, he could feel it in her words. "All I desire is you."

"Zorro." He said the name almost with venom. She would never even care about Diego and his desires. She would never look at Diego and see Zorro's eyes. His shoulders stiffened despite his best intentions.

"You know you are being annoying again. I tell you over and over again that I love you. The man behind the mask, and you never believe me. I want you, you want me. We are engaged, but you are still a mystery, a deliberate mystery…"

"You love me. But you don't know me. If you saw me without my mask, you would not love me….You don't love me. " Zorro's whisper was full of pain. He glanced out the window, turning his face away. "We see each other without the mask every single day, and I can't stay away, but you don't know me, you don't love me…"

Victoria reached out a hand to his shoulder. "You can't stay away?"

"I would die if I did. You are the air I breathe, the food I eat…." He paused. "Here I go again, the heartsick swain. The hour is late, I am tired. Everything is harder to bear when one is tired." He held the little hand in his gloved one, and raised the back of the hand to his lips. His eyes held hers for a moment, the intensity of his blue eyes burning through her whole body. How could she forget such eyes? She really must pay more attention to the people around her.

"Until tomorrow, my love," he sighed, releasing her hand.

Tomorrow she would listen to Diego until he got too boring to accommodate, and she would turn away again. Tomorrow his father would berate his laziness and his reluctance to find a bride. Tomorrow his de la Vega pride would chafe and burn and his temper would rise. Tomorrow the world would be upside down again.

She sighed, watching him smile, and bow, and back slowly out the door. She heard the soft whistle to the stallion, and the galloping hooves as her hero sped out of the pueblo. Tomorrow. But tomorrow never came. That's the saying, she thought to herself. Tomorrow he would be hers, but then tomorrow never came.