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