This is a WDZ one shot, Alejandro's POV, about how Alejandro may have figured out the truth about his son Diego. Many thanks again to my wonderful beta IcyWaters! You're awesome!

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Through The Eyes Of The Father

I mentally berated myself for not paying attention to my son. Granted, officially all I knew was that my son was a scholar, a pacifist, an inexperienced fighter. Unofficially, I knew better. No, he hadn't told me a single word about who he was behind the facade of the idle poet, but there are some things a father notices when he tells himself to pay attention.

To my shame, I must admit it took me a while to realize my son wasn't selling himself at face value when he returned from Spain, but I didn't. Too great was the disappointment when he offered to write a letter of complaint to the governor instead of saddling his horse, diving into action, when I told him upon his return what had been happening to our pueblo at the hands of the tyrant Monastario.

His reaction had come as such a complete surprise that the thought it may all just be an act simply refused to cross my mind. All I could think of was the adventurous fighter, my son, who had left for Spain to educate his brilliant mind and train his talented hands at swordplay. I had high expectations for him, and all the time he was gone I never doubted a second he would excel at any task thrown at him. Then I saw myself facing the complete opposite.

Slowly but surely, when my initial anger and disappointment started to subside, I noticed things about my idle son that didn't quite add up with what he pretended to be. Every time I tried to coax him into action for the good of the pueblo, he would come up with a dubious excuse and retire to his chamber. He had just made other arrangements. He had planned on reading a book. He even lost a game of draughts to me on purpose and pretended a broken guitar string. At first, I thought he did it just to get away from me. Then I noticed some curious coincidences.

Every time Diego found an excuse to retire, he would sleep late the next morning. Every time I couldn't find him when I needed him, he suddenly showed up in a place I had already checked unsuccessfully. Every time he disappeared, Zorro rode.

That last conclusion I came to over time only. I would have sworn having seen Zorro ride with my son right at my side, but after Diego had ditched me yet again and Zorro appeared, I started recalling all the other times this had occurred.

And once I had made up my mind about my son's real identity, I wondered how I couldn't have seen it sooner. The time Zorro first appeared was exactly one day after Diego returned. All those haywire excuses Diego thought up were simply something he'd already used as a boy, when he'd rushed off to do something he was well aware that neither his mother nor I approved of. Although sometimes I wondered if my wife really didn't approve or just said so to please and support me.

Now here we were, my son, his faithful servant and friend Bernardo, Sergeant Garcia and myself, locked and bound in the cellar of Administrado Varga's house, resigned to listen as gunshots were fired and then ceased.

Diego had tried to warn me, to alert me to gather our vigilance group, but I had insisted on first reading the letter I had drafted up yet again. If it would have made a difference at all had I listened to him straight away, I don't know. But I like to think so.

Now the administrado was standing in front of me, offering my freedom in exchange for the list that contained the names of the dons that made up my army, as Varga put it. Naturally, I refused and I must admit feeling quite shocked when Diego readily inquired if the same offer would be made to him.

Questioning his motives, he told me he can't bear to stay, to be locked up anymore. And I understood. He couldn't stay. The fox had to ride. He was our only chance. But I had to keep up pretenses.

"Are you so afraid of death, my son?" I asked him. The hurt in his eyes was real. Even the sergeant tried to convince him, to talk him into not giving into the administrado's demands. To play my role I have one more dagger to shoot at my son, as much as it pains me. But I hope to help protect his identity with it.

"Save your breath, Sergeant," I said, averting my eyes as my Diego walks up the steps to ride to the rescue.

Sometime later, we three remaining prisoners were released from the cellar by the fox. We managed to hold our own, shooting from the windows as long as our powder held. I'm sure we had a lot of outside help from Zorro, but all of us really sighed in relief when Don Alfredo and the other dons, my army, arrived to save the day.

In no time, the administrado, or should I say the Eagle, and his henchmen were overwhelmed or dead, and Zorro made his exit over the roof of the cuartel, saluting us as we locked away the prisoners.

I saw Don Alfredo riding up to me, calling out to him in joy. Only then did I learn that Diego had not simply disappeared to let Zorro ride. No, he had done far more than that. He had alerted the dons to the situation in the pueblo so they could ride to help us.

When things started to quiet down, Diego appeared in the cuartel and I couldn't contain my happiness and pride any longer. I know I must have babbled like a child, but it filled my heart to see that son of mine and being publicly able to praise him for a change. The words simply bubbled out of me.

"I'm proud of you, my son!"

The smile appearing on his face said more than a thousand words.