Not mine; I own nothing; I make no profit....but I'll buy the DVDs when the folk that do and can will sell them.

Special thanks to Pamz! In the absence of DVDs it is only with her hard work that writing ep-centered fanfic is possible at all. I am extremely thankful for her patience and persistence. This one is for her, as a small payment on my debt.

I'd also like to thank my beta Martha, who has only ever seen two episodes of NWZ in her life, and has followed me here--probably mostly out of love--into the unknown wilds of Colonial California.

And I'd like to thank everyone who wrote to support "Hermanito." I know I was going out on a limb here.


Saving the Fox II: Fiesta

April 28, 1813

The morning was dim and overcast, but the cool air woke Felipe when the sun did not; Diego had opened the window again. About half the time he said that the air in the house was too stifling to let him sleep. Sometime during the first week, Felipe had realized that that the air was fine. Some nights Diego had just a little trouble breathing. It comforted him a little to know that there was plenty of fresh air.

Grimacing at the chill, Felipe slipped out of the bedroll and bundled it up into a tidy package that would fit under the wardrobe. He slipped on his pants and, picking up his sandals, crept to the grand bed in the main bedroom and looked down at Diego sleeping.

His color was good this morning. His breathing was even and deep. His hands were relaxed. Felipe let himself enjoy it for a moment: Diego not sweating and pale, not pretending to be calm, not enduring a dizzy spell. Not even tired and a little sad.

"Tell me you don't do this every morning," Diego said, his eyes closed, his face composed as though he were still asleep.

Felipe, startled, skipped backwards. The thump when he landed made Diego open one eye. "Surely, you aren't checking to see if I'm alive."

Felipe scowled. With the hand that was not holding his shoes, he made horns.

"Oh, yes, that's very gracious. I trust Father hasn't seen you curse like that." There was laughter in his voice and Felipe couldn't help smiling back.

Slowly, Diego turned over...and then, slowly, he sat up.

Felipe sat on the bed and began putting on his sandals. When he was younger, he hadn't understood how improper this familiarity was. No one--not even the shorter one--had explained that the peasant child taken in as an act of charity should show a respectful restraint and remember his place. He'd intended to show he could do better when the twins came back from Madrid. He'd be mature and decorous, he knew better now--

The last thing Diego needed from him was propriety. Felipe had spent four nights now holding Diego's hand while he panted his way through a bad spell. What Diego needed was to be teased and pestered with questions and taken fishing. He needed someone to play chess with, someone to listen when he wanted to talk about rain or bees or the moon.

In the two weeks since the twins had returned home...some of the days had been pure pleasure. Diego knew practically everything. Felipe had all but given up trying to find a question he couldn't answer. A collection of books had come back from Madrid: poetry, geography, natural philosophy, and Diego was always willing to show Felipe something new, explain something interesting.

Diego could also sit patiently on the riverbank, letting the fish come in their own time...or admire a little carving Felipe had made...or sit and eat oranges in the shade by corral.

Felipe's favorite playmate, dearest friend, and teacher had come home. Sometimes everything seemed perfect, and he could forget that anything was wrong. And then Diego would go white and 'need a moment' to collect himself. Or he'd become winded crossing a room. Or he'd be tired without warning and go to lie down.

And sometimes it was worse. Diego's pale lips would go blue and he'd gasp and gasp while the little pulse in his wrist raced, uneven and weak. The worst of these lasted two or three hours. Diego would close his eyes, trying to hide his growing fear while Felipe sat beside him, unable to do anything but wait for the spell to pass. Sometimes a cool cloth on his face helped. Sometimes Gilberto would come and talk quietly about mathematics or foreign languages. Mostly, though, Diego just wanted quiet for his battles. He would hold Felipe's hand, panting great, slow breaths while his heart raced and faltered.

Felipe tried not to think about that--at least not in front of Diego. Diego was watching him now, though, with a knowing expression. "Felipe, you must see...this can't go on. It's asking too much of you--"

"You didn't ask," Felipe shrugged.

"You're too young to take this responsibility, even voluntarily. See reason--"

"How old were you when you brought me home?"

"At least four years older than you are now. And it's hardly the same thing--"

Felipe nodded, quickly agreeing. "True! You can hear. You can talk. You understand what is happening to you." Felipe paused, gave him a fierce look. "Also, I will not have to teach you how to use a napkin or read."

"You are impossible," Diego said. It wasn't a criticism.

Felipe hopped off the bed. "Get dressed," he said. "Come have breakfast in the kitchen."

Diego stood up more slowly. "Oh, yes, that's right. Father and 'Berto went hunting this morning. You should have gone with them. Father says you're quite a good shot."

Felipe ignored that.

In the kitchen, Maria was fussy and cheerful. She still treated the twins as though they were Felipe's age, and today was no different. She asked if Diego had washed and clucked over how he wasn't eating enough. She gave them fresh milk and eggs and bread with honey. For half an hour or so, it seemed as if nothing had changed, as though they hadn't gone away to Madrid at all.

"Do you need anything from town for the party tomorrow?"

"I was going to send Tomas in with a wagon later," she answered.

"We could go," Diego offered. "It isn't as though I have plans for today." When they both shifted uncomfortably, Diego smiled charmingly and added, "The weather is not hot, I will be on a wagon, and I promise Felipe will do any heavy lifting. No one could possibly argue with that."

Frowning a little, Maria glanced at Felipe. He had actually lifted his hands to answer when he realized what had just happened. His hands came down hard to slap the table. "No! He is not a child. He is not in jail. And I am not--I am not his jailer! He decides."

Diego reached over and caught Felipe's near hand, shaking his head. Blushing, Felipe looked at Maria and apologized with his free hand. Maria wasn't looking at him: she was looking at her feet, absently drying her hands on her apron. "Don Diego, I...I didn't mean...."

"Everyone is trying to protect me," he said softly. "And I appreciate that. I do." He paused, but she would not look up. "Adjustments have to be made. It takes some getting used to."

She still could not meet his eyes. Felipe realized she was hiding pity or grief, and that Diego must know it, too. But she reached into a pocket and withdrew a scrap of brown paper. Her list. She handed it to Diego without a word and refilled his glass of milk.

They didn't leave for town at once. Felipe suspected Diego was timing it so they could have lunch at the tavern. Diego was completely enchanted by Senorita Victoria. No one else had noticed, as far as Felipe knew. Certainly she hadn't noticed. The few times they'd met since the twins had returned she'd been too busy or too distracted or too polite to really pay attention to the way Diego looked at her.

So instead of leaving right away they had a history lesson. At this stage, the "lessons" still consisted of Diego exploring the boundaries of what Don Alejandro had been teaching. He asked harder and harder questions, and Felipe answered. Where Don Alejandro had preferred his answers on paper, Diego was comfortable having abstract conversations in sign (with a paper and quill nearby for a truly obscure term) and believed that depriving Felipe of the chance to organize his answers on paper was good for his intellectual development.

Felipe thought it was a pain in the neck, but he didn't say so: he didn't want Diego to think he was lazy.

They got to town at about lunch time. Diego was so bland and casual when he suggested stopping at the tavern before running their errands that Felipe suspected that even he might not have noticed his particular interest in the tavern owner.

While he was securing the horses, Paulo rushed up. Felipe hadn't had a chance to talk to him in several weeks, since Paulo worked at the mission and they'd been preparing fields for planting. On the one hand, Felipe hadn't seen him in a while and wanted to talk--but on the other, he couldn't leave Diego. There was no question of that.

Diego's sharp eyes had caught his quandary. "I'll order lunch," he said gently. "Join me when you're ready."

Paulo wanted to gossip. He was half Chumash and could read Felipe's handsign, but as usual he was much too wrapped up in the latest rumors to listen to anyone else's opinion anyway. He had news about his myriad relatives, which wasn't very interesting, and news about the mission, which actually was: word was the pueblo priest, Father Raphael, was going to be promoted. Nothing definite yet, but apparently everyone was whispering about it.

Even as he listened, though, Felipe couldn't get his mind off of Diego. He was just in the tavern, hardly two dozen steps away. And he'd be fine...

They'd caught the wild dog that was killing chickens out at the orphanage, finally. It had been a huge monster, nearly ninety pounds. "But I haven't asked about you. Everyone is saying those twins are home."

Felipe nodded, his eyes straying to the tavern door.

"Is that who you came in with? Was that the one who's dying?"

Felipe flinched. He didn't want to lie. He didn't want to talk about the truth. He wasn't even sure what the truth was.

As usual, Paulo didn't notice when Felipe didn't answer.

"Don Alejandro, he's well thought of in town. A lot of people feel sorry for him. Still, he has another son, doesn't he?"

Rather than smash Paulo's nose in, Felipe signed, "I have to go," and hurried into the tavern.

Diego was seated at a table, drinking juice with one of the garrison lancers.

Felipe tripped to a surprised stop in the doorway. Locals did not mix with military stationed in town. And caballeros did not eat with scruffy soldiers. There wasn't a rule against it, really. But why would you make a rule? Who would want to sit with them?

Diego waved him over and Felipe sat down just as Senorita Victoria brought over three plates of tamales. "Felipe! I haven't seen you in a while.. Diego been keeping you busy?"

Grinning, Felipe signed fluidly, "Lessons all day. Sunup to sundown. He is merciless." He felt uncomfortable, though he thought he was hiding that. He hadn't expected to eat at the table with Diego in public. And he didn't like sitting so close to the lancer. He was a big man and he smelled like gunpowder, but even aside from that he was a lancer, one of them.

Senorita Victoria laughed. "Such a hard taskmaster. And, Diego, you seem such a kind and reasonable man."

The lancer shook his head. "I don't...I don't understand. What was that?"

Senorita Victoria was still tisking over Diego. "He claims Diego makes him do schoolwork around the clock."

But that wasn't what the man meant, and Diego answered him softly, "Felipe doesn't speak, Sergeant. He was injured as a child. He talks with his hands. It is a variation of the Indian trade-language. Felipe, this is Sergeant Mendoza. He tells very entertaining stories, and he understands how everything works in the territory. A good man to know."

"Oh, well," the lancer actually looked embarrassed. "That's gracious of you to say, Don Diego." He took a big bite of his tamales and waved his fork in Felipe's direction. "I haven't seen you much in town, have I? A shame: if you do not come to town you cannot eat this very good food." He laughed.

Diego spend a good hour charming the sergeant. Mostly, he seemed to do it by listening, and Felipe had to admit, the man did have good stories. It was possible that most of them weren't true, but maybe that wasn't the point. Maybe Diego was...bored and wanted someone to give him lurid and unlikely accounts of Indian raids and pirate incursions?

Probably not.

Maybe Diego liked him. Despite being one of them, Sergeant Mendoza seemed almost nice. He hadn't been put off by Felipe's lack of speech. Everyone who entered the tavern he greeted with a wave, and some of them he called by name. Even a couple of men whom Felipe knew vocally resented the garrison and their heavy-handed enforcement of the alcalde's whims didn't give him dark looks or bother to detour around his table.

Felipe kept his questions to himself while they completed the errands after lunch: a paper-wrapped package at the seamstress's, wheat flour and sugar and coffee from the dry-goods store, cheese from Senora Ortiz.

Once they were on the road home, however, he handed the reins to Diego so he could ask what Diego had been up to.

"I was having lunch, I wasn't up to anything."

Felipe considered accepting that, but in the end he decided that Diego needed to know when he wasn't fooling anyone...or at least when he wasn't fooling Felipe. "He's a soldier. He arrests people for nothing. He's a bad man. Why did we eat with him?"

Diego glanced at him wryly. "Well," he drawled, "at least you aren't accusing me of class prejudice." He sighed. "Yes. He arrests people 'for nothing' because that is his job. And mostly, he doesn't even seem to question it. I feel very sorry for him."

"You bought him lunch because you felt sorry for him?"

"No, I had lunch with him because if Gilberto and I make a mistake...I don't know if you can understand. Those soldiers have as much to lose as anyone else here. Zorro isn't the only one taking risks. I need to know what I can expect from those men at the garrison. And I need to remember that they are men."

Sometimes Diego had very odd ideas. "The alcalde does evil things. He likes to hurt people--you said so! And the soldiers help him."

"Yes, they're in a terrible position."

Sarcastically, Felipe answered, "Yes, they're bad."

"They face a firing squad if they disobey orders. They enlisted for glory, or loyalty to the king, or to make an honorable career." He sighed. "Or because they had no better ideas....We had friends in the corps in Madrid. I know Gilberto thinks of that, when he looks at these men in their uniforms."

Since Felipe couldn't think of any answer to that, he took the reins back.

Z

Don Alejandro and Gilberto had returned from their hunt with a fat young buck. It hung in the shed, waiting to be dressed for tomorrow night's dinner: venison and fish and pork, an extravagant departure from the usual, plentiful, beef.

It was Gilberto who'd brought it down, and Don Alejandro was all over himself with pride. Felipe couldn't help thinking, just a little resentfully, that Diego could have done better. But thinking that way didn't help anyone.

"Diego, what do you think of playing the piano tomorrow night?" Gilberto asked.

"I think," Diego snorted, "that I haven't touched a piano in more months than I care to count."

"Is that 'no,' then?" his father asked.

Diego glanced at the piano in the parlor. "That is...maybe."

He sat down and ran first his eyes and then his fingers over the keys. He paused, looking for just a moment uncertain, and then slow ripples of sound began to flow out from his fingers. The ripples got faster and turned into waterfalls of sound that danced in and out of Felipe's hearing.

Knowing he shouldn't, unable to help himself, Felipe stepped forward and laid his hand against the silky wood of the piano. The sweet sounds filled his hand, his arm, his shoulders. It poured into his bones and swept him away with the torrent. Up and down, up and down--and then suddenly it stopped.

Diego looked up. "Were you thinking of something specific?"

He had been warming up.

Felipe had heard Don Alejandro and Gilberto and Senorita Pascal and Don Armando all play the piano, and Diego put them all to shame just warming up.

"That Mozart sonata you played at Julian's party."

Diego held up seven fingers. Gilberto winced and held up five. Diego thought for a moment. "Oh, yes. I remember that one." He turned back and caressed he keys again. What flowed out was soft and delicate. At first, Felipe could barely hear it, but the notes tickled against his fingers and palms and made him feel light inside. The music danced, a little thicker, a little heavier, a little deeper. The music in his ears and bones was strong and sweet. Felipe had a lump in his throat.

The song--if that was even a word you could use--bounced between cheerful and friendly and gentle...and sad and dramatic and eager. Once or twice Felipe had to open his eyes and make sure that Diego still only had two hands. It hardly seemed possible for one person, alone, to make music like this. Felipe felt a little giddy.

The music went strange and jarring for a moment before resuming its inexorable flow. Felipe sighed. This music was astonishing. There scarcely seemed to be room in his brain for something so big, so sweet, so exciting.

The music stuttered and clanged. Felipe's eyes popped open. Diego was scowling at the keyboard. His hands fumbled, and the skipping melody collapsed into something rhythmless and sour. Snarling, Diego slammed the cover down. And then he cursed, which was almost as shocking. And then he jumped to his feet, pushing back from the piano. Except--

He wavered. For a moment the world was motionless and silent. And then Diego crashed to the floor, taking the piano stool with him.

Although Felipe was closer, both Don Alejandro and Gilberto reached Diego's crumpled form before he did. Gilberto kicked the stool aside so hard he took one of its legs off. Swiftly, with firm, efficient strokes, Gilberto ran his fingers over his brother's head. Diego mumbled something and pushed feebly at the probing hands.

"Be still. It was just a faint. I want to make sure you weren't hurt."

Diego tried to struggle free, but both Gilberto and Don Alejandro were holding him now. He said something, but Felipe couldn't understand what it was.

"Damn it, Diego! Stop. Just...stop. Father, I think we can lift him to the divan. Let's get him off the floor."

Working in concert they managed to turn Diego onto his back and scoop him up onto the divan. Gilberto lifted Diego's feet and set them on the padded arm. "You're all right. Wait a moment. Just be still." He glanced up. Something in Felipe's expression made him wince a little. "A glass of water might help," he said gently. "And a damp flannel."

Felipe ran to get them. He was desperately glad to be doing something to useful. He was also desperately, shamefully, glad to get away. Diego was too pale. His eyes, half-open, focused on nothing. His breathing was too shallow and too fast.

When Felipe got back a couple of minutes later everything had changed. Diego was sitting up, his forearms braced on his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Gilberto was standing calmly, once again the voice of reason. "--been over a month since anything like this has happened. It's no reason to panic. And Diego is right, it is no reason to send for the doctor. He overexerted himself and stood up too quickly--"

Diego looked up darkly. "I overexerted myself playing the piano," he drawled. "I gave myself such severe palpitations I couldn't finish one sonata--it was almost seven minutes long, I admit, but that is still hardly arduous!"

Don Alejandro turned away and stared unseeing out the window.

Very politely, Gilberto began, "The fault was mine, and I apologize. I pushed you. You need more time--"

Angrily, Diego ground out, "Yes. Perhaps things will improve if I spend a few more months avoiding vigorous activity like sitting down! Do not pretend--" He caught sight of Felipe, standing in the doorway with a tumbler of water in one hand and a damp cloth in the other, and froze. He closed his eyes for a moment and passed a hand over his face. Then, very carefully, he stood up. "Excuse me," he said softly, walking toward the back of the house.

When he was out of sight, Don Alejandro turned and exited in the other direction. For a moment, Felipe was frozen, unsure which of them to follow or what he could possibly say to either of them. Gilberto laid a hand on his arm and shook his head. "Leave them alone. They need some time."

Felipe set the glass and cloth on a table, but even with his hands free, he didn't have an answer....

Gilberto led him behind the fireplace to the cave. He went to curry and feed Toronado, and Felipe sat down at the battered worktable they'd brought down. He lit the lamp, and the light alternately sank into dark pools of soft leather and glittered of off a scattering of silver fittings.

The twins had brought the fittings back with them from Spain. They were to be a gift for their father, but Zorro had a more urgent need. "We'll give them to him later," Gilberto had laughed. "Once Zorro drives this alcalde off, they'll have historical significance as well as being beautiful.

Obtaining a plain black set of tack had been simple enough. Tooling the leather with a tiny stamp and hammer had taken days, though. Diego did pretty leatherwork, but it wasn't an art form he practiced very often, so it was slow, tedious work.

Diego had also marked the spots where the silver decorations were to go. Felipe picked up an awl and tweezers and began the careful process of positioning and securing the bits of silver. When Gilberto finished tending Toronado, he joined Felipe at the table and began work on the bridle.

The cave was quiet and a little cool. Peaceful. Felipe was sure that Diego would appear in a few minutes, calm and a bit abashed at having lost his temper. He would tell them not to worry and make everything all right.

By the time Felipe had finished with the left stirrup, though, Diego hadn't appeared. Felipe laid out the right stirrup, setting it beside the first so he could make sure they matched. The fittings glittered, blinking up from the inky leather like stars in a night sky. Sucking briefly at a sore finger, he reached for the tweezers.

Abruptly, Gilberto shoved the bridle away and sank heavily onto one of the coarse stools they'd brought into the cave to make it a little more livable. "Did you know I used to wish...." he began in a flat voice, "every time we started something new, I used to wish that just once I would best him at something. My brilliant, talented brother. Everything came so easy for him. God forgive me."

Felipe thought about that for a moment. He knocked on the table for attention and signed, "It's not true. You never hated him. I know it's not true."

Gilberto frowned in puzzlement. "What do you--Oh...no, I didn't. I never wished...for him to suffer."

Felipe nodded. "Never. Everyone always liked Diego better, I did not understand--" Felipe stopped, realizing too late that he'd said far too much.

Amazingly, Gilberto didn't seem offended. "Why didn't I resent him?" He pulled the saddle toward him and ran his fingers over Diego's careful rosettes. "Well. Even when I was in competition with him, he was never in competition with me. He took as much joy in my accomplishments as he did in his own. Diego has always been quite devoted to me. Sometimes I think God alone must know why--I certainly have no idea...." he took a deep breath and sat up straight. "No, you're right. I have never hated him. I did not....no, I did not wish this on him."

Felipe tried to look stern. "So stop it. You have nothing to regret. You took care of him. You brought him home."

Very slowly, Gilberto shook his head. He ran a single finger along the leather. "You don't understand. It should be him. Zorro. This should be his, not mine. Diego was born for this. He is a better swordsman than I, a better athlete, a better tactician."

Felipe shook his head. "He always said you are as smart."

"He said that to you?" Gilberto's brows rose slightly. He shrugged. "Well, I'll have to be, won't I? I have to be as good as Diego, now. Somehow."

"He believes you can do it."

"Of course he does," he whispered bitterly. "He is generous and loving, as well as a genius. God is not punishing me for resenting my brother. He is only laughing at me." He passed a hand over his eyes. "We should go. We don't want to be late for dinner."

Felipe had stopped serving at the table. He hadn't wanted to. He was very proud of learning to do it correctly. But as Don Alejandro had pointed out, if he didn't eat when the family took their meals he would have to eat some other time, and he wouldn't be available to Diego. Giving up eating altogether was simply not a practical long-term solution.

After dinner in the kitchen he found the twins in the library. Gilberto was reading a novel, but Diego was sitting quietly, staring into the fire that had been started to ward off the chill of the spring evening. Felipe nudged him on the shoulder and asked, "Chess?"

Diego lifted his eyes slowly. "Perhaps not tonight."

Felipe nudged him again. "Will you tell me about the cathedrals in Madrid?"

"Felipe...I'm afraid I'm poor company tonight. Why don't you work on your history for a while? We'll be talking about the Roman Republic next...."

Worried, Felipe glanced at Gilberto. One handed and without looking up from his book Gilberto signed, "Sit down. Read. It's all right."

Obviously it wasn't all right. But Felipe pulled a book randomly from the history shelf and sat down to read.

TBC