I know that this is a favorite episode for a lot of readers. Since I am not confined to 22 minutes and a target audience of age 9 (more or less) I have a lot more space and freedom to explore the problems and responses then the original. I hope everyone finds the result satisfying.

May 11, 1815

Gilberto

He was not – quite – hung over.

Still, it was a near thing. His head ached and his mouth was sour and he did not want to face Diego over breakfast. He couldn't count on Diego's worry over Victoria to distract him. He always could read my every thought just by looking at my face. Sitting at the same table this morning, he was bound to notice. There would be a Discussion.

Better to avoid the whole thing altogether and exercise the horse. Toronado had certainly been restive enough when Gilberto went down to the cave that morning. He had snorted and complained. Really, it would have been cruel to neglect him for another moment.

Diego had enough to worry about without his idiot brother's moodiness adding to it.

Still, even as distracted as he was, if Diego did notice his brother's lack of temperance, his compassionate soul would relentlessly pursue the cause. He would have it all out of him. He would sympathize and try to be encouraging. He might even be clever enough to think of a reassurance that was actually comforting. It was Diego, after all. He was a genius.

He was also reasonable, slow to anger, committed to his principles, charming, and industrious.

The problem was he was genuinely and unassumingly confident. He had no idea what it was like to endlessly, miserably, doubt yourself.

Zorro had been Diego's idea. It had been a brilliant idea, a perfect idea. And Gilberto had all the help and support in that undertaking that any man could ask for. And still – and still – he had fouled it completely.

If Diego had been in the mask he never would have let the situation get away from him. If Diego had been Zorro, an innocent, a woman, would never have been shot protecting him. Never.

Never.

Diego wouldn't have gotten tossed off his horse into a canyon, either. Gilberto had nearly gotten himself killed, endangered Felipe, and made himself useless for weeks…and it was Diego who had come to his rescue and sorted out the mess in town. Diego had had to put on the costume and risk everything to make things right after Gilberto's last mistake.

Diego might have been hurt. He might have pushed himself too hard. He might have died. Why? Because Gilberto wasn't quite good enough.

And now Gilberto had messed up so thoroughly that even Diego couldn't fix it. Turning his back on Bishop – that wasn't a mistake Diego would ever have made.

But Los Angeles had not gotten Diego as her protector. She had gotten Gilberto, the other one who was almost good enough. Los Angeles deserved better. So did Diego.

Too quickly, they reached Oak Creek. Toronado was slowing, angling for a drink. Gilberto reined him in and made him walk first and cool down. When they finally did approach the water, Gilberto drank deeply and washed his face. Fortunately, the creek rippled too much to offer back a reflection. He didn't want to see himself.

He didn't need to see himself. Diego could see him, and that was bad enough. Diego's response to Gilberto's latest failure had been to apologize: I'm sorry I got you into this. Zorro was too much for him, and instead of berating Gilberto for his incompetence or demanding he do better, Diego had only apologized for pulling him into circumstances where his best was not good enough.

Alejandro

He heard the heifer lowing even before he saw the waterhole. The entire south end of the ravine had been flooded during the winter rains, but now the receding water revealed an expanse of deep, sticky mud.

Sure enough, when he came around the little copse of trees, there she was, complaining and stretching, completely mired in.

Alejandro dismounted and played out his rope. The next twenty minutes involved a great deal of sweating, cursing, and mud. When it finished, the heifer trotted away without a thank-you, and Alejandro paused to scrape the worst of the mud off his boots.

Alejandro closed his eyes and breathed, whishing he could think of a solution for Carlos that would be so easy.

Felipe

When Diego apologized for not looking over any of Felipe's school work for nearly a week, Sir Edmond volunteered help out.

Felipe was disconcerted at the idea of Diego's own teacher looking at his history and mathematics assignments, but it would have been ungracious in the extreme to greet the offer with anything but appreciation. Sir Edmond occasionally lectured in philosophy, after all. To adult men, students at the college. Having his attention was an amazing stroke of luck.

Felipe fetched his papers and slates with as much cheerfulness as he could manage.

Sir Edmond read over the work without saying a word. His eyebrows went up, but other than that he didn't change his expression. He did not take up either the pen or the stylus to correct anything, either.

When he finished he began to question Felipe, not only over the work he was showing but over random topics. It was tedious in the extreme: the Englishman didn't sign at all and Felipe had to write all the answers on a slate.

Finally, Sir Edmond tidied the papers and laid them aside. He took Felipe out to the side garden and handed him a practice sword. "We will start with your feet. No, don't look down at them. Do not take your eyes off me."

What followed was half an hour of footwork followed by forty-five minutes of forms. Sir Edmond was a better instructor than Gilberto, and he had much more stamina than Diego. He was, in fact, tireless. He was also much more direct with his corrections.

Felipe was, by then, deeply horrified. He was also – very quickly – sweaty and embarrassed. And panting. And aching from his wrist to his neck.

It was only when the lesson was finished that Sir Edmond smiled. He put an arm around Felipe's shoulder as they walked back to the house.

Diego

The nurse came out of Victoria's room with the tray untouched. "She's not eating?" Diego asked as he rose to help her with the tray.

"Not a bite." She sighed. "It would be better if she did, but you can't force someone to eat."

Diego hesitated. "Would you let me try?" he asked.

She eyed him narrowly, and then gave him a long list of things he would not be allowed to do: her detailed interpretation of 'proper' behavior which precluded sitting on the bed, closing the door, straying out of view of anyone standing in the hallway, and so on. "Not that it would cross my mind that you would abuse your position here in the house. Certainly not! But for a young woman the appearance of propriety is every bit as important as the fact of it. The responsibility is not to be taken lightly."

Diego had never known his own grandmothers. Even Maria – who even now barely seemed to qualify as elderly – had rarely disciplined them. Up till now, Diego had never had much occasion to be harangued by an elderly woman. He wondered if they all felt so free to speak their minds when they had you alone and at their mercy.

Meekly, he entered the room and set the tray on the bureau. He sat in the little chair beside the bed and studied her. She was very pale, a reminder of the blood loss. She also had the twilight look of someone who had been given enough laudanum to make them uninterested in bodily discomfort. They would have to reduce that in a day or two –

She blinked slowly and turned her head slightly to look at him. She stared for a long moment.

When it was clear that she wasn't going to say anything, Diego said, "Hello, Victoria."

"Diego…." But that was all.

"You didn't eat your lunch," he said softly. "Or your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry," she whispered.

"No, I suppose not….but it would be good for you to eat. You need to build up your strength."

She closed her eyes, disinterested.

"Victoria…I've spent a great deal of time, well, badly 'indisposed'. There was a month when I was too weak to get out of bed, and Gilberto had to lift me….I was fed and," (no, those other things could not be mentioned) "looked after…. And for most of it…I was too exhausted to care."

She was looking at him now, at least. Her eyes were focused on his face.

"I've learned a great deal in my vast experience," he tried a small smile. "Among the most important is to…to try, just a little."

She turned her head away. Diego took a deep breath and let it out slowly and tried again. "And that is the other thing I have learned: You must try to trust the people who are looking after you. Right now you don't know or care why we are asking you to eat. You must do it anyway. Just a little. I promise you, it is the right thing."

"Later," she whispered.

"It seems a huge task now…and it will still be a huge task in an hour. Please, Victoria?"

Her eyes drifted closed.

"I know it seems impossible. But Victoria, you must eat, and I - "

She nodded, just once.

Diego retrieved the bowl of bread and broth and, turning the chair for a better angle, sat down again. He only filled the spoon halfway: a little warm broth, a pinch of the spongy bread. Victoria opened her mouth.

He got six bites into her, and then, with a fresh spoon, a little of the tea. The first taste of it got her attention. She wrinkled her nose slightly. "Strange," she whispered, after swallowing.

Diego forced himself to smile. "Father Benitez brought it when he visited last night. I suspect it isn't quite as nice-tasting as the tea he makes for me. It's for building blood. Is it sweet enough?"

The food seemed to have given her a little strength. She made a face. "It must be half honey…."

"Gilberto's bee hives are finally producing reliably. Wonderful isn't it? I'll be sure to thank him for you."

She smiled slightly at that and took a little more from the spoon. He was going to give up after then, but when he moved to set the cup aside, her eyes opened wide and her hand grasped at nothing. "So thirsty," she protested.

Pleased, he got most of the cup into her before she fell asleep.

Although it was a breach of conduct, he touched her temple with the back of his hand. Still no fever. Diego gave a brief prayer of thanks before collecting the tray and leaving the room. Senora Sosa only nodded briskly as he passed her in the doorway.

~tbc