(a bit short and sweet)

Diego paced the library, his eyes drifting to the mantlepiece. That was where the trigger had been placed for the secret door. Zorro's cave. How audacious the man was, to base his operations in the hacienda of the de la Vegas. He knew that Toronado was stabled in the cave, and the black silk clothes hung on the hooks close at hand. Felipe trusted and cared for the man behind the mask, enough to risk his life for him.

Pablo had left to tend to Felipe, and Diego ran his finger along the mantle. The secret mechanism was well oiled and maintained. When he had ventured inside to fetch his potions, its hinges had swung so smoothly and silently that he was amazed. He pressed the trigger with his finger lightly, once again impressed with the response of the workings of the contraption.

Ducking inside, he closed the hidden door quickly, instinctively protective. He ran his eyes over the cave resisting the urge to back away, to turn and run back to the library. His head pounded, but he took several deep breaths. This was important, this was vital. So many sensations awoke as his fingers examined the artefacts on the walls, his eyes straying to the desk.

It was a mess, he realised. Some of those piles had been knocked over, and he automatically adjusted them. What? How had he known that? This was only the second time he had been in the hidden room. That was certain...wasn't it? He picked up a piece of paper with notes scribbled all over it, and recognised his own handwriting.

No, this was not possible. It couldn't be. He opened the top drawer of the desk, and his fingers brushed against a piece of parchment. An envelope, no a few envelopes.

"In the event of my death….for Victoria," he read. It was his own handwriting, once again. The envelope beneath that was one for his father. He replaced the one for Victoria and picked up the one for his father.

He broke the wax seal, and spread it out slowly, sinking into the desk chair. His heart pounded in his chest, and his stomach twisted, but he fought it and read the letter.

"Dear Father…

I need to come to the point. I am Zorro, and I have always been Zorro, from the moment I stepped into the pueblo after so many years away. Your money was not wasted in Madrid, I applied myself under the guidance of my masters, especially one Sir Edmund Kendall. I swore him to secrecy, determined to tell you of my success once I saw your face. As you know, fate interseeded and my courage failed me.

I know you considered me a coward, and in a way I was. I have decided not to tell you my secret, admitting it only now, in the event of my death. I am a criminal, an outlaw, but there was no one else to defend the people. I know I went against a lot of what you taught me - obedience to authority is important, I agree, but only when the people are safe from tyranny. I am still loyal to the king and the nation of Spain, but this pueblo has been cruelly treated for so long.

I couldn't tell you, I know your character - you would fight alongside me. I would lose you, there was no guarantee I could always be there to protect you. I had to stay the coward, clumsy, awkward, and weak. A disappointment to all who cared about me.

I have written a letter to Victoria as well. I have not told her, and am determined never to tell her. For the same reasons, we know her so well. Peace in Los Angeles is unlikely at this rate, and my promises were all sincere, but pointless. Look after her, care for her as if she was my wife, because in my heart she was always going to be mine.

All my love and apologies….Diego."

Diego shook his head with disbelief, noting that the change in tense matched what would have been heart wrenching thoughts. It was confusing and depressing, as such a letter would be. He was Zorro.

The clothes hung arms length away, mocking him for the lack of clarity still in his mind. He was Zorro. They were his clothes. This was his cave. Toronado was his horse. Victoria loved him. He loved her. He felt at an impasse, rubbing his head to ease the headache.

His hands reached for the clothes, fingertips brushing against fine silk. No memory there. It stubbornly remained blurred. It didn't matter, only saving his father and Victoria mattered now. If his memory returned or if it did not, he had a duty to fulfil.

He removed his shirt, and changed it for the black silk one. It was cool and then warmed to his body, tailored perfectly to his form - obviously made for him. He did the same with his trousers, and tied the sash around his waist. He caught his reflection in a small mirror, and he took in serious eyes, a pale face, a worried frown.

Diego picked up the mask. It was a bandana, with two eye holes. Simple but so very essential. His fingers shook and it fluttered to the floor. Maybe he should do this without the mask? His mind sent him a strong message "no".

Think about this, he told himself. What was the point of being masked? The woman he loved had no idea who he was, his father thought he was a coward. The whole pueblo was soft hearted towards him but they saw him as a weak, clumsy coward. It hurt thinking about it.

Was ego more important than the safety of his father, Victoria? The safety of his descendants if there was any chance of that? His estates, his fortune, his life. The lives of his friends.

He picked up the mask, and resolutely tied it around his head. Staring at himself in the mirror, he gasped. It was another man who stared out of the mirror. It was Zorro. It didn't matter if he remembered it, he was Zorro. Zorro was him.

Felipe knew about it, Pablo knew about it. Who else knew about it? The letters meant that his father and Victoria had yet to find out. Maybe Benitez knew about it. His hand found the hat, and placed it on his head. The sword in its belt joined his costume.

Very theatrical, he thought. He added the cape with a small grin.

Toronado had been resting in his stall, but had lifted his head with interest. His front hoof moved restlessly as Zorro approached him. He saddled him with soft words, placing the bridle as expertly as he usually did. Nimble fingers and soft words had the job down within seconds.

Diego swung his leg over Toronado and settled into the saddle as if he had never forgotten anything. He spun the stallion, and raced out of the cave, somehow realising the mechanism would be triggered by the horse and the door would open.

He had wasted so much time, his thinking had been so unclear, his mind and body letting him down. His mind letting the whole pueblo down. Letting Victoria down.