AN: This is my first venture into the Zorro fandom. I hope this fic will find its audience and that you will enjoy it. Story is complete and shall be posted over the next few days. I do have a few more ideas, if there's any interest for my little stories. Unbeta'd but I hope it still looks good enough.

It was bound to happen eventually. Sure, the lancers from the Los Angeles garrison were terrible shooters, and certainly the darkness of the night didn't help them, but that never deterred them. So, it was almost inevitable that, after the hundreds attempt at shooting the elusive fox as he once again made his escape over the roof of the cuartel's stables, a lucky shot found its target. Or maybe one of the shooters was just better than the rest of them.

Taken off guard by the bullet ripping through his side, Zorro stumbled backward. Which is a dangerous thing to happen when you're running on a roof. His foot met only the void and he fell off the wall behind the cuartel. He landed flat on his back, a couple inches from his loyal stallion, Tornado. Dazed, he laid there for a couple minutes, as an acute pain radiated from his left side. It was his first bullet wound and it hurt like Hell. How much he hated those uncivilized weapons! But now was not the time to commiserate, nor rest. Inside the cuartel, lancers were already organizing the pursuit.

"I've got him!" exclaimed way too happily Capitán Montero, the new comandante. "Lancers, after him!"

"To horses! To horses!" Sergeant Garcia shouted.

Zorro stumbled to his feet and, stoically ignoring the pain, climbed back on his horse. There was not a moment to lose. Already, the stumping of the cavalry was resonating as the soldiers circled around the cuartel. With a kick of the heels, he signaled Tornado to go and the faithful stallion took off at full gallop. The wound in Zorro's side made the ride excruciating, bursts of pain shooting through his body with every brisk stride of the horse. He would certainly not try to jump over the canyon today. And yet, he had to get rid of the cavalry tailing him before he could go back to the safety of his secret cave. So, clenching his teeth against the pain, Zorro pushed Tornado further and directed him toward the hills.

The good horse knew the drill and he was flying like the wind. Jumping over the rocks and dodging tree branches, he was doing one with his rider. This was a good thing because his rider was currently in no shape to help him anticipate the obstacles. All his efforts were concentrated on staying astride – and awake.

Luckily for him, the detour by the hills had been enough to lose the lancers. By the time he reached the vicinity of the de la Vega lands, it was finally safe for Zorro to let Tornado slow down and walk. But he was struggling to stay conscious.

"Come on," he hissed between his teeth, "we're almost there."

Through the moonlit darkness of the night, Zorro recognized the long figure of the hacienda in the distance. They were barely a mile from the cave. If only he could hold on a little longer.

But he couldn't.

He felt he was sliding from his saddle. Somehow, he was on his hands and feet on the ground now. Everything seemed disconnected and the world was fading to black. He tried to get up but he was overtaken by dizziness and he fell back on the ground. Slowly the darkness of the night deepened around him, until it swallowed him all.

After a quick breakfast, Alejandro de la Vega headed to the stables for his morning ride. He saddled his horse, mounted, and directed the animal toward the hills at the back of his domain. Alejandro liked this time of day, when the air was still fresh and the hacienda still quiet. The sun was just rising above the horizon, casting a soft oblique light on the trees and bushes.

He had barely been riding for a few minutes when he noticed a massive black stallion. Definitely not one of his horses. It was saddled, but no one was mounting it. The animal raised its head as he heard the newcomer but didn't run away. On the contrary, it calmly but firmly placed itself between Alejandro and the path leading to the hills, blocking the way. Alejandro approached carefully and finally noticed what the horse was protecting. There was a black figure lying in the grass on the side of the path. All he could see from there was the black cape and the hat, but there was little doubt who they belonged to.

Alejandro's heart quickened. He wondered what had happened to the famous outlaw. He certainly hoped he wasn't dead. Even though he didn't always see eye to eye with Zorro, Alejandro had to admit the man's unorthodox methods had proven quite effective, and he had grown to appreciate him. They fought the Eagle together, and Zorro even saved him from Monastario back in the days. Alejandro got off his horse and even though his heart told him to hurry, he forced himself to walk slowly, clearly showing his hands to the black animal as to indicate he was no enemy. The horse seemed to consider him for a moment, but judged the stranger was no threat and let him approach his master.

Alejandro knelt down next to the black figure, who was lying face down in the grass. There was a dark pool of blood under him. Grabbing Zorro's shoulder, Alejandro gently turned him on his back. The outlaw moaned and the caballero sighed in relief. Zorro was alive.

Alejandro looked at him for a second. There, lying unconscious and defenseless, the dashing hero who kept defying those in power looked a lot less formidable. Vulnerable, almost. Watching him riding his giant black horse, jumping from roof to roof and fencing against a whole garrison, it was easy to forget he was only one man. And terribly young at that. Looking at his face half-covered by the black mask, Alejandro realized he mustn't be much older than his son Diego.

He was woken up by a hand grabbing his shoulder and turning him over. For a minute, Diego had no idea where he was. Certainly not in his bed. What was he doing lying in the grass? A burst of pain shooting from his abdomen violently dissipated the haze clouding his mind. He – as Zorro – had been shot, had fallen from his horse and apparently lost consciousness. This was bad.

He cautiously opened his eyes and his sight fell on his father, of all people. Zorro jolted back and immediately regretted it as the pain in his side tripled. It was daytime already, which meant he had been there for several hours. With greeted teeth, he sat up and looked at his abdomen. The blood stain wasn't very visible on the dark material of his Zorro outfit, but his shirt was clearly soaked. And there was a lot of blood on the grass, where he was lying a moment before.

"Señor Zorro?" Alejandro said gently. "It's alright, you're safe."

Zorro looked up at him and slowly raised his hand to check his mask, dreading it wouldn't be properly placed anymore. But though he seemed to have lost his hat, both his bandana and his mask were still canceling his features.

"I wouldn't look, Señor," Alejandro said. "I'm not here to unmask you."

"Thank you," Zorro breathed, shooting an uncertain smile.

Tornado was standing behind them. Waiting calmly for his master, but keeping a certain distant, unsure what to do of Alejandro's presence. Zorro waved for him to come closer.

Tornado picked up Zorro's hat, which was lying abandoned in the grass, and brought it to his master. Zorro put his hat back on and patted his faithful stallion gently on the muzzle.

"You're hurt", Alejandro went on. "You need help. Probably a doctor."

Zorro stumbled to his feet. "I'm fine," he muttered.

But his head span and his legs betrayed him. He would have fallen on his knees if Alejandro, hurrying to his side, hadn't caught him, sliding a strong arm around his waist.

"The Hell you are," he scolded. Then he added more gently. "Come on, Señor Zorro, let me help you. After all, I owe it to you."

"It's too dangerous," tried to protest the bandit.

And also, very complicated.

But there were dark spots blurring his vision and despite his father's hold he had a hard time standing on his feet. Caving, he put his arm around Alejandro's shoulders, implicitly accepting the assistance.

"Should I take you home?" Alejandro asked. "Would there be someone to take care of you, there?"

Zorro couldn't help but smile. "Nice try, Señor de la Vega," he said.

"I'm just trying to help, young man. I can take you to my hacienda, then. It's right around the corner."

"It's too dangerous," Zorro repeated again. "I'm a wanted man."

His heart squeezed uncomfortably as he said those words. He was, indeed, an outlaw. A bandido in the eyes of authority. And whether Alejandro actually helped him or not, he would certainly be facing repercussion if Zorro ever got caught and his identity revealed. He didn't like thinking about this.

"Would you be able to get on your horse?" Alejandro asked.

Zorro side-eyed Tornado, but he remembered the painful ride of the night.

"I think I'd rather walk," he said shortly. Then he turned to his horse and gestured for him to leave. "Go home, Tornado. Vamos."

The horse seemed to hesitate but finally complied and walked away, not without casting his master a wary look.

"He's magnificent," Alejandro mused.

"He is," Zorro agreed.

They started walking slowly to the hacienda, Zorro leaning on his father, fighting the dizziness and the urge to collapse.

"What happened to you?" Alejandro asked after a while.

"I got shot and I fell from the cuartel's roof."

I got cocky and careless, that's what happened, Zorro thought, angry at himself. But he didn't say it out loud.

"So, the lancers finally learned how to use those muskets? That's going to complicate your life."

"I think it was the new Comandante. He seems to be a better marksman than most."

"What were you doing there?"

"I helped that kid, Joaquin, escape. Montero had him arrested for stealing a loaf of bread."

"Ah, I see. My son Diego tried to reason with him yesterday..."

Even though he didn't turn his head to look at his father, Zorro could just picture the skeptical eyebrow rising as he said those words. He knew very well what Alejandro thought about the efficiency of the peaceful way.

"Nothing wrong with trying the diplomatic approach first," he said a little defensively.

"True," Alejandro conceded. "But that new Comandante is clearly not the kind of man that would listen to reason. And he's given you a lot of work, hasn't he?"

Zorro sighed. "He has."

They continued their slow and laborious progress toward the hacienda, Alejandro keeping a firm arm around the injured bandit, and Zorro doing his best not to stumble and not weight too much on him.

"Why do you do it, Señor Zorro?" Alejandro asked.

"Do what?"

"Fight."

Zorro shrugged. "Someone has to."

"That's a lot, for a single man. One day you're gonna get yourself..." Alejandro stopped short of saying killed and corrected himself: "hurt."

That day was apparently today.

"Your loved ones must be worried about you," the old man said softly.

A sad smile brushed Diego's lips but he remained silent.

"Do they even know?" Alejandro mused. Since the bandit didn't response, he went on. "They don't, do they? You probably haven't told anyone. And if anything were to happen to you..."

Alejandro's voice trailed off and Zorro felt him shiver.

"You're a good man, Señor Zorro," Alejandro still said. "I wish there were more men like you, fighting for a better, fairer, world."

Diego wasn't really listening to his father anymore, but there was something comforting in being by his side, hearing the praise in his voice, feeling his strong arm supporting him.

He kept zoning out and he wasn't sure how his feet were still carrying him, but somehow, they made it to the hacienda.

They reached the hacienda and Alejandro cautiously opened the gate. The patio was empty. Everything was still very quiet. At this hour, only the maid, Cresencia, would already be up, and she was probably busy in the kitchen. It was just as well. The less people to see the outlaw, the better.

Still, he could use a hand. Zorro was a tall and strong man, quite heavy for a not so young haciendado. And Zorro, exhausted, was leaning more and more heavily on him.

"Diego!" Alejandro called. "Diego!"

He felt the bandit tense up.

"Don't worry," he said reassuringly as he kept his eyes expectantly on the door to his son's room. "You can trust Diego just as you can trust me."

"I'm sure," Zorro mumbled, his voice barely a whisper.

"Diego!" Alejandro called again, frustration rising. How could his son sleep so soundly while there were so many things happening around him?

He was about to give up and lead Zorro to the sala, when Diego's door finally opened. But it wasn't Diego, it was Bernardo, his servant, who peeked through the door with a rather suspicious look on his face. When he spotted the two men downstairs in the patio, his eyes widened in surprise and for a moment he just stared at them.

"Where's Diego?" Alejandro asked, trying to gesture his question at the same time. But gesturing to the deaf servant with only a single hand wasn't easy.

Bernardo didn't seem to understand the question, as he just stood there, his gaze going from Zorro to Don Alejandro and back.

"Yes, it's Zorro," Alejandro said impatiently. "He needs help."

Bernardo's eyes snapped back to the masked man, and his expression of surprised morphed into a worried frown. He suddenly hurried downstairs and slid under Zorro's arm to support him from the other side. The poor man, on the verge of collapsing, hardly acknowledged Bernardo.

"He's injured," Alejandro said, pointing at Zorro's bloodied shirt. "Since you're here, give me a hand. He needs to lie down."

Bernardo seemed to catch the seriousness of the situation as he nodded and pointed toward the house.

"The sala?"

Bernardo shook his head. He put his free hand under his cheek and tilted his head with his eyes closed, miming sleep.

"Oh, the guest room?"

Bernardo nodded. For a second, Alejandro wondered how the deaf man seemed to understand him so easily, but now was hardly the time for such considerations.

He nodded and they carried their wounded guest to the small bedroom at the back of the hacienda. By then, Zorro had fallen completely unconscious, but his breathing, strong and regular enough was rather reassuring. They laid him on the bed and Bernardo tried to make him comfortable. He took off his hat and managed to free him from his cape.

"Leave the mask on," Alejandro instructed, with explicit gestures.

Bernardo nodded, but somehow, he didn't seem to show any particular curiosity toward the masked bandit's identity. He looked quite worried though, as he lifted Zorro's shirt to reveal the injury.

Alejandro looked as well and paled. There was a lot of blood, but the bullet hole was clearly visible, neat and deep, in Zorro's left side. For a moment Alejandro remembered when he had been shot himself, and he winced in sympathy for his savior who was now experiencing the ordeal himself. He and the outlaw will have matching scars; assuming they managed to save him. Alejandro clenched his teeth and bent over to examine the wound more closely.

"The bullet is still inside. He needs a doctor. I don't have the skills."

Bernardo gently but rather firmly grabbed Alejandro's arm and pointed at himself.

"You?" Alejandro asked, watching Bernardo gesture some more. "You can extract the bullet yourself?" he translated.

Bernardo nodded vehemently.

"You know how to extract a bullet?" Alejandro insisted.

Bernardo nodded again.

Alejandro hesitated a moment but finally gave in. "Very well. What do you need?"

To be continued...