As a young boy, Alejandro de la Vega had learned an important lesson the hard way. His father had tried to tell him, to let him know the truth with ease. However, Alejandro, full of the de la Vega stubbornness that the family was known for, ignored the advice. He could remember the sight of Wolf, his childhood companion, lying on the ground, bloody from being kicked by a horse. Alejandro, horrified by his friend's pain, reached down to pet him.

Fortunately for him, his father had also seen the accident and rushed over to pull the dog off of his son. Alejandro still saw the tiny scares on his arm every time he got dressed. "Never approach a wounded animal!" his father has shouted at him in fear before hugging him close. They had cried together when Lopez used his blade to kill the hurting animal. A young Alejandro learned a lesson that day. He never again, no matter how good of a friend, approached a wounded beast. Or, at least, not without the utmost caution.

As an army officer, he had learned another important lesson. Men were not animals. "Men can think, so they know you are trying to help," his father had tried to explain to him that day in the past. Alejandro realized the truth of that statement on the battlefields. He had seen grown men cry in gratitude that someone was willing to sit by them, touch them, as they died. Men without arms or legs gladly accepted another's help as they were carried to the doctors.

He also been taught a lesson his father had not tried to tell him the easy way. Maybe his father, from an easier time, did not know the other simple truth himself; men could be wounded as well. Physical injuries would heal, but the injuries to their soul . . . They would make a man as dangerous as Wolf had been with his physical hurts.

He had seen many of those wounded men, unable to ask for or receive help, die. Oh, their bodies continued to live, sometimes years after the spirit inside had left. It was hard for him, a man of action, to accept how little a human being could do to help one of his own that was wounded. He had seen some of the wounded manage to heal the tears on their souls, but it usually did not come with a bandage from mankind. It was something inside.

Alejandro thought of Jack. He was a wounded man, but he had an inner strength to keep looking for the help he needed, and it appeared that he had finally found the thread to sew his soul back together.

But that earlier joy had now turned into terror. Instead of laughing in the plaza with an old friend, Don Alejandro de la Vega was now stuck in a cave with a wounded Fox, and his fear threatened to overwhelm him. No, he was not worried that Zorro would harm him. Just the opposite; he was afraid that he would harm the outlaw, that he would be unable to help the man to find the strength to keep looking for help. His stomach clenched at the thought of a soulless Fox roaming the hills of Los Angeles.

The roaming would not last for long. The body would soon join the soul if things continued as they were now. Victoria had tried to warn him that something was wrong, but he had refused to listen, because he had not wanted to believe. Yes, Zorro had seemed reckless in his actions lately, but Alejandro hadn't wanted to believe that it was a reckless abandonment that he was watching. He chose to believe it was a controlled prank, because the people of Los Angeles needed a strong and whole Zorro. Alejandro needed him.

The masked outlaw finally stopped his angry pacing. He now simply leaned himself against the wall of the cave, looking out of the entrance as he watched the brilliance of the storm. It was obvious to the rancher that Zorro was deep into thought, but what thoughts were in that brilliant mind?

Alejandro started when Zorro provided the answer without prompting. "I almost got you killed today." He stated it in a matter of fact tone, which frightened Alejandro more than any amount of raging. His voice was that of a man who was tired, too tired to fight anymore, even himself.

"You saved me today!" he protested, every nerve in his body on fire. "If the alcalde had been granted his wish, I'd now be hanging from a rope in the plaza." He began praying as hard as he had ever prayed. The only other time he had prayed so hard had been while his wife lay dying in their bed. Please, Lord, he pleaded. Please, help me to say the words to help this young man. He needs help, and I know that I am not enough.

Zorro looked at him for a moment, no longer bothering to hide the sadness in his eyes. Maybe he no longer had the strength to hide his pain from anyone. "And my foolishness almost had us shot by one of his patrols! The *same* patrol that rides that *same* path, the *same* way, at the *same* time, every day. I should have remembered something so simple, but I wasn't paying attention, I guess--I'm sorry." Zorro sank down to the floor of the cave, his eyes back on the storm outside. "I'm sorry."

The whistling of the wind and the pounding of the rain were the only sounds in the cave for a short time. Finally, Alejandro asked, "Did you see yourself as a warrior, Zorro?" He suddenly, desperately, wanted to know everything about this man. He wanted to know why he had made the choices he had made in his life.

"What?" Zorro sounded confused by Alejandro's question, but his voice remained tired and lifeless.

The old caballero smiled as vague memories crossed his mind. His childhood had been one of joy, and he had struggled to make Diego's the same. His son's had been a little harder though, being an only child and losing his mother too soon. "Did you see yourself as a warrior? When I was a child, I dreamed of being a fighter. Of fighting in battles and beating the enemy- -whoever that happened to be! Oh, yes, I saw myself as a warrior and played the games that young soldiers do. I don't know how many times I defeated the enemy--my brothers." He chuckled. "They resented my usual wins, but they always tried harder to beat me the next time. So, I was wondering if you ever saw yourself the same way."

Zorro managed a weary smile at the youthful exuberance in Don Alejandro's voice, which had been the man's intention. "No," Zorro said with a joyless half-laugh. "No, I never saw myself as a fighter. My father is an old soldier and enjoys the fight. I admire him for it, but I never wanted to follow him--at least not in that way. I believe in peace, but I was also raised to respect justice. Father taught me to help those that are weaker than me, those that are unable to help themselves. I've always known that a person has to fight for what is right, and I do so with pride, but I hate the fact that it is necessary."

Alejandro considered the man's words and what they revealed about him. He knew that being Zorro had to be an incredible burden, but he had never considered a possible conflict raging inside the man. Fighting for what was right was honorable, but to those that believe in peace above all else, it takes a special toll. "Your father taught you well. He must be very proud of you," he said, with only a small catch in his voice.

"No," Zorro answered in a sad, small voice. "No, I'm something of a disappoint to him."

Alejandro looked over at the slouching outlaw. Zorro's entire body showed how heavy his father's displeasure weighed on him. His yearning for his father's respect cried out from the gentle warrior's eyes. "He doesn't agree with your work as Zorro?"

"No. Yes. I mean, he approves of Zorro, but he doesn't know he's me." He noticed that Zorro refused to look him in his eyes. He looked at the walls, the floor, the storm brewing outside--anywhere that was away from Alejandro.

"You've never told your father? Why?" He could understand Zorro's choice to fight, and he now knew more of why he made such a decision, but he could not understand why the man refused to tell his own family his secret. He doubted he would ever truly understand, but he hoped that Zorro would be able to help him fathom his reasoning.

"I . . ." Zorro sighed. "I was young when I started this masquerade. With the cockiness that comes with youth, I thought I would have Señor Alcalde quickly defeated, and then I could tell my father the truth. I love him and respect him. I want him to respect me. But I love him too much to tell him such a dangerous secret just to earn his respect. I don't want him to hang with me if I ever get caught. I also don't want to worry him. Can you imagine what he would feel like knowing how often I risk my life? It's bad enough that Victoria must worry about me."

He watched the masked man for a moment. When Zorro's eyes met his, he answered the question. "Yes, I could imagine. I have a son of my own. I'd be proud of him for being you, but I'd despise it, too, knowing that he was out almost every night risking his life."

Alejandro's eyes dropped away from the piercing gaze. He wanted to look into Zorro's face, but he found himself unable to do so. "I'm sure that your father is proud of you, even if he doesn't know that you are Zorro. We fathers are odd that way. We pray when you are born that you will have an easier life than we had, and then we are all upset that you are 'soft' because your life was easy. I'm sure your father is thrilled to call you his son. After all, you are the kind of man of which of father has to feel pride."

Zorro seemed to hesitate over his words when he answered. "My father is a warrior like you. I've--I've never shown him that I am willing to fight for justice. He wants someone who will challenge injustice, and instead he got me. I'm not the type of man that my father can be proud of and respect."

He laughed in understanding. "You misinterpret what I'm saying, Zorro. You are a man worthy of respect from your father, even if he wants a fighter. Sometimes our sons end up being so different than we imagined when they were boys, and we fathers hound them, trying to make them into the image that we carried in our hearts for so long. But, we also know if our sons are good men, and you are a good man, Zorro. Never doubt that fact. I can already tell you that you are not a gambler, that you do not take advantage of the weak, and you know how to treat ladies correctly. Such a man is worthy of respect and of pride."

It was Alejandro's turn to sigh. "Yes, Zorro, I'm sure that your father is proud of you. He probably just doesn't know how to say it. Take my son, for example."

"Don Diego?"

"Yes, my Diego. He left for university to learn. He wanted to know all of the sciences. I was so proud because he would not have to be a soldier like me. He was getting a much better education. When he returned, he was interested in the sciences, poetry, art, and music. The stuff he should have been interested in after being taught to enjoy such beauty in the world. He had no desire to fight the fight I had decided, while he was away, that he would fight. I had imagined all these different scenes where he would swoop in like an avenging angel and solve a problem that I had no solution to myself. I admit that I was horribly disappointed in him."

Alejandro gazed out at the storm for a moment, lost in a memory. He had no idea why he had started this path in their conversation, because he had meant to talk to Zorro about what was bothering him. Instead, they were talking about fathers and sons. Alejandro knew, somehow, that this talk was what the man needed at this moment. Maybe it would give him the strength to pull the edges of his wound closer together.

"Unfortunately, for my son, you appeared about the same time. I admired you and your fight--you were doing what I wanted to be doing, what I wanted Diego to be doing. I nagged at him to become more like you. I wanted a fighter for a son and instead I got a poet. Poor Diego, he had to listen to me praise you and your fight so often that I'm sure he began to hate the mention of your name. I let very few moments pass that I didn't let him know how disappointed in him I was."

He sighed again. He found it impossible to look at Zorro while he was sharing his feelings about his son, while he admitted to his failure as a father, but he knew the younger man was watching him intently. "Then, one night, I dreamed of my wife."

"You dreamed of M--Doña Elena?" Zorro's question was a whisper in the wind.

Alejandro's laugh was full of both admiration and joy. "Yes, I dreamed of my beautiful Elena. She was so full of spirit and life, just like I remembered her. She was so beautiful. And furious!" His grin became wistful. "She let me know what she thought about my treatment of *her* son. I was not to act towards him in such a deplorable manner. She demanded that I treat him with the respect and love he deserved. She reminded me that I had fallen in love with her for her passion and her gentle nature. I was now condemning my son for having those qualities of hers. I woke up that night filled with shame, because I knew that the dream was right. I was belittling my son for being like his mother, and I had no right to do that to him. He might not be what I wanted him to be-- he wasn't just a younger version of me, but of both of us--and I finally accepted him as he was."

Leaning back against the coolness of the cave wall, he looked up at the ceiling. He did not even try to hide the tears that were flowing down his face. "It is funny, but it was only after I was willing to accept him, that I began to know him--the real him. I'd made assumptions that since he was unwilling to fight, he must not care. It took some time, but I finally noticed how loved he was by the people of the pueblo. Oh, he wasn't their hero like you, but he was their friend. He took the time to know everyone. He learned about their joys, their hopes, their fears. He's a true friend to everyone in Los Angeles--even the alcalde in his own way. He has helped so many with money--not just by giving but by teaching them how to use it the best--and he has helped many learn how to read and write. He's forever offering his ear and his shoulder to anyone who needs to talk or to cry. No, my son's not a warrior in his heart, but he is a friend. How could I not respect such a man? I am so blessed by my son, but I don't let him know it."

Alejandro sighed, looking into the compassionate eyes of a hero. "I love him and respect him for being exactly who he is, and I have for a very long time. I never tell him that though. Instead, I use him as a scapegoat when I'm frustrated at the government or life in general. We fathers are very good at telling you sons how you disappoint, but unfortunately, we are very bad about telling our sons how they honor us. I've never told Diego once, and I'm sure your father feels the same way I do."

Both men were silent for a long time, thinking about what had been said and what had not. Alejandro finally broke this silence as well. "I do believe the storm has ended. At least for now."

Zorro looked surprised. "Yes, I guess it has. I hadn't noticed. I should be getting you home so you can rest."

Both men quickly mounted Toronado, who quickly pounded over the distance between the cave and the de la Vega hacienda. Zorro stopped just before they arrived there. "I'm sorry, Señor de la Vega, but I fear I must let you off here. I'm sure that soldiers are waiting for me at your home. I doubt they will be bothering you for a while. His anger is directed at me for the moment, and he has learned that you already sent your message to the governor, not to mention the fact he will have a hard time explaining exactly *how* talking to an Americano is treason if the governor does decide to investigate. Let's pray that your letter will do some good."

Alejandro heard a humor in that voice that warmed his heart. As long as there was a sense of humor, there was a chance.

"Thank you again, Zorro. For everything that you do for us in this territory," he said while looking up at him. He could tell by the man's eyes that some type of healing had occurred to today. He just hoped it was enough to give him the strength to continue the battle to complete healing. Hopefully, it would at least stop the masked bandit from being so reckless. That alone made the day worth it, but Alejandro was also intensely grateful for the new knowledge and understanding he had gained about the outlaw.

"Your welcome, amigo. Adios!" He turned his around to return to the direction from which they had come. "Don Alejandro!" Zorro called to him after a few moments. Alejandro turned to look at him in surprise. "Perhaps you would consider telling Don Diego what you told me in the cave earlier. As a son, I can tell you that he would dearly love to hear it."

The older man smiled. "I'd already planned on doing just that tonight. I think I had forgotten what it felt like to be a son. Thank you for reminding me."

Zorro nodded and waved before galloping off on Toronado. Alejandro stood still, unable to move, until the man disappeared over the horizon. He finally cried the tears he had *not* let fall earlier. "Please, be careful. Please. I want a chance to tell you how proud of you I really am, my son."

Alejandro started to walk towards his hacienda, hoping to find his son waiting for him. He had a lot that he wanted to tell Diego without the mask standing between them.