Diego leaned back against the tree, pulling the blanket Mendoza had offered more tightly around himself. The demands of his much abused body were making themselves known, but there was a curious distance to the sensation. He knew he should clean the new welt in his shoulder before it had a chance to become infected, as surely the bullet wound in his side now was. He should get up, force the lassitude from his numbing limbs, see if he could not find some medical supplies in the soldiers' supplies. But he could barely lift his head from the supporting trunk behind it, and when he blinked his eyes and strained as hard as he could, he could not force the blurred whorl before him to resolve into one image, or even two.

He closed his eyes and rested his head again. He was aware of the dangers, particularly after that last kick to the head from Domingo, but he was so very tired. Now that the bandits were rounded up and Esperanza and de Carraco had apparently found safety, he was robbed of the responsibilities that had acted as a substitute for strength for the last few days. Without that pressure, surely no one would mind, or even notice, if he just rested for a moment?

Oh, but there was still Felipe, who surely was going crazy by now, and his father's people, left on their own for so many days, and Victoria and the entire pueblo besides. Zorro had been missing now for ten days, and who knew what had gone on in his absence?

He blinked harder and forced himself to sit up, though that was as far as he could make it. When the alcade's soldiers had finally ridden out of the trees to round up Domingo and his men, he had been unable to crawl any farther than the few feet to the nearest tree. The alcalde and not a few of Domingo's men had sneered at this, but Diego didn't care. It was no better than anyone might expect of Alejandro de la Vega's slightly embarrassing, bookish son. And that was all to the good, wasn't it?

He swallowed, trying to work up some moisture in his dry throat. A little of the soldiers' water would do him no end of good, but when Mendoza had moved to offer his canteen as well as the blanket, De Soto had spoken sharply and ordered him back to the others.

It was clear that if anyone was going to help him it was going to have to be himself. He steadied himself against the rough bark of the tree and then laboriously first pushed himself onto one knee. He closed his eyes and panted against the wave of illness that assaulted him and then pushed himself the rest of the way to his feet. He leaned as much of his weight as he could against the tree and pressed a hand firmly against his stomach as the nausea rose again. He had dealt with concussions before, even fought with them. He could handle this, too.

"I must say, de la Vega," De Soto said from somewhere not far away. "I found it curious that two old men could escape these outlaws whereas you could not, but looking at you, I wonder how I ever could have been surprised."

"De la Vega!" Domingo yelled. "He is a de la Vega?"

Diego clenched the fist hidden under the blanket. Aversion to killing or no, he could cheerfully have strangled De Soto just then.

"Why, yes," the alcalde said, "I know he doesn't much look like one, but he certainly is irritating enough."

Diego finally did open his eyes and forced them to focus on Domingo where the soldiers were struggling to get him in chains not far away. The bandit leader's eyes were filling with terrible realization, followed by furious hatred.

"I will kill you for this, cow herder," Domingo hissed. Diego met his eyes as clearly as he could, reading the danger there. He himself knew better than any how easy it was to escape the alcalde's clutches, and Domingo meant to make good that promise. He held the outlaw's eyes for a moment more, but then the two soldiers beside Domingo finally managed to wrestle his arms into the chains and yank him into the cart holding his fellows.

Diego turned to De Soto. Despite his actions, the alcalde was not a stupid man, and he very well may have observed too much in that exchange. De Soto, however, was looking only bemusedly satisfied. He'd clearly noticed something, but with typical lack of foresight, as long as it was clearly causing Domingo discomfort, he was apparently willing to accept it.

"We are about to leave," De Soto said. "You don't look quite well enough to keep to a horse, not that you ever show much skill for it. Perhaps you'd like to share your new friends' transport?"

De Soto grinned and nodded his head towards the cart where the soldiers were still loading Domingo's men.

De Soto might even be right there, but Diego didn't think it wise to get that close to Domingo. You didn't need your hands free to cause serious harm, and he didn't think it would precisely displease De Soto for Domingo to have the opportunity to make good on his threat. Others beside Zorro had earned the alcalde's hatred over the years, his father more than most.

"I will help Diego," Menoza said, hurrying over and taking his arm.

"I told you to watch the men," De Soto said, gleeful satisfaction fleeing his face.

"They know what they are doing," Mendoza said with truly shocking vehemence. "Don Diego can ride behind Julio."

De Soto's face darkened and he opened his mouth to respond, but then whirled back towards the trail. Mendoza tensed as well and Diego belatedly noticed the sound of approaching horses.

Oh, blessed Jesu, this was the last thing he needed right now. If this were another pack of bandits, even the alcalde's soldiers, occupied with Domingo's men, were ill prepared to meet it.

He tensed and tried to draw himself up further, but then the first horse came through the trees. Was that Juan? It could not possibly . . . he squinted, trying to force his uncooperative vision to resolve the fuzzy shapes more clearly.

But it clearly was Juan. Beyond him rode Felipe and others of the de la Vega men. And at last, against all odds, was his father.

Alejandro pushed his clearly exhausted horse forward through his men and stopped a few yards from the alcalde. He drew himself up, a fierce, erect figure, and looked down at De Soto.

Diego tried to match his stance, to be for once the son his father wanted. De Soto looked so triumphant, glaring up at Alejandro.

"As you can see, Don Alejandro," De Soto said, "I have rescued your son for you."

Something passed between the alcalde and Alejandro that Diego didn't entirely recognize but fiercely wanted to deny. Then Alejandro broke De Soto's gaze and looked to Diego instead.

"Buenas Dias, Father," Diego said, trying to look suitably apologetic. His father looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head.

"I am afraid I am not returning him in the best condition," De Soto said.

"It is little enough to be troubled with," Diego said, plastering his best unconcerned smile on his face. It was more of a line for Zorro than Diego de la Vega, but he needed to be able to salvage something. He'd wanted little more than his father's return for weeks. Returned he had, only to find the lands and people he'd only reluctantly left to his son's care in chaos and that that same son had gotten himself dragged off by bandits and even worse, rescued by the alcalde he so hated. Usually Alejandro's disapproval fell on Diego's assumed persona and not himself, but he did not have that excuse here. This was his doing, alone.

For some reason his father flinched and shook his head. "Can you ride?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Diego said, with far, far more confidence than he felt. He shook off Mendoza's arm and managed to close most of the distance between himself and his father before his strength fled him completely and he fell hard on one knee.

Oh, God, not here, not now. He'd gotten through so many trials these last few weeks: the bandits, the alcalde's unknown plans, even the bullet wound and his capture, why must his strength finally fail here? He tried to push himself back up again, but he didn't raise himself more than a few inches before he fell again on both knees this time. He would have toppled forward except all of a sudden, his father was there on the dirt beside him, catching and holding him with all of that resolute strength he remembered from earliest childhood.

"Diego," he father whispered hoarsely, gripping both sides of his head and then kissing both cheeks before backing away to inspect him better. "Oh, Diego, what has happened to you?"

Diego blinked and swayed again, but his father just pulled him in close, gently but firmly against him, pressing his head into his shoulder.

"Father," Diego said, horrified, "the alcalde . . . " It was just so very wrong that a man of such fierce dignity as Alejandro de la Vega should be kneeling in the dust and forest litter before such a man as the alcalde. He could feel De Soto's pleasure even from here. He tried to push away, to pull on his father's shoulders, but the movement had no force behind it.

"That's the last thing that matters right now," Alejandro said gently, holding more firmly when Diego began to protest again.

It felt good and so very unfamiliar to be forced to rely on someone else's support for once. Addictive even, and that was dangerous. The unrelenting strength in his father's arms was the only thing that was keeping Diego from falling on his face, but Diego could feel minute shivers in them. He pulled back just slightly to look at his father, but the older de la Vega only had a soft unreadable expression on his face.

Felipe was kneeling just a few inches away, and Alejandro relented enough to allow him to help lift Diego to his feet. Alejandro wrapped an arm under his shoulders and mostly carried him to a nearby fallen log where he could sit more comfortably. He reached a hand to touch the sticky smear of blood on Diego's temple from Domingo's kick and then squeezed Diego's shoulder. Felipe sat beside him on the log and clutched at him as if he feared he was going to disappear any moment.

Juan produced a canteen. Felipe snatched it and helped Diego to drink from it.

"Careful," Alejandro said, "you will make him sick."

He watched as Diego took careful sips, struggling not to gulp it down.

Then Alejandro spun around to face the alcalde again.

"He should have been taken to the doctor."

De Soto cocked an eyebrow. "My men have been engaged in rounding up these unfortunate outlaws."

"I am well enough, Father," Diego said, "please don't- "

Felipe stopped him with a hand on his arm and a shake of his head.

Alejandro's fists clenched and Diego could see him struggling to maintain his anger even from behind. "Alcalde," he said finally, making the word the title it should be rather than the implied insult it generally was, "I owe you for the life of my son and that is a debt I can never repay even if I gave my life over to the effort. Please excuse us before I say something which I must later regret."

De Soto gave a little smile and inclined his head.

No, no, no, no. This was not his father's debt.

Alejandro turned back to Diego and Felipe, taking the canteen to clean the crusting blood from Diego's face.

"Father," Diego said lowly, quickly, "this is my doing. If there is a debt to be repaid--"

"Shh," Alejandro said, laying a hand along the side of Diego's face. "This is between De Soto and I."

He stepped back and gave Diego an appraising look. Diego clutched the ends of the blanket tighter around himself, determined to keep the more serious injuries. Alejandro noted the movement and shook his head, but otherwise let it pass.

"I need to know if you truly can ride," he said, giving Diego his sternest look.

Diego smiled a little ruefully. "Yes, I think . . . with help."

"Are we going into town?" Juan asked.

"It would probably be the wiser course," Alejandro said, not taking his eyes off of Diego, "but I would feel better taking Diego home, where he belongs."

Diego blinked, not expecting such a sentiment from his father, or at least not one so publicly expressed. For the first time he noticed the deep lines of weariness in his father's face, matching those in the men around him. He turned to Felipe, noticing the black marks of sleeplessness around the young man's eyes. Felipe bit his lip and turned his head away.

*We were beginning to think we would not find you.*

He was being incredibly selfish it seemed.

"Juan," he said, the sling on the foreman's arm sparking a sudden worry, "are you all right? I thought I saw you take an injury in that fight."

He fell off at Juan and his father's surprised expressions and Felipe's startling glare.

Clearly they were angry with him for some reason, but he couldn't quite follow it. Everything was becoming so hazy again, and the sunlight seemed so very bright all of a sudden.

Felipe shook him, sending small flares of pain through wounded tissues, but even that seemed fuzzy, indistinct.

"I think we must fetch a cart," Juan voice came through his disorientation.

"It will take too long," Diego forced out. "I can manage. I will have to."

Unexpectedly, his father came to his aid.

"Diego is right. Here, Felipe, get on your horse. Diego can ride with you and Juan and I beside."

Felipe leapt up and Alejandro took Diego's shoulder to steady him. Alejandro and Juan had to pretty much lift Diego into the saddle, though he helped as much as he could. The alcalde and a few of the soldiers smirked a little at seeing a de la Vega thus, but Diego could not really bring himself to care. The dizziness was once again rising in waves, and he had little enough energy just for keeping in the saddle.

"De la Vega!" Domingo shouted as Alejandro began to move out. The caravan stopped and Diego lifted his head to meet the outlaw's challenge. "They will be speaking of the death I shall give you for years. I promise you that. I swear it on my father's grave."

Diego nodded solemnly, not wanting to show any more weakness than he had to here, no matter what the gesture might be giving away to the other witnesses here.

"Come," Alejandro said, pushing his horse between Diego and Domingo. "Let us go home."