Author's Note: No, it is not the Apocalypse, but I am posting again. The significant delay can mostly be blamed on this chapter, which has caused me much angst and at least seven revisions. But in the end, I figured I owed it to y'all to finish this thing, so here it is. The rest is finished, and will be posted ASAP.
Alejandro returned from escorting the doctor to the door and paused in the doorway to his son's room. Diego lay slumped against his pillows, obviously wearied by Hernandez' examination. Felipe stood uncertainly to the side with a bowl of soup that he'd obviously just brought from the kitchen, but Diego didn't even look as if he realized the boy was there.
Alejandro stepped into the room and gestured to capture Felipe's attention.
"Why don't you leave the soup, Felipe."
Felipe looked uncertainly at Diego, but with no sign from him, the boy finally set his tray down and left the room. Alejandro waited for the quiet sound of the door closing behind him and then perched himself on the side of Diego's bed.
Diego's eyes fluttered open, taking longer than Alejandro liked to focus. Hernandez had explained again and again that what was most troubling Diego now was exhaustion and that rest would cure that in enough time, but Alejandro didn't think that quite explained what was wrong with his son, not all of it.
"Father," Diego said, struggling to pull himself to a more upright position, "was there something that you wanted?"
Alejandro moved to help him sit up. He pulled the pillows up to lean against the headboard so Diego could settle against them.
"You have to know that there are some things we must talk about," he said, laying his hand on Diego's arm.
Diego nodded, but Alejandro could see the sudden consideration, veiled as it was, in his eyes. There was something brittle and tightly held about him that was as almost as painful to see as the bruises that plastered his skin in a kaleidoscope of fresh purple and fading green. It had been the same since he'd woken yesterday morning, if not worse.
"Before you go to the trouble of trying to protect me from the truth, why don't we pretend that you think that I have some intelligence, however scanty, and that you remember that I am supposed to be the father in this conversation."
Diego nodded again, but his air of calculation didn't fade. Alejandro felt the old tide of frustration rise up in him again, but squelched it as best he could. He didn't want to start this conversation that way.
"While there are many things for which I will require explanation, we must talk about that wound in your side. It is clearly a bullet wound and it is too old to have come from Domingo."
He almost sounded rational. It was, he felt, a major achievement considering what he wanted to say.
Diego grimaced. "I was afraid you might notice that."
"That wound nearly killed you and you thought I might notice? Someone shot you and Felipe is the only one who seems to know anything about it. I hope you can explain this to me, because frankly, I am having a very hard time understanding it."
He paused for a moment and tried to get himself more firmly under control. "Will you at least tell me how this even happened?"
"I was riding to town to check on Victoria. There hadn't been any trouble very close to town in days and I thought it would be safe enough. As it turned out, I was wrong." Diego shrugged uncomfortably. "The horse, fortunately, knew his way home and I encountered Felipe before anyone else saw anything."
Alejandro had to remind himself that he really did want to hear the rest of this story before he lost control of himself again. "Leaving aside this extraordinary plan to go riding around by yourself, what possessed you to keep this a secret? You had been shot. You should have sent for Dr. Hernandez immediately."
Diego shook his head. "The doctor already had far too many patients to look after and the wound was not so very serious. Our people had enough troubles besides for me to want to put everyone in a panic."
The most extraordinary thing about this speech was that Diego seemed to honestly believe it a perfectly rational explanation.
Alejandro let out a long breath and sent up a prayer for patience. "We are talking about a bullet wound, not a scraped knee. Your second such, I might add."
And hadn't that been quite the story, finding out that his retiring, previously predictable son had deliberately thrown himself in front of a bullet.
Diego had the grace to look embarrassed. "You have been talking to Miguel, I see."
"You were shot. In the head. Did you think I wouldn't find out about that"
Diego's mouth quirked to the side, quick and rueful. It was the first time Alejandro had seen anything of the Diego he knew since he'd returned.
"I didn't manage it on purpose, I can assure you. It ruined a perfectly good coat."
The habitual air of patrician unconcern settled over Diego's face like a familiar cloak. It made Alejandro feel extremely tired.
"A very great tragedy, I am sure." Alejandro sighed. "But, Diego, as much as you may wish to believe otherwise, you were very badly injured. Repeatedly, apparently. How could you ever think that getting on that horse and riding out with Juan and the men was at all a good idea? Even if were not for Domingo and his men, you were putting yourself in terrible risk, not to mention what kind of pain you must have been in."
And there it was, what Alejandro was having the most difficulty with in this whole bizarre story. The rest of Diego's decisions, however extraordinary, he could at least follow if only with a sort of twisted Diego logic.
Diego's jaw tightened. "The alcalde had declared martial law. The outlaws had taken over. Our people were being attacked from all sides. With you away, I was the only one our people had. I was not about to betray your trust by abandoning them."
"And do you honestly think that this is what I'd expect of you?" Alejandro's voice sounded strained even to himself. "How could you believe for one moment that I would want any of this"
Diego reached with his free hand and laid it on top of Alejandro's where it still clutched Diego's forearm. "I know you didn't. Of course I know that. But even I could not stay in bed and leave our people leaderless in such a situation."
Alejandro had to look away. "It is a miracle you weren't killed. We came so very close to . . . Hernandez was so certain you weren't going to wake up."
"Father," Diego said. There was enough uncertainty in his voice that Alejandro had to face him again.
"I am all right." Another one of those quick sideways smiles. "Or at least I will be."
At least he wasn't trying to pretend all was well. A small miracle there. Diego had a surprisingly wide mulish streak underneath all of those refined manners of his, as Alejandro had learned over the years.
Alejandro patted the arm beneath his hand in reassurance, but he didn't trust himself to speak yet.
"I am glad you are here," Diego said. "There are some things about Domingo I think you must know."
Alejandro nodded. There still many things about Diego's actions during his absence that he wanted to discuss, but he didn't think Diego was going to tell him any more today.
"Domingo and I—" Diego paused, seeming to struggle for his next words with uncharacteristic effort. "There was ill will between us from the beginning, and the escape would only have sealed that. Now that he has escaped, I fear he might be coming here. Our people may be in considerable danger, not to mention you and Felipe."
Alejandro didn't even bother trying to figure out how Diego would have learned about Domingo's escape. "The hacienda is well guarded, and I do not think he will try to go after the patrols. He strikes me as too clever for that. You are not to worry about this."
Diego didn't look very happy about that, but there was little he could do about that, weak as he was. "There is more you should know. Domingo and the other bandits were here on de Soto's invitation. I do not know if the alcalde will be so intent on seeing all of them caught."
The knowledge of de Soto's complicity probably ought to surprise him, but he found himself half-expecting it. De Soto had seemed so gleeful, that day of his return. He didn't know why Diego should seem so regretful about it, except that Diego had always seemed to expect better of de Soto. "Zorro?"
Diego nodded. "De Soto let it be known that as long as the outlaws were causing trouble for Zorro, he would cause them no trouble himself, with an additional reward for anyone who managed to permanently end his vigilante problems."
The intense bitterness in Diego's tone cut as much as it surprised. Surely all of this could not be over de Soto? "As terrible as this is, I do not see how it can come as a shock to you," he said carefully. "De Soto has been trying to kill Zorro for years."
"Yes, and every time it is the pueblo that pays for it. How many times has some scheme to capture Zorro landed some innocent in prison, or a family out of their home, and now, the entire pueblo under attack for weeks?"
Alejandro froze in near shock. He'd certainly heard these arguments against Zorro over the years, but never in his own house, from his own flesh and blood. Diego had never shown much enthusiasm for Zorro, but Alejandro had always thought it was out of general indifference, not actual objection to the man's cause.
"Zorro has done more for this pueblo than any other. He puts himself in harm's way every time he rides and gains nothing for himself."
Diego shook his head, more agitated than Alejandro had ever seen him. "No, not for nothing. It is such a game for him, tricking the alcalde's soldiers, riding away in victory with the adulation of half the town. The soldiers barely even aim any more. He enjoys it."
Alejandro felt his own anger rising. "How can you speak this way? Why shouldn't he enjoy it? Really, Diego, there are times when I swear I will never understand you. The man has risked his life a thousand times for this pueblo."
Diego closed his eyes, receiving the words like an expected blow. Alejandro regretted the pain his words had clearly caused, but he could not regret the words themselves. Zorro had done far too much and at too much cost for Alejandro to sit there and allow him to be maligned, even by his own son.
Diego let out a ragged breath, but he didn't seem quite ready to let it go. "He really doesn't, can't you see that?"
The question seemed so important to Diego that Alejandro could almost wish he could give him the answer he so clearly needed, but it was not in him speak against the man who had nearly single handedly saved the pueblo time and time again. Zorro had been sent to them like an answer to a prayer, and one did not criticize gifts that could come only from the Lord above.
"He started this war," Diego said when it was clear that Alejandro would not speak the words he wanted to hear. In his whole posture there was such a desperate plea for understanding that it made Alejandro's chest ache. "Don't you see the kind of arrogance that takes? To think that he, one man, could fight with men like Ramon, like de Soto, and cause anything but trouble? He doesn't risk anything, not hiding behind that mask of his. It's you and Victoria and the others who challenge the alcalde every day who are the heroes. He simply rides in and stirs up trouble and leaves other people to pay in his stead."
Oh, so this is what they were talking about. Alejandro hadn't thought all of this anger could be for Zorro alone.
"The man is probably dead," Alejandro said quietly. "Can you not let him rest?" In all that had happened he hadn't quite had the time to deal with that, or even think upon it, but it was there waiting to be recognized. If Zorro were alive, he would not have left the pueblo to the alcalde for so many weeks.
Diego stilled. "Yes, perhaps I should."
He leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, agitation writ in the painful tension holding his shoulders.
"This trouble with Domingo," Alejandro said, watching him intently. "It is not your doing. You did not bring this on us. The alcalde did."
Diego's attention snapped back on him and he started from the bed. Alejandro raised a hand and he half-settled again.
"It is was the alcalde's doing that brought this criminal to the pueblo in the first place, it was the alcalde who betrayed their bargain, and it is clear that it was someone in the garrison who helped him escape. None of this has anything to do with you."
"But, Father, . . ."
"No," Alejandro said gently. This, at last, was something he understood all too well, something he could deal with. "You did everything you could to keep our people safe, at considerable and ill advised risk to yourself. You are the only reason that Hernan de Carraco is alive. I only wish you had shown more sense when it came to your own safety."
Diego's fingers strayed perhaps unconsciously to the healing line across his throat. The pictures Ciro Esperanza's words had painted all too visibly sprang into Alejandro's mind almost of their own volition: Diego on his knees, beaten and deathly pale, with that murderer's knife pressed to his throat.
"What possessed you to tell them you were a ranch hand?" The words burst out despite himself. "God damnit, Diego, they could have killed you, just for that."
The hand dropped from Diego's throat. "I did not think I had the right to be hiding behind your name. I know you think I have little pride in it, but I would not have it used against you."
Bitter, to have his own words thrown back at him. Is this what they sounded like to Diego, hearing them so many times?
He reached out a hand to grip Diego's other arm. "I think you place far more value in my honor than I ever would."
"You are the most honorable man I know. It is what your whole life has been about." The denial in Diego's voice was sharp. So, too, the pride there. It had probably always been there, if Alejandro had ever bothered to look.
"Perhaps once, but God is merciful and grants us time to learn the errors of youth. I have become an old man, Diego, and I would rather have a live son than a heroic one. If that makes me a coward, so be it."
Diego made a small hurt sound and turned away. He tried to pull his arm from Alejandro's grasp but Alejandro kept his hold firm.
"You shouldn't have to choose," Diego said, still not looking at him.
"I do not see that I had to," Alejandro said, lightly squeezing the arm beneath his hand. "I do not know what it is that you think you could have done more. We have lost property, but not lives. Our people are safe and confident in the knowledge that they have given their loyalty to a man who was watching after them. You did all that you could, all that anyone could have done."
"It wasn't enough," Diego said quietly, finally meeting Alejandro's worried gaze again.
"Sometimes the hardest thing in a man's life is to admit that no matter what he does, it cannot be enough." Alejandro kept his voice soft, trying desperately not to break this fragile connection between them. He'd never seen Diego look so nakedly exposed before.
"You left our people in my care, and when you returned, you found that I had cleverly gotten myself captured and left our people alone and in trouble. I am so very sorry, Father. I know you have no reason to believe that, but I am sorry."
"Oh, Diego," Alejandro said, raising his hand from Diego's forearm to his shoulder. "You have done so much more than that. I wish you could see that."
Diego smiled, and though it wasn't forced, it was a pale imitation of what it might be. "Don't worry. I am sure this untoward plague of responsibility will pass soon enough."
It was a good phrase, a correct one. It offered a path out of this tangled web of emotion onto the steadier road of what passed for normal between them. Alejandro wasn't entirely certain he wanted out just yet, but Diego looked so very near the end of himself that Alejandro feared that pushing him any further would only cause further damage.
"I do not believe that for a moment," Alejandro said. He tightened his hand on Diego's shoulder, only belatedly remembering the lash hidden beneath his hand when Diego's face tightened slightly. He stood, dropping his hands back to his side.
"I have been hearing much that has surprised me since my return and I must admit, I do not understand much of what has gone on here. But if one thing is clear, it is that I have been misjudging you for many years, and for that I am deeply sorry."
"It isn't your fault," Diego said. "And you were right, about many things."
The discussion had drained much of Diego's strength, leaving him pale and slightly trembling.
"You didn't eat your lunch," Alejandro said, remembering.
Diego waved a hand wearily in dismissal. "I'm not especially hungry."
Alejandro frowned, but he didn't want to break this tenuous understanding between them by fighting over something so trivial.
"You should be resting," he said finally. Diego looked like he might want to say more, but he didn't protest when Alejandro helped him to rearrange the pillows so that he could lie flat again.
Alejandro paused in the door to the hallway. There was so much more he wished to say to his son, words that desperately needed to be spoken but that he feared never would. There was so much work to be done. Damaged property to inspect, frightened tenants to reassure, fellow dons calling for advice. It all piled up in a seemingly insurmountable mountain. However worried he was about Diego, however much the escape of the murderer Domingo might occupy his mind, he had responsibilities to keep.
Honor, he thought with an inner twist he forced himself to feel, demanded no less.
