A/N: Many thanks to Nefelibata_04 and Bubbles for the helpful beta work! :)

They were late.

That simple fact was making Alejandro de la Vega very unhappy. He had made plans to meet with don Alfredo to discuss business. They had agreed to meet at the posada at 11 o'clock, on the dot. As a man of his word, Alejandro liked to be punctual. To be more exact, he hated being late. He considered it rude and unbecoming of a caballero. This was why he was quite unhappy, on this late Monday morning, despite the brilliant sun above his head and the beauty of California all around him. All this because his son overslept, once again.

Contrite to have made his father wait for him, Diego was conducting the carriage in silence, eyes straight on the road. Alejandro was despairing over ever understanding this son of his. He used to be so full of energy! Now he spent all his time in his room, either sleeping, reading, or worse: composing! When he was younger, Diego would never have wasted such a beautiful day in bed. He'd have been exploring their lands all morning. At least, today, Diego had agreed to come with him to meet with don Alfredo, finally sparing some of his time for the affairs of the rancho.

They were only a couple miles from the pueblo when they caught sight of a thick column of dark smoke rising into the sky, pulling Alejandro from his ruminations. It abruptly woke up Diego as well, and he immediately urged the horses forward. Something had obviously caught on fire. Something big, judging from the height of the smoke cloud. As they entered the village, they heard screams of panic and confusion.

"It's coming from the plaza," Alejandro said, worry gripping his heart as he thought of the people who might have been injured.

Turning into the village's main square, they discovered a rather terrifying sight: the posada was being consumed by a raging fire, which was casting a burning orange glow over the plaza. People were rushing out; everyone was running around. A few people, led by Sergeant Garcia, were organizing into a line to circulate buckets of water from the plaza's well. At the end of the line, Corporal Reyes and a few privates were throwing the buckets at the burning building. Their efforts were honorable, but it clearly was a lost battle. The tavern would be burning itself to the ground.

Diego stopped the carriage and Alejandro nimbly jumped out, followed by his son and his servant, Bernardo. From up close, the furnace was terrifying. Hot, and incredibly loud. Large, bright flames were escaping through the windows, which had burst out from the heat. The unforgiving flames were licking the walls, consuming the beams, and sending clouds of smoke and ashes into the sky.

A small crowd had gathered on the plaza, helplessly watching the disaster. Don Alfredo was among them, in shirtsleeves, sweating and dusty, an air of defeat across his face. Rushing to the building, Diego and Bernardo joined in helping the people coming out through the door and the ground floor windows to lead them to safety, away from the posada.

"What happened?" Alejandro asked. He had to shout to make himself heard.

"It's unclear," don Alfredo shouted back. "It seems the fire started in the back. The kitchen or the cellar maybe. There's lot of alcohol and barrels in there, all perfect fuel for a fire."

"Did everyone get out safely?"

"The innkeeper, the cook, and Clara – the waitress, got out. The last dining patrons are being helped out now, it seems, but we're not sure how many guests were in their rooms upstairs."

Alejandro looked at the people around him. There were over a dozen injured, some more seriously than others. The doctor and the pharmacist were already tending to the wounded as best as they could with their limited resources. A young man with long, dark hair was holding back another one, possibly his father, judging by the age difference. The man was wearing a Mexican sombrero and a short poncho. He seemed desperate to go back inside and was struggling against the hold of his son. Alejandro was too far to hear them over the uproar of the fire, but he didn't need to. Clearly someone was still inside...

But no one was coming out of the building anymore.

"Well, do you have it?!"

Alejandro was startled by Diego's voice behind him. His son seemed to be in an argument with Bernardo, who shook his head, contrite. Ignoring his pleading look, Diego took off his hat and put it in Bernardo's hand, then pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket and wrapped it over his mouth, tying a knot behind his head. With dread, Alejandro realized what his son was about to do. Bernardo seemed to have reached the same conclusion, and grabbed his master's arm briskly, shaking his head in a very clear, disapproving way. While Alejandro wasn't sure he approved the servant's familiarity in his manners, he certainly agreed with the sentiment.

"Diego, no!" he exclaimed. "This is madness!"

But Diego was not listening to either of them. With determination, he made his way through the crowd, grabbed a bucket of water, and poured it over his head before dashing through the burning posada's door.

"Son!" Alejandro shouted again, as he watched him disappear into the inferno.

Alejandro passed a few people, approaching as close as he dared, and tried to get a view past the missing door. Inside, smoke was accumulating under the high ceiling. Flames hadn't yet reached the front side, nor the bar, but were consuming the stairs at the back, blocking the way to the upper floor. Through the smoke, Alejandro made out the tall and athletic figure of his son, who, as if he was a born acrobat, took a short run-up and sprang to catch the large chandelier that hanged from the ceiling. Taking advantage of the momentum, he threw his legs back and forth a couple times to increase the swing, then launched himself onto the second floor's landing, before disappearing into the thick smoke that had swallowed the upstairs area.

Judging by the whistles and cries of admiration coming from the people gathered behind him, Alejandro wasn't the only one surprised by Diego's daring determination and unexpected acrobatic talents.

But circus tricks would do nothing against the terrifying destructive power of the flames. The fire was slowly but irremediably crossing the floor, creeping its way to the front, and reaching the large balcony above the entrance. Weakened by the flames, the balcony suddenly came down in a crash of burning wood and splinters. Alejandro barely had the time to jump back to avoid being crushed. Everyone prudently backed away from the building, pushed out by the military.

The Comandante had taken over the position of fire warden, organizing a firefighting force as best as he could with their limited resources and securing a perimeter around the burning building. The Padre and the doctor had relocated the most gravely injured inside the safety of the church. Thankfully, apart from the innkeeper, and a visiting foreigner who had apparently tried to help evacuate the others, most injuries were minor.

Time was passing by and Diego still had not reappeared, and now the main exit was blocked. Heart gripped by anguish, Alejandro watched helplessly as the fire continued consuming the tavern. Tall flames and a giant column of smoke were rising high into the sky, swallowing the sun, and plunging Los Angeles into an unnatural fog. The heat enveloping the plaza had become so intense that everyone was sweating. Minutes passed that felt like hours to the poor father.

Why did Diego have to do that? Was he trying to prove himself to his father? Was it Alejandro's fault? Had he been too hard on his son? If anything were to happen to Diego, Alejandro wasn't sure he'd ever forgive himself.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they heard a commotion inside and Diego hurled himself through a window. As he landed unceremoniously on the ground and rolled over, Alejandro realized he wasn't alone: he was carrying a little girl who was holding tightly onto his torso. As they rolled together in the dust and untangled themselves, the Mexican man rushed to the girl's side and took her in his arms. Driven by a similar feeling, Alejandro ran to Diego, who was on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. He tore away his handkerchief covered with soot to breathe more easily and shot his father a weak smile.

Alejandro knelt next to him. "Why did you do that?!" he asked, unable to keep the gruff from his tone.

Diego looked up. "It's what I do," he stated matter-of-factly, as if he hadn't done something so heroically ridiculous, as if his clothes weren't half burned, his voice hoarse and his breath laborious from inhaling all that smoke.

Diego straightened up and took long deep breaths as he looked at the girl he just rescued. Alejandro estimated her to be about five years old. Scared, she was crying for her mom, though Alejandro couldn't see any woman at her side who would be the girl's mother. At least, judging from her screams, there was no doubt her lungs were healthy enough. After patting her for any sign of injury, her father held her very tight, making Alejandro's paternal instincts resonate. It felt like it was only yesterday that he was comforting his own five-years-old in his arms.

"It's okay, Cariña, it's okay. You're safe now," the father was saying.

Leaning on Alejandro's shoulder, Diego rose to his feet. His gaze still lingered on the crying girl, and he squared his jaw. He stared at the burning inn and turned toward the store at its side, which was, for now, safe from the fire.

"Are you alright, Son?"

Eyes still locked on the store, Diego nodded quickly. "Give me your handkerchief," he asked.

Alejandro reached inside his pocket and handed him the piece of cloth, expecting Diego to wipe the soot and sweat from his face. Instead, he tied it around his face, like he had the previous one.

"Diego, you can't be serious!" Alejandro exclaimed, grabbing his arm. "You barely made it out the first time."

Diego looked at him, then back at the little girl. He calmly but firmly freed his arm. "I have a promise to keep." He shot his father a confident smile. "Don't worry, it'll be alright."

And with that, he took a deep breath and marched toward the store, ignoring the cries of the soldiers and people trying to dissuade him. He jumped, caught the upper floor's balcony, and started to climb. He made it look like it was the easiest thing in the world, which gained him, once again, applause from the crowd. The only exception was the Comandante, who was angrily calling him all sort of names for his recklessness and insubordination. Oblivious of the commotion he was stirring down on the plaza, Diego quickly reached the roof, pulled himself up and beelined to the ridge. From there, like a funambulist, he walked to the edge of the building and toward the inn. His footing was confident, his moves light and efficient. It was slowly dawning on Alejandro that such stunts looked a lot like the exploits of a certain outlaw.

Could it be?

Could Diego be Zorro? Alejandro shook his head. What a silly idea! It was silly, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Diego wasn't a fighter. But then, what was he doing up there on the roof? Where did he even learn all those acrobatics?

Up there, Diego had moved to the back of the store roof, trying to find a path to the burning posada. From such a distance, with all the smoke filling the air, he was barely visible. A dark silhouette lightly jumped over the streets of Los Angeles to seemingly land into the fire. He leaped down and completely disappeared from view. Alejandro's anxiety spiked. Zorro or not, Diego was still very much human, made of flesh and bone.

A gentle touch on his elbow startled Alejandro. Eyes glued to the spot where Diego had disappeared, he had tuned out everything else around him, but reality suddenly called him back. Bernardo was trying to catch his attention and urging him to step back once again, as debris was flying a little too close to them. Alejandro backed up reluctantly, but remained standing in front of the crowd, eyes on the burning roof.

The building was falling apart, and Diego was still inside. How long had it been? It felt longer than the first time Diego went in. What could he possibly be doing? The building wasn't that big. There were only half a dozen rooms upstairs. If anything were to happen to his boy… Since the death of his wife, Elena, Diego was his only remaining family. They've only had had each other for the past fifteen years. Alejandro was a tough man, but his poor heart had suffered its share of pain. As it was, his heart could barely handle the anxious wait, and the more time passed, the more his fear grew.

Finally, he caught some movement on the roof. The smoke and flames made it difficult to discern exactly what was happening. He first saw a silhouette, struggling its way up. No! There were two, one supporting the other. They stumbled their way across the roof, coming their way. It was a short, but extremely dangerous path, made of slippery tiles, bared by unforgiving flames and blocked by traitorous holes ready to swallow them back into the inferno. It wasn't until they reached the edge that Alejandro could more clearly make out Diego's tall figure, as he dropped to his knees to help the second person down – a lady, judging from her tinier silhouette and long skirt.

Alejandro hurried to help them, followed by several villagers. The woman jumped down and a dozen hands caught her fall, before helping her to the ground. She was exhausted, barely conscious, breathing and coughing laboriously. She was quickly carried into the church for Dr. Avila to examine, tailed by the father and his children.

Diego landed on the ground next, his legs immediately buckling under him. Alejandro leaped to catch his fall before he planted face first in the dust. He, too, had a laborious and raspy breath and was hardly in a better shape than the woman he had just rescued. But he was alive, and out of danger now in Alejandro's arms. Feeling his father's safe hold, Diego allowed himself to let go and his body went limp.

"It's alright, Diego," Alejandro said softly. "Breathe, just breathe." He untied the dusty kerchief that had protected Diego's face, then loosened his cravat and undid a couple buttons of his shirt to help him breath more easily. "It's alright. Breathe. You did good, Son."

Coughing and spitting, Diego was struggling to catch his breath. He was covered in sweat and soot – his hair, his face, his clothes, all darkened and dusty. He looked like a chimney sweep, his suit burnt in places, his shirt torn. Alejandro examined him for any injury or serious burns, but luckily, it appeared that apart from the unreasonable smoke inhalation, Diego was unscathed. Quite a bit shaken, though, judging from the heart beat running full speed under the fabric of his damp shirt.

Diego shifted and looked up at his father. The lower part of his face, which had been protected by the cloth, was the only piece of him that wasn't darkened by the soot, making it look like he was wearing a black mask over his eyes. Alejandro couldn't refrain a chuckle. Since he didn't have a handkerchief anymore, he took off his own cravat.

"Here, clean your face," he said, with a knowing smile. "All black from the soot except for your chin, you look like an outlaw."

Diego shot his father a questioning glance, but was too exhausted to inquire further. With a shaky hand, he took the cloth and swiped the soot off his face. Bernardo knelt next to them, offering a canteen to his master. Diego thanked him with a simple, weak smile and greedily drank the whole thing down in one.

"More," he croaked as he cautiously sat up.

Bernardo produced another canteen. His eyes, fixed on Diego, were full of concern. He clearly had been quite afraid for his master. Diego had never really explained how the two of them met, and to be honest, it had been a bit of a surprise to Alejandro that his son would hire a personal servant. Whatever their history, it was clear they both were very close and that Diego considered Bernardo as much a friend as a servant.

As they were still dangerously close to the fire, Bernardo suggested they move further away. Each offering a shoulder for support, Alejandro and Bernardo helped Diego up. The young man swayed on his feet and leaned on his father, but safely flanked on both sides, he managed to stay upright. They relocated Diego to the side of the stairs of the church, where Diego slid down with a sigh of relief that ended in a cough. He leaned back on the cold stoned wall of the sacred building and closed his eyes, still working on his breathing. Alejandro sat by his side, propping his elbows on his knees. Once he was sure Diego was as comfortable as he could be, Bernardo asked permission to go see if he could help attend to the wounded inside the church.

Just as the mute servant went in, Padre Felipe came out. Seeing Diego coughing, he knelt next to him.

"How are you feeling, my son?" he asked.

Diego cleared his throat. "I've been better," he whispered.

The Padre handed him a mug filled with a decoction of an unappetizing greenish shade. "Here, drink this. It'll help you breathe."

"What is it?"

Diego eyed the green liquid swirling in the cup suspiciously, making the Padre laugh.

"Herbal medicine from the Natives who work at the mission. I don't know the exact recipe, but it's very efficient. It tastes better than it looks, trust me."

Diego made a face, but dutifully drank the potion. He relaxed back against the wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him. Gradually, his breathing slowed. It was still making a raspy noise that Alejandro didn't like, but it sounded deeper and stronger.

"How are the mother and her daughter doing?" Diego asked Padre Felipe.

"Both mother and child will be fine, thanks to you, don Diego. What you did was very brave. Though one could argue that it was also rather reckless."

Diego smiled weakly.

Having made sure the young man had swallowed all the concoction, the Padre bid them farewell and went back inside.

Alejandro squeezed his son's shoulder. "What you did was indeed quite impressive, Diego. Where did you learn to climb buildings like that?"

Diego glanced at him. "I was quite good at gymnastics, at the University," he said with a grin.

"Gymnastics, eh?" Alejandro leaned back on the wall, next to Diego. "Fencing and riding, too, I gather?" he added in a low voice.

Diego tensed, for a second unsure how to answer. But he was only met with Alejandro's knowing and kind smile. Understanding there was no point in denying it, he chuckled, shaking his head.

"I might even have won a trophy or two," he admitted. Some people were coming in and out of the church and he waited for them to disappear out of earshot. "Was it that obvious?"

"I'm afraid I wasn't the only one who saw you up there," Alejandro said. "You were quite the sensation. Why did you risk your identity like that?"

Diego shrugged. "I didn't have my costume and there was no time."

He was saying this so casually, as if what he had just accomplished was the most natural thing in the world, as if he hadn't just taken a great risk to save two people from the fire all by himself. Alejandro realized that for Zorro, it was indeed, the most natural thing. He shook his head in disbelief. He was discovering an all-new side to his son, and it was baffling him just as much as the poet side.

"I'd say 'don't ever do that again', but I'm guessing you won't listen."

They exchanged a look and burst into laughter. Diego's laugh ended in a coughing fit.

"Don't make me laugh, Father, I can barely breath!"

Alejandro patted him gently on the back, contrite. His hand lingered on Diego's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, Son."

More people came out of the church, oblivious of the two men resting on the side of the steps. Among them was the Mexican family whose little girl and mother Diego had rescued from the fire. The father was supporting his wife, while the brother was tightly holding his little sister's hand. Squinting against the sun, they walked down the steps and looked around, searching for something around the plaza. As they turned around, they spotted Diego who gave them a friendly wave.

"How…" Diego started, but his voice failed to carry.

"How are you doing?" Alejandro asked for him.

The parents approached, gesturing at the little girl to join them. Too shy, she hid behind her brother, though not taking her eyes off of Diego.

"They're both fine, thanks to you," the father said. He held his hand to Diego. "We'll be eternally grateful for what you did, señor…"

"De la Vega. Diego de la Vega."

"I'm Manuel Rivera. And this is my wife, Angela. We really don't know how to thank you, señor de la Vega."

Diego smiled. "You just did."

Angela looked tired. She had crudely washed her face, though her hair and clothes were still as dirty as Diego's. Her head was resting on her husband's shoulder. Manuel had his arm around her waist, lovingly supporting her. He explained that they were on their way to San Francisco from Mexico City to visit the children's cousins. They had planned to rest a couple of days in Los Angeles before resuming their trip.

"Do you have any place to stay, tonight?" Alejandro asked.

"Si, señor." He pointed at a large carriage where Padre Felipe and a few other men were waiting. "The Padre said he'll take anyone who needs a place to stay to the Mission San Gabriel. He said we could stay there as long as we needed."

Alejandro wanted to invite them for dinner, but figured the family would rather have a quiet evening, just by themselves.

"Very well," he said, "but promise me that you will accept an invitation to dinner before you leave."

Behind them, the Riveras' son had knelt down next to his sister and was talking to her. From where he was, Alejandro couldn't hear, but after a bit the brother pushed his sister in their direction and she timidly came their way. She was looking down, barely daring to glance at Diego now that he was up close. Yet, it was clear she was drawn to him. No one around seemed to matter. She climbed the stairs and stood in front of Diego, who sat up and smiled kindly at her.

"Are you alright, chiquita?" he asked softly. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"Sofia," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Sofia," he repeated. "What a beautiful name. I'm Diego."

She swayed on her feet, gathering the courage to go on, and then she threw herself at Diego's neck. She held him tight, closing her eyes. Diego chuckled and hugged her back tenderly.

"Thank you, for keeping your promise," Alejandro heard her murmur.

Diego gently stroked her hair. "Of course, Sofia." They parted and he kept her hands in his. "You take good care of your mother for me, will you?"

Something in the softness of his tone made Alejandro's heart shiver. Diego had lost his own mother to illness at too young an age. He and Elena had such a unique bond and little Diego had taken her death really hard, even though he had tried to hide it from his grieving father. Alejandro had done his best to give their boy enough love and care for two, and even though he could never replace that motherly bond, both men had grown very close over the years. Up until Diego had left for Spain, and returned a changed man. A man Alejandro had had a hard time bonding with again, which had pained him more than he would have ever dared to admit. But now, it was all suddenly becoming perfectly clear. Diego had changed, for sure, but not in the way he had let everyone think.

Sofia ran back to her family and as Diego's gaze lingered on them, Alejandro wondered how much the early loss of his mother had influenced his determination to help people in need and to throw himself into a fire if need be. Alejandro appreciated this side of Diego a lot more than the idle poet, though he was fairly certain that it would bring him its own share of stress and fears in the future.

The fire of the posada had subdued somewhat, and it appeared that it wouldn't gain the neighboring buildings. The inn was ruined though, and it would take time to rebuild it. The soldiers had taken over the water chain and they would still be at it for some time. The Comandante asked a few soldiers to secure a perimeter around the building. Leaving the erection of the makeshift barriers under Sergeant Garcia's supervision, he walked to the de la Vegas. He had a stern look across his face that didn't bode anything good.

"Señores," he said with a short salute. "I will have to ask you to move away from the plaza until the fire is out."

Alejandro helped Diego stand. The young man struggled to his feet and leaned on his father. Bernardo hurried to support him as well, and together they walked down the stairs and headed to their carriage.

"That was quite the stunt you just pulled there, de la Vega," the officer sneered.

The three men pivoted as one to face him. Diego, pale and unsteady, straightened up and looked at him right in the eye. For a moment, it looked like he was going to defy the officer, but he broke into a languishing sigh.

"And what a mistake it was," he whined. "I almost died there! Be assured, Comandante, I won't do it again anytime soon!"

"Surprising for a coward like you to dare to run into such a fire."

Diego shrugged. "See, that's a common mistake. People think I'm a coward because I don't fight. But I'm not. I just don't like to fight, as a principle."

But the Comandante apparently had a bone to grind and wouldn't let go that easily. "Funny how your little circus tricks are the same as Zorro's…"

"I guess we had the same gymnastic instructor," Diego said again, clearly growing annoyed at this impromptu interrogation.

Alejandro was looking around in search of an escape – literal or figurative – when his gaze crossed Padre Felipe's, who was coming out of the church. The priest quickly took in the Comandante's threatening attitude and approached them, his usual paternal smile on his face.

"Surely, Captain, you are not going to arrest today's hero, are you?"

The Comandante tensed and stiffly turned toward the Padre. He was clearly annoyed by the interruption, and would have preferred to send him away, but Padre Felipe was a servant of God, an official representative of the Catholic Church here in California, and therefore, was one of the only people in Los Angeles who had any sort of influence on the Comandante.

The officer gritted his teeth "Of course not."

He turned back toward the de la Vegas and gave them a short salute. "Good day, caballeros." But the last glance he cast Diego before pivoting on his heels clearly meant they weren't done.

Diego looked at the officer walking away, a pensive look across the face.

"Come on, Son," Alejandro said gently, "let's get you home. That's enough adventure for today."

Fin.