Alberto Del Rio. The former world champion, desperate to regain his gold. Ricardo Rodriguez. Loyal ring announcer and friend, still willing after two years of injuries and beatings to assist Del Rio to regain his destiny. Sheamus. Current world champion, determined to keep a tight grip on said belt. No Way Out had come and gone, leaving these three as unsettled as ever.
They currently stand in the middle of the ring, the Mexicans glowering as one at the Irishman, waiting for something to happen, the first strike to move things along. Instead, Sheamus takes a few steps back after a few tense minutes, motioning to the techs outside of the ring. As one hesitantly inches towards the ring, handing up a mic to the fiery tempered man, Sheamus begins to speak. Instead of addressing Del Rio, however, his intense gaze turns to Ricardo. He's not deterred in the slightest as Alberto steps between them, trying to gain his attention, spitting in Spanish when he's ignored once more. "Hey, Ricardo-" He glares as his attempt at speaking to the nervous ring announcer is thwarted, Alberto swatting the microphone out of his hand.
"Speak to me, perro! I am your opponent, not Ricardo!"
The shockingly bright haired man rolls his eyes, looking around the audience like What are we gonna do with him? before recollecting the microphone. "As I was saying before so rudely interrupted, fella," he tries again, his accent thickening as he glares warningly at Del Rio. "Ricardo, Ricardo, Ricardo." As he looms over the much shorter man, Ricardo tries clinging to Alberto for protection, his scarf, anything he can reach, but the Mexican Aristrocat shakes him off, disgusted with everything and angry at getting ignored. "Don't you get sick of it, fella? I mean, constantly belittled or used as a shield by this one?"
Ricardo backs up against the ring ropes, eyes darting from Sheamus to Alberto, shaking his head wildly. Holding his hands up to keep distance between him and the much larger Superstar, he keeps mumbling a litany of no, no, no, please, no.
"See, it's pathetic really. He doesn't care an inch about you. He may act like he does when he needs something, but mostly... far from it," Sheamus explains, pointing the microphone over his shoulder at the glowering man watching them with a steely gaze. "In fact, I can prove it to you."
Ricardo's face goes slack, falling back against the ropes in relief, as Sheamus turns back around, this time sneering at Alberto. "So, here's what I'm thinking, fella. You really wanna another shot at this?" He holds the title belt before Del Rio, smirking as the Mexican's dark eyes follow the gleaming title around like he's hypnotized.
"Si," he snaps angrily, rolling his eyes as the audience begins a si chant in response. Once it dies down, he gets up in Sheamus' face, unintimidated as his anger flows through him from the previous slights. "Is the match happening?"
"On one condition," the current champion stalls, smirking as Alberto glowers up at him, his anger growing with each passing second. "If you lose to me again, Ricardo's free."
"Free?" Alberto asks, uncomprehending. "What do you mean?"
"I mean he doesn't work for you anymore." Ignoring the look of shock on Del Rio's face, he turns to stare at a freaked out Ricardo. "I was watching you, fella, during your match against Santino. Obviously you need a lot of work, but I think there's potential there. If this one here didn't keep you so busy babysittin' his chihauhaus, maybe you'd have a successful wrestling career yourself, you know?" Ignoring Ricardo's desperation as he shakes his head no, Sheamus turns back to Alberto. "So what do you say? Title opportunity for your ring announcer's freedom?"
Del Rio looks from Ricardo to the title, his fingers flexing at his side. Ricardo's face falls as he sees the answer in his friend's dark eyes, not even needing to listen when he leans forward, glaring up at Sheamus while he barks a vicious, "Si" into the microphone held in the man's outstretched hand. "Come, Ricardo," he snarls, not paying attention to the whispers of the crowd or the glum look on the younger man's face as they leave the ring.
Del Rio, watching as Ricardo carefully places his white scarf across the top of his suitcase to keep it from wrinkling while they prepare to leave, sprawls out across the classic white couch that he insists be in all of his locker rooms. Being one of the more famous Mexican wrestlers, he feels it his place to have his own locker room, no matter what. Obviously the WWE agrees because they haven't attempted to stick him with the average superstars as of yet. If they know what's good for them, they never will. "You are quiet," he mentions after a few minutes of his friend simply going about his duties. Ordinarily, Ricardo would go on in soft, fluid Spanish to encourage Alberto in his upcoming matches or talk about how stupid the other Superstars and referees were, or anyone else he finds lacking in common sense that evening.
"Hm?" He looks up, blinking.
"You are not thinking about what Sheamus said, are you?"
Ricardo looks frustrated for a moment, before speaking up in his slightly stilted English. "No. Not exactly. I am- am just wondering... not to question your abilities, El Patron, there is... no doubt... you will be champion again, soon, but..." He licks his lips, shakes his head. "Why find it so easy to risk my position? Have you... found someone better?"
"What?" Alberto rolls his eyes, straightening up so he can stare at Ricardo easier. "Stop that," he finally snaps as the younger man refuses to catch his eye, busily sorting through his wrestling gear and clothes to make his suitcases more organized. When Rodriguez finally looks up, fretful, Del Rio stands. "I've told you before, si? There is no one better. I wasn't lying before when I said you were the best ring announcer in the world. I expect the best from myself and those around me and if you weren't that, you wouldn't still be here now. I will not lose against Sheamus, I will become champion and you will remain by my side." He gazes shrewdly at the younger man, pondering something. "That is, if it is still what you want."
Surprised by the comment, Ricardo drops his clothes back into the suitcase. "Of course, El Patron! I could never want anything else," he says sincerely, the English language coming to him more fluidly when he's passionate about something. "I am fine with my position."
"Good, good," the Mexican aristocrat says, internally relieved. "Now, what else I will need from you tonight..."
Time ticks by slowly as the weeks pass and No Way Out inches closer. Ricardo grows a little more quiet with each passing day, his eyes a little duller, hands a bit more unsteady. Alberto worries from a distance, unsure how exactly to broach the subject. He knows it has to do with Ricardo's role as his ring announcer on the line but there is nothing he can do to stop it, nor would he entirely want to. He has no doubt that the event will end with Ricardo where he belongs, by his side, holding his hand up in success, the World Title held tightly with his other hand, also where it belongs.
He's not a gambling man, normally, but something about this feels right. He just wishes Ricardo would feel the same. "Do you trust my abilities so little?" he mutters to the fretfully sleeping man the Monday before the pay per view, watching as he tosses and turns beneath the sheets, his lips turned down in a deep frown. "I will not lose. You must stop worrying, this can't continue."
Somehow the younger man must be able to hear him even in sleep, his rapid movements slowly easing as he finally drifts into a more comfortable sleep. "El Patron," he sighs sadly, rolling away from Alberto's piercing gaze. He doesn't move again or say anything else the rest of the night.
On Friday night Smackdown, Sheamus somehow gains the upperhand in their back and forths leading up to the pay per view. Alberto is down on the mat, a fresh victim of the Brogue Kick, struggling to sit up, do something, as Sheamus corners Ricardo. His body is dead weight, his whole face aching from the sole of Sheamus' boot. All he can do is watch, somewhat blurred, as Ricardo struggles to land a punch, a look of horror on his face as the pale superstar's hand grabs him mid-swing, pulling him closer. He can hear the stream of panicked Spanish and bits of pleading English from here and it horrifies him, his ring announcer unable to do anything to free himself.
"Ah, Ricardo, fella, relax. I'm not gonna hurt you... tonight." Sheamus is now nose-to-nose with Rodriguez and Alberto can see red, his fingers twitching fruitlessly against the mat. "I just wanna talk."
"No es bueno," the shorter man groans, still struggling to free himself. "Por favor, por favor..."
"I've been keeping an eye on you," Sheamus comments, ignoring his strained Spanish. "Especially the last week or so. You've been so determined to stay by Del Rio's side, despite how he treats you. Why is that? Is the money that good? It cannot be the company, fella." He smirks, casting a glance over his shoulder at the still motionless Mexican aristocrat, smirk only growing as he realizes that Alberto is staring at them. "Looky there, Ricardo, we're being watched." He turns the other man so he too can see Alberto staring at them, his eyes slowly slipping closed as he tries not to let his El Patron see how scared he is while held tightly by Sheamus. He's forced to look, however, when Sheamus shakes him roughly. "I've never understood the loyalty you hold to this man, but maybe you're just that masochistic..."
He's released suddenly, pushed so harshly that he stumbles down to his knees by Alberto's side, grimacing at the impact. He instinctively tries to shield his friend from the large Irishmen's temper but nothing happens and he looks up hesitantly to find that they're now alone in the ring, Sheamus shaking his head from the ramp before lifting the title belt over his head. Turning his attention back to the downed man before him, he rests his hands on Alberto's bare shoulders, worried further when he doesn't respond. "El Patron, tu eres...?"
"Help me up," he grits out after a moment, glowering up the ramp as Ricardo eases him awkwardly into a sitting position. "Palido perro." Del Rio locks eyes with his uncertain ring announcer, anger and embarassment warring within him. "He has made a grave mistake tonight."
Ricardo simply nods, nearly breathless with the emotions in the other man's eyes. "Si," he mutters, helping Alberto the rest of the way to his feet. As they lean against the ropes, ignoring the fans around them, they both stare across at Sheamus, Ricardo uncomfortable in his uncertainty, and Alberto nearly shaking due to his anger. The redhaired man looks unphased at it all, smirking up at them as he continues to taunt them with the title belt held high over his head.
That Sunday, Ricardo is pacing around before the locker room, waiting for Alberto to finish getting dressed for his match later. As soon as the door slams open, Del Rio storming out of it, he stops midstep, almost falling onto his face in his hurry to cease the blatant show of uncertainty. "El Patron?" he asks quietly.
"Que?" he snaps, roughly unwrapping his wrist tape to make sure it's as snug as can be against his skin. When Ricardo says nothing right away, he looks up. His eyes soften a little as he realizes just how anxious the younger man is. "What is it, Ricardo?"
"Tonight... if..." He fumbles around, tangling his fingers in his tux sleeves. "If..."
"Spit it out," Del Rio sighs, trying and failing to keep his temper in check while Ricardo looks so vulnerable.
"If things begin to go south tonight," he says awkwardly, "you would want me to get involved in the match, yes?"
Alberto's lips twitch, a look of surprise and almost... hurt lurking in his dark eyes. "You think I stand that little of a chance at succeeding tonight, Ricardo?"
"N-no, El Patron! That is not what I'm implying," the nervous ring announcer tries to explain. "I mean simply, to- to help you achieve victory, eh... You see?"
"I see," he says coolly. Sighing, he settles down on a plush chair that he has specially ordered for his personal locker rooms, raising an eyebrow at Ricardo and motioning to an opposing seat. As the younger man sinks down into it, looking like he's about to get a lecture, Del Rio adjusts himself, leaning forward so they're eye to eye. "I understand that you are, ah, nervous about tonight. I wouldn't have put your contract on the line, however, if I didn't have every confidence that I would be walking out champion. You have nothing to worry about, mi amigo. It will all be fine."
Doubts remain but Ricardo nods, not wanting to anger or hurt Alberto further. "I believe you, El Patron," he says quietly, forcing his hands to calm. "The celebration when you become world champion for the first time will be very impressive."
"Of course it will," he says dismissively, before standing to finish getting ready. "Here and in Mexico, of course."
"Of course." Ricardo grows even more miserable as the Mexican aristocrat leaves to check on his car, his shoulders slumping once more. "Please... let it be so..." He would trust almost anything in Alberto's hands, but the thought of losing his position as personal ring announcer to his best friend, not to mention possibly his role in the WWE completely- considering he had only been brought in to be Alberto's ring announcer, and once that role is gone, he feels very expendable- leaves him floundering, gasping for air.
The hours that pass between that conversation with Del Rio and the pay per view starting helps him to put on a brave face once more, especially when Alberto returns, boastful and proud about the impressively sleak gold car he had brought all the way from his Mexican ranch, the cost of which most Americans wouldn't see in ten lifetimes. "It is a beautiful car," Ricardo manages to say, only looking up briefly from where he stands, ironing the spotless white scarf that punctuates Del Rio's ring attire and gives him something to hold onto when he's watching on nervously during matches, keep his hands busy.
"Si, it is my pride and joy," Alberto hums, content with how the evening is going. "You are better now, yes?"
Surprised, Rodriguez looks up, his expressive dark eyes blinking shut for a moment before opening slowly. "Ah, si, El Patron, I'm fine. I apologize for earlier. It... was a momentary lapse in judgment."
"De nada," he says quietly. "I suppose we should've discussed it sooner, instead of everything... festering, as it were." He smiles faintly, looking up at Ricardo. "You are mi mejor amigo, I will not let your contract go this easily, especially to that rojo. I will become world champion and you will be by my side to celebrate with me. You will see." His confidence is contagious, Ricardo's lingering doubts easing.
"Si, of course," he responds, nodding vigorously. Even so, the minutes ticks teasingly by until finally it is time, Alberto waiting in his car for Ricardo to announce him. Taking a deep breath, the ring announcer holds onto his last bit of courage as he ventures out to the ramp, knocked breathless by the amount of fans staring at him. Despite having been in the business for as long as he has, it still amazes him and for a split second he considers the horrification of being fired in front of all of these eyes. Another deep breath and he makes his way to the ring, immediately losing himself in Del Rio's introduction, lengthening the name for as long as he can while watching out of the corner of his eye as Alberto drives out, beeping the horn as he always does.
Sheamus' entrance follows and Alberto drops down to stand near Ricardo on the outside, not wanting to make a mistake like Daniel Bryan and get in range of a Brogue boot this early in the contest. They exchange glances, Ricardo nodding as he takes the scarf reverently from his friend, folding it carefully.
Alberto grimaces as he enters the ring, glowering over at the Irishman. They circle each other, waiting for a split second of distraction or something else that'll give them an opening, Ricardo biting his lips as he waits for the first move from either side. Finally Alberto lunges, grabbing Sheamus by the arm and midsection, his usual brand of attack to set his opponents up for the armbar. Sheamus, however, is prepared and swats Alberto off like he's a fly, the Mexican aristocrat smoothly rolling through and regaining his footing as they glare at each other, the rivalry intensifying between them every time they're forced to interact.
Ricardo moves to the other side of the ring, shouting out encouragement to Del Rio while tangling his fingers in the scarf. He's never felt so nervous in all of his career, not even immediately following Big Show's attack, when healing was going so slowly.
He goes for the arms again, landing harsh kicks with his heavy white boots against Sheamus' forearms, deep marks forming within seconds of the strikes. Ricardo holds his breath as Sheamus puts some distance between the two of them, only to round back with a few sharp blows of his own to his midsection, winding Alberto. Unfortunately this opens Del Rio up to Sheamus tangling him up in the turnbuckles, preparing for his harsh chest strikes, but Ricardo runs around the ring, waving the scarf wildly. "HEY! HEY!" he yells, successfully distracting the Irishman to the point that Alberto squirms free and kicks Sheamus desperately, sending him out of the ring, sprawling close to where Ricardo is standing.
As the personal ring announcer inches away, eyes wide, Sheamus struggles back to his feet and rounds on him, angry over the distraction. "Ehh," he whines, arms held up defensively. "No, no, no..." Mumbling in Spanish, he almost trips over his own feet in his hurry to get away from the much larger man.
Sheamus almost has him cornered near the timekeeper's area when Alberto appears behind him, grabbing him roughly by the arm and spinning him around. He glances quickly back at Ricardo, subtly checking on him, before overwhelming Sheamus with rough shots to his face and arm, before swinging him around into the post arm first. The sound reverberates around the arena and Ricardo relaxes slightly, hesitantly making his way back to the ringside area as Del Rio forces Sheamus back into the ring to continue their match.
He keeps his distance a little more, only approaching the ring apron during nearfalls to cheer Alberto on, or try to get him back in the game whenever the nearfalls are against him. Every time there's another two count, it starts getting closer and closer to the ref's hands touching the mat for that worrisome three count, Ricardo's emotions on a heightened scale as he goes from mindnumbingly relieved whenever Del Rio kicks out to horrified everytime Sheamus gets a shoulder up. "Por favor, por favor," he finally starts murmuring over and over as the match is obviously nearing its conclusion, things still just a little too even to determine who will actually be leaving tonight the victor. Both competitors are tiring, their movements growing more desperate and sluggish as they begin using different variations of their offense to take the other down. Sheamus is clinging tightly to his arm after each strike or kick, Del Rio breathing heavily between his own volleys.
Ricardo, forgetting himself, returns to the apron, pounding on it worriedly when Alberto turns as he sees Sheamus approaching in his peripheral vision and just ducks down, avoiding a Brogue Kick. "El Patron," he grimaces, hands tangling once more in the scarf.
Instead of giving Sheamus even a moment to breathe, Alberto reaches up before either of them can move and snaps Sheamus' arm across his knees, immediately twisting around to lock in the armbar. Somehow the pale man gets out of it and flips Del Rio around, crashing his back awkwardly against his bent knee in a horrible looking backbreaker. There's no way to stop what's about to come, the three count that in Ricardo's eyes is all but imminent. Remembering Del Rio's words spoken earlier, he frets over the scarf, trying once more to not lose hope. He never said I shouldn't involve myself, just that I had nothing to worry about, he thinks. That could mean almost anything, yes?
Bolstered by this, he quickly leaps onto the apron and waves his arms at the referee, trying to shift his attention away from the pinning attempt that Sheamus is just rounding on. "Hey! Hey!" Instead, the attention he gains is Sheamus', as the Irishman takes to his feet once more, rounding on him with an almost pitying look on his face. "Ehh," he whines, holding his hands up. "Wait, wait-!" But it's too late, the boot already striking him in the side of the face, sending him far enough to fly into the side of the announcer's table. He's out before he hits the ground.
The cover, however, doesn't happen as Alberto's been crouching in wait this whole time, quickly sidestepping Sheamus and sending him arm first over the turnbuckle and into the post, weakening it further. Locking the armbar in once more, he wrenches and pulls, keeping his opponent away from the ropes, until finally, finally Sheamus passes out from the pain, his arm torqued so far out of position that even Del Rio is disturbed by its angle when he pulls away to grab onto the title the referee is holding out to him. He's hugging the belt, muttering to himself in Spanish, when he realizes something: The customary announcement that Ricardo would ordinarily be screaming out to honor his title victory is strangely nonexistent, the arena far from quiet due to buzz from the audience but still oddly muted without his personal ring announcer's excited voice echoing around him.
He frowns, looking around. It's then that he remembers: Sheamus had kicked the younger man clean off of the apron and Del Rio hadn't seen him since. He may not realize it's over, he thinks with a frown, quickly rolling out of the ring. Ricardo is still down between the ring and the table, not even twitching. A trainer is looking him over, but Alberto pushes him away, worried when his presence isn't even noticed by the usually over-observant man. "Ricardo! Se despierta," he urges, leaning over the other man and gripping his jaw. His title drops on top of Ricardo's chest, barely noticed as Del Rio clicks his tongue, noticing some bruises forming along the side of Ricardo's face. If Sheamus hadn't already been carted out by the trainer, desperate for someone to fuss over, he would've gone after the man again just for this. "Ricardo!" He's truly getting worried when finally there is some movement, Ricardo's fingers twitching against the strap of the cool title belt between them.
"El Patron," the younger man sighs, his eyes finally fluttering slightly.
"There you are," Alberto responds, face lighting up in relief. As Ricardo finally focuses on him, Alberto grins down at him, pulling him into a sitting position and steadying him when he wavers slightly. "Perhaps I should get the trainer back here," he comments, alternating between worried and annoyed that said trainer had ran off like he had without waiting for Ricardo to regain consciousness.
"No, no, wait," he scrambles, grabbing onto Alberto's arm with his free hand. "Wha- what happened?" The last he remembers is Sheamus going for a pin attempt, dread welling up within him and then... nothing. He fears the worst, staring up at Alberto in horror.
Alberto's grin returns as he looks down, nudging Ricardo. "Look down, mi amigo. That is what happened." His face glows with pride as Ricardo finally looks down, realizing that the thing he's been clinging to so stubbornly isn't the scarf as he had assumed, but instead the World Heavyweight Championship. "It is mine. Your contract is safe, as I told you it would be. All is fine."
The look of relief on Ricardo's face is so sharp and overwhelming that it makes Alberto's grin soften as he ruffles Ricardo's hair in a rare show of public affection. "Lo siento, El Patron," he says quietly after a little bit of simply absorbing the moment. Despite how sore he is, it's a good feeling to be here with Del Rio with yet another fresh accomplishment fueling the Mexican aristocrat. "I should've never doubted you," he clarifies when he receives an odd stare for his apology.
Waving it off, Alberto stands, holding a hand out to a surprised Ricardo. Pulling him to his feet and brushing him off briskly, he smiles slightly. "I shouldn't have so thoughtlessly risked your livelihood on this- that Irish perro just has a way of getting under my skin." He rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder, squeezing slightly as he looks down to lock eyes with him. "You will forgive me, si?"
"Of- of course, El Patron. I don't blame you for the decision you made... It brought us here, after all, and I am happy for you." He smoothly drapes the title over Alberto's shoulder, smiling at how natural it looks there. "Felicitacion."
Del Rio grins, staring once more at the title. "Gracias, Ricardo. Now, let's go get you looked at by that ridiculous trainer."
"But, El Patron, your celebration," he stammers, dragging his heels as Alberto leads him up the ramp.
"It is not going anywhere." He squeezes Ricardo's neck. "Come."
Despite his reluctance, Ricardo's head is hurting so he doesn't argue anymore, lips twisting into a smile as he takes in how rejuvenated Del Rio looks after this victory and title win. It was all worth it, he thinks, relaxing against Alberto as they disappear into the back to search out that trainer.