A/N: It's baaaaaaaaaaaaaack. Briefly. I just wanted to make a short one-shot after I saw the car ADR was driving a few weeks ago... seemed kind of fitting, lol.
Recovery is a slow, painful process. Each milestone can seem to take forever to accomplish, to begin work towards the next. He knows it personally, in many various ways. These thoughts in mind, Alberto Del Rio stares down at a calendar thoughtfully, his mouth held in a thin, slightly annoyed line. All in all, it hadn't been too long, he thinks. Seven months, give or take. With his schedule taken up so much by injuries- his and Ricardo's both- and touring for WWE, he hadn't had much time to dedicate to the status of his cars... and ordinarily the job would've gone to Ricardo, but he couldn't bring himself to put him in charge of this. And either way, it doesn't matter. It may have taken a ridiculous amount of time, but it is done. Finally.
He can hear Sofia padding around another part of the house and, with a tired sigh, he stands up, rubbing his eyes. Now is the time, he decides, leaving her to her own devices before wandering towards his room. Turning to the left, however, he stands at the door to what had once been the guest room and knocks quietly.
"Eh, si?"
He inches the door open and peers inside to find Ricardo sitting on the edge of his bed, looking somewhere between curious and anxious, a typical expression for him still despite everything they'd been through the last few years. After the car accident and the aftermath that had followed, Alberto had been unable to see the bedroom Ricardo had spent the holidays in as anything but his, so he had left it alone from that point on, assigning another room in the house as the main guest bedroom. And so, with Ricardo spending more time in Mexico lately, the room had always been ready for him. Shaking himself back to the present, the Mexican Aristocrat enters the bedroom and examines the room briefly before turning towards the windows, pulling the blinds back enough to look out across his grounds.
"Do you require my services, El Patron?" Ricardo asks uncertainly, falling silent when Del Rio doesn't respond immediately.
"No," he finally answers, turning to look back at his ring announcer. There is a slight smile on his face that doesn't quite meet his eyes and Ricardo frowns. Before he can ask, Alberto holds a hand up. "I simply have a question for you, and I want an honest answer. No answering to please me, I want to know that you will truly be alright with what I'm about to explain to you."
Ricardo swallows heavily, nodding up at him. "Ah, o-of course, El Patron." He watches on nervously as Alberto leaves the windows and joins him, turning to face him on the edge of the bed.
"You recall urging me months ago to have the red mustang fixed." Ricardo seems to grow a bit pale at the mention of the car, his fingers tightening into a fist and bunching up the silk sheets that adorn his bed, but says nothing. Alberto takes note of these unconscious responses before continuing on. "With everything going on, the repairs have taken longer than I expected but my mechanic called today to tell me the car is once more pristine, in perfect driving condition."
Ricardo nods, licks his lips. Fights not to look ill. "I am pleased, El Patron. I know how much you value that car."
"Si," he murmurs, dark eyes locked on the younger man. "I was considering having it shipped to America... for the events this coming week." He doesn't have a match scheduled yet for Raw and, should that remain true through the show, he is considering putting the recovered car through its paces... with the massive heat wave affecting most of the states, he feels up to a joyride. And, he figures, it will not be that bad for the man staring back at him- due to wild fires, the arena Smackdown was supposed to be held at had been unusable so both events would be held in Denver, Colorado. Which, thankfully, means no excessive traveling. But...
Ricardo nods once more, not seeming to comprehend what Alberto is getting at. "I see," he says faintly, his voice cracking on the second word. He doesn't seem to notice, wrapped up in his own thoughts. Alberto, however, does, his frown growing.
"Ricardo, I want to know... will you be alright traveling in the car?" He holds his breath, watching as Ricardo stares at his hands, the opposing wall, the bedding... anything but Alberto. To gain his attention, he presses a hand to Ricardo's shoulder and forces a smile when the younger man finally looks up at him, eyes wide and a little fearful. "Did you hear me?"
"Ah, si, El Patron, of course... the mustang will be a good choice for this week," he forces out with a jerky nod. Everything about him screams out what a lie this is but Alberto nods, thinking perhaps just working through it, taking another trip in the car, will be the final bit of closure that Ricardo needs to truly put last December behind him.
He slaps Ricardo on the knee with a proud grin, standing. "Bueno! Good night, Ricardo, I will see you tomorrow."
As he leaves, Ricardo's faint Bueno Noches echoing behind him, his grin slips. It will work out, he tells himself. Ricardo is strong enough to survive such a car accident, and everything that followed it... he will be fine with this as well.
Metal twisted all around them. Blood. Agony, physical and emotional. Hospitals and that horrible antiseptic smell that's everywhere. Death, a punch to the solar plexus that no one could withstand... The prospects of a life knowing you were not good enough to save your best friend when he really needed you...
He wakes up with a strangled gasp, eyes watering. His whole body is coated in a cold sweat and he's shivering and sobbing soundlessly all at once, feeling as broken as he had six long months ago when he'd still been sorting between reality and dreams, before he had explained to Alberto what he had seen, had lived,in his comatose state. This time is worse, however, because most of those times, he and Alberto had been in a hotel room and he could just lay in the dark and watch his employer sleep until finally his body'd given in to exhaustion as well. His hands trembling, he pulls the sheets away and stands, shuddering as his bare feet touch the cool wooden floor.
His door opens quietly, thankfully- Sofia sleeps like a cat, at the smallest noise she's usually awake and ready to check on them, make sure she's not needed for something... which is normally admirable, something that Ricardo himself is good at when it comes to Alberto, but tonight the last thing he needs is to start a rucus by waking the overworked housekeeper up- and he inches into the hallway, pressing a hand to the wall as he looks across at Alberto's door. He can't believe his luck- it's opened a crack and he inches closer, peering inside. It's too dark inside for him to see but he can hear steady breathing from the bed and leans against the wall, his own trembling inhales and exhales soon evening out to follow Alberto's, in... out... in... out...
After a few moments, content that Alberto is fine, he ventures back into his room and sinks tiredly onto the bed, scraping his fingers through his hair. I haven't had one of those dreams in months... I suppose I've been overthinking things about the car, as always. He grimaces and leans forward, shaking his head. "Pull yourself together, Ricardo. You have no reason to be weak, it was a long time ago." And even though seven months does feel like a lifetime ago sometimes, in other times, he can just blink and be back in that world where everything was so, so wrong. "I don't know how I'm going to do this," he sighs, unable to rid his mind of these morose thoughts. "But I must. For Alberto."
Somewhat bolstered by these words, he crawls back into bed and, if he ends up staring at the ceiling for a few more hours, sleep evading him, well, it's ok. It's better than the dreams, at any rate.
That Sunday, Sofia sees them off and Alberto nods at her as she looks worriedly over at Ricardo, a vaguely strained smile on his face. The younger man has his back to them, hurriedly double checking their flight arrangements and on the car that is currently being shipped to America for this week's events. "He will be fine," he tells her quietly, patting her arm. "Take care, Sofia, we will see you soon."
"Si, Senor Del Rio," she tells him softly before turning towards Ricardo. "Senor Rodriguez." When he looks up, she smiles and wraps her arms around him, surprising him. When he finally returns the hug awkwardly, she pulls back after a bit and pats his cheek, his dark eyes widening at her motherly actions. "Safe travels," she tells him quietly, sincerely.
"Si, gracias, Sofia," he says quietly, nodding wearily. It is obvious he hadn't slept well the past few days, his eyes gritty and a bit bloodshot.
Alberto hopes he can doze off easily on the plane. Alas, it doesn't happen and the older man considers talking with him about it, almost worried to broach the topic, should his estimation on why Ricardo seems off is wrong. When they arrive, the red Mustang waiting for them, the older Mexican watches closely as his ring announcer nears the vehicle, his step barely faltering under the scrutiny. When he only briefly glances at the car, slipping inside of it like it's any other car, any other day, Alberto grows even more uncertain.
Although it's easy to tell when he's frightened, Ricardo has always been tight lipped when it comes to anything about that night last December. Alberto wonders if it has to do with the time he had spent in the coma, when he had thought that Alberto had died and had left him all alone to deal with everything on his own. Or if it is Ricardo's foolish way of trying to protect him still, somehow, keep things from being more of a hassle for him. Of course this is the man who let weeks pass before he even told me what he had dreamed, Alberto thinks grimly.
The only good thing about no matches this evening is, after he taunts Sheamus during his match from the parking lot, he can just get back into his fancy car and speed off, leave the arena, and see the sights, let the money flow while he prepares for the week's Smackdown. And... it gives him more of an opportunity to see how Ricardo will react to a long trip in this car. It may be cruel to put the younger man through this, but he can't let this fester any longer. At least, he considers, it is early July, and the weather is nice. He had made sure to check, no storms, no difficulties of any sort that he can foresee from the weather forecast, so that's one less worry.
He's half-way to the hotel when he looks over to find Ricardo looking through the windshield, like he's bracing himself for something. Changing his mind, Del Rio stops at a red light and pats the younger man on the shoulder, gaining his attention. "Ay, Ricardo, I am restless tonight from not wrestling. Do you mind much if I drive around for a bit?" It is somewhat selfish, the top is down and wind is blowing softly through their hair right now, but mostly he wants to try to pry a response- an honest, unfiltered reaction- from the younger man, ensure that he is not still harboring any kind of emotional scarring from December.
Ricardo's eyes are his tell, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights even though he's nodding. "Ve-very well, El Patron."
"Gracias," he says, forcing a smile onto his pale lips. As he peels off, he can see and hear when Ricardo gulps, his fingers tightening subconsciously around his slacks. Lo siento, he thinks before shifting gears and going even faster, hitting the highway after a few more blocks. He's barely passed the first exit when Ricardo begins glancing around, his eyes darting here and there rapidly. Two and his hands begin trembling, the strained grip on his pants slipping. By the third, his breathing is so loud and rapid that Alberto can hear it over the roar of the engine and everything else. He wants to stop there, his suspicions confirmed, but knows that Ricardo has to crack, as painful as it is to force. He cannot keep hiding these things from me. I can be of no help to him if he won't let me know himself there is a problem. The last time he refused to talk to me, he could've died from hypothermia. I will not let anything similiar happen again... At the fourth exit, Ricardo leans forward, looking like he's about to be sick but Alberto doesn't slow, even speeds up a little.
There's a dark portion of the highway surrounded by street poles- and yes, for a split second even Alberto is reminded of that night- as they near the sixth, which ends up being the final turn off that they pass as Ricardo finally completely loses control of himself and starts mumbling desperately in Spanish, the words growing louder with each chant. "Para, no, por favor, para!" He grabs Alberto by the sleeve, eyes wide and pleading. "Por favor!"
Alberto, fully expecting something like this- though much, much sooner-, smoothly pulls over to the side of the road and, once the car has come to a complete stop, sits for a moment, unsurprised when Ricardo scrambles out of the car and drops to his knees on the side of the road. He feels horrible and somewhat disgusted with himself, but it had to be done. He heaves a sigh, not even waiting for the traffic on his side of the car to clear before slipping into the passenger seat and getting out that way, staring down at Ricardo kneeling down in the gravel, still fighting to catch his breath. "Ay, Ricardo," he breathes out, eyes dark with sympathy. He squats down before the man and rests a gentle hand on his shoulder, patiently waiting until he finally looks up.
The look in the ring announcer's eyes is so overwhelmingly sad that it nearly takes Alberto's breath away, his fingers digging into the dirt as he tries to stay focused. "Why?" he finally whispers, his voice as broken as his expression. "Why did you do that?"
"I told you last January, you cannot keep these things from me. If there is a problem, I need to know." He pauses, watching as Ricardo struggles to compose himself. "I have told you, I can't help you if you won't come to me. I know I have been singlemindedly focused on regaining championship gold since my injuries, but what I said then still holds true." They stare at each other awhile longer before Alberto nudges him, his eyes softening. "I will ask once more. Is the car a problem?"
Ricardo shudders, glancing over at the red car. Even in the gloom of this evening, all he can see is it wrapped around a pole, lights gleaming pink through a blood soaked window. "I thought it would be alright," he finally whispers. "I was not lying when I said so. But..." He peers down at his hands, feeling ashamed. "The dreams began again. I could... see nothing else."
Alberto sighs, somehow unsurprised. "Come," he tells him, standing once more and dusting his hands off before holding one out, pulling Ricardo to his feet when he reluctantly takes it. "Confia en mi?"
"Si, claro," he breathes, stumbling only slightly as the bloodflow returns to his legs. He hesitantly follows Alberto back to the car, staring uncertainly down at it. "El Patron..."
Alberto says nothing, crosses to the hood and leans against it, his hands resting on the recently varnished paint job. "Stand by me, Ricardo." That had never been a difficult order to follow, the younger man always feeling somehow more confident when near the influential Mexican aristocrat. As they stand side by side, peering at the red vehicle still idling warm beneath their fingers, Alberto rests an arm around Ricardo's shoulders, tilting his head. "As destructive as it can be, Ricardo, it is, in the end, merely a car. That night, as horrible as it was, is over. I am fine." He squeezes Ricardo's shoulder quietly. "You, mi amigo,are fine. We will both continue to be fine. And I will keep reminding you of this for as many times as you need, for as long as the dreams continue. But, you see, you must tell me when things like this happen or I cannot do so." When Ricardo looks down, ashamed, Alberto grabs him by the jaw and waits until he looks up. "Prometeme," he persists.
"Te lo prometo," he replies quietly, gazing once more at the car when Alberto gentles his touch. "Lo siento."
"No need to apologize," Alberto chides softly. He gives him a minute, allowing him to examine the car and take in the softly gleaming paint in the moonlight, how the windows are perfect and clean, the faint purring of the engine waiting for its nightly excursion to resume. When he is finished, he looks up at his employer and nods, an honest, but small, smile forming across his face as Alberto squeezes his arm once more. Returning to the car, Alberto waits for traffic to clear before easing back onto the highway, driving at a more considerate speed limit.
"Gracias, El Patron," Ricardo finally says a few moments later, his eyes a fair amount clearer as he peers out of the windshield this time.
Alberto smiles over at him, shaking his head. "De nada, Ricardo."
That night, Ricardo sleeps better than he has in nearly a week.