Voices. Some loud, some soft. All trying to get something from him one way or another. Announce yourself as World Heavyweight Champion. Do it! Come on, I wanna hear you do it. Ricardo Rodriguez vaguely remembers the heaviness of the title upon his shoulder and thinks he understands why exactly Alberto Del Rio had always been so single-mindedly determined to have that belt. Not that he hadn't understood in the past, of course, but it's on a different level after having actually held it himself, imagining what it would be like to have his name on the plate, defending it with his life and...
Warm hands on his, beckoning him to say something, and he thinks it sounds like Booker T. He can see but he can't move, can't look away. It's like he's frozen in this one moment in time, unable to figure out what's going on around him but staring blankly ahead at the ceiling. He feels like he's underwater, trying to get his body to respond to his commands and he thinks it must be to some extent because when Alberto finally runs in, takes ahold of his tux and tries desperately to get him to respond, he feels his hand shift aside like it's been in mid-air this whole time. He remembers the fight he'd had trying to grip onto his employer after the Brogue Kick, but he'd managed that- why can't he manage it now?!
But no matter how deeply his internal struggles are, he gets nowhere with it. Alberto talks with Booker for a bit, then, after returning to Ricardo's side long enough to take in his continuing lack of awareness and try to comfort him quickly, leaves to prepare for his match against Big Show. Ricardo stares blankly at the ceiling, cold and uncomfortable at the thought of his employer having to deal with that sort of match all alone. Booker returns to his side, murmuring something soothing while he pats his hand, but it doesn't help. He knows nothing will until Del Rio's match is over with, and everything's ok again.
He's not sure how much time really has passed when finally he begins to regain control of his extremities and can actually move, little by little. First a twitch of his finger, then he presses his hands back to his midsection, breathing loudly as, with each passing second, his throbbing headache also grows, adding to his turmoil. Nonetheless, he forces it all aside as he recalls that Alberto's in a match with Big Show- probably right now, as his eyes lock onto a clock hanging just within his range of sight. "El Patron," he groans out, relieved when his upper body finally responds to his commands and, despite how badly he's trembling afterwards, manages to sit up. The new position makes him feel worse, slightly nauseous as his headache only intensifies, but he has to continue on, no matter what.
One leg at a time, he slips slowly off of the cot and struggles to take a deep breath, the room spinning even as he leans against the blue cushion that'd been holding his body only a few minutes earlier. It's slow going, and he keeps having to brace himself on the wall of the hallway, but with each step, the sounds from out in the arena get clearer, and he thinks he may make it in time to help... or do something so Del Rio doesn't have to face this challenge alone, in an attempt to avenge his ring announcer. "Almost," he whimpers, fresh pain stabbing through his skull and nearly sending him back to his knees. "Almost..."
He's just made it to the gorilla, a hand pressed against the edge of the curtain, when he forces his eyes open. Growing confused as he spots a large group of the Superstars hanging around the ring, his breath seizes in his chest. "El Patron?" But people shift enough that he can see down to the ring and he releases a faint sigh as he spots his employer, standing tall in the middle of the ring and looking fine as Sheamus, of all people, help him against the Big Show. This only adds to Ricardo's confusion and, his dizziness growing worse the longer he stands, he leans against the cool steel surrounding the curtain and grunts as it soothes him, cools his flushed, sweaty skin.
Lost in a spiral of the crowd's cheers, the sound of a body impacting against the ring echoing back through the arena, he sucks in deep breaths and tries not to lose it as the show comes to an end, his legs trembling. He's just starting to realize what a stupid idea this was, his body already taxed out, when things begin to quiet down and he hears footsteps approaching him. "Ricardo?! What are you doing out here?" He can only just feel as arms wrap around him, dragging him away from the cool steel as his fingers press against match-heated skin. "Hey. Hey, mi amigo. Can you hear me?"
His eyes flutter open enough for him to realize he's now leaning against Alberto's chest, the older man's hands holding him steady as he tries to look into his face. "El Patron...?"
"Si! Si. Hey, are you ok? Why did you leave the trainer's office?" Del Rio, relieved at finally hearing his voice, pulls back slightly, brushing one hand down his face while supporting him with the other.
"I... I wanted to make sure you were alright," he mumbles, still feeling weak and off-balanced.
Alberto's face softens and he smiles slightly. "Si, I'm fine. With some help, I paid that perro back for what he did to you, mi amigo." He runs his hands through Ricardo's hair, his smile fading as he takes in just how weary the younger man still appears. "Alright, what do you say we get you back to the trainer's office so you can rest a bit more before we leave, hm?"
"Si," he breathes out, leaning into Alberto's side as he wraps his arms around the younger man and starts leading him down the hallway. "I'm glad you're ok, El Patron."
Del Rio sighs and pulls him closer, relieved that, despite it all, Ricardo is mostly able to carry his own as they walk back to the trainer's. "I'm glad you are as well, mi amigo," he whispers.