Alberto Del Rio, once more in a quest to regain the bits of pride he had lost upon Randy Orton beating him at TLC, demands yet another rematch with the Apex Predator, insisting that he was the only one deserving of that title. Ricardo Rodriguez stands nearby, nodding along in agreement, when Booker T's music begins playing, the Smackdown GM coming out. "You know, Del Rio, all you ever do is request the same match over and over, expecting a different result. Don't they say that's a sign of insanity?"
Del Rio's eyes squint warningly up the ramp as Ricardo spits out protests in Spanish from Del Rio's side, neither men moving to actually stop the General Manager, in case he has something of worth to say. "Are you going to give me my rematch or not?" he sneers, disregarding Booker's comment as easily as he disregards most people.
"If you insist," the man shrugs, looking bored. "But I may as well make it a little interesting. So how about a street fight?" When the audience reacts positively and both men in the ring do not, a grin spreads across his face. "Yeah, dawgs. That sounds good to me. It's on!"
Alberto loses it, kicking the lower ring ropes, as Ricardo tries to sooth him, talking lowly in Spanish. "Oh, and dawgs?" Booker asks, stopping before he can leave. "That match is next." He laughs as he finally makes his way to the backstage and the two stare at each other, disgust and annoyance warring in their gazes when Orton's music begins playing.
The match quickly becomes wild and intense, Orton uninterested in playing around. The New York crowd is wild, urging on Orton and jeering at Del Rio, despite Ricardo's best attempts at waving them off, making them cheer the proper competitor. It's only when the action spills out of the ring, up the ramp and into the backstage area that Ricardo begins to get nervous, following from a distance. A street fight is allowed to go anywhere and New York City is one of the worst places to wrestle in the middle of a packed sidewalk, or a street, or...
As if he'd jinxed it, Orton sends Del Rio through the doors of the arena, spilling him out into the path leading away from the arena. Ricardo runs out just in time to see the Apex Predator lead his employer up a short flight of steps and towards the street, following with his heart in his throat, beating rapidly with each inhale and exhale he makes. "El Patron!"
The night air is changing, growing cooler and more crisp. Ricardo hugs his arms to his chest to try to keep warm, his worry only growing as sounds of the two men fighting echo back to him through the streets, undisturbed by the fact that they're nearing a port leading to the Hudson. He's almost there when a harsh yell bites through the air and he pales, moving only more hurriedly. "El Patron," he whispers, scared at what he might find.
Orton has heavy, wooden crates in hand and, as Del Rio tries to balance towards the end of the dock, throws them at his opponent, apparently trying to send him directly into the river. Alberto manages to dodge a few of them but is quickly running out of space to move, already shivering from the cold night air and breathless, so Ricardo rushes towards them, distracting Orton long enough to push Del Rio away from the edge of the dock, into a wider portion of the surface where it's less slick, safer. He's about to join him when something shatters against his shoulder, startling him. Another strike, this time to the side of the head, and he loses balance completely, eyes widening as he drops off of the side of the dock, freezing water pouring across his body and clinging to his skin as he is submerged completely. He blinks a few times, staring up through the dark depths of whatever is surrounding him. El Patron, he thinks, struggling fruitlessly for only a few moments before awareness slips through his fingers as well.
Del Rio shakes his head, staring down at the choppy water that his ring announcer had just disappeared within. "Ri- Ricardo?" he asks, shivering as a harsh wind cuts at his bare skin. "Ricardo!" There's no answer and his dark eyes darts around uncertainly. "Ricardo?!" He leans over the dock as far as he dares, trying to see something... anything. There's nothing. His breath catches in his chest and he shakes his head. "No, no. No!"
It's insanity, he has no idea what to do, but the mere thought of Ricardo not surviving, because of Orton... here, tonight, his only friend left to drown in these murky waters... With a fierce snarl, he paces a couple of steps away before shrugging off the referee's attempt at getting him to back away from the water while he calls for help. It will not be here in time, he thinks, taking a breath as he takes the little bit of space he'd given himself at a run and dives into the water, immediately overwhelmed by the mindnumbing chill and bleak surroundings once he manages to open his eyes, blinking against the deluge of water. To think of an injured Ricardo surrounded by all of this is enough to get him moving, hands slicing through the gloom as he dives down further, trying to feel for whatever he cannot see.
His worst fear is that he's actually just inches away from the younger man and unaware of it, unable to see or feel at all angles and it's confusing, Del Rio already shivering and desperate to take a breath as he tries to outlast it, calling upon every inch of strength he has to continue the search. Come on, Ricardo, he thinks, slicing through the water with rough movements until- Wait, what was that? His fingers tangle around something soft, and... Tassles! Recognizing the feel of his scarf, despite how water-logged it now is, he searches through the water wildly, hoping that the ring announcer can't be too far away as he clings tightly to it.
Finally his fingers touch something thick and heavy- Ricardo's jacket? His fingers slip instinctively between the jacket and his dress shirt and he tugs, pulling up and up, his lungs beginning to burn. Hang on, hang on. A moment longer, he thinks desperately, tightening his grip until finally he breaches the water, choking and sputtering against the night sky. "Ricar- Ricardo," he gasps out, using every inch of his cardio training and everything else to draw the ring announcer to the surface, relieved when he finally emerges, limp and cold in Alberto's hold. "Ricardo..." He blinks, unnerved by the silence. Looking around wildly, he finds the dock only a little bit away and tries to swim towards it, his legs numb with cold and overexertion. "HELP! Help..."
Running footsteps overhead and he looks up to find a group of referees standing overhead, arms outstretched. He's tired, his lungs feel full of ice, and everything on him just throbs, but he focuses all of whatever remains and pushes Ricardo towards the docks, towards help. "Come on, come on," he pleads to whatever may be listening, finally getting the younger man out of the water and into the waiting grip of those overhead. As they pull him up to safety, Alberto clings to the wooden pillars disappearing into the Hudson, the water gingerly lapping against his bare chest. I can't stay here. Finding a burst of energy, he grips the slick wood surface, and with some help from the referees, pulls himself up until he collapses by Ricardo's side. He pants and shakes water from his hair, shivering desperately.
It's not until he realizes once more that silence, just how quiet and still Ricardo is, that he forgets his own discomfort. "Ricardo? What's going on?" he demands of the nearest referee, who is leaning over him and positioning his hands over the younger man's chest in... what looks like an attempt at CPR. "What are you doing?"
"He's not breathing," the man admits, shattering Alberto's attempts at denying what he can see even in the inky darkness. "I'm trying..."
"Try harder then!" he snaps, forgetting all else as he lands next to Ricardo's eerily motionless form. "Ricardo, wake up!"
"He can't hear you," the referee tells him, trying to concentrate and finding it difficult as Alberto alternates between babbling in English and Spanish to his unresponsive ring announcer.
"Shut up, perro!" he snarls, not believing his words. "Ricardo!" His hands on the ring announcer's pale face, he leans closer and watches as outside forces makes him breathe, pump blood through his chest. "Por favor..." This is so much worse than the Brogue Kick from Sheamus that had left Ricardo unconscious for long, painful moments. This... this is possibly irreversable.
A few more, horrible moments tick past when the trainer, visibly tiring from the repetitive motions, tries once more, pressing down as hard as he can on the younger man's rib cage, when finally he begins to choke and cough, water pouring up and through his lips as he spasms and trembles, eyes fluttering as he comes back to himself. Del Rio and the trainer act instinctively, rolling him onto his side so the water pours harmlessly against the wooden planks, Alberto's trembling hands patting his upper back as he chokes and shivers, whole body tense while he struggles to breathe.
"El... El Pa..." he struggles, eyes weighed down with exhaustion and bloodshot from the water.
"No, no, no talking. Just breathe, Ricardo. Just breathe, mi amigo. You're gonna be fine." Del Rio leans over him, relieved as he slowly sucks in a deep breath, even if it ends in another strained coughing fit. "I'm here."
They remain like this for awhile, the trainer moving quickly as he checks Ricardo over as best as he can with so little in the way of equipment, to make sure the younger man will be fine until he can take him back to the arena. Alberto barely notices as a blanket is dropped over his bare shoulders, Ricardo staring up at him. "You... you're still in your gear... it's soaked... you're soaked..." he forces out through chattering teeth, shaking his head faintly. "El..."
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He rubs a brisk hand along the younger man's arm, wincing against the clinging, wet fabric of his tux, and shakes his head in disbelief at the man's unending consideration towards him. "You're the one who almost drowned, don't worry about me. We'll get you inside, get you warmed up, and everything'll be fine."
"You saved me," he breathes out after a moment, troubled eyes locked on Alberto.
"Of course I did," Del Rio murmurs. "You're my best friend, si?"
He smiles faintly at this, a surprised look on his face as he relaxes a little, his eyes slipping closed. "Si, of course. And you're mine."
Alberto smiles back at him, despite the fresh fear seizing him when he falls silent once more. "Stay awake a bit longer, Ricardo. The trainer isn't done examining you yet. Then we'll go back to the arena and get warm, hm? That sounds nice, si?"
"Si," he nods, forcing his eyes open as he presses against Alberto's side, the trainer listening to his breathing. "It... it'll be nice to be warm again."
"Yes, it will be." He sighs, shaking his head as his thoughts turn much more somber, unable to forget the empty silence when Ricardo wasn't breathing. At Ricardo's questioning glance, he cringes. "You seem to enjoy frightening me anymore, mi amigo."
His expression softens, turns almost guilty. "Lo siento, El Patron. Do not take me wrong, I don't mean to, but I'd rather have that happen than see you hurt or..." His words fade away as he glances out towards the inky dark water spreading out beyond the docks they're slumped upon, releasing a shaky breath.
Del Rio sighs, shakes his head grimly. "Ay, Ricardo. I suppose this is what we get for being the best of the best, hm? Everyone targets us, causes things like this to happen." He smiles faintly when Ricardo releases a shivering kind of laugh. "Can he be moved yet? He needs warmed up. Now," he tells the trainer who seems to be wrapping up his examination.
"Yes, he can be. Let's go." He supports Ricardo on one side, Alberto on the other, and between the two of them, they get the ring announcer off of the slick dock and begin the trek towards a vehicle waiting to drive them back to the arena, where the trainer will examine them both and ensure that neither is in danger of hypothermia. "Not too warm," he warns the driver as he fiddles with the heater. "Shocking either of their systems with too much warmth will be counterproductive."
Only a minute into the ride, Alberto notes with another burst of fear when Ricardo's eyes flutter, his chin dipping towards Alberto's shoulder. "Hey, hey. Mi amigo, stay awake. It is too cold to sleep. Come now." He chuffs his jaw slightly and smiles when the ring announcer forces his eyes open, grimacing. "I know, I know. You can sleep as soon as you're warmed up, hmm?"
"Alright," he sighs, trying to force himself to stay awake awhile longer. "I just... feel so cold. If I sleep, I'll be warm." He looks desperate, his eyes red from the water and his voice more than a little raspy. "You know?"
"Your body may be telling you that but it's the worst thing you can do right now," Alberto tells him, knowing enough about hypothermia to know that's the last thing he could stand to watch, should Ricardo fall asleep right here. "I know you're tired but just a few more minutes, we are so close to the arena." He's about as cold as Ricardo, but one bonus of not having a lot of clothes on at the time was that his didn't soak up the water and keep it close to his skin; Ricardo's had, and even though they began working on loosening what remained of his clothes after the dip in the ocean, the attempts at resuscitation and the trainer's examination once they'd gotten him into the car, he'd still been wearing the drenched, cold articles for a very long time.
"I know," he murmurs, voice growing more faint with each passing second. "It's just hard to keep my eyes open..."
Sighing, Del Rio shifts him around a bit until they're sitting facing each other in the backseat. Reaching forward, he cups the ring announcer's trembling hands and begins rubbing them briskly to put some warmth back into him, try to keep him conscious with the almost uncomfortable motion. "Is this helping any?"
"Si, gracias, El Patron," Ricardo mumbles, watching the repetitive moment through half-lidded eyes. He still feels exhausted and weak but the almost rough massage seems to be doing what he needs to stay awake and help warm him up just a little bit more.
It's to both of their relief that the car pulls to a stop in front of the arena a minute later and the trainer begins tightening the blankets around both men before urging them out of the car door, Ricardo stumbling on nearly frozen legs as Alberto tries to support him despite his own chill that's only being exacerbated by the cold wind that greets them once they're back on the sidewalk.
Both men shudder as they re-enter the arena and warm air blankets them, their eyes closing in relief at finally being back inside, where they're safe, and can get checked out, dried off, warmed up, given new clothes. "Just a little longer, Ricardo," Alberto tells the ring announcer with a soft smile as they head down the hall to the trainer's office, ignoring all of the curious superstars who are lining the hallway. They'd all obviously heard what had happened to Ricardo and Alberto and just had to see for themselves, to his extreme disgust.
"Si," he says tiredly, his steps growing slower and slower the closer they get to the trainer's office. Alberto finds himself supporting him more the further they go, his worry intensifying as the ring announcer's energy fades. "El Patron, I don't... think..."
Alberto doesn't need to ask, he can somehow just tell, and he's right there as Ricardo's legs finally give out on him, the younger man all but falling into him. "Ok, is ok, I'm here," he finds himself murmuring as he controls the ring announcer's downward motion, keeping him from hurting himself further. "Just... breathe. You're ok." He shifts until he can see his face and grimaces at the dazed look in his eye. "Ay, Ricardo."
"Lo siento," he groans out. "I just... couldn't... so dizzy."
"Don't apologize, it's ok. I'm amazed you made it this far," he sooths him, idly stroking his still damp hair. "Take a moment, and we'll help you the rest of the way, si?" He knows deep in his gut that they probably should've done that for Ricardo from the start, but he'd seemed determined to at least attempt the journey on his own and he had almost made it... He sighs and adjusts the blanket around Ricardo's shoulders, worried that, while he had mostly warmed up sufficiently on his own, the younger man still shivers, his teeth chattering slightly.
After a couple of minutes, Alberto motions to the referee and they stand on either side of Ricardo, waiting for him to make the first move in attempting to stand again. When he finally lifts his hands, they grip him and help him up, slinging his arms around their shoulders. "Just a little further," Del Rio tells him quietly, lips twitching when Ricardo's mussed up hair tickles Alberto's neck as he nods.
Between the two of them, they get Ricardo to the trainer's office safely and the trainer holds the door open for them, shutting it securely once they're all inside. "Settle him in here," the man urges them and they do so, Alberto not moving an inch as Ricardo closes his eyes with a faint sigh, barely responding when the trainer begins to examine him more thoroughly.
"Should he be in the ER?" Alberto wonders after a few moments, frowning as the trainer listens to Ricardo's breathing, guiding him when to breathe in, breathe out.
"No, I don't think so. It looks like he's over the worst of it. His shivering like this is a good thing, it's the body's natural response to being as cold as he is. It's when people aren't shivering that we should worry." The trainer sighs, collecting another blanket and wrapping it around Ricardo's body. "Does he have warm clothes in his bag, do you know?"
Alberto has no honest idea, never really watching as Ricardo packs his own things up, but he stands anyway, determined to help speed along his ring announcer's recovery in any way possible. "I can find out." He rests a hand on Ricardo's arm, smiling faintly down at him, before hurrying to the door, barely registering the trainer's urging to get himself some clothes while he's there too.
He dashes to the locker room and, ignoring everyone around him, unzips Ricardo's bag, going through it. He finds some thick sweatpants and a dark sweater, closing his eyes in relief. These will do, he decides, bundling them up and only stopping long enough to hook his own bag and take it with him, not willing to look through it and waste any more time getting these clothes to Ricardo. He's hushed as soon as he barges into the trainer's office, however, stopping and looking around in agitation before his eyes fall upon his ring announcer, who's fast asleep. His eyes softening, he lays his bag down next to the cot and holds out the clothes he'd collected for Ricardo.
The trainer nods, taking them, and between the two of them, they get the younger man into the clothes without completely waking him up, and by the time he's settled back down, his eyes slip closed once more, to Alberto's relief. Afterwards, Del Rio pours through his own bag, collecting his clothes, and quickly pulls them on over his ring gear. "How was he while I was gone?" he asks softly, pulling his regular dress shoes on and letting his wrestling boots remain by the vent to finish airing out.
"He fell asleep pretty quickly. Which is good; now that he's warming up, sleep is what he'll need. You should probably get some too," the trainer advises the Mexican aristocrat. Unsurprised by Alberto's answering sneer, he simply sighs. "Or don't, what do I know..." As he approaches Ricardo again and checks his temperature, he smiles. "Gained another point, he'll be back at a healthy temperature very soon at this rate."
Alberto sighs, relieved at this news. "Gracias," he murmurs before the man leaves the room to check on what matches have gone on while he was busy, Del Rio taking in the silence as he sits down next to Ricardo. He rests a hand on top of the ring announcer's and closes his eyes, forcing a stabilizing breath. "Ay, Ricardo. What will I do with you?" When the trainer returns a couple moments later, nothing's changed, but Alberto looks right at him, having spent his time alone with the ring announcer listening to his somewhat raspy breathing and thinking. "Is there anything we need to keep an eye out for from here?"
The trainer nods. "Yes. At the top of the list'll be pneumonia. Other respiratory issues that may arise from his time in the water. I'll be keeping an eye on you too, of course." Ignoring Alberto's unimpressed look at this, he approaches Ricardo and checks his breathing with a stethoscope, nodding at whatever he's hearing. "A little congested, but that's to be expected. His temperature is only a couple of points away from being normal also." Draping his stethoscope around his neck, he turns back to Del Rio. "Your turn."
The Mexican aristocrat sneers again. "Just focus on Ricardo, I'm fine."
They remain stubborn in both of their opposing viewpoints, staring at each other for a moment, before the trainer nods at Ricardo. "What would he say about you not letting yourself get checked out after all of this? You were in that water long enough as well, not to mention the street fight itself you fought in. Just let me look you over. It'll only take a few minutes and you won't have to move away from him."
Del Rio, not pleased with him pulling that card, glares viciously but gives in, his teeth gritted as the trainer, pleased at his minor victory, begins listening to his lungs and checking his temperature as well before testing his pupils and other standard things he does after a match. It goes by quickly and the Destined One blinks in surprise when the trainer moves away, putting his equipment away.
"You need a good night of sleep but you'll be fine," he says, back still to Alberto. "Expect to be sore for a few days, though. And if you have any difficulty breathing or anything else, you know what to do."
"Si," Alberto mumbles, only half listening to the words so similar to ones that all WWE Superstars had heard a thousand times before. His eyes still locked on his sleeping ring announcer, he shakes his head with a small, pensive smile on his face. "I'm glad you're going to be ok, mi amigo." He sighs, closing his eyes as memories of being under the water, trying so hard to locate him in the murkiness and worrying about what would happen if he'd fail, wash over him and leave him feeling ill. Only a faint shifting under his hand, squeezing his fingers weakly, snaps him out of these recollections, and he opens his eyes to find Ricardo's eyes fluttering wearily. "Orton will pay, Ricardo. I promise."
"I know, El Patron," he murmurs, sighing faintly as sleep claims him once more.
Shaking his head at Ricardo's unwavering faith in him even after everything that had happened just tonight, he settles in to wait for the ring announcer to wake up again, relieved that at least it's warm in the trainer's office. He has no idea in this moment how he's going to make all of this right, but between his determination and Ricardo's loyalty, he's sure he'll find a way eventually.