Proving Capable

by corneroffandom

Ricardo wants to prove himself. Unfortunately, it doesn't go as smoothly as he'd hoped.

"Leave it to me, Ricardo. Zack Ryder will regret what he did."

"Don't bother, I can take care of this simpleton. Stay out of the way."

"Keep my scarf off of the ground, Ricardo. That's all I need from you tonight."

Grimacing, the young Mexican stares up at the ceiling of the hotel they're lodging in for this weekend's event. He likes working for Alberto Del Rio, the pay is good and it does beat getting knocked around week in and week out like he used to in the Indys, but he misses actual competition sometimes, showing to the world what he's capable of. Glancing over at the Mexican aristocrat, who is fast asleep without a care in the world, he wonders if the other man is even aware of his capabilities in the ring outside of the bits of offense he's shown over the last couple of years, if he's ever been interested enough to find out.

He sighs, fingers tightening around the thin sheets covering his midsection. All he's ever wanted is to prove his worth to El Patron, but when nothing more is expected of him but to be the ring announcer and sometimes the distraction, it becomes difficult to find his opportunity. Though, of course, his one chance against Santino had come and gone, his arrogance at Santino being little more than a comedy act, something that he could easily outsmart instead of overpowering him leaving him vulnerable to a cobra that left him flat on his back for the second time in a week.

It is no wonder I am viewed as nothing more than his assistant, he thinks grimly, punching the bed lightly. There has to be something I can do... He glances over once more at Del Rio, worrying his lip with his teeth. It has to be something that won't alienate him... but what...?

The next morning, Del Rio gets notice that he'll be going to Japan to replace Rey Mysterio, who's recently been suspended for a wellness violation. After sneering at his rival's bad fortune, the former champion claps his hands roughly across Ricardo's shoulders, smoothing his tux back down afterwards. "I am sorry I cannot bring you with me, Ricardo, this being last minute and all. I will bring back some of that fizzy Japanese candy you like."

He forces a smile, mind already running a mile a minute as he considers his plan, made so much easier by the other man's absence. "Si, gracias, El Patron," he finally says, wiping some of the discomfort from Alberto's face at his slow response. "Safe travels."

"Thank you."

Ricardo watches from the front door as Alberto eases himself into the fancy towncar that will take him to the airport, his driver nodding in response to Alberto's commands in clipped Spanish before pulling away from the house. Clapping his hands together, the ring announcer inches his way up a ladder to the attic that is primarily used as storage for things Del Rio had had in Mexico but couldn't bare to leave behind when called to compete for the WWE. A box or two has Ricardo's name on them, and it's these that he begins digging around in once he's safely climbed into the alcove.

As soon as he's reached the bottom of a pile of wrapping paper and various bits and pieces thrown in to distract any snooping eyes from what else lies within this box, he leans back on haunches to examine it. Pristine, as bright as the day he'd first put it on, it's obvious the care that had been put into this outfit. The same care that he now puts into perserving so many of Alberto's wrestling outfits.

Carefully dragging it out of the confines, he takes a deep breath as he stares at it, memories flooding him- of tag title wins and hearing the audience members gasping as he performed one ridiculous high flying move after the other. It's a raw ache, his missing this level of competition, and now... now that he's only a few steps removed from achieving what he's always wanted, with the added bonus of possibly, somehow, proving himself, finally, to Alberto, it would be ridiculous to not attempt it.

The only thing he doesn't have since those days is the long hair that would trail down the back of his mask, but that's not a huge problem, most masked superstars in the WWE without much hair. It'll make it easier for him to keep his identity a secret anyway. He pulls the red mask on and breathes in, feeling like a long forgotten part of himself is slowly returning.

The red, sleeveless shirt is next, the material supporting him as it'd always done. This, then, would be his first issue. As in, his tattoos. Alberto had seen him in enough short sleeved tops by now to recognize him by the permanent ink across his upper arms. Grimacing, he stares at them in annoyance before roughly tugging up red armbands to rest across them, blocking them from view. It's not a perfect solution and he can already see that the risk of being caught by this alone is very high, but he can't stop now.

The red pants are the last bit of the outfit and as he stands before the full length mirror, once more Chimaera, he feels more capable than he has in a long time, already a little less bumbling and more like a true competitor. Alberto's presence was always so overwhelming that it'd left him floundering and awkward, so desperate to inspire confidence in the other man that his actions had usually worked against him. "Maybe now," he breathes, trailing his fingers down the cool shiny material that reflect the red surrounding it nicely.

The next step is preparing a video. After changing back into some regular clothes, he anxiously books a gym, throwing some money around to make sure he won't be witnessed or interrupted by anyone as he gets into the Chimaera gear once more. This done, he sets up a camcorder and begins warming up. Some simple flips like he used to do, running off of walls and regaining his balance smoothly. Relearning the contours of the gear, his body's limitations, what the gym itself will allow and won't allow from him. Once he's satisfied, he returns to the camcorder and flicks it on, not saying a word in case someone would happen to recognize him by voice alone.

He attempts a little bit of everything in the ring, more flips, moonsaults, backward dives, anything and everything he'd become accustomed to doing in the Indys that he thinks will be accepted in the WWE. By the time he runs out of things to do, his body is sore and his ears are ringing, but he feels more accomplished than he has in a long time. Quietly flipping the camcorder shut, he takes the memory card containing the footage and stuffs it into an envelope, addressing it to WWE's corporate building in Stamford.

As soon as it's safely mailed out, he sinks into the driver's seat of the somewhat subtle, but reliable, car he had selected when Alberto offered to buy him whatever he'd wanted one day at the dealership. He wonders what, exactly, he's gotten himself into as he rests his face against the steering wheel, breathing deeply.

A denial from the business he already works in could shatter his already questionable self-confidence. An acceptance, however, would bring with it an even worse issue that he hadn't allowed himself to face- how would he work around two roles in the same company, dividing his time between being Alberto Del Rio's personal ring announcer and Chimaera and not failing at both? Or, God forbid, getting caught? Risking his position on just some prideful endeavor?

These thoughts haunt him for the rest of the week as he handles various things for Del Rio while the other man remains busy in Japan and China, checking in when he can. If he notices anything off about Ricardo's attitude in those short phone calls, he doesn't say anything. Ricardo continues fretting as he checks his personal post office box obsessively, certain that the postal workers are starting to get suspicious as he paces in front of his box almost daily, waiting for the letter from WWE.

Finally, the day before Alberto returns home, it comes. A simple, innocent looking envelope with the WWE stamp across its surface. Once home with it, he swallows harshly, reaching out for where it rests on the small side table that Del Rio has for his mail. Nerve lost halfway there, he hesitates and turns away, worriedly wiping off the already spotless kitchen counter. "Come on, Ricardo," he chides himself. "El Patron would be disappointed. His personal ring announcer afraid of a mere piece of mail? Open it!"

Bracing himself once more, he leans over and snags the letter between two fingers, held delicately like it might bite him otherwise. Gingerly prying it apart, he stares at the deceptively innocent looking piece of paper within. All of his hopes of proving his worth to Del Rio lie within the words scattered there. Taking a deep breath, he pulls it out and spreads it across the table, lips moving slowly as he reads. His eyes widen as soon as he finishes the second paragraph, well-familiar with the words of a WWE acceptance letter to the point that he doesn't need to read any further, as it basically goes the same path of the letter he'd received when Alberto had pushed for him to be contracted shortly after he had been moved up from FCW.

"Ay dios mio," he breathes, sinking down into a nearby chair, the letter still in hand. "Chimaera lives." The grin that spreads across his face is wide and brilliant. That night, the letter gets stuffed in a drawer by his bed and he prepares for Del Rio's return the following day. I don't know how this is going to work out but I will impress him.

The first week, the only sign that another masked superstar is waiting to debut is a quick promo package; he thankfully doesn't talk in it, knowing that would be a dead giveaway, but there are clips of his video played to some high paced music. It amuses him and helps him realize that yes, this all is a reality, receiving that letter wasn't just a dream. At the end, Gesto Segundo flashes across the screen. Ricardo doesn't respond visibly but inwardly he's cringing. Going by Chimaera would've been too obvious, unfortunately, and he hadn't yet found a new name he'd actually liked but WWE wouldn't sign him without something to call him by. His only hope would be, depending on the success and length of this run, if he could think of a better name eventually, they'd let him run with it in the future.

"Second face?" Alberto sneers, rolling his eyes at the blank screen that follows the package. "What nonsense is that? Another perdedo for me to take out?"

Ricardo bites his lip, quickly focusing on folding the various scarves that Del Rio had collected in his travels around the world. Call him a little naive but he hadn't really expected that kind of a reaction, with so much vitrol. I suppose it brings back bad memories of Sin Cara and Rey Mysterio, he thinks grimly.

Alberto stares at his back with a strange look on his face. "Aren't you finished yet? It seems you had just done that a bit ago," he comments, shaking his head in confusion.

"Oh, oh, si, El Patron," Ricardo mumbles, quickly replacing the scarves onto their pile. "Lo siento." He flushes, looking for something else to do to keep himself busy to hide his reaction to the package from Alberto.

"Are you alright?" Del Rio asks, feeling slightly uncomfortable and a bit worried at just how frazzled his personal ring announcer is seeming, has seemed since his return from the media tour. "You aren't sick, are you?"

"No, of course not," he says quickly. "There is... just a lot on my mind with No Way Out so soon."

"I see," Alberto murmurs, thankfully dropping it as he begins to talk once more about what a worthless competitor Sheamus is, Ricardo relieved to be able to agree or disagree without much thought in what he is actually saying, his focus locked on his soon-to-be "debut" and trying not to fret too visibly in front of the Mexican aristocrat. His nervousness over this far exceeds what he was feeling the night he had dressed up as Sheamus, knowing that it would put an even larger target on his back. At least then he had Alberto on his side. When he will be this masked superstar, he will be all on his own. It's a daunting thought.

WWE had suggested he debut at No Way Out, using the promo videos to hype their next important masked luchador, but he had refused, trying to make his voice sound different over the phone so not even John Laurinaitis would realize who exactly he was talking with. It's not until the news spreads that Alberto Del Rio has been diagnosed with a concussion severe enough to possibly keep him from being able to compete at all that his prospects change abruptly, despite his reluctance to hurt his best friend by even considering such a ludicrous seeming suggestion.

If I could compete in his place, he considers with a small grimace. But should I win... I would have to tell him that I am Segundo, and... he is prideful enough that my winning the title in his steed with these circumstances wouldn't be accepted in the slightest. He picks tiredly at his fingernails and sighs. I wish I knew what to do to make this work out...

The opportunity passes; at No Way Out, Ricardo remains in the locker rooms, obediently doing anything and everything asked of him to help ease Del Rio's annoyance even the slightest bit. He is still not cleared to wrestle, a fact that angers him beyond belief. Ricardo tries to be encouraging and still not overbearing but no matter how quiet he is, Alberto snaps more and more at him as the time ticks past. He has no doubt that they coming to the arena at all was a mistake, but Del Rio had insisted and so here they remain.

Another package for Segundo airs, ironically enough before a royal rumble held for the new #1 contendership, and Alberto sneers at it for a few moments before slinging a cup of coffee at it, unimpressed when the screen shatters and the machinery within fizzes out, Ricardo recoiling away from the short cirquiting equipment. "I- I'll be back," he says fretfully before dashing out to find someone to get rid of the destroyed television and perhaps find them a replacement, knowing that Alberto will only get angrier if he can't watch to see how the whole World title thing will ultimately play out.

He's just returned, a nervous technician behind him with another monitor for them to watch the show on, when Del Rio looks up at Ricardo and, for the first time since his concussion diagnosis, seems to truly see him. "Ricardo," he says smoothly, something lurking in his voice that Ricardo isn't sure he likes.

"Si, El Patron?" he finally finds his voice enough to ask anxiously, looking even more uncomfortable when Alberto stands and, after smoothing his ever present scarf out, joins him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"I have an idea," he says, only adding to Ricardo's worry.

The four man elimination match has just ended, Dolph Ziggler in the middle of the ring, celebrating his victory, when Realeza interrupts. Fans begin to buzz as the bleach blond superstar glares up the ramp, not liking the interruption to his success. "What!?" he yells up the ramp when Alberto and Ricardo appear, Alberto as always the appearance of class and charm. On the other hand, Ricardo looks pale and shaky next to him.

"Unfortunately, this will not be happening," he declares, ignoring the audience's uncertain boos. "I am still the true #1 contender and, after discussing it with John Laurinaitis, we have agreed. Instead of my competing against Sheamus this Sunday, mi cuadrilátero locutor- Ricardo- will be taking my place." As Ricardo shifts anxiously next to him, trying and failing to show confidence while Dolph all but loses it in the ring, kicking turnbuckles and screaming at them, the referee, Vickie. Anyone close enough to hear him. "Come, Ricardo," he says, disinterested in Dolph's tantrum.

Fussing with his dress shirt sleeves, Ricardo keeps his eyes on the ground as they make their way back to the locker room, ignoring the people whispering around him. It is quite the opportunity but he's as surprised as any of the others- he hasn't even debuted as Segundo yet and here he is with a world title match. The feeling of many eyes locked on him is unnerving, since most people had ignored him through his two year tenure here, but it doesn't surprise him. Jealousy and anger are high motivators, especially in this business, and he thinks he's just made a good number of enemies with Del Rio's decision.

"You will be fine," Del Rio says out of nowhere, surprising him. "No one will have the chance to touch you."

As always, Ricardo finds himself comforted by his El Patron's confident words. "Of course," he concedes quietly, following him obediently into the large locker room, relieved to lose himself in the normalcy of packing their things so they can go. He's trying not to think too hard about what will come this weekend, when it slips from his lips, horrifying him at the bluntness. "El Patron, do you believe I can truly win this Sunday?" He makes it a point not to look up as Alberto stares at him, still able to picture his expression quite easily.

"I believe you are crafty enough, yes," Alberto finally says quietly, surprising Ricardo. "I wouldn't have put you in the match if I didn't, Ricardo."

Craftiness. Something that Alberto had complimented him on time and again, along with his ring announcer abilities and his loyalty, his organization skills, and a multitude of other minor accomplishments. Not his wrestling ability, never that. He nods grimly, forcing some of his clothing into his luggage. "Thank you," he answers, forcing normalcy into his voice. "I will do my best not to disappoint you."

"That is the most I can expect," he acknowledges, a growing look of confusion in his eyes at the subtle tension in Ricardo's shoulders following his answer missed completely by the younger man as he goes about collecting their belongings and packing them neatly. He is tempted to ask but the moment passes as Ricardo leaves to prepare the car for their departure.

Alberto is still not cleared by Sunday, despite his obsessive demands towards the trainer. Time and time again, they are told that it is not happening, that they cannot risk a superstar's health, no matter what they're missing out on. With each refusal, Alberto's annoyance with the whole situation grows but there is nothing to be done for it- he cannot compete without a doctor's approval and no doctor he will go to will give WWE a satisfactory answer.

Ricardo stares down at his abandoned tux and, considering the Chimaera gear that he has stuffed at the bottom of his bag, regrets he can't wear that here but he's still not sure when exactly WWE will want him to debut for real and to wear it would ruin his other persona before he'd even begun. So he's settled for one of Alberto's merchandice shirts, black pants and wrist bands. It is a ridiculously sad get up for someone about to go into a world heavyweight championship match but he doubts anyone believes he has any chance tonight anyway. Either way, it's a far cry from what he had no choice but to wear at the Royal Rumble. With Alberto around, no one dares to force him into gear like he had been that night.

Grimacing at the memories, he adjusts the wrist bands once more before standing up straighter as Del Rio enters the locker room, a grim look on his face. "It is time," he says quietly, examining his ring announcer. "Are you ready?"

"S-... Si, I think so," Ricardo says faintly, abruptly feeling ill. "Will you-"

"I will be accompanying you," he interrupts. "You will do fine. Come."

This brings with it a whole new set of worries- should Sheamus go after Alberto, as he has in the past, Ricardo would perhaps have to throw the match just to keep him safe, and that alone would get him in even more trouble with the Mexican aristocrat... he presses his hands together and frets quietly as he follows his friend through the hallways. In the end, he would rather Alberto be mad at him than injured further so truly it's no question what he would have to do- go for a steel chair, or the ring bell... anything to protect El Patron. No matter what.

Despite Alberto being by his side, the music and titantron that he had used when facing Santino weeks back is keyed up and he takes in Del Rio's surprise as something other than Realeza plays them to the ring. How little attention he must pay to what I do when it doesn't involve him, he thinks, feeling even worse. His eyes downcast, he slips into the ring, desperate to at least hold his own here. He's not prepared, his confidence is low, and really, this isn't the setting he wanted to have a match in. At a pay per view, for the world title, when he'd barely made it through a five minute match with Santino a few weeks prior.

If not for Alberto staring up at him from the ring announcer's table, nodding subtle encouragement, he'd throw in the towel and let Dolph Ziggler have his match, but the mere idea of letting Del Rio down makes him feel worse than actually competing in this match. When the bell rings, Sheamus' grin only grows along with Ricardo's trepidation. It doesn't help too much that Del Rio doesn't remain by the table for very long, unable to stay away from the action apparently, Ricardo's attention divided between his boss and the angry Irishman before him. Ay, he thinks, fingers digging into his palm. What have I gotten myself into?

He spends a few minutes trying to orient himself while avoiding Sheamus' long arms and high kicks, pointlessly landing a few punches here and there, barely seeming to affect Sheamus. He's already running out of ideas of how to avoid taking any offense, stuck in the corner with his hands up, begging in stuttery Spanish for the tall man not to harm him, when Del Rio begins to yell into the ring, overlooking him completely but shouting at Sheamus.

Sheamus turns to glower at the Mexican thorn in his side, moving to the side of the ring to yell over the ropes back at Alberto, the words slipping past Ricardo as he watches the proceedings. It honestly looks like, should things continue to escalate, he will be going after Del Rio on the outside and... No, no, the ring announcer thinks desperately before lunging across the ring at his opponent, his flailing arms tangling around Sheamus' face as his legs dig into his back. He's up there, trying to hold on for as long as he can, wondering how many times in the past he's done this, when Sheamus gets a good grasp on his shirt and slings him over his shoulder where he hits hard, laying dazed against the turnbuckles.

He hears Del Rio spitting more insults at Sheamus, unable to move or do anything but watch as Sheamus climbs out of the ring next to where Ricardo is currently sprawled to shut him up. Desperate for Alberto to not get further injured, he scrapes together what remains of his willpower and forces himself to his feet, staggering back clear across the ring almost. Here, at least, he can see as Sheamus now corners the Mexican aristocrat against the post on the outside, obviously gearing up for a Brogue Kick.

He's still dizzy from his last strike but he has to do something and so he lunges clear across the ring and slides, slides, slides... under the bottom rope, to the outside, where he effectively pushes Alberto clear out of the way of the incoming boot just to take it himself, clean to the side of the head. The momentum then sends the back of his head slamming against the turnbuckle. As he slumps to his knees, things going dark around him, he thinks he hears his name being yelled from a distance but can't even open his mouth to respond.

His fingers twitch. It's the first sign that he's coming back in control of his own body, finally. How long he's been out, he's unsure. What happened to his match, he doesn't know. All he knows is that something is running up and down his palm, the tickling sensation driving him nuts, and his fingers have twitched in response.

"...are you trying to get us both banned from competing due to concussions?" His first thought is Alberto sounds angry. But Alberto almost always sounds angry, it being his chief way of dealing with anything bad- anxiety, fear... Only when he is truly happy does he actually not sound angry, which means Ricardo often finds himself walking on eggshells around the man. But even so, he knows Del Rio's moods better than he knows his own and he can read his tones fairly well- this one bleeds worry. His fingers twitch again, pressing against the other man's, and Alberto cuts off midsentence. Ricardo can feel his stare on their hands as he struggles to come closer to the surface, to open his eyes, prove to the Mexican aristocrat that he'll be fine.

"El Patron," he finally sighs out, hating how weak he sounds. His head is throbbing and the only thing that doesn't hurt or feel hypersensitive is the hand that Del Rio has such a tight grip on.

"Open your eyes, Ricardo," he says tiredly and Ricardo thinks about how he's still suffering effects of his own concussion, abiding by his friend's request with a great struggle.

"The match," he whispers, finally taking in Del Rio's grim stare once he has pried his eyes open. "Lo siento... I..."

"No, no apologies," the Mexican aristocrat says briskly. "You saved me. If that Irish perro had landed that attack on me, ah, my career would be in jeopardy, yes? There will be other title opportunities, after all." His gaze softens as Ricardo squints up at him, his hand resting on the younger man's forehead. "Thank you, Ricardo."

"You're welcome," he says vacantly, realizing one thing: if he's about to debut as Segundo and he's this injured, it means two things: It'll only be that much easier for WWE to realize who exactly's under the mask, and he could lose that much easier as well, with this visible weakness. It's just my luck...

Thankfully, WWE higher ups don't debut Segundo the next night- there is too much going on with Laurinaitis' firing and Cyndi Lauper around. Ricardo only makes a brief appearance for Alberto's match against Santino, which culminates in him hitting an armbreaker on the Italian superstar after Alberto has made him tap out, relieved to let some aggression out no matter how it jostles his still injured head. Ricardo himself is still sporting bruises along his right eye, where the sole of Sheamus' shoe had impacted the hardest, not to mention how tender the back of his skull feels from that post strike.

"Are you alright, El Patron?" he asks after a few minutes of them quietly wandering the halls. Del Rio had headbutted Santino midway through the match, the tight pain around his eyes immediately proving that he'd regretted that move.

"Yes," he brushes off his personal ring announcer's concern. "Are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Good." He takes a deep breath, absentmindedly rubbing at his forehead. As soon as he sits down in the personal locker room set aside for him, Ricardo begins bustling around, losing himself in his various errands after one of Alberto's match- getting him water, and folding his wrestling gear carefully. His back is turned, gently putting the scarf into the luggage, when Alberto curses in Spanish.

"Que?" he asks, only half-turning before he catches sight of the cause of Alberto's annoyance. Another video package for Segundo, with more clips- some of which he remembers from the video he had sent WWE when he'd been first trying to get signed.

"This estupido," Alberto snaps, almost cracking the remote as he tries to shut the monitor off. "Another masked imbecile trying to come steal my thunder."

The words hurt, Ricardo's throat going very dry as he regards his friend. It was never his intention, not even close, but if this is how Alberto views it, well... He rings his hands before forcing them to still, zipping up the luggage roughly. Alberto's career might not be the only one in jeopardy by the end of this all.

When they arrive back in Florida the next day, Ricardo quickly sets to putting their things away, to keep the front hall of Alberto's Florida home from getting cluttered. While brushing past the distracted Mexican aristocrat by the mail table, he remembers opening the letter from WWE in that spot, how it had felt to be accepted on his own merit and not just because Alberto wanted him around during his matches. He smiles slightly before realizing that, along with everything he has to do, he'll have to go to his PO box and check the mail there. Just in case further communication had come from WWE corporate.

Not for the first time, he's relieved that WWE had been given this address so mail from them is sent here, the PO box being something he had gotten so his personal mail would not annoy Alberto. It had worked out quite nicely for this situation, actually, giving him a bit of privacy so Del Rio remains unaware of the true identity of Segundo. Taking a deep breath, he walks anxiously past Alberto and collects the keys to his dependable but simplistic Prius parked near Alberto's ridiculously expensive car of the week. "I'm going to go get some groceries, you are running low on a few things."

"Very well," is his distracted response. Ricardo takes a deep breath before leaving, relieved to be away from the mansion for a little bit. He had guessed what keeping a secret of this magnitude would be like, the guilt of not telling Alberto who this Segundo truly is, but to actually live it...

He shakes his head, pulling to a stop in front of the post office. As he wanders up to the building, he looks around at people also here to handle their errands, simple every day things. He feels so shifty, like all eyes are on him, even though he can tell by simply looking that no one's paying him a second look. He stubbornly keeps his eyes on the task ahead as he unlocks his post office box, unsurprised to find a few letters waiting for him there. One of which clearly has the WWE headquarters logo on it. He swallows, not even waiting to open it like he had the initial letter.

He barely skims most of it, unable to look past the line that says Your debut will be this Friday against Alex Riley. He swallows, touching his face gingerly. There are still visible bruises along his jaw and cheek bone from his match against Sheamus, and he wonders if they'll be noticeable still by Friday. If so, I am in so much trouble, he thinks grimly.

Thankfully, Alberto is so caught up in his own business that he doesn't seem to notice, or care about, Ricardo's distraction for the rest of the night. This only makes the younger man feel even worse.

That Friday, they arrive together, Ricardo obediently falling into his usual role- pulling Alberto's bags from the car, checking to make sure the car is parked safely in the small, guarded area they demand be designated for it while Del Rio waits for his match so he can drive it out and show it off to the world, carefully checking his scarf and wrestling gear to make sure everything looks pristine and sharp before he puts it on. "Do you want something to eat while we wait, El Patron?" he asks once he's done, desperate for a few minutes alone to find a place to put his own gear- or rather, Segundo's gear.

Alberto appears to be thinking about it for a long moment before shrugging, a grimace on his face. "I suppose you should check catering, see if they have anything worthwhile that I may like."

"Si," he says quietly, taking in a deep breath once he's out in the hallway safely with the bag of Segundo's things, relieved that Alberto is too busy with his own things to even notice what he's doing. As he walks around, dodging people who are bustling this way and that trying to get everything together for the show, he spots the makeup table. Fingers gingerly brushing along his faintly bruised cheek, he sidles up to it and stares down at the things scattered along there. He doesn't know what half of these things are but grabs a jar marked concealer, stuffing it in his jacket pocket with a hesitant look around to make sure he's not being spotted.

Once he's made his big get away, he checks the letter that WWE had sent him regarding his debut, including the locker room info they had for him. They had been very careful, not wanting anyone to leak when Segundo would debut, so he is relieved to find that he has his own locker room. It may be only for this week, but he'll take this a day at a time and figure out things as he goes. Taking a deep breath, he glances around before ducking into the abandoned locker room before dropping onto the bench, his face in his hands. "What was I thinking?" He frets for a few minutes, eyes wide and darting here and there as he considers that it all may just be a little too much to pull off- him playing two roles here. El Patron will notice, he thinks bitterly. My disappearance will not be appreciated and I will be fired for not attending to his every whim in a timely fashion. Not to mention if I get injured in a match and... He swallows, pulling at his hair slightly. "Do not think like that," he chides himself. "I have a responsibility both to Alberto, and to WWE itself... it cannot be impossible to maintain both successfully. I just need to think."

He finally gives up on coming to a permanent conclusion, instead laying out his wrestling gear and everything else he may need, before ducking back out and going to catering. He finds a few things he thinks Alberto might not mind so much and ventures back, relieved to see that only fifteen minutes has passed.

"You have been gone long enough, Ricardo," Alberto calls out when the door opens, looking up from paperwork to frown at his assistant. "What was the hold up?"

"The lines were very long," he hedges. "Here, I found some acceptable food, I believe." He carefully sets out the plate with a grilled chicken sandwich and a small salad on it, before digging around in his pockets for the salad dressing packets he had found on the table near the salad bar. He pauses as his fingers close around the concealer before finally finding what he's really after, tearing the packets open to drizzle the low fat Italian along Alberto's salad. "Is it to your liking?"

"Si," he sighs, beginning to eat. He's barely two bites into the chicken sandwich when he notices just how antsy Ricardo is, frowning up at him. "What is with you?"

"Hm? Ah, nothing," he says, mind drifting to the locker room he had for Segundo's use. Alberto keeps an eye on him as he eats, making him twitch all the more.

"Go," he says suddenly, digging his fork along the vegetables. "Get yourself something to eat as well before the match begins. It will be a long night."

Ricardo blinks in surprise. Alberto isn't always as thoughtful as this, Ricardo's needs usually attended to after Alberto's match, but he doesn't take this opportunity for granted. "Si, gracias, El Patron," he says quietly before leaving. Instead of entering catering, he walks past it and heads straight for the locker room he had reluctantly left awhile ago. Nothing has been disturbed in his absence, to his great relief, and he immediately begins changing from his tux to the dark red fullbody wrestling gear that somewhat resembles his old one from the Indys, elbow pads and knee pads, finishing up by quickly lacing up his wrestling boots.

As soon as he's done, he steps before a mirror that's conveniently located across the room, running his hands across the sleek material comprising his gear. There are noticeable differences, like it actually having sleeves to cover his numerous tattoos and swirls along its sides and back being black instead of the previous white. While keeping one critical eye on himself, he pulls the matching red and black mask over his face, relieved to be hidden behind it once more. He hopes no one but him will recognize the inspiration for the gear, his identity already hanging by a thread here, but...

A loud knock at the door stops his thoughts, one of the techs yelling through. "Segundo! You're up!'

He swallows, adjusting the mask quickly as footsteps echo back down the hallway, away from his room. "Show time," he tells his reflection. Despite the nervousness and uncertainty of what he's about to do, he feels more like himself than he has in a very, very long time. Making a final scan of himself once more, he leaves, eyes narrowing as one person after another turn to look at him, taking note of all of the curious whispers and competitive glances. He had never gained this much attention- where people weren't throwing him off of ladders or tossing food in his face- while simply the bumbling ring announcer, Ricardo. It feels strangely... good.

As he gets closer to the gorilla position and, thus, the ring, he can't help but wonder how the audience will take to him. Will they boo, will they cheer... will they just be completely dead? He pulls on the gloves that match his outfit, trying to mask his uncertainty. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Alex Riley standing with Zack Ryder and quietly talking, but barely reacts to his presence. Say it to my face echoes through the arena and the former NXT rookie quickly makes his way down to the ring, trying to get the crowd worked up.

Ricardo takes a deep breath, blinking when he catches Zack staring at him. Past incidents involving milk comes to mind as the two stare at each other, an unimpressed look on Ryder's face. "Que?" he snaps, rolling his eyes with a huff as the Long Island Iced Z looks away with a scoff.

"Nothing, bro," he mumbles, quickly walking off.

Ricardo hmphs before his own music- some generic Mexican music only a little better than what he had been given during his short feud with Santino while Alberto had been injured- begins playing. He quickly checks his mask and adjusts his gloves before pushing his way through the curtains blocking the gorilla position from the entrance. The crowd and the lights all leave him dizzy and flushed for a moment before he turns his focus to Alex, waiting for him in the middle of the ring. All of his prior match experience rushes back to him before he eyes the ring, weighing his entrance. Every luchador has their own special entrance, some little extra bit of show to wow the crowd before they begin to wrestle. He had gone through every possible scenario over and over in his head, trying to decide on what exactly to do. Using any of his entrances that he had as Chimaera or even the ones he'd used in FCW is impossible- one savvy set of eyes on him and his already tenuous secret would be blown.

Finally he takes it at a running leap, ending up on the second step of the stairs leading to the ring. From there, he closes his eyes and holds his breath, hoping for the best, before monkey leaping onto the turnbuckle, where he then plants his wrestling boots onto the second rope from the outside. Amazed that it even worked without him making a fool of himself, he looks around at the crowd and sighs, before slingshotting himself into the middle of the ring to finally face off with Alex Riley.

The young man looks a little wary, especially after this show of agility, and the crowd also seems torn between their long-time favorite and the new wrestler who's barely paying them any mind, busy examining his opponent. Neither exchange a word, eyes locked as they circle each other. Ricardo at least has a mask to hide behind, keep his own uncertainty and worry from showing, but Alex's is clear for the world to see as finally he lunges forward and locks up with the shorter man, his power overwhelming Ricardo early. Finally Ricardo forces a separation by worming away enough to get the space between them to knee him in the midsection, winding him.

Alex warily puts distance between them, eyeing his opponent. Ricardo shifts slightly, hands held up defensively as he waits for A-Ri to make his next move. Neither man looks enthused as they move at the same time, Alex going for a punch that Ricardo just manages to duck before lifting back up in time, grabbing Alex under the arms and slamming him across his shoulder neck first, rattling the man's skull and spine roughly.

Shaking off the pain he himself feels due to that move, Ricardo stands up and stares over his shoulder at Alex as he struggles to reorient himself, breathing loud and heavy against the rough material of his mask. He hadn't wrestled seriously in so long but it's not taking him as long as he'd worried it would to remember the emotions- the pain- the overwhelming sensation of success with every correctly hit move and sign of weakness in his opponent. Bolstered by these thoughts, he rushes forward and grabs Alex by around the neck, dragging him upwards until they're both on their feet. He hits a rough uppercut, smile growing as he staggers from the force, Alex almost taking another header against the mat.

The attempts at offense from the other man is growing more and more weak and laughable as Ricardo all but dances around him, overwhelming him with steady punches and slaps, a few kicks thrown in for good measure that sends him arching away from his opponent, desperate for any kind of separation.

Grabbing A-Ri by the scuff of his neck, Ricardo introduces him to the turnbuckle roughly, sending him stumbling backwards until he sits down heavily. This he follows up with a solid kick to Alex's neck, whipping him forward and then back, until he lays against the mat, dazed and confused. Taking the opportunity, Ricardo climbs the rope carefully, not wanting to mess up when his first true match in so long is going so well, and readjusts his footing as he takes in Riley's prone position.

This is it, he thinks grimly, letting go and flipping off of the top rope in a corkscrew moonsault that sends all of his weight down on top of Alex's midsection. Rolling into a cover, he closes his eyes and feels more than hears as the referee's hands hit the mat. 1... 2... 3.

He rolls off of the man, adjusting his mask subtly as the feeling of victory washes over him. I did it. He's sore and a little winded, his heart racing a million miles an hour, but he's victorious. I wonder what El Patron thinks, he muses before realizing- El Patron probably thinks nothing except disdain for yet another Mexican competitor. The one shortcoming of his hiding behind this mask, his victories will be unimportant to the one person he wishes to impress the most. Sighing, he walks quietly back up the ramp to the back, ignoring the curious gazes once more aimed his way.

He checks the clock as soon as he re-enters his locker room, paling when he realizes almost twenty minutes have passed since he had left Alberto's locker room. He thinks he may break records as he changes quickly, barely able to breathe until he's safely once more in his tux, the mask and wrestling gear safely folded up in the bag he had put aside for Segundo's clothing. Trying not to draw more attention to himself, he walks quickly down the hallways until he finds himself once more outside of Del Rio's locker room, smoothing his hair down fruitlessly.

"Where have you been?" Alberto snaps, glaring over at him as he pushes the door shut behind him. "My match is starting momentarily!"

"Lo siento," he grimaces. "I didn't plan on being gone for so long but there were some... malfunction in the catering. Food orders were delayed." One of the best things about being Del Rio's ring announcer is that he's the Mexican Aristocrat's main way of finding out what's going on with the rest of the arena, barely bothering to go deal with people himself. The only exceptions he makes is with General Managers or other people he needs to smooze with to get on the board of director's good side. The chances of Del Rio thus taking the time to fact check if there really was a problem in catering is slim to nil.

Huffing, the former champion quickly grabs him by the collar and pushes him out of the door, not even paying attention to the wince that Ricardo tries to hide as he catches himself before he can trip. "Go," he snaps, slamming the locker room door behind him.

They make it just in time, Ricardo quickly getting into position to run off Del Rio's custom entrance before he comes out, blaring his horn as he always does in the fancy car that he's selected this go around. The match is simple, Del Rio quickly overwhelming Primo Colon with his arm-based offense, sending the much smaller man into near spasms as he taps out desperately, trying to keep his shoulder from completely snapping.

As Alberto kicks Primo away like he's a piece of distasteful garbage stuck to the bottom of his shoe, Ricardo announces the winner proudly, entering the ring to hold Alberto's hand up in victory. When he grins up at his successful employer, all he can imagine is Alberto by his side during one of his own victories, supporting him. Unfortunately, that will never happen as long as he remains behind the mask... but without it, none of this will work. Alberto's determination to be the best from Mexico would keep Ricardo from doing anything between those ropes. Not that his endgame is to be better than Alberto, far from it, but it would more than likely be viewed the biggest offense, betrayal, to the prideful man. His smile slips slightly as he once more raises Del Rio's arm, glancing uncertainly over at him.

As always, Alberto doesn't notice, wrapped up in his own fame and accomplishments.

Segundo isn't given anything for Raw, which is a bit of a relief to Ricardo. He feels like he's skating on thin ice anyway after Smackdown, not wanting to have to sneak away more than is neccessary and further annoy Alberto. However, a notice is waiting for him in his PO box upon their return to Florida and he reads it over a few times, wondering how long exactly he can keep this up, how long his luck will hold out before Alberto gets angry or suspicious of what the ring announcer is up to. Both things are common traits of Alberto's and Ricardo can just tell this isn't going to end well.

I did not think this through very well, he muses with a sinking feeling. But there has to be some way...

That Friday, Alberto's locker room isn't to his liking. The furniture is off, the drinks are room temperature and everything just seems subpar. He grabs Ricardo by the collar, glowering around at their surroundings. "Find the arena manager," he snaps at the younger man. "Get this straightened out!" As he releases him with a not-too-subtle push towards the door, Ricardo sees his opportunity, simply nodding as he ducks out into the hallway.

Though he keeps an eye out for the arena manager, he's heading straight for the locker room assigned to him. Despite the reveal over and done with, WWE agrees with him that, in order to maintain the mysteriousness behind him and his true indentity, he should be allowed to keep his own personal locker room. He ducks into the room and changes into his outfit, the mask coming on last. Immediately he feels more sure of himself, the victory against Alex the week before helping immensely.

Tonight his match is against, of all people, Zack Ryder. The fan favorite underdog, and yada yada yada. He makes a face as he finishes with his wrist braces, quickly pulling his boots on once more. Again, he's determined to finish the match quickly so he can get back to being Ricardo and do what needs to be done for Alberto.

Zack stares at him, eyebrows raised, as he once more leaps from the second turnbuckle into the ring, the two facing off for a brief moment until the bell rings. Unlike the previous match, there is no waiting: Segundo is on him immediately, punching and kicking until the ref intervenes. The separation gives Zack the edge he needs as he begins returning the favor, punching Segundo until he has to take a breather. He gets too close to the ropes and Zack clotheslines him deeper into them, causing him to collapse. The ring announcer/wrestler can do nothing but watch in a daze as he fist pumps and rushes forward, striking Segundo in the face with his broski boot.

Even more disoriented now, Segundo forces his way to his feet, staggering a little. He thinks he knows what's next but he's not sure what to do about it, Zack throwing up the LI while he waits for his opponent to get into position. It all happens quickly, Segundo takes his body weight but somehow it awakens something within him and he gets a good hold on his tights, slamming him down to the mat. Time freezes, the audience in awe of their favorite Long Island Iced Z not hitting his finisher. Finally Segundo makes it back to his feet and stares at Zack exhaustedly for a moment. Going to the top rope, he waivers, still feeling the effects of the boot to the face. Shaking off his uncertainty he takes a deep breath and soars, landing his corkscrew moonsault once more, floating into a pin that easily makes it to the decisive three count.

He barely waits long enough for the referee to raise his hand, his name being announced the victor, before he's off again. Time is ticking away once more, and Alberto will be angry if he takes too long. Luckily the manager of the arena is easy to find once he's Ricardo once more, taking his and Alberto's displeasure with her abilities in stride. "I apologize," she tells him. "Perhaps the furniture was put in the wrong room. I will look around and when I find it, it'll be brought into Mr. Del Rio's. In the meantime, I will get someone to bring fresh drinks."

"Si, thank you," he tells her somewhat disengenuously. She doesn't bat an eye, simply marching off to do what she said she would. He takes a deep breath as soon as she's out of sight, brushing a hand against his face. Immediately he winces, wondering if there's still shoe treads on his nose and forehead from Ryder's boot. "Ay," he whines to himself before heading back to Alberto's locker room.

He's met with a suspicious glower, Alberto looking truly displeased. For a wild moment he wonders if his secret's been found out, but... "Did you get it done?"

"Ah, si, El Patron!" he confirms, venturing further into the locker room. "The manager is looking for the furniture right now, she apologized profusely and says it will be corrected momentarily."

He sneers, shaking his head. "Figures." As he drifts off into Spanish, insulting the arena, the town, and her, Ricardo nods every now and then in agreement.

They both fall silent at once, glaring, as there's a knock at the door. It slowly opens and workers come in with fresh drinks and chilled buckets of ice, murmuring quiet apologies as they quickly go about their duties, taking the old, warm drinks with them when they go. Ricardo stops them at the door with a sharp command, checking the temperature of the drinks himself. "Fine," he snaps at the waiting men. "Leave."

Scurrying to leave the tense room, they click the door shut quietly behind them. Only then does Alberto actually sit down, waiting for Ricardo to serve him his usual glass of champagne. The monitor behind Ricardo is showing a recap of Segundo's match and he freezes, beginning to work once more at a slow speed as he listens.

"This Segundo," Alberto grumbles dismissively. "Such a waste of space. Hmph. Why do the WWE keep bringing in these masked perros when they have the only Mexican they'll ever need right here? Flashy, lack of substance cretins."

Ricardo says nothing, though the spite-filled words dig deep into him with knife-like sharpness. He works through blurry vision, automatically filling up the glass, blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. When he turns around and walks the glass over to his patron, he is composed, nearly emotionless. "Here," he says quietly.

Alberto glances at him, taking the glass. As he sips from it, nodding his approval, Ricardo turns back away and begins organizing the remaining glasses and drinks that are in position for whatever Del Rio may want through the evening. He can feel the other man's eyes on him but doesn't respond in any way to him. "You are quiet," he says after a bit, running his finger along the rim of the flute. "Is something wrong?"

"No, El Patron," Ricardo forces himself to say. "Everything is as it should be. Or will, once that furniture arrives. I will go see what the hold up is." Without waiting for Alberto to say anything else, he quickly leaves. Leaning against the wall, he breathes in deeply, fists clenched at his sides.

All that I have gone through to gain his notice, perhaps impress him, and he sees nothing special of Segundo, just another worthless superstar. I'm not sure what I was thinking. He wonders if Alberto's opinion of it all would be different, should he know who's under the mask. Somehow, he doubts it.

His shoulders slumping, he goes to look for the furniture himself.

After a tense weekend where Ricardo quietly goes about his duties and keeps to himself the rest of the time, they go on to the next town to see what's on the cards for Del Rio- Segundo again has no match on Raw, which is just fine with Ricardo. He's not even that interested in being Segundo anymore... It all seems to be a pointless waste of time and effort, Del Rio's words haunting both his waking moments and dreams.

Even so, there's still a sense of thrill there as he walks into the arena for Raw, dragging Alberto's things with him. He loves to compete and just the vibe in the air is enough to remind him of this, soothing some of the sting of El Patron's comments. I want to compete, he thinks, fingers tightening around the handle of Alberto's top of the line suitcase. I want to, if nothing else, prove to myself that I still can. And I will.

But his focus is taken away from his own raw feelings when, during Alberto's match against Tyson Kidd, he lands an attempted attack from the top rope wrong and rolls his ankle visibly. It leads to Kidd almost getting the victory but, after Ricardo leaps onto the top rope, trying to give Alberto a quick breather, just to get kicked back off by a flying enzuigiri for his troubles, Alberto hits a DDT that dazes Tyson enough for the three count. He immediately rolls out of the ring, his face tight with pain, and Ricardo meets him, all of his own emotional exhaustion and fretting forgotten immediately as he supports the Mexican aristocrat, wrapping his arm around his shoulders.

"I've got you," he mumbles, taking as much of Alberto's weight as he can, helping him to limp up the ramp. Not another injury, he thinks grimly. Not so soon after the concussions and the groin injury... please...

Thankfully, the trainer examines him and determines it's a moderate sprain, gives the usual advice- ice, rest, keeping it elevated. Things all of the wrestlers can recite in their sleep pretty much- in fact, it wouldn't surprise Ricardo if some of them do recite it, in place of counting sheep. Alberto nods along until the trainer adds- I'm going to notify the board, you can't compete this week.

"QUE?!" he exclaims, Ricardo alternating between shock and indignation for his employer and relief for himself- if Alberto has the night off, he can find some excuse to travel to Smackdown and be Segundo without worrying about Alberto finding out or growing impatient with another of his long absenses.

"I'm sorry, it's non-negotiable," the trainer says, ignoring the cold, dark glare aimed his way by the incensed Mexican aristocrat. "Trust me, you don't want to make your ankle any worse. A few days' break will keep you from tearing ligaments or outright breaking it when it's already weakened."

Alberto says nothing, fixes his glare on Ricardo before limping out of the room at a quick pace, fueled by anger and adrenaline. Ricardo glares at the trainer in his friend's steed before following him, chattering lowly in Spanish in an attempt to make him feel better, calm him.

"Just stop, Ricardo. Nothing you can say will make this any better."

Eyes lowering, the ring announcer falls quiet. The year had not gone well for Del Rio, injury after injury after injury... he doesn't blame him for his reaction to this latest bit of bad luck. So why, then, am I still so hurt over his reaction to what he thinks is yet another rival in Segundo? He stares at Alberto's back, fingers twitching to help him as he stubbornly continues along to the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone around him. Because, he realizes, finally facing the truth, if it was him behind a mask, I would know immediately. How has he not realized? Mannerisms are the same, general look... Feeling even worse now, he looks back at the ground. I suppose I am just the help to him after all. It's a hurtful thought, and he wonders what exactly changed between Alberto's claims following Big Show's attack that Ricardo was his best friend to this point in time.

That Thursday, Ricardo suggests to Alberto he leave Florida and be at Smackdown that week, explaining that he feels like he would be more help to Alberto if he is at the arena, talking with Laurinaitis, reminding him that Alberto is rightfully the #1 contender to the World title still. Which is fortutious because he'd arrived home to another letter from WWE in his PO box, confirming that Segundo has a rematch this Friday against Zack Ryder. He tilts his head before shrugging. Ay. I've beat him once, I can do it again. Another advantage of being Alberto's right hand man- he grimaces, uncertain about that claim anymore- is that whenever the perfectionist has a new opponent, he can spend hours before a television, watching old matches. Just to keep an eye out for weaknesses, figure out ways to work around strengths, how best to train to prepare.

The time he had spent watching, Ricardo would be nearby, also watching, learning. Considering how he would handle various competitors, comparing it against how Alberto should handle it, their styles considerably different. Despite Ricardo being more of a highflyer against Alberto's mat-based, submission work focused on weakening opponents' arms, he knows Del Rio's style enough to be able to help him now and again with ideas on how to ensure victory.

So, honestly, wrestling Zack is no big thing, he knows the man inside and out just from the times he's wrestled Alberto with Ricardo at ringside. What he doesn't expect, however, is a wall of flames bursting through the ramp midway through their match, nearly dropping him from the turnbuckles as he almost has the match wrapped up yet again. He catches a quick glance of Zack's horrified, shocked face as the whole arena turns red, the flames dying away as Kane's music begins to play. Oh, no, no, no. They're both frozen, held in place almost as if by a supernatural force and he's still on the second rope, dark eyes wide beneath his mask. Please...

He wants so badly just to jump down, scurry out of the ring and hide- obviously the menacing veteran is after Zack, so why should he involve himself?- but his body is still not responding and he can do nothing but watch as Kane grabs the top rope and drags himself up onto the apron with one hand, staring down Zack Ryder. Their off-and-on feud had been ridiculous, Zack suffering for weeks at the hand of the larger man just because he's friends with John Cena. Ricardo does not want to become a victim of wrong-place-wrong-time but oh God, he can't move, he can barely breathe, all he can do is stand there and fret. I wish Alberto was here, he thinks desperately, his eyes blurring as Kane stalks around Zack, his breathing so loud that Ricardo can hear it as clearly as if it's his shoulder that Kane is peering over.

A chokeslam later and it's over, Zack arching up off of the mat in an attempt to get off of his previously injured back, groaning as Kane leers down at him. Ricardo holds his breath, holding onto hope that, since he's finished off Ryder yet again, he'll just leave but alas, the much taller man turns his focus to the wrestler still perched awkwardly on the second rope. Nothing else registers with Ricardo, not the audience booing and whispering, not the panted moans from Ryder, nothing but Kane's mismatched, glinting eyes as the two masked men stare at each other. He feels stripped bare, like the Big Red Monster is peering deep into his soul, time slowing as he ambles towards the turnbuckle, where he then looks up at Ricardo. Despite Ricardo being on the second rope, there's still only a little difference in their height and it adds to his worry. Neither men blink as the seconds pass and finally Kane sneers at him before stepping back and grabbing the rope, leaving similar to how he'd come in- flipping himself over the top rope clean to the floor.

Once Kane is gone and he's sure he is not going to return and decimate him as he had done to Zack, time returns to normal and he begins to tremble. Legs giving out on him, he slips off of the second turnbuckle and sits hard on the mat, dazed as he peers over at the still writhing Long Island Iced Z. Trainers and referees begin flocking both men but Ricardo waves them off, urges them towards his opponent, before slipping under the bottom rope and leaving quietly, his hands shaking so hard that he can barely adjust his mask without pulling it clean off of his head. I miss Alberto, he thinks feebly, peering back at the ring once more before disappearing into the back.

"I wish Kane had decimated that wanna be perro," Alberto grumbles, once more watching a Smackdown recap of what had happened to Segundo and Zack Ryder's match, Kane's interruption.

Ricardo's fingers tightening around Alberto's scarf, he bites his lip so hard he tastes blood after a moment. Not for the first time this week, he questions his decision to become Segundo. He has no match tonight, as always, but he's not off the hook completely anyway- he hears Kane's voice, ignores it until he hears the large man say something about Segundo. He freezes and looks up, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights.

"I'm challenging Segundo to a match on Smackdown," the demented man snarls into the camera. "He... intrigues me. I look forward to tearing him limb from limb..."

Ricardo swallows heavily, only half listening as Alberto begins to laugh. "I can't wait for that! To see that rujo freak destroy that perro finally... it will be bueno... Don't you agree?" he asks, noticing just how quiet the usually agreeable Ricardo has become.

"Si, si, El Patron," he mumbles, feeling like he's about to be sick. He feels even worse when Alberto doesn't seem to notice just how half-hearted his response had been. What happened to us?

That Friday, he isn't even sure how he gets away from Alberto. Just that he does, well aware that his match against Kane is looming. He reluctantly changes once more into his gear, the mask fitting over his head. For the first time in ever, he feels like he's being strangled by the material. Deep breaths, Ricardo. You will be fine, he tells himself over and over and over until finally his body relaxes. What would Alberto do? Shuddering slightly, he finishes with his wrist tape and other last minute neccessities before venturing out to the gorilla.

His steps slow as he recognizes a gait behind him, the smooth voice that follows leaving him almost as frozen as Kane had the week prior. "Ah, Segundo... the new all-important Mexican superstar," Alberto Del Rio mocks him, delighting in what he thinks is their first official meeting. "Can't dare to turn and face me eye to eye?" His sneer is evident in his voice and Segundo slowly turns to look at him. Their eyes meet, Ricardo dreading but almost hopeful for some spark of recognition in his El Patron's eyes. None come and he tries not to respond visibly to this, hurt piling onto sadness onto desperation. He does not look impressed, eyeing the younger man with disdain. "Neh," he huffs. "I cannot wait to see Kane destroy you tonight." His voice is dripping with hate; Ricardo thinks those words will haunt him long into his dreams.

Ricardo merely turns and walks away, unable to say or do anything that wouldn't give him away. It grows more and more vital with each passing day that Alberto, with his growing anger for the other Mexican competitor, never finds out what exactly Ricardo's gotten himself into. Considering his match with Kane is next, he doubts that this is possible. Hiding general ring-soreness is one thing. Hiding the potential injuries that will follow a match from someone like Kane is a whole other matter.

But pride comes before the fall and he still doesn't want to seem weak, even now. So he holds his head up high and even manages his usual entrance from the second rope, standing anxiously by as smoke, fire and that eerie music overwhelms the arena once more. The audience seems confused too- not sure who to cheer or boo in this match, Segundo who had wrestled two of their favorites and beaten them in the past month, or Kane, who is still targetting the #1 broski despite his ending the friendship with Cena. Either way, it doesn't matter to Ricardo, it taking everything in his power to not pace around the ring and prove just how nervous he is.

Kane, upon entering the ring, again begins staring him down, seeming almost amused when once more Segundo freezes and doesn't even blink up at him, their eyes locked for a few, unending moments. Finally the bell rings and Kane circles him like an animal hunting its prey, much as he'd done to Zack the week before. Segundo eventually puts his hands up in a defensive stance, tracking Kane's movements, waiting for an opportunity to strike. It comes when Kane is to the side of him, his head tilted curiously. He lunges out, kicking and punching, anything to get the upperhand, get out of this hold pattern they're in. Kane snarls and stops, gripping his upper thigh where Ricardo's kicks had been based at before lunging for him, getting a handful of his mask and drawing him closer.

Ricardo freaks out, worried that Kane will tear his mask off, and lands more desperate kicks, striking his knee and thigh once more with his heavy wrestling boots. Finally the larger man releases him, and he stumbles back into the turnbuckle, panting. He adjusts his mask carefully, catching Kane's eye once more. Certain he has to make the first move or get killed, he lunges once more for the larger man but Kane grabs him by the throat with both hands, barely listening to the referee's warnings as he all but chokes him out, Ricardo's fingers scrabbling at the unbreakable grip blocking his airflow. Finally Kane does release him just before the five count and Ricardo collapses to the mat, gasping and scratching at his throat, desperate for a full breath. That's going to leave a mark, he thinks, already dreading the thought of putting his bowtie back on.

Before he can even come close to recovering, Kane has him by the neck again, this time merely pulling him back to his feet before releasing him, not wanting to get disqualified. Obviously he's not done toying with Ricardo yet, a thought that fills the younger man with horror. He tries again, one last volley, attacking Kane with a flying enziguiri but he's caught midair, his throat once more gripped as Kane prepares to chokeslam him. Something stops the larger man however, his fingers slacking on Ricardo enough that he's able to wiggle free, pushing himself loose. As he falls to the mat, Kane steps thoughtlessly over him and goes to the ropes, Ricardo's oxygen deprived gaze following him over to see Zack Ryder standing on the apron, steel chair in hand.

For once, Ryder's ready for him and before Kane can even get close, steel on flesh rings out as the Ultimate Broski rears back and slams the weapon clean against Kane's skull, sending him back towards Ricardo, who doesn't even mind as the match ends due to a disqualification. He wants to do something, however, not just get beat down and leave- he's done that enough in his time with the WWE- so he awkwardly climbs back to his feet and, keeping one eye on Ryder, climbs up the ropes and hits his corkscrew moonsault, still not sure if it's a wise idea- it could send Kane after him more tenaciously, but damn does it feel good to hit it, redeem himself for the poor showing he'd put forward in this match.

When he gets back up, it's to find Zack in the ring with him and they stare at each other a moment, Zack's hand still tight around the steel chair. Its mere presence makes Ricardo tense and he seems to realize this because his grip on it loosens and he drops it to the mat, grinning as Segundo looks down at it. "Hey, bro," he calls out, holding a hand towards Segundo. "Bygones be bygones?"

It's ludicrous- Ryder is everything Ricardo- and Alberto- hates in this business, and Ricardo really doesn't need friends here, he doesn't trust 99% of the people around here, most of them just seeing him as a ring announcer and nothing more, besides he has Alberto, he doesn't need anyone else, but... dammit... there's a kind of sincerity behind Ryder's gaze, a steadiness to his tone and stance that finally causes him to give in, take Zack's hand and give it a sturdy shake. As the other man grins over at him, Ricardo wonders what other strange doors his time as Segundo will open up.

His happiness quickly dies away, however, when he returns to the locker room provided to him and pulls his mask off, checking himself out in the mirror. Finger shaped bruises spread across his throat and there's a cut along his chin where Kane had grabbed him when Ricardo had been sure he was going to pull his mask off. He stares at himself, shaking his head. "Ay Dios mio... What do I do now?"

He tries to steel himself as he enters Alberto's locker room, knowing that the Mexican aristocrat will be very angry, because he had forgotten what he had left to do and so much time had passed. Sure enough, he's cornered as soon as the door is closed, Alberto glaring down at him. "Where have you been?" he snarls, seemingly unaware of the injuries along Ricardo's face and neck, his hands pressed tight to the wall on either side of his arms as he boxes him in. "I told you long ago to get shoe polish for my boots, it should not have taken this long!"

Ricardo is trying to stammer out an answer when a change comes across his employer's face, his eyes darkening as he peers at the shorter man's jaw. He roughly grips his chin and turns his face to the side so he can see better, catching sight of the bruises along his throat as he does so. He sounds subdued, almost guilty as he finally murmurs, "Who did this to you, Ricardo? Is this why it took you so long to get back?"

He hates lying, feels so low when he looks into the eyes of his employer and sees something there he wasn't sure still remained between them, compassion and honest care. "I don't know," he whispers, hands flexing against Alberto's suit while he tries not to flinch away from the hesitant touch as Alberto's fingers drift against the stinging cut just under his lip. "I didn't see... it happened so fast." He cannot say who did it, send Alberto after Kane and potentially get him injured again, when it's his own mess to handle. "Lo Siento, I meant to be back sooner." His eyes well up as Alberto pulls back with a troubled look on his face, his fingers still pressed lightly to Ricardo's sore throat.

"Are you having trouble breathing? Do you need a trainer?"

"N-No," he refuses, trying his hardest not to cry. It had been so long since Alberto had paid him any notice, this is so overwhelming, it almost hurts him more than his injuries do. "El Patron..."

His fingers remain even as he frowns at the younger man, shaking his head. "Ricardo. I cannot help you unless you tell me what's going on... You haven't been the same recently. Hey." He leans down, nudging his jaw when Ricardo tries to look away. "I just want to help you, if someone is purposely injuring you, I should know about it so I can put a stop to it. You have seen what I did to Santino on your behalf." He tries to smile but it fails, slips away when Ricardo only looks even more miserable.

The ring announcer feels the lowest of lows, so confused after weeks of listening to Alberto degrade Segundo... and now talking this way about him. "I..." His hands feel like they're held down by weights as he lifts them, wraps his fingers around Alberto's wrists and just holds on, like if he lets go he'll be lost at sea. It's not that far from the truth, his thoughts and feelings so jumbled and overwhelming that it feels like he's drowning in a tidal wave of emotions. "Thank you," he whispers through trembling lips. "But it is nothing, El Patron. Please... please, don't lose sight of your World title aspirations because of me."

The second abrupt change to Alberto's expression in the last five minutes is just as startling as the first, a coldness coming over his expression as his lips thin. "Very well," he says lowly, releasing Ricardo's face roughly before turning away, his shoulders tense. "I still require that shoe polish."

"Of course," the trembling, saddened man whispers, quickly leaving the room.

A letter comes over the weekend- WWE had actually given him a match on Raw. Ricardo stares at the paper vacantly, shaking his head. If he should have another match on Friday, that'll be twice in one week he must keep the charade going, avoid Alberto and try not to get injured too badly. He grimaces, bunching the paper up. I just had to go and sign that contract, he thinks grimly. There is no way out, he can't stop the series of events he's put into motion. At least this match isn't against Kane, he attempts to console himself.

By Monday, there are very few signs left that he had wrestled Kane the Friday before, the bruises and cuts already fading away. Even Alberto appears to be in a better mood with his World title opportunity looming closer. Ricardo is thankful for this, it making it easier for him to slip away. The excuse this week is finding a better parking spot for Alberto's precious car to keep it as far away from some construction going on outside as possible.

He walks quickly, dresses faster. He is determined not to go through anything similiar as last Friday, to be better. As both Segundo and as Alberto's personal ring announcer. Forget his regret for even beginning the Segundo thing, it is what it is and he cannot fail at it- wrestling had always been a part of him, and always will be. Thankfully his match tonight is against Dolph Ziggler; Kane and Zack Ryder's match had taken up around ten minutes, with Kane getting payback and more for the week before and, even though Ricardo finds himself sympathizing with the slightly older man, all he can think while watching is At least it wasn't me.

He's in the ring, loosening up, when Vickie Guerrero starts calling for attention, her shrill voice cutting through the fans' jeers and boos like a hot knife through butter. He cringes, wishing that his mask had come with earplugs, as she yells over all other sounds in the vincinity to introduce the Show Off. Dolph is a bit of uncharted territory to him- oh he knows some things from tag matches Alberto has had with him in the past, but not everything. So he treads carefully, arms outstretched defensively, and eyes flickering from Ziggler to Vickie and back until the match begins, all of his attention on the platinum blond circling him like a hyena looking for its next meal.

They lock up and Ricardo slips to one knee fairly quickly, surprised by the strength behind the hold. Dolph quickly lets go and struts, running his fingers through his hair before shaking them out, yelling like he's just climbed Mount Everest or something. Offended, Ricardo stands and lunges, getting him in another lock up and this time it doesn't go as smoothly, the Mexican not underestimating him this go around and just managing to block him into the turnbuckle before releasing him. The punch that follows whips Dolph's head back and Ricardo chuckles, shoulderpressing him further into the corner.

At the ref's warning, he steps back, hands held up in acceptance as he gives Dolph room. Vickie is yelling from the outside, but Segundo barely hears it, his every sense focused obsessively on this match. He'd hadn't had a great few weeks and he really, really wants a victory to start turning things around. When he goes after Dolph again, though, the agile man is waiting and knees him squarely in the skull before slipping past him, a vicious smirk on his tanned face. Now safely once more in the middle of the ring, he gets ahold of Segundo and plants him firmly into the mat with his borrowed fameasser, dazing him further.

His chances slipping through his fingers, Segundo awkwardly rolls to his feet just to feel, more than see, as Dolph prepares him for the Zigzag. But he's off-balanced enough that when he pushes back, he just ends up falling over unceremoniously and sends Dolph into the opposing turnbuckle yet again, causing him to hit shoulder first into the unforgiving post.

Vickie is fussing from the outside but all Segundo can see is an opening, quickly grabbing Dolph by his trunks and slamming him back down onto the mat. He's staggering and feeling a little ill but he gets up onto the top rope and struggles to mark the distance required, taking the leap almost automatically. He feels himself flipping blindly, unable to focus on anything, his face still stinging from slamming into the mat like it had, but when he lands, he hits his mark and, releasing a deep breath, covers Dolph. One... two... three.

Just like that, reality comes pouring back and he can live it all again, the lights flashing, his music playing, the disgust in Vickie's eyes as she sneers at him from the outside. The pain crawling up his nose to his forehead and the realization that he cannot stall much longer, no matter how good this victory feels. Alberto is waiting for him and he cannot risk angering him any further.

Ignoring everything around him once more, he rushes backstage and right past Josh Mathews, barely catching as he tries to stop him with a hurried, "Segundo, if I may, one word-" As if, he thinks desperately, ducking back into his locker room to change hurriedly and go find Alberto, confirm that his car is just fine, where he had parked it before the match on the other side of the building, which is also an easier spot to drive it out for his entrance.

That following Friday's Smackdown is a disaster. Segundo indeed has another match- against Heath Slater?- and on top of that, Alberto Del Rio has heard through backstage whispers and rumors that Laurinaitis has an announcement to make regarding the pay per view and Sheamus' opponent for the World title. "What does it mean?!" he demands, all but shaking Ricardo in his anger as he grips the younger man's tux, breathing heavily. "I am that Irish perro's opponent!"

Ricardo speaks hurriedly in Spanish, his hands pressed against Alberto's as he waits to be released, feeling a little dizzy. "I do not know, El Patron!" he finally cries out, gasping as Alberto releases him as roughly as he'd grabbed him, leaning against the wall as he tries to recollect himself.

Alberto turns, angry and annoyed, and snaps over his shoulder, "Go. See what you can find out. Do not come back until you know definitively."

Ricardo nods, straightening his jacket out. "Si, of course, El Patron." He's out of the room before Alberto can change his mind, quickly rushing down the hallway to his locker room. Much longer and he would've missed his cue, Heath Slater's music already playing as the fans boo and mock the One Man Southern Rock Baaaaand. He dresses hurriedly, taking deep breaths to relax himself. Heath's no slouch in the ring but had been losing for so long, losses have almost become second nature to him. Ricardo is relieved as he finally makes it, his entrance theme beginning just as he arrives at the gorilla position, quickly lacing his boots up before he dashes down the ramp, hopping into the ring as usual from the second rope.

Heath looks unimpressed, already rambling on in his heavily Southern accented voice, and Segundo rolls his eyes, hating that he hadn't even had time to stretch before the match. Take it easy, he tells himself. No point in getting injured against Slater, of all people. Their match begins a bit differently than his with Dolph, Segundo moving right past the lock up and choosing instead to punch Heath simply in the face. Heath looks startled, then angry, immediately returning with a punch of his own.

Segundo cringes, returning with body blows that unfortunately get him in range for some shots of his own, both men going at it until finally Heath starts to get the advantage, his masked opponent gasping for air after a few shots to the ribs. Segundo instantly backs off, tries something else- a solid roundhouse kick that whips Heath's head to the side, his long hair going everywhere. "Why, I outta-" he snaps, lunging for Segundo once more but he sidesteps, pushes Heath into the turnbuckle and tries for a schoolboy. Heath wiggles out, looking outright furious, and tries to get ahold of Segundo's wrestling gear again, just to fail when he kicks his hand and follows it up with a second to the face, sending Heath back into the turnbuckle.

Feeling the burn as he warms up to the match, Segundo leaves the mat, quickly dropkicking him further into the corner, causing him to stagger out towards the middle of the ring as he wraps his legs around his throat and spins, flipping him hard onto the mat. Heath is dazed, he can hear him gasping painfully from here, and he quickly climbs to the top once more, hitting his patented corkscrew moonsault to yet another victory.

His joy, however, does not last long as he returns to the backstage, changes back into his tux and begins scoping out information for Alberto. What he finds out is not good.

"El Patron," he says reluctantly as he returns to Del Rio's personal locker room.

"What have you heard?" Alberto demands, turning sharply to glare at him.

Swallowing heavily, Ricardo takes a deep breath. "It has been decided that, at the next pay per view, Sheamus will compete against Daniel Bryan in a rematch from Wrestlemania." The very air in the room grows at least ten degrees cooler as Alberto digests this news, his dark eyes squinting viciously at the younger man. "I am so sorry, El Patron."

Del Rio ignores this as he paces around the room, a look of disgust on his face. "Daniel Bryan," he mumbles. "What has he ever done to deserve anything?" Ricardo wisely remains silent as his employer storms around the room, finally kicking the nearest thing with all of his might- Ricardo's bag goes crashing into the nearby wall, where it topples over, some of his things pooling out of it across the floor.

He gapes and rushes over, leaning over hurriedly as Alberto turns away, not even bothering to look at the result of his actions. Collecting his things, Ricardo forces them back into the bag and zips it up tightly, so relieved that Del Rio had been too worked up to see: his mask had been among the things that had scattered across the ground haphazardly. He moves it, and Alberto's bag, into the corner, out of the Mexican aristocrat's way and stands nearby, waiting for this fit of temper to subside.

When it does after a few more minutes, and Alberto turns to look at him, Ricardo finds that he doesn't much like the look on his face. "They will regret this," he mumbles. Ricardo shudders. He has never seen such a look of pure loathing on Alberto's face in the years that they've been working together. It unsettles him. He's almost afraid of what Alberto will do next.

He finds out that Raw, having just concluded his announcer duties, and standing by a still angered Del Rio. The taller man takes the microphone from him roughly before facing the titantron. "If I cannot have my title match this Sunday, then I will prove what a mistake the board of directors have made. I deserve the opportunity, not that perro, Daniel Bryan, and I will prove as much!" There's a lengthy pause as the audience boos him, Ricardo glaring around at them warningly, before Alberto begins to speak again. "I will find a new opponent, and I will destroy them, and you will regret what you've done!"

Despite keeping his emotions from his face, Ricardo can't help but feel almost weak with fear on the inside. Alberto's temper is legendary and he frets over what will come from the man's lips next- that expression on his face, that tone of voice, it all hints towards something very bad, very quickly...

Sure enough, Del Rio stands even taller, eyes flashing with even more anger as he spits into the mic. "Segundo!" Ricardo pales, fingers digging into the scarf that had been thrown angrily at him. "I am issuing a challenge to this wanna-be, this peasant who thinks he is better than me. WWE's newest golden boy," he snarls derisively into the mic. "I will prove you all wrong. He is nothing!"

Ricardo feels sick to his stomach, minutes passing with, of course, no response from Segundo. Each passing second just adds fuel to Alberto's fire, the Mexican pacing the ring as the ring announcer steps back to avoid wandering into his path and adding to his aggravation. "These are the kind of people you hire?!" he screams after almost two minutes of nothing. "Cowards, no-shows, worthless flashes in the pan?! They are nothing compared to the greatness of Alberto Del Rio!" Before his rant can continue wounding Ricardo, Sheamus' music hits, cutting Alberto off as his anger is transferred onto this new target.

"Bertie, Bertie, Bertie. And look, it's Ricky too!" he greets them, Irish brogue thick and cheerful as he wanders the ramp, staring at them with a grin on his pale face. "Hey there, Fella! See you've got your knickers in a twist again. Don't you know Segundo ain't on the card tonight? Maybe if ya'd pay more attention to things going on past the end of your own nose, you'd know these things. Or is Ricky Ricardo over there slackin' in his rumor-collectin' gig?" He laughs and shrugs as Alberto looks suspiciously over at Ricardo. "Either way... don't worry your little head, Fella. You'll have your chance at me title, I just want to get rid of this little thorn in me side known as Daniel Bryan first. In due time, as they say. In due time."

Sheamus leaves as abruptly as he'd arrived and Alberto growls, before once more lifting the microphone. "I demand Segundo in a match at the pay per view!"

Ricardo's heart skips a beat. Or two. Or ten. No matter how ill he must look as they wander back up the ramp, Ricardo doing everything automatically, his mind a million miles away, his employer doesn't notice at all.

This is all Sheamus' fault, he thinks, a litany that runs through his head repeatedly for the next few days. He has no idea really what he's thinking but, late the night before Smackdown, he finds himself in front of a computer, penning an email to corporate. If he had just faced El Patron when he was supposed to... if Daniel Bryan wasn't such a whiny, pathetic individual, if... if... He scrubs at his eyes, typing the last bit of the email with his free hand. If I had just accepted my role as ring announcer and not wanted more... "Pride before the fall."

He skims the email very quickly, sending it before he can change his mind. He then goes to bed, although that night, like the few others before it, proves to be sleepless and unending as well. When he wakes up the next morning, there is a simple, two paragraph email waiting for him. Your match against Sheamus for Smackdown has been approved. Also, your match against Alberto Del Rio for Extreme Rules will be contested in a no DQ match.

His mouth goes dry, the day already off to a bad start with just those twenty words. No DQ. Alberto... oh God.

That night, Alberto is still about as angry as he had been on Monday, only slightly molified with the news that his match against Segundo had been approved, the no DQ stipulation making him almost smile. "I will teach that worthless thing what it means to be a true Mexican superstar," he announces, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch.

"Of course you will," the other man mumbles softly, working at preparing his wrestling gear for the evening. He doesn't mind being supportive of Alberto, of course not; it had gone from being just part of the job description he had been hired for to true, honest loyalty and friendship between them- or so he had assumed before the latest injury. Even so, he can't help but think he should be off elsewhere preparing his own gear for the biggest match of his career... no, life- against WWE's World Heavyweight Champion. But no matter, he cannot abandon Alberto, even if their match this Sunday has the word Disaster written all over it. What he assumes will be the end of his career- one way or another- looms ahead but there's positively nothing he can do about it but hope for the best.

He sneaks away that evening when Alberto shows displeasure with the catering, suggesting that he get him real food from an actual restaurant- lobster, steak, anything high end that Ricardo can actually find in what Alberto has come to call 'this backwater town' (it's actually one of the biggest cities in the state, but Ricardo knows better than to say anything disagreeing with Alberto, especially now)- and he hides the money in a safe place while he stores his tux in his locker room, taking a deep breath before slipping into his gear. His match against Sheamus is next and he barely has a few minutes to stretch for it.

He knows what to look out for, Sheamus probably the only superstar he knows better than any other of Del Rio's repetitive opponents from the last few months, but still when the tall man almost connects with the Brogue kick, his life flashes before his eyes anyway as he ducks and rolls away at the last second, audience buzzing at the near strike. The tension is palpable as the two pause in the middle of the ring, Segundo waiting with his arms outstretched while the Irishman just looks amused, shaking his head as if to say Well, look at you, Fella! Their next lock up is back and forth for a little bit until Sheamus overpowers him here too and throws him aside like he's an exceptionally annoying gnat. Regaining his balance finally in the corner, Segundo raises an eyebrow at him and catches his breath, adjusting his gloves as he hesitantly makes his way back out, dark eyes locked firmly on his opponent.

The longer the match draws on, the more Segundo grows desperate- no matter what he tries, the pale man just will not stay down! Punches, kicks, hurricaranas, suplexes, slams that he can barely lift him for, nothing helps, nothing works. Finally he settles for something he hasn't yet used as Segundo, leaping atop Sheamus after a punch rocks him just enough, causing him to kneel down slightly to collect himself. Wrapping his arms around his throat, he applies just the right amount of pressure in a sleeperhold, holding his breath too as Sheamus staggers, trying to fight him off. Despite his not being to keep Sheamus down, the Irishman is still weakened enough that the sleeperhold takes affect fairly quickly, his footing growing clumsy as he stumbles around, unable to get Segundo off of his back- he had always been good at clinging desperately to opponents until they'd dropped.

He thinks he almost has it, Sheamus slowly dropping to his knees as his eyes flutter slowly, the man almost out, when there's a flash of black in his periphial vision, all focus on the match lost as deep, blinding pain shoots through his skull, causing him to release Sheamus. As he falls onto the mat, dazed and unable to parse together what exactly happened, he recognizes the form atop him- Alberto, punching and kicking him, pausing now and again to shout insults in his face in both English and Spanish. It's the product of all of his worst nightmares rolled into one, the young man barely able to do much more than lift his arms over his face in an attempt to defend himself from the onslot. Fighting off Alberto doesn't even cross his mind and he gapes, shocked, as Sheamus of all people comes to his rescue, kicking Alberto off of him roughly and nearly sending him back out of the ring from the force of it.

Scrambling through the ropes to the outside- to safety-, Alberto yells at them both, looking more undignified than Ricardo had ever seen him. Sheamus remains by his side until Alberto is gone, looking worriedly down at Segundo. "Hey, Fella, y'alright?"

And oh God, it's hilarious and horrible at once. If not totally frozen emotionally from the last few minutes, he thinks he'd cry or laugh himself to death- Alberto's long time rival and enemy, standing here asking how he is. This business, he thinks disparagingly. He just nods in acceptance of Sheamus' question, still knowing better than to actually verbalize anything- one word in Spanish and he'll definitely give it away, one in English and... well, it's still too risky.

"Alright, fella, that's good. Well, I'll be pullin' for ya this Sunday," he offers, slapping him on the back. "This match was fun, maybe we'll have a rematch sometime... and figure out a way to keep Bertie outta it, eh?"

Another nod and Segundo rolls out of the ring, relieved to be heading back. Now to find Alberto food, he thinks grimly, for once desperate to get out of his mask and back to being simply ring announcer Ricardo.

That Sunday, he feels ill. Guilty and nervous, sweaty and just all around shaky. He can barely focus on preparing Del Rio's gear, almost leaving the iron on overnight and forgetting Alberto's boots in the hotel room, just to remember when they're almost to the rental car, having to run back and get them. Alberto is somewhere between annoyed and concerned when he returns, staring at him closely. "Are you well?" he finally snaps, five minutes into the car ride to the arena. "If you are ill, I don't need the distraction at ringside."

It hurts to be dismissed so easily but Ricardo does need a way to get out of his ring announcer duties for this match. "I am not sure, El Patron," he says feebly, well aware from his childhood days just how far to play up illness to keep from getting a doctor sicced on him versus having his ailments completely ignored. "Perhaps if I sleep it off, I will be well enough in time for your match."

"Hmph," Alberto mumbles. "I suppose you may take the couch in the locker room for a short while. Once you have set my wrestling gear out."

"Si, of course. Gracias." They arrive and he does everything Alberto expects of him; once the food and the clothing is set out to his liking, Alberto looks pointedly at the empty couch and Ricardo nods, sinking gratefully down onto it. He is not ill, physically anyway, but he lays down, closing his eyes. The match against Segundo is perhaps the third match on the card, which means they have close to an hour. In ordinary circumstances, this would give Ricardo plenty of time to sleep whatever this is off, but this is not an ordinary circumstance. He will not be sleeping anything off.

For the hour, he lays and he listens as Alberto quietly mumbles to himself, taking care to not make too much noise around the 'sleeping' man. It is obvious when the hour is nearly up because Alberto goes from picking at the food from catering to pacing around the room, changing into his ring gear. He's just zipped up his boots when he comes to stand over Ricardo, watching him. This ordinarily would be enough to awaken the younger man and he frowns, worried. "Si, Ricardo, you may sit this one out. If you are still unwell when I return, I will be dragging you to the trainer's, however."

Ricardo, now feeling even worse for this monumental secret he's keeping from the other man, peeks an eye open as Alberto leaves the room, his face flushed with disgust at himself. "Lo siento, El Patron. Perdoname... por favor." When enough time has passed that he is certain his employer will not be returning, he pulls himself from the couch and quickly takes his tux off, revealing the ring gear that he has come to treasure hiding underneath. Adding boots, knee and elbow pads and some wrist tape before pulling his mask on, he's ready to go. Giving the locker room one last, possibly farewell glance, he peers around outside and, finding the hallway basically abandoned, slips out, walking steadily to the gorilla position.

Taking a deep breath he walks down the ramp, eyes locked on his waiting El Patron. The man he knows better than anyone... the man who has been employer, friend, defender... He has his shortcomings, of course, with his temper and everything else, but Ricardo has always found it easy to overlook those, no matter how it may seem to other people watching them. The good outweigh the bad, and there is so much good in Alberto, no matter what persona he may show to the world. As competitive as he is in general things, he lets it eat him alive in wrestling. Outside of wrestling, he is a lot more calmer, even tempered. And it's understandable, he has his uncle and his father to consider, try to make proud and prove himself to by being champion, bringing further honor to their name. It is a lot of pressure, and Ricardo accepts that with no qualms, especially considering Segundo's was for much the same reasons, to prove himself and make Alberto proud, that he became this... not that it worked out the way he wanted it to, but what in life ever really does?

Taking a deep breath, he jumps onto the second rope and watches Alberto. There is no question about it, he knows it deep in his soul. I cannot fight him. I will not. Unfortunately for him, Del Rio doesn't hold the same conviction and, growing impatient, he lunges forward and grabs Segundo, throwing him over the second rope into the ring. He hits hard, arching off of the mat as his lower back protests the move. He's taken a lot of damage to his back over the years, getting slung around by this opponent and that of Alberto's, and it shows as he struggles just to stand following that move. He's barely on his feet when Alberto is back on him, kicking him solely in the side of the head and sending him back out of the ring, where he fights to hold onto the top rope, gasping. "Fight me!" he yells, punching Segundo with such force that he goes flying off and hits the edge of the announcer's table, dazed and confused.

"El Patron," he whispers, losing track of himself for a split second. It's only when Michael Cole gives him a strange look that he catches himself and turns around just in time for Alberto to fly off of the ring apron and pound him into the floor, another wave of pain shooting up his back as Del Rio lays on top of him, raining blows upon his body and face.

"Look at you! So worthless, so pathetic, you cannot even fight back against me! What a waste of time and money the WWE has invested in you! Money and time they should put towards me, true excellence!" His eyes are so dark and his face is so pale with anger that all Segundo can do is watch, horrified and wondering what he ever did to El Patron to deserve this, the pain so enveloping that he's forgotten everything- where they are, what's going on, who he's pretending to be. His lips part like he's about to say something, but something changes in Alberto's expression, stops him. Their eyes lock and something crosses Del Rio's face, like a split second of recognition and- oh God, please- but as quickly as it comes, it disappears, Alberto rolling off of him long enough to drag him roughly to his feet and slinging him unceremoniously into the ring.

Segundo pants, trying to force himself back to a standing position, face his approaching El Patron on his feet, but he's barely made it up to his hands and knees when something cracks against his back, adding to his agony and causing him to faceplant anew into the mat. He cries out, gasping desperately, his fingers scrabbling against the mat, when Alberto rolls him, tangling his arm in the steel chair that he'd just rammed against his spine and locking in that dreaded armbar. He doesn't want to his career to be over, but the look on Alberto's face is just so vicious and deadly that he knows even if he taps right away, it won't matter. The lock will be held in longer, and longer, and longer, until his arm snaps as easily as Rey Mysterio's had nearly a year ago. Tears prickling at his eyes, he looks over as Del Rio lunges back again, and again, and-

Everything stops. The pain is still there, the chair is still wrapped around his arm, but Alberto stops moving, a strange look on his face as he peers at Segundo's arm. He mouths something but Segundo can't hear, the ringing in his ears too loud as he waits to feel his arm dislocate from its socket. It never happens, however, Alberto loosening the hold enough to let one hand press against Segundo's arm, lift his sleeve a little further up, and- hey, he can feel that, skin on skin and... Oh God, my tattoos, he realizes, horror superceding the pain he's still in. El Patron-

And yes, just like that, he's been found out. Alberto disentangles himself, kicking Segundo away from him like he's on fire and scooting far away, a disturbed, shocked look on his face. Segundo, still in pain, still frozen in shock from what's just happened, how easily everything's just fallen around him, holds his arm to his chest to protect it and leans against the rope, crying for real now as he takes in the look of betrayal on Alberto's face. "El Patron," he mouths over and over again, unable to vocalize anything. "Por favor, no..."

Scrambling, the Mexican artistocrat then has him by the jaw, forcing the mask up and off, throwing it far away as, yes, Ricardo's face is finally revealed, sweaty and teary-eyed, pale and horrified. Alberto simply stares at him before roughly pushing him aside and standing. He leaves him down on the mat, shaking and disgusted with himself, before storming out of the ring and back to the locker rooms.

He's in so much pain, physically and emotionally, that by the time he returns to the locker room, the event is almost over. His arm is in a sling, the trainer wanting him to take it easy for awhile, but he's not even sure what that means. His identity is revealed now, the mystery lost, and... Alberto will probably fire him shortly so... taking it easy probably will not be that difficult. Unless you think that trying to find a new start to the good life you'd just had and so callously thrown away is the opposite of taking it easy. He swallows heavily, resting his good hand on the locker room door. He wants to knock, wants to enter, try to explain himself, but he's not even sure if Alberto is still inside. He at least needs to get his things but, if Alberto is so angry, he wouldn't be surprised to find them strewn out on the freeway by now, fluttering in the breeze of the passing cars. He rests his head against the doorframe, trying to calm down by taking deep breath after deep breath, but it's not helping, his eyes welling anew as he remembers the look of disgust and betrayal on Alberto's tanned face. "Lo siento," he breathes out.

He's just turned, his arm held tightly to his midsection, when the door slams open behind him. "Are you so cowardly you cannot even face me anymore, Ricardo?" Alberto's thickly accented voice snaps at him, causing him to freeze. "Get inside. Now."

He spins back around, shocked, and only catches a glimpse of the older man's face, tight with anger, before he brushes past him, entering the locker room. Hating anew that his arm is in a sling, he frets one handed, watching as Alberto circles him with a careful stare.

"So. You are Segundo. And you have been Segundo this whole time." Ricardo realizes then that his mask is held in Alberto's hand, the material scrunched up in his fingers as though it digusts him to look at it. "Why would you do this, Ricardo? Is working for me not enough anymore? You wish for more?"

He licks his lips, unsure if he should speak. Many a time, Alberto had asked rhetorical questions of him, but when the silence spreads out before them, he takes a chance. "I wanted... I wanted to prove myself, El Patron. As a wrestler. To you, to everyone."

"Why would you feel the need?" he demands, lips still held in a tight line. "We have practiced together in the past, I am aware of what you can do."

His fingers flex as he stares at the floor. This is true, but... "It is different in real matches, El Patron," he explains tiredly. "I wanted to prove that... I could be more than a ring announcer, more than... more than the clumsy, foolish young man who can barely enter a ring without getting my head kicked off of my shoulders." Alberto has schooled his expression now, holding no more than simple disinterest in his gaze. Ricardo cannot read him, isn't sure if he's even going the right path with this. He feels like he may be walking into a minefield without even knowing. At any moment, the Mexican aristocrat could explode and destroy everything in his path.

"And why not just come to me and say so?"

Another valid question. Ricardo's eyes on the ground, he takes a deep breath. "I doubted that... you would want to even consider the prospects... and, well, when I saw how you responded to Segundo, I knew I was right."

They fall silent, Ricardo not sure what else to say about the matter, and Alberto peering down at his hand where the mask remains. "How do you know I would've responded the same way had I known it was you?"

You know that it's me now, and you still have that look of disgust on your face whenever you look at the mask, he thinks. "I don't," he says quietly. They can't continue going in circles here, Alberto has questions that Ricardo has no true answer for, and he's in pain and exhausted anyway. "If you're going to release me from my contract, I understand. Por favor, give me a chance to get my things and I'll be out of your way in a moment."

Alberto releases a deep breath, eyes once more locked on the younger man as he waits for his decision. He scoffs and walks around Ricardo, dropping the mask in his bag on his way by. "You will not be going anywhere," he mumbles, dropping onto the couch that only half an hour ago, Ricardo had been feigning sleep on. "I need your services and thus we will move past this little matter. In the future, if you have any... plans..." He coughs slightly, raising an eyebrow when Ricardo looks a little ashamed of himself. "... you will come to me and tell me, perhaps then misunderstandings such as these will not occur. Hmm?"

Ricardo releases a slow breath, his eyes wide. It's that easy? "Si, El Patron."

Alberto leans against the couch, spreading his arms out on either side. "What did the trainer say about your arm?"

As Ricardo stands close to him to explain his diagnosis, he almost can't catch his breath, he's so relieved. Though he had desperately wanted to prove himself, there had been worry in the back of his mind that he would lose his job by the end of it... Even the worst possible arm pain would not ruin this moment for him, his secret out in the open and his job still secure. He doesn't even mind when Alberto zips his bag up, blocking the mask from view, his dark eyes locked on Ricardo's face as he gauges his reaction. Whatever he sees there must content him because he even leaves the room, shutting the bathroom door behind him. Ricardo isn't even tempted to get the mask back, understanding- accepting- and almost relieved that that period of keeping secrets and risking Alberto's wrath further is behind him.

Although he misses competing once more, he doesn't mind that his secret's out, not really. Alberto has slowly begun treating him differently when they practice in the ring once his arm is healed, treating him as a real opponent, and he likes to think that it's his way of showing newfound respect of his abilities.

Ricardo had been worried that, considering the way his secret had been revealed so publicly, the WWE Universe only adding fuel to the flames with talk about how good Ricardo surprisingly had been, Del Rio would begin to think that he would become another pesky rival holding him back from his ultimate destiny, but as time had passed and Ricardo had done nothing but be the usual, loyal ring announcer he always is, Alberto had seemed to slowly relax into the knowledge.

Now they're here, at the latest arena of the week for Smackdown, and Alberto has his back to Ricardo, working over something that the younger man can't see from this angle.

"El Patron," he says, looking up from where he's ironing the ever present scarf. "What do you need done next?" He's startled when the former WWE champion stands up and turns to face him, smiling slightly. "Erm, El-" He catches sight of something bright red in the other man's hands and quickly shuts up, eyes wide.

"I want you to wear this," he says, walking closer to Ricardo, who nervously keeps taking steps backwards until he hits the wall, unable to go anywhere. He's been intimidated by Alberto fairly often in the past few years they've worked together but there's something eerie and quiet about his demeanor right now which is more unsettling to the young man than anything he's ever seen out of him in the past.

"Wh-why?" he asks lowly, gaze darting around as he tries to locate an escape from Alberto's advance. So much for thinking he was ok with things...

Alberto doesn't say anything, just watches as Ricardo grows more and more worried. "Ay, Ricardo, what will I do with you?" His smile turns into a smirk as he lifts the mask that he'd maintained possession of since that horrible match up and begins to pull it over the frozen man's skull, unencumbered in the slightest as he grips Alberto's wrists, weakly trying to stop him.

"El Patron," he chokes once his eyes are blocked by the fabric, lost in the darkness for what feels like a lifetime until finally, finally, Alberto pulls the mask the rest of the way down his face, Ricardo shocked to find his eyes are twinkling with happiness and pride once they're able to see each other again. "What-"

Del Rio pats him on the side of the face, grinning as he takes in his confusion and surprise. "You have a match against Sin Cara tonight," he tells him.

Ricardo stutters and stammers, overwhelmed. "I- I do?"

"Si, would I lie to you?"

"No, of course not," he mumbles, still floored by this. "But..."

"But nothing," Alberto says, waving off the comment. "You have proven yourself a worthwhile competitor who can still be my loyal ring announcer... and so, you deserve this." He squeezes Ricardo's shoulder, before drawing him out of the corner and pushing him towards the door. "Destroy him, hermano."

And that is exactly what Ricardo does.