Alberto Del Rio loses himself again, for awhile. In late November and December, he all but forgets his vow to ensure Ricardo Rodriguez' happiness, to be the man the ring announcer deserves. Losses to Sheamus and Orton both had left him angry and bitter, meaningless wins against various nobodies in the company afterwards doing little to ease his inner turmoil of a destiny out of reach. Rosa Mendes proves to be a bit of a distraction, his saving her from Hornswoggle's taunts leading him into a pathetic, temporary feud against Khali which, really, is in no way going to go anywhere. It definitely doesn't get him a place on the TLC card, but it causes him more problems than that.
The locker room is abuzz with rumors of what the true relationship between he and Rosa may be, some speculating that they'd secretly been an item for years, and others deducing that she's come between he and Ricardo, his relationship with the younger man guessed and speculated about long before Alberto himself had realized his true feelings for the ring announcer, the potential there visible to many others before he'd even accepted how Ricardo had felt for him. He thinks nothing of the Rosa rumors, rolling his eyes each time he overhears a whisper about it, until one Raw he approaches the locker room to find the younger man standing outside of the doorway, listening to a conversation being held inside. He looks like he's been slapped, his eyes wide and wet, hands twisting together in front of him.
Alberto ventures closer, catching what Ricardo's hearing as well, voices that sound like Titus O'Neil and Darren Young going back and forth about how eventually Del Rio will leave the ring announcer in the dust, firing him and replacing him with Rosa as his valet. Another rumor that he'd brush off and laugh in the face of those dumb enough to buy into it under normal circumstances, but it's put that look on Ricardo's face, and he finds himself disgusted by it and the entire situation. He walks up behind Ricardo and wraps his arms around him, cupping his jaw and tilting his face back to rest against his shoulder until he can lean over and kiss that look out of the younger man's eyes, pulling away enough to murmur, "Don't listen to the stupidity, Ricardo. I would never do that to you." As he nods, Alberto kisses him again for a moment before reaching out and taking his hand. "Come, we have something to do."
There's still pain and uncertainty in the younger man's eyes, which only grows as Alberto sits down at a desk in an empty office and motions him to sit next to him, finding looseleaf paper and a pen, sprawling it out on the wood in front of them. "Wha- what are we doing, El Patron?" he stammers, automatically gripping the sturdy plastic of the pen in one fist, fiddling anxiously with it.
"I want you to write a letter for me," the Mexican aristocrat says quietly, glancing down at his fingers solemnly. "You speak- and spell- English much more fluid than I, after all." Ricardo swallows and leans closer, pen to paper, while waiting for Del Rio to begin dictating what he wishes the letter to say. "Dear Rosa," he says, holding himself carefully so as not to react when Ricardo tenses, his eyes filling with tears. He sniffs and writes it down quickly, waiting for the rest. "I am sure you've heard the locker room rumors as I have. There is no doubt," he says quietly, eyes locked on what of Ricardo's face that he can see, "that you are a beautiful woman, and deserve an equally as impressive man by your side. So that there's no confusion between us, that won't be me, however- I already have the love that I've always desired." Ricardo scratches this out painstakingly, his each breath harsh, before the words sink in, looking over at his employer, lips parting in surprise. Alberto smiles, leaning over to rest a hand on the younger man's head, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "Don't lose hope, Rosa, it's out there, waiting for when you least expect it... at least that's what I've learned. Best wishes, Alberto," he murmurs against his ring announcer's skin, smiling as the last sentences are written, Ricardo's eyes fluttering at Del Rio's proximity.
"You-" he starts to murmur, words cut off when Alberto shifts and kisses him long and slow, drawing him closer with steadying hands. Head spinning when they finally pull away, still nose to nose, he stares up at his employer. "You mean it? You... choose me? Over her...?"
Alberto sighs, shaking his head quickly. "There was never a choice to be made, Ricardo." He stares back at him, taking in every fleck of color in his eyes, his smile growing. "It was always just you." The ring announcer sniffs softly, Del Rio wiping his tears away with gentle fingertips, before kissing his employer deeply in response.
But although things between them stabilize after Del Rio has Ricardo personally deliver the letter during the Colons' match that evening so he can see for himself how serious Alberto is about reassuring him, Rosa's awed reaction from the missive contenting the ring announcer as she turns her attention away from Del Rio, the fact that he has no match for TLC continues to eat away at him, leaving him snappish and sleep deprived, even Ricardo's soft whispers and continued faith not enough to ease the disgust eating at Alberto, in the situation and in himself.
Two days before the PPV, he has yet another nothing match, which he wins with yet another armbar, his anger growing at how pointless all of these matches are. Ricardo applauds him, as he always does, but it's the moment that the ring announcer reaches out for his hand to raise it in victory that the disgust explodes within him and he can't stand it, knowing that a nothing match like that doesn't deserve Ricardo's praise. Wrenching his hand away, he barely notes the hurt in the younger man's eyes as he turns and roughly orders the referee to do it instead, glaring out into the crowd as this is done. He's unaware of the look on Ricardo's face as he continues to stand behind him, clapping numbly until Del Rio turns to leave the ring.
He's unaware of a lot of things until he gets out of the bathroom later that night, expecting Ricardo to be waiting to get ready for bed after him as he always is, just to find the ring announcer curled up with his back to Alberto's side of the bed, silent and unresponsive as Alberto shuts the light off, sinks into the sheets and stares over at him uncertainly, slowly realizing that something's wrong. Growing uncomfortable with the utterly uncharacteristic silence, he rolls over and gingerly wraps an arm around the younger man, pulling him closer. Ricardo still doesn't react and he frowns, nuzzling closer to him. "Hey... is something wrong?" he breathes against his back, blinking as the ring announcer trembles against him. "Hey..." It's not until he reaches out for Ricardo's hand, only just getting ahold of it when it's pulled sharply away from his fingers, that it clicks with him. The moment in the ring, which he hadn't bothered to explain... how it must've seemed to Ricardo this whole time. He gapes at the back of his head for a long time, swallowing convulsively, before he grips his shoulder and rolls him onto his back, all fight now gone from the ring announcer as he lays there and stares blankly at the ceiling, tears filling his eyes. "Oh, Ricardo, no, no... Lo siento," he whispers, hovering over him as he takes in the pain pouring from his expression, wiping the moisture from his cheek with shaking fingers.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," he chokes out. "I just wanted to... celebrate your victory with you, I should've known-" He struggles to brush past him, free himself from Del Rio's hold. "I don't want to disrupt your rest, I'll- I'll go... sleep on the couch..." But the more he tries to leave, the harder Alberto clings to him.
"Stop, stop," he whispers. "You don't need to apologize. Nor do you need to sleep on the couch." He squeezes him, leaning down until they're eye to eye. "It wasn't you, Ricardo. It was me..." He sighs. "I felt... undeserving of you raising my hand in victory, that's the only reason I rejected you. I should've... explained... handled it better... but I was so angry. I was so bitter. I wasn't thinking. Please forgive me."
Ricardo sniffs, staring up at him, and Alberto sighs, gently sliding his fingers along his hand before cupping it in his palm, lifting it to his lips in a faint kiss along his knuckles, his fingertips. "Really?"
"Si, si." He trails his lips against his palm, tickling him gently, before pulling away to cup his face. "I'm so sorry, Ricardo. It... it won't happen again." He normally doesn't make promises lightly, but after tonight... and everything that's been happening lately... he knows that what he says has to happen. He's tired of Ricardo being hurt because of him, certain that they won't last should it keep happening. He deserves better... I will be better.
And he tries, through all of it- the foolish general managers putting Ricardo right in the path of Big Show, his World Title victory that is a consequence of that, all of the other attacks by and to the vengeful giant, Jack Swagger and Zeb Colter's vendetta following Royal Rumble, which culminates in Ricardo's ankle getting broken on their six month anniversary. Even as the crowd begins to support the deranged man with chants of USA! USA!, Alberto clings to being an honorable champion, knowing that Ricardo deserves someone he can be proud of. But when Ziggler takes the title from him, it all falls down around him as he struggles against his knee injury to find not an inch of sympathy on the faces of the crowd, all of them cheering and supporting the man in the ring now hanging onto his World Heavyweight Championship.
Payback cements it, his eyes trailing around the crowd and... he realizes. He knows. Ricardo may be deserving of someone to be proud of, but these people, these perros, do not. They support cowards and xenophobic monsters willing to break bones and spirits to get what they want, and he wants nothing to do with them. One last glance at Ricardo and he hopes that this will not change the ring announcer's perspective towards him as he turns his ruthless attention to Ziggler, kicking him again... and again... and again, uncaring about his just recovered concussion, his anything, as he takes him down and finally- finally... the pin comes, the three count rattles through him, and...
Del Rio holds his freshly regained World title up to a chorus of boos from the audience, his eyes glinting even as Ricardo rushes towards him, hugging him tightly as he has for each of his title wins in the past. Del Rio hugs him back, one hand on the cool surface of his title even as he clings to the younger man with the other.
"Congratulations, El Patron!" he exclaims, cupping the back of his off-balanced employer's head as he presses his nose against his temple, breathing heavily while he's sandwiched against the ropes and Alberto, the older man now trying to stabilize them both with a hand against the top rope, still holding onto his freshly regained title belt. "I- I knew you could do it," he breathes, smiling up at him as he stares at him, both of them wishing for this moment that they weren't in front of so many people.
"You- you're ok with this? We're ok?" he asks, thinking about that night back in December, when Ricardo had looked so broken and Alberto had vowed never to put that look in the younger man's eyes again. Giving in to his more base, aggressive nature had felt so good, but if it should affect his relationship with the ring announcer... "I did what I had to-"
"Of course, of course," Ricardo grins at him, his warm fingers still cupping his face. "I know, I understand, El Patron. You- you don't need to explain. I'm just so happy for you." But the crowd isn't, which is fine, even though Alberto decides to give them one last chance, unsurprised when they boo him through his whole plea for support, Ricardo as always by his side.
Turning his back on them, he tugs the ring announcer backstage and, forgetting everything else, lifts his free hand to cup his face and kiss him slowly, happily. "Forget those perros, I'm still so happy," he breathes against Ricardo's lips, smiling. "I have you, I have this title belt... everything is perfect once more."
And although Ricardo's smile grows as he leans against his employer, his voice still steady and pleased as he whispers congratulations against his skin, there's something in his eye that Alberto notices, pulling away slowly. Ricardo looks confused for a moment before blinking up at him. "Is there something wrong, El Patron?"
"I didn't think so," he says, finger resting on his lips as he stares deep into his eyes, trying to decipher what he's thinking about. "But you... seem... almost sad, somehow. What's going on, Ricardo?"
"It, it's nothing-" But there's no give in Alberto's gaze and Ricardo knows he's not getting away without some sort of explanation. Unable to keep anything from the older Mexican, he lowers his gaze to the title belt. "I was just thinking... how it would feel if this, if you had won during, during the ladder match. If the match I had won for you had happened. If I had had a true hand in you winning back what you deserved." He rests his hand tentatively on the sparkling gold plate, tracing its intricate lines with solemn respect, unable to look his employer in the eye at this admission. "Lo siento, it's selfish, I should just be happy for you-"
Alberto sighs, cupping the ring announcer's face and making him look at him. "It's not selfish. Far from it, Ricardo. You worked hard to win me that match, and then it was all taken away by one stupid moment. But it's ok, because I wouldn't have made it this far without your support, your loyalty. Even when the fans wanted nothing to do with me, even when WWE itself lost faith in me, you have always been by my side. You've always been the only one I could truly depend on, no matter what." Leaning in, he kisses him gently. "Never doubt that."
Ricardo smiles, sighing against his lips as he relaxes, warm and comfortable in his employer's embrace while the weight of his title belt rests against his back, holding him in place. "Si, alright, El Patron."