Around Christmas, WWE's need to give back always goes into overdrive. Numerous visits to the troops, hospitals, anywhere else they feel needs some extra holiday spirit, cheer brought by the many WWE Superstars. Ricardo Rodriguez and Alberto Del Rio had been involved in both this year, despite the Mexican aristocrat's aloof nature. They've just finished visiting some sick children in a local hospital and are leaving when something makes Ricardo hold back, letting Del Rio go ahead towards the car that will take them back to the hotel they're residing in this tour.
He's about to shake it off and continue on, lest Alberto should get impatient and start to yell at him, when he hears a soft: "Merry Christmas, young man."
He turns and stares. The person talking to him looks almost familiar and his lips twitch up as his eyes widen in surprise, venturing towards him though he knows that his employer hates when he's slow. "Santa?"
"Some call me that, yes." The man tilts his head and smiles, snow-white beard twitching in time with the movement of his lips. As Ricardo hesitantly approaches him, glancing back uncertainly now and again, he stands straighter and looks the ring announcer in the eye. "Is there something special you want for Christmas, Ricardo?"
He stares at the man and laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. A shiver passes down his spine when his name is used by this man, despite his not introducing himself. "You should ask that of the children inside, Santa. I don't require anything. Gracias."
Before he can turn and leave, the man clears his throat softly. "Yet, I think you do." Ricardo's brow furrows as he looks at the man, confused. "I sense you've desired something for a long while now. Why not unburden yourself and tell me right now? It might make you feel better."
Ricardo's laugh is bitter. Almost annoyed. "I doubt that." But the man in red velvet's gaze is searching, some unreadable emotion lurking in their depths that only adds to Ricardo's confusion, his long buried desire. "I want..." He hesitates, closing his eyes in disbelief that he's actually doing this. "I want El Patron... to be happy," he confesses in barely a whisper. "I want him to... truly see me as a friend."
The fugue that follows these sincere, painful words is quickly snapped in two as Del Rio's rough voice snaps across the parking lot. "Ricardo! Where are you?"
He flushes, his eyes lowering to the ground. The very idea of Alberto catching him admitting such ridiculous things as this makes him feel pitifully small. "Lo siento, El Patron, I am coming!"
As the man watches him rush back to his employer, stroking his snow-white beard, he smiles faintly. "So I see."
Ricardo wakes up early the next morning, breathing softly as he stretches out in the hotel bed. It is Sunday, TLC inching ever closer. He's been dreading today for awhile; Alberto doesn't have a match on the card and the man is more angry than usual and impossible to console when that happens. He turns slowly onto his side and watches with a soft frown as Del Rio sleeps on, his face smooth and clear as it rarely is in waking hours. Memories of the conversation with Santa return to him and he all but cringes, disgusted with himself for falling into what he realizes in the early morning light could easily be some trap. If it was some fan, content to go onto Twitter or any of the many other social media sites that WWE has a presence on and announce to the world that all rrwwe wants for Christmas is for his employer to be happy and see Ricardo as more than just his ring announcer, well... He fears he'd never live it down.
Desperate to avoid these thoughts, he slips out of bed and quietly rustles through his bags, and then Alberto's, setting aside the older man's clothes and things he'll need for the morning, before ducking into the bathroom to quickly make himself presentable for breakfast. Slacks and a black shirt for now, keeping the tux safe and clean until later, and he's back out in the main room, half-smiling upon finding a blurry eyed Alberto sitting on the edge of his bed, blinking. "Buenos Dias, El Patron," he says softly, dropping his sleepwear into the bag before turning to find his employer staring back at him.
"Buenos Dias, Ricardo."
"What do you want for breakfast?" he asks hesitantly, a little bit surprised. Ordinarily, he'd get little more than a grunt by a still sleepy Alberto, but...
"I already called in for room service."
Now he's truly floored. "You... you did?" Trying not to offend Alberto with his overly visible surprise, he clears his throat and kneels down, collecting Alberto's morning ritual requirements from where he'd placed them carefully on top of his suitcase. "Here are your things."
"Gracias."
As the older man disappears into the bathroom, Ricardo runs his tongue over his teeth and tries to think. "There... there's just no way," he mumbles, twisting his hands together in his lap. "No way." But somehow it is, Del Rio comes out of the bathroom almost twenty minutes later, in time to answer the door to the room service cart, and even smiles at Ricardo on his way by.
As he unearths trays of food, and points out those that he'd ordered for Ricardo, all the younger man can think is, Santa. Though he's still not sure if he can possibly believe that that man was the real Santa Claus, he just can't think of any other possible explanation for Alberto's sudden change in attitude, the abrupt deviation in their standard morning. Disgust wars with horror as he realizes that he might be stuck with a nicer Alberto forever... and the knowledge that it'd been him that had caused the out-of-nowhere change in the man, an offense that feels uncomfortably close to betrayal to him.
What have I done?
Alberto's sudden patience and kindness towards Ricardo is smothering, the ring announcer's guilt rising with each passing minute. All afternoon, he forces himself to put up with it, well aware that this is all his own doing. That the real Alberto would probably be screaming if he was aware of what he was doing. And perhaps Ricardo's watched too much TV in his lifetime, but... Oh God, what if he is stuck inside his own mind, watching this, and it's like his body is controlled by whatever Santa did...? Whatever magic he possesses? The thought is horrible, makes him nearly nauseous. "I... I'm going to go get you something from catering," he finally spits out, just needing to get away from his employer, catch his breath.
To his surprise, adding to his inner turmoil, Del Rio's eyes light up. "Perfect, I'll come with you!"
Ricardo looks horrified at this and quickly shakes his head. "No, no, El Patron, it... it's fine. I'll only be gone a few moments, si? Just... stay, relax." When Alberto looks confused at his desperate response, he tries to calm himself down with a few deep breaths. "I want to do this for you, El Patron. Let me do this for you, por favor."
He sits back down heavily, his teeth worrying his lip. "Very well. Don't take long, hm?"
"I won't." Ricardo quickly leaves and leans against the door, sighing. "Lo siento, El Patron... I just can't take much more of this..." He regrets the night before, every bit of it. He'd barely considered it being possible, that the true Santa had approached him, who would really, but now... with Alberto treating him so nicely, and actually seeming lighter than he'd had in a long time, it's both Ricardo's biggest hope and worst nightmare all rolled up into one disturbing little ball.
Ever since being hired by him nearly three years ago, Ricardo had wanted nothing but happiness and fulfillment for his employer. Had done all in his powers for that to happen. But not like this, not off of some... magic power... He had wanted Del Rio to find true satisfaction, to accept his life as it is or make the changes needed to ensure it'd be all that he would want it to be. Knowing that his own words had caused such a marked change in the man's temperament makes Ricardo ill. Admittedly, many people didn't like the old Alberto but Ricardo hadn't minded him, even though he sometimes scared him, and a lot of times perhaps treated him poorly. It was a challenge, if anything, for Ricardo to better himself, work harder to make his employer happy. Despite the bad times, Ricardo still considered the man his closest friend.
Not healthy, no, but just the way things were between them. He takes a deep breath and finds himself staring at the monitor feeding the PPV through the arena. 3MB are out there currently, Miz watching blankly from the ring as they make fun of the men behind the Spanish announce table, and he's not sure what comes over him but the next thing he knows, he's running out there, getting between the three men and the table, spitting at them in Spanish. He's not sure which of them makes the first move, just that suddenly all three of them are on him and he's rolled roughly into the ring, struggling to recollect himself when the audience begins to respond in varied ways. The attack stops, he's left alone on the apron for a moment as he looks up to find that 3MB's attention had turned to Alberto, who had... run out to protect him? Stop the beatdown that was imminent?
His eyes widen and he watches on in horror as they continue to work Del Rio over, not sure where to start in trying to help, when Miz runs in finally and assists Del Rio in taking the three men clear out of the ring. He stands awkwardly behind the Mexican aristocrat and takes a deep breath, trying to focus his wayward thoughts as the challenge is issued and accepted, a six man match planned for later.
Once 3MB is gone back up the ramp, Alberto turns to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, peering down into his eyes. "Are you alright? I came looking for you and saw on the monitor that you were out here and 3MB were..." He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, a little bit of anger flashing through his eyes. The near normalcy of it almost makes Ricardo smile. "What were you thinking?"
"They were insulting the Spanish announce team," he explains faintly and Alberto's eyes soften. "Lo siento, I didn't mean for this to happen..."
"No, no, don't worry about it. No harm was done. Come, we must find a third tag partner, hm?"
It doesn't take that long, considering. Miz is more surprised than anything by just how agreeable Del Rio is when he jokingly suggests their partner be the Brooklyn Brawler, glancing over at Ricardo as if to say what's up with him?
Ricardo can only shrug grimly, trying not to get stuck in the trap of thinking about Santa and Alberto's attitude change and everything else yet again. He has to focus on Alberto, his upcoming match. How his new attitude may alter his approach to wrestling. Thankfully it's a short match and his tension eases away quickly when Del Rio's team walks away with the win, Mahal tapping to Brooklyn Brawler's Boston crab after some intervention from Miz.
He is relieved that at least all of this hasn't caused his friend a win, thinking perhaps his professional career won't take a hit after all despite what Ricardo'd done to him. The next night is a virtual repeat, this time their tag partner Tommy Dreamer. They win again and all ends on a happy note, or so Ricardo thinks until he's walking towards the exit later on to check on the bus schedule that they will all be taking to head to Live Smackdown the next night.
Despite Alberto's usual mocking response to anything like this, he's actually agreed to go along on the bus with the others, for the first time since signing with the WWE. Again, Ricardo's conscience prickles at the knowledge that, in normal circumstances, Alberto would never consider such a thing, but he can't go against the older man's wishes, even if he knows at any other time he'd be spitting in anger at the very thought of being stuck on the road for hours with the rest of the superstars. But his thoughts are quickly derailed when he hears a fight and nears, intrigued, just to realize that it's The Shield beating down Tommy Dreamer.
Acting without thinking to try to interrupt what's happening, he rushes forward. "Hey, what are you doing?!" He's quickly intercepted, however, and thrown into the metal wall, the ridges biting into his skin even through his tux. He lays there, awkwardly curling in on himself in an attempt at self-defense, as finally there are yells and more running footsteps, referees disrupting The Shield's senseless assault. Once they're gone, referees begin tending to Tommy and himself, the pain almost mindnumbing as he's rolled over and his tux jacket gingerly pulled off of him.
"Ok," the referee says to him lowly. "Just take it easy, Ricardo. We gotcha. Damn Shield," he says to the others trying to assist Tommy. "Somebody needs to do something about them."
He whimpers through the ebb and flow of redhot pain stabbing along his arm and side until familiar footsteps come running up, the referee shifting aside to allow whoever it is in. "Ricardo, Ricardo," Alberto chokes out, touching his face, his arm. "What happened?!" He groans, leaning into his employer's warm touch, and merely listens as the referee explains shortly about The Shield. His eyes flutter open a moment as Alberto's fingers grow still against his skin, vicious Spanish coming from his mouth. It seems comforting and causes him to almost smile even as he slips into darkness.
Is this not what you wanted?
The voice in his mind is familiar, almost hauntingly so. Even though he can't place it fully, he knows what it's talking about, he knows his answer. And so he shakes his head vehemently. "No. Not at his expense. Not like this. I want him to want this... I don't want an outside force to cause him to be different." He hesitates. "Is there anyway I can take it back?"
Unfortunately no. But... and not many people know this... but I'll make an exception this one time and tell you. My powers are not infinite. Creating physical objects, like children's toys, is one thing- I create them and they're done, they won't be undone. But upholding a request like yours is impossible.
"What does that mean?"
It means that, on December 27th, my ability to uphold your wish will be broken, my powers will fade. Alberto Del Rio will return to how he was before you made the wish.
Before Ricardo can say or do anything else, he wakes up to the pain that had eased him into unconsciousness in the first place.
"Ricardo!" Alberto sighs, relieved to see his eyes open once more. They're not in the hallway anymore, Ricardo not sprawled out on the floor any longer. He's now on his uninjured side on a cot in the trainer's office, blinking sleepily against the soft light coming from the nearby lamp. "How do you feel?"
He breathes in and out a few times, overwhelmed by everything- the agony he still feels coursing through his veins, confusion from that dream he'd had- is it just a dream?- and finally forces his hand up to graze Del Rio's arm, a soft groan coming from him. "El Patron..."
"Yes, yes, I'm here." He brushes a hand over Ricardo's forehead, smiling morosely down at him. "You're gonna be ok. Just sore for awhile." He hesitates and closes his eyes. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you this time. I didn't expect anything like this when I asked you to look into the bus times for me." He rubs soft circles along Ricardo's wrist and shakes his head. "Lo siento."
Ricardo is too foggy to address the apology or anything else Alberto is saying, just watching him for long, exhausting moments. "Tommy Dreamer," he finally manages to whisper, Del Rio's eyes widening. "Is... is he...?"
"He's going to be fine," Del Rio murmurs. "Thanks to you, The Shield's attack was interrupted. He's a lot better off than he would've been, at the rate they were going." He smiles faintly as Ricardo looks relieved at this bit of news. His smile slips, however, at Ricardo's next question.
"What is wrong with me?"
"Nothing!" his employer chokes out, a flash of some emotion across his face that disappears so quickly, Ricardo barely notices it, much less determines which emotion it is. "The trainer examined you thoroughly, you will just be sore for a few days, he says. Maybe at most some minor bruising." He leans closer, peering deeply into Ricardo's eyes. "I promise you, I will make them pay for this."
Despite the difference in severity of the two injuries, Alberto's not acting that differently than he did when Ricardo was Brogue Kicked by Sheamus, his neck still aching now and again to this day due to it. But that had been one man, this is three. He snags Alberto's wrist and shakes his head. "I don't... want you hurt, El Patron. Not on account of me." Not to mention he's starting to wonder if perhaps, somehow, it's some sort of karma for what he had done inadvertantly, that this pain he's in is deserved.
It must reflect in his gaze because Alberto taps him on the jaw carefully to regain his attention, his eyes gleaming with worry once Ricardo finally looks over at him. "What is it, mi amigo?"
He flushes. "Nothing, El Patron. I just... Um. We haven't missed the bus, have we?"
"No, no, I wouldn't have let you sleep through it, do not worry." He smiles faintly. "You rest for a little while longer and we'll go. It won't leave without us."
"Meaning you paid them off to stay," Ricardo deduces, all the confirmation he needs being in Alberto's shrewd gaze.
"Let's just say the bus driver's children will now have a very Merry Christmas." He smiles as Ricardo chuckles, forever amused by Del Rio's creative way of handling certain situations, or explaining them away. He's glad that at least that hasn't changed.
Unfortunately the bus ride itself is unrequivocal torture, only adding to Ricardo's pain and stiffness following the attack. It's cold and cramped and none of them can move too much, nor would want to, while driving around in the dark. He tries to watch one of his DVDs that delves into mysteries of the mind but is in so much pain, it barely catches his attention. Most of the ride is spent with Alberto watching him worriedly and Ricardo simply regulating his breathing in a weak attempt to control the pain coursing through him, exasperated by the jostling of the large vehicle.
It is a great relief to them both when they finally end up at the hotel, Ricardo barely able to stand without cringing in agony and Del Rio's eyes darkening with sympathy. "Come." Hand between his shoulderblades, Alberto leads the younger man into the lobby, helping him to sit down on a nearby sofa while he handles checking into the hotel. Usually Ricardo's job, but he's too tired and sore to even think about arguing, watching hazily as Alberto charms the hotel staff into sending up some hot cocoa to their room to warm them.
Murmuring faintly, he eases Ricardo up and to the elevator, supporting him against the back wall as it travels up a couple floors to their room, their luggage left at the front desk to be brought up with the drinks. Determined to stay awake, Ricardo tries to shrug out of his jacket only to freeze as fresh pain shoots up his midsection, nearly leaving him breathless. Del Rio is there almost immediately, carefully easing his arms the rest of the way out of the jacket and nudging him back to lean against the headboard. "Gracias," Ricardo mumbles tiredly, squinting up at his employer.
Alberto merely smiles at him before moving to answer the door, stepping aside so the hotel worker could place their bags on the floor by their beds and set up their drinks. "Thank you," he says as he follows the young man to the door, handing over a very gracious tip. He shuts the door and turns back around to find Ricardo back on his feet and walking slowly to the tray. He carefully pours Alberto's drink, the Mexican aristocrat choosing just to watch since he's aware that Ricardo needs to be able to do some things or will end up feeling horribly worthless. Finally joining him, he half-smiles as the ring announcer hands the mug over to him and watches him sip from it, eyes slipping closed at the warm chocolate suffusing his chilled body.
"Alright?" Ricardo asks after a silent moment, letting him enjoy it.
"Si, bueno." Alberto smiles as only then, does his ring announcer allow himself to taste his own drink, sighing softly as the liquid eases some of his own aches and cold away. "See?"
"Mm hmm." At Del Rio's urging, he moves over to sit on the edge of his bed and slumps slightly, holding the mug between his hands while the steam drifts up into his face, warming him the rest of the way. His second wind doesn't last very long, however, the warm drink making him sleepy. He's not sure how much time has passed when Del Rio quietly pads over to him and plucks the drink from his slack fingers, placing it on the bedside table, just that it's nearly impossible for him to keep his eyes open any longer.
He's asleep as soon as Alberto pushes him down onto the bed, a small smile on his lips as he moves back to watch. Smackdown is tomorrow, yes, but the more he watches Ricardo, the less certain he is that they should be involved. Perhaps I will wait and see how he is in the morning, he thinks, finishing the rest of his drink in one quick pull before turning in for the night as well.
Hours later, Ricardo comes to slowly, his whole body alight in fresh pain. He keeps his eyes closed, taking deep breaths, and tries to remember what'd happened. If Alberto's ok. It comes to him in fits and starts, what had occurred with Tommy Dreamer and The Shield the night before, and he relaxes. It hadn't included Alberto at all, so he's the only one feeling like this this morning. He's just shifted, trying to ease some of the stiffness in his extremities, when a hand rests gently on his shoulder. "Ricardo?"
Opening his eyes enough to look up, he stares at his employer. "El Patron?" Realizing just how bright the room is, used to waking up when the sun is just starting to rise, he frowns in confusion. "What time is it?"
Alberto waves a hand dismissively. "Eh, about 10."
Eyes widening in horror, Ricardo struggles past the pain to sit up and try to dash for his bags despite how uncooperative his body is. "Ten? AM? But- but, Smackdown!" Before he could even move a step, Del Rio has him by the shoulders, keeping him on his bed. "El Patron-"
"We're not going to the event tonight." As Ricardo's eyes widen in shock, his employer smiles down at him. "You deserve some time to rest. So do I, to be fair. I called in earlier and they didn't have any planned matches for me, so I convinced Booker T to grant us the night off."
So many questions are on the tip of Ricardo's tongue but he's not sure what to start with, how to feel about any of this. With more proof of what his wish to Santa had done to Alberto staring him in the face, his mental turmoil far exceeds his physical anguish.
They return to Florida early Wednesday morning and the week passes by simply; quietly. Sofia notes the difference in Alberto and Ricardo both and although she is visibly pleased with Alberto's slightly less volatile temper, she's worried by Ricardo's sullen attitude. Even tries taking him aside now and again to talk about it but he gently brushes her off before resuming the various errands and duties he takes care of for his employer the rare times they spend more than a day or two in Florida, relieved for the distraction.
Monday and Tuesday are the staff's days off, Alberto and Ricardo seeing them off before they travel out for the special Christmas Eve episode of Raw. That night, Ricardo approaches the entrance ramp when he notices a disturbingly familiar form wandering near the entrance that Del Rio drives out of. His heart racing in his chest, Ricardo stares on as Santa begins greeting and passing out toys to the various members of the WWE Universe, Christmas music eventually drowned out by Realaza. Eyes widening, Ricardo realizes what's about to happen before Del Rio even appears in his usual fancy car, trying to force words out to stop him- but there's nothing to be done for it, Alberto drives out as always and... strikes Santa, knocking him over. As if to add insult to injury, the Christmas tree nearby falls over and lands nearly on top of him.
The ring announcer thinks he'll never forget the look of horror on Del Rio's face as he quickly gets out of the car and watches trainers and other staff members rush out, trying to help the downed Santa. Ricardo knows that he's being selfish but, even as he runs over to Alberto and hovers uncertainly nearby, watching on in horror, the most that he can think is- If that is the real Santa, does that mean... Alberto will return to himself tomorrow, instead of Wednesday? He's uncertain how to feel about that, and it leaves him distracted the rest of the night, just barely able to force himself to focus during the Miracle on 34th Street Fight held later that night with Alberto against Cena.
His worries grow to be unfounded, one way or the other when, towards the end of the match, Santa returns, healthy and fine and Ricardo, overwhelmed by relief- both by the fact that he will have a little more time with the nicer Alberto and that Santa seems to be ok, runs out to greet him... just to get smacked in the head with his bag. He lands hard and stares up at the lights, shaking his head. A few moments later, Cena's music plays to show he's won and Ricardo grimaces. He now has little doubt that that isn't the real Santa, but even so. His fear lingers because now there's nothing to distract him between this moment and when he'll wake up on Wednesday morning to the old Alberto. Despite it all, he forces himself to his feet and stumbles towards the ring to pull his employer to safety so they can get out of the arena, away from all of the embarrassment that this night had brought them.
Alberto seems wrapped up in his own thoughts as well and Ricardo wonders pensively if this is how it's going to start, his slow return to normalcy. He closes his eyes that night, the hotel room utterly dark and quiet, and tries not to feel too sad about the looming loss of his nicer employer. You've handled worse, Ricardo. At least you understand the old Alberto... and maybe once he's back, you'll stop feeling quite so guilty.
They travel back to Florida the next day, Ricardo relieved to be back home, even if it's just for a few days before the events leading into 2013. After preparing travel arrangements for Smackdown later in the week and making sure that Alberto's groceries are enough to last them until the staff returns, he heads outside and breathes in the soft, early evening air. Slumping down in one of the spotless white chairs on Del Rio's patio, he stares up at the purple and pink sky as the sun sets and thinks, chin in his hands.
Not long afterwards, the back door slips open and Alberto ventures outside, blinking when he notices Ricardo slumped over in one of his chairs. "Ah, there you are, mi amigo." He joins him, frowning at his lack of response. "Ricardo?"
Knowing that he can't just go on ignoring his friend, he turns and smiles half-heartedly. "Si, hola."
"I feel like I haven't seen much of you the last few days, which is odd considering we travel and room together," Alberto tells him quietly. "Is everything alright?"
Ricardo stares at him a moment before shaking his head, fingers trailing along the solid wood table between them. "You know you never really asked me questions such as those until recently? Don't get me wrong, I knew in some ways you cared about certain things like that, especially whenever I was hurt... but just because of my presence or lack thereof?" He sighs. "In a way, I'm going to miss it, El Patron."
There's a cascade of emotions across Del Rio's face- regret, uncertainty, confusion- and in any other circumstances, Ricardo would almost find it funny. Except that now there's only maybe six hours left until Santa's powers fade, and his time with this Alberto is limited. "I don't understand."
And so, just like that, Ricardo tells him everything. The Santa outside of the hospital, his almost flippant wish, the dream he'd had after being attacked by The Shield, how disgusted he'd felt with himself since TLC and Del Rio's abrupt attitude change, all of it. To his credit, Alberto sits and listens, not even cracking a smile once. The old Mexican aristocrat would've barely made it five minutes before interrupting or just standing up and leaving, but this one sits and listens, somewhat perplexed but patient none-the-less. "I am so sorry, El Patron. I don't know what I was thinking," Ricardo finally finishes his tale faintly, certain now that Alberto will hate him for doing this to him. "Despite your temper, you were a fine employer, and I... I messed it all up with my selfish wish."
There's an unreadable expression on Alberto's face and it only adds to Ricardo's tension but finally the man moves, leaning closer so he can look the ring announcer in the eye. "I suppose we should've discussed this sooner, my... sudden change of heart, as it were." He smiles faintly, shaking his head. "Ay, Ricardo, if you had told me sooner, so much of your guilt could've been avoided. Your Christmas must've been horrible, with all of these doubts and self-disgust haunting you. I should be the one apologizing to you."
Shaking his head in confusion, Ricardo sucks in a deep breath. "I don't understand, El Patron."
"You act as though I have changed overnight," Alberto muses with a soft grimace. "I... I suppose I may have, somewhat. But not recently, no. I think... I began to realize just what I was doing when Sheamus attacked me and you pushed me out of the way, and were injured so brutally for it. Just how badly I tended to treat you." Ricardo shakes his head yet again, still not understanding or expecting anything like this, but Alberto merely sits back, continuing his softly spoken explanation. "I was humbled further when I couldn't defeat Sheamus, nor Orton after him. You were humiliated, I was defeated, and yet nothing really changed. I had all of these goals, all of these plans, and not one of them happened in the way I wanted. Through it all, no matter what, you remained by my side. No matter what I did to you, how I acted, you were blindly loyal."
He smiles faintly, noticing just how taken Ricardo is with his impromptu speech, unable to look away. "Tribute to the Troops, seeing all of those men and women willing to do so much to defend this nation, opened my eyes up further, experiencing that with you and, yes, the other WWE superstars. Then I lost to Ryback and Kofi Kingston. And I spent Saturday at the hospital, surrounded by all of those sick children, pondering how what had begun as such a promising career for me could've spiraled so far out of control so quickly." He takes in a deep breath, licks his lips. "The next morning, I was waiting for you to get out of the bathroom when I noticed your iPad nearby. As I do when I'm bored, I began looking around the internet... but I hit the wrong button, I guess, because the browser disappeared and your videos came up. Your tribute to me for Main Event that Ryback had so thoughtlessly interrupted was on there, and I became curious. So I watched it, all of it.
"And it re-opened my eyes to everything- all that you've done for me the past few years, all of the abuse you've taken without a word of complaint... All that I should've done differently. So I vowed to do just that. Be better, be kinder. Not just claim you as my best friend when it suited me, but actually prove it to be so. Because it is, Ricardo. I was not lying when I said you are my only friend, the only one who has ever had the patience and incredible strength to deal with my temper and impatience over the years." He taps Ricardo on the knee and shakes his head. "It was no Santa, your deepest wish had nothing to do with me acting differently out of the blue. I wanted... no, I needed to be different. So please, stop feeling guilty. You did nothing to harm me, physically or emotionally."
They sit in silence for so long that Alberto is beginning to worry, the sun setting far enough now that it's too dark for him to really see his ring announcer's face, but finally Ricardo speaks. "What if... what if this... what you've just told me... is somehow part of what Santa's done? What if..."
Alberto releases a faint sigh and Ricardo almost recoils from it, certain that Santa's power has perhaps faded now and his friend's temper will reveal itself once more. "No, Ricardo," he speaks up after a moment. "I swear to you, I will not become that man again. I'm not sure what fraud you ran into outside of that hospital, but he has no control over how I act. Only I do, and thus this will remain to be so. You'll see." When Ricardo reluctantly nods, his sillouette barely visible in the fading light, Alberto smiles, relieved. "Now, what do you say we go watch more of those ridiculous holiday movies?"
When exactly they fall asleep, the TV glowing from across the room, Ricardo's not sure. He just knows he wakes up on the couch, sun gleaming across his face, and he's alone, the TV now merely a black screen. He blinks blurrily a time or two, not sure why he feels so strange. A few minutes pass before he realizes- Christmas has come and gone. It's the dreaded December 27th now. He swallows thickly and looks around, trying to place where Alberto might be, when he shudders. What if he's different? What if... his claims last night were just manufactured by Santa, and he'll wake up today and go back to being so angry, and hurtful? I don't want that for him... He's seemed so... lighter the last ten days, so... content... like the losses didn't hurt as much...
His repetitive thoughts are disrupted when the front door opens and he listens to Del Rio walking towards the living room. Maybe he was in with his cars again, he thinks, trying to guess what exactly Alberto would've been up to this early in the morning, that could possibly, hopefully, put him in a good mood so that Ricardo can ease slowly into once more being careful around his employer, making sure not to incite more anger from him.
When Alberto finally enters the room, however, all of that goes by the wayside. He smiles brightly at Ricardo and holds up a cardboard carrier containing two cups of coffee. "Buenos Dias, Ricardo. I also have muffins," he tells him with a happy gleam in his eyes. Ricardo, floored, just stares at him until he seems to realize why his appearance is garnering this kind of response, his eyes softening. As he places the container down on the table behind the couch, he joins the ring announcer and taps him on the jaw. "Ricardo, what did I tell you last night?"
"That Santa had nothing to do with... with... your new attitude," he fumbles for the right word, finally settling on this. "That it wasn't temporary."
"Yes, exactly so." Alberto smiles kindly at him. "You'll be alright with that, right? Being stuck with the new and improved Alberto Del Rio?"
He looks at him, takes in the pleased gleam in the Mexican aristocrat's eye, how his expression carries not an inch of bitterness in it anymore. Finds himself nodding quite easily. "Of course, El Patron. Always."