Something More

by corneroffandom

Things change drastically for Ricardo Rodriguez when his career takes a new path.

A/N: I started this fic back last September-ish. It shows, I'm sure. But it's finally done, yay!, and yeah... I gave it a soundtrack as well. So...

Soundtrack:

Gravity Kills- Guilty

Device- Vilify

Black Veil Brides- In the End

Tremonti- Wish You Well

Five Finger Death Punch- Walk Away

Three Days Grace- Misery Loves My Company

All That Remains- Asking Too Much

Apocalyptica- I Don't Care

Three Days Grace- Lost In You

Matchbox 20- Crutch

Dope- Now or Never

Seether- The Gift

Fuel- Wasted Days

Hurt- Falls Apart

Greenwheel- Stronger

Nonpoint- That Day

Papa Roach- Leader of the Broken Hearts

Five Finger Death Punch- Lift Me Up

Thousand Foot Krutch- War of Change

Nickelback- Savin' Me

My allegiance with Ricardo Rodriguez coming to an end is inevitable.

The words spoken during an interview in late August 2012 stay with him, long after he'd first read them. He had been Alberto Del Rio's right hand man for almost three years by now, assisting him in matches, taking care of his day to day needs, even overseeing maintenance of his Mexican ranch as best as he could from Florida. He's not sure what he's done to deserve such calm dismissal of his nonstop work on making life easier for the Mexican aristocrat. Of course there had been issues throughout the many months they had been side by side but he had tried to rectify each and every one of them, learn from his mistakes, be better and more prepared for the next time.

Even so, when it finally happens, it blindsides him. Del Rio had won the World title from Sheamus at Night of Champions, the months of animosity- capped off by Ricardo taking a Brogue Kick for Alberto and being stuck in a neck brace for weeks- fueling him to the point where he had to win or deem himself a failure forever more. Unfortunately the title reign isn't all that long, Dolph Ziggler taking the opportunity that follows after Alberto eats another Brogue Kick from an angry Sheamus, Ricardo already down after being kicked off of the ring apron earlier, landing awkwardly on the commentary table, unable to do anything for long, horrible moments. When the Mexican aristocrat comes to to find his title belt gone as quickly as it had arrived.

Ricardo grimaces, struggling and choking on thin air as rough hands pull him to his feet, his hands scrabbling at the vice like grip around his tux collar. Vision blurry and hands fluttering, he finds himself face to face with an angrily spitting Del Rio, who shakes him viciously. Folding his hands in almost a prayer like motion, he silently pleads with his employer to let him go. Instead he rocks back as Alberto pushes him into the turnbuckle, fading into unconsciousness as his boot contacts with the side of his head, sending him far away from the painful reality as Del Rio glowers down at him, leaving him callously behind.

He watches the videos later, forcing himself to take in the true loathing on Alberto's face, even as his head throbs and he fights dizziness, barely able to move an inch without the room spinning. He had known it was a concussion before he was even told, a doctor frowning down at him as he flashed a pen light in his eyes, only adding to his agony. Along with that is the pain of a couple broken ribs from his awkward landing on the table. But worse than the physical devastation is his emotional turmoil. In a split second, the last few years of his life had been deemed unimportant, Alberto had declared him discardable.

He rolls onto his side and tries to breathe in and out, keep from losing what little food he's managed to hold down since it all hit the fan. Stares at the wall and grimaces through the wave of emotions and disgraced thoughts. No, no, he thinks, chants until finally his worn down, injured body gives once more into sleep.

There's not a lot he can do for it the next two weeks, aftereffects of his concussion- though lessening- continue to torture him until, finally, the doctor he had been visiting regularly for check ups pulls back after another reaction test and smiles at him. "Well, Mr. Rodriguez," he says warmly, "you're good to go, as long as you keep wrapping your ribs. I'll notify WWE officials and that will be that."

Ricardo nods, trying to ignore the pang just hearing WWE causes him to feel. "Si, gracias, doctor," he says softly, standing up. Goes through the motions on autopilot, signing what needs to be signed and shaking the doctor's hand before waving sheepishly at a motherly nurse who'd fussed over him every time he had come in for these exams, pushing his way outside. He stares blankly at the world around him, everything still looking off despite his renewed health. He releases a shaky breath and presses his hands into his pockets, shuddering against his chilly, empty surroundings. "Now what..."

He returns to his Florida apartment, standing inside the door and swallowing heavily as he takes in everything of his that being Alberto's personal ring announcer had afforded him. Feeling distant, as though following someone else's commands, he walks over to his desk and finds a small fireproof box that fills the bottom of the drawer. Unlocking it, he rustles through the papers inside before pulling out a select two. Sitting down heavily in a nearby chair, he examines them with a pained stare.

One is as good as fire tender right now, his contract with Alberto laying out his long list of duties to make life easier for the older Mexican. He had made the mistake of turning the TV on the following Friday after Del Rio had attacked him, hoping that he would say that this was all wrong, that he still wanted Ricardo on as his personal ring announcer, but no... he had been forced to watch, through one of the worst headaches he'd had all of his life, as they aired footage of Alberto at his spacious ranch back in Mexico, cruelly taking his copy of the very contract that Ricardo is now peering at and tore it into little pieces, tossing it into his fireplace with one of his disgustingly ruthless smirks, eyes glinting as he snarled something into the camera that Ricardo couldn't even focus on, forced to turn the TV off before he completely hyperventilated, realizing that his livelihood was in serious jeopardy.

But the other, well. The contract WWE had required to even allow him on TV, the one that would keep them from being liable should something happen to him. He sneers at it, brushing his hands through his hair as he considers it. He had had a few minor matches here and there, against Santino and... and... well. His record in actually competing isn't that great, but yet... It's his only hope. He presses a fist to his mouth, nodding slowly as he steels himself for what is to come. "This has to work," he tells himself, tapping the WWE contract.

Turning his attention back to his personal contract to Del Rio, he takes a deep breath. Not wanting to repeat those horrible visuals from that Smackdown, he stands and collects the paper, wandering out of his apartment and onto the beach that's not far away. It's strangely liberating as he pours as much of his anger as he can into tearing the wordy contract up, breathing heavily once it's in as many small pieces as he can get it. The wind whipping against his clothes, he nears the ocean and, digging his bare toes into the sand, stares out over the water, absorbing its serenity into himself.

He lifts a hand and slowly loosens his fingers, releasing a deep, cleansing breath as the small pieces of paper slowly float free, taken far, far away by the wind.

That Monday, he travels to Raw. It is the strangest, most drama-free trip he's made yet in his time in the WWE. He's always had Del Rio in his ear, demanding this, ordering that. Complaining about the status of his car, his clothes, his locker room. Everything and anything. For once he barely says a word, only making the necessary small talk with the flight attendants and the middle aged woman sitting next to him, eventually hiding behind his earphones as he listens to Sevendust, gearing up for what is to come. He's not ready to give up every aspect of his career without a fight.

Ignoring curious stares and whispers from passing superstars, he stands outside of AJ Lee's office patiently, rocking back and forth from heel to toe as he waits for her to notice him, call him inside. He doesn't want to annoy her, reminding himself that he cannot say crazy, lunatic, insane, or any other word that calls into question her mental capacity if he truly wants to resume working here in any capacity.

Almost an hour passes and he still remains, feeling a little like the last child picked to play baseball. His dark eyes peer up as finally her door opens and she steps out, obviously about to leave. She pauses, tilting her head at him curiously. He stares back at her, waiting as she sizes him up, tapping a finger to her lips. Stepping back into her office, she smiles slightly. "Ricardo, please come in."

He swallows, bracing himself for whatever craziness might ensue, and walks inside. I just hope she doesn't try to kiss me, he thinks, growing all the more uncomfortable as she shuts the door behind him. "Ms. Lee," he greets her formally as he turns around. "Thank you for talking to me..." He trails off as she stares at him some more. "Eh," he hesitates, unsure what exactly her expression is hinting at.

"Have a seat, Ricardo," she finally says, coming back from wherever her mind had wandered. As he hesitantly settles down on the leather cushions, she sits on a chair across from him, brushing some loose strands of her dark brown hair behind her shoulder. "I imagine you're here to discuss your WWE status."

He nods, swallows, and nods again. "Si, si. I- um... I wish to continue working here, if... if you have a place for me," he finishes awkwardly, watching anxiously as she shifts and peers closely at him.

"I have seen you compete here," she says slowly. "And I have seen you compete in FCW." She continues to weigh her own words, speaking slowly and softly as if she's still thinking things through. "The difference here and there is, well, needless to say startling." He grimaces but her next words soothe him slightly. "When you're out from under Del Rio's influence, allowed to be yourself... I see something in you that intrigues me," she admits to him. "I see no reason why we shouldn't explore this a little bit, see if you can survive on your own in the WWE." When his face lights up, she smiles. "I'll discuss it with the board of directors, there should be no problem with us at least honoring the rest of your contract. If all goes well, we'll meet up to decide on renewal terms, alright?"

"Si, si, gracias, Ms. Lee," he gasps, standing up quickly. "I am so happy," he manages to say, amazed that it'd gone so easily. He realizes that she has her hand outstretched towards him and, mentally berating himself, shakes it quickly. "Muchas gracias," he repeats once more before dashing out of the room, not wanting to overstay his welcome or risk the girl changing her mind on him as she'd been known to do in the past with various competitors.

He leans against her doorframe and releases a breath, looking up in time to see Alberto Del Rio glaring at him from down the hall, obviously shocked to see him in the building. His own eyes widening, he quickly pulls away from the wall and, mumbling in distress to himself, backs away from his former employer. Despite the fact that Del Rio does no more than just stand there and glower at him until he's moved out of sight, he still feels unsettled for the rest of the evening, looking up anxiously whenever someone walks too close to him as he sits in the main locker room and tries to breathe, relax. He's in street clothes, he's by himself, and it's the most bittersweet feeling he's ever had in one of these arenas.

Even so, when a referee notifies him that nothing is scheduled for him, he is greatly relieved to just grab his things and go back to the hotel room, to his single room. He has no one to travel with, hadn't known if he'd even still have a job with WWE after everything. Alberto's claim weeks back when his neck had been injured following the Brogue Kick- which is probably why his concussion was so severe this time around- that Ricardo was his only friend, well... He truly doubts the sincerity behind it, especially after everything, but it holds true for him. He had always been in Alberto's presence, not feeling the need to get to know anyone else in the business. Even when Alberto was at his worst, he had considered him a friend, willing to do anything to ease his woes regarding his career or whatever may be weighing on him at the time.

But now none of that matters. Now he's alone, has a hotel room to himself. It's the most privacy he's had in years. He can't decide if he likes it or not.

He isn't sure if he should or not but he shows up on Smackdown, unsurprised when Booker seems less than thrilled to see him at his show. People are fickle in this business, will use other competitors to further their careers and agendas, some more than others- and there are those who will hate others just for breathing. He's still not sure where Alberto's thoughts on him fall on this spectrum, but now, he doubts he's too far from the "just for breathing" side of things for the other man.

Tension in the air, the Smackdown General Manager eyes him up and down, seemingly confused by the lack of a tux. As if Ricardo could only ever wear just a tux. He bristles slightly, trying not to lose his patience. "Lemme get this straight, dawg. You want a match?" Booker finally asks, lips twitching like he's about to laugh. Unlike AJ, he's never seen him in FCW and it shows as he blatantly struggles not to laugh Ricardo out of his office.

"Si," he says, barely blinking as Booker finally calms down, eyes locked on him. "What remains of my WWE contract is being honored. I wish to compete."

Sighing, the taller man turns and thinks it over. "Fine, dawg," he finally says. "Santino ain't in a match tonight, y'all can renew whatever that was ya had going last summer."

Ricardo grimaces, remembering how exactly that had ended. Even so, a match is a match. He squares his shoulders and nods. "Si, gracias." He leaves and doesn't hesitate this time, quickly walking through the halls back to the locker room. He keeps his chin up and his eyes straight ahead. If he passes by Alberto yet again, he doesn't want to acknowledge the other man's presence or encourage any kind of confrontation from his former employer. That part of his life is over and he'd rather not return to old thoughts of worthlessness and loneliness, especially when he has a match looming.

At least this time AJ Lee had been kind enough to schedule some time with the seamstress for him and he has his own ring gear, something similar to the singlet he'd worn in FCW, a soft blue with pale purple trimming. Relieved to not be embarrassed or chilled due to improper clothing as he waits for the match to begin, he adjusts the elbowpads he'd brought with him from Florida. All or nothing, he thinks, shaking his head as he wonders- briefly- if Alberto is somewhere, watching. If he is somewhat proud of his former ring announcer for stepping out on his own... or if he is sneering and mocking him for even being out here, acting as if he has any place in this ring.

He is pulled roughly from his thoughts as Santino's theme music finally hits, the exciteable Italian pumping up the crowds with his antics on the entrance ramp before power walking to the ring. Ricardo sighs. He had not missed any of this man's nonsense, his eyes narrowing as Santino gets into the ring and mocks him, saying something about underwear that he just barely overhears due to the crowd's loud response and the last bit of Santino's entrance dying away. He glares at him, only the referee standing between them and ordering them to their separate sides of the ring keeping him from forgoing all match protocols and punching him here and now.

Despite Santino's nature and general goofiness, he is a surprisingly durable competitor, Ricardo uncomfortably aware that the Cobra isn't the only thing he'll have to avoid during this match. Adjusting his arm bands, he circles Santino a bit until the Italian superstar goes for a lock up in the middle of the ring, the two of them struggling back and forth for awhile until Santino breaks free and tries to strike him with the cobra, Ricardo scrambling backwards quickly and just avoiding the startingly devastating attack. He succeeds in punching him a time or two, swallowing as Santino only seems to pump up at that.

Ricardo rushes after him, still desperate to win his first match in a WWE ring on his own, just to get locked up in a drop toe hold that sends him face first into the bottom rope, winding him and leaving him struggling to get to his feet for an embarassing amount of time after that, his ribs throbbing just from that one hit. He's only angered when he turns to find that Santino hasn't attacked because he's been too busy standing by the turnbuckle, pointing and laughing at his off-balanced opponent.

Seeing red, Rodriguez grabs him by the back of the head and shocks him by slinging him out of the ring, giving himself a breather without having to listen to Santino's mocking laughs. He paces back and forth while Santino recovers and slowly rolls back into the ring, now more hesitant and less humored, his eyebrows narrowed into a glare as he lunges for Ricardo once more.

This time, Ricardo gets the upperhand, slamming Santino over his shoulder to land harshly on his back against the mat. Leaning over and analyzing the distance between his opponent and the turnbuckle, Ricardo shakes his head and tries to hold himself together, climbing to the second rope to attempt a corkscrew moonsault. He's not sure how long it's been since he's last done this move, and he's nervous, but it goes as well as a move of that type can- his ribs are killing him even worse once he hits it and he can barely maintain his hold on Santino long enough to complete the pin, but he does- achieving a three-count and quickly rolling away, gasping and squirming as he tries to regain his footing while the referee holds his hand up in victory.

Even though he hopes it's enough that AJ Lee and Booker T both will be enthused about keeping him on past his current contract, he can't help but dwell on just how empty the victory feels.

He only feels worse when he heads back to the locker room, spotting Alberto in the hallway. Their eyes lock for a moment, Ricardo unsettled and hurt by the disgusted look leveled his way. He swallows thickly, certain that he's going to get attacked again, as he continues on his way to the door marked for all superstars. Instead, nothing is said. Nothing is done. He almost thinks that it's worse than being brutalized by the Mexican aristocrat, unused to being completely ignored by the man who had once been... well, what he had thought, his closest friend. He stares at the floor and tries not to feel too ill as he changes back into his streetwear.

His next match is scheduled for the next week's Smackdown, Raw too busy with other scheduled matches to find a place for him again. There's an odd look in Booker T's eyes as he tells him who his opponent will be, Eve standing next to him with a strange look of her own. He sneers at them both before brushing past them, reminding himself that he'll be fine on his own. He needs no one, he's quite competent to handle this on his own. After all, he'd finally beaten Santino the Monday prior.

But, well, Zack Ryder is tenacious. He has fans desperate to see him, cheer him on, celebrate his rare but hard-fought victories. Ricardo has none of that. He is not well liked, he had made an artform out of being obnoxious to people while alongside Del Rio and had definitely paid for it over the years. Even so, he keeps his head held high as he wanders out to the ring for his match against the Long Island Iced Z, barely blinking when Zack looks over at him with this incredulous grin. He can't help but think that Zack is already imagining hitting an easy Rough Ryder on him, getting a quick three count, and it makes him angry. He had just defeated Santino, Zack's sometimes tag partner, soundly a week ago, and he's still getting overlooked.

Drowning in these thoughts by the time the bell rings, he's off immediately, locking up with Zack with little to no warning. As Ryder sputters and struggles to get the upperhand, Ricardo forces him back, reminding himself of everything he can think of to keep his advantage. He spilled milk on you! He likes Bieber! He's Santino's tag partner! It's not until his angry-induced thoughts shift away from Zack that he starts to slip, Zack sneaking free and slamming him into the turnbuckle with a boot to the side of the head. You've been people's punching bag for too long! You did everything for him! It was never enough! He shakes his head roughly, trying to refocus on his opponent, but all he can think about now is Alberto. "Why wasn't it enough?"

Zack shoots a strange look his way when the mumbles continue, growing more worried by the moment. "Bro-" He's shut up abruptly when Ricardo strikes him solidly in the face, causing his head to snap back. This leads into an uncharacteristic rampage by the Mexican, Zack unable to find any way out of it. Finally he gains some distance when he trips and lands hard on his front, Ricardo still too frenzied to notice and striking the ringpost with his hand. Trying to shake out the stinging pain that starts shooting up his arm, he barely notices as Zack leaps up and rounds back on him, striking him hard in the back with a dropkick, sending him yet again into the turnbuckle.

He drops into the corner, trying to catch his breath, and feels yet another impact as Zack hits the broski boot on him, his eyes rolling upwards for a moment. Opting to stay down for now, knowing without looking that his opponent is preparing for the Rough Ryder, the fans going crazy around them, he tries to consider the most appropriate way to free himself from this predicament. Squinting an eye open, he watches as Zack hops around, fingers held in the LI position impatiently. Finally he pulls himself up and, exaggerating it purposely, begins staggering around. It's when Ryder lunges at him, trying to crash on top of him and slam him to the mat with his leg to his throat, that he takes the opportunity, slapping him aside and, unable to turn around in time to see physics take over, listening as Zack takes his place in the corner, crashing against the turnbuckle harshly and leaning against it, gasping for breath.

He smirks slightly, turning to find his opponent wavering. Hooking his leg with one foot, Ricardo ruthlessly tugs it out from under him, sending him crashing to the mat. Kicking him away from the ropes, he climbs up onto the second rope and surveys the scene below him. Mocking Zack's LI hand motions, amused as some of the crowd begins booing this taunt, he laughs aloud before taking the leap for his moonsault, landing it perfectly across Zack's midsection.

Another cover, another three count, and he wanders back towards the locker room, head held high once more. If he happens to pass by Alberto this time, he doesn't notice. Or care. His confidence only grows when he feels eyes on him, a weighty kind of silence surrounding him. People, for once, are taking notice of him. Not the Alberto Del Rio's ring announcer-him, but the true-him, who is a somewhat capable competitor, who doesn't need Del Rio's help. He's sure that the GMs must be impressed by now.

He hopes, anyway.

After spending a weekend in Florida, resting on the beach outside of his apartment, he takes to the road once more, heading for the next Raw event. AJ greets him outside of her locker room, almost looking like she'd been waiting for him. He stares back at her, unsettled by the strange gleam in her eyes, but she merely smiles at him. "You have a match tonight," she tells him in a sing-song kind of voice. "Good luck!"

He makes a face once he's out of her sight, pressing a thumb between his eyes and massaging the bridge of his nose. "Ay," he sighs. Staying on her good side grows more and more complicated, the young woman mercurial with her various mood changes week by week. He's almost to the locker room to change into his gear when he hears a familiar voice, freezing. His dark eyes going from side to side, he finally spots Del Rio down the hall, speaking angrily to Lilian Garcia. He only watches for a moment, taking in her body language versus his and it's pretty obvious that she'd done something he didn't appreciate in his ring entrance. Taking a breath, he walks past them, ignoring the scene that Alberto is making.

He finally reaches the room and slips inside, sinking against the door as he tries to calm down, his heart racing. He almost feels bad for the ring announcer, well aware of how horrible it can be when publicly denegrated by Del Rio, especially over what to anyone else would be a small error. He had suffered it many a time while working for Alberto, and the last few weeks had been peaceful to the point of strange, Ricardo having no one to answer to but the General Managers and himself on what he does regarding his career.

Walking over to the bench nearest the wall, he drops his bag onto the floor and sits in front of it, taking a breath. He's glad his match isn't right away, it giving him some time to clear his head. He hadn't seen a lot of Alberto since the attack, just once or twice, which he had expected- it would be impossible to avoid him completely in these arenas, but this time had cut close to home, bringing it to the forefront of his mind all the times that Del Rio had treated him so callously no matter how hard he had worked to make everything perfect for his employer.

Content to keep to himself and think, he ignores all as various other superstars come and go from the room, preparing for or wrapping up their own matches or promos for the night. Thankfully his match that night is against Ted DiBiase and he's not too worried; the whole locker room knows of the man's recent injuries and illnesses, any of those easy to use against him. So when it's time to head to the ring almost an hour later, he finds himself much more centered. The time he had taken to think and plan had also been enough to calm himself down, put seeing Del Rio earlier back out of his mind. His focus turning back to the match at hand.

DiBiase looks on top of his game, considering, and he overpowers Ricardo when they lock up, but the younger man wiggles free before anything serious can be done to him and punches Ted, gaining some more separation between them. When DiBiase, growing a bit angered, lunges after him, he goes low and kicks him in the ankle he'd broken earlier in the year. Taking the opportunity, he kicks him a time or two before pulling him back to a standing position, lifting him for a bodyslam that sends him crashing to the mat. He's just turned, trying to prepare for his moonsault, when Ted gets back to his feet and dropkicks him into the corner, Ricardo winded. He staggers back out and Ted catches him with a fierce punch to the side of the head, the younger man gasping in pain as he drops to one knee temporarily.

But he regains himself when Ted takes a little too long setting up a follow up to this, lunging to his feet and elbowing the approaching third generation superstar harshly in the ribs. As Ted takes a turn at gasping and struggling, he finally makes it to the turnbuckle and flies off for his moonsault, landing flush against the other man's sternum, leaving him on the mat long enough for the three count. Ricardo staggers and rolls out of the ring, fighting for each inhale as the momentum from the match fades away, leaves him tired and breathless.

He shakes it off as well as he can, making his way through the various hallways to the locker room once more, purposely not looking around too much as he doesn't want a repeat spotting of Del Rio, and so it's a much less stressed out Ricardo that enters the room and sits down, sighing softly as he digs around in his bag for some street clothes that would be comfortable around his still smarting ribs and back. He's not used, yet, to traveling by himself, to competing on a more regular basis. Not many would be aware of it, but he had wrestled fairly often in California and, to a slightly lesser extent, even in FCW for awhile before Del Rio had insisted he focus full-time on being his ring announcer, which had brought with it more pay from the Mexican aristocrat... and more problems.

He sighs, trying not to dwell on the memories. It's over, it's done. He wants nothing more to do with me, and that's fine. He winces, trying to make the words sound at all believable, and failing massively. Ay carumba... Why do I care? He attacked me... I was nothing but loyal to him, and that is how I was repaid.

Days pass and he does everything possible to forget about it for awhile, continue trying to move on. He sits on a Florida beach, watching the waves and centering himself, he plays with his two obnoxiously hyper cats a fair amount, he hangs out with some friends he'd had before signing with WWE and meeting Alberto, he has a fair amount of busy, fun days before leaving for the next Smackdown event. But no matter what he does, there's still a strange emptiness deep within, only making him feel all the more pathetic.

When he arrives at Smackdown, Booker greets him with a shrewd gaze. No one still trusts him, and that's fine. He doesn't trust many people himself, especially after what Alberto had done. If his so-called self-proclaimed friend could do that to him, he doesn't want to imagine what an honest enemy could do.

"You have a match tonight," the GM tells him vaguely. "And after that," he continues before the Mexican can nod and wander off again, "AJ has brought some things to my attention, and I agree with her... she's requested that we meet with a number of superstars through the evening, and you're one of them. Come to my office after your match." Booker turns on his heel then and walks off, leaving a confused Ricardo behind.

"Eh," he sighs. "What now?"

His match is against Alex Riley and, despite the man's size and speed, he's also fresh off of an injury and Ricardo uses that to his advantage as well, managing a roll up victory on him after wiggling out of a sideway slam attempt and kicking his surgically repaired leg, putting as much weight and pressure on the appendage as he could. Once he's done and safely away from the ringside area, he takes a few deep breaths, brushing his sweaty hair from his face before reluctantly heading to Booker's office. Well, time to see what this is about... please don't fire me, he can't help but think, almost feeling ill as he makes his way through the halls.

He knocks quickly and listens until Booker urges him to enter, venturing inside. He's unsurprised to find AJ Lee and Booker T quietly discussing things, Eve and Teddy Long also lurking around, but... his breath stutters to a stop as he finds himself eye to eye with Alberto Del Rio, who is leaning derisively against the wall in a shadowy corner of the room. "What is this perro doing here?" he snarls, eyes flashing darkly as he peers over at Ricardo.

AJ nor Booker look thrilled with this response but shrug, examining each other. "Well, see, dawg," Booker says, Ricardo almost tempted to laugh at the look on Alberto's face at Booker calling him that. "AJ Lee and I have been conferring lately and we both agree that-"

She clears her throat, smiling coyly at him. "Excuse me, Booker T, but since it's my idea... I'd appreciate the opportunity to explain?" When he holds his hands up in deferment to her, she turns back to the superstars and takes a breath. "You see, I believe that Daniel Bryan and Kane as champions has played itself out. We've agreed to hold another tag team-."

Del Rio, unable to control himself, speaks up, pushing away from the wall. "I do not understand why I am here then. I am no tag team wrestler." He snarls at Ricardo. "Unlike some who would probably benefit from riding on someone else's coattails." It stings worse than most of the slaps that Alberto had landed upon him over the years, but he says nothing, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"We figured you'd say something like that," Booker interjects. "But, dawg, that's not entirely true. At least Ricardo here's won his last few matches. When's the last match you've won, huh?" Ricardo glances up curiously, not sure what exactly the Smackdown General Manager is getting at, but he catches one glance of Del Rio's scorching gaze, and quickly looks back down. "Wasn't it just before you attacked your ring announcer?" He pretends to be in thought for a long moment before turning back to AJ. "My apologies, AJ. Continue with what you were sayin'. I just wanted to make a point."

She still looks peeved but swallows, moving past it. "Yes, well. As I was saying, we've agreed that Daniel and Kane disrupting shows with their... issues... is getting tiresome. And so, another tag team contest will be held. Except that it'll be a little different than the last..." Her eyes flash warningly as Del Rio tries once more to interrupt her, his voice quickly dying away. She smirks. "You two will be the focal point of it. Let's see if dysfunction can best dysfunction."

Alberto and Ricardo both exclaim, "Que?!" before the former ring announcer stares down at the floor, feeling the heat of Del Rio's glower at him for daring to speak. "I will repeat myself," he hisses. "I am no tag team competitor. I am world champion calibur, and I shall be again-"

"You've lost how many world title opportunities by now?" Booker asks with a vague smirk. "All against Sheamus, if I'm countin' correctly. I'm not sayin' you're not a good competitor, Del Rio. Hell, I'd go so far as to say when you're on your game, you're one of Smackdown's best... but no, you're not there right now. Think of it this way, teamin' with Rodriguez might be the shot to the arm your career needs to put you back at that level. Freshen things up for ya, give you new competition."

"I do not need new competition!" he snarls, nearly kicking over the end table in his rage as he realizes that the GMs are not listening to him, something he is still unaccustomed to. "I need another opportunity at winning what is rightfully mine! Give me that!"

"That's not in the cards here," Booker says simply, staring on impassively as Del Rio looks once more at Ricardo and, kicking over the nearby table, leaves in a huff. "I almost feel sorry for ya," the GM tells Ricardo, only looking a little sincere.

That Monday is their first day as a tag team, Ricardo following his former employer through the hallways, all but ignored by the older man. They pause at the board listing all of the matches and planned timeslots for things like Miz TV, and Ricardo watches with a grimace as Alberto scoffs at the board. Somewhere around the middle of the list, Alberto Del Rio and Ricardo Rodriguez vs Epico and Primo Colon is scrawled in dark black ink and Ricardo thinks, if it would change anything, Del Rio would rush forward right now and erase it- but they both know how determined the GMs are, so he simply leaves the words alone, storming through the halls to the locker rooms.

Ricardo follows slowly, expecting to have to separate with him here, since Del Rio had had it in his contract that, space willing, he'd be allowed his own personal locker room, but Alberto is peering around for his locker room, a confused, annoyed look on his face, and...

"You," he snaps at a passing member of the crew, who looks frightened as soon as they realize that it's Alberto Del Rio addressing them. "Where is my locker room?"

Swallowing thickly, the man tries to stand taller, look less freaked out. He fails. "You... you weren't assigned one, Mr. Del Rio. There wasn't a sufficient amount of space this week. You'll have to use the regular locker room."

Ricardo tries not to act like he'd heard, continuing on his way to the locker room, but he too feels fearful at this admission. A slighted Alberto is a scary Alberto, the Mexican aristocrat very frightening when he doesn't get his way. He's just slipped inside and sat down, going through his bag carefully, when Del Rio enters too, looking around the room with a disgusted sneer on his bronze face. Feeling more than seeing as his former employer sits down near where he's at, Ricardo swallows slightly and sets out his ring gear, not sure what to say or do exactly. He hasn't been this close to the man since it'd all gone down, and he's uncomfortable. Awkward.

The tension in the room only grows as Alberto looks around with disdain, sneering at the others scattered around. "Perros," he mumbles, the insults he spits out under his breath only growing in vileness as time passes. Ricardo can hear him, understand the words he is saying, and tries not to dwell too much on how each and every one of them are probably meant to describe him as well.

Once ready for the match, Ricardo sits there uncomfortably, listening to the soft murmurs of those around them and Del Rio's breathing, trying not to be overwhelmed by uncertainty and tension. This probably isn't going to go well, he thinks morosely, staring at his hands.

Finally the knock comes and a tech ducks his head in, looking around until he spots the two men in the corner of the room. "Del Rio, Ricardo," he calls out. "You're up." Ricardo waits until Alberto is up and a few steps ahead before standing up to follow, just making it in time to catch the tech mention that AJ'd had their music cued up specially for the match.

When it begins to play, Ricardo isn't sure whether to laugh or cry- it's his theme music playing, an energetic tempo with Latin undertones- and Del Rio looks like he just got a whiff of something horrible. Desperately ignoring how vicious the glare Del Rio has fixed on his shoulders is, the younger man pushes his way through the curtain and peers around at the crowd, turning to see if his former employer can swallow down his disgust enough to join him. Not that he has much choice, Ricardo knows, but...

Within moments, the Mexican aristocrat joins him but doesn't cast a look his way as he brushes past him rudely, pushing him away as he walks to the ring, ignoring both the audience members laughing at him and the look on Justin Robert's face as he enters the ring, slapping his hands around as he limbers up, needing something to do while they wait for their opponents.

Ricardo is stiff, anxiously gazing at the man who'd so thoroughly beat him down physically and emotionally only a few weeks ago, unsure how this all is going to play out. Their opponents' music plays a moment later and he relaxes slightly as Alberto's anger finds a new target. Despite being decent in the ring, they weren't towards the top of Ricardo's list of opponents to dread, no matter how antagonistic a partner Del Rio may end up being.

Ignoring Ricardo's attempt at strategizing, Del Rio brushes past him rudely and perches on the ring apron, glaring at all three of them as the Colons talk lowly and laugh amongst themselves before Epico takes hold of the ring rope, allowing Primo to start the match. Starting with a tie-up in the middle of the ring, Ricardo feels his former employer's disdainful gaze locked on his back, this only distracting him until Primo gets the upper hand and slams him to the mat, quickly running the ropes for momentum and dropping down on top of him, all of his body weight crashing on top of his chest and winding him.

Straining, Ricardo makes it to his feet and looks at the Mexican aristocrat, who seems uninterested in getting the tag. I'm in this virtually alone, he thinks, unable to do anything but watch as Primo tags in Epico and ducks back behind the turnbuckle. "Great," he mumbles, trying to refocus himself by slapping his hands together and shifting weight from one foot to the other.

Epico being fresh, he keeps the upperhand until Ricardo collapses onto the mat following a backbody slam, just in range of Del Rio. He still doesn't look up, eyes locked on the apron as his partner struggles to regain his footing. Epico tries to borrow from his cousin and strike Ricardo with a backcracker but Del Rio does start to pay attention here, glaring warningly at Ricardo as he grips the ropes in front of him to counter the move. His neck hurts as he's whipped backwards slightly despite his tight hold, and reaches out desperately for a tag.

He is yet again denied and painful realization that Alberto is not, will not take this seriously, despite his best attempts, overwhelms him. He is so distracted he doesn't notice until it's too late as the Colon cousin slips up behind him and trips him over, pinning him to the mat in a schoolboy. No matter how Ricardo struggles, his neck and midsection hurts to the point that he can't gain any traction or shoot his arm up, nothing. The three count happens before his very eyes and there's nothing he can do but watch, the horror of how far his relationship with Alberto had gone compounded only by the pain of losing in such a humilating manner.

He can just see Del Rio on the apron, looking down at him with disdain and calm indifference, obviously unsurprised by what he'd seen as a foregone conclusion. That Ricardo was nothing, couldn't cut it here, although... Although he had won a few matches since being so cruelly fired, had even set his gaze tentatively on the Intercontinental title before being called into the General Manager's office had disrupted everything.

But his thoughts are disturbed again when there's a collective response from the audience, cheers and vague chants that he thinks can't possibly be due to his loss, or Del Rio's lack of interest in helping him. He's still down on the mat, looking backwards towards the ramp, when his eyes finally clears and he realizes: AJ has shown herself, looking unhappily towards Alberto as he approaches the titantron, obviously determined to leave this mess of a match behind. "Hold on, Alberto," she tells him plainly, her lips twisting as he crosses his arms over his chest and glowers down at her, trying to intimidate her to let him through.

Despite her short stature, she holds her own as Ricardo watches from the ring, leaning against the ropes and catching his breath. She smirks up at his former employer, something dangerous in her dark eyes. "I don't think you gave this match your best. Ricardo, well, he tried at least. You, not so much. Do we need to go over the definition of a tag match again, hm?"

"No," he hisses, towering over her. He'd had issues with the young GM in the past, and is painfully aware of her mercurial moods. As if to prove his point for him, her expression changes to one much more cheerful as she smiles up at him, only adding to his unease.

"Good." She smiles up at him deceptively cheerfully before turning to point to the ring. "So you go back to the ring, we'll restart this little match, and we'll act like this never happened. Ok?"

He doesn't move and her eyes glint with danger. "If I don't?"

"Then I'll have no choice but to terminate your contract immediately," she tells him, a dangerous look in her eye now. "I can't continue to pay talent who won't listen to what I say. So get down there, and do your job. Now."

Their stare off continues until Del Rio snarls one last time at her and marches back towards the ring, glaring warningly over at Ricardo as he forces his way back into the ring. Epico and Primo reluctantly return, still feeling the high after their victory, but quickly fall back into competition as Del Rio starts off this time, clearly just wanting to wrap it all up easily and quickly, move on with his own goals.

But Epico and Primo have been tag partners a long time, cousins even longer, and they run circles around Alberto, who now seems determined to do all he can to not tag Ricardo in, despite how worn down he's slowly becoming while trying to keep up with the two highfliers who tag in and out often. He gets sloppy, and he eats not one, but two backcrackers, Primo's leaving him laying as Epico splashes him from the top rope and covers him. It's on a two when Ricardo slips through the ropes and dives, just breaking up the pin before the referee's hand could smack down for a three.

He's ignored as he slips back to his corner, watching quietly as Del Rio, visibly angry now at even needing his help, slams Epico into the post viciously. The younger Puerto Rican cries out and crumples, gripping his arm as Del Rio takes it a step further and kicks him hard in the shoulder, adding to his agony until he's almost apopleptic. It's over then, decidedly so, as Alberto twists his body around him and lunges back again and again, risking to wrench the appendage out of socket. Primo tries to come to his aid but Ricardo dashes in and clotheslines him back out of the ring, almost sending himself over in his hurry to ensure this victory.

When he hears the bell ring to show that Epico had tapped out, he turns around slowly and watches Alberto. He appears angry still, yes, but underneath it all lies a sort of relief. Relief that he'd finally won a match, relief that maybe he'd just broken his losing streak. But it all fades away when he realizes Ricardo is looking, his eyes squinting warningly as if to say to the former ring announcer that this is not his moment to celebrate, that it's only Alberto's victory. He sighs tiredly but doesn't respond to the challenge to ignore his silent dictate, only slips out of the ring and heads for the backstage area.

They may have won that match but it is abundantly clear that Alberto doesn't want anything to do with a true partnership. To be fair, Ricardo doesn't either. His life had been much less painful without Alberto in it, hurting him physically and emotionally at every step. But, if the GMs have their way, well...

"Are you satisfied now?" Del Rio all but screams at the woman and man staring impassively at him, his whole body tense. "I am no tag team competitor, I am a world champion caliber athlete. I do not belong in the same rankings as ... him." Ricardo says nothing, just stands by the door of the General Manager's office and listens, a faint look of hurt in his eyes.

AJ and Booker exchange glances before turning to face him once more. "We've talked it over," AJ tells him sweetly before turning to smile at Ricardo. "We agree that, with some time, you both could take the tag division by storm. So, no, we're not satisfied."

Del Rio goes scary still and Ricardo backs away slowly, knowing that bad things happen when the man gets like that. "What do you mean?" he demands through gritted teeth, dark gaze passing from GM to GM before resting on Ricardo, as if to say this was all his fault.

"She means we liked what we saw outta both of you tonight, and once you're on the same page, we think you'd be good partners for the tag division. I've had about all I can take of Team Hell No and their arguing," Booker says, raising an eyebrow as Alberto starts laughing derisively. "What, dawg?"

"You must be kidding. He and I as tag partners? He was barely satisfactory as ring announcer! You have seen him compete, no?" Sneering all the harder, Alberto makes sure he's looking Ricardo in the eye as he says this next part, voice dripping with venom. "He is nothing compared to the Mexican aristocrat. Never has been, never will be."

Despite Ricardo's heart breaking anew at his former best friend's callous words, he squares his shoulders and doesn't let the pain show as Del Rio's eyes bore into his, looking for any weakness. He doubts it'll be enough to earn any kind of respect from the horrible man, but it at least makes him feel a little bit better.

"Sorry you feel that way, man, but you're stuck with each other. Maybe, if you at least attempt to work together, your individual strengths will be highlighted." Booker seems unimpressed with the way Alberto is talking about the younger man, having seen a good amount of ability from him in the few short weeks he's been competing regularly, but his mind is made up.

AJ nods, ignoring the look on Alberto's face. "Now get out of my office."

Del Rio leaves first, slamming his way out of the room, and Ricardo looks from GM to GM, seeing no give in either of them, before he ventures out of the room too, his hands trembling slightly as he comes face to face with his former employer yet again.

"What do you want, perro?" Alberto demands, narrowed eyes flashing warningly as Ricardo watches him wearily. "Do not look at me, you do not deserve to look at me."

"We need to discuss-" he tries, knowing it's beyond futile. As long as Del Rio looks at and talks to him like that, nothing can be accomplished in their partnership. He's not sure what exactly the GMs are thinking, just that it will never work like this.

Disappointment resting across his shoulders like an overwhelming blanket, he turns slowly and leaves a still glowering Del Rio behind, unable to remain in his presence when he keeps acting in such a manner.

He doesn't hear from or see Alberto until just before the next Smackdown event, Booker T calling them both to his office before the event starts. He looks happy to see them, which Ricardo would find funny at any other time because he's sure he looks like he's walking towards the executioner's stand and Alberto looks like he'd rather be eating slop right now than sit here, waiting for the GM to declare his latest intentions. "Well, y'all did so well on Raw, I put you in a tag match tonight. I think AJ's right, Team Hell No's arguin' is on my last nerve too and if you both can continue to work together, you probably have a strong future in the tag division."

Del Rio's derisive laughter is ignored by Booker, who shoos them out of his office, and Ricardo closes his eyes as he ventures hesitantly out of the room, staring at the back of Alberto's boots. I don't know how this is supposed to work, we can't even be in the same room together for two minutes before I'm drowning in his hatred.

Their match that night is against the Usos and Ricardo shifts anxiously as the twins do their typical entrance before dashing to the ring, almost overwhelming Ricardo with their usual hyper antics. He swallows, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Alberto as the Mexican aristocrat slips out of the ring and glares at him warningly from their corner. Trying to refocus on Jey Uso, Ricardo turns his back on his former employer and waits for the bell to ring, immediately charging at his opponent once it does.

He eats a knee to the face and collapses to the mat, surprised by how quickly it'd happened, just for Jey to slam all of his mass on top of Ricardo's chest, winding him further, the sharp pain up his rib cage making it all the worse for him. He covers and gets a two count, but when he dislodges himself and rolls back towards his corner, it gives the former ring announcer time to recover briefly, get to his feet. As they square off again, he can just feel the disdain from Del Rio's gaze, causing him to shudder.

As the larger man comes lunging towards him, he ducks aside and turns in time to see Jey, unable to stop, rush into the turnbuckle near Alberto and just stand there, winded. Despite his being in perfect position for a sneak attack from Alberto, the Mexican aristocrat doesn't make a move, in fact slips away from the twin and watches beadily as Ricardo, smarting from both the beating he's been taking and Del Rio's lack of interest in helping, again, rushes over and grips the man by his hair, dragging him out of the corner and trying to hit a neckbreaker on him. Jey reverses however, landing all of his weight once more on top of the smaller man, and Ricardo grimaces, just barely able to roll onto his stomach before another pin attempt is made.

He struggles and scrambles over to the opposite side of the ring, trying to tag in Alberto, but he isn't even looking and the opportunity disappears as quickly as it'd come, Jey tagging in Jimmy and the two working together to drag Ricardo back to the middle of the ring, where Jimmy hits a rough elbow to the former ring announcer's sternum, winding him yet again. Now, when he looks up, Alberto is watching, a dangerous gleam in his eye. Ricardo winces and struggles, desperate not to lose, not because of Del Rio's disinterest in assisting him like a proper tag partner would.

How he makes it to his feet, he's not sure, but he does and it's purely a last-ditch effort on his part as he lunges to his corner and slaps Del Rio's chest, immediately collapsing as soon as the referee confirms the tag. He can tell without looking that Alberto is fuming but he can't do anything about it now; if he'd not made that tag, they would've lost and things would be much worse for them both. At least now, hopefully, Alberto will have no choice but to actually see this match through to the end.

And he does, kneeing Jimmy in the face and kicking Jey off of the apron. A quick shoulder-to-the-apron and Jimmy's down, struggling against the mat and that's all it takes as Del Rio locks in his armlock and wrenches back viciously, causing the Uso to cry out in pain before tapping desperately, kicked aside when Alberto lunges to his feet and stares into Ricardo's startled eyes. "That, perro, is how it's done," he spits before leaving the ring without waiting for Ricardo's response.

Ricardo releases a desperate breath before stepping back onto the floor and making his way slowly, sadly up the ramp. A part of him had hoped that Alberto would accept their partnership, no matter how roughly he'd been forced into it, but the more time that passes, the less hope he has that this will come to fruition. If not for their careers on the line, he's certain that Alberto wouldn't even give this a second thought and leave him to lose and get destroyed by the many groups that they're competing against until AJ had exhausted all of her options against Team Hell No.

The weekend following thankfully passes quietly and, for the first time in quite awhile, Ricardo finds himself dreading going to work like he's heading to a firing squad. Which, considering Alberto's combustible temper, might not be far from the truth if this keeps going on much longer. They all meet inside of AJ's office yet again and the girl examines the two men, her lips twisted thoughtfully. Finding nothing but disdain in Alberto's gaze, and a deep sadness in Ricardo's, she sighs. "Still not a cohesive team yet, I see. Well, I'm not ready to give up on you two yet. Where the other teams have failed, I'm sure you two can succeed."

Alberto scoffs. "Delusional."

Her eyes flash and Ricardo grimaces, afraid of what may befall them due to Alberto's loose tongue this time. "Watch yourself, Alberto. You're heading down very troublesome waters, we know what happens then, don't we?" As he glowers at her, her mood changes on a dime again and she smiles toothily at them both. "Alright, so your match tonight will be against..."

Justin Gabriel and Tyson Kidd. Ricardo isn't sure whether to be relieved or horrified. The two men are an excellent tag team, with timing in their joint moves that leaves most tag teams foaming at the mouth with jealousy. He wishes that he and Alberto could be like that someday, but he has a feeling they never will be. It doesn't help much that the trainer looks blatantly displeased at the end of his latest examination of Ricardo, watching the young man closely as he checks his rib cage. "Are you taping these like your doctor had ordered you to?"

He wants to say yes but knows it'd only take a quick check of his matches to show that, indeed, he hadn't been. His singlet would show the protective wrapping and he'd not wanted to put yet another bullseye on his chest, especially when in Alberto's presence. "No," he murmurs in shame, not able to look the trainer in the eye as he immediately stands and grabs the heavyduty tape used for this purpose. He wants to protest but knows to do so means that he'll never be able to leave this office again, and so he stays quiet, obliges the trainer as he wraps him up almost painfully tight.

"If you can't do it on your own, come to me. I'll do it for you. The last thing you'll want is getting hurt worse. Let those ribs heal, all of these moonsaults aren't helping things any." Underneath the annoyed tone of voice lies something Ricardo isn't sure he's ever seen aimed in his direction in the past in the older man's expression.

As he nods and collects his things, quickly leaving the room, he thinks it may have been sincere worry. But as soon as he prepares to leave for the match, he knows this can't stand. Del Rio will see the tape, piece things together, and yell at the GMs for forcing him into a partnership with a lameduck partner, who could become incapacitated at any time due to his lingering injuries, and then what would happen to his career? Glancing from left to right, he pauses next to a trash can and tears at the tape, shredding it off of his body before stuffing it into the container. Knowing that this has the potential to end badly in a multitude of ways, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before shaking himself loose of these thoughts and turning for the gorilla position.

He barely hears his music as he makes it outside, peering into the ring where Tyson and Justin stand, waiting for their opponents, both grinning nonchalantly as they talk back and forth, looking confident and like they don't have a care in the world. He envies them their simple relationship, no obvious drama or tension between them. This only intensifies when Del Rio storms down the ramp, right past him without a glance. His eyes are dark with displeasure and he says nothing before climbing into the apron, ignoring their opponents as he enters the ring and climbs onto the top rope, peering suspiciously around at the crowd with a sneer as Ricardo enters behind him.

No prompting is needed as Alberto hops off of the rope and glowers over at Ricardo, the former ring announcer knowing immediately what his intent is. Hands up in submission, he climbs between the ropes, standing back to watch as his reluctant tag partner immediately lunges at Tyson Kidd, catching the smaller superstar by surprise as the bell rings to note the beginning of the match. The ref lets him go for a bit, before finally getting involved and trying to force separation between the two men when Del Rio refuses to let up on a volley of kicks and punches, risking disqualification. Thankfully he seems to understand where the divide is and backs away when the official begins to get vocally angry, giving Tyson enough time to answer positively to the referee's questions about his well-being before he's back on him, sending him into Ricardo's corner with a vicious set of kicks that leaves him winded against the turnbuckle.

Ricardo isn't sure if this will get Alberto more angry at him or not but he doesn't fully care, taking the opportunity as Del Rio and the referee argue anew, to elbow Tyson quickly in the skull before kicking him in the knee between the ropes, sending him to the mat as he grips at his throbbing appendage. If his former employer notices, he opts to ignore it and takes advantage, rushing forward once Tyson has gotten gingerly to his feet and landing a brutal enziguiri that causes Tyson to crumble the rest of the way to the mat, Del Rio brutally kicking him in the shoulder a few times to loosen it up for the armbar, when Justin tries to intercede. The referee has him before he takes another step, but Ricardo doesn't want to take any chances and lunges across the ring quickly, throwing him back out of the ring and all the way to the floor into the barricade wall, quickly diving back to his corner so the referee will pay attention to the application of the armbar, and Tyson's inevitable tapping out.

He knows better than to even approach the ring while Del Rio is celebrating his success so he drops slowly from the apron, his side tight and enflamed with pain. Wondering when- if ever- his ribs will heal, considering his current schedule, he trudges back up the ramp and turns slowly at the top, finding his former employer staring back at him from behind the ring ropes, an unreadable expression on his face. He can't make himself care about what Alberto could possibly be thinking right now, desperate for some relaxation and rest, and walks through the curtain, looking forward to getting back to his hotel for some much needed sleep. He knows it won't be enough to fix his ribs but for a wild moment, he hopes it would.

That Smackdown, Booker can't even be bothered to relay the news personally, leaving it to Teddy Long to tell them their opponents this evening will be Hunico and Camacho. Del Rio sneers and walks away, obviously unimpressed, as Ricardo nods faintly and, following him from a distance, rubs at the tape under his plain black shirt, quickly moving his hand away when Alberto turns to glare suspiciously at him. "Que?"

"Why are you following me?"

"We've been assigned the same locker room again tonight," he mumbles, flushing faintly while unsurprised that Alberto had outright ignored that bit of Booker's message. "I need to get ready for the match too."

Rolling his eyes yet again, Del Rio spins around and storms off, his vicious Spanish mumbles about how he shouldn't bother since Alberto does most of the work in these matches anyway finding its way back to Ricardo, searing into his brain as he forces himself to walk behind the man, trying to not dwell on his painful words. He's not even sure how he'll get rid of the tape that the trainer had once more forced on him without Alberto noticing, but he'll figure it out. He shudders as more of Alberto's words flow through his ears, leaving him feeling lower than low. He knows he could perhaps do more, if not for Del Rio's anger and his own physical shortcomings due to his ribs right now, but it still hurts to hear just how little his former employer thinks of him.

But things do slowly work in his favor as Alberto immediately goes to the bathroom, the main room only holding a few guys who seem content to ignore Ricardo as he reaches under his shirt and tears at the tape, pulling it viciously off of his midsection. It's awkward and causes more pain to flare through his body but he resists reacting to it, using Del Rio's words as fuel to work through it and discard it just before his forced partner comes back out and begins to change into his wrestling gear, Ricardo quietly moving to do the same across the room. They're ready at the same time but neither acknowledge the other as Alberto heads for the door, the younger man following him quietly.

Hunico and Camacho are waiting for them as they head individually to the ring, their fellow Mexican competitors mumbling to each other as Ricardo's music fades away, his turn to start the match as he glowers across at the much taller Camacho, who seems unconcerned. Beyond tired of being constantly ignored, Ricardo rushes forward and sweeps him with a forearm before kicking him in the knee, stepping back to land another kick on his upperbody, but Camacho catches his leg and sweeps his other leg out from under him, sending him crashing onto the ring with a rattling impact that sends more stabbing pain up his ribcage. He gasps and chokes, trying not to grip the injured area, but as he rolls towards Alberto, he just stares down at him, his lips pursed tightly.

Ricardo groans through the pain and humiliation of once more being ignored by his partner, all thoughts wiped clean when Camacho leans down and grabs him by the hair, pulling him up roughly. When the referee begins complaining about letting his hair go, the fairly new wrestler nods brusquely and releases Ricardo just to knee him roughly in the kidneys, sending him face first into the turnbuckle that Alberto is leaning against with a bored look on his face. Forcing himself up, the former ring announcer locks eyes with him, actually seeing some sort of uncertainty in his eyes for the first time in a long time. "Por favor," he grunts as Camacho walks towards him lazily like a cat stalking its prey. The resulting tag is far from gentle, but it gets Ricardo out of the ring and he's relieved as he slumps down against the apron, trying to catch his breath through the agony coursing through his chest.

When Del Rio proves too much for Camacho, Hunico tries interceding but Alberto snaps his head back with a vicious kick, immediately returning his focus to the larger man, tangling his arm up in the Armbar. Ricardo watches, breathless with pain and exhaustion, as finally he taps and the match goes to them. He barely has the energy to stand afterwards, stares from the apron as Alberto's hand is lifted in victory and he looks over at his former ring announcer with a sneer, the repetitive message from their first tag match loud and clear. But Ricardo's ribs are throbbing, mixing in with the pain from the kidney shot earlier, that he doesn't care very much about what Del Rio thinks of him right now.

So he stands quietly and listens as Alberto once more talks about how worthless he is as a tag partner, so easily injured that he can't even take one kidney blow before crumpling, and though it hurts, he's learned a long time ago to focus elsewhere when Del Rio gets going on one of these insulting tangents, turning his attention to the breath-rending agony thrumming through his ribcage, up his chest. He knows it's bad, and it's not getting any better, probably even worse, but his hands are tied: he refuses to allow Alberto to see just how injured he truly is, and he refuses to give in and allow his abdomen to be taped up through matches. He can tell it's not enough to keep him from competing, considering he keeps getting cleared, so he decides to put it behind him and just continue on. There's not much left to do now anyway, just a handful of shows left before the PPV they're supposed to get their tag title opportunity at. He can make it. He knows he can.

After a couple days of rest- not enough, but gives him the illusion of feeling better, though he knows that at the first move, he'll be yet again biting his tongue to not dissolve in screams of agony- he's back at Raw, standing in the ring through Del Rio's entrance. The Mexican aristocrat still looks far from impressed but their opponents are the Primetime Players tonight, and he can only hurt so much at once, so he tries to concentrate on the tag match upcoming. Alberto barely looks at him as he walks around the ring, immediately taking the apron, so Ricardo knows he'll be starting the match, his dread growing. I can't mess this up, not now. We're so close...

He tries a power struggle in the middle of the ring but O'Neil isn't interested, immediately shoulderchecking him and winding him, sending him to the mat as the rough, stabbing pain up his ribcage returns. He wheezes and collapses to his knee, gripping his side, and can just feel Del Rio's gaze on him, heavy with disdain and ugliness. Shaking it off the best he can, he forces himself back to his feet and punches Titus solidly, following it up with a kick and then a knee to the face. Simple offense, almost primitive, but effective as he gains some distance, sucking in greedy breaths of air. Titus, angered, rushes towards him once more but he sidesteps and snags his ankle, sending him crashing down to the mat in front of Del Rio in a drop toehold. Needing more time to recover, he slings around and locks in a sleeperhold, closing his eyes as oxygen flows easier into his body. He knows it won't be enough, but it'll give him a minute- all he needs is a minute, that's-

Except that Titus is stubborn, a vicious fighter when his back is against the wall, and his fingers are digging into Ricardo's side, eventually scraping against his weak ribcage and he gasps, struggling to hold on against the pain but it's all too much, O'Neil smelling blood when Ricardo shudders against him, and applies more pressure, the former ring announcer gritting his teeth as he can feel his ribs grinding together, the sensation and sound making him feel almost as ill as the pain itself. "No," he groans, knowing that he can't hold on any longer. Releasing the sleeperhold is almost more painful than his sternum as he forces himself to his feet and staggers into his corner, breathless, hot and drenched in a cold sweat all at once. All in all, he feels awful and knows he probably won't receive any assistant from his tag partner, until-

A rough slap on his shoulder that almost sends him to the floor, his already tedious balance off, but he just barely keeps his feet as the referee acknowledges the unkind tag, Del Rio entering the ring and glaring at him until he somehow pieces together the energy to scramble through the ropes and leans on the ropes on his knees, trying to focus as Alberto holds off Titus with rough enziguiris and knees, slamming Darren as well when he tries to intercede on his partner's behalf. Despite how the Primetime Players try to regroup, it all goes quickly from there as Del Rio slams O'Neil's arm against his knees, weakening him for the armbar, which he locks in so smoothly that Ricardo blinks and misses the exact execution of the move, but is watching as the large man taps desperately, his arm twisted at an unnatural, painful angle.

As the referee forces him to release the move, Alberto sneers at Ricardo, wrenching back once more to prove his point before releasing it and sliding clear out of the ring without a backwards glance. As soon as he's out of sight, the ring announcer sinks to the floor and grimly wanders to the back, a tight arm held to his midsection as he tries to ignore the pain and depression that this whole situation is bringing him. Though Del Rio had never been an easy person to get along with, he misses his employer the way he used to be, at least somewhat friendly to him at times. Not this, not so full of hate and disgust whenever he looks at Ricardo.

Another lecture from the trainer and Ricardo nods through it grimly, not listening to the flood of words from the man's mouth as he wanders back and forth while examining him, finally wrapping the tape roughly around the young man's midsection. He murmurs ascent when the trainer reinforces that he needs to keep his ribs taped so they have some support, taking as deep a breath as possible once he's left to pull his shirt on and leave. But he can't, they're so close right now, and he can't face Del Rio easily now as it is, if it became well-known just how badly injured he still is, he'd be laughed right out of the ring by the uncaring Mexican aristocrat. So, ignoring the throbbing pain that greets him as soon as his ribs are unprotected again, he tears the tape off sharply and tosses it into the nearest trash bin before smoothing his shirt out and going to meet his former employer at the GM's office.

AJ stares from man to man, her dark eyes observing everything about them, before grinning as if she enjoys the looks on their faces. "Well, your match tonight..." She teases them, pausing for long moments before releasing a soft breath, turning her back to them, seeming to lose interest in their blank stares. "Kofi and R-Truth," she finally admits. "Have fun." She waves them out of the room and Ricardo stares over at his former employer, feeling uncomfortable with this- Truth and Kofi's friendship outside of the ring is well-known, champions until just recently, and he feels a faint ache deep inside, wishing that Del Rio and he had ever had a friendship like that too.

Del Rio sneers at the general manager and leaves, not even glancing once over at Ricardo as he storms out of the room, heading straight for the locker room. Ricardo quietly follows, trying not to dwell on how sharp pains stab up his core through his chest with each step, making breathing difficult. It'd steadily been getting worse, especially after each match, but he knows he can't worry about that. It'll be over with soon, and then he can maybe have a better chance at resting. Though, looking once more at his enraged former employer, he begins to doubt even that...

Working through it, he changes painfully into his wrestling gear and only just stops himself from groaning aloud as his arms fall back to his sides, biting his lip desperately. He's not sure that Del Rio would care one way or another, or even notice, but he'd rather not have to discuss his condition with his former employer, risk the trainer getting involved, or anything else. Once they make it to the ring, Truth and Kofi are already waiting for them, laughing and chatting like they'd been partnering up all of their lives. Ricardo swallows a thrill of envy as Alberto continues to ignore him, opting to start this match off with a sneer as he barely jerks his head at the younger man to go back behind the tag rope and wait.

Kofi meets him halfway, the two men locking up in the middle of the ring, but Del Rio gets the upperhand early, overpowering Kofi and elbowing him in the face before snapping him in the temple with an early enziguiri, sending him stumbling back towards the turnbuckle but before he can get too close to Truth, Alberto grabs his arm and snaps it over his knees, obviously trying to weaken him, end the match early and show that he doesn't need Ricardo for this, or any other, match. The former ring announcer closes his eyes against the pain this realization brings him, taking a moment before forcing himself to continue watching the action.

But Truth isn't ready to give it up this easily and, when Del Rio locks in the armbar, Truth rushes in and does his spinning slam, forcing the air out of Alberto, who flails and slams a fist against the mat as Kofi gets free and tries for the tag- just for Ricardo to intercept, running around the ring and pulling Truth off of the ring apron, quickly moving back to his own corner as the referee yells at him to do so. This leaves Kofi without a tag partner and Alberto gives the armbar another chance, lunging back again and again on Kofi's already injured arm, giving him no choice but to tap or risk serious injury. Instead of lurking on the apron, watching on yet again as his former employer celebrates the win as if he'd managed it alone, Ricardo slips down to the floor and walks slowly around the ring, up the ramp and to the back. Not glancing back even once, he misses a flash of uncertainty on the older man's face as he watches him leave.

"Your next opponents are Heath Slater and Drew McIntyre," AJ tells them the following Raw after they get the week's Smackdown off for whatever reason, tilting her head when neither man respond. She laughs abrasively and shakes her head. "Cheer up, boys. If you win this match, you'll go on to face Rey Mysterio and Sin Cara for #1 contendership to the tag titles."

Alberto's mood still remains sour, however, and Ricardo's in too much pain to care, his eyes dull as they once more head out to the ring. He has no doubt that they will survive this match, then the next, and... From there, he can't tell if they'd actually manage to eak out a victory against Team Hell No, but either way, it's three more matches that he'll have to muddle his way through, while feeling like his midsection is going to crack apart with every step. He sighs, shakes his head and tries to refocus his thoughts onto the match ahead as Drew and then Heath enters the ring, the four men staring each other down until Drew and Heath finish discussing who will get to begin, Heath finally exiting the ring to allow the Scot to begin the match, Del Rio ignoring Ricardo as he takes the apron as well.

Ricardo forces himself to focus on anything but the agony stabbing through his midsection, rolling his eyes as the three men do their air guitar taunts, Heath whoo-ing from the apron as Drew lunges forward and catches the former ring announcer by surprise with the lockup, his grip wavering almost immediately as the taller man takes control and shifts his hold, locking his arms around Ricardo's waist, winding him even worse than he'd already been to start with. The pain is burning, vicious, and he almost feels like crying, but he can feel Del Rio's dark gaze on the back of his neck and he knows it can't end this way, not with McIntyre, not like this, so he fights. Struggles with everything inside of him, finally managing a kick to Drew's knee that makes his strength waver. Another and another and finally he lands a solid shot that kills the Scot's balance, sending him sideways and loosening his hold enough to stumble away to safety.

Breathing heavily, Ricardo closes his eyes and turns towards Del Rio, unsurprised when he doesn't look interested at all in tagging in. His face falling, the younger man turns back to the action and sighs, finding that Heath has tagged in and is smirking as he circles Ricardo, finally nearing him enough to punch out, striking him in the side of the face and staggering him. Collecting himself as best as he can, as quickly as he can, he rushes forward and, working through the remaining pain coursing through his veins, he kicks Heath in the midsection before somehow succeeding at lifting his knee enough to catch a bent Heath in the jaw, surprising the ginger before staggering back towards his corner, unable to take any more of this and needing a breather while Heath and Drew exchange words with Jinder on the outside, the three of them eyeing Ricardo warily while Heath too catches his breath.

It's with some surprise that Ricardo feels a rough slap to his shoulder a moment later, Alberto immediately entering the ring and staring at him darkly until Ricardo realizes that he'd tagged himself in, his eyes widening as he ducks behind the ring rope, watching with no lack of trepidation when Del Rio faces off with Drew McIntyre, the Scot locking up with him and coming out the lesser, sent nearly to his knees during his struggles as Alberto overpowers him into the corner and punches an approaching Heath off of the apron, slinging McIntyre over his shoulder before making it back to his feet and kicking him solidly in the jaw when he stands up, the sound reverberating through the arena, everyone wincing in response. The following two-count only seems to make Del Rio angrier and he aims his next kick to Drew's arm, beginning to wear him down for the armbar.

But the fight isn't all out of the member of 3MB, his fingers scraping and prodding until he finds Alberto's face and digs into his eyes, sending him stumbling backwards, off balanced as he tries to blink his eyes open, his vision blurry while his eyes water against the intrusion. Ricardo's midsection is still lit in pain and he can't imagine getting into the ring but as McIntyre, ignoring the referee's rebukes, tags Heath back in, the ginger immediately rushing after his former employer, Ricardo knows that he needs to get involved. Lunging in through the ropes, he keeps one hand on the tag rope while slapping Del Rio on the shoulder and entering the ring with no lack of tredipation as he eyes the most obnoxious member of the pseudo-rock band, the air guitar taunt thrown his way barely registering with him as he considers what to do now that he's actually in, considering his limited moveset in lieu of his injuries.

He somehow manages to snag Heath in an armdrag, sending him down to the mat and wrenching back on his arm, feeling some satisfaction as Slater struggles and squirms, desperate not to let his appendage get locked in an uncomfortable position, but Ricardo is running on fumes and tenacity, determined to finish this soon so he fights through Heath's attempts at reversing the hold and laces his fingers between Heath's, twisting his arm back. Slater tries even more, scooting wildly towards the ropes, but he's inadvertantly heading towards Ricardo's corner and, thus, Del Rio, not that the past ring announcer thinks his former employer will be any kind of assistance- until he's inches away from the bottom rope when Alberto grabs Heath's hand and tangles him up in the rope in an impromptu hanging armbar with him half off of the apron, leaving Ricardo wrenching on one arm and Del Rio trying to snap the other, Heath's yells of pain only punctuated by the referee counting them towards five. At four, both release at the same time, Alberto rolling off of the apron and landing on the floor, his and Ricardo's eyes locking for a moment, some unreadable expression passing between the two, before Heath stands, wobbly, and Ricardo takes the advantage, rushing forward and kicking him solidly in the face, snapping his head to the side before scooping him up in an impromptu schoolboy and cementing the victory for them.

He staggers back to his feet and just barely grabs onto the top rope, his ribcage feeling like it's about to crumble to dust inside of him as he struggles to take in a deep breath, his head spinning. This isn't good, he thinks desperately, burying his face in the crook of his arm even as the referee asks if he's ok, the man's voice barely audible over the rushing in his ears. He nods a time or two, finally drawing in a strained breath and almost collapses at the pain it causes him, forcing himself to repeat the action before standing up straight. "I'm fine," he says in a dull voice. "I'm fine." Repeating it a third time, he brushes past the official and rolls out of the ring, eyes slipping shut as his feet hit the ground. The trainer barely waits for him to return to his office before lecturing him for a long, tense few minutes, warning him that if he keeps competing like this, it won't end well, but he just nods through it all, barely registering what the man's saying. He's aware of everything the man thinks, but he's also determined to make it through the week, Smackdown and the pay per view all that's standing between him and finally finishing the road he'd been pushed onto weeks back thanks to the General Managers.

He's cleared after the trainer hems and haws over his injured midsection, visibly trying to find something- anything- that would keep him from entering the ring but all he can find is the broken ribs and many competitors have fought through similar injuries with nothing serious happening, so he has no precedence to keep the man out of the ring, staring at him unhappily as Ricardo stands up, resting his hands on his freshly taped up chest. As he leaves, he thanks the man, unaware when he shakes his head, disgusted. "Don't thank me," he mutters, setting back to angrily reorganizing his storage cabinet. Outside in the hall, Ricardo looks left to right before tearing the tape from his body once more, gingerly stuffing it into the nearest trash can before continuing on his way.

Friday comes slowly, Ricardo thrumming with need to see this through, finish it already. He's not sure if he'll be able to hold it together long enough to see him and Alberto through to the tag titles, but he's determined to at least try, no matter how much Alberto may hate him. They meet up with Booker, the Smackdown General Manager confirming to them that they'd be competing against Rey and Sin Cara in the number 1 contendership match that AJ had mentioned on Raw. He's midsentence when something registers with him and he looks over at Ricardo, frowning. "You a'ight, dawg? You look kind of pale."

Uncomfortable with all eyes now locked on him, especially Del Rio's shrewd gaze, he nods sharply, clinging to the last threads of his act. His rib pain had come and gone over the past few days, rest helping slightly as it had in the weeks prior, but he knows it'll return with a vengeance as soon as he enters the ring. His only comfort is perhaps after this match, and the PPV, title defenses will be a little more sparingly than the match schedule they'd been keeping and he'd have time for them to recover more. "Si, I'm fine. You were saying?"

Neither Booker or Teddy look assured by his words, but they let it go, Booker finishing up what he'd been saying about the match- not that Ricardo had been able to concentrate, his ribs throbbing just enough that he can't focus on the details, but he notices when the General Manager concludes with, "This match is next, so get ready, dawgs!"

Fantastic, Ricardo thinks as he follows his former employer out of the room. Once they're in the ring, the entrances are concluded and he's standing across from Rey and Sin Cara, the four Mexicans waiting for someone to make the first move, tensions high in the ring, Alberto waves dismissively at Ricardo, who understands this well by now and takes the apron in some relief, closing his eyes as he tries to keep his hands from gripping the pain spreading outwards from his ribcage just at the small movement of leaning over to get through the ropes. Rey starts, trying to use his highflying and speed to keep the larger man from getting much offense in, but Alberto regains the upperhand after a failed flip following Rey wrapping his legs around Alberto's neck, using his momentum against him and slamming him viciously down to the mat.

As Rey writhes at his feet, Del Rio kicks him in the arm again and again, trying to weaken his appendage for an upcoming armbar, when Sin Cara enters the ring. Ricardo, however, has him, tackling him wildly and sending him into the ringropes. A kick and another and the masked man tumbles to the apron, only just holding on to the top rope as Ricardo ignores the referee's rebukes. Unfortunately the action catches up with him when he tries to take a running start, intending to shoulder the other man clear to the floor, but his own weakness and Sin Cara's quick thinking, snagging his singlet and dragging him along for the fall, causes him to faceplant viciously into the mat outside, his whole body throbbing with the rough landing, Sin Cara winded next to him only a minor bit of comfort as they lay next to each other, dazed.

While he's out on the floor, he misses what's happening in the ring, but he is aware of the referee yelling at him and Sin Cara both to get back to their corners so he painfully crawls on his hands and knees around the ring, too dizzy to stand but still trying to get to the other side of the apron, take his place in the match back, when he hears a loud commotion over his head, looking up just to find Del Rio kneeling limply against the ropes in prime positioning to take a 619. Fear seizing the former ring announcer at the very prospect of it all just slipping through their fingers in the final act, he somehow finds his feet and lunges forward, pushing Alberto away from the ropes, to safety. Unfortunately the desperation fueling his actions sends him partially through the ropes into the ring, his back kept vulnerable and he slumps, too weary to move to untangle himself. Rey, not even bothering to stop despite Alberto now laying on the mat, completes the 619, his boots snapping across Ricardo's midsection from the back and sending his front whiplashing against the ungiving ropes. It's an unbelievable, burning pain that instantly follows this attack, leaving the younger man keening desperately as he writhes across the second rope, trying to ease the pure agony vibrating from his ribcage front to back and failing. He's lost in the red haze of overwhelming pain but he's pretty sure he'd felt another of his ribs snap at Rey's attack, his breathing labored as he collapses against the ropes, tears filling his dark eyes.

He's barely able to focus but he does see as Rey stares down at him, a flash of uncertainty in his eyes that disappears when Del Rio regains some of his composure and grips Mysterio's arm, tangling him up viciously in the armbar. He pulls and tears nonstop until the Mexican has no choice but to tap, the match concluding right before Ricardo's wavering eyes. He continues to lean against the ropes, watching Alberto celebrate their win as he struggles even to get down one painful, horrible breath. Del Rio's eyes are locked on his, his brow furrowed, but he makes no move to check on the younger man or help. Unsurprised, Ricardo slowly untangles himself from the apron, falling to the floor below with a pained grunt. Alberto leaves the ring and continues up the ramp, once more paying no mind to the injured man behind him and Ricardo, off-balanced and feeling like he's swallowing knives with each ragged breath, slowly follows him, his vision filling with dark spots, which only makes it harder to keep his balance.

He's halfway up the ramp when he feels the last of his strength leave him, his every breath still painful and only growing worse with each inclining step. His knees beginning to buckle, he stretches a hand out to the retreating back of Alberto, and somehow finds the oxygen and strength to force out, "El Patron," before he hits the ramp knees first. He's not sure if somehow Del Rio had heard him- when he hadn't heard himself over the nonstop buzzing in his ears- or had seen the audience's response to his collapse out of the corner of his eye, but finally the Mexican aristocrat turns around and peers back at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as they stare at each other. Alberto is walking back towards him, saying something with an impatient look on his face, when something seems to click with him- a glimmer of worry passes across his face and he holds a hand out, as if expecting Ricardo to grab it, stand up, be fine. But he can't, and he's not. Del Rio's just turned to yell something over his shoulder- for help, perhaps- when everything goes dark. Ricardo loses consciousness.

Del Rio acts on instinct, forgotten protectiveness welling to the surface after weeks of his ignoring it and he lunges forward, skidding to his knees in time to grip the former ring announcer before he can hit the floor. Everything had happened so quickly- he'd heard Ricardo's voice faintly over the crowd and just knew something was wrong, but he hadn't expected it to be this serious. He cups the back of the younger man's head, supporting his upperbody and feeling the struggle he continues to have just to take in each ragged breath against Alberto's side, and looks around wildly. "Help! We need help here! Trainer?! Where's the perro trainer-" And finally the man arrives, urging Del Rio to lay the younger man down on the cool steel, immediately pressing searching hands along his ribcage and chest. "What's wrong with him?!"

The trainer stares at him oddly. "He never told you?" He shakes his head. "Foolish..." Taking a breath, he continues feeling along his midsection for a moment longer before pulling away, grabbing his bag and dragging it closer. As he digs through, he attempts to explain. "Broken ribs. I believe it started the night that you fired him. Seems he has at least one new one from this match here." Not noticing the look of sharp realization on Del Rio's face followed by blossoming guilt, he finds what he needs in his bag and hesitates over Ricardo's chest, glancing up. "Based on breath sounds and how he's laboring, I'd say his lung was punctured as a result. This may be a little gruesome so you might want to look away." Alberto blinks, realizing he has a knife in hand, shaking his head in confusion before the trainer leans over and makes a small incision, quickly inserting a tube into the man's chest. Del Rio looks like he's about to scream at the older man for the impromptu surgery here, of all places, when he looks at his former ring announcer and realizes: his breathing seems easier, somehow.

"What did you do?" he asks faintly, watching his chest rise and fall, his inhales and exhales less ragged, more full. "Is he going to be ok?"

The trainer continues to monitor Ricardo as he says something into his headset, similar to what the referees wear to relay information to people in the back. "We'll be transfering him to a hospital soon, he needs monitoring and care that I can't provide here. I've done what I can, and EMTs will be here shortly-" Before he can even say anything else, the emergency staff he'd mentioned push a stretcher through the curtain, stopping it next to Ricardo before they begin to prepare him for transport.

Alberto stands aside, watching as they work more over the pale young man, making sure he's strapped in securely before pushing him up the rest of the way to the backstage area, moving through the halls to the loading area where the ambulance is waiting. EMTs are almost inside when Del Rio finally finds his voice after following them quietly through the whole building, holding his hand up. "I want to accompany him. I- I'm his tag partner," he spits out, the words sounding foreign to him. "Please." After some discussion between the EMTs, one of them nods at him and he quickly pulls himself up onto the van, sitting next to Ricardo's cot. He doesn't touch him, nor say anything, but simply sits there and watches as he breathes on, an oxygen mask helping along with the chest tube.

When they arrive at the hospital, things move quickly once more, the EMTs leading the stretcher through halls to a room that Alberto stops outside of, staring in through a window as nurses and orderlies help getting him settled onto a bed, quickly setting up leads to the machines surrounding the bed as the EMTs explain what they'd observed, had done and everything in between. He considers trying to sneak inside but he knows he probably won't get too far at this point, and on top of that... he can't help but feel like he doesn't really belong. Not after everything he'd done, ignoring the younger man, barely bothering to concentrate on their actual tag matches, treating him as cruelly as he possibly could. He shakes his head and stares at his hands, wondering how, after all of that, in his time of need, Ricardo could still call him El Patron, like he used to when they were actually something resembling friends... He groans and scrapes his hands along his skull, pacing back and forth in front of the door when finally people begin to leave the room, each of them shooting the distressed Mexican an odd look.

Finally a nurse stops in front of him and looks back into the room. "Are you friends with Mr. Rodriguez?" she asks, tilting her head as he looks back at her, expression unreadable.

"We're tag partners," he says dully, not sure if he's ever really earned the title of friend with the poor man past those doors. "Is... is he going to be alright?"

"He's stable," she hedges. "We've sedated him, and we'll keep him under a day or two, to keep him from moving around and causing himself more harm while his lung heals."

Alberto nods, seeing the sense behind this. "May I... see him? Just... for a short while?" She examines him for a moment before nodding, stepping aside so he can enter the room. He nods at her in relief, taking a breath and brushing his fingers through his hair, stabilizing himself. As soon as he pushes the door open, it hits him anew- just how pale, vulnerable Ricardo is, hooked up to machines, his lips parted beneath the oxygen mask they'd fitted him with upon arriving. Thin hospital sheets and a hospital gown cover his damaged midsection, but Alberto doesn't need to see it to know the extent of what he's caused. He sits down next to the bed and hesitantly leans closer, his hand hovering over Ricardo's before he shakes his head, folding both of his hands into his lap and sitting up straight, unable to shake the feeling that the last thing the former ring announcer needs is his touch or presence. "What have I done?"

The hours pass slowly, Alberto eventually urged out of the hospital room by the nurses who are determined to make him get some sleep outside of the hospital, but he refuses to leave the building, spending the night either slumped in the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room or pacing around whenever he feels too jittery to sit. He doesn't sleep a wink, spending the time reflecting on the weeks he and Ricardo had partnered up, all of the matches that they'd competed in where he'd been unaware of just how badly the younger man's health really was. He shudders and closes his eyes, going back and forth on demanding why Ricardo hadn't just told him but understanding in the end why he didn't- Alberto had been far from sympathetic before he'd fired him, why would this be any different, especially when he hadn't wanted a tag partner to begin with?

When visiting hours begin again, he glances towards Ricardo's room and weighs going in to see him. The pay per view being held the next night is in the neighboring state of Indiana, a few hours' drive... so he has plenty of time. Not that he's exactly in any hurry to leave Ricardo behind in Ohio anyway... He sighs and paces a time or two more before approaching the nurse's desk. "May I go in?" he asks the nurse there, almost hoping that she denies him, that he'll have more time to think about what to say or do. But when she looks up, she smiles and nods, her lips forming a positive response that he can't really hear over the volume of his own thoughts. "Gracias," he murmurs, distracted as he turns back to the door blocking him from his former ring announcer.

Ricardo is still motionless, the soft hiss of the oxygen being filtered into his nose the main noise in the room, even covering the beeps of the machines monitoring him. Or perhaps it just seems that way to Del Rio, since his focus is so locked on the tubes fitting around the younger man's face towards the mask covering the lower half of his face. He hesitantly sits in the chair next to the bed once more, watching Ricardo for seconds, minutes ... hours... Nurses come, they go, even a doctor a time or two, but Alberto says the bare minimum to all of them, his guilt a constant presence in the room. He's sure they can feel it too, their each gaze and word a condemnation against him, at what he'd caused to happen to the man in the bed that they now have to guide back to full health. Finally, mid-day, he leans forward and touches Ricardo for the first time since arriving here, his fingers lightly grazing his tag partner's hand. "I will take care of everything from here on. Don't worry. Just recover... mi amigo."

When the door clicks behind him, the fingers of the hand still warm from Del Rio's touch twitch, curl against the sheets covering Ricardo's abused body.

After an endless drive and some restless sleep, Alberto wakes up in his hotel room to find that it's early Sunday morning. He groans and unburies himself from under a pile of sheets, fumbling around for his cell phone. He calls the hospital first off and listens to the menu, pressing buttons as needed until he reaches a nurse at the front desk. "This is Alberto Del Rio," he says tiredly, scrubbing at his face as he sits up. "Are there any updates on Ricardo Rodriguez' condition?" He listens as the woman explains that the former ring announcer is still sedated but they plan on easing off of the drugs shortly, keep a close eye on his lungs and oxygen levels while he wakes up. He hates the thought of him waking up alone, but the nurse reassures him that it'll take a better part of the day for him to even be close to full awareness. "Gracias," he mumbles, hanging up.

He's no stranger to being alone, especially after firing Ricardo, but as he looks around the hotel room in the light of morning, he realizes he really doesn't like it. Groaning, he forces himself up and into the bathroom to get ready for his day. He has a goal to obtain, for himself and the poor man in the hospital a state over, and he absolutely refuses to mess it up.

After a quick shower and shrugging into his suit, he adjusts his collar quickly before walking purposely out of the hotel, not wasting a minute as he drives to the arena for the pay per view. AJ Lee and Booker T listen solemnly as he tells them what's happened, and what will happen tonight as a result. The general managers exchange uncomfortable glances before turning back to him, hesitating for a few moments before nodding in concert. "Fine, dawg, we'll sanction the match," Booker tells him with compassion in his dark eyes. "Good luck tonight."

"I don't need it." He leaves the room, resolute. His determination to see this through will be more than enough. Slipping into his locker room, he sits down on the leather couch waiting for him and pulls his phone out, staring idly at his wallpaper, a picture Ricardo had taken for him when he'd been WWE champion, on top of the world. Things had changed so drastically since then, and he hadn't taken it well at all. Unfortunately the ring announcer had paid the price for all of it. He sighs and once more dials the hospital, surprised at just how quickly time is slipping through his fingers. The pay per view will be starting in a mere three hours, and then everything will be decided. "This is Alberto Del Rio, how is Ricardo Rodriguez?" This time the nurse tells him that the younger man is in and out, groggy and not aware of much around him, but should be more with it in the morning. He sighs, thanks her again, and presses end on the phone. "Time to get ready, then," he whispers, digging around in his bag for his gear.

He's just made his way out into the hall, preparing to go stretch somewhere a little more open and spacious before his match, when Matt Striker walks up to him, mic and camera at the ready. Knowing what this means, he stops and stares at the interviewer, lips pursed in some displeasure at the interruption. "Alberto Del Rio, mind if I ask you a couple of questions?" He grunts, unsurprised when Striker takes it as a yes, motioning for the cameraman to begin filming. "Before I do, we want to take you back to Friday Night Smackdown," he says, the footage of the end of the tag match and Ricardo's subsequent collapse playing on a nearby monitor as Del Rio stares at it, his eyes dark and somber. "How is Ricardo doing? Will he be able to compete tonight?"

Alberto closes his eyes, trying everything to keep his temper in check. The last thing he needs is to beat up the interviewer, annoy the general managers and risk the title match, ruin everything Ricardo had sacrificed to accomplish this much. "No," he mumbles. "He won't be competing tonight." He stares into the camera, lips thin as the words come to him, erasing all of his uncertainty in what exactly he wants to say. "He's in a hospital recovering from a punctured lung right now. Ricardo, I know you're resting and not watching this moment, but... I dedicate this match to you. I will be successful, thanks to you." Done, he turns and resumes outside to do what he'd set out to do before the impromptu interview.

An hour later, he's in the ring, standing and adjusting his wrist tape while he waits for Team Hell No to show themselves. After weeks of teaming with Ricardo, however reluctantly, it feels wrong to now be standing in the ring alone, watching the previews for what the younger man had worked so hard for them to accomplish. The more he watches, sees his own disdain for the former ring announcer over the last few weeks on the large screen of the titantron thrown back in his face, the more determined he grows to win, make this all right. No matter what it takes, he thinks, too distracted to even react as hot flames shoot from the ramp heralding Kane and Daniel's arrival.

Daniel and Kane seem undisturbed by their one lone opponent, Kane sneering at him in a way that makes his blood boil almost as hot as the flames that had been shooting up from the titantron area only minutes earlier. When Daniel starts, Del Rio stares him down and slaps his shoulders, circling his opponent while he waits for the bell to ring. When it does, he makes the first move, forcing a lock up between the two. Daniel fights, admirably even, but Alberto's determination and anger works against him from the start, the Mexican aristocrat forcing him to the mat before bridging him until his shoulders touch the mat, all of his weight holding Bryan in place.

But the shorter man's toughness can never be denied, somehow managing to kick out and force Alberto's weight off of him, surprising him further by kicking him roughly in the midsection repeatedly once they're both on their feet. Alberto drops to one knee, giving Daniel the opportunity to kick him even harsher, his ribs throbbing after the first few. He follows it up with a solid boot to the skull, Del Rio grunting as he loses focus. Once he's down on his back, trying to curl in on himself for some protection, Daniel stops and stumbles over to the turnbuckles, flying off of the top in a brutal headbutt that sends more sharp pains down his body. He stares up at the lights, breathless and wondering if this was even a little of what Ricardo had been feeling the past few weeks, barely registering as Bryan tumbles over and tags in Kane, the much larger man pulling Del Rio to his feet to level him once more with a fist.

He groans and struggles to stand, unsurprised when Kane drags him the rest of the way up, preparing to take him down once more with a harsh punch, but Alberto scrapes together some energy, far from willing to give it up this early, and volleys back with a punch of his own before Kane can make contact. Again and again, he punches, chops and kicks the larger man, determined to at least get him to his knees even for a few moments so he can take a breath, careful to avoid Kane's corner, where Daniel is watching tensely. One of his kicks causes the monster to stumble backwards, giving them enough space for Del Rio to rush back against the ropes and then run forward, snapping Kane's skull back with one of his enzuigiri kicks, Kane finally dropping to the mat. Alberto sighs and immediately targets his arm with a cracking kick, following it up with another kick to the head, knowing better than to give Kane even a moment to recover.

But when he targets his arm, Kane shoots out and grabs him by the throat, preparing to lift him once more for a chokeslam, Alberto's eyes slipping closed as the audience reacts positively, his breath taken from him. But that reminds him, brings him back to clarity with a sharp gasp. Ricardo... Squirming and fighting the hold with as much strength as he can manage, he finally drops back to the mat, kicking Kane in the knee, arm, face again, before grabbing his wrist, trying to tangle him up in the submission that'd led him to so many victories in the past. But Kane lifts him one armed and drops him ruthlessly against the mat, staggering back and tagging Daniel in when his partner starts calling for him.

Alberto struggles to his feet once more, staring across at Daniel, and forces deep breaths as he tries to regain his equilibrium. Daniel rushes at him, swinging at him but missing as Del Rio ducks and kicks him in the chest, winding him and staggering him. Taking the chance, he takes the ropes at a run and aims low, rushing past Bryan and kicking Kane right in the knees, sending him off of the apron and listening with accomplishment as the tall man grazes the steel steps, dazing him. Turning his attention back to the shorter man, Alberto claps his wrist and prepares for the armbar, rushing forward and tangling him up in the blink of an eye, wrenching back desperately as Daniel struggles to free himself. Kane recovers surprisingly fast, anger fueling his movements as he dives back into the ring and punches Del Rio in the jaw, sending him away from his tag partner. Del Rio blinks in shock before scrambling to his feet, meeting another of Kane's punches before clinging to the top rope, desperate to stay on his feet at all cost.

Kane goes running after him yet again but Alberto ducks, still holding onto the top rope, and Kane topples over, his tall frame arching out and hitting the commentator's table hard, the large man immediately going slack against it. Remembering his other opponent, Del Rio staggers to his feet and turns just to meet another kick of Daniel's. His side stinging yet again, he breathes heavily and telegraphs the second kick from Daniel, grabbing him and German Suplexing him before rolling aside. He's about to lock in another armbar when something seems to click with him and he hesitates, looking towards the turnbuckle. He rarely does high risk moves like this, but... he takes a breath, once more thinking about his tag partner all alone a state away, and smiles faintly. Giving up the armbar, he climbs to the second rope and stares down at his opponent, closing his eyes while stabilizing himself. Letting it all go, he gives himself to the borrowed move, snapping off the corkscrew moonsault he vaguely remembered seeing Ricardo use, landing roughly across Daniel Bryan's midsection. Instinctively bending him into a cover, holding his legs tightly, he listens as the referee counts one... two... three.

Somewhat startled at the victory, he rolls off of the downed man and slumps to his knees, arms hanging limply against the mat as the referee collects both tag titles and brings them to him. He holds one in each hand, staring down at them with a flood of emotions visible on his sweaty face before surging to his feet and going straight to the turnbuckle, staring down at the camera aimed right at him as he holds up one of the belts, pointing at it. "This is Ricardo's!" he declares, eyes gleaming with determination as he jumps off of the turnbuckle, not wanting to waste anymore time. He has a hospital to return to, a tag partner to deliver this very belt to.

"How is he?" Alberto asks hours later, eyes gritty and walk more than a little stiff after the extended drive back to Ohio, duffel bag in tow. "Is he still asleep?"

"Last I checked, yes. But I've noticed he's begun to wake up for longer periods, so he should be fully conscious soon." She smiles as he enters the room, eyes softening while he stares down at the younger man, breathing steadily in time with the beeps of the heart machine. As he rests the duffel down next to the bed and sits down on a chair, gingerly resting a hand atop Ricardo's, she leaves the room to give them some privacy.

Alberto glances over at the machines monitoring his vitals, turning to stare at him before smiling wanly, examining his face. "Amigo, I see they've taken the mask away. You now have a cannula." He leans closer, watching him sleep on, looking less pale than he had the last time Del Rio had seen him. "That's progress, right? I'm glad, now you just need to wake up... I have much to tell you." But a second look at the younger man and he becomes sad, guilty as he carefully pats his hand. "It's ok, though. In your own time, there's no hurry. You deserve this rest. I'll wait." And he does, leaning back in his chair and letting his own exhaustion take over, falling into a doze as the sounds of the hospital blanket them both. It seems to go by in a flash, however, when he hears a faint gasp of pain, eyes fluttering open to find Ricardo staring blankly at the ceiling as he groans softly, pressing a trembling hand to his ribcage. Alberto quickly sitting up, he leans forward and rests his hand on Ricardo's arm, brow furrowing in worry. "Ricardo, amigo-" he calls out, lips twitching when the former ring announcer's head quickly turns to him, eyes flashing with relief.

"El Patron," he whispers, blinking when something registers with him before Alberto can formulate a response. He shakes his head and winces. "No, wait... that's not right..." He sucks in a breath, which cuts off into painful coughing as his ribs protest the movement. "Ow," he whimpers. "I, I meant... Mr. Del Rio," he finally concludes, staring at the man in confusion. "Why- why are you here?" Dark eyes locked on Del Rio's hand still touching him comfortingly, he swallows. "What's going on?"

Alberto is nearly breathless himself, surprised by just how guilty he feels while staring down at the broken young man. "Ricardo, what do you last remember?"

"Um," he breathes out slowly. "I... We were wrestling Mysterio and Sin Cara." He frowns, shaking his head against the pillow. "Wait, wait. That was... that was for the number one contendership." He groans, unable to remember the conclusion. "Did we win?" At Alberto's somber nod, he sighs in relief and melts into the sheets before- "No, no, that was- that was Friday." His eyes shooting open again, he stares at Del Rio in horror. "I haven't missed the pay per view, have I?" He's suddenly struggling against the pain to sit up and Alberto's struck by fresh worry, gingerly grasping his shoulders and pushing him back against the pillows, holding him in place. "No, no, please-" he pleads, clinging to the older man's wrists. "Please tell me it's not too late-"

Del Rio's face says it all, he knows, but Ricardo continues to beg, his weak words cutting through his former employer like a knife. "Shhh, shhhh," he finally whispers, unable to take it any longer. "Ricardo, if you continue on like this, nurses will kick me out for distressing you. You don't want me to go, do you?" The former ring announcer shakes his head, but still looks at him desperately, needing an answer. Alberto sighs. "It's Monday morning. The pay per view ended hours ago." The change is instantaneous, startling, as all fight leaves Ricardo and he sinks against the pillows, tears filling his eyes as his hands fall away from Alberto's.

"No," he whispers, staring helplessly at his fingers. "Did... did the GMs reschedule the match or... or... forfeit it?" He sniffs. "Did I ruin our chances? I should've listened to the trainer... why didn't I-"

"Hey, hey," Del Rio says, shaking his head. "Stop this." It's awkward but instinctive all at once as he reaches out and lightly taps Ricardo's jaw, feeling almost like the last few months haven't happened at all with just that small but so familiar action. When Ricardo quiets, staring at him with a frown, he sighs. "I have something to show you." He leans down and unzips the duffel bag, pulling out his tag title belt. He smiles at it and sits back up, resting it on the side of the bed next to Ricardo, who blinks in surprise.

"You... you... you won?" he asks, hesitantly reaching out towards the bronze belt but stopping just short of touching it, not wanting to anger the older man. When Alberto nods, Ricardo swallows and stares at it, thoughts racing through his head a mile a minute. "Congratulations..." he whispers blankly, not noticing the renewed flash of worry crossing the Mexican aristocrat's face as he continues to examine the belt whose twin had very nearly been his. He can only come to one conclusion and, though it makes sense, it hurts all the same. He hates himself for wanting to know, but he figures it'd be better to find out now, when he has some time to brace himself, instead of getting cleared to return to WWE and come face to face with the situation with no warning. "Who... who did you select as a replacement tag partner? Was it..." He coughs wearily, hand automatically going to his side as pain spasms up his core. "Was it McIntyre... or... possibly Barrett..." Closing his eyes for a moment, he finally faces Alberto and shakes his head. "Someone who would be more suited as a tag partner for you?"

Alberto looks startled before returning to stoicly staring at the younger man. "You really want to know who my tag partner is?" At Ricardo's hesitant nod, Del Rio hums. "I suppose I could show you." The injured man now is the one to look startled, as if he expects the other half of the new tag team champions to leap out of the bathroom or something equally as ridiculous, Del Rio hiding his small smile as he leans over the bag once more, carefully drawing the other title out and laying it alongside his own on the bed.

Ricardo gapes. "Eh, eh, you have their title too? But wouldn't they want to... I don't know, show it off or..." He's so curious about the name adorning the bottom of the title, but from this angle, he can't see it, the lighting not helping in the slightest.

"Well, I imagine, yes, they would want to... but I had to deliver it to him first, you see."

None of this is adding up for the former ring announcer. Why Del Rio would be here when he could be out celebrating, why he'd have both title belts, any of it. "You did? Was he hospitalized too after the pay per view?" he asks quietly, brows furrowed when Alberto shakes his head. "Wha- what then?" He turns towards the belt again to look as Del Rio lifts it, tilts it so it can be read. It hits him all at once and he gasps, flushes and chokes in concession. "It... it has..." He thinks he's seeing things, reaching out and this time allowing his fingers to graze the raised letters in the nameplate. "It has my name on it," he forces out through a flood of tears. "Why does it have my name on it?"

Alberto sighs. "Because, amigo. You are my tag partner... we may have been thrown together at the worst possible time, and I may still have issues with the GMs for their handling of the situation, but I should never have taken my own personal failings and issues out on you, before the partnership, and after. Especially to the point that it led you to being hospitalized." He pauses, staring at his hands. "I..." He licks his lips. "I understand if you don't want to be my tag partner, after everything, and I'll find another partner, if you wish to be as far away from me as you possibly can get, considering we still work in the same business-"

Ricardo's eyes are still locked on the beauty of his name on a title belt, but his ears are digesting Alberto's words, and when he finally looks up at him, he finds so much guilt and pain in Del Rio's eyes that it floors him. "No," he breathes. "No, no. I don't- don't... want to give up this opportunity. I want to remain as your tag partner, Mr. Del Rio."

Alberto's whole face changes, what looks like years of stress, anger and guilt wiping away in a mere minute as he smiles. "Si?"

Ricardo nods, smiling through his own tears. "Si."

Del Rio releases a blustery breath. "Mi amigo, I can't promise you that things will be completely smooth from here on out- I am still myself, after all- but I will try to be better. I will try... to be the partner that you deserve, especially after everything you've been through." He moves the title belts so they're resting, side by side, on the tray, well within view of Ricardo, and sits carefully on the bed next to him, trying not to jostle him too much. "Are you tired?"

Ricardo winces and nods. "Si, some, but I think I'm too excited to sleep right now."

Alberto grins. "That's fine, amigo. I had the WWE production people convert some files onto this..." He holds up Ricardo's iPad, watching his tag partner's eyes lock right on it. "... so you can see some clips from the pay per view. Including the last minute or two of the match." He leans closer to him and accesses the video. "Press play whenever you're ready." There are three, fairly short clips, one of the impromptu interview with Stiker, then the match itself, Ricardo gasping during both, at Alberto dedicating the match to him and winning it via his finisher.

"You look good doing that move," he offers faintly. "Maybe you should keep using it."

Alberto blinks at him and shakes his head. "No, no, mi amigo. The move is yours, I don't want to take it from you. I have my own finishers, that one suits you." Ricardo stares at him for a few moments before nodding, looking more and more worn out the more time passes. Alberto smiles. "Do you want to wait to watch the last video until later, so you can get some sleep right now?"

Shaking his head, Ricardo reaches out to press play for the third and last time, blinking when Del Rio's face appears on the screen. "Amigo, one of my favorite parts of becoming champion is watching my nameplate being put onto the title. Considering you are incapable of seeing it for yourself, I thought perhaps this would help even a little." He quiets and turns the camera to face the girls working on their titles side by side, prying off Team Hell No's nameplates and fitting Alberto and Ricardo's on, smoothing them over until it all looks perfect.

As the screen goes dark, Ricardo looks over at his former employer. "You did all of that for me..." He smiles through a yawn, wincing when it sends more pain up his ribs. "Muchas gracias, Mr. Del Rio. I don't know... what to say..."

He's so close to asleep that Alberto feels bad about wanting to settle one last thing, but it needs done. He taps him on the wrist to gain his attention. "One last thing, Ricardo."

"Uh huh?" he slurs, eyes fluttering as he struggles to focus on the older man, pay attention to his words.

"I know this will be another adjustment for you, but there's no need for tag partners to be so formal. You calling me Mr. Del Rio won't work any more." Ricardo looks visibly confused, shaking his head slowly, and Alberto rests a hand on his once more, hoping that he'll be understood by the exhausted man. "Call me Alberto, por favor."

He blinks tiredly and swallows, turning his wrist to squeeze his tag partner's hand. "Alright... Alberto." He's asleep a second later, a small smile on his lips, and Alberto leans back to keep an eye on him through the rest of the night, also smiling.

Things may not be easy from here on out, Ricardo needing sufficient time to recover, and Alberto still disgruntled at how his career had been sideswiped by the GMs, not to mention Team Hell No still having a rematch clause, but he's pretty damn sure, looking at their belts side by side, together they can make it through.