"I've a media appearance tomorrow," Alberto Del Rio announces, unsurprised when Ricardo nods, already aware of it. "Make sure I am awake in time to prepare."
"Si," the personal ring announcer says quietly, pressing a few buttons on his phone. "Is there anything else?"
"Not until later in the week," he shrugs, sprawling out on the hotel bed, looking forward to sleep. "Notify me if there are any changes."
"Si, of course, El Patron."
"Buenas noches, Ricardo."
"Buenas noches." As soon as Del Rio is asleep, Ricardo cringes and sinks into his own bed, his whole face overwhelmed with pain. He hadn't felt well for a few days but it's worse tonight. "Ay dios mio," he whines softly. "What is wrong with me..." Struggling to carry on with his obligations, he finishes with the phone and places it back on the nightstand, running his fingers roughly through his hair before burying himself under the sheets. He's shivering so hard that he can hear the bed creaking in protest. He quickly looks over to check, relieved that his sudden illness has not disturbed Alberto, and whimpers into the pillow. The sleep he finally falls into almost an hour later is uncomfortable and far from restful.
Things are not going well. He should be champion by now, should be competing against athletes of his standard, but instead, he is stuck in pointless feuds against people like the Big Show. People with no moral compass who will gleefully target men like Ricardo, who are supposed to be there only on a ring announcer role. He can do nothing but watch from the ramp as Big Show punches his friend again... and again... and again, leaving him laying helpless on the mat while Alberto swallows drily.
My best friend echoes around his head not long after he admits it, for the first time in a long time, and he wonders if it is a mistake to admit such a strong connection to Ricardo, something like that easily used against Del Rio by anyone vicious enough to go there. He begins to distance himself in the months following Ricardo's return after Money in the Bank, pushing the younger man around on TV and making him do things that Del Rio himself didn't want to, anything to try to get the point across that Ricardo is merely the help. He is disgusted even further with himself when Ricardo takes it all in stride, not even asking about the sharp change in their relationship so suddenly after Money in the Bank.
It's not until December, during TLC, that Alberto realizes it doesn't matter- Ricardo for whatever reason is still willing to risk his health, no matter how he treats him... He had been down on the other side of the ring but had seen replays of a very frightened Ricardo clinging to a ladder as Miz and Punk had pushed him over, sending him flying into a table on the floor almost twenty feet down. Before he can do anything to fix things, he's injured too with a torn groin, his annoyance at being injured this close to the Royal Rumble causing even more distance between the two men. Ricardo sneaking into the Rumble only makes him angrier and he even dismisses the other man for a few days, until he feels lonely and lost without his right hand man.
Despite returning finally shortly after Wrestlemania, that bitterness remains with the Mexican aristocrat and he keeps things professional with Ricardo, barely talking to him outside of the weekly business that needs handled.
He wakes up with a strangled gasp, weird images from whatever dream he'd just awoken from still vivid in his mind, though they slip away before he can grasp them fully. It appears to be mid-morning, the sun gleaming across his face relentlessly. He revels in it for a moment before realizing- Morning, no no no, he sits up roughly and peers around the room, eyes narrowed in anger. Across the room, Ricardo lays, his arm dropped limply against his chest, the younger man still deep asleep. "Ay!" he yells, catching sight of the clock across from the ring announcer. "Tardio!" he exclaims, making it to his feet and rushing to the bathroom to get ready in a hurry.
Somehow he just manages, coming out of the bathroom ten minutes later, looking impeccable in a dark suit with a golden tie. The only sign that something's off lies around his eyes and lips as he squints angrily at a still asleep Ricardo, frowning darkly. "I will deal with you later," he barks, storming out of the room so he doesn't get delayed any further to the radio interview he is unprepared for since he'd slept in much past what time he had told Ricardo he wanted up by.
Even the slamming door doesn't make him stir.
Hours later, he returns, looking much calmer and even smiling a little bit. The radio interview had been a success, even though he hadn't had his usual time to prepare or run carefully thought out answers by Ricardo for a second opinion. He looks puzzled for a moment as he enters the hotel room to find it dark and quiet, Ricardo's bed empty and messy. "Hmph, must be out getting lunch to make up for this morning," he deduces before heading towards the bathroom. He's walking past Ricardo's bed when something trips him and he almost faceplants into the floor. Spitting out curses and insults in Spanish, he kicks whatever tripped him up away, expecting it to be the bedding, when he realizes it's much too heavy to be that.
"Que?" Turning to look over his shoulder, his eyes widen as he realizes- Ricardo is not gone, he is in fact sprawled out, unconscious on the floor. "Ricardo!" He's by the younger's side in a split second, shaking his shoulder. "Ricardo, what happened?" he snaps, looking around wildly. There's been no sign that someone'd gotten into the room and as soon as he touches the younger man's arm, he recoils at the heat lingering there. "Ay dios mio, you're burning up," he mutters. "Is this why you've been so quiet lately? Enfermo? Why not tell me?"
Frustrated at not being able to see his ring announcer's face, he gingerly rolls him over onto his back. The younger man appears paler than Sheamus and breathing roughly, his fingers twitching as Alberto pats his face, trying to get him to regain consciousness. "Wake, Ricardo," he begs, guilt slowly welling up within him. If I had been paying any kind of attention to him outside of what work needs to be done...
After awhile, his eyes begin fluttering and Del Rio relaxes slightly, his pats growing more insistent. "El Patron," he finally comes to with a moan, hand reaching out towards Alberto. "I... I..."
"Take it easy," he urges, smoothly taking his hand and squeezing it. "You will be fine, Ricardo. Tell me what's wrong."
"My... my..." His voice fails and he licks his lips helplessly, dark eyes locked onto Alberto's in desperation. "Hurts," he finally chokes out, trying to fold in on himself.
Alberto keeps him prone, however, shaking his head. "Please, Ricardo- where? I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong," he whispers, resting his hands on Ricardo's chest. He slips them down to his abdomen, pressing down lightly. "Here?"
"N-no," he pants, almost arching off of the floor completely as Del Rio's fingers add pressure to his right side.
Ears ringing and heart sinking at the pained noise that Ricardo makes, he pulls away, suspicions growing as to what's actually wrong. "We need to get you to the ER immediately, Ricardo. When did this start?"
"Late- late last night?" he sniffs, tensing up when Alberto stares at him, shaking his head.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, shaking off his grim annoyance by lifting the younger man up with steady hands under his arms. "Ricardo... you need to tell me when you're not feeling well."
"I didn't want to ruin your meetings this morning," he sniffs, gasping as Del Rio helps him onto the side of the bed. "It wasn't that bad... I thought... but it became much worse overnight. And I- I think I messed up with the alarm clock last night. Lo siento, El Patron, you weren't late, were you?"
"No, I wasn't, don't even think about that right now," he orders, handing Ricardo his shoes. "Come, come. We need to go."
"I don't... I'm not... in what I fell asleep in?" he mumbles uncertainly, staring down at the sweat pants and tank top he'd fallen asleep in.
Alberto waves it off. "This isn't the time to care about appearances. Come, Ricardo." He squeezes the younger man's neck as he pulls him to his feet, keeping a tight grip on him as he wavers and groans through the burning pain in his side. "It's ok, I've got you."
Ricardo grimaces, looking up at him fearfully. "I..."
"If you're going to apologize again, Ricardo, don't," the Mexican aristocrat says grimly, pushing the hotel door open and ushering him through it.
His eyes locked on the floor, Ricardo shakes his head slightly. "I'm... I'm scared," he mumbles, closing his eyes as if to hide from the admission, feeling weak and vulnerable in front of Del Rio making him feel even worse. "What if..."
"No," Alberto declines the unfinished statement, waving it away with one hand while keeping Ricardo moving ahead with the other. "Everything will be fine, I'll make sure of it."
The drive to the hospital is quiet, tense. All Del Rio can wonder is if there'd been any visible warning signs of Ricardo's health going downhill the past few days, trying to recall if anything had seemed off, and not being able to pinpoint any. Every time Ricardo's breathing changes, he glances over worriedly to find the younger man staring ahead through the windshield, looking pale and shaky. He picks up speed a little more, not even caring if they should be pulled over. He's no professional in medical warning signs but he'd guess his personal ring announcer may be in shock, or heading that way quickly. "We're almost there, Ricardo, just hang on," he murmurs when he starts seeing bright blue H signs scattered around on poles, directing him.
"Si," Ricardo mumbles breathlessly, eyes fluttering as a fresh wave of pain bites through him when the car goes over a hill in the road at nausea-inducing speed, the seatbelt pressing against him uncomfortably in an attempt to keep him in place. "El Patron," he grits out, hand pressing to his right side to try futilely to ease the agony he's feeling.
"Lo siento, I..." Alberto shakes his head, not willing to ease up on his speed. "I cannot slow down, Ricardo. Not until we're at the hospital. Just hang on."
By the time they arrive, Ricardo is full on shaking, his breathing sounding so weak to his ears that Del Rio can barely focus enough to get the seatbelt off of him, hating how long it seems to be taking. "Wait right here," he orders. "I'm going to get a wheelchair. You can't walk like this."
Ricardo watches through half-lidded eyes as his boss- best friend- marches into the hospital, bleeding determination and the kind of power and influence only a man with his kind of money and ability could contain. The kind of command that would get people to move and listen and do. He grimaces through another sharp pain, trying to catch his breath during it. "Alberto..."
He's sweaty and feeling on the verge of collapse once more when Alberto returns, a nurse accompanying him. She takes one look at Ricardo and nods, helping Alberto ease him into the chair and efficiently guiding it into the hospital, asking Ricardo questions quickly. When he stammers through answers, the pain too constant to be able to think very clearly, Alberto picks up the slack, squeezing his shoulder whenever he whimpers or groans through the feeling so close to a knife stabbing across his abdomen and hip. "Please..." he groans, staring desperately at Alberto when they finally get Ricardo into an exam room and put a gown over his tank top, not seeing a need to add to his discomfort by making him fully change right away.
After quickly glancing at the nurse, Del Rio moves up to the top of the bed, resting a hand on top of Ricardo's head and mussing his soft black hair gently. "It's ok, mi amigo, I'll be right by your side until they decide what to do with you, hmm?"
"Gracias," he sighs, eyes fluttering shut under his touch.
The doctor that joins them a couple minutes later introduces himself as Dr. Santos, asking a few routine questions that Alberto answers as his ring announcer stares blankly at the ceiling, before leaning over Ricardo, examining his abdomen with efficient fingers, taking note of his response to each touch. "Alright, I want a CT scan now," he tells a nurse before turning back to the two WWE superstars. "We're just going to try ruling out that there's anything else going on, but even without the tests, I'd say it is appendicitis. We'll get him into surgery as soon as the tests are back to make sure."
"Thank you," Alberto mumbles, stroking Ricardo's hair some more. "Did you hear that?"
"Si," he whispers tiredly, the lack of energy behind even that word eating at Del Rio. His eyes flutter open, their gazes finally connecting, and he forces a smile. "I- I'll be better in time for the next pay per view, El Patron. I promise."
Shaking his head, the Mexican aristocrat curses himself for letting things get like this. His main motivation, before the Rumble, had always been to keep Ricardo safe but somewhere along the line, things had gotten messed up and he had never seen how to correct the path they were on. "Don't worry about that right now," he says lowly. "My main focus is seeing you well once more, Ricardo. The pay per view is inconsequential right now."
"Wha- what?" Truly startled by the former champion's words, Ricardo shakes his head in confusion. "I..."
The conversation is interrupted when the door opens once more, a nurse entering with an orderly. "We need to take him for the tests now," she tells Alberto with a small smile, the orderly moving to help Ricardo up and over to a waiting wheelchair. "We'll bring him back in a few minutes."
He's far from thrilled about being separated from his ring announcer but nods, tapping Ricardo on the shoulder. "I'll see you soon," he tells him quietly, smiling a little when he nods up at him, obviously trying to be brave through all of this.
When they do return, whatever little energy Ricardo had has faded completely away, basically falling asleep as soon as he's helped back into the temporary ER bed that they've stuck him in while they wait for a clear cut answer on what needs to be done. Minutes tick by mockily, Alberto quietly watching his dozing ring announcer when finally the doctor arrives, already changed into scrubs, with a file in hand. "I have your results, Mr. Rodriguez," he tells them quietly, pulling over a plain steel stool and sitting down on it. "It is indeed severe appendicitis. We need to move now, this can get bad fast."
His words do nothing but make both men feel even worse, Ricardo's fingers reaching up and tightening around Alberto's wrist in anxiety. "Alberto," he groans out, eyes squeezing closed. Shifting so his fingers are tangled around Ricardo's hand, he squeezes it quietly, forcing a smile at the younger man.
"You'll be fine," he whispers, shaking his head. "This I will make sure of, remember? Do not worry, Ricardo." They don't move from that position even as the nurses and orderlies work at preparing once more to transport Ricardo to the operating room, Dr. Santos lowly going over some things with the staff. Alberto holds onto his hand for as long as he can, his other hand still running through Ricardo's hair. "I'll be waiting here when you return," he tells the fretful looking man as they make him step back once they're ready, his hands feeling empty and cold afterwards.
"Eres mi mejor amigo," is the faint response that nearly sends Alberto back against the wall, the words hitting against his already weakened defenses.
"Eres mi mejor amigo tambien," he calls out, hands shaking as he frowns at the door that Ricardo had already been pushed through, uncertain if his words had been heard in time. "Ay... Stupido," he tells himself, angry that he had taken things so far that he hadn't even seen just how bad it all was truly becoming. "Lo siento, Ricardo. Please..."
Time passes, feeling like a lifetime going by, when a nurse finally pokes her head into the room he hasn't left since Ricardo had been taken away. "Mr. Del Rio?"
He jerks upright, staring at her in surprise. "Ah, si? Yes? Is there an update? Is Ricardo alright?"
She purses her lips, shaking her head. "No, I'm sorry. It is going as well as can be expected the last I heard. Your friend is holding on. He is a fighter, that one."
Alberto nods distantly, remembering the last couple of years in the business and everything Ricardo had endured, physical and mental hardships, by his side. "That he is."
She hesitates, overwhelmed by the deep sadness in his eyes, and finally sighs, stepping a bit further into the room. "I was coming to suggest, since it will be awhile longer until the surgery is over, much less for him to be out of recovery, maybe you would like something to eat? The cafeteria is just down a floor and-"
"No," he refuses, crossing his arms over his chest, everything about him bleeding derision towards the mere prospect of going to a hospital cafeteria for food. "I am not hungry. I am fine waiting here until the surgery is over."
"Alright," she says lowly, leaving him to his own thoughts.
He doesn't move, barely blinking as more time ticks by. After awhile, he's brought out of his reverie by the door opening once more and is amazed to find that nearly an hour and a half has passed since. Tilting his head, he watches as the nurse from before pokes her head in, smiling slightly when she catches his eye. "Is there any news on Ricardo?" he asks before she can say anything else.
"He's out of surgery now," she says quietly. "He's in recovery, and should be waking up shortly. We'll be bringing him to a permanent room in a little bit. Is there anything I can do for you?"
He shakes his head, feeling more aware as her words register in his muddled mind, a wave of relief overwhelming him. "No, no, I'm alright. May I see him?"
"He will probably be in the process of being moved by the time I get you up there," she says softly. "Please be patient. He is in good hands, it will just take a few minutes. Follow me, I can take you to his room so you'll be there when he arrives."
He hates it, something that is obvious by the dark gleam in his eyes, and the way his shoulders tense up, but even so he nods with an unhappy jerk, knowing that even he can't always win against hospital policy. "Very well," he grumbles, following her slowly. He's glad to see that the room Ricardo will be recovering in is a nicely sized, private room with large windows. He lurks around the room, taking it all in while he waits.
Thankfully she ends up being true to her word as, ten minutes later, the door is pushed open and a bed is pulled inside, Alberto quickly getting to his feet. He watches anxiously as they adjust the bed and begin attaching cords and leads to the pale form of his resting ring annoucer, his mind racing as he looks down. Ricardo has only looked this young and vulnerable twice before, after Big Show's attack a year ago and the drop from the ladder through the table months back. He wonders what it is about the younger man that keeps him coming back for more, content to remain tirelessly by Alberto's side, but is pretty sure he has always known, deep in his soul: how simply the words earlier had dripped from his lips laying claim to Del Rio as his best friend. From the beginning, through the belittlements and beatdowns, through the pointless errands and slights, Ricardo's loyalty had never wavered.
He waits quietly until the nurses and orderlies leave, appearing relieved to be out of the intense Mexican's way as they go. One of his greatest pleasures is finding how quickly the news of his quick temper, wealth and influence spreads whenever they're in a new, strange hospital. It had always assisted him in getting what he needed or wanted quickly, and he's relieved to find that the same holds true for Ricardo. The speed and effeciency that they've taken care of him in the past- and now- has always been obvious. "So it is not all bad, si?" he asks quietly, sitting next to Ricardo on the bed and watching him breathe. "So they will fix you up, and we will get out of here, and..." His voice drifts away as he considers them slowly going back into old patterns, shaking his head against the disturbing thought. "I will do my best to be better." He rests a hand on top of Ricardo's, smiling grimly as the younger man squeezes his fingertips instinctively.
A moment later, there's a sharp throat cleared behind him and he quickly moves away, standing up to yell at whomever it is attempting to disturb Ricardo's rest. His voice dies away when he realizes it is the doctor from earlier, motioning him into the hall. Dread and worry welling up within him, he leans over Ricardo momentarily. "I'll be back in a moment." Brushing his fingers through Ricardo's hair, he forces himself to straighten back up and follows the doctor out. "What is it? He is fine, yes?"
The doctor waits a few excruciating seconds as the door clicks shut and finally nods, leading Alberto away from the room to insure they won't be overheard should Ricardo wake up. "We believe so, yes. I just wanted to make you aware. When we went in to remove the appendix, it had already ruptured."
"What does this mean?" he asks, his lips thinning as he stares at the doctor, squinting with worry.
"It means that we now have to keep an eye out for further infection, and his recovery time will take a bit longer. Surgery itself went as well as could be expected, now all we can do is stay ahead of any complications that may arise. We've started him on antibiotics and he'll have to stay in the hospital for a few days. For now, though, the best thing for him will be familiar sights, sounds. Anything to keep him calm. So go, be with him. We'll talk more later, should the need arise."
Alberto nods, turning to stare into the room. "Si, thank you, doctor," he mumbles automatically before pushing his way back into the room. Ricardo hasn't moved but his eyes are beginning to flutter and the heart monitor's beeps sound a little quicker to Del Rio's untrained ear. He quickly settles in the chair nearest the bed, resting his hand on top of Ricardo's, rubbing inane circles along his knuckles. "Never can do anything half way, can you?" He hums slightly, looking around at the various fliers on the walls urging cleanliness and the importance of donating blood. "Ay, it is boring around here." He shifts, settling more comfortably into the chair and propping his feet up on the bed before replacing his hand on top of Ricardo's, the younger man's hand twitches beneath his.
"El Patron," he groans softly, his head rolling weakly against the pillow. Del Rio moves immediately, sitting back up and resting a hand on Ricardo's forehead in an attempt to ground him as his eyes slowly open, his breathing loud and a little raspy when the pain from the surgery makes itself known once more. "Ehh," he sighs, finally looking right at Alberto. "Wha- what happened..."
He smoothly uses his free hand to press the button to call for a nurse, smiling down at Ricardo. "You had your appendix out, remember?"
Ricardo still looks confused and half out of it from the pain medicine, reaching up into thin air with a shaky hand. Once Alberto has ahold of it, squeezing slightly, he takes a deep breath. "I... I was on the hotel floor," he mumbles, eyes drifting shut. "You missed your radio interview."
All of that feels like a lifetime ago now. Alberto shakes his head, leaning closer to Ricardo. "No, no. I missed nothing. I wish I had missed it, then perhaps you wouldn't have been there alone for hours, growing more and more ill." He wonders when the appendix ruptured, while Ricardo was asleep... or after he woke up, before Del Rio had returned, or somewhere between their arriving at the hospital and the beginning of the surgery. He has a fair amount of questions but something tells him it's going to be just one of those things he'll never get a clearcut answer for. That fact, like a great many other things, annoys him. Ricardo says nothing, fast asleep once more, and the Mexican aristocrat sighs, resting his forehead against their interlaced hands.
When the nurse finally comes in, Alberto waves her off with a tired, "He woke up briefly but is asleep again now."
"You need some sleep yourself, Mr. Del Rio," she says calmly, barely bothered by his dismissive attitude as she checks Ricardo's vitals.
"I'm not leaving," he says obstinately, still leaning against the bed while clinging to Ricardo's hand like if he'll let go the younger man will disappear. She shrugs it off and leaves, having too much else to do to just stand around and argue with him. As long as he doesn't disturb the other patients, they're in a private room, and if his presence somehow comforts Ricardo, she sees no problem with it.
When he does finally doze off a few hours later, Ricardo hasn't woken up since. His stillness seems unnatural and worrisome. The younger man has always been restless, even in sleep, but he's just so still right now. Alberto tries to remind himself that he's on fairly strong medicine to hold the infection and pain at bay, but it's still a hard sell for him.
He wakes up to a hand resting atop his head, clumsily running through his hair. Groaning tiredly, he pulls himself to a sitting position, confused and still feeling exhausted and sore despite the fact that it is now morning. He squints around in confusion before remembering where he's at and what that insufferable beeping sound is. Turning to look at Ricardo, his face melts in relief to find him staring back, blinking tiredly. "Ricardo! You are awake again," he says softly, pushing the chair closer to the bed. "How do you feel?"
He grimaces, licking his lips. "I..." His voice cuts out, his eyes slipping closed in aggravation. "Thi-thirsty," he groans, hands twitching as Alberto quickly moves to get some water from a nearby pitcher.
"Easy," he soothes, holding onto the glass with one hand and a straw with the other, watching with a small smile as his ring announcer follows his commands. "Is that better?" When Ricardo nods, he removes the glass and settles down on the side of the bed, smoothing the sheets around him so no draft disturbs him.
"What... what happened?" he breathes tiredly, shaking his head when his eyes fight to close once more.
"If you're tired, don't fight it," Alberto chides softly. "You had appendicitis, and they had to preform surgery."
He frowns, trying to sort this out in his mind while still out of it from the medicine. "Surgery?"
"Yes," Del Rio whispers, remembering how it had felt to find him down on the floor next to his bed. "Ricardo, no matter what... the next time you think something's wrong, you need to tell me. Radio interviews or not, I don't want you falling ill on account of waiting until you think it's a good time." He pauses, resting his knuckles against Ricardo's forehead, gently kneading his skin. He smiles slightly as the younger man leans into his touch, sighing. "Alright?"
"Of course, El Patron," he whispers, but Del Rio thinks he's so out of it he'd agree to anything right this moment. "I'm sorry."
He blinks, startled. "There is no need to apologize, Ricardo. Just do as I request, si?"
"Si." They sit there silently, Alberto smiling faintly as Ricardo stares at him sleepily, lulled by his constant touch. "You will be fine, mi amigo."
"Mi mejor amigo," he breathes out, looking uncertain as soon as the words leave his lips.
"That's right, mi mejor amigo." Alberto looks out of the window for a few minutes, frowning, before turning his attention back to Ricardo. "We need to talk," he whispers, unsurprised to find that he's already fallen asleep. "But it can hold until later. Rest well."
The next day, Ricardo is a little stronger, the doctor approving of his slow, steady progress to Alberto's relief. "If all continues to go well," Dr. Santos explains, "we may release him in a few days. We just want to keep an eye on him in the meantime."
Alberto nods. "Thank you, doctor." Ricardo blinks tiredly at them, nodding his thanks as well before the doctor leaves the room to give them time to themselves. "See, Ricardo? Everything will be fine," he whispers soothingly, rubbing his fingers across Ricardo's knuckles with a small smile.
"Si," he hums faintly. They sit quietly for a moment, the only sound in the room coming from the television hanging close to the ceiling, some game show droning on repetitively. "El Patron," he finally says, tugging on Alberto's hand slightly. "You said yesterday... we needed to talk?"
He looks surprised for a moment before his lips twist up into a slight smile. "I thought you were asleep when I said that... but of course, you would remember that." He grows somber quickly. "But yes, we do." He shakes his head as Ricardo begins looking fretful, biting his lips. "It's nothing to worry about, Mi cuadrilátero locutor. I have come to a realization since you fell ill." He looks no less worried and Alberto sighs, hating himself anew for letting things get this bad between them. "For someone who has claimed you as his best friend in the past, I am afraid I barely know the meaning of the words," he says awkwardly, ducking his head slightly. Ricardo looks shocked, about to speak, but Alberto holds his hands up. "Please, let me finish."
"Al-alright," the younger man sighs, still looking troubled as their eyes lock.
"When you saved me and Big Show attacked you so viciously, I made a big production of our friendship," he tries to explain. "Court cases, matches against him, speeches in the ring about how you were my best friend. But... in a foolish attempt to keep you safe once you did return, I began keeping you at arm's length." He pauses, thinking about that time period. "It only became worse after our individual injuries following TLC, when you were thrown off of that ladder. When I realized no matter what I did you would continue to be put in jeopardy due to your unbreakable loyalty to me." His smile grows bitter. "My injury keeping me away from competition for so long, to miss Wrestlemania, allowed my anger to grow, fester, and of course you were the easiest one to take it all out on."
He looks so grim that Ricardo tries to interrupt, reassure the older man that this is unneccessary, but Alberto looks warningly at him before he can even speak, his lips immediately pressing tightly together.
"It wasn't until... I returned yesterday morning to find you unconscious in the hotel room that pieces of the puzzle began to fit together and I realized just what I have been doing to you the last few months." He stands up, pacing to the window for a moment. "I do not deserve your loyalty, or your dedication. If you wish to resign, I wouldn't blame you. I will give you a glowing recommendation, do not worry about that."
Ricardo struggles to talk around the lump in his throat, his hands trembling against the bedding bunched around his waist as he fights the pain to sit up so he can stare at Del Rio. "El Patron," he finally chokes out, shaking his head desperately when Alberto finally turns to look at him once more. He's by his side in a second, hating himself even more for putting that look in his ring announcer's eyes. "I don't... I don't want to resign," he finally manages to say, the words thick and almost painful sounding. He sniffs, struggling to hold his emotions in. "I have never blamed you for anything from the last few months. I know you quite well and any sign of weakness makes you irritable. That is why I try so hard to be a strength for you, but sometimes..." He looks even more miserable and Alberto leans over him, pressing a comforting hand to his shoulder, trying to encourage him. "I feel like nothing more than a hinderance to your capabilities, a distraction from things you should truly be focusing on."
Alberto looks scandalized, almost as if he's the one in true physical pain. "That could not be further from the truth, Ricardo. I do not know where I'd be without you right now. How many times have you sacrificed yourself for me, in and outside of the ring? Spending sleepless nights trying to sort out my schedules or figuring out how to ship whichever car strikes my fancy from the ranch to America? With all the stress this job must've caused you over the last couple of years, it is a wonder you haven't fallen ill sooner..." He leans against the chair and sighs, shaking his head. "I would be lost without you but I'm not sure if I can bear to let you remain, knowing that this very well may happen again. I may get wrapped up in my career and lose sight of whatever's going on with you, and you are so desperate to do a good job and please me, you will not say anything, will you?"
Ricardo looks cold and despondent at the loss of Alberto's touch but remains quiet, slowly laying back down against the pillow. "No matter what, you are mi mejor amigo... and I will not leave you, until you decide you do not need me any longer." They stare at each other for a few moments, Alberto finally giving in with a sigh.
"Stubborn thing, you are." Even so, his voice sounds lighter than it has the whole conversation and he rests his feet back on top of Ricardo's bed, smiling slightly. "Fine, Ricardo. You recover... and we'll take this a day at a time, si?"
The relief that floods the ring announcer's pale face is so pure that it almost hurts Alberto to look at. "Si," he whispers as if afraid that speaking any louder would change Alberto's mind. "Gracias, El Patron."
"No, Ricardo, I'm the one that should be saying gracias." He leans up, adjusting the sheets as Ricardo blinks tiredly up at him, his energy sapped yet again from the discussion. "Rest, Ricardo. I'll be here when you awaken again," he promises, smiling comfortingly as he settles back into the chair, watching as his ring announcer drifts back to some much needed sleep. "And for as long as you want me to be."