Spitting Spanish angrily, Alberto Del Rio watches on incredulously as almost half a dozen security officers follow him towards the arena's exit. "I didn't do anything!" he snaps, eyes flashing warningly when one of the men get a little too close to him.
Booker T has his hands up in what he thinks is attempts at being soothing. "I'm sorry, dawg, but Big Show says otherwise and considering the bad blood between you two and what's gone down recently, I believe him." He's unbending even as the current World champion rages, title gripped tightly in his right hand as he glares at the group of men trying to usher him out of the building.
"Ricardo is still in there," he snarls through gritted teeth, glaring across at the general manager. "Let me go get him and I'll leave."
"Sorry, I can't allow that. You have to leave, Alberto. I'll have someone tell him what's just happened. He'll be alright, but you have to leave the arena right now. You don't want to be suspended again, do you?" he asks, standing his ground as the angry Mexican growls, turning sharply on his heel and storming out of the building, the cool air doing nothing to ease his boiling blood.
He's so angry, he's trembling as he slumps against his car and glares at the building, eyes dark with danger and discomfort. Ricardo somehow always manages to be targeted by people and it only seems to be twice as bad whenever they're separated, the target on Alberto's back as champion somehow always ending up on the ring announcer, so he knows he should wait for him, make sure he gets out of there safely, but he feels like he's about to explode, every moment that passes while he waits for Ricardo to come outside and meet with him feeling like unequivocal torture.
He wishes he could just sneak inside, get the younger man, and leave, but there's a security guard standing at the door, keeping an eye on him, and he sneers, shaking his head. In the months that had passed, his eyes finally opening to how he'd been acting and treating those around him- especially poor Ricardo- had caused his temper to be drowned in regret and a need to make things right. But it was still a part of him, reappearing when Big Show had targeted Ricardo in the weeks leading up to their title matches. Leading them to here and now, one suspension and ejection both now under his belt.
It disgusts him that Booker could so easily choose that disgraceful perro's words over his own, keep his world champion from the show twice, and he can't bare to continue standing and waiting, watching for his ring announcer. "I'll be back," he mumbles, forcing the car door open and slamming it shut behind him. Keys in the ignition and he's off, needing to clear his head by racing to the city limits and then letting loose going as fast as he can in his priceless car, hoping that it'll be enough to help him calm down.
Ricardo is standing at catering, unaware of what's going on on the other side of the building, dark eyes locked on the rows of food covering the table he's in line for. The show's ending shortly and Alberto has a promo up soon, the ring announcer deciding to get them both something to hold them over until they can find something worthwhile to eat at this hour once the show is over. He's still waiting there when he feels eyes on him, his frown growing as he shifts, uncomfortable and awkward. Bad things always happen whenever he's noticed but no one approaches him and he winces, wondering why the whispers and staring continues on. However his curiosity goes on unanswered as he makes it to the table finally and collects some of the remaining food, relieved to leave catering safely.
He's half way to Del Rio's personal locker room when he hears more whispers, feels more stares. Growing anxious, thinking perhaps he has something on his clothes or stepped in something, he looks warily around as he continues on, trying to keep his head up and not show weakness while surrounded by all of these people who have hated both he and Alberto in the past and still might. His tension is nearly at its peak when a throat is cleared behind him and he jerks, almost dropping all of the food in his hands. "What?!" he demands, turning sharply on his heel just to find Teddy Long standing there, watching him with a frown. "Oh," he murmurs, flushing at realizing he's just all but yelled at the consulting supervisor of Smackdown. "Eh, lo siento, Mr. Long."
"No problem, playa. You alright?"
"Yes, si, I just... feel like everyone's staring at me for some reason."
"Oh, I think I know why, playa. See, Big Show is claimin' Alberto Del Rio attacked him again so Booker had no choice but to eject him from the building." As Ricardo stares at him in disbelief, Teddy makes a face. "Sorry, Ricardo. There was no proof of what Show's sayin' but the General Manager is erring on the side of caution." Done talking, the older man turns and leaves the ring announcer to stare at the useless food he's still holding onto.
"Fantastic," he sighs, continuing on his way to the locker room. He stops in front of one of the groups of superstars and hands over the food to a surprised Zack Ryder, the whispering briefly easing off. "Bon Appetit." Squaring his shoulders once more, he continues on to his employer's room and collects their things, hosting each bag over his shoulders before sighing loudly. Eyes opening, he fumbles awkwardly with the door before making his way back out into the hallway, ignoring everyone once more as he walks to the exit and leaves the building. A chilly wind greets him as soon as the door clicks shut behind him but he ignores it, walking towards the parking lot.
Alberto's car is spotless, braggadocios and impossible to miss, even if you're not well-versed to the point of obsessiveness with all of the vehicles the man owns. So Ricardo knows before he takes two steps into the row of cars that his employer's car just isn't there, all of the other average cars and vans looking sub-par in comparison. He stops and he stares, allowing his own bag to slip heedlessly to the pavement below as he clings to Del Rio's. "No, no. He..." He turns in a circle, despite already knowing. "He left me here." He frowns and shakes his head, knowing that the only thing that can clear the older man's mind when he's angry is a long drive in the middle of nowhere. "Great."
The hotel isn't far, honestly, but it's cold and late, and he has their two bags to carry... He grimaces and lifts his own bag once more, securing it against his shoulder, before walking hesitantly towards the street. "Ok, Ricardo," he tells himself. "You can do this. No big deal." Bracing himself against the wind, he keeps his head down and begins to walk, suspecting he may arrive at the hotel before Alberto, considering how long some of his drives can last.
Half an hour into his drive and Del Rio takes a deep breath, realizing that he's passing through a small town and had completely left the arena and all of its aggravations behind- which also means he'd forgotten completely about Ricardo. "Maldita Sea!" he hisses, pulling off a rough U-Turn and backtracking as quickly as he dares, trying to avoid a speeding ticket but also return to the arena before Ricardo begins to worry. He's just pulled into the parking lot when he realizes some of the others are leaving, the show obviously wrapping up. Except that... Ricardo isn't among them, nor is he anywhere outside of the building. Del Rio frowns, rolling his window down. "Hey, where's Ricardo?" he yells out to the nearest group of superstars, causing them to stop and stare at him oddly.
"What do you mean, bro? He left around half an hour ago," Zack Ryder calls back, frowning.
Alberto pales. "He... did?"
"Yeah, he even gave me his catering before he went." He rolls his eyes at this but shrugs. "Maybe he walked to the hotel? It isn't that far."
"Maybe." Del Rio presses the button to roll his window up and once more turns the car around, heading back out to the road to drive to the hotel. He has our bags with him, that alone would slow him down. Depending on when exactly he left, I might be able to catch him still. Driving considerably slower as he goes the few blocks to the hotel they'd booked, he keeps a keen eye out on the right side of the street, frown growing the further he goes. It's a chilly January night and he hopes that the younger man is safely at the hotel, taking a warm shower or wrapped up in blankets, watching TV while he waits for him, but something is sticking with him, adding to his dislike of the whole situation.
His eyes still flickering from the street to the side of the road, he almost misses spotting something but just does, stopping short right in the middle of the road and not caring as a couple of cars behind him lay on the horn, his car picking up just enough speed to ease onto the shoulder, Alberto not waiting for the cars to pass, climbing over into the passenger's side and getting out of that door. He walks back to where he'd seen the shape and stares down, his lips thinning as he recognizes the bag laying on the ground, abandoned. It's Ricardo's. He closes his eyes and releases a deep breath, trying not to lose it as he leans over and collects the item, dusting it off with shaky swipes. "Ok," he mutters. "Here's his bag, now where is he?"
He's only taken a few steps, his shrewd eyes locked on the path ahead, when he spots something dark and somehow separate from the shadows laying a few feet away, not moving. His breath seizing in his chest, he dashes forward and shakes his head, realizing that yes, he'd found his poor ring announcer, sprawled across the gravel, his bag laying next to him, its straps tangled around his arm. "Ay Ricardo," he chokes out, kneeling down next to him and resting one hand on his chest while freeing him from the bag to keep him from getting hurt worse. "Amigo, can you hear me? Ricardo?" He pats his face a few times, eyes widening when the ring announcer stirs slightly, groaning. "Hey, hey. Ricardo, I'm here."
"El Patron?" he breathes out, struggling to open his eyes. "What-... where'm I?" He shudders as another cold blast of wind sweeps over them, Alberto quickly peeling his jacket off and wrapping it around the younger man. "Wha..."
"You're on the side of the road, amigo. What happened?" But he thinks he knows already- parts of the side of the road is covered in ice from a recent storm system, and he can just see a nearby patch reflecting his car's taillights, otherwise almost invisible in the darkness.
Ricardo winces and breathes out, staring at Del Rio in confusion. "I...I don't know," he admits. "I... was walking back to the hotel, and... I think... ice, maybe? I didn't see it, but I just lost traction, and..." He hisses, suddenly trying to sit up. "The bags- I..."
"No, no, amigo, don't move." His arm on Ricardo's chest suddenly becomes a way to keep him from moving. "I have both of our bags here, don't worry. And I'm going to call for an ambulance, you may have injured your neck or-" But the look on Ricardo's face stops him short. "What, mi amigo, what?"
"El Patron, I know how neck injuries feel quite well by now... My neck is fine. Please, I can't stay like this- the ground is freezing. I need to sit up," he beseeches wearily.
Alberto feels sympathetic but can't quite get the thought that if he allows him to move and he has a spinal injury, this could worsen it. However, the longer Ricardo looks desperately up at him, shivering, the closer he comes to giving in. "One thing," he finally mumbles, hating himself for this already. "Can you wriggle your toes?" He has shoes on, but even so Alberto can see when he does so, both men sighing in relief. "Alright, Ricardo," he finally concedes. "But carefully. Very carefully."
The ring announcer nods and gingerly starts to hoist himself up, his back protesting the movement but, with a supporting arm from Del Rio, he makes his way up to a sitting position and breathes in through his nose, sighing. "That's better," he mutters, smiling faintly as Alberto stares into his face, still uncertain.
"Are you sure, amigo?" he asks, still considering calling 911. "I think I should-"
"Por favor, I'm fine, I just... I want to leave," he requests faintly, shaking his head. "I'm just cold, El Patron. I promise... if I feel like something's wrong, I'll let you know. Just... can we... please...?"
Alberto stares into his eyes with a faint frown, finally sighing. "Very well, it's not good for you to remain in the cold anyway, mi amigo. Slowly, slowly," he advises, helping him to stand carefully. "How do you feel?" he demands once he's upright and seems steady enough.
"I think- I think I'm ok," he breathes. "I... think I'm just cold and..." He takes a step to test his strength out and his body reacts as expected, his first attempt a little shaky and weak, but every other becoming closer to normal. "See? El Patron... I'm going to be ok. Sore, perhaps, in the morning, but alright."
Del Rio makes an unhappy hmming noise before supporting him over to the car, relieved once he's sitting down in the passenger's side, sighing as he rests against the plush leather. "Wait right here, I'll get the bags," he orders grimly, waiting long enough to ensure that Ricardo is going to listen before he returns to the side of the road, careful to avoid the ice while collecting their things. He shakes his head, staring down at the ground. He'd had so many worrisome thoughts running through his head when he'd first seen him just laying here, motionless, like perhaps... hit and run... or something... but he was fine, he was moving and talking and... Alberto sucks in a deep breath, relieved once more for his friend's level of endurance- injury after injury and he somehow kept finding the strength to get to his feet and fight on, fulfill his obligations and never once wavering from being completely loyal to Alberto.
Returning to the car and stuffing their bags in the trunk, he walks back to Ricardo and makes sure he's settled in the passenger seat before shutting the door on him, rushing over to his side of the car and getting in. "Alright, amigo?"
"Si," he nods. "I'm fine, El Patron." He hesitates, pressing his fingers together. "You... you're suspended again?"
"Not this time," he responds, barely caring after how he'd found Ricardo on the side of the road, knowing that that'll be stuck with him for awhile. "Just banned from the building tonight. Don't worry, mi amigo, everything will be fine by the next event." When Ricardo nods trustingly, he smiles. "Come, let's get back to the hotel and get you warmed up, hmm?"
"Si, I- that sounds good," he murmurs, his hands still trembling a bit in his lap. He smiles faintly when Alberto reaches over and turns the heat up a bit before easing the car back onto the highway and driving once more towards the hotel.
"Lo siento, mi amigo," Alberto finally says, his eyes flickering from the road to his ring announcer. "I... I shouldn't have driven off like that, I should've waited... I was just so angry, this situation with Big Show is frustrating, but... it was wrong of me to leave you behind like that..."
Ricardo shakes his head, taking a breath. "I also could've waited at the arena, I... know you wouldn't leave me behind like that for very long. I- it was stupid, I suppose, but I thought I could make it back to the hotel safely and not force you to come back to get me, since the last thing you probably want to do is see that building again right now." He sighs. "If not for the ice..."
Alberto smiles half-heartedly, patting him on the shoulder. "Never mind, mi amigo. Let's move past this, hm? They can't keep us away from him forever. We'll get our revenge soon enough. Are you any warmer? The hotel is only a couple of minutes away," he adds, noticing that his friend is still shivering now and again.
"Si, I'll be fine, El Patron." He tilts his head at Alberto and smiles faintly. "Gracias for finding me."
Glancing over once more, Alberto smiles too, relieved for a great many things, his anger all but forgotten as he reflects on how badly tonight could've gone. "Always, Ricardo."