A/N: Um. Ok. Many, many, many months ago my friend Amy, loyal reader that she is, requested an ADR/Ricardo fic from me (no I'm not writing my own request... lol). I have been a horrible writer, distracted by NaNo and the million other story ideas I've thought up in the meantime, and the most ridiculous family dramas imaginable, but she has been beyond patient with me and, although this isn't my normal kind of story, my uploading stories that generally aren't my "normal" kind during the 31 Days of Fic has kind of become the norm for this thing so I decided since she's been so kind, I would finish it and upload it as my hundredth fic to this website. This story is compiled from a great many things (tweets, articles, of course WWE results themselves) from late August to mid September, and... I hope it flows decently. It's officially the longest story I've written outside of Back to Basics. And, yes, it's slash.
Also, I tend to create soundtracks for my longer stories (Flip of a Coin had one. As did Proving Capable...) so if anyone's curious, it's this:
Soundtrack:
A Perfect Circle- 3 Libras
Buckcherry- Everything
Lifehouse- Breathing
Staind- Epiphany
Goo Goo Dolls- Here is Gone
The Calling- Unstoppable
Godsmack- Serenity
Nickelback- Where?
Adelitas Way- Criticize
Seether- Truth
Evans Blue- Cold (But I'm Still Here)
Offspring- Turning Into You
Breaking Benjamin- Forget it
Lifehouse- Everything
Default- With or Without you
Submersed- You run
Fuel- A Million Miles Away
Taproot-Calling
Daughtry- What about Now?
Parabelle- In My Soul
But no matter whether you listen to it all or not, 3 Libras is just too perfect for this story and I highly recommend listening to it at least once. Anyway, I hope you like it, Amy!
"I'm in love with you."
The words come easily, the results follow slowly. Alberto Del Rio stops abruptly and Ricardo Rodriguez follows suit a few steps behind him, his sock-covered toes pressing against the cool tile floor. He had lost both of his shoes ten minutes earlier during Smackdown, when Alberto had won against Orton and then turned his attention to Sheamus, Ricardo giving him his shoe to try to placate the anger visible in his eyes just for him to roughly push Ricardo to the mat to take his other shoe as a weapon a few moments later. Where exactly they had gone after all of that, he's unsure- his shoe budget was becoming ridiculous at this rate. But he's tired and he's a little sore, beyond caring at the moment. He barely flinches when the destined one turns slowly and looks at him, an indecipherable look in his dark eyes.
"What did you just say?"
He keeps his eyes level with Alberto's, well aware that his employer scoffs at and ignores him whenever he tries to say something but is unable to look him in the eye when doing so. "I'm in love with you." Again, they flow like water, pure truth always simple to say, even if it hurts. Time ticks by, feeling like hours has passed, Ricardo holding his breath as they stare at each other, Del Rio's face painfully blank. Finally he turns on his heel and continues walking, as if nothing had just been said to him, as if Ricardo's world hadn't just fallen away under his feet. He pauses for long moments, unsure what to do, if he should follow or...
"Are you coming or not?" Alberto's impatient voice snaps back at him and he swallows, quickly rushing to follow him out to the parking lot. They leave the arena, Ricardo having to remind himself to breathe steadily as he tries desperately not to fumble or mess up anything else that Alberto requires of him the rest of the weekend- the longest days of Ricardo's life as the two men only speak when absolutely necessary, barely acknowledging each other outside of the house shows they had been required to make appearances at.
As much as he hates the tense silence, it is better than Alberto continuing to verbally or- much more rarely- physically attacking him. On reflection, he's not sure why he'd said it then, when he knew Alberto was so angry- perhaps was hoping it would somehow make things easier- but, as sad as it makes him, he is unsurprised, had even expected this sort of response or something much worse.
That Monday, the Mexican aristocrat is placed in a tag match with Dolph Ziggler (to Ricardo's relief, he's alone at ringside, Vickie Guerrero still backstage refusing to show her face after what transpired with Brodus Clay and the Funkadactyls earlier in the show) but their team loses when Ricardo tries to assist Dolph to victory by tossing the briefcase into him, the amount of time that it takes the Show Off to grab the weapon just enough for Sheamus to hit a brogue kick and the pin. He flushes, worried about what Alberto will say or do to him for inadvertently costing his team the victory but when he hesitantly joins him, the older man only glances over at him briefly, that blank expression back on his face, before waving off the aftermath of the match behind him, acting like it's of little consequence to him as he walks back up the ramp.
Ricardo releases a soft breath later on as he sinks into bed, Del Rio already fast asleep on the other side of the room. The silence between them was moving from tense and sad to plainly annoying, Ricardo sick of having nothing to distract him from his own, jumbled thoughts. He stares at his employer's back, shaking his head. I know I shouldn't have said anything... at least then... His hands bunching into fists against the sheets, he sighs. At least then he'd talk to me... look at me...
The silence, amazingly, is shattered early the next morning, Alberto seeming almost reluctant when he comes out of the bathroom, finding Ricardo organizing their duffels. "Are you ready to go?" he asks blandly, Ricardo's face jerking up in shock at the sound of his voice.
"Eh, eh," he stammers for a moment, fingers pausing on a pile of Alberto's clothing. "Si, si, yes," he finally comes back into control of himself, zipping both bags up after a quick scan of the room. Finding nothing left behind, he stands and dusts his hands off, gripping the handles and lifting them.
"Good," he mumbles. "Come, then." They are returning to Florida, spending a few days there before having to travel out to the week's Smackdown. Ricardo isn't sure how to feel about this, not even having the distractions of life on the road to keep them busy, away from dwelling on what he'd said the previous Friday.
Unlike during the long hours of driving from the past few days when it had been Ricardo virtually alone behind the wheel, Alberto stays awake the whole flight. He doesn't say a lot, his attention mostly directed out of the window to the brilliant blue sky outside, but it's a little better than how obviously he had been avoiding Ricardo previously. They even get into a short conversation about a couple of the peasants Del Rio had seen in the airport stuck back in coach, Ricardo's eyes gleaming when Alberto laughs at something he says about their woeful appearance. He had missed all of this- their shared disdain for the general population, Alberto's voice, his laugh.
As they disembark the plane, he can't help but hope that it'll be the return to normalcy he's craved for much too long now... but he doesn't see much of Alberto the rest of the day, busy wandering around his Florida home's land, making sure nothing has been damaged or lost in their absence. He himself has always painstakingly pored over Alberto's staff to ensure they are all dependable and above board but anything can happen, and he knows that Del Rio appreciates the second look around just to make sure.
It is a nice day anyway, the Florida weather warm but not muggy, a gentle breeze ruffling through his ungelled hair. As he takes in the spacious grounds, dotted by buildings here and there full of the few cars that Alberto keeps here for his general use (not to be confused with the various cars just for his various entrances, no, those were more toys of his, rarely to be used but to be looked at from afar, kept mainly in Mexico.), he feels more relaxed than he has in a long time. This, he can do easily, confidentially. Not expect any kind of repercussions or sneering from Alberto, or being outright ignored. He passes by the gardener and nods at the man, only pausing long enough to ask about the status of things, if he had seen anything out of the ordinary. Upon receiving a satisfactory negative answer, he continues on his way.
It takes a couple of hours to walk the grounds and by the time he's back within view of the house, the sun has started to sink behind the house, casting a reddish purple glow over everything. It is nearing fall and even Florida isn't exempt from the seasonal change, the evenings growing just a little more brisk and cooler with each passing day, the nearby ocean adding to sudden temperature fluctuations. He stuffs his hands into his slacks pockets as he nears the patio, eyes cast on the grass getting crushed beneath his shoes. He's about to walk past, to the back door, when a throat is cleared to his right. He jerks, looking up, and gapes as he realizes that Alberto had been sitting at the pristine, white table set up out there, a glass of wine in hand. "El Patron, lo siento," he manages after a long moment, his face warming with mortification as he realizes he'd almost walked right by his employer as if he wasn't there. "I did not realize you were out here."
Alberto makes a noncommittal hmmming noise before waving a hand at him. "Join me, Ricardo. It is beautiful out here tonight, si?"
Suddenly cold and pale, Ricardo swallows and gingerly makes his way back up to the white furniture, hoping that he will not ruin anything. He had, after all, been walking for quite a long while, trying discreetly to check himself for grass stains or anything else as he nears the as-ever impeccable Destined One. "Is there something you need, El Patron?" he asks anxiously, standing at attention next to the table as he waits.
Alberto frowns at him, tilting his head. "Sit, Ricardo."
The ring announcer gulps, fearing the worst as he claims the chair across from the older Mexican, anxiously twisting his hands together while Alberto sips from his wine, dark eyes locked on the horizon. Ricardo feels more and more uncomfortable with each passing minute, his eyes shifting from Alberto to their surroundings. He bites his lip, not wanting to antagonize him and risk ruining the moment, by asking again if he needs anything. His main worry is that Alberto will abruptly bring up his faux pas from the past weekend after ignoring it, ignoring him for days.
He's had time to think, Ricardo muses, his eyes resting now on the table top as he tries to keep his breathing steady, not reveal just how sick he's feeling. What can I do if he decides I'm a liability and fires me?
"What is the schedule for the next few days, Ricardo?" he finally asks, leaning back against the chair and looking every part the man of leisure.
Blinking, the ring announcer clears his throat awkwardly and tries to focus. "Eh, nothing tomorrow or Thursday, El Patron, but there are radio interviews on Friday. I will get you the information shortly."
"Gracias," he says simply, closing his eyes as he trails a finger along the rim of his glass. They sit in silence for awhile longer, enjoying the gentle Florida weather as everything darkens around them, Ricardo hazarding a few glances over at Del Rio, just taking in the calm, peaceful look on his face. He's a much different man when he's at home, away from competition and other aggravations. He wishes he- they- could remain like this forever.
The next day is spent on errands and organizing, restocking some necessities around the house and the few perishable groceries that Del Rio will require the next couple of days, and scheduling the next round of flights and shipment of selected cars from Mexico. Yet again he barely sees Alberto except for briefly in the morning to hear what he needs done today, but that's ok. The night before had ended well enough that he doesn't want to push it, risk encouraging a renewal of the tension that had been surrounding them when they were on the road. By the time he returns to the house, it's almost ten PM and he smiles at the patiently waiting Sofia who greets him at the door, whispering, "Is El Patron in bed?"
She nods. "Si, he is asleep, senor. I am heading there myself shortly."
He nods, resting a hand on her arm and gently leading her out of the room. "Go on ahead, I will lock the house up."
She hesitates, slowing them down as she tries to turn back around, dark eyes wide. "Are you sure, senor? I-"
"Si, I'm sure," he whispers as they go further into the house, not wanting to risk disturbing Alberto. "Get some sleep. I am not that tired."
She only stalls a moment longer, peering up at him, before she sighs and pulls away. "Si, very well then. Gracias. Buenas Noches."
"Buenas Noches," he says to her back as she walks quietly down the hall to her own room. Once she's gone, he turns back to the living room and wanders around, inanely checking the front door's locks, the back door's lock, and even trailing through a few rooms, making sure the windows too are locked. He feels jittery, uncomfortable.
The house is silent around him, he is alone, and the only company he has is his thoughts. Once he's sure the house is locked down, he sits down at the kitchen table and scrubs at his face, trying to calm down. He had been busy or surrounded by people nonstop since that night so he hadn't really had a lot of chances to think about what he had done, what had been said. And not said. He groans faintly, pressing his thumbs against his nose. He had never felt worse than that moment back at the arena, shoeless and watching Alberto walk away from him without acknowledging his feelings, but this moment is pretty bad as well... knowing that Del Rio had moved past it all like it had been nothing.
Resting his chin in his hands, he pulls his phone out and peers at it blankly for a bit before accessing his Twitter via mobile web. Finding nothing important on his timeline, he stares at the wall opposite of him, so many thoughts and feelings welling up within him that he'd give anything just to vent to someone, anyone. Unable to say what he wants to the most, under a microscope like all of the other WWE talent, he settles for simply tweeting 'always waiting'. That small tweet only makes it worse, somehow, his feelings growing more despondent as he sits there, staring at it. Finally giving up on sitting in the dark, alone, he ventures to his room.
He wakes up early on Friday, staring at the ceiling for a little bit. His melancholy hadn't passed, only fading a very little bit the day before. Alberto has the radio interview and then they have to fly out to Smackdown so thankfully he has no time to dwell on these things. He takes a deep breath, pulling himself reluctantly from his warm bedding before going to get himself together for the day.
He can hear Alberto's voice from his bedroom as he walks by, aware that the Mexican Aristocrat is handling the radio interview over the phone before their flight in a couple of hours, and pauses outside to listen. Sometimes he just likes to listen to Alberto speak, even if his English is a little faulty sometimes. It relaxes him, sooths his nerves to hear the confidence bleeding through his words.
But all comfort he could possibly gain from this fades quickly away as, after awhile, Alberto speaks up once more, the interviewer obviously finishing with yet another question. "Eh," Del Rio laughs, sounding a little derisive, almost bored. "Of course, it is inevitable that Ricardo Rodriguez and my working together will come to an end. Don't they all, eventually?"
It's like a bucket of ice water splashed across his body, freezing his mind, his heart, his soul. The fact that Alberto could speak so cavalierly about the conclusion of his being under Alberto's employ... He feels ill. Unable to stand there and listen any longer, he stumbles away and returns to his bedroom, sitting there in the half-light for he's not sure how long, watching how the sunbeams drift across the floor from the slats of his drawn blinds. He's still in that position when Alberto comes to find him, ready to leave for the airport to head to Smackdown.
"Si of course, El Patron," he says faintly, trying to act normal as he collects their things and follows the Mexican aristocrat to the car. As soon as they're safely through security and on the plane, Alberto settled in his seat and waiting for Ricardo to finish sorting their carry on bags, he sneaks his phone out and sends a quick tweet: C'est la vie.
That night, his turmoil only continues, heightened even further when Alberto is placed in a match against Kane. Ricardo watches for as long as he can, trying not to cause him the match, but it's too much, Kane is gaining the advantage rapidly, and the last thing Ricardo wants to see is Del Rio chokeslammed or worse. He finds an opening and jumps up onto the apron, successfully distracting the referee and Kane. He concedes when the referee warns him and jumps back down, smirking at the audience, when he feels gloved fingers in his hair, his heart stopping as he's roughly tugged back up to the apron in one rough pull. His struggles aren't enough, Kane has him by the throat, he's going to be chokeslammed off of the-
But then Alberto is there, Alberto has Kane, and Alberto hits a devastating backcracker on the much taller monster, leveling him long enough for the three count. Ricardo watches from where he'd fallen back to the floor, trying to smooth his hair down and rub the lingering soreness from his throat. It's an amused Alberto, laughing from the top of the ramp as Kane struggles to his feet, that Ricardo finds himself next to, something about the sound of his true joy easing some of the unending pain from his own soul. Before he's even aware of what he's doing, he curls his hand around Alberto's neck, pulling him in to a brief hug and resting his chin on top of his head. On national TV.
To his amazement, Alberto does not push him away or yell at him for the random bit of affection. Then again, he doesn't mention it at all afterwards, and Ricardo can't help but wonder if maybe, still riding his high from defeating the Big Red Monster, he hadn't even noticed his touch.
By Monday, Ricardo feels a little more like his old self, relieved to see things between him and Alberto finding a more even keel. He still can't get the mortifying memories of the past few weeks out of his head, but he knows he has no real choice but to take it a day at a time. El Patron is right, I suppose. Our allegiance could end at any time, but I cannot focus on that. I need to continue doing my job to the best of my ability so he's less inclined to fire me. Swallowing, he returns his focus back to whispering strategy in the Mexican aristocrat's ear as they watch Sheamus compete against Jack Swagger, Del Rio tense like he's waiting for something.
Finally the match concludes, Sheamus of course coming out the victor, and Alberto pushes Ricardo towards the ring, pulling his own headset off as they go. Ricardo leaps up on the apron, distracting Sheamus as Alberto takes the other side, but Sheamus spots him and hits him hard, Ricardo trying and failing once more to give Alberto the space he needs to mount an attack, getting smacked back through the ring ropes and leaving Alberto vulnerable to a bone rattling White Noise. Del Rio is off-balanced and unable to defend as Sheamus prepares to hit the dreaded Brogue Kick, Ricardo watching on with horror deep in his bones. El Patron cannot get injured again, not this close to his next title opportunity... No. What do I do, what do I do. Gnawing his lip, he waits and he hopes that Alberto will be able to distance himself from Sheamus' attack, but as soon as he's up and wavering around unsteadily, the ring announcer knows. I have to stop this. Through the ropes once more and, unfortunately timed that just as Ricardo pushes his employer out of the way, Sheamus has struck out with the Brogue Kick and hits the ring announcer dead on in the face, causing him to spin and drop front first against the mat.
Everything goes dark. He can hear activity around him, his eyes heavy and everything muffled. He thinks he should worry about his own incapability of moving or doing anything, but warm hands are on his neck and face and that's all that matters right now. Hopefully El Patron is alright, he thinks, then wonders why that should matter. Brogue Kick, his memories kindly remind him, his body tensing as he remembers what had led to here, now, with him unconscious and unable to move. He claws his way back towards the noises around him, focusing on those hands, and finally breaks through, his eyes wearily fluttering open.
Alberto is leaning over him, trainers and others trying to revive him, but he ignores them, feeling separated from his body even as he struggles to move his hand, finally somehow getting ahold of Alberto's arm and clinging to it, the fact that he's now touching Alberto and being touched by him grounding him better than anything else could. He looks so worried, he thinks vacantly. Why does he look so worried... He can't bring himself to mind too much however, finding it less energy consuming to just feel relief that his El Patron is by his side, healthy and whole.
He's transported to the trainers quickly after that, Alberto by his side every step of the way, his hand on his arm a constant presence even when he fades back into unconsciousness.
Del Rio paces, shaking his head. Listens vaguely to David Otunga, who had slipped into the trainer's office shortly after Ricardo had been brought in, the trainer busy examining his neck and spine to sort out the level of damage he'd taken from the Brogue Kick. Tries to figure it out in his head, the sequence of events, if he could've done anything differently so neither he or Ricardo would end up here. Nothing comes to him, however, and he shudders, unable to get the vision of Ricardo struggling just to touch his arm earlier out of his mind. "I can't..." He pushes past Otunga to the door, leaving the room quickly. He feels nauseous, shaky.
He unfortunately can't even find a moment's peace to try to sort his jumbled thoughts out there, a camera and microphone thrust in his face as one of the annoying announcers starts asking him rapid questions about Ricardo's condition. He shakes his head, unable to keep the distraught look from his face, only relieved when Otunga follows him out and shoos off the man, telling him that his client won't be answering any questions at this time. Alberto turns sharply back towards the room and reenters, finding Ricardo's eyes open a slit as the trainer tries to ask him question, test his awareness.
"Move, perro," he orders the man roughly, stepping up to Ricardo's side. The ring announcer's eyes open a little more as he realizes who's by his side and Alberto frowns down at him, his hands hovering over him while he tries to figure out where to touch that won't add to his agony. "Ricardo," he whispers, lips twitching as he blinks up at him. "Why did you... Why..."
Through a gasp, he mumbles, "El Patron... didn't want to see you hurt..." His eyes flutter a few more times as Alberto stares down at him, troubled. "... or risk losing your title opportunity..."
"Titles mean nothing if you get seriously injured, mi amigo," Alberto murmurs back, feeling as surprised as Ricardo looks at these words, at how deeply he finds that he means them. He shakes his head, not sure what to think of all of this. "Ricardo... just rest, si? You need it." He finally rests his hand on the other man's chest, feeling as he breathes in and out, his heart beating beneath his fingers, and takes some comfort in the regularity of it all. There had been a brief moment in the ring when the younger man hadn't moved, his horribly blank eyes open and staring through Del Rio, that had shattered his soul, the Mexican aristocrat fearing the worst. "You will be fine. I will make sure of it, no matter what it takes."
To his annoyance, Ricardo is taken to the hospital for further examination while he is stuck at Raw to conclude his match with Cena in the main event, and even though it is a street fight and his body begins stinging within the first five minutes due to the various weapons they are using and anything nearby to further injure each other, he can barely focus enough to continue chaining together offense. Every time he closes his eyes, he can only see his poor ring announcer asleep on the stretcher as they directed him down to the ambulance, Alberto having no choice but to let him go, watch from the parking lot as Otunga slips into the back of the van after promising to keep a close eye on the young man's condition, call Alberto if anything happens... make sure he gets the best care possible until he can arrive.
Despite Otunga being suspiciously helpful the past hour- of course, the lawyer would come running at the first whiff of a possible lawsuit-, he hopes that Ricardo stays asleep until he gets there, not wanting him to awaken to a strange place surrounded by unfamiliar people. His body is throbbing viciously after Cena hits him with an Attitude Adjustment in the hallway not far from the trainer's office, and Del Rio thinks it's over until a car pulls up and Punk arrives, GTSing Cena against the hood of said car. He feels himself being lifted and strewn carelessly across Cena's prone body, achieving the three count.
He barely cares about the win, distantly acknowledging it as the referee lifts his hand in success, before he stumbles away towards the trainer's office, where his things and Ricardo's had been abandoned. He collects them as hurriedly as he can before running for where his car had been left after the evening's horrible sequence of events. Dropping everything in the backseat, not even bothering to carefully put them in the trunk as Ricardo usually does, he peels out and turns straight to the hospital one of the EMTs had directed him to earlier. I'm on my way, Ricardo. Hold on.
After just keeping under the speed limit only because he knows that getting busted by police and having to smooth talk his way out of a speeding ticket would only mean it'd take that much longer to get to the hospital, he is somewhere between relieved and annoyed to see Otunga by the nurse's desk, seemingly charming the women behind the desk. His hands curling into fists, Alberto rounds on him, eyes squinting in anger. "Otunga, what are you doing out here? You left Ricardo alone?"
He barely blinks an eye, turning to Del Rio with a slight grimace. "I was talking to this very helpful nurse here to ensure that you'd be allowed in to see Ricardo as soon as you arrived. He's still sleeping so I figured taking a moment to make sure that there'd be no delay wouldn't hurt."
Alberto stares at him distrustingly for a moment, before looking at the nurse. "Where is he?" She glances from man to man before slipping from behind the desk and leading them quietly through the halls, finally stopping towards the end of the main corridor. Alberto ignores as she starts to speak, brushing past her and into the room. His tense shoulders relax slightly as he catches sight of his friend, laid out across the hospital bed, breathing softly as he sleeps on. Good, he thinks inanely, quietly moving closer to the bed. At least he doesn't seem to be in pain or scared. Like before. He shakes his head, trying to rid his mind of the memory from the middle of the ring of Ricardo staring up at him in dazed fright, while sitting down next to him. "I'm here, amigo. Lo siento, it shouldn't have taken this long... but I won my match against that perro, Cena." Even that feels cheap now, his laughter derisive and grating as he rests a hand on Ricardo's arm. "Not that it matters, not now."
He sits there for long moments, watching the monitors keeping track of his heart rate and oxygen levels, blood pressure, a slew of other numbers that Alberto isn't sure of the meaning. There's so much he wants to say, so many conflicted thoughts scattered around his mind, that he isn't sure where to start. Rubbing faint circles along Ricardo's skin, he opts to remain quiet and sits back, eyes narrowing as he peers at the younger man who had sacrificed so much for him the last few years, and just kept on doing it more and more. "Thank you," he finally whispers, shaking his head when he realizes just how many times he should've said so and hadn't.
He doesn't sleep much that night, watching the nurses go back and forth, the subtle changes in Ricardo's vitals, the sun rising in the east as night gives way to yet another day. He hopes that this one will be a much better one for both of them. Gets a good look at his ring announcer's pale, pain-tightened face in natural light and doubts it is possible. "I'm so sorry," he tells the still sleeping man, rubbing at his gritty eyes.
Feeling jittery and like if he doesn't get up and do something he may explode- physically or in anger, he's not sure- he gives up on the bedside vigil briefly and wanders out into the hallway. Spotting one of the nurses who'd been in now and again the last few hours, he tries to smile charmingly at her but thinks he barely manages a grimace, too tired to fully function with his normal suaveness. "Excuse me," he says, accent so thick that even he can barely understand himself. He flushes slightly and clears his throat before continuing, relieved when the nurse waits patiently for him to continue, understanding shining in her eyes. "Ricardo... when will he be released?"
She makes a small face, wincing. "Well, the doctor has scheduled him for a number of tests today. He also wants to keep a close eye on his neck. It may be a few days. We aren't sure, it depends on what the tests show." Adjusting the files in her hands, she smiles at him compassionately. "You may want to go get some rest, he'll be in and out for most of the day thanks to the medicine we have him on. And you look pretty worn out."
"I don't want to leave him alone," Del Rio refuses immediately, the very prospect seeming unfathomable to him. Not after everything Ricardo had gone through for him, not now. "If he awakens and I am not here..."
"It's your choice," she tells him quietly, shuffling some files around as she prepares to continue along her way. "You'll be more help to him if you're rested, or at least have a somewhat proper meal."
He rolls his eyes, ignoring her as he peers once more inside of the hospital room, taking a breath as Ricardo sleeps on. The very thought of leaving makes him feel horrible but sleep does sound very welcoming right now. He grimaces and ventures into the room once more, easing down on the chair next to Ricardo's bed, watching him through gritty eyes. He's not sure when exactly his eyes slip shut, or when his chin rests on his chest, sleep fully claiming him but he does know when he wakes up, the room once more half-lit as drapes block the now mid-afternoon sun from disturbing either of their rest... Ricardo! His eyes lift and he blinks a few times, finding his ring announcer staring at him through half-opened eyes. He sits forward, smiling slightly. "Ricardo?"
He stares back, fear still filling his vision and Del Rio winces, resting a hand on his upper arm, trying to look comforting as he leans closer, about to say something else. "El- El Patron," he breathes out, eyes fluttering shut before he reopens them, now looking a little more secure as they stare at each other, Alberto surprised and happy to hear his voice, however low and pain-filled it is.
He smiles, resting a hand on Ricardo's upper arm. "Si. Take it easy, eh? It's good to see you awake once more."
It doesn't last long, just enough for a nurse to come in and see him, and then Ricardo's dark eyes close once more, his arm trembling beneath Del Rio's fingers even as she feeds more pain killer into his IV. "We'll be taking him in for tests on his neck soon," she tells him softly, taking in how his eyes flicker uncertainly to the younger man. "He'll probably sleep through them though. Try not to worry."
He nods briskly and waits, watches, as the younger man sleeps for awhile, looking peaceful despite the overwhelming neck brace still snug around his throat. The interns and nurses come almost half an hour later and take him away, bed and all, for their tests and leave Del Rio behind to pace and mumble to himself, thinking about the last twenty-four hours with no lack of regret and exhaustion.
When they return, Ricardo is semi-conscious, his eyes open just enough to glint in the subtle lamplight. Once they settle him back in, and replace all of the wires and tubes monitoring his vitals and keeping him hydrated while he rests, he slips back under again and Del Rio sighs, a little disappointed. He knows the rest is good for him, but the more he remains asleep, the more Alberto has time to do nothing but think. Worry. He shakes his head and lounges back in the large chair, resting his face in his hand as he watches Ricardo sleep. Soon enough, he dozes off again as well.
The next morning, he has a call waiting for him by Otunga and, as much as he hates it, he has to at least meet with the lawyer and ensure that legal procedures are moving along steadily. Which means he has to leave the hospital for the first time since he'd arrived after Raw. He hovers by the bed, a grimace on his lips. "I'll be back soon," he promises, turning sharply on his heel before walking out of the door.
The meeting with Otunga seems to drag on forever, even though in all actuality, it only lasts a little over an hour, David painstakingly going over what statutes he'd found overnight, and what he'd gathered from Booker T's camp, which really isn't much. The General Manager continues to be aggravatingly mum about it all, opting instead to address the matter on television this Friday. Unsurprised but yet disgusted, Alberto nods grimly and shakes his hand before leaving, his whole body thrumming to be back by Ricardo's side, make sure his recovery is moving along steadily.
He wants him by his side, doesn't want to have to leave town to head to the next event while the ring announcer is stuck in this strange hospital, but he's not quite sure if he can avoid it as time slips through his fingers at an annoying speed. The doctors and nurses both are still being very quiet about when Ricardo will be released, just that it would happen as soon as they were satisfied with his tests and secure in the diagnosis they provide him before letting him venture back out into the world. It is already nearly mid-Wednesday now and he'll need to leave late Thursday or early Friday, depending on the previously mentioned factors.
These thoughts quickly become irrelevant when he arrives at the hospital and finds a commotion happening down the hall. His eyes widen when he realizes that it's not just some commotion, it's happening in Ricardo's room. He rushes past all of the people wandering around the hallway, ignoring their sharp calls out towards him. He freezes as he spots his ring announcer, struggling against and appearing deaf and blind to the people trying to comfort him, an orderly rushing over with a needle of clear liquid. "Stop that!" he snaps at the hospital staff surrounding the younger man's bed, forcing his way over to his ring announcer and wrapping a protective arm around him as he stares daringly at the orderly with the drugs. "Back off," he snarls, just barely tamping down on his temper before he insults these people in Spanish, realizing with a grimace that, yes, they're just trying to help Ricardo, no matter how angry their techniques had made him.
At a nurse's nod, the orderly does as Alberto commands and they all watch as Ricardo tangles his fingers in Alberto's shirt collar, breathing heavy and a little shaky. "Where were you? I- I thought- something happened," he whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut and not seeing as Del Rio's face softens sadly.
"Lo siento, Ricardo." He sits on the edge of the bed, allowing Ricardo to lean against him, and cards his fingers through his hair. "Otunga called, we had to discuss the case against Sheamus." He smiles faintly as the young man stiffens against him, a quiet "Oh" coming from him. "I want to do this for you, Ricardo. To assure that nothing like this ever happens again." He taps his finger against Ricardo's jaw and sighs, falling back into that horrid memory of Ricardo's blank eyes peering back at him once more. A faint whisper from the man pulls him from it however, and he looks down to find that he's once more half asleep, his head lolling against his shoulder as much as the neck brace will allow. "Que?"
"Gracias..."
Del Rio sighs, swallowing. "De nada, mi amigo. De nada..."
After the morning's happenings, the rest of the day passes by slowly, Ricardo only waking up a time or two for brief intervals. Del Rio grows so bored that around mid-evening, he finally locates Ricardo's iPad in among his things and begins poking around the internet. He has very little use for Twitter, somehow unsurprised to find that it's Ricardo's mobile web homepage, and guides it away to . He's idly scanning the articles when he spots one that takes his breath away. Gaze skittering over to rest on Ricardo's prone form, he frowns, his dark eyes glinting in the faint light from the device in his hands. "Impossible," he mumbles, shaking his head even as he reads through the words on the screen over and over again.
The article, obviously written by one of the many people at with too much time on their hands, goes on about the chance of Ricardo breaking away from Del Rio to make a name for himself, citing times in the past when associates had broken away from their employers to varying degrees of success. By the time he finishes reading the article, his eyes are dark with something he'd not expected to feel at reading those words- a deep kind of emptiness. Yes, he himself had flippantly said as much about their association coming to an end only a few days ago back on a radio interview, but something had changed since. No matter if it was merely the way of the business, it just feels wrong to even think about such things when Ricardo lays feet away, in deep pain after eating a Brogue Kick for him only 48 hours earlier.
Even so, he's still dwelling on the matter almost an hour later when Ricardo releases a soft, pained sigh, eyes fluttering open once more. He leans over and presses a soft hand to the ring announcer's upper arm, waiting for him to acknowledge his presence. When he does, his lips twitch upwards in a small smile. "El Patron."
He opens his mouth, planning on greeting him, asking how he feels, but instead... "There is an article on talking about the possibilities of you leaving my side, making a name for yourself." He blinks, wondering why that slipped out of his mouth now, but he can't exactly take it back, and he's still dwelling on it, so he gazes at the younger man and waits for some kind of reaction.
Smile slipping from his face, he looks merely confused. "Wha- what?"
Del Rio finds himself rethinking his decision to bring this up now, but his skin is still crawling with disturbed curiosity and Ricardo has slept so much lately and will probably continue to, he wants an answer now. He holds the tablet out to the man, tilting it so he too can read it, and watches closely as Ricardo reaches a heavy hand out to the screen, silently mouthing the words with a troubled look in his eye. "Would you want to do something like that?"
There's a long, poignant silence as the ring announcer struggles to read the words on the screen, his eyes still blurry from sleep and the lingering head and neck ache. "I... I... no," he finally mumbles, his fist clenching against the bedding as he remembers that horrible radio interview he'd overheard, if perhaps this is Alberto's way of making his words come true. It all seems so distant now, like it'd happened much more than five days ago, but still so painful. "I don't."
"Why not?" It's as unexpected as his earlier comment to Ricardo, and he grimaces away from it as well. Ricardo also looks confused, almost sad, and Del Rio shakes his head. "I mean... I... am far from easy to work for, so I do not understand."
Ricardo looks scared, as if he's trapped, and Alberto considers backtracking, changing the subject, but the ring announcer finally mumbles, "I just want to... to help you, in matches, or backstage, or... anywhere. I want to know you're happy, El Patron. At least to the best of my ability." Each word pains him, reminds him of the confession he'd made weeks back, how callously Del Rio had responded. In essence, this isn't much different from that, but he can't think of any other way to explain why. Why he would stay, why he would take all of Del Rio's mercurial attitude changes without complaint. Money, nice as it is, can only go so far. It had looked fantastic at first, when he was first hired, but now... now it's just much more than that.
Alberto sighs, staring at him. He had been avoiding this, the topic, Ricardo's visible feelings. All of it. The lingering impact of Ricardo's words from weeks back had poked now and again at the back of his mind, ensuring that he'd never forgotten fully that that had happened. He had assumed that it was just heat of the moment, Ricardo not meaning a word of it. But here, now, looking him in the eye, marveling at his sincerity, he begins to doubt that assumption. Even so, he still can't face it. Too much is going on between everything with Sheamus, Ricardo's injuries, and now the court case. He just has too much to focus on at once, he can't go there. Can't risk adding to Ricardo's pain anymore than he already has.
So he lets it go.
On Thursday, after so many tests and results that Ricardo's head is spinning and Alberto looks about as unsettled, they finally hear the news they've been desperate for since late Monday night: Ricardo will be released that evening. He sinks back against the bed in relief and takes a deep breath. This means he'll be able to travel with Alberto to Smackdown, assist him and Otunga with getting the Brogue Kick banned. It is a relief to him- the last thing he wants is to risk Del Rio suffering a similar injury...
But each step is fresh agony, the pain it causes him just to get to his feet and walk carefully to the wheelchair waiting for him bringing tears to his eyes. Alberto's face is tense and tight as he assists him, ignoring one of the nearby orderlies who seem to think they should be the ones where Del Rio is standing now, supporting Ricardo to the chair that will take him out of this hospital and to Alberto's priceless car waiting outside. Alberto rethinks his decision to allow this to occur, the younger man's faint groans and hitches in breath slicing through him like a knife.
As soon as he sits down, his eyes slip closed and he breathes through his nose, trying to regulate the pain stabbing down his spine from his neck. He thinks it's probably a nurse or intern pushing him through the halls so, once he opens his eyes and asks, "El Patron?" he's surprised when the soft response comes from directly behind him, one of Alberto's hands shifting from the chair to rest on his shoulder.
"What is it, Ricardo?"
He takes a breath, trying not to dwell too much on the fact that Alberto refused allowing the nurses to push him to the exit, apparently only entrusting his ring announcer's care to himself. "I... I... gracias for staying with me so much the last few days. I know it must've been tedious, since I mostly slept or was out for tests... but it means a lot that you did so."
"It was the least I could do, after what you've done for me," Alberto tells him simply as they exit the hospital, Ricardo wincing and biting down groans even as Alberto does all he can to keep the wheels from bouncing against the uneven concrete outside. "And now I will ensure that Otunga succeeds in this case against Sheamus, and that you are kept safe from here on out," he tells him, leaning down by the side of the chair while Ricardo catches his breath.
It is late, night slowly bleeding over into the skyline, and Ricardo watches quietly, taking it all in as Alberto eases him into the car, mindful of his neck and head. As soon as he's settled in, Alberto pulls back and shuts the door gently behind him, nodding in thanks to the nurse who had come out for the wheelchair. Ricardo can't turn to look at him due to his neck and the orthopedic pillow he'd been given before his release, the neck brace removed upon the tests' results showing he has bulging discs and a brace could be traded for the much more flexible but equally supportive pillow, but he reaches out blindly anyway, lips parting in some surprise when Alberto actually meets him halfway and squeezes his fingers slightly before resting his hand on his arm, letting him cling to the soft silk of his sleeve. "I'll drive carefully, so you're not jostled too much. This city's streets are miserable." He begins mumbling something about potholes and renovations, the comforting familiarity of it all making Ricardo smile for real for the first time since his injury.
After arriving and easing him back out of the car, Alberto walks with Ricardo to the hotel and up to their room, supporting him the whole way. Each step feeling like fresh torture, the time spent in the elevator is unending, Ricardo's hand fluttering by his neck as he watches the numbers on the panel light up and go dim with each passing floor. "El Patron? Is there anything you need from me when we arrive?" He'd never ask in normal circumstances, just wait quietly for orders, but it's growing harder and harder to keep his eyes open, much less stay on his feet, and he really wants little more than to sit down and relax for a little bit before turning his attention towards traveling to Smackdown the next day.
Del Rio looks at him in surprise before shaking his head mirthlessly. "No, Ricardo, gracias though. What I want you to do is lay down and sleep when we arrive; the flight out to Smackdown is early, and I want you well-rested for it." He hesitates as the elevator comes to a stop on their floor and, ignoring the doors opening behind them, turns to look him in the eye once more. "Are you sure you want to come with me? You don't have to, I can send you to Florida and you can recover there while Sofia fusses over you."
"I want to help you, El Patron," Ricardo says softly. "I need to." Touching his neck support once more, the ring announcer releases a slow breath, tiredly watching his employer. "I can't stand by idly and watch you get injured similarly to how I've been. I would never forgive myself."
His dedication to Alberto is almost painful, after everything he'd been put through on account of the rich man already, the article that Del Rio had poured over on Wednesday reminding him of a fair amount of it all. But there's a stubborn, determined gleam to his eyes underneath the pain he's in and Del Rio knows he can't necessarily argue with him, not like this, so he bites his tongue and helps Ricardo off of the elevator and down the hall to their room. Thankfully with some foresight that he thinks he wouldn't have had any other time before now, he had encouraged Ricardo to wear loose, comfortable clothing upon changing out of the hospital scrubs before being released so he can just kick his shoes off and climb into bed without excess hassle.
Once Ricardo appears comfortable, cocooned by sheets and comforters, Alberto kicks his shoes under the bed and sinks down upon his own bed, content just to watch his ring announcer's breathing even out slowly as sleep overwhelms him, eased by the pain killers he'd been given at the hospital. He is exhausted too but, no matter how gritty his eyes are, he can't bring himself to close them. Every time he does, all he sees is Ricardo in the middle of that ring, peering blankly up at him, his eyes lifeless and dark. How scared he'd been once he did regain consciousness. Sighing heavily, Alberto shifts against his bed and thumbs his eyes. "I promise, Ricardo, I will make this right for you. Sheamus will pay."
Ricardo's not sure how much time has passed before he wakes up, neck throbbing anew, but it's dark and quiet and he thinks perhaps Alberto is asleep too, so he tries to make as little noise as possible when he shifts against the blankets wrapped around him. Unfortunately moving only makes his neck hurt more- which he hadn't thought was possible- and he lets out a soft whimper, freezing as soon as he hears shifting from across the room. "Ricardo?" Alberto asks softly, sounding fully awake and more than a little worried.
"El Patron? I didn't wake you, did I?" he asks lowly. A lamp clicks on and he squints against the unexpected gleam when Del Rio ventures over to him, laying his laptop down as he sits down on the bed next to him.
"No, no. I was already awake, just watching video online of Raw." He adjusts the sheets anxiously around Ricardo, having just finished watching the horrible Brogue Kick and its aftermath, which somehow looks so much worse three days later, and leans closer to him. "How do you feel?"
"Sore," he says faintly, closing his eyes as he reaches up to touch the pillow wrapped around his neck and throat. Before he can say or do anything else, he hears the telltale rattle of pills and looks to find Alberto already holding one of his painkillers out, a bottle of water patiently held in his other. He blinks and takes them from him, releasing a soft breath. "Gracias, El Patron." He relaxes and tries to wait out the pain, let the pills start to do their magic, when he looks closer at the exhausted Mexican aristocrat. "You... said you were watching videos from Raw?"
Alberto hesitates, his eyes flickering up as Ricardo shifts against the pillows, sitting up a little straighter. "Si, I was."
"The attack?" he asks vaguely, unable to meet his employer's gaze. "Were you watching... Sheamus and...?" Alberto nods and Ricardo catches it in his peripheral vision, unsurprised. "I want to watch it as well."
"Wha- no, no, that... I don't think so," Del Rio refuses, not wanting the young man to have to relive that while still on painkillers and barely able to sit up without unimaginable pain. "Ricardo-"
However, Ricardo's gaze is resolute, determined. "Por favor," he says simply. "I want to see it."
No lack of doubt in his eyes, Alberto slowly stands and collects the laptop, bringing it to Ricardo and placing it carefully in his lap. The ring announcer thinks for a moment that the Mexican aristocrat is going to turn around and leave him to watch it on his own, but instead he collects another pillow from his own bed and returns to Ricardo's side, sitting next to him before he taps the touchpad on the laptop to start the video. They sit quietly, watching from start to finish as Ricardo gets thrown out to the ring apron, rushes back in and pushes Alberto to safety, just to take the Brogue Kick directly to the skull instead, and all of the aftermath as trainers and Alberto himself try to awaken the younger man.
Ricardo shudders and looks away, stares at Alberto at he peers fixedly at the screen. His face is pale, eyes dark and grim. "El Patron...?" Ricardo whispers after a few minutes, thinking perhaps it was worse for Alberto to watch it again than it was for Ricardo to relive it, his own memories of the attack few and far in between. Watching it like that, it is almost as though it'd happened to another person, though he can tell by the agony his neck is still in that it was definitely him. Alberto says nothing and his heart sinks further. "Lo siento, El Patron. I shouldn't have made you-"
"Don't apologize," he snaps, taking a breath to calm down. "Never apologize. This was all my fault, I deserve this pain, not you." His eyes flash as he slaps the laptop shut and pushes it onto the bedside table, pressing his fingers to his eyes. He looks now like he'd looked then, as if he didn't understand why, or how, or what exactly was going on, and Ricardo's heart breaks further.
He shakes his head, trying to reach out for his employer but failing as his body protests the movement, his breath stuttering in his chest. "I made my choice, El Patron. I didn't want to see you hurt."
"Why?" he demands gruffly. "Why would you do that? I've done next to nothing to protect you in the last few years, and you so easily take brutal attacks like that for me... I don't..." He knows saying such things is all wrong, he knows the answer, he just can't face it, not now. Not like this. As Ricardo watches him with tired, hurt eyes, he stands and storms away from the bed, carding his fingers through his hair. "We have to get ready, the flight that will take us to Smackdown will be leaving in a couple of hours."
"Si, El Patron," he mumbles, unable to do much but watch as Alberto disappears into the bathroom.
The flight is truly horrible; it's cramped and people stare at Ricardo and his neck pillow, only adding to Alberto's already combustible levels of annoyance, but the ring announcer barely seems to notice as he can't move his head too easily, stuck staring blankly ahead at the seat in front of him for most of the flight. Finally he dozes off again and Alberto breathes a little easier, hoping that the younger man finds some peace from the agony he's been in since Monday night while asleep.