"Sir," the broker, a somewhat pushy woman desperate to make a sale in this rocky economy, speaks up as her client wanders around yet another apartment, a listless look on his bronze face. "Based on your financials and rental history, this isn't exactly your style. If you would like, there are others further from the ocean that are vacant, or-"
The man obviously isn't paying attention to her, staring down at the ocean glistening from the living room window. Floridian sun pours down upon his skin and he marvels at the silence. His headache intensifying, he turns sharply and tries to focus on anything but the nauseating light streaming down his shoulders. Steadying himself with a hand on the window sill behind him, his face doesn't lose its blase expression as he struggles not to show any kind of weakness in front of this strange woman. "This is fine," he grits out. "I'll take it."
She stares at him, casts another cursory glance around the simple, average-sized apartment. "Sir...?"
Wanting nothing more than to relax and begin to settle in to the place he had determined to be his new home, Alberto Del Rio stares at her, gaze resolute and grim all at once. "Prepare the paperwork. I want to move in as soon as possible." As she gapes after him, he turns sharply and marches towards the bedroom, wanting to gaze upon the ocean from a different angle. More than anything, the building is peaceful. Quiet. Some place no one would expect the Mexican aristocrat to even consider living in.
It's perfect.
After spending a day unpacking the few things he'd elected to bring with him from his Mexican ranch, the apartment already furnished in homey, comfortable couches, chairs and sturdy tables, Alberto drops down onto the equally comfortable bed and runs his fingers through his hair. He's not used to doing things for himself, used to Sofia or any other member of his staff around to ease the burden so he can focus on his career, but... it's not like that matters now, after all.
He'd been training to join the WWE, competing in Florida Championship Wrestling to fulfill their required period of learning a more American style of competition, when one of the rookie fools they'd made him compete against had been thoughtless and slung him into the post instead of the turnbuckle, granting him a concussion. Which wouldn't be that big of a deal, except that it'd only worsened instead of getting better, the diagnosis eventually coming to be PCS. He could barely open his eyes without immediately feeling dizzy and disoriented, his wrestling career left up in the air from this point on.
Disgusted and ashamed by his body's failings, his sharp mind suddenly working against him, he had worked to cut himself off from the wrestling world and everyone else who'd tried to offer assistance following the accident. Thus, this apartment so different from his preferences, where he hopefully won't be recognized or disturbed. Sighing, he lays back against the soft, plush bedding, and allows the dizziness he'd been reluctantly growing used to fade away as sleep takes its place. "I like this place," he mumbles while slowly drifting off in the soft sheets and mattresses.
He thinks he hears a soft murmur of, "I do too," but he's asleep before he can check to see if it was something else caused by his PCS...
When he wakes up the next morning, it's another beautiful, sunny Florida day and he curses the weather, wondering why it can't ever just coincide with his own emotions, but life rarely works that way so he forces himself out of bed and tidies up, making the bed before wandering off towards the kitchen to figure out something for breakfast. His balance is off, as always, but the more time passes, the more accustomed he grows to how differently he has to walk, watch out for things in his path through his dizzying vision. Thankfully the apartment doesn't have a lot of furniture and what it does is against the walls so he can easily avoid it, which had been one of the selling points of the place for him.
He carefully pours himself a glass of orange juice, wincing as he almost misses the glass, but eventually succeeds and takes the glass out onto the balcony. The sun is shining brightly on the other side of the building so he can sit here in the cool shadows and relax, absorb the beautiful Florida horizon with only a little discomfort as the water reflects more and more of the sun with the passing time. He ordinarily would be uncomfortable, standing on a balcony overlooking the sea, while so dizzy and off-balanced, but it had become a part of his life and he barely blinks as the world tilts yet again.
He's still sitting there when a voice softly speaks up, somehow familiar although he's sure he's never heard it before in his life. "I love this view."
Alberto's eyes narrow as he turns slowly, certain that someone had broken into his apartment- quite the welcome to the building, hmm?- but he doesn't see anyone, the balcony empty and quiet as he examines every bit of it he can. He huffs, wondering if perhaps he should check in with his neurologist at this new symptom of his health issues, but ultimately opts to stay where he's at, tired of talking to the man so much as it is.
Things have returned to normal for a few moments when... "Did you hear me?" Alberto whips around again, his eyes narrowed suspiciously even as he immediately regrets the sudden movement, his tenuous balance wavering when he staggers. "Whoa, whoa," that damn voice speaks for the third time as he sinks to his knees, gripping his head. There's a soft curse in Spanish over his head and he smirks despite how nasty he feels, moving his hands slowly away from his eyes to look up warily. The voice has a form now, a man maybe ten years younger than he, watching with a pensive frown as he kneels down in front of him, dark eyes gleaming with fright and guilt as he holds his hands out helplessly. His hair is dark brown in the sunshine pouring down on them, soft strands brushing against his forehead, and he looks goodnatured underneath the wayward emotions Alberto's collapse had caused him. "I, I... can you see me? I- I wish I could call someone to help you, I just- I can't..." He chokes as Del Rio's eyes lock with his, the two men staring at each other.
"No, I- I don't need anyone called," he grits out through a pained grimace as he struggles back to his feet after a few moments, using a nearby chair for support while pondering this strange man's words. "Who are you? Are you a spirit?" Mexico being more open to such things, he barely blinks at the suggestion of his new apartment being haunted, finding it more preferable to have a spirit as an unwanted guest than an actual live, breathing menace looking to steal from or kill him.
The young man smiles wanly. "Something like that," he sighs. "My name is Ricardo Rodriguez." He falls quiet as Alberto struggles to his feet and leans against the doorway into the apartment, shaking his head. "You should... probably rest for awhile, you're pretty pale..."
"A spirit is telling me I look pale," he sneers. "Perhaps my condition is worse than those idiota doctors have been telling me." Nonetheless, he ventures into the apartment and through the rooms to the bedroom, his dizziness not abating. He settles into the pile of sheets and pillows and stares at the ceiling as this Ricardo Rodriguez wanders around the room, just within the line of his sight. "Why are you here?" he asks after a few moments, blinking as the spirit turns to stare at him, visibly surprised. "Most spirits haunt places for a reason, it being the place they'd died in, or..." His voice drifts away, the man too exhausted and nasty-feeling to continue his thought. "I'm not sure what your connection to this place is." If the agent gave me a place without mentioning that someone's died within it recently... he thinks, annoyed, lips twisting in disgust as he picks at the sheets spread across his chest.
Ricardo's gaze looks far away as he peers around the room, a hand reaching towards the nearby table but not touching it, his lips twitching soberly. "I... lived here," he admits. "When whatever happened, happened. This was my home." Registering the look on Alberto's face, he laughs brokenly and shakes his head. "Don't worry, I'm sure I didn't... die here, or anything. I guess... I just still feel a connection to this place, you know?" He looks around with such a wistful look on his face that it resonates with Alberto, the Mexican aristocrat sitting up slightly to get a better look at him. "I don't know why I haven't moved on," he says softly after a few minutes of thought. "If it begins to bother you, I mean... my being here, I'm sure I can think of something. I've been... transparent to pretty much everyone since I... arrived here like this, so I could probably..."
Del Rio stares at him, his gaze unreadable and dark, before shrugging. "You're fine." When he turns away from the spirit, closing his eyes, Ricardo gapes at him and nods vacantly, eyes wide.
"Gracias." As Alberto falls asleep, Ricardo sits nearby, quietly pondering the man sleeping in his bed, living in his apartment.
When Alberto wakes up, he's gone. Not for the first time, the Mexican aristocrat wonders if perhaps it was a dream or PCS induced hallucination.
He goes about his day as well as he can, working through the dizziness and double vision to make himself a lazy supper of grilled cheese garnished with tomato slices. As he sits down to eat at the kitchen table, he sneers down at his food. Imagine what perros would think if they saw the Mexican aristocrat eating this, here... He runs his fingers through his hair and grimaces, taking a bite of the toasted sandwich. He's picking at the tomatoes when he senses something behind him, a flash of black in his peripheral vision. Turning slightly, he finds Ricardo Rodriguez once more standing behind him, blinking. "Oh. You weren't a hallucination," he mumbles, biting viciously into the juicy vegetable.
Lips twitching into something close to a smile, the spirit nods grimly. "Last I checked, si." He stares at Alberto's food with some curiosity, Del Rio watching him uncertainly as he hesitates mid-bite. "Is it good?" He looks flustered when he realized he'd spoke aloud, clearing his throat. "Eh. You see, I... I can't remember the last time I ate."
Del Rio blinks a time or two before shrugging. "It's acceptable." He feels weird, being watched- and questioned, no less-- while trying to choke down this haphazard meal, so he gives up on the rest of the tomato and stands, tossing what remains of his food in the trash can in the kitchen before rinsing off his plate and leaving it in the sink, walking back to the living room to sit for awhile and relax.
"Am I... making you uncomfortable? Lo siento, I can-" Ricardo offers, his eyes dark with regret as he reflects once more on how weird it must be for the man before him to be living in a new place just to find him still residing there.
Despite how odd it is, Alberto thinks the silence would be worse somehow so he finds himself saying, "No, you may stay. I simply wasn't very hungry." He stands at the balcony door and ponders why he felt the need to say such things when the spirit behind him had seemed so willing to leave, but what's done is done so he doesn't say anything further, sensing as Ricardo hesitantly walks up to him. "There is a nice view from here."
"Yes, there is," he agrees quietly, staring out at it. "I miss the sea." It's a quiet admission, Alberto barely catching it, but he glances over after a moment, confused, and Ricardo blinks. "I-... I've never been able to leave since I appeared here like this," he finally explains, staring down at his body. "I don't know why, but I never make it past the door of this apartment. It feels like something is keeping me from taking a step."
Del Rio purses his lips at this, curious for possibly the first time since his injury about something not involving him directly. "That's odd," he mutters finally, gaze shifting to his computer. As he walks over to the machine, Ricardo tilts his head and watches him, now the curious one. Alberto says nothing as he sits in his chair and accesses the Internet, using google's search engine to look up Ricardo Rodriguez. A number of various things show up, the name proving to be annoyingly common, and he grimaces at the results. Even trying to narrow it down by adding Florida to it doesn't help much, nothing on the image search helping either: All that comes up the most is some masked wrestler and he shakes his head, not sure why that's showing up. "Hmph," he mumbles, frustrated as staring at the screen for even this long is making his headache ratchet up. Giving up, he shuts the monitor back off and closes his eyes, relieved at the darkness.
"Something wrong?" the younger man asks softly, still staring at him curiously.
"I get headaches sometimes," he sighs, pressing a thumb between his eyebrows. "This concussion is worse than the others I've had in the past." He looks up as the other man sits across from him, gaze worried and pensive. "I have post-concussion syndrome. It's keeping me from competing." He releases a faint breath. "They're not sure if I'll ever be able to again."
Ricardo blinks a time or two, surprised that he would tell him such things after such a short amount of time, the older man visibly the type to keep things close to the vest. "I'm sorry." They sit in silence for awhile, Ricardo's gaze distant and thoughtful until he looks back over at Del Rio, curious. "May I ask... you said you were being kept from competing? In what?"
Del Rio shrugs, seeing no reason not to. "I'm a wrestler. I was to begin competing for the WWE shortly."
Ricardo's eyes widen, the young man visibly impressed. "Wow. I know this is going to sound ridiculous, and I swear I'm not joking, but I... I've wrestled on the Indys for a few years. About four, now. Mostly in California." He stares off into the distance, a small smile on his face, and it's only when he registers the look on Alberto's face that he returns to the here and now. "Is... something wrong?"
Del Rio frowns, returning to his computer and finding the search engine once more. "This was you?" he asks, glancing over his shoulder as the man appears behind him, staring too at the image results. He doesn't need to vocalize confirmation, the stricken look on his face all the proof that the older Mexican needs. "You were Chimaera."
Ricardo reaches out, his fingers hesitating a few inches from the screen as he nods, unable to touch the digital representation of himself mid-match. "Yes, that- that was me." Alberto stares at him for a moment before clicking on "web search", leaving the images behind and bringing back the actual articles on the wrestler known as Chimaera. Ricardo stares at the screen for long, painful minutes before choking out, "No..."
Local California wrestler injured in Florida, remains in coma, a headline that nearly takes up the whole webpage screams out at them. Ricardo shudders and closes his eyes against it, hissing as Alberto watches him. Finally he forces himself to look again and they stare at the page together, looking for any updates on the initial article- needing visual confirmation that he'd succumbed to his injuries, or at least try to understand what'd happened to him in the first place.
"Nothing is said of you passing on," Alberto mutters. "But if not... then why are you here?"
"I wish I knew," he responds faintly, unable to look away from the flood of articles explaining the freak accident during a wrestling match where he'd landed wrong on a superplex and suffered head and neck injuries, causing him to lapse into unconsciousness, which was eventually determined to be a coma. All reports found claim no different, or contain any updates on his condition.
"It's been a couple of months," Del Rio says needlessly, glancing over at him. "I wonder..."
Ricardo looks up after a moment, his gaze dull, vacant. "What?"
"Hmm." Alberto doesn't say anything else, clicking around a few other websites as Ricardo watches him, frowning. Finally, after almost an hour, he stands up and wanders around slowly, grabbing his phone, sunglasses and jacket. "I'll be back in awhile." Before Ricardo can say or do anything, he leaves, door clicking solidly behind him.
"Well. Alright then," the spirit mutters, staring at what he can see of the outside world through the windows. Not for the first time, he wishes he could leave these rooms, go beyond his own balcony.
Alberto is relieved to leave the bright, horrible glowing sun behind, walk into the hospital that he'd found contact information for on the way, his driver parking the car to wait for him. His PCS is particularly bad today, the sunglasses only seeming to make his vertigo worse. Ignoring it, however, he approaches the first nurse he sees and forces a smile. "Hello." Expecting the blue eyed nurse staring at him to also shake her head in denial like the staff members of the last three hospitals he'd checked at, he surges ahead anyway, already mentally traveling onto the next. "Is Ricardo Rodriguez being treated here?"
She purses her lips, looking up at him shrewdly. "Are you family, Mr...?"
"Alberto Del Rio." He spins a story quickly, forcing a smile. "I knew him years ago, we were roommates. I heard he was injured and wanted to check on him, see if there was anything I could do."
She releases a breath and checks her screen once more. "He's here, yes. He doesn't usually get visitors..." She stares at him, pity for the patient visible in her eyes. "If you want to go see him, I imagine a short visit would be alright." Leaving her desk behind, she begins leading him through the hospital. "He was too weak at first to be moved, then once he was stabilized, plans were being made to have him moved to a long term care facility, but he had a few set backs so we ended up keeping him. It's impressive he's lasted this long. He's a fighter."
Alberto nods, not sure what to say. "I see." When she stops at a door, he peers into the window, unable to see muich inside of the room. "Thank you." Leaving her in the hallway, he enters quietly and listens to the machines beeping and hissing around him, adding to his headache. But the blinds are drawn, the room dark and solemnly quiet, so he pulls his sunglasses off to test how well he can handle his surroundings. Finding it bearable, he places the glasses down on a nearby table and finally looks around. Locating the young man known as Ricardo Rodriguez, he stares at the slack features, releasing a soft breath.
Underneath the ventilator and all of the other tubes and machinery, there is no doubt. It's the young man at his apartment, dark hair mussed just so against the pillow, his hands folded on top of the sheets as if in prayer as he lingers on in this half-life. Del Rio sits next to him and sighs. "Bizarre. While I'm sitting here staring at your body, your... soul? I suppose... is back at the apartment." He smiles faintly. "I've heard of out of body experiences, but none quite like this." He watches, listens to the artificial machine breathing for Ricardo for a few moments, tilting his head. Leaning closer, he pats his hands briskly before standing. "I'll come back and check on you sometimes, but I think the part of you stuck in the apartment needs company more. Si?" He scoffs a little at the odd twist his life has taken, feeling like he's fallen into a science fiction movie, before leaving the room.
He nods at the nurses before leaving, putting the sunglasses back on and stuffing his hands in his pockets as he makes his way back to his car and ducking into the backseat, urging the driver to take him back to the apartment. It's quiet when he arrives, the young man nowhere to be seen, but as soon as Del Rio sits down on the couch and sighs, he appears next to him, his hands pressed tightly together. "I saw you," Alberto tells him, unsurprised at his abrupt appearance.
"You did?" he breathes uncertainty, eyes flashing painfully as he looks over. "Wha... how... I mean..."
"You were in a coma," Del Rio says quietly. "Have been for awhile, apparently. It's been touch and go... but you're stable now." He turns to look at the younger man, frowning. "They say they want to put you in a long-term care facility but it hadn't been advisable the last couple of times." Ricardo stares at him dully, nodding. "The nurse said you're quite the fighter." He's not sure why he says it, the younger man blinking a time or two at the random comment, but something about the situation makes him want to fix it, bring Ricardo's spirit and body back together to release him from the hospital, let him continue his life as he'd had prior.
They sit in silence for awhile, the spirit staring at his hands. "I don't know what to do," he admits quietly. "If... if this is permanent... if I can't wake up..." He shakes his head. "If my body... gives up, or... I guess I'd just fade away..." He swallows, glancing over at the other man. "You would probably be glad if I did, so some stranger would stop popping up in random places of your new home and disturbing you."
Alberto frowns at him. "It's an adjustment, I admit, but no. You're fine. It's not like you've asked for... this." He stretches his arms out along the back of the couch and sighs, melting into the cushions. "After all, it was your home first."
Ricardo smiles faintly and stares at his hands. "Gracias." They fall into an awkward silence until he speaks again, voice low and weary. "I wonder how much longer this can continue on..."
Alberto shakes his head, not sure either. Considering how touch and go his condition sounded by what the nurse said, not to mention how pale and fragile the person in the bed had looked, he has a bad feeling about it but he keeps his thoughts to himself, knowing that it's the last thing anyone would want to hear.
Time passes, PCS still affecting Del Rio to the point that just getting to his regular doctor appointments tires him out, Ricardo's health not improving either, the man lingering in his comatose state while his spirit continues wandering the apartment, unable to leave. The only plus is with time comes familiarity and some sort of a bond, the two men growing more and more comfortable around the other. One night, Ricardo is sitting on the balcony overlooking the ocean, examining the stars overhead, when he feels something warm and gentle ghost against his face. He swallows, casting a quick glance around just to see no one... he's alone, to the best of his knowledge, but the sensation remains, trailing down to rest on his hand. He'd felt similar things before, not understanding it, but feeling both weirded out and comforted by it, which only adds to his turmoil.
He's still laying there when the apartment door clicks open, Del Rio entering the apartment and dropping his keys onto the desk near the entrance. "Ricardo?"
"Si?" he calls out, not moving from his position on the floor. As Alberto joins him, he looks up with a hesitant smile. "The stars are incredibly bright tonight."
"Huh," Del Rio murmurs, leaning against the doors and sliding down until he's sitting behind Ricardo, glancing up at the sky. They watch them for a few moments before he faces the spirit. "I went to the hospital to see you tonight." Originally a strange statement, it had grown commonplace for the two. "They say they plan on trying to move you to the longterm care facility again soon. Your vitals have remained stable for awhile, and they think you're strong enough to attempt it again."
"I see," he mumbles, feeling even further away from his physical form more and more as time passes, almost forgetting what it'd felt like to be truly alive and free to leave these four walls. "No hope at all in my waking up, hm."
Alberto swallows, staring up at the dark night sky. "It didn't seem likely at the moment, no. Lo siento." He asks every time he goes to the hospital, the nurses' answers becoming simpler as more time passes. They seem to have lost hope in the younger man regaining consciousness, Del Rio growing more and more frustrated each time he has to ask. That a young man so full of life and dreams- something he can see even from the spirit laying down at his feet- could be stuck like this after a fluke injury, and that someone like himself could be kept from competing possibly ever again because of what's ordinarily a common injury... "Life isn't fair, is it, amigo?" he mutters without really thinking.
"No it's not," he breathes, still staring up at the stars. He blinks as Del Rio shifts, sprawls out next to him on the floor of the balcony. They lay silently before Ricardo lifts a hand and begins pointing out various constellations, the older man watching as closely as he can through the blurriness and dizziness that still comes and goes.
They're still laying there when Alberto starts to doze off, drawn by the soft cadence of Ricardo's voice and the subtle Floridian warmth. "Mm," he mumbles in an attempt at responding to the latest cluster of stars pointed out to him. He listens as Ricardo's voice slows, then stops completely, as the younger man realizes he's falling asleep.
"Buenas noches, Alberto," he whispers, content to sit on the balcony through the darkening night as the older man sleeps on, barely seeming to mind the rough surface he's sprawled out across, the stars disappearing slowly as the sun rises in the horizon, gleaming off of the ocean more the higher it goes.
Alberto groans, his forehead crunching up painfully as the bright light pours down upon his face, the overhang of the balcony only offering so much protection. "Que..." He squints around, finally catching sight of Ricardo, still sitting in the same position he'd been before Alberto had fallen asleep. "Where are we?"
"The balcony," Ricardo says with a faint smile. "You fell asleep stargazing. Lo siento, I would've woke you up... but you looked so peaceful. And I can only do so much to wake a person up anyway." He makes a face, wincing at his useless hands, before looking up as Del Rio cringes away from the sunshine, standing stiffly and stumbling back to the apartment to get away from the brightness. He grimaces and follows, knowing that all of that probably didn't help the older man's PCS at all. "Are you ok?"
"Si, I'm fine," he grunts, quickly filling his hands with tap water and swallowing it down thirstily.
Ricardo watches, a little bit beyond worried, as he stumbles through the apartment, making his way to his room where he sits on the bed and cups his head, grunting as the world spins around him. Unable to do anything else, the spirit sits next to him and waits patiently for Alberto to move, do something. Please don't pass out, he pleads mentally, watching him with wide, worried eyes. I don't know what to do in that situation...
Finally he looks up, the awareness in his gaze a relief to the younger man. "I'm fine," he repeats his words from the kitchen, glancing over at him. "Too much sun, is all. I best not fall asleep outside again..." He grunts, standing, and returns to the living room, lounging out on the couch with a sigh. "The floor of the balcony isn't a great mattress anyway."
Ricardo looks all the more guilty, staring at his hands as he hovers behind him. "Lo siento, I... I should've tried to wake you up, somehow."
"It's not your fault," Del Rio mumbles. "Stop... stop looking like that. And stop apologizing. I'll be fine. I've gotten used to having these headaches, after all." He grimaces. "Guess it's just a way of life now, dizziness and headaches. I would've felt similar to this no matter what I'd done, how I had slept last night."
Ricardo's lips part like he's about to say something, but he quickly stops himself, the apology that's sure to come fading to nothingness. Alberto smirks as he quietly moves to sit next to him on the couch. "I wish I knew what to say, or could do something to help you," he finally offers, staring at his hands.
"I know how you feel," is all he responds with, pressing a hand to his forehead and missing the look of surprise on Ricardo's face. "Frustrating, having all of the money in the world, but it being worthless in truly important situations."
Ricardo takes a breath, staring at his hands. "You... you would want to help me if you could?"
Del Rio thinks there's an odd cadence behind the words but nods anyway. "Of course I would. No one deserves to be trapped like either of us have been the past few weeks, months." He frowns as Ricardo stares at him. "What are you thinking about?"
He looks like he wants to say something, the words held tightly on the tip of his tongue. Finally he swallows, shakes his head. "Nothing," he says lowly. "It's just... we haven't known each other that long, and in such... odd circumstances. I suppose I didn't think you felt that strongly about... anything to do with me."
Alberto stares at him for a few moments, still feeling like there's something else there, before shrugging. "Well, in a way I suppose we are like... roommates? Not in the traditional sense of the word, no... but it is what it is." He stares at the younger man and half-smiles. "It is still... difficult for me to spend much time with my family, or former friends, colleagues. They ask... too often... about my health, my mental well-being. Most things I do not wish to discuss, because nothing ever changes. You've never done that." He sighs and stands, taking a few steps to look out at the water for a moment before turning back, trying still to keep his headache at bay. "I rented this place to be a refuge, and it became more than that for me. It is refuge, and yet... I am not alone either, because I know that you're always here, one way or another."
That odd look passing over his face again, Ricardo smiles sheepishly, releasing a soft breath. "It is... helpful for me as well, to have you here. For whatever reason, you're the first person who's been able to see me, and you're a fellow wrestler, so you probably understand better than most."
Alberto nods, knowing exactly what he means. "Si, I do."
Ricardo looks up at him, his smile growing more certain as their eyes lock. "When you leave... I know, sometimes, it's for your appointments, but sometimes... it's to visit me in the hospital, isn't it? I- I know you visited last night, but other times. That you don't tell me about." Del Rio inclines his head in acknowledgement, and the younger man sighs. "I think... I feel you, or... I feel something. Like, a touch. On my arm, or- or in my hair. I haven't felt anything for months, and I know that that probably seems weird, considering nurses touch me, or doctors... but it only seems to happen when you're gone, so I began to put the pieces together that it... it's probably you."
Alberto's lips part in some surprise as he tilts his head at the younger man. "Huh," he finally mutters, unsure what else to say at this. "Does it... help you, in some way? To... feel anything, like that? Or does it make it worse?"
Ricardo blinks a time or two before he looks down. "No, I mean... it helps. It's... it's comforting, I guess. To know that somewhere, somehow, I'm not completely gone. Not being able to feel or taste or smell anything... it's beyond weird. So yeah, it- it helps." He smiles slightly. "Though I would guess that you've had enough of hospitals and similar places to last you a lifetime. If it makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to go see-"
Del Rio shakes his head. "No, amigo, it's fine. I feel worthless anyway, being unable to compete... at least I can do something for someone, even if it feels so... miniscule."
"It's not miniscule to me," Ricardo sighs. "Either way, gracias for taking the time to visit me in the hospital. I wish... I could do something to repay you."
"You do. I brought this place to avoid attention, not wanting fans of FCW to recognize me or... neighbors from my prior residence to disturb me. I honestly thought it would be an empty, lonely period of time while I recovered, and I was ok with that, but here you were." He smiles faintly. "No matter how frustrated I'd get with making no progress, it helped knowing I would have some company when I returned home."
The younger man looks thrown, beyond surprised, before smiling too. "I'm glad then... mi amigo."
Alberto grins at him.
This conversation echoes through Del Rio's mind almost a month later when he's sitting in his doctor's office, listening to the latest results of his tests, fighting back tears for the first time in he's not sure how long as the man looks him in the eye. He hadn't even cried when he'd been diagnosed with the PCS initially, but this... "It's good news, Mr. Del Rio. I have to discuss my findings with the WWE physicians but your PCS has been diminishing over the last few weeks and I'm glad to tell you you're not showing anymore symptoms. I see no reason why you shouldn't be cleared to compete soon."
"Gracias, gracias, doctor," he breathes out, reaching out to meet the man halfway to shake his hand. "I was... was starting to think..." He shakes his head, blinking the moisture away. None of it matters; he's well again. His dizziness had slowly eased away to nothingness, until he'd realized he'd gone a full day without needing to grab the wall for support, and couldn't remember the last time he'd suffered one of his usual headaches, quietly scheduling an appointment once he could breathe again. He hadn't even discussed it with Ricardo, needing to keep it to himself until he knew for certain. Now, all he wants is to race back to the apartment and tell the younger man the bit of good news, reassure him not to lose hope since if it could happen for him after all of this time, anything is possible.
But when he arrives at the apartment, driving himself for the first time in months, it's empty and quiet. Not thinking much of it, used to Ricardo sometimes needing time to himself, especially lately, as they approach five months since his accident, he races through the apartment, calling his friend's name louder and louder until he reaches the balcony, coming to a sharp stop. He's not there either, each room dull, lifeless... Alberto blinks as he stares out at the ocean, a sudden fear seizing him. What if... while I was getting my results, he... No. No, no...
After exploring the apartment slowly, feeling more and more choked the longer he goes without seeing any sign of the man that'd grown to be his closest friend as he'd recovered, he sinks against the wall leading into the bedroom and shakes his head. "He's gone. Ricardo..." He fingers his phone for a moment, considering calling the longterm care facility to see... just to... No. Needing to see the man's fate for himself, he grabs his keys once more and leaves the apartment, a sharp contrast to the man who'd raced up the staircase barely ten minutes earlier with such great news, hope thrumming through him.
It's a much more subdued Del Rio that enters his car, sucking in a deep breath before he starts the engine, slowly heading for the highway that will lead him to the facility his friend's at. He's in no hurry to see what's waiting for him at the hospital, all of his optimistic thoughts crashing to a halt in the apartment behind him. "Why now?" he mutters. "Why just me? Why not... why not both?" He slaps his fist against his car's steering wheel, those damnable tears once more filling his eyes. "It's not fair."
By the time he arrives at the facility, he's a little bit calmer, looking around for a nurse or anyone to tell him what happened. But the nurses' station is empty, and he sees none of the women he's come to know wandering around. Swallowing, he heads hesitantly down the hall, unwilling to wait any longer. His heart is racing and he feels ill as he approaches Ricardo's room, checking in each room he passes for a nurse. Finding none, he stops outside of the room that'd become commonplace to him, struggling to breathe. He doesn't want to look in, find it empty of the young man who'd come to be his friend somehow, but he needs to know. Owes it to himself, owes it to Ricardo. So he slowly turns his head and looks inside, blinking rapidly.
There's a heart monitor beeping softly, the sheet at the foot of the bed covering slightly shifting toes, and... he swallows, looking up the rest of the way, breath stuttering in his throat as he comes eye to eye with the man laying in it, gaze hooded but aware as he stares back. Alberto does cry then, a few tears leaking down his cheeks as he enters the room, still not believing what he's seeing. "Ri- Ricardo?"
The dark haired man nods wearily, smiling. "Alberto," he breathes, hands shifting slightly against his lap. He seems frail, weak after so long in the coma, and Alberto quickly joins him, cupping his hand. "You're- here..." Speaking seems awkward for him, each word slow and a little off compared to how easily he used to speak back in the apartment, and Del Rio wonders about what had put him in the coma in the first place, any possible lasting effects.
"Of course I'm here." He sighs, sitting down in the chair that he'd been frequenting the past months. "I came home and... you weren't there and for a bit, I thought..." His eyes darken as he remembers how it had felt, thinking that Ricardo had... "Anyway," he clears his throat, forcing himself past the painful memories. "You- you woke up." He grins, teeth flashing white against his bronze skin. "I'm so glad, mi amigo."
Ricardo nods slowly, unable to forget the look in his eyes a moment ago, or what he'd been about to say. "Lo siento..." His eyes flutter as Del Rio leans over and rests a hand in his hair. "Didn't..." He clearly wants to say more, his energy failing him as he struggles to speak.
"Don't worry about it, it's fine." He sits there as Ricardo dozes for a little bit, eyes fluttering now and again. Thinks about how life will now return to "normal" for him, though he doubts it'll ever be exactly the same as it was prior. He'd changed, after so many months away from his livelihood, hiding from the rest of the world with only the man before him as constant company. When Ricardo finally wakes up again and shifts, staring at Alberto, the Mexican aristocrat blinks back to awareness, leaning closer.
Ricardo yawns slightly, shaking his head wearily. "So tired," he mutters. "Don't... know what to do..."
Del Rio blinks, not understanding. "With what, amigo? All you have to do is lay here and get your strength back..."
"Bills," he mutters through a grimace. "Can't afford... this..."
Alberto frowns, realizing he'd never even thought about such things, even when it was his own recovery he was facing, specialists and experimental treatments and every other kind of thing an option. Money, to him, was never anything to worry about. Born and bred as Mexican royalty, he'd never considered what a stay in both hospital and long term care facility for someone like Ricardo would mean financially. He stares at the younger man, shaking his head softly. "Don't worry about it, mi amigo. Just focus on getting fully well again, si? It'll... work itself out."
"Not sure... how," he whispers. "I... believe you... though."
Del Rio takes a breath, forcing a nod. It takes all of his little reserves of patience to just sit there and talk quietly with the younger man until he falls asleep again, hands twitching against the sheets, before he stands and heads for the nurses' station, now finding it nearly overflowing with the scrubs-clad people. Of course. He sighs. "Excuse me, I would like to discuss Ricardo Rodriguez' bills with you..." He has no doubt that the man would ordinarily be too proud to accept such a thing from anyone, but he has an idea and it won't leave him alone, his need to get the ball rolling nearing desperate levels...
When Ricardo awakens again, Alberto's gone and he grimaces, looking around at the quiet, empty room, disoriented and weary. "Albe- Alberto?"
A nurse enters a moment later, smiling at him. "Mr. Rodriguez? Mr. Del Rio requested I stay nearby in case you should awaken. He's left for a brief while to look in on his home and brother, and a few other things, but he'll be back soon. He didn't want you to worry."
Ricardo stares up at her, swallowing. "I- I see. Thank you." As she smiles and leaves to go back on her rounds, he blinks a time or two and wonders when he'd become so dependent on the other man, deciding it's somewhat normal after spending months unable to go anywhere but that apartment, Alberto being his only company for so long and vice versa. Either way, he has much more important things to try to think about while he's somewhat awake, like his financial circumstances and where he'll go from here... Returning to California, where his family and friends are, sounds like an idea with some potential, but...
He falls asleep again, only coming to when Alberto returns, all smiles and confidence in a way that Ricardo had never seen from him before. He blinks at him a time or two, taking it all in, before smiling slightly, recalling what the nurse had told him. "You look... happy. Your brother... is ok?"
"Ah, si, Guillermo is fine!" Del Rio sits down and grins at Ricardo. "But more than that. I accomplished much while I was gone."
"Great," Ricardo says, his tone turning subdued as he reflects about the things he'd thought through while Del Rio was gone, all he has to do ahead of him. "I'm happy... for you."
Alberto hesitates and examines him, taking in his distraction. "I can tell," he says drily. "Is something going on?"
Ricardo shakes his head slowly. "No," he mumbles. "I just... maybe... should..." He struggles to formulate his thoughts, grimacing as Alberto stares down at him worriedly. "Go home to California," he finally manages. "Stay with... family... until I can pay bills."
Del Rio blinks at him a time or two, trying to think of Florida without Ricardo, especially after everything they'd been through. "I see," he says. Never one to keep his thoughts to himself or let opportunities slip past him, he leans closer. "What if I told you it wasn't necessary? You could stay here?"
Ricardo stares at him. "Wh- what do you mean?" he breathes, shaking his head. "Too expensive, I-"
"I can afford it," Alberto cuts into his weary, fragmented ramblings. When the younger man gapes at him, wide eyed and more than a little startled, he smiles. "It all fits, si? I can help you this way and you won't have to go anywhere. Considering how you've had to deal with me for the past few months, it feels like the least I can do. What do you say?"
Ricardo swallows, looking worried and in disbelief at the other man's generous offer. "But- my debt, I couldn't... pay you back. It'd take forever, especially if it takes a long time for me to recover..."
Del Rio's lips twitch as his deduction is proven correct, his now being face to face with the younger man's inability to accept a hand-out, even from someone who has money to spare. He can respect that, though he hopes it doesn't take long to talk through it, the process already starting. "What would you say if I had another idea that would, hopefully, be agreeable to both of us then?"
He stares at Alberto and shakes his head. "Wha, what do you mean?"
"Come and work for me." Ricardo blinks as Del Rio takes a moment to formulate how best to word his idea, not wanting to lose the younger man, especially as his English is far from perfect, his thick accent not helping matters any. "I still have months ahead of me in developmental before I debut on the main roster. You take that time to rehab, get stronger, and then when we're both ready, you debut with me." He watches shock and amazement spread across Ricardo's face as this idea registers with him, grinning slightly. "I know you will need even more time before you're ready to compete, mi amigo... so for now, I was thinking... since you can speak Spanish, would you mind being my personal ring announcer?"
He takes a few deep breaths, blinking between each inhale. "I... I've never done that before," he mumbles, lips twisting as he considers it. "I don't know if I'd be any good. I wouldn't want to agree, and then... disappoint you, or-"
"I have no doubt you'll be fine," Alberto tells him with a small smile. "Is that a yes, then?"
Ricardo nods after some thought. "Si, si. It is. Muchas gracias." He takes a deep breath while the older man rests a hand on his, grinning. He watches him for a moment before a matching grin begins to spread across his face as well, the two of them now bonded professionally and personally by the second chance life had provided them, all thanks to one average-seeming apartment whose pull had been so strong neither could leave it behind.