It is obvious early on that something is wrong. Alberto Del Rio- fresh from a groin injury and surgery that had required careful recovery and lengthy, painful rehab- isn't himself, Ricardo Rodriguez notices instantly. The usually poised, careful man is stumbling around the ramp like a newborn calf, unable to hold off Sheamus' attacks.
The personal ring announcer is still decked out in Sheamus' gear, down to the ridiculous, itchy material that is covering his legs and arms to mimic the snowy white skintone in an attempt to resemble the Irishman as close to perfectly as he could, since he knew Alberto would wish him to do so, but none of it stops him from regaining his equilibrium from where he had hit the ramp and rolled off of the side and, seeing the predictament the other man is in, he dashes over and tangles himself around Sheamus' legs, holding on desperately as Alberto regains himself a bit and begins attacking, going straight for Sheamus' already injured arm.
They continue on like this until referees pour out from the back, quickly separating them. Neither Mexican are interested in keeping on, both releasing Sheamus as soon as the sea of officials start arriving. It becomes obvious once more that something is off, Alberto almost stumbling over his own feet as they backtrack to regroup. Ricardo grips his upper arm, trying to steady him. "What's wrong?" he asks worriedly, shooing off the referees as he stares worriedly at the older man. "El Patron?"
"Dizzy," he grits out, trying and unable to get a good hold on Ricardo's arm due to the slick fabric along his skin. "Ugh, remove that nonsense, you look ridiculous," he snaps, pressing a hand instead to the nearby barrier wall keeping the audience from the ringside area.
Ricardo, trying to hide his hurt at his friend's biting words, quickly ducks under his outstretched arm and supports him that way, bracing him by gripping his hand as he shifts him into an awkward standing position, waiting for Alberto to readjust to the sudden shift in balance. "Alright?"
Alberto glances over and down, his lips parting in surprise. "Si, Ricardo," he finally says quietly, appreciation leeching into his voice. Ricardo knows better than to expect an apology from him, especially when he's in such pain, but that is fine. He is well accustomed to the various eccentricities of the rich and powerful man by now, knowing better than to be bothered by any of them.
They walk slowly up the ramp, Rodriguez overly worried at the prospect of Alberto losing his balance or even he himself having one of his unfortunately clumsy moments. "Almost there," he says softly, glancing over to find Del Rio's eyes squeezed shut tightly against the vision issues he is probably experiencing. There is no vocal response, but the hand he is still holding to guide him along by squeezes his fingers tightly a couple of times before relaxing. Concussion? the younger man thinks fretfully, not liking what that could possibly mean this close to No Way Out.
Thankfully the referees that had disappeared as soon as they'd helped Sheamus back finally start to pay attention to them once they're in the back, taking Alberto from Ricardo and ushering him back to the trainer's, realizing what Ricardo had known almost the instant that Sheamus had cracked Del Rio's skull into that W logo's base on the stage. He's wandering around pointlessly in the back when some WWE camera crews stall him, asking about his outfit. He stammers out some answers just to toss out a ridiculous excuse before running off, too anxious about Alberto to hang around for too long for this pointless interview.
He stops quickly at some random locker room, pulling off the fabric covering his arms and legs, relieved to throw Sheamus' gear into it before ducking back into his tux, relaxing against the classic clothing with a sigh. This is more like it, he thinks, before remembering the bright red hair still covering his black locks and the ridiculous facial hair surrounding his mouth. "Ay. Why did I let El Patron talk me into this?"
It seems a long time before Alberto sees Ricardo again, and when he does, the younger man looks disheveled and the skin around his mouth and hairline is raw, angry. "What happened to you?" he asks, a little more at ease now that he's laying down in the much cooler trainer's office.
"I... that rojo hair was harder to get off than I anticipated," he mumbles, lowering himself into a chair close to the small couch Alberto is sprawled out upon, somehow managing to look like he owns this place as well, despite his paleness and slightly off focus gaze. "How do you feel?"
"Neh," he sighs. "Still dizzy. Even laying down. That stupid perro, Sheamus, he did this on purpose because he knew he could not beat me." He glares up at the ceiling while Ricardo shifts anxiously next to him. "The referee thinks concussion," he says needlessly, Ricardo feeling so bad for him at the confirmation of his suspicions. With so many eyes on concussions caused by sports, WWE as well had laid down the law on head injuries, not wanting to risk their talent by improperly treating them or outright ignoring them as they had in the past. "But I will not let it stop me from doing what I need to do before Sunday."
"What do you mean?" he asks, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up his spine at this and the confident grin spreading across the other man's face. "El Patron..."
"Do not worry, Ricardo. I will explain shortly." Despite his not outright sharing, the main event later that night is Sheamus vs Kane, and Ricardo thinks he already knows what exactly Alberto has brewing.
The first bit of the plan, unfortunately, is easy enough. As soon as the trainer leaves for a moment to check on Hornswoggle and Tyson Kidd, Ricardo stands, peers outside, and rushes back to Alberto's side. "Now!" he hisses, helping the man to his feet. Without the ridiculous outfit that he had been restricted by earlier, Del Rio gets an easy hold on him and they walk much more confidently to the door. Ricardo quickly glances from side to side before leading the influencial man down the hallway where they duck into the same locker room Ricardo had used to store his tux in earlier.
He flushes, realizing that now it looks like Ronald McDonald had been scalped inside, little tufts of red hair clinging to all surfaces. He had been in such a haste to get them off and get to Alberto that being tidy about it all had seemed pointless. Luckily Del Rio seems unbothered by it all, his concentration simply on not completely losing his balance. "My suit," he grits out, pressing a hand to his throbbing forehead.
"Si," Ricardo murmurs, finding it and laying it out for Del Rio's ease. He waits nearby as Alberto painstakingly pulls off his various elbow and knee pads, carefully folding them while Del Rio works at unwrapping the wrist tape from his hands. As soon as he's safely dressed in the dark black suit that he prefers, they're off once more to avoid the trainer and wait for Sheamus' match against Kane. "Here, here," Rodriguez soothes, easing the off-balanced Mexican aristocrat onto the plush chair waiting for him in his personal locker room. "Is there anything I can get for you?"
Alberto sighs, visibly relieved to be off his feet. "No," he mutters, seemingly aware that he still has yet to let go of Ricardo's tuxedo, since he had grabbed hold of him only a few feet down the hallway when his vision had started to tunnel. "Just stay here." Ricardo realizes that he is doing this on purpose as he tugs roughly on the material, causing the younger man to crouch next to the chair.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says softly, trying to ease some of the pressure on his only tux so it doesn't tear. "Everything will be alright, El Patron."
He shakes his head roughly, looking even more ill at the rapid movement. "No, no. I worked so hard to get this title shot at No Way Out. I cannot lose it this way, not right now." He tugs once more on Ricardo's clothes, sending him almost face first into the armrest of his chair. "There must be some way..."
Gripping his wrist, Ricardo tries to think of something helpful to say. "Let's not think this way right now, El Patron. There is no definite answer right now, let's just carry on like we are going to anyway and see where it leads. Si? If there is something to worry about, we'll deal with it at the time of."
He nods, staring at his friend. "That sounds like a wise plan," he finally admits. "Gracias, Ricardo."
And so that is what they do. Ricardo supports Alberto through the halls of the arena, keeping an eye on him. He seems a little steadier than he had an hour earlier, but sometimes the concussion still effects him, leaving him wearily grabbing onto the wall or Ricardo's shoulder, neck, anything he can reach. But when they rush out during Sheamus vs Kane, effectively ending the match, Alberto seems unaware of his physical limitations and what it could mean should he injure himself further, but Ricardo is overly aware so he makes it into the ring first, targetting Sheamus. When the Irishman gets the upperhand quickly, shoulderchecking the ring announcer onto the mat, he is relieved to see that Del Rio has gotten to safety on the outside of the ring, even if it leaves him dizzy and vulnerable inside.
He struggles to a standing position, his hands wrapped tightly around the ring ropes, but he's barely made it to his feet when he feels the mat shaking beneath him- Sheamus' large body rushing at him just to hit him head on with the Brogue kick, knocking him out fully despite Alberto glaring up at him warningly from where he had retreated to on the ramp. As he stands, smirking, over Ricardo's limp form, the Mexican aristocrat shakes his head, considering all the painful ways he'd like to pay this scourge back, but alas the trainer had been correct earlier- he is barely able to remain on his feet now, and would be no help at all to Ricardo in this moment. But soon, he vows with an angered sneer as he sees his title aspirations slip through his fingers for now. Very soon.
The trainer, after lecturing Alberto for leaving the way he had, and for risking further injury, checks Ricardo out. The younger man is still out of it from the Brogue kick, but he is slowly regaining consciousness so the trainer, still annoyed with them both, has just left the room when he finally opens his eyes, grimacing around the sandpaper-y feeling in his mouth. "El Patron," he mumbles, spotting Alberto across the room.
"Ah, there you are," he says in relief, standing up to join him. "How do you feel?"
"Dizzy," he mumbles, looking around uncertainly. "How are you?"
"Heh. About the same as you," Alberto admits with no lack of distaste. Tonight had not gone like either of them wanted. "It appears I will not be able to compete at No Way Out."
Ricardo wisely says nothing about how they had already known that, taking in the disappointment and anger in his friend's eyes. "How you would say? It does not matter? No matter when the opportunity comes, you will walk out World Champion, El Patron. There is no doubt about that. It may just take a little longer than either of us had hoped." He pushes himself into a sitting position, smiling slightly as Alberto shifts closer in case he's needed to support him, and sighs, resting sideways against the back of the couch he had been sprawled out on so he can see Del Rio easier.
"Of course," he says distantly, examining the edges of his scarf so he doesn't have to look at Ricardo and reveal just how damaging this most recent blow- so soon after the groin injury- is, leaving the usually unshakeable man uncertain and bitter. Even without catching his eye, though, his ring announcer knows and he reaches out, stilling his hand along the delicate fabric. When he finally looks up, Ricardo slowly shakes his head.
"Don't dwell on it, El Patron. You earned that number one contendership... after everything you've done to help Mr. Laurinaitis gain power, he will not be stupid enough to forget it. Whenever you're ready, the title will still be there, waiting for you." He smiles faintly upon noticing that, in the middle of his words, some of the angst has left Del Rio's face. And as always, I will do all I can to help you, he vows.
"Si, gracias, Ricardo," he says quietly, easing himself down on the couch as Ricardo shifts, placing his feet on the floor so there is more free room for them to sit side by side. "It does not matter if they replace me, no matter who my opponent is, I will be champion again soon."
He agrees quietly, closing his eyes momentarily against the lingering bits of dizziness following Sheamus' attack, beyond relieved that Alberto has seemingly regained some of his confidence. "That is right. It is destiny."
"Of course it is." They smirk at each other, Alberto sighing as he too leans his head against the back of the couch, the nearby lamps doing nothing for his equilibrium and headache. "For now, however, we rest."
"Mm hmm," Ricardo hums slightly, agreeing wholeheartedly.