Once they arrive at the arena, things begin to move quickly. Otunga is waiting for them, explaining as Del Rio assists Ricardo into the arena that Booker T wants to see them before the show begins, taking Ricardo's other side and guiding them through the hallways towards the General Manager's office. They wait outside of the room as the lawyer knocks before returning to supporting the poor ring announcer, whose energy had waned not even halfway through the arena, his every breath loud and painful to Alberto's ears. For the millionth time, the Mexican aristocrat has second thoughts about allowing him to come, knowing that he should be laying down somewhere, resting, not forcing himself to walk through the long hallways. His determination to see this through for his employer leaves Alberto all the more amazed and sad, that Ricardo would still go to such lengths for him despite everything.
The meeting with Booker is brief, he asks a few random questions about Ricardo's prognosis, listens to Alberto and Otunga's explanations on why they find the Brogue Kick should be banned, nods a few times, tells them he'll think about it, and then urges them out of his office. Del Rio's annoyance only grows as they assist Ricardo back out of the office, his balance off as he almost trips. The two men support him, his employer's hand pressed to his chest as he urges him to take it easy, and Alberto's face softens with sympathy as Ricardo fights to regain his composure, eyes welling up with pained tears yet again. It seems beyond cruel, forcing him to now go out to the ring and address this situation further but he knows that the ring announcer will refuse to be left behind... and besides that, Sheamus is lurking somewhere in the building and Del Rio doesn't want to leave him alone, just in case.
The trip down the ramp seems to take forever, Alberto's every breath sounding heavy and a little jittery to his own ears as he supports Ricardo to the ring, Otunga holding the ropes for the injured man as Alberto directs him inside with soft, encouraging whispers. The agenda here is more of the same, Del Rio nor Otunga thrilled with Booker's lukewarm response to their demands and opting to make this matter public, where the WWE Universe- and, more importantly, the board- can see and hear them. After he finishes speaking, Alberto tries and fails to listen to Otunga's rhetoric as he realizes, heart sinking once more, that Ricardo looks close to tears and he pats his jaw, trying to sooth and distract the younger man from his inner turmoil. No matter how passionately Alberto and Otunga both recommend the brutal kick be banned, the sympathy doesn't lie with them as, when Booker does come out, he asks the crowd's opinion and they cheer to keep the Brogue Kick.
The easily swayed GM goes with what the crowd wishes in the end, and announces that- for now- the Kick will remain unbanned. Alberto seethes as Ricardo looks on, a deep sadness in his eyes. "Come, let's get him out of here," Del Rio snaps at the grim looking lawyer, who once more goes to the ropes as they begin the slow process to assist the injured ring announcer up the ramp and to the back. It seems to take even longer than it had the time prior, Alberto's hand steady against Ricardo's back as he breathes heavily, his eyes downcast.
"El Patron," he whispers when they're in the hallway, heading for Alberto's locker room. "Lo siento."
"You have nothing to apologize for," he sighs, checking to make sure no one's around looking to cause any of them trouble as they continue on slowly.
"I... Yes, I do," Ricardo mumbles, his steps growing less and less coordinated the further they go, both men on either side of him taking more of his weight to keep him moving. "I promise... I, I promise I'll clean the car up. No matter how long it takes, Sheamus won't- won't... take anything else from you."
Del Rio and Otunga share confused glances before Alberto puts a restraining hand on the ring announcer's chest, stopping his forward motion. "Look at me, Ricardo." When he leans over to look at his friend, he curses to find that his eyes are glazed over, his breathing as shaky as his body. "He's delusional," he mumbles, a thrill of horror running down his spine as Ricardo continues to murmur about the car- something that had happened weeks and weeks ago, that Ricardo had already spent exhausting hours cleaning up. "He needs off of his feet, now." Alberto feels even worse as he realizes that his locker room is still too far away, that the ring announcer had already been through too much today. What was I thinking, allowing him to come here? He's only been out of the hospital twenty four hours! I should've... insisted he go home to Florida. But here I go again, being too selfish to demand he put himself first...
"Mr. Del Rio," Otunga breaks into his guilt-ridden thoughts. "The trainer's office is nearer than your locker room." When he points, Alberto follows his finger, relieved to find that the door is only a few feet away. "Let's try to get him that far, he can lay and rest for awhile."
"Si," Del Rio mumbles, stroking a hand through the younger man's hair. "Come, mi amigo. You can rest shortly. I promise." He frowns at the heat coming from Ricardo's skin but says nothing, relieved for Otunga's close proximity as they work together to help the man a few more doors down to the office. Not even bothering to knock, he fumbles for the door knob and, twisting it, kicks it the rest of the way open before the trio pushes their way inside.
The trainer's complaints die away as he catches sight of Ricardo's dazed, flushed face, the distant look on his face. "Lay him down here," he orders, resting a hand on the young man's forehead as soon as he's settled on a nearby cot. "Hmph," he mumbles, pulling out a thermometer and holding it in place in his ear until it beeps. He shakes his head and looks up to the two men hovering nearby. "He's running a fever, as I'm sure you guessed."
Alberto frowns. "What do we do to help him? And is that why he was talking about things that had... already happened like they were currently going on?"
The trainer makes a noncommittal noise before moving around the room, collecting what he can. "What was he doing before this all happened?"
Del Rio closes his eyes, knowing what the response is going to be to his admission. "He insisted on coming with us down to the ring."
The trainer freezes, glancing over at him incredulously. "He was just released from the hospital last night, right?" At Alberto's sharp nod, the man sighs. "Well, that's probably part of it. He more than likely over-exerted himself, and his body responded by spiking a fever." He quietly continues to collect a few things before turning back to Ricardo, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the man's confused gaze, how his murmurs about a trashed car go on unceasingly. "To answer your question, we try to keep him cool. I don't want to give him anything that I would ordinarily to break a fever, because of the pain medicine he's already on for his neck." He moves quickly, loosening Ricardo's tie and removing his tux jacket for easier access, laying both articles of clothing aside.
Del Rio hates the sound of it from start to finish, but it makes sense none-the-less, and he closes his eyes. "Fine. How do we keep him cool?" Hearing shifting around, he looks on as the trainer carefully places folded, damp washcloths against Ricardo's forehead and down his side, under his arms before shaking out fresh sheets over his prone body.
"The old-fashioned way," he says, kicking the drawer he'd gotten the cloths from shut with the heel of his shoe. "Damp washclothes, changing them every fifteen minutes or so until his fever breaks. If his temperature gets much worse, I may suggest a lukewarm shower but for now, these should work." He lays the thermometer down on the side table upon checking Ricardo's temperature once more and finding it unchanged. "It's just a waiting game." His attention is diverted, however, by a commotion on the nearby monitor showing what's happening with the show and he looks visibly displeased. "I have to go check on that," he says after a moment, already half out of the door. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Just keep an eye on him, check the cloths, rewet them if they need to be cooler. He'll be fine."
Alberto barely listens to him, his eyes still locked on his murmuring ring announcer, and he nods vacantly, sitting down on the chair next to the cot. Now that he's closer, he can hear some of the words coming from the man's mouth, low though they are. Still fretting over things that had happened weeks ago, Ricardo's fingers tremble against the crisp white sheets around his chest as he lists everything he'll need to clean the exterior of the priceless vehicle, eyes locked on the ceiling even when Del Rio takes his hand, squeezing it. "Amigo, amigo, don't worry about the car. It's fine." He begins rubbing soft circles in the younger man's knuckles, hoping that he'll relax and maybe get some rest, knowing that that'll help him to break this fever more than deluded, exhausting ramblings about something that happened long ago.
His murmurs are finally starting to fade away, his body giving in to its desperate need for sleep, Alberto's encouraging whispers and touch easing him the rest of the way, when Otunga shifts next to his client. Del Rio tenses, having forgotten he was still there to begin with, and looks up with a warning glower until he realizes who it is. "Mr. Del Rio, I'm going to go talk to Booker T. Do you want to be present for this?"
Alberto peers at his ring announcer, releasing a faint breath. "You can handle Booker on your own," he finally decides. "I'll be here if you need anything."
Otunga nods. "I'll come back later to see how he's doing."
"Si. Gracias." Alberto listens as he leaves the room quietly, quickly checking his watch once the door clicks shut. "Hm." Realizing that more than 15 minutes have passed since the trainer had left, he checks the rags before collecting them and walking over to the sink, soaking them in the water before wringing them out and replacing them around Ricardo's body. "I hope this works, and you feel better soon, mi amigo," he breathes out, wondering just how much the poor man has to go through at one time.
He has no idea what the trainer is up to, staying gone for this long while his ring announcer continues languishing in his fevered sleep, his face tight with discomfort, but he keeps his mouth shut, trying to keep his temper and impatience in check while Ricardo rests. The better part of an hour passes, Alberto keeping a close eye on Ricardo while Smackdown rolls on beyond the trainer's office's door, the Mexican aristocrat barely moving from his chair except for those brief moments when he replaces the towels cooling the poor ring announcer's fever. He catches a glance of the clock after awhile, surprised at how much time has passed, checking the monitor. He hears something about Otunga being placed in a match against Sheamus thanks to Booker T and closes his eyes, leaning over to Ricardo and resting his hand gently on his dark hair. "It's ok, mi amigo. I won't go until I know you're going to be alright. I promise."
He's carding his fingers through the younger man's hair when something clicks with him. Unlike earlier, when just touching him had made it obvious what a mistake tonight had been, the fever already raging within him, this time his touch against Ricardo's scalp brings another realization: Instead of heat pulsing from his skin, his hair is now soaked in sweat and his skin feels cooler. "Hey," he breathes, lips twitching up into a hesitant smile as he reaches over for the thermometer that the trainer had left behind. He mimics the man's earlier actions, carefully pressing it into Ricardo's ear and waiting until it beeps. "98.9," he reads off of it. "Amigo! Your fever's breaking." He grins, relieved to find that his loyal ring announcer is also looking less uncomfortable, the unnatural flush now gone from his face. "I'm so glad."
He's not thinking, really, his fingers are in Ricardo's hair, he's leaning close to him, his face almost hurting with how wide he's smiling, when he impulsively presses a happy kiss to the ring announcer's lips, his free hand raising to rest against Ricardo's jaw as he loses himself in the moment, how good it is to feel something other than tension or fear. It's only when his fumbling fingers press against the unmoving material of the neck pillow that it hits him- Ricardo is injured, still asleep, actually, and Alberto is... He pulls away roughly, eyes wide as he stares down at the injured man, realization smacking into him like a freight train. "What am I doing?!" he hisses, roughly scrubbing a hand against his face before touching his lips, still in shock at what he'd just done. "Ay..."
He's still sitting there, staring on in confusion, when there's a knock on the office door and he looks up, a dazed look on his face. "Mr. Del Rio?" Otunga calls through the door. "May I come in? My match is soon. Do you want to be present?"
"Si, come in." As the lawyer enters the room, Del Rio stands and waits tensely by Ricardo's bed, his mouth held in a tight line while he watches the younger man sleep on. "How did your talk with Booker go?"
"I showed him Ricardo's test results, and explained what the doctors said. He said he was going to consider it, and then placed me in this match against Sheamus. If this doesn't work out, we'll just have to go other routes. I'm sure the board will listen where Booker wouldn't."
"Yes, of course," Alberto says, only half listening as he continues to stare at his ring announcer. His thoughts are still all over the place as he ponders what he'd just done, and how... Shaking his head, he closes his eyes and presses thumbs to his temples, trying not to dwell on that. I know what he said, and I still take advantage of him in such a manner while he's hurt, asleep? It's not... it's not right... Lo siento, Ricardo.
"Mr. Del Rio, are you going to be able to accompany me during my match?" Otunga asks after a few moments of awkward silence, wondering why his client is staring so intensely at the still unconscious ring announcer.
"Si," the Mexican aristocrat finally agrees. "Ricardo's fever has broken. He...should be ok..." He takes a breath and briefly rests a hand on top of the ring announcer's hair, relieved to find that he's still feeling cool, his rest much more comfortable. "I'll be back soon, Ricardo," he whispers before turning sharply and following Otunga out of the room to see this match with Sheamus through. It takes everything in him not to look back as he leaves the room, uncomfortable the further away from the vulnerable ring announcer he goes.
They've only been gone for a few minutes when the ring announcer shifts, his face crunching up in discomfort. Eyes opening slightly, he blinks at the bit of the room he can see while unable to move his neck without spasms of pain. "Wh- where..." He winces and groans. "El Patron..." It's quiet so he's sure he's alone, but... Moving slowly, he lifts a hand and rests his fingers against his lips, eyes gleaming with confusion.
Not even fifteen minutes later, Alberto walks back into the room, watching grimly as the referees help Otunga over to the couch, settling him in. He had avoided the Brogue Kick but had been tangled up in the Cloverleaf for his troubles, which gives Del Rio another vicious looking move to keep an eye on. He sighs and turns to look on Ricardo, just to freeze upon realizing that the younger man's eyes are open, gazing to the right at them. "Amigo!" he gasps, joining him quickly and resting a hand on his upper arm. "How are you feeling? Hm?"
Ricardo winces and licks his lips. "Wha- what happened, El Patron? Why am I in here?"
Alberto's brows knit together as he takes in the utter confusion on his friend's face. "What do you last remember?"
"We..." He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. "We were in Booker T's office, you and... and Otunga were talking about banning the Brogue Kick."
"That's all you remember?" Alberto shakes his head, sighing. "Forgive me, Ricardo. I should have insisted you not come tonight. You needed rest more than you needed to be walking all around the building like this-"
"No," he murmurs. "I'm glad I was here, El Patron. I want to do all I can to help you against Sheamus..." Forcing his eyes open, he stares up at his employer once more. "Did it help? Did Booker ban the Brogue Kick?" This is one thing that he can do for the younger man, Alberto deciding not to go into how long it took Otunga to convince the general manager and nodding with a small smile, his expression gentling when Ricardo looks relieved. "I'm glad, El Patron. At least you'll be safe from that."
"Si, amigo, I will be." He rests a hand on top of Ricardo's head and shakes his head, unable to squash the younger man's hopes by admitting that Sheamus had just began using another move in place of the Brogue Kick. "Gracias." He blinks at the utter surprise on Ricardo's face at getting thanked. "If you feel up to it, we may leave now and go back to the hotel so you can rest before our flight to Canada?" Events are being held up north the next few days, Raw as well, and he plans on leaving in a few hours, keeping Ricardo close since he insists on coming along, and letting the younger man remain at the hotel to rest and recuperate.
"Si," he agrees faintly, breathing heavily as he tries to sit up. He's barely moved when Alberto supports him with a steady hand on his back, helping him up the rest of the way. "Gra-gracias, El Patron," he says, sounding surprised as the Mexican aristocrat eases his legs off of the cot and lets him sit on the edge of the table.
As soon as he's settled, Alberto reaches over and collects his tux jacket, stuffing the bowtie in his slacks pocket. "Do you want to put this on?" he asks, shaking the jacket out. When Ricardo reluctantly nods, he helps him slip his arms into it, the ring announcer immediately beginning to fumble with the buttons. "Stay there a minute, let the trainer check you out once more before we go, por favor."
Ricardo sighs but nods, still hating not being able to look around the room. Instead his eyes are locked on Alberto, who is peering back at him with a small, sad smile. Desperate to take that expression off of his face, the ring announcer swallows. "Do you- do you know what your matches are to be this weekend?"
Del Rio shakes his head. "No, but it's not for you to worry yourself over." Ricardo looks confused and he clarifies, "You need rest. I may allow you to accompany me at Raw, if you're stronger, but for now, I want you to stay at the hotel room and rest during the live events."
His eyes flicker around miserably, wincing. "But- El Patron, I want to be there for you-"
Alberto sighs and reaches out, squeezing his hands. "Listen to me, amigo, you've been here plenty for me the past week. Allow yourself some time to relax, por favor. If I agree for you to come out and you overexert yourself again-"
"What? Overexert?" he still looks confused. "I don't understand."
"You spiked a fever, mi amigo, because of everything. It was too soon, letting you come out to the ring- probably just allowing you to come to this city was too much. I should've insisted you go back to Florida. I'm still tempted-"
"No!" he pleads, eyes wide. "I don't want to go to Florida, El Patron. I want... I want to stay here, make sure if you need me to convince Booker T, I'll be available."
"They could film you from Florida if needed, or internet conference-" Ricardo continues looking desperate to stay so Alberto finally drops it with a tired sigh, squeezing his hands. "Your fingers are freezing," he murmurs, chuffing them.
"They are?" slips from his mouth before he even seems to realize, blinking when Alberto looks up at him in concern. "I- I mean, I can't... tell..."
Del Rio grimaces, shaking his head. The doctor had warned them that with Ricardo's kind of neck injury numbness in his extremities would be possible, but to actually know that it's happening... They're still sitting there, Ricardo staring at him, when the trainer finally finishes with Otunga and moves to check on the ring announcer, Alberto shifting to sit next to him while the exam happens. His temperature is normal when the thermometer beeps this time, and the trainer smiles slightly, moving on to check his neck and ask a few other inane questions. "Looks like things are proceeding normally, considering. Go back to the hotel and get some rest, I'll check back in with you on Monday, alright?"
"Si, gracias," Ricardo murmurs, relieved through his exhaustion as Alberto stands and turns to him, reaching out to take his hands as he awkwardly stands, wavering slightly. When Del Rio hesitates, wondering if perhaps they're trying to move him too soon after all, the younger man swallows, looking uncomfortable. "My legs- they're... they've been a little numb too," he admits. "And... I can't really move to see where I'm going... it's..."
Alberto is considering getting a wheelchair to get Ricardo safely out of the arena, but the look on the younger man's face- desperate and more than a little ashamed- stops him. "Amigo?"
"I just want to go," he whispers. "Por favor. I'll be ok, I trust you to help me out of here safely."
Feeling a little choked suddenly at his unbreakable trust- even after everything he'd done and said towards the man the past few years-, the Mexican aristocrat stares at him for a long moment, judging how wise this might be, before nodding. "Fine, fine. We'll... we'll try it." He cups Ricardo's face, his fingers once more resting against the brace and sighs, their eyes locked as he tries to ignore all of the sensations and emotions he's feeling at just this simple touch, remembering for a moment how it had felt when he'd kissed Ricardo barely an hour ago before he forces himself to return to the here and now. "If there is anything going wrong on the way, you tell me. Alright? I'll need, I'll want to know."
"Si, El Patron." Ricardo is beginning to seem unsettled, uncomfortable at the look on Alberto's face, and he reluctantly forces himself away, moving to stand next to the younger man. One arm snug around Ricardo's shoulders and the other gripping his hand like how he'd assisted him out of Booker's office all the way to the ring earlier, they begin walking slowly past the couch where Otunga is still sitting, Del Rio nodding tensely at the lawyer, who nods back through a grimace of pain. He'd overheard some of what the trainer said, and it seemed with a little ice and rest, the man would be fine, so Alberto's not too worried- his main concern stays with the ring announcer taking steps gingerly by his side as they approach the door.
The trainer's assistant pulls the door open for them, Alberto surprised and relieved as he really hadn't wanted to let go of Ricardo even the few seconds it would've taken him to do so himself. "Gracias," he tells the girl in a rare moment of appreciation as he eases his friend through the doorway, turning to look back at the gorilla position. "The exit is this way," he says quietly, the two men walking carefully past all of the cords and other things scattered around the hallway floor to the door with the bright red sign glowing over it. "Are you doing alright so far?"
"Si, El Patron," Ricardo breathes out, his eyes still locked straight ahead as Del Rio nods, noticing how shaky his voice is becoming.
"We're almost there," he tells him. "Just a little further." Once they reach the door, Alberto reluctantly releases his hand and pulls it open, quickly helping him through it before taking his hand on the other side, grimacing at the chilly night air as it brushes against his skin. "Ricardo?"
"Si, El Patron." He sighs as they continue slowly along the parking lot, Alberto's fancy white car just in view one of the most beautiful things either men have ever seen. Upon arriving at it finally, Del Rio holds onto Ricardo's arm as he leans against the side of the car, breathing in the brisk night air. He looks pale but steady enough on his feet, thankfully, so his employer squeezes his shoulders a couple of times before moving quickly to unlock the passenger side.
"Maybe you would be more comfortable laying in the back seat," Alberto starts to say hesitantly as he returns to Ricardo's side, voice failing as his friend reaches out for his hand, looking grimly determined. "No?"
"The hotel isn't too far away, I'll be alright waiting to lay down until we get to our room." Despite how tired he obviously is, his eyes seem clear and Alberto gives in with a soft sigh, easing him awkwardly into the passenger seat while making sure he doesn't hit his head on the frame of the door or anywhere else.
Upon sitting behind the steering wheel, his employer twists to face him, wanting to make sure he'll be alright until they do arrive at the hotel. "Are you warm enough?"
"Si," Ricardo whispers, reaching fruitlessly over his right shoulder with his left hand, a frustrated look on his face.
"Do you need anything before we go?" Alberto frowns, watching him with some confusion before it registers what the ring announcer is trying and failing at doing, it too painful for him to move enough. "Ay, amigo, here, let me get that for you..." He reaches over the younger man and snags the seatbelt, abruptly freezing when he realizes just how close they are now, Ricardo's breath ghosting across his jaw. He swallows, feeling strangely hot considering how chilly the interior of the car actually is, and pulls away, disrupting the moment while he clicks the belt into place. "Alright?" he asks, hoping that his ring announcer doesn't notice how strained his voice sounds to his own ears, or how tense he's feeling now.
"Si, gracias, El Patron," he murmurs, closing his eyes.
"Good," he says, clasping his own seatbelt while turning back to the steering wheel, relieved for the distraction of the road. "Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere, pick up something to eat back at the hotel..." He glances over at a red light, finding Ricardo once more staring ahead blankly.
"No, El Patron. You... you should get something, if you want, but I... I'm not very hungry," he admits, his fingers twisting in his lap. "Lo siento."
"You don't need to apologize!" he exclaims, equally worried and uncomfortable that the ring announcer feels the need to do so over such a small thing. I was truly that bad? he wonders, turning his focus back to the road ahead as the light turns green. Probably worse, I just... never noticed... Feeling lower than low at this realization, his own appetite disappearing, he opts not to get food at all, determining it's more important to get Ricardo back to the hotel so he can rest and not be stuck in this cramped car any longer than is necessary.
When they finally arrive at the hotel, the rest of the ride having gone by in strained silence, Alberto turns to look at his ring announcer, sighing. "We're here, mi amigo. Are you ready?"
"Si," he whispers, blinking as Del Rio unclasps the seat belt, stopping it from whipping back across Ricardo's body with his free hand, slipping it to the other side of him safely. He listens as his employer gets out of the car and crosses to his side, opening the door and reaching in to help him turn and stand, Ricardo beyond relieved for Alberto's presence as he's still not sure where he's standing or what's in his path. "Gracias, El Patron," he murmurs as they begin the long journey through yet another parking lot towards the building.
"De nada, Ricardo." Alberto squeezes his arm softly as hotel staff opens the front door for them, another moving to press the button to activate the elevator. He absentmindedly nods at the various helpful people scattered around the lobby as he assists Ricardo inside, urging him to step higher when they near the slightly upraised metallic strip that cuts off the carpeted floor from the car that'll take them up to their floor. As soon as the doors close behind them, Del Rio eases him against the wall before turning to press the button for floor 10, quickly returning to Ricardo. His face softens sadly as the ring announcer sniffs, still staring ahead with no lack of misery on his exhausted face. "We'll be at our room shortly, amigo. Just hang on a little longer."
Once the elevator finally dings open, it's another too-long walk that takes them to the third room on the floor, Alberto keeping Ricardo close to him as he unlocks the door with brisk slides of the keycard, pushing it open roughly. "Come, Ricardo. Almost there." He helps him into the room, nearly drowning in relief as he takes in the space that they'd left hours earlier after a too-brief respite to go to the arena, which he utterly regrets now. Ricardo's presence had probably had little to do with Booker ultimately banning the Brogue Kick, the deciding factor laying in Otunga and those test results, which could've easily been delivered to him without making Ricardo endure all that the evening had brought the poor man.
These thoughts rattling unceasingly through Del Rio's mind, he eases Ricardo onto the edge of the bed and smiles sadly at him, ruffling his hair for a moment before kneeling down to pull his shoes off, help him get comfortable enough to hopefully sleep the night away, and feel better in the morning. "El Patron, you don't have to- I can-"
"No, no, Ricardo, allow me," he urges, finishing up and placing them side by side underneath the bed, far enough under it that Ricardo won't trip over them if he gets up in the middle of the night for whatever reason. He's about to reach for the tux jacket, help Ricardo out of that, when the ring announcer grabs his hands, stopping him.
"No, El Patron, you- you don't have to..." he says, their eyes locking as Alberto takes in the weary desperation in his gaze. "I don't... I don't want to be a bother, I can get it."
His heart sinking yet again, Del Rio releases a pained breath, Ricardo's fingers ice cold and stiff against his palms. "Amigo, you're not a bother. How many times have you done similar things for me? You were hurt trying to protect me, and made it worse tonight yet again trying to assist me... At least... let me do this for you." Ricardo sniffs and glances away, Alberto taking it as silent acceptance as he reaches up and gingerly undoes the velcro on his neck pillow so he can get the rest of his tuxedo off. "Careful," he tells Ricardo lowly once the pillow's gone, laying it next to him. "Don't move, just let me..." Easing the black tux jacket off of the younger man's shoulders, he rests it on the bed before beginning to work on the white dress shirt. Thankfully that one is somewhat simple, just undoing a line of buttons and then repeating what he'd done with the jacket, leaving him in the white tank top he'd worn underneath it.
He had missed how exactly Ricardo had gotten into the clothing earlier, the ring announcer somehow convincing Otunga to assist him while Del Rio was out of the room, checking on his vehicle before they prepared to leave, and he wonders if perhaps that had been part of the cause of his agony from the past few hours. As helpful as Otunga had been getting Ricardo to the ring and back out earlier, he doesn't really trust him- or anyone else- with the ring announcer right now, and although he's almost tempted to ask if there'd been some sort of problem, he ultimately bites his tongue. For the Brogue Kick to be banned- for Ricardo to get some kind of justice- they unfortunately need Otunga right now, and he doesn't want to learn something that would raise his blood pressure yet again and cause him to fire the best shot they have at good legal representation without starting from scratch again and having to drag this whole situation on for months more. It wouldn't be fair to the ring announcer. "Stand for a moment," he urges, preparing to help him do so to get the stiff, uncomfortable slacks off of him so he can be fully relaxed while resting.
"No, this- this is enough, El Patron. I can... I'll be ok," he refuses, his hesitance in letting Alberto help him with anything eating more and more at the Mexican aristocrat.
"Ricardo, how many times did you help me with things of this nature while I was recovering from surgery earlier this year? This is no different from that."
The ring announcer only looks more miserable at that. "Si, it- it is, El Patron. I'm supposed to help you, not... not this-"
Del Rio sighs. "I wasn't lying earlier, Ricardo, when I said you were my friend-" He stops when a surprised look passes across Ricardo's face, it clicking with him anew that the younger man hadn't really been with it during that whole time in the ring, and didn't remember what had been said or done until he'd woke up, his fever broken. "We are friends, you're my best friend. This is what friends do, please... let me help you with this." All fight leaves Ricardo again and he murmurs a soft acceptance, breaths hot and heavy against Alberto's shoulder as he helps him stand, supporting him with one hand until the whole tux is stacked up on the end of the bed, Alberto feeling better now too as he eases his ring announcer back against the bedding, trying not to jostle his neck, and shakes out the sheets over him while he sinks back against the pillows, watching him through wet, weary eyes.
"Are you comfortable?" he asks softly, sitting next to him on the edge of the bed. "How's the pain?"
Ricardo shivers a little and sniffs. "It- yes, I'm... I'm comfortable. The pain is..." His voice drifts away as he closes his eyes, unsure how to vocalize it.
Thankfully Alberto takes this uncertainty from him when he rests a hand on his wrist, quieting his words. "Wait a moment, I'll be right back." He rests Ricardo's iPad on the bed next to him and smiles plaintively as Ricardo's eyes shoot open and stare at him, the whispered suggestion that Ricardo occupy himself with the device not seeming to register with the younger man, until he gets up and moves out of range of his sight since he can't move his neck to track him around the room. When he returns, he has a bottle of water in one hand and pain killer in the other. "Here," he urges, handing over the medicine and turning to fiddle with something before passing the water to Ricardo, a straw now hanging out of the bottle so he wouldn't strain his neck further while trying to wash the pill down.
Ricardo gapes at it, a bit overwhelmed by the foresight of his employer. "Gracias," he murmurs, quickly downing the medicine. Once done, Alberto eases the bottle from his unsteady hands, resting it on the table nearby in case he should get thirsty overnight. He blinks slowly, sleep slowly overtaking him as warmth suffuses him, his neck pain easing bit by bit. "El Patron?"
"Si?" Alberto asks absently, gently moving his arms under the sheets so hopefully they can retain some warmth as well.
"Lo siento, I wish... I wish I could do more to help you," he says drowsily, barely responding when Alberto pauses mid-movement, his hands pressed against Ricardo's wrists. "I do try..."
He closes his eyes, shaking his head at the ring announcer's disbelief in his own worth, soothing the bedding over his upper body before leaning closer to him. "You do more than enough, mi amigo. Trust me." But no answer comes, Ricardo already fast asleep, and Alberto sighs softly, watching him for a few moments. Even in rest, the younger man looks miserable, his lips downturned and face pale. It hurts to see, Del Rio wondering if Ricardo's ever been truly happy or this had become the status quo for him, thanks to Alberto's own brutal actions and words. "I'm so sorry. So very sorry, mi amigo." He thinks at any other time, he would be beyond pleased because of the Brogue Kick getting banned, out celebrating the victory against his rival, but right here, right now, it feels beyond cheap, meaningless, while he stares down at his suffering friend only able to sleep thanks to pain medicine.
He sinks down on his bed and watches the other man, listening to his soft breathing while stuck in a myriad of conflicted thoughts.
Del Rio barely sleeps that night, too keyed up and focused on everything that had happened, and has yet to. The case, Ricardo's recovery, rehab, not to mention the general day to day of his own career. On top of that, he has to travel to Canada for the weekend houseshows- thankfully this time in a relatively short plane trip- but luckily he'd barely had time to unpack much since arriving, too focused on getting Ricardo through this, so it won't be too difficult to get himself ready.
Even so, he still has a problem. The ring announcer, fast asleep across from him, who refuses to go to Florida, no matter how ill and in pain he is. Alberto closes his eyes and breathes heavily through his nose, trying not to completely lose it, knowing that now's not the time. He watches the younger man breathe in and out, his chest rising and falling under the sheets, and closes his eyes. It's Ricardo's choice, he reminds himself. I have put him through too much to second guess his decisions every step of the way... If he wants to come so badly, I suppose the best I can do is make sure he doesn't overdo it. Better than I did yesterday, anyway...
He checks the clock and sighs slightly, standing. As he kneels next to Ricardo's bed, staring at the side of his best friend's face, he shakes his head and rests a hand on his arm, murmuring in faint Spanish until he begins to stir, groggy and confused, partially from the medicine and partially from the abrupt wake up call. "El Patron?" he whispers.
"Si. Ricardo, we have to prepare for the flight to Canada soon." He waits until recognition crosses what of Ricardo's face he can see in the faint morning light. "Are you wanting to accompany me there as well?"
"Si, si, just... let me get dressed," Ricardo murmurs, already struggling to sit up.
Alberto sighs and presses a hand to his chest, keeping him on the bed. "We've a few things to discuss first, Ricardo. Just relax a moment." When the ring announcer reluctantly listens, Del Rio leans closer. "You need to take it easy, si? I don't want a repeat of yesterday, so if I decide not to allow you to accompany me to the ring, just rest in the locker room, yes?"
Ricardo looks miserable but ultimately concedes. "Si, El Patron. I just... I just want things to return to normal. Be able to announce you, like always..."
Alberto sighs and pats his hand, nodding quietly. "I want that as well, mi amigo. But you making yourself ill will only drag all of this out longer. Neither of us want that."
"Of course not," he whispers.
Smiling sadly at him, Del Rio collects his orthopedic pillow from the bedside table, velcroing it in place for him. "That's alright?"
"Si, gracias," he murmurs, touching his neck gingerly.
"Good. I'll be right back." He taps his arm a time or two before walking into the bathroom, needing a minute due to pure overwhelming regret and guilt over all of this. It'd been his actions the past few years that'd made Ricardo determined to be the best ring announcer possible, even at his own detriment, and now Alberto is seeing the true shame in it all. He shakes his head and quickly splashes his face with water, not wanting to leave the injured man alone more than is necessary. He's just re-entered the room when he pauses, growing suddenly pale. "Ricardo! What are you doing?" he demands in a choked voice, racing across to where the young man is standing, trying to get back into his slacks despite how much pain he's still in.
"I... trying to get dressed," he admits breathlessly, sweat beading on his forehead just from that small bit of motion. "El Patron, you shouldn't have to-"
"Yes, Ricardo," he immediately cuts him off, cupping his face and forcing him to look him in the eye. "I should. It's the least I can do. Por favor, mi amigo. Stop overexerting yourself in an attempt to make it so I can't help you. I want to help you. Si?" His face falls underneath Alberto's warm fingers, adding to the aristocrat's turmoil. "Oh, mi amigo. I know, this is strange to you. But I'm sincere, it's the least I can do. Will you allow me to help you until you're a little stronger?"
Ricardo sniffs. "Si, El Patron. I'll- I'll try."
Alberto smiles, relaxing a little. "Good, mi amigo. Good."
The flight to Canada and the houseshows themselves go better than Del Rio had assumed they would- his head isn't with his matches those nights, and he loses both of them, but Ricardo is well enough to accompany him on both, though he spends all non-announcing times sitting in a chair at ringside, disturbingly reminiscent of the period of time just after he'd returned from Big Show's brutal attack over a year ago. The rest seems to help, his temperature not spiking once the whole weekend, and Alberto sighs once it's over and they're heading for the city that Raw will be held in, relieved that Ricardo had even agreed to rest in the backseat during the drive. He misses the conversations they would have on long drives, but knows that he needs his sleep more than anything else.
The peace and quiet, however, is disrupted by the ringing of Alberto's cell phone. He grunts, reaching out for his hands free device, but it's too late- Ricardo murmurs behind him, stirring, and he grimaces, already not thrilled with whoever's on the other end of this call, daring to contact him at... he glances at the clock. Well past midnight. Perros, he thinks. "Yes?" As he listens to the voice on the other end, he hums slightly. "Very well. We'll be there. Gracias." He hears over the dull static of his phone as Ricardo shifts behind him, gripping his seat to sit up sluggishly, but he doesn't address him right away, placing another call immediately. "Otunga? They've set the deposition for this morning." His hands tighten on the wheel as Ricardo gulps audibly. It would be his first face to face with Sheamus since that fateful night. Del Rio worries as he disconnects the call and throws the device aside, shaking his head gingerly. "It'll be fine, amigo. I'll be right there with you, and Otunga too. Try not to worry."
He sniffs and Alberto closes his eyes, feeling even worse for the younger man. "Si, El Patron," he says wearily.
"Lay down and get some more rest, we'll be there soon." He listens as Ricardo hesitantly complies, his breathing rapid and shaky as he settles back down against the seat cushions. When they arrive at the hotel, Otunga is waiting for them in the parking lot and Alberto can just tell he's not going to like whatever the lawyer has to say, so he doesn't even move to get the younger man out of the car as well, merely helping him to sit up before turning to urge Otunga to say what he has to.
Cluing into the Mexican aristocrat's mood, he immediately delves right into it, not bothering with pleasantries or small talk. "After you called, I received a call from corporate as well. The depo is being held this morning... in Stamford."
Alberto freezes, his hand tightening against the door frame of his car. "Que?" He peers in at Ricardo, whose eyes close at this news. "But- we traveled all the way here for Raw, now we have to travel to Connecticut?! What is those perros' problems?!" His blood boils, only further incensed by the fact that they're only feet away from proper beds, where Ricardo could actually rest a bit more comfortably, not folded up into the backseat of a car or in an airplane seat. "Idiotas!" he continues to rage loudly until the ring announcer reaches out and pats his arm uncertainly, trying to calm him down. It works, he now distracted from his rage as he looks in at the miserable man, anger quickly overwhelmed by guilt and sympathy for his friend.
Before he can say anything, however, Otunga speaks up. "I relayed this to them, Mr. Del Rio. Considering how much we've all already traveled this weekend, and Mr. Rodriguez' lingering injuries, they've agreed to send the private jet to take us to Connecticut and back in time for Raw. It should be here within the hour."
Alberto sighs, slowly allowing his anger to be overwhelmed by new feelings of impressed and relieved. He knows how much fast-talking it must've taken to ensure that the plane would be sent for them at this hour, his respect for Otunga growing. This only multiplies when they actually enter the plane and find it has a bedroom off of the main cabin, Ricardo standing outside of the room uncertainly as he looks around inside. Turning, Alberto frowns and beckons at him. "Come here, amigo. You should get some sleep, I get the feeling it's going to be a long morning."
"But..." He hesitates, joining him reluctantly, and looks at the bed. "You wrestled tonight, El Patron. And last night. You should take the bed. I'll- I'll be ok..."
Alberto sighs, squeezing his shoulders. He's not surprised by the offer, but it wears at him, Ricardo's constant selflessness. Even after everything. "No, amigo, you're the injured one. You take it, Otunga and I need to discuss the deposition anyway."
"Shouldn't... shouldn't I be present for that?" he asks, frowning tiredly.
"No, amigo, you need to rest." He cups Ricardo's jaw and stares down at him. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course."
"Then let me handle this, I promise... it'll be over soon, mi amigo. Just get some sleep, si? I'll wake you up when it's time to go to the deposition."
Ricardo sighs, relieved to find the bed is as soft as it looks when he sinks down under the sheets, Alberto watching with a small smile before he moves closer and pats his chest, adjusting the sheets around him. "If you need anything, just call, si?"
"Si," he murmurs tiredly. Once the door clicks shut behind his employer, he forces his eyes closed and tries to relax even as a stray tear slips down his face.
Alberto leans against the door a moment before joining Otunga, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Alright, he's asleep so let's keep this quiet. What do we need to do to ensure we succeed quickly and painlessly here?" He ordinarily would be fine dragging out an opponent's agony, reveling in their pain, but this isn't a match, and this isn't hurting an opponent- this is a court case, and it's only adding to Ricardo's physical and mental exhaustion. He won't, can't allow it to drag on forever like some cases are known to do.
The night passes slowly, the plane's constant, smooth motion seeming to assist Ricardo in remaining fast asleep in ways not much else had since his injury, so it's with a fair amount of reluctance that Del Rio approaches his room when day breaks, aware that the deposition is inching ever closer and they have to discuss a few things with the ring announcer, prepare him as best as they can for what's to come. He's still unbalanced and blurry eyed when Alberto assists him out of the bed and into the main cabin, settling him down on a seat across from Otunga. Sitting next to him, Alberto automatically rests a hand on his forehead, checking his temperature. He seems sleep-warm but relatively normal, his eyes clear even as he yawns slightly, trying to focus on Otunga's words.
"Here, Amigo," Alberto whispers to him when there's a lull in conversation, smiling slightly as he hands over a mug. Ricardo blinks in surprise as he takes it, a small smile crossing his lips as he realizes there's coffee inside. Even better than that, his fingers aren't numb at this moment and he can feel the warmth suffusing the ceramic and into his skin.
"Gracias, El Patron," he says, smile growing as he sips at the coffee, eyes closing at the familiar, much missed taste. He'd not had the inclination, time or appetite for much in the way of food or drinks since leaving the hospital, to Alberto's worry, so it's a relief to both of them that this little bit of normalcy was welcomed so easily.
All small pleasures disappear, however, when Otunga tells them it's time and they leave the private jet, Alberto's arm steadying and warm across Ricardo's shoulders as they walk towards the car that will take them to the WWE corporate offices for this deposition. The drive is silent and tense, Alberto watching with a pensive frown while his ring announcer frets, his fingers pressed anxiously together the whole ride. When they finally arrive at the large skyscraper, Ricardo swallows audibly, staring up at the building through the car window, and Alberto leans over to see what he sees. "Impressive, hm, amigo?"
"Si," Ricardo whispers in a tone of voice that Del Rio knows all too well- he's overwhelmed and more than a little frightened. Far from impressed or excited to be here, where behind the scenes machinations occur that operate the day to day, non-competition side of their business. Closing his eyes, Alberto rests a hand on Ricardo's shoulder a moment before Otunga comes and opens Ricardo's door, holding a hand out to help the still slightly off-balanced ring announcer. Alberto follows closely, not wanting to let Ricardo out of his sight for too long while he's still so uncomfortable.
"Are you ready, amigo?" he asks softly, resting a hand on Ricardo's chest, patting him gently when he doesn't respond immediately. His lips tighten when Ricardo barely manages a faint positive response, eyes locked on the building that Sheamus is either already lurking around inside of, waiting for him, or will be shortly. "You'll be safe, mi amigo. Trust me. I'll make sure of that."
Otunga gives them a few moments before interjecting, unable to wait any longer or risk their being late, considering how careful they have to be in consideration of Ricardo's injuries. "We have to go now. Follow me, I know where we're supposed to go." The tense silence returns to once more blanket the three men as they continue into the building, Alberto now too distracted to take a good look around the rooms that houses all of WWE's secrets. Instead he keeps a close eye on Ricardo, waiting next to him in the elevator that takes them to the floor Otunga directs it to.
He chances a cursory glance around the receptionist area, making sure that the Irish perro is nowhere to be seen, while directing Ricardo over to the desk where a woman is sitting, pausing in her typing to address them. "How may I help you?"
"We're here for the deposition. I am David Otunga, these are my clients, Ricardo Rodriguez and Alberto Del Rio." Her gaze flickers from man to man and she nods, quickly checking her monitor for information relevant to them.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Otunga. They are waiting for you and Mr. Rodriguez in the conference room." Otunga nods, about to thank her, but-
"Wait, wait, what?" Del Rio demands, putting two and two together at the lack of his name being included. "I'm coming with them." His hand tightens on Ricardo's shoulder as she stares up at him, a little surprised by his conviction.
"Sir, it's been requested that you remain outside during the deposition, only Mr. Rodriguez, Mr. O'Shaughnessy and their lawyers will be allowed inside." Despite the glare he levels at her, she holds her own, only wavering a little bit under his steely gaze.
He looks like he's about to explode in an even more impressive way when Otunga steps closer to him, trying to sooth his tension. "Mr. Del Rio, I apologize, I should've alerted you to this sooner, but there's no getting around it. The case is Mr. Rodriguez against Mr. O'Shaughnessy and it's perfectly acceptable for one side to ask for parties not listed in the suit to remain outside of the proceedings."
This does nothing to ease Alberto's anger, realizing that yet again he'll be unable to protect Ricardo during whatever may happen inside, but he calms slightly when Ricardo rests a hand on his upper arm, staring up at him worriedly. "It's ok, El Patron, I- I'll be ok." He's struggling now to be brave, to make Alberto feel better, and it chokes the Mexican aristocrat to see, after everything, Ricardo is still trying to make things ok for him.
He shakes his head and reaches forward, pulling his ring announcer close to him, cupping his face for a moment before wrapping his arms around him in a rare, all too short hug. "You take care of him, you understand me?" he snaps at Otunga, voice dripping in warning and anger. Only when the lawyer nods grimly does Del Rio release Ricardo reluctantly, peering down into his eyes. "I'll be right out here waiting, mi amigo."
"I know, El Patron." He reluctantly allows Otunga to guide him into the conference room a moment later and Alberto sinks down into a chair directly across from the door, blatantly ignoring the receptionist as he waits. Watches. Listens. If anything goes wrong in that room, he's not sure what exactly he'll do, but it won't be pretty. For Sheamus or Otunga.
Time seems to be passing ridiculously slowly when there's a massive crash inside, the receptionist jumping out of her seat in response but she's barely taken a step when Del Rio is at the door, pacing back and forth in front of it. He's just about to kick the barrier down, see what happened, when it opens on its own, the court reporter leaving like the room's on fire. A strange man who may be Sheamus' lawyer follows, looking just as- if not more- unsettled, but before Alberto can thoroughly lose it at the prospect of Sheamus alone in the room with his ring announcer and Otunga, said Irish perro leaves the room, looking as calm and confident as ever. Alberto seethes, glaring viciously at him. "What did you do?!"
Merely grinning in response, the champion walks off with a spring to his step and Del Rio is about to force his way into the room when the door opens again and Otunga exits, leading a trembling, horrified Ricardo out. "What happened!?" Del Rio demands again, brushing Otunga away and wrapping his fingers around Ricardo's face, trying to catch his eye. "Amigo? What did he do to you?" He's pale and looks close to tears, only adding to Alberto's worry and anger.
The ring announcer can't seem to find the words and finally Otunga clears his throat. "He brogue kicked the camera. Said he... wanted to display the move for his lawyer." Alberto's blood begins boiling anew and even Otunga can see he's heading down dangerous territory. "No one expected it, the depo ended right away because no one wanted to hang around after that."
Alberto searches Ricardo's face once more before releasing him and turning on Otunga, snarling angrily. "I told you to protect him! This is your idea of keeping him safe?! He's trembling!" He pauses a moment, the words that'd just slipped from his lips registering with him, but he blinks it away and continues to glare at Otunga, waiting for some sort of explanation, perhaps any kind of feasible excuse the Harvard grad could think up that would keep him from completely losing it on him.
Ricardo's breathing is still heavy, his hands shaking at his sides, but his numb mind slowly takes in the anger in Alberto's face, how tense his whole body is, and how Otunga is growing more and more nervous, the receptionist looking like she's two seconds away from calling security. And finally he finds his voice. "He- he did protect me, El Patron," he whispers, trying to put more strength into his voice as he continues. "He- he shielded me with his body. He did all he could."
Alberto turns away from Otunga and takes in the look on his friend's face, the tears now welling in his eyes. His anger fades away slowly as he realizes that lecturing and threatening the lawyer won't get any of them anywhere, and it ultimately isn't helping Ricardo right now. He walks closer and rests his hands on Ricardo's shoulders, rubbing his arms carefully. "Ok, ok, amigo. It's ok now. You're safe. Just breathe." When Ricardo seems calmer, Alberto breathes easier as well. "Are you ready to get out of here? Return to Canada for Raw?"
"Si," he murmurs miserably, reaching up to brush at his eyes.
Alberto sighs and nods, trying to smile comfortingly at him. "Back to the private jet then. You can relax there, amigo." As they return to the elevator, ignoring the relieved look on the receptionist's face, he wonders how Sheamus had gotten here. Coach, preferably. Though the cargo hold would be too good for that perro...
