Disclaimer: I don't own anyone.
Rated: M
Warning(s): Slash, Mpreg, etc.
It was hard on SmackDown. Alberto was at his best when Ricardo was on the sidelines, because he knew that he had someone to strive for, someone to impress. Alberto didn't connect with the fans. Well, he didn't know whether or not he connected with the fans, because he had never really tried. Whenever he came out to do a promo, it was all he could do to not call one (if not all of them) peasants and tell them the many reasons why they were beneath him.
But still, he came out with a victory over Randy Orton to become the new Number One Contender to Sheamus' title. When the crowd booed him, he felt a slow smirk start to form. Fresh off of his victory, he rolled out and slowly made his way up the ramp. It was only after he was out of the eye of the public that he realized the full impact of his situation. Ricardo wasn't there to celebrate with him. It was a hollow victory.
Alberto stumbled into his locker room and locked the door behind him. He looked at the colorful array of bruises that discolored his skin. He was in an unbelievable amount of pain. How could he describe it? It was a pain that he had never experienced before. A pain in his body, but also a pain inside of his heart. Ricardo had taken a knife and cut into him when he left and Alberto didn't know how to heal it on his own…
Alberto took out his phone. It had been three days since he had last talked to Ricardo and he really, really needed to lift these words off of his chest. It felt like there was a heavy burden on his shoulders. "Ricardo?"
There was some noise in the distance. Ricardo yawned into the phone and Alberto cursed when he remembered the time difference between there and Mexico. "Hello? Who is this?"
"It's Alberto." Alberto answered. He heard Ricardo curse fluently in the distance.
"Lo siento, El Patron. Wait, you fired me, you're not my boss anymore. I'm rambling, aren't I? Lo siento, Alberto." Ricardo finished finally.
"Its fine, Ricardo. Don't worry about it." Alberto assured him. An awkward silence followed and both were at a loss for words. Finally, Alberto continued. "So, um, how are you?"
"I'm fine. You shouldn't be worried about me. I saw that you won your match on SmackDown to become the new Number One Contender. You should be worried about Sheamus." Ricardo told him.
Alberto shook it off. "It is my destiny to become World Champion. I do not have to worry myself over a peasant like Sheamus." Alberto rolled his eyes, as if this were obvious.
"Lo siento, Alberto. I should not have doubted you." Ricardo said.
"Its fine, Ricardo. Do me a favor and stop apologizing all the time, okay?" Alberto said.
"Okay." An awkward silence followed. "Listen, Alberto, I have to go. I'm right in the middle of something extremely important and I can't mess it up."
"Okay, well -,"
Alberto was cut off when the phone call ended abruptly. It took him a minute to realize that his announcer, no, his former announcer, had actually hung up on him. He had half a mind to call him back just to curse him out and then to be the one to hang up on him. But then, he took a minute to think about the situation rationally. First of all, that would be incredibly rude of him to do that. And second, who said that Ricardo would actually answer?
Slowly, Alberto started to undress from his match and change into his civilian clothes. He tucked all of his stuff into his shoulder bag and started the lonely walk out to his car. Unfortunately, that walk was disturbed by an unwanted encounter with The Viper, Randy Orton. The Apex Predator narrowed his eyes at Alberto in a scowl that would have sent him six feet under. Alberto didn't back down, so Randy scowled harder.
"Perro," Alberto hissed at him. He may not be able to cuss out Ricardo, but he had no qualms about cussing out Randy. He needed to blow off some steam. "What the hell do you want?"
"What do I want? Excuse me, but I believe that you were the one who ran into me." Randy bit back just as fiercely. He still cradled his arm from the vicious cross-arm breaker that Alberto had locked in not an hour before.
"Well, maybe if you didn't stand in the middle of the damn doorway, idiota, we wouldn't need to have this discussion. Now, if you would be so kind as to move out of my way…" Alberto trailed off.
Randy took hold of his shoulder and slammed it into the nearby wall, glaring at him with all of the force that he could muster. "Did you just call me an idiot?"
"Si." Alberto hissed. "I'm surprised that you took more offense to that then dog, but then, I shouldn't be surprised. You, peasant, are a unique combination of both!"
Randy punched his cheek so hard that he saw stars. "You want to run that comment by me again?"
"Gladly." Alberto choked on his words. He wiped the blood from his mouth on the back of his hand. "Or, rather, should I add 'dunce' to the list as well?"
This time, Randy took hold of Alberto's hair and slammed his head back into the wall. "Shut your fucking trap!"
"Make me." Alberto smirked. "Go ahead and show the world how much of an uncivilized freak you really are."
That was the last straw. Randy tackled him down and knocked the wind out of him, causing Alberto to cough viciously while Randy continued his assault. Each punch was calculated to cause as much pain as possible, but without having Randy exert a lot of energy. Randy continued his assault until two muscular arms wrapped around his stomach and pulled him off of Alberto, and even then, Randy kicked at the Mexican aristocrat until all of the fight left his body.
John looked back and forth between Alberto and his boyfriend, before he finally settled on Randy. "Randy, what is the meaning of this? If Booker T had been the one to pull you off, you could have been suspended."
Randy turned away indignantly, but there was a flicker of hurt in his eyes that Alberto had not seen before. It made him feel bad and he silently cursed his anger management classes. "I don't want to talk about it."
"C'mon, then. Let's head back to the hotel room before another fight breaks out." John ushered his boyfriend down the hall, before he hesitantly turned back to Alberto. "You okay, Alberto?"
"I'm fine. I don't need a peasant to worry about me." Alberto spat.
"Fine." John raised his hands in innocence. "The next time Randy beats you to a bloody pulp; I'll just stand by and watch. Since you don't need a peasant to worry about you and all that."
"Good." Alberto hissed. He watched as John and Randy walked away, before the pain finally overwhelmed him and he fell back. "Fuck, that peasant bastard actually knows how to pack a punch…"
Ricardo rolled around in bed, unable to make himself comfortable. He couldn't believe that he had hung up on Alberto. And, to make it even worse, he didn't want to call him back. What kind of servant was he? What if Alberto was in trouble? Oh, the very idea of it settled like a lead balloon in his stomach. Alberto could be in trouble and he couldn't care less. Ricardo was an awful, horrible man.
Finally, he settled down on his back. He drew the blankets up to his chin and focused his eyes on the window. When they were little and Ricardo was more of a personal servant than the announcer/chauffer/guardian that he had grown into, Alberto used to tell him that he would always confide in the stars. The stars were always there, they would never vanish. And they wouldn't judge him, not like his father did.
After a few minutes, Ricardo tossed the blankets off of his body and walked out toward his balcony. He was surrounded by several different plants and flowers. It was all very beautiful. But that wasn't what Ricardo's main concern was. Slowly, methodically, he turned his head toward the heavens and admired the vast arrays of stars and constellations in the black velvet sky. He felt what Alberto had felt. He felt like he could confide in them.
"I don't know… I don't know if stars can really hear, but can they listen? I have a rather odd situation and I don't know what to do. I'm pregnant and I know that I want to keep the baby, but do I tell the baby's father? Will he even want her?" Ricardo asked.
He wasn't surprised when he didn't receive an answer.
