It's a rare weekend off for them all. Various WWE Superstars are hanging around one of the many bars in Tampa that's showing the UFC fight, Ricardo Rodriguez nursing a diet coke and vodka in the corner, trying to remain inconspicuously out of sight.
He had spotted Alberto Del Rio as soon as he'd entered the establishment, not wanting any trouble from his former employer, especially tonight. He'd just wanted to relax, meet up with some friends from NXT, and forget his problems for now. But with Alberto there, this proves nearly impossible and so he goes outside between matches, needing a breath of fresh air. He doesn't notice the dark eyes following his every movement, nor does he observe the heavy footsteps heading his way.
He paces in the alley, trying to calm down, when the door slams open behind him and something forces him into the outside wall, pinning him there with no warning. He gasps painfully, eyes squeezed closed, trying not to move against the pressure, when the heavy arm pressed against his neck is joined by the sharp coolness of a thin blade against his lower back, uncomfortably close to his spine. He'd just groaned, despite trying not to, when the knife digs deeper into his skin, not enough to draw blood, but a definite warning. "Give me all of your money," the man orders him roughly.
Ricardo grunts and slowly digs into his pocket, unearthing his wallet, which is full of a couple of 10s, a 5, and too many 1s to count, dropping them onto the ground at their feet shakily. He holds his breath as the thief leans over, careful not to move the knife as he scoops it up, just to laugh in his face when he sees what's inside. "You really expect me to believe that that's all you have on you? I know who you are," he mutters. "I know who you work for. That rich Mexican guy I've seen on TV with you... and he's here too. Unfortunately for you, you were the first to leave. But that's fine with me, you're an easier target anyway." Digging the knife in harsher, he laughs as Ricardo tenses in fear, shaking him. "Now where's the rest of your money at, huh?"
He can't help the tears filling his eyes as rough bricks dig into his jaw, cheek and temple only adding to his terror. "You're holding onto it," he forces out painfully, gritting his teeth against his fear of what the response will be.
"Liar," the man has just hissed out when the door to the bar slams open once more, startling the criminal so badly that he jerks the knife all the way into Ricardo's flesh, his eyes widening as he realizes what just happened. Quickly pulling the weapon out of Ricardo's back with a sickening sound, he turns and flees, not wanting to get caught.
As Ricardo slumps to the ground limply, running, pounding footsteps slam past him and he whimpers, head spinning from the shock of what had just happened and pain, his shirt already wet and clinging to his skin with what he guesses is his own blood.
There's a sharp yell a few feet away and he wants so badly to look, but everything hurts so much that he doesn't move until he hears more footfalls behind him, tensing when something clatters to the ground nearby. Before he can really freak out, warm hands rest on his back and trail lower, finding the wound. "Ay!"
Ricardo's head clears some at this and he moans, breath rushing out of his body as his heart races, his fight or fligh response in hyperdrive. "Alberto..." he whispers, trying and failing to move away from the man who had beat him down only a few weeks ago.
"Stop," his former employer snaps, suddenly leaning against him as he applies pressure to the wound. "You can't move, this may have struck something vital, or-" Cutting himself off, he digs around in his pocket for his phone and, finally finding it, dials 911.
Ricardo whimpers, hurting and beyond scared- first, that he's alone with Del Rio, of all people, and second, due to his injury and the perpetrator. "The guy, he- he..." he breathes out, trying to distract himself.
"He's unconscious," Alberto snaps in his ear. "I do imagine he'll remain that way for a nice, long while..."
Ricardo sniffs and listens then as Del Rio talks to the emergency operator, explaining what he'd just interrupted. "Why?" the former ring announcer mutters after a few minutes.
"Why what?" the Mexican aristocrat demands, dropping the phone and applying more pressure to Ricardo's lower back, muttering in rough Spanish when the younger man groans and arches away, the pain burning up his spine.
"Why are you helping me?" he breathes out, resting his face once more against the wall.
Alberto stares at the back of his head oddly for a few moments before looking around. "I hear the ambulance, hold on. You're going to be fine."
"Answer me," Ricardo demands wearily, not wanting to let this go while he's still somewhat lucid.
Del Rio rests his head for a moment on Ricardo's shoulder and shakes his head. "Never could just let things go, could you, perro?" he mumbles, no heat behind his insulting words. "Because, I suppose, it's instinctive still. One does not just forget three years so easily... no matter what happens in the ring." He pulls back a bit to check the bleeding wound before putting pressure on it once more. "Some pathetic gringo trying to steal your money after jumping you from behind... he got what he deserved," he says, voice grim and dark.
Ricardo's head is spinning with all of this and the lingering pain, wanting to turn to look his former friend in the eye, but unable to as Alberto continues to hold him against the wall, trying to slow the bleeding. "Gracias," he breathes out just before the ambulance arrives down the alley, where the van can actually fit. Its doors slam open as EMTs move to examine the thief and Ricardo both, police preparing to transport the man as soon as he's determined to be well enough.
Ricardo listens dully as Del Rio explains coming out of the bar after one of the fights, wanting a breath of air away from all of the crowd, when he'd spotted the man holding a knife against Ricardo's back, the men asking questions as they work at preparing Ricardo for the trip to the ER. They move him away from the wall to place him on a stretcher and he almost regrets it, the ground cold and almost more uncomfortable until finally he's on the stiff sheets of the cot, being rolled into the ambulance.
Every shift and jostle is pure agony, Ricardo fighting not to cry out in front of Alberto, who is currently talking to one of the policemen. EMTs are talking lowly to dispatch when Del Rio walks back up to the van, resting a hand on Ricardo's foot, shaking it until his blurry eyes focus on him. "Hey," he slurs sleepily.
"Hey," he says quietly. "I have to stay and give a statement to the police, will you be alright?"
Ricardo blinks a time or two, staring at him with some lingering confusion. "Si, of course. Aren't I always?"
Alberto purses his lips and says nothing, glancing around at the EMTs with some warning in his gaze. "I'll be by the hospital later to check on you. Take good care of him," he mutters to one of the emergency workers he passes as he leaves the ring announcer behind to ensure that the criminal gets put away for a nice, long time.
A little over an hour later, Del Rio finds himself at the nurses' station, waiting for someone to notice him. It seems to take forever until finally one of the women look over at him. "How may I help you?"
He rolls his eyes at the wait before approaching her. "Ricardo Rodriguez," he says slowly. "I was with him earlier... how is he?"
The nurse looks at her computer screen before looking up at him. "You're Alberto Del Rio? You're listed on his emergency contacts... do you want to go see him? We're just about to place him in a private room, but you can have a few minutes."
Everything in Del Rio wants to say no, but when he actually opens his mouth to speak, "...yes" comes out instead, startling him almost more than the fact that Ricardo hadn't changed that yet. He hadn't intended on seeing him, not after the last few months. Even so, he follows her blankly through the ER halls, stopping in front of a dimly lit room.
"He's resting, but you can go in," she says, smiling at him as he stares at the door as if it's beyond him. Finally he reaches out for it and slowly pulls it open, entering the room. The nurse follows and wanders around, checking the machines connected to Ricardo, tracking his vitals before turning to Alberto. "He was lucky, the knife wound wasn't as serious as it first seemed. It didn't hit anything vital, and although it was deep, he's been stitched up and we're in the process of giving him a blood transfusion and he'll be just fine. We're going to keep him for a day or two for observation, and then he can go home."
Alberto nods distantly, staring down at him. He still seems too pale, too still, but his breathing is regular, the beeps on the heart monitor steady and strong, and this comforts him. When the nurse leaves the room, he slumps down in a chair next to the bed and sighs. "I said it was instinctive, and it is, but... I suppose part of me can't see you hurt without still wanting to get revenge on those responsible. I often failed at that, especially in the WWE, but I definitely tried, even if it wasn't always clear... Big Show, Sheamus, Swagger, Orton... odd that in the end, I perhaps am the one who hurt you the worst, hm?" he mutters. Shaking his head against these thoughts, he sits back and stares at the younger man. "The police said he was originally going to target me, but you were the unlucky one he turned his focus on when you left the building first. And I can imagine that the only reason you would leave so abruptly right in the middle of the fights is because of my presence... So again, your suffering is all my fault."
He grimaces and leans forward, resting his hand hesitantly on top of Ricardo's, shaking his head. "Lo siento, mi amigo." He sighs, feeling an unfamiliar weight in his front slacks pocket as he shifts in the chair. "Ah, right. The police agreed to release your wallet to me, after some... discussions," he smirks, remembering how they'd wanted to keep it for evidence. He pulls it out and lays it in Ricardo's hands, closing his fingers around it. "Nothing was lost tonight. You're going to be just fine."
He slowly stands, not wanting to risk waking him up any further, and walks for the door, just touching the handle when... "Muchas gracias... mi amigo," he hears quietly from behind him, turning to look out of the corner of his eye as Ricardo shifts and stares at him, yawning a bit.
"De nada," he says simply, leaving the room and leaning against the door as he ponders the last few hours.
A bittersweet smile crosses his face.