It's the night of the Royal Rumble. Ricardo is standing by the gorilla position, tapping his microphone and waiting for any possible interview duties when a random tech comes up to him and says something. Alberto, watching from a few feet away, raises his eyebrow curiously but is too far away to hear what's going on. The tech motions to Ricardo and guides him down the hall, their heads pressed together as they discuss... whatever it is, and Alberto frowns.
He's still standing there when Ricardo nods, thanking the tech and turning to walk back towards gorilla. Alberto pulls away from the wall and approaches the table as well, making a show out of staring at the match board hung next to it. "What was that?" he mumbles loud enough for Ricardo to hear, but none of the other nosy people scattered around.
"They want me to commentate PPVs on the Spanish table," Ricardo whispers back, pretending to check his microphone for defects. Alberto glances over at him and he shrugs, eyes fixed on his own hands. "It's better than nothing, I suppose."
That's not Alberto's main concern, however, all too aware of how often the Spanish tables are targetted. "Mi valiente," he breathes, but then another tech approaches and Ricardo straightens up to talk to him.
"We'll talk later, El Patron," he whispers, discreetly patting Alberto on the arm before leaving him to stew in silence.
"Ay," he huffs, turning to watch through the current as Ricardo takes his place at the Spanish table. He doesn't like this, doesn't like it much at all. At least during interviews, Ricardo is relatively safe... but out there, so close to the action... He makes a face before walking down the hall, trying to focus on his own role in the Rumble.
He's entry number 27, glancing through the sea of bodies in the ring to catch a glimpse of Ricardo, who seems relatively unharmed at the table. He breathes a little easier as he slides into the action, tries to fight his way to another title opportunity. He'd wanted the WWE World Heavyweight Title back so badly, it was like an ache, but he knows things are going wrong as soon as Batista enters the ring. Despite his best efforts, he's thrown out and lands not far away from where Ricardo's sitting.
He grunts and struggles back up to his feet, catching his ring announcer's eye before turning and making his way backstage, angry at having lost. His displeasure grows when Batista wins the damn Rumble, but he says nothing, sitting in the locker room until the PPV ends and Ricardo finally rejoins him, cupping his hands. "El Patron?"
Sitting up, he searches Ricardo's face. "Let's get out of here, mi valiente." The younger man nods, waiting as Alberto changes into street clothes, before snagging his bag and wrapping an arm around Alberto, following him out to the car.
Later on, Alberto is sitting on the edge of the bed, sorting through their itinerary the next week, when Ricardo comes out of the bathroom, hair slicked back and wet. Smiling, he sits next to Alberto and looks down at the papers while he runs a towel through his hair. Alberto glances over and puts the papers down, taking the towel from him and firmly drying his hair. Ricardo sighs and leans into his touch, eyes fluttering. "El Patron," he breathes out, enjoying how he's massaging his scalp with the soft fabric.
Alberto allows him a moment before pulling away, wrapping the towel around Ricardo's shoulders. "Did you enjoy commentating tonight, mi valiente?"
"Si. It was... different," he says after a moment. "I'd prefer to be in the ring, but I'll make the most of this." He leans against Alberto and releases a breath. "I'm sorry you didn't win the Rumble, El Patron. I know you were hoping to main event Wrestlemania, get your title back..."
"Hm," Alberto mutters, this far from his mind right now however. He brushes his fingers through Ricardo's soft hair. "Yes, well, I was more concerned for you," he admits. "That Spanish table... it's targetted so often..."
"I'll keep it safe," Ricardo says with a vague laugh but, when Alberto doesn't laugh as well, he sits up and stares his former employer in the eye. "You're really worried about this, huh?" He smiles and cups Alberto's face. "I'll be fine. I know to get out of the way if someone's coming for the table. Don't worry. No one'll touch me."
"Hmm," Alberto repeats, leaning forward and kissing Ricardo's nose. "They'd better not." He stares into Ricardo's eyes. "I'd have to find some of my old aggression and kick their traseros." The ring announcer laughs, leaning forward and resting his head against Alberto's shoulder as he hugs him. "I am happy as long as you're happy, though, mi valiente."
Ricardo nods as Alberto strokes his back, smiling. "Gracias, El Patron."