A/N: Months ago, I decided if WWE ever lost their minds and split Ricardo and ADR, I would spin off BtB. It happened sooner than I expected- hell, the spin off is happening sooner than I expected (It took me over a year after Mizorrison's split to even start BtB) but... yeah. If I won't have much to write for Mejor Amigos or OYE from here on, I might as well, huh? So here we go =X

It had started when Ricardo Rodriguez had been suspended a little over a month ago for wellness. Alberto Del Rio had done what he could to make it easier for the younger man, using his influence and money as needed to ensure that the suspension wasn't announced on TV, the story making the rounds being that he was off recovering from Ziggler's attack at the Feista. It had worked well, but despite it all, Ricardo's misery only grew more obvious with each passing day that he'd been unable to do his job, Del Rio's worry growing for him every time he came back from the road to find the situation worse.

More time to himself while on the road, during the unending flights and hours spent in hotels trying to find some rest, causes Del Rio to ponder over the past few years that they'd spent together, Ricardo's focus always on his employer's well-being instead of his own. When Big Show had beat him to unconsciousness and he'd been gone a month recovering, all he could think about was strategies for Money in the Bank that could help Del Rio. Upon Sheamus brogue kicking him into needing a neck brace for another month, he'd continued to push himself to show up at all events, all court proceedings, anything he thought might help the Mexican aristocrat in his upcoming title opportunity. And it hadn't ended there, Swagger had broken his ankle and he still worked through it, placing all of his focus on Alberto, his title reign and then his knee issues the only thing on Ricardo's mind throughout his own recovery.

The suspension hadn't been much different, obviously, Ricardo once more working through his own issues, ready with suggestions every time Del Rio had returned home, the Mexican aristocrat giving his ideas credence and time, aware of how brilliant the younger man could be in strategy, but it doesn't matter, AJ the wildcard in the match that none of them had thought to add in. He retains against Ziggler at Money in the Bank, and again the next night on Raw because of the girl's neediness, and then anger.

With that behind him, Alberto finds himself staring at a calendar, realizing that Ricardo's suspension period is slowly nearing its end. He's anxious to have his best friend back with him, but yet... he can't quite shake the memory of the look in the younger man's eye when the news had first broke, Ricardo looking frustrated and angry with himself, Alberto barely able to calm him down, even with Sofia's help, before he'd had to leave for that week's Smackdown, ensure that the right story would be given so as to diminish his friend's embarrassment as best as he could.

The overseas tour clears his mind, helps him to see what needs to be done. What, perhaps, should've been done long ago before Ricardo had become so fixated on Alberto's career, desperate to prove himself worthy to his best friend at his own detriment time and again. Alberto scrubs at his face as he prepares himself for the first Smackdown of August, staring at the ceiling as time ticks away too quickly. Ricardo would be back on Monday and this would be his best opportunity to set things into motion...

Just because he knows what has to happen doesn't make it any easier to say the words, kick his plan into gear. Even so, when he comes out to start the show, he has a map to Summerslam in his mind, a clear path to what will hopefully, somehow, begin to ease some of Ricardo's turmoil. He stands in the ring and announces his selection for his Summerslam opponent, Ricardo himself, and stares up at the titantron as his best friend's image lights up on the screen, making over-exaggerated gestures to the crowd to keep his true emotions from showing.

He'd have a couple of weeks to subtly prepare the younger man, to say goodbye, and then... dissolve their partnership in the most permanent way Del Rio could think of. Except that this too falls apart. Vickie Guerrero interjects, snaps at him for disrespecting her and the audience, even dares to call him immature. His anger reaches its boiling point as he stares down at her, trying to figure out how wanting to free his best friend from this life, this world, all of the pain that accompanies it, could possibly be immature.

But she doesn't understand, she could never even guess his true intentions, to pay back all of Ricardo's sacrifices with one of his own, and so she forces a triple threat that Christian ultimately wins, Del Rio returning to his hotel later that night to pace. Think. Reconsider everything. He hates having to start again at the beginning, but it's the only thing he can think of. The only possibility that makes sense to him, especially now, time slipping through his fingers.

He keeps this all to himself, however, when he hears a knock at his locker room that Monday and opens it to find Ricardo waiting on the other side, face lit up with an almost hesitant grin as Alberto ushers him in. "Amigo, amigo," he says, warm and welcoming as the ring announcer rests his bag next to Del Rio's. "It's good to see you." And he means it. It is, no matter how much his head hurts when he thinks about what will happen in the next few hours when Ricardo's eyes meet his. "Welcome back."

"Gracias," Ricardo smiles, blinking in some surprise when Alberto leans forward and hugs him tightly, lips pursed desperately to hold in all that he wants to say, every little word that just sounds too much like goodbye. "El Patron..." he murmurs, squeezing him back. "I'm so glad this month is over."

"Me too, amigo," Del Rio says, slowly, reluctantly, pulling away from him. He hopes, perhaps, that that moment will bolster Ricardo through what will be coming, or at the very least not make it much worse for him. "Come, let's get something from catering."

Ricardo nods, adjusting his bowtie, before following his employer through the halls. When they run into a wandering Alex Riley, the two men grin at each other, following into a conversation about what they'd accomplished through the month, before the ring announcer remembers. "Oh, El Patron and I were heading to catering. Do you want to join us, Alex?"

Miz's former rookie glances over at Del Rio before shaking his head. "No, man, that's ok. I gotta go pick up Miz from the airport, since he's flying in from the overseas tour. He's gonna be ecstatic to see you."

Ricardo chuckles. "I look forward to seeing him as well." The three of them walk together for a bit longer, the catering along the same path as the exit, Alberto's eyes locked on Ricardo's face as he talks easily with the third man. Finally they go their own ways, Alberto resting a hand on Ricardo's shoulder as they walk into the large room for the first time in weeks, the ring announcer turning to look at him. Although he seems relieved to be back, Alberto can still see some of that badly hidden pain from the month that he'd been stuck in Florida, watching from the sidelines as the WWE world continued spinning without him, "Find a table that you like, El Patron, I'll get our food."

"Alright, amigo." He watches as Ricardo wanders off, sinking into a chair nearby. "How am I going to do this?"

But he manages it, somehow. After they eat, they run into Miz in the hallways, and he greets Ricardo enthusiastically, inviting them both to some beach party held during Summerslam week- Del Rio purposely doesn't respond throughout the invite, though Ricardo's eyes had brightened before the words had even fully left Mike's mouth- before going to get ready to commentate, ironically enough, during Del Rio's match against RVD that night, and they leave to prepare as well.

He only hopes that with Mike out there, Ricardo will not be completely alone in the end, able to get past this all the sooner, but he's not sure. Either way, when Ricardo tries to help, setting the bucket up in the corner, Del Rio tries to use it just for RVD to reverse it and send him into it, opening him up for a frog splash and a pin. Ricardo slips into the ring, tries to sooth Alberto, his touch lingering on his arm as their eyes lock and a flash of fear crosses the ring announcer's face. Alberto's face is horribly blank, and he stands grimly, Ricardo's pleads rattling around in his head as he kneels and begs, folding his hands as if in prayer...

But it's time, he's been preparing himself for this moment, and when he snaps out and kicks Ricardo in the skull, he closes his eyes and continues on, punching and hitting him with the bucket, allowing his body to take over instinctively as he throws him out of the ring. It's bad, it's all so wrong, but he knows... it's going to take something serious to snap the ring announcer's unwavering loyalty, make him focus on himself for once. He can feel Miz's eyes on him as he stands on the ramp and runs forward, planting his feet purposely on the steel steps that he can't remember placing his best friend behind, listening to the impact with a detached feeling of giddy horror.

He goes to collect his title, laughing almost to the point of madness, but it's the absolute last thing he feels deep inside. Trainers and referees are surrounding Ricardo as he backs up the ramp, and he can see his motionless form from here, swallowing down a wave of fright that perhaps he had taken it too far, that he'd permanently injured him. He's watching from backstage when Miz, and then Alex, join the group of people transferring the younger man backstage, and he sighs, forcing himself to walk back to his locker room. Ignoring how empty it all feels right now, he sits down on the nearest couch and runs his fingers through his hair.

His plan so far had worked, perhaps too well, and now, as adrenaline and everything else drains from him, leaving him feeling tired and old, he stares blurrily at Ricardo's things. He hadn't allowed the ring announcer to go back to the hotel, ordering him to come right to the arena as soon as he'd landed, so everything he'd traveled with is in this room. He's rubbing something back and forth in his hand when it clicks with him and he looks down, swallowing as he takes in the green, white and red fabric. Ricardo's bowtie, he realizes, feeling like he'd been punched in the solar plexus. It had to have been in the bucket, that being Ricardo's general hold-all during matches, and how it'd ended up here, with him, he honestly doesn't remember...

Ordinarily he'd care about memory lapses like this, but he has other things to consider. Like Ricardo will need his things back, and since he's probably incapable of getting them, others will be coming to get them for him- Miz, Alex- and the last thing Del Rio wants or needs is another physical confrontation, barely able to think straight, much less fight his way out of anything, even if it's just Miz. He stares blankly at his title and lets it rest on the couch, standing slowly and walking away from it.

Knowing exactly where he wants to be right now, he ventures out of his locker room and ambles towards the trainer's office, trying to look like his usual self, sneering or just ignoring those he passes by. He arrives sooner than he expects, staring at the door blocking his- his former ring announcer- from view, the Mexican aristocrat licking his lips anxiously as he rests a hand on the barrier, wishing with everything in him that he could just slam inside and check on the younger man without risking all that he'd done to get them here. He's about to go elsewhere, give Miz time to do what needs to be done, when his eyes skirt aside and he realizes that there's an unmarked door directly across from the trainer's office.

Wheels turning slowly, he tries the doorknob, eyes widening when it opens easily, showing off a dark, quiet, empty room. "What do you know," he mumbles, slipping inside. It's a perfect vantage point to see across the hall as he pushes the door shut, leaving it open only a crack so he can hear what's going on. He's only been there a few minutes when the trainer's office door slams open, Mike's angry ranting- about him, unsurprisingly- echoes through the halls, Alex's pleads for him to wait following almost immediately.

Once things quiet down, Del Rio slips out of the room and stares down the hall, watching as they burn a path to his locker room. Smirking, he shakes his head. "Good luck, perros. I'm not in there." Swallowing, he sobers as he once more stares at the trainer's office. Pushing that door open, he stares inside to find the trainer wandering around Ricardo's cot, the ring announcer still motionless. Alberto closes his eyes for a moment before slipping into the room, raising a hand when the trainer looks like he's about to yell for help. "I'm not going to hurt him." He stares brokenly at his best friend, taking in the marks and bruises covering his face, and sighs. "May I just sit with him for a few moments?" Painfully aware that they won't have much time, Mike like a hyperactive tornado when he has a mission, he stares desperately at the trainer, who finally nods slowly, backing away with a frown on his face. "Gracias," Del Rio mumbles, well aware that, should he make one wrong move, the man would start yelling for help and Alberto would be facing another suspension or worse, like he had after attacking Big Show in his hotel room months ago.

Ignoring all of that, he sits down next to the ring announcer and stares at his slack features, face falling as he finally allows himself to feel again for the first time in hours... days... weeks. "I'm so sorry, amigo," he breathes out, hesitantly reaching out and cupping his hand as he'd done many times in the past. "I don't expect you to understand this, but it needed to be done. You've been so tortured this past month, I couldn't stand it, and I'll be honest. I feel responsible. You've always been so focused on me, my needs, my desires... you never allowed yourself just to be, to concentrate on yourself. You've been injured so much on my account, and then the suspension... It hurt to watch you the past month, especially when I had to leave you behind to go on the overseas tour. You deserve a chance to find your own way, pave your own path in this business... but I couldn't think of a way to shatter your loyalty to me, to destroy your devotion, without... without..." He swallows and rests his forehead against Ricardo's hand, shaking his head.

"I had a plan, but that idiota General Manager, Vickie Guerrero, refused and tipped my hand, so I had to do it tonight, with little preparation or warning. I don't expect, nor would I want, you to understand this any time soon, but perhaps someday you will come to realize I really did have your best interests in mind." He looks up at his best friend and squeezes his hand. "You'll always be mi mejor amigo, and I know whatever you do from here on, you'll excel at. Because you do at everything, si?" He laughs painfully and releases a breath, tears prickling at his eyes. "I may hate him, but Miz will be the friend you need from here. At least he'd better." He stands, well aware of how quickly time is ticking away, before pressing a hand to the young man's forehead, careful to avoid the discoloration the steps and his boot had caused on his flesh. "I will be watching your successes proudly... as I've always been so very proud of you. You are stronger than most realize, it's time for you to show it, mi amigo." Another breath and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead, similar to the one he'd given him at the Royal Rumble when Ricardo had helped him win against Big Show, but so differently emotionally charged. This sign of affection isn't one of celebration or happiness, it is simply... goodbye.

After setting the bowtie carefully on the counter, he leaves the office without a backwards glance, returning to the darkened room to wait for Miz to return so he knows when it's safe to head back to his locker room, so he can get out of this building and this damned town already.

By the time he arrives home late Tuesday after some media events, Alberto feels worn ragged, physically and emotionally. It had hit him on the car ride home that, through all of his thinking, the one thing he hadn't truly taken the time to consider was Sofia's reaction to what he'd done. He swallows as he parks in front of the house, leaving the car for his staff to transfer to one of his garages, getting out slowly to find the housekeeper standing on the front porch, staring down at him vacantly. "Sofia," he greets her.

"Senor," she says simply, standing stiffly as he walks past her.

"You have seen Raw."

"Si."

He has no idea what to say next, she appears about as talkative, so he nods sharply and continues to walk through the foyer, to the hallway. His room on the right, what used to be Ricardo's on the left, he stops at his door and drops his suitcase inside the room before turning to stare at the closed door, swallowing faintly. Hand resting on the wood, he remembers all of the times he'd helped the younger man to bed after one of his injuries, or even when he'd just been too exhausted to walk on his own, and slowly pushes the door open, stepping inside. It's shadowy inside, the sun nearly set outside, but he can still see.

The room is empty. Furniture remains, yes, and minor electronics, such as the clock and lamps, but everything that had been Ricardo is gone. Even the Zubaz is missing from the hangers in the closet. He swallows, amazed at the speed that Mike must have worked to manage all of this, walking further into the room and shutting the door tightly behind him to take it all in in private.

He swallows and sinks down on the bed, staring out of the window with the view that Ricardo had loved so much, spending many of his numerous recoveries sitting on the windowsill, watching the birds and animals fly and scamper around Del Rio's grounds, Alberto or Sofia often keeping him company during these times.

He laughs bitterly, barely mindful of the tears dripping down his face as he forces down a deep breath. The reality that he had forced into fruition mocks him, made only worse by the realization that, in order to ensure his plan's success, he would have to continue to keep the act up. Pretend that the man who'd so thoroughly beat down his best friend on Monday was the man that was always there, lurking beneath the surface, so that Ricardo's innate forgiveness, his limitless loyalty, would stay buried, so that he wouldn't volley for his job back upon his recovery.

For this reason alone, he is able to stare Vickie Guerrero in the eye on Friday Night Smackdown and dismiss Ricardo completely, barely blinking when she speaks of how despicable what he'd done to the ring announcer is, unable to shake the growing anger that it's partly her fault, if he had just had some more time... As he leaves the office, he insults her in Spanish, far from caring when she snaps after him that she'd heard that. His loss to Christian that night leaves him sore and shaking with anger, storming through the halls to his locker room, where he all but collapses on the floor, title belt held close to his chest. He had almost lost it too, the only true thing he has left, what Ricardo had always worked so hard to try to ensure he'd one day hold. That perro Damien Sandow had nearly caught him at his weakest, and he didn't even have Ricardo to divert, distract, as he'd had during Ziggler's many attempts at cashing in.

He swallows and cradles the title closer, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, no," he mutters, rocking back and forth on the cold floor. "No, no, no..." Slumping back until his head hits the door, he shudders out a pained breath. "Lo siento, mi amigo, lo siento. I will make it without you, no matter how it hurts right now. You deserve this time to concentrate on yourself. I will not be weak, I will not be selfish. I will not take this opportunity from you. You have done so much for me... I will be ok." Pressing the title closer to his face, he groans. "I merely miss you, is all."