After a long, quiet weekend, Alberto travels to St. Louis for that week's Raw. He has no match announced, yet, but he hangs around anyway. Mike is there, he knows he has a rematch against Orton, so he keeps an eye out for Ricardo but it's clear early on that the younger man isn't there again- which, Del Rio comes to find, is probably just as well. Alex Riley isn't there either, so he assumes that they're together. On top of that, The Wyatts seem to have it out for Miz, and the last thing Alberto wants is the ring announcer somehow caught up in that disturbing drama. But more frustrating than that, the odd silence from the trainers regarding Ricardo's condition continues. After Swagger had broken his ankle, and even after Alberto had initially attacked him, there had been some inkling of what was going on with him spreading through the locker room, trainers unable to keep their mouths shut.
But now...nothing. He doesn't understand it. He takes a breath and stares at his title, grimacing as he watches the show carry on. HHH is out, talking about Daniel Bryan and Big Show and everything else that hasn't really mattered that much to Del Rio since RVD had left, taking himself- and Ricardo- out of the whole mess involving Daniel Bryan in one fell swoop. Needing a distraction, Alberto makes his way to gorilla, arriving just as the man himself interrupts HHH to chant YES! with the crowd over and over again. He sneers, watching for a few moments, before he makes his decision and runs out, taking the other man out and gleefully beating him up. There had been tension between them for awhile now, partially because of their dueling YES! and SI! chants, so he has no qualms with kicking his face off.
When it causes HHH to announce he has a match against Bryan later that night, he feels relief at the chance of further distraction. Unfortunately, it still leaves him with close to an hour to waste, which he spends in his locker room, staring blankly at the TV as matches and segments passes by, failing fantastically at keeping his attention. "Ay," he grouses, leaning his head back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. He's never done well with frustration or boredom, and to mix the two of them... He sighs and fingers his phone, wishing someone relevant to him would tweet or text or something... But Sofia hasn't texted him in weeks, and of course, Ricardo had probably deleted his number ages ago.
He closes his eyes and remembers the look on Ricardo's face the week prior- the joy turning into sharp fear as Del Rio had run around and clipped his feet out from under him, sending him crashing into the table below. Not to mention the pain in Sofia's when he'd seen her on Tuesday. He takes a breath and leans forward, scraping his fingers through his hair as the steady weight of his title belt on his knees does little to comfort him. It had been different with Ricardo, Alberto enjoying sharing his first World title reign with the younger man. Now it, like many other things, feels empty, meaningless. No one can defeat him, there's little challenge behind his championship reign, and he's never felt less fulfilled.
His displeasure only grows when his match against Daniel Bryan is cut short when Orton interrupts, cornering Bryan's fiancee in the trainer's office, locking himself inside as she and her twin sister scream for help. He tries to take advantage, keep Daniel in place long enough to eak out a victory, but Daniel is equally as determined to leave, and he knocks Del Rio down, quickly running to save the girl. Alberto hisses and glares on as the match ends in a countout victory in his favor, however annoyed he is at the prospect of having once more to return to his empty locker room after such a relatively cheap conclusion. "Maldita sea," he grouses, grabbing his title belt and storming off with it.
He is looking forward to the Mexico tour that starts that week, but when he lands in his home country and looks around, a proud smirk on his face, it fades quickly as he takes it all in. This, here, too, feels empty, all but meaningless. He groans lowly, realizing that his decision two months ago is also now affecting even this: he and Ricardo had explored many of the Mexican cities they had visited during the last WWE tour together, the younger man as pleased as he was to be home, amongst the Latino community, their people... But now, same as his own home, everywhere he looks reminds him of that, causes him to miss his best friend all the more.
Despite it being his home country as well, Ricardo hadn't come on the tour and this disturbs Alberto even more, to think that he had hurt the other man- either physically or emotionally- so thoroughly that he had had to skip this trip, which had been something he'd looked forward to as well every time in the past, no matter what. He sighs and shakes his head, continuing on to the vehicle that will take him to the hotel to drop his things off before the media events and everything else begins.
Alberto Del Rio was always the kind to scoff at depression and such things, but now, he finds that he understands it a bit more, unable to think of any other way to describe how he's feeling... but he knows he can't truly complain, as he's sure Ricardo has felt much worse the past few months, thanks to him. This is what I deserve, I suppose.
Smackdown that Friday, he has little to do, no scheduled matches listed for him again. He purposely avoids Vickie, not wanting a repeat of the week prior. When a tech tells him he merely has an interview later on with Josh Mathews, he relaxes. That he can do. But it still leaves him with too much free time, wandering around the building. He'd caught another glimpse of Miz after his tag match, near enough to one of the many monitors backstage to overhear what Bray had said, and even Del Rio feels unease at the threat from the man about taking away everything from Mike, yet again somewhat relieved that there's still no sign of Ricardo tonight, Mike's focus solely on AJ Lee.
He sighs and returns to his locker room, snagging the Mexican flag he'd started requesting being put in his personal locker room at each arena, along with the mini-flags on the turnbuckles for his matches. As he makes his way to the ring, he waves it back and forth and begins talking about his Mexican pride, the Cena return promo that is played adding to his aggravation as he stares up at the titantron. Subject turning then to Cena's ego, and what Del Rio plans on doing to him the following Sunday, an impulse comes over him to show what he wants to do to the former WWE champion come Hell in a Cell and he grabs Mathews, twisting him into the armbar, pulling back on his arm until he grows bored of the man's pathetic struggles.
He laughs as he releases him, gripping his world title as he walks backstage and catches a replay on the monitor, his amusement stopping short as he hears Cole repeatedly complaining about him targetting a mere announcer, his eyes flickering back and forth between the monitor and the curtains behind him as he weighs those words, his actions. Ricardo, he thinks, closing his eyes against the abrupt flash of painful memories from the past few weeks. Sighing heavily, he walks quickly back to his locker room, wanting to avoid any other comments or judgmental gazes.
The now-ignored TV drones on as Alex Riley looks over sympathetically at his roommate, Ricardo Rodriguez' dark eyes locked on the screen. Just moments ago, they'd watched painfully quietly as Alberto Del Rio had locked the armbar in on Josh Mathews, uncaring that he was just an commentator, and hadn't wrestled seriously in years. "Are you ok, man?" he asks softly, muting the TV automatically.
Ricardo looks at him for a moment before standing, Alex careful not to say anything as he notices just how badly the man's hands are shaking at his side. "I'm fine," he mumbles. "I'm tired though, so I'm going to bed. Buenas noches."
Eyes dark with worry, A-Ri leans forward and watches him head for the hallway leading to the bedrooms. "Good night," he murmurs halfheartedly, sighing as he glances at the TV, frustrated. Shaking his head, he turns it off and releases a deep breath, pondering texting Mike to let him know that Ricardo's having another rough night...but no, he's sure his friend has enough on his plate currently, considering what Wyatt had said. "I'll let him know tomorrow," he decides, resting his head against the back of the couch and staring at his wall upside down.
He gives it close to half an hour before making it to his feet wearily and wandering towards his own room, hesitating outside of Ricardo's. He's unsurprised to find the room dark and quiet, but his door is only partially closed, allowing Alex just enough space to peek inside, where the ring announcer is laying in bed, his breaths soft and even, though they hitch every few minutes, Alex's heart hurting for him. He can only imagine how he must be feeling, after everything, to see his former friend do to another non-wrestler things similar to what he'd done to him.
Shaking his head tiredly, Alex turns slowly and turns back to his own bedroom, wanting nothing more than to take some painkillers for his shoulder and leave all worry and pain for his friends behind for a few hours.
Alberto sighs as he enters his house. He has little time to fully relax before needing to travel on to Raw, but still a few hours at home is better than none, and so he takes it. The interior is quiet, somber. He can hear Sofia in the kitchen, and for a wild moment, he feels anger at her for not coming to greet him as she's done typically since he'd hired her all those years prior. But his anger is soon replaced by weary acceptance, understanding why. He had lost her respect, he had lost his own respect, and he's unsure how to fix it. If he can fix it, or would even want to, truly.
Carrying his bag to his room, he drops it carelessly at the bottom of his bed and sits down on the mattress, grimacing. Attacking Mathews, much like attacking Ricardo every time, had initially seemed like an acceptable action to take, but with time to think it over, he'd come to regret it each time: Not that he cared either way about Mathews, but it had been so similar to what he'd done to Ricardo, adding to his self-loathing. Why do I find myself stuck in these situations so often? he thinks grimly, scrubbing at his weary eyes.
Figuring he probably has time for a nap before supper, he drops back and closes his eyes, not even minding that he's above the sheets or not even completely on the bed, his feet pressed to the floor as he immediately dozes off into a restless sleep. It only seems to last a minute and an hour all at once as the murky darkness, full of discomfort and hazy whispers that he can't quite catch, disappears in a rush, leaving him confused and a little frightened, breathing heavily.
"Senor," Sofia says, her voice tense as she stares down at him, dark eyes so full of fear that it reminds him yet again of that night, two and a half months ago, when he'd first attacked Ricardo. He blinks at her before realizing that he has a tight grip on her wrist, letting go of her as if her skin had burnt him. She stares at him, perplexed, as she holds her arm close to her chest, swallowing thickly. "Senor."
"What are you doing in here?" he snaps at her, back turned to her as he stares down at his hands, trying to grasp what he'd been dreaming, what it had almost caused him to do.
"Your meal is ready," she says weakly, backing away carefully. "Whenever you're ready." As she escapes the room quickly, he stares at his reflection in the mirror across from his bed and closes his eyes, shaking his head in disgust with himself.
"No," he mumbles, beyond tired of all of this. Struggling past the sleepiness to stand, he follows her. "Sofia, wait!" She stops short at the entrance to the kitchen and he stares at her back before glancing over his shoulder at the still closed door to Ricardo's bedroom, closing his eyes as the last of his determination to keep all of this to himself shatters away. "I never wanted any of this..."
She turns slowly towards him, her maternal side not allowing her to ignore his audible pain. "What, senor?" she asks lowly, watching as he stares at her, eyes dark and gleaming with sadness.
"Any of this," he forces out through grit teeth, his strength fading as he sinks to the floor, digging his fingers into the soft threads of the carpetting. "All of it. I can't... I..." She hesitantly walks back towards him and he reaches out for her, needing some sort of human contact after forcing himself to be so lonely and broken the long, horrible eleven weeks that it'd been since betraying his best friend so cruelly. She kneels down in front of him and takes his hand, staring into his eyes with her usual compassionate gaze, and he feels his resolve break into little pieces, the story- all of it- pouring out of him for the first time since this whole madness had begun.
From the moment Ricardo had been suspended, to Alberto's painful realization that his ring announcer was so thoroughly miserable, to the decision he'd made to free him, and every consequential action he'd had to take since that moment to hold it all together, keep Ricardo away from what had ultimately led him down this path, no matter how much it had killed him. How much second guessing he'd done since last week's Raw. "I don't know what to do," he admits lowly, embracing his rare moment of vulnerability in front of the only other person in the world outside of Ricardo who he would trust with such things. "I've made such a mess of things."
She says very little, merely holding him close as he trembles against her. "Senor," she breathes against his hair, letting him slowly calm down after the painful recollection of everything that had happened, what she hadn't understood until this moment. "Lo siento, I... didn't see any of this, I should've known you wouldn't just..." She swallows and runs her fingers through his short hair, shaking her head sadly. "Oh, senor..."
"I didn't want you to know," he whispers. "I didn't want Ricardo to know, either, but I slipped while injured and he learned too much... suspected too much. But I tried to fix it, and I think I took it too far, and he hasn't been to any of the WWE events all week." She sighs and holds him closer, whispering to him softly in Spanish until finally he finds the strength to pull away from her, force himself to stand. As she looks up at him, a bit startled at the abruptness of it all, he reaches out for her. "Come," he says quietly. "There's no reason your hard work should go to waste because of my weakness."
There are a great many things she wants to say to this but, upon taking one look into his eyes, watching as he struggles to regain control of himself, she decides to allow him that much and rests her hand in his, allowing him to help her stand. "Gracias, senor," she says quietly, brushing her clothes off before walking to the kitchen to serve him. Once done, she joins him in the dining room and places the dishes in front of him, smiling warmly at him for the first time in weeks. "Enjoy, senor," she says quietly, turning back towards the kitchen to clean up a bit more before eating her own meal.
She's not even taken a step when he reaches out and catches her wrist once more. Turning to look at him, she blinks as he smiles wanly up at her. "Sofia, would you please... join me?" She stares at him in surprise but there's no mocking in his gaze, merely sincerity. "Por favor? The kitchen isn't going anywhere. Eat with me."
Her face softens as she nods slowly, venturing into the kitchen to collect her plate. It's awkward, sitting here with him for the first time, but she does it- careful to avoid Ricardo's chair, sitting across the table from it and sheepishly placing silverware on a napkin for herself. She had ate at this table a few times in the past, when Ricardo was at the house, either recovering or during his suspension, lonely and in need of company, so she's not completely out of her element, but sharing it with her employer is something altogether different, and she can understand why Ricardo himself had seemed so anxious at times- no matter how close one is to Alberto, there's always a lurking undercurrent of fear of doing or saying something wrong and infuriating the Mexican aristocrat, ruining everything for the foreseeable future.
But he seems cowed right now, trapped in his own thoughts, so it's a mostly silent meal that passes between them, the few times Alberto does acknowledge her, his voice faint and gaze distant, leaving her aching all the more for him and the ring announcer.