California. Alberto grimaces and stares out of the windshield of his rental car, lips twisted grimly. The weather may be beautiful, warm and sunny... nearly perfect, but it all looks dull, washed out, to him. Stepping foot in Ricardo's homestate, without the younger man by his side, talking excitedly about various places he'd been when younger, the things he'd done, feels more than wrong. He closes his eyes and slowly pulls himself out of the car, collecting his things before heading hesitantly towards the arena. He rarely has reason to give pause towards a situation but he's not sure what to expect. He'd planned last week out so carefully, here... now... he has no idea what's to come, and it worries him.
What if Miz is waiting for him? What if Ricardo is waiting for him? What if...
He swallows and shakes his head, hoisting his bag higher up on his shoulder. No point in stressing over all of this, he thinks. No matter what happens, I'll deal. It'll be fine. But when he enters, it's almost a let down- the halls are quiet, no one approaches him, nothing happens. He looks around, almost dazed at the inaction, and wanders over to the match board waiting for the various superstars to read their scheduled matches and segments. He skims through it, sneering when he sees that his match for the evening is against a freshly returned Kofi Kingston. A bit further down, he sees MizTV listed, fingers tensing against the strap of his title belt.
He has no idea where Ricardo's at currently, but he has a feeling Miz either knows, or is staying with him, and the need for some update on his best friend burns through him, but he can't risk asking around should someone figure out that it's all an act, that he really does care... These thoughts are still fresh in his mind when the door opens and something causes him to turn around, coming face to face with Mike himself. Both men freeze, Alex staring over Miz's shoulder at him, and he swallows, trying not to show how much this all hurts.
He sneers, feels the old, familiar expression passing over his face. Like he wasn't lonely, wasn't desperate for some sort of word on his best friend... like everything was normal, hadn't been shattered to pieces when he'd made the hardest choice of his life. Mike looks pissed, close to snapping, and dammit, there's a hallway to his side, the hallway that Del Rio's locker room is down, and... He has no choice, bracing himself as he forces his way past the Most Must See Superstar, storming down the hall as quickly as he could, desperate to get away from him. As soon as he finds his door, marked by the World Heavyweight Champion plaque, he pushes it open and ducks inside, leaning against the wood while breathing heavily. "Ay dios mio," he groans, closing his eyes.
The look on Mike's face, the... the pained anger in his eyes, he could only imagine it'd be ten times as worse to look into Ricardo's right now. Especially after his tweets from the week prior about betrayal and... How Del Rio stays on his feet under the weight of these thoughts, he's unsure, but he finally stumbles over to the couch and slumps down, burying his fingers in his hair as he struggles to hold himself together. "Mi amigo," he sighs.
He stays there, listening to the show go on around him, until it's time for his match against Kofi. He keeps the act up, smirking and comfortable in his role as cocky champion until the bell rings, but the fight that Kofi gives against him leaves him floundering, well aware that, while he's worn down physically and emotionally, the other man is fresh and strong, having had months off to lose the road weariness that clings to the majority of them. Isn't haunted by his decisions and actions, isn't missing his best friend. His eyes instinctively roll to the corner that Ricardo usually inhabits, remembering sharply why the ring announcer isn't over there at this moment, cheering him on or hoping beyond hope that he'd get back to his feet. The pin attempt that follows shocks him but he manages to kick out at 2, eventually staggering to his feet and working through to a victory of his own, though the struggle that it had taken disgusts him.
He can only imagine what everyone is saying or thinking about him now, coming to a sudden stop when he finds Christian having an interview backstage. Still feeling the affects of his match, he stumbles forward and interrupts, insulting his opponent in Spanish. Forgoing the trainer's office, he goes right to his locker room, needing some time to himself to decompress after the last half an hour. He'd paid off production people a long time ago to bring him videos of his matches as soon as he's done competing, and he smirks grimly to find the tape already waiting for him. He sticks it into the player and half-listens, only watching a bit of it now and again as he gets ready to leave, pulling a shirt on over his upper body when-
"By what I'm hearing, Ricardo Rodriguez is still not doing well physically," Jerry Lawler says on commentary, causing Del Rio to freeze, the shirt still tangled around his shoulders. He flails and fights his way out of the fabric, almost tearing it to shreds, as he gapes at the TV.
"Que? Que?" Mumbling to himself, he finds his phone and stares at it, the wallpaper on it still of him and Ricardo at a restaurant from months ago. "No..." Once more desperate to find out, his fingers hover over the #2 speed dial, his eyes flicking up at the screen. "Ricardo..." Imagining the younger man asleep somewhere, getting some much deserved rest, is the only thing that stills his hand, not wanting to disturb him, risking ruining everything he'd put into motion the week prior... He bites his lip, staring blankly at the clock. "What do I do, what do I do..." He's still sitting there when Mike disappears from the ring to allow the latest MizTV nonsense to play out without him, deciding now's his chance. He slips out of his locker room, turning back towards the main hallway where he'd run into Miz hours ago.
It's easy to spot the Awesome One, his voice loud enough to be overheard from a mile away. Del Rio had never necessarily been glad of that fact until this moment, watching as he joins Alex and they watch the aftermath of MizTV together, A-Ri shaking his head with disbelieving laughter as HHH and then Orton gets involved. Finally the segment concludes and Miz turns to Alex. "C'mon," he says clearly. "Let's get out of here, go check on Ricardo."
Alberto swallows at the pang in his chest that just hearing his best friend's name causes. This means... Ricardo is nearby? He's... he's here? In this city? He waits a moment, watches as they enter the locker room, before ducking into his own to hurriedly collect his things. He's just returned to his vantage point at the corner where the two hallways meet, when Alex and Mike leave the main locker room, dragging their things to the exit. He counts to ten once they're gone before rushing out of the building too, needing to at least see for himself, try to get some idea of the truth behind Lawler's comments.
It's not hard to find them even in the dark, their rental the only one leaving the arena's parking lot at this point of the show, and he checks to see which way they're turning before he starts his car, keeping an eye on them from a distance so they don't realize they're being followed or by who. When they arrive at the hotel, he parks at a neighboring restaurant until they pull their things out of the car and enter the building, hurriedly getting out himself. Leaving his things in the vehicle, he dashes for the side exit and finds himself close to the elevator, abruptly worried that he might get caught, but one quick glance at the lobby shows that they're already gone, the elevator his best bet right now.
He's watching when it stops on floor 5, swallowing down nervousness, before pressing the button to bring the car back down to him. The wait seems to take forever, his only relief that no one is on the elevator to see him pacing back and forth spastically, but finally it stops once more at floor 5, and he staggers out, feeling ill and clammy as he realizes anew that this is the closest he's been to his best friend since saying goodbye to him the week prior, that so much could go wrong just by his proximity. Except that he has another problem, Mike and Alex long gone, leaving him no clue which room might be theirs, where Ricardo might be.
He swallows and closes his eyes, shaking his head. He'd known it was a long shot, even just getting a quick glimpse of the younger man, assure himself he's ok, but... he'd hoped. He's just about to turn around and walk back to the elevator when he hears, "Maybe we should wake him up, order some room service or something." He freezes all over again before looking a couple of doors ahead, realizing that light is pouring from one of the rooms into the hallway, its door open a few inches. Heart racing with renewed hope, he ventures forward and peeks inside, holding his breath until he spots Mike sitting next to a sleeping Ricardo on one of the beds, absently flicking channels on the TV across from them, its volume indiscernible.
But Del Rio only has eyes for his ring announcer, examining him as best as he can from here. He looks pale, eyebrows furrowed even in sleep, and it makes him feel even worse to stare at him, but... he can tell Miz and Alex are trying which is much more than Alberto is capable of at the moment, so he closes his eyes and backs away slowly, almost to the elevator when he hears Alex ask, "Did you leave the door open, Mike?" Eyes widening, he's relieved when the elevator beeps open, quickly ducking into the car before he could be spotted, holding his breath as he inches forward and presses the button to take him back to the ground floor. When the doors close, he sinks against the back wall and groans, staring up at the ceiling. "It was good to see you, mi amigo," he murmurs. "I hope Lawler was exaggerating..."
Main Event, he competes against Cody Rhodes and scrapes together another victory, wondering what exactly Miz would have to say about him on commentary, but when he watches that match back, he says very little, only mentioning Ricardo once. It surprises him, but he supposes that it's the only way Mike could try to keep his anger in check. He smirks to himself mirthlessly at the thought of the outspoken superstar even trying to keep himself under control. "Stranger things have happened, I suppose," he muses.
He's once more alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling and taking in the silence. Despite the month he'd been away from Ricardo during the damnable suspension, he's not used to the utter loneliness and grim solemnity of every hotel room he resides in now. Even during that month, they would talk on the phone or exchange texts at all hours, Alberto needing to know his best friend was hanging in there, but he has no such option tonight. Sighing tiredly, he rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the thin hotel pillows, grimacing. He wonders if perhaps the beach party that Miz had invited them to is soon, doubting that it'd happened already if Ricardo's health was still as poor as Lawler had mentioned. He can't imagine it happening this weekend, with Axxess and everything else going on, so he imagines it perhaps will either happen next week or tomorrow... He closes his eyes, wishing he could have accepted the invite, spent one more relaxing evening on a beach with his best friend, but...
There's no going back. His sleep that night is uncomfortable, his dreams scattered and hard to decipher.
Friday, he gets a reprieve, no matches booked for him that evening, Vickie not even agreeing to see him as she's busy in meetings with Vince McMahon and HHH most of the night, but Christian wrestles against Damien Sandow, his Summerslam opponent and the man with the briefcase for his very title belt. He watches from his locker room, holding on tightly to the strap, trying to breathe. Not only was Ricardo a great worker and an even better friend, he had quick reflexes and had been very valuable when Ziggler had tried to cash in, so now Del Rio has to keep an eye on everything all on his own, especially after how close it all had come the week prior.
The action in the ring matters little to him so he makes his way to his feet after a few minutes and walks to the titantron, watching through the curtain as the two men wrestle their way to a conclusion, Christian standing in success after a spear that takes Sandow down. Del Rio grimaces at his opponent having any kind of momentum leading into Summerslam and runs in, crashing it as he tries to tangle Christian up in the armbar. But the Canadian wiggles free and hits him with the Unprettier, leaving him laying on the mat, dazed and breathless as he stares up at the lights.
A stubborn part of him is waiting for his best friend to scramble into the ring, desperately asking if he's ok and trying to help him up, but that will never happen again, proven once more to him when it's a referee who lifts his arm, trying to drag him to his feet. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, remembering the flash of horror in Ricardo's eyes when he'd tried to assist him after the loss to RVD ten days ago, it quickly dawning on him that Del Rio didn't want his help, or to even occupy the same ring as he.
Not for the first time, Alberto wonders if he could've handled it all differently- if he could've terminated Ricardo's loyalty to him without completely destroying their friendship... but he, with all of his cunning and quick thinking, just cannot think of a way, even now, after days of pondering it. He stares at his feet as the referee helps him up the ramp, barely clinging to his title belt with the desperation of someone needing something, anything, to hold onto lest they drift away completely.
