Without being aware of a similar decision made by The Miz not that long ago, Alberto Del Rio is staring at himself in the mirror proceeding Raw, eyes narrowed as he thinks over the last few weeks, months... the past year. He had fallen, hard and fast. Once on top of the world, Heavyweight Champion, with his best friend by his side...
And now. Now he has no title, he has no friends. He is alone, tired. Still a little ill, and weak. And the damnedest thing is he has only himself to blame, he knows this. And no matter what he had done in the recent past, no matter how much pain Ricardo is still in because of him, the younger man had still tirelessly watched over him when he was sick and vulnerable, making sure he'd pull through in one piece.
It makes him feel worse and even lesser as a person. Opening his eyes once more, he stares at his reflection and shakes his head. "I cannot be like this any longer," he mutters. "It is not fair... to anyone." His plan had seemed to work for awhile, but had since petered out. Ricardo doesn't even travel to events any longer, staying in Florida and... perhaps still training... but he can't be sure of this fact, and it eats at him.
The younger man had requested of him to start taking better care of himself, and in order to do that, he can only think of two things he really needs to accomplish. "Time to take my life back," he tells the virtual stranger staring back at him. "Starting with... my title..."
So when Cena is out in a sling, rambling about this and that, it's a somewhat rejuvenated Del Rio that interrupts him, belittling him for his weakness as he'd done to him ten days prior and encouraging him to raise the title with his bad arm tonight- after all, it is only fair, si?- but when he enters the ring after announcing his intentions once more to injure Cena and reclaim the title belt that looks so wrong in the other man's hold, he quickly learns that Cena has been exaggerating the status of his arm, shoulderchecking Del Rio. For a wild, worrisome moment gravity shifts and Alberto thinks he's getting thrown up for the AA, but Cena instead tosses him clear out of the ring, Del Rio landing roughly but rolling back to his feet, glowering into the ring with nothing but hate in his dark gaze.
That might not have gone the way I would've liked, he thinks, gritting his teeth as he stumbles back up the ramp, but it will not change this Sunday's outcome... I will be champion again. And then... But he doesn't allow himself to think of then, needing to focus on taking everything one step at a time.
He's planning on going home Tuesday, spending a few days recuperating, allowing Sofia to take care of him in the days leading up to his rematch at Survivor Series, but this doesn't happen. He awakens to an email from headquarters advising him that he'd been booked for a match on Main Event, his dark eyes narrowing as he snarls at the glowing screen. "Ay," he growls, tempted to throw the phone and enjoy the sound of it shattering against the wall as his plans once again get derailed by meaningless things such as this. "Hmph," he groans, instead staying his hand and using all of what remains of his self-control by laying it back down on the table and turning his back on it.
Not wanting to spend only a few hours in Florida just to fly back this way for the mid-week event, he ultimately stays where he's at, spending the majority of the day with the TV droning on as he stares at it blankly, ordering room service whenever he thinks about it and otherwise spending the time in bed, trying to relax, shake off the lingering affects of the jetlag and all of the other things the trainer had told him when he'd seen him at Smackdown and then Raw. When exactly he falls asleep, he's not sure, but it's a restful repose, unlike the vast majority of the last few weeks, his nightmares leaving him alone for the ten hours that have passed by the time he opens his eyes and looks at the clock, blinking lazily a time or two, yawning and stretching until the time registers with him.
8 AM. He hadn't slept in that late since Ricardo had been by his side, and even then, it was rare. He sits up and scrapes his fingers through his hair, shaking his head in surprise, before it clicks with him- he feels good. Whereas before he'd been muddling through a sea of exhaustion and guilt, illness weighing his body down like sand, now he feels like himself again. Clearheaded, strong and determined... He smirks and stands from the bed, prepared to collect his things and go, ready to face whatever Main Event would bring, finding it to be just another stepping stone on the road to regaining his World title.
Miz is there but he is busy with his commentary duties and they barely glance passingly at each other, everything said between them that needs to be... at this point in time. Del Rio doesn't miss a step, sneering as Santino makes his way down to the ring... Yet another perro he and Ricardo both had had issues with in the past, the older Mexican content to take him out as quickly as possible with the armbar, remembering for a moment how pleased Ricardo had been with himself when he'd held Santino in the same move for awhile, until he feels his opponent tapping desperately, his smirk turning smug as he kicks the other man away and stares out at the crowd, counting the days in his head until Survivor Series. Until things would start to turn around for him...
He's not surprised, though he is disgusted, when he learns on Friday that John Cena can't be bothered to be at the week's Smackdown, leaving him even less to do than usual since he's not assigned to a match, everyone's focus inexplicably on the Wyatts. How is he a champion? I never missed a show when I was... But this is not right. He had missed a few- when Ricardo was hurt, yet again those terrible memories flashing through his mind, interrupting his thought process, and he sighs, before finding Renee Young to insist on having an interview. He tells her, he tells everyone watching at home and in the crowd, but most importantly, he tells Cena himself that he can't hide behind a sling. He will make him tap, he will regain his title.
The show fades to the next segment and he leaves without another word to the interviewer, wandering through the halls until, a couple of minutes later, he hears the commentators talking about some poll held on about who has the most devastating submission hold and he stops at a monitor to see the results, smirking to himself as he sees his armbar as an option. It, of course, is a foregone conclusion, especially when he sees the selections... but when they announce the winner, he thinks he's hearing things when it claims the poll had gone to Natalya, but no matter what he does, this fact doesn't change and he gapes in disbelief. Adding to the insult, his armbar had gotten the least amount of votes, at 10%. His fists clench at his sides and he seethes. "Those peasants... those perros, they know not what they're even voting about!"
Except that... despite how much damage he'd been sure he must've done to the man's arm the past couple of weeks, Cena had rebound. Every time. Even faking an injury just to lure him in, and...He closes his eyes, releasing a breath. "When did I lose my edge?" he hisses, but he knows the answer, deep inside. Whatever momentum he'd gained when he won his title back from Ziggler had all fallen apart around him when Ricardo had been suspended. The ring announcer had been his best friend, inspiration, motivation, confidante... all of that, and so many more things that Alberto can't think of words in English or Spanish strong enough to explain the complexities of their friendship. Whereas his temper had ran off so many people over the years, Ricardo had remained, and when he attacked him on August 5th, they had both lost everything important to them, Del Rio still realizing just how thoroughly so even now, three months after the fact.
He collects his things in a fog and ventures out to his rental car, biting his lip as he sits in the car and stares out of the windshield blankly, the time to Survivor Series, once seeming so far away, now feeling as if it's passing much too quickly. "Ay dios mio, how am I going to do this?" he whispers, his confidence shattered as easily as it had been bolstered.
