There was a song that Alberto had begun to hear on the radio not that long ago. It had been playing on one of Ricardo's stations and he hadn't really ever paid much attention to the music coming from it in the past, it being heavy rock and annoying to him more often than not. Honestly he had never allowed the station on in his cars when Ricardo was an employee, but his guilt after their friendship had been reborn led him to being slightly more lenient with such things. He had allowed the former ring announcer to turn the radio on, as long as he kept the volume at a somewhat tolerable level, and had even indulged him in watching a couple Man U games, just to spend time with him. But there had been something about this song, a strange look that crossed Ricardo's overly expressive face every time he'd heard it, and Alberto hadn't understood it.

That is, until the week prior, when Ricardo had announced his intentions to leave the WWE. Then suddenly the lyrics, the expression on Ricardo's face, all of it had become clear. And he had found the song, using google to locate the exact version of it based on the few lyrics he recalled, and listened to it a few times, eyes closed, mind open. Truth be told, his decision regarding his future after his contract ran out had been made long before Ricardo's, but now he's very eager to see it through, make it to the end of his contract and then leave. WWE is a mere shell of what it used to be for him now, without his World title, without his best friend. He's just not sure if he'll be able to make it all the way to the end, see his responsibilities through, his unhappiness growing with each thought about returning to the company week after week, facing all of the people he hates.

As the lyrics to Rise Against's I Don't Want To Be Here Anymore washes over him once more, he opens his eyes and stares out over the quiet grounds of his home, gaze dark and solemn.

x-

"Hola?" Ricardo asks, resting his arms against the top rope of the ring that he's been training in. "John?"

"Yeah, hey, man," Morrison greets him, a pleasant surprise to the ring announcer, since John doesn't often contact him. "I heard through the grapevine that you left WWE."

"Si, I did," he nods solemnly, releasing a soft breath. "Did Mike ask you to call and check in on me?"

"Eh," John hesitates. "You could say that, yeah," he finally admits off of a laugh. "Just because he knows I've been through something similar and thought I could help you through it."

"I figured," Ricardo whispers, tearing off some wrist tape as he goes to sit down in the locker room, done with training for now. "I'm going to be fine, though. I was planning on doing this for a little bit now. I have indy dates lined up already, I'm training and going to the gym more... this free time is exactly what I needed to get my head on straight, be a better competitor." He hesitates. "The only thing I'm really worried about is... Alberto. He is so easily angered, I don't want him to... do something, risk what time he has left in the WWE just because of my actions. I know how displeased he has been with the company, but his responsibilities mean a lot to him as well and I don't want my decision to color his actions... Especially when WWE may not book him in matches, and I'm not there to distract him... I've urged them to allow him to be my replacement in interviews, but I think that may frustrate him even more. I'm just not sure what else to do."

John hears him out, gives him a second to think it all through, and then clears his throat. "You know, when I first left WWE, Mike was in pretty much the same place. Yeah, he was champion, but I blindsided him with leaving as well, and I could tell how pissed he was at me, at the situation, at everything, so I gave him cart blanche. Told him I wasn't going to be watching WWE for awhile and to say whatever he wanted about me, that I wouldn't mind. I'm not sure how much it helped him, considering, but we're ok now. He's moved on, though I'm pretty sure if I returned to WWE tomorrow, he'd be harassing me for weeks about not telling him sooner, and I'm doing good with my movies and indy dates and every other side project I've got going on. Maybe you should do something similar for Del Rio."

Ricardo licks his lips and ponders it, nodding slowly. Alberto and Mike, though they'd never admit it, are more alike than either would willingly face, with vicious tempers and egos the size of Texas. "Perhaps that could work," he nods, pulling some looseleaf paper from his bag and starting to write a letter to his former employer. "Gracias, John. Talking to you has helped a lot."

"Great man, glad to hear it. If you ever need anything, you know what my number is."

"Si, gracias. Talk to you later."

"Adios."

"Adios," Ricardo chuckles, focusing even more on his paper as he scribbles a few more lines off to his former employer, explaining that he wants him to take over his interviews and encouraging him to say whatever he needs to to ease his temper. Finally running out of things to say, he concludes the letter and sits back, examining his handwriting. "Hmm, I hope it helps, El Patron."

x-

Motions. That's all that Smackdown is, that's all that Raw is, going through the motions. Alberto can't stand any of it, especially after he loses to Ambrose and ends up splitting a locker room with Miz, who is on his lonesome due to AJ's whiplash injuries. They avoid each other, staying to their own corners, until they get in a disagreement about Paige- Mike quickly pinning him against the wall and threatening to do to him what he'd done the year before, on Summerslam weekend. It snowballs from there and he's throwing Alberto's insults towards Ricardo made in his first interview back at him, Del Rio's stomach churning with fresh guilt as he wonders if Mike or someone else had told Ricardo what he'd said. But they back apart, Alberto showing him the note from Ricardo and promising never to say such things against his best friend again, and Miz relaxes infinitesimally, the rest of the night passing quietly.

Main Event is more meaningless motions, though it's held close to the Mexican border and Alberto sees signs of the Latino people- his people- everywhere he looks, so he finds his old flag and he goes to the ring to start the night off. He thanks his people, he's trying to put on a happy, relaxed face for those who are cheering him, but it only lasts a short while when Colter and Swagger come out, a sick, twisted sense of deja vu coursing through his veins as he looks up at them, gripping his flag tightly. The man who had broke his best friend's ankle and the old xenophobe who had laughed the entire time as it happened disrespects his heritage, insults everything Alberto has ever stood for, and the match is set. They will be facing off tonight, in a short while. Alberto is tense and unhappy, heads backstage and wanders the quiet, mostly empty halls with his white-knuckled grip on the Mexican flag.

Mike is there, to watch AJ... so is Paige. He nods at the Intercontinental champion, stops for a moment when he comes across the diva. "Hola, Paige," he greets her simply.

"Hola, Alberto," she says, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. "How are you?"

"Fine," he responds quietly. "How are you? How is Ricardo?"

"I'm good. He's fine, we were just talking on the phone. He said to tell you hi if I saw you." She smiles up at him. "When he gets a minute between his training and everything else, he says we need to get together, with Sofia. He misses you both."

Alberto swallows harshly, nodding. Wonders if Ricardo realizes he's about to compete against the man who had given them so much grief a little over a year ago, how he would feel about it. "Si, I would like that. So would Sofia." They both pause when AJ's music hits and Paige's focus immediately shifts elsewhere, Alberto's lips tighten. "I'll see you later," he mumbles, walking past her to get ready for his match, maybe grab some water from catering, start warming up.

He's in line for the drinks when he hears someone speaking obnoxiously behind him, one of the social media people, he thinks. It takes a moment for him to realize what they're saying, his teeth digging into his lips. He's used to insults, especially from the fall out of that first feud with Swagger all of those months ago, but it appears to have reignited just from tonight's short little confrontation, and his hands tighten into fists as he tries valiantly to ignore them. But the instant he hears Ricardo's name, he snaps, the painful lack of his best friend eating at him more and more with each passing moment. Rounding on the person who's still mid-insult, he stares him down until he shuts up. "Apologize now," he demands curtly, eyes flashing dangerously. "Mi amigo is twice the man you will ever be, you do not know him, you do not deserve to know him. Apologize."

But the man merely smirks smugly, shaking his head. "Why should I for a couple of-" But whatever hateful, ugly words were about to be spewed don't leave him as Alberto lunges forward, slaps him hard once, twice, three times-

He's about to go for four when arms wrap tight around his midsection and shoulders, dragging him away, and he's startled to find that one of them is Miz, the other a referee who quickly lets go when Mike brushes him off. "Let me go!" he snaps, snarls, struggling to free himself, but Mike's grip is surprisingly unbreakable, so eventually he stops fighting and lets himself be pulled away from the situation.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired?" he snaps, pushing Alberto down the hall, into AJ's locker room where she's standing, wide eyed after her victory, and he slams the door behind him. "God, you're an idiot, Del Rio!"

"He was insulting my people," he mumbles, Mike's yells actually leaving him numb inside rather than angry. "He... insulted me. He insulted Ricardo." This stays Mike's reactions, the two men staring at each other, a sudden kind of understanding passing between them. "My job here is meaningless anyway. I have been unhappy for a... long time... Ricardo's leaving has just... made me face it sooner than I expected." He closes his eyes and shrugs grimly. "Let them fire me, I don't truly care right now."

Mike swallows and sits down next to him, flummoxed by his actions, his words. The defeated slope of his shoulders. "I know Ricardo said you might... decide to leave, but he made it sound like you hadn't fully determined what you were going to do yet. This makes it sound, uh, like you know already."

"I wavered on it for a very long time," Alberto admits lowly. "Ricardo being here made the decision difficult, but my leaning towards leaving when my contract ended encouraged him to go first, and I do not blame him for it... but in hand, it makes my decision very easy. I can't pretend to care anymore. This company does not hold the allure it once did. I have lost too much because of it."

Mike swallows, his mind drifting to Morrison. If he had been in a different place, perhaps he would've come to the same conclusion, but Alex depended on him, he was champion, and he still had so much to accomplish, still does really. But Del Rio is in a very different situation than he had been... "I understand," he finally says honestly, Alberto's dark eyes flickering towards him. "Whatever happens, Alberto... I wish you all the best, I really do." It's awkward and hesitant but he claps the older man on the shoulder and stands. "By the way?"

"Si?"

"Kick Swagger's face in for me one last time, yeah?" They share a smirk and Mike goes to his wife, giving Alberto some time alone to think, prepare for what perhaps will be his last match in the WWE.

He tries, damn does he try, to at least get his licks in on one racist waste of space, but he only goes so far, distracted by what's more likely than not looming on the horizon, and before he knows it, he's trapped in the ankle lock, his ankle is in agony and he understands all over again just how bad it must've been for Ricardo when his ankle was snapped in front of the world. It's not worth it, he thinks grimly. Risking severe injury for a job I may not have in a few days... And so, when all of his struggling gets him nowhere but trapped in even more agony, he taps, eyes held tightly closed as the bell rings, the hold is thankfully released, and he rolls out of the ring to crouch on the floor, regain his strength. Ignores the referee who tries to help him, finally making it to his feet with a steel grip on the apron behind him. If this is the last time he'll be leaving a WWE arena, he'll damn well do it on his own terms, muchas gracias. His walk is slow, staggered, his ankle throbbing each time it makes contact with the hard steel, but he makes it. Knows any other time, Ricardo would've been there to greet him, help him the rest of the way, but this time... he's all alone.

He shudders and snags his bag, haphazardly pulls some clothes on, and leaves the building, breathing in the warm, fresh evening Texas air. Glances around once more, at the production trucks, the arena behind him, taking in the subtle buzz of fans wandering around the outside of the building as they leave. Grips his bag tighter and releases a soft breath before walking the rest of the way to his car, eager for sleep before his flight back home.

The next morning, his ankle is still fresh agony, but the flight is quiet, a sleepy kind of daze overwhelming first class, and Alberto leans his head back and dozes, relieved for a couple extra hours of sleep as he returns to Florida. When it's time to depart, he frowns down at his ankle and limps through the crowd, desperate to get away from all of the perros and see Sofia, tell her what has happened... but then he looks up in time to see a familiar flash of black, an unforgettable grin, and he swallows. "Mi amigo?"

"Hola," Ricardo greets him, taking his bag from him and hooking it over his shoulder. "I, um... heard about what happened on Main Event last night."

Alberto's lips part, wondering how it had broken on the internet so quickly, his physical confrontation with the- Does this mean I'm fired then? he wonders, fingers twitching towards his phone to check and see if he had missed a phone call during the flight, but Ricardo's eyes are locked on his ankle and he second guesses this, frowning as Ricardo kneels down and rests a hand on the side of his leg, searching with gentle fingers. "Eh- eh, Ricardo-"

"Is your ankle ok? I should know, ankle locks are quite painful..." He seems relieved to see that Alberto's not wearing a brace, or any other kind of protection, glancing up at him. "El Patron?"

Del Rio's expression relaxes slightly as he realizes that no, Ricardo hasn't yet heard of his drama last night. "I'm fine, mi amigo. Gracias, but how did you know when my flight was arriving?" The question is answered before he's finished wording it, the two men exchanging small smiles. "Sofia," he presumes, Ricardo nodding cheerfully as he taps Alberto's ankle and stands up once more. "Well, I am happy to see you." He wraps an arm around Ricardo's shoulders and leans into him ever so slightly, taking some of the pressure off of his ankle as the former ring announcer obligingly leads them through the throng of people, never once complaining as always. Alberto stares at the side of his face with a fond, sad smile, remembering all of the other times in the past this very scenario has played out- even when Ricardo was recovering from the very broken ankle that Alberto had hoped to avenge just a little bit more the night before. He sighs and leans his cheek against the top of Ricardo's head before they separate at the car. "Mi amigo, muchas gracias for everything you've done for me over the years," he murmurs. "I will never be able to repay you for it all."

Ricardo's face tenses in worry but Alberto smiles at him and it must be pretty convincing because his best friend releases a faint little breath, nodding. "De nada, El Patron. It, it was my pleasure to work along side you for as long as I did, you know this." They continue to stare at each other for a moment before Alberto slowly moves away, opening the car door so Ricardo can drop his bag in the backseat, and they move to opposite sides of the car, Ricardo quietly sinking into the driver's seat as Alberto adjusts himself in the passenger's side, the radio immediately coming to life as the car powers up. The music is loud and Ricardo curses in Spanish, reaching out to turn it down, but Alberto snags his hand and gives it a small squeeze, shaking his head to let him know that it's fine as is. Lips parting in surprise, Ricardo stares at him long and hard but Del Rio's expression doesn't change, even when he lets Ricardo's hand go, so Ricardo swallows and turns his attention back to the road, Rise Against thrumming through the car once more.

x-

Sofia is forewarned. She's aware of what's coming, the potential backlash, so she barely blinks when the phone rings Thursday afternoon, nor when he shows her the announcement on the website Thursday evening. She merely swallows and wraps her arms around him in a soothing hug, stroking his back and murmuring in Spanish to him. She understands, having been the victim of nasty insults as well over the years, and he's so relieved for her presence right now. He does, however, feel bad for Ricardo and anyone else who had been blindsided by this news, but he just hadn't been able to find the words on Wednesday morning when with his best friend, unsure at the time if there had been a reason to say anything. As more time had passed, he'd begun to think it was going to blow over, that Mike was just being overly dramatic, as always, but no... Of course not. And Alberto holds absolutely no contempt for the decision. His finest moment, perhaps not, but he had gone out defending his heritage, his pride, his best friend. There are worse ways to go.

Sofia serves supper, a quiet, subdued meal, chicken and rice and some of her apple pie- which the irony isn't lost on Alberto, a sick kind of smile crossing his face as he stares down at the dessert that somehow had become an American staple, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, not wanting her to feel guilty or ashamed at not realizing. He's just finished, thanking Sofia for the meal, and gone to sit in the living room, stare at the wall and think for awhile, when he hears a car pull up, surprised that it took this long. He doesn't move, however, content to listen as the security gate opens, hesitant footsteps approaching the door. Ricardo had never used his key since being fired last year, but he had also never returned it in the melee, and Alberto isn't that surprised when he hears it in the lock, the door slowly opening as if the ring announcer had never left home. Special circumstances and all of that.

He's still sitting there when Ricardo finds him, hesitantly walking up to him and sitting down on the couch next to him, rigid and staring ahead quietly. It takes a minute or two, the younger man finally settling back against the cushions next to him, and Alberto waits him out, smiling slightly when Ricardo leans into him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders and drawing him in even closer. The two men say nothing until Ricardo releases a shaky little sigh, curling in against Alberto and resting his head on his shoulder like the little boy that he sometimes still resembles, despite every terrible thing he'd been through the last four years. "What happened?" he breathes out finally, fingers tangling in the folds of Alberto's silky white scarf, something that he rarely wears at home, but which had just felt right today.

It's Del Rio's turn to sigh as he slowly tells the story, eyes narrowing when Ricardo tenses at the barely just hidden racism in his story, the older man trying to protect him from just how ugly it had been, though he imagines that before long some variation of the facts- truth or not- would quickly be all over the world wide web. "In the end, I truly had nothing to lose there, mi amigo. They clearly were not interested in giving me the chance I truly deserved, and I had nothing to stay for."

Ricardo takes a minute, digests this, and then presses his face into Alberto's shoulder, his entire body tensing as realization strikes him. "Did my leaving cause you to give up on working there? Is this... is this my fault? I didn't mean to-"

It's Alberto's turn to flounder, lost in his best friend's words, before shaking his head violently. "No, no, Ricardo. No matter what the circumstances, I would've reacted the same way to anyone who dared speak such things against you, or our heritage. Never feel responsible for what has come of my time in the WWE, everything that has happened was by my hand, and you should carry absolutely no guilt in any of it, mi amigo." He brushes his hand down Ricardo's arm, eyes lowering as he feels a scar he knows had come from one of the dozens of hits that Ricardo had taken for or from him over the years. No, you are definitely not the one who should feel guilt about anything... "Ay, mi amigo," he sighs, stroking Ricardo's hair out of his eyes. As he holds Ricardo close, he remembers all of the times before they had been sitting here just like this, taking comfort from the other's presence. "When was the last time we sat like this, hm? When your ankle was broken?"

"When I was suspended," Ricardo offers after a moment, voice tight.

Alberto makes a soft noise deep in his throat, feeling bad about reminding him, but he strokes his arm and nods. "Ay, right. This has always been our go-to when things go to shit, hmm?"

"Si." Ricardo's fingers are still messing with Alberto's scarf and he's tempted to reach out and still his anxious movements, but he resists, almost captivated, watching the hands that had for so many years tended to every little want and need of Alberto's. Ricardo licks his lips and sighs, shaking his head. "We... we're going to be alright, si, El Patron?"

"Of course we will, Ricardo. We are better than all of them ever deserved," he tells him lowly. "No worries, everything will be fine. Better than before, more than likely."

Ricardo nods, finally releasing Alberto's scarf. But he doesn't sit up, in fact if anything he curls up even closer to Alberto's warmth, sighing. "Alberto?"

"Mm hmm?"

The former ring announcer pauses for a long, quiet moment, Alberto wondering briefly if he's fallen asleep, when finally... "Te quiero, hermano."

Alberto's hand freezes in Ricardo's hair and he gapes at the top of the younger man's head, overwhelmed by his best friend saying that to him, after everything he'd put him through, and he sighs softly, knowing better than to leave Ricardo hanging, especially now when things are so shakey. "Te quiero, hermanito," he whispers back, smiling when Ricardo releases a soft breath against his shoulder, relaxing into him completely.