"Your match is next," a tech tells Alberto Del Rio before hurriedly rushing away, not wanting to be in the Mexican aristocrat's presence anymore than is necessary, which seems to be a more regular occurrence since what he'd done to Ricardo nearly two months ago.
He sighs and adjusts his kneepad before making his way to the gorilla position, coming to a sudden stop when he sees his former ring announcer- who is, admittedly, hard to miss in a horrible yellow shirt that makes the red one look understated and simple- standing by the curtain, peering out as RVD's rough voice echoes through the arena, speaking to HHH. To his relief, there's no sign of the sling that had drawn Alberto's eyes to the younger man's arm in guilt and swirling sadness ever since Vickie Guerrero had forced them into that match the Friday before Night of Champions.
He would laugh if not for the worry coming off of Ricardo in waves that he can sense even from this distance, it being announced that RVD is in the running for a match against Orton later that evening, and Alberto purses his lips, wanting to see RVD get what's coming to him same as Miz had the week prior, but not wanting Ricardo to get caught up in the middle of that- after all, Orton had shown very little hesitation in targeting the younger man in the past...
Finally the group of ten find their way backstage and Alberto slips into the shadows, watching as the tag teams and single competitors all drift towards the locker rooms, leaving Ricardo and RVD in the hallway. "Hey, stop looking so worried, man," Rob tells him just loud enough for Alberto to hear once the flood of footsteps fades away. "I'm alright, and gonna continue to be, yeah? It's all good."
Del Rio sneers as Ricardo nods hesitantly, his hands twisted anxiously around the seams of his shirt. "I believe you, Rob," he finally says, allowing himself to be turned towards the locker room as well as they leave to prepare for either the elimination match or Rob's match against Orton.
Trying not to dwell on how sincere the younger man sounded in that moment, Alberto walks towards the now empty gorilla position and does some quick last minute stretches for his match against Kofi Kingston, running his tongue over his teeth and the dentistry that much too much of the week prior had been wasted on.
Kofi, he must admit, puts up a decent fight, but it's not enough- it's never enough, Del Rio begins to enjoy taking out some of his every negative emotion that's been a constant in his life since August 5th out on the other man, probably destroying whatever chances he has against The Shield and not caring in the slightest.
After defeating Kofi officially, he makes his way backstage and sneers as he ignores the others scattered around the hallway, talking in low whispers what this could possibly mean, if more members of the team fall to injury so soon to the elimination match. He cares little about what is going on the rest of the show until Orton comes out to see who his opponent would be, the vote easily going to RVD. Del Rio isn't that surprised, eyes narrowing as the man comes out, Ricardo at his side. He remembers well the chili incident, and every other one after that, but the Viper doesn't seem that interested in Ricardo this time, all of his focus on hurting Van Dam, which is fine with Alberto in many ways.
The longer the match goes on, the less content Del Rio is to sit in the back and watch from his locker room, slowly going down the hall from monitor to monitor, making his way once more to gorilla just in time for the match to be counted out against both men, Orton's demolition of RVD continuing with little regard to the referee's warnings. Whatever enjoyment Alberto gains from all of this fades when Ricardo, standing by the ramp, watching in horror, is sent scurrying backwards to the side of the titantron, frozen by the wall as he watches his newest friend getting dismantled piece by piece.
Del Rio can only imagine what's going through his mind, especially when Orton targets RVD against the very same set of steps that Alberto had kicked into Ricardo back in August, swallowing harshly at his own recollection of that night. As Orton tosses him back into the ring and begins to set him up for the DDT off of the top rope, the whole arena going still and silent, Alberto glances around at everyone's rapt attention aimed towards the monitors and sneaks out the side, near where Ricardo's standing.
His attention quickly diverted from what's going on in the ring, the ring announcer stares in horror at his former employer and even Alberto is thrown for a moment by the look in his eyes, the two of them stuck staring at each other for long moments, until there's a sharp laugh overhead and Del Rio looks up to find Orton just now leaving a defenseless Van Dam behind, the maddened look in his eye enough to unsettle even Alberto. Forcing himself away from Ricardo, not willing to let this opportunity go, he races to the ring and sneaks in, locking in the armbar as the referees, trainer, and doctor alike all bark warnings at him, trying to get him to break the hold. Which he does, but only momentarily before bursting through the group of men and twisting Rob's arm once more out of position, gleeful in his pained struggles.
When he does break the hold this time, he doesn't try for a third time, merely walking back up the ramp with a pleased smirk on his face... until he once more catches sight of a flash of yellow off to the side and slowly turns his head to look at Ricardo again, this time unsettled by the look of pure, unadulterated anger on the younger man's face, tears in his eyes as he glares up at Alberto in a way that he never had, even when they'd seen each other for the first time after the 5th on that horrible Raw when Ricardo had revealed his new allegiance with RVD.
Alberto swallows thickly and turns back towards the ramp, leaving everything but the memory of Ricardo's expression etched into his brain behind. He can't even properly enjoy the fact that RVD is the first eliminated later on that evening because of it.
He's in a match with R-Truth that Friday when things begin to go wrong again. He's hit harshly in the jaw by a surprising sequence of offense by the other competitor, sending him stumbling forward as he tries to blink through the daze, fresh, warm blood filling his mouth once more as he closes his eyes, hit with the sharp recollection of his dentist telling him over and over again to be careful as his work sets. But champions can't be careful, especially in a business such as this, so he waves it off, licks his blood-stained lips with an ugly smirk before kicking Truth viciously in the skull, stopping whatever pitiful attack he might try next and leaving him susceptible to a pin.
But blood is still filling Alberto's mouth and he feels frustrated, anger boiling through his veins as he turns once more on the man and curls around him, twisting his arm back in his dreaded armbar. The referee is standing over him, once more screaming at him, when he sees a flash of purple and black before he's kicked off of the other man, watching distantly as Ricardo reaches in and helps Truth out of the ring, leaving him on the floor at RVD's direction before going to get a steel chair.
Nonono, Alberto is only just able to think when the chair is thrown into the ring by his best friend, Rob collecting it and bashing him with it, his arm and midsection throbbing harder with each strike. He apparently grows bored of this quickly, however, taking a few steps away before lunging forward and kicking it into Del Rio, leaving the World Champion slumping against the ropes before he slides off of the apron to the floor, where he lands with a dull thud, too dazed and hurting to do much of anything else. His arm is killing him, not to mention his still sluggishly bleeding mouth, but worse than that is the look on Ricardo's face as he looks down at him, reminding him of how angry he'd seemed on Monday after Del Rio had attacked RVD.
He barely even notices Rob next to the ring announcer, holding his title up high, collapsing against the mat holding his arm and face miserably.
He's still out of it as he's helped to the back, consciousness fading in and out as he hears something about a Hardcore match, barely aware of whatever's going on around him as he's laid down on a cot for the trainer to examine him, the last of his strength fading from him when his throbbing body hits the soft padding, Alberto falling asleep almost immediately in desperate search of some sort of escape from the internal and external agony he finds himself in.
"I'm sure Mike would appreciate the distraction," Rob tells Ricardo with a simple smile. "I'll be alright, just gonna watch this match at ringside, make sure The Shield doesn't try anything to disrupt Ziggler's chances at the US title. I'll see you afterwards, man."
The ring announcer nods grimly and watches him walk off, his head tilting curiously as he considers his suggestion to return to the locker room, watch the match with Mike and distract him from what's to come with Orton a little later on. He knows he should do that, be the kind of friend that Mike had been to him time and time again since Alberto's betrayal, but his thoughts are drawn elsewhere and before he can think through what he's doing, his feet lead him elsewhere.
Pausing outside of the trainer's office, he takes a breath and looks left and right down the hallway, unsettled by how quiet it is, who is behind this door. He swallows and gingerly pushes the door open, peeking inside. The trainer pauses and looks up, eyes widening with some surprise as he realizes who's standing there before he goes on about his business, organizing some of the medical supplies that had gotten scattered while he'd tried to ease the bleeding of Alberto's gums.
Ricardo closes his eyes, entering the room fully, before approaching the cot where the motionless Mexican aristocrat is laying, staring down at him, lips twisted in confusion as his hands curl into fists at his side. Releasing a shuddering breath, he relaxes his grip as well as he can, considering, before sitting down next to him, unable to help feeling deja vu from all of the times in the past he'd been near a languishing Alberto, wanting nothing more than to comfort him, take his pain away.
Now, he's not sure what to feel. Much less what to think. Leaning closer, he examines the older man's face, taking in how pale he is, the trail of blood still darkening his chin from the damage caused by the Van Terminator. He thinks he should feel worse about all of that than he actually does, aware that he'd maybe held the chair a little too close to his face than is wise that night... but Alberto hadn't seen concerned of Ricardo's face when he'd kicked those steel steps into it.
Releasing a shuddering breath, he sits back and presses his hands together in his lap anxiously, shaking his head. "I don't know why I'm here," he admits. "Rob is busy, and Mike is distracted, so this seems like the best time, but... I shouldn't be here. I know I shouldn't give you a second thought. I have a new home, I have new friends, I have ... a new life... but I have no closure for the old one."
Staring back at the sleeping World Heavyweight Champion, he shakes his head. "I... had this... I'm not sure. A memory? A hallucination? A wish? ... Whatever you want to call it, it was so vivid. Like I was right there, in the very moment you were saying these things, as if should I reach out, I could stop you, change that night." He laughs brokenly and looks down once more. "You said all of these things... these nice things, that make it seem like... you were leaving me behind for my best interests, but... it makes no sense, I'm clearly missing something. Or just failing to understand what I do know." He holds back a broken sob, disgusted by the unending tears filling his eyes, even after all of this time. "I just wish you would tell me why," he chokes out, looking up and freezing to find Alberto awake, staring at him through half-lidded eyes.
"Mi amigo, where is your bowtie?" he murmurs groggily, clearly still out of it.
Ricardo swallows and shakes his head, standing up, suddenly realizing what a bad idea this all is as he feels cornered and yet unable to escape the dark stare of Alberto's blank eyes, frozen in place next to the cot. "You- you don't get to call me that. Not anymore."
Del Rio laughs a little bit, breathing loudly through his nose. "Whether I can or can't, it doesn't keep it from being true. You will always be... mi amigo. Even if... just in here," he says, resting his hand on his chest, over his heart. "For me to know about."
As the man's head falls back against the cot, a small smile on his lips as he stares blurrily up at the ceiling tiles, Ricardo breathes desperately, feeling like he's about to hyperventilate. "Why? Why though? Why?"
Tilting his face to look at him, Alberto smiles a little wider. "Why do I ever do anything, Ricardo?"
"I don't know," he cries, feeling like he's about to fall apart at the seams, lose the tenuous control he had slowly began to regain over some things since his horrid suspension and his even worse firing at Alberto's hand. "You never told me anything, even when- even when you claimed I was your best friend!"
Alberto seems undisturbed by his impassioned cries, despite the trainer's sharp step nearer to warn Ricardo about all but yelling in the office, and sighs tiredly, unable to look away from his former ring announcer. "To protect you, tonto. That's all I've wanted to do..."
Ricardo looks like he's been slapped, mouth sagging open as his eyes well with fresh tears, pale and shaking as he stumbles backwards away from the cot, ignoring the trainer's attempt at keeping him from falling as he moves away from his former friend. Overwhelmed with all of his thoughts and feelings, the ring announcer grips the doorknob and struggles for a moment before finally forcing the door open, almost breaking it clean off in his haste to get away. "No tiene sentido!" he forces out, breathing raggedly as he turns on his heel, barely noticing a gaping, worried Mike as he rushes past him, desperate to get away.
When the trainer shakes himself free from the fugue that this drama has brought over him a few moments later, he turns to find that Alberto is once more asleep, seemingly without a care in the world.
Del Rio doesn't remember much of the conclusion of the match against Truth. Nor does he remember hearing that the Battleground match had been made a Hardcore match. Nor does he know why the trainer had looked at him so strangely throughout his final examination before allowing him to leave the arena.
But he does remember one simple thing, a voice in his head that he'll never be able to forget, no matter how much time may pass. He shudders and looks up, wondering if it's real- if Ricardo had been in the trainer's office while he was there, or if he had merely imagined it. But it feels so real, the old comfort of his ring announcer's presence always ingrained in his veins, that he doesn't really doubt it had happened.
Somehow, it makes him only feel more worn and sad as he cocoons himself in his sheets, wanting nothing more than to fall back into that peaceful sleep, pretend that the younger man is once more nearby, watching over him.
It doesn't work; his sleep is restless and wrought with nightmares of confused, dark eyes watching him, asking again and again, Why, El Patron? Why?