At Raw, Alberto leaves Ricardo backstage, staring ahead grimly as he prepares for yet another rematch against Ziggler. He had beat the man easily not that long ago, so he's not worried- until the sound of a loud car engine thrums through the arena while he stands in the ring, waiting, startling him. His eyes narrow as he remembers the many months he'd spent entering in similar fashions as he watches Ziggler and Raw guest host, Aaron Paul, drive in in a sports car. It throws him, leaves him off of his game throughout the match, though he manages to shake it off for the most part and gain some offense against Ziggler, until Aaron Paul stands up on the commentary table and distracts him. It reminds him, for some reason, of all of those months ago when Ricardo had stepped up on the table and distracted him for RVD, and these thoughts somehow lead to it all having the same end result- Ziggler eaking out a victory that leaves Del Rio steaming as he storms backstage, glaring at anyone who even glances in his vicinity.
Ricardo looks wary as he approaches him, Alberto gritting his teeth so sharply that it looks painful just to look at him. "I'm sorry," the former ring announcer offers quietly.
He nods jerkily and grips his shoulder, leading him down the hall forcefully, anxious to just leave already. "Let's get out of here."
"Si," his friend agrees, not wanting to add to his anger by moving too slowly or resisting his demands. They drive around Chicago for awhile, neither of them wanting to return to the hotel right away, Alberto obviously needing to clear his head before returning to a confined space. Ricardo tries to give him his space, but it's growing late and he's hungry, not having time to check out catering before Del Rio's match had ended. He glances at the bright green clock and grimaces, glancing over at his former employer. "Uh, Alberto..."
Del Rio looks over at him at a red light, his brow furrowing when he takes in how hesitant his friend seems. "What is it, Ricardo?"
He licks his lips and presses his fingers together. "Are you hungry? Maybe... we should find somewhere to eat before we return to the hotel?"
Alberto stares at him for a bit longer, forgetting all about being in the middle of traffic. His eyes soften in the gloom as he takes in how Ricardo is fretting. "Ay, mi amigo. You should've said something," he mumbles, hitting the gas as soon as the light being green and how people behind them are honking registers with him, Ricardo gasping and grabbing at the doorhandle as he peels out, taking a turn sharply until they're a few blocks down, where there are a number of restaurants still open. "Pick one," he tells the younger man with a faint smile as he parks and gets out of the car, waiting for the former ring announcer to join him.
Ricardo follows more slowly, glancing around at his options before choosing a nearby steakhouse. Alberto nods slightly and follows him in, the younger man relaxing slightly when he doesn't seem that bothered by the selection or his driving around being interrupted. When they're seated, Ricardo picks at the table nervously, staring down at the tablecloth until a bronze hand rests atop his, stopping the anxious movements. "Eh," he mutters, looking back up at Alberto. "Lo si-"
"Don't apologize," he says, forcing his voice to stay even, not sound too gruff. "You should've said something if you were hungry, mi amigo. You know my temper, especially after a frustrating night like tonight. If you don't speak up, I would remain lost in my own thoughts and fail to notice anything else going on around me." He squeezes his fingers. "I understand that it weighs on you, the thought of me leaving, it does me as well." Ricardo swallows and looks away, his hand trembling anew under Del Rio's. "Mi amigo... just remember that I haven't decided anything right now, I may ultimately decide to stay. But either way, I don't want you to worry about it. Si?"
It's only when Ricardo speaks, however, that Alberto realizes why he's not looking at him, his words shaky and choked up with emotions. "I'm not worried," he breathes out, eyes trained on the wall opposite of Del Rio. His hands tense against the tablecloth as Alberto stands, moving around the table towards him. "I just... As more time passes, I find myself trying to invision what WWE may be like without you, and I- I just..." His struggle to verbalize what exactly he feels fails as Alberto kneels down and wraps his arms around the upset younger man's shoulders, holding him. "I can't do it." His fingers shift from the tablecloth to tug at Alberto's shirt, tears pouring down his face. "But I want you happy, and if that's out of the WWE, then what right do I have..."
Alberto tsks but says nothing, stroking Ricardo's back as his breaths hitch against his shoulder. When he finally seems to calm slightly, the older Mexican pulls back and stares at him. "Mi amigo, perhaps I should've kept this to myself until I knew for sure," he murmurs to him. "But, after everything, it felt even worse to consider not telling you and springing it on you at the last moment. I didn't want you to feel like I was abandoning you again..." He brushes tears off of Ricardo's flushed cheeks and sighs, shaking his head. "I told myself I didn't want to do anything to make all of this any harder on you, but it seems anything I do causes exactly that. Will you ever forgive me, mi amigo?"
Ricardo wipes at his face as well and stares at Alberto, eyes red-rimmed and swollen but clear. "There's nothing to forgive, El Patron," he says lowly. "I can tell you are trying to make this easier for me, in your own way. And I do appreciate the advanced warning, just in case. I know I won't be alone if you do leave, and we will still be amigos, no matter what. Things have just been so busy, I haven't had time to accept it all just yet. Things are changing so quickly. You may be leaving, and Mike is getting married, and I- I'm just... I'm just some lowly interviewer, I..."
"Hey," he says sharply, Ricardo immediately falling quiet as his eyes widen. "You're not some lowly interviewer. WWE's lucky to have you. And you're working so hard to train, don't talk about yourself like that." He sighs and claps Ricardo on the arm, sitting down once more. "We can continue talking about all of this if you wish, but may we order first?" He smiles a little. "Now that I can smell the food, I'm hungry too."
Ricardo chuckles softly, nodding. "Of course, Alberto."
The rest of the meal goes smoothly and by Smackdown that Friday, Ricardo seems more himself- even Alberto feels better, but he knows he needs to come to a decision soon, or it wouldn't be fair to any of them. Even so, for now, he decides to take it a day at a time, make it through Smackdown at least, not add to Ricardo's anxiety any further by acting off yet again.
When he learns that Ziggler is facing Christian next, he makes his way to the commentary desk, wanting to return what had happened Monday in kind. And it works perfectly- just when Ziggler seems to be doing well, he clutches a microphone conveniently waiting to be used on the table near him, stands up on the announcer's desk, hesitating for a moment as he finds himself on the other side of what Ricardo had done to him all of those months ago.
It's a weightless, strangely giddy feeling as he glances around the arena, staring at the crowd- some of whom are watching him, some who are watching the match as it carries on, those in the ring unaware of his presence just yet. He smirks before bringing the mic to his lips and shouting to get Dolph's attention, calling out to him in Spanish whatever comes to mind. When it works, Christian pulling out the victory as a result, he laughs and jumps off of the table, pleased with himself for paying the bleach blond man back for his and Aaron Paul's actions the Monday prior.
But his night isn't over, he also has yet another rematch against Sheamus shortly so as soon as he's backstage once more, he begins warming up, staring blankly at the wall as he works to clear his mind of everything, needing to turn his luck around by gaining a victory tonight to make up for the past few matches he'd had. Alas, it's not to be as Sheamus works past his various injuries caused by Christian on Monday and, in a split second, brogue kicks Del Rio down, the Mexican stirring a few moments later to find he'd lost.
He doesn't remember much of the slow, painful walk backstage, nor entering the trainer's office and letting the man begin to examine him. But he does remember stirring a little later to find Ricardo sitting next to the cot, staring at him, and smiling weakly when he realizes he's awake. "Mi amigo," he mumbles.
"Hola, Alberto," he tells him quietly, resting a hand on his chest when he tries to sit up. "Don't move, the trainer wants you to rest for a little while longer. He sees no sign of concussion or anything to worry about, so you're going to be fine. Take it easy and once you're a little more awake, we'll go back to the hotel, si?"
"Si," Del Rio mutters around a yawn, dark eyes locked on his best friend. "Ricardo? Gracias. For being by my side when I need you."
The younger man's smile grows a bit more shaky but he nods anyway, squeezing Alberto's hand. "Always, Alberto. I always will."