There's another odd vibe in the air tonight, suffusing the Battleground arena. Del Rio is trapped in his thoughts, reflecting on what he'd said to Ricardo, pondering yet again why the younger man had even been to see him that night, and all he wants to do is go back in time, when things were simpler and he wasn't straining by his fingertips to hold it all together. He's far from prepared mentally when he's notified just before the preshow starts that his match against RVD will be first on the card, glaring up at the tech who tells him. He still hadn't come to any conclusion about how to fix his own faux pas, and Ricardo's tweet about his past and his present colliding tonight leaving him conflicted doesn't help at all.

He closes his eyes and grips his phone tightly, shaking his head. "Do nothing foolish, mi amigo. I can't allow you to ruin everything, not now," he mutters to the tweet, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks about all possible things that could happen within the hour. Still distracted upon making his way to the ring for his match, Del Rio can't quite find his footing in the early minutes of the match, RVD introducing weapons early on. Finally Alberto slips into that automatic place many of them go, all thoughts and emotions fading from his mind as he slowly gains the advantage against his challenger. At least, until he prepares to lock in the armbar on his struggling opponent and there's a flash of pink to the side, something harsh impacting with his flesh. He arches away and curses at the sharp pain, turning to find Ricardo standing across from him with a bucket in hand, the sight stealing Alberto's breath. He shakes his head and snarls, remembering how he had battered Ricardo with the bucket, wondering if it had hurt half as much, relieved at least that Ricardo had had his suit on when he'd so brutally attacked him with the item.

It hurts, more emotionally than physically, as he throws RVD out of the ring to give them time to be face to face for the first time since that one Friday, and he approaches his former ring announcer, his eyes dark and focused as he watches him. The younger man looks hesitant, scared and uncertain, and it takes everything in Alberto not to comfort him. He looks like he could start swinging with the bucket at any moment, and Alberto would almost not blame him after everything, but he tries to keep his voice steady, remembering what he'd said to him ten days ago as he steps closer. "Give me the bucket," he urges him, holding out a hand towards the weapon. "Come, Ricardo. I won't use it on you, I just want to retain my title-" And it seems like Ricardo is listening, slowly holding out the steel bucket towards his former employer. "That's it, mi amigo-"

But things change in a hurry, as soon as those words leave his lips. Ricardo's eyes darken and he strikes out, kicking Alberto in the stomach with as much force as he can offer- which, considering his ankle issues and how little the man has been able to compete the last three years, is fairly considerable, winding Alberto and sending him folding in on himself. Another strike and another, the bucket biting into his flesh and he can't stop the flash of anger as he regains control of the situation, slinging Ricardo outside and against the barricade wall. He's running at the younger man, preparing to kick him in the skull, when he realizes what he's doing and stops just short, changing the direction of his attack, instead kicking him in the shoulder. Still a forceful strike, but not enough to seriously injure him, but to keep him from getting involved in the rest of the match.

Alberto's turning slowly, trying to catch his breath, when RVD comes out of nowhere and regains the upperhand. The next thing Alberto knows, he's sandwiched between a ladder and the floor, only a few feet away from Ricardo's slumped form, able only to watch as his opponent flips off of the apron on top of him, causing his whole body to throb. But it all goes downhill for the ECW original from there, Del Rio unable to remember afterwards how exactly he regains control, catching the other man's arm in a steel chair and twisting it up in the armbar, wrenching back with what remaining strength he has until he feels Rob tapping, closing his eyes in relief.

He stumbles to the turnbuckles, title held over his head in victory once more, when he glances down to find Ricardo stirring sluggishly against the barricade wall, appalled again at the trainers nor referees or anyone checking on him up to now. He slowly looks up and their eyes lock as Alberto stares at him, holding the title against his chest as Ricardo blinks wearily, taking it all in. Tears fill the younger man's eyes before he slumps to the side once more, Alberto's chest aching with need to go make sure he's ok. The doctor is looking at RVD's arm, adding to Alberto's annoyance as he hops backwards off of the turnbuckle. Walking past them to leave with his title, he glares at the trainer, who is standing nearby, in case the doctor needs assistance, before glancing back out of the ring towards where Ricardo is laying, the not-so-subtle hint clicking with the man finally as he scrambles out of the ring, heading towards the announcer.

Ricardo's arm throbs, a bruise the shape of Del Rio's wrestling boots visible in his flesh, and the rest of him doesn't feel so great either, but he has no doubt RVD feels much worse, considering the brutality of the hardcore match. Neither man says much as the trainer and doctor goes back and forth, examining them and doing what's needed for their various aches and minor injuries. Finally the ring announcer grows sick of the silence and looks up. "I'm sorry, Rob," he says quietly. "I wanted to help, but I-"

Rob shakes his head, cutting him off. "No, man. You don't need to apologize about anything." He looks down at his arm as the trainer prods it, finally pulling away and standing slowly. "I need to talk to you about something." He grimaces, sitting back down next to Ricardo. "I was hoping-... well. I don't know what exactly I was hoping. But there's no point in keeping it from you, I should've told you sooner but I thought if I won the title tonight, then things would be different, but..."

Ricardo frowns, definitely not liking the sound of this. "Rob-"

"I'm leaving for awhile," he says. "There's some issues with my contract, I have outside projects that need my attention, and I need a bit of time to refocus, get my head on straight again." He winces. "I... didn't mean to leave you in the lurch like this... when I agreed to this contract and signed on for all of these side-projects, I wasn't aware you'd become my ring announcer. If I had won tonight, I would've changed my plans, but I didn't so... I have to uphold my responsibilities. And I know, I had responsibilities to you too, and this is kind of a dick thing to do, I was planning on telling you sooner but I didn't want to add to everything you're going through until I was certain." He shakes his head, still gingerly toying with his arm. "I mishandled this, I know, and I'm so sorry, Ricardo..."

The ring announcer pales as the words finally register with him, swallowing harshly. "No," he says feebly, shaking his head. "Not again. Not... not..."

Rob blinks, eyes locked on him as he stands and stumbles away from the cot. "Ricardo-"

"I, I can't do this again-" He wipes furiously at his face, walking backwards into the door in his haste, wincing as it aggravates his bruises. "How could you do this to me? Call me your numero uno amigo and help me to feel secure, and... I don't understand..."

Rob stands, trying to stop him, make things better, but-

"What is wrong with me, that everyone leaves? Why can't anyone just stay?" he demands, shaking so hard that his fingers keep scraping against the doorknob, adding to the tension of the moment. "I... can't do this anymore." He finally runs out of the room, leaving a floored Van Dam behind, long gone by the time Rob thinks to look out of the door for him.

"Good job, Rob," he mutters to himself, sinking back onto the cot after a few painful moments. "Miz is going to kill me..." He groans, staring at his hands. "Please be ok, Ricardo."

Alberto has just arrived back at his hotel room, wanting nothing more than to soak in steamy, hot water and ease some of the aches deep in his bones when he fishes his cell phone out of his pocket and thoughtlessly tosses it onto the bed, wandering around the room to collect fresh clothes and his specialized soaps and lotions. He's just tossed his shirt onto the bed, covering the phone, when he notices the flash of the screen underneath the fabric, notifying him to a text alert. Grunting, he's about to ignore it until later, when something stops him across the room and causes him to turn slowly back towards the bed. Scooping the phone out of the folds of his shirt, he presses a couple of buttons until accessing his text screen, unsurprised to find it's a twitter alert.

It's the content of the text that distracts him from everything, the bottle of soap slipping out of his fingers and hitting the floor with a soft thud as he sits down harshly on the bed, close to missing the mattress completely. "Ay. No, no." He stares at the screen, hoping that he's reading it wrong but knowing that he's not, an ill, disgusted feeling churning in his gut as he rereads the words over and over again. "Ay, mi amigo. No..." He examines the tweet, trying to decipher its meaning, figure out what had led to his best friend saying such things. "What did Van Dam do?" he mumbles, shaking his head as he recognizes once more that the full blame would never fall on the highflyer's shoulders, no matter what. Only one person had put Ricardo on this road. "...What have I done?"

Forgetting all about his bath, he slips his shirt back on and paces around the room a bit, phone still in hand. Frustrated at no further tweets being sent out, he collects his keycard and leaves the room, abruptly needing fresh air to clear his head a bit. Walking through the maze of corridors, heading back to the elevator on the other end of the floor, he stops short when he sees a familiar form slumped against a door, knees hugged to his chest. Ay carumba, he thinks viciously, stepping back out of sight quickly before peering around the corner once more. "Ricardo," he whispers, able to feel the younger man's sadness and pain from here, his shoulders shaking so hard that it's hard to watch. What are the odds that we would be on the same floor...?

Del Rio had saved Alex's phone number during the younger man's suspension, just in case Alex felt the need to call him about Ricardo, and it's this he turns to now, holding no doubt that he and/or Miz are searching desperately for the ring announcer. He takes his time, trying to be careful with his faulty English, keeping all signs that it's him from the text after ensuring that his number is blocked. Ricardo Rodriguez is outside of your hotel room. Hurry.

He stays only long enough to watch Alex Riley- and Tamina Snuka?- arrive and comfort him, draw him into the hotel room, before heading dejectedly back to his hotel room, scooping up the forgotten bottle of soap from the floor. He sighs, far from caring now as he goes to complete his earlier plans of taking a nice, long bath. "Por favor, Ricardo... be alright."

His focus now no longer needing to be on the hardcore match, he finds himself once more dwelling on what he could do to salvage his plan, undo everything that his groggy stupidity had caused a couple weeks ago. He's annoyed when his request for the night off is denied, wanting some extra time to think, but he keeps it to himself, trying to be charming and amusing when he runs into Vickie Guerrero, even flirting with her. After all, it doesn't hurt for the champion to remain on the general manager's good side... As he walks off, his scarf now around the woman's neck, he's unaware of the angry look she shoots at his back.

He's just made it to the ring, showing off his title belt to the audience, when Vickie comes out. He tenses as soon as she announces that his opponent is Ricardo Rodriguez, millions of thoughts running through his head. But the prevalent one is that he has to definitely laugh it off, act like it doesn't bother him that for the second time in a month, he's being forced to wrestle Ricardo. And, this time, the younger man is all alone, no Rob in his corner or anyone to help, it making the rounds through the locker room all day today about how the highflyer had randomly decided to leave, take some time to get himself back at 100% spiritually and... whatever else he had said, Alberto failing to care after the first few words. He swallows, now understanding why Ricardo had been so broken up the night before, before falling back into his act, sneering at the ring announcer as he enters the ring, looking beside himself with anxiety. The bell rings and Del Rio circles him, preparing to begin, but Vickie's voice cuts in, distracting him as she announces that he has an opponent at Hell in a Cell after all- John Cena! He's screaming at her when he feels something crash into his back, startling him as he's grabbed from behind, his body twisted into a not very clean pin but, as awkward a pin as it is, no matter how he struggles, Ricardo has the momentum and holds on harder until the three count is achieved, Alberto all but screaming at Vickie as he hits the mat, the ring announcer quickly slipping out of the ring.

Emotions are warring in him- anger at the match he's being put into at Hell in a Cell, disgust that he'd lost here tonight, and, mixed in with all of that, pride in Ricardo for seeing an opportunity and taking it, just as Alberto himself had taught him from day one. Vickie leaves, cackling at him, and Alberto stares out of the ring, his friend standing on top of the commentary table and taking it all in. His heart sinks as he realizes, pieces clicking together with him... Ay, amigo, he thinks wearily. Why didn't you just leave?

If I want to ensure my plan... He slides out of the ring and races around, not allowing himself time to truly think about what he's doing. I have to erase all conflict Ricardo may have... He clips his legs and cringes as he hears the harsh sound of his former ring announcer's body crashing against the top of the commentary table before toppling onto the ground. I have to make him see... He turns back around and kicks him in the skull, ignoring referees as they begin to swarm, yelling at him and throwing him into the steel steps before kicking him repeatedly. ... that he has to hate me. Grabbing a chair, he wraps it around his arm and repeats much of what he'd done to RVD the night prior, stomping it over and over again before twisting him up in the dreaded armbar.

It has to be painful, he knows, a mix of his strength and the rough steel forcing Ricardo's arm into agonizing positions, but he's careful not to go too far and outright snap his arm, though he's not as careful as he'd been the last time, making sure that he is setting out to hurt the ring announcer this time, just enough to prove his point. He breaks the hold quickly and leaves, somehow still so lost in the zone that he laughs instead of wanting to cry this time, though he's not sure it'll hold for too long.

No matter what, it'll always be listed that Ricardo holds a victory against the World Heavyweight Champion this evening. Alberto hopes that it helps him to feel a little better, somehow.

He's sitting at the end of his hotel bed, staring out of the window at the city life flowing on below him, when his phone beeps a couple of hours later. He stares down at it, reading the tweet there before breathing out, "Que? Adios, Ricardo?" His eyebrows furrow as he reads it again, hands trembling. "No, no, mi amigo, not adios. What are you saying?" He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "Ay dios mio, Alberto, you idiota!" No longer caring so much about his looming match against Cena, he tosses his phone and listens as it cracks against the headboard, a sound that ordinarily would've been satisfactory to him now as meaningless as everything else around him. "Yet again, you put your precious plans ahead of Ricardo, and look at what's happening."

He cards his hands angrily through his hair, breathing raggedly. "If he leaves because of this..." He groans, staring at his hands. "... I'll never forgive myself... You're stronger than this, Ricardo. Don't give up... not now, not because of me and my impulsive actions... por favor..."

Everything is still weighing on him when he returns to his house that Tuesday, staring blankly at Sofia as she once more greets him in a subdued fashion, taking his bags from him and putting them in their place. If she'd been wary before, she's downright cold to him now, her eyes dark and back rigid as she walks away from him. He deserves it, he knows. She doesn't understand that he set out trying to do right by Ricardo, and everything had snowballed far beyond his control very rapidly.

He can only imagine how she'd respond if she had seen the ring announcer's tweets from the last couple of nights. His upstanding morals already shaky in her eyes just by how he has treated Ricardo on TV, he can only imagine how she would act if she could see the inner thoughts of the younger man, how visibly broken he still is by everything, Van Dam's leaving him high and dry only furthering what damage Del Rio's actions had caused him.

She spends very little time in his presence that night and the next day, easily finding ways to keep busy in rooms that he's not in, and finally he grows weary of his own home, the silence echoing back to him mockingly. He goes outside early Wednesday afternoon, staring around at the grounds. Even out here, every inch of the patio, his outdoor furniture, the pond, the hammock, everything holds memories of his best friend, adding to his inner turmoil. Barbecues the two of them had held, bonfires when Ricardo had convinced him to give the oldfashioned way a try, or even just sitting around with the younger man, watching for meteor showers or planets orbiting close to the earth. Sitting by the pond on horribly muggy days, dipping their feet in the cool water, or laying in amongst Sofia's flowers, talking lowly in Spanish to each other, anything else that they could fit into their limited time off.

Ricardo had been such an ingrained part of Del Rio's life, it still hasn't fully registered with him that this is how things will permanently be from here on, the loneliness and solitude of it all. He's still sitting on the patio, staring blankly ahead into the growing darkness, when his phone lights up. He glances towards it derisively, planning on just letting it go, when something makes him reach out for it, pulling it closer. He doubts it's anything important, probably some pointless tweet by WWE about Main Event, until he realizes: It's from Ricardo. His heart skipping a beat, the younger man not tweeting anything overly informative since that Monday night, he stares down at the words, hands trembling slightly.

Ricardo sounds more like himself in this tweet, suggesting that he should be seen as the #1 contender since he now has a victory against the World Heavyweight Champion. Alberto cringes a bit at the memory of the loss but has to smile anyway, relieved that the younger man seems better, like he's willing to move past this, despite how foreboding the ending to his last tweet had sounded. "You would be a much better one than that worthless perro Cena, for sure, mi amigo," he mumbles, resting the tip of his finger against the screen of his phone.

Somewhat comforted, he eventually stands and re-enters his house, walking towards his bedroom. He stops short, however, when he finds Ricardo's bedroom door half-open, the lights on. Peeking in the room, breathless and wide eyed, he finds Sofia inside, dusting the furniture and, just before leaving, smoothing out the long untouched bedding. His heart in his throat, he ducks aside before she sees him and listens as she collects the things she'd cleaned with, the soft clatters sounding so familiar as she hesitates at the foot of the bed, looking around at her diligent work. "I miss you, senor," she whispers, voice cracking. "I hope you are doing alright, wherever you're at right now."

He shudders through another stab of guilt and rushes into his bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him before he sinks onto his bed, digging his fingers into his scalp. "Ay, Sofia," he breathes, reflecting on the similar looks of pain and betrayal in both her and Ricardo's eyes that he's seen all too often the past few weeks, shaking his head. "I am so sorry..."

Ricardo isn't at Smackdown, not that Alberto had expected him to be after Monday. As he watches the Raw recap of his and Vickie's meeting, and his match against Ricardo- which thankfully cuts off before the beatdown, sparing Alberto from having to rewatch the very period of time he'd been reliving relentlessly the last few days, he grows more annoyed with her and her decisions- first to put Ricardo in the ring against him again, and putting him in this match against Cena.

With Ricardo nowhere to be seen, he doesn't want to add to the man's turmoil by mentioning him in case he's watching, so when he interrupts Vickie, he keeps it to business, as simple as possible and, after trying to charm her further, implores her to reconsider his match against Cena. However, she turns things around on him by urging him to kiss her and, after he does so, twice, perplexing him at what exactly she intends to prove by all of this, she perplexes him further when she begins insulting him. His ire rises all over again as she tells him she won't reconsider, his glower only growing when Sandow interrupts and tells Vickie that he finds her truly intelligent, whereas Del Rio is just using her.

Vickie falls for it and places them in a match later that evening, once more laughing as she leaves the ring, Alberto glaring back and forth between them before lunging at Sandow, attacking him- but the so-called scholar gets the upperhand and sends him scrambling out of the ring, huffing in annoyance as Damien begs him to return to the ring.

He's still steaming in his locker room, trying to prepare for this unexpected match, Smackdown playing quietly from a monitor in the corner, when something causes him to look up. Those Los Matadores are coming out to the ring and... their opponents are two other men in masks, Alberto sneering derisively at more Latinos trying and failing to do what only he, the Mexican aristocrat, can accomplish successfully in this business. But something draws him to the screen, one of the Los Locales men perplexing him as he watches him adjust his tag partner's mask.

He's not one to pay attention to other people's matches, unless they're future opponents of his and he's looking for some weakness to exploit, but this one he watches from beginning to end, brows furrowed as he absentmindedly wraps tape around his wrists for his upcoming match. The Los Locales lose, the man who had attracted his attention eating the pin before his tag partner takes further attacks from the Los Matadores and their bizarre little bull. Alberto shrugs and shuts the monitor off, collecting his title and looking himself over quickly before leaving the room. After a divas match, his match against Sandow will begin and-

His thoughts come to an abrupt stop when he collides with someone, hissing in annoyance. "Watch where you're going, perro-" he's just exclaimed when he pauses, finding that it's none other than that man the announcers had deemed Los Locales Uno that he's just run into, his tag partner next to him. He's unable to see the man's eyes, his mask having sheer eye covers, and it annoys Del Rio all the more, his curiosity growing with each second.

However, before he can say or do anything, the other man speaks up from behind his mask, his eyes visible, as he grips the sleeve of his partner's wrestling gear. "Eh, lo siento," he offers stiffly, as if unaccustomed to speaking the language, before dragging the speechless luchador away from the World Heavyweight Champion.

Alberto blinks a time or two, turning to look over his shoulder at the retreating men, shaking his head. "Neh, rookies," he sneers, though he's still unsettled by the whole situation, despite not knowing why...

Finally forcing himself back to the here and now, what truly matters, he goes out to the ring as soon as the divas match ends. He holds no affection for the Money in the Bank briefcase- first, his destiny had been delayed, forcing him to become Money in the Bank holder himself, and even when he had cashed it in, it had been for the WWE title- a belt he'd held no honest interest in, his focus always on the World Title from moment one of his joining the WWE... Not to mention his reign as champion had been little to talk about, the drama behind CM Punk, Cena and all of that nonsense unfolding at the time quickly taking him away from that particular endeavor, though he hadn't minded.

Then, after almost a year of desperately scraping to become World Heavyweight Champion, he'd just successfully defended it at Wrestlemania when Ziggler had cashed in his own briefcase the next night and led them down this road, when Alberto had slowly turned on the fans, on Ricardo, on pretty much everything, leaving him with nothing but the belt to focus on. The very thought of possibly losing it again, to another Money in the Bank holder, leaves him on edge, wanting nothing more than to do away with the whole Money in the Bank stipulations. But he can't, not now... and so he has to bide his time, watch carefully, make sure that Sandow doesn't get the upperhand in this match and get any ideas to do with his briefcase.

Alberto's worries, as it turns out, are thankfully baseless, for this night anyhow. Though Sandow puts up a hell of a fight, the Mexican aristocrat walks out victorious, more aware now of what to watch out for from his future opponent, whenever he should decide to cash in that damnable briefcase.

Not that he truly needs it admittedly, but it helps his confidence level. He now knows he can defeat Sandow. He smirks before walking back up the ramp to his lonely, empty locker room.