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After a quiet week spent in Florida, training and exploring the beaches on the first reall warm set of days in awhile, Ricardo and Alberto return to Raw. Mike and AJ are still in Canada and Alex is busy with preshow duties as always. A quick check of the match board shows that Alberto will be in the first round of the #1 contendership series tonight... against RVD, no less.
Alberto glares beadily at the board, feeling more then seeing as Ricardo's gaze skids to a stop upon reading it as well. He still hadn't explained what had been said between RVD and himself the week prior, not that Del Rio needs him to relive the moment that RVD had clearly denied him as his ring announcer again. He will regret it all, he vows, resting a hand on Ricardo's back and leading him towards the locker room so he can prepare for the evening's interviews.
He watches from a distance, frowning at how subdued Ricardo seems through the night, wincing when it's time for his match. He doesn't want to leave Ricardo alone but, not having much choice, he competes, envisioning walking out Intercontinental Champion at Extreme Rules. It's no World title, but he thinks it'll do until he can put himself in position to get a proper shot at the WWE World Title.
All of these thoughts and motivations racing through his mind distracts him and he gasps when gravity fails him while he's standing on the turnbuckle, RVD sweeping his feet out from under him and sending him falling hard against the mat, his ears ringing and stars flashing before his eyes. He fights to regroup but it's too little, too late. RVD wins and eliminates him from the contest mere seconds later.
He stares up at the lights while yet another disappointment tears through him, disgust welling up within him like poisonous bile. Disgust in the loss, in the situation, in himself. He makes it to his feet and staggers backstage, ignoring referees and trainers alike as he pushes through the halls, storming outside into the cool rain that pelts against his bare skin. "MALDITA SEA!" he screams into the night sky, tears off his wrist tape violently and throwing it into the inky darkness.
He continues tearing at the few things on his body, rough Spanish pouring from his dripping lips as his elbow pads join the fluttering wrist tape, Alberto hopping on one foot as he tugs ruthlessly at his boot, pulling it off to throw it too- but his aim is altered when the arena door is opened, blinding light cutting into the darkness surrounding him. "Get out!" he roars, the heavy shoe banging against the door so hard that it shuts with a heavy click, Alberto panting as his anger fades, the rain now drenching through his sock as he stares ahead blankly. The light resumes a moment later, his arm rising to protect his eyes as soft footsteps approach him. Warm arms wrap around him and he groans, gripping at the familiar dress jacket sleeve. "Ricardo," he sighs.
"It's ok," Ricardo breathes. "It's ok, Alberto." His fingers rest on Alberto's neck as he carefully strokes the flushed skin there. "You need to see the trainer, mi amigo. That... that fall looked very bad." Alberto doesn't react, his face buried in Ricardo's shoulder still. "Por favor?"
He closes his eyes and pressed further against Ricardo, beginning to shiver as the rain grows chillier. Realizing that Ricardo too is getting soaked, he finally pulls away and looks balefully up at him. "Alright," he finally concedes.
Relief flashes across Ricardo's face and he slowly extracts himself from Alberto, looking around. "Take a minute and I'll collect your things," he urges him, only just getting to his feet when Alberto snags his wrist.
"No, you don't have to do that-"
"Si I do. You're the possibly injured one, so relax," Ricardo tells him, no room for argument in his tone as he collects the boot and braces. He holds them in one hand, using the other to pull Alberto to his feet before helping him to the trainer's office. While they wait, he shakes rain out of Alberto's boot and helps him put it back on, lacing it up as tightly as he can. He's drenched through himself but he's so focused on Alberto, he doesn't notice. Until, that is, the trainer joins them and looks pointedly at the puddle of water growing on the floor, Ricardo flushing before he moves to dry it and himself off. While he does that, the examination progresses. By the time everything is dry and Ricardo isn't dripping with every step, the trainer has just finished carefully checking Alberto for a concussion and feeling around his neck and upper back.
"Well, you're lucky," he finally says when they're all sitting down and listening intently. "No concussion, no neck or spine trauma. If you feel worse, or any odd soreness, come back but I am going to clear you for later."
"Later," Alberto and Ricardo echo, exchanging glances with a small smile before turning their confused focus back onto the trainer.
"The Authority wants you to be a part of the match against The Shield later," he says blandly as he drops Ricardo's towels into the pile for washing later.
"Hm," Alberto smirks, eager for an opportunity to make up for earlier. Ricardo doesn't look entirely pleased, but he says nothing as he shakes out the elbow pads and waits nearby as Alberto pulls them back into place. Ricardo finds a roll of wrist tape and quietly wraps it around Alberto's wrists, focused on the repetitive actions while trying not to get lost in the memories of all the times he'd done similar things in the past for Alberto.
Alberto feels it as well but says nothing until the job is done, smiling once Ricardo looks up once more, seeming a little sheepish as their eyes lock. "Muchas gracias, mi amigo," he says quietly, ruffling Ricardo's hair before getting up, glancing at first the clock and then the monitor showing what's going on with Raw. "Come, Ricardo, let's go get some coffee or something to warm you up."
"Ah," he mutters, looking once more at his soaked clothes, only now realizing just how chilled he really is. "Si, I should probably change..." They walk side-by-side down the halls, talking lowly in Spanish.
The match against The Shield goes by quickly, devolving into a melee until HHH, Orton and Batista come down and make them leave so they can pick the bones of the downed Hounds of Justice. Once Alberto frees himself from the other ten men, he finds Ricardo collecting his clothes and repacking. "About ready to go, mi amigo?"
"Si," Ricardo says, lips twitching into a smile as he zips his bag the rest of the way up. "I've repacked your things already."
Del Rio shakes his head fondly and claps Ricardo on the back as he moves to change inot the street clothes left out for him, looking forward to leaving this evening and its lingering disappointment behind.
They're back in Florida the next day, Alberto busy around the house while he continues to try catching up on things that had been brushed aside during Wrestlemania week and its aftermath. He's so trapped under paperwork and WWE red tape that he doesn't notice when his cell phone lights up. He doesn't notice a lot of things for awhile, until there's a soft knock on his office door. He glances over his shoulder. "Come in, Sofia."
There's a pause and then... "Um, it- it's Ricardo, actually..."
Alberto freezes while absorbing one of the phrases on the paper before him, abruptly standing and moving to the door. He could count on one hand the amounts of time that Ricardo had been to the house since August, much less uninvited or with no notice. "Mi amigo?" he demands, wrenching the door open. "Are you-?" His words die away as he realizes Ricardo is quietly holding his phone out to him, his hands clammy and trembling as Alberto reaches out and takes it, pressing a button to light it up so he can look at whatever it is Ricardo wants to show him. When he gets a good look at the words on the screen, he can do little more than stare on uncomprehendingly.
AlexRileyWWE So I heard Coach WWEZeb is looking for another "Real American" Honestly can't think of a better fit, for 1, I'm American. RealJackSwagger
"No," Alberto says, honestly surprised by the tweet as he looks back up at Ricardo. "What is he on? Does he not remember-?"
"Yes, he does," Ricardo breathes out, his lips pressed so tightly together that they look white and thin against his fretful, pale face. "I... didn't know what to do when I saw this. I couldn't stay at the apartment, I walked around the beach for awhile but... I couldn't... I just. I needed to see you..."
Alberto understands. Although Mike and Alex had been around during the Colter and Swagger issues a year ago, it had been himself and Ricardo fighting side-by-side until they had vanquished Swagger and his xenophobic manager. Del Rio's guilt burns anew within him as he ponders how he had repayed Ricardo's loyalty but he quickly shakes the thoughts away, wrapping his arms around him. "It's going to be ok. Maybe he's just suffered temporary insanity and he'll rethink it in the morning."
Ricardo nods doubtfully. "Maybe. I guess for tonight, however, I'll just... stay at a hotel. See if he's changed his mind come morning."
Alberto blinks a couple of times before pulling back to look at Ricardo. "You don't need to waste your money, mi amigo. I have many bedrooms here, if you feel ok with staying here. You're welcome to whichever one you like."
Ricardo stares at his feet for a minute before returning Alberto's gaze. "Um... and if I liked my old bedroom?" Alberto's lips part in surprise and Ricardo smiles faintly. "I... um, I kind of miss it... Is it possible to be homesick for a room?" He sighs and shrugs. "If it... overwhelms me more than I expect, I'll let you know but I... need to move past this. After all, we're friends again. My old room shouldn't leave me frozen."
Alberto nods, examining him intently. "Si, of course. Take all the time you need, mi amigo. I'll be right across the hall if you need me."
Ricardo smiles. "I know. Gracias." Alberto pats his face and reaches back to shut the light off in his office before leading him back down to hall to his dark, quiet bedroom with a growing smile on his face as his home feels normal for the first time in almost a year.
The next morning, Alberto and Sofia both are up early, exchanging meaningful glances as they walk past each other, eyes resting on Ricardo's closed bedroom door. "French toast, I think, Sofia," he tells her quietly, watching as she nods and bustles off to the kitchen. He then turns to the bedroom and lightly knocks against the thick wood.
"Come in," Ricardo's sleep slurred voice calls out, Del Rio's eyes gleaming as he pushes the door open.
He slips inside and smiles at him. "Buenos dias, mi amigo. How did you sleep?"
"Buenos Dias," Ricardo sighs, licking his lips as he glances around the room- which is still as devoid of everything, not counting hte furniture that Alex and Mike had left here all of those months ago. "I slept fine. The room is different but it still feels like home nonetheless." He glances towards Alberto with a weak, sheepish smile. "It makes little to no sense, I know..."
"It makes plenty of sense," Alberto cuts him off, shaking his head. "This was your home for years and you'll always be welcomed here." Ricardo's growing smile makes Del Rio grin as well, the two of them sitting side by side in quiet peace until Alberto begins to smell the sweet twang of Sofia's cooking in the air. "Come, mi amigo. We're having French toast for breakfast. Your favorite," he adds when Ricardo's eyes widen happily.
"Si!" he exclaims, quickly getting out of bed and following Alberto to the kitchen, where Sofia is just beginning to serve them, her timing impeccable as ever. The meal tastes as good as it looks, Ricardo smiling the entire time as he and Alberto argue good-naturedly over Man U. and Real Madrid like the good old days, Sofia listening on fondly.
They've just finished drinking coffee while smirking at each other around the flowing Spanish that's underlining their discussion... when the gate panel beeps to show someone's requested to be allowed inside. Alberto is distracted from trying to sort out how to vocalize his next response on the subject of football but he does definitely notice when Ricardo stands, a grim look on his face. "Mi amigo?"
"It's Alex," he says faintly, looking towards the front door with such intensity that Alberto wonders for a moment if it's possible for him to see through to his door, despite the number of walls between the two areas of the house. "He's been texting, and I..." He sighs, shaking his head. "I'll go talk to him." He looks up as Alberto tenses. "It'll be ok. We'll... we'll just talk." He walks past and, steeling himself upon seeing Alex for the first time since reading the tweet, leaves the house to make his way to the gates.
Alberto watches from the front door as Ricardo opens the gate, Alex getting out of his car in kind. The roommates stare blankly at each other for long, tense moments, their conversation indecipherable from this distance. Even so, Alberto can see when Alex's lips form an apology, Ricardo listening intently to whatever it is he's saying to explain the offending tweet when Sofia joins him, the two of them watching quietly together. Neither are surprised when Ricardo nods, some of the tension immediately leaving Alex's shoulders as he drops his arm around his roommate's shoulders.
They walk side by side to the house and Alberto listens, his dark eyes locked on Alex, as he explains again that he had merely been looking for a way to revive his stagnant career. Unfortunately it's a believable story, if not entirely understandable, considering all of the ugliness Colter had caused, especially to the people in this room right now, but since Ricardo has already accepted his explanation and apology, Alberto lets it go for now. This doesn't stop him, however, from staring at Ricardo until he returns his glance. "Either way, mi amigo, you are always welcome here."
Ricardo nods, an unreadable expression crossing his face. "Gracias, El Patron. I... I'll definitely keep that in mind."
And so life returns to normal. Ricardo leaves with Alex, resumes his training, and Alberto once more has to face a quiet empty house along Sofia. The pointless disqualification he suffers against Big E that Friday on Smackdown does little to ease his mind, nor the added insult to injury that comes when E recovers and slams him into the mat, his body weight landing square on Del Rio's midsection, winding him and leaving him dazed, once more disgusted and humiliated.
His thoughts once more turn to the paperwork on his desk back at home, his eyes slipping closed as he releases a faint breath, relaxing into the canvas. His mind suddenly feels much clearer than it has in a long while...
