Back to Basics

by corneroffandom

The road a wrestler takes is never easy, even if you're a must-see A-lister superstar like The Miz.

167. All For One

A/N: Wrote this before Ricardo's suspension. Or Memo's firing. Oops? It shouldn't be too jarring. I think.

Distant mumbles. Deranged, desperate. Scuffing shoes, the sound of steel scraping against the floor alongside it. "If I can't have one..." the mumbles grow louder, become determined statements. "... I'll take the other." A crashing sound as chair meets wall, clanks to floor. "Ryback rules..."

It seems like just another day, preparations for yet another Raw going on in full, when Mike and Alex hear Alberto Del Rio's voice loudly calling through the halls, both men frowning. "What's wrong with him?" Alex mutters to his former pro as they approach, his words only growing in volume with each step.

"Ricardo!" he all but screams, startling all of the people scattered around, most of them skirting past him worriedly as he glares at them all, paranoia and worry warring within him. "Have you seen mi amigo?!"

Miz pales, never quite seeing the Mexican aristocrat like this before, and he rushes forward, their lingering issues the past couple of months forgotten in the face of his distress. "Del Rio? What's going on?"

Alberto turns sharply, glaring down at Miz before releasing a shuddering breath. "Ricardo is gone," he tells him gruffly. "I... left our locker room for a few minutes and when I came back, he... He wasn't there, and the room looked... I don't know what to do. Where to begin," he admits, looking rarely vulnerable and lost. "What do I do? Where is he?"

Alex approaches as Mike rests a hand on his arm carefully, almost afraid that Del Rio will attack, but he only tenses a little, watching him closely. He can only imagine what the locker room must've looked like, to have Del Rio appear this shaken. "Ok," he says slowly. "We'll just- ask everyone if they'd seen anything, alright? There are so many people, and the building isn't that big. Someone might've seen something." He gingerly squeezes for a split second, moving away when the Mexican looks at him, suspicion and worry warring in his gaze. "Take it easy, alright? We'll find him but you need to calm down, scaring everyone in the immediate area won't help anything."

Alberto looks like he wants to snap at the former WWE champion for saying so to him, but must see the logic to it because he takes a deep breath, releases it, and repeats the action before allowing himself to speak. "Fine," he grits out. "Where do we begin?"

Surprised and glad all at once that he's allowing him to take the lead on this, Mike leads the way back to the main locker room. "Hey," he greets a few of the milling superstars hanging around. "Ricardo Rodriguez is missing. Any of you see or hear anything?"

Darren Young and Titus O'Neil exchange glances, Zack Ryder and Santino Marella shaking their heads. "No, bro, haven't seen him, but I just came from catering," Zack says, Santino nodding his head in agreement with his sometimes tag partner. "Sorry I can't be more help."

Mike sighs. "Don't worry about it." He turns his attention to Primetime Players, frowning at them. "You two are awfully quiet. Well? Seen anything?" Alberto shifts behind him, the heat of his gaze leaving even Mike unsettled although it's not aimed at him.

"We heard somethin'," Titus shrugs. "Sounded like a fight, but when we came back this way, we didn't see anything weird. Except for... well." Alberto looks like he's about to scream at them so Darren scrambles, pulling out something sadly familiar. Horribly dented and warped. Ricardo's bucket. Mike feels ill as the Mexican aristocrat takes it from them hesitantly, reverently, turning it around in his hands to examine the damage. The paint is chipped badly, but worse than that- a bright red, sloping R is staining the emblem of their pride in their heritage, familiar to all in the room.

"Ryback," Mike whispers, dread swirling within him. It'd only been a few weeks ago that the monster had kidnapped Heath Slater and Zack Ryder both, throwing them into a ambulance and taking them out of the arena. Whatever had happened, neither had been willing to discuss once they'd returned. "Del Rio-"

Alberto looks around the room before lunging forward, gripping Zack by the collar and pulling him closer until they're nose to nose. "Talk. What did he do when he had you? Now!" he roars into the Long Island native's face, causing everyone in the room to freeze again.

Zack flinches and stares up into his dark eyes, teeth gritting as he breathes heavily, having spent the past few weeks doing everything he could to not remember that night. "It was dark," he finally mutters. "The ambulance was cold and... and it rattled a lot, I kept smacking into the walls with each turn, and... all I could hear over the siren was Ryback breathing. He didn't say a word, but I could see him through the darkness. He kept pacing back and forth, like the constant movement didn't bother him at all." He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Finally it slowed, then stopped, and- and... Ryback slammed the doors open and threw me out, in front of a hospital. I blacked out when I hit the ground, and came to in the emergency room. Wednesday night, they were discussing releasing me the next day when Heath Slater arrived. That's all I remember, bro. I swear."

Alberto stares at him, breathing heavily as he considers what Ryback may be doing to his ring announcer, how scared the younger man probably is. Easing Zack back to his feet and releasing him, he slams out of the room, barely responding as Mike regains control of himself and chases after him. "What are you doing?!" he calls after the Mexican aristocrat, not liking the rigid hold of his shoulders. "Where are you-" When Alberto stops short, Mike almost slams right into him, skidding to a stop right in the nick of time.

He realizes it before Del Rio changes his direction, grabbing a nearby Heath Slater by the collar of his sleeveless leather vest and sneering at him, ignoring Drew and Jinder's squawks of protest at the rude handling of their bandleader, Miz separating the group and keeping a close eye on the other two so they can't do anything while Del Rio gets further details. He knows it probably won't help, or be much different from Zack's story, but that the other man needs to feel like he's doing something. "When Ryback kidnapped you, what did he do?"

Brown eyes going from left to right, Heath finally focuses on Del Rio's face, swallowing. "He, uh... he threw me into the ambulance and it was dark... kinda cold too. I tried to get up eventually, fight my way out somehow, but he grabbed me'n'... Shell shocked me onto the floor. I don't remember much after that till I woke up in the hospital, Curt Hawkins and Zack Ryder starin' at me." Voice growing hoarser the longer Del Rio bunches his vest around his throat, Heath scrabbles at his hands. "C'mon, man, lemme go, I swear-"

Mike turns and rests a hand on Alberto's upper arm, squeezing warningly. "Del Rio-" When the Mexican aristocrat blinks back to awareness and finally frees the bright haired man, Heath rejoins his band, who tsk and glare over at Alberto, Mike turns Alberto and marches him away from the three angry men, surprised and all the more worried when Alberto allows this, a dazed look in his dark eyes. "Hey, we'll find him. He'll be ok."

Del Rio turns and stares at him, breathing heavily. "What if we don't? What if he's not?" he asks, allowing another rare moment of vulnerability as Mike swallows, not sure how to answer him. They rejoin Alex and Mike shakes his head at the younger man's unspoken question. "Ricardo," Alberto whispers, clinging to his damaged bucket.

The three men sit in the locker room, silent and dazed, Mike keeping a close eye on the Mexican as he stares dully at the marred steel in his hands, Alex watching a monitor blankly as various recaps play to lead into Raw. Tired of sitting still, Miz pulls his phone out and accesses mobile web, finding his way to Google. He looks over at the other two men, waving his phone at them to get their attention. "This is what we're going to do," he tells them. "Search for hospitals on your phones, call them. Ask if any of them have seen Ricardo, suspicious ambulances. Anything. We'll make a list and mark off which we've called so we're not overlapping. Anybody have some paper?" Alberto stares at him for a moment before numbly standing, walking over to what has to be Ricardo's space, zubaz lined up on the hangers, a bag sitting abandoned underneath them. Mike watches, throat tightening with emotion, as he pulls out a familiar sketch pad and carefully thumbs through the young man's drawings before finding a blank page and handing it to Mike, hands trembling slightly. Mike swallows and nods, gingerly resting it on the bench where all three of them can see it easily. "Thanks, Del Rio," he murmurs.

As they place calls to hospitals in the area, they announce at random the names of the places that haven't seen or heard of anything suspicious that would lead them to Ricardo, Miz quickly scribbling each onto the paper. When their mobile searches start showing places more than two hours away, they all slow to a stop with the desperate phone calls, staring at each other helplessly. "Nothing," Alberto croaks. "No one's seen him... how is this possible? What has that perro done to him?"

They're still sitting there, frozen and disquieted by the lack of information, when a familiar entrance sounds on the monitor broadcasting Raw and all three look up, Alberto jerking to his feet. Ryback's heavy theme continues echoing through the arena until it abruptly cuts off, the audience buzzing when he doesn't appear. "Up here. No, stupid, up here," his rough voice barks, the camera shifting until it rests on the titantron screen, his face glaring out at them all. "Surprised to see me? Hey, Del Rio, I hope you're watching."

"Perro," he hisses, hands clenched at his sides. He paces in front of the monitor, Mike biting his lip as he tries not to snap at the man to sit down. When the screen shifts, Ryback lifting up a familiar form and shaking him at the camera, the microphone picking up his whimpers, all three men freeze in horror. "No, no... Ricardo!" The ring announcer is all but limp, his hands pressing uselessly against the monster's hold on his tux jacket, only a sliver of his eyes gleaming in the dim light filling wherever Ryback has him. A nasty bruise is spreading under his eye, his lip split, and they can only imagine that more injuries reside under his clothes.

Mike glares at the screen as well, feeling like he could tear it apart and throw it through the wall, his blood boiling. "That asshole," he mumbles, shaking his head as Ryback lets the man go unceremoniously, the thud he makes as he hits the ground causing all of them to wince. He glances over at Del Rio, who's standing as close to the screen as he can get, fists tight at his sides. Miz has no doubt, once Ryback is located, one way or another, if Alberto doesn't destroy him outright, Mike himself will.

"Got your attention now?" he asks, eyes intense as he glares at the screen. "You see, Del Rio, you have something I want. And we've already determined I have something you want." He turns his attention away from the monitor before laying out a rough kick at the man sprawled by his feet, Ricardo's groan cutting through all of them like a knife. "I've realized the WWE title isn't worthy of my time. I want the World title now. But there's always something in my way... and this time it just happens to be you." He sneers at the camera. "So it's pretty simple right now. You forfeit your title to me and Ricardo here is returned to you, no harm done. Well, any more harm done, I should say. Simple enough, huh? It's all up to you- which means more to you, your best friend or your title? Of course, considering how there really are no friends in this business, I guess I just get to play with him for awhile longer..." He lifts the ring announcer up by the hair once more and they stare into his barely conscious eyes, Ryback wrenching back on his neck harshly.

Despite the pain he's visibly in, Ricardo coughs and reaches out towards the unmanned camera that the brutal competitor had forced out of the arena earlier in the day just for this, straining out a breath. "El Patron," he beseeches weakly. "Don't... not worth it..." He's barely spat that out when Ryback roughly snaps his face against the base of the camera, his body sinking limply to the floor once more afterwards.

"PERRO!" Alberto screams at the monitor, his eyes wild and frenzied as he grips the sides of the monitor, staring desperately into it as if doing so would help him garner where his best friend is at.

Ryback grins, almost looking like he can see Del Rio, Mike and Alex's responses to the brutality, his eyes aflame with ruthless pleasure. "You know what you gotta do, Del Rio. I'll be seein' you." The screen goes black and Alberto screams out an angry, senseless roar before grabbing the monitor and slamming it into the wall, chest heaving as Mike grabs Alex and, pressing down on his neck, tries to shield their faces from the scattered glass and small pieces of technology that fly all over from the force of the Mexican's destruction.

After a moment of strained silence, they hesitantly look up. "Are you ok?" Mike whispers, examining Alex as he nods. "Good. Come on." Standing, they approach the still desperately fuming Del Rio. "Alberto-" He tries to push past them, going to... do who-knows-what, when Mike grabs him by the arm, stopping him.

"Let go of me," he snarls, trying to wrench free but unable to as the stubborn man grips him harder, staring at him. "Miz," he hisses, spitting out strangled Spanish until he falls quiet, his eyes falling to the ground once more. "I need to find him, and I can't do that in this building. Let me go."

Instead, Mike holds onto him tighter and shakes his head. "No, I'm not. You're already throwing crap around, destroying TVs and risking all of our safety. You need to think. Acting impulsively won't help Ricardo at all." When Alberto stares at him warningly, he breathes. "We need to take it slowly, yeah? He's strong, he'll make it through this, but the more carefully we think through this situation, the sooner he'll be safe."

When Del Rio slumps, all fight leaving him abruptly, Miz is so startled that he almost loosens his hold on him completely, not expecting just how small the Mexican aristocrat seems all of a sudden. "He is mi mejor amigo," he breathes, staring down at his nearly forgotten title. "He has already... been through so much..."

Mike really doesn't like the sound of that, Del Rio seeming uncharacteristically defeated. "Hey- hey-"

"I have to..." He struggles to free himself from Mike again, but the former WWE champion is tenacious, holding onto him. "Let me go!"

"No. What are you going to do?" Mike asks, dangerously quiet. "Tell me that and I'll decide if I'm going to let you leave this room or not."

Alberto huffs and hisses, glowering down at the other man until Alex thinks he might have to intercede before Mike gets himself hurt, but finally the Mexican aristocrat slumps and looks away. "Mi mejor amigo means more to me than this title, I have done a poor job of taking care of him in the past, but I refuse... I refuse to allow despicable people such as Ryback to harm him any further. I can always win the title back, but I would never forgive myself if Ricardo is seriously injured again because of me."

Mike swallows, floored by this admission, his grip starting to slip on Alberto's shoulders as he takes in the sincere pain in the older man's eyes. He shakes his head slowly. "Wait, wait-"

"You can't do that," Alex says, his voice startling both men. As they stare at him in varying degrees of shock, he smiles wanly. "You can't give up your title because of him, Alberto. Admittedly I've never been in a situation entirely similar to Ricardo's, but I think I understand how he would feel. He would never forgive himself if you sacrificed the title you've wanted so badly for his well-being." He's staring at Mike, the sacrifice Mike had made to try to get him onto Smackdown and how it had worked against the both of them replaying in both of their minds.

Alberto grimaces, his lips trembling. "What am I to do then?"

Alex grins, eyes flashing. "Leave that to us." Mike blinks, uncertain what he could possibly have thought up in that short amount of time, hoping that it's a decent plan to quail Del Rio's temper...

Mike sits at the commentary desk for Main Event, watching with baited breath. He knows that Alex Riley is nearby, watching from backstage. "I hope this works," he mumbles.

"Me too," Alex breathes into the headset he'd borrowed from gorilla that would allow him to talk to Mike during the show. The first match ending, he turns and motions to Del Rio, who merely glares back at him before his theme song is cued up, Alberto's walk tense and purposeful as he makes his way to the ring.

"Ryback," he barks into the mic that he's taken from the ringside tech, turning to stare at the titantron. "Ryback! Can you hear me?"

The screen flickers, then flashes with artificial light as the leering face of the monster appears, kneeling down awkwardly so that the camera has to be pointed downwards just to get his face. "What do you want, Del Rio? Have you figured out how you're going to forfeit your title to me? Hmm?" Before he can answer, Ryback pulls something upwards and Mike closes his eyes, swallowing painfully as Ricardo's face, tight with pain and covered in more bruises than before, appears, large fingers tangled in his short hair forcing him to look into the camera.

"El Patron," he winces, scrabbling against his unbreakable hold. "Do- don't..."

"What have I said to you?!" Ryback roars, slamming his jaw into the base of the camera yet again. "Shut up!"

Alberto growls warningly, eyes flashing hotly as he watches Ricardo take more damage. "Leave him alone, perro!" he cries, fingers so tight around the base of the microphone that everyone thinks it may crack. "I will give you what you want, in a wrestling match on Friday Night Smackdown!"

Mike watches closely, Josh tense next to him, as Ryback mulls this over, once more lifting the ring announcer so his glazed eyes can peer into the screen, the dull gleam in them burnt into all of their memories as they watch, unsettled. "You better uphold your end of the bargain," he warns quietly. "Or this... will seem like nothing, once I'm through with him."

Abruptly dropping the nearly unconscious young man once more, Ryback leans over and the screen goes dark as Mike releases a pained breath, watching Alberto pace back and forth in aggravation before looking his way once more, then leaving the ring. He can only imagine the discussion Alberto and Alex are having backstage, feeling bad for his protege before forcing his attention back on his job for the evening.

As soon as Main Event is over, he runs backstage and finds Alex cornered in a locker room by Del Rio, the Mexican aristocrat shaking his title in the younger man's face. "This better work or I will get you fired, do you understand me?!" he screams, clearly losing it.

Mike quickly cuts in between the two men, glaring at Del Rio. "Back off!" he yells at him, pushing Alex behind him protectively. "He's doing the best he can, as we all are! You screaming at him isn't doing any of us any good, much less Ricardo!"

This mention of his best friend sends Alberto stumbling backwards as if struck, his title slipping from now weak fingers, pouring along the floor at their feet. "No," he chokes out. "No, mi amigo... mi mejor amigo... Did you see his eyes? He- he's so... he's so..." Dark eyes glittering with tears, he sinks down next to his title, punching the floor. "Por que... always him..." He looks up at the two men. "They always target him. Why?"

Mike releases a pained breath of his own and kneels down next to him, suddenly feeling bad for the Mexican. "Because they know he'll do anything for you, and vice versa. In this business, friends can... can be our greatest strengths and... our worst weaknesses..." He sighs, shaking his head. "But it'd be pointless without them, right?"

Del Rio scrubs at his face, nodding slowly. "Si, of course. You're right. It would be." He smiles wanly. "Three years with Ricardo by my side... I can't imagine..."

"And you won't have to," Mike tells him, no lack of certainty in his voice. "After Friday, everything will be ok again. Alex and I will make sure of it. We just all have to do our parts. Right?" Alberto's nod is only a slight comfort to the two men, both aware of how easily their plans could go south.

Tension is beyond palpable on Friday, Alberto unable to sit down, much less talk to either of them. All he can do is pace left to right, backwards and forwards in the locker room granted to the World Heavyweight Champion, one that used to house both him and Ricardo, but has, for this week, held Del Rio, Mike and Alex as they conspired and weighed all of the options for tonight.

Mike and Alex stare at each other, whispering over the last bit of the plan, pondering over the few unanswered questions they still have. Mike had sweet talked once of the female techs, getting a floor plan of the arena from her, relieved to see the locker rooms and other rooms taken by trainers, merchandise, production, and everyone else marked off clearly. It still leaves a great many rooms empty and unaccounted for, not to mention if Ricardo wasn't being held somewhere in the building, but Mike has a gut feeling that if Ryback wants to see this through, his interest in the ring announcer only lasting as long as it takes for him to get the title, he'd keep the man nearby so that Del Rio and he could complete this so-called 'exchange' and be done with it as fast as possible.

"What do you think?" Alex asks lowly, both glancing uncertainly towards the Mexican aristocrat who's still lost in his own world, eyes locked on the title held tightly in his arms. Depending on how the evening wraps up, he could very well be saying goodbye to the item, or risk losing his ring announcer forever.

"I think it's a start," Mike forces out through painfully dry lips, stopping long enough to take a sip of water. "The show's starting." It doesn't need said, the whole arena vibrating with Smackdown's opening theme, but he always feels better when he's talking, even- or especially, depending on the circumstances- if it makes everyone else feel worse.

Alberto stops abruptly, his eyes staring at the ceiling, before he leaves the room, walking towards the gorilla. Mike swallows as his theme hits again a few minutes later, sharing a startled glance with Alex. They've just arrived at the curtain as he spits into the microphone, "Ryback, get out here now, perro! I will not delay this any longer, I want mi mejor amigo back now! Show yourself, you coward." His accent is almost painfully thick.

It's only Mike's quick thinking that keeps them from getting caught by the much larger superstar as he comes storming towards the ring, face held in tense anger, grabbing Alex by the collar of his blue shirt and dragging him behind the curtains. They wait patiently, breathing heavily, as his music kicks in and he walks out to the ramp, laughter grating and horrible. "Del Rio, impatient, are we? Well, maybe I'm not interested in putting you and that ring announcer of yours out of your misery this soon..."

"I don't care!" he yells, voice cracking slightly in his turmoil. "If you want this," he holds the title belt up, "then you will make your way down to this ring right now and we will resolve this. Or I will go up there and make you."

Ryback shakes his head. "You still can't admit you have no control over this situation, huh? Well, unfortunately your ring announcer will be the one paying the price for it-" He's just turned to leave, dropping the mic on the steel, when Alberto takes action.

"No!" He slips out of the ring and runs as quickly as he can up the ramp. "Stop right there, perro! If you really wanted this belt so badly, you'd take it at first opportunity. This is what I'm offering to you- right at the start of the show, you leave here champion after a match. I get my best friend back. What more could you possibly ask for?"

Ryback does stop at this, turning to glare at Del Rio, considering his words. "He is an annoying little bastard, constantly rambling and crying in Spanish... The sooner I get rid of him, the better... Fine, you know what? You have a deal. But one more thing," he says, walking up to Alberto and staring him in the eye, sneering. "When I tell you to lay down... you do it, no questions asked. Understand?"

Del Rio grinds his teeth before nodding painfully. "Whatever." He stands aside and waits for Ryback to walk to the ring, unwilling to turn his back on his opponent, swallowing as he looks back towards the curtains where Mike and Alex are waiting, just visible in the folds of the fabric. They nod at him reassuringly before disappearing, and he turns to walk towards the ring, hoping, praying that everything goes well with Alex's plan.

"We don't have long," Mike says tensely. "Here, let's see..." They spread the map of the arena out between them once more, Mike gnawing at his lip as he circles each unmarked room. "Go left," he finally says, fed up with the unhelpful floorplan. "I'll go right. We'll meet in the middle, and take it from there. If you find anything, call me or I'll call you if I find anything."

Alex nods and quickly walks off, Mike going in the opposite direction. He's looked into what feels like a dozen empty rooms, looking through them all as quickly as he can, when he hears an arena worker talking with one of the WWE techs.

"The skybox area is locked, yes. We don't know why, the lock does stick sometimes so we've called in a locksmith, it's just going to take some time. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, no one booked those rooms tonight... it's just that our catering staff wanted to use the freezer back there for their supplies, but we made do."

A chill rushes down Mike's spine and he eyes them for a moment before grabbing his phone, running back in the direction he'd come while struggling to hit the right speed dial. "Alex," he snaps as soon as the phone stops ringing, not even waiting for Alex to say anything. "Meet me back at the skybox entrances. I think I know where Ricardo's at."

Alberto wheezes as Ryback holds him in a tense bearhug, shaking him so hard that it feels like his very spine is rattling. Struggling not to give in or pass out, he leans back and slams his arms into his head repeatedly until Ryback releases him, dazed. They stagger away from each other before Del Rio lunges forward and kicks him roughly in the chest, glancing towards the crowd. He had paid twice the ticket price to one of the front row audience members, making his brother sit there instead. Memo Montenegro had flown in just to assist him, Del Rio overly relieved to have a brother who's willing to drop everything and help him however he can in this moment. But Memo shakes his head quietly at him and he grunts, turning his attention back to a struggling Ryback.

His attempt at kicking him in the skull is thwarted as Ryback clotheslines him almost out of his boots and he lays on the mat, groaning. Ricardo... hang on... por favor, mi amigo. Alex and Mike will find you soon... I hope...

Mike turns as Alex races up to him, almost running headlong into the doors in his haste. "He's in the skyboxes?!" he demands, panting. His confusion only grows when his former mentor shakes his head solemnly. "No? Then why are we here?"

Mike closes his eyes. "Not the skybox," he chokes out. "Somewhere much worse..." He looks at Alex. "I heard there's a freezer in the skybox area for the catering people. I think... knowing Ryback... he probably threw Ricardo in there. Who knows how long he's been in there, but we have to get him out. Now."

Alex grimaces. "And the door is stuck?"

"Yeah." Miz rests a hand on it, almost imagining a chill coming from the room, although he knows it's impossible. "We have to do something..."

"And we will." Alex drags Mike back with him, staring at the door with a cold determination in his eyes. "On three, we ram it." Mike gapes at him, impressed and relieved that he's taking charge of this mess. "Alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, let's do it." They both take breaths, Alex counting to three, before taking a run at it, slamming their shoulders against the solid barrier. Mike grunts as he stumbles back, Alex looking as unsettled as he feels. "Ow," is all he allows himself to say, now more determined than ever to see Ricardo free. "Come on, let's do it again." This time, Mike counts and they take it at another run, feeling somewhat better when it curves under their combined weight, the hinges groaning.

Alex kicks at it a time or two, making it bend even more, when Mike shoulderchecks it a third time, sending it crashing mostly inwards. "Finally," he mutters, both of them uncomfortably aware of how quickly time is ticking through their fingers. Whenever Ryback gets tired of wrestling Del Rio and orders him to concede, the Mexican aristocrat may be tempted to do so, unaware of how close they probably are to finding Ricardo, and all that they've attempted here would be for naught. Together they kick the door the rest of the way down, Mike rushing into the hallway, Alex close behind him.

"Alright, let's see. This way," he says after another quick scan of the floorplan, speeding down the hall and skidding to a stop at the end, taking a sharp right. It's obvious when they're close, the air gaining a chill that now's not a trick of Mike's overworked imagination. But when they arrive at the freezer, the door's stuck too and Mike and Alex stare at each other in horror, Mike's blue eyes finding a lockpad off to the side, a red light lit up refusing them entrance. "No, no," he mumbles. "Ricardo! RICARDO!"

Forgetting Del Rio's title hanging in the balance, he bangs on the door as hard as he can, at least needing the ring announcer to know that they're trying to get to him. He's being so loud that neither of them notice as soft footsteps walk hesitantly up to them, someone watching on in shock for a few moments. "Excuse me, let me help," the arena worker Mike had seen earlier finally cuts in, wide eyed as she inches warily past Mike, pressing in a series of numbers that eventually causes the light to flash green, allowing entrance to the room. As soon as she opens the door, he pushes past her and enters the ice encrusted room, looking around wildly.

Ricardo's dark tux, even coated in ice, is easy to spot in the gleaming shards, and Mike releases a shuddering, tearful breath as he rushes over to the crumpled up young man, scooping his upper body off of the ground and holding him close, immediately overwhelmed by just how cold and still he is. "Ricardo, hey, hey," he pleads, wondering if in the end, he'd failed Del Rio after all. If this was why Ryback at first was so against having the title match right at that moment, knowing that he shouldn't leave Ricardo in here for so long... How Alberto would feel if he learns that pushing for the match to happen right then had possibly led to... "No," he groans, holding Ricardo's face against his neck to try to protect him from the gusts of cold air. "C'mon, man. C'mon."

Alex joins them, dropping a blanket that he'd gotten from... Mike's not sure where, across Ricardo's shoulders, bundling he and Mike together, which is fine. Mike continues to mutter Ricardo's name, trying to brush his hair out of his eyes. "The worker's getting the temperature back up," he tells Mike. "She doesn't want to raise it too quickly and risk throwing him into shock, but..." He swallows harshly, taking in the terror in Miz's eyes, how still the ring announcer is. He stops talking and rests his hand on the back of Ricardo's head, brushing some of the ice out of the dark strands of his hair.

They're still sitting there when there's a soft mutter, a faint shift between them. "El Patron," Ricardo struggles to say, his lips chapped and trembling with the cold. "El- El Patron..."

Miz stares ahead blankly, almost not believing what he'd heard. He pulls away slightly and looks down to see the ring announcer's dark eyes fluttering open against his collar, body shuddering with a silent sob as a surge of hope overwhelms him. "Ricardo," he whispers back.

"Miz," he breathes out, Mike suddenly feeling like he can breathe again as he buries his fingers in Ricardo's hair and shakes his head, laughing brokenly against his scalp.

Remembering with a sharp realization that he has to finish what they and Del Rio had agreed upon, he looks up at Alex. "Call Memo, Alex. It's time."

Alex nods and goes off to do this, hands trembling almost hard enough that he can't find the right name in his contact list.

Alberto knows that the end has to be near, his distraction has caused him to take a great amount of punishment from the larger man, but he hasn't been able to keep himself from checking his brother now and again, looking for a sign, any sort of hint that his ring announcer is safe. He wants to fight, the very thought of leaving without his title belt making him feel weak and disgusted, but Ricardo needs to be kept safe, needs rescued, and... titles are regainable. A loyalty and friendship like Ricardo's, however, is irreplaceable, the man staying by his side through thick and thin.

He swallows, once more thinking of the glassy look of pain in his eyes on those videos he had watched and relived almost nightly since Ricardo had been taken, trying to remind himself what exactly he's doing this for, when he looks up to find a dark look of accomplishment in Ryback's eyes as he struggles to his feet, barely able to stand after another meathook clothesline. "It's time," Ryback tells him with an evil sneer. "Forfeit. Now. I want to hear you say those words before I feel that title placed in my hands."

Del Rio's just opened his mouth to say those dreaded words when his tired eyes skitter to the left. Spots something- his brother holding up a sign- and he immediately stands up straighter, realizing. SAFE,it says in bright, large green letters, telling him that his ring announcer is fine, Miz and Alex had come through and- it's his turn to sneer as he looks back at Ryback. "NEVER!" he spits before lunging forward and kicking him solidly in the skull, sending him down to his knee.

Ryback has no time to figure out what's going on as Alberto lays a deluge of kicks upon him that makes what he did to Ziggler look like child's play, barely taking a second to even breathe between each attack until he finally kicks him so viciously that his skull snaps to the side, the large man slumping bonelessly to the mat. Del Rio, not wanting to waste any more time on this man, drops immediately to his knees before curving him up into a pin, viciously grinning as he holds the title belt up afterwards, nodding thankfully towards his brother before his mind turns to other business. He quickly dives out of the ring and takes the ramp at a run as his title belt slaps against his side, needing to see his best friend for himself.

Mike still holds onto Ricardo, the freezer close to room temperature now, as he listens to him breathe against him, mumbling about Del Rio and the title belt, Ryback and everything in between. "It's ok," he soothes him. "Del Rio's gonna be fine. I promise, man. Just relax." He's shivering so hard that Miz isn't sure how any legible words are making their way from his lips, but somehow he accomplishes it, and it hurts to listen to his painful pleads for his El Patron to not sacrifice his title reign for him.

Mike is barely aware of anything around them until dark, shiny boots appear by his side and he looks up to find Del Rio staring down at them, worry and anger warring on his face. "Move," he orders tensely, quickly taking his place by Ricardo and drawing the younger man closer to him, murmuring to him soothingly in Spanish, match-warm fingers brushing through his hair.

Ricardo blinks a time or two, shaking his head. "El Patron? You're here?" His face crumples when Del Rio nods, frowning. "Por favor, your title- please, you didn't sacrifice your title for-" He abruptly quiets when Alberto presses a gentle hand to his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking down at his lap, where the straps of the title is sprawled across, a broken sob immediately bursting out of his mouth. "You didn't lose it because of me..."

"Thanks to Miz and Riley, no, mi amigo. Nothing was lost today."

Ricardo shudders and relaxes against his employer, looking like he wants nothing more than to fall asleep. "I'm so cold," he mumbles when Del Rio nudges him carefully, trying to keep him awake.

Alberto adjusts the forgotten blanket around him more securely before holding him closer. "I know, I know. We'll get you warm, I promise, mi amigo."

Alex returns then, taking a breath as the still somewhat chilled air brushes over his skin. They had considered moving Ricardo but since his going into shock remained a worry, they had ultimately decided to leave him where he sat until the trainer could see him. "He's right behind me," he offers when Mike and Del Rio look up at him, both releasing a soft breath of relief. He kneels down by Ricardo and pats his arm. "We'll have you outta here soon, man."

Ricardo nods slowly, eyes fluttering. "Gr- gracias, Alex."

As soon as the trainer arrives, Mike stands and joins A-Ri to give the man some space to examine the poor ring announcer, considering Del Rio refuses to move from his best friend's side. "It's my turn to have an idea," he tells his former NXT rookie, lips twitching slightly as he glances sympathetically towards the two men on the floor. "Come with me, this might take some fast talking."

Alex frowns as he follows him out of the freezer, Miz shuddering in relief as warmer air brushes down his shoulders. "You have me worried now, Mike."

Ricardo sleeps hard that night when they get him to the hotel, barely stirring as they pile blankets on top of him, trying to knock out the chill that makes him shiver in his sleep hard enough to rattle the bed frame against the wall. It seems to help but not enough, his eyes fluttering when Alberto carefully wakes him up for their flight away from the horrible memories this town now contains for all of them. He groans and shudders as Del Rio tugs a soft sweater over his head, rubbing at his arms. "I'll be glad to see Flo- Florida," he mumbles tiredly. "Sitting in the sun for awhile..."

Alberto smiles down at him and pulls him closer. "Si," he says in an odd tone of voice. "The sun will be nice, mi amigo." Thankfully, the ring announcer is still so out of it, that he doesn't notice his best friend's response or anything else as they drive to the airport and prepare to board, falling asleep once more as soon as he's settled in the window seat that Del Rio had requested to keep him close to the beams of sun pouring in, bundled up in a thankfully soft blanket provided by one of the flight attendants.

He does notice, however, when he's walking towards the car lot, Del Rio's hand secure on his shoulder, and familiar voices are murmuring around him. But when he realizes one is Alex, he figures they just happened to be on the same flight, deciding not to think any more about it. As he slumps down in the backseat, Alberto helping him sprawl out before wrapping another blanket around him, he looks up in confusion. "El Patron?"

"Si, amigo? Are you alright? We'll be at our destination soon, and you can lay down and sleep in peace." He smiles, hand warm on the other man's ankle, and Ricardo loathes the thought of being alone while Alberto drives them home.

"Why am I so tired?" he murmurs. "I keep sleeping, and it's just... not helping..."

Face softening, Del Rio shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, mi amigo. I imagine it wasn't easy, sleeping while Ryback held you... I am sorry I couldn't rescue you sooner. It's no wonder you're so exhausted. I've notified WWE, we're getting a few days off, so you have all the time you need to regroup and rest. Everything will be fine."

He blinks slowly up at his employer, lips parting in some surprise. "Oh... Alright," he finally murmurs. "Gracias, El Patron." As the older man pats his leg once more before heading for the driver's seat, he leans back and stares at the unfamiliar red interior of the car, wondering why Del Rio felt the need to rent a car just to drive home.

He doesn't remember leaving the car, or how he got into bed afterwards, or anything in between, and even worse he doesn't recognize the room he wakes up in much later, everything half-lit as the sun is now on the other side of the building. He raises his eyebrows and frowns, squirming around under the sheets and blankets. "Where am I?" he mutters, glancing around. There's a second bed across from him, untouched, and he grows more fearful, this not home nor like any hotel he'd ever been in.

He's about to completely lose it, thinking perhaps Ryback has him again- or the rescue had just been an elaborate dream-, when the door clicks open, Alberto entering the room. Their eyes lock and he gasps out a painful breath, sitting up in a hurry as the sheets fall around his waist. "El Patron," he mutters, rubbing at his face. "Where are we? I don't... recognize anything? I thought we were going home."

Alberto grins, moving quickly to sit next to him, shifting the sheets so they're not quite as smothering. "Si, amigo, in a way, we did." He doesn't specify any further than that, Ricardo grimacing in displeasure before his employer nudges him. "I believe someone mentioned wanting to sit in the sun to get warm. What do you say we give it a try?"

"Alright," he says hesitantly, still unsure what the other man is keeping from him. He wants to ask but before he can figure out how best to word it, Del Rio's up and digging through his bag. "El Patron..."

"I'll find you something comfortable to wear on the beach, mi amigo," he says with the same kind of overly helpful, guilt-based energy he'd had after Ricardo's ankle had been broken by Swagger. "The next room over is the bathroom if you want to wash your face before we go."

His questions remain unanswered, the amount of which only grow when he takes a minute to snoop around just to realize they're in a disappointingly empty apartment. He doesn't have time to look for any other clues why they're here, or what's going on, worried that Alberto will find him and either be offended or annoyed that he's trying to ruin... whatever Del Rio is doing, finally ducking into the bathroom before his own guilt and paranoia that he'll be caught could get the best of him.

When they leave a few minutes later, he's dressed in a soft white shirt and shorts, flipflops protecting his feet from the sun-toasted ground, frowning as they walk down a hallway quietly, Alberto leading him to a flight of stairs. He blinks at them, glancing over at his employer. El Patron in a place without an elevator, will wonders ever cease, he can't help but think as they walk side by side down to the main floor, Alberto holding the door for him. He blinks, dazed, when the sun greets him, warm and comforting in the bright blue sky. His suspicions grow as he glances around, something about this place resonating with him in a way that Florida hasn't in the years he's lived there, but Alberto says nothing, only smiling in that calculating way of his as they walk away from the apartment and head for the beach just visible from the front door.

It hits him as soon as he steps onto the beach, his mouth slacking open as he takes in the distinctly familiar beach, shaking his head. "This... this isn't Tampa," he says needlessly, having deduced that nearly ten minutes earlier. "It's... it's Los Angeles."

"Si!" Del Rio says with a grin, wrapping a warm arm around his best friend's shoulders. "This was Miz's idea," he admits lowly, drawing him up the beach. "We worked it out as you slept, and here we are. Are you happy?"

Ricardo's eyes gleam as he takes in one of the beaches he used to frequent before moving to Florida to work with Del Rio in WWE, so many nice memories he'd had here replaying in his mind. "Si," he nods. "Very." It takes him a few minutes to grow curious again, glancing back towards the apartment building they'd left behind. "So whose apartment is that?"

"John Morrison's." Alberto draws him further up the beach, pointing out a group of chairs waiting for them. "Those three are around here somewhere, I suppose."

Ricardo tilts his head. "Miz and Alex are here too then?"

"Hey, look who woke up," Mike's voice cuts into their conversation, he and Alex joining them, wet and grinning as they claim two of the chairs. "Yeah, we're here and John... I think John got lost in the surf, but he should be by soon. So welcome to what Morrison likes to claim as his beach."

"I do not claim it as any such thing," the huffy voice of John Morrison cuts into their conversation as he joins them, hair held back in a tight ponytail. "Hey, Ricardo. Del Rio."

"Hola," Ricardo greets him with a faint smile, Alberto nodding vaguely next to him.

"We were going to all hole up at my house, but with John's apartment so close to the beach, we thought that might be easier for you, considering everything," Mike tells him with a faint smile. "And, hey, look, sun, sand, surf, whatever you want, barely a two minute walk from the front door. Nice, huh?"

"Which I'm sure is the key reason why he always finds a reason to come stop at my place instead of going to his own the rare time he's actually in California."

As they continue bickering, Alex grins and shakes his head, looking over at Ricardo. "Bet you're really glad you ended up here now, huh? Don't worry, they'll grow bored of bitching eventually."

The ring announcer only grins, enjoying all of it- the days he'd spent held captive by Ryback had been so quiet, frightening, and uncomfortable, that he can't find anything to complain about, even Del Rio keeping his comments to himself as he lounges back in a chair and rests sunglasses on his face, intending to relax no matter what the other three men are doing. He's just happy to be surrounded by his closest friends, in Los Angeles no less, with a couple of days to show Alberto around his first home before they return to the WWE. Ricardo sighs and smiles. "Gracias," he says to the group of men as a whole, teeth flashing when Morrison and Miz finally shut up, turning to look at him. "For everything you've all done for me the past week. I don't know how I'm going to repay you all."

Alberto leans over to squeeze his shoulder, the others murmuring you're welcomes and no problems. "Don't worry about such things, mi amigo. It was our pleasure," he tells him simply. "Now what do you say we all stop arguing like schoolchildren and enjoy this lovely weather?"

"Yeah, John, take the hint," Mike teases his former tag team partner, laughing when John rolls his eyes at him.

"That was all on you, Mike," he volleys back, but the two men do fall silent then, content to lay back and soak in the rays alongside their friends, relaxed and beyond thankful to be safe, secure and warm under the steady gleam of the California sun finally.