Open Your Eyes: Loss
Alberto sprawls outside of the ring, his title belt now gone, surrounded by trainers and Ricardo, who are all worried about the status of his knee, his ankle. He had fought so hard, but the fresh Dolph had been too much for him, hitting a zigzag and taking the belt while his ring announcer stared on, numb and in disbelief. It had all slipped through their fingers so quickly, it had all gone so wrong.
Alberto alternates between reaching for his knee and reaching for Ricardo, who is right there, always right there, gripping his hands and staring at him in terror. He'd always hated to see him hurt, but now, hurt and defeated, left with nothing but the knowledge that he'd lost his title belt... "El Patron," the ring announcer whispers, his voice wavering as Del Rio struggles against the pain, his spat words echoing the ring announcer's own from the week following his ankle injury. "Let them help," he continues, eyes welling with tears. "Por favor, El Patron-"
He finally gives in, never able to deny his ring announcer when he sounds like that, dropping back and hitting his head against the padded barricade wall, but Ricardo supports him, pressing his hands on either side of his face. "Ricardo," he finally chokes out, shakes his head against his palms. "Por que..." His weariness breaks the ring announcer and, not even caring about all of the audience members staring down at them, he leans closer and presses his forehead to Alberto's, trying to comfort him.
"Shhh, shhh, it's- it's going to be ok, El Patron," he chokes out, unable to fathom how quickly everything had changed. They'd been on top of the world barely twenty four hours ago, and now... now. He clings to his employer's hands, staring deeply into his eyes. "It'll... be ok. I'm, I'm here."
"Gracias," he whispers, closing his eyes as the trainer prods his knee once more. "Ay!" he bites his lip, struggling once more against the stab of fresh pain, the only thing keeping him from flailing being Ricardo's hands on him. He grunts as the trainer helps him stand a few moments later, referees picking up the slack in assisting him to walk forward, Ricardo hobbling along after them with one crutch, leaving his other hand free to touch Alberto's shoulder, offer even that little bit of comfort and support.
As his knee is worked on, iced, bandaged, Ricardo sits with him, holding his hand quietly, his sadness growing with each gasp and grunt of pain that Alberto makes. When he's finally allowed to leave, the ring announcer has no thought for his own discomfort stemming from his still healing ankle and helps him to the car, easing him onto the back seat and using a folded blanket to lift his leg up, try to reduce the swelling in his knee until they can get to the hotel and settle him for real with painkillers and ice until he falls asleep. Not a word is spoken as Ricardo drives for the first time since his ankle injury, fighting to focus on the road even as Alberto breathes painfully behind him, the abrupt loss of the night hanging between them like a physical presence.
A bellhop, thankfully, is nearby as they enter the hotel and helps Ricardo support Alberto when they hobble through the hotel lobby, even accompanying them to the elevator and up to their room, holding onto Alberto as Ricardo fumbles through blurry vision with the hotel key, his emotions welling to the surface yet again as some of the responsibility of getting Alberto into their room safely falls from his shoulders. Del Rio reaches out, resting his hand on top of the ring announcer's, and squeezes softly. "It's ok, Ricardo. It's ok." He sniffs and nods, the older man's voice grounding him, before he finally gets the card into the door, it flashing green to allow them entrance.
From there, he takes over for the wide eyed bellhop, curling his arm around Alberto's shoulders as he leads his employer into the hotel room. "I can take it from here," he tells the teenager. "Gracias." He makes a note to find out who he is before they leave and give him a decent tip for his assistance, when each step- each thought- isn't as painful, both of them exhausted and struggling through this loss. "Come, El Patron," he breathes, helping him the rest of the way over to the bed and settling him down in the plush sheets. He quickly pulls his bad leg up, cushioning it on one of the pillows, pausing for a moment as he remembers when Alberto had done the same for him and his ankle, shaking his head against a fresh wave of tears as his hands rest on his inflamed knee. "I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," he murmurs back, staring at his ring announcer tiredly. "Ricardo... stop," he beseeches as the younger man fusses more over his knee. "Come here, por favor." He holds his arms out to the miserable man, lips twitching painfully as he sniffs and walks over to him, resting on the edge of the bed. "Come here..." Ricardo scrubs at his face before burrowing into his embrace, digging his fingers into Alberto's shirt. "We're going to be ok. We will." He leans back as the ring announcer nods, kissing him on the nose before following it up with one to the lips, neither of them in any hurry to separate.
They lay like that for awhile, Del Rio's fingers resting in Ricardo's hair, idly stroking his forehead as they both try to accept the evening's horrible ending, how quickly and cruelly the title had been pulled from him, when the ring announcer pulls away, staring up at him tiredly. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight, El Patron?" he asks, eyes still gleaming with sadness and worry as he takes in the exhaustion in his employer's gaze.
"I don't know," he admits lowly, lips twitching slightly when, a moment later, the ring announcer nuzzles closer to him, wrapping his fingers around Alberto's. "That might help," he mumbles, turning to bury his face in his ring announcer's neck. "Don't let go."
"I won't," Ricardo promises, running the fingers of his free hand through the older man's hair. "Never." He smiles slightly when he feels his employer smile too, pressing a soft kiss to the ring announcer's throat before slowly relaxing, sleep eventually overwhelming the stubborn man. "There you go," he whispers, shifting their positions on the bed so they're both more comfortable. He sighs, closing his eyes as his fingers slow against Alberto's scalp. "You're right... Everything'll be ok, El Patron," he murmurs before giving completely into his own need for rest, smile still on his lips.
And it is, until Alberto wakes up to sun shining through the drapes, pulling him back to consciousness and he finds himself reaching out for someone's who not there- the bed is empty next to him, and he frowns, squinting around the room. "Ricardo?" No answer and his heart skips a beat. "Ricardo?!" He sits up hurriedly and looks around, it all crashing down around him: the ring announcer is gone somewhere, he's titleless, and his knee is tight and hot with pain. He struggles to breathe, think, and eventually spots his phone. Diving for the bedside table, he's just brushed it with his fingers when his knee spasms and he gasps, accidentally knocking the cell aside, sending it to the edge of the surface. It wavers there for a moment before crashing to the floor, even further out of his reach than before. "No, no, no," he mutters, needing to get his hands on the item, call Ricardo. "Por favor..."
His knee is still burning white hot pain but all he can think about is Ricardo, where he might've gone and why. The phone laying on the floor taunts him; he knows standing up while his knee feels like this is a bad idea, not needing to collapse and knock himself out while he needs to locate Ricardo, hear his voice once more, know that this isn't what he thinks it is. That JBL's disgusting words aren't somehow coming true. Not that he'd thought such things were possible, but he had never thought he could lose the title so suddenly either. He's already hanging off of the side of the bed just from trying to get the phone in the first place, and he inches closer to it, his knee stabbing pain up his leg with every movement, gasps of pain filling the air as he continues to struggle. He thinks he'll either grab it on the next movement or fall clear off of the bed when...
The door clicks from behind him and his breath stutters out of him as he freezes. He can see under the bed from this angle, watching as the wooden barrier just visible from here inches open, a black shoe entering first, followed by the sadly familiar grey ankle boot that his ring announcer had had to wear for the past few weeks. He's speechless, unable to do anything but watch as Ricardo walks further into the room, the moment it all registers with him clear as a bucket drops from his hands, tipping and scattering half of its contents- ice- across the floor. "El Patron!" the younger man cries out, everything, including his ankle, forgotten as he rushes around the bed faster than Del Rio's seen him move since that horrible night that Swagger had gotten his hands on him, skidding to his knees in front of his employer and gripping his shoulders, pulling him up until they're eye to eye. As soon as he sees that he's conscious, he shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes. "What happened?!" he demands, lips trembling while he works to get traction, push Alberto back up onto the bed.
Del Rio waits until he's settled once more against the pillows, watching as Ricardo gapes at him, scrambling to sit next to him on the bed. "I... woke up and you were gone," he mumbles, feeling weak and pathetic even as he sees the look on the ring announcer's face shift, become guilt-stricken. "I... I thought..." He shakes his head, the thoughts that had been running through his head seeming ridiculous and beyond pointless now, especially as he stares up into the younger man's eyes, feels his warmth against his side. "I don't know why, but... JBL's words... For an insane moment, all I could think was you were gone, and maybe... maybe he was right..."
Pain and guilt warring on the ring announcer's face, he cups Del Rio's jaw and shakes his head, rubbing circles in his skin. "Never, El Patron. I would never leave you. I just... I woke up and thought perhaps I should get fresh ice, for your knee, so you wouldn't be in pain when you woke up. I'm sorry, I considered waiting until you woke up so you wouldn't worry, I never thought-"
Alberto's heart sinks as he feels even worse for doubting the always loyal, unfailingly dependable young man staring back at him, and shakes his head. "No, no, you shouldn't be the one apologizing," he breathes out, grimacing. "I should be. Why I would ever consider, even for a second, that... I'm so, so sorry, Ricardo-" he's just said when the ring announcer leans forward, kissing him desperately, lingering until his apologetic mumbles fade into nothingness.
"It's ok, it's ok," he breathes, pulling back and cradling his employer's face, tears welling in his eyes. "El Patron, do you- remember when I was in the hospital following the brogue kick?" Alberto nods, visibly confused, and Ricardo sniffs. "That morning I woke up and you had gone to talk to Otunga- you came back and I was freaking out so badly that nurses were about to sedate me until you scared them off?" He smiles a little through the tears, stroking trembling fingers down the older man's jaw. "For awhile, I thought you left me there. I thought... I'd never see you again. I was, was in pain, and confused and..." He sighs, leaning in and catching him in another kiss, shorter this time but no less needy. "But you came back. And everything was ok again."
Alberto stares at him in compassion, slowly shaking his head. "Lo siento, Ricardo... I put you through so much, it's no surprise you thought that I was capable of doing that... But I don't understand- what that has to do with-"
"I've doubted you in the past as well," he whispers, eyes dark with sadness as he rests his head against his employer's, breath tickling against his throat. "So you thinking I left this morning, I don't... I don't need an apology from you, I understand what you were thinking, how it felt. I-"
"No, no," Alberto exclaims, shaking his head as he realizes why the younger man is being overly understanding, as usual. "The two situations are so different, Ricardo. They are," he insists when the ring announcer looks at him hesitantly. "In the hospital, you had every reason for thinking me capable of such things. We were... I was far from anything close to the friend you deserved in those days, much less more than that. Here, today, I thought so stupidly despite our having been in a relationship for almost seven months now. It is so disrespectful of the man you are, of what we have. I can't possibly apologize enough-" Ricardo once more cuts his apology off, kissing him slowly, softly... smiling against his lips as Del Rio clings to him, warring between enjoying this and growing annoyed that he can't even say I'm sorry without the ring announcer interrupting. "What was that for?" he mumbles once the ring announcer pulls back slightly, barely an inch of space between them as he stares at him, slightly dazed.
"It just humbles me that you still keep count of how long we've been together," he smiles, resting a hand on his employer's chest. "You haven't missed one month anniversary yet. And it's things like that," he explains softly, eyes locked with Alberto's, "that helps me put everything else in perspective, El Patron. Because even the man who unfailingly marks each passing month is entitled to being human sometimes. Especially after a horrible night like last night. Alright?" When Alberto nods, Ricardo smiles faintly, his fingers trailing circles in the older man's skin. "Alright. I have to go clean the ice up... but I'm only going to be right over there, si? I'm not going to leave your sight again, I swear."
Alberto nods and watches quietly as he scoots off of the bed and scoops up the ice, hurriedly getting rid of what had touched the floor in the bathroom sink before returning to the main room with a towel, setting the bucket on the table by the doors. He quickly packs together some ice into the soft fabric and returns to Alberto's side, pressing it against his knee after tossing aside the old icepack. "How's that feel?" he asks, adjusting the ice time and again, trying to make it sit perfectly against his skin to help ease the swelling and pain that remains.
"Fine," Del Rio whispers. As if not aware of what he'd just said, the ring announcer continues to shift it around, fussing endlessly as his employer watches him with a faint smile. "Ricardo- it feels fine as it is. Come up here, por favor?" He immediately loses interest in the ice pack, turning to find his employer watching him, arm reached out to him.
"Oh, si, El Patron," he breathes, scrambling up the bed and smiling as Alberto hooks his arm around him, dragging him down until he's laying next to him, curling up against his side and resting his head on his shoulder. "Are you sure the ice pack is ok? Maybe I should..."
"No, it's fine. Stay, por favor." When Ricardo gives in and nods, snuggling closer, Alberto sighs and trails his hand up and down the younger man's back. Although the loss of his title is stinging almost as painfully as his knee, Ricardo's warmth is steady against his side, his breath soft against his throat, fingers softly circling across his chest in time with Alberto's own touch, and, as he looks down at the younger man, he smiles, the rest becoming irrelevant, even if for just this moment.