Chapter Text
The cot in The Bear’s office was only meant to be used as a last resort.
It was Syd’s idea in the first place to buy a cheap, folding bed to keep in the corner of their small workroom. After she caught Natalie sleeping one too many times at her computer, waking up with indents on her cheek from the keyboard, Syd had put her foot down and firmly told Nat she was going to invest in one.
“Nat, at this rate, your baby is going to come out of the womb thinking you’ve been cursed with some kind of magical facial dysmorphic spell,” Syd joked, as she walked in on Nat once again trying to wipe the drool from her face and massage some feeling back into her red, indented cheeks.
Nat had stuck out her middle finger, calling her a “fucking mother hen”, though Syd could tell by her tone that it was said with the warmest of warmths. Even with Nat’s resistance, Syd couldn’t help but be smug – she had seen her use the investment at least once a week since the makeshift bed made its appearance in the office.
Syd, however, could never bring herself to use the thing. She could be self-aware enough, thank you very much, that the reason for her avoidance stemmed from not wanting to admit she was spending yet another night at the restaurant.
So - in avoiding the cot to feed her delusions that she was not a workaholic - she often catnapped in other random places in the restaurant. A quick snooze on one of the booths in the dining area or curling up under Marcus’ bakery station (which was surprisingly cozy) always seemed to do the trick, giving her tidbits of energy to get through long nights at The Bear.
Now though, as she slowly sits up to keep her head from swimming too much, she acknowledges that her avoidance streak of the lumpy bed has come to an end.
The first thing she realizes is that she’s alone in the room. She can hear some voices outside, but they’re muffled by the closed door and the ticking clock sitting on the desk by her bedside.
Her second thought is that she remembers everything from tonight. Carmy getting locked in the freezer. The almost-disastrous-if-it-wasn’t-for-Richie food service. Feeling shitty. Feeling more shitty. Throwing up again and again and again. Becoming so sick to a point that she was no longer coherent, and that three of some of the most important people in her life had borne witness to it. Somehow not recognizing Carmy, even as he was holding her, and her traitorous mouth spilling some very embarrassing words and feelings that she much would have preferred to keep in the far confines of her mind.
Syd continues to take in the room around her. She looks down at herself, realizing that though she still has her chef white pants on, someone had removed her sweat-stained and puke-ridden jacket, cleaned it, and hung it on the desk chair beside her, leaving her in a white tank top she thankfully had the foresight to put on two days ago. Syd feels lucky that the blush that dons her cheeks isn’t visible – she hopes Nat and not a certain someone who shall not be named was the culprit for the action.
As she moves to swing her legs off the bed and put her sock-cladden feet on the ground, some not-so-frozen peas and carrots slide onto the floor. As she takes stock of how she’s feeling, she realizes that the frozen veggies must have helped her beat the bug she had, her fever is definitely broken.
Looking to her right to the desk again, she takes in that it’s full of empty glasses and bowls. Some still have a bit of water and broth left in them. Putting her hand against her head, which is still lightly pounding from forcing herself to sit vertically, Syd is hit with bits and pieces of memories of someone waking her up at various points to keep her hydrated and to “Get something in your stomach, Syd”, followed by a tattooed hand helping her sit up to ingest the offering before she crashed out again. It’s kind of a hazy memory though, so Syd doesn’t think too hard on it. While she’s hungry, she’s not starving, and she’s thankful for the person’s foresight and intervention.
And that brings her to her last realization. That she’s gotta get the fuck out of here. Embarrassment and shame and a boat load of other emotions build up quickly, almost stealing the breath out of her. The nightmare she just woke up from sits heavy in her stomach, and she knows that after the last week she’s had - hell the last 24 hours - she is definitely on the verge of tears. Like a full breakdown and snot-fest, not pretty stuff. She’s never let anyone from the restaurant see her cry before, and it absolutely won’t be today. She won’t allow it.
Grabbing her jacket and feeling grateful for the weight of keys still in her pocket, she creeps over to the door, slowly pulling it open and peeking outside. She can see the worn-out and rusty back door a few feet away, so close within her reach. She’s already decided she’s not going to bother grabbing anything from her locker – Mission “Get The Hell Out Right Now” has officially begun and all her belongings are, unfortunately, collateral.
Looking to her left, she freezes. Carmy stands there in the kitchen, his back turned towards her. But, thank the Heavens and Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit and the Virgin Mary and all the Saints and I’ll throw one up for the good Dalai Lama as well and-, he seems to be invested in a phone call, waving his hands around and speaking animatedly.
Syd doesn’t waste any more time, taking this as her sign from the good Lord himself that her opportunity to escape is now. She hurriedly walks the distance to the back door, her eyes firmly on Carmy’s back, manifesting that he doesn’t turn around and spot her. Unfortunately, that also means she’s not looking where she’s going, and she doesn’t even get one foot out the door before she runs full-body into one fucking Richard Jerimovich.
“Oof-” Syd sputters, arms flailing as she starts to fall backwards, her body not strong enough yet to completely collide with another human being at full speed.
“Syd, yo! What the fuck?” Richie exclaims, grabbing onto her forearms to keep her steady and to prevent her ass from becoming one with the floor. She feels, rather than sees, Carmy’s head whip around towards her.
Syd read somewhere that there are thousands of religions and belief systems around the world. She thinks that every single founder and prophet, every leader and priest, every spiritual guide and teacher, must have it out her for. All of them praying for her downfall - it’s the only explanation for her shit luck.
Nat rounds the corner by Carmy, munching on some chips out of a bag. Seeing Syd causes her eyes to widen. Seeing Richie holding onto Syd prompts her to immediately put the bag down on the counter and hurry over to put a hand on her back.
“Syd, what are you doing up?” Nat’s eyes narrow as she takes in Syd’s position, her foot almost out the door. “Were you trying to leave? Without saying anything? You are so not good to be on your own right now, let alone wandering the streets of Chicago - don’t piss me off.”
Syd gulps at hearing Nat’s mom voice directed at her and quickly averts eye contact. In her peripheral vision, she sees Carmy quickly say something into the phone before he hangs up, rushing over to her as well. His proximity throws Syd fully off her already-spiraling axis and she can’t seem to make eye contact with him either.
Syd didn’t think this far ahead. She didn’t have the foresight while she sat on that stupid, lumpy cot to come up with excuses or to create some sort of believable story that would get her out of this tête-à-tête. She was banking on her ability to quietly slip out and deal with the fallout of this mess later. Or at least be able to collect the currency of time to allow her to rebuild her walls and get her guard back up so future-Syd would be able to deflect, deflect, deflect any further questions. Then, maybe, she wouldn’t have to have this conversation at all.
“Listen, thank you guys so much for taking care of me and letting me crash here, I really appreciate it,” Syd cooly says, straightening herself as best she can, frantically trying to come up with a half apology/half excuse while pulling her arms away from Richie. “I’m sorry I was a bit of a mess tonight; it wasn’t my intention to let a little bug get the best of me like that. But my fever’s broken and my dad is probably waiting for me to get home, so yeah good night-” Syd goes to move around Richie, who immediately blocks her way again. She glares at him.
“That’s bullshit, Syd,” Carmy states. Her eyes immediately fly to meet his for the first time in, well, a long time. His blue eyes stare intensely into hers, narrowing as she shifts her legs back and forth, her body language betraying her - a blatant admission of her guilt. Damn, he knows her tells. He pulls her phone out of his back pocket.
“Your phone was out. I saw your dad texted you to remind you that he was leaving town last night after Friends and Family for a work conference. Do you want to try again?” Richie nods his head, and Nat crosses her arms.
Syd wasn’t sure what happened in the time that she was sleeping (“passed out” seems like a dramatic term). But it seems as though all three Berzatto’s had come to some sort an understanding during her stint in the unconscious realm to team up against her, preventing her from glossing over this embarrassing day -- from giving her a chance to leave and figure out how to minimize and downplay her temporary case of fever-induced insanity. Even Richie and Carmy both seem to be on the same page.
A hostage situation, if you will, Syd thought darkly.
Carmy narrows his eyes at her silence and Syd somehow knows she won’t be able to slide any more lies or deflections past him. But in her, an anger stirs up. He couldn’t be this perceptive about her feelings and needs in the months leading up to this moment? When she’d needed him to be her partner, her support system – to be her friend? When he blew her off time and time again for his high school crush, leaving her to fend for herself and make decisions about his own dead brother’s restaurant?
The anger makes her a bit dizzy, and clearly it shows in her face. Immediately, three pairs of arms go to steady her.
“Alright, that’s it,” Carmy says firmly. “You need to come lie back down and rest some more.”
Fine. If deflecting won’t get her what she wants, maybe hurting some feelings will.
“Don’t tell me what to do, Carmen Berzatto,” Syd seethes, feeling astounded by his audaciousness. “I’m a grown woman, and I’m going home. Some of us actually had to work tonight, we can’t all afford to take time to laze around and go off on little holidays to the fucking Arctic. It must have been nice to cool off while some of us were out here melting, our asses being handed to us. But I guess promises about not letting each other fuck up doesn’t mean shit when things actually get a little bit tough in the heat of it all.”
While Carmy flinches a bit at her use of his full name, he seems mostly unfazed by the rest of her words. She’s immediately thrown back to a memory of the two of them apologizing to each other in the fallout with the preorders, resulting in her quitting and storming out of the restaurant. In her rambling apology the night she returned to pick up her final paycheck but instead discovered Cicero’s money hidden in the tomato cans, Syd had admitted to Carmy that she tended to wield anger as a last resort when she knew she was losing an argument. Messing up the preorders had left her feeling embarrassed and ashamed, and she had lashed out by calling Carmy an excellent chef but also a piece of shit.
Damn him once again for knowing her so well. She wishes she had never divulged that intimate piece of information about herself.
She feels the same levels of shame and mortification now as she did back then, resorting to her similar avoidance tactics to escape the heavy feelings sitting in her gut. She wants to get him to shut down, to shut her out so she can slip away like last time. But it looks like he was expecting this: even throwing his words and promises back into his face, the ones he had quietly and reverently spoken to her under the table, did not get the reaction that she wanted from him.
“Last night,” Carmy states calmly.
Syd feels momentarily thrown off, her brows furrowing.
“Last night what?” Syd fires back, feeling cagey but now more confused.
Richie clears his throat, clearly feeling a bit uncomfortable witnessing Syd and Carmy’s argument unfolding in front of their small group of four. “You passed out last night, Syd. It’s Saturday night, not Friday. You’ve been sleeping for around,” Richie checks his watch, “17 hours, give or take.”
Any anger Syd had grasped at immediately fizzles out. How could she let it get this bad? It wasn’t supposed to get this bad. Fuck. She’s so behind on her list. Syd is so stunned that she doesn’t even realize that Carmy had grabbed her once again around the waist (a feeling of déjà vu passing through her from the night before) and was leading her back to the office. She doesn’t argue this time – too in shock to protest.
As she sits back on the cot, she feels dazed. In her stupor, she makes out Carmy saying something quietly to Richie and Nat, all three furiously whispering back and forth. Normally, Syd would pipe up with an annoyed I’m right here people in response to being talked about right in front of her. Now, she feels too tired.
Nat comes over to her first, sitting on the bed beside her, grabbing Syd’s hands.
“Carmy’s pulling rank on me and he’s sending me home,” Nat tells her, annoyance lacing her tone. “He’s being a little bitch about it. Normally I’d tell him to fuck off and pull eldest sibling privileges so I can be the one to mother hen you to the ends of the earth, but I really think the two of you need to talk.”
Syd tightens her hold on Nat’s hands, panicked. Nat doesn’t let go, ducking to catch Syd’s eye so she can’t look away.
“I want you to know,” Nat continues, “that everyone here loves and cares about you. Especially me. I know you probably feel embarrassed about everything you said last night and that you never would have revealed some of those things if you weren’t so out of it, but I want you to know that I consider you as my sister already, Syd. I love you so much. You’re so smart and capable and talented and beautiful, and it kills me to see you take on so much to your breaking point. I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner to how much you were pushing yourself.”
Syd feels water pool in her eyes, looking to the ceiling so they don’t fall. Her words seem to escape her.
“New rule,” Nat says lovingly, pulling Syd into a warm embrace. “Mandatory dinner, once a week at my place. Pete cooks, you and I drink some wine, discuss things that are non-restaurant related, and talk shit about my brother. I’m putting it in your calendar.” Syd huffs out a laugh, her eyes drying, and nods into Nat’s shoulder. Nat gives her a squeeze before leaving the office.
Richie comes in next. It’s awkward for a few moments, but he then puts a hand on her shoulder.
“You good, cuz?” He asks, looking at her with more seriousness than Syd ever thought him capable of. Syd gives him a small smile at the nickname. “Good, because you really had us worried. Especially a certain short, blue-eyed jagoff - though a very remorseful one.” Syd’s eyes shift to said jagoff, who is frantically pacing in the kitchen, running his hands through his hair. Syd turns back to Richie.
“I just want you to know,” Richie continues, “that it takes a very special person to make two idiots come together to form a temporary truce less than 24 hours after the explosion of World War III. That’s all you, sweetheart. I know we started out rough, you and I, but I hope you know that you’re now family - I’d hate to see you ever find yourself this low again. And if you ever need me to whoop a certain someone’s ass, just say the word.” He softly cuffs her chin, prompting a giggle from her. She senses more than sees Carmy turn towards her at the sound, blue eyes piercing the side of her head.
Sensing Syd’s struggle to form words, Richie just gives Syd’s shoulder one last pat before he stands and leaves the office. She sees him and Carmy nod to one another.
She turns back to where Richie had just been sitting, entirely aware that Carmy’s gaze is now fully locked-in on her. Maybe if she stays still or if she can find a tree to climb somewhere, she’d be spared from the Bear’s attentions. She pulls her legs up so she can rest her arms and head on her knees, facing the wall.
She hears footsteps and feels the bed dip beside her.
“Syd,” Carmy whispers, tapping her arms, trying to get her to unfold her position and face him. Syd just shakes her head, tightening her arms around herself. She feels something ice cold touch her arm. Barely keeping in a yelp, she whips her head up to glare at him. His intense but sorrowful expression burns into her, like he’s trying to atone for every single sin he’s committed in his 26 years on Earth. He’s holding a glass of what looks like sparkling water.
“Drink. Please,” he insists, all but pushing the glass into her hands.
She huffs and snatches the cup. Sniffing it, she raises an eyebrow at him. She’s 99.9% sure they don’t keep any stock of Sprite in-house.
“Um,” Carmy mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s my own twist on Sprite. I wanted to create something with a similar taste but without the high fructose corn syrup and with a bit less sodium, because I know you said that it messes with your stomach.”
Syd downs the drink immediately in order to hide her surprise - she had mentioned that to Carmy months ago, amid one of her countless rambling monologues. And damn him again, if it isn’t delicious.
During her time at the Culinary Institute of America, Syd had done an assignment on Alfred Bird, a man who invented custard powder and the earliest form of baking soda for his wife who was allergic to yeast and eggs. Syd remembered wondering what it would feel like to be loved to the point of invention. She tries not to think of it now.
Carmy brings up his legs, criss-crossing them on the bed to fully face her. Syd’s pretty sure the cot wasn’t mean to hold this much weight as it creaks and sinks a bit in the middle, but Carmy doesn’t even seem to notice.
He grabs her right hand, and although she tenses and keeps it fairly limp, she doesn’t pull away.
“Sydney,” he states her name as if it’s a prayer. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even begin to express how sorry I am.”
Though Syd’s anger has dissolved, the disbelief and skepticism that she’s carried for the past three months still weighs heavily on her. She shakes her head and clears her throat, finally able to find the words she’s wanted to say for months.
“For what, Carm?” Her tone isn’t malicious, but it’s devoid of emotion. “For leaving me to deal with all the renos and decisions to completely tear down The Beef, and the constant guilt of wondering if I’m dishonouring your brother’s memory? For blowing me off for our Kasama palette cleanse and never telling me why? For discussing our menu with a girl who’s a friend, but not your girlfriend, and not me, your actual partner? For getting locked in the walk-in that I told you for weeks needed to get fixed, and you gaslit me into thinking you would actually call about it? For promising me that you wouldn’t let me melt and then leaving me alone the moment I needed you most during service? Feel free to stop me at any point by the way and let me know what you’re talking about and-“
“For all of it,” Carmy interrupts her, looking pained, akin to a kicked puppy. “And more. I haven’t been a good partner to you, Syd. I’ve known it for a while now, and I think I’ve just kept digging my head further into the sand each time I disappointed you so I wouldn’t have to face the reality of my actions.” He seems to draw more confidence in what he wants to say to her as he looks at her current state. Syd knows what she probably looks like right now – greasy, sweaty, dishevelled, tired…the list goes on. She goes to shrink in on herself, to hide from his gaze, but his hand grips hers more firmly and he doesn’t let her.
“Syd, I’m a hypocrite – a massive one,” Carmy states candidly, startling Syd with his honesty. “And a dick, and an idiot, and completely unworthy of you as my partner. Listening to you last night, as you talked about everything you felt was on your shoulders while you were burning up in my arms, and yet you were still worried about what needed to be done for the restaurant – it was a reality check I got but shouldn’t have needed.” Syd feels her cheeks heat up as he brings up the fact that she had indeed been cradled in his arms. She goes to interrupt him, but he pleadingly looks at her.
“Please, let me finish.” She pauses and nods her head. “I’ve been a huge hypocrite, Syd. I remember, back when we first started working together, I called you green, inexperienced – you brought it up last night. And yet you’re the one who here who actually has experience running her own catering business. And I’ve never accused Richie or Nat of being green in their jobs, even though they are. Richie’s completely new to front of the floor, and Nat’s only previous experience in project management was raising two brothers in an addict’s household. If anything, I’m the green one – I get into one situationship and suddenly, I can’t handle any kind of work-life balance and all my other relationships suffer because of it.”
Syd can’t help but interrupt. “I didn’t even know you knew what a situationship was,” she smirked, laughing a bit. Carmy’s whole face lights up as she giggles, and he punches her shoulder lightly. “And I don’t know if I should get any kind of creds for running Sheridan Road when we both know how it ended up crashing and burning.”
“Don’t do that,” Carmy says sternly, pulling both her hands into his. “Don’t diminish your accomplishments like that, Syd. The fact that you were even brave enough to try puts you 100 miles ahead of me any day. I’ve been a coward my whole life, avoiding Mikey because he didn’t want me here, staying in toxic and abusive kitchens because I was too scared to leave, running off with Claire to avoid my grief and issues. But I don’t want to be a coward anymore. Seeing you like that last night is something that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”
And Syd believes it. Even him recalling the memory puts a tormented look on his face, his eyes glazed over in distress. She can no longer help it, she returns the grip he has on her hands, squeezing them to bring him back to the present. When he re-focuses on her, he looks at her in awe, like she’s something to be treasured. Like her compassion has lifted a heavy burden off his shoulders, something that only she could provide him.
“And yet feverish, dehydrated, overworked, and tired, you were more worried about me, about my family,” Carmy gazes at her in wonder. “Syd, you are the most selfless person I have ever met in my life. The way you care about people runs so deep. If I thought Richie and Nat and all the others were protective of you before, I don’t think I’ll be able to come within five feet of you now. Hell, I don’t think I’ll be letting you out of my sight at any point for the foreseeable future.”
Syd feels shy, overwhelmed. She had always imagined that her partiality for the three Berzatto’s was mostly one-sided, a result of her longing for more family after growing up as an only child in a single-father household. Hearing that that kind of love was returned, and by all The Bear’s staff, by Carmy, warmed something in her, spreading throughout her entire body.
Carmy continues. “But I never want you to feel like your devotion to those around you is ever being taken advantage of, or that you have to work yourself to death in order to claim your spot here. And I’m going to work to make sure you know it, if you’ll let me, and maybe someday, I’ll actually feel worthy of you and your partnership.”
Carmy falls silent, and Syd regards him closely. He’s never been this open with her before, let alone spoken so much at one time. Carmy always tended to be more reserved, more held back in his use of words, like he could never find the right thing to say. But here, now, it’s like the dam has broken, and everything has just tumbled right out of him. As she takes him in, he doesn’t close off - he sits and bares his vulnerability in the open, waiting for her judgement, allowing her to see the truth and apology in his words. She never thought she would be permitted access to this side of her partner.
“If I feel I have to push myself to this point again, Carm, I’m going to have to walk,” Syd tells him. Carmy is already shaking his head, trying to refute the thought of this happening again, ever. “I’m serious. I-I scared myself tonight. Yesterday? Um, sorry, I’m still getting used to the fact that I’ve just been sleeping for the past 17 hours. The fact that I deteriorated so quickly, so publicly, and I couldn’t make myself stop and rest…I can’t harm myself to that point again. I couldn’t do something like that to my dad or have the rest of the staff see me get to that point. I wouldn’t want them to see me like that.”
Syd’s hands turn shaky. Carmy gathers them both up, brings them to his lips, and kisses them. Syd can’t even begin to fathom the gesture. She thinks back to what she just said and startles – the reality sinking in that she’s just been sleeping for the past 17 hours.
“Shit, Carm!” Syd hisses, pulling her hands away, throwing her legs off the cot again to stand up. “I’ve been asleep for WAY too long. Today was supposed to be my day to get all my shit together for tomorrow! My prep work- I was going to try to fix the laminator- I was supposed to call the wine shipment place and make sure they actually put in the Croft Vintage Ports this time- oh, I wanted to help take on the utilities bill payment for Nat and we should probably pay the freezer guy who got you out last night and-”
In her panic, she barely registers Carmy slowly walking up to her, a blanket in his arms. She’s gesturing wildly, listing off every single item on her to-do list and feeling sick to her stomach that she’d just wasted an entire day sitting on her ass. She doesn’t stop her rambling, even as Carmy comes to stand almost chest-to-chest with her to the point she can faintly smell him – a familiar scent of sweat mixed with aromatic herbs and spices, and a hint of cigarettes and coffee. Comforting, she thinks briefly.
“…and something’s been off with Ebra’s payroll that I wanted to check out too and- what are you doing?” Syd’s rant is cut off by Carmy reaching his arms around her, pulling a soft blanket around her shoulders, effectively pausing her ramblings, and confining her arms to prevent any more gesticulation. He holds the front of the blanket closed at her torso so that she’s completely encompassed in it, the gesture filled with care and protection, a silent promise of safety and affection. She blinks at how close they are.
“Syd,” he says kindly. “I’ve taken care of all of it.”
Syd gapes at him.
“Like I said, I’ve been an extremely shitty partner to you – your reaction now confirms it.” He pulls her little black book out of his pocket, opening it to her list of tasks for the weekend. Each one has been meticulously ticked off with a little blue checkmark.
“I was just finishing up the last call with the wine shipment company when you attempted to pull a Usain Bolt on us,” he says disapprovingly, holding onto the corners of the blanker a little bit tighter around her, as if she was going to try to escape again.
“Anyways, it’s all taken care of. Including getting some health insurance plans in the works for you and the rest of the team. Nat, Richie, and I argued for 20 minutes last night about taking you to the ER once we realized how dehydrated you were, but we knew you’d murder us for wracking up that kind of debt. Plus, Nat had been reading up on how to break kid’s fevers in preparation for the baby so she was sure we could handle nursing you back to health,” Carmy rambles, sounding sheepish. “Anyways, I got you. You can relax.”
Syd had promised herself when she first woke up that wasn’t going to cry. No sirree. But standing here now, in the presence of Carmy’s earnestness and sincerity, finally seeing her partner in front of her after months of missing him, she can’t stop the tears from streaming down her face, even if she tried. All these months of frustrations, of unending nightmares, anxieties, and stresses, they pour out of her in waves. Hearing the faint voice of her dad saying words can whisper promises, but it is our actions that shout the truth makes her cry even harder.
Carmy’s face crumbles in the face of her tears, and he gathers her into his arms, crushing her against him. Her face nestles into the crook of his neck. She tries to keep the audible levels of her crying to a minimum, but she knows that this close, he can feel her trembling body and hitching breaths. As Syd buries her face in Carmy’s shoulder, he whispers reassuring words, his presence a steadfast anchor amidst her storm of emotions.
“You could never be a lost cause, Syd,” he says, referring to her fever-spoken words from the previous night. He fluctuates between cupping the back of her head and rubbing circles on her back. “Not as my partner, not as my best friend. And I’m never going to be the one that puts you in a position where you feel the weight of the world all on your shoulders again. You’re going to be seeing so much of me, you’ll get sick of me.”
Syd snorts into his shoulder. She pulls back to look him in the face, and his right hand comes up to her cheek to wipe a stubborn tear away that sticks to her bottom lash.
“In the spirit of honesty and transparency,” Carmy continues, concentrating now on readjusting the blanket around her, “I stayed and sat with you a lot last night. Not in like a creepy way, but like making sure you were okay and getting, you know, fluids and water back in you. And I think you were going through some pretty gnarly nightmares – you were talking a lot in your sleep. Calling to your mom, calling to me.”
Sydney freezes, feeling her threshold for vulnerability tonight coming to a head. Carmy seems to sense the same thing.
“You don’t have to tell me about them,” Carmy rushes to tell her. “You know, I also get some fucked up nightmares. Some cause me to sleep-cook – like I’ve had to remove the batteries in my fire detector in my apartment it’s gotten so bad. So I don’t, like, want you to be embarrassed or anything because in a ‘who’s subconscious is more fucked up’ race, I’m definitely still the winner.”
“Didn’t realize it was a competition,” Syd retorts, smiling softly at his attempts to make her feel better and shift the attention away from her.
“It’s not! Sorry- no- I didn’t mean to make it-” Carmy cuts himself off as he makes eye contact with her, realizing she’s laughing at him.
“Fuck off, Syd.” He chuckles now too.
“Thank you for telling me,” Syd says more seriously, looking down at her feet. “I think, someday, I’d like to tell you about it. My nightmares. Maybe just not tonight?” Carmy nods in understanding.
Thinking about explaining to Carmy how her subconscious somehow tied her fear of being a disappointment to her dead mother to the fear of him being apathetic to her being crushed beneath the weight of the restaurant in a fiery blaze did not seem like a conversation she was ready for tonight. All she wanted was to curl back up in a ball and hibernate for the next ten months. She looks at the clock.
“Crazy that we have to be back here in less than 13 hours, huh?” Syd says, shifting the conversation back into neutral territory. Carmy looks at her like she’s crazy.
“Yeah, for some of us. I don’t know what world you’re living in that you think you’re going to be working tomorrow in any capacity,” Carmy states firmly.
“What do you mean?” Syd argues back, stomping her foot. “I just slept for 17 hours – of course I’m going to be back in tomorrow! I’ll just crash a couple more hours here at d’hôtel a Le Bear, the cot isn’t even that bad. Sunday’s just sandwich service anyways, it’s not even dinner service! And just because you finished up my weekend list of tasks doesn’t mean I haven’t already thought of the next round of errands that need to be tackled.”
Carmy smirks at her. She realizes she probably makes quite a sight, wrapped in a blanket and stomping her feet like a toddler. She goes to give him the middle finger, but he grabs her fist before she can make the obscene gesture.
“I’ve already called you off,” he says firmly, putting her hand back under the blanket. “And do you really want to face Nat’s wrath if she finds you here tomorrow? I don’t think either of us will be able to escape unscathed in that scenario.”
Syd falters at the thought. As she tries to think of a rebuttal, Carmy ushers her out of the office. He never strays too far from her side, sitting her down at the bench by the lockers and collecting her things for her.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Carmy states firmly, looking down at her, no stutter in sight. Syd shivers at the authority in his voice that he typically reserves for service. “You’re coming back home with me. I’m going to make you breakfast for dinner, your favourite. We’re getting your blood sugar and hydration levels back to 100%. Then you’re gonna take a hot shower and crash on my bed - I’ll take the couch - and tomorrow you’re going to spend your day off catching up on Survivor, which I know you’re behind on.”
He's hitting all of Syd’s weak points, and he knows it.
“A shower, your cooking, AND Survivor? You’re evil for this,” Syd banters with him. But she doesn’t argue, ready to give up any decision-making powers (for tonight) and just follow Carmy’s lead.
The drive home is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Both of them rest their arms on the center console, their elbows grazing one another. Syd thinks again of the events that had transpired the past 24 hours and the truths that had been revealed.
“You know,” Syd interrupts the silence, looking out the passenger window, not looking at Carmy. “I really did mean it when I said I wanted you to be happy. Especially finding fulfillment outside the restaurant. I don’t know what happened between you and Claire, but I don’t think you should take it as a sign that you don’t deserve joy or contentment. I’m sure she’d be completely understanding if you just explained what went down and the pressures you were under and-“
“Syd.” Carmy cuts her off, tapping her on her arm. Syd shuts up.
“I appreciate you saying that, I really do. But it was never going to work out between me and Claire,” Carmy sighs, as they pull up to a red light. “We talked quickly over the phone yesterday, and we both said our piece. I apologized for using her as distraction to avoid dealing with my dead brother’s restaurant, and we agreed it was best to go our separate ways.”
While they wait for the light, Carmy turns to look at Syd. He slides his arm across the center console, so it aligns flush with hers. The warm contact makes her turn back towards him.
“If I’m being honest,” Carmy continues, “It was kind of a relief. It was tiring putting on a façade all the time when we were together. Like, can you believe I went to a house party to try to prove that I was a normal person, to show her I was some well-adjusted extravert that could get along with 30-year-old frat guys? Me?”
Syd snorts at the visual, and he smiles at her reaction. The light turns green, and he turns back to look at the road.
“I was drowning in it, Syd. Most days I felt more dread than excitement when we planned to spend time together, wondering how I could shape myself into some version of me that I thought might be more digestible or easier to love. Tonight is the first time in a long time where I feel I’ve been completely honest in my shortcomings and how I want to be better – it’s been freeing in a way I didn’t know it could be. And I know without a doubt where I want to be now. And it’s here.” With you. The last two unspoken words of his sentence ring clearly through the car.
They pull up to Carmy’s apartment and begin the climb of four flights of stairs. Carmy trails a few steps behind Syd, one hand hovering constantly over her back in case she experiences any more vertigo that might make her stumble. Even after 17 hours of sleep, Syd still feels tired and overwhelmed, rubbing at her bleary eyes.
Entering his apartment, she follows Carmy’s orders to a T. She eats the meal he cooks for her, and she spends a good amount of time in the shower, wiping off the grime and sweat the last few days had left on her body. She had never gotten the hype around the stereotype of girls loving to wear their boyfriends – ahem, guy friends’ clothes. But as she drowns in some old sweatpants and a baggy top that Carmy loaned her for the night, she can definitely see the appeal. His scent surrounds her, making her feel not only extremely safe, but sleepy.
As she exits the bathroom, she sees Carmy trying to make himself comfortable on the couch. He looks up at the sound of her bare feet walking on the wooden floor.
“Hey,” he says softly. She sees him quickly run his eyes over her figure, taking in his clothes on her body. She’s pretty sure she sees him blush a deep red before he averts his eyes. “Can I get you anything else?”
The words are already leaving Syd’s mouth before she can stop them.
“I hate that I’m kicking you out of your room,” Syd blurts out. “This is your house. I honestly really don’t mind if we share the bed. I mean, it’s not like a Titanic door situation, you know, where Rose couldn’t find room for Jack on that piece of wood and he ended up drowning. Like there’s a lot of space for the both of us. If you want. Not to pressure you or anything. It would just make me feel a lot better since, you know, you’re the one who has to work tomorrow so-“
“Yeah, Syd. ‘Course. If it would make you feel better.”
The moment they both crawl into Carmy’s bed, Syd knows that it's lights out for her. Usually, she wouldn’t be able to sleep for hours after an emotional day like this. She would be running through every event or embarrassing memory in her head on a loop until she exhausted herself into unconsciousness. But now, feeling Carmy’s warmth and low-lidded gaze beside her, falling asleep has never been easier.
And if Carmy curls their pinkies together before he succumbs to his slumber, a simple and unspoken act conveying a promise, it’s no one’s business but their own.