Chapter Text
Carmy’s feet walk him through the stillness of Chicago at 2am of their own volition. The cool early August air calms the warmth still lingering on his cheeks, residual heat from his interaction with Chef Fields barely an hour before. How had he not seen it? How did he not realize he had turned into the very monster that had been haunting him ever since he left New York? The one that had annihilated his already questionable mental health, rendering him a shell of a human being.
Fuck. Fuck.
Everything that happened at Ever tonight—Sydney coming, seeing his old colleagues, confronting Chef Fields, reconnecting with Chef Terry ( shit, it’s Andrea, she wants to be called Andrea now )—it’s all swirling around his head, mixing with glimpses of the past six months. It’s like an animation of a film negative, except each frame is its own miniature movie and the subtitles are from The Tribune review that he just read. Carmy’s breathing quickens and he exhales sharply, an attempt to control the cocktail of emotions bubbling in his chest as his mind’s eye watches it all blend together. The duality from the critic makes sense. Even though he feels the familiar twinge of his defenses rising at their criticism, he can’t argue with any of it. In his quest for perfection since The Bear’s opening, he’s the one that has made them so fucking inconsistent.
It’s as if getting closure (if he could call it that) with Chef Fields tonight somehow lifted a veil, an opaqueness that has been clouding every decision he has made since closing The Beef. Suddenly he can see his taking control of the kitchen for what it truly was: a misguided attempt at excellence wrapped in a warped justification for shutting everyone out. Fuck, he completely shut Sydney out. In this moment, he’s grateful his feet led him away from Ever after Andrea went back inside. Because honestly? Reliving his behaviour leading up to the opening and then everything that came after is a complete mindfuck. Carmy repeatedly flicks his right hand into the palm of his left, an attempt to stay grounded and not get swept away by guilt. But it’s hard to stop the realizations his brain continues to supply. A new menu every day? What a fucking disaster. All he wanted was to get Sydney her star, how did he fuck it up so spectacularly? He takes a deep breath and runs his now steady hand down his face before exhaling slowly. God, he’s been such a dick.
Carmy’s feet stop him at a red light and he’s grateful to be brought out of his mind and back to the empty streets he’s been meandering down. Blinking he looks up at the street signs, trying to get his bearings again. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scans The Bear WhatsApp group chat for Sydney’s address from the party invite. Huh, he’s only ten blocks away. The little white man appears on the street post across from him and Carmy’s feet begin guiding him once again. Jimmy and the Computer can wait until the morning. Right now he needs to make things right with Sydney. He’s not sure how he’s going to do that since he has been incapable of saying anything of substance to her since coming out of the walk-in. No more excuses, he tells himself. He has to find the words. He just needs to start and they’ll come like they did tonight with Chef Fields.
For the next ten blocks, Carmy turns over in his head what he wants to say to Sydney, mentally crossing things out, trying not to spiral as he imagines her rebuttals. By the time his feet guide him to the entrance of the old three story walk-up, he has resolved to not even get into any details tonight. (Around block eight of his feet’s journey to Sydney’s apartment, his body had cringed viscerally at the thought of barging into Sydney’s new home, filled with his colleagues and peers, demanding she listen to him grovel for her forgiveness for being a complete asshole for the past six months). So as he presses the buzzer and waits to be let in, Carmy runs through his plan one final time: he’ll find a moment to tell her he knows he’s been a dick, then ask her if she would meet with him as soon as she is willing so he can apologize properly and listen to what she needs from him so they can move forward.
A voice suddenly crackles through the speakers, breaking Carmy out of his preparation. His brows pinch at the sound of Richie’s voice.
“Party’s over, go home.”
“Cousin? It’s me, it’s-it’s Carmy,” he stutters out, his brain trying to piece together why Richie is still there if the party is over.
A beat passes. Then another. Carmy hesitates to press the button again, but suddenly the jarring buzz of the door mechanism sounds. He reaches for the large brass door pull, then forces his breathing to even out as he walks in. Taking two steps at a time, he rushes up to the third floor—whether he’s running out of the adrenaline of finally feeling unstuck, or because he wants to simply get it over with, he can’t say. As he mounts the final step, he sees Richie entering the hallway. The Bear’s General Manager is closing what must be the door to Sydney’s apartment, leaving his hand on the doorknob as Carmy approaches.
“You’re too late, cousin. Everyone’s gone,” Richie says curtly.
Fuck. He knows he needs to talk to Richie too, but tonight he has to prioritize Sydney.
“I know, I know. I…” Carmy trails off, trying to find the right words. “I had to sort my shit out. For real this time. And-and I think I finally have. I need to talk to Syd. Can I go in? Is she…”
Carmy tilts his head to the door as if asking for permission to enter. Richie scoffs, hand still firmly on the doorknob, blocking Carmy’s entry.
“Yeah, you definitely need to talk to her, that’s for fucking sure.”
Carmy takes a deep breath, reminding himself why he’s here. Reminding himself of his resolve to be the opposite of Fields.
“I know, cuz. So can you let me in? Please?”
A defeated sigh leaves Richie’s mouth as he finally lets his hand drop with visible reluctance.
“I’ll let you in, but only because she said I could.” Then Richie’s voice lowers as steps forward and presses a finger into Carmy’s chest, “I swear to fucking god, cousin, if you hurt her again I’ll kick the shit out of you myself.”
Carmy flinches, but doesn’t move away, doesn’t push back. He knows he deserves the threat, knows Sydney deserves Richie’s loyalty.
“Heard.”
Carmy waits for Richie to stop his posturing and let him do what his feet brought him here to do. Richie’s finger stays pressed into Carmy’s chest, eyeing him as if he is trying to detect even a whiff of bullshit. His finger drops when his search comes up empty.
“Have a good night, Carm,” Richie says flatly as he passes him, though there’s a hint of something Carmy can’t place. Disdain? Pity?
“You too,” Carmy manages out, despite the GM already making his way down the stairs.
Refocusing, Carmy inhales deeply, turns the knob, and walks into Sydney’s apartment. He takes in the space as he unties his shoes.The entryway opens into the combined living room and dining space. It’s small but perfectly Sydney. The Art-Deco era wood finishings have been maintained around the windows and door frames. Immediately, Carmy clocks the decorations, the art, the books on a bookshelf . She has furniture, she’s already more set up than him and she just moved in. Christ, he’s not a fully functioning adult at all. Carmy wills himself to take another deep breath and focus on why he’s here. It’s not about him, it’s about her.
“Syd?” he calls out not wanting to go beyond the entryway without explicit permission. “It’s Carmy. Can-can I come in?”
He hears dishes clattering from down the hall, then what sounds like a garbage bag filled with empties being moved before he finally sees her head pop out from around what must be the kitchen entrance. He catches her eyes immediately—shining, red rimmed, puffy. Has she been crying?
She pads towards him, wiping her hands on the skirt of her dress.
“Hey. Uh, thanks for coming? It’s pretty late,” she adds, coldly. She wraps her arms around her waist as she stops a good ten feet away from him.
Carmy rubs the back of his neck with his left hand. That wasn’t exactly an invitation to come in so he remains where he is.
“Yeah, I know, sorry. Fuck, I walked–”
“Dude, you walked here? From Ever? What the fuck?”
“I needed to clear my head. I… I talked to Fields. Confronted him.”
“Whoa, shit.” Sydney’s arms drop to her sides and she takes a few steps closer to Carmy. “Are you okay?”
Carmy’s heart clenches in his chest and he feels his cheeks warm.
“Jesus, I don’t deserve you,” he mutters to himself, only realizing he actually said it out loud when he sees her eyes widen. “What-what I mean is, uh, after everything I’ve put you through you’re still… fuck, you’re such a good person, Syd. And I’m such an asshole. I’ve been such an asshole to you. To everyone. And-and, I’m so fucking sorry,” he finally manages out. Then he balls his right hand into a fist and rubs it in circles over his heart.
Sydney keeps staring at him, blinking.
“I know it’s late, and I don’t want to force you into a conversation now. That wouldn’t be fair. I just, I needed to come tell you in person that I’m sorry… and that I want to be better… and I want to listen to you, and, and I d-d-don’t, fuck, ” he catches himself as he stutters. It’s so rare that it comes out, but it infuriates him every time.
“Shapiro offered me a CDC role at his new place.”
Carmy feels the air being vacuumed out of him as the blood drains from his face and his ears start ringing. He’s too late.
“S-say more?” he manages out despite the absolute crumbling that’s occurring internally at the thought of losing her.
Sydney closes her eyes as she rubs a hand across her forehead. Then she moves towards her vintage couch and flops down. Carmy almost misses it, but finally takes a breath when he sees her hand pat the spot next to her. He makes his way toward the sofa and carefully sits beside her.
They sit like that, both of them staring forward with hands on their knees, for what feels like an eternity to Carmy. The few inches of space between them is so charged and he’s not sure how much longer he can take it. Sydney finally breaks the silence.
“He approached me weeks ago. Right before you all came at me with the offer. I haven’t given him an answer yet. But things have been so fucking shitty. Like, so, so shitty, Carm.”
He feels her body shift next to him as she delivers the last words so he turns his head. His throat constricts and he swallows around it as he takes her in. She looks utterly exhausted. Tears have welled in her eyes, her chin is quivering, and her brow is furrowed. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to say but he feels the urgent need to try and fix her pained look.
“I… I would understand… if you wanted to take it. Adam is… fuck, if you want to know about working with him you should ask Luca or Chef Terry–”
“Andrea. She wants–”
“To be called Andrea now, yeah,” he finishes her sentence, his lips twitching meekly. “Old habits.”
The internal crumbling stalls as something warms inside him upon learning that Syd and Andrea met each other tonight—two of the most important women in his life next to Nat. Honestly, he’s so glad Syd came at all, despite him and the bullshit he’s put her through these past months. She deserves to know Andrea and Luca, and everyone else in the industry. To be known, to be offered CDC roles, to have all the awards and attention—more than he ever has, if he’s being honest.
Sydney’s still looking at him, searching his face with her glassy, chestnut brown eyes.
“I… I don’t know what I want. All I know is that I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” she says, barely above a whisper as tears begin to stream down her face, her breath hitching.
Carmy is awkward with intimacy and touching, always has been. But for some reason with Syd it never feels uncomfortable or foreign. He doesn’t hesitate, wrapping his arms around her. She leans in to the touch and Carmy feels her letting herself go as she begins to sob into his chest. He rests his chin on the top of her head, one hand rubbing gently up and down her back, whispering I’m sorry ’s and let it out ’s as they ride out her breakdown together.
He’s unsure how long they’ve been entwined when Sydney finally breaks from his hold, wiping her face and sniffling. She reaches for a tissue from the box on the coffee table.
“Ugh, I made your shirt gross,” she moans as she reaches for another tissue to wipe her face.
“‘S fine,” he replies with a chuckle, then runs his knuckles across his lips before continuing. “Look, it’s fucking late. We should both get some sleep. Can we meet tomorrow? To keep talking?” Then he adds hopefully, “I have more I want to say, but… but mostly, I want to hear what you have to say.”
She nods before replying. “Yeah, Carm, let’s meet.”
His shoulders drop in relief. “Cool, cool, great. I… I could come pick you up? We could go to Montrose Beach?”
She sniffs, then smiles, “Yeah, that sounds good.”
They continue to arrange the details as they both get up from the couch, Carmy leading himself back to the entryway of her apartment to put his shoes on, Sydney following behind him.
“I’m glad you came, even if you were late,” Sydney teases as she holds the door open for him.
“Yeah, me too,” Carmy replies before leaning in to hug her goodbye. “Thanks. For everything,” he mutters against her shoulder.
Sydney hums in response as he pulls away. They wish each other good night, then she closes the door.
Carmy stands in the silent hallway for a moment, letting the events that just occurred settle into his brain before rushing down the stairs and out into the early morning air. The sky is no longer black, but an ever brightening slate. Not far off, gulls are calling out to indicate the sun’s pending arrival. He might lose her—The Bear might lose her—but there’s still a chance. God willing, if he doesn’t fuck it up, there’s still a fucking chance.