The Pursuit of Peace

by peachybunnybabie

Summary:

Carmy after Sydney leaves.

Notes:

why is this so fucking long... I think I went crazy. I needed a fix it IMMEDIATELY.

season three was a jumbled, low balled unwritten mess. I enjoyed stills of it. I have many thoughts already said on my Tumblr but fuck Claire or at least fuck storer for writing her like this, Jesus. I hope and pray there's a part 2 but god, Chris storer if you know you can't write plot I fear pt.2 will just be scarier. This is mainly a Carmy character study and I really hope you guys enjoy. no one gets him like I do. sorry in advance. lots of mentioning of throwing up so be warned.

“I hope you get fucking help, Carmen.”

 

Those had been her last words to him. 

 

The review. The loan. The menu. Everything was fucked. Absolutely everything was fucked because he decided to put his fucking faith in something that wasn’t her. He doubted himself and projected onto her and pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed until the unforeseen edge of the cliff had her stumbling and him grasping to catch her. And even when he did, even when he caught her fingertips with his own, when he pulled her up and held her close and she clung to him because she had fallen— the slap he had gotten, the black eye that rested on his face, the stab to his ribcage was more than deserved.

 

Sydney had gotten poached. While The Bear was taking its first steps. While he was being the worst partner, friend, boss, person, he could’ve been to her and while she was still on that edge and she clinging to him to prove to him that at least the rush was worth it, that at least looking at the edge of death everyday was something they were doing together like he fucking promised. 

 

Well. He was a really bad fucking liar.

 

The day she quit, for good this time, had been fucked from the start. He was late, she was earlier than everyone. Carmy had been stuck on the red line for nearly thirty extra minutes because a young mother gave birth right there on the car next to him and he felt guilt rush over him so intense when he finally got off the train, he spent the 20 minute walk to The Bear throwing up.

 

That day, Sydney was scrubbing the floors. She was in jeans and a graphic tee, the bags under her eyes so prominent that if he hadn’t thrown up his stomach acid he would’ve caught it sooner. But he was tired of excusing himself. He noticed. Fuck, he always, always noticed when it came to her. His execution of that notice was never his strong suit, though.

 

She gave him a gruff, “Good morning,” not looking up, not stopping her scrubbing and like the asshole he was, is, he returned it. Short, gruff, hard. That was the bulk of their interactions leading to the end. It was truly the calm of the storm. The peace before the end. As Fak put it, “Mom and Dad don’t love each other any more.”

 

(Which wasn’t true. Unbeknownst to this Carmy, this version of him, he did. Does. Is, always, will and forever. It’s sick and sad when he thinks about it long enough, but he knows for his half, dad loved mom very fucking much. So fucking much.)

 

They went over menu. Did prep, stocked house, talked to staff and ran plates. The whole nine. It was cold. It was medical. No warmth. Sterile and stiff and so, so unlike them. Fuck, him and Richie had gotten better as he and Sydney got worse and worse. One day he offered Carmy a cigarette and said, “Talk to her, you dunce. Both of them,” Carmy didn’t take the cigarette or the advice. 

 

Service was slow. No two tops sold. Four items sent back. Marcus fucked up three deserts and Tina had fucked up three sauces back to back and the tables regarding them left because of it.  He was losing his shit. “Hands! Marcus, T, what the fuck is going on?!” Nothing he said was right.

 

Sydney was on expo. When was she not, he never switched with her anymore. He finished plates, she started them. She was stuttering today. “Two ribeye— no, two cavatelli, sorry, four ribeye, chefs,”

 

And he was being a dick about it, “Get that shit together, chef,” it was brutal.

 

She never corrected him during service like he did her. She was as quiet as a mouse now. He missed when she spoke to him. “Chef,” was all she said now. It was fucking brutal.

 

Richie came back. “Chef Sydney, someone wants to speak to you.”

 

They both looked up. Sydney blinks, she looks like she’s on the verge of crying and Carmy feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He reaches for his pocket and pops a piece of gum. Sydney looks at Carmy. “Chef?”

 

Nothing was a sentence anymore. They really didn’t fucking talk. He nodded and looked back at his plates, “All you,” was all he grumbled out, his stomach bubbling and eyes watering. 

 

Tina came to his side. “Jeff,” she said softly. He didn’t look at her, “T, stations, we need to keep moving,”

 

She didn’t move, “Carmy. Don’t let this happen,” was all she said. She walked away and finished her sauce.

 

When Sydney came back, her cheeks were wet. She did cry. He should’ve checked on her, he should’ve said something that moment but he didn’t. He stared at her. For a moment. A long moment. She never met his eyes.

 

When service ended, they were the last ones left, going over the menu for the next day. He was speaking over her and she was rolling her eyes, it was their routine. Everything was clean and they barely made profit and he had a total of two chips in his system to eat that day entirely. Still, looking back, none of it was an excuse.

 

They’re at their lockers, packing to leave and she finally speaks, says something that isn’t a menu option or the word chef. “Carmy.”

 

He hums back and turns to her, eyes glossing, his feet hurt, his head is on fire, there’s an alarm going off somewhere, his debt is rising to his fucking neck and he can feel everything closing in on him and still — none of it is an excuse. 

 

She fiddles with her nose for a second and avoids his eyes for a long, long time. “I just — last week, that thing, I needed to run by you? Can I run it by you?”

 

And because he’s an asshole, he groans. Carmy has no heart, no mind, no feeling to hear this, he doesn’t know what it is but he knows, “Syd, this can wait until tomorrow,” and he leaves no room for opinion. 

 

Sydney doesn’t let him leave, “No it can’t. I — I got poached, Carmy.”

 

And suddenly he’s awake. But he’s an awake asshole. “Did you sign the agreement?”

 

Sydney gapes at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you.”

 

He’d said the wrong thing. And again, no excuses, but he’d been on three hours of sleep, no food and seeing a live birth after missing his own sister’s, he was 56 days clean and it feels like hell, he keeps fucking talking, “I’m — I’m asking because if you did and read it, it says the contract is in affect four months after signage and even if poached or another offer arises you have to run it by your team, being me and Sugar—”

 

She slams her locker shut, “ No. No, you fucking asshole, I didn’t sign the fucking agreement and this,” she gestures to all of him and the far distance between them, “Is the fucking reason why. Jesus fucking Christ, Carmy. I have given you every fucking benefit of the doubt, every excuse, every reason to believe in you and you don’t me do the same. Fuck this,”

 

Sydney slides past him. Carmy is stuck. Mentally, physically, spiritually, everything. But Sydney. Sydney makes him move. 

 

He walks, “So what? You get poached and that’s it? What the fuck did they even offer, where the fuck is it? Who the fuck was it?” The jealousy he feels is for two different reasons and he hates them both. 

 

She laughs, something cruel like that awful fucking day the pre-order option was left open. “Does it fucking matter?”

 

“Yes! Yes, it fucking matters, Syd, who?”

 

She turns to him, they’ve walked through most of the kitchen now, she picks up on their — his — tickets, “Fuck you, look at this shit,”  

 

He looks, “You’re leaving because of the menu?” Fucking asshole.

 

Another sarcastic, cruel smile, “Your fucking menu. That’s not a fucking partnership. You’re not giving me anything. All the reviews have just been you. The menu — you. The Bear is you. It’s all just fucking Carmen fucking Berzatto. And maybe that’s what you fucking wanted. But that’s not what you told me. You said you wanted ‘vibrant fucking collarbation’ and you sent me a partnership agreement so we could push each other, but it’s just been you! You pushing me to the fucking edge, Carmy! And I can’t fucking take it!” she slams the menu down and she turns, her braids swish with her and she pushes the doors.

 

Carmy can’t let her go. He gets to the door before it shuts and catches her before she finally exits. “Why the fuck didn’t you push back?”

 

And Sydney. Perfect and professional and controlled and balanced Sydney turns around. And slaps the everloving shit out of him.

 

And it’s a loud sound. It echoes in the room, reverberating against the empty tables and seats. 

 

And it fucking hurts. 

 

Carmy huffs. He doesn’t meet her eyes and Sydney speaks, clear, soft, and controlled.

 

“Because I shouldn’t fucking have to. If that is what you need. Someone to push and hurt and hurt you back, I hope you get fucking help, Carmen.”

 

Then. She left. Sydney Admau. Was gone. 

 

And suddenly. Nothing mattered anymore. 

 

He stayed there for a long time. Stuck in place where she had slapped him. He had cried but he never moved, spoke, yelled, or even whimpered. Carmy was truly stuck. 

 

He cleared his throat after an hour had gone by. He felt the heat where her hand had left. He sighed. 

 

Carmy trekked back to the office that night. He sat in that chair and sat in silence all night. Every part of him felt dead inside. It was feeling of dread he had never felt. Everyone told him that he would feel it with love and loss and with Mikey and with Claire but this — this was different. This was hell. This was worse than getting clean.

 

He realized then who he had become. What he had done. Who he had been to her. 

 

“You wanted to be the best. I gave you that. You’re welcome.”

 

His stomach turns. He doesn’t even find a trash can. He just throws up.

“Carmen, today I want to talk more about The Bear, if that’s okay,” William said once Carmy was anxious and settled. He had sat in the middle during their session today which meant his stomach was acting up and he didn’t take his meds.

 

Carmy nods. “Okay. Yeah.”

 

Two weeks of this had been short of torture. The news of Sydney leaving The Bear had gotten him a fair share of beatings. Even with Nat’s new baby, she had taken the trip down to his shitty apartment, baby on hip and clocked him a good one. And he accepted it all. And because of it, he sculpted a whole new way of doing things. His black eye let everyone know he was a new, changed man.

 

“Everyone’s Non-Negotiables,” he said, one dismal Monday morning. Everyone was sad and missed Sydney, him the most, but bills needed to be paid, loans to be indebted back, and mouths needed to be fed so they were still open. The ‘New Carmy’ had come up with this to make everyone in the kitchen feel like their voice mattered because it took one voice leaving for him to listen to them all.

 

Most of the Non-Negotiables were tolerable: no more unused glasses coming back to be washed, three forks on the table and no more, taking reservations on the phone, BOH and FOH communication improving immediately, same size bowls, clear sense of chain of command, etc, etc, etc. It was all clear and made sense.

 

Fak had asked the question everyone wanted to know. “Uhm, Carm, will you get a new CDC?”

 

And Carmy let it linger on his heart a bit. He felt the bile rise on his throat, almost swallowing the gum he was aggressively chewing on. “No. No, no I’m not.” and that was that. 

 

It was all okay. Of course Carmy was doing two jobs at once and throwing up everyday, barely eating and sleeping and thinking of Sydney every second that passed but their restaurant was fine. 

 

“How are things?” William asked.

 

Carmy nodded. “Good,”

 

He was still struggling at the ‘opening up’ part of therapy. William was patient. It’s why Nat recommended him. 

 

He wrote something down. Carmy tried to not overthink it. 

 

“How are the new hires?”

 

“They’re adjusting. May keeps misplacing the shrimp because she doesn’t have her new glasses yet, but that’s really it.” He was being stubborn. Every three days for two weeks he was doing this. Carmy doesn’t know how his sister got a therapist with this much free time for him but he’s grateful. He fucking needs it. 

 

William nods and writes more. “Any new menu items you’re excited to try?”

 

Carmy sat and thought. He could be truthful. Marcus had cycled back through to Sydney’s donut again. It was just as sweet and as beautiful as he remembers her. He clears his throat, “Not really. We’re trying the three day menu instead of the everyday change. It’s going good. Tomorrow we change it out, though. I'll have to see what T comes back with to see what I can work with.”

 

William nods and writes, “And how are you regarding Sydney and your feelings for her?”

 

He blinks. “I — I don’t — Good? What do you mean?”

 

His therapist smiles and puts his pen down, crossing his legs. “Carmen. I’m willing to do this as slowly as needed. I promise you are safe and I won’t judge you. If you need more time to answer this question we can sit here and wait or revisit this in three days. Whatever you prefer. Therapy isn’t supposed to be hard, it’s just supposed to be work. Does that make sense?”

 

Carmy swallowed. He nods. He breathes. He waits. It feels like hours go by. Until he finally says. “I — I really fucking miss her.”

 

“I understand. What do you miss?”

 

Carmy runs a hand through his curls. “Everything. I don’t know. She’s — she’s gone, what the fuck should I even —” he felt himself getting defensive.

 

“Carmen, it’s okay. I understand that’s a loaded question, can I rephrase it?” he nods. “Okay. With Sydney, you’ve mentioned how confusing your feelings are for her. You’ve talked her about her many times but very shortly and you always seem to cut yourself off and never go too deep, as if you’re embarrassed by how you feel — regardless of if you feel good or bad about her. Since her leaving, you’ve done everything she’s wanted you to do at The Bear and for yourself and then some. Your confusion and this sparse timeline you’ve given me tells me that you may feel like you don’t deserve Sydney but you can and want to work on what she told you to improve, as well as to tell both yourself and the version of her you still keep around, whether subconsciously or known, that you can be better. Is that a fair conclusion to make?”

 

Fuck, this fucker was good. Carmy nods. 

 

“Okay. How often do you think about her?”

 

“Every fucking day. Every hour.”

 

“Do you think that’s a version of healthy you want to continue to live in?”

 

Carmy thinks. He sits with the question for a while. A timer goes off.

 

William sighs and clicks his phone. “I’m sorry that’s all our time. So for our next appointment, Natalie called me and suggested that we reduce your appointments to weekly, is that something you want?”

 

Carmy swallowed. “Yeah. That’s good.”

 

William nodded and stood and Carmy followed suit. He extended his hand to shake and Carmy did so, “You’re making progress, Carmen. I know it may not feel like it. But the part of therapy that no one sees is this — the work. Everyone wants results, no one wants to work. Thank you for working with me,”

 

Carmy scoffs. Shouldn’t he say that? He voices this. William smiles. “No. Truly, thank you.”

Carmy gets better slowly but surely. 

 

It’s hell. William is there every step of the way. So is his crew. He has no idea why. 

 

“People love you even when you push them away,” William had explained one day, like it was the most simple thing in the world. “They may not be there forever though and that’s something only you can control.” 

 

Carmy had been trying his hardest. He was calm. He was at peace. He was centered. Those were the three things he had to tell himself everyday when he woke up for work and before bed. Every fucking day. He hated it, thought it was stupid and so fucking corny but it was working. He woke up thinking that he was at peace, even if his stomach, heart and head felt otherwise.

 

His thoughts, wants, visions, and love for Sydney became something he let simmer on the back burner. One particularly hard session, a Tuesday he had off, after a hard night after spending the off weekend with his niece, they talked about nothing but Sydney he finally came to the conclusion that, yes, he did love her. Does. Will and always. 

 

One small panic attack later, Carmy is on the couch and rubbing his face until it’s red. 

 

William doesn't rush him.

 

“What — what do I do now?”

 

William cocks his head. Carmy tries not to laugh. 

 

“I love her and she hates me,”

 

“I don’t think we know that for sure,”

 

Carmy scoffs, “Isn’t it fucked up to get my hopes up? What’s that, delusions of grandeur, right? Why the fuck would you say that?”

 

“Because you like to punish yourself with the unknown, Carmy. You like to think because you don’t know, that means the worst, therefore you should accept that it’s already over. It’s not healthy, it’s called doom-controlling. You do this when you feel like, excuse my language, a total fuck up and that you can’t make amends. You do this with every relationship you have, platonic, familial, romantic, or otherwise. Do you want me to give some examples?

 

Carmy nods. Then, shakes his head. Then nods again. William smiles. “Okay. Until recently, you thought Richie and your sister, and everyone at The Bear hated you because you let Sydney go and that they were going to leave with her, yes? Save for a few new hires, everyone stayed. They explained that they were upset but Sydney was her own woman and that you needed to get better on your own accord and stayed with you. You thought Natalie was keeping her baby from you because you missed her birth but instead, their house had come down with something. You thought Claire hated you, but when you talked to her, all she wanted was an explanation. People are more simple than our complex brains give them credit for.”

 

Carmy adjusts himself in his seat, feeling somewhat lighter than air. William continues, “Sydney is a complex individual in your mind because of your confusing feelings for her, when I’m sure she’s only ever wanted one thing from you,”

 

He’s on the edge of his seat, “What?”

 

“Honesty, Carmen. Truth. Trust. Dependability. The feeling she gave you in return. Reciprocity.” 

 

He sits back on to the couch, slumped and stuck, playing with his lip. “Reciprocity….” he lets the word expand on his throat. William writes more things down. 

 

He clicks his tongue. “I think in your world you might have called it a partnership,”

 

Carmy laughs a sad, weird noise. He nods. He nods to himself, to William, to the office, to the universe, to the God he doesn’t believe in, to the world. He gets it. 

“What do I do now?”

 

William thinks. “I say sit with this. Another thing about you is that you think people can figure out what you want for you so you act quickly, sporadically. It’s not healthy for a complex, yet simple thing like love. Sit in the shit, as you would say. You’re in love with a woman who you drove away. That is a fact as of now. What’s another fact is that you have no idea how she feels about you or what she’s doing. And that’s something that will, and does actively, hurt. That’s another fact. Your homework, Carmen, is to recognize and remember what is and isn’t in your control. What do you do when it is and when it isn’t?”

 

Carmy opened his mouth to answer but William cut him off, “Don’t tell me. Show me. Next week, okay?”

 

Carmy nodded. Slowly and surely. 

 

There was one day, they had finished with no disasters. Everything got out in a timely order. He kept his voice down and low and he hadn’t exploded at anyone. He didn’t want to celebrate himself but as William put it, “Baby steps are still steps,”

 

That night he had been 90 days clean. Nothing he told anyone, nothing he boasted about, just felt like another day. The gum in his mouth felt like the same thing he had been chewing forever. But as the night ended and he started to run hot water to start clean, sending everyone home to get down to the nit and grit himself, Tina came around the corner, fitting her jacket on. It had been raining all day.

 

He sniffs, trying to not show she caught him off guard, “Sup, T, you need me?” she shakes her head, “Something’s weird in the office, you wanna —?” 

 

Carmy had been the go-to guy for weird things lately. Taking all the shit he needed to take in order to keep his team. One time, the ‘weird thing’ had been Richie farting right in his face and he had just accepted it. He wipes his face, preparing for whatever as he turned and rounded the corner to the office.

 

The whole staff was there. Everyone from FOH to BOH — there. Holding a fat cake. Clearly prepared by Marcus. The icing read ‘Congrats on 90 days, chef!’

 

Richie stood in the front and popped a loud popper and cheered, “Alright, let’s fucking eat this thing! C’mon, Carm, cut the first slice!”

 

Tina hands him the knife he had given her that first day at her schooling. He takes it in his hands. He doesn’t move.

 

Carmy’s heart swells. 

 

And he cries.

 

He stands there and lets all the tears fall. He’s not in any pain, no noise comes out and he isn’t even fucking sad. But it happens anyways. He looks up, mouth quivering and his team looks terrified and concerned and so fucking happy at the same time.

 

It comes out soft. “Thank you.”

Natalie calls him and he answers now. “I’m making it now, please be quick,”

 

“Oh, okay, yeah, you rush me but I can’t rush you? Well, can you be there sooner than later? Mom really thinks the baby hates cold food and I can’t explain another time that babies don’t know,”

 

He hears his mother’s voice through another room, “Natalie, my grandbaby and I have a connection, okay? I can tell!”

 

It’s weird, he thinks. His mother’s sober voice. Everything changes, he supposes. “I’m coming, I promise. But you calling every hour doesn’t help or make me cook faster. Where are the Faks?”

 

“3 out of five are here. I’m not seeing Francie.”

 

“I’d hope not. Richie?”

 

“Getting Marcus. Sydney came by, sent some food,”

 

His stomach bubbles. “That’s nice.”

 

Natalie hums. “Yeah.” He waits. Then, “Am I overplanning? I’m overplanning, aren’t I? It’s just 6 months. Jesus fuck, I’m overplanning, let’s just cancel it. Pete, can you — I don’t wanna do it anymore—”

 

Carmy nearly drops his phone, “Natalie, I’m not fucking making this special stew and 3 cases of fucking marzipan just for you to fucking cancel my niece’s half birthday, fuck you,”

 

She huffs, “Fuck you for not being there when she was born, jackass!”

 

“Jesus fucking christ, I fucking apologized over a million fucking times! Why the fuck do you think I’m even making marzipan?”

 

“ Wow , Carmy, so you’re only making it because you feel guilty?”

 

“Jesus, Sugar! Goodbye, I’ll see you in 30!” he hangs up and gets back to decorating the rest of the desserts. He rolls his eyes but a smile is soft on his face.

 

The drive to Nat’s gets easier and easier the more he takes it. He’s been over so much he has a spot at the front of the door for his shoes. He gets out of his car the same time Richie and Marcus pull up, opening their doors and smiling and laughing.

 

“Yo, cousin, you — you gotta hear this fucking story. Marcus, what the fuck did he say, Carmy check this shit out,” and Carmy listens to the story as he grabs the tray dishes full of marzipan. Marcus is talking about how the other day he, Luca and Sydney grabbed dinner and some pigeon came and ate a large rat off the side of the road and Luca said the most British thing ever apparently.

 

And this didn’t surprise Carmy. Everyone at The Bear still loved Sydney. Still saw her, still spoke to her. She had been invited to Lilian’s 6 month party but declined and, according to Sugar, just brought some food over and left. 

 

And he knew this. He knew it had been exactly 223 days since he had seen her last. He knew she still existed to them and that some day they may run into each other again. 

 

“What will you say if you do?” William asked him one sunny day. Carmy ran a hand through his hair. “Hadn’t gotten that far.” 

 

“I’m surprised, Carmen. I thought you had some sort of idea,” William chuckled and Carmy leaned forward, shaking his head. “No. I don’t know. It’s — fuck, it’s out of my control. I guess it might depend on what she’ll do, right? What if she slaps me again? Or says that she misses me? Or that she hates me?”

 

William shakes his head, “Only one way to find out,”

 

The party was lovely. 

 

Baby Lily was a tried and true Berzatto. Soaking up all the attention and affection wherever it was given. She was fat faced and round and pink cheeked and blonde like her mom. Curls in abundance on her head. Carmy always took his time giving her pigtails because Pete claimed he was too heavy handed, but Carmy knew Pete was letting him bond with Lily in his own way. Carmy loved her a lot. He held her with a care and anxiousness that could only be seen as “If I fuck up this baby, I’ll kill myself.” He had said that once and Natalite slapped the shit out of him.

 

Uncle Jimmy was the last to arrive, bringing baby clothes and grumbles of, “Who the fuck celebrates 6 months of a baby being alive?” and hugged everyone he could.

 

Donna stayed on her best behavior. Serving food and kissing cheeks and smoking outside, away from both Carmen and the baby and it was weird . She held Lily when she cried and Nat had to go to the bathroom and made no jokes about it. Pete was still the butt of every joke but the Faks got thrown in there every now and again. Natalie stepped away a couple of times when Lily got too fussy and fed her, Carmy never stepping in the room but always knocking to see if she needed anything. It was good. The food was good too. Natalie had been too sick recently to eat anything other than a stew Carmy made so he spent around four hours this morning boiling it to perfection. And, of course, it was. Perfect. 

 

As guests leave, Carmy stays behind to clean. Nat’s upstairs putting one very tired baby to bed while the other very tired baby she has to take care of is slumped on their couch. Richie is helping with the dishes as Ciccero walks into the living room, sighing, “Carm, come to the kitchen real quick,”

 

He puts down his trash bag and follows him into the living room, sighing and popping a piece of gum in his mouth. Richie stands next to him and steals a piece of gum himself, Nat’s house the only place he didn’t smoke. That and The Bear.

 

Nat comes back down, her pretty dress off and replaced with sweats and a loose shirt and her hair up, the eye bags she had only there from today and not stress. “Okay. Make this quick Unc, I have an appointment in the morning.”

 

Ciccero nods, “Yeah, I know sweetheart, you only mentioned it fourteen times in the last hour. Okay, look kids,” he takes a breath as Carmy chews harder and harder, an ulcer threatening to rise as the unknown makes his anxiety flare. 

 

“There’s no easy way to say this,”

 

Carmy fills in the blanks. “You sold it,” he says. No fire under his voice, no hate, no joy, just wonder. It’s not a question though. 

 

Ciccero looks down, defeated. “That one.” he says, pointing to Carmy.

 

There’s some silence in the air. It’s heavy and it hurts Carmy’s skull because for some reason, he feels a relief over him he hasn’t felt in his entire life. He feels weightless. His mind is spiraling. How long do they have? What will he serve this week? How will the staff react? Why they fuck aren’t Nat and Richie saying anything?

 

He looks between them, “You two already knew?” that time he asks. Nat looks down, tears so fat and clear on her cheeks before she does.

 

“Carmy—” 

 

But she doesn’t have to say it. Carmy laughs. An airy, childlike sound that makes everyone look at him like he’s fucking crazy. He covers his mouth, clearly not expecting the noise to even come out and he clears his throat. Richie pats his shoulder twice and sighs.

 

Carmy clears his throat again, “What now?”

 

It’s the same question William asks him when he sees Carmy that week.

 

Carmy’s standing, not pacing but leaned over the chair, about to say something he’s afraid William will judge him for. So he starts with, “I have an idea.”

 

William is interested. Carmy continues. “I have a check for her. For — Sydney. Ciccero fucking sold the whole lot and the utilities. So we got a lot. Like, it felt unreal when he handed it to me,”

 

William was about to speak but Carmy cut him off, “I know, I know. Accept my reality even when I feel like I don’t deserve it. I’m doing that, I’m just saying. It was — surreal. That amount of money and she has none of it. It sucks.”

 

“Okay. I understand that Carmen. You like to share things with her. I respect that. So, what’s your plan?”

 

Carmy nods, “I’m gonna invite her to the funeral.”

 

“For The Bear?”

 

He nods again. William nods too. “When?”

 

“The funeral? It’s in two weeks.”

 

“No, Carmen, when are you inviting her?”

 

Carmy stills. Shit. “Uhm—”

 

“It’s okay if you don’t know,”

 

“No, no. I just. I mean, I don’t know, I just — I remembered — uhm. She, she invited me to the soft open. And I didn’t go, so,”

 

William tries to hold in surprise, “Carmen. Why haven’t you mentioned this before?”

 

Carmy stutters, “I just — I was embarrassed.”

 

“Embarrassed you didn’t go? Or —”

“Just embarrassed in general. It was really bad fucking day and I just got my new meds and I got my shit in the mail and everyone else got theirs hand fucking delivered and shit, and it made me feel like, like our relationship was reduced to just fucking mail and invites to soft opens,”

 

Carmy took a breath. William sighs and writes something down. Carmy sighs, too. “Okay. So she invited you and you didn’t go. So now you’re inviting her. And if she doesn’t come, what then?”

 

He sighs. “Then… she doesn’t come.” Carmy says it simply. He was reminiscent of that conversation he had with Sydney all that time ago, under the table when she had asked him all these possibilities, all these things that could happen, and she had replied simply, “Then they don't come. Then we work on it.” reassuring her over, and over, something he should’ve done and continued to do after time went on. But, looking in the past was doing him any good. He knew he had loved and will love Sydney for a long time. But the truth he had come to accept that Sydney may never feel the way he does. The least he could do is invite her back to the place she built from the ground up.

 

William nodded. “And if she does?”

 

Carmy thought for a long time. He picked at his hand and sighed. “I’ll — I’ll talk to her. And… and apologize. And give her the check. And that’ll be that.”

 

William nods. “I’m happy you’re not looking into the worst possibilities, Carmen. But again, I ask, when will you do this?”

 

Carmy shakes his head. He has a small smile on his face as he does so. “Next week? Maybe, I — I don’t know I really — I wanna live in the moment and not overthink and just — do things. Just — act, and stop being so fucking afraid.”

 

William nods again. “That’s good, Carmen. And your medication? It’s still feeling alright? Any side effects since the dosage change?”

 

Carmy sits down, somewhat happy with the change of subject, “They’re good. I need to refill uhm, the zoloft I think, but I’m good. Been good.”

 

“Good. Y’know, it’s been seven months, Carmen, congratulations. You’ve been adjusting well.”

 

He nods. He feels like he has been, too.

Unfortunately, Carmy can’t invite her the way he wants to. 

 

He never finds the time. He’s slammed back to back with the news of The Bear closing hitting the city of Chicago like a truck. Even the news of the side window closing was heart-breaking. They were packed. Everyone wanted in before they ended it all.

 

The crew adjusted accordingly. There was no slack, in fact they were on their fucking A-Game. Every seat was full, every ticket came out perfect, Carmy never caught a second to himself. Hence, never speaking to Sydney. 

 

According to the crew, no one else talked to her, either. Everyone had been working their last shifts and going home just to go back in 7 hours and do it again. It was relentless work. But it was their last time working with each other, so they made it work.

 

On Tuesday, after his session, Carmy went outside and broke down some boxes. Four hours till housekeeping, six until open. He chewed his gum and let the routine of breaking down boxes settle him. His session was tame. They didn’t talk about much. William hid his disappointment poorly because Carmy still had yet to ask her if she could go to the funeral.

 

He lets those thoughts wash over him as he breaks down boxes and Tina scares him again, coming around the corner. “Jeffery! You didn’t invite her yet?”

 

He jumps but settles, “Fuck, T, I — I haven’t had time, with therapy and the meetings and our shit, just — never got to it,”

 

She lights a cigarette and blows it away from him. “You know she has a phone, right?”

 

Carmy shakes his curls. “I’m not going to be an asshole, T. I wanna do it in person. Plus, the check.”

 

Tina makes a noise of understanding. She looks down at the broken down boxes and puts her cigarette out. She pops her head back up, bright and glowing with an idea. “Go tonight!”

 

Carmy cocks his head, “T, no, that’s— No. We— we got — like twenty four tops, I think we’ll have to 86 the entire left side before we’re even 3 hours in, I can’t—”

 

“Jeff! Yes you can, we got it, we know the system, baby, c’mon, it’s a special night for her, too! It’ll be good, just go, I’ll tell Sug you’re calling off,” and before he can even defend himself or say  more, she’s skipping away, a childlike giggling leaving her mouth as the door opens and shuts ad Carmy stands there, in the fucking trashcan, a box ripped in two.

 

He hears some commotion and sighs, stepping out of the trashcan and heading to the office.

 

Natalie and Tina are giggling like fucking school girls when he turns the corner and he sniffles, making his presence known and they both stop. He shuts it down, “I’m not going.”

 

Natalie sighs, “ Carmy. You’re going. We’ll be fine. Go, take a fucking shower, put on something else and make your reservation. It’s at 6.”

 

He sighs, ‘“How the fuck did you make a reservation?”

 

Tina smiles and Nat shrugs, “Well, I called. And said, ‘Carmen Berzatto would like to dine in tonight, party of one,’ because that’s how you make a reservation,”

 

He pinches his nose. “You know what I meant. And why the fuck would you say that, you make me sound like a fucking asshole, Nat—”

 

She shrugs again, “Well, the lady on the phone said the CDC’s been waiting to have you in, so. They made room.”

 

His heart stops. He stares just past them, licking his lips. He nods, and nods and nods. His body moves. “Fuck. So. I should go —”

 

She nods, a stupid, knowing big sister smile on her face. “Go shower, yeah. Yes, you should.”

 

Carmy’s on auto, walking to his locker to get his bag and shoes. Tina calls, “Wear something nice, baby!”

 

He nods, comes back in and kisses Tina on her cheek. He bends to Natalie and squeezes her. “Thank you, thank you,” he whispers and rushes out the door, sliding past Richie. 

 

“Woah, fuck, where’s the fire! We’re about to open!”

 

He turns as he walks backwards to the door, a true smile on his face, “You guys are alone tonight. I trust you, Chef. Gotta go talk to Sydney,”

 

Richie’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and he slowly smiles like a cat. “Good. Fucking good! Don’t fuck up!”

 

“I might!”

 

And Carmy leaves. 

 

The world seems to be working for him today too. The train is fast. He takes a nice, long hot shower and has just enough time to steam his favorite suit. He works and works his curls until they're the shape he’s heard Sydney compliment before. It’s barely 5 when he’s ready. 

 

He calls William. “Carmen? Are you okay?”

 

“I’m seeing her tonight,” he says in a rush, not pacing but sitting on his couch, bouncing his leg.

 

William laughs, “Well, that’s great. Are you excited?”

 

Carmy huffs, “I’m about to shit my fucking pants. My hair is on fire and I feel like I'm the most alive I’ve been in — forever. What the fuck should I expect?”

 

“You should expect peace. After this, many of your questions will be answered. And you will be right about some things and wrong about others. But the truth is that it will be over. And that will be the peace. Okay?”

 

Carmy nods. He makes a noise. “Okay. Okay, fuck. Fuck, okay. I have to catch the train. I — I’ll call you or text you later. Thank you,” and he hangs up before he gets too emotional. He sprays one more spray of cologne and triple checks he has everything. The check, the invite, the necklace. His pockets held almost $355,000 in them and he was getting on the train? Fucking idiot. He called a taxi. 

 

Sydney and Adam’s new spot, Fortune of Function, was beautiful. 

 

The design was danish. Simple and lavish and so Sydney. Mixes of lavender hues and soft yellows and deep browns, he had never been here before but it felt already familiar. He got out of his taxi and walked under the porte cochere, gorgeous, gorgeous. Her touch was everywhere.

 

He walked in, and even though it’s cold he’s rubbing his sweating hands on his pants and speaking to the woman up front. “Hi. I’m — Carmen Berzatto. I have a reservation,”

 

She smiles, “It’s so nice to finally see you in here, Mr. Berzatto. Right this way.”

 

He was led in the dining area. Beautiful tables, small agreements of orchids and scilla and squill greeted him at the table, two forks and a small knife. He sat and sighed. He felt Sydney here and he hadn’t even fucking seen her yet. 

 

When the host didn’t hand him the menu, he waited, but nothing. She then asks, “Your drink? Lemon water with ice?”

 

Carmy cleared his throat. How—? “Uhm. Yes, lemon water, please. Am I getting —”

 

She smiled and shook her head. “Sorry, Mr. Berzatto, I was informed tonight’s meal would be completely on us. We have a full course for you tonight, including a tasting menu of hand crafted dishes by our excellent CDC, Chef Adamu, as well as tonight’s special braised short rib and mushroom risotto, served with an etouffee stock. I was told you don’t have any allergies, correct?”

 

Carmy blinks. Had she planned this? Been thinking about him? He clears his throat. “Uhm. Yes. that’s —That’s right, I — no allergies.”

 

The host smiles again. “Excellent. Thank you.”

 

She walks away.

 

Their back of house was tucked away, so when she’s gone, she’s gone. Still, Carmy looks around. Packed house. Everyone was raving about the food, mentioning Sydney by name and gushing about her. Someone recognized him and he tucked away, pulling out his phone and seeing a text.

 

Claire:

Everyone told me. Good luck Bear. :) 5:56 pm

 

He laughs. Holy fucking shit.

 

He hearted the message and sent a quick ‘Thank you’. 

 

Suddenly, a man is by his table. “Hey,”

 

Carmy looks up, startled. “Fuck. Hey,” his eyes adjust. It’s—

 

Carmy clears his throat and stands, extending his hand, “Chef Sharpio, thank — thank you for letting me dine tonight. I’m excited to try everything.”

 

Adam doesn’t move. His eyes look glazed over and he stares at Carmy’s extended hand like it’s a gun. He looks back at his eyes, and pokes him square in the chest, pushing him back. “Fuck you, man.”

 

Carmy blinks. He swallows, “I— I’m sorry, I don’t—”

 

But he leaves. Adam turns and heads back of house, his curly hair unruly and his glasses almost falling off his face. Carmy blinks again. What the fuck did he do to him?

 

He settles back into his seat.

 

What the fuck?

 

Carmy tries to let it wash over him. He tries to do what William told him to do. To control what he could and let go of what he couldn't but he was shaken up. What the fuck was that? Why did Sharpio say that? Did he know what Carmy did to her? Did she come here and spill everything? Bad mouth him until she couldn’t anymore? Until Adam couldn’t take it anymore? Had Sharpio been her shoulder to cry and lean on after him? Was Carmy the bad ex she talked about with friends and then Sharpio would come over and everyone would thank God she found him instead of Carmy?

 

Carmy’s stomach twisted in knots. Why the fuck did he get his hopes up? Sydney hated him. That interaction was proof enough. He wasn’t even jealous or sad, he knew this was the reality he was going to get. He knew it, he fucking knew it, god, he was going to throw up.

 

He tried to control his breathing. He found the spoon Chef Terry gave him, something he carried with him everywhere and stroked it between his thumb and index finger, trying to remember his matra. I am calm. I am safe. I am center. Over and over.

 

Who knows how long it is until the small panic attack passes. But it does. It settles in his throat like a cough drop and he drinks some lemon water as waitresses and waiters come around the corner and present Carmy with his tasting menu.

 

He blinks, smiling tightly. A waitress comes up to his table as they start to set everything, “Thank you for dining with us tonight, Mr. Berzatto. As it is your first time here, we’d love to go over what we have for you tonight.” She points to the first dish, a beautiful array of colors and a perfectly plated scallop. It was already so fucking familair. “First, a freshly seared scallop with rich truffle butter sauce, served with potato confit and greens. Over here is our signature descaled and charred koi, served whole and stuffed.'' She continues as they place more plates down, each more delicately made and hand crafted, so fucking Sydney and so fucking beautiful. “Our classic ribeye and shrimp gravy, made with marinated onions for over two weeks.”

 

More dishes come out. Carmy feels like he’s come home. “A refreshing fennel salad with our house made dressing and a dill drizzle on top. Of course then we have the deconstructed cavatelli with edamame and onions and a white butter sauce, with red pickled onions on the side here.” 

 

The last plate comes out. Carmy smiles. “And finally, our house staple and Chef Adamu’s personal favorite, braised short ribs with an etouffee stock and mushroom risotto. We hope you enjoy,”

 

Carmy nods to her as she leaves, all the food he’s presented with is fucking — incredible. In 8 short months, Sydney had done what he knew she could. Make a fire fucking menu.

 

He went in the order she knew she’d want him to go in. The fennel salad was first. Fresh and so, so simple but exploding with flavor. Carmy smiled and pulled out his sketchbook, drawing the simple leaves that made the salad. He went to the scallop and koi next, knowing Sydney thought most fish and seafood dishes should be eaten together. They were heaven in his mouth. 

 

It was strange. He could feel Sydney moving as she made these. Could hear her thoughts and see her lip between her teeth as she scaled the koi, as the butter melted against the scallop and her eyebrow furrowed as she tossed the pan. He missed her so much he felt her through the fucking food.

 

The ribeye was fucking ridiculous. Melt in your mouth with no fucking notes. Carmy got every ridge of the bone down in his notebook.

 

He saved his braised short rib last. He knows, fucking of course Carmy knows what it tastes like. He remembers everything she makes. He remembers, and wonders if she does too, his suggestion.

 

He spoons the soft short rib into the risotto, the food meeting his lips in some fated harmony. He smiles. Acid. 

 

It’s fucking perfect. 

 

Carmy finished everything after a really long time. It’s nearing 8 pm when he finishes, truly finishes. He feels — warm. His face, his body, his fucking stomach. Content. Warmth. Peace. It’s weird. He won’t and shouldn’t idolize Sydney but it’s hard not to when, even in their time apart, when he’s finally in the smallest aspect of her presence, Carmy feels the most relaxed he’s felt. 

 

The edge of what Adam had said to him is still there. But the night is almost over. The easy part was done. Now he had to wait for her to get off. 

 

He had heard from Tina and Marcus and Natalie that she typically got off at around 10, so he had more than enough time to somewhat rehearse what he was going to say to her. He gets up and still leaves a tip (he knew the gratuity rule) and slipped the host who walked him back to his table a $50 and thanked her. She was sitting her last table but stopped and squeezed Carmy’s wrist before he set the money down. 

 

“Thank you,” she said, softly. 

 

Carmy steps outside and lets the cool Chicago air hit his face. He’s got two more hours before he has to face the beautiful storm that is Sydney. A quick walk wouldn’t hurt.

 

He turns the corner behind the restaurant, taking out his third pack of gum that month. He had cut down a lot. 240 days clean. He exhaled and watched the warmth of his breath color the dark world around him. He felt like a kid, one Mikey used to make fun of for not knowing what a real cigarette actually tasted like.

 

He smiled as he walked, turning the corner and looking at his feet kicking against the gravel. Carmy thought of the many things he could say, “I’m sorry, here’s 345k, I hope you feel better.” he snorted at himself and slowed his walking. He kept walking, turning corners practicing different orders, “Sorry, Sydney, I love you, I have a check that you should cash,” No, fucking weird and love bomb-y. He sighed and tried another, “I’m sorry for destroying our relationship and your trust in me. I’m a shitty partner,” No, too victim blame-y and self absorbed. Fuck, this was hard.

 

Carmy continued this cycle until he saw the sign for Fortune of Function lights go off. He exhales. Okay. Fuck. He started his walk back, trying his hardest to keep his head up high.

 

He rounded the corner to the back, the place where all the employees left from and waited. Front of house left first, whites still pristine and no lull in the air. His host spotted him peeking over and skipped over, her professional demeanor gone the second she left the stage. 

 

“You’re waiting for her?” she asked, ponytail down and eyes glimmering with hope. She was young. 

 

Carmy blinks. “Uhm… I don’t —”

 

She waves her hand. “Don’t worry. We all know. It’ll be okay, dude.” And she walks off. Carmy watches her leave and catch up with the other chefs. Their laughter is heard until they reach the parking lot. 

 

He tries not to think about it. We all know. It’ll be okay. What will be okay? What the fuck was everyone talking about? He started to pace in a circle as more and more staff came out and saw him, knowing smiles on their faces. Okay what the shit. There was some secret code he was missing and it was pissing him off. Tina making him go tonight saying it was ‘a special night’, the hostess claiming they’ve been waiting for him, knowing his allergies and what he’d order. What the fuck was going on! And he was displacing his anger. He knew realistically he was upset because of the unknown but to know that other people knew something he didn’t was making him feel crazy. What the fuck was going on and why wouldn’t anyone say anything —

 

“Carmy?”

 

His thoughts stop.

 

Carmy turns. Fuck. 

 

There she fucking is.

 

Sydney Adamu.

 

249 days. 7 months and 27 days. That’s how long it’d been. That was the last time he had seen Sydney.

 

And she still looked just as fucking beautiful as he remembers.

 

She was in her chef whites. The ones he bought her all that time ago. The signature S.A. on the left side of her sleeve is still there. She had on the orange and cream and red scarf she wore when they first met, on that fateful day she walked into The Beef and brought soft yellows into his cold, hard blue world. Her eyes were big and bright and glowed under the street lights, they were still that soft, capsizing brown that made Carmy believe in heaven, especially if it meant it was Sydney looking at him. She had her tote on her hip, clearly about to leave and looking at him with her soft, perfect face, waiting. 

 

Fuck. He should speak. Fuck, shit— 

 

He exhales. 

 

“Hi.”

 

Sydney blinks a couple of times. There’s not a lot of space between them. So he wonders if she heard him. He’s about to repeat himself and talk and ramble until the right turn of phrase comes out, but Sydney’s moving. She’s coming towards him, she’s dropped her tote bag and Carmy’s ready for it. For another slap, for a punch to the gut, to get yelled at for all of it. He’s ready for all her rage, for everything she should’ve given him all those months ago and more.

 

What he isn’t ready for, is for Sydney to wrap her arms around his neck and hug him.

 

Carmy stays still. He’s fucking frozen. It wasn’t the first time she had him like this. She’s wrapped around him so tight he can’t breathe and he decides dying in Sydney’s arms is the best way to go.

 

He waits. And when Carmy realizes she won’t let go, that this is real life and Sydney fucking Adamu is here right now hugging him, he finally, finally hugs her back. Wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her close, settling in her shoulder and breathing in. Sydney sighs in his shoulder and grips his suit and pulls him closer. 

 

Carmy breathes and breathes. He can smell her perfume. Can smell the scallop she may have overseared, the fennel dressing under her fingernails, the sweat from her scalp that ran down her forehead. He can feel her. She’s so fucking warm. Sydney in his arms, heating him up from the outside in, from the inside out, like she’s always done. The city whistles and bustles behind them but Carmy’s eyes are closed, his heart is full, his cheeks are red and wet. He’s crying but fuck, he feels alive. He feels rested and awake and sober and high and relief and love and release. It’s all encompassing. Fuck.

 

Sydney pulls back first, Carmy blinking his eyes open, tears still falling as her melodic voice fills his ears for the first time in months. 

 

“Carmy. Fuck I — you — you came. I thought—  I — did they tell you?”

 

She was crying too. Her sweet, round cheeks were stained with strips of tears and Carmy’s heart breaks somewhere in the distance. He shakes his head, hearing her question, remembering where he was, why he was here, what he was doing. Her hands were still gripping his shoulders, like he might float away.

 

She laughs a bit, “Of course they didn’t tell you. I —” She shakes her head, closing her eyes and laughing again, “Sorry, fuck, I’m such a— Uhm, how are you? Did you enjoy everything?”

 

Carmy blinks and looks at her, then smiles. He shakes his head, “Fuck, Syd, are fucking serious? It was — it was fucking incredible. Jesus, you’re incredible. The fucking fennel and the dressing? Sydney, you— And the koi, I don’t know how you even came up with that— it was amazing, chef.” and he’s laughing, smiling brighter than he has as Sydney takes in and soaks up the praise as she stands in his arms. 

 

They laugh a bit and lock eyes. She smiles and licks her lips. “How are you?”

 

Carmy sighs. This question used to fuck him up, make his stomach churn and burn, but coming from her? He feels, “Good. How are you?”

 

She sighs, puffing her cheeks and looking at the sky. “Fuck, I mean… Do you want the truth?”

 

Carmy nods. “Always with you,”

 

She smiles. She’s about to open her mouth and speak but the back door opens loudly and startles them both, Sydney jumping back into Carmy’s chest and him instinctively pulling them both away.

 

Adam walks out, glasses off and rubbing his face, groaning. Sydney suddenly falls in on herself, even in Carmy’s arms, and Adam looks up.

 

He spots the pair. Even without his glasses on, the recognition on his face is obvious. Sydney’s grasp loosens as she reaches to him to apparently do damage control and Carmy already misses her. “Shapiro—” 

 

He sighs. “It’s fine, Sydney. Go home,” and he walks off. 

 

Sydney sighs and settles back into Carmy’s shoulder, hiding her face there. He’s still confused. He doesn’t say much before she spills, “Syd—”

 

“I quit. Uhm, here. I quit tonight. Like put my two weeks in and got a new job, quit. And — and I was gonna tell you. I was gonna call you tonight and just talk to you and finally stop avoiding you but I was so fucking scared, Carmy. I ended things horribly and I felt so bad and things were good here but I hated it here and I missed you, I missed everyone I barely wanted to leave in the first place, I just — I was so sick of feeling like shit so I traded feeling like one type of shit for another and it was so much worse,”

 

And she’s rambling. Speaking too fast for her brain to keep up with so Carmy pulls her back to see her and stops her mess of an explanation. “Sydney,” he says quietly, softly, and she shuts her mouth, looking at him with sweet, pleading eyes. His hands are still on her hips, hers on his shoulders. 

 

“You quit?” he asks, just to make sure he heard right. She nods shyly. Carmy’s heart speeds up. 

 

He clears his throat. “You — you think you ended things horribly between us?”

 

Sydney blinks and inhales, “Carmy, I basically said you want to be abused. That was fucked.”

 

He shakes his head, “That’s not what I heard,”

 

“Carm—”

 

He stops her again, “You were right. My idea of what a functioning, healthy kitchen should look like came from abuse so I thought that was healthy. I projected onto you shit I hadn't worked out myself and Sydney,” he breathes. Takes a minute, then. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

 

Sydney blinks. She holds his gaze as he continues, “I treated you terribly. I wasn’t a good partner and I made no effort in our partnership except to treat you like I was treated and that was fucked up and awful and I cannot apologize enough for it. I’m sorry it took me seven months to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took me even longer to realize how fucked up I was and how much it was hurting everyone around me. Especially you. Especially us.”

 

She sighs. Takes it in and Carmy feels like he's in jello. Then, a bubbly, air filled laugh. “Fuck.” she says after a while. “That therapy’s been pretty good, huh?”

 

Carmy blinks and smiles. “How’d you—”

 

She shrugs. “I told you I missed you. And, you’re like, famous CDC Carmen Berzatto. It’s easy to keep up with you,”

 

They both share a laugh. It’s the most he’s laughed in a long time. Carmy feels high. She misses him. She misses me. Sydney misses me. He’s lighter than air. 

 

He clears his throat, realizing he hadn’t even gotten to the main course of the night. “Uhm, fuck, okay, sorry, that’s not all I came here for,” he pulls away from her, fiddling with his jacket pockets and apologizing for their loss of contact and finding the papers.

 

He finds them, smiling at her. “Uhm. I’m sure you heard the news.”

 

She smiles sadly. Tears already arise in her eyes and she nods, sighing. “Yeah,” a quick punch to his shoulder makes him laugh, “Fuck you for not telling me,”

 

Carmy nods, taking that one. “I know. I’m sorry. And I mean that, too, okay? But, if you’re free before you start your new job,” he hands her the specially made invite, her name typed in gold font, Chef Sydney Adamu reading back to her.

 

She opens it, hands off his shoulders, but their closeness remains. She sighs, twisting her mouth like she does when she’s sad. Sydney looks back at him, eyes full, “Fuck, Carmy,”

 

He nods, eyes suddenly full like hers, “Yeah. I know. It’s totally up to you. If you can make it. Uhm, also,” he reaches for another pocket.

 

Sydney laughs incredulously, a wet, garbled sound. “Jesus, Carm, if it’s another funeral please, I don’t think I’ll be able to go anywhere after this one,”

 

He laughs, shaking his head, grabbing the checkbook. “No. No, this is — much better, I promise. Uhm. It turns out, the lot was worth a lot. So we had a lot to spare, and—”

 

Sydney is suddenly shaking her head, “No. Fucking— no , Carmen. I swear to god, no.” But he’s already got it out, grabbing her hand and softly placing it in her palm even though she doesn’t want to accept it.

 

When he looks up at her, Sydney’s got her eyes squeezed shut and Carmy laughs. “Sydney,” he says, sweet, soft, like peace. She shakes her head. “Carmy. No.” she whispers back.

 

He smiles. “You built The Bear from the ground up with me. Without me, even. If anyone deserves this money, it’s you.” 

 

She sighs, letting the tears fall and she finally looks at the check. Sydney gapes, “Jesus, what the fuck? This is —”

 

“Yeah, I know, it’s a lot more than what we were expecting, too,” they share another laugh.

 

“Fucking Ciccero,” they both say. 

 

Sydney bites her lip as a silence falls over them. She waits and Carmy holds onto every second. He can see her working the question, whatever she wants to ask, in her mind. Finally, “Uhm. Were you — doing anything after this?”

 

Carmy shakes his head. “Depending on how this went I was gonna throw up or throw up,”

 

And maybe he’s a fucking comedian because Sydney laughs again. “Okay. Well. I — I was just gonna go home. I have my car, if you wanna — come with me.”

 

And Carmy nods. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Sydney’s apartment is lovely. It’s so her. He falls a bit harder the more and more he looks.

 

She’s decorated a lot more since his last being here. An L-shaped couch as the centerpiece, paintings and pictures everywhere. Soft mood lighting, better blinds for the large window in her livingroom. She’s hung up reviews for The Bear and Fortune of Function and Carmy wants to spiral when he sees this. He sees that first review, the one about her short rib and smirks, turning to her as she locks up. 

 

“Yeah?” he asks, pointing to it. Sydney smiles shyly. “I liked the review after it stopped giving me panic attacks,”

 

And Carmy can feel what she’s actually saying behind it but leaves it for now. He obeys her rules and takes his shoes off and leaves his suit jacket on the coat rack as she rushes to her room and sets the check and invite down and Carmy settles on the couch. 

 

When she comes back, her chef whites are off. She sighs, clearly more comfortable. Carmy’s about to speak, ask her why she quit, if she can come to the funeral, but Sydney beats him, “You hungry? I’ll make you something,” and she scrambles to the kitchen and opens her fridge, disappearing again.

 

Carmy sighs. This he did remember about Sydney. When things were good, or at least her definition of okay, she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. But he needed to apologize. Needed to make sure she was alright. That they were alright. 

 

He gets up and walks to the kitchen, pulling at his bottom lip and watching her move around the kitchen to gather ingredients. He still can’t get a word in. Sydney rambles fast. “I think a nice sandwich after work is good, yeah? I know you don’t like tomato, but trust me, these heirloom tomatoes I got the other day are really good, okay?”

 

Carmy nods to no one because she’s not looking at him. “Syd, uhm, thank you, I just — Can we talk? Like for real, please? I thought that’s why you invited me back,”

 

She opens the loaf she had and starts aggressively spreading mayo, avoiding eye contact, “Yeah, yeah. I mean, no. Maybe I just wanted a sandwich. And to make you one. You had all that fancy food, I don’t know,” she’s getting quieter and quieter.

 

Carmy steps a bit closer, “I don’t not want a sandwich, I do want to talk. I just — Are you okay? You just quit, you said —”

 

Sydney bends and grabs a cutting board and cleaver, slicing her heirloom tomatoes, aggressively, “Yeah. Yes, I know Carmy. I know what I said. I know I said I was excited to work with Adam and that this was good but maybe I was wrong. Maybe he treated me like shit and after we opened. Maybe he left me doing everything by myself. Maybe he put me so high on a pedestal when I fucked up, he nearly fucking killed me for it. Maybe I kept fucking up. Maybe I talked about you too much and everyone told him and he tried to become a weird version of you for like a month and a half and it was fucking awful,”

 

Carmy’s eyebrows raise at the sudden release of information but Sydney’s not done. “Maybe I’m not built for partnerships. Maybe I can’t be alone. Maybe I can’t do any of this shit. I hated working with him and hate working with everyone else and I hated being alone and I miss you and I’m never going to work with you again, and I can’t —”

 

She breathes. Carmy comes to her side and rubs her back. Sydney closes her eyes and sighs. 

 

“I can’t do another one, Carmy. I just fucking can’t.”

 

He settles with everything she told him. He sighs. He rubs her back as she comes down. It doesn’t pass for a while.

 

Carmy tries to find the words. “Sydney.” And she looks up, those pretty eyes stopping the words in his throat. He sighs. 

 

“You. Are the most excellent CDC I’ve ever worked with. I’m sorry no one sees that,” 

 

She bites her lip. He continues, “I’m gonna tell you something I haven’t told anyone else yet, okay?”

 

She nods. Carmy exhales. “I got into SAIC.”

 

Sydney blinks. Then she stands up straight. “The — sorry.” She laughs and waves her hands, “The fucking School of the Art Institute of Chicago? That school? You got in?”

 

Carmy nods. She laughs again, gaping at him to say more. “I applied in the fall. I just got my letter last night. I start in the summer.”

 

Sydney’s smile is something he’ll never get tired of. “Carmy! What the fuck, that’s — that’s fucking amazing! Oh my god—”

 

He smiles, “I’m saying that to say— I haven’t found amusement or enjoyment in cooking in a long time. Not without you. You were the inspiration for everything I’ve ever created since you came to The Beef but I can’t keep you somewhere you don’t want to be. So I’m trying something new.”

 

Sydney’s smile turns sad. Carmy continues. “Maybe you could, too?”

 

She sighs. She looks at her roughly chopped tomatoes, then his hands. Sydney bites her lip and sighs. “I don’t know what else I’m good at. And I can’t stop. God, Carmy, people just started saying my last name right. And I wanna keep cooking. I wanna keep learning and creating and making just —”

 

She looks right in his eyes. “I really don’t think I could do it without you,”

 

Carmy shakes his head, grabs her hand before she starts building sandwiches again. “You won’t. Whatever you do. Wherever you go. If you want me, I’ll be there.”

 

She swallows. Sydney squeezes her hand and steps just a bit closer to him. She whispers like someone will hear them. “I do. I — I want you, Carmy. Just you. ” She waits, “Is that bad?”

 

He shakes his head, curls moving fast and heart beating faster. “No. No, no, it’s not bad. We can work it if it is.” He pauses, threads their fingers together and stares into her eyes. “Does this feel bad?”

 

She shakes her head quickly. “No. No, it’s — it’s good,”

 

He swallows. “Okay. Good.”

 

Sydney blinks. They both look at each other. She speaks first. “Can you kiss me now, please?”

 

Carmy short circuits. He licks his lips and stutters. “I — you want me to?” Fucking idiot.

 

Thankfully his stupidity makes her snort. She nods. Carmy’s still stuck. Sydney sighs. “Or I can kiss you, if that’s what you—”

 

But he cuts her off. He scoops up the right side of her face with his free hand and he steps in her space and closes the distance between them. Their lips connect. Carmy finally gets that feeling William was talking about. Peace.

 

Sydney is sweet and soft and warm all over. Her lips are perfect. She takes her other free hand and pulls him closer, stuffs her fingers in his curls and grips tightly and Carmy has to fight the whimper than leaves his throat. 

 

She pulls him as humanly close as possible. Carmy keeps kissing at her mouth until it’s not enough and she opens her lips to invite his tongue in which he happily does. She makes this noise, a soft mix between a moan and a whimper and Carmy eagerly chases it, wanting more and more. He’s greedy, something he’s known his whole life, so he slides both of his hands from her face and her own hand to her waist, turning them to where she’s somewhat against the countertop and she wraps both of her arms around his neck.

 

Sydney and Carmy can’t fucking breathe. What a way to go.

 

He pulls away first. Soft wet lips parting to make a sweet noise as they leave each other. Sydney bores her eyes into his. Carmy doesn’t hide his smile. “Uhm. That was —”

 

She nods, “Good?”

 

“Good, yeah.”

 

She nods again. “Do you wanna — keep going? Like somewhere else that isn’t near a cleaver?”

 

He laughs, “Yeah. Uhm. Your room, maybe? Is that okay?”

 

“It’s — yeah, it is,” She untangles herself from him and grabs his hand, turning them both around to walk through her living room again, Carmy happily being led and following her like a lost puppy.

 

Her room is so cute. Simple and so her but it doesn’t matter. Sydney turns around and pulls her braids behind her ears, looking nervous and excited and scared and happy and cautious, every emotion is so obvious on her face.

 

She starts. “Not to pressure you or anything but, if you wanted to — I have uhm, stuff. If you wanted to — to do more than make out. But also, whatever you want,” he blinks. 

 

Carmy might die.

 

He nods, “I — I don’t mind. If you’re okay with that,”

 

She nods too, “Yeah. Yes, more than, actually.”

 

Carmy smiles, “Yeah?”

 

She scoffs, her lips curving up, “Whatever, your pants aren’t exactly hiding anything either, okay? I’m just better at saying it.”

 

He nods, pulling her close with his hands on her waist, about to kiss her again, “You always have been,” he whispers into her lips and she smiles, kissing him and wrapping her arms around his neck again. 

 

Carmy could die here. He could die kissing here. But he holds out. Slowly guides the both of them to her bed, stepping on some of her clothes, them both giggling all the way until she lands softly laid down and him on top of her. He smiles at her, thoughts quiet but he still asks.

 

“Is this okay?”

 

Sydney cocks her head, “I think I made that part clear,”

 

He shakes his curls and leans down and kisses her face, moving her thighs so she wraps her legs around him. “Not this part,” he whispers and she sighs, pulling at his hair again and Carmy starts on her neck.

 

Sydney stifles a moan, “What part?”

 

“Aren’t we doing this out of order? I wanted to take you out, buy you dinner,” he says in her skin, sliding his hands from her thighs to her shirt, pulling the tee up and feeling the warmth of her stomach. This time Sydney does moan when his cold hands touch her skin. She moves her hand from his curls to his cheek to get his attention. She always has it, he connects his eyes with hers.

 

“You still can,” she says, softly. He hears the implication. We have time. He nods. Kisses her lips once then twice, then pulls back to take his shirt off and Sydney makes a surprised giggling noise as he does so. He laughs at her, “What?”

 

She shakes her head, sitting up to take her shirt off as well, which Carmy gladly helps with. She giggles as he does so, “Nothing, it’s just— what the fuck, dude. Why are you so built? What is your problem?”

 

He kisses her shoulder, getting off her for a second to get her out of her shorts, undoing the knot and smiling shyly as she compliments him. “I just — I don't know. Is it okay?”

 

He works his way down to her legs, kissing them and rubbing her unclothed thighs with his hands like his working dough. Sydney sighs and leans back, smiling. “Yeah. It’s good,”

 

Carmy nods. He kisses his way back up to her chest, kissing the space between her breasts and reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. Sydney sighs as it falls and looks anywhere but Carmy as her tits fall out her bra. He sighs, kissing her neck and letting his hands hold her breasts as she sighs, arching her back to let him get where he needs to be. He kisses all over neck, that mole that’s dead center of it and works his way down. Her collar becomes the object of his affection for a minute. He can taste her fucking heartbeat.

Carmy’s not heartless though. He continues downward, slipping her left nipple in his mouth and exciting another moan out of her, a sweet one that turns into a sigh that has her hands gripping his curls. 

 

He moves one hand further down, to the last patch of clothing she has on and plays with the elastic part of the band of her underwear. Sydney sighs out a helpless, “Please,” moving her hips up to his hand and Carmy needs nothing more.

 

He lets his skilled hand move the underwear and his index finger slides between her folds, feeling all the wetness she had there. They both moan, her nipple still in his mouth and one of her hands against her own lips to quiet herself down.

 

Carmy pops off the overworked skin, “Sydney, don’t. Can I hear you, please? I missed your voice,” and he’s begging, he knows he is. But he did, god, does. All she’s giving him now is making him hungry for more.

 

She sighs, nodding and looking away, gasping and gripping his shoulder when Carmy’s fingers slide up to her clit and start rubbing soft circles. She exhales, and Carmy looks at her face as it twists up, “Good?”

 

Her lips is between her teeth and Carmy adjusts himself so he can kiss her cheek, “Talk to me, baby, please,”

 

Sydney whines, “It’s— yes, fuck, it’s good,” and he nods, adding more pressure to the bundle of nerves. Sydney jerks, whining. “Shit, what the fuck —” she holds onto his wrist with her free hand, thrusting against them.

 

Carmy then stops, pulling his fingers up and Sydney huffs. She doesn’t say anything as he takes them into his mouth, sucking off whatever she had given him like a fucking animal. She watches. Carmy stares right back.

 

“Fuck,” she whispers, this bewildered look on her face. Carmy pops the fingers out of his mouth and looks down at her soaked underwear. 

 

“Can I eat you out?”

 

It’s something he’s always wanted to ask her. Thankfully, she nods, eagerly. 

 

He swallows, the sweet aftertaste of her still in his mouth making him want more. He adjusts himself, Sydney eagerly taking off her underwear as he makes his way down. He kisses her stomach and opens her sticky thighs and is greeted with the pinks and browns that make up Sydney’s gorgeous pussy.

 

And she’s absolutely gushing. Her poor fucking sheets. Carmy salivates. He wastes no time. 

 

He licks at her entrance and starts slow, letting everything she was spilling out breach his mouth and slide down his throat. Sydney moans aloud, leaning back and gripping at his hair and squeezing her thighs. He doesn’t want to brag but he feels like she won’t last for a minute.

 

She jerks and twists at every flick of his tongue. Every movement makes her move, too. And she’s letting out these beautiful sounds, these cries and moans and sighs and whines that have Carmy threatening to paint the inside of his fucking slacks. It’s so much.

 

He’s urging her to come. He slips his index finger inside her, the warmth enveloping his finger and making Sydney whine aloud, back rising from the bed, “ Fuck, yes, Carmy, more, please — I, god, please—”  

 

And Carmy would do anything she asked. He arches his finger and searches for her spot, that sweet pressure that’ll tip her over— “Ah! There, right there, please, please—” and it’s there. He hums against her clit, his finger working in tandem with his tongue.

 

Sydney grips his curls till it hurts. “I’m — I’m so, so close, please don’t stop, oh God,” she huffs and he listens. He keeps up, adding another finger that he can fit and she arches, “I’m coming. Oh, God, I’m — fuck, I’m coming, Carm—”

 

And she does. She bucks up against him, holding his face while she rides out her orgasm, jerking her hips into his nose and thrashing on the bed, high whines in the throat. He feels it, lets whatever she has come out and roll off his tongue onto his chin until her thighs are shaking and she’s whimpering. 

 

Carmy pops off her clit a few seconds later, pulling his fingers out and sucking off the come that’s there. Sydney lays, boneless as Carmy kisses his way back up to her mouth. She meets him, taking his face in her hands and happily kissing back.

 

Sydney finds his pant line and starts to undo them. Carmy smiles into the kiss and pulls away, “Yeah?”

 

Sydney nods, “Yeah. Please fuck me,”

 

Carmy’s head tips over. He forgot how bold she was when she wanted something. “Fuck, Syd, you can’t just—” he stops himself, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Uhm, condoms?”

 

Sydney suddenly gets bashful. “I — I have some. And it’s up to you, but we don’t have to use them. And not to trap you or anything, I just — I’m clean and I’m on birth control so that’s good and I just — miss you and it’s our first time, so I wanna kinda — feel you? I guess. But whatever, again, we don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”

 

Carmy blinks and stares at her. He cups her face and kisses her forehead and smiles, “I wanna feel you, too. You’re sure?”

 

She nods, her eyes full. “Yeah. It’s you. I’m sure.”

 

He nods back. Fuck, he loves this woman. 

 

Carmy takes his pants and boxers off to a very eager audience. Another day, when they aren’t so excited, he’d let her taste him. She looks like she wants to. But tonight, he just wants her to feel good. It makes him feel good, too, so they both win. 

 

Carmy grabs some lube and Sydney makes a noise that makes him stop. She takes the bottle from him and squirts it on her hands and strokes him slowly, pulling him down between her thigh and meeting their lips together. He doesn’t stop the groan that leaves the back of his throat. 

 

She kisses his chin after pulling from his lips and Carmy stops her, about to spill over into her hand, kisses her cheek and opens her thighs with his hands as he settles between them. Sydney moans, nervous and excited at the same time.

 

He looks at her before he slides in, catching her nervous eyes and he stops her. He holds her face and guides her to look up at him and Sydney does. They hold eye contact as Carmy pushes in. He tangles their hands together. It’s intense.

 

Sydney breaks it first, whimpering and tossing her head back. Carmy finally bottoms out, and she holds her hand on his waist, gasping. “Wait, please,” she whispers and he nods, kissing her face and giving her time. 

 

It’s a while before she finally moves her hips, saying, “Carmy, please,” while he kisses her. He nods and starts slow, pulling out inch by inch to edge back in. Sydney lets out a cry, voice thin and threatening to crack. She grips his back and tightens her thighs around him. 

 

Carmy gets the hint and increases his pace the more she whines. She nods, hands finding his curls as he reaches down to kiss her ear. Sydney groans and calls him, “Harder, please, Carmy,”

 

And who is he to ignore a sweet voice like that?

 

He pulls out and adjusts himself, picking up the flesh of her thigh and angling differently and pushes back inside, Sydney crying out and clinging to him all the way. She’s so warm and wet and loud Carmy tries his hardest to stay focused on all the moving parts. It’s all so much— Sydney’s so fucking loud in his ear, her nails digging into his skin, her thighs shaking against his, the way her pussy feels made for him— he might fucking combust.

 

He groans when he realizes he’s been holding in his own sounds to hear her own. He hides in her shoulder and pushes harder, and harder, and harder. 

 

Suddenly, she gasps, “Fuck! Yes, right there, Carmy, harder, harder, I— I need you, more, please,”

 

Fuck, he was definitely gonna come soon if she kept talking like that. He pulled back and looked into her eyes, kissing her face and trying to control himself. “You need me?”

 

Her wet eyes spilled over and she moaned freely, tossing her head back and nodding, “So bad, baby, please—” cutting herself off with a long moan. 

 

He leans down right into her mouth, “I need you, too, Sydney. Fuck, you feel so good,”

 

Sydney nods back, “Yeah, more, fuck yes, more, Carmy!”

 

Carmy picks up both her thighs and lifts them, thrusting as deep as he can. Sydney all but screams, dropping her hands to stable herself on her sheets, a slew of nothing but unintelligible moans leaving her lips. He grunts, feeling his head become lighter than air, seeing her like this, all laid out on her bed, moaning because of him, coming because of him. It was a dizzying feeling. 

 

He groans, “Good?”

 

And she nods, “Yeah, yes! Just like that! Fuck, fuck! God, Carmen, ” his full name on her lips in this context is addicting. He gives her everything she wants until he sees her reach down and rub her clit in fast, needy circles. He groans, “You gonna come, baby?”

 

Sydney whines, “Yes! Fuck, fuck, make me come, baby, I’m so close, Carmy, I’m so fucking close..!”

 

Carmy is too. He nods and leans down and captures her mouth, all the spit and saliva and drool she had let out is on his lips now, too. He doesn’t mind. He feels her pussy squeezing, she’s so fucking close. He kisses her face, “Syd, Syd look at me,” and she tries. She opens her eyes and she whimpers, grabbing his face to keep him close with her free hand. 

 

It takes two more thrusts before she’s spilling over him. Holding his eyes was enough, just like he thought it would be. She tosses her head back, grabbing his curls and groaning, a loud, long call of his name and comes. Carmy feels it, feels her pussy give and squeeze and pulse around him and it’s enough to trigger his own. Carmy’s orgasm comes as a surprise. He moans loudly as he spills inside of her, Sydney moaning with him.

 

Carmy catches his breath, letting go of Sydney’s thighs and pulling out slowly, letting her come down. 

He controls his breathing before looking down at her. She’s smiling, eyes closed and panting, braids askew on her pillow. Carmy smiles, leaning over and kissing all over face. Sydney giggles, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close. Carmy happily lays right on top of her, Sydney groaning and laughing as he does so. It’s silent and sweet and Carmy feels peace wash over him in waves. 

 

Eventually they settle, she with a loose shirt on and he in his boxers, Sydney running her hands over his arms. It’s almost midnight but Carmy’s got nowhere to be.  

 

“You were the driving force for my menu, too,” Sydney says suddenly, quietly, tucked under his chin like she’s afraid he’ll hear her. But he does. Carmy feels his heart speed up. “Yeah?”

 

She nods. “Yeah. I — I missed you a lot. And I didn’t want to talk to you. So I did what I do best and ignored it and worked. But I thought about you. And I read about you and how The Bear was doing and Adam was getting on my nerves so I never worked menu with him, I just went to the grocery store and Nat’s and cooked and thought about you.”

 

Carmy can’t hide his smile. He remembers a time when he went over and found a black hair tie in his sister’s couch. When questioned about it, she got very defensive, and Lilian started crying so they both moved on. But he never forgot.

 

Still, he wants to know. “Were you thinking about me because you were upset or something else?”

 

Sydney shrugs. “Both. I just— I knew how I felt about you, but with everything else I was mad. And I hated how we left things, how I felt like I couldn’t talk to you anymore. You got so distant—”

 

He shakes his head, “I know. I know, I’m — I’m really fucking sorry Sydney. I wasn’t trying to keep you away I was trying to keep myself safe but it was the worst way to do it, I’m — I’m sorry. I won’t ever shut you out again, okay? I was okay with just seeing you at the funeral and leaving us wherever we were but I didn’t think you’d want to come, I fucked up so bad—”

 

Syd gets up a bit, looking into his eyes, “I would’ve come. I wanted to talk to you, too. My therapist told me I should just show up, be spontaneous instead of asking for permission, but that felt rude, I don’t know. And then Nat called tonight so I made them make space and when they said you left I was rushing out to catch you because I figured you were going back to The Bear to finish service and then —” she sighs, smiling, “I mean it worked out, so,”

 

Carmy smiles, “Yeah. I still — I wanna work on us, okay? I wanna get better and do better every fucking day. I don’t want you feeling like I felt ever again. I don’t know why you even let me over,” he adds the last part as a joke.

 

She snorts, “Probably because I’m in love with you,”

 

Carmy stills. Sydney blinks, obviously not meaning for that to leave her mouth. She stumbles, sitting up and separating them. “Uhm. Fuck, I mean like… In a professional way. Fuck, that’s so much worse. I’m — I’m sorry, that’s too fast right? Shit. I meant like—”

 

He leans and grabs her face, kissing her. Sydney sighs in his mouth, putting her hands on his chest, pulling back, “I’m sorry— I know I’m moving all out of order, I promise I’m not like— love bombing you or trying to trap you, I truly am on the pill and we can buy a Plan B tomorrow—”

 

“Sydney, Sydney, Sydney,” he says laughing, holding her face. “It’s okay. I love you, too,” and she swoons at him, her big eyes getting bigger and Carmy tilts his head, “Sorry, was that something you didn’t already know?”

 

Sydney huffs, “Well I mean I knew something, but that— isn’t… Uhm. Okay. Good. Yeah. Me, too,” he smiles and pulls her in for another kiss, this one longer and sweet.

 

She pulls back again, “Carmy!”

 

He blinks at her, “Yes?”

 

And she’s smiling, “I — sorry, I have an idea, just okay. Hear me out.”

 

He nods. She works the question in her mind then nods. “I wanna cook with you one last time.”

 

He nods again. “I figured. I told you, whenever you want—”

 

“I wanna cook with you at The Bear one last time.”

 

He stops. Blinks a couple of times. Another feeling washes over him. Sydney keeps talking. “I know. I know how we left things last time. But that’s not us anymore. I wanna be better. We’re better. Let’s go out better. I don’t start at Kasama for another three weeks. Let me stage as your CDC one last time. Be home with my family one last time. That’s my idea of a good fucking funeral.”

 

He smiles. There was fear and anxiety and love and release and peace all in his heart. Still he went ahead. 

 

Carmy nods, “Okay.”

 

Sydney smiles. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

Sydney comes in with him to The Bear the next morning. It’s warm. It feels like coming home.

Carmy’s doing his new morning set up prep and she finds the very last version of their menu, “Hey,” she calls quietly as he pours them both some water. He hums and she reads the menu. His ears perk. “Is this— my donut?”

 

He nods, still hiding his gaze from her and rolling out knives. He hears her hum back, taking it in. Sydney suddenly comes to his side, sliding her arms on his neck and pulling him close for a slow, drawn kiss, lips meeting a cosmic way, finding each other.

 

Carmy holds her waist and gets her closer, almost knocking over the waters on the table and she pulls at his curls. He remembered why it was so hard to get out of bed this morning. She was insatiable and incredibly hard to resist.

 

“Ooooh, you guys are gonna get a health code violation,”

 

They part quickly, Richie’s singsong, mockery making them remember where they were. Sydney smiles. “Hey, Richie,”

 

He opens his arms, and she falls in them, “Welcome back, babe. Oh, sorry, Carm, is that disrespectful now? Should I stick with ma’am?”

 

Carmy chuckles and cleans his knives, “Fuck off,” he says with no heat. 

 

Richie stands down, hands up, elbowing Sydney’s side. “Happy you’re here, babe. How’d dickhead take the news?”

 

She shrugs. “About as well as you’d think. Apparently he came out and spoke to Carmy at dinner.”

 

Cousin’s eyebrows raise, “Oh shit. Got men fighting over you, huh, Syd?”

 

It’s her turn to say it, “Oh, fuck off,” as she’s laughing.

 

And then, Tina walks in, smiling, “Good job, Jeffery.”

 

Sydney smiles. Carmy’s still fucking smiling. His cheeks hurt.

 

Natalie comes in and sighs an exhale of relief, “Thank God. Sydney, I thought you murdered him! Like, does he deserve it, maybe, but we need him for the week at least,” and she hugs her sister as Sydney laughs. 

 

Service was incredible. Sydney had been on plates and switched with Carmy as necessary. They spoke to each other and communicated and no plates went bad. Her donut sold out the fastest after the guests learned the visionary behind it was in the kitchen that night and would be until their closing. 

 

It was perfect. It was peace. 

 

They went to his after that. Something about Sydney wanting to see what Therapized Carmy decorated his apartment like. And she was right — he had gotten plants, a new couch and a rug for his door. A shoe rack and a hanging knife set. He turned his spare office room into his drawing room and happily shared with her everything he had been working on. She took it all in.

 

She’s looking at his New York book, all the recipes hopping off the page and she’s smiling when she says, “We should make a cookbook. I write, you draw,”

 

He finds his set of prismacolors and puts them on the right side of his desk. “Yeah? You want to?”

 

She looks up, “Carmy. I was like — half joking.”

 

Carmy shrugs. “It’d be a fire fucking book. Plus, I'd get a lot of practice in before school.”

 

Sydney scoffs, “You don’t need practice. You’re really fucking good,”

 

He shrugs again, “Still.”

 

She waits. “You— you’re being serious aren’t you?”

 

“Of course I am. One, I got this offer to make one the other day but declined because I had no fucking inspiration—”

 

“Okay, one was ‘the other day’ actually last month?”

 

He smiles. “Besides the point. Two, it’d be an incredible way to go out. The Bear is over. You just left Shapiro. ‘Came home’ as he put it. Imagine we make a cookbook together. Everything we’ve made and created together,” he bends to where she’s seated and takes her hand in his and kisses it. “Everything you taught me,”

 

Sydney cuts in again, “Everything you taught me,”

 

He laughs, kissing up her wrist, looking into her eyes. “Everything we taught each other. Yeah? Three. We should make something together. Now that we’re … y’know, together.”

 

Sydney cocks her head, “I think we’ve always been together. Just one of us didn’t know when the other did,”

 

He nods. Sydney sighs. She leans down and holds his face in her hands and kisses his nose. “You wanna do that with me?” she whispers, unsure, hesitant. He can understand why. 

 

Carmy nods. “I wanna do everything with you.”

 

She smiles. “You’ll call the editor tomorrow then?”

 

He stands and helps her stand too, her wrapping herself over his neck like she always does, kissing him as he nods, pulling her close to him. The kiss gets heated quickly. Sydney pulls off and Carmy kisses her neck, “Here?” she asks, and he nods, sliding his fingers down her shorts. 

 

Anywhere , he wanted to say then. Wherever you want me. Anytime. Anyplace. 

 

William was more than happy to hear Carmy’s update this week. An early appointment Monday morning that had him slipping out of bed and kissing Sydney’s cheeks as she stirred and clung to him for him not to leave. She let up when he promised her he’d be back. Today was the funeral after all. 

 

“And how have you been feeling?” William asks, only because it’s his job. Any man with eyes and ears could tell Carmen Berzatto was probably the happiest he had been in his entire life.

 

Carmy smiles. “Good. Light.” 

 

William smiles. “How are you feeling about the funeral tonight?”

 

He sighs. “I’m — anxious but excited? Sydney won’t show me what she’s wearing and everyone is really sad but it’s a good sad. It feels like a good thing.”

 

His therapist nods. “That’s good, Carmy.”

 

Carmy smiles again, “Fucking finally. Only took you 8 months,”

 

William shrugs, “I didn’t think we were on that level yet. You certainly didn’t let me in enough for it.”

 

Carmy nods, chuckling. He looks off, a sad smile gracing his lips. “Are you thinking about him?” William asks.

 

He nods again. He takes a breath. “Just wondering what he would've thought about all this, is all. I know I’ll never know. But fuck. I wish I could.”

 

William nods. “Are you still writing to him?”

 

“Yeah. I — I told Syd. She said she used to do the same for her mom. So I felt less insane when I wrote to him today.”

 

“On the train here?”

 

Carmy nodded. “Do you wanna read it?”

 

Carmy’s happy he didn’t have to say it. He pulls out his black notebook from his bag, clearing his throat and rubbing his face, attempting to not cry.

 

He starts. “Dear Mikey. It’s been almost two years and I don’t know if you’ve ever read any of my letters. If you even can. But, I’m doing good. I have a girlfriend now. Someone who doesn’t take my shit and listens to me and makes me feel better about the shit most people couldn’t, so I guess you were wrong. I will get married before you do. I — uhm. I’m good with mom now. She’s not as drunk as she was. She stopped hitting me. Natalie and Lilian are doing good. If you read the last letter you’d know that, too. 

 

“But uhm. I’m writing you this time to let you know I closed The Beef. Well, I closed The Bear. Our restaurant. The one I told you about. Ciccero sold it. It was making less money than it was supposed to so I guess you were right about that. I can’t run a restaurant. I barely did it without you, I barely did it without Sydney. That’s her name, my girlfriend, Sydney. She’s brighter than the sun and she cooks better than we ever can and will. She was my partner and I fucked up grieving you and pushing shit onto her I shouldn’t have, so she left. And when I found her again, I said I wouldn’t fuck up. So far, so good. But The Bear is closed. For real and for good. Today’s the funeral. And I’m fucking scared. I hope you don’t hate me. Or haunt me. Or hate or haunt Sydney. 

 

I hope you know this is good. That I get it now. Why you never wanted me in the kitchen with you. It’s not because of me. It’s because you were scared of that one good thing. So you fucked up everything. And — I did that, too. I didn’t let Nat or Richie or Sydney in for a while. And then I did. And I have to say you were wrong again — it’s pretty fucking incredible. I’m sorry you never got to see it. But thank you for forcing me to.”

 

Carmy sniffles. He wipes his nose and closes the notebook, sighing. William smiles, “That was beautiful, Carmy. How did writing that make you feel?”

 

He thinks. “Peaceful,”

The funeral is nothing but family.

 

Sydney and Carmy cooked of course, but nothing fancy. 16 sweet and spicy dipped Italian beef peppers with a side of fennel salad and a small portion of short braised ribs and fries and chocolate cake was on the menu for dinner at The Bear for its last night. One for everyone and another for them to take home. It’s all joy and laughs and amusement. 

 

Claire comes by to pay her respects. She’s on call, stopping to get her beef sandwich and kissing the Faks on each of their cheeks. She hugs Carmy and waves to Sydney, who waves back. It’s sweet and simple. 

 

Nat brings Lilian who most stays clung to her uncle’s hip all night before her and Mom have to leave. Sydney swoons everytime Carmy picks at Lily’s cheeks and she giggles and gurgles. Pete nearly cries at everything that happens to his daughter. 

 

Marcus lets Luca in for a minute, a quick kiss and his awkward, “I know this a family thing, just wanted to pay my respects. Goodnight,” and he leaves. Carmy laughs the hardest, everyone wondering why the fuck he didn’t just sit down and eat. But the night goes on.

 

As they start to clean up, telling stories and smiling and laughing, the small lull in the air starts to become larger for Carmy. He knows what he has to do next. Eventually everyone is sat front of house, Carmy’s eyes focused on the posted and hung sign, his brother’s last words to him. 

 

Sydney looks with him and sighs, rubbing his back and he looks back at her, smiling and eyes wet and threatening to leak. He clears his throat.

“Richie? You wanna give me a hand?”

 

And his cousin turns to him, finishing a riveting conversation with Tina and Ebrah that he's definitely told before and sighs. He knows what Carmy’s talking about. Richie comes to his side and hugs him tight. It lasts long.

 

Richie’s tall enough to get it without a step stool so he just reaches up. Everyone watches, Sydney holding Carmy’s hand while Natalie leans on his shoulder. Tina and Ebra are holding each other, Marcus leaning on Tina’s head in her curls. Manny, Sweeps, Chi-Chi and both Faks all hold each other close. The sign comes down easily. They all collectively sigh and let the moment sit. 

 

Carmy clears his throat. He pulls a plexi-glass pen from his pocket. “Can I sign first?” Everyone smiles, and wipes their faces. They all gather as Carmy spills out markers from his pockets and everyone grabs one, trying to all get their favorite color.

 

“You dirty bitch, I wanted blue!” 

 

“That is what your mother said last night!”

 

“Ebra, that one don’t make no sense, man,”

 

“Carmy, Carmy, slide me a pink one!”

 

“Fak, you would want pink!”

 

“It’s a nice color, don’t listen to them bro,”

 

“Thanks, Ted,”

 

“Can I get gray please?”

 

“Pete, your favorite color is gray?”

 

“It’s the only one no one is fighting over!”

 

“Honey, just use my green one when I’m done, Lily wants to sign it, too,”

 

“Carmy, babe, did you bring the one I asked for?”

 

“Foul on the play! She gets girlfriend privileges! Syd, fuck, you took my corner!”

 

“Of course she gets girlfriend privileges, that’s who she is. Yo, yo, okay, let me see it, lemme see,” and Carmy’s voice cuts through the commotion and laughter. 

 

It’s beautiful. Everyone’s names and signature on the only thing he had to remember this place by. He smiles. 

 

He clears his throat. “I’m not good at speeches. I’m barely good at day to day conversation,”

 

Richie laughs, “Yeah, we know.”

 

Carmy smiles, “Okay, yeah. But I just want to say — thank you. All of you. None of this was possible or ever could’ve been without every single name on this sign and everyone in this room. Whatever you do next, wherever you go, whoever you become, I hope you can keep me with you. I want to be there for everything you do.”

 

They all awe, Tina crying and Sydney kissing his cheek and rubbing his arm. They all gather up and group hug, Carmy in the center, warm and surrounded and swallowed by his family. His niece laughs the hardest when everyone comes together and it makes everyone laugh, too.

 

Everyone leaves together. The Faks leave with Richie, a joke about a clown car is made and it makes everyone laugh. Natalie kisses her brother and sister goodnight as Pete pulls around with their car and Carmy kisses his sleeping Lily goodnight. Ebra catches a cab but not before telling Carmy and Sydney a story of his life as a chef in Somalia, something they've never heard before. He ends it with, “That was a lie.” and leaves. They both laugh. Manny and Sweeps walk to the station together, Chi-Chi coming along just for a smoke. Luca pulls up for Marcus, him hugging them both the tightest and longest. Carmy hands Marcus one of his old blank sketchbooks, one uncompleted with thirteen pages used, the rest not. Marcus tries to stop him but Carmy insists. He leaves with another long hug. 

 

Tina is the last to leave. Louie’s getting all the practice he can before his driver’s test, so he’s happily in the front seat with her husband riding in the passenger, looking scared and tired and happy they got to Tina safely. She smiles at them. “This me. God. You two be good to each other. You’re fucking crazy about each other, alright? Don’t forget that. I’ll see you guys again soon. Love you, chefs.” and she smiles, her curls blowing in the cold wind and she backseats Louie, him complaining all the way.

 

They way until her car is completely out of their line of sight. Carmy sighs first. He looks down at the plaque. The signed ‘Love you dude, Let it Rip,’ looking back at him.

 

Sydney wraps her arm around his and grabs his attention. He looks up at her, wet eyes and full smile. She smiles back and kisses him quickly. “How do you feel?”

 

He sighs again. Looks up at the sky and sees the skyline of Chicago blinking and sparkling back at him. He can smell Sydney’s perfume and feel her warmth, feel the weight of the plaque in his hands and his body is lighter than air. Carmy smiles.

 

“Peaceful.”

Notes:

I love u Sydney. I love u Carmen. I love you SydCarmy. I don't trust Shapiro at all. I trust one white man — carmen berzatto. chris storer, keep ur writers or don't write ur show simple as that. I hope u guys enjoyed. thank u for all the sydcarmy playlist love :

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0cPowakUYnwNekeBnZumYV?si=208087486139401f

 

please leave comments I read them all!!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 10 of The Million Little Things