Chapter Text
It had been a long and brutal month for Claire, one that made her question every choice she’d ever made in life. When had she last even been in her apartment? The on-call rooms had never been great, but they were there, and since she kept falling asleep in her car, Claire had given up on trying to leave. They were short-staffed, and she lived too far away.
It’d been hard not to cry when the new schedule had been published, beautifully blank in four squares. No patients, no seminars, no tests, just an entire weekend free. She’d been so desperate to spend it sleeping and thumbing through her TikTok FYP, that the wedding slipped her mind.
When September had hit, and Claire flipped the pages of her wall calendar, she almost wept, staring at all the exclamation points. The guilt and devastation had struck her so hard that her knees buckled. Claire would never admit it to anyone else, but she’d come so close to pulling out of Tiff’s wedding party. Maybe even skipping the whole thing altogether. She could’ve pretended to get COVID—easy for anyone to believe, it wouldn’t have been the first time she walked out of the ER with something vicious clawing in her throat—but that only would have made her feel worse. The days dragged closer and closer to the wedding, and Claire struggled to fill her lungs in between treating patients who might die and patients who would die.
She could be honest with Tiffany, Claire thought to herself. Tiffany wasn’t in healthcare but knew enough to understand, right? With how long they’d been friends, it would all be fine if Claire skipped the wedding. No big deal. Everyone would understand.
“No, honey,” Paula had told her bluntly one night, both of them hiding at the nurse’s station. They had approximately five minutes to try and fit the day’s meals in before chaos surged through the doors. “She won’t.”
“I’ve known her my whole life, P,” Claire said back, plugging her nose so she could endure the sludge the hospital called coffee without puking.
“She’s a bride.”
“And my, like, ride or die!”
The older woman shook her head sadly. “Baby, she won’t understand. No one can, not until they’ve been through this shit. It’s her big day. She’s had you running around for months, you think she’d be cool with you dipping out on her actual wedding day?”
Claire had chosen the sludge over answering, thinking of the slew of voice notes on her phone, long minutes of Tiff panicking over what was left on her to-do list.
“I’m fucking losing it.” She leaned back in the thin and worn chair, staring up at the blinding ceiling lights so she wouldn’t cry. “Everything is so shit.”
“Things still bad at home?” Paula had started to ask, but then every alarm they had went off and Claire jumped to her feet. Someone answered the phone—mass shooting, heavy casualties—and everything else fell away, even though yes, things at home were still terrible.
Her parents were furious at one another, fighting over every little thing, trapped over a mistake her mom had made. She’d spent hours with them, trying to calm things down and play mediator, but their marriage continued to spiral. Her dad had started making threats about lawyers and divorce—without giving anyone a heads up.
Claire didn’t know what else to do. Their story began with a literal ‘love at first sight,’ like how rare was that these days? Of all the things Claire had worried about in life, her parents’ marriage had never been one of them. So this had to up being nothing but a blip, she kept telling herself, a speed bump they’d withstand.
She couldn’t let this be the end of her parents’ love story, not when it meant so much to people, to her, the only thing that made her believe that her Prince Charming was still possible. Maybe it would be easier if her sisters would do anything to help, but no, instead Claire was on her own.
“Claire, oh my god,” Callie had sighed last time Claire managed to get her on the phone, after a week of fucking voicemails.
“Just listen,” Claire had said tightly, checking her patient’s chart and trying to push past the bitter taste in her mouth. “Can’t you just come home for a bit to help them talk through this? I’m doing what I can, but I’ve got a lot going on right now—”
“And I don’t?”
“—at the hospital.” She’d—mostly—tried to keep her frustration from sharpening her tone, because, sure, Callie was busy, but taking-pictures-for-magazines-busy was pretty fucking different from keeping-people-alive-busy.
“Claire,” Callie had only snapped. “I’m literally in Zambia right now for National Geographic looking for Shoebill storks, like—”
See? Taking pictures.
“Aren’t you freelance? Can’t you take time off from your magazine spread?”
“Shoebill storks are endangered, which is what the issue wants to focus on by the way, it matters—”
“And they’re our parents! Callie—”
“Claire!” She could easily picture Callie, nose all scrunched up, knuckle pressed to her forehead, that Australian guy hovering nearby. “I talk to them. Often, I swear, but I’m not going to shove my way into this.” Like you, Claire heard clearly.
“Can’t—what’s-his na—Todd just take over the camera for a bit?”
“Toby.”
Her pager went off. “Huh?”
“Toby.”
Claire rolled her eyes, fuck, what was the issue with bed two again? “Right. Toby.”
“No, he can’t take over for me,” Callie sneered. “Why don’t you ask Carmy to help out?”
The phone call had ended in an instance, Claire’s heart spasming in her chest.
Chloe hadn’t been any better, declining her calls in favour of texting.
‘Dude, stop,’ her last message had read, ‘Mom literally cheated on Dad, like fuck her. It’s none of our business.’
Why were so many people able to just say ‘fuck it,’ throw up their hands and storm away from a hard situation? Claire always stuck around and did her best, why wouldn’t anyone stand with her? She was pretty sure she’d had an anxiety attack or a panic attack when her dad had called, and for a spare moment she had thought about him, about all the nights he’d freak out and shrink away, and how Claire hadn’t known what to do. He’d never been like this when they were teenagers. Sometimes being with Carmy had felt too much like work, like sterile rooms and practiced smiles and patience that no one deserved.
Work was unrelenting, chaotic and devastating. In the mess of your average illnesses and injuries sandwiched in between disasters, Claire had lost twelve patients under her primary care. She’d never lost so many patients in such a short period of time: four fentanyl overdoses, six gunshot wounds, a suicide, and the drowning of a nine-year old, who had jumped into the lake after her younger sister had fallen in. Where were you, Claire wanted to ask the girl’s hysterical parents as she called time of death, the other sister clinging to a stuffed bear, how could you let this happen?
So, fine. The wedding had taken a backseat to everything else, and so had Carmy, if Claire was to be honest. It had only hit her on the way to the church, when Tiff asked her in a hushed tone how she was doing.
“What’s wrong?” Andrea had asked, eyes on her phone.
“Oh, is this about Carmy?” Penny had looked at her sympathetically. Claire wished she hadn’t told so many fucking people about him. There’d been excitement and butterflies clogging her senses and it’d been so easy to ignore how quickly everything had moved, how they were basically strangers.
“Who is this?” Sasha asked, her thin eyebrows perched high.
“No one.” She shrugged; she didn’t want this to be a thing on Tiff’s big day. “Just a guy.”
“Not just a guy,” Tiffany cut in scathingly. “They’ve known each since, like, middle school. After a few months of them dating he like, completely lost it and blamed everything going wrong in his life on Claire, and then he dumped her in the most, like, humiliating way.”
“Interesting,” Sasha said evenly.
Weeks or months ago, Claire had gotten drunk with most of the women in the limo, laughing at Carmy’s faults, making a list of all the reasons he’d eventually regret taking Claire for granted and how good it would feel when he came to her begging for another chance. It’d been cathartic to picture Carmy on his knees and Claire laughing cruelly in his face. Now, Claire tried to tune it out, her chest tight, aching, thinking of a teddy bear sitting in the morgue with its owner’s sister. Watching over her.
She shook her head. It would’ve been nice for Carmy to have figured things out by now, she thought bitterly. To come looking for her, to see her struggling, to catch her when she fell into his arms, to take care of her for a change.
“We’re here!” Tiffany sang out as the car pulled into the church. Claire jerked back to reality, shaking away any thoughts not focused on the wedding. Today was about Tiffany, not her, not Carmy. At least she knew she could prioritize someone else instead of wallowing in her shit, and if Carmy—Bear, her Bear—got to see what he was missing out on, then that wasn’t such a bad thing.
He had been looking at her, for her, Claire realized in the aftermath, frozen and breathless. It had taken her a minute to process, and by then Sydney had swept Carmy inside before she could get there and figure out what the hell was going on. She didn’t get far, Nat descending onto Sasha and the rest of the gathering bridesmaids. Too confused and too worried, horrified that she’d somehow missed everything, missed Carmy standing alone in the scorching sun, she let Nat and Richie take over things and went into the house, her heart pounding hard.
Things had gotten stirred up inside as well, Ben and Chris arguing with Frank.
“Why the fuck weren’t you out there?” Frank hissed.
“We were waiting for our next task!” Ben was arguing, Chris nodding his head vigorously, despite looking guilty.
“Where’s Carm?” Claire cut in, following the direction Frank waved his hand towards. Through the living room, past the kitchen and the restroom, then through the door to the basement and down the stairs. Fuck, Frank was rich, there were multiple doorways leading out of the ‘main’ room at the bottom of the stairs.
She called out into the dim light, her voice wavering. “Bear?”
After a long pause, Sydney’s voice echoed back. “We’re in here!”
Sydney could already taste her regret at the back of her throat, a burning sensation that she knew would have migrated down to her chest by nightfall, keeping her awake for hours so she could obsess over her stupid moment of panic. She wanted to say something that would take back the doubt and confusion washing over Carmy’s stupid face, because there was no denying what had almost happened between them. No way could she bluff her way out of it. But Sydney didn’t know how to convey the sheer panic that had stripped through her mind at Claire’s voice, at that stupid fucking nickname ringing from her lips. They only had seconds before Claire rushed into the room and over to Carmy, but Sydney felt each one like it was an eternity.
There was so much history between Carmy and Claire and whatever it was that made everyone fucking RSVP for their non-existent wedding so openly, and Sydney was running out of ways to not acknowledge the jealousy burning in the background. Not that she was jealous. She barely understood what had happened the night of friends and family, dismissed it amid all the loose ends left for her to worry about and ignored the ache in her chest. So what if Carmy had gotten confused for a minute? And tried to kiss her? Didn’t have to mean anything.
Claire had been in the Berzatto circle or family or whatever you want to fucking call it for decades, and Sydney had just showed up. So, yeah, Sydney had pulled back from whatever that could have been. Heat exhaustion, probably.
“Carmy! Oh my god, just look at you—are you okay?” Claire’s hands ghosted—gently, expertly—over his arms, his shoulders, his fucking face, leaning in close like there was something to find in the redness of Carmy’s skin. It’s just a sunburn, Sydney wanted to snap, he’s fine.
“I’m fine, Claire,” Carmy croaked, pushing her hands away and reaching for the bottle of water. “I just needed a break from the heat.”
He wouldn’t stop looking at Sydney; she was going to fucking kill him.
Claire clicked her tongue, scolding. “You could easily have heat exhaustion, Bear.”
Awkwardly, fidgeting. “Pretty sure I don’t, I feel fine now. Sydney—”
Teasing. “Pretty sure you didn’t become a doctor in the last few months.”
“Um, no. I didn’t.”
“You should’ve asked for help, Bear, there were a ton of people free.”
Yeah, Sydney thought, but I’m the one who noticed.
“I— fuck.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to press too hard.”
“It’s fine—”
Flirting? Was Sydney watching them fucking flirt? “Is that your professional take?”
“N-no, I just meant th—”
Definitely flirting, fuck her for getting out of bed and living her life. “You didn’t have to almost kill yourself to get me to talk to you—”
“Wh-what?”
That was it for Sydney, and the sick feeling in her stomach, dropping her head to stare at the ground. “I should give you guys a minute—”
“No.”
“Thanks, Sydney, I just want to look him over.”
“Cool. Um, feel better—”
“Sydney, don’t.”
She fled the room they were probably going to fuck in, up the stairs, two steps at a time and escaping through the front door as quietly as possible. There was no fucking way she was staying for the reception, fumbling with her phone and refusing to think about the cost of an Uber. Sydney struggled to breathe past the pain lancing through her ribs, which was imaginary, probably. It was too much, surrounded by Carmy’s family, Carmy’s past, that she couldn’t let herself think of the feelings involved. She’d been in enough kitchens to see how catastrophic relationships could be. Fuck, she’d barely survived the line cook from Avec.
Thinking logically, Sydney coached herself, she still wasn’t a partner. For all the work she’d done, there wasn’t a square inch of the restaurant that she could claim as her own, and as much as she wanted to, she still wasn’t sure signing the partnership agreement was a great idea. What if something happened between her and Carmy, and it blew up in their faces? What if they spent every hour of the day together and hated how that felt? What if Sydney was too much, too intense, too annoying, too stubborn and Carmy immediately realized he preferred white girls with brown hair and knowing smiles? What if she cracked herself open and gave him everything he wanted, only for Carmy to realize he didn’t even like who she was outside of the restaurant. Sydney could handle any crisis at work, but everywhere else she was a fucking disaster. What if it ended and hurt the restaurant? What if she had to leave?
What if—by losing Carmy—Sydney had to say goodbye to all the people she’d grown to love, this family that had taken her in? She was the one balanced on a thin sheet of ice, not him. There was no way he could be worth the risk. She ignored any part of her that tried to argue— wait, how much to get home?
Carmy had lost patience, with Sydney running away from him, with himself for letting her, and now Claire, for picking the worst time. He hadn’t done anything wrong this time, Sydney was the one to answer Claire, Carmy had been focused on fitting his hands around Sydney’s hips and pulling her closer. He didn’t know why Claire was hovering over him. He didn’t know why she was smiling at him again, and it’d been stupid of him to not chase after Syd.
Today had felt different between them, bright and hopeful, and maybe he should’ve found a way to see her outside the restaurant months ago. Without the pressure of service or his family, just them. Sugar had gone on and on worrying about Syd, but Carmy had made her laugh today. In a completely new way. He couldn’t have fucked it beyond repair.
Of course you did, said a cold voice, an echo of another life. All you do is fuck up.
Let it rip, a warmer voice chimed in.
And yeah, Carmy could do that.
“Bear?”
“Hm—yeah?” Claire was looking at him strangely. Shit, had she said something?
“I said, I don’t know why you haven’t come to me yet.”
“I called,” Carmy countered weakly. “I tried.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s it?”
“Wh-what was I supposed to—”
“You know where I work. You know where I live. I dunno, Bear, a gesture, maybe? Something? Anything? You owe me that much.”
Carmy sighed and flexed his burning hands. He tried to recall some of his sessions with his therapist, for some blueprint of the best way forward. Because Claire was right, he should’ve talked to her a long time ago, and Carmy was sick of the guilt weighing heavy in his gut and how this seemed to keep Sydney further from him. He took in a breath, and—
The world was fucking against her, Sydney decided. The restaurant was still in a precarious position, she had a string of missed calls from her dad that she really should return, she didn’t know if she could trust Carmy to be her partner at work, let alone in… other, non-work situations, she was pissed that Claire was still a thing and that everyone loved her and why that pissed her off, and the H Mart she was in had none of the Häagen-Dazs flavours she wanted. Her options were plain chocolate (boring), chocolate peanut-butter (too heavy), or strawberry (which tasted so much like strawberry yogurt that it wasn’t worth the calories), but Sydney kept staring at the shelf like something else might appear.
Trader Joe’s ice cream was shitty, and Sydney wasn’t going anywhere else, so she might as well wait here until a new delivery showed up. It couldn’t be that long a wait, and she could lean her head into the freezer to numb her brain into silence. Maybe Carmy had the right idea, Sydney mused, swaying on her feet, she should spend a few hours in a freezer. Even if she looked insane. Which was fine, it wasn’t like, not true, and she was lost in a sea of strangers.
“Syd?”
Maybe not, Sydney thought sourly, mourning the cold as she stepped away and closed the freezer door. Luca was standing on the other side of the door, so she jumped when it swung shut. Briefly, Sydney sent thanks to somewhere in the ether, that she was in a dress and make-up and not ratty sweats. Luca was always so stupidly good looking, and her ego couldn’t take another hit.
“Hey, Luca.” Her voice came out all soft and girly, which, gross, so she hurriedly cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”
Luca smiled bashfully, glancing at the ground. “Nothing special. My place doesn’t have AC, so I’m kinda just wasting time.”
“The humidity?” Sydney guessed.
“Yeah, I’m still not used to it.”
“I mean, does anyone get used to it?” Sydney tucked an errant braid behind her ear, as Luca took off on how it compared to England, hands gesturing and engaged, and why couldn’t she have fallen for someone like this? How much easier would everything be if Carmy had Claire and she had someone else.
“You look nice,” Luca said, interrupting himself. “On the way to a party, or…”
“Nah.” She waved awkwardly at herself. “Coming from a wedding.”
“Have fun?”
“I mean, the bride and groom got married and no one objected, which I think it pretty normal, but I don’t know what English weddings are like.”
“Oh, usually a murder has to be solved first,” Luca said, nodding solemnly. “Although that’s more of a ‘small town’ kinda thing.”
“Sure,” Sydney laughed, trying to recall any details from her mom’s tattered Agatha Christie novels. She should probably reread them, Sydney thought, guilt gnawing away at her ribs. Her dad would remember them. “Probably near some cliffs, right?”
“You need a lingering shot of the cliffs.”
She rolled her eyes. “Damn, I feel so boring now.”
“You’re never boring, Syd.” Sydney blinked at Luca’s smile, feeling bizarrely guilty. Which was stupid, right? Carmy was with his ex-girl-who-is-a-friend, alone, and she was talking to a guy. All above board.
“Wrong, actually. I just stopped to get some ice cream, then I’m going home to watch whatever season of Love is Blind is on Netflix. Marcus won’t shut up about it.”
He winced. “Good luck. The content quiz is hard.”
“The content quiz?” Sydney laughed, slowing to an abrupt stop when Luca’s expression didn’t change. “That’s a joke, right? Luca?”
“Probably,” Luca finally allowed, scrunching up his nose as he chuckled. “Haven’t reported back yet.”
“Tosser,” Sydney tried, a flimsy echo of Luca’s accent.
He shook his head, rolled his eyes. “That sucked.”
“Whatever.” She glanced down at her phone; was it weird that Carmy hadn’t tried to call? It’d been almost an hour.
“Decide on a flavour?” Luca asked, somewhere, in the distance.
No notifications, fuck.
“What?” she managed, blinking at him.
Luca jerked his head towards the freezer. “For your ice cream, I mean. What’d you pick?”
“Oh, nothing.” Helplessly, she gestured at the still empty freezer. “Barely anything left.”
Luca shifted closer to Sydney and leaned in, squinting his eyes to see past the fogged-up glass. “Bit grim. That it?”
“Hot. Humid, y’know.” Fuck, was she sounding bitter? Luca looked over curiously.
“Well, if you can wait a bit to watch whatever it was you had planned, I know an ice cream place nearby.”
“Yeah, all right,” Sydney said firmly, shoving Carmy out of her mind. “Why not?”
Her phone still didn’t ring.
Carmy walked out of Frank’s house hours later, feeling drained and shaky. His talk with Claire had gone on for so long that the wedding planner—where had she been all fucking day by the way— had finally come looking for the missing bridesmaid. Claire had looked frustrated when she’d come down to the basement; Carmy, relieved. He had apologized for, well, everything, Claire had done the same at one point, then she just kind of kept going. Carmy had lost track, apologizing in case he hadn’t already apologized. They talked about Mikey. Then they talked about why he wasn’t talking about Mikey. Around and around.
He had felt Claire looking back to him as they trudged up the stairs; he hadn’t looked back. There couldn’t be anything else, right? Everything should be good? But even with that hazy promise, they split directions at the top of the stairs; Claire had the wedding reception, and Carmy wasn’t fucking going back there. He would catch shit from both Richie and Sugar, but he was too antsy to linger when he knew that Sydney wouldn’t have stayed either.
He didn’t know if anything was better, it was a back and forth of him apologizing, and Claire finding new things to be angry about, leaving him feeling cornered and lashing out. He wasn’t sure that he’d given Claire what she wanted or was looking for, but it felt like an end? He’d owned up, even to shit he didn’t remember doing, and she’d accepted that at some point. Most of it, anyway.
“I hope you find your peace,” Claire had ended things sadly, following after the wedding planner. “Whatever it is.”
“You too, Claire,” Carmy had said, fingers itching to find his phone.
Now, stumbling out of the cab and onto the curb outside Sydney’s building, Carmy tried to ignore the panic attack building in his chest so he could get through the front door. Someone had left it propped open with a brick so Carmy made his way through, kicking away the brick so the door could close. He would have to tell her to email her landlord, this shit was fucking dangerous, and Syd lived on her own (although saying it like that to her was just as dangerous). He took the stairs, thinking about the brick so he wouldn’t think of the last time Carmy had been here, banging on her door, calling her name, fracturing apart because it had been obvious that Sydney was inside, refusing to answer.
His therapist would probably tell Carmy to be proud of his progress, to think back on how he differently he would’ve handled this a month ago. Carmy tried to keep breathing, keep from panicking, walking down the corridor, Sydney’s door within sight. In his head, ten thousand Sydney’s reacted to him knocking, in disgust, anger, sadly. He steeled himself to be ignored again and chased away by her neighbours. Maybe she’d moved, not even a note left to explain.
Carmy knocked on Sydney’s door, tentatively, then decisively, and in seconds learned the difference between that night and the night of the Ever funeral. This time, she opened the door.