Chapter Text
Syd doesn’t hear the doorknob turn until it’s too late. The ringing in her ears had been so loud that she could no longer hear the cacophony of the party inside, much less the soft-spoken goodbyes traded too close to the door. It’s only when her back gives out to thin air that she realizes what has happened.
In an instant, she’s on her feet, wiping her tears away and leaving angry streaks in their wake. “Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to—”
“Syd?”
Tina’s voice is small, worried, too fragile for Syd’s comfort. The door is already closed, bless her—that means Syd can probably get away with a badly-timed joke and a self-deprecating laugh instead of dealing with questions from well-meaning, nosey, obnoxiously caring people—but then Tina comes up to her and gently places her palm against Syd’s cheek, coaxing Syd to look at her in the eyes, and. Syd can’t take it. She just fucking loses it, heaving loud sobs into the air before she clamps her mouth shut with her own hand.
“Oh, baby,” Tina murmurs, her tone sad and confused, which only makes Syd cry harder. “Who did this to you?”
Syd shakes her head feverishly. “N—No one,” she blubbers out in the midst of short breaths. She can’t let Tina think this—the hyperventilating and high-pitched breaths and the incoherence—are all because of one thing, because it’s not. It’s—it’s the breathtaking disappointment crashing down on you after achieving your lifelong dream, because of articles that ignore you and fucked-up kitchen regimens and the breaking of promises, again and again and again. The familiarity in the kitchen, the laughter and spontaneous taste tests and family meals, and then in the café, Adam shooting her in the chest with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that she maybe, probably, definitely, oh God why didn’t she take it?
Then she thinks of Carmy, thinks of the same eyes that used to light up with so much hope now looking at her with vacant disappointment, thinks of I don’t want it to be so hard to keep up with me. She thinks of the pity in her dad’s eyes when she closed her catering business the first time and moved back in with him, another failed attempt to add to the list.
Syd lets out a strangled sob. “It’s me, Tina, I’m fucking things up. I always do this to myself, I start things and I end things, I always end things—”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Tina shushes her, rubbing her back. “Let’s go sit down, alright? I’ll grab a glass of water and you stay here, and then we can talk after you get some water into your system.”
Syd nods, feeling like a kid under Tina’s embrace. Tina leads her gingerly down the hall and settles her onto the first step of the flight of stairs, then heads back inside for the glass of water while Syd takes deep breaths, tries to get the headache blossoming across the back of her head under control. She’s tired; she wants to go home, back to her dad’s apartment where there’s furniture and TV and more things in the fridge other than waffles and pizza.
Tina comes out a moment later, motioning to the water with a proud grin on her face when she catches Syd looking over her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Syd croaks out through her parched throat, accepting the glass and drinking from it immediately.
Tina chuckles. “You’re welcome, Jeff.” She takes a seat next to Syd, bumping shoulders with her as she props her handbag onto her lap. “Y’know, the others are looking for you.”
Syd cracks a smile, shaking her head. “I’m sure they’re having fun without me.”
Tina hums and looks at her sideways, the twinkle in her eyes fond. “Well, you’d be surprised.”
They sit like that for a few minutes, a comfortable quiet thrown over them like a blanket. It strikes Syd, then, how much the older woman reminds her of her own mom—or at least, how Syd thinks her mom would feel like. A force to be reckoned with, but still gentle all the same.
She thinks about leaving Tina behind, leaving them all behind.
A lump forms in her throat.
“Tina, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Tina gestures at her to go on. Syd wills herself to oblige.
“The Ever CDC, Adam Shapiro. You know him?” Syd asks, watches Tina shake her head, and quickly says, “It’s, you don’t need to know him. Basically, he’s thinking of opening a restaurant after Ever closes for good. And he’s asked me to be CDC.”
Syd watches Tina’s face for any sign of displeasure, but instead Tina turns to her with her mouth gaping and her eyes shining with excitement. “Oh my—Syd, congratulations! Did… Did you say yes?” She must’ve sensed something from the look on Syd’s face, because her smile drops. “Oh.”
“Yep.”
Tina is silent, processing the information. Syd can’t blame her; there are only two paths that lie before her, neither of them painless, and Tina seems to be growing increasingly aware of that by the second. Syd feels a sort of twisted relief, for once, that someone else is stuck too, thinking of the same predicament.
Then: “Does Jeffrey know?”
“No,” Syd says, laughing a little despite herself. “No, Carmy doesn’t know.”
Tina looks at her, deadpan and incredulous. “Syd…”
“I know, I know.” Syd waves her off, sipping some more water to stall. The only defense she can come up with after a few seconds of bought time is, “It’s just, you know how he’s been.”
Tina takes the glass from her hand and sets it down, because she can see right through Syd. Any noises of protest from Syd die down when Tina looks at her sternly. “You guys are partners, right?”
Syd makes a reluctant, high-pitched squeak. “Well, okay, not legally, I mean the DocuSign isn’t finalized yet…”
“I don’t care about whatever doggy needs to sign, Syd,” Tina says, and Syd thinks there’s a huge misunderstanding that she should probably amend. “I mean here, in your heart, you know you’re obliged to him and him to you. So what’s the matter with you acting all shy about this? Just tell him there’s a better world for you out there.”
Syd squints her eyes at the middle distance somewhere in front of her. “I’m not shy , I’m just considering all the options before I do something that could change my life—”
“Yes, you are shy, you are not being the Syd I know—”
“Well, okay, what does that mean—”
“It means the Syd I know would’ve already made a decision by now before telling Jeffrey and the team—”
“Maybe I don’t want to leave yet!”
The admission rings throughout the quiet hallway like a gunshot, rendering the both of them silent. For once, Tina doesn’t seem to have anything to say.
Cheers erupt from the inside of Syd’s apartment, some hollering accompanied with some cursing that eventually tapers out into background noise behind the closed wooden door. Outside, Syd feels exposed, laid bare with her heart on her sleeve.
It’s terrifying.
After a few moments of silence and uneven breathing, Syd starts again, her voice more even this time. “Leaving means I’m giving up on you, Tina, it means I’ve given up on everyone, and leaving means I failed. Again. I’m the one that’s supposed to have everything under control, but nothing is going how I imagined it because Carmy’s doing all of this bullshit for a star that I wanted.” She takes a deep breath, shakily. “But then now nobody’s happy, and Carmy’s not even here, and somehow it just feels like it’s all my fault.”
Tina still hasn’t said anything the entire time Syd was speaking, and somehow that makes her feel even worse. But before she can ask Tina to just say something, anything , Tina speaks. “You said nobody’s happy? Baby, if you walk into that apartment right now, you’d think you are in a goddamn circus.”
Syd rolls her eyes, though some of the tension dissipates from her body. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
“And you’re not listening to what I’m saying. Yes, maybe you’re right—you are not in control. You have never been. But how can things be your fault when they are out of your control?”
Syd throws up her hands. “I don’t know, maybe because I’m meant to be leading the kitchen with Carmy?”
“Does he know that?”
White sterile counter, brown steak on a plate, blue eyes staring up at her. The list of non-negotiables a few feet away from them. She remembers bristling at the mild surprise behind Carmy’s eyes, like she’s just meant to keep up with him, no questions asked.
She pauses before she answers, carefully. “I think he forgets.”
“There you go,” Tina huffs. If Syd doesn’t know any better, she would think that there’s a hint of vindication in her tone. “You talk to him, Jeff, set him straight and talk, dammit. I hate to see you both like this.” Then, Tina adds, haltingly, like she’s been keeping it in but didn’t know exactly when to say it, “You know I wouldn’t want you to leave, Jeff. I just want the best for you, is all. I can tell it’s—it’s killing you in here. ”
For the first time in that hour, Syd’s smile is genuine. “I know,” she whispers, patting Tina’s hand on her lap. “Thank you, Tina. Really. I just—I don’t know what to do now.”
Her voice breaks. She hates herself for it.
Tina turns her palm upwards so that it rests against Syd’s before lacing their fingers together. She’s giving Syd a small, sympathetic smile.
“I think you do.”
—
Syd finds Carmy on the street across from her apartment. She had just meant to get some fresh air, the apartment inside feeling more stuffy by the minute, but she feels even more out of breath outside looking at Carmy, whose head is tilted upwards to gaze at a couple of storeys above as he smokes.
He hasn’t noticed her yet. His mouth is slightly open agape, blowing tendrils of smoke to the night sky above. There’s a certain openness in his gaze when he thinks nobody’s watching—his eyes softened, his stance relaxed, lips slightly upturned. Syd thinks it suits him.
Should she go back in? Already she’s taking a step back, her mind blaring flight, flight, flight, but her shadow moving across the dimly-lit streets must’ve alerted Carmy because he shifts his gaze onto her.
For a moment, they stand at an impasse. Syd is frozen in her indecision to get the fuck to moving while Carmy’s face is inscrutable, expression already schooled back to its usual detached interest. He raises his left hand in greeting. The movement is staggered.
Eventually, Syd crosses the street after looking both ways. The wind is picking up, sending goosebumps across her bare shoulders and neck. Carmy watches her the entire time, gaze searing into her as she approaches him.
“Hey,” Syd says, shooting him a small smile. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Carmy looks at her for a moment, looking a little like deer caught in headlights before he replies, “Yeah, I uh, me too.”
Awkward silence. Syd scrambles to fill the void. “Wh—What are you doing here? Aren’t you gonna join the party?”
Carmy shakes his head with a little huff, smoke curling out from his mouth with each breath. “No. You guys deserve some time off.”
“What, from you?”
Carmy shrugs, no hint of self-deprecation. Matter-of-fact, like he always is. “Yeah, exactly.”
“Mm,” Syd hums. She’s a little annoyed at him, irrationally so, wondering what it’ll take for Carmy to start speaking in more complex sentence structures again. “Unless you’re gonna start yelling at everyone to refire a bunch of bullshit in the kitchen, Carm, I don’t think anyone wants that.” When Carmy doesn’t respond, she shoots him a perplexed glance. “Okay, unless you are going to—?”
Carmy huffs out a laugh. It’s been a while since she heard it, absent ever since they opened the restaurant two months ago. It strikes her across the chest and sends her off-kilter. “No, obviously I’m not doing that. I’m just…not in the mood, I guess.”
The two fingers holding his cigarettes are shaking, which means that’s a lie or he’s holding something back, but Syd can’t blame him. She hums in understanding and leaves it at that for a while, leaning against the chain-link fence. Takes a moment to trace the movement of Carmy’s hand with her eyes as he takes another long drag.
“Thought you quit smoking?” She hadn’t meant for it to come out so accusatory, but it did.
Carmy shrugs again. No answer. Syd kind of wants to strangle him, but she doesn’t; it would only give him an easy way out of saying anything at all.
When her dad asked her what Carmy was like all those months ago, Syd had struggled to answer. She still would, now. The Carmy beside her, cold and distant and unfamiliar, feels different from the Carmy she met—the one she called a piece of shit, back when it was still The Beef—and the Carmy from the limbo between The Beef and The Bear, whose soft-spoken words and intense gaze and gentle hand on her back made her feel alive, excitement thrumming in her veins every time they spoke.
This isn’t the one she agreed to the partnership with, she realizes. That Carmy feels miles away now, a dream of the past she can’t seem to shake off. She remembers Tina’s words and sighs.
“Carmy, we need to talk.”
Carmy nods, waving his hand for her to continue in a gesture so much like Tina that Syd regains a modicum of her confidence back.
So, Syd tells him everything from the beginning. In the two storeys above them, silhouettes are moving away from the window and her speaker is pumping out the next song on The Bear’s shared playlist, if the faint thump-thump sounds from her apartment are anything to go by. Briefly, she wonders how many more times she’ll have to tell this story before it stops churning her stomach with anxiety every time.
By the time she’s done, Carmy’s burnt the cigarette to his fingertips. He crushes the stub under his shoe and takes a minute to finally speak. “Are you gonna do it?”
“Well, that’s…sort of what I need to talk to you about.”
Carmy makes a noise of acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything. From his unfocused gaze toward the ground, Syd can tell he’s retreating into the shell of his mind. It’s the last thing she wants. Nothing could be worse than this: him toeing the pavement at some invisible pebble while Syd wrings her hand, heart skittering.
“Carmy.” Her voice is wary. “Say something."
Carmy’s shoulders are rising above his ears; it’s a protective stance that Syd doesn’t think Carmy even realizes he’s doing. When he speaks, his voice is small, almost unrecognizable from how brazen and fucking loud he usually is. “I don’t—Syd, I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Syd shoots Carmy a tired look. He catches her gaze and pins it there, blue eyes shining with something she can no longer decipher.
“You already know my answer.”
“No, Carmen, I don’t,” Syd sighs. Maybe she would have, two months ago, back when they were whispering confessions into the air under a skewed table. But now? “You need to say it.”
His Adam’s apple bobs when he looks away. His hand is shaking as he runs it through his curls; Syd wouldn’t have noticed the tremors in his stature if she hadn’t been so used to looking closely at him, the way she always is nowadays.
Tapping his fingers against his jeans, Carmy rubs his chin with his forefinger. He doesn’t look at her.
She waits for a few more seconds, desperate to keep clinging onto this vague ideal of Carmy. He’s the one that believed in her when no one else did, Syd tries to remember—the one who gave her the embroidered uniform, the one whose confidence in her was so infectious that she started believing him as well.
But when he keeps avoiding her gaze, she can’t say that the disappointment in the pit of her stomach is anything new.
Is this really it, then? Syd thinks to herself, feeling a sudden surge of anger at the person next to her, at how exposed she feels while he gets to retreat into himself whenever he wants. Is this how it ends?
Syd wants to fight him, to have a screaming match in the middle of the street, to claw at him if only so that he can look at her—if only to make him talk.
It feels like a lifetime before Carmy finally opens his mouth—and when he does, his voice is strained, like it’s taking every fiber of his being to not run away. “I don’t… want you. To leave.”
Syd swallows. Hearing him say that—she doesn’t want to think about it. Not when anger still burns low in her veins. “Then don’t push me away.”
The ferocity in her voice surprises her, and it seems to have startled Carmy too because his eyes snap up to hers, searching. Syd burns, with embarrassment at feeling like once again, Carmy’s won in this game of unfeeling.
Then, Carmy surprises her by saying, “I know. I’m sorry.” He sounds earnest, more present than before. Syd tries to find any sign of mockery behind his words, but all she notices is the guilt ghosting over his face and lining his posture.
It’s not enough, Syd realizes. Because, really, how many more times will she have to hear the words “I’m sorry” leave Carmy’s mouth, watch his fist circle his chest in an apology, until he really proves it?
She shakes her head. “I don’t believe you.” Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a flash of hurt on Carmy’s face and scoffs quietly. “Opening night. Remember that?”
Locked freezer during service, apologies in the aftermath, Carmy on the counter and looking up at her saying, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.
Carmy furrows his brows. “But I didn’t—I never left you alone again.”
This time, her scoff is loud. When she turns to look at him with raised eyebrows, Carmy stares back at her like she’s the hardest puzzle in the world to solve. It drives her crazy. “Oh, okay. So when I told you that your stupid non-negotiables weren’t working, or that I can’t keep up with you and your crazy menu changes and you shut me down immediately, it’s still us running this thing together? It’s not, I don’t know, you leaving me completely alone in the dark even though you promised me I wouldn’t be?”
His ears are turning pink, which means his defenses are rising, and he’s sputtering. “I’m getting us a star! The one you so badly wanted, remember? If you changed your mind about that, it would’ve been nice to get a fucking heads-up, Syd.”
“That is so not the problem!” Syd insists, her voice rising in the quiet Chicago streets, the wind still for once. Everyone within a five-mile radius could probably hear her. She doesn’t care. “Are you even listening to me? That’s not what I was saying!”
“Yeah, well, what is it? Because last time I checked, your business was the one that got run through the ground and you weren’t the one with a star.”
That. Okay. Her stomach drops. She should’ve known that it was coming. Still, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
She takes a moment to get her bearings. When she can finally speak, each word burns as it escapes her mouth. “If that’s what you believe, then that’s all I needed to hear.”
Regret flashes across Carmy’s face, but she’s done. She collects what remains of her hope from the floor, extracts herself from the chain-link fence, and shoots him a tight smile that feels wrong on her face.
“Goodbye, chef. Wish I could say this was a nice talk, but you were kind of, and actually, very shitty, so. Bye. Have a nice rest of the week.”
“Syd, wait—”
Before either of them can do anything, footsteps thunder down the stairs of her apartment across the street, followed by a suspiciously loud crash.
Syd whips her head to the door just in time to see Luca stumble out, with a very inebriated Marcus’ arm around his shoulder. Next comes Richie, chef Andrea, and the rest of them looking slightly tipsy except for Tina. They’re all still conversing among themselves, spirits still high, until Richie catches sight of Syd across the street.
A beat. Richie looks between Syd and Carmy with curious hesitation before he seemingly makes a split-second decision in his head.
“Yo, Syd! Why the fuck doesn’t your apartment have elevators?” he yells, even cupping his palms around his mouth like the drama queen he is.
Maybe Syd’s urge to strangle people extends to everyone in the Berzatto family.
She jogs over with a wince. “Keep your voice down, do you want the entire fucking neighborhood to wake up?” she hisses at Richie before coming to a stop before them. “Whoa, is he okay?”
The last question is directed at Marcus, who’s making grabby hands at her with what looks like Jell-O limbs.
“It’s one A.M., whoever sleeps at one A.M. is a wuss,” Richie says, rolling his eyes, while Luca grimaces at Syd.
“He’s just had too much, not to worry about it,” he says, patting Marcus’ back. “Richie and I will take him back to his place, you just worry about your apartment, all right?”
Syd blinks. “What. What about my apart—”
The Faks come up to her, saying hurriedly, “Hey Syd, thanks for the party, it was fun but we gotta go now!” and the others bid her farewell before she can even finish the rest of her sentence. After uttering a few goodbyes in complete confusion, Syd raises her eyebrow at Tina. “What—”
“We cleaned up as best we could,” Tina says, wincing at Syd apologetically. “But then it got worse when Marcus and the Faks got involved. Sorry, baby.”
Syd massages her temple. Her headache is coming back with a vengeance. “Okay. Okay. That’s fine, I’ll just clean the rest of it up. Thank you so much, Tina,” she says, patting the older woman’s arm with as much appreciation as she could muster. Tina kisses Syd on the cheek and tells her to call if she needs any more help cleaning up; Luca and Marcus follow suit after some floundering from Marcus and a hug from Luca; and then it’s just Richie and Syd.
When the others are out of sight, all pretenses of cheekiness escape from Richie’s frame, making him look ten years older. He pulls Syd to the side, searching her face intently. (She wonders, not for the first time, if Richie really isn’t genetically related to the Berzattos, because those intense blue eyes could’ve told her otherwise.)
“Hey, you good?” Richie asks, worry tinting his voice. Syd is suddenly, vividly aware of Carmy’s presence a street across from them and nods her head, waving Richie off with a strained smile.
“No, yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay? Didn’t you drink?”
Richie blinks at her. “No, this is just how I am.”
Figures. Syd laughs, shaking her head. “Yeah, okay, not surprised.”
Richie laughs along with her, dropping his head to gaze down at the ground for a bit, and it feels like an inside joke passed between them before he finally looks back up at her. Richie’s voice is careful when he asks, “Is he okay?”
Syd makes the mistake of glancing over to the “he” in question. Carmy stands there, fumbling with another cigarette from the box.
“I don’t know,” Syd says, honestly, turning back to Richie. “I really, really don’t know. I’m sorry.”
Richie nods. Defeat traces the lines on his face as he looks over at Carmy, the concern in his eyes plain as day. Syd aches for him, for Carmy, for this broken puzzle of a family that she’s accidentally stumbled upon almost a year ago now.
Richie shakes his head and turns back to Syd, pulling her in for a hug. “Thanks for everything, Syd. I mean it.” He’s wearing his black cashmere suit, which is warmer and cozier than it has the right to be. She melts into the hug for a bit, almost tears up but doesn’t.
“Of course, Richie. Drive safe, all right?”
“When have I ever not?”