Archive of Our Own

Sydney hated her days off.

She had forgotten how much she hated working alone. When she thought about Sheridan Road, she mostly focused on the fact that Sheridan Road had failed, rather than how lonely it had started to feel. She had hired short-term help a couple of times, but they either weren’t interested in the level of intensity Sydney approached it with, or they tried to alter her dishes – it wasn’t until she started working with Carmy that she was able to relax that lonely, hungry part of her, protective of her creations.

She was terrible with expressing herself with words, after all.

Because it felt like she had laid her heart on the plate when she presented her own dishes, and sometimes it was hard not to take feedback as anything other than a challenge.

Gradually, she had let Carmy get close enough that it stopped occurring to her that he might intend something more mean-spirited or careless, rather than simply trying to help her perfect it. He was always trying to help her, it was infuriating. Well, she liked it – loved it even – but she had a reputation to uphold. She had finally been able to manage cooking in the kitchen with Carmy without Richie jeering at her alleged ‘starry eyes’ and Sydney would die rather than invite that commentary back into the kitchen.

So, no, she was not thinking of the smile Carmy had given her the day before, at her third pass at her cola-braised short ribs and risotto recipe. She had begrudgingly suggested they work on it together as something of a final peace offering. Carmy was better, he was present, he was on the same page as Sydney. She had resisted him at first, suspicious that the behaviour wouldn’t last, and she’d end up on her own again.

He had proven her wrong, over and over.

So, it had seemed like it was her turn to reach out.

She still burned at the memory, when she nonchalantly – cool as a cucumber, definitely not awkward or nervous – brought up the risotto and offered to let him help. Sydney had never seen such a wild, reckless grin on his face (on anyone’s, really), too surprised to do anything but melt into him when he flung his arms around her. She didn’t even have time to mock him, so suffused with an embarrassing amount of happiness soaring in her chest. She had hidden her smile in his neck for fuck’s sake. Humiliating.

It had become everything – well, most – that she wanted from him, and it had felt safe to let him hold her.

Richie interrupted it, of course, because that man was the ultimate cooler, and Carmy was flushed red and yelling at Richie and still smiling at her and without the interruption Sydney would have lost control and kissed him or something. Which would have been dumb, because she wasn’t completely convinced that he was over Claire completely. The Faks talked so much shit and once upon a time Natalie and Richie had too – destiny and peace and all sorts of shit that Sydney hated hearing.

Maybe that’s why he was doing better? Claire was back?

It was a thought that made her want to break something, maybe over Claire’s head…

That’s a joke, Sydney scolded herself, as if she was worried people could see inside her head. A joke.

The important thing is that they were back to being Sydney and Carmy and figuring out the risotto had felt like a full circle moment. Sydney wanted to bask in it for a bit, hide how happy she was, what this – what he – had come to mean to her. Carmy on the other hand, proving yet again that he was the impatient one, wanted to show it off to the crew this week and roll it out on the menu the week after.

Helplessly, she had agreed, too dizzy with his proximity to do anything else.

It was all pretty pathetic, if she was honest with herself. She had wasted her only day off pretending to do chores, thinking about him all the while. Now, in the late afternoon, she was dozing on her couch thinking of Carmy, thinking of how they had been last night. Alone in the dimly light kitchen, pressed together, talking quietly long after everyone had left.

“It’s perfect, Sydney,” he had said with a heartbreaking smile, so, so close to her. “It’s fucking perfect.”

“So that’s an upgrade from ‘tremendous?’” Sydney had teased breathlessly, desperate to touch him.

Carmy had rolled his eyes playfully – because he did playful now – and nudged her with his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, you’re hilarious.”

“Correct,” Sydney had said, probably imagining that Carmy’s face was closer to her now.

“It’s also tremendous,” Carmy had said in a hushed voice. “Of course it is, it’s you.”

He had definitely been getting closer to her; Sydney was basically sure of it. She hadn’t really thought anything else since the night before, the scant inches left between their mouths, the way she was for sure staring at his lips, the way it was possible he was looking at hers.

But Richie had forgotten his fucking belt or socks or something stupid that needed to go to the dry-cleaners and whoops while he was there, he needed to talk to Carmy about something. They had sprung apart when they heard the back door slam open, and Sydney had no innocent reason to hang around and listen to Richie talk about his ex-wife. Reluctantly, she had left, but not without another glance back at Carmy.

Who had been staring right at her.

So, that’s what her day off had been about. That and relentlessly checking her phone to see if Carmy had called. It was stupid, juvenile, ridiculous – all the things she had rolled her eyes at for years and years and years–

“This isn’t about Sydney,” Carmy’s voice sounded in her ears, loud and stressed and tinny.

Great, so now she was hallucinating his voice. That was just great.

 “This is about me. I was so fucking lost in all the shit that Mikey left me, stuff from even before he fucking died. I wasn’t ready for any kind of relationship; I was hiding from the restaurant–”

“So, you used me,” someone else said. Wait, that sounded like Claire.

Sydney bolted up, wildly, looking all around her apartment. Had she died? Was this actually Carmy and Claire’s apartment and she was nothing but a ghost, pining over a man who had never wanted her in the end. Wait – no, that couldn’t be right, the notebook on her chest had her shitty handwriting and why would Carmy even have one of her notebooks.

It was also clearly the apartment she had rented.

The conversation sounded like it was coming from outside, so Sydney crept through the open door to her balcony, trying to peer in a way that wouldn’t reveal her. Carmy and Claire were on the sidewalk in front of her building, apparently doing an autopsy on their (long since) past relationship. Hopefully anyway. Just from the way Carmy was tugging at his hair, she knew it wasn’t going well. Claire looked like she was about to cry.

Her stomach twisted. Did he go to Claire after last night? Once he had freed himself from Richie, had he drive straight to Claire? Had she imagined anything real happening between the two of them? Or was that the moment he was like ‘ah, it took this weird little moment with someone I work with – what’s her name? – to realize that you are my soulmate Claire, so please marry me.’

At least it was going badly, if that’s what had happened.

Carmy flinched at Claire’s words, taking a few steps back. “N-no?” he asked, like he had to think about it. Which was stupid, Sydney thought loudly, like it was possible for Carmy to hear her. Declarative statements, Carm. “No,” he repeated, more firmly.

Maybe he had heard her.

“Or, um, I didn’t mean to?” Idiot. “It just seemed like, I dunno, what Mikey would have wanted. He always wanted me to ask you out, and I never did, and then you came up to me in the freezer aisle and I panicked. And then… I guess it was easier to go out with you than face everything else. I hurt a lot of people. I hurt you, I’m so sorry that I hurt you, Claire. I never meant to.”

His words sucker-punched Sydney square in the face. Fuck. She had – intellectually – known that him vanishing from the restaurant had had more to do with his brother than Claire, but she had been too blinded with hurt (and possibly, jealousy, but it took her months to even realize that, so it didn’t count) to see past the pretty doctor from Carmy’s childhood. Who was now crying – did they know they were in public? People were crossing the street to avoid them.

“I don’t even understand – I was so nice to you, Carmy,” Claire said pleadingly, striking at something in Sydney’s chest. It was a weird thing to say to an ex-boyfriend you had known all your life. Not that Sydney cared. But it was fucking weird, if anyone was asking. “I helped you and supported you, and–and this is what I get? This is how you treat me?”

Carmy looked frantic, like he couldn’t find the right way to explain himself, like he was about to be punished if he didn’t find the right words. Sydney didn’t know what was going on – should she go back inside? This was none of her business after all.

But then – while Carmy was stammering and stuttering – Claire reared back and hit him, hard, and Sydney nearly went over the railing. He staggered back, and for a moment Sydney thought he was going to fall over. He wiped at his face and – was that blood? Oh, Sydney was going to kill this bitch. He looked devastated, terrified, with a faraway look in his eyes that never meant anything good.

“Fuck you, Carmy,” Claire seethed. “And fuck all of this.”

Carmy’s lips tightened, and he swallowed hard a few times, working his jaw gingerly. He traced the red blooming across his cheek, straightening up.

“Goodbye, Claire,” he said hoarsely, not looking at her. “I am sorry.”

Claire spun around and stalked off crying loudly, while Carmy stared off into space, ignorant of the people trying to get around him. He kept touching his face, stretching his jaw, which had to hurt and what else was Sydney to do? She was only on the second floor and she couldn’t go off alone after that, even if it meant she had to listen to him pine after Claire.

“Carmy?” she called down to him, and at any other time she would have smiled at the way he jumped in surprise, wildly looking around. “Up here.”

His eyes shot up and found her, and fuck, he looked so fragile in that moment.

“What’re you doing there?” he asked her bitterly. “Visiting someone?”

Was that an accusation in his voice? Like he hadn’t spent the last who-knows-how-long with his ex-something that he was destined to be with. Actually, maybe they had been back together, and this had been another break-up. He got back together with Claire and didn’t tell her? Asshole.

She raised one eyebrow instead because she was as cool as a cucumber and not nervous at all. “I live here?”

Carmy seemed to relax at that.

“Oh,” he said, staring at the ground. “Look, you shouldn’t have had to see that I’m sorry–”

“Apartment 2B,” Sydney interrupted. “C’mon, I’ll buzz you in.”

Carmy looked caught, hesitant, like he wanted to hide.

“I shouldn’t,” he said nervously. “I should go– you don’t want… this, um – I’m not good right now.”

“That’s fine,” Sydney told him gently. “Now come up. I was experimenting with a recipe anyway, and I need your help.”

That got his attention, even though she was pretty sure they both knew she was lying.

“Okay,” he said, so quietly that she could barely hear him. “Give me a second.”

Sydney stayed on her balcony until her phone rang and she could buzz him in, just in case Carmy tried to flee. She did track in high school and he had smoked most of his life she would easily catch him.

Luckily, she was wrong, and he was at her door within a minute, a cautiously grateful look on his face that hurt to look at. His face too, fuck. It was starting to swell – damn, Claire had a mean swing – and he was jumpy, his eyes darting around at the slightest noise. Sydney ushered him over to the couch so she could grab her first aid kit and an ice pack.

“Here,” she said, keeping her voice low, handing him the ice pack. She wasn’t sure why, but it seemed wrong to speak any louder.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, moving his hand abruptly like he was going to slap the ice pack on his cheek.

“Wait, wait–”

Carmy looked at her, confused, his hand stopped in mid-air. Sydney took it back from him, wrapping it in a dish cloth.

“Let’s avoid the freezer burn, yeah?” Sydney tried to say in a light voice. She didn’t really know what to do from here – should she bring up what she heard? Would it be better to wait for Carmy to say something? It wasn’t really her business after all. As much as Sydney wanted to clarify the relationship status between Claire and Carmy, and if so then she had potentially, hypothetically, maybe… had almost kissed Carmy when he was someone else’s boyfriend, but she should probably take care of his face first.

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. All of this was so juvenile.

Stupid.

He was stupid.

She was stupid for being obsessed with someone so stupid.

Gently, Sydney put the ice pack on his face, holding it there. She had thought that Carmy would take over, and replace her hand with his, but he didn’t make a move to take over. There was a wavering expression on his face, like one wrong move and he’d start crying, and Sydney wasn’t sure if he had space for anything else. It was hard not to hate Claire; not just for hitting him, but for chaining Carmy to whatever traumatic memories were flitting through his head. Sydney was so the wrong fucking person for this – the only way she knew how to deal with this shit was through awkward jokes.

“Are you still bleeding?” she asked, trying to peek underneath the ice pack, which had the unfortunate side effect of bringing them way too close.

“No,” Carmy croaked, loosely gripping her wrist.

“I should probably disinfect it? I know it’s small, but–”

“Later,” Carmy said quickly, clutching her tighter. “In a minute.”

“That’s fine,” Sydney soothed, aching to hold him. “We have time.”

She was staring at the ice pack, not at Carmy because she was already breathing unevenly. Carmy’s eyes were burning a hole in her face, however, the absolute cretin. Should she suggest a game? Would ‘I Spy’ be an insensitive suggestion?

“We were just talking,” Carmy suddenly blurted out, his face screwed up and anxious. “That’s all. I–”

“It’s cool, Carm,” she lied. “You don’t, like, owe me an explanation or anything–”

“I do. I want to,” he insisted.

Sydney shrugged, shifting the bag on his face. He should take the fucking thing; she needed to go hide in her bathroom for a bit.

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, um, sure? If that would help–”

“It’s not like that, is all. We weren’t– we aren’t–”

Sydney cleared her throat, still avoiding his eyes. “Carmy, it’s cool if–”

Carmy shifted so his hand covered hers, fuck, he was warm. Sydney fucking gasped, which had to be the most embarrassing thing to have ever happened to her. Why was she like this, walking around and gasping at people? And it had worked, she was looking at him now – a mistake for sure – and she was drowning in his gaze like someone in a shitty harlequin romance. Barf.

“It was for you, Syd,” Carmy interrupted, wincing at his words.

Sydney squinted at him, not knowing if she should be offended by that. “Um, thanks?”

“No, no, listen, please.”

It was the wrong time to tease him, Sydney figured, he was still trembling slightly, so she kept her joke to herself. It was a good one, too.

“Okay, Carmy,” she whispered, like they were hiding. “Um, say more?”

Carmy took a deep breath, but his eyes didn’t leave hers.

“I should’ve talked to Claire a long time ago,” he admitted. “Clear the air, maybe? And, uh, it-it seemed important to do before we, um–”

“We?” Sydney couldn’t help but ask, her heart hammering in her throat. “Before we what?”

Carmy ignored her, barreling through whatever was working its way through his brain. “I wanted my side of the street clean, before, um, before we– and I know it’s shitty that I haven’t talked to her after everything. I texted her last night, and we met up for coffee. It, um, didn’t go well. Which you know, obviously. But you deserve better than, um, that hanging over us.”

Oh, so they’re just talking about it then? No guessing, no avoiding, no chance at miscommunication – just out in the open?

Sydney wanted his clothes off, immediately.

“That’s, um, good,” she said instead, because she wasn’t a wild animal. “I should probably say something like ‘oh and Claire deserved closure too,’ but I don’t really give a shit right now.”

Carmy’s eyebrows jumped up. “No?”

Sydney shrugged, her free hand somehow finding its way to Carmy’s leg and pulling on a stray thread. She had no clue how that had happened – that wasn’t her decision. Someone should investigate that.

“She hit you,” Sydney admitted quietly, looking at her apparently independent fucking fingers and the thread that they picked at.

“I deserved it–”

“No, you didn’t, Carmy–”

“I was shitty to her–”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so?”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” Sydney said firmly, “She shouldn’t have fucking done it. You shouldn’t hit people. That’s, like, pretty basic.”

Carmy pulled the ice pack down and reached for her, cradling her jaw because everyone had lost their mind in this apartment apparently, lifting her head so she had to look at him. The swelling had gone down a little, but his face was still red. There were dots on dried blood along his cheekbone, presumably from rings that Claire had been wearing. Sydney wanted to gnash her teeth and scream, give in to the hateful thing building in her belly.

“I’m okay,” Carmy said earnestly. “I’m, um, I kinda hate that you had to see that shit? But I’m also glad that you were there so I didn’t–”

“Well,” she dismissed. “With my luck you probably would’ve walked home and met another long-lost girl from your childhood that’s obsessed with you–”

“Claire wasn’t obsessed with me–”

“–and maybe she’d also want shit on the menu, so–”

“Syd.”

“–I’m really just protecting the risotto, man, I don’t want it to lose its spot on the menu–”

“Sydney, please,” Carmy begged, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth despite himself. He held both of her hands together, sandwiched between his ridiculously large, tattooed hands. And she couldn’t stop the way the truth lurched from her chest.

“I was going to kiss you,” she blurted out, wincing in embarrassment. “Last night, um. If Richie hadn’t come back, I mean. I was going to kiss you. I wanted to, um, I mean.”

“Me too,” Carmy whispered, “I don’t even know what he was talking about, I was just thinking about the way you looked at me before you left. Fucking Richie.”

“Fucking Richie,” she agreed. “I’m sorry things went so shit today? But I’m also glad you guys weren’t getting back together, so.”

Carmy rolled his eyes, tugging her closer. “No, Syd, I don’t want to be with her,” he said warmly.

Fuck, when did it get so hot in here? She needed to scramble together some cash for an AC unit, she was going to die if this kept up.

“Who do you want to be with?” Sydney asked, because her body wasn’t listening to her, entranced by the soft, almost hungry way Carmy was looking at her, the way he kept pulling her closer.

“You, dumbass,” Carmy said, which wasn’t very romantic, even with their mouths parted by only an inch of space.

“Hey!” Sydney started to say, the rest of the sentence getting lost somewhere in his mouth, the mother fucker. That was a bit more romantic, the way he clung to her, like he couldn’t wait another minute.

“Mhm?” Carmy asked innocently, kissing her neck.

“You can’t call a girl a dumbass,” Sydney argued, her eyes fluttering closed, “and then kiss her. It’s illegal.”

“Sorry,” Carmy said, not sounding very sorry at all, pulling her onto his lap.

Sydney tried to scoff and keep complaining, but then he found a spot behind her ear and Sydney forgot about anything other than the feel of his hands and mouth on her skin.

Years and years later, when Sydney chased her eldest daughter into the frozen aisle and found Claire talking to her husband, that night would burn through her again. The bit where Claire hit Carmy, anyway, not the part that came after. Carmy might be over it, but she never would be.

She’d get distracted after Claire finally fucked off, somewhere between their three children, the groceries, and the million-degree heat outside, and she wouldn’t have time to think about it until later in the night.

While Carmy bravely faced the impossible task of convincing a toddler and two newborns that sleep was a worthwhile activity that they should all try, Sydney cleaned the kitchen and impressively, didn’t break anything. She never forgot how Carmy had looked when she had opened the door, lost and shaking in memories she hadn’t known about yet.

She hadn’t known the extent of his childhood with Donna, and the deep effect of the first slap he’d experienced since he’d left Donna’s home that Christmas Eve.

He had dismissed it at the time, telling her he had ‘just forgotten how to anticipate the hit and brace himself,’ even when Sydney had (thoughtfully and with great care) repeatedly pointed out that that wasn’t the fucking issue. No one had the right to hurt him like that. He shouldn’t be anywhere near people who would want to do something like that.

Sydney was so lost in those memories that she didn’t notice Carmy’s presence until he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach. She hummed innocently, but really, she should know better at this point.

“You good?” he asked.

“Yup,” she answered.

He gently tickled her side until she shrieked. “Shhh…” he teased. “They’re finally asleep.”

“It’s nothing, Carm.”

“I’ll fucking tickle you again.”

“Don’t you dare, it’s bad enough that you taught Adeya that I’m–”

“Sydney…”

Sydney threw the sponge in the sink and leaned back against him. “I was just… I don’t know. Seeing her reminded me of that night. Of you in the street.”

He kissed her shoulder. “It was a long time ago. I’m okay, now,” he reminded her.

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “But it was still fucked up.”

“I know,” Carmy said, soft and gentle and loving. “I didn’t even get it back then, why it fucked with my head that much. It was just a slap–”

“You bled,” Sydney grumbled.

“A little,” Carmy acknowledged, laughing a little. “I was embarrassed, y’know, at first. That you saw me like that. I was going to try to get away from you, so you didn’t see me like that.”

Sydney opened her mouth and Carmy covered it with a hand.

“But then you insisted I come up,” he continued in a hushed tone. “And I was weirdly nervous? Like, you were going to be pissed that I was with Claire or get mad at me for upsetting her. And then you opened the door, and I remembered it was you, and I was good.”

“Obviously,” Sydney tried to say, but it was muffled against Carmy’s hand.

“Claire didn’t know any more than you did about Donna,” Carmy reminded her, not for the first time. “Or, not that she was…”

“Violent,” Sydney filled in.

“Yeah. When she was drunk, at least. And it was a slap, y’know? That shit happens. Mikey got slapped by every girlfriend he ever fucking had; Richie gets slapped by most women he meets… I dunno. Didn’t feel like it was supposed to be a big deal. I’m a man, and all that shit.”

Carmy released her, twirling her around and looping her arms around his neck.

“But then like a month ago, Adeya slapped me, fucking hard. I always forget how strong she is.”

Sydney frowned, thinking. “Did I know this?”

Carmy shook his head. “No. Not yet anyway. She didn’t want to go to bed and when I tried to pick her up, she slapped me.” He was blinking rapidly at her, and Sydney’s heart ached knowing how this shit still affected him.

“Carmy,” she said helplessly, but Carmy just shook his head, kissing her firmly.

“I had the same reaction I did that day with Claire, for like a full fucking minute,” he said bitterly. “My three-year-old kid hits me, and I had some bullshit trauma response. For a fucking slap.”

He laughed, harsh and short, leaning into the hands Sydney was stroking down his face.

“Did you talk to her about it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Carmy sighed. “I don’t think I even needed to; she looked horrified. She apologized before I fucking remembered how to speak.”

“Empathetic,” Sydney said, glowing.

They looked at each, proud, and then said the exact same thing to one another: “She gets that from you.”

“Sydney,” Carmy admonished, mock-glaring at her.

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Bullshit, she got that from me.”

“Yes, she did.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Sydney–”

“Carmy!” Sydney interrupted. “You can’t argue with the mother of your children, I gave birth to all three of them like ten minutes ago.”

“No, you didn’t,” Carmy said amusedly.

“I’m sorry,” Sydney gasped. “How many kids have you pushed out of your body.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding his hands up. “You win.”

“I usually do,” Sydney teased, before she remembered a question she needed to ask. “Have you mentioned this to–”

“I talked about it in therapy,” Carmy admitted. “It still feels kinda embarrassing that I react to something like this. My therapist disagrees–”

“Good–”

“So, thank you, I guess,” Carmy said, kissing her softly.

Sydney leaned into it for a minute, before it struck her, and she reeled back. “Are you thanking me for never hitting you?” she asked, appalled.

“No, no,” Carmy chuckled. “That you’ve been angry for me, about this, for years. I don’t think I would have realized this if you hadn’t been.”

Sydney kissed his chin. “Good,” she said, still grumpy about Claire. “If she had hit you again, I would’ve done something drastic–”

“Syd, she’s pregnant.”

“So?” Sydney insisted in a bratty way. “She’d be even easier to take down.”

Carmy snorted, shaking his head at her. “She didn’t try to hit me,” he promised, tracing a finger over her lips.

“Good.”

“I was more pissed off at how surprised she was that I had kids,” Carmy said with a frown. “At first she thought they were Nat’s.”

“Our children are not white, Carmy,” Sydney sneered. “Like, quite obviously not white. Natalie married a very white man.”

“I know, she seemed embarrassed.”

“Bitch,” Sydney groused, feeling protective all over again.

“Syd.”

“I’m allowed to call your ex-something that hit you a bitch,” Sydney said airily. “I don’t care if she’s pregnant.”

Carmy rolled his eyes and gave up on the topic, lifting her up onto the counter.

“Fine, fine,” he said, as if he was doing her a favour the mother fucker. “Pretty sure there are better things we could be doing, anyway.”

“Oh?” Sydney asked, biting her lip. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Carmy said slowly, taking his shirt off. He caged her against the counter with his still unfairly built arms, getting as close as he could without kissing her. “How about–”

And then one of the twins started crying.

Which woke the other twin up, who also started crying.

And then Adeya started yelling.

Which, unfortunately, meant that Carmy had to put his shirt back on.

Not for long, Sydney hoped, admiring his ass while she followed him up the stairs.

“Sydney?”

“What?”

“Focus – let me get Adeya sorted and then I’ll meet you in the twins’ room.”

“What is this, a battle plan?”

“We have three kids, Syd.”

“Fuck, good point.”

It was an hour before Sydney and Carmy could get everyone sorted and creep into their bed.

“I’m way too tired now,” Sydney complained, who mumbled something sleepily in agreement. “But we’ll bang tomorrow, for sure.”

“Yes,” Carmy said dopily, letting her shift him so he could be the little spoon. “G’night.”

Sydney held him tighter. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby,” her husband murmured, happy and warm and safe in her arms.

As he should be, Sydney thought, drifting off to sleep.

Next time, she'd just slap the bitch.