Chapter Text
Sydney notices she's gotten softer with Carm. Yeah, she's still on guard, and she's not planning to trust his ass he dragged back to their kitchen after a month interning at an architecture firm. But Carmen keeps living his two lives: being a low-paid intern and a professional restaurant chef (also low-paid, even with two stars they're still in the shit because of Carm's management decisions in the past).
He worked out his schedule with Sydney, Natalie, and Richie, and three days a week Carmen's at 'The Bear' full-time, and the other three he only comes in for dinner service. Carm's showing responsibility and some fucking consistency.
But Sydney's had her heart and her dreams broken over Carmen Berzatto too many times. Still, she can't hide this buzzing tenderness she's always felt for this man anymore. And on top of that, Carmy always gives it right back with the same intense tenderness, and that just makes Sydney speed up her endless impatience.
Sydney's holding onto her walls for dear life, and she's not letting Carm's bulldozer into her head. Let this damn man hug her or pour her a Coke all service long, Sydney still can't let herself mess up her trust in Carmen Berzatto again.
Every time a mistake cost too much: staying alone at the restaurant while Carmen went off into a summer of love with Claire; throwing up her scared feelings under the table, so that same night Carmen forgot all his promises, freezing them in the fridge; yelling and fighting for her right to have him shoulder to shoulder with her, for a guarantee of partnership - only for him to leave her with a whole mess of problems after himself again.
Sydney really wants to be mad at Carmen, like he deserves, but she loves him so much. It makes her sick. Never again will he get into her head. Never again will she trust him with herself: her fears, her feelings, her expectations of proof of his love and acceptance. Even if Carmen's desperately trying to scrape with a spoon at least a tiny crack in her defense wall.
Carmen and Sydney are the first at the restaurant. Today's his full work day, and yesterday Carm asked Sydney to get some sleep and come in later: he'd open the restaurant, start prep. Carmen keeps offering this, but Sydney's not ready to trust Carmy with her restaurant yet. Not after a string of failures. So she's here too.
Carm huffed disapprovingly at her showing up, but quickly got her morning rituals ready while Sydney was downstairs: a cup of tea (today with lemongrass), a printout of last night's leftover counts she can use for today's family, and a small pretty meringue from Marcus's station.
"Thanks," she whispers into their cozy space.
When it's just the two of them in the kitchen, Sydney always gets that dumb feeling in her chest - that this is how it's supposed to be.
Carm nods at her, throws a flustered smile at her, and goes back to cutting carrots. Tiny, tiny cubes - the kind of precision Sydney admires. Nobody's even come close to Carmen Berzatto's perfect cuts.
Sydney tries to get through the leftover counts, but the rhythmic thud of the knife on the board, the work of Carmy's hands, distracts her. Sydney watches her chef's skilled hands - Carm barely has any clear role in their kitchen right now. But in his hands you can see the craft, all the experience of the beautiful places Carm worked, all the greatness of the best chef in Sydney's life. The girl feels saliva pooling in the corners of her lips. She tries to get back to her work. But when it's just the two of them, the kitchen always feels different.
So Sydney lets herself enjoy Carmen Berzatto's craft. She takes a sip of tea, and now she's not even hiding it, she's staring at Carmy's hands: professional, precise - not a single mistake.
Sydney's sure he could make cuts just as flawless with his eyes closed. His knuckles stand out on the knife's handle, tattoos lie like shadows on his finger joints. Her eyes catch the letter "S" on his knuckle. That tattoo always pulled her attention. And made her fantasize about things that aren't there - and never will be.
"How's the tea? I brewed a different one today."
"M-hm-m," Sydney realizes she's caught. But Carm's not planning to tease her.
"Which one's your favorite out of all of them?" Carm's scraping his way into her head again. With a tiny, tiny spoon.
"They're all good, thanks."
"You poured yourself another cup of that one with mint leaves and cherry. You liked it?" Carm asks her about the tea he brewed for her last week. And honestly, Sydney did like it. Carm improvised, he got creative with how he made her morning cup.
"Yeah, it's good."
"Was that your favorite?"
"They're all good," Sydney gently cuts off his attempt to get access to her head. Even this tiny question feels like torture.
Carm gives up and nods to himself, she knows she'll be getting another cup of tea with mint and cherries soon. And she's tempted to smile: Carm's a collector of his observations/ that's all she'll give him.
"Marcus asked to order fresh raspberries for him. You think that's doable in March?" Sydney offers him a consolation prize - to solve her problem.
"I'll talk to the supplier."
"Of course, you've got one of those too."
Carm smiles at her and winks, which makes her giggle. Oh yeah, she's standing in the kitchen with the Carmen Berzatto. He knows people, he's got pull, he's a genius in their industry. Sydney likes it when Carm gets all smug about who he is in their business.
Back when she was studying at the CIA, Sydney read an article where Carmy was compared to Paul Bocuse: "the new genius in the culinary world." And that same Carmen now won't stop hyping Sydney up - she's better than him. These compliments, almost always out of place, stir something in her stomach.
Sydney leans on the table again, her eyes scanning the lines of the leftover counts: fennel, tomatoes, a few feet of beef. She closes her eyes, enjoying their shared breathing, the thud of Carmy's knife. Today's so calm. They've got another half hour of steady silence just for them, before the staff starts showing up.
In this peace, without a second thought, Sydney picks up the incoming call buzzing in her pocket. "Hello?"
Carm sets down the knife, giving her room to take the call. He looks at her and she looks back at him. Carm smiles softly at her - again, and Sydney does it right back. She wants to move closer, there's a whole corner of countertop between them. But suddenly the clear voice on the other end says something Sydney wasn't expecting this morning. Her smile drops off her face. And Carm's already on edge, he moves carefully around the kitchen, keeping his hand on the countertop.
"Yeah, yeah, thanks. Yeah," Sydney nods to the man on the phone.
Carm goes quiet next to her, trying to make out the words on the other end of the call. He studies her face closely, trying to figure out what's bothering Sydney.
"Mmm, in the e-mail. Okay. Yea-ah. Thanks," Sydney almost whispers. She lost her voice in the news she'll have to deal with for the rest of the day now. "Have a good day, yeah. Thanks again."
Sydney stares at her phone in her hands like it's some foreign object. Something she's never seen before. Her eyes find a worried Carmen. The man's flushed, his hair sticking up in every direction.
"Sydney," Carm takes another step toward her.
"That was the manager of the Jean Banchet Awards."
Carm nods quickly, to get her to keep going. But his tension visibly deflates: he's probably already come up with the worst-case scenarios for the call.
"I got nominated for Rising Chef of the Year?" Sydney adds a questioning tone, still not believing the words on the phone.
"You got nominated for a Jean Banchet Award for Rising Chef of the Year, as a young chef?" Carm puts the information together piece by piece. His lips are dry. Sydney watches the edge of his tongue swipe across his lips, and she licks hers in response. For some reason, it feels really important to her to copy Carmy right now.
Sydney just nods: yeah, that's what they told her.
And the widest smile she's ever seen blooms on Carmen's face. "Holy shit, Syd!" Carm walks toward her.
And Sydney can't do anything but follow along again: from the wide smile that instantly breaks the weight of worry in her chest with laughter, to wanting to jump into his embrace. The chefs laugh, holding onto each other tight. This embrace is even tighter than the day they announced the Stars.
Here and now, in their kitchen, Carm pulls Sydney to his chest, and she grips his arms tight. Bright laughter rings happily in her throat and joy bubbles up, and when Carm lifts her a couple inches off the floor and spins her around, Sydney cracks up. She's having so much fun, she's so happy, like when she was a kid.
"Yeah, there she is!" Carm jumps up a couple times, making Sydney laugh even louder.
Carm plops her down on the counter, and for every happy giggle she lets out, he plants kisses on her cheeks, cheekbones, and temples:
"Congrats, congrats, congrats!" A little "mwah" lands on Sydney's face with each word.
Carmy's lips peck here and there, clumsily smacking her bottom lip. Her face heats up from happiness and the sudden wash of awkwardness when Sydney leans back and looks at a flushed Carmy.
"Sorry," the man snorts awkwardly and immediately hides his eyes from her.
"It's okay."
"I'm so happy!" Carm finds the courage to look her in the eyes again. In them there's a solid certainty in his words: yeah, he really is happy for her.
"Thanks."
"You're already my winner, you know that?" Carm does something weird with his look again. When Carmen looks at her like that, Sydney will believe anything he says. Even the craziest stuff, like right now.
"Fuck off."
"You fuck off!" Carm pulls her by the knee back onto the floor, and gives her cheekbone one last quick kiss.
That little tenderness makes Sydney's heart flutter.