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She’d only half forgotten that he was in the walk-in. Somehow it had faded to the back of her subconscious, his banging and yelling at the freezer door nothing but fuzz for the bulk of service. And Sydney would feel bad about it if he didn’t kind of do it to himself. Also, the night worked out so fucking well that nothing else seemed that important. Also, she’d spent the better part of the last half hour outside, puking her guts out.
It’s the thing, her dad said. Somehow that made her even more nauseous.
But it’s over now and Sydney is inside, in the kitchen, watching Tom or Tony or Terry or whatever the fuck his name is saw Carmy out of the walk-in and it’s impossible to ignore. He’s impossible to ignore- despite her persistent attempts over these last few weeks.
It’s impossible because the door swings open, Fridge Guy steps aside, and Carmy does not appear.
She’s standing next to Ebra, staring at the door, waiting for him to walk out- maybe tell them off for leaving him in there so long, blow up spectacularly in true Bear fashion, maybe just throw up his hands and walk away. She’s waiting for anything but instead there’s nothing.
Ebra breaks the tense silence first. “Chef? Did you survive?”
Fridge Guy peers into the walk-in. “Dude you good?”
And then Carmy shuffles out, slack-jawed and red faced and visibly trembling.
There’s a helplessly pathetic part of Sydney that immediately wants to start talking shit. That’s what they do, isn’t it? Part of Sydney is prepared to make a quip or a jab, maybe poke fun at how he could’ve just called the fucking fridge guy.
But she’s looking at him now, at the rhythmic clicking of his jaw and the faraway look in his red-rimmed eyes, and Sydney’s not sure when she started figuring out how to read him so well but, in this moment, it feels like second nature.
She moves towards him, sets a chaste hand on his forearm and fails to contain a flinch at how blisteringly cold he is. Dipping her head to meet his eyes, she finds he’s staring at the hand she’s placed over his arm. “Hey,” she says quietly, just for him. “You good?”
He’s trembling under her hand and Sydney finds herself tightening her grip on him. His brows furrow, teeth pulling at his lips as he stumbles out, “Uhh, uhm- I- I gotta-”
“I think Nat’s got a sweater or something in her office, why don’t we go?…”
Nat doesn’t have a sweater in her office and they both know it but it’s the easiest way that Sydney can get Carm somewhere else, somewhere alone. Where he can calm down enough to be able to safely drive home. Pure altruism, no feelings attached. She’d do this for anyone, she concedes. Though that doesn’t explain the tightness in her chest or the way her thumb is stroking circles against his freezing forearm.
Carmy gives a faint nod and lets Sydney lead them both back towards Nat’s office, where Sydney quickly shuts the door. Turning around, she finds him already pacing, a shaking fist tugging at his lips, the other on his hip.
“Hey, dude, you gotta sit down and take some breaths.”
She might as well be speaking to a wall.
She fetches a scratchy throw hanging over one of Nat’s chairs and pushes it against Carmy’s chest in an attempt to stop his pacing.
He looks down at the blanket like he’s never seen one before and promptly turns away from her.
“Carmy, come on, I can’t remember if you’re supposed to stay still or keep moving when you’re hypothermic but whatever the fuck you’re doing right now probably isn’t helpful.”
He stops moving at that but his back is still turned. He’s staring at Nat’s bookshelf and Sydney is staring at his trembling shoulders.
“I’m not gonna say I told you so about the fridge, I’m not a dick. That’s more your thing” She winces, forcing herself to be sensitive even if he doesn’t always deserve that. “I get it- I mean I just got back from puking for thirty minutes straight. I know it’s a fucking lot-”
“You don’t-” Carmy interjects but his voice gives out and he shakes his head, curls flying. Sydney watches a hand come up and scrub down his face. He slowly turns towards her. “You don’t get it- I-I-I- it’s not… You don’t have to-”
He cuts himself off again and Sydney can’t tell if it’s intentional or not. To her great relief, he finally sinks to the floor with his back against the bookshelf, eyes down as he wrings his hands in his lap. Without a second thought, she sinks down beside him, shoving the blanket at him once more. He takes it this time and tugs it tightly around his shoulders, still trembling in a way that Sydney can feel with his arm pressed to hers.
This isn’t their thing. This kind of shit is reserved for screaming matches or conversations under tables or for fists circling over hearts.
“Do you want me to go?”
It’s a long moment before he answers. “No.”
A beat passes; Sydney listens to the sound of Carmy’s harsh breathing and fortifies herself to speak, to be here at all.
“Things went okay tonight.”
Carmy hums his acknowledgement.
“Had to fire Josh. Apparently he’s into meth.”
Sydney looks over to find Carmy’s eyes closed tight and a fist rubbing circles over his chest, too caught up in the comedown of his panic attack to reply.
She switches gears. “You know none of this would have come together without you.”
I couldn’t do it without you.
He stills at that, gaze shifting, almost meeting hers but not quite.
“It’s helping people, y’know. I mean… look at Tina and Marcus. And, fuck, Richie is like.. a new person, seriously it’s like…”
Carmy inhales sharply, elbow coming to rest on his bent knee, a hand splaying into his messy hair. Sydney stops short and looks at him, watching the cogs spin. His dread is plain as day, he wears it like a strobe light strapped to his chest.
“I really fucked up, Syd.”
She doesn’t try to argue that, fairly certain that he’s telling the truth- even if she doesn’t know what that truth is. There’s still so much of Carmy that she doesn’t understand; finds herself irresistibly, regrettably wanting to understand.
For now, it’s enough to not know. It’s enough for it not to be okay. It’s enough to shift closer to him and rest her head against his stiff, cold shoulder and listen to his ragged breaths.
I wouldn’t even want to do it without you.
“Breathe, Carm. Start there.”
He tries, he breathes. And for now, it’s enough.