Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tap. Click. Tap tap. Click.

Small restaurants in D.C. Small restaurants in Virginia. East Coast eating places hiring.

Sydney needed to get somewhere far, far away.

Away from Chicago. Away from this city. Somewhere better.

Job hunter. Sou chef position. Chef position. P.F. Chang’s. Cheesecake Factory. Read More. Apply. Listings. Full. Hiring! Applications. Urgent. Closing.

Sydney’s fingers rapidly pushed into the plastic of the keyboard, bouncing off them with a crooked pattern of desperation. It was all such a cluttered mess, from her thoughts to the manic precision of her clicks and taps and link copying. But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t even urge herself to stop. She was fully aware that she was losing it, and even so, she didn’t want to give up.

She couldn’t afford to. This was her last chance.

The Bear wasn’t good enough. She thought it had been efficient, but it wasn’t, so now it was onto the next thing, and this one simply had to work, or else it was game over for her career. Her purpose. And sure, her leaving would hurt Tina. Marcus. Ebra. Richie.

And Carmy. Who could forget about Carmy?

But she had already gone over this with herself. Over and over in her head, in the moments when no one could catch her gaze becoming lazy and filled with nothingness as she negotiated with herself. Until it was ingrained, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not until the very last fiber of her was convinced that what she was doing now—what she was about to abandon was worth abandoning. This wasn’t a matter of denial anymore. It was a matter of understanding what would be “good.”

Good is not in Chicago. Good is nowhere near here. Good is not in her heart, nor her body, nor her scornful dwelling in her too-kind father’s house. She will find Good somewhere else. And if she can’t? Then she will create Good.

Because beyond her computer table and overfilled trash can and the discarded letters of termination and resignation was a calendar hanging up over her lifeless bed, and it had no dates past the 15th of January. A red X was placed right on top of “1,” and from there on they would be marked till Sydney made her goal of joining a new restaurant, or the Final Day.

“Fourteen days to get out of this city.” She murmured to herself. That was how long she had—the amount of time she could manage before completely disappointing her father, before completely giving up on herself. Before Good.

Her door was pushed open with a whiney creek and she teetered in her rolling chair, gripping onto the desk for support. Damn it.

“Sydney? You’re still awake? It’s 1:23!” Her father said, eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make out whatever was showing on the screen. She thanked God that he’d left his glasses on his dresser before coming to her room.

“Sorry Dad…” She pushed herself up from the chair and walked over to him, squeezing his arm. Awkwardly, she held on, not quite sure whether the gesture was done to placate herself or him. Maybe neither, since there was no chance of her being perceived as normal at an hour past midnight. Perhaps it was a result of her own disingenuous attitude. That’s why everything was so unnatural.

Despite the rather sour attempt at affection, he smiled anyway (as he always does), placing his own hand over her's. “Try to get some sleep pumpkin, okay? Did you take your meds?”

The orange bottle of Xanax stood at the foot of her bed. She had intentionally skipped it.

“Yeah, I did.” Sydney lied. For now, she’d let the burning guilt sink down into her gut. “I was just… thinking.”

“About?”

“A lot.”

He slowly nodded, though there was a slight stutter in it. Though could she really blame him for being so hesitant to accept her vague answer? His daughter was a mess and there was nothing he could do to soothe the issue.

Soon, he’ll be rid of me, Sydney mediates. One way or another.

“Hey, I’m… okay.” She gently whispered into the silence of the room, now moving in for a hug. Easily, they managed their arms around each other, probably the last bit of normalcy they could ever have. Something that was for-sure. Mutually real.

“I know, pumpkin.” Her father kissed the top of her head. “It’ll be okay.”

Dad…

Why is it that whenever I’m trying to reassure you, I’m the one who ends up being comforted?

I don’t deserve those words. You don’t owe me anything at all.

One way or another. One way, or another.

There’s no place like home.

“Bullshit, that’s just stuff real estate managers say to sell houses.” Carmy jeered. Someone had so rudely placed an advertisement right smack-dab on The Bear’s door, something that had been rising in frequency since last Friday.

“You’re such a pessimist, y’know? Normal people would be more pissed at the advert than the message.” Richie scoffed. He hovered over the cash register, attempting to unjam the dividing drawer, albeit unsuccessfully.

Carmy stepped inside, irritably shaking the sticky paper off of his hand. “Who the fuck cares—Hey! Syd, did you order those cameras so we can catch the asshole who keeps doing this shit?”

He received no answer, which only pissed him off more.

“Hello? Sydney? It’s not nap time.” He slammed his fist on the table where she had dozed off, prompting her to jolt suddenly. Her bleary eyes widened before softening at the sight of him.

“Sorry,” Sydney murmured. “Didn’t sleep well last night. What’d you ask?”

“What you’d ask, chef.”

“Sydney, don’t let him be an ass! He’s just mad ‘cause the shitty advertisement guy made rounds again.” Richie chimed in, easing her before she could even begin to feel pissed.

“Well get to it,” Carmy said in a calmer tone, making a point to ignore Richie. “And get some more sleep, we can’t have you slacking, chef.”

“Got it.” Sydney nodded, sitting up straight.

Warily, but curiously, her gaze wanders to where his figure walks away. His back hunches slightly, jarringly tense and unmoving even as he moves with his gait. His hands listlessly hang to his sides. It almost makes her want to grab them just so he has something to do with them. Something unrelated to cooking, for once.

“Don’t admire him too hard,” Richie sneakily taunted her. He still busied himself with the jammed register.

“I wasn’t.” She bitterly snapped, standing up to lend him the assistance that he so clearly needed. He handed the machine to her without a beat.

“Say,” he started with that awful smile that he has when he’s planning something. “are you actually into cousin?”

“Shut up.”

“So you are!”

“No.” Sydney asserted, gently easing the edges of the drawer from its seal on the case.

“The way you were ogling him says otherwise. Keep staring at his ass like that and maybe he’ll actually give it to you—! Ow, ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!” Richie hissed as he was cut off by one of Sydney’s brutal ear twists. “Not dropping this, by the way!”

“You should. I’m not interested in Carmy.” Sydney glared at him, letting go of his reddened ear. “Why are you so persistent about it? I mean, it just seems more than your usual annoying tricks.”

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m desperate for this man to get a life. And that Claire girl? Wasn’t working a damn bit. I mean we all saw how that turned out.”

Sydney had seen how that all turned out. And admittedly, when they broke up, she had struggled back a cheer of joy.
But Carmy wasn’t one of the subjects she liked to ingrain or dwell on till she was convinced of something, so that off moment of rejoice had been completely pushed from her mind. Till now. She hadn’t even realized it, but she had started to become trapped in her daze again, trying to label that reaction, put it into words, and then eliminate it.

“Hel-lo? Syd?” Richie waved his hand in front of her face. She jumped, the cashier register slipping from her already loosened grip.

Ca-ching! The drawer jerked out of its frame.

“Oh, I guess that worked.” Sydney hummed, satisfied.

“Hell no. We are not moving on from the fact that you were just daydreaming about Carmy.” Richie lectured.

“Was I really?” She smiled, pushing the drawer closed as she slowly walked away, her expression becoming even more sly as she went on.

“Yes! You were! I bet it on the 20 cents I have in my pocket!”

“You mean in your bank account?”

“You’ll have to buy me a suit for you and Carm’s wedding!”

Sydney rolled her eyes and sighed, rounding the kitchen entrance and making her way to the tiny corner that held the lockers. She slipped on her apron.

Me and Carmy, huh… She thought, letting the unwanted linger on just a little while more. What would that even look like? He’s not exactly the Prince Charming I would’ve wanted when I was 8. Then again I haven’t really considered romance since then…

“Chef!” Carmy called. Speak of the Devil.

“Hey,” Sydney said. “Prep should be good to go. I managed to unjam the cashier.”

“Oh. Yeah, um, thanks. Uh… here.” Carmy handed her a big bottle with a sleeping cartoon bee on it. He scratched the back of his head. “Melatonin. Helps me sleep. So um, y’know. I figured it’d help you. Meds are expensive these days, so uh… Just, hoping this might help. Sorry for yelling at you earlier like that.”

“Oh.” Sydney blinked. She stared in awe as if the plastic container was some sort of offering from an extraterrestrial, and there was a 99% chance of death if she consumed the contents inside.

“Uhm…”

“Oh—oh! Oh, thank you.” She awkwardly laughed, her manners managing to break through her confusion. “Thank you, that’s really thoughtful, actually.”

“It’s no problem, really. Yeah, but um, make sure they don’t mix with any of your other medicines. Or like, check the label… yeah, you know what to do. Yeah.” He gives her a thumbs up and shyly backs away before returning to his normal gait. But this time, his hands fiddle with his pockets instead of lying uselessly at the sides.

Sydney stared at him as he walked away. And her thoughts linger again. Newer, and less unwelcome.

Make sure they don’t mix with any of your other medicines.

Meds are expensive these days… Just hoping this might help.

Sydney pressed her hands to her face. Warm. This simply couldn’t be.

Richie couldn’t be right.

Make sure… help… sorry… no problem…

She slammed her head against the locker. No way in hell is she about to lose her compass for a man doing the bare minimum. No way in hell.

Besides… she didn’t need useless connections. Or schoolgirl crushes. She needed to leave. She needed to get out as soon as possible. No looking back. One way or another, she’d find “Good,” and Good involved her being erased from Chicago, by any means possible, either by departure, or by death.

One way, or another, things would be changed.

Chapter Text

Sydney dropped clusters of nickels and pennies into her large jar marked by the words MOVING FUND in large black print. It all just managed to cover the bottom layer, filling up the empty space with a new brown and silver mix. She let the last penny slide off her palm with a gentle “clink” and pressed the auburn lid back over the Mason.

That was just the money she had gotten from dog-sitting her father’s coworker. Twelve dollars and fifty cents. Maybe she should’ve asked for an extra five considering the fact that she had to clean off the dog every time he used the bathroom.

No, she wouldn’t be picky. This was Good. She had something to do along with working at The Bear. Even though the weekly paycheck was decent, she was still looking for more money to speed up the process. But God, she hadn’t even thought about where she’d go in the first place. Everywhere was so expensive, and nowhere seemed far enough. Rent for an apartment? Down payment on a house? Moving fees?

She held the jar up at an angle that allowed the sunlight to flow directly onto the coins. Maybe if she idealized it more, the fund would fill up on its own. She could almost hear it now… clink, clink, clink, clink…

Wishful thinking, Sydney thought, shaking her head, is no Good, right?

She placed the jar down and made her way towards the window, pulling the cheap curtains further apart. Was the Sun always this golden in the mornings?

The streets were crowded, as they always were, with cars moving so fast Sydney could only make out flashes of color in the glare of light. And of course, it was never too early to get angry. Cars argued in a language of beeps and honks that sounded all too silly when observed from somewhere as high up as Sydney’s room.

It would be interesting if she moved somewhere quieter. Somewhere where cars only made their way through the one-way roads that had been paved out long ago for tractors and carriages. Where instead of police sirens, all you could hear were the gentle chatter of birds and the conversation of cows.

…She’s just romanticizing an impossible scenario.

Just as she found herself scrubbing at the dust on her window sill with the sleeve of her sweater, her alarm startled her out of the monotony. It was 7:40 already.

So for the moment, she’d surrender to reality and go to work. She’d slip on her dull jeans, pull her arms through her frumpy brown leather coat, and she’d gradually fall into the work day, pushing it all side for one goal. She couldn’t betray her own promise.

She grabbed her keys and messenger bag, recklessly pushing her back against the door and stumbling into the hallway. She walked down the hall with a bit of pep in her feet, making haste towards the door—

“Sydney?” Her father called, resulting in her making a very embarrassing attempt to catch herself, lest she land against the wooden floors. Had he really been standing there the whole time?

“You’re up early.”

“I have work.”

“Ah, yeah.” Sydney nodded sheepishly.

“Well, I don’t mean to make you late. Carmy’s giving you breakfast, right?”

Sydney forgot that she had told him that little white lie. She pushed past the guilt and confirmed. Her father already worried about her enough, and he didn’t need something as small as whether she was eating breakfast or not to add on to his package.

“Alright my dear,” he pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “Be safe.”

“I will, dad.”

And successfully, she forced a smile onto her face, lips moving upwards into a firm grin. It felt like wires had been hooked into her cheeks, keeping her weary expression from returning back to her. Though she wasn’t held hostage, she had to remind herself. These wires had been placed herself, because that was the only way. Preservation till the very day she would leave.

(Uno modo vel alio)

The minute Sydney entered The Bear, Carmy handed her a folded piece of paper and walked away with no explanation. Upon opening it, she could see it said:

I’m not having a good morning. I am irritated. Sorry.

Talk to Richie. He has the plans for today. I will cool down in approximately 1 hour.

Also, Tina already set up the stoves, so if need be, take a power nap.

— Carmy

“It’s kinda cute!” Sydney giggled, nudging Richie and gesturing towards the message. She tried to ignore how her heartbeat rose when she read the final sentence.

“The little cretin has been on a self-help journey this entire month.” Richie rolled his eyes and turned his face back towards the counter, which had a huge hole in it.

“… Can you run that by me again? How the counter got hit by an asteroid, I mean.”

“Oh, go to hell. It’s not my fault my bowling ball fell out of the cabinet.”

“Why the fuck did you have your bowling ball in the cabinet?”

“For the storage?” Richie whipped his head around and glared at her like this was completely obvious.

“You… literally make no sense.” Sydney sighed. She scooched past where he was hunched over the counter and moved to the kitchen.

Her and Carmy brushed past each other. In that very moment, she could see his soft blue eyes gaze at her, and she reciprocated. It was like it was just the two of them there, staring—Ow!

Sydney groaned as her face collided with the door frame. She felt like a fucking idiot, or a school girl, the way she just crashed into something because she was too distracted by her crush.

Carmy, oddly enough, didn’t speak, and instead helped her straighten her figure and take a look at her nose. It wasn’t too bad. No bleeding or breaking, just irritation from being body slammed into something hard.

Carmy pointed at the freezer and gave her a thumbs up.

“I-Ice? Yeah. Yeah.” Sydney swallowed, giving him a thumbs up back.

The two nodded at each other and awkwardly walked away.

That’s the second less than normal interaction this week, Sydney groaned internally, reaching for a bag of peas in the freezer. A bin sat wedged between the door and the frame.

What was up with Carmy not speaking? Well, she could kind of connect the dots on her own… when he was angry he’d shout and bitch about it till everyone around him wanted to strangle him. And damn it, she couldn’t even worry about communication because he had managed to do it, and better than he usually did, mind you.

Plus, it was a little appealing. Had he always looked so sweet when he shut up?

As Sydney pondered this, bags of peas rained down on her head. Better results than what she was getting before, but still equally annoying. Lost in the pile of peas, she heard an awful cranking noise, the sound of something about to snap, like wires bending and bending until the wire couldn’t hold up any longer.

Snap!

And it all suddenly clicked: The bin had broken.

Sydney scrambled upwards to reach for the door — but it was too late. She was trapped.

For her first option, she violently slammed her fists against the door, pushing past the horribly numb feeling that came from the cold and moved her focus to getting someone, anyone’s, attention.