Work Text:
"You're sick."
"Uh-uh, no, I'm not." Carmy tries his hardest to stifle a laugh at how her voice sounds equally weak and defiant. Their shift is over and everyone has gone home. Sydney is perched in the office chair, holding her head in her hands. She's been sweating buckets and taking breaks to breathe, eyes shut tight, all day.
"Oh, really?"
"Nope." The word drags out of her as it ends, and he sighs, feeling her forehead.
"You're hot."
"Thanks." He chuckles, rolling his eyes. She groans, curling inwards and crossing her arms over her stomach.
"Alright, that's it. I'm taking you home, I'll finish cleaning up in the morning." It's only a few odd chores left to do anyway.
"No, I'm fine."
"Bullshit."
"Fuck you. I am fine."
"Then let's go, chef. We gotta finish cleaning." He stares her down, stubbornly and she does it right back. She stands, albeit shakily and surprisingly to her she makes it out of the office, but her strong will does not carry her any further.
She grips onto one of the lockers, hunching over and fighting tears, "fuck!" His hand comes to rest on her back, guiding her to sit on the bench. He retrieves her stuff from her locker before crouching in front of her so he can look in her eyes.
"What is it? Your head?" He speaks oh so softly, in that tone of voice he seems to have reserved for her specifically.
"Stomach. Bad leftovers. I didn't realize." She pants, fighting a bout of nausea.
"You think you can stand?"
She blows out a breath, "yeah, just," she doesn't want to ask. She's never liked asking for things, made her feel incapable and weak but fuck, does her stomach feel like shit. "Just...help me up, please?"
He smiles softly, looking at her like he always intended to do just that, help her. "Yeah, of course." After he pulls her up, she tells him to stop, resting her arms on his shoulders and putting her head down. He's got his hands on her waist while he waits patiently, thumbs rubbing circles into the fabric of her whites. "Fuck this day to fucking hell." She stands straight and nods at him, he takes her hand and leads her outside while she twists her arm around her torso. When she sinks down into the passenger seat, she breathes a sigh of relief and pulls her knees up to her chest, curling her body towards the car door. He settles in the driver's seat and sighs when he sees her.
"You could've gone home, Syd."
"No, I couldn't."
"Yes, you could've. We're good now." They are, he's right. The restaurant is stable, but she can't turn her brain off, she can't stop working. She thinks she might be incapable of it. Even when she wants too, even if she knows she needs to rest, it just seems impossible to stop.
He moves the gearshift, putting the car in drive when she doesn't respond.
If Sydney could describe Carmen in one word she's probably use 'strange', since the moment they met, he's always been peculiar. She wasn't used to that. Usually, she would meet a person and the first impression would show her all she needed to know but Carmen had layers, she had to think and look harder to understand him. So, yeah, he's strange but not necessarily in a bad way. She'd like to say she can read him pretty well but right now, in this moment, she cannot for the life of her figure out why he decided to drive with one hand so he can rub her back with the other. She's not complaining, she's not, because it feels damn good but did he have to mess with her mind now? When it's already messed up enough?
He stops in front of a pharmacy, promising he'll be right back and hurrying into the store. She groans loudly and it echoes in the empty car. Seriously, does her body hate her? Her whole head feels fuzzy and her stomach is churning like a mixer on high speed. Suddenly, to her great disdain, she feels something rising in her throat. "No, no, no, no. Shit." She swings the door open and vomits on the parking space beside the car. "Fuck me." She spits harshly, holding her hand on her head.
"Yeah, I figured that might happen." She looks up and finds Carmen staring back at her gently, a grimace on his face. "Here." He hands over a pack of wipes he just brought. "You alright?" She shrugs weakly, wiping her mouth.
When he's driving again, she leans down to look at the floor. "Ugh, Carmy."
"Hmm?"
"I feel like shit. What did I do to deserve this? I'm just a girl."
"Mhmm. A girl who ate days old food. How did you not know that shit was rancid?"
"It tasted funny, but I had hope."
"That it wouldn't bite you in the ass?"
"Yes...my optimism was misplaced. Fuck." He slows at a stop light and puts the car in park to grab a water bottle from the pharmacy bag.
She takes a swig and her eyes pinch shut. "Deep breaths, Syd." She picks up his hand, intertwining their fingers and squeezing because what she's not going to do is throw up in this car. She does what he says, breathing as evenly as she can as he brings their joined hands to rest over his heart, caressing her skin with his thumb. In an effort to unblur her vision, she concentrates on his hand on the steering wheel and how she feels tingly when he turns the wheel with one hand instead of dropping hers. Seriously that is not what she needs to worry about now.
He pulls her up and out of the car slowly, her tote bag hanging off his shoulder. She hums at how effortlessly he did it, wanting to tease him about his muscles again but not finding any energy to. She groans when she sees the flights of stairs she has to traverse every day when she leaves and enters her apartment, cursing her landlord in her mind for never getting the elevator fixed. "This is ridiculous."
"That dick still didn't fix the fucking elevator?"
"No."
"Come on, let's get it over with." She takes the first step and immediately stops, feeling dizzy. He places his hands on her hips, "I got you." He says, and she knows he does. The whole journey is her stopping intermittently to breathe and leaning into him behind her as she does so. It's intimate, this whole thing is, in a domesticated way and she doesn't know how to feel about it, she just hopes he won't leave. When she gets to the last step, raising a limp fist in the air in victory, she feels it again. That burn in her throat. "Shit, Carmy, it's happening again." As he unlocks the door, she leans over, "why is this happening to me?" She whines, crouching down. When the door opens (he has to push on the door as he unlocks it because her door has performance anxiety), she rushes straight to her bathroom and promptly hurls into her toilet. "Ew, Carmy! It's got fucking chunks!"
"...Uh, okay. TMI Syd."
"Fuck you!"
"Noted."
"You're the one who's still here! Clearly you want to share this experience with me!"
"Whatever helps you sleep at night."
He can hear her throwing up again and cringes. Heading to the kitchen, he takes out ingredients to make a simple broth, something easy to stomach if she does get hungry later. Once everything is on the stove, he hangs his jacket neatly on her coatrack. When he finds her in the bathroom, sprawled out on the floor, he scolds himself for even thinking of laughing but seriously, why is she laying out like that? She looks like a starfish on a rock. "Syd, come on, take a hot shower. It might help."
She sits up and looks at him, eyes bleary and whispers, "take your shoes off in my fucking house, Carmen Berzatto."
"Take the fucking shower, Sydney Adamu."
She rolls her eyes, "don't sass me," and gives in with groans and moans galore as he hands her some pajamas he found in her drawer. He does take his shoes off (he's not evil) and fixes her bed so she can get in it once she comes out. She's got way too many throw pillows, there's no way she actually sleeps with all of them.
He checks on the soup, turning the heat down just as she comes out. He can hear her bed creaking under her weight. She's got her thick quilted blanket tucked up to her chin and her scarf on her head, still sweating buckets. "Carmy? Come here." She beckons him forward like an old man on his deathbed about to tell his children his last words and he does laugh now. She grabs his hand when he's close enough and pats it. "You're a sassy little shit."
"Takes one to know one, grandpa."
"This is what I'm talking about! Can you let me finish? Damn."
"Sorry."
"I was gonna say thank you, but I don't think you deserve it anymore."
"Fuck, whatever will I do?" She giggles weakly. "Take the pepto and go to sleep, Syd." She does so and he puts the bottle on her bedside table.
"I-" she starts, "thanks, really. I don't like people helping me but yeah, thanks."
"I told you. I got you, Syd."
"I know." He turns to leave the bedroom and she frowns internally. "Uh, you're not leaving, right?"
"No." He smiles that sweet smile she really loves before smirking, "why do you want me to stay?"
"Good night asshole."
"Night, baby girl." She hates that pet name and also finds it deeply hilarious. He knows that. Like she said, sassy little shit.
He startled awake on the couch at around three a.m. to the sound of Sydney puking again. He rushes into her bathroom and finds her leaning on her tub.
"Fuck, Syd, still?"
"Sorry, did I wake you?"
"Don't apologize. It's fine."
"I...I tried to take some more meds but it didn't stay down."
"If you're still hacking up your organs in the morning, I'm taking you to the hospital."
"Heard." She launches forward and over the toilet again. He grimaces as he slides down the wall, she's not exactly a quiet vomiter. Putting her head up, she sucks in a few deep breaths.
"Hey," he whispers, nudging her hips until she's wrapped in his embrace. He's all around her, his legs are bent at the knees as she sits between them and one arm is around her torso while the other wraps around her shoulder. She rests her face on his bicep, taking in his scent. The kitchen and something woodsy, like pine. She interlocks her hand with the one on her stomach and sighs.
"This is really fucked. Rendered helpless by a chicken sandwich." He hides his laugh in her neck and she feels it rumble through her system until she laughs as well. A few minutes pass, them in that position, his fingers tracing circles on the exposed skin between her shirt and the waistband of her sweatpants. She likes how it feels a bit too much, his hands on her, touching, studying, caressing. She wants to have it all the time. "You're really warm." She drawls, feeling a bit dizzy, arching her back to fit better in his arms, shaping herself to his form like a cat finding a good spot. She cranes her neck to look at him, finding him already looking at her. She knows staring is rude but that doesn't seem to apply to the both of them, they have to look at each other, they have to see each other, watch expressions change and try to catch whatever little smiles they can. It's like their energy source. "I like your hair better like this."
"Messy?"
"No, it's not messy." Her hand slithers up his neck, fingers twining his hair. "Wild. You're not meant to look put together, I like you wild, rugged. Like a bear." She giggles at her own joke and he smiles, shaking his head. She sobers after a second, biting her lip, "I like when you look like you."
"Oh, you're sick out of your mind, honey."
"Very much so." A drawn-out sigh leaves her mouth and he puts his head back against the wall. "Hmmm," she hums blissfully.
"Comfortable?"
"Uh-huh." She is. She really is, she didn't realize how much she wanted this. She works and works, trying her best to hold everything together so yeah, it feels great to be held for once.
"Think you'll throw up again?"
"No, I think I'm good for now."
"Alright, c'mon, up we go." He pats her leg and she frowns.
"No, don't move," she whines, turning around in his arms to look at him with those big brown eyes he can't resist. Cheater. "This is nice, we can stay here."
"Sydney, you're gonna wake up with pins and needles if we stay here."
"Fine."
"Fine?"
"Yup." She burrows into him further defiantly and he huffs. Without another word, he's moving her hands to place them around his neck and lifting her up as he stands. She squeaks in surprise, holding onto him tighter as she wraps her legs around his waist on instinct, his forearm under her ass to hold her weight. He retrieves a plastic grocery bag with his free hand from her kitchen and she feels fucking weightless and butterflies she hasn't had in years come alive in her stomach, making her toes curl. Tucking her face in his neck, she notices he has some ink peeking out of his collar. She didn't know he had tattoos on his back.
When he leans down to drop her on her mattress, she refuses, hanging on and he chuckles. "Syd."
"Carmy."
"I won't leave okay? Just...can you let me out of the death grip?"
"Promise?"
"Promise." She releases him and crosses her arms, watching him as he puts the bag on her nightstand and moves around the foot of the bed to the other side. He lays down on top of the blankets and kicks up one of his knees. "Happy?"
She shrugs, "I guess."
"You're pouty when you're sick."
"You're pouty when you're not."
"Touche." She sits up slightly, leans on her elbows. His hand comes up to trace her nose, his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps. He stops at her chin, pinching it between his fingers.
"What's on your back?"
His nose pinches in confusion, "what?"
"You have ink on your back. What is it?"
"Oh, uh, I can't really explain it."
"Try." He goes silent for a minute, lost in the velvet haze of her eyes. Suddenly, he sits up, back to her, and she frowns. "What are you-"
"Go on. Look." She sits up and pulls the stretched-out collar of his shirt down to see his shoulder. At first glance, it just looks like a small pattern of polka dots but upon further inspection she realizes it's a strip of cloth. Her scarf specifically, one of her favorites. Polka dots against a dark blue background.
"My scarf."
"...yeah."
"Wait...that dish you couldn't crack. The one with the-"
"The white spots? Yeah, that was all you, Syd." She bites down on her lip, emotion spilling somewhere inside her as she hooks her chin over his shoulder.
"So you got a tattoo for me?"
"I guess so."
"What, so, am I like, your muse or something?" She jokes but he doesn't laugh.
"I think so."
Oh.
Oh.
"That's uh, cool."
He puffs out a small laugh, "cool."
"Hey, would it be cool if I said you were kind of mine too?"
"Very cool."
"Okay, cool." She dissolves into chuckles. "We said cool too much." She falls back onto the bed, holding onto his arm until he looks back at her. He brings her knuckles up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.
She retaliates by biting the meat of his forearm and he laughs, "you're so violent."
After a while, she pats the side of the bed, "lay down." He does so and lets her slip into his arms. "Can I kiss you in the morning? When I'm not so gross."
"You're not gross, I'd kiss you now."
"Uh-uh, no, that's nasty."
"Okay, then yes. You can kiss me in the morning."
In the morning, after brushing her teeth, she does just that.