It'll Get Done (Pt. 2)
Richie Jerimovich & F!Reader
Carmy Berzatto & F!Reader
Chapter Index
Warnings: 18+, language, alcohol, canon-typical vibes
Word Count: 1.8k
A/N: My writer's block has been brutal lately because of lift things, which is deeply unfortunate because I wanted to NaNo this month. But! I did write this for these guys. I just want to put them in rooms and let them talk to each other forever.
The Bear Taglist: @garbinge @withmyteeth @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @darqchilddaydreamz @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, plesae let me know!)
Richie didn’t make it back before the end of the day. You only noticed because the kitchen was a little quieter. Not quiet, of course, but quieter. There was one less person that Carmy was yelling at and arguing with. It was amazing how much it cut down on the noise level.
Every now and then as Carmy raced back and forth between the front and the back of the house, you could feel him lingering behind you. The kid exuded stress in a way that you didn’t know was possible. You understood why, because most people if they were thrown into his position would’ve jumped off the sinking ship rather than trying to scoop the water out with a soup ladle, but sometimes you still felt like you should strap him to the chair in the office and force-feed him some of Richie’s Xanax.
You empathized with him. Or you empathized with him at least more than Richie did, which was a low bar these days. But despite the compassion you were dredging up to give him, there were still plenty of times when you felt him standing behind him and all you wanted to do was spin back around to him and ask him what his fucking deal was. It was easier to refrain from doing that on days when Richie was there because he would say it for you.
Carmy came all but skidding back through the kitchen towards the register, going back and forth between muttering and shouting, “Behind,” as he made his way through.
“Calm down, Jeff,” Tina said with a laugh as she went to take her pot off the stove.
You felt your jaw clench on Carmy’s behalf. Tina was knowledgeable about a lot of things and one of those things was, most definitely, how to get under Carmy’s skin. It wasn’t a difficult code to crack but there were so few people in the world who could do it with such expert precision. Her and Richie were two peas in a pod that way.
“It’d be easier for me to calm down, Tina,” Carmy snapped as he kept walking, “if we were able to pay our goddamn vendors!”
She was shaking her head at him—you caught it out of the corner of your eye. But you also noticed that she didn’t say anything more about it. Content to go back and lie in wait for something else to pop up that she could nettle him about. The end of the day might’ve been approaching quickly but you had the feeling in the pit of your stomach that she would be able to find something else before she clocked out without having to work too hard.
When Carmy came back into the kitchen a little while later, he was walking at a much slower pace than he had been before. You were sure that some of that had to do with the fact that the last of the customers had left, and presumably whatever vendor that had showed up looking for money had also left.
He looked on as everyone slowly but surely worked through their cleanup processes. He wasn’t looking at you, but you still asked him, “All good?”
His head snapped in your direction. “What?”
You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of you. It wasn’t funny per se, but if you didn’t laugh about it you’d end up crying. “What can I help you with, Carmen?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. N-nothing. No one can help me with,” he let out a huff, raking his hands through his hair, “fuckin’ anything.”
“Little dramatic,” you replied honestly, sarcastic but kind, “but alright.”
It got a weak chuckle out of him. “You know what the fuck was going on in Mikey’s head with all that shit?” he asked as he gestured to the office.
You didn’t have to turn and look where he was pointing to know how bad the mess was. You’d seen it while Mikey was making the mess. You’d been seeing it as Carmy made almost no headway in cleaning any of it up. You didn’t blame him for that. If you’d been in his position, you wouldn’t have any idea where to start either.
“Thank fuckin’ god no,” you finally answered him.
He pressed his lips into a thin line for a second as he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah that seems to be…yeah.”
“You should—”
“You can head out, Chef,” Carmy cut you off, and you didn’t know if he even realized that he’d done it. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”
You shook your head. “I can clean up my shit.”
He motioned for you to leave. “It’s fine. I got it.”
“Carm…”
“Seriously,” he reiterated. “Go.”
You looked at him for a moment, and that’s when you could see it in his eyes, the silent plea to just let him have some time to himself. You knew that feeling—it was the whole reason you’d shown up as early as you had that morning in the first place anyway. You knew better than to tell him that he should leave. He wasn’t going to and all it was going to do was turn into an argument. You didn’t need another one of those.
“Fine,” you said with a nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
You ditched your apron and switched back into your casual shoes, stuffing everything else into your locker while you grabbed your bag and your jacket. Neither you nor Carmy spared each other another goodbye, or any other words in general as you headed out.
There was no point in getting your car keys out of your bag, not when the bar you went to with Richie all the time was within walking distance. The couple blocks felt way longer when it was cold out, but it wasn’t that bad yet.
The bartender recognized you when you walked in, giving you a smile and a nod as he moved to start pulling your drink together before you even sat down. He waited for you to get situated before asking, “Flying solo tonight?”
You laughed as you pulled your phone out of your bag. “That’s an excellent question. Let me call—” The rest of the sentence died on your tongue when the door to the bar flung open and Richie strode through. You instantly let it drop right back into your bag, eyes fixed on Richie even though you were talking to the bartender. “I’m not flying solo tonight, no.”
“Can’t believe you came over here without me!” Richie said as he walked over to you.
“Yeah, well,” you looked up at him from the stool you were sitting on as he clapped his hands down on your shoulders, “least I ordered you a drink.”
He laughed, leaning more onto you. His tone shifted completely as he spoke. “Have I ever told you that I love you?”
You rolled your eyes. “You can always tell me again.”
He kissed the side of your head. “I love you.”
“Damn right,” you said with a nod as Richie plopped down on the seat next to you. You waited until he was comfortable in his seat, leaning forward with his arms braced against the edge of the bar with his breathing evened out, before you tried to have anything resembling a real conversation. “Where the hell did you go all day?”
“What do you mean?”
“You expect me to believe that it was guys and places all day?” You were only bringing it up because, much to Carmy’s dismay, Richie usually was at the restaurant all day every day the place was open. He’d pop in and out briefly for whatever errands he assigned himself, but other than that he was present and accounted for. Being gone all day was noticeable, at least to you if no one else.
It was written all over his face that he was thinking about not elaborating. You saw the shifts in his expression as he tried to come up with a joke, or a lie, or anything besides getting into the reality of it all. But then when he looked you in the eyes again, all he could do was be honest with you. “Tiff called. Had to go pick Eva up from school.”
You nodded. “Got it.” You paused. “Wanna talk about it or—”
“No, no,” he laughed, shifting back into his usual demeanor. “We’re not doing that. You don’t get to do that.”
You let out a confused laugh. “I don’t get to do what?”
“You don’t get to try and use Eva to get out of telling me what the fuck your dumbass boyfriend did!” He paused as the bartender set both your drinks down, taking a moment to thank him before shifting his attention right back to you. “You first.”
You huffed, wishing that you could get out of it again. Even with things that were much lower-stakes, there was only so long that you could dodge Richie and his endless line of questions. You took a long sip of your drink as you tried to figure out what you wanted to say, how you wanted to try and say it. There was no way that you could tell the story that would end with him being anything but pissed off about the entire situation. You couldn’t blame him for that, either. After all, you were still pretty pissed off about it yourself.
“It’s nothing new,” you said, a cop-out you knew that he wasn’t going to accept.
He shook his head, looking down at the glass in his hands before looking at you again. “Tell me the old news, then.”
“I’m done being angry about it, Richie.”
“I’m not,” he replied with no hesitation.
It got you to laugh, at least. “That’s because you’re never done being angry about anything.”
He waited for you to look at him. “You’re really not gonna tell me what he did?” He paused, and when you didn’t say anything, he added on, “That bad?”
You shook your head, drumming your fingers on the outside of your glass. “That pointless.”
“Ah,” he waved you off with that same smirk you’d seen from him so often over the years, “another drink or two and I won’t be able to get you to stop talking shit about him.” He missed the look on your face as he looked back down at his drink and shook his head. “Fuckin’ jagoff.”
You chuckled, nodding. “Yeah—that we can agree on at least.”
“Speaking of which,” he gestured towards the door of the bar, “how was the fuckin’ executive toddler chef the rest of the day?”
You smiled, rolling your eyes. “An absolute gem once you walked out the door.”
For a split second you could see it on his face that he almost believed you. Then he smartened up and gave you a playful bump against your shoulder with his own. “Fuck you.”
