Chapter Text
Roman sits with his feet in the pool, tries not to think about how Ken almost died in said pool, and calls Connor, because it feels like an easier first conversation to have than Gerri.
Connor picks up after the second ring and opens with “I’m not getting involved.”
“Woah, okay, hello to you too,” Roman says, snorting. “What, have to maintain your ‘political neutrality’ instead of backing up your fuckin’ siblings? You hate Matsson.”
“Yeah, well, I just got engaged to someone with a, uh, sensitive past, and I don’t really want dad to ruin her life, actually.”
“You’re choosing Willa over us?” Roman asks, genuinely sort of surprised. Hurt, maybe. He’d always counted on Connor to be in his corner when Ken was disintegrating and Shiv was being her usual bitch self.
“You guys are assholes,” Connor says, simply.
“Yeah, sure, so are you. You love us.” Roman squints into the pool, kicks his feet idly, and hopes it’s true. He’s always been confident about Connor’s love, more than anyone else’s. He doesn’t have their cold Collingwood blood, just whatever shitty monster-cells live in Roy blood. “Come on, Con, don’t make me beg you, dude, we need you. You know we need you on our team.”
“No.”
“Bro.”
“I’m telling you no.”
“Come on ,” Roman says, and he can feel it verging on a whine. Feels himself sliding back twenty years, begging Connor to let him stay with him, not make him go back to the apartment--to Logan.
“I’m gonna be the president of the United States, and I’m not gonna participate in open warfare against dad. No.”
Roman sighs. Kicks his foot in the pool more aggressively. “You know, we could tell the press about Willa.” Tastes bitter and foul. He doesn’t like threatening Connor, but he knows it’s what Shiv would do. What their dad would do.
There’s silence on the other line. “You know, I love you guys,” Connor says, eventually. Slowly. “I don’t like you, though.”
“Con.”
“Good luck fighting dad. Hope you all survive.” Connor sighs. “Look out for Kenny, okay?”
He hangs up. Roman resists the urge to drop his phone in the pool, and instead rests it facedown next to him, and pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes and holding in a scream. Breakdowns are Ken’s thing. Breakdowns always got Roman hit.
This is the first moment of silence he’s had since they made the decision to kill their dad. It fills his brain and makes him feel like a fucking echo chamber. He can’t get it out of his head--his dad treating him like he was the only one that mattered, for the first time. Part of him thinks he should’ve just--just gone along with it. Just gone into the other room with Logan and let him lie to him, because when Logan Roy lies the world fucking shifts to make his bullshit true. Shiv and Ken disowned, Roman the new official golden boy.
It still makes him nauseous to think about. He’s not--he’s not compulsive, impulsive, whatever, like Kendall is, not in the same way at least, but he needs something to settle his fucking stomach, to get you come for me with love? out of his head. To get get straightened out out of his head.
He leaves his phone on the edge of the pool, pushes himself up, and heads inside, bare feet leaving wet marks on the floor. Ken, Shiv, and Comfrey are sitting in a living room, all on their own devices, occasionally saying buzzwords at each other.
“Hey,” Roman says. They all look at him, for a moment. Ken’s attention hangs on him.
“You call Con?” he asks.
“Yeah, no dice, he’s too scared of dad,” Roman says, shrugging. “I also may’ve threatened him.”
“You threatened Connor?” Shiv asks, snapping back up to focus. “Fucking really , Rome? After all the--after his pissy fit the other day?”
“It just kinda slipped out.” Roman looks at the ground, shame making him even more nauseous.
“It’s fine, we can do this without him,” Ken says, sighing, running a hand over his ‘07 Britney Spears Signature Deluxe haircut.
“Sure, but--” Shiv starts.
“Yeah, obviously Roman shouldn’t have threatened him, but he did, so, whatever, it’s done.” Ken shrugs. “Gerri?”
“Not yet,” Roman says. “Uh, was wondering if I could borrow your pen again?”
“Ah,” Ken says. He nods. “Yeah, sure. One sec. Meet you out there?”
“Sure.”
“Pen?” Shiv asks, squinting, and then realizes. “Oh, fucking-- no . Okay? No. We have to stay focused.”
“I’m kind of losing my shit, Siobhan,” Roman says, and he’s honestly surprised how even it comes out. “That whole--I mean, with dad tonight, that was--I just--”
“Fine. Whatever. Fine. I don’t have the energy for this,” Shiv says, waving a dismissive hand and going back to whatever fake-important playset bullshit she was doing. Roman chews his lip, raises his shoulders defensively at nothing, and heads back outside, resuming his position with his feet in the pool, phone still facedown.
He would try to come up with a strategy for Gerri, but he knows there isn’t one. He’s gonna get high on Ken’s too-fancy dab pen, or whatever, and then the words’ll just fall out of him. Maybe. Maybe he won’t be able to speak as soon as he hears her voice. Maybe she won’t even pick up. No sense speculating, he’ll take it as it comes.
Ken sits next to him and puts a hand on his back, just briefly. That’s always been his greeting to Roman, when it’s just them. Roman thinks it’s supposed to be reassuring. “I think Shiv’s just wound really tight,” he says.
“Yeah, no shit,” Roman says. “I get it.”
“What you did tonight--” Ken sighs. “Look, I know how hard that was. I know how hard it is to stand up to him. But you stuck with us. I’m so proud of you, dude. Okay?”
“Yeah.” It comes out as barely a whisper. “Thanks.”
Ken hands Roman his pen, and Roman takes a long hit, holding it in until it scrapes the inside of his lungs. Tastes like synthetic fruit. Naturally Ken has flavored weed. Fancy prick. “We’re gonna be okay.” Ken sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Roman. This all feels uncomfortably familiar. Feels like the aftermath of one of Logan’s famous fits of rage, when the storm was over and Ken tried to lead the reconstruction effort, reassuring Roman, convincing him their dad loved him, really, Rome, he does, yeah?
“Sure, but, like, are we?” Roman screws up his face, cocks his head, scratches his neck viciously, takes another hit.
“Yeah, man, sure.” Ken peels the pen out of his hand.
“Cuz you almost just died.”
Ken exhales like he’s taking a punch, and puts the pen to his lips, briefly, not inhaling. He drops his hand again. “I’m okay,” he says. Roman feels, yet again, like he’s convincing himself. “Yeah, I mean, that was--but I’m okay now. We’ve got this.” He puts the pen back up to his lips and actually takes the hit this time.
“Okay, but, should we be--” Roman starts. Ken stands up and ruffles Roman’s hair.
“Get on top of the Gerri situation, okay? I’ll call Frank. If we can get both of them, we’re set. Connor’s a setback, but definitely not one we can’t climb the fuck over.”
“Okay,” Roman sighs, defeated and slightly too high to have the conversation he meant to have anyway, the one that goes I think maybe you shouldn’t be part of this cuz you’re driving straight towards a cliff . Not like he could’ve gotten the right words out anyway.
“You’re a fuckin’ rockstar, dude. You’ve got this.” Ken shoves Roman’s head to the side, gently, affectionately, and leaves him to head back inside.
Roman takes a deep breath, picks up his phone, and calls Gerri.
“I shouldn’t talk to you,” she says, after two rings.
“Is that what your lawyer’s telling you? Oh, wait,” Roman says.
“Funny,” she deadpans.
“We’re killing Logan. I’m calling to offer you a really nice shiny knife. Doubles as a vibrator.”
“Get a different lawyer, Roman.”
“It’s not just about the lawyer thing, though, yeah, we do need that,” Roman says. “You’ve been working for my dad for decades. If anyone can bury him, it’s you.”
“There’s attorney-client--” Gerri starts. Roman mocks her tone with gibberish, and she sighs. “What can you offer me without a company, Roman? I need something if you want me to go up against Logan.”
“I don’t know, finally getting the respect you’re fucking owed? A shitton of money?” Roman lies back and stares at the sky.
“So you’re bribing me. You’re paying me to slay the fucking dragon? No, Roman. No. I’m not a mercenary,” she says.
“Don’t you wanna be on the right side of history?” Roman asks, feeling Kendall’s shitty grotty little spirit possessing him briefly. “With your goddaughter and your sick puppy?”
“I have to go,” she says. “Offer me something better.”
Roman sighs, and she hangs up.