Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roman hopes the elevator doors will close on him. Literally. Perhaps cut him clean in two and end his misery. 

Gerri is standing inside. Gerri, who had looked him dead in the eye and asked how helping him would serve her interest. The very same who has subsequently watched him trip over himself, his thoughts on turbo-spin as he left the room.

He couldn’t do it. This was too soon. Waystar should have been empty at this hour. No one sane would come in at half five in the morning. 

Of course, Roman was there for that exact reason. His desk was still cluttered with legal documents and general shit he needed to collect. His plan was to avoid all eye-contact and be in-and-out as quick as possible, much the same as his tried and tested approach to sex. But there Gerri is, looking all pinched and unimpressed.

Not wanting to look a coward, he enters the elevator, pressing his back against one of the side walls, ensuring that he keeps the entire space in his sights, lest she decide to deck him while he isn’t looking. She remains facing ahead, however, not sparing him a glance. Their destination is, unsurprisingly, the same, so the doors slide closed, and the lift begins its ascent, trapping them both.

He allows himself a brief moment to take her in. She’s wearing her hair in that familiar French twist, with the usual corporate dress and those fucking pearls that some part of him always wants to chew on, all perfectly put together, unlike himself who has eye bags the size of the Mariana trench.

He feels ill, like he’s seconds away from spewing his guts. He doesn’t think it would impress Gerri much though, an arm covered in sick this early in the morning, so he tries his best to take deep, silent breaths to settle his nerves. 

He slides closer to the operating panel and begins picking at the plastic of floor 10. Maybe it’ll come clean off, cause some confusion for the corporate fucks when they arrive. His finger slips and suddenly the ring around the button is lit up. He presses it again and, of course, it doesn’t undo anything, so the doors are soon opening to an empty floor, elongating the uncomfortable silence. 

Only Gerri gives him a look. Just the flick of her eyes, but it’s an acknowledgement, and he finds himself moving to pick at the plastic of floor 17.

After another bout of quiet, they arrive again at an empty floor. This time there’s no look, but a slight frown pulls at her lips. 

Floor 24 next. The doors open and close. Her brows are now furrowed. 

Before he can press the next button, she finally snaps, “Roman, will you stop that?” 

He does. His hands instantly settling beside himself as he steps away from the panel. But with the ice now shattered, he gains the confidence to speak. 

“How have you been?” He rubs his nose, twitchy. “Keeping Waystar afloat? All fat and juicy for the takeover?” 

She nods, so minutely he’s unsure if he’s seeing things. Imagined or not, it encourages him to continue. 

“You got more breathing room now that us scrappy kids are out of the way? We’re thinking of fucking off and starting our own company. Me, Kendall, Shiv. We’ve got this new family trauma to bond over, of the corporate flavour, y’know? So hopefully there’ll be less stabbing of backs this time around.” 

That line got him a sideways glance. He struggles to catch what it was laced with, annoyance? boredom?

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, tentative but somewhat incredulous. He knows they’re on rocky ground but getting next to nothing is a slap in the face. “Feels like it should be the other way around, with Italy and all, cutting me out of my legacy. You know that was fucked, right? It’s like going against destiny, fate, or, I don’t know. It’s like my birthright.” 

“It’s too early in the morning for this, Roman.”

Finally.

“But like, why did you do it?” he pushes.

“Why did I do it?” she retorts. “Aside from the fact it was my job?” 

“You could have told me, Dad wouldn’t know it was you, wouldn’t have suspected it either, not after…” I’d sent him my cock instead of you, he finishes internally.

“What reason had you given me to do so? Do I need to remind you, you repeatedly betrayed my trust and then did the one thing I feared happening the most? Mess.” 

She definitely didn’t look unfazed now. Her voice was tight, each word said with enough force to make him shrink back in guilt. It wasn’t even the kind of berating that made his dick hard. He wonders whether she had wished to say something like this to him since becoming interim CEO, tell him to properly fuck off, only now that he was no longer part of the company, could she finally lay into him. 

“You jeopardised my position, Roman, and not that I had wanted to, but any scheming between us would have seen me out in the cold. You know that, so don’t ask.”

He goes quiet. Still fidgety, he gravitates to the panel once more. Gerri’s voice stills him, yet again, “I thought I told you to stop doing that.” 

“Fuck, okay,” he says, hands held up in surrender. He scratches the back of his neck before letting them drop. 

A thick silence settles over them again. Roman takes to tapping incessantly on the wall behind him. He can’t take it, being this close to her after however long it has been and not saying anything. So, he tries again, this time allowing a hint of earnestness to slip into his words. 

“I just- I want to go back to how things were.” He hates how small his voice sounds. “I know it was me who fucked it, but things were good between us, the working together? Rockstar and molewoman.”

This time when she nods, he can’t mistake it for anything else. 

“We could do it again?” he continues, “The dream ticket.”

“And how does that work, exactly?” she asks, carefully. 

“Fuck, I don’t know. I’m not asking for the keys to the kingdom or, like, the secret recipe to busting business balls. Just you know… keep me in the know and I’ll do the same.”

“Seems like you’d benefit a lot more than me, since I’m the only one still with the company.” 

“I’ll let you know of our… happenings, y’know, our business movements, whether Dad contacts us, all of that.” She doesn’t look impressed, so he adds, “You never know what info you may need to keep stashed under your blouse.”

She pauses and Roman gives her space, allowing her to rapid-fire calculate five thousand scenarios of how it could crash and burn.

“You’d listen to me, would you? Keep the more depraved thoughts inside your own head? You wouldn’t resort to sending me items like before?” 

“No, nope, that ship has sailed. I’ll be a good-” the word ‘boy’ dances on his tongue, but he thinks better of it. “I’ll be good.” 

Gerri goes quiet again, more thinking. The elevator doors open and this is it, the last time he may see her. 

She glances at him one more time. “I’ll think about it.” 

Roman doesn’t even realise he’d been holding his breath until she’s walking away.

He knows it wasn’t a good pitch, especially for Gerri, who has a boner for a well thought out plan. It basically boiled down to ‘I miss you’. He at least hoped that it came across in a corporate kind of way, that he misses her scheming mind, and not in a gooey, sappy way in which he’s begging for a scrap of attention. 

Fuck, he doesn’t even really know what he wants, what could come of them, but he wants to be near her. To slip into that familiar in-ness they had. The shared glances across a boardroom table. The imperceptible nods of hers that gave him the confidence to back himself. He just wants her in some way, even without the taunting down phone line, for her to look at him as though he’s more than a speck of dust clinging to one of her blazers. 

•••

A few weeks later, Roman gets his answer.

He’s slouched against one of Nan Pierce’s wicker settees listening to Shiv try to psych out her apparently soon to be ex-husband when his phone buzzes. Kendall is too focused on the current phone call to glance over, so Roman swipes it off the table with no notice.

He’s in. She’s tossed him a bone, and he thinks he might nurture it until the day he dies.

Chapter Text

Roman’s fingernails are stubs by the time he sees Gerri zoom by on one of the conveyance buggies. He’s been handed a gun, ordered to point it right at her. And of course it’s all his fault. Dad doesn’t actually want her gone, not really. She’s saved the company more times than any other of those executive fucks. But apparently firing her is worth it, all as a test of loyalty. 

He half hopes his dad will call again and tell him that the promise to fire her is proof enough, save Roman a year lost off his lifetime that’s been eaten away by this worrying.

He has gamed out the next few hours the best he can. First, pull her aside now and tell her he needs to talk to her later. Second, try to enjoy what he can of Connor’s wedding. Third, tell Gerri she’s fired. Fourth, avoid any swings she may take at him. Fifth, tell her he’s not actually firing her, because he couldn’t, not now, not after the olive branch she extended him. 

His dad will hate him, more than he does Kendall or Shiv, if that’s possible. But Roman has somewhere to return; they have the prospect of Pierce and the Hundred. The thought of being estranged no longer feels like walking off a cliff blindfolded. And, hopefully, Gerri will stop looking at him like he is shit stuck to her shoe.

The woman herself enters with a mildly handsome man on her arm and, not dwelling on the extra body, Roman makes a beeline for her to get step one out of the way. 

“Gerri!” he says with tense enthusiasm. “Hi. Have you– You been keeping well?” 

“Fine. Thank you, Roman,” she responds carefully. 

The man she’s with points a thumb over his shoulder and says, “I saw a client of mine. I’m gonna go.”

“No worries. You didn’t have to–” he mumbles to his back, glad of it really, before turning back to Gerri. “But uh– Good, good. Just, I need to talk to you about– something. Later, though. I’ll find you after the whole ceremony. That ok?” 

She stares at him for a while, and he tries not to wither under her gaze. He’s fidgety as fuck and knows he looks as guilty as sin.

“What is it? Why are you not looking at me?” 

“I can,” he says, so he does, “I’ll look you right in your cold, killer-bitch eyes if that’s what you so desperately desire.” It’s five seconds before he caves and looks away. “But it’s nothing, just a message from my dad, better saved for later– keep our focus on the happy couple.”

He risks a glance back at her and she’s still staring him down, calculating, like she believes if she tries hard enough, she can extract exactly what she wants with her mind alone.

“Is this why I’m not going to Europe? What the fuck?”

His heart drops to his stomach. He didn’t want to do this now. 

“Yes?” he tries, then, “No? Yes. But I’m not doing it. Fuck, Gerri, can we do this later?”

“Logan asked you to fire me?” 

He’s biting his nail now, wincing, “Uh huh…”

“And you told him you’d do it?” Roman notices her hand shaking slightly. Out of anger? She better not start crying on him.

“Well, yeah,” he says with a guilty shrug, “But as I said, I’m not actually doing it. I’m warning you. So, as of now, you’re still officially un-fired.”

She folds her arms, hiding her hands. “And why’s that? Why are you warning me?”

“Uh, y’know, I thought you accepted my proposition, the restoration of our little diarchy. So, I’m returning the favour?”

“Right, right.” She sighs deeply. “Thank you, then, I suppose. Fuck. You’re back in then?”

He’s hesitant to respond. After all, it’s definitely his fault and they both know it. ‘You’re fired because I’ve got a weird thing for you and it blew up in both our faces, but it’s okay really because I’ve got my job back!’ He should be glad she hasn’t started cursing him out.

He finally settles on, “Yeah, probably?”, and it might be the worst choice, as though he’s not even sure. Gerri is being fired, and he’s not even certain his father will take him back.

“Okay, well, great to know. I guess. I’ll go prepare for the worst.”

“I’ll still find you after this, yeah? We can try, I don’t know, strategise, or something? Just try to enjoy your time with what’s-his-face.”

Her only response is a tight smile and one last ‘fuck’ to herself after she has turned around. 

When she leaves, Roman is left thinking that it kind of went okay? It could have been worse, at least. She hadn’t left a red palm print on his cheek. She didn’t call him a sniveling cowardly prick either, but maybe she thought it was better not to. For all she knows, he may have seen it as a reward.

•••

Roman’s on his way to call Matsson, and it’s the last thing he wants to do. It’s as good as the final nail in the coffin, except this time it’s barely proverbial. 

Part of him still believes his dad is okay. Maybe he’s just torturing them? It would be overwhelmingly fucked, of course, but not impossible. He might hope that, filled with remorse, they’ll all come crawling back to him to suck him off until he really does croak. 

The other part of him doesn’t want to, can’t let himself dwell on the possibility of it being true. But he also doesn’t know what else to do. There’s only so much more pacing the floor can take before the friction starts a fire on deck and then they’re all going down. Maybe that would be right? It certainly feels right at this moment. Is there really a place for the rest of them to continue with him gone? Should they sacrifice themselves to serve him in whatever afterlife he has just tumbled into, like some Egyptian Pharaoh and his retainer sacrifices?

He reaches the private room and pushes open the door to find Gerri still there, her legal pad askew on the table, tapping away on her phone. 

“Hey,” he says, and she looks over to him, “I might need the room. Phone call.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll give you the space,” she says, before slipping her heels back on. 

If he wasn’t so out of sorts, he might have stared at her feet a little longer before she hid them away. But his thoughts are tumbling around in what limited space there is up there and he wants to let a few spill out. Only to Gerri.

“I’m pretty sad,” he tries.

Gerri’s eyes flick up to him, as she’s gathering her things, surprised he’s being earnest for once, no doubt. Maybe scared to deal with his emotional baggage.

“Yeah. I mean, I’m actually– right now. I’m totally numb. But yeah, theoretically, you would say, I’m, yeah, sad.” He means it. He’s never felt like this, or un-felt like this before. There’s always been some kind of energy, good or bad, fizzing under his skin.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m sorry about it all.” 

Roman realises she’s got no idea what to say. He’s mildly surprised she’s managed a ‘sorry’ with all the residual Logan-anger that’s probably still racing through her veins. It’s all he needs, though. It’s awkward, yeah, but it’s sincere enough, some acknowledgement that’s not utter disinterest.

“Mind if I call a rain-check on the strategising? I mean, you won’t even need to now. I was probably the only one who knew so… lucky you,” he trails off awkwardly, “But uh– yeah, things to do, people to call.”

“No, of course. You get yourself sorted out.” He catches a poorly hidden wince as she finishes.

He only nods in response, the odd desire for an emotional heart-to-heart having slipped by. But, as Gerri’s making her leave, she pauses before him briefly. Her hand finds his and squeezes. Soft and warm.

“It’ll be okay, Roman.” 

Then she’s gone and out the door. He wishes he didn’t feel so numb so he could enjoy the words sinking into his skin, the thudding of his heart full in his chest. He’s wanted something like this for, maybe, ever? If not, since management training. Definitely since Argestes.

At least he can hold on to the fact he would remember, when the emotions did flood back and he was choking on his snot and tears. Those four words would still him, remind his lungs to take in air and she could help him try to forget the ache.  

Chapter Text

‘It should be him’ is all Roman can think as he paces around the corridor of his dad’s apartment. They’d just been told that Kendall might be the intended successor, and he’s finding it hard to reconcile. Roman was about to be back in, after all, while Kendall was still out in the cold. It seems like a no brainer. ‘18 months’ was what Frank had said. That was pre-Italy, for fuck's sake.

Gerri walks past where he’s mulling about and quicker than anyone but the creep who can’t take his eyes off of her could notice, she holds her hand low and points her thumb to an empty corridor. 

They haven’t spoken much since she’d comforted him on the misery-boat, but he had chewed on her words ever since. Even just remembering the softness with which she had said his name was enough to get his pulse drumming in his ear.

He's soon trailing after her, unable to resist her call, and catches her slip into one of his dad’s unused offices. 

“Hi,” he says once he enters. “You seem in a bit of a rush.”

Gerri remains standing as he ponders the space, figuring out where to settle. “Next time, wait a few more minutes before following. If we’re seen colluding, those piranhas out there will be snapping at our heels.” 

He circles the room a few times, fidgeting with random knick-knacks on the shelves, trying to swallow any crude comments that he could make about them being alone. He eventually settles for leaning against the lone desk and says, “There’ll be a next time?”  

Gerri ignores him. “Have any thoughts?” 

“Many. Many, many. I’m not sure it should be Kendall, for one,” he says, folding his arms. 

She hums in agreement. “Me neither. The piece of paper basically holds no legal value and Logan didn’t show it to anyone. It effectively means nothing.”

“Well, not nothing,” he interjects, “Say that his name isn’t crossed out. That means that Dad still wanted him. Hard to believe I know, but– what if it was like his dying wish?” 

“I mean it’s not dated, it could be years old,” she shrugs. “Anyway, it’s an interim position at best. Just to hold front for the deal, really. Anyone could do it.” 

He scratches his head, avoiding eye contact, not ready to broach the idea of avoiding the sale, and she looks like she wants to say something else, so he leaves her the space. 

“I could do it, even?”

“Well, I mean--” he starts, placing his hands back against the desk. “You know I’d support you to the moon and back, but that’s just not– It’s not going to float.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I know, you’ve got the experience but, uh– it’s not exactly unknown that my dad had soured on you.” Gerri opens her mouth to argue back, but he cuts her off before she can remind him why. “Not completely unrelated to my doing, I know, but I’m just saying that’s how you’ll be perceived.” 

She gives a dry, unamused laugh, annoyed, but she concedes reluctantly. “Okay, fine. If not me, then we need your foot in the door. How about a joint CEO-ship? Kendall has got his teeth in and I can’t see him letting go. So you need to push for yourself, say that they’d take to you both better than just him.” 

“And he’d go for it, you think?” Roman wasn’t sure. He knew the three of them had come to an agreement, but some part of him had always been waiting for one of them to jump ship. If Kendall sees an open goal for himself, then he’s fucked. 

“Over not being CEO at all? He’s hungry, Roman. So, certainly.”

He nods, believing her. “Gerri, Gerri,” he says, pushing himself off the desk. “I forget how scheming you are.” 

“Well, one of us needs to be.” Her response is deadpan, but a small smile gives her away. “Is that good for you, then, you suggest the both of you?” 

“More than good,” He points at her and back to himself. “It’s gonna be me and you at the top.” 

“We haven’t done it yet. Stop looking so pleased with yourself.” 

He can’t help it, though. He’s near fizzing at the fact she has called him into this little war room, let alone that she is willing to prop him up.

“I’ll head back then,” she says. “Remember to wait a bit.”

As she’s making her way to the door, she brushes past him and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s taken her hand. Her head turns to him sharply, and he lets go as though it burns. His stomach drops firmly to his ass. 

“Um, good luck in there,” he says.

She responds simply, not giving away anything. “You too.”

When the door swings closed behind her, he bangs his head against it. Stupid. Thud. Fucking. Thud. Idiot. Thud.

He tries to convince himself she’d think nothing of it. Could it be interpreted as an accident, maybe? Another crueler voice in the back of his mind says she’d be back any minute with a restraining order. 

He didn’t even know why he did it. His best guess is muscle memory. He’s so damn needy now that he’s had a little brush of her skin when not in an overwhelmingly corporate context. It’s truly the blind leading the blind between his body and brain. 

Fuck. It still tingles where their hands met. He tries to shake it off, knowing that if he still feels it when he begins negotiating, he won’t be able to think of anything else.

•••

They are back in the library, liberally scattered around the room when Kendall begins hard from the get go, advocating for the pair of them.

Roman had managed to do it, to convince Kendall that they should co-CEO it. After that, all that was left was to convince Shiv, and it was done. 

He had shat himself slightly when Kendall had asked if he was still 'pulling for Gerr-bear', worried that they had, in fact, been spotted, but no, just being a cunt. He’s absolutely still helping old ladies across the road. 

When Kendall finishes his pitch, Gerri still tries to suggest herself, of course. He can’t blame her. Tenacity is what they need in this fucked up dream-team after all.

He lets Kendall handle it, though. He says some shit about Gerri having had her time and that the company could do with someone who is liked by Matsson (Roman), and a forward thinking business mind (himself) for the deal. Roman can’t quite meet her eye as she’s told these things. 

She concedes for a second time and there’s a little more push back, but soon they’re all shaking hands. The doors are being opened and someone stupid is chanting “Long live the king!” 

She’s done it for him again, he realises, and he thinks he might have to worship at her feet for the rest of his life. But he wants to, really.

Chapter Text

Roman is knocking on Gerri’s door and he knows it’s stupid, but he’s most likely fucked everything, so what’s one more? He’s already prepared himself for a scolding. After all, he’s going to tell her what went down on that cursed mountain. 

She doesn’t know that he wants to keep his hands on the company, let alone ATN. As far as she’s aware, he has been a good little boy, negotiating the best he can. When they find time for a phone call, Gerri does nothing but strategise on how they can squeeze the most money out of Matsson. Each time he just nods along, ‘Yes, Gerri. No, Gerri. Three bags full, Gerri.’ 

He’s a coward, he’s fully aware.

But she should know he wants to keep the company, really. Of course, he wants his grubby hands on his dad’s legacy. It might even be the most predictable thing about him? So, if anything, it’s not his fault for not telling her, not when it’s so obvious. 

Her door finally opens, and her eyes widen, but she quickly ushers him in.

Before he can take in the space, she says, “You shouldn’t be here.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves a hand, “I didn’t come for anything sordid so, no worries.” 

“What are you here for?” she asks, as she remains with him near the entrance, not offering him a seat. 

“Well, Kendall and I just met Matsson, as you know.” 

“Uh huh,” she prompts. 

He points at a bottle of whiskey on the sideboard. “Mind if I?”

“Go ahead, but get to the point.” 

“Well, we were up there, talking about the deal.” He takes a glass, facing away from her, pretending to focus on the pouring so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. “It might not have gone that well.” 

“What do you mean?” 

He leans back against the cabinet when done, points at his glass. Delaying, still. “You want one?” 

“No, Roman. Have you fucked it?” 

“What, no?” is his initial response, but he corrects himself, “Maybe? I don’t know. I might have ragged on him a bit. He said some shit about Dad that wasn’t right, and then I told him we wanted to keep ATN. Might have said the company, too. But it was a play, y’know, like, ‘We are going to waste so much of your money by stretching this out. It’s best if you gave us more now. Save you the ball ache’. I don’t think he bought it.” 

Gerri looks pinched, and he hasn’t seen her like this since the restoration of their agreement. 

“You’ve been trying to tank the deal, haven’t you?”

Shit. “Uh no, Gerri, I just said it was a play.”

“It wasn’t on purpose, was it? You just don’t know how your little outburst will go down. Want me to tell you that Matsson will give up now, is that it?” She takes the glass from his hand and downs the rest of the whisky. “I’ve noticed you and Kendall keeping hushed conversations. I thought you were bonding over your Father but, for God’s sake, Rome.”

She’s too close to him now. To anyone else, it would be a perfectly normal distance, but he can smell her perfume and it’s making him ill. 

He sees no road where he convinces her she’s wrong, so he takes the plunge. “Would it be so bad? Keeping the company?”

She laughs. Maybe at the fact he folded so quickly? 

“Yes. We’re bleeding out and the sharks are circling. Without the Gojo money, we’re getting ripped to shreds.”

“But even ATN?” 

“Look, it’s either cutting ATN or no deal. That’s the only way the company is staying afloat.” 

He sort of hoped his sad puppy dog eyes would bring her around to his side, maybe even just make her a little softer, but no. Still as cold as ever. 

Before he can try to make a case against her points, she says, “What happened to this agreement thing, Rome? I thought we’d tell each other things. Like ‘My brother and I are actually screwing that really important deal, by the way’ and with the CEO position I helped you get, no less.”

“It’s not like that, I just– you wouldn’t have taken it well.”

“No kidding.” She rolls her eyes, moving closer to him for a moment to put the glass down. He turns his head away from her and squeezes his eyes shut as she does, like a fucking child. She keeps talking once she’s moved back, not commenting on whatever the fuck that was, and Roman begins breathing again. “Am I allowed to start withholding things from you? Or will you throw a hissy fit like last time?” 

“That’s not the same. Your withholding was part of an attempt to cut me out of the company. Mine is the exact opposite. I mean, it benefits you too, right? Me at the top. What would you prefer? A young handsome CEO, that’s minorly obsessed with you or an off-putting Swedish guy, who you don’t even know will let you stay on, by the way. It’s basically my first proposal for this little cooperation.”

“I can see myself keeping my job. Matsson seems to like my work,” she shrugs, not seeing how that feels like a gunshot wound to Roman. “Besides, you could keep yours. Not as CEO, of course, but something.” 

He runs both hands through his hair, messing it up. “I don’t want to beg to be in a company that should be mine.”

“I’m sorry, Roman, it’s tough, I know, but it’s not the end of the world. There may still be a way forward for you with Waystar.”

Not the end of the world? That’s all the last few weeks have felt like. Like fire and fucking brimstone raining down around him. 

He presses the heels of his palms to his eye sockets, trying to sift through the storm of useless Gerri related feelings so he can make a business case, prove to her that he has thought it through. But a weight is on his shoulder and he realises it’s her hand. Does she think he’s crying? He wasn’t, truly, yet all of a sudden those bottled emotions begin bubbling up and he thinks he actually might. 

He stands suddenly, letting her hand fall. She withdraws awkwardly, tucking it back to her side. He half wants to take it, hold it up to his head and let her fingers run through his hair, but he stops himself. 

“I’m going to-” Fuck, his voice it tight, “I’m going to go. Lots to think about.”

She says something he doesn’t quite catch over the thudding in his ears as he stumbles out of her room. 

She’s going to think he rushed out because of her, but he didn’t, right? It was probably just some weird thing in her touch. His body is broken after all, gets verbally berated and he cums, receives a gentle touch and his eyes start leaking.

He doesn’t care that she thinks the prospect of him losing the company is ‘no big deal’, nor that she’s treating him like it’s day one of his apprenticeship, like he’s a hollow-brained idiot. Definitely not, it’s just been a long fucking week. 

•••

Roman is sitting on the other end of the plane from Gerri, listening in on who’s going to be begging for scraps after the deal goes through. Just as she thought, she’s safe and Roman doesn’t know if he could hate Matsson more. 

After a few more moments, he realises he can. The old guard are filing into the bottom end of the cabin and Frank is telling them it’s 192.

He’d done it. Fuck it up so badly, no one will say no to that number. 

Gerri gives him a ‘well done’ but his reading is something akin to, ‘see how stupid you are?’

He briefly contemplates chipping a hole into the window beside him, wondering if he could take out the whole executive floor in one go. Would they all get sucked out, like mashed potato through a ricer? He decides against it, though. It would probably be something boring, like suffocation instead. 

Chapter Text

Gerri is standing outside the meeting room, eyes glued to her phone, fingernail in mouth. Roman's hesitant to approach, but knows he’ll have to as he gets closer.

It has been stunted between them ever since Norway. Her texts have reduced from one a week to zero. She no longer smiles knowingly at him while the other executives are busy sniping back and forth. She doesn’t stay at the end of meetings either, not letting them form their own little huddle as she plans and he cracks what can generously be called jokes. It’s not quite the same feeling as post-Italy, but they’re creeping there, ever so slowly, and he hates it.

In better news, it turns out his dick works. 

Tabitha had posted some pictures of herself down at Venice Beach and he’d messaged as soon as they landed in L.A. He was just after a drink and a chat but maybe the booze had gone to his head because he started thinking about how he could do it. He had reckoned Tabitha would let him try, too. Hadn’t she said at one point she was ‘not against fixing him’ anyway?

It totally wasn’t a move to prove to himself that he could get over Gerri. 

Over the many weeks since that fateful day in the elevator at Waystar, they hadn’t so much as mentioned their sordid past. Let alone the fact that the most physical contact they’d had stopped at the wrist. Even then, his thoughts still constantly veered into a mixture of depraved and sappy. But she just didn’t care for him like that, maybe not at all, and it was something he needed to learn to swallow. 

And he had, clearly, the fact he can fuck now means he’s free, right?

He finally reaches her and tries, “Hi, Gerri.” Calm, casual.

“Roman,” she returns.

“Fine morning, isn’t it?” She looks unimpressed. “Look um– can I get two?” 

“Sure,” she says, putting her phone in her bag, giving him her full attention. He’s not sure if he wants all of it. Not for what he’s about to give of himself. 

“Yeah, just been meaning to say for a while? An apology.”

“For what?” she asks, and he realises there are a list of things, the dick pics, not telling her he wants to tank the sale, the dick pic to his dad, the maybe verbal sexual harassment. 

“For everything. Like in your bathroom. My psychosexual, whatever stuff.” 

“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. But– that was all kinda embarrassing. Childish. It’s over now though. Tabs is in town and, well, you get the idea.” He points to himself with his thumb. “All fixed, me. So, nothing to worry about.” 

“Well, apart from you trying to fuck the deal.”

“Uh, maybe, let’s uh– save that chat for in the room.” 

He spots Kendall down the hall, who soon arrives beside the pair. 

“Hey. Okay? You good? Ready?”

He gives a distracted, “Yeah,” and Kendall places an arm around his shoulder, guiding him away from Gerri. He doesn’t look back.

Kendall’s off talking about the deal and Matsson but all Roman can think is, that wasn’t what he wanted. He expected like a pat on the back, and a ‘good boy’, or maybe a pitying yet jovial ‘poor Tabitha’. A raise of an eyebrow would have done. But, nothing. No matter what comes out of her mouth, it all feels like ‘yeah, so?’ 

•••

Looking down at his phone, Roman once again scans the message he’s been ignoring for the past half hour. 

He knows what it’s about. That he fired Joy. It wasn’t his brightest move, he’s aware. The hit of adrenaline he’d got in the commissary had now fizzled away, replaced with a twinge of regret. But some part of him still wants to back himself. Didn’t his dad make gut decisions, just based on a feeling? Was that not the same as what he’d done? Joy would be fine, Waystar would be fine. There’s probably another forty execs just waiting to fill the position. 

He looks up from his phone and swears under his breath. Gerri’s approaching. It seems there’s no getting away from it. 

“Roman. Can I speak with you?” she asks, popping her head around the door.

“Sure, Gerr-Bear,” he says, and traipses after her, half wishing he’d just said no. He doesn’t want a telling off. He doesn’t want to feel like a child. 

They enter the meeting room, and he tries to play it cool. But she takes her time, standing at the head of the table, carefully placing her legal pad and bag down and it makes him restless.

“So, what is it? I’m busy.” Like fuck he is.

She rolls her eyes, with emphasis, just to make sure he catches it. “With Joy, Roman. I know you know what I’m talking about. Why did you do it?” 

“What, fire her? I don’t know– I don’t like the work she’s been doing.” 

“Oh yeah? What about her work, specifically?” 

“Uh, you know, the whole,” he waggles his fingers in her air, maybe hoping to grasp the words that aren’t coming to him, “the whole Kalispitron thing. It was a shit show. I asked her about it and she brushed over it, so it feels obvious to me?”

“That was enough to fire her?” 

“Um, yeah? Anyway, I didn’t fire her, I just said she was fired to her. You may be familiar with it?”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“She’s not gonna be on the street. We’ll kick her up to international or she walks with a fat producer deal. It’s fucking fine, really. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“Nothing?” She laughs sarcastically. “Do you know how this looks?” 

He shrugs, feeling cagey, like he needs to go run a marathon to shake it off. He knows it wasn’t a great idea but, so fucking what? Why is she so up his ass about it? 

“Dad did shit like this all the time,” he argues.

“Sometimes. But you’re not your dad,” she says plainly. “You’re too unreliable, Roman. I mean, for one, what happened with Matsson in Norway, huge oversight, and now this?”

All of a sudden he’s seeing red. Or maybe purple because it feels pretty fucking miserable too. It’s the constant dismissal he finds hurts the worst. That no decision he makes could ever seem rational or thought out to her. Just a stupid nepo-baby too busy playing with his cock instead of using his brain. 

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I know I’ve mostly been good these past few weeks, kept all my toys in the pushchair just so you won’t give up on me, decide I’m too reckless - which clearly was no use - but I’m not totally under your spell, as much as you may want me to be. I think Joy is bad at her job. I think the deal is shit. I want to keep the company.” He counts each point with his fingers.

He pauses to think, searching his brain, and he finds something mad. Maybe unforgivable. But the words are spilling out of his mouth before he can think twice. “What if I fired you, too? I mean, I could, I’m CEO. Who would stop me?” 

He sort of regrets it almost instantly, but she scoffs and so he mentally doubles down. 

“Look, whatever power trip you’re on, Roman, could you try to keep it contained to when you’re off the clock?”

He carries on, ignoring her. “Maybe my dad knew that you’re just not good at your job? Maybe I’m firing you for a list of failures that I choose not to outline? Well, I could cite a failure to close off our liabilities vis-à-vis claims against Waystar Cruises in a timely manner.” He shrugs. “Maybe that will play nice?”

Gerri takes a step back, realising he means it. “I am good at my job,” she says. He can tell her throat is stinging, and it really doesn’t feel good. “You wanted this cooperation, too. Now look at you.” 

She gathers her things, not making eye contact. Refusing to, even. The defences are back up and the walls are so high he can’t even peak over when on his tip-toes. But he hasn’t had enough, clearly, because as she reaches the door, the monkey in his brain presses self-destruct. 

“Was this whole thing because you’re jealous or something, because Tabs and I had sweet, sweet normo sex?”

He wants to catch the words in the air before they reach her, shove them back down his throat. Her head swivels round to look at him. He can’t even begin to describe the utter disappointment on her face. 

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Roman.” 

Then she leaves.

Chapter Text

Yet again, Roman is staring at the chat he shares with Gerri and the traitorous ‘read’ that appears under his last message.

Like a coward, Roman had sent the texts after he spotted her enter Tom’s apartment, hoping that she would take initiative and approach him instead. 

Unsurprisingly, they hadn’t seen each other in the intermediate few days, through lots of fault of their own. They kept to opposite ends of tables and turned on their tails when the other walked toward them down a long corridor. At least for once, their feelings were mutual. 

All that had echoed around his head since was ‘Jesus Christ, Roman’. He’d struggled to acknowledge why he’d said what he did. He was meant to be over her wasn't he? But nothing screamed 'definitely not' more so than asking if she was jealous. Obviously she wasn’t, you fucking idiot! She was kind enough to entertain him the first time and pitied him so much so that she let him cling to her again. It hadn’t ever gone further than corporate scheming. He was half lucky she hadn’t just laughed in his face.

He hadn’t seen Tabitha, either. When he thought back on that one evening they spent together, more and more, it didn’t feel right. He’d got the job done, for sure. How well is up for debate, but metrics wise, his cock got hard and he got it in her. Yet he still feels like a freshly popped virgin who’s fretting about giving it away to the wrong person. 

This restless feeling isn’t specifically because of Tabitha, though. He knows that, at least. Does that make him pathetic? The fact that now he could fuck again, he doesn’t really care to, not unless it’s the person he has stupid, sappy feelings for?

He should want Tabitha: beautiful, charming, basically, sex-on-legs. But he’s still gunning for someone a bit shorter, a bit older, just as beautiful, he’s not mad.

He glimpses Gerri approaching the bar where he’s sat nursing his drink, and he instantly straightens in his seat.

“Hey, Gerri,” he says, stopping her before she can breeze past. 

“Not now,” is all he gets before she’s moving to continue, but he reaches an arm out, hovering it just in front of her, not touching.

“Wait. Can we talk?” 

“No,” she says, firm this time. 

He doesn’t move his arm. “Just, quickly?”

With a frustrated sigh, she concedes, taking a step back, placing herself at the end of the bar. “What is it?”

“Uh, okay, so about me firing you. That wasn’t real.”

“No?” 

“No. It was heat-of-the-moment.”  

“Uh huh.”

Some prick in the crowd glances over at them and he runs a hand through his hair, feeling uncomfortable with them doing this in front of an audience. “Okay, I know I said– can we take this elsewhere? You’ve stopped now anyway, so you might as well. Then I can prostrate and apologise for as long as you need me to.” 

“We can’t,” she says simply. “Look, whether you change your mind or not, I’m out. I’m done.”

He doesn’t know whether to laugh. “Like fuck, you are.”

“I’m serious, Roman. I’m tired.”

“What, all because I said I’d fire you? Well, I’ve taken it back now so, y’know. It’s fine.” 

“That, amongst other things, like the insinuation I was ‘jealous’.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it.” He’s shrinking in on himself, guilt churning in his stomach. She wouldn’t really leave, would she? 

“No, you did.” She presses a nail down on the counter to punctuate her point. “You wanted a reaction.”

He barely hears the last bit because his eyes have glued themselves to her finger and all of a sudden, he is wrapping his hand around it, clinging to her like a child.

She pulls back, but his arm follows.

“Roman,” she says, stern. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Just, please.” He’s fucking begging now, whiny. “Let’s find somewhere else. It feels like a big conversation to have in front of all these prying eyes. If you don’t agree with me, get annoyed or whatever, fine you can leave. Just listen to what I have to say first, yeah? This’ll be the last time I ask anything of you. You can fuck off and I’ll never speak to you again.” 

His grip has loosened, so she removes her finger. She reaches for his drink with her now free hand and finishes it. “It’s the last time I do this,” she says, placing the glass back down.

He’s out of his seat in an instant, then weaving his way through the crowd, pausing to look over his shoulder to see if she’s following before carrying on.

When he set off, he didn’t know where he was headed, but he settles on Shiv’s bedroom. Gerri comes in after him and shuts the door. She takes a seat on Shiv's bed and Roman thinks he could too, next to her. But she slips off her heels, and he decides against it because he wouldn’t be able to think and he can’t afford to fuck this.

He paces instead.

“You don’t mean it, right?” he begins, “You’re just doing what I did, like a ‘fuck you, I don’t need you’. A play.”

“No, not everyone thinks like you.” 

“Yeah, but c’mon, you wouldn’t throw it away over little ol’ me. Matsson wants you after all, and I’ll be gone. Seems a waste.” 

“That annoyed you before, the prospect of me staying.” 

“Everything about Gojo annoys me, it’s not– It’s nothing special.” He waves a hand, dismissive. But it is special. On more than one occasion, the idea that in the future Matsson may be under some special tutelage from Gerri had slipped into his mind, and it made him feel queasy. 

“Look, if you stay, you won’t have to talk to me. I’ll keep out of the way. Recruit Frank and Karl as bodyguards, or something, then you won’t even have to see me.” 

He holds his breath. Pausing to glean what he can from her face. Nothing useful, so he charges ahead. “Unless… we see it through to the end? You and me?” 

She looks in disbelief, like it’s mad for him to suggest after everything, and yeah he gets it, but what left is there to lose?

“Seriously? You want me to– I mean, fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I’m not going to take the bait a third time.”

His foot is tapping incessantly on the floor now. “But when it was good, it was good, no?”

“Well, at times, but what do you want me to say? You just don’t think.”

“I think all the time, you just don’t actually consider what I say. 'Oh, Roman's talking, better just nod along, pretend I care about his ideas when actually, I'm thinking of forty different ways I could call him a moron'. Like I get it, this team work thing is convenience for you. I’m a stepping stone to the top of the ladder, whatever." He laughs dryly to himself. "Y’know, I remember as soon as I basically handed you that interim role, you were suddenly acting like I was a damn limpet.” 

Gerri raises her hands in frustration, lets them fall back down heavy on her thighs, “This is what I mean! You think it’s all about you, rather than the fact that helping you to jerk off was jeopardising my position. I wanted to get you there, really. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have put in all the effort.”

“Okay, fuck you,” he says. This isn’t going the way he wants, but he thinks he’s right to feel this way. 

“Well, more often than not, your judgement seems clouded by your strong attraction towards me.” 

“Strong attraction? You fucking wish.” It’s definitely more than. He reckons it borders on obsession, but he won’t admit it.

“Whatever you want to call it, then. It’s not healthy.”

There's a beat and dangerous words quiver at the end of his tongue. Words he shouldn’t say, words that will get him nowhere, but he wants to try, anyway. 

He meets her gaze. “You like it really."

Her eyebrow raises. Not immediately challenging and he’s emboldened. He sinks to his knees and sits back on his heels. “Is this how you like it? You looking down on me?”

She blanches. “No, Roman, get up.” 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he’s crawling towards her, in too deep to brush it off. 

It’s not meant to be sexy. He’s not looking to jerk off. He’s just prodding buttons, flicking switches, seeing if there’s one that will make her fling him out the window, maybe grab him by the scruff of the neck and kiss him instead. He’d take either.  

He just wants a hint, a little clue to show he's not nothing to her. That she doesn't want to be fired, not really, or if she does, it means there's something more he hasn't worked out yet, things she hasn't spelled for him. What if she decides now is the time to take a risk, with him in front of her so expecting? If things are going to end as she says they will, could she not give in now?

He thinks about reaching for her, pressing his lips to her hose-covered foot, wondering if she would behead him there and then. But her hand finds his head and ruffles his hair. Preventing him from getting closer. He can feel the pity raiding from her with each stroke. 

After a strained sigh, she says, “You should try to forget about me.”

He freezes and what he’s just done comes crashing down on him. Despite her attempt to stop him, he still closes the gap and presses his face to her shin, hiding his shame from view.

“I don’t think it’s possible,” he mumbles into her.

Chapter Text

“Roman, wait,” Gerri calls to him as he spills into the biting night air. She sounds tired, like she doesn’t really want to do this, but feels like she has to.

He doesn’t want this either, for her to see him cry. Again.

She reaches him, clamping a hand around his arm so he can’t run off. Alarmed, he looks at her, but she’s busy waving down his driver. He notices her nose is turning red. It’s cute, he thinks briefly, but he’s too miserable to dwell on it. 

“I know I don’t ask this often, but can you fuck off?” 

“No,” she says simply before she’s dragging him to his car. 

He’s soon being pushed in and he’s surprised when she piles in after. He’d initially guessed she didn’t want him getting caught up in the ‘festivities’ and land himself a black eye. It would be unprofessional for the board meeting, after all. So, she was just going to pack him up and send him on his way. But there she was, purse tucked in her lap, asking the driver to take them to his place. 

By this point, his knee would normally have started bouncing, but he thinks he feels too grim to be jittery. There’s none of the surplus energy that would usually make him fidget around now. And since she doesn’t speak, neither does he.

They pull up to his apartment building and again, he’s shocked by the fact she gets out, that she follows him into the elevator, that she then walks through his front door. 

He cracks finally when she begins helping him out of his coat. “Okay, can I ask what the fuck you’re doing? Not trying to be rude but–?” 

He doesn’t think about the fact she’s mere inches from him, nor that her hands are on his torso, pushing the fabric down his arms. 

She steps away, before draping the jacket over the back of one of his armchairs.  

She shrugs, like what’s she’s doing right now isn’t the weirdest fucking thing. “You looked like you were about to either throw yourself in front of a car or start a fight.” 

Maybe both, he thinks. He hadn’t actually planned anything, but either feels right.

“Damage control, then?”

“No.” She looks away for her next words. “I was concerned you may get yourself into some trouble, hurt yourself.”

"Right, uh– okay," He responds, words failing him. What should he say? What does she expect from him? Shouldn't she be half a continent away, glad to have rinsed her hands of him?

Rather than giving more, he throws himself onto the couch in a slump, not wanting to entertain her mind games. It feels good, of course, the idea that she cares but after the last time they met, all the pitying rejection had scrambled his thoughts and melded with shame to create one fucked up brain omelette. He didn’t need this. The hope. 

She joins him, sitting at the other end, and it’s quiet for a moment. He wants to move closer, now that she’s right there. He remembers the look in her eyes at that damn party, and knows it isn’t a good idea, but he’s never making the right choice. Holding his breath, he scoots closer, so much so that his leg presses right against hers. She’s like a furnace, the heat of her burning into him. But he doesn’t want to move, and she doesn’t push him away, so he remains. 

“Thanks, by the way,” he says.

“For what?”

“The uh– funeral. The ‘it’s okay’, the hand.” He doesn’t let her respond before he’s spilling even more. “Y’know, Kendall found me after, at the wake. He said, maybe about forty times, that I’d fucked it. Because of the whole thing in the church.” He pauses, then adds, “Cunt.”

“It’ll all be forgotten, Rome, don’t worry,” she says softly, and it’s the nicest answer she could give. Because he had fucked it. But she doesn’t want to lie to him, probably knows he won’t believe it. 

Pushing another boundary, he lays his head on her shoulder. Her arm moves up to rub circles on his back. He thinks if he could muster up any more tears, he would have started crying again. 

“I thought I could do it,” he carries on. “They were all fucking looking at me like, I don’t know– like, a failure for crying at my dad’s funeral, God fucking forbid. Cold-robot pricks,” he mumbles the last bit, unable to forget the image of five-hundred pairs of eyes staring at him as he whined and keened.

“I don’t blame you. You’re not the first to have done so, and you won’t be the last.”

“The first to have it fucking filmed for millions jerk off over, though. Can we, like, get it taken down somehow?” 

“We’ll do it tomorrow.” 

He's close to asking about her use of ‘we’, whether it means anything, but backs out, knowing she won’t give him what he's desperate for. Instead, he looks up at her and she is so close to him now. Closer than she’s ever been. Her hand moves from his back to his head and sweeps the hair out of his eyes. 

They’ve never done this, the open caring. She’s never been here, at his place, either. They’re used to clinical lights and office desks, not soft glows and soft seats. Definitely not gooey words.

He wants to kiss her. The thought rings loud and clear in his mind, an air-horn like siren. He can’t help it. His gaze flicks to her lips. It’s so obvious that she notices, but she isn't looking at him with disgust. There may even be a challenge in her eyes.

And it’s cruel, really, after her response to his advances, when he was on his knees embarrassing himself. Maybe it just wasn’t the right time, though, but now is.

Every single ounce of blood is surging to his brain as he looks from her lips to her eyes and back again, convincing him should do it, can do it. And then he’s moving forward and he's actually kissing her.

He doesn’t know if anything he’s doing is right, it’s been a while after all, but he feels insane, like he’s been plugged in for the first time after fifty years of being charged up, electricity flooding freely through each and every vein. He can’t quite believe his mouth is on hers or that his hand has just grasped the soft flesh of her waist. He presses into her desperately. Completely, fully pathetic, but it’s nothing she hasn’t seen. 

She tries to slow it down, and he realises he’s been a bit too forward, too frantic. Too much gob. So he follows her, lets her set the pace, and it feels right, her instruction always does.

His hand slips upwards, pulling her blouse with it, and he’s soon touching skin. 

Gerri pulls back with a jolt. “Fuck, Roman.” 

All the blood that had rushed to his head drains, in an instant. Has he fucked it again? He can’t even guess why. If it was because he’s a terrible kisser, she would have shoved him off her five minutes ago. 

She sees his confusion. “Your hands, they’re as cold as ice.”

Suddenly, he’s grinning and giggling. Hysterical. He might have actually done it, lost his mind. 

He grabs her hand, threading their fingers together and kisses the back repeatedly. She just lets him, maybe scared to disrupt whatever state he’s in. 

He’s so fucking happy, and he knows he shouldn’t be, not when they buried his dad a few hours ago, not when the world is going to end tomorrow. But Gerri has finally looked at him, reciprocated a speck of his fucked up feelings. All it took was his public execution, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, not even that damn company.  

•••

Gerri approaches the bar, where he sips the top of his martini. Taking a seat next to him, she orders the same. 

“You took the job, then?” he asks.

“Yes,” she replies before saying, “It’s not personal.”

“I know, sucks balls, though.” 

Gerri’s glass is placed in front of her, and she takes a drink before responding. “Matsson may let you stay on. I know you said you didn’t want to, but you’d still be a part of the company. I’d vouch for you, too. You could claw your way back up. I’ll even trip Tom while he’s at the top of a flight of stairs, if you want?”

A smile breaks through his gloom. It’s a pretty picture. “The only upside of staying is that I’d still get to see you every day.” 

Her hand covers his where it rests on the bar-top. “Waystar or not, I’ll be here, Roman. We can still be the rockstar and molewoman,” she says. “Though maybe we should have a discussion about changing my name. I mean, molewoman?”