I recently rewatched Church and State and actually cried seeing Roman's mental breakdown. Kieran Culkin better get an Emmy for this season, or I'm rioting.
Fuck the world, damn straight malaise
It may be just us who feel this way
But don't ever doubt this, my steadfast conviction
My love, you're the one I wanna watch the ship go down with
The future can't be real, I barely know how long a moment is
Unless we're naked, getting high on the mattress
While the global market crashes
As death fills the streets we're garden-variety oblivious
You grab my hand and say in "I-told-you-so" voice
"It's just how we expected"
Everything is doomed
And nothing will be spared
But I love you, honey-bear.
- I Love You Honeybear, by Father John Misty
When Roman Roy falls apart in front of the whole world, Gerri Kellman aches with the gnawing realization that she'd been entirely right in LA: he is not his father. In all her years with Waystar, she'd never once seen Logan Roy shed a single tear. But it was heart-wrenching to be reminded of the difference between father and son at this inopportune moment, to see Roman's heart leaking grief all over his sleek black coat, the church floor, and inevitably onto the pages of history. His breakdown would be preserved and broadcasted in high definition, and everyone would remember this as the precise moment that he fucked it.
The funeral should be a freebie. But Gerri knows realistically that it isn't, given the state of things, and so she doesn't bother lying to Roman to offer a false sense of comfort. Connor's got an arm around him, and someone brings him a bottle of water. Caroline doesn't leap out of her seat to run to her little boy. Nor does Marcia, as expected.
A chill goes through her as she registers the sound of his sobs filling the suddenly cavernous room. A lump forms in her throat. The loneliness must be unbearable. She had muddled through life for a bit after Baird's death, but at least she'd had her girls, her position at Waystar, something. Roman's siblings were doing a good job of comforting him now, but Gerri had been around the Roy kids long enough to know that any unity between them was treacherous, poisoned by layers of resentment and rivalry stoked for decades by their now dead father. Roman's failure was Kendall's time to shine. The whispers about Shiv and Matsson didn't help matters in the slightest.
Tabitha wasn't present, so presumably that had fallen apart as well. Gerri had assumed as much when she didn't show up on Roman's arm in Italy. Perhaps Tabitha being gone isn't such a bad thing. But Roman needs people right now. That much is clear. He needs support, he needs a shoulder to cry on, he needs love and attention as he tries to process the fact that the man who raised him, who once took out one of his teeth in a fit of rage, and who he desperately wanted approval from his whole life…is now gone.
Gerri is well-aware that she should never even look in the direction of this vulgar, spoilt, deeply troubled man, ever again. She should collect the eye-watering sums rightfully due her, and walk. But it's just not that simple. Gerri is overcome by emotion at the sight of her favorite, yes, her favorite, of the Roy siblings hit rock bottom in front of prime ministers and presidents. She catches Karl shaking his head at her when she refuses to wrest her gaze from Roman, the intensity of her gaze clearly staggering to the rest of the old guard.
She has never figured out what exactly it is that she feels towards him, and she doesn't want to. But she understands now. That below all the lewd jokes and the confident posturing, he is broken. He's gone from a weak monarch in a dangerous inter-regnum to a defeated court jester, lying at the foot of his father's lifeless body like a numb, beaten dog. And God, she wants nothing more than to forgive him his sins, see him smile at her one more time, embrace him in a way she knows no one else ever would. But she can't. She can't even reach out and touch his shoulder. A trembling voice inside her cautions her against any show of tenderness that could be misinterpreted by roving eyes. The fucking optics of it would be disastrous. And maybe would even cement his downfall even more.
There's no way suave fascist Jeryd Mencken, who she hears has gotten in bed with Rome as of late, will see this shitshow and think well of it. Right-wing fuckers, in her experience, were usually turned off by male tears.
Her mind drifts to the protestors outside and the chaos on the streets. She can't give too much stock to the thought that Roman's anguish had played a direct part in the hell going on in the city today. Things are unraveling faster than she can make sense of, and it's hard. But for now, all she can do is sit tight and make her way through the rest of this impossibly long day without letting her care and concern get the better of her. She's got to steel herself against the rabid hold his agony has on her, and respect herself enough to stay away. She's got to tell herself things are done between them, so maybe she'll actually believe it.