This started out as an inside joke with one of my friends but then I had to write it. What do you get when you put together RomanGerri, martinis, and Christmas time? Jingle-tini of course!
When you were the snow falling down / I was the city losing color and sound.
-Snow, Lisa Hannigan
Baird Kellman had always loved snow. When the girls were younger, he would take them out to Central Park in their matching red coats for a morning walk and then buy them hot chocolate at the corner coffee shop right by their townhouse. The three of them would bring back a little bag of toffees for Gerri to enjoy while she worked furiously on Waystar briefs at her well-worn roll-top desk.
Ever since she'd lost Baird a decade ago, Gerri had hated snow.
The way it piled up on street corners and turned into an ugly gray slush that was impossible to walk through in heels.
The way it burned to the touch.
Worst of all, the way it reminded her of the high price of being a stone cold killer bitch.
Roman Roy had always been indifferent to snow. To him, every season was just as fucked as the next. What did it matter if he was sweating balls in the summer, or constantly misplacing his gloves in the winter? The whole point of having disgusting amounts of money to his name was the ability to be blasé about something as banal as the weather.
He had never been much for the rah-rah Christmas spirit, peppermint Santa fuck fest that came back each year like a persistent STD to plague the city. The gaudy little holiday markets, the poor fucks waiting in line for their five minutes of fame on the Rockefeller rink, the tourists gathered around the tree on Wall Street to take photos before heading back to their overpriced, cramped Marriott suites. It was all bullshit.
It wasn't like Roman was particularly religious either—he'd grown up faintly Catholic because of his father, but as Ewan had made abundantly clear in his eulogy, his brother had sold his soul to the devil many times over. Media magnates with a mega-grip on democracy were unlikely to be in Jesus's good books. And if the woke snowflakes—that were Jimenez's saving grace and Mencken's nightmare—were to be believed, then the entire Roy family was headed to hell for their capitalist greed. Great, he wouldn't even have peace from these motherfuckers in the afterlife. What a pleasant thought.
Without Baird or her daughters around, the townhouse always felt a little too big. This year, it felt cavernous. A daunting reminder that she was spending Christmas alone instead of with Catherine and Peti, who had already sent presents and their regrets, but were busy with their own families. This was also the first time in years that she hadn't attended the Waystar Christmas party. Not that Waystar really existed anymore—it had died with Logan Roy on that airplane, in all truth. For about two months, she had put up with Matsson's irksome behavior (and his goddamn blood bricks that were a lawsuit waiting to happen) and Tom's unavoidable mediocrity. But after that, the whole thing had felt like a sham, and she certainly had better things to do in life than play lawyer to losers. An era was over. Gerri made her quiet exit from the company.
Since then, she'd been unsure of her next steps and had mostly spent her time curling up with good books on her sofa, occasionally going out for dates with suitors who were usually nice enough but fairly boring, texting her daughters, and drinking lots of martinis.
Baird had never liked martinis much but he'd learnt how to make them just as she liked them, and they had, since then, become somewhat of her signature drink. Which is why when Roman (who had the attention span of a puppy distracted by a squirrel), had noticed that martinis were her drink of choice, she'd been surprised. Turned out Baird wasn't the only man who cared about little things like this.
Roman. Just the name made her want to shrivel up, scream, and sigh. Maybe all at the same time.
She'd last glimpsed him through a glass door. There had been whispers back then about a scuffle he'd gotten into with some leftists. She'd resolved not to let it bother her. To let him bother her, get under her skin. He no longer mattered to her. As far as she was concerned, all ties between them had been effectively severed in Los Angeles. She'd preferred not to think too much about the way he'd fallen apart at the funeral. Because she knew that if she did, maybe she would unravel too, and she just couldn't have that. Gerri Kellman hadn't come undone when she'd lost Baird, her partner of over thirty years. She wasn't going to come undone over Logan Roy's bratty, fucked up son, that was for sure.
Roman had spent Christmases past with his siblings and father in the townhouse or in their many, many properties all over the world. This year, he was on his own. Nearly anything was preferable to an evening with a sullen, heavily pregnant Shiv and her Minnesotan Matsson minion. Kendall still wasn't speaking to any of them. Caroline and the Onion were traveling somewhere over the holidays so that Peter could pitch one of his "million dollar ideas." Last he'd heard, Connor and Willa were trying to get a documentary made about his presidential campaign, since ultimately, Mencken hadn't won the vote recount thanks to all the bleeding-heart liberals, sending Connor's dreams of an ambassadorship into jeopardy.
He looked at his phone. He could give Tabs a call, but he wondered if she'd pick up, and what would be the point, even if she did. That ship had sailed long ago. As he scrolled through his list of contacts, it dawned on him that nearly everyone he knew was a business connection. He had no friends like normos did.
For a brief second, Gerri's name flit in and out of his mind as a possibility, but with a certain heaviness he realized almost immediately that there was nothing left between them. She didn't give a single fuck about him, and was probably enjoying her eye-watering sums of money from the settlement in addition to whatever bonuses Tom had probably offered her to stay on with him.
Roman felt a rush of regret as he often did when he thought of her. He wished things hadn't ended so bitterly. Their short-lived business alliance had been ripped to shreds. And as she'd made abundantly clear, there was nothing personal between them. She was a frigid bitch who couldn't even comfort him when his father's body lay dead in a box, and he'd embarrassed himself in front of the world with his sobs.
And yet, she was also the woman who'd once recited limericks about screwing Harvard men to amuse Logan, had put up with Roman's unpredictable gibberish and had warned him about the deal. She had tried to mentor him, but of course she had no chance at molding him into something acceptable when countless therapists had tried and failed in that very endeavor.
Roman's best bet was to go get drunk at some bar, come back to his apartment and pass out, and aimlessly waste yet another day trying to figure out what in God's name he should actually do with his pathetic excuse for a life.
Gerri couldn't stand the idea of sitting at home alone tonight. She impulsively decided that perhaps the best thing to do would be to get a drink somewhere. Stay out as long as she reasonably could to avoid coming back to her empty apartment.
She ran through a couple options in her head, finally deciding on the Campbell Bar, which was a classic choice. Gerri decided she would put her hair up in one of her elaborate French twists as a nod to the days when she'd spend ages on looking impeccable for work. She pulled out a fitted black dress and her red Max Mara coat, settling on sensible pearl earrings and a diamond tennis bracelet Baird had given her just one year before he'd passed.
Baird wouldn't have wanted her to drown in self-pity, she thought. Nor would Roman, came the unbidden thought. But she pushed it away. Fuck Roman. How did his opinion matter in the slightest?
Roman had taken to drinking martinis since the board-vote. He supposed it was not really a conscious thing. More like a nod to his old life. To her. It was comforting in a strange way.
It hadn't been that long since he'd sat in Zero Bond, reeling from the disastrous board-vote quarrel, forehead lightly throbbing from the pain of his stitches, and feeling an ache settle into the cracks in his broken heart. Now, he was seated at the front of the Campbell Bar, stitches long healed, but the numbness of the loss of his father and Waystar still not quite gone. He wasn't sure if he would ever really be over that year of his life. So much had happened. All for him to end up here.
He swirled the little toothpick with the olives on it around in the glass, looking over his shoulder at all the people coming in and leaving. Suddenly, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
At the coat check. A woman in a black dress. Brushing away a little tendril of curled blond hair as she walked towards the bar.
His mouth hung open. Surely, that couldn't be her? But it was.
Was he dreaming? Was he hallucinating? Had they put something in his martini?
He couldn't help himself from gaping at her, and the moment she felt his gaze on her, she stopped dead in her tracks, all the color draining from her face, which had been rosy from the cold.
"Roman?" He couldn't help but think that she had the most lovely voice in the world, even as it betrayed her obvious shock at this less than ideal encounter.
"Didn't expect to see you here. Doesn't Wambsgans keep your nose to the grindstone 25/8?"
Gerri shook her head. "I'm no longer working for him."
Roman raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, we tried to tell you the deal fucking sucked, but you were convinced Swedish Jesus was going to resurrect the company."
Gerri couldn't help but roll her eyes. She knew she should leave right now, before he did something stupid like try to convince her to sit down next to him. But for some weird reason, she felt rooted to the spot.
And why should she leave? She'd come for some peace and quiet and the universe had thrown Roman Roy in her path.
Roman was unsure what to do. Should he invite her to join him? Buy her a drink? Offer to leave?
But why should he leave when he'd gotten here first? Surely they could still be civil?
His indecision must have shown on his face because she finally decided to say something to cut the tension.
"How have you been?"
Roman almost let out a scoff. As if she gave a damn.
"Fantastic, Gerr."His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Matsson may have been onto something with his whole pussy, privacy, pasta thing."
Gerri's eyes narrowed. "Glad to hear you're doing something valuable with your life."
"What about you? Still drinking in Martyn-i? Or back to tugging off some other senior citizen on life support?"
"My personal life is none of your business." The way she was glowering at him was strangely...titillating. He'd missed annoying her more than he could put into words. And yet, there was a chill between them that hadn't thawed quite yet.
"Well, you are here alone, so I guess that answers my question." He cocked his head. "Have you been stalking me? Miss me so much you wanted to spend the night before Christmas Eve staring me down with daggers?"
"Miss you?" She let out a scornful huff of breath. "What's to miss? Your vulgar nonsense? The career-destroying photos you sent your father of your minuscule dick? Getting fired by you not once but twice?"
Roman gestured to the seat next to him and summoned the waiter to bring over a second martini for her. "I had no idea you intended to resume our special conference calls in person. How touching. Go on."
"You're insufferable and disgusting Roman."
"Oh yeah, what else am I?" He stared at her intently.
"A piece of shit who couldn't even eke out a speech at his father's funeral."
The smug smirk fell off his face within a second. Instantly Gerri knew she'd been too harsh.
After a few moments of staring down at the counter, he managed to speak."I still can't believe he's gone. Even now. And I know he would have been embarrassed. I fucked it at the funeral."
Gerri tried to walk back her words, feeling a sharp stab of remorse. "It's okay. Funeral is a freebie."
He shook his head. "No, you were right the first time. I am a piece of shit. And I failed him."
Gerri was tempted to touch his shoulder and say He failed you first. Again and again. But she couldn't. Instead, she glanced at him sympathetically.
"Grief is odd, Roman." After a beat, she added, "I missed Baird tonight. It's been a long time since he passed. But I'm always reminded of him when it snows. He loved snow." She wasn't sure why she was opening up like this. It's not like Roman would care to hear this, right?
But he looked appreciative at her attempt at offering some comfort. "I'm sorry about a year ago. When I called him that tortoise guy and then asked you to take over the company. I'm sure being back at the hospital wasn't easy."
Gerri was surprised that he even remembered. She acknowledged his apology with a small smile.
"And I'm also sorry. About the photos. The firing. I wasn't okay." He runs a hand through his hair and his mouth twitches in that very Roman way. "Not that that excuses it. But I really was just fucking gone. I even told Matsson that I was losing it, up on the mountain. He didn't give a shit. Pissed on the rock next to me and then offered 192 to fuck with us."
Gerri isn't sure what to say to this. Part of her feels bad that she wasn't able to be there for him when he needed someone, when he needed her, and part of her thinks fuck him, get up and leave. But she doesn't. She stays and plays with the stem of her drink glass.
Roman continues, as if the floodgates have opened and he has to get it all off his chest. "I know you could have got me there."
He lets her words hang in the air between them for moment, before gesturing to himself. "But you under-estimated how much of a fuck up I was. Am."
He was right of course. But she feels cornered between a rock and a hard place. Gerri wasn't much for forgiving. Or forgetting.
But when it came to Roman Roy, she found that he had described things best at Connor's wedding: he made her go weird. Though she didn't know if he knew that, or intended it, necessarily. He was handsome, witty, and he had a good heart. She'd always seen potential in him. It had been her downfall, sure. But she wondered if she would re-do things if given the chance.
"You're not a fuck-up, Rome." Her voice goes soft and low and she turns towards him.
"I think everyone else would beg to differ." He pointed out.
"So you cried at your dad's funeral. That's normal. Just not in this world. It only mattered because you were his son."
"You know there was a video going around back then?"
Gerri adjusted one of her many statement rings. "Yes, I'm aware. And I thought it was extremely fucked up."
"You weren't toasting to my failure with your boatloads of cash from the settlement?"
"You weren't my favorite person at the time." She admitted. "But that doesn't mean I wanted to see you like that. Especially given-" She stopped herself, wondering if what she wanted to say would cross a boundary. One they couldn't come back from.
"Given, what?"
"Never mind."
"No, no go ahead and say it. Enlighten me with your wisdom, bitch."
She swallowed the lump in her throat. "Given that Logan was abusive towards you."
Roman looked truly taken aback. Like she'd said something despicable. She had been present for quite a few of Roman's beatings, with Argestes perhaps taking the cake. And yet, she'd never said anything to him about what she'd seen. She'd assumed he never would. What does one say about their boss taking a swing at his adult son?
"Fuck you." His voice sounded gravelly.
"Roman."
"My dad was not abusive. He was a great man."
Gerri had to tread carefully. And yet she knew she couldn't in good conscience agree to place Logan on a pedestal he didn't deserve. Especially after she'd done far less for Roman than she had wanted to over the years when it came to his treatment at his dad's hand.
"He was a great man. But he was awful to you. And to your siblings. What happened at Argestes made me sick."
"Well, all you had to say about it was that it played well." He reminded her. She winced. "I know. I didn't want to anger him more. I'm sorry, Roman. I wish he hadn't done it. In front of everyone. And...I wish I could have done more. But I had to attend the roast."
He looked up at her with those big, brown eyes, and for a minute she recalled a feeling she'd had years ago on a snowy morning with Baird. Love.
"What would you have done?" He asked.
"If Baird ever hit my daughters, I would have taken them and left. When Logan backhanded you, I wanted to check on you. Tend to you. Not attend the open season event on our hellish cruise division. I hated it and him. And felt so guilty. I hope you know that you never deserved it."
"Better me than Shiv." He shrugged.
"Still, Rome. Your dad had no business taking your teeth out like that. It was my least favorite part of working for him." She reached out and touched his hand, and could feel him tremble at the contact.
He felt tears come on as Gerri said things he had never expected her to say. But he tried to hold them in. He had no idea how the night would progress from here on out. It felt like if they could talk about Argestes, and about his dad, they could talk about anything.
"Did you mean it when you said there was nothing between us?" He blurted out.
It was Gerri's turn to look distressed.
"Well, there technically wasn't." Gerri Kellman, ever the lawyer. "You jerked off to me saying some nasty things a couple times."
"Yeah, because that's definitely professional. You think Tom gets Greg off in a bathroom? Or maybe Karolina was getting it on with Shiv. Ugh. Hot."
"The fuck, Roman?"
"Why did you engage in the calls with me? Or parade those ugly old fucks in front of me? And I'm sure it was thrilling to do oppo research on the notorious Roman Roy. Grub up some info on me and my personal trainer. Maybe the image of that helped you with your first orgasm in decades?"
You asshole.
"From what I've heard, you're no expert at orgasms. At least if Tabitha is to be believed about your non-existent sex life." She pointed out.
"You still haven't answered my questions. That might work in court but it doesn't hold water with me."
"I think you know damn well why I answered the phone. Though I wish I hadn't." Her lips were set in a tight line.
"I call bullshit. You could have sold me out to Shiv and you didn't."
"I told you then and I'm telling you now, Roman. I care about what serves my interests. And a possible professional partnership seemed like it would serve my interests at the time. Just like playing it safe with Shiv was the best move."
"You just didn't expect how it would turn out, did you?" He questioned. She said nothing.
"Because I definitely did not expect this." He gestured between the two of them.
If I'm so off-putting and ancient to you, then fucking go, she couldn't help but think. But he prattled on.
"I mean, Jaime Laird certainly saw what I saw. He was jumping out of his skin to bone you when we were on the verge of death in Turkey. Absolutely clamoring to get a ring on your finger."
Gerri filed this particular piece of information away to ponder later. But for now, she was laser focused on trying to make sense of the very strange turn this night had taken.
"I don't know what you want me to say."
"Just admit it. I got to you, didn't I?"
Gerri got up, setting down a wad of bills.
"Have a nice evening, Roman."
He set down a wad of cash himself before running out the door to follow her.
She stood in the middle of Grand Central Terminal, looking deeply disturbed amidst all the hordes of people.
"Gerri."
"Roman, I thought I made it clear I was done with this conversation. I even paid for our drinks."
"Yeah, thanks. Sponsored by my dick mishap and all, great. Listen."
He paused. "I don't want to be alone right now." He sounded like a little boy.
"What?"
"Winter feels even colder than usual with no one."
She feels her heart melt a little.
"Don't you think it's uncanny how we're both spending the holidays by ourselves? How we ended up in the same place at the same time, somehow?"
Gerri felt a dull pang as Baird's smile flashed through her memories. She had to grant that this year, Christmas felt more lonesome than ever. And that suddenly, every reason to be mad at Roman has disappeared. Their disgusting mess has always been complicated and thrilling and awful. And yet, it ignites a spark in her she hasn't felt in the longest time. They may be a mess but it's a mess Gerri finds herself wanting more than ever, though she hasn't thus far allowed herself to want it.
Wordlessly, she takes his hand and leads him out onto the street level to hail a taxi. He follows like an obedient puppy.
As they wait to flag one down, he studies her carefully and pronounces, "You know I've never really cared much about snow. But it looks beautiful on you."
And it does. Little white flecks settle in Gerri's golden hair, and her perfect little mouth, lined in a delicate shade of pink curls into a smile. They haven't figured everything out, and maybe they never will, but at least things have lined up in this colossal, icy city so that they can give it their best shot again.