Chapter Text
Roman does not want to get onto the plane to New York. It’s not that he’s afraid to, or that he has some aversion to his home, but what it means to go back weighs on him. Reconciliation, acceptance, repentance, all things a Roy in Logan’s era would never do. He imagines this must be what Shiv felt, working through issues with Tom and trying not to implode as she reconciles the difference between what Logan’s parenting taught them and what a normal relationship was supposed to look like. Maybe that’s why Ken and Rava had failed, because they were all addicts. Drugs, sex, women, the company and family drama, or maybe they were addicted to their father. Addicted to Logan Roy’s love, and long-suffering in their withdrawal when it was denied.
It was mostly denied. He remembers each instance; every hit, every screaming match, every time they played just outside his office door only to be hollered at to leave him alone. Needy love sponges, the four of them. At least Connor had learned to live without, no matter how depressing the thought.
He boards the plane anyway, because Tom is not Logan and Shiv is not Caroline. Because Connor isn’t Logan and Willa isn’t his mother. Because Kendall, their poor lost brother, is still out there with kids of his own and that awful force in him. Because they’re all bullshit, so why not face the music? They were nothing together, nothing apart, but now they could be anything. Together, separate, the possibilities are endless.
Shiv’s text, locked away in his phone, burn in his pocket. Can’t wait to outsticker you on Dad’s cutlery.
It’s not forgiveness, because he hasn’t apologized yet, but it’s a return to form he’s very comfortable with. He hopes it wasn’t Tom’s idea, because he’ll actually have to genuinely thank him for something.
Roman is terrified, even as he swallows melatonin like tic-tacs and passes into a blissfully dreamless drug sleep. The future is uncertain, and he doesn’t have any leverage. He has love, but that hadn’t turned out well last time. He barely even knows how to express it, and god knows his mother hadn’t helped at all. Good for them and good for them with a mother’s advice and support were apparently mutually-exclusive concepts.
He does not feel better when he lands. He wakes up groggy, disoriented, and three hours ahead of the time he’s gotten used to. It’s cold in New York, and it’s odd to think he got used to the California sun in his brief stint there. The cold chill that makes him press his coat tighter around himself is a reminder that he did.
He shuffles into the back of his car and is speeding towards his apartment before he knows it. It’s a bit surreal, coming back. The city is unchanged, but it’s a whole new world to Roman. He’d only ever seen it through one lens, only through the eyes of Logan Roy and his varied associates. He had the crap beaten out of him on the street once, and that’s the most experience he’s ever had with the unwashed masses. It’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat, but it’s still one that provides perspective. He watches the city pass him by, his phone still burning in his pocket, and wishes the hours would tick by faster.
He wants to call Tabitha, tell her to come over so he can pretend to be capable of sexual attraction to her, but he won’t. That door is firmly closed until he gets his shit together. He wants to see Shiv, but he doesn’t dare reply to her texts.
He finally understands what Kendall meant when he said he was all apart . This time there’s no Matsson, no Logan, no one to use as a crutch to pull himself together. There’s no scheme or plot, and Roman has to be Roman to get through this.
That’s the most terrifying part of it all.
“Shiv? Honey?” Tom asks, his voice just a bit too loud for this early in the morning, “I’m home! Your husband has returned!”
Shiv blinks her bleary eyes at the coffee maker in their kitchen. It’s Saturday, but Tom was caught in meetings and some Matsson retreat all week that she hated to see him leave for. But he’d gotten the job, in part, by his willingness to work and miss things. Connor’s wedding, Logan’s funeral, work had come first when his hat was in the ring. Matsson didn’t love Tom’s every decision, now that his pregnant wife was starting to take precedence over some things, but his willingness to come on retreats kept the verbal lashings to a minimum.
She knows it’s early in the morning because the sun has barely risen and Tom is much too caught up in being sweet. He’s probably jet lagged and punch-drunk, meaning he’s going to be unbearably sweet with her. He’d started doing that more, showing more of the old affectionate Tom as their therapy had continued and they’d started easing back into being a couple. Either way, it’s far too early for her and their soon-to-be-born daughter to deal with Tom’s nonsense. He’s been gone for a week and, while his enthusiasm is appreciated, she’d suffered in his absence. She had to go through her cravings on her own and make breakfast for herself. For herself . What was the point of staying married if she didn’t have Tom waiting on her hand and foot?
She stifles the smile that threatens to overtake her lips. He’s shuffling about, probably stripping off his shoes and coat haphazardly so he can get to her more quickly. It’s adorable, until she hears a crash from their hallway closet.
“I’m fine!” Tom sings, but there’s a hint of a wince in his voice, “Nothing happened!”
Shiv knows something definitely happened, but doesn’t call him out on it. She doesn’t answer at all, because Tom will make his way to the kitchen soon enough. She pours her coffee, and even has enough for a cup for him. It’s totally not on purpose, she’s definitely not up early on a Saturday to greet him, let him feel the baby kick, and to get a kiss and a lovefest in before they have to confront their agenda for the day. It starts well, but ends in anxiety. They have a lazy morning, a lazier afternoon, and the final round of the sticker auction in the early evening.
She wasn’t sure if she was going to make it, she’s due any day now, but she feels good enough to go over and get this done. She’ll have to see Roman, but she swallows down her mixed feelings on it. They’ll talk there, even if Roman hadn’t answered her joke. She’ll have Connor and Willa if things go wrong, and Tom will probably stick himself to her side for the entirety of the night. She’ll be well supported, but a childish part of her just wants her big brother. She wants him to be there for his niece, she wants him to laugh at the names they’re thinking of picking and to make nasty comments about watching her breastfeed. She wants her family, and she’s scared to be denied it.
Tom must round the corner– Shiv thinks that she shouldn’t know that, her back is turned– but his voice is much louder and closer. She can feel him, an alien sensation she’s sure is a sign she’s losing that Roy edge at home.
“Honey, I’m home!” He says, and she can hear the shit-eating grin in his tone, “Cancel your 10 o’clock, your husband has returned!”
Shiv can’t help it, she lets out the most unrefined snorting laugh she’s ever let pass her lips. Her mother would faint hearing it, but she doesn’t care. Her chest is warm, Tom is home. She’s too tired and happy to care about her mask falling away. She’s openly happy, smiling down at their coffees as she pours them in mugs. His has a little note on it, just a quick Welcome home, I love you that she’d written for him. Nothing crazy. She can’t say it, it’s far too sentimental and sappy, but she sure can write it.
“How was your flight?” She turns around, only to find Tom grinning as he picks up his coffee and gulps it down like it’s water. When he pulls the mug away, he’s beaming at her with a fidgety energy she usually only sees out of Mondale.
“Great.” He says, “I have to apologize to Sarah though. I scared the daylights out of her, blowing up her phone to make sure you didn’t have any appointments I would barge in on.”
“It’s Saturday.” Shiv deadpans, “You’re the only one with meetings on weekends.”
“Right you are!” He replies, “But I’ve cleared my schedule for such an auspicious day. The Roy family auction, a Royunion at your father’s. Us, Con and Willa, Greg third wheeling, and Roman.”
“What’s got you in such a good fucking mood?” Shiv narrows her eyes, “You just got off a red eye... Are you on something?”
“What?”
“Are you–” Shiv stares at his nose, “Are you on coke? ”
“No!” Tom refutes, and the offense in his eyes is enough to convince her, “Oskar and the rest are definitely, but I kept my nose clean. Can’t have that around our daughter!”
“Good.” She smiles brilliantly at him and takes a sip from her own mug. Tom’s eyes land on it, and they both freeze. It’s a mug he’d written on in Sharpie, declaring his love for her with a bad drawing of two stick figures– ones she’s sure are supposed to be them– holding hands. It’s childish, and she loves it. She’ll give it to their daughter one day, if she doesn’t hurl it at the ground and break it out of embarrassment now.
“Wow.” Tom breathes, his voice full of awe.
“What?”
“ Wow .” Tom repeats, audibly swallowing his hot coffee as his eyes go the size of dinner plates. He bites his lip, and Shiv’s defensive instincts kick into high gear. He’s almost laughing, he’s amused by this.
“It’s– I like the fucking note. It’s not a big deal.” She says, “Okay?”
“You’re so cute.”
“Shut up.” Shiv all-but whimpers, “Fuck off. Don’t be so fucking sappy.”
“You’re the cutest ever, save for our daughter.”
“She’s not even born yet, freak.”
“ Freak? ” Tom makes an indignant sound, “Tom Wambsgans, loving husband and devoted future-father, a freak!”
“Yes, dear.” She smiles, “Now please shut up.”
“My own wife, accusing me of being a freak for loving and adoring her.” Tom clutches his chest in mock-agony, “Shiv. Siobhan. Honey. Dear. The love of my life, the only woman for me, she who hangs the moon and stars. My dear sweet Siobhan. You’ve killed me. I’m defeated, slain, dead to rights.”
“ Slain .” Shiv echoes in utter deadpan.
“Like a knight.” Tom continues, “Felled on the battlefield, reduced to blood and viscera.”
“And I’m the one slaying you?” Shiv repeats, arching an eyebrow, “Reducing you to–”
“To blood and viscera, yes.”
“Uh huh.” Shiv says, “I love you and I’m sorry for slaying you, but you’re still weird.”
“I love you too.” He says, pecking her repeatedly on the lips and cheeks in a way that makes an undignified giggle escape her, “And I missed you.”
“You were only gone a week!” She replies, helpless as peals of laughter tear from her, “Fucking– Tom!”
“It felt like forever.” Tom replies, finally pulling away enough to let her speak, “I missed you so much.”
“Jesus–” Shiv says, intertwining their hands and pulling him towards the bedroom. Their coffees are forgotten, a nap sounds much better, “Come on weirdo, you need a nap.”
“Definitely.” He smiles, “Are you joining?”
“Of course.” She shoots back just a bit too fast, “I’m going to need a good nap before tonight.”
Tom hums and, in seconds, they’re laying next to each other in their bed. Tom scoops her up, and Shiv isn’t afraid to press herself against him. He smells like home, and she’s disgusted with herself for how sentimental pregnancy and therapy has made her.
“Did you miss me?” He asks, his eyes glinting as her fingers curl in his shirt.
“Nope.” She says, smiling and burying her face in his chest, “Not even a little.”
“Should we talk about it?” Tom asks, running his hands over her back while she gets ready. It’s half a massage, half a scratch. It soothes her, and he can’t deny her anything while she’s carrying their daughter, “Make a game plan for Roman? Make a little scheme? The return of the dream team? I could call Greg, make it really official.”
His eyes glitter with mirth and such unrestrained happiness that Shiv can only wonder why she ever tried to elicit anything else from him. The fact that he’s able to joke about the Roy family’s old backstabbing ways, that he can get past the shit that’s been flung at him and smile at her despite it all, is a testament to how far they’ve come together. She smiles back at him. It’s small, but genuine enough to crinkle her eyes, and it’s reserved just for him.
“No games, no schemes.” Shiv says, meeting his eyes in the mirror with a sappy look of her own. God, mooning over him, she’s just as bad as he is, “We’re done with manipulations and leverage. I just need to talk to him and see if we can fix things together.”
“Maybe we’ll give your therapist a Christmas bonus.”
“ Tom. ”
“Kidding, kidding.” He says, “Do you need me wingmanning?”
“ Wingmanning .” Shiv snorts, “Stop making it slimy.”
“Gerri, Karolina and I had to be with the world’s slimiest Swede and his slimy associates all week.” Tom bemoans, “I’m afraid I’ve become the slimiest husband in New York by association.”
“Maybe the corniest and most insufferable husband, and not by association.” Shiv shoots back, but there’s no bite to it, “I hope our daughter doesn’t pick that up from you.”
“Our daughter...” Tom says, full of reverence and awe. Shiv smirks and continues getting ready. Mentioning their daughter never fails to distract Tom and turn him into a sappy mess. He’s babbling already, gushing about their little girl who isn’t even born yet; the one he hopes looks like Shiv because he’s so scared of giving her a single imperfect feature. The one she knows he’ll dote on endlessly, that he won’t treat as an extension of his dynasty or legacy. A Roy– or Wambsgans, or hyphenated, whatever she chooses– free to be themselves with no exposure to the pathogen known as Logan Roy.
A Roy raised with love, with care, with affection. If Shiv wasn’t so terrified that she was incapable of living up to what Tom will be capable of giving their daughter, she’d love to think about how that would’ve been unimaginable when her dad was alive.
“She’s going to be like you.” Tom says, without a hint of reservation or fear. It strikes Shiv, like a dagger sliding between her ribs and finding the soft spots beneath. Tom loves her, even the parts that almost ruined them.
She loves him too, even the parts that almost ruined them.
“Raised by nannies?” Shiv snarks, “Fucked up by men telling her when she is and isn’t enough?”
“Strong.” Tom says, “Resilient, confident, and far too smart for her dad to deal with.”
He leans down towards her stomach, and Shiv rolls her eyes reflexively as his voice takes on the same babyish pitch he uses with Mondale.
“You’re going to be so much trouble for me, aren’t you?” Tom beams, “You and your mom are going to run the house with iron fists, aren’t you?”
“Don’t listen to your father.” Shiv says far too loudly, joining his little antics in a way she’ll never admit to, “He’s being goofy again.”
“She loves when I’m goofy.”
“I do not.” Shiv retorts, even though she does, “ We do not.” She amends, and Tom goes back to cooing at her stomach in a way she’ll never be used to. That and the back pain.
She can’t wait to have this baby. Both for the release from the torture of carrying her and so she can have her fears confirmed or denied. Tom hasn’t been like her father, but that fact hadn’t stopped Kendall from becoming a shadow of himself after Logan’s death. He’d been a mix of Logan’s worst impulses and Kendall’s own insecurities.
“She’ll be okay, right?” Shiv whispers, “I won’t fuck her up.”
You are maybe not a good person to have children.
“We won’t.” Tom replies, gripping her hand and squeezing. Their wedding rings press together, and Shiv watches the light glint off of them.
“We’ll try our best, and we won’t.” Tom promises, a vow as solemn as their wedding vows, “She’ll be loved, no strings attached.”
Loved, unconditionally, living in the sunlight adjacent to the shadow of a giant. A childish part of Shiv is jealous, the motherly side— which she vehemently denies having, no matter how many times Connor and Willa claim she’s turning into a mother hen— is assured enough to believe it.
“You’re the resilient one.” Shiv says, stroking a hand through his hair, “Doing whatever you needed, winning the company, securing your future. My dad picked you, even before his death. He saw it, and he picked you.”
Tom stays silent, letting her get this out. They have these moments, even when they’re getting along, where Shiv or Tom dips back into the same insecurities that fractured them. It’s not as dramatic anymore, not tinged with hate, but it still happens. They’re human, and Shiv can look at him with all the love in her heart and still be a little bit jealous of him. The anger, burned into her through years of abuse and being focused on one goal, will probably never fade. They’re doing their best despite it, getting back to a normal that works for them. Tom’s back to his cheery self when he’s with family, full of awkward and poorly-timed jokes. Shiv’s hair has started to grow back, and her manner of dress is even regressing from business formal to the more casual attire she’d always felt most comfortable in.
“No he didn’t.” Tom replies slowly, testing the waters, “Crossed out, underlined, your dad picked Kendall. Matsson picked me because I’m subservient. I can do the job, I ran ATN through the election shitstorm, but he doesn’t need me to recommend anything. We’re both resilient, Shiv, and we’re both still here.”
“Maybe we should give your therapist a bonus.” Shiv snarks, and it gets a laugh out of him.
“Maybe we should.” He jokes back, standing and straightening himself out, “Hey, honey.”
She looks up at him, and Tom’s expression is so soft when he stares at her. Then, like the complete and utter asshole he is, he sticks two little brown stickers to her. Her eyes widen, and Tom presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
“I love you.” He whispers, “I’d put every sticker I have on you if I could, on us.”
“Thanks, honey.” She says, even if her heart is fluttering, “Didn’t you stick one of these on Greg?”
“I–” Tom laughs, his cheeks turning red, “I might have.”
“Just one? Or equal bids on the both of us?”
“Just one.” Tom confirms, “I can put the rest on you, if you’d like?”
“Do not .” She says, but Tom’s already grabbing the rest.
He sticks them all to her, and she tries her best to look mad at him. She ends up laughing, and is mad at herself for cracking so easily. He’s adorable, their baby is almost due, and she’s so happy. Happy, loved, and on her way to being content with that. She’d never thought that was possible before.
Shiv holds her breath as they enter her father’s apartment. Everyone’s gathered, marveling at Willa’s design choices; really mocking them, something Shiv is loath to admit Tom and her still do. Willa’s sweet, but a bit eccentric and not without an edge of her own. She’s perfect for the ever-neutral Connor Roy. She’s making small talk, alongside Connor, with a head of hair so familiar she almost lunges for him. They both perk up as she and Tom cross over to them, and the painfully familiar shorter man turns around with them.
It’s Roman.
The first thing Shiv notices, wincing alongside her husband, is how off he looks. There’s a brightness to him that was never there before, a levity that can only come from freedom from their lives’ long-fought battle for Waystar. He’s also got deep dark circles, a sunburn that rivals the ones she used to get as a kid– now your skin matches the drapes , Roman used to snark– and stares at her with nervousness so open that she’s reminded of just how dead and gone their father is. The rush of memories is a lot, almost too much, and Shiv barely resists the urge to pull her wayward brother into a hug right then and there.
“Hi!” Tom brightens, taking the lead with salesman-like cheer, “Sorry we’re late.”
“It’s fine.” Willa replies, “We’re just glad you could make it.”
Roman shuffles back, and Shiv feels her heart twist as his eyes dip to the floor. She wants to reach out, but Connor claps and interrupts her.
“Alright! Now that we’re all here, I’ll re-explain the rules.” Connor smiles, “We’ve laid out the remaining items in the dining room. As you move in a clockwise rotation around the table, affix your stickers to objects you covet. One sticker each on a number of different articles, or many on one prized item. Since there’s so few of us, I thought it’d be best if we do one loop, then only really debate over ties. Any questions?”
“Can I still call the loop an SPC?” Shiv asks, shooting Roman a smirk. Connor and Tom laugh, and Roman’s eyes light up just a little when he smiles back at her.
“Sure, Shivvy.” Connor sighs.
She passes Tom the stickers and allows him to guide Connor and Willa away. They had time alone with Roman, Shiv had made sure of that. She and Tom had been late on purpose, allowing for their eldest brother and his wife to reconnect with Roman and continue whatever threads of conversation they had started when he’d visited before going to California. Shiv takes a deep breath, then steps forward into the dining room.
Roman has ambled over to the silverware, items he and Kendall had bid on together jokingly, and is staring vacantly at the set. She approaches slowly, each step loud enough so he has ample time to see her coming. She can’t help the smile that worms its way onto her face, her joy at seeing her brother is predictable and exciting. She knows he feels it too, because Roman’s eyes keep skittering anywhere but towards her. There’s a slight tremor to his hands, Shiv’s got the upper hand.
“Shiv. I–” Roman starts, before being interrupted by Shiv throwing herself at him. She hugs him as well as she can with her pregnant belly.
“Ew, get off me!” Roman recoils, “You’re all pregnant and shit.”
“Thank you.” She whispers, “For Kendall. For texting, even if you were a fucking dick, and for coming home for this.”
“Don’t mention it.” Roman tries to brush her off, but she’s not having any of it.
“Seriously–”
“Yeah, seriously.” Roman cuts her off again, “Full stop. Don’t mention it.”
“Understood.” She smiles, “How’s Cali?”
“I’ve never seen you smile so much, it’s unnerving.” Roman shoots back, “Are you high?”
“I’m happy , you little shit.” Shiv elbows him, and Roman actually lets out a little whine of pain, “I’m also pregnant and hormonal, I can cry if you really want me to.”
“Please don’t.” Roman yelps, his eyes darting around again, “I don’t want God-Emperor Wambsgans murdering me in front of his senate.”
“Don’t let Tom hear you call him that, it might go to his head.”
“Oh? Can I joke about him now?”
“When I say you can.”
Shiv watches Tom and Connor laugh about something, and Willa shoots her a hopeful glance and a smile from next to their husbands. It clicks for her, right then and there, that Roman’s nerves are more than just his usual self-conscious collapse. This runs deeper, he’s worried that he’s walking into a trap.
“They’re not Tom’s senate. Neither are Gerri and Karolina, or Greg for that matter.” Shiv finds herself saying, conscious of how her brother flinches at the mention of Waystar’s top brass, “He doesn’t own them, and he doesn’t own me.”
“Score one for the feminists, then.” Roman replies, regaining some of his bravado, “How’d you manage to do what Mommy never could?”
“Tom’s a good man. He’s a killer, he’s greedy, and he looks out for himself, but he’s not Dad. He’s good to me– good for me. He’s not the worst to look at, either.”
“God you suck when you’re all happy and shit.” Roman groans, “You’re like a real fucking human person. It’s awful.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Shiv smiles, “I missed you.”
“Uh huh, sure.” Roman mutters, “Don’t be a dick.”
“Look at this, Roman Roy unable to hold a normal healthy conversation with anyone in his life. Knock me over with a feather.”
“You’d rather we had a healthy talk?”
“Duh.” Shiv rolls her eyes, “I don’t know if you know this, but I kind of like you.”
“Not enough to let us keep the company.”
“Rome–” Shiv sucks in a breath and pauses. He’s broken the ice, this is the moment, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Do you? ”
“I’d answer a question or two, then I want to enjoy time with our family.”
“Why?”
“Why what?” Shiv smirks, “ Why in general is a pretty broad question.”
“Why did you vote for Tom?”
They stare at each other for a long moment. Maybe they’re finally seeing one another, maybe without the storm that was Logan Roy and the fog of war around them they can finally see each other. They’re both scared of the past and of the future. They’re adults, living lives based on never growing up and struggling desperately to bridge the gap now that they have to. There’s a kinship that has always been there between the two of them, people used to give them looks when they’d vehemently argue that they weren’t twins. They feel a tickle in the back of their minds– like twin telepathy but not – and Shiv knows exactly what to say.
“I didn’t vote for Tom, I just didn’t vote for Ken.” She says, confident and self-assured, “I don’t need to stay in, I don’t need my hooks in Waystar, but Ken couldn’t be allowed to have it. Not just because we’d be losing to him, admitting that we couldn’t do it. He was becoming Dad, he wanted to be him. He would’ve destroyed all of us.”
“Wow.” Roman whistles, “That’s a fuckload of introspection for one two minute conversation outside the board meeting.”
“I saw your stitches.” Shiv says, “I saw the way you hesitated, I saw that you were bleeding. He hurt you, and then I knew I couldn’t vote for him.”
Roman flinches, but Shiv holds his gaze. She hopes her eyes are as fiery as she feels, because she needs Roman to know the full weight of what she’s feeling. Hitting him, hurting him, that was a line no one ever crossed. They had all seen what Logan had done to him, what he’d encouraged others to do to him. It was the line. That was the end of it.
“He–” Roman gulps. There’s an awful feeling surging in his chest, something caught between hope, denial and disgust, “How do you know he did something? Maybe I just tripped, or maybe I was being really annoying and picked the stitches open, or maybe I deserved it because as you well know I’m really fucking annoying–”
“Because you flinched.” She whispers, “You only flinch after we actually fight, when blows were actually exchanged and you don’t want to be touched again.”
It floors her, how much she understands now that she’s finally talking to Roman. Of course Kendall, high off being their father and delusional about his place in the world, would hurt Roman. Rome probably had second thoughts about letting Kendall win, maybe even pitched making a final stand in that board room so he didn’t have to admit that he was the weaker dog. Maybe Kendall saw that and understood that Roman never actually wanted the CEO position. He was supposed to want it, sure, but he never really did. Kendall had to have opened the stitches, but maybe Roman even goaded him into it.
It’s right up her brother’s alley. Begging to be hurt, to be beaten up enough to know that he shouldn’t want the thing he wants but doesn’t think he deserves. Roman wanted to be put in his place all the time, and this would be just one more example of it. Needing to be hurt so someone else can make the decision for him, because he can’t take not knowing if he actually can’t do it or if he’s just a coward.
Kendall shouldn’t have done it, it’s disgusting to even entertain the thought. A loving sibling watching Roman’s struggle with all of this would never have fed his worst instincts. Self-harm, attention whoring, self-loathing, self-image issues, overdependence on a cruel figure of authority. Kendall had done it, giving Roman his fix and tranquilizing him in a way that lets Roman slip into the comfortable role of perpetual subservience. It could be construed as love, but it’s a hard sell. It’s love as Roman knows it, as he accepts it. It acknowledges the hurt and the care, accepts violence and love, and lets Roman grieve their abusive world of a father through a proxy.
It’s despicable, and probably what led Roman to call it all bullshit and let her walk out of that room.
“I’m sorry he hurt you.” Shiv says, “Now stop being a douche.”
“He–” Roman’s head swirls, caught between two distinct he’s that both tell the same story, “I’m not ready to see him again.”
Their father’s body. What’s left of Logan Roy. What’s left of their brother; Kendall Logan Roy. He means neither. He means both.
“Then we won’t.”
“We?”
“Sorry Rome.” Shiv smirks, pulling him into her side and forcing them towards Connor, Willa and Tom, “I said I’d only answer a question or two.”
Roman blinks as his sister wrangles him over to their eldest brother– the real eldest boy– and the respective spouses. He even manages a smile as Tom makes a little joke about having brothers and Connor hosting the first annual Royunion . Connor, despite how shitty and stupid the joke is, even laughs with him. God, he laughs at traitor usurper Wambsgans’ joke. He lets Willa fix him a drink, one she hands over with a wink and a welcome back .
It’s bright, so terribly bright, in the sun.
The rest of the stickering is forgotten for catching up. Roman tells them about his life in California, which they all listen to with rapt attention and little ribbing. They ask how long he’s back for, if he’s staying, they ask enough questions to make his head swirl. He tries to answer, but his vision swims as he sees the hopeful smiles on all of their faces. It’s a lot, almost too much, and Roman is struck by just how odd it is to be full. He sucks up all of the love until he can’t and finds the need that has defined his entire life receding. He gets it, finally, what it’s like to love and be loved.
Fuck, he has to apologize to Gerri, and probably Tabitha too.
Roman’s so off-kilter, and a little bit uncomfortable, that he has to remind himself that this gathering is missing someone. He wracks his brain, trying to figure out exactly who’s supposed to be in the room with the primary mourners. It can’t be Frank or Karl, they’re dead by Tom’s hands and Connor never held any love for them. The secondary mourner pool isn’t invited to divvy up Kendall’s stuff, so who was it?
It hits him right as the elevator dings. It’s Gerri. She steps in, and Roman’s heart leaps into his throat. She’s dressed in professional attire– not too mournful, but muted and respectful of the grief permeating the room.
She spies Tom first, giving him a firm handshake and smiling beautifully as she catches up with Shiv. Connor and Willa stay on the fringes, and it’s all very confusing as to why Gerri is even here until Roman pieces it together. Tom invited her, told her to come late, and made sure Roman would be comfortable and lulled into a false sense of security before dropping this bomb on him. Tom trapped him, and he’s caught in a surprise attack without any armor or ammunition of his own.
The room adapts to the newcomer of its own accord, and Roman is eventually left next to Gerri while the couples pair off to whisper. He’s sure it’s about him, but he also knows it’s probably about Shiv’s baby and some other mundane topics that no one outside a relationship would care about. It’s an awful alternative to the already awful situation that is talking to Gerri, and Roman starts wishing the earth would open up and swallow him just so he doesn’t have to.
“Roman.” Gerri acknowledges, her voice curt, “How have you been?”
“Fine.” He replies, “Not undermining your narrative, so you can go. Check up done.”
“That’s not what I’m checking on.” Gerri says, her eyes never straying from him, “I’m checking in on you.”
“Oh?” Roman smirks, “Little Miss Reputation Management actually wants to know how I am?”
“Don’t push it.”
“You know I’m bad at this.” Roman shoots back, “I couldn’t do the corporate flirt, and a real honest-to-god apology is far harder than trying to get you to jerk me off and make me into my dad.”
“Try it.” Gerri says, arching a brow at him. The goading makes him shiver, but she doesn’t move an inch. She just stares at him, and Roman realizes that Tom has probably kept her apprised of any and all situations. Maybe she’s asked about him, maybe he or Shiv had offered it up. Fuckers.
“I’m sorry for all the– the fucking firing you and sending you pictures thing.” Roman stammers, “That wasn’t– I was trying to be him. It was wrong, but I thought I could do everything he could do.”
He turns away from her, but he can still feel Gerri regarding him for a long moment. The moment stretches into two, three, and he’s all-too aware that Gerri is eyeing him for any sign of a lie or bullshit. If he looks half as uncomfortable as he feels, she won’t be looking for much longer.
“Thank you.” She says, “Tom and Shiv said you were different, I didn’t really believe them. They’re also cagey with details, how’s California?”
“Warm, far away.” He replies, “It helps to not be in the middle of this.”
He gestures to the room, and Gerri nods.
“It was hard to be in the middle of Waystar’s orbit. Your father wanted killers, and he wanted to control everything.” Gerri smiles, “Have his cake and eat it too. You can never have both.”
“Firing you was a test.” Roman sighs, “And I fell for it, again.”
“We don’t do that anymore.” Gerri says, “I’m not pulling any of the measures I’ve put in place, but it’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re well.”
She steps away to pour herself a drink, and Roman’s eyes light up. It’s not blanket forgiveness, but it’s more than he and Gerri have spoken in a long time. He feels partially forgiven, and that’s enough for him. Tom, the rat fuck, gives him a thumbs up. Roman flips him off, but smiles and sidles up next to him.
“It went well?” Tom asks, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
“Shut up, Wambsgans.” Roman says it snarkily, but smiles back, “I still hate you for banging my sister.”
“Don’t– I–” Tom sighs, “Pastures new, Roman. You might want to give it a try.”
The day wears on, and Roman buzzes with a happy excitement that is hard to contain. He’s almost upset when Shiv and Tom have to go home, but he sticks around long enough to get a few more good bits of information out of them. They’re having a girl, they’re waiting for final say on the name, and Connor’s suggestions– all what he calls strong American names are being firmly rejected. He recommends Willa Conhead Roy , which gets a laugh from the whole group. Gerri excuses herself roughly around when Tom and Shiv do, citing work as the reason.
Then it’s just him and Connor. Tom and Shiv have gone home, Willa’s gone to bed, and they’re staring out at the city from their father’s old balcony. Now it’s Connor’s.
“Shiv’s got her perfect fucking happy ending.” Roman says, polishing off his drink, “Kinda feels like she’s rubbing my nose in it.”
He’s joking. He’s incredibly happy for his sister, but this is a way of processing the 180 she’s done since he’s last seen her.
“She’s happy.” Connor replies, “If only we could all be so lucky.”
He shoots Roman a pointed look, and Roman ignores it just as pointedly.
“They laugh at all of each other’s jokes now.” Roman pouts, “Neither of them are that fucking funny. Something’s wrong with them.”
“Love, Rome.” Connor says sagely, “They’re in love.”
“ Love .” He snorts, “Fuck love.”
“We shan’t say that.” Connor chides, “Alas love, at most, but not fuck love. Never fuck love.”
“I thought you didn’t need love? I thought that’s your superpower?”
“Willa loves me. Shiv loves me. I think Tom may even love me.” Connor pats him on the back, “And I may not need it, but it’s better to live with it than to live without it.”
“ I love you too.” Roman says, too fast and too honest, “I just– I’m not always so fucking good at saying it.”
“I know you do. You know we all love you, right?”
“Yes, yes old man.” Roman shrinks in on himself, “Of course I know.”
“Good.” Connor claps him on the back, brushing his shoulders clean and straightening his shirt, “Now this old man needs some sleep. I’ll see you again before you go back to California, okay?”
“Okay.” Roman says, shuffling out of his father’s– Connor’s – apartment. His brain buzzes with ideas, drafts of things he wants to say and people he wants to talk to. He barely notices how fast he gets back to his apartment, or how naturally he falls back into his nightly routine and passes out with the New York skyline alight outside his windows. It’s better not to think about that, because he isn’t staying.
He isn’t.
The days fly by in New York in a way they never did in California. Roman finds himself oddly busy, despite the fact that his employment status is completely unchanged. There’s apparently more for a native New Yorker to do in New York than there is on a prolonged California vacation. He doesn’t miss the alcohol and the loneliness, but finds himself acutely missing the sun and the beaches. New York is beautiful, drenched in summer sun and hot, but it doesn’t hold a candle to his beach bum life. His back straightens reflexively when he’s home, something he’s only noticed by the crick in his shoulders. He really needs to get back into the gym.
He texts Connor more, even deigns to respond when his brother updates him on Willa’s new play and the struggles of being an artist. He isn’t as responsive with Tom. He’s never been all that close with Tom and doesn’t have his number saved. Shiv and him fall back into their routine fairly quickly, and Roman doesn’t mind the return to some semblance of normalcy. They aren’t nice to each other, but they’re Roy-nice. It’s a good outlet, a return to form between them that doesn’t infect and poison the other aspects of their lives. It’s nice.
More time passes, and suddenly he’s back in his jet and waiting to go wheels up again. His phone shakes, Tabitha’s contact pulled up. His week in New York was exciting, full of bar crawls and reconnecting with the few old faces who wanted to see him. He even had a drink with Connor and Tom, who both got a bit too drunk and told him about the joys of settling down.
It was gross, he never wants to do it again.
He’d do it again.
They all know he’s leaving, but not forever. Connor and Shiv have promised to call more, and he promised to answer more of them. He isn’t joining their family group chat– it’s a ridiculous and juvenile concept– but the permission to fill up his call log is enough for them to know he wants to try too. Connor has even decided on a new tradition he’s considering. Instead of their dad hosting everything, Connor can host family get-togethers and holidays. Shiv and Tom are happy to grab the corporate ones, and they expect all of this effort to pay dividends. They’re taking old traditions and making them anew, something Roman thinks will either go well or blow up so spectacularly that it’ll make his rocket launch look like the 4th of July.
He presses the call button before he can stop himself. The phone rings twice, and Tabitha finally answers a call of his before the last one.
“Roman Roy.” She says, “I was wondering when you’d call–”
“Look.” Roman stammers, suddenly nervous, “I’ve had to do the healthy talk shit all week, so I really don’t want to do the whole fucking thing. Can we just talk?”
“What’s up?” Tabitha replies, all business.
“I can’t– Fuck – I don’t know how to do this.” Roman says, “I’m leaving New York again, going to visit my mom. I don’t know if you’re interested or not, and you can just tell me to fuck off if you’re not and I’m wasting your time–”
“Ro.” Tabitha says, “Deep breath, tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m coming back at some point. If you want to get dinner or something, we could like do that or something?”
“Sure.”
“Sure?” Roman repeats, “What does sure mean? Is that a yes? It’s not very enthusiastic.”
“I want to.” Tabitha says, “You’re solving you, I’m not uninterested in contributing.”
“Cool, great.” Roman releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “And I’m sorry for before, for everything.”
“You’re going to have to be more specific.” Tabitha sing-songs, “But you can do that over dinner.”
She hangs up, and Roman has the word bitch nestled on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t loose it, and feels happier for his restraint. He shoots Shiv a quick text, a disgusting one about how excited he is to get jerked off in Europe by wayward women on girls trips and bachelorette parties. She responds with a screenshot of the block button, circled in angry digital red pen. It makes him laugh, and he pockets his phone before closing his eyes and taking off.
It feels like the first day of Roman’s life, and he’s never been more excited for it.
“Do you think he’ll be back in time?” Tom asks, genuine concern on his face.
“He better be.” Shiv says, massaging a brutal knot in her feet, “I’ll kill him; I’ll pull his organs out of his ass if he misses his niece’s birth.”
“He seemed... Different.” Tom muses, his eyes never straying from his wife. Shiv is still hard to read, almost inscrutable when she wants to be. She’s doing it now, hiding what she’s thinking exactly from him. It doesn’t hurt as much anymore, especially when it’s about Roman and his emotional development. She doesn’t do it so much about the big things, they’re a team again.
“Good different or bad different?” Shiv asks, “I can never get a read on him until it’s too late.”
“I thought it was good, but he’s your brother. I don’t know him as well.” Tom runs a hand through his hair, “I’m more worried about your other brother.”
Shiv shoots him a look, and the topic dies as soon as it’s brought up. Kendall is a taboo subject in the house, only to be broached when Shiv feels like broaching it. No one knows where he is, and Stewy is being particularly tight lipped about it. If she wasn’t so scared to call Rava she’d be able to find out in an instant, but last she heard Rava was dealing with a bloody and frenzied custody battle courtesy of her megalomaniacal brother. They have some of his stuff– some of Logan’s stuff that Ken had bid on– collecting dust on a shelf for when he makes it back to their lives.
Shiv hums, and silence settles over them again. Her due date is soon, barely a week away. It could really happen any day now, and they’re both more than a little nervous about it. Their daughter, name pending final approval by the recently convened Daughter Naming Committee. It’s just the two of them, but the arguments are already becoming stuff of legends. Shiv tells her coworkers about it, and she’s sure Tom does the same with Gerri and Greg. Karolina even dropped a hint the other day, sending Shiv a little card with a cute baby pun and more than three references to the name Julia in it.
She may not be at Waystar anymore, but she’s sure as shit not letting Karolina pick her baby’s name.
“We should talk names.” She says, waiting for the fight to start, “I know you’re set on Lily, but I have an idea that might change your mind.”
“But Lily’s perfect.” Tom argues, “She’ll be pure and innocent and perfect.”
“Hardly.” Shiv snorts, “She’s our kid.”
“Shiv–”
“What about Rose?” Shiv asks, turning to Tom so he can see just what the name means to her and her family, “For my father’s sister. For a fresh start for us. Still a flower, so you can make up the same ungodly nicknames for her, but with a little bit of Roy in it.”
“I–” Tom swallows, “Rose. Rosie . Rose.”
Shiv lets him test out the name, lets him morph the sounds and nicknames into every emotion he can muster. She even giggles as he gets more and more ridiculous with it.
“I love it.” Tom says, “But are you okay with it?”
“It’s my suggestion Tom, I better be okay with it.”
“Seriously, Shiv. This will tie her to your dad, to the family stuff, forever. It’s a beautiful name, but it comes with its own set of baggage.”
“No it doesn’t.” Shiv says, smiling at him, “It’s just a name. It’s a well-loved one that ties her to being a Roy as much as being my daughter does. She can define who Rose is however she wants. She can be whoever she wants to be. She’s just a girl, loved by her parents and extended family, named after her great-aunt.”
Tom can’t help it. Shiv’s smile is so serene, her words so genuine and coming from such a mature and honest place, that he surges forward. He presses kiss after kiss to her, and she giggles and shrieks as he tickles her sides.
“Do you hear that Rose?” Tom coos, “You’re going to be so loved , little flower.”
“ Little flower– ” Shiv mocks between bouts of hysterical giggling, “Do not call our daughter that.”
“Whatever you say, honey bun.” He says, winking down at her stomach.
He’s totally going to call Rose that, and Shiv’s oddly okay with it. He’s weird, she’s weird, Connor and Willa are weird. Roman is weird . They’re a weird bunch, and their daughter will fit in just fine.
“You’re so loved, Rose.” Shiv whispers to her stomach as she goes to sleep that night, “So, so loved.”