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In her mind, there was never a good time to be sick. There was, however, a worst time to be sick, and that was right now.
Gerri has a lot of shit to look after at the moment. Kendall, the spoiled brat, had taken up stealing from gas stations and corner stores in the dead of night. She’s already gotten several angry phone calls from a handful of the store managers because, as much as they wanted him to stop, they’d never have the balls to reprimand the Kendall Roy themselves.
So, as always, Gerri has to clean it up. She distributes insanely large payouts (much more than the worth of a few vape cartridges and pencil sharpeners) and NDAs to keep their mouths shut. She’s 90% sure they’re scamming her, but she couldn't bring herself to care that much. Not when it was almost every night now. A new call, a new settlement, a new order from Logan to “keep this out of the news!” , it was exhausting. The stress has been getting to her, making her do things she would never do otherwise. Making her take phone calls that, if she wasn't in desperate need of an outlet, she would've declined. But she wasn't going to think about that now. She’s been through worse. She could handle it.
Her immune system has other ideas. On Wednesday, she feels unusually tired when getting ready to go to the office. On Thursday, there’s a tingle in the back of her throat that only worsens throughout the day. Then, when she wakes up on Friday, she has a splitting headache. Her sinuses feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton, her skin sticks to her bed sheets with sweat. With a groan she peels herself off her mattress and stumbles to the connected bathroom.
She looks like absolute shit, her eyes rimmed red and her skin dull and tired. There was no denying it- she was sick. Just great. She splashes cold water on her face and pops two Tylenol. It’s nothing makeup can’t fix.
—
Roman’s back from Management Training, she overhears some of the worker bees chatting about it as she takes the elevator up to the top floor. It's surprising to everyone in the building, Gerri included.They’d all been expecting him to take a long weekend after his flight, though he wouldn’t return until the next monday. But no, much to Gerri’s dismay, he was back.
She's barely had time to sit down in her office before he comes trotting in like a called dog.
“Guess who's back from hell?” he announces as he walks through the door.
“Welcome back, Roman,” she says, sorting through the (new) stack of papers on her desk. Thankfully, the Tylenol seems to be working. Her voice almost sounds normal.
“Aren't you gonna ask me how it was?”
“Not now, I’m incredibly busy.” She doesn't look up, squinting her eyes to read the paperwork on her desk.
He sits there for a while as she flips through the stack. She isn't going to entertain him, she already has a million things on her plate without tending to whatever this was.
Surprisingly, he doesn't try to goad her into talking to him. Without another word, he stands and leaves her office.
—
Her medicine-induced wellness is short lived, as it turns out. By midday, her headache has returned with almost blinding intensity, only getting worse as she continues to stare at the emails on her computer screen.
Apparently the nearby 7-Eleven has been taking a heavy financial hit as a result of Kendall's recent activity. She finds it hard to believe, but the owner is insistent. She’s already been called by him twice this month and she tried to diffuse the situation, but it was hard when it just kept happening. The owner was fed up, and the money they’d shoved into his mouth was no longer quieting his complaints. Next time I'm calling the cops, he emailed her.
Gerri wasn't sure the cops would even be able to do anything, Kendall had enough money to dodge any kind of punishment they threw at him. Regardless, it would surely bring unwanted media attention and get her in trouble with Logan, who'd explicitly told her no one apart from her and Jess could know anything about it.
That part was by far the biggest gripe of this whole situation. She wasn't allowed to even talk to Kendall himself about it for God knows what reason. Her efforts felt pointless- no matter how many times she smoothed things over, Kendall was just going to do it again. One step forward, two steps back.
She puts her head in her hands, applying pressure to her temples in an attempt to quell the throbbing pain in her skull. Her throat feels like sandpaper, like she's swallowed a handful of glass shards. She calls over her assistant Amy to fetch her tea from the break room. She knows better than to comment on the way Gerri's voice comes out congested and dry, just nods and walks off.
She's halfway through drafting a response to the 7-Eleven man, a mug of earl gray steaming on her desk, when Roman returns.
“Dad wants to know if you're done with the documents he sent you this morning yet,” he says as he walks in, “I don't know which ones those are exactly, but–”
He instantly clocks that she's not at one-hundred percent. He must notice the clearly unfinished work strewn across her desk, the way her eyes are glazed over as they stare at her computer screen.
“Gerri?” he waves his hand in front of her until she snaps back into reality.
“Oh, yes,” she looks at said documents, untouched and close to falling off the side of her desk. “Tell him I’ll get them to him by the end of day.”
Her voice, which she thought returned to normal after a few sips of tea, betrays her. She watches as Roman pieces it together.
“ Gerri ,” he gasps, a hand flying to grasp his chest in mock astonishment, “are you contaminating the workplace right now?”
Gerri tries to tune him out and continue on with her work. Her thoughts are moving in slow motion, and Roman’s rambing voice isn't helping.
“During this time of year? You know that shit spreads like a wildfire. Half this floor is ancient, their immune systems are shit! You could take them out with a cough! Think of Frank, Gerri, think of Karl-”
“ ROMULUS! ” Logan's voice booms throughout the floor and cuts through the walls of her office. Roman jumps, then tries to play it off with a stretch. He opens up his mouth and says something before exiting. Gerri doesn't hear what it is, her ears are ringing from the shouting and her headache has increased in intensity. She sits with her fingers pressed to her temples and tries to massage it away to no avail.
She opens her eyes and looks at her computer screen, what she's written reads like a first grader’s book report. She holds down the backspace key and watches as the clock changes from 1:59 to 2:00. It's going to be a long day.
—
Gerri doesn't get home until after eight. She’d spent the rest of the workday sorting through papers at a snail's-pace, her thoughts moving in slow motion. Her entire body aches, but she manages to change out of her work clothes and into loungewear before collapsing on her living room couch. She still has work to do- of course- but maybe it'll be easier from the comfort of her home, in sweats instead of a pantsuit.
Gerri’s just gotten herself settled- a plush blanket wrapped around her shivering body and her laptop balanced on her folded legs- when her door opens.
She jumps, the computer nearly falling onto the floor. Her head snaps to the entryway, where she sees Roman, looking about as shocked as she is. He’s balancing a large paper bag in his arms.
“Why's your door unlocked?” he asks, staring at the doorknob, his hand still wrapped around it. “It's not safe in these parts, I could be a murderer.”
“Obviously it was a mistake,” she snaps, she’s still visibly shaken by the intrusion. She takes a deep breath and composes herself, setting her laptop beside her.
“Well it's a good thing I’m here,” he says as he closes the door and turns the lock.
“How do you know where I live?”
“Your assistant is very loose-lipped. Handed your address to me like it was fuckin’– Halloween candy.”
Gerri groans. Amy’s only been working for her for a few months, but she thought she'd know better than to dox her to Logan's most annoying son.
“Anywho,” he kicks off his shoes and flops down onto the chair across from her, “I brought you shit.”
He sets the bag on her coffee table.
“It's soup,” he explains, “because you're sick.”
“No I’m not,” she says, the scratch in her voice less than convincing.
“Oh yes you are,” he laughs. “What is it, gonorrhea? Syphilis? Been sucking too much hooker dick?”
“Jesus, Roman, this isn't helping.”
“But have you?”
“ No ,” she puts her hands on her temples, her headache is worsening at a rapid rate. “It's just a cold.”
Roman smirks and leans forward to push the bag closer to her.
“Drink up, it’ll make you feel better.”
Gerri opens the bag and takes out the container of soup. Well, containers.
“My hurried internet stalking didn't provide me any info about what would tickle Madame Gerri’s taste buds.” He says off her confused look. One’s chicken noodle, and there’s also a broccoli cheddar from the looks of it. The rest are unrecognizable blends of vegetables and liquid, ranging in different colors and thicknesses.
Gerri pops the lid of the chicken noodle–best to go with the safe option–and inhales as the steam floats into her face. It smells good, she thinks. She wonders where he’d gotten it.
“This is way too much soup, Roman,” she says while gesturing to the remaining cups on the table.
He shrugs, “Consider me your catering for the week.”
Gerri takes a sip of the soup. It’s the perfect temperature, warm but not hot, and tastes as good as it smells. Roman stares at her as she eats, it's unnerving her a bit. The only sound in the room is her congested breathing.
She breaks the silence. “So, how was your management training?”
He snaps out of his stupor immediately, like he’s been waiting for her to bring it up all day.
“It was awful ,” he whines. “Everything and everyone there was boring as shit, never thought I'd miss the stupid Waystar building.”
She sips her soup as he recounts his time with over exaggerated dramatics. He tells her about the projects they had him work on, which were akin to “elementary school arts and crafts”. He tells her how nobody recognized him, which was actually a good thing because it saved him the embarrassment of explaining why he was there, even if it pissed him off. He complained about the stale prepackaged food and the “run-down” (five-star) hotel they stuck him in. Gerri lets him get it all out–it's kind of nice to just listen to him without having to add any insight other own. It's something to focus on other than how gross her entire body feels right now.
“It wasn't all bad, though,” Roman says after he’s done. “There were a few highlights.”
Of course, Gerri knows what he’s referring to, she can tell by the way he’s looking at her. There's something experimental in his eyes–a look between teasing and flirtatious, a hint of apprehension barely visible. Like he's scared he might be stepping onto a landmine. Maybe, if she was at her best, he would be. But as it is now, she's much too tired to seriously reprimand him for bringing up their unspoken… conferences.
Instead, she shoots him an annoyed look that she thinks might accidentally read as amusement, and changes the subject.
“What did your father want from you earlier?”
Roman looks at her like he doesn't know what she’s talking about. She rolls her eyes.
“After you left my office?”
“Oh, that,” he shrugs as if he's just remembering, like whatever it is wasn't a big deal, “He told me to bring Tabs on the trip next week.”
“The Pierce trip? He scheduled it?” Last she heard Logan was still trying to get Nan to answer his calls.
“Yeah,” Roman looks concerned, “didn’t you get the email?”
“I must've missed it,” She puts down her soup and picks her computer back up, scrolling down through her inbox for an unread message from Logan.
“Missing emails from the big man? Damn, you must be really sick.”
As he’s talking, a new email appears in her inbox. The subject line makes her stomach sink. Another message with Kendall’s name in the subject line, this time from a local bodega a few miles from the last one. She does a poor job of disguising the chagrined look on her face.
“What's wrong?” asks Roman, perceptive as always.
She shouldn't tell him, she knows this. There's probably a very good reason Logan’s kept it from him. He’s never been good at keeping secrets. And yet, as she looks over the email at another list of items she has to comp for another money-hungry business, she can't help but indulge him.
“It's your brother,” she admits, not specifying which one because nothing of note ever happens with Conner. “He's been shoplifting from gas stations.”
“What the fuck's he shoplifting for?” It's obvious that whatever he’d expected he to say, wasn't that. He comes to sit next to her on the couch, leaning to look at the email she has open.
“That's what I said,” she groans as he reads over the message. “Anyways, I have to make sure it doesnt get out to the media, we’re already in a rocky place from that suicide debacle. I just got the manager at a 7-Eleven to stay quiet about it, and now Kendall’s gone and done it again.”
“Why don't you just tell him to stop?”
“You dad told me I couldn't”
“Bullshit, why not?”
“I have no clue.”
Roman’s face twists into several expressions–intrigue, annoyance, jealousy–before landing on smug confidence.
“I'll tell him, then.”
Just perfect, she thinks to herself, now he's got a savior complex.
“Roman, don't do that, I shouldn't have even told you.” She tries to backtrack, but he’s made up his mind.
“No, I must. Ken’s shenanigans are obviously killing you,” he gestures to the tissues on the table and the blanket around her body, “and we can't do without our General Counsel during these trying times.”
“If Logan finds out I told you, you won't have a General Counsel either way,” she sighs, trying to start a response to this newest email.
“Told me what? I got an anonymous phone call.”
Gerri rolls her eyes. Fine, he can talk to Kendall if he really wants to, it's unlikely that it'll make any difference. She sends the message requesting a virtual meeting with the bodega owners early next week, hopes they'll keep quiet until then. Roman watches as she sends the email and then shuts her laptop with a snap.
“Hey!” she protests, reopening the screen to make sure his heavy-handedness hadn’t damaged anything.
“No more working for you, it's Friday night and you're burning up.”
“No I'm not!” she reaches a hand up to check her forehead. It does feel a bit warmer than usual. Roman uses the distraction to take her laptop and put it back on the table. He gives her soup back to her, now that she wont complain about.
“So, what does a sick Gerri do in her free time? Watch a movie? Run a bath? Vigorously jack it until you pass out?”
Don't encourage him. “I work, but seeing as you've forbade me from getting anything important done, a movie sounds nice.”
“What are we thinking?” He tries to reach over her to grab the remote on the side table, but she stops him, pushing him back.
“ We aren’t thinking anything. You're going home.”
“What?! Why?” he whines like a toddler being told they cant have another scoop of ice cream.
“I'm tired.”
“So? You can sleep, I'll let myself out.”
Absolutely not. “ Go , I don't want to get you sick.”
“What if I'm already sick?”
“Oh?”
“Mhm. Little Romey’s been licking subway rails and forgetting to take his vitamins.”
“You don't take the subway.”
He shrugs, “Trying something new, walked onto that car salivating like a fat kid in a candy shop.”
The mental image makes her stomach turn, “That's disgusting.”
It's only when she really looks at him that she realizes she's walked into his trap. She feels herself flush. She blames her cold.
She stands up, the chill of her apartment hitting her as she leaves her blanket-cocoon. She takes her almost-empty bowl of soup and the paper bag of extras into her kitchen. Roman follows her.
“I can feel it coming on, my throat’s a bit tingly,” he says as she’s placing the soups into her fridge. She notices how bare it is, and is thankful for the plastic tupperwares of soup filling it. Thankful that she won't have to go shopping over the weekend for food.
“Maybe you should stop talking then.”
“ Yeah? ”
She closes the fridge and turns around to find Roman leaning against her marble countertop. He's looking at her in that way again. She needs him to go before she does something stupid, like let him stay the night.
“ Yes , now leave,” she tries one last time, and he listens. She kicks herself internally for the sliver of disappointment she feels as he walks towards the entryway. She doesn't move from the kitchen. When he gets to the door, he turns around one last time. “See you at work?”
“Of course.”
He smiles and opens the door, “Hope you feel better.”
The door swings shut.
—
On Sunday afternoon Gerri lounges on her couch, nursing the last traces of her cold away with a cup of tea and another delicious soup complementary of Roman. Speaking of Roman, she's surprised he hasn't reached out to her yet, given their near daily communication since he went away to management training. She glances at her phone screen, the only notifications from her email inbox. She's glad he hasn't called, actually, it's given her time to recover. She’ll be better tomorrow, just in time for the meeting at the Pierces’.
She's finished the soup and tea and trashy romcom on the TV when her phone buzzes with a text. It's Roman, as if he could hear her thoughts.
Talked to Ken, told him to quit cosplaying as a broke teenager and to pay for his girly-ass vapes like a man.
I don't know if he’ll like, listen, but hopefully he'll stop being such a pain in your ass.
Gerri smiles at her phone screen. It’s a nice sentiment, she supposes, even if it’s unlikely it’ll change anything. She texts back.
Thank you.
I’d never turn down a chance to tell off my idiot brother.
For the food, as well. I feel much better today.
Anything for you, milady.
Gerri puts down her phone, satisfied with their brief conversation, but another text from Roman catches her attention.
Feeling better enough to talk strategy?
Before she can type out a response, her phone buzzes to life with an incoming call. She watches as it rings. “Talk strategy” , a likely story when it comes to Roman. However, she supposes she is quite bored, and it couldn't hurt to catch up with him before the trip.
Right before the call goes to voicemail, she picks up.