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"Son of a bitch!"
Gerri sighs. God, she loves Roman, she really does, but after the day she's had, she has absolutely no brain capacity left for whatever it is that he's up to that has him screaming at the top of his lungs in her apartment.
Tom has been CEO for six months, and never in her entire career has Gerri thought about retiring more than she has in these last six months.
It's after eight and she's starving, her back is killing her, and she's exhausted from another day of navigating Tom's insecurities, Matsson's arrogance, and Greg's... well, everything. Sometimes she feels like she's spent her whole career cleaning up the messes of men who think they know better than her. Will that be her legacy when she finally does retire? Wonderful.
Slipping off her coat and stepping out of her heels, Gerri sighs in relief. She really has no business wearing such high heels at her age, but to change her shoes now would be to admit defeat, and Gerri Kellman has yet to be defeated.
She pads towards the living room where, as expected, she finds Roman perched on the edge of his seat, a bright green blow-up chair that she had given him for Christmas. His fingers are flying as he stares at the TV, so tuned in to his game that he doesn't realize she's home. She rolls her eyes.
"Fuck you, cocksucker!"
"Funny, I've been thinking the same thing all day," Gerri says.
Roman jumps, startled by her unexpected presence, but then he leaps up, whooping in excitement.
"Fucking finally!" he yells, Gerri wincing at his volume. "I've been sitting here twiddling my dick for ages!"
"Oh, well excuse the fuck out of me," Gerri retorts. "You know, not all of us are spoiled brats who get to lay around murdering virtual zombies all day. Some of us have jobs to do."
"Sounds boring," he says. He gives her a once-over. "You look hot."
Gerri rolls her eyes.
"Oh I'm sure," she replies sarcastically. "I never look hotter than after a fourteen-hour workday."
Roman, undeterred, slinks towards her, waggling his eyebrows in what she's sure he thinks is a seductive manner.
She arches an eyebrow, holding a hand out to stop him in his tracks.
"Leave me alone, you little sex pest," she says. "It's been a long fucking day and all I want is a martini and my bed."
She turns to walk out of the room, grimacing when her back pulls uncomfortably. Roman catches the look on her face, his own face morphing from amusement to concern.
"You okay?" he asks, gently grabbing her arm.
She smiles tiredly, allowing him to pull her towards him, running his hand up and down her arm. As she leans into his touch, she can't help marveling at how far they've come.
__________________________________________
About two weeks after the deal went through, he called her. She was so surprised to see his name that she missed the call, instead staring at her phone as it rang out.
He didn't leave a voicemail, and she didn't call him back.
He called again two days later, late at night. For some reason, this time she picked up. Before she has a chance to say anything, he's word vomiting in her ear.
It's a maelstrom of "I'm sorry's" and "I didn't mean it's" until finally he lands the perfect line:
"You were the only person who ever gave a shit about me and I fucked it. As is my specialty."
That gives her pause.
"Fucking up is not your specialty," she says slowly, sincerely. "Although it definitely is one of your many talents."
That earns her a small chuckle. He sobers quickly though. She can hear in his voice that he means what he's saying.
"I did fuck it though, Gerri," he says. "I know that. I took out my grief and anger on you and you didn't deserve that."
"I-,"
"And you are good at your job."
That does it for her.
"Rome-," she starts, voice wavering. She's furious with herself, furious at the way her emotions have betrayed her, furious that this man has burrowed so deeply under her skin. But she has to admit, hearing him say that she was bad at her job all those weeks ago hurt more than any insult Logan had ever thrown her way. She was accustomed to Logan's moods and knew how to let his words go in one ear and out the other. But Roman? She knew at the time that he didn't mean it, of course she did, but hearing those words come from him after all they'd been through, after all of his talk about "Rockstar and the Molewoman," his (mostly) unwavering faith in her during her tenure as CEO, well, to say it hurt would be a gross understatement. But as he retracts that statement now, so earnestly, so sincerely, she can feel the hurt start to melt. She clears her throat, blinking away the tears that had collected in her eyes as he continues.
"You are," he insists. "Better than every other fuckwit in that building, by miles."
She scoffs.
"I don't need your validation," she says, trying to cover her vulnerability, unwilling to give him any satisfaction just yet. "I never have, and I don't intend to start now."
There's a long pause before he responds.
"I know that, Gerri," he says seriously. "But I need you to understand that I didn't mean it. It's important to me that you know that."
She's momentarily speechless. She doesn't know what to say, so she goes with the truth.
"I- I do know that, Roman. I promise."
He breathes out heavily, relieved.
"Good," he says firmly. "Glad we got that figured out."
"Me too."
"So," he says. "What are you wearing?"
__________________________________________
After that phone call she agreed to go to dinner, and the rest was history. He hadn't officially moved in yet, but based on the fact that he had spent all day in her apartment after having spent the night tells her that his moving in is imminent.
Roman is rubbing her arm, awaiting her response to his question.
She shakes herself out of the memory.
"I'm good Rome," she says. "Just old and tired."
Roman pulls a face.
"You're not old," he says firmly.
She chuckles.
"I am, but thank you."
She pulls out of his grasp, heading towards the bedroom. He follows dutifully, like the little puppy he is.
"How about a bath?" he asks. "Could help your back?"
"Mmm," she hums. "That sounds amazing, actually."
Happy to have found a way to help, Roman speeds past her, disappearing into the bathroom to prepare her bath.
She shakes her head in amusement. When she reaches the bedroom, she can already smell the candles that he's lit, and she can hear Miles Davis flowing out of the Alexa speaker that her daughter bought her for her birthday.
She undresses and slips on her satin robe. She drifts into the bathroom, smiling at the view before her.
Roman is on his knees next to the bathtub, carefully pouring in bubble bath and watching as the water turns to foam.
He looks up as she comes to stand next to him, rising to his feet to help her into the tub. She sheds her robe as he watches appreciatively, whistling as if he were at a strip club. She rolls her eyes but says nothing.
When she's settled, he turns towards the door.
"Not joining me?" she asks.
"Not tonight, milady," he responds, and then he's gone.
Gerri shakes her head at his antics and closes her eyes, letting Miles Davis' rendition of 'My Funny Valentine' lull her into a light doze. She opens her eyes when she hears footsteps, signaling Roman's return.
He wordlessly places a martini on the rim of the tub, then settles on the floor next to the tub. She takes a sip and smiles fondly at him as he rests his head against her arm where it sits on the edge of the tub.
They sit quietly for a few moments, Gerri sipping her martini and Roman stroking her arm gently, when he disturbs the peace.
"So, bad day?"
Gerri lets her head fall back, groaning.
"What would you think about me retiring?" is all the answer she gives.
Roman's head shoots up.
"What?"
"I don't know," Gerri says with a sigh. "I'm just so tired. I was used to your father, you know? He was difficult, of course, but I was used to that. Now, with Tom and Matsson, I have to relearn everything. How they think, how they work, what they want. And on top of that, Matsson brought with him a brand new version of misogyny that includes pointing out my age at every opportunity as if he needs to make himself feel 'woke' for having a doddering old woman on his staff. He thinks it makes him look like the ultimate feminist, I think it makes him look like a douche."
"Too fuckin' right he looks like a douche," Roman pipes up.
Gerri sighs again.
"It's just...," she starts. "Maybe he's right. I am getting older, I mean I can't go a single day in heels anymore without my back screaming at me by the end of the day. I'm exhausted all the time, I've been getting horrible headaches, I-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Roman interrupts. "This isn't you getting old, you bitch."
Gerri arches an eyebrow at him.
"No, I'm fuckin' serious!" he insists. "You're not over the hill, you're over-fucking-worked! Tweedledumb and Tweedledumb-er and their little whore Gregory are sitting up in their ivory tower jerking each other off while you do all the actual work because you're a sexy genius and they're all world class morons."
Gerri chuckles.
"Maybe you need a vacation," Roman suggests. "A vacation with yours truly."
"Oh yeah, that would be super relaxing," she replies, sarcasm dripping off of each word.
He giggles, and they lapse into silence. She can feel his eyes on her as she lets her head fall back again, eyes closing as she does.
Gerri isn't sure how much time has passed, but when all of the bubbles have gone and she's drained her martini she determines that it's time to get out.
"Rome," she says quietly, looking over at him. He, of course, is still looking at her, his giant doe eyes boring into her as they always seem to do. She can honestly say that there is no one in the world who sees her the way Roman sees her, a fact which both unnerves and thrills her.
He jumps up, holding out both hands to pull her up. She can't help the groan that escapes her as she stands. She rolls her eyes at herself, tries to shake Roman off of her, determined to prove that she can do it herself. She isn't some feeble old woman. However, she's taken aback when she hears Roman's soft but firm voice and feels his grip move from her hands to her waist.
"Stop," he whispers. "You don't have to prove anything to me. Just let me take care of you for once. Let me be your knight in shining armor; God knows you deserve an opportunity to be the damsel of this relationship at least once."
She giggles, but the sincerity of his words lands heavily on her heart. Let me take care of you. If there's one thing Gerri Kellman has never needed, it's someone to take care of her. She's been taking care of herself as long as she can remember. Even when she was married, she kept Baird at an arm's length. But with Roman, keeping him at an arm's length grows more and more impossible every day. He's like a leech, attaching himself to her and burrowing in. At this point, she thinks that only a medical procedure could remove that leech from under her skin.
So, she surrenders, letting him help her out of the tub and into her robe. She's tying the belt of the robe when the doorbell rings. She looks at Roman in confusion, but he lights up, sprinting out of the room and throwing an "I got it!" over his shoulder.
She's just sitting down to remove her makeup when he re-enters the room, this time holding a large takeout bag.
"Got your favorites," Roman says, puffing out his chest proudly.
Her gratitude must show on her face because his eyes are twinkling in that way they do when he knows he's made her happy.
"Come along madame," he says, holding out his arm for her. "Your table is ready."
She rolls her eyes, but his excitement is infectious. She takes his arm and he leads her out of the bathroom into the bedroom, where he has set up the ultimate dinner-in-bed setup. There are trays for their plates and candles on both nightstands. A fresh martini sits next to the candle on her nightstand. It's a tempting setup but-
"Rome, we can't eat in bed. We'll make a mess."
It's Roman's turn to roll his eyes.
"C'mon babe, live a little!"
"Babe," she mutters, bristling at the nickname. "What happened to 'milady?'"
"Hush," Roman says, ushering her around to her side of the bed, helping her gingerly climb in, wary of her back. Apparently she has no say in the matter of where she eats her dinner.
Moments later, the food has been distributed and the room is silent save for the cult documentary playing on the television.
"Who at Waystar would be the first to join a cult?" Roman asks, breaking the silence.
Gerri laughs.
"Are we talking about Waystar-Gojo or Waystar-Royco?"
"Either one."
"Greg," she decides. "In either scenario."
Roman bursts out laughing.
"I mean, you might say he's already joined a cult seeing as how he's basically sold his soul to Waystar," she continues.
"I'm telling him you said that," he says through giggles.
"Be my guest," Gerri says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I can't wait to hear his thoughts."
When they finish eating, Roman clears the trays and blows out the candles. He climbs back in the bed with her, pulling her close. She snuggles up next to him, sighing as she closes her eyes, finally content.
Roman's chest steadily rising and falling under her head combined with the low sound from the television has almost put her to sleep when her eyes fly open.
"Fuck!"
Roman, who was apparently also quite relaxed, nearly jumps out of his skin.
"What? What's wrong? Is there a fire? I don't know where the fire extinguisher is in your apartment!"
Gerri rolls her eyes, pushing herself into a sitting position, wincing as the pain in her back returns, and with a vengeance.
"No, there isn't a fire, idiot," she grinds out. "I forgot to take off my makeup. You distracted me with the food and I never did it."
She starts to heave herself out of the bed, cursing under her breath, but Roman beats her to it.
"Hang on," he says.
She frowns, but doesn't move, electing instead to watch as he climbs out of the bed, disappearing into the bathroom. She can hear him rummaging around and is about to get up and see what he's doing when he comes back into the bedroom, his arms full of products.
"Roman, what are you doing? That was all organized!"
"Relax, bitch," he says. "I'll put it all back."
"Fine," she concedes. "Did you happen to procure a mirror that I can use while in bed?"
"Nope," he says, plopping onto the bed next to her. "Lay back and close your eyes."
"Roman-"
"Do you trust me?" he asks earnestly.
"In life, or to take my makeup off for me?"
He doesn't respond, simply makes himself more comfortable. He drops the products between them on the bed and gently pushes her shoulders until she's leaning back against the headboard.
"Just close your eyes," he repeats.
She doesn't know why she listens to him, but she does. She leans back and lets her eyes fall closed.
His hands are warm when they touch her face. He removes her glasses and then gently, so gently, as though she were made of porcelain, he runs a makeup wipe over her face, removing foundation and mascara as he goes.
When he's finished with the wipe, he moves on to the serums and creams. She knows she's tense, but she can't help it. The control freak in her is deeply uncomfortable, and she's tempted to stop him and finish the job herself. She opens her eyes and starts to sit up, but Roman has clearly already sensed her distress because he stops what he's doing, taking a moment to rub her shoulders.
"Just relax," he says quietly. "I know what I'm doing."
As he goes back to his work, she can't resist asking the question that's on her mind.
"How do you even know how to use any of these things?"
Roman chuckles softly.
"Well, one of the benefits of being literally obsessed with you is that I tend to pay pretty close attention to your every move."
"Creep."
"Yeah, well, creep or not, I've got you figured out Kellman. What are you gonna do about it?"
She smiles.
"Not a damn thing."
"Damn right," he says, pushing her back against the pillows. "Now close your eyes and keep 'em shut, bitch."
She rolls her eyes, but she obliges, letting him return to his work. As he rubs the creams into her skin, she tries to relax, tries to let herself be taken care of.
It's quiet for several minutes, the gentle pressure of Roman's fingers on her face lulling her back into a light doze, the tension seeping out of her.
She's almost asleep when she feels a featherlight kiss planted on her forehead.
"Beautiful," he whispers.
She opens her eyes, locking her gaze onto him. She leans forward to kiss him, overwhelmed by her love for him. She doesn't even notice when a tear slides down her cheek.
Roman wipes away the tear, but says nothing. He knows her, and he knows that she's overwhelmed. She's so unaccustomed to someone taking care of her that she doesn't know what to do. But he does. He kisses her one more time before gathering up his supplies and retreating to the bathroom to put everything back in its place, allowing her a moment to collect herself.
When he returns to the bedroom, she's sitting in the same position. Her eyes follow him as he turns off the lights and climbs into bed, turning off the television before opening his arms, wordlessly inviting her to snuggle back in next to him. For a moment, it seems like she might be frozen, her eyes wide as she stares at him.
"C'mere," he prompts softly.
This seems to shake her out of her stupor, and she slowly scoots towards him, resting her head on his chest and allowing him to wrap his arms around her. She throws her leg over his, entwining them further, sighing deeply when she's comfortable.
They're both quiet now. Gerri is turning over the evening in her mind, finding herself overwhelmed again. She doesn't know what to do with all the love and gratitude she has for him in this moment. In every moment, really. She doesn't know what she's done in her sorry life to deserve this strange man and his devotion to her, but she prays to a god she doesn't believe in that she gets to keep him with her forever.
Roman's breathing is growing slower, steadier, a sign that he's falling asleep, and she's not far behind him, but then she remembers his question from earlier.
"Yes," she mumbles.
Roman shifts slightly, lifting his head to look at her.
"Yes, what?"
"I do trust you."
Silence falls over the room for a moment, until-
"In life, or to take off your makeup?"
She chuckles softly.
"Both."
He kisses her head in response, squeezing her tightly. She smiles, finally closing her eyes and letting sleep take her.
When she wakes up in the morning, she feels more refreshed than she has in months, maybe even years.
She makes it into the office, and despite the constant irritation from her colleagues, she finds her thoughts drifting less towards retirement and more towards her future with Roman. Retirement will come when she's ready, but for now, her little slime puppy will do. No, she reminds herself, not for now.
Forever.