Chapter Text
Gerri needed a drink.
Her feet were killing her, her back was aching. The DOJ was still breathing down her neck; the new Jiménez appointee was not friendly, to say the least. And that whole dust-up in the paralegal pool this week had not made anything easier.
So yes, she needed a drink, to soothe her nerves and ease her into her weekend.
She was still getting used to that concept…the weekend. While she still worked them more often than not, Tom was much more reasonable regarding regular hours than Logan ever had been. Or maybe that was a Swedish directive; European work schedules and all that. Either way, it was an opportunity to occasionally catch up on sleep.
Gerri took herself straight from the office to a frequented bar nearby. It had been open since the mid-80s, was all oak and red velvet. It was familiar. Comforting.
She slid up to the bar, ordered a martini. The TV above the bar was playing PGN, talking yet again about the Wisconsin legal fallout. Apparently Mencken truthers had caused problems in Madison today, but her eyes were on the scrolling feed below. “Breaking: DNC Lawsuit Against ATN Faces New Legal Hurdle from US District Judge.”
Gerri hadn’t realized a ruling had come in; it hadn’t been expected until Friday. She texted Karolina, then googled for a more detailed story. It would be a godsend not to have to fight the Courts and the DOJ simultaneously; they needed any delay they could get.
After a few minutes she tried to disengage from her phone, actually drink the martini she was here to enjoy. She looked up, towards the entrance, and froze a bit.
A familiar figure was silhouetted against the glass door, dark against the light from the late afternoon sun. For a moment, she hoped she was wrong, but as her eyes adjusted she saw the planes of his face, the lines of his nose, and it was unmistakable.
Roman.
They’d spoken in large email chains regarding the legal problems surrounding the election call, but those emails had been uncharacteristically professional and detached. There were times she’d suspected he wasn’t writing them himself, which could potentially be a massive liability issue. He’d avoided jumping on phone calls, which was endlessly frustrating given that there were certain legal issues she was not comfortable discussing in a written format. She hadn't seen his face or heard his voice in nearly 18 months.
Roman hadn’t seen her yet, was laughing with some man she didn’t know. As her eyes adjusted, she took him in. He looked well, relaxed. He wasn’t wearing a collared shirt, or a tie, just a t-shirt under his navy suit. The shirt was purple, which struck her as unusual. His hair had grown out a touch longer, was messier and looser than she'd seen for a long while. He looked like he’d seen some sun recently. He looked good. Healthy.
It was a stark contrast from those days surrounding the funeral, where he’d looked more and more like a shriveled rat every day.
She knew a few personal details of his life from Shiv and from her own forays into curious social media investigations. He’d spent much of the last year in Los Angeles, had been vaguely involved with some film financing. Notably not a Waystar Studios production, which gave her a twinge of legal concern. He’d been back to New York for Christmas and the birth of his nephew, but otherwise had stayed away.
Gerri wondered what brought him here now. She wondered if she should duck out unnoticed, avoid any drama that was sure to follow.
This thought passed through her mind a moment too late; she watched him scan the bar, watched him register her presence, watched his face drop into an expression she wasn’t sure she cared for.
She tilted her head and raised her glass to acknowledge she’d seen him. She watched him hesitate, turn to his companion, turn back to look at her again. Gerri put her glass down, wondering if he’d make up his mind.
Roman shook his companion’s hand. The other man left, and then Roman was walking towards her. Slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he should.
“Hey Gerri,” he said uncertainly.
“Roman.”
Tension sat in the air. They’d spent too long apart, or maybe too much had passed between them. Either way, the ease of conversation had been lost somewhere in the shuffle.
She chose to push past this. Gestured to the velvet stool beside her. “You going to stand around, or are you going to join me for one?”