There's lots to unpack. | Succession | Tom & Shiv

Sharp Edge

Tom enters their apartment building, flagged down by the front desk.

The front desk attendant informs him, "Mr. Wambsgans, Ms. Roy wants me to inform you that she'll be back shortly. She just took Mondale for a short walk."

Tom nods in acknowledgment, replying, "Ah, okay, thank you. About how long ago did she leave?"

The front desk attendant responds, "She left approximately 25 minutes ago."

Tom then makes his way toward the elevator. As he rides up, he contemplates the timing. It shouldn't be long before they return. Unlocking the door to their apartment, Tom steps inside and closes it behind him. He glances around, taking in the familiar sights and sounds of their home.

He busies himself by setting down his belongings. Removing his coat, jacket, and shoes, he moves towards the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, a cool gust of air greeting him. Ah, there it is, the bottle of white wine, begging to be uncorked. With a smirk on his face, Tom expertly pops the cork, reveling in the satisfying sound that fills the room.

With practiced ease, he pours a generous amount of the golden-hued liquid into the waiting glass. The wine cascades smoothly, filling the glass with its crisp and delicate essence. Tom can't help but appreciate the small rituals that enrich his life.

Soon after, the sound of footsteps echoes in the hallway. Tom's ears perk up, recognizing the familiar rhythm of Shiv's stride, accompanied by the pitter-patter of their loyal furry companion, Mondale.

"Tom?!" Shiv calls out as she enters their home—Mondale, off-leash, leading the way to Tom.

"Hi Shiv," he says as he approaches and leans in for a peck. "Was Mondale ancy to get out?"

"I just wanted the chance to clear my head a bit before the big talk," Shiv states subduedly.

Tom nods, acknowledging her statement, and replies, "Gotcha," he says.

"And I think it's shitty, Tom, that you want to talk things through now - this night as if we are not already dealing with the ramifications of last week's fight. You leave me in the morning with an ominous lingering bomb. All day, you never say when you are coming back," her words hold a coolness that hints at a level of reserve, indicating a desire to maintain a sense of composure.

"You can always call me, Shiv."

"Oh, sure, and get the CEO's secretary telling me he can't take my call now?" Shiv expresses her frustration. "But if I leave a message, you'll get back to me," she says, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"Call my cell, Shiv," Tom suggests, seeking a more direct line of communication.

Shiv responds with a hint of skepticism, "What? So Greg will pick it up?"

"I don't think I've ever had Greg pick up a call from you," Tom says, clarifying the situation.

"But it's not outside the realm of future possibilities."

Tom offers an alternative solution, "Just text me, and I'll text you back—only me."

"Okay. Yeah," Shiv agrees, slightly uncertain.

Tom reassures her, saying, "Okay? Yeah, good. Don't think of it as an ominous chat; it's a check-in."

"Our week in review. Oh boy," Shiv remarks.

"You just want to ignore our issues for now while we process the past two weeks," Tom states, seeking clarity, "and in the meantime, I'll sleep in the guest room, and we'll act as if we're roommates?"

"You can be my bedmate," Shiv proposes.

Tom responds, genuinely intrigued, "Why do you want that?"

"Why?"