TITLE: HOTEL, part I
AUTHOR: Scott J. Welles
ARCHIVE: Yes, but please write and tell me where.
CATEGORY: f/f Slash
SPOILERS: For early season 8, up through "Never Say Never".
RATING: NC-17 (starts out milder, but you know I'll get there sooner or
later.)
SUMMARY: Borrowing a page from one of Aeris' stories (luvya, babe!) and
seeing what happens...
DISCLAIMER: All "ER" characters and institutions are the property of Warner
Bros., ConstantC Productions and Amblin Television.  This is written
strictly for entertainment value, no infringement of copyright or ownership
is intended, and nobody is making a profit on this piece.  As always, any
errors in continuity, characterization, or common sense are entirely my own
fault.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: As usual, DON'T READ if you're offended by f/f slash, but I
hope you'll enjoy this anyway!
SEND ALL COMMENTS (positive or negative) to scottjwelles@yahoo.com



Hotel, by Scott J. Welles


Part One...

(Monday afternoon...)

The flight attendants might not have noticed the odd pair, mixed in with the
other passengers all deplaning together.  And the woman at the car rental
desk might not have noticed that they were together - the younger one waited
with the luggage while the older one filled out the insurance forms and
rental agreements.  But the man who checked them into the hotel couldn't
have helped noticing that they were staying together, and wondering what
they might be doing with each other.  Two very different women, obviously
not related; one upscale, reserved and professional, the other laid-back and
casual, with a barely contained wild streak.  They didn't look like a pair
that could share a taxicab, let alone a hotel room.

As soon as the older woman unlocked the door, the younger one wasted no time
in bursting happily inside and letting out a decadent sigh.  Tossing her
oversized gym bag carelessly in the corner, she dived onto the nearest
king-size bed, bouncing happily.  "Dibs!" she called to her companion.
"Unless you want this one?"

"No, thanks," the second woman said curtly, lugging her shoulder bag and
rollaway suitcase inside and closing the door.

The young woman rolled onto her back, arms and legs spread-eagled, as if
making a snow angel.  "Ohh, man, I lo-o-ove hotel beds, don't you?"   Without
waiting for a reply, she bounced to her feet and dashed to the glass balcony
door.  "Oh, wow, and you can see the Space Needle from here!  That's so
cool!"

"What are you, suddenly, eleven?  Did our plane pass through a time warp and
regress you, somehow?"  The mature member of the pair was carefully
unpacking, hanging suits and blouses on hangers.  "I'm leaving you the
drawers on the left, okay?"

"Sure, whatever."  She reached in her pocket for a stick of gum, then
remembered she'd given Kerry the last one on the plane to help pop her ears.
"Anyway, excuse me for having fun, Dr. Weaver!  This is the first real
vacation I've been on in years."

Kerry stowed her empty suitcase in the closet and began pulling files from
her shoulder bag.  "Randi, you're not here on vacation," she said.   "I
brought you along because you promised to help me with my presentation, and
then only because you paid for your own plane fare."

"Don't remind me."  She'd had to cash in a lot of miles to afford the
ticket.  Thank God for credit cards that earned miles with purchases.

"And let's not forget that you begged like a baby for me to let you come
along."

Randi grimaced.  "Kinda hoping you would forget that part, actually..."   She
knew it had surprised everyone at County that Randi had chosen to spend her
vacation days at a medical convention in Seattle with Kerry Weaver.  Bitchy,
crabby, cranky, snarky, snappish Kerry Weaver, who seemed more on edge
lately than ever.  Weaver herself probably wouldn't have agreed to let Randi
share her room if Randi hadn't volunteered to help Weaver correlate her data
and organize her notes on her own time and without pay, further leading
people to wonder if Randi hadn't gone nuts.  But it would all be worth it in
the end if Randi was able to execute her master plan and achieve her primary
objective.

"Anyway, we should get started," Kerry said, laying out files on the table.
"Unless you want to unpack first."

Glancing at her bag, stuffed with clothes, toiletries, accessories and tapes
for her Walkman, Randi ignored it, hung up her leather jacket, and said,
"Done."

Kerry looked at the bag in the corner, then just shook her head with a sigh.

"So what are we lookin' at here?" Randi asked, joining Kerry at the table.

"Well, I've got all the notes assembled," Kerry told her, "but with all the
staff changes lately, I haven't had time to organize them chronologically,
or to put the slides and charts in the proper order."

"Uh-huh...?"

"Plus, I need to edit the text of my speech," the ER Chief continued, "and
I'd like to have had an opportunity to rehearse it.  But losing Chen and
Malucci, I just haven't had the time."  She said it almost normally,
clinical and businesslike as usual, but Randi had spent years learning to
read between Kerry Weaver's lines.  Every year and every new crisis brought
new lines around her eyes and mouth, each with its own sad story.  Between
the latest ones, Randi could see what Kerry would never say out loud: how
much the bitter departures of Dave Malucci and Jing-Mei Chen, and their
harsh final words to Kerry, had hurt her.  The rights or wrongs of their
respective circumstances notwithstanding, her burdens had increased.

"Hey, you know, we haven't had anything to eat since Chicago," Randi said,
considering it a wise choice on both their parts to skip the airline food.
Some things even Doc Magoo's couldn't prepare one for.  "Why don't we go out
for dinner, and then attack this stuff on a full stomach?"

Kerry shook her head.  "We've got a lot of work to do.  I'd like to have
done it on the flight, but those tiny little trays aren't big enough for
anything.  And the slides were packed away in my suitcase, anyway."  She
didn't mention the physical discomfort she'd obviously experienced while
flying.

"C'mon, Dr. Weaver, we've gotta eat..."

"That's why the Good Lord gave us room service, Randi," she replied, passing
the menu from the dresser without looking up.  "Why don't you have them send
up some coffee and snacks, or whatever you want for yourself."

Randi took the menu without enthusiasm, but gamely feigned her earlier
cheer.  "Ooh, room service," she trilled, "I just lo-o-ove room
servi-i-ice..."

Kerry ignored her, already engrossed in her notes as Randi ordered a burger
and fries for herself, plus a club sandwich and tortellini salad for Weaver.
Hopefully, she'd be able to get the workaholic Kerry Weaver to eat a real
meal instead of just noshing, and to lighten up on herself.  But privately,
she doubted it.

They ate while they worked and worked while they ate, falling into an
efficient language of bureaucratic shorthand.  They traded files and
snitched bites of each other's meals, Kerry filching fries between pages
while Randi appropriated bits of bacon from Kerry's sandwich.  They didn't
stand on ceremony or waste time with idle conversation, concentrating
instead on the task at hand.  For all her apparent flakiness, Randi was
capable of extraordinary discipline and concentration on detail work,
rivaling Kerry herself.  When she applied herself to such tasks, she could
focus and calculate as keenly as any bookkeeper or CPA.  It was one of the
reasons, she was certain, that Kerry hadn't fired her for dress code
violations long ago.

When at last Kerry pushed her chair back with a tired sigh, declaring them
done, Randi looked at her watch and was surprised at the hour.  "Man, look
how late it is," she muttered, stretching.  "Doesn't feel right."

"We're still on Illinois time," Kerry told her, standing up stiffly and
moving to turn down her bed.  Randi had seen her pull 36-hour shifts and not
look this weary.

"Dr. Weaver, are you all right?"

"Yeah," she replied shortly, sitting on the bed and rubbing her leg.
"Travel's always tough on me," she admitted.  "Sitting on the plane for
hours, hauling luggage, change of climate..."

"Huh."  Randi could see how it would be hard on Kerry.

"I'm sure it doesn't bother you as much," Kerry added, as if to shift focus
off herself.

"Nah, I love getting out of town," Randi replied conversationally.   "Hate
being cooped up, always have.  Especially since..."  She paused.

"Since doing time?" Kerry filled in.

Randi felt her dander rise at the mention of her incarceration, but she
didn't let her voice change.  "Yeah, that."  It was the first time she could
recall Kerry mentioning that particular sore point in years, since the time
she'd been the only one brazen enough to come out and ask Randi what she'd
been convicted of.  Randi had resented her for the question at the time, but
later had to respect her for her forthrightness, as well as for letting the
matter drop afterwards.  Romano, in her place, might have needled her with
casual mention of her jail time at every opportunity.  But Kerry didn't
care, so long as Randi did her job.

"I can see how that would make you appreciate the freedom to travel," Kerry
said.  "I'd enjoy it more myself, if not for the physical stress."

"Yeah."  Randi smiled.  "So what's on tap for tomorrow?"

Kerry stood and rummaged in her drawer.  "Well, I won't need you during the
day tomorrow, so you're on your own."

"Great," Randi said, looking out at the persistent drizzle that hadn't let
up since their plane had landed.  "Maybe I'll lay out by the pool and work
on my tan."

"But I'll need your help with my speech in the evening," Kerry added, coming
up with her toothbrush and a pair of pajamas, "so don't make any plans to go
out clubbing or anything."

"Yes, ma'am," she said to Kerry's back as the Chief disappeared into the
bathroom.  Another tender heart-to-heart with 'the Weav'.

Randi checked the pay-per-view movie list, but there was nothing good, so
she walked out onto the balcony and struck a dramatic pose against the
railing, gazing at the lights of Seattle through the rain and inhaling
deeply the refreshing scents of a city by the sea.

Eww, fish guts...!  She went back inside, choosing to strike a dramatic pose
from inside the climate-controlled hotel instead.

Looking at the beacon of the Space Needle's lights and listening to the
sounds of Weaver's shower, Randi contemplated her ulterior motives for this
trip.  Certainly, she intended to help Weaver with her presentation, as
promised, but she had an agenda of her own to address.  Her offers to help
Weaver with her presentation were genuine, but Randi also had no intention
of leaving the city until she'd accomplished one very simple goal.  Given
her luck in recent trips west, she didn't anticipate any real problems in
that regard.

Her secondary goal, to get to know the mysterious, perpetually guarded Dr.
Kerry Weaver a little better, was a little hazier.  She didn't really know
if it would be possible, but you never knew what an adventure like this
might bring.  It wasn't as high a priority as her main goal, but she'd
pounce on an opportunity if it presented itself.

In any event, however, both her goals would have to wait until tomorrow.
For now, best to sleep on things...


*  *  *


(Monday night...)

Randi awoke in the darkened room, lit only by what little diffuse light
seeped through the balcony curtains.  Something had triggered her instincts,
snapping her into full alertness - always a light sleeper, her time in
prison had increased her sensitivity to nocturnal sound and movement.  She
opened her eyes, tense and alert; something wasn't right.

The sound came again, faintly.  A short, almost involuntary noise from the
woman in the next bed, faint as a kitten's mewling.  Randi's first thought
was that Kerry was...um, enjoying herself ('You go, girl!' she thought...),
but as the sound came again, she sensed the strained quiver in Kerry's
voice.  Pain.

"Dr. Weaver?" she spoke softly.  "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."  The reply was bitten out unconvincingly.

Her eyes adjusting, Randi could just make out Kerry curled on her side,
facing away from Randi's bed.  Even before she started working at the
hospital, Randi had learned to tell a body that was resting comfortably from
one that wasn't.  "Dr. Weaver, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned.   Getting
out of bed, she moved to kneel on the edge of Kerry's.  "Are you sick?"

"No, it's nothing," Kerry said, a little too quickly, her voice on the edge
of breaking.  Her hands clutched one leg, drawn closer than the other.
"It's just a cramp..."

"Oh..."  Moving around to the other side, Randi carefully pulled back the
covers.  "Here, let me..."

"No, Randi, don't touch...!"

"No, it's okay, I've got it."  Her hands found Kerry's thigh, feeling the
rigid, unnatural tightness beneath the silk pajamas.  "Relax and just
breathe.  Trust me."

She could feel Kerry tense even more, girding instinctively as though for an
attack, but she didn't argue.  Randi heard her draw in a ragged breath and
blow it out again, trying to focus past the pain while Randi's hands soothed
and massaged her leg with a soft tenderness that surprised most people.

"How's that?" she asked.  "Better?"

"Mmm," Kerry grunted shortly.  It sounded like an affirmative.

"Yeah, I had a job once in a massage parlor," Randi said as she continued to
gently knead and stroke Kerry's thigh.  "I know what you're thinkin', but it
wasn't like that.  Just straight massage work, nothing extra."  She smirked.
"At least that was the policy when I started.  Then policy changed, so I
quit.  Or they fired me, depending who you ask."

Kerry didn't reply, and Randi, sensing she wasn't in a conversational mood,
elected to lay off the chatter.

The muscles and tendons under her hands softened to a normal state of
relaxation, but Randi could still feel an aura of tense discomfort around
Kerry, and it slowly sank in how awkward the situation must be for the older
woman.  Randi wore only a skimpy outfit of tee-shirt and bikini bottoms to
sleep in - she normally slept in less, but sharing a room with Weaver, she
felt obliged to display a little more modesty - and now she was practically
in bed with her boss, laying hands on her in a rather familiar way.  That,
in itself, wouldn't embarrass Randi (very little did), but she knew the
admission of weakness had wounded Kerry's dignity.  Randi's attentions,
though well meant, were easing a momentary ache in Kerry's body while
rubbing salt in her emotional wounds.

Sitting up and pulling her hands away, Randi let Kerry pull the bedcovers
over herself.  "No wonder you can't sleep," she said gruffly, standing up.
"You got the lumpy mattress."

"Must be it," Kerry answered stiffly.  They both knew the mattress was
perfectly comfortable, but it felt important to take the focus away from
Kerry and her physical shortcomings.  "Feels much better, thanks," the
doctor added quickly, almost dismissively.

"Sure, no prob."  Randi slipped back into her own bed, still feeling the
heat from Kerry's pajama'd thigh tingling in her palms.  "Night, Dr.
Weaver."

"Good night, Randi."  Kerry, rolling over and turning away, sounded relieved
that the conversation was over.

Randi lay still, watching Kerry's silhouette and listening for the change in
breathing that indicated sleep.  Both women were quiet for a long time, and
Randi had begun to drift off herself when she heard something.

It wasn't sleep, though, but another sound that Randi recognized.  She'd
heard it before - the faintly shuddering, choking quality of someone trying
very hard not to let anyone hear her crying.  The slightest shake of her
shoulders could be seen.  Did she know that Randi was still awake?  Would
knowing that make it worse for her?

Randi fought the urge to go back to Kerry's side and comfort her; such a
gesture would shame Kerry beyond endurance.  A failure of the flesh was bad
enough, but to be caught weeping by a desk clerk...  No.  Don't put her
through that.

Turning away in bed and trying to close her ears as best she could, Randi
had to swallow a lump in her throat and fight back a few tears of her own.
It was important to ignore Kerry's plight and respect her nominal privacy,
but it wasn't easy.

Sleep, when at last it came, was a mercy for both women.