TITLE: Fool for Your Love

AUTHOR: Ellen Hursh

RATING: PG

KEYWORDS: KW/LKo romance, fun

LAST EPISODE SEEN: "The Greatest of Gifts"

TIMELINE: April First (April Fools' Day), 2000

CROATIAN: "Hvala" = "thank you"

ARCHIVE: If you must.

DISCLAIMER: ER and all its characters belong to Warner Bros. No infringement of their copyright is intended. This story was written for the enjoyment of "ER" fans everywhere, and may be downloaded for your own pleasure.

SUMMARY/SPOILERS: Just when you thought it was safe to go back into the ER... no spoilers, but mild speculation re a very minor plot point from "Point of Origin".

PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Relative Safety; Off to a Rocky Start; Troubled Water; Comin' Home; Something in the Way; Heart of the Family; The Croatian Patient; It's No Picnic, I Tell Ya; Out of Control

AUTHOR'S NOTES: A big "thank you" to Ceindreadh and Miesque for their suggestions re pranks. And yes, I realize that some folks are written a tad "off-kilter" this go-round... but I'm still way ahead of TPTB on *that* score. Besides, it's my damn party, and I'll write it any way I want to (Way that I want to, way that I want to... you would write too, if you saw the real show. "Give her five Haldol".).

While the first of April *technically* started at midnight, the pranks didn't start in earnest until 6:34 a.m., when Cleo found herself with a little extra adornment around her eyes after using the microscope to personally check a patient's LP results. She couldn't understand why people were staring at her so oddly, until Lydia finally took pity on her and gently suggested that she consult a mirror. Cleo frowned, and went into the bathroom to look... the nurses all winced at the sound of the outraged shriek, a few seconds later, and quickly moved out of the way when Cleo burst forth, already in a fine rage.

"Where is he?" Cleo stormed into the lounge, where Luka was talking to Carol - he was taking a break, and she wasn't on until 7 - "WHERE IS HE? I'm gonna kill the little bastard!"

"Where's who?" Luka was puzzled by Cleo's fury. "You have a..." he pointed at his eyes, "right...."

"I KNOW there's something around my eyes! Where's that jerk-- DAVE!" She screamed the resident's name again, and moved on. Luka watched her leave the lounge, a thoroughly bemused look on his face.

"What on earth just happened?"

"Looks to me like Cleo was the victim of an April Fool's joke."

"April--?"

"April Fool's Day, the first of April? It's traditional to play pranks on people, anywhere from 'there's a bug on your shoulder' to putting a cast on someone's leg while they're asleep," Carol explained, thinking of that quiet December morning, a little over five years ago, when Susan and Mark had gone into the on-call room and stealthily put a cast on Carter's leg as he slept. (It hadn't been April Fool's Day, of course, but Mark and Susan had been *bored*.) Then they'd paged him, as the entire ER staff watched and waited, in eager anticipation, for him to come stumbling out. *Those* were the days!

"Oh. I see." He made a quizzical little face, indicating that he wasn't all that sure that he *did* understand, and got up to get some coffee. He still hated the dreck that passed for coffee in this place, especially in the doctors' lounge, but he didn't want to take the time right now to go get anything stronger from across the street, or even the cafeteria.

He reached for his mug - a "freebie" from Eli Lilly that advertised Prozac, that he'd latched onto as a joke - as he continued to talk to Carol, starting slightly at the feeling of something odd on the handle, but picked it up and took a drink anyway. When he tried to put it down, however, it stayed in his hand. "What the hell? *Glue*?!?" He tried to tug his fingers away, but he'd been holding the mug long enough that his hand was firmly stuck to it. "Dammit!"

"What happened?" Carol stayed where she was, and glanced curiously in Luka's direction as he continued to mutter what sounded like Croatian obscenities (they certainly sounded a little like what her mother had liked to scream at Doug!) and pull at his hand and the mug.

"Some - umph! - idiot's idea of a- an April Moron's joke, apparently," he growled. "Could you go find some solvent, please? Acetone, perhaps. I have *no* intention of going through the rest of my shift like this."

"At least it's handy, to have a coffee mug stuck to your hand." Luka glared at her, and she escaped from the lounge, trying - unsuccessfully - to hide a snicker at Luka's expense, and he finished his coffee as he waited, still grumbling. She returned a few minutes later with a small bottle and a rag, and carefully began the process of loosening his hand from the mug. A few minutes later, he was unstuck, and he distastefully set the mug aside and washed his hands carefully (only becoming stuck to the paper towel once, and only for a second).

* * *

He emerged from the lounge, still flexing his fingers and staring at the skin that was red where the glue had stuck him to the mug. Yeeuch. He momentarily forgot about his hand, however, when a panicked scream came from the on-call room. Both he and Carter rushed in to find that Kerry was awake and struggling against several strips of duct tape that secured her to the bed. Carter soothed her as Luka quickly pulled up the tape to free her; once she'd been extricated, she was indignantly furious. "The security in this place," she declared, "is *atrocious* - only a month and a half after Valentine's Day, and it's just as lax as it was before!"

"Then maybe it's a bad time," Luka suggested, "to mention that I'm going to head down to the cafeteria for some stronger coffee?" She rolled her eyes; the cafeteria's new espresso machine produced coffee that was, he said, a little sweeter and noticeably weaker than what he preferred, but at least it was fairly convenient, and not as terrible as the stuff in the lounge.

* * *

He encountered Kim when he got in the cashier line with his large to-go cup. "Hi. I didn't expect to see you in on a Saturday."

"Yeah, uh, I wanted to come in and work on some notes and dictations that I forgot to take home with me last night."

"Aren't psychiatrists the ones who say we never really *forget* to do something?" He was kidding, but he was surprised to see that Kim seemed very uncomfortable with that observation.

"Maybe. But I was pretty rushed when I was trying to get out of here at a reasonable time last night. Hey, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"That... depends."

"You're *sure* Kerry's seeing somebody?"

"Who, Kerry Weaver?"

"Yeah. It's just that... you'd said she's involved, but I've never actually *seen* her with anybody." He pretended to think about that for a moment, as he handed his money to the cashier, before he answered.

"She's a very private woman. I'm sure she just prefers to keep her social life separate from her professional life." He waited for her to pay for her salad and iced tea, and they walked away, both heading in the general direction of the elevators.

"Frankly, I can't imagine anybody tolerating her keeping him - or her - away from the hospital like that, the kinds of hours she works. I know *I* wouldn't." He was startled at first by the fervent tone in her voice, then decided that she must be joking... it was a very strange sort of April Fool's joke, but not that much stranger than Carol's example of "there's a bug on your shoulder".

"Ah! You nearly got me, Kim. Good one." She failed to join him in laughing, though, and he quit in mid-chuckle, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh. You... weren't asking for a 'friend', when you asked me about that, back in February, were you?" Kim looked past him for a moment, at a flyer advertising the blood drive next week - they had paused near the alcove just outside the cafeteria, where some of the vending machines were, and the blood drive flyer was taped to the soda machine, right next to the buttons for Dr Pepper and 7-Up - before returning her gaze to him.

"No. I wasn't," she admitted.

"Oh... *oh*. I had no idea."

"Why should you?" she asked him, as kindly as she could manage. "It's not a secret, but I don't advertise it, either."

"No, I suppose not." He felt a little conflicted at this point - he didn't have Kerry's permission to tell Kim about their relationship, but he also felt awkward, continuing therapy with someone who was apparently so strongly attracted to his... what *was* the word for what Kerry was to him, anyway? "Girlfriend" seemed so *juvenile*, like they should be passing notes to each other in class, and "lover", while being technically accurate (their relationship had a sexual side to it, and they loved each other), seemed slightly tawdry, somehow... there were so many words in English, but he wasn't sure which one was right for what they had. Kim picked up on his general unease, though, and misinterpreted it.

"Are you uncomfortable knowing that I'm gay, Luka? I know it bothers some people...."

"No, I swear it's not that." It was true - he *didn't* have a problem with that side of her. The only aspect of it that gave him any problems was, of course, her interest in the woman he was seeing; he would have had the same kind of problem with any *man* who was interested in Kerry. Although at least he could punch a man... there was no way in hell he'd hit a woman, even one who was pursuing Kerry: his mother had raised him better than that.

"Well, I know it's got to be *something*."

"Yeah. Um, it's not really something I feel comfortable talking about, though." Kim raised her eyebrows at him, her curiosity piqued.

"Oh. Well. If you don't feel comfortable, you don't feel comfortable, right?"

"Right. Um, I'll see you Friday for our regular session, huh?" She sighed as she watched him walk away in the direction of the stairs... maybe on Friday, after they were done, she could pry some details out of him, about Kerry's mystery lover. He obviously knew enough to be uneasy about the idea of talking about the subject, and the more *she* knew, the better she could try to compete.

* * *

Meanwhile, Dave fled through the ER, the entire time frantically scratching himself as he ran, with a thoroughly pissed Cleo in hot pursuit... brandishing the ER's sternal saw. Romano bemusedly watched the small procession whip past him, and barked at them to "Hey! Slow it down, you two!" when they nearly collided with a passing gurney. "Kerry, what the hell is going on here? Two of your residents nearly mowed me down in the hallway a moment ago." She sighed wearily.

"I'm sorry about that, Robert. Somebody on the staff has been playing pranks. From what I gather, Dr Finch blames Dr Malucci for putting ink on the eyepieces of the microscope."

"Huh. Malatucci there doesn't look like he could stand still long enough to do anything like that." Kerry had long ago learned that it was useless to try to correct what seemed to be a deliberate mispronunciation of Dave's name.

"He says somebody put itching powder in his scrubs."

"Uh-huh. Well! Nice to see you're keeping a tight rein on your department. As always." Kerry arched an eyebrow at his tone, and decided to ignore the sarcasm.

"I'm so glad you approve, Robert. You know, there are some really good brownies in the lounge." She took one from the pocket of her labcoat and offered it to him, but he shook his head..

"Nah. You said yourself that somebody's been playing pranks. Who knows what might be in them," he told her, waiting until she'd taken a bite, and relished the slightly worried look on her face.

They both started, and turned as they heard the whine of the saw's little motor, followed by a man's shriek. "Oh, my god, Malucci!" Kerry left Romano where he was, and hastily moved in the direction of the sound. She entered Exam 2, and had to bite her lip - *hard* - to keep from laughing at what she saw: Cleo had finally caught up to Dave, knocked him down and had her knee solidly planted in the middle of his back as he scrabbled helplessly, trying to get enough leverage to get back up. She was using the saw to shred the shirt off his body as Carter (who had been examining a patient when Cleo and Dave burst in) looked on, aghast. Carter's patient, fortunately, was too out of it to notice what was going on, aside from imitating the whirring noise of the saw once in a while. Of the four people in the room, none of them noticed Kerry's entrance until she loudly cleared her throat.

"Dr Finch? Dr Malucci? Is there a problem?" Cleo looked up from her perch on Dave's back, the sternal saw still in her upraised hand, as Dave continued to thrash around under her knee and make little protesting noises. Kerry bit down on her lip again at the sight of Cleo, with raccoon-like markings around her eyes, staring guiltily over her shoulder at Kerry. Carter kept looking from Cleo to Kerry, and back and forth, as though he was watching some kind of bizarre tennis match.

Dave made another attempt, and managed to raise his upper body up just enough to look at Cleo. "Ya know, Cleo, you're awfully cute when you're angr-- ow!" She suddenly "pistol-whipped" him with the handle of the saw, and there was a dull >clunk< as his head hit the floor.

"Cleo!" Kerry scolded. "That's inappropriate use of hospital equipment - if that saw's *damaged* in any way...."

"Sorry, Dr Weaver," Cleo said meekly.

"And Dave?" A little acknowledging whimper came from under Cleo. "Go get a shower, and a clean shirt."

"Sure thing, Chief," was his choked reply.

* * *

Carter finally finished with his patient and got her admitted, then slapped the chart into the "out" rack with an audible "hoo!" of weariness. "Randi, if anyone needs me, I will be taking a nap in the on-call room." She glanced up from her magazine, just long enough to nod, and was engrossed in her article again before Carter was even ten feet away from the desk. He casually greeted Jing-Mei with a cheerful "Morning, Deb!", and ignored the scornful little face she made at him as she went around behind the desk to sign in.

He eyed the little bed happily in the light that came in from the hallway, and slipped his shoes off before sliding under the meager covers, not even bothering to unwind his stethoscope from around his neck. Ahhhhhhhh... so delightful, to get a little sleep! He was subliminally aware of people quietly coming and going as he slept, but since nobody was turning on the overhead light or making any noise, he stayed asleep. At least, he stayed asleep until Haleh opened the door and called his name.

"Carter? We need you out here!" His first thought was that he'd been hit by whoever had taped Kerry to the bed, since he was frozen in place in the bed, but somehow the sensation was all wrong for *that*. She opened the door again. "*Carter*!"

"Uh, yeah, Haleh. I'm awake. Uh, I think I'm stuck." She sighed aggrievedly and switched on the light, then came over to him and tugged on the bedclothes.

"Oh, great. Quit struggling, Carter. Looks like somebody got you sewn in there *good*. Let me go get somebody." He couldn't see her, but he suspected she was trying *very* hard not to laugh. She returned a few minutes later, and he could hear what sounded like several choked snickers.

"Hello? C'mon, get me out of here, *please*?"

"Hang on," Lydia told him. "Whoever got you did a very thorough job of it." He felt movement around his body, and winced as she brushed against a sensitive area - he had no conscious memory of her putting a Foley in him, immediately after the stabbing, but he'd felt awkward around her for a while after returning to work... the second time. The covers were finally peeled off him, and he vaulted off the bed. "I think we need to do an exorcism on this room... who *knows* what might happen to the next person to come in here for a nap today!"

"So who d'you think is pulling these pranks?" Lydia idly inquired, as they left the room. Carter frowned.

"I don't know, but whoever it is, they're pretty twisted."

"Guess so." Carter stared suspiciously at her, at the bland tone of her voice, but shook his head. *Naaaahhhh....*

* * *

Jing-Mei's lipstick briefly went missing, and then turned up again. Or at least it seemed to turn up: her lipstick changed color shortly after she'd applied it, and she went about five minutes with green lips because she was busy with a patient... who was too fascinated by the color change to say anything. But she caught on faster than Cleo had, and irritably scrubbed off the lipstick in the bathroom, once she'd seen it in the mirror.

Then she pushed up her sleeves - metaphorically speaking, of course - and got busy thinking of how she was going to get John back for that. Photographic memories were good for more than diagnosing strange medical cases, after all - she'd once read a book on "How to Get Revenge on *Anybody*".

* * *

Kerry gladly handed over the ER to Mark when he showed up, and filled him in on what had happened so far that day. "Watch your back, Mark," she advised him, shortly before she left. Luka had left about an hour ago, and she wanted to pick up a few things at the store before she headed home. She had a few neat tricks she wanted to show Luka while it was still the first of the month.

She wasn't too worried about the pranks dying down, now that Luka, and now she, had left - their pranks had lit off a few rounds of "retaliation"... including the war that John and Jing-Mei had had going, back in January, and put on hold. But, now that they seemed to think that the other was in some way responsible for what had been done to them, they had carried on tormenting each other, and other members of the staff (they were even, Kerry was sure, starting to play tricks on the nurses, which she and Luka had decided from the beginning that they *weren't* going to do... but then, Carter seemed to be unwilling to learn from his "midnight potty training" of just three years ago), who were, in turn, beginning to respond.

Just as well that I'm getting out of here, Kerry decided, before I get hit with a *real* prank.

* * *

Later that afternoon, they lay in each other's arms, utterly exhausted from roughly thirty minutes of extremely... vigorous... exercise that had begun exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after Kerry came through the door, carrying several shopping bags. Kerry was the first to have enough energy to speak.

"That was a good touch, getting yourself like that." He stared at his hand, which was still a little red from coming into contact with the glue, and smiled thoughtfully.

"Hvala. It took some thought and effort, and it wasn't pleasant, but it was *worth* it."

"What would the others say, if they knew you had this side to you?" He laughed, and pulled her close for a kiss, that ended with him licking a dab of whipped cream off her neck, as she giggled: his chin was already covered with a nice raspy coat of stubble, and tickled her.

"*My* side? What about yours?"

"I don't know what you mean." She tried to look innocent, but a smug, thoroughly *non*innocent, grin kept sneaking back onto her face.

"How on earth did you manage to *tape* yourself to the bed?"

"A girl has to have her secrets, my love." He looked unconvinced, but accepted her non-explanation... especially when she kissed him *that* way. "Then I started screeching, and hoped that whoever came would be too busy pulling up the tape to look at how well it was fastened."

"Mm. Lucky for you, *I* pulled up the tape: it wasn't attached very well on the left side."

"Oh, wasn't it? I must be slipping, then."

"Slipping? You've done this sort of thing before?"

"Absolutely. Remember Jerry?"

"Uh... big guy, even taller than me?"

"His coffee was even worse than yours, yeah. Last year, he got most of the staff with an electric pen that gave off shocks."

"And you got him, huh? How'd you manage it?"

"Brownies. I don't know if you remember, but the man *loved* to eat. I went home during my lunch break, dosed up a batch of store-bought brownies, and sneaked them into the lounge." She snickered. "Jerry went right for 'em. Didn't even know what hit him."

"You put a *laxative* into the brownies?" He sounded horrified, but fascinated at the same time.

"No, not laxatives - he couldn't have done his job, if he was always running to the bathroom. Just a little methylene blue." He stared for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"I'm sure *that* was interesting!"

"Mm. He stared at everybody suspiciously for about a week afterwards, probably trying to figure out who'd done it to him."

"And nobody ever figured out it was you."

"I'm Kerry Weaver, alpha-bitch attending. I *have* no sense of humor, remember?"

"Mm-hm. As for me, I sometimes find it very handy that I'm not from around here." He exaggerated his accent slightly, and tickled her gently.

"Cut that out, you," she ordered, and grabbed at his hand, which had started to wander.

"Hey... I never got Romano. Did you?" She smiled slyly at him.

"He should be getting his surprise any time now."

* * *

Romano finished with some minor paperwork, and leaned back in his chair. Coming in on weekends *sucked*, but at least this way he could keep an eye on his "troops", and make sure they weren't plotting. For instance, if he'd been in charge when that "sexual harassment" crap was going on, he could have squashed it *immediately*, before it ever got to the point of his Lizzy talking to Kerry.

And Kerry... she was a real problem for him. She did well enough as ER chief, he had to admit, even though there seemed to be more problems down there, now that she was in charge. Not as many problems as he would have hoped, given the circumstances, but it was just a matter of time until things blew up in her face. He'd definitely expected resistance from her and... what was his name, Martin Bean? at that staff meeting, back in September; he'd even anticipated that they'd split ranks at the last minute, once the balance of power (a balance he'd expected, otherwise he would never have agreed to that meeting) had become clear to Kerry.

And practically offering her the chief's position right in front of Greene, that had been *inspired*: it had guaranteed that Greene would be unwilling to offer her his support on some future occasion that she *really* needed it. And she *would* need all the support she could get, if Romano had anything to say about it... and he *did*. Just give me an excuse, Kerry, give me some reason to nail your skinny little ass to the wall, he thought grimly, as he played with the pen he'd been using for the paperwork. Eliminating her support from the other attendings, however... that was going to be much trickier. He still hadn't been able to prove his suspicions, that she was having an affair with the new guy - he was probably going to have to bring in the PI he always used when he was trying to dig up dirt on a colleague. Hopefully, Broder could find out something useful about the new guy... Kojak? Kodak?

A knock at his office door startled him out of his Machiavellian musings. "What is it?" he demanded, and a uniformed delivery man appeared in the doorway, carrying a parcel that was about the size and shape of a VCR.

"Package for you, sir. Just need you to sign for it," he informed Romano, and held out a clipboard with several forms attached to it. Romano grunted with annoyance, and scrawled his signature on the line with a big "X" on it, and all but snatched the parcel away from the delivery man. "Have a good day, sir," he said, not even bothering to hint for a tip (some people, you just *knew* they'd never tip in a million years).

"Yeah, whatever," Romano muttered, having already dismissed the man from his mind. "And close the door, on your way out!" He'd meant to do that, when he came in here a few minutes ago, but had forgotten. He smiled and rubbed his hands together greedily as the door clicked shut - now he was free to open his package in total privacy, and see what kind of free goodie he'd received from... Cygnatech. He wondered what it was - maybe it *was* a VCR, of the sort they sometimes used in the OR, to tape laparoscopies. Well, nothing said he *had* to pass it on to the OR... okay, okay, so the official *policy* was that he had to do so, but surely nobody would mind if he "borrowed" it, and used it at home for a little while. True, he didn't actually need a VCR, but if he had *two* VCRs, he could run off some copies of those *special* tapes he had.

He eagerly opened the package, but stared at the brightly colored... *thing* inside, totally confused. What on earth was this? He got his answer sooner than he expected, as the thing trembled gently, and then quickly began to get bigger. He screamed, and dove under his desk, as it expanded to fill most of the available space in his office, but realized that - due to the door being shut - nobody would be able to get in to help him. He was going to have to help himself. Well, nobody knew more about helping themselves than he did, so... something sharp... something sharp. A letter opener? Maybe.

He cautiously poked his head out to investigate, and saw that he'd been attacked by what appeared to be some kind of self-inflating device. A pool toy, perhaps?

Now... where had he left that letter opener? Ah. He reached up and carefully opened the left-hand drawer of his desk, then rooted around in there until he felt it, and drew it out. The blade was gold-plated, just like his stethoscope, and the handle was jade, with his name picked out in tiny gold letters. Cost him a pretty penny, but what was the use of money, if you couldn't flaunt it occasionally? He thrust upwards with the blade now, aiming for what seemed like a nice pneumatic part of the thing... and nothing. The blade bounced off the rubber, or vinyl, or whatever the thing was made of.

Damn, that blade wasn't worth *crap*! Great. Okay, he told himself, what else is there in this office? He tried to remember if he had any scalpels in here - there was no *reason* for him to do so, but there was also no reason for him to have a camera hidden in his office... just in case a trio of hot Scandinavian stewardesses should ever come in and want to have their way with him. Had never happened *yet*, but it was always *possible*. He rummaged in the center drawer of his desk, and finally found a package of #11 scalpel blades... but no scalpel handle.

Well, he could hold a scalpel blade between his fingers, if that would get him out of here. He popped a blade out of the container, and poised it between his fingertips, searching for the best place to make the cut. Then he shrugged - it didn't *matter* how he made the cut, as long as he got this damned thing deflated and got himself out of here, and home.

Still, he had to admire his own cuts - wouldn't have left a scar, if he had made those incisions on a human! Soon, the pool toy - or whatever it was supposed to be - lay in a huge flaccid mass of vinyl, all over his office, and he started gathering it up and wadding it so he could throw it away. So, a *package* for him, eh? He recognized that red-headed bitch's hand in this. Bet you think you're funny, Kerry, he thought, absolutely furious after the scare he'd gotten. You're not going to be laughing so hard after *I* get through with you!