Kevin is adamant about calling the police and getting me to a hospital. The prospect doesn't thrill me, but if he's right that I was drugged, I can see that it's better for there to be proof of that.

He calls 911, briefly explains the situation, and tells the dispatcher where we are. The entire time I'm listening to Kevin's end of the call I'm thinking about how crazy it is that I want to have been drugged. The alternative, that I somehow drove myself from Port Charles to JFK without having any memory of doing it, is too scary to contemplate. Kevin seems pretty sure I was the victim of some sort of foul play, but what if he's just-

"Laura?"

Belatedly, I realize he's not on the phone anymore. "Sorry. What?"

"I said we should probably go sit in my car while we wait," he repeats. "That way we can run the heat and get you warmed up."

We could just as easily run the heat here, of course, so I reach for the ignition.

Kevin catches my hand. "Don't."

"What? Why?"

"We're sitting in a crime scene, honey," he answers gently. "They'll dust for prints."

"Oh. Right." The tight knot in my stomach relaxes a little. If Kevin is thinking of my car as a crime scene, he's not saying I might have been drugged just to make me feel better. He really believes someone else brought me here.

"Stay put," he says, "and let me come around."

He helps me out of the car and steadies me until dizziness subsides, then leads me the few steps to his car and opens the back door on the passenger side. It doesn't occur to me to ask why he wants me to sit in the back, but a moment later it makes sense-as soon as he has the engine running and the heater on he comes and gets in beside me. There's no console between us now, and when he reaches for me I press myself as close against him as humanly possible.

Some unknown length of time passes in silence, and I slowly begin to feel more like myself. The last of the nausea recedes, and the lingering pall of wrongness goes with it, replaced by the familiar feeling of being safe in Kevin's arms. I bury my nose in the open collar of his shirt and breathe him in, relieved to smell his familiar scent and not-

"Aftershave." I've said the word out loud without even realizing it was on the tip of my tongue.

"What?" Kevin asks.

"The guy...the one from the Metro Court...he was wearing a lot of aftershave or cologne or something. Did you smell it in my car?"

"No," he says, and after a moment adds, "but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Women have a much more acute sense of smell than men do. Would you recognize it if you smelled it again?"

"Yes."

"Something to tell the police, then."

The words are no more out of his mouth than flashing blue lights appear. God, I am not looking forward to the next few hours.

"It's alright," Kevin murmurs, apparently picking up on my renewed tension. "Just tell them what you told me." He presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. "Come on. It'll be okay."

And to my pleasant surprise, that actually turns out to be true. The responding officers take my story seriously, taking my statement and sending for a crime scene unit. Kevin was right-they really are going to dust for prints. They also want to send for an ambulance, but we manage to convince them to let Kevin drive me to Mount Sinai.

An NYPD detective meets us there, and my trip through the emergency room is greatly speeded along by a) the presence of the detective and b) the fact that a med school classmate of Kevin's is the Chief of Emergency Medicine here. Doctor Zilstad wasn't working today, but Kevin called her, and she's here now.

The only really unpleasant part of the whole thing is when Detective Gutierrez insists that the ER nurse do a rape kit. My objection is...strident, you might say...and Kevin literally steps in between us. I think he's afraid I'm about to hit a cop. He might not be wrong.

"Could you give us a minute?" he asks mildly, speaking to her but looking at me.

She leaves.

"I wasn't raped," I snap at Kevin. I know I'm taking my anger out on the wrong person, but he's the only other person here right now, and I do not want to go through this again.

"I believe you," he answers, spreading his hands. "But she's doing her job, Laura. It's part of the investigation."

"I would know if anything had happened!"

"I believe you," Kevin repeats in that same even tone. "But I'm also ninety-nine percent certain that your tox screen is going to come back positive for Rohypnol, and it's not unreasonable for the police to want to rule out sexual assault as a motive for your kidnapping."

That draws me up short. "You think that guy Roofied me?"

"Based on what you described of your symptoms? Yes. It's not the only drug that would produce time-loss, dizziness, and nausea, but it's certainly the most common."

He gave me a date rape drug. The realization is enough to make me feel sick again. The aftershave-wearing mystery man didn't rape me-I'm confident of that much-but he certainly could have.

Kevin's hands wrap around my shoulders. "Look at me," he says, and I do. "If you really can't do this, honey, I understand. It's your choice. But somewhere down the line when they catch this guy, I think it could be important."

I understand what he's saying. The fact that I wasn't raped is evidence. Of what, exactly, we're not sure yet. But it could be significant in an eventual trial. Not that I particularly care about that in this moment.

"I just want to go home," I blurt. I just want this to be over.

"I know." His hands come up to cradle my face, and he rests his forehead against mine. "I know, honey, and I'm so sorry."

I close my eyes and lean into Kevin's touch, making myself take a few deep breaths. "Okay. If you think it's important, then...yes, okay. You can ask them to come back in."

He hugs me hard, then steps out into the hallway. I'm right on the verge of changing my mind again-I really do not want to do this-when I overhear the nurse say to Kevin, "You can wait right by the door, Mister Spencer. I'll be as quick as possible."

I can't see Kevin's face, but the moment in which he might have corrected her comes and goes, and he doesn't say a word.

Which amuses me just enough for the nurse and Detective Gutierrez to get back into the room and close the door before I can decide this isn't a good idea. You can do this, I tell myself. You weren't raped, and you're not a kid anymore, and you're not here all alone this time, and you have no reason to lie to anyone about what happened. That was then, and this is now.

Ten minutes later it's all over. Detective Gutierrez is gone with the kit and my clothes, I'm dressed in a set of hospital-issued scrubs, the nurse has gone to get my discharge paperwork, and Kevin is back at my side. And if the death grip I have on his hand is at all painful, he hides it well.

I can't remember the last time I felt so exhausted. And we still have a five-hour drive back to Port Charles. At least, I think that's true until Kevin speaks again.

"They need us to come to the police station tomorrow," he says quietly. "For exclusionary fingerprints and to get your car back. I took the liberty of finding us a hotel room."

An hour ago I'd have argued. Now I'm fine with whatever plan puts a locked door between us and the rest of the world the fastest. "Okay."

Kevin seems to know this area pretty well-he finds the Radisson with no trouble, anyway-but I can't conjure up enough energy to ask him about it. I do manage some curiosity when he takes his overnight bag out of the trunk, raising a questioning eyebrow at him.

"I had no idea what was going on," he reminds me, and shrugs. "I figured better safe than sorry, so I threw some stuff in a bag before I left home."

I'm sure it's a sign of my frayed mental state that I'm annoyed with him for having his things. Hell, if I'd known I was going to be kidnapped, I'd have packed a bag. I do at least manage not to say that out loud.

This hotel is close enough to Mount Sinai for my scrubs to be an unremarkable sight in the lobby, thankfully, and in short order we're up the elevator and into our room.

"I want a shower," I announce, and head in that direction without waiting for an answer.

By the time I turn the water off a good half-hour later, I feel nearly human. Human enough to feel bad about being so abrupt with Kevin, anyway, and I wrap a towel around myself and stick my head back out into the room.

To find Kevin sprawled fully clothed on the bed nearest the bathroom with his arm over his eyes...and my travel kit and my nightshirt laid out beside him. I stare at them for a long moment, trying to force my tired brain to make sense of their presence. It takes me longer than it should to work out that he obviously "threw some stuff in a bag" for both of us, not just himself.

Reason number four thousand three hundred eighty-seven to be grateful for this man.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and give his shoulder a gentle shake. "Kevin?"

"Hmph?" He blinks up at me in sleepy confusion, then shakes himself and sits up. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

He's as exhausted as I am, I can see now. "It's alright."

He glances toward my kit and shirt. "I guess you saw your things?"

"Yes. Thank you. I'm very relieved not to have to put those scrubs back on."

"I can only imagine. I, uhm...I tried to bring you some clothes, too. I'm bad at it. Stuff probably doesn't match."

I laugh. "I'm sure whatever you brought is fine. The fashion police are the least of my worries right now."

"Right." He studies me for a long moment. "You're feeling better."

"Yeah, I am. The shower helped, and this helps-" I reach out to pluck at the soft fabric of my sleep shirt. "-and most of all you help. I can't imagine what today would have been like if you hadn't come after me."

"It never occurred to me not to come," he answers, completely matter-of-fact.

I hug him with all my strength, and he wraps me up and hugs me back, burying his face in my damp hair to whisper, "I love you, Laura."

I can hear all the things he's not saying, the I was so worried and the Thank God you're okay and the If I ever get my hands on the bastard who did this to you…

"I love you, too," I answer, and hope he can hear my unspoken things as well. Knowing Kevin, he probably can.

We hold onto each other for a few minutes, until a knock at the door startles me almost right off the bed.

"Whoa, easy," Kevin murmurs, catching me so that I don't end up on the floor. "It's okay. I ordered us some food."

I grab my sleep shirt and head back to the bathroom while he goes to deal with the delivery guy. By the time I emerge Kevin is beginning to unpack what appears to be enough Chinese food for a small army.

"I'll do this," I offer. "You go change."

He does, and when he comes out a few minutes later we sit down on opposite sites of the room's slightly-too-small desk/table and start to eat. I wouldn't have said I was hungry, but that doesn't stop me from putting a substantial dent in the chicken lo mein Kevin ordered for me.

While we're eating, he fills me in on all the drama surrounding the board vote and the fate of the hospital. I'm relieved that my unplanned absence didn't result in disaster, at least. I'm also touched that however worried Kevin was about GH, he was obviously a lot more worried about me.

For the first time it occurs to me that in a way his day has been worse than mine. I was unconscious for most of it, and he was awake and worried sick. From the way he's putting away his dinner, I'm guessing he didn't eat any lunch.

"Guilty," he admits when I call him on it. "By that time I was out looking for you."

"What did you think had happened?"

"Nothing good. Though at that point I was thinking more along the lines of your having been in a wreck or something. I wish the idea of tracking your phone had occurred to me sooner."

"I'm impressed that it occurred to you at all. You found me. That's what matters."

"Yeah," he agrees, and reaches across the table to touch my hand. "I was very relieved to see you in one piece."

There's a wealth of emotion behind his simple words, and I turn my hand to catch his fingers before he can pull away. "When I woke up...and figured out where I was...I was really scared. I didn't know what time it was or how I'd gotten so far from home or...or anything. And I felt sick, and I couldn't think clearly-"

"Laura, you don't have to-"

"But then you found me, and when I realized it was you there by the car I got this...this bone-deep sense of peace. Like no matter what had happened, it was all going to be okay. And I was right. You helped me figure things out, and you listened to me, and you believed me-"

"Did you really think I might not?"

"I wasn't sure I believed myself, Kevin, not at first. Everything was so jumbled up in my mind that I couldn't even tell what was real and what wasn't. But I knew you were real, and that gave me something to hang onto until I could get everything else straightened out. I want you to understand how much that mattered."

"I'm glad I was there when you needed me."

"I'm kind of starting to count on that," I admit, even though it scares me a little to say that out loud. "Your being here, I mean. Earlier, in the ER, when I said I wanted to go home...I meant with you."

"I hoped that was what you meant," he says slowly, "but I didn't want to ask in case...well, in case maybe it wasn't."

"You didn't want me to feel pressured," I translate, having developed a fairly comprehensive Kevin-to-English dictionary over the course of the past several months.

"Right."

"I don't. I haven't. You've been incredibly patient, and I appreciate that, but the truth is I don't even remember the last time I spent a night at Lulu's. I only go by there to pick up my mail. And I guess today has made me realize how silly it is to pretend that I'm not sure about you...about us...when I am sure. I've been sure for a while."

He studies me for a moment, then smiles the most wonderful smile. "Then when we're done here tomorrow, we'll go home. Together. And sometime soon I'll help you get the rest of your stuff from Lulu's."

"Deal."

He squeezes my hand again, then releases it. "In the meantime, let's get ready for bed, huh? I for one could use some sleep before going another round with the NYPD."

"Yeah. First, though, do you mind if I call Lulu? I know we texted her earlier, but...well, if this were the other way around I'd want to hear her voice."

Kevin hands me his phone-mine is somewhere in a police evidence locker-and busies himself clearing away the remains of dinner while I reassure Lulu that I'm fine. She doesn't sound entirely convinced, and I'm not all that surprised when she eventually asks to speak to Kevin. I think she is surprised that I agree to put him on.

And I surprise even myself by going to brush my teeth rather than lurking around to listen to Kevin's half of their conversation. Whatever he wants to tell-or not tell-Lulu is up to him, and I'm fine with that.

He's off the phone by the time I come out of the bathroom, and all he says before going to take care of his own nighttime routine is, "She'd like to see you tomorrow."

When Kevin comes out of the bathroom I'm sitting on the edge of the same bed he was napping on earlier, and I force myself to speak before he comes to lie down. "You might want to sleep in the other bed. I'll probably have nightmares tonight, and I have a tendency to come up swinging. I tossed Scotty across a room once."

A raised eyebrow is his only comment on that revelation. "Do you want to sleep alone?" he asks after a moment. "Because if it's all the same to you I'd just as soon take my chances."

"No, I don't." I admit. "I just thought I should warn you. I'm not...I'm not even sure I'll be able to sleep."

"Then let's just watch some TV for a while," he says easily. "I have it on good authority that I have a knack for choosing documentaries that put other people to sleep."

He props some pillows up against the headboard and settles down, and I snuggle myself up against his side with my head on his chest. He turns off the lamp and channel surfs until he finds some show I've never heard of about sheep ranchers in New Zealand. I close my eyes and let the narrator's voice wash over me without really listening to the words. Kevin begins to rub my back in long, slow strokes, his palm warm through the thin fabric of my shirt.

This is nice, I think, still convinced that I won't actually fall asleep. Until, of course, I do.