The scene opens up onto a small private boarding lounge in Naha Airport; Okinawa, where Hans von Richtoven is currently seated, rifling through a magazine placed on his lap, while a travel bag lies at his feet.

As the camera moves closer, the view outside the large glass windows is dominated by the sight of the von Richtoven family jet, currently being prepped for flight, but the attention is soon back on Hans, as he fishes his iPhone out his pocket, and turns it on, intent checking his messages before he spends the next few hours in the air.

A slight chuckle escapes his lips as he makes his way through the various texts he's received, before a smile forms as he realizes he has a missed call from Vanessa. Placing the phone to his ear, he starts the voicemail.

At the sound of her upset voice, Hans' eyes widen, while he covers his other ear with his free hand, and hunches his shoulders forward, blocking out all else as the message continues.

As soon as the voicemail comes to an end, he dials her number almost frantically, as the scene fades out to black momentarily, before resuming with an interior shot of Hans von Richtoven's bedroom in his Empire States Building apartment several hours later. Faint traces of moonlight filters in through the wooden slats; casting a soft, if intermittent glow across the front edge of the bed and the soft carpet before it.

The wooden door into the bedroom swings open slowly, pushed as it is by Hans von Richtoven's right foot, as he balances precariously on the left, hands full with cradling a slumbering Vanessa Lang. As he takes a few steps into the room, the camera zooms in at the dining table just past the door, an empty bottle of scotch, and a half empty wine bottle sat right in the middle of it.

The camera zooms back out, and pans round to bring the bed into full view, as Hans gently sets Vanessa down on it, the covers having already been pulled down previously; in preparation. Lost in a deep sleep, Vanessa barely stirs as Hans ensures she's not in any position to fall out of bed, before pulling the covers up over her, and kissing her gently on the forehead.

He takes a few moments to watch her sleeping form, before retracing his steps, and leaving the door only somewhat ajar with one hand, while reaching for the two bottles with the other. He pads across the floor to the kitchen segment of the open plan room, and opens a drawer, reaching in and drawing out a rubber bottle stop which he slides down the neck of the wine bottle, before placing it alongside a mortar and pestle at the back of the counter.

Eyeing the empty bottle of scotch suspiciously in the low light, he raises it to his nose, sniffing it. His reaction is immediate, as he gags from the strong smell, and moves the bottle away from his nose sharply, before stamping his foot on the waste basket catch, and dropping it in with a loud clang.

As the glass bottle slams into the bin; its impact barely affected by the various bits of detritus at the bottom; his ears prick up, and he winces visibly at the noise, waiting for Vanessa to wake. Time seems to drag, but after a handful of seconds, he's satisfied she's none the wiser, as the scene fades out again momentarily, before coming up onto the familiar looking lounge section of the apartment. Judging by the large clock mounted on the wall, it's early afternoon, and along with the sound of pots and pans being moved, only the large wall mounted flat screen tuned to HWA-TV break the silence.

The camera pans to bring Hans into view, dicing up several small chorizo sausages before throwing them into a pan alongside some sun dried tomatoes and then covers with a homemade sauce. He checks the pasta currently boiling away in a pan next to it, and adjusts the heat, before making his way to one of the two leather couches, and settling himself down onto it, as Senester’s response to Eddie K airs once more.

(Vanessa): I still can't believe it.

Hans cranes his neck round, shifting his position on the sofa as he does so to bring Vanessa into his view, the camera panning around to match this.

Vanessa Lang; clad in a simple white strapless top, form fitting knee-length jeans while her feet remain bare, stands in the doorway, hands preoccupied with running a brush through her lustrous hair, while her eyes move from the TV to Hans. She takes a small step forwards into the room, further revealing a bandage wrapped around her lower leg at, and around the point of the break caused by Butch Parker; the final stage in healing process.

As Hans' eyes drop to the bandage, Vanessa coyly twists the leg, 'posing', allowing him a clear look.

Hans chuckles quietly, as his eyes move up her body to eventually lock gazes with her own.

(Vanessa): Like what you see?

(Hans): I'm liking the jeans. Bet you're pleased you can stop wearing those jogging bottoms now…

Vanessa's face breaks out with a smile, her eyes glancing down at her lower half momentarily.

(Vanessa): Oh, like you wouldn't believe!

She takes another few steps into the room, while Hans gets to his feet, stretching his arms out and arching them back to banish any tiredness from his body.

(Vanessa): Another fortnight or so, and I can start wearing tights again. Give it a month, and I'll be back in heels!

Hans wraps his arms gently around her waist, drawing her close, smiling down at her.

(Hans): God forbid any further inconvenience to your sense of fashion caused by this injury.

Vanessa leans up, kissing him tenderly, before breaking the embrace, and making for the couch. Hans graciously steps out of her way.

(Vanessa): Exactly.

She flops down onto the spot previously occupied by Hans, who leans down, bracing both his arms on the arm of the sofa, concern etched on his face.

(Hans): How are we feeling this morning?

A somewhat sheepish expression forms on her face at his words.

(Vanessa): Better, thank you. I must have been in such a state last night. Sorry honey.

(Hans): Don’t worry about it. Seriously…

He kisses her on the forehead once more.

(Hans): Just try to lay off the scotch when you’re working yourself up in future, ok?

The sheepish expression remains as Vanessa nods at this.

(Hans): You still set on resigning?

(Vanessa): Mm-hmm.

She nods her head in the direction of the dining table in the room corner, where a small white envelope can be seen on its edge.

(Vanessa): It's all ready. I don't want to send it, really… but…

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself.

(Vanessa): What choice do I have? I'm not some plaything to be used in a sick game.

She chokes back a small sob, before burying her head in his waist. Hans in response slowly runs his hands through her hair, comforting her.

(Hans): Shh. Shh. It's ok. I won't let them make you do it.

Vanessa's response is muffled through the fabric of his jumper.

(Vanessa): Promise?

(Hans): I promise.

They stay silent for a minute, just enjoying one another’s company, before Hans raises a question.

(Hans): Think it'd be ok if I took over your seat?

He inclines his head towards her, smiling.

(Hans): Only fair, seeing as how you've just taken over mine.

(Vanessa): Oh ha-ha.

She pinches the skin on his left arm causing Hans to recoil back sharply.

(Vanessa): Very funny mister.

Hans draws back a few steps, nursing the skin on his arm with his right hand, laughing all the while, causing Vanessa to stick her tongue out, before giggling briefly, unable to help herself.

(Hans): Give it some thought. Jason and my good self commentating? The ratings would be through the roof!

(Vanessa): Uh-huh.

Hans turns his head back towards the pasta he’s left on the hob, and moves across to it, his head still fixed on Vanessa.

(Hans): Well before we see about sorting this out, we’ll have lunch. Sound good?

(Vanessa): Yeah, that’s sounds good.

The scene fades to black.