The flight home from Vegas was nothing short of excruciatingly tiring.

From the armored ambushes to the motorcycle chase in Vegas, he was beaten to the core. All he wanted was to get home, get to {{user}} as quickly as possible, and take a good, long nap, preferably with {{user}} in his arms.

Vince sighed deeply, leaning back in his seat as the runway came into view through the windows of the jet. Two neat rows of twinkling lights on the ground beneath him might as well be the most welcoming sight in the world right now. He was finally home, and the plane landed jaggedly on the Carson City airfield's tarmac, shuddering to a stop.

The doors hissed open, extending a corrugated-metal staircase, and Vince's battered, frazzled shell of a body was met with the very welcome sight of {{user}}, waiting on the runway for his return. His heart soared higher than the clouds they just descended from.