Author's note: Here be porn. Rating changed.


Regina is dizzy, pleasantly so. She cannot shake that word - pleasant - and nothing has ever been so pleasant as Robin's mouth over hers, his tongue sliding against her own. He tastes like ash, like the last guttered pull of rookweed from their makeshift pipe, but she finds she doesn't mind the flavor one bit.

She feels golden, the air sparkling in her lungs, and his hand is warm and steady on her neck, and when it squeezes slightly she pushes back against it, lets her head fall back into the cradle of his fingers, and he's on her throat with a hungry groan that goes straight between her thighs. He wants her, she thinks with a little thrill. Not five minutes ago she was talking casually about her murderous history and he is entirely undeterred and his teeth are scraping lightly over her pulse and she grips her fingers into his shirt and she feels golden.

She wants his throat, too, wants to feel that stubble under her tongue so she pushes his head up and leans in for a taste. She feasts on his skin, lips and tongue, and he tastes like salt and groans like she's already got him balls-deep inside her and now that's all she wants, him and her, naked and sweaty, and not a single care in the world. She wants to fuck him right underneath this apple tree and let the whole world see for all she cares. She thinks of poor scandalized Snow, of the shocked look she'd wear if she happened across them, and Regina breaks away from his skin with a burst of giggles. Her nose falling to his shoulder, her hands fisting around his vest.

He's laughing with her, surely has no idea why, and when he tips her face up all she can see is his, so beautiful, god, how does she ever manage to get anything done when he's around? She'd known she was attracted to him, had been trying to ignore it, but this, this wanting is fierce, all-consuming, she needs him right now.

"Are you sure about this, Regina?" he asks her, he still has enough of his wits to be a gentleman, and she sucks her bottom lip into her teeth and nods and says yes, and she's certain, and then he's kissing her again.

She feels like she is unwinding, like she's been mummified, living in darkness, shackled down, straightjacketed for so many years by grief and vengeance and darkness and this, right here, right now, this is simple. She's going to have sex with Robin Hood, and not because she's duty-bound, or because she employs him, or owns him, or scares him, but just because she is herself and he wants her, and she wants him. It's so simple, so unbridled, so far from anything she's ever had, she's never been taken to bed by a man simply because he wanted her.

The realization slams into her like a wrecking ball, knocks the breath out of her, and for a second she wants to cry, because it's so cruel, so unfair, that she's lived this many years and never been wanted, not since Daniel and that had barely had a chance to begin before he was taken from her, they'd never progressed past the wanting to the taking, and she tears her mouth from Robin's and looks at him. His eyes blink open, a little dazed, the blue darker than she remembers and is it the moonlight or the making out, she's not sure. Regina doesn't know what he sees on her face, but it must be something because his brows draw together in concern, and the hand he'd had tangled in her hair shifts so his thumb can caress the corner of her jaw, gently.

"Second thoughts?" he asks her, and she shakes her head. No, that's not it, she's not having second thoughts.

But she wonders if he might be, and while she has no desire to end this, doesn't want to afford him a second chance to back away, there's something stuck on her tongue, swirling through her off-kilter mind, and what she means to do is echo his question, ask him Are you sure you want this? but what comes out is "Are you sure you want me?"

His head tilts slightly, and he smiles at her, breathes out a chuckle like she's a being a dope, and then he says her name again, Regina, that way he says her name, and his hands are moving, skimming down from her hair, down her neck, across her collarbones, and off her shoulders, and the feel of it in this rookweed haze, the slow drag of his fingers over her skin, makes her draw in a deep breath, drop her head back and just revel. She forgets her moment of self-doubt, forgets everything, and then he is kissing her neck, small, barely-open-mouthed kisses, dotting up her throat, and he nips at her chin, nudges it down with his nose until she is looking at him again, and he says to her, "I have wanted you for quite some time now." His smile spreads, and he teases her, "Would I be so attractively persistent if I didn't?"

The grin splits her face instantly, unbidden, and she's snickering again, and leaning her face forward, into his, until their foreheads bump, noses brushing and she's still laughing when she mocks, "How dare you use my own words against me," and Oh, how dare I, he teases right back, and then they're kissing, and it's less urgent than before, but no less heady. Just lips, and tongues, and breath, and it's good, easy, and his teeth scrape her lip and she wants him to do it again, wants him to do everything again, her body feels so... it all feels...

His hands are moving, and they're veering away from the safe places they've been occupying, abandoning her hair, her neck, her arms, and finding her belly, her hips, one skims up and gropes eagerly at her breast, and she moans, can't help herself, and they're still sitting side-by-side, twisting and craning to get at each other's mouths, and this is ridiculous when she could just be on top of him. She moves to make it so, tries to climb over into his lap, but she kneels on her own skirts, isn't used to this particular maneuver in a dress like this, but Robin, oh, Robin has spent years in this forest, no doubt cavorting with any number of ladies in unsavory establishments, and he simply reaches over and scoops her skirt up with one hand, hooks it behind her far knee and tugs her over him like she's a rag doll. He barely breaks the kiss as she settles straddled on top of him, knees and shins against the hard stone underneath them, his hands gathering her skirts up until they're free and puddled around their hips.

And now, with her on his lap, he pulls away enough to peruse her hungrily, bands his arms around her torso and pulls her up so he can kiss over her chest. She should've worn something more low-cut, she thinks. She hadn't planned on wanting access to her cleavage as she sat in her solitude and mourning. Henry crosses her mind with a pang of sadness again, but no, she's not supposed to be thinking about that, she's supposed to be thinking about anything else, so she tugs his head back and kisses his mouth again, and his hands are cupping her chest again, and this is better, this is good.

Except the stone is digging into the skin of her shins, the bench not quite deep enough for her to span it fully. The edges hit just above her ankles, just below her kneecap, and it is uncomfortable. Even more so, when she rocks enough to grind her hips down against the hardness she can feel in his pants. Robin groans, and moves a hand to her hip to urge her on.

"Why don't we - take this - somewhere - more private," she manages between kisses, and he nips that lower lip again, tugs it lightly with his teeth and she needs his mouth in other places. All the other places. Regina is dizzy, she is golden.

He groans, a disappointed sound, and she frowns down at him. What the hell can possibly be wrong with a request to move things to the bedroom?

"If it means I have to stop touching you long enough to walk to one of our chambers, I'm loathe to relocate..." he says, nearly pouting at the idea and Regina shakes her head at him. So silly, thinking they'd actually have to move in order to go somewhere else.

"Robin," she says, moving back until her feet are on the ground (if she stumbles a little, it's because she's climbing backward off him and not because her brain is buzzing pleasantly, that's what she tells herself) and tugging him up with her, pulling his arms around her waist. His body bumps against hers just in time for her to whisper conspiratorially, "I have magic."

And then it's all purple smoke.

They land in her chambers, but barely, they're inches from the edge of her balcony, and Regina can't help a chortle. Half a foot further from her target (which was a good several feet closer to the bed than where they are right now - perhaps attempting this sort of magic while not entirely in her right mind is unwise), and they'd have landed in midair. "Oops," she snorts, gripping his sleeves in her fists, and he eyes the railing curiously.

"A bit close, Your Majesty," he teases, and she shakes her head and tells him Regina, and he nods, repeats, "Regina," and she likes the way it sounds coming from him. Her name. It sounds good. Right. She wants him to say it more.

And she's telling him, "My aim is a bit off," as he backs her against the rail, his palms gripping it on either side of her. She is trapped and pleasantly so.

"Is this sturdy?" he asks, and she nods, and then he is pressed firmly against her, flush from chest to thigh, the rail digging into her hips as he kisses her fiercely.

There's a breeze tonight, stronger up here, and they're exposed enough that it makes her skirt flutter against her legs, tosses her long, loose hair around them, chills her skin pleasantly. And when he abandons her mouth and starts to suck warm kisses down her neck again, the breeze hits the damp trail he leaves behind, and she shivers, tips her head back, it all feels so good. Already, she feels so good.

He pushes at her coat, and she shimmies her shoulders, it drops to her elbows, down off her wrists and she lets it fall, lets it slip free and sail down, down, down on the wind, forgotten, landing yards below them in the courtyard. Her head is still dropped back, his mouth at her collar now, nipping gently before his tongue swirls in the hollow there, and she blinks her eyes open, and all she can see is sky. The glowing silver spires of her castle rise high into the bottom of her vision, dizzying, and beyond that nothing but inky darkness and stars, and her skirts flutter against her legs, her hair tossed by the breeze that skims her face, and it feels like she is flying. Like she is free. Finally, God, finally free as she has always wished to be. Not a thought in her head, nothing to her but skin and cotton and his mouth on her throat again, his hands on her hips, anchoring her to the rail, and she thinks she wants to stay here, right here, like this, forever. In this one, perfect moment, just Regina and the sky, and Robin's mouth on her skin.

Then, one of his hands tugs at the collar of her dress, tries to draw it down as he mouths his way down her chest. It doesn't give, not much and Robin growls his frustration against her skin. "I need more of you," he rumbles against her, and Regina bites her lip and gropes for the zipper of her dress, under her arm, Robin's hand following hers, nudging it away and grasping the zipper pull himself. He starts to draw it down and then the dress tugs stubbornly, his progress halted, and he scowls, takes his mouth from her skin and peers at her side, yanks again. "It's stuck."

He tugs again, and for a moment she wants to tell him to rip it, to rend the whole garment with his hands, but she does like this dress, and she thinks she might like the idea of wearing it another day and thinking of this (hopes that when she's come down from this high that the thought of it won't make her frown), so instead she just smirks, flicks her hand, and they're swirling in purple again, and then she's bare before him, not a stitch of clothing on her, wind whipping over her naked skin, raising goosebumps. She feels each one prickle up - even that is pleasant, she thinks - and the way he's looking at her now, that's good too.

His jaw has dropped open slightly, and he brings one palm up to cup her bare breast, his fingers chilly against her warm skin.

"That'll do," he tells her, a little dumbstruck, and maybe it's the look on his face or the heat in his voice or maybe it's just the rookweed, but she snickers again, proud of herself, satisfied that she can render him half-dumb with just her own bare skin. He has both of her breasts in his hands now, and thumbs tracing light circles over her nipples, teasing, the sensation mild but spiraling through her nonetheless, and Regina sighs and bites her lower lip and grips the railing near her hips.

He's watching her, gaze flicking all over her face, restless, dropping to her breasts every few seconds and then back up, and she's used to his scrutiny, he's always watching her, but there's something about it now, like this, that is different, that turns her on instead of irritating her, and she wants him to look, wants him to see, wants him to want her, and then he stops those teasing circles, grasps her nipples between thumbs and forefingers and starts giving them slow, firm tugs and twists, and Regina's jaw drops, her eyes falling shut, pleasure burning through her like sparklers, crawling down from her breasts to her belly and settling low, burning hot, all she wants to do is feel this.

Her head is swirling, her body alive, and she can feel the leather of Robin's vest press into her belly, can feel the hitch of his breathing, his voice almost otherworldy when he tells her she's so beautiful, incredibly so, and she thinks this is like a dream, like a really, really good dream...

And then his hands fall away, slide down to her hips, and Regina blinks her eyes open with a frown - her really, really good dream wasn't supposed to end so soon - but all she sees in front of her is the expanse of her chambers, she has to look down to see Robin, on his knees, lifting one of her thighs to hook over his shoulder, and even from here she can see the hungry look on his face as he leans in and presses his tongue to her, and oh god, yes, there's that good dream again, and Regina shuts her eyes, tips her head back again and just feels.

She is flying, she is golden, he is really, really good with his tongue, or maybe it's the rookweed, maybe, she's doesn't know, everything feels more...more, the way his tongue drags against her sensitive clit has her thigh quivering, and she tightens her leg around him, and then his lips close and he's sucking at her, and someone is moaning, and it is definitely her, and oh god, this feels, and his hands are on her thighs, and hers move to grip his hair, and it's a really, really, really good dream and he does something, flicks his tongue against her just so, and her back arches, and for a second she's not flying, she's falling, off-balance, off-kilter, keeling backward, he's not anchoring her anymore, and she yelps, and grasps for the the rail, eyes popping open wide, and his hands are on her hips again, suddenly, gripping tightly, his mouth has left her.

Their eyes meet, both startled and wary, and then he grins, and she grins, and he drops his forehead to her belly, and she can hear him laughing, and her heart is pounding but she snickers too, and then he looks at her again, shakes his head and says, "Perhaps we should take this somewhere you're less at risk of falling to your death?"

"Might be good," she quips, and she helps him to his feet, but she wants to be kissing him again, wants to never stop feeling the way she's feeling right now, so she pulls him against her and devours his mouth, tastes herself on him and feels a little thrill at the thought, tugs blindly at his vest and his shirt and by the time they make it to the bed he's naked to the waist. Her head spins a little as they hit the mattress and he rolls her beneath him, and he goes straight for her breasts, cups one in his hand and sucks the nipple between his teeth with an appreciative moan, his other hand slides down, tucks itself between her thighs, and she opens for him eagerly, and he wastes no time, slides two fingers inside her and begins to pump, and he groans again at the feel of her, says something about her being wet, and she is, she knows she is, she wants to say something coherent, something seductive and teasing, but he's chosen that moment to press his palm against her clit, to move his hand harder, faster, against her and all she can do is moan and arch and it's not the rookweed, she thinks vaguely, he's just very, very good with his hands.

He switches to her other breast, and adds a third finger, and Regina is gripping the bedsheets in her fists, and then he nips her gently and she is gulping down pleasure, and one hand lifts to grasp his shoulder, feels the muscle shifting under her hand as he works her higher, higher, and she sees the canopy of her bed looming over her, and she has never let a man take her in this bed, with Leopold she always went to him, never wanted him here, always his bed, and with Graham she'd done all the taking and usually on the chaise, and Robin will be the first to pin her to the bed like this, one thigh over hers like an anchor as she starts to buck and twist against him, she's close, she needs more, she needs him to just shift a little, and then he does, he changes the angle and pushes his fingers into her harder, faster, and she's swamped with sensation, a cresting, crashing wave of pleasure, and she's not sure if she screams, but she's knows she's louder than is polite, but the doors are thick and her body is a live wire, and the pleasure is acute and sharp and glorious and she's coming, coming, and he's murmuring something to her, That's it, and There you go, and God, you're a vision, and he doesn't stop, and she's biting her lip and holding out, she can take more, she thinks, she can let him do this to her forever, but then she can't, it's too much, too sharp, too acute, and she is pushing at his hands and gasping for air, and he stills, slips his fingers out of her and into her hair and kisses her and kisses her, and she can finally relax again.

They stay like that, just lips and tongues, deep, slow kisses, and heavy breathing and his erection pressed into her hip through the pants he's still wearing - she should probably do something about that. She turns her head away, out of the kiss, but he just moves to her jaw, and she sighs, "That was nice."

And that stops him, he lifts his head, frowning. "Just nice? That sounded a fair bit better than 'nice,'" and Regina grins, and snorts a little laugh, and amends to that was incredible, and Robin looks satisfied then, smiles, his tongue peeking out to wet his lower lip before his teeth sink in there, grinning at her, smug, proud of himself, and he's always so smug, she thinks. She wants to wipe that smug smirk right off him, so she pushes her palm against his shoulder, drives her hips against him until he gets the picture and moves onto his back, pulling her with him until she's straddling him.

His hands grip her waist, and he's taking her in again, perusing every bare inch of her and his palms skate down to her knees and back up, down again. And then she spies something on his wrist, a dark patch, a lion crest tattoo, and suddenly she is laughing and laughing, breathless, he's her soulmate, the thief, with his nimble archer's fingers still wet from being inside her, and his smirk and that smile, it's been thirty-odd years and he has found her, and she knows in the clear light of day the revelation would send her running from him but right now it just makes this whole thing hotter and she pitches forward, and fists the pillows on either side of his head to hold herself up, and she is going to fuck him into the ground. Right through the bed into the floor and down and down into oblivion.

She's still laughing and he is smiling at her in bewilderment, and pushing her hair back from her face and asking her what's got her so tickled.

"Nothing," she gasps, crushing her mouth against his, and then telling him again, "Nothing," because he does not need to know, not ever, and she magics away the rest of his clothes and reaches between them, grabs his cock unceremoniously and angles it so she can sink down onto it. He lets out this sound, this primal collapse of air from his lungs, his mouth dropping open, blue eyes falling shut, she has caught him unprepared. His hand fists in the hair at her nape, and he is thick and full inside of her, fits her perfectly (surprise, surprise), and she starts to rock against him and gasps, moans, some erotic sound spilling from her lips, she can hear it and it must turn him on, it has to, because it turns her on and he is moving his hips with hers now, and he's pinching her left nipple not altogether lightly and Regina feels golden, and like she is flying, and he is her soulmate and she wants this to last forever, this feeling, this freedom, this high.

He lets go of her hair and slides his hand down, forward, pressing against her shoulder until she's sitting upright on top of him. And then both his hands move to her hips again, grip there, and he drives his hips up into her, counterpoint to her own rocking rhythm, and he hits something incredible inside her, something that radiates out, ricochets through her body, that same thing that made her come so hard just moments ago, and she cries out and nods, nods, nods, bites her lip and lets it go, and says, "Don't stop, don't ever stop..."


Robin doesn't plan to.

She's a goddess, stunning, free, and driving him to madness. She feels like heaven around him, like sin, sweat gathering where her thighs hug against his hips, mixing with her wetness where she grinds down against him on each thrust - and god, she's so wet, so hot, so caught up in this, he almost can't look at her. She's raised her arms, tangled her hands in her own hair, that dark mass of it, piling it up off her neck as her back arches, her hips moving steadily, her mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, the very picture of wanton abandon, and he's done it to her. It's a carnal thrill, a lick of power that laps at him, stokes his own arousal, she is making these sounds, these overwhelmed little shouts of pleasure, and he is the one calling them out of her with each sharp rap of his hips against hers, and her breasts are bouncing with each thrust, and her belly clenches in a way that makes him want to run his tongue straight up the middle, and he makes the mistake of looking lower, down where he's pounding in and out of her steadily, and the sight of it, of her, of them, catapults him nearly to the edge, and she is not there with him yet, it is way too soon, and he's not some schoolboy, he won't spill early like an overeager lad.

Robin uses his grip on her hips to yank her up, and off him, and she cries out, bereft, and opens her eyes to glare at him even as he is shuffling himself down the bed, urging her up as he does.

"What the hell are you doing?" she gripes.

"I need a moment," he confesses, hoping the honesty will be appreciated instead of mocked. She doesn't disappoint, smirking proudly, and saying oh, and if you must, with a sort of false prim propriety that makes him snicker against her thigh as he finally gets her into position.

He wraps his arms around her thighs and urges her down to him, and she settles over his mouth, sighing contentedly when he gives her a generous lick, and then he thrusts his tongue into her and she hums a warm sound of encouragement, one hand tangling into his hair. He licks and laps and pushes his tongue as deep as he can, and listens to her breathing, the hitch of it, the cadence of her soft moans. It's not the heat and hollering she'd been driving him to the brink with moments before, but he can tell she likes it, that he's not disappointing her in the least, so he keeps it up until she is squirming and mewling, and his name falls from her, pleading. He shifts his mouth to where he knows she wants it, wraps it around that sensitive little bundle and sucks.

Her thighs tremble in his grip, her moan low and hot, and encouraging, and her hips are rocking again, or would be if he'd let them, and he thinks he can last now, last long enough to get her there, so he sucks harder, harder, again, again, until she's shouting and scrabbling at his hair and nearly there, and then he draws her away from him and she huffs, "Seriously?"

Robin chuckles at her, and taps her thigh, "Only for a moment, I swear it," and then, "Roll over," and she does, lands on her back grumpily, but he moves his body over hers, and lines up and slides in (she's tighter than before, on the edge, and this still won't last long - long enough to get the job done, he's confident, but not long).

Having him inside her again seems to mollify Regina. She's smirking, murmuring that's more like it, and winding her arms around his neck, pressing her hips up against his. Robin thrusts in once, twice, and she gasps, lightly, closes her eyes again, bites her lip, but he can tell it's not ideal for her. Not the lightning strikes of pleasure she was being rattled with before. He reaches for her thigh, hikes it up along his ribs and pushes in again, hitting her deeper, her gasp more genuine, her head tipping back, grinding into the pillows.

Better.

She moves the other leg on her own, draws it up, locks her ankles behind him, and Robin moves again, gleans an encouraging nod from her. "Good?" he asks her, giving her another testing thrust, another, one more, and Regina bobs her head again and breathes, mm, just like that, and he obliges, settling into a steady rhythm.

He'd thought it would be easier this way, when he couldn't see her entire glorious body writhing on top of him, but now he's got her every pleasured sound right in his ear, her nails biting bluntly into his shoulder, her smell all around him, and maybe it is easier, but not by much. He can feel his release churning again, but she is clutching at him, and he can't stop watching her face so he sees the way it is screwing up with rising ecstasy - she's close, he won't have to last much longer. Robin reaches down and adjusts her hip, changes his angle slightly, until he is grinding harder against her on every push in, and Regina snaps her head back and cries out, and the sight is unbearably erotic, so he drops his head toward her neck, until he can't see her face anymore, and he murmurs to her, "You are a marvel," and she's grappling at his shoulders, "Stunning," he pants against her ear, and she moans almost desperately, breathes something that sounds almost like tell me, and so he does, pushes into her and says, beautiful and wonderful, and amazing, and each word is tighter, strangled, delivered with a fierce push into her clutching, wet heat, and they all seem to drive her higher, further, and when he groans her name she comes apart underneath him, and she makes these noises, and he throbs, and grits his teeth so hard he thinks they'll crack, and her body is taut and bucking beneath him, one heel kicking into the back of his thigh and he forces himself to hold back, to keep control for another thrust, another, one more, driving as much pleasure into her body as he can stand, and when he cannot hold back one second longer, he rips himself out of her heat and angles just above, grips his cock and pumps once, twice, and spills onto her belly with a groan of relief.

Her shaking fingers join his, a moment or two after they would actually be helpful, and a second before he collapses down against her, breath heaving, skin slick with sweat, his hand and hers trapped beneath them in the slippery puddle he'd spent over her belly. Regina lets out a satisfied moan, and then chuckles and says, "I have no idea if I'm still high."

Robin laughs a little and uses what strength is left in his trembling arms to roll onto his side with a groan. "I'm taking that as a compliment," he tells her, and when he looks at her, she is smiling like the sun.

"You should," she assures, the hand that had been trapped between them hasn't moved, except to swirl lazily through his mess. Her fingers slip and skate, and she must still be high, he thinks, that or she is entirely lacking in modesty in a way that thrills him. "I feel amazing."

"I've done my job then," he says smugly, leaning in to brush a kiss against her cheekbone, another a little closer to her lips. He nudges her nose with his, kisses her mouth, warm and lingering, and she lets him, reciprocates. He contents himself with tasting her, with skimming his fingers up and down the soft skin of her arm until she is languid and sleepy against him. "You should rest," he tells her, reluctant to leave her as he is, and then, "And I should get back to Roland."

Regina nods, and smiles dopily at him, he's pretty sure she's still feeling the effects of the rookweed, even if they're waning now. "Thank you, for this," she says, and Robin fights the urge to grin and to needle her about finally remembering her manners after all these weeks she's spent repaying his kindness with cutting remarks. But she adds, "It helped," with such sincerity that he quells the urge.

Instead he simply tells her, "You're quite welcome. It was, in every sense of the word, my pleasure." She's smiling still, and he kisses the curve of her lips, lets his tongue dart out against hers one last time, then pushes himself up with a sigh and searches for his various articles of clothing.

"Robin..." she says as he's fastening his pants, and he looks up at her. She's slipped beneath the covers, and her eyes are already closed, her expression peaceful.

"Yes?"

"This won't happen again," she tells him, and he feels a pang of something, disappointment, but she's frowning now that she's said it, like she regrets the words, or maybe that's just him being hopeful.

He leans over her again, presses his lips to hers in an attempt to wipe that frown away, and murmurs, "We'll see."

He half expects her to gripe at him, but all she does is chortle softly, and settle deeper into the pillows. He dresses quietly, and he's fairly certain she's fast asleep by the time he slips from her chambers.

The next day, at morning meal, he watches for her, and when she strolls in, regal as ever, she catches his eye and he does not miss the way her lips twitch up before she forces her gaze away, forces her mouth into a scowl. They act as if nothing happened between them, because he knows that's what she'd want, but for a while she's slightly less vicious in her remarks toward him, and her every future attempt to cut him down verbally falls a bit short, seems hollow and obligatory. Like she's playing a role, the Obstinate Queen.

He sees through her, though, remembers the way she'd opened for him, the way she'd smiled and clutched and cried out, he remembers Regina. He sees her underneath The Queen's every fa├žade, now, and he wonders how long it will take her to let him back in.

It takes a curse, and wiped memories, and a few charming attempts at flirtation, a carefully guarded heart.

But he gets her back, Regina, in the end.