Night one
The Doctor hadn't moved. He'd flown away from Coal Hill to somewhere… he couldn't remember, really. He couldn't remember turning back to the console, he couldn't remember the destination he had entered. He couldn't remember landing, and he couldn't remember when he sat down on the console room floor.
He could remember the hatred in her eyes. The way she glared at him, the passion behind such a horrid emotion as she stared him down. As she told him that he didn't love her, that he wasn't the man she loved. She had said it with such conviction that even though they hadn't been connected mentally he could feel how sincere she had felt saying that.
She didn't think he loved her. His actions had broken their relationship, their marriage. She'd taken the ring she had worn for over five hundred years and chucked it away to never be found again. She'd kept it on all that time, through him killing her and keeping her parentage a secret, and yet this was how it had come off. Because he had wanted to show her how special she was, but instead had made her think that he thought nothing of her.
He stared at the front door across from him, but made no move to get up. He made no move to go back for her. He knew he should be frantic and desperate to find her, to fall at her feet and beg her forgiveness. They'd finally been getting on track one again. She'd allowed him to love her once more. They were joking, holding hands, seeing the universe together rather than two people who happened to live in the same time machine. He'd thought they'd been strong, and maybe they had been, until he'd driven her away again.
She was probably at Clara's flat right now. Or, maybe, with Jack but he doubted it. She'd stay with Clara until she had another plan, and Clara would look after her. He had absolutely no doubt about that at all. Clara would die for his Danielle; she had proven that on more than one occasion. Better than he had done, at any rate.
He continued to stare at the doorway. He was waiting. Not for Danielle to come back; if he wasn't sure where he was, how could she even begin to find him, even if she had the means to?
No, he was waiting to feel sad. To feel angry. To feel something over what had just transpired. His wife had just walked out on him and had told him to leave her alone. And while that was what he was doing, he still felt like there should be something.
When he'd chucked her out of the TARDIS all those centuries ago he'd gone numb. His body had shaken in shock and he'd begged and pleaded to be able to get her back again. He remembered it all too well. He'd been devastated because he had killed her, and she had died thinking that he hated her. She had offered him her everything, and he had punished her by holding her out into space only to let go.
When he'd left her to return to Trenzalore, the only thing that had stopped him going back had been his selfish desire for her to still remember him as the young man he had regenerated into. He wanted her to love him, and he knew that when he was dying, that was the thought he would have clung to. When he'd faced off with the Dalek that had been his overriding thought. Danielle had returned, and she still loved him despite his aged form. In those moments where he had truly thought he was going to die, her smile and her giant hearts were there to give him peace.
Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what made this feel so different. Both times he had known that he held her hearts, and this time all he had done was break them. Even if he went back, would they still be his? Would she still want to be his wife? He wouldn't blame her for a second if she just turned him away, but he didn't want her to. He wanted to know that somewhere in the universe, even if not with him, she was out there loving him. If he went back and she didn't love him, if he didn't have that…
His only movement was to undo the top two buttons of his shirt, his jacket long since discarded. He didn't make a move to get off the floor, and it was with a cynical thought that he realised that he was sat next to the hatch in the console he had pawed at when he tried to bring her back from the dead. He'd only ever been a burden on her life, hadn't he? She'd survived through so much, and yet it was only escaping him that she felt able to continue surviving.
He'd used her as a gauge of how good a man he was. If she believed in him, then he was fine. He could be a good man for her. Now she was gone, now she didn't believe in him anymore, what did he have?
~0~0~0~
Day One
The Doctor started slightly, blinking the confusion out of his head. He had felt himself drifting off, his mind shutting his body down after hours upon hours of staring into nothingness, thinking of nothing and everything in equal measure. He'd stayed hovering around self-loathing, a bit of anger creeping in before it disappeared once more.
He cracked his neck, finally getting off the floor. The last time he'd spent so long on the console floor the TARDIS had almost frozen the room to punish him for his deeds. This time she'd kept him warm, the lights dull but not dark like she too was lamenting the loss of his wife. He could understand that; they had always been very close.
It was as if he was on autopilot as he headed towards the hallway. He decided that he needed to clean up, change his outfit and have a wash, but he wasn't too sure what for. The effort behind that seemed incredibly strenuous, but then again so had the effort to get off the floor.
He paused in the hallway, rubbing a tired hand over his tired face. All this time he'd thought that it was his looks that were driving a wedge between them. How shallow of him, how naïve. Danielle had never cared about looks despite how she joked about it. No, it was his personality, his lack of caring that had forced her to leave.
And he'd thought he'd been trying. He thought he'd done the right thing, he had just wanted her to see herself like he saw her; smart, and resourceful and so, so good. But that wasn't the message he'd given her and that wasn't what she'd taken from the Moon. He could see it, now that he could look back on it with knowledge of her perspective. He had been cruel without intention.
This wasn't exactly the first marriage he'd let fall through his fingers, either. His first wife, on Gallifrey so long ago now it didn't even feel like it had happened to him. Barely fifty years had passed before that had crumbled, although that was very much a choice he would make again. A choice between staying with her or travelling the universe; how could he resist running?
Without that choice, he wouldn't have ever found his Danielle. And, it was becoming increasingly clear that while his choice would have swung a different way with her, that she didn't believe that at all. He'd let her believe that she was less, but she was so much more than he could ever hope to see. The universe wasn't anything without her.
It was with a rub of his neck that he looked downwards at the floor. And, by some miracle or by the design of his time machine, a glint of light caught his eye. He crouched down, picking up the small ring that sat on the floor. Danielle's ring shouldn't have been that easy to find, but then again the TARDIS knew where everything was and where everything should be. She'd most likely given it to him a reminder of the wife he lost; although whether or not there was sympathy behind the gesture was purely speculation on his part.
He stood up again, hand tight around the ring and it didn't hurt him like he thought it would. He'd hoped the stone would dig into his skin, maybe cut him and punish him in a way that was nowhere near what he wanted. But, alas, it had been so many years since he'd made the ring for her and the gold was smooth and the stone was too well cut.
He kept walking down the hallway for a while, just keeping moving as he held onto the ring. He told himself off time and time again for moping, but it felt half-hearted at best and he needed stronger words than he could deliver to himself right now.
Each door he ignored, even though his initial intention had been to have a shower, or a wash, or at least change his clothes. Without much direction, with the sudden void of a reason to do anything in his life, he found he couldn't see the point. He'd travelled for almost nine hundred years without Danielle, and yet the removal of her had hit him worse than the loss of any companion.
And that was because he loved her. He loved her so much that the universe was grey and dull without her. And he'd loved his companions, and his family, and their losses still hurt. But none of them had really stopped him like this had. He'd used their memory to travel on, to see bigger and brighter things and they would cross his mind while there. To travel in Danielle's memory seemed utterly awful; not only because she wasn't dead, but because she'd chosen to leave the life she adored because of him. Carrying on her stead felt completely disrespectful.
He finally opened a door, expecting to find the-his bedroom on the other side. In fact, what he found was Danielle's old room. One wall full of pictures, and her bed facing the doorway with that picture of her and his previous body that had caused so much contention what felt like an age ago.
He stepped in, closing the door softly behind him. He walked slowly towards the wall of memories, looking over each and every one of them. She looked so happy, be it in her red-headed body of the blonde body she had now. Even when she was obviously ill from the drumming noise the Silence had pumped through her head she still looked so content with her life. He knew the smile hid the sorrow of her lost life and the absolute horror of having to jump through a timeline in any order. But she knew her sadness didn't come from him. In fact, he was confident enough to say that she was happy purely because of him.
She morphed into her current body, but still seemed so happy to be stood by his side despite the fear the universe brought on her. It was a shame that they didn't have anything from Christmas, she must have felt like that the majority of her life was missing from those walls. They jumped from happy and travelling the universe to…
He pulled a picture off the wall. She had only started taking pictures again after the bank heist. The honeymoon period that had preceded their breakup. She looked so happy, stood in a safari park, with him by her side.
He didn't look happy. He was sure it was the eyebrows, but was it? He didn't have a smile on his face, he wasn't holding her hand. Nothing about his posture said that he wanted to be there, but he had been enjoying himself. She was like a child as they'd travelled around, searching for all the different creatures that had hidden in the overgrowth. And he'd enjoyed it beyond her as well. There was nothing better than exploring an area away from civilisation, seeing things no one had and things no one would again. And, of course, the camping had been a perk. Small tent, tiny, loving wife…
Then why didn't he look happy? And had she noticed that at the time? Had she thought he hadn't been enjoying himself as well? Maybe… Had she thought that he hadn't been enjoying himself because of her?
He sat down on the bed heavily. The large picture from Not-Wonderland bounced and his hand shot out to catch it, almost dropping the ring in the process. How had he managed to get everything so spectacularly wrong?
He turned to look at the picture on the bed. He had, for so long, been blaming his younger self. She'd missed him, and she'd compared the man he was now to the man he was then. Eleven had left her behind on so many occasions, and yet he'd just done the same thing, hadn't he? She'd said it time and time again – all she wanted was someone to hold her hand. He hadn't been there to do it.
He'd blamed all their problems on Eleven, but it wasn't the dead man's fault. This was all down to him. He'd driven her away.
It was a nice picture of them as well. Why had he wanted to take it down? All of his memories of her were precious, no matter which version of him it was. Had he always been this stupid? That was his problem; he was very clever, but he often overestimated himself. Ultimately, he was an idiot.
He opened his hand, seeing the ring that had dug a groove into his skin; and a sentimental old idiot at that.
Should he get a chain for the ring? He didn't want to lose it, maybe he should hang it around his neck until the time he could give it back to her? There'd be one in the wardrobe he could use.
If he could give it back to her. Again, the picture with his past self that held his attention. He looked so happy as he looked up at her, and despite the surprised and slightly worried look on her face, her eyes weren't anywhere but him. She had been so happy with Eleven. Maybe that was where it should stay. Everything they had been through had caused him to harden away from the universe, he knew that, but she wasn't like that. She still cared about the people and the places they visited, she deserved someone who felt the same and right now he knew he didn't fit that.
He turned away from the picture, finally unable to look at it anymore. His hearts were clenching in his chest, the sudden realisation that he wasn't going to go back for her knocked everything from him. She deserved better. She needed better than he had been, and he was sure it was better than he could ever be. His vision blurred, he was on the verge of crying, but it was for the best. This was for the best.
It was no longer Danni and the Doctor in the TARDIS until the end of time. Just him. Just the Doctor. All alone.
He looked around her room, searching for somewhere to store the ring. It was burning against his skin now, a painful reminder of what he had lost, but he didn't want to get rid of it either. He spotted the bow tie that had been loosely tied to the drawer in the bedside table. He smiled slightly, a very sad expression as he leant forward and carefully untied what he knew was his favourite bowtie, slipping it through the ring before reattaching it once again. He let it drop, watching it hit the wood with a small noise, then he got up and left.
~0~0~0~
Month Two
"Wrong!" The Doctor snarled, pulling the door to the TARDIS open so hard that, had she been an actual phone box, it would have come straight off its hinges. He slammed it shut behind him, throwing the dress he scrunched up in his hands onto the pilot seat, "You took me to the wrong place, you stupid box!" He stormed over to the console, flipping a switch and taking them both off into the space once again. The take-off was bumpy – the TARDIS's way of telling him off for insulting her.
"You're supposed to take me to somewhere brilliant, but that was dull!" He snapped, "We've been to Grayston 7 before, remember? And it was so much better the first time around. How about you take me somewhere new when I ask you to?"
Again there was no answer, but then again it wasn't like she could actually answer him. Trouble with having an argument with a transcendental police phone box; they never argued back.
"The rolling hills were definitely not rolling," he continued regardless, "and what happened to the bright blue sky? Doesn't anyone take any pride in their planet anymore?" He began stalking around the console, "I expect more from a tourist destination. The only thing that was anywhere good was the market, but I was around that in less than an hour. How do people expect you to stay if all you offer them is some mediocre shopping?" He came back to a stop where he started, this time on the crumpled mess of a dress he'd thrown to the side.
It was a dark blue, with silver shimmery bits all throughout the skirt. He'd walked past it four times before admitting to himself that he couldn't just let it go. He'd spent long enough at the stall to pay for it, not even waiting for a bag before he ripped it off the hanger and stormed back to the TARDIS.
She would have loved it, he knew. The skirt shone like stars.
"And get rid of that dress!" He snapped as he stormed out into the hallway, "I don't want to see it!"
~0~0~0~
Month Eleven
"Find him!" The sergeant shouted, filing his soldiers out of the throne room and into the giant expanse of the castle, "I want him alive if possible and with the crown!"
"Yes, sir!" A chorus of voices chanted back at him, even as each of them had a gun drawn, ready to attack if required. The target was known to be dangerous if provoked. Wanting him alive was all well and good, but the safety of the guards was more important than the life of one rogue alien.
Their steps echoed on the marble floor of the extravagant building as they rushed through, orders being given about where to look and who to look there. The group dispersed throughout the castle.
The Doctor, on the other hand, stayed hidden behind the pillar he'd dived behind, once again marvelling at the stupidity of soldiers. He'd barely been out of the throne room when he'd found the nook to hide in, but his certainty that they wouldn't look for him so close had paid off perfectly.
It wasn't like the Emperor of Huin needed another crown. He had seen twelve others in the castle vaults, all incredibly overindulgent and wildly over decorated. In fact, the one that he held in his hand was worth barely anything compared to the ones left. The Emperor should share her wealth; what was the point of being so greedy with it?
He turned the crown in his hand, watching the white gems glisten in the light shining from the window above him. It could barely be classed as a crown, really. A tiara at best. It wasn't even gold, and it was obviously designed to be worn as an accent to her hair rather than on top of her head. She didn't need any more attention brought to that large forehead that all Huinites had anyway.
"Down here!" He heard someone shout and he pressed his back against the wall, his hearts racing and a grin on his face. This was much more like it. He'd been hopping from place to place for months now, and it had all been so incredibly dull. He needed adventure, he needed danger and what was more dangerous than the threat of being shot on sight?
The footsteps that had been heading towards him ended up running straight past in, and after giving it a moment, he relaxed again. Yes, he was much more suited to a life of adventure. Again he glanced down at the crown/tiara he'd taken. Maybe he could find it without the crime element next time.
Deciding that it was safe, he dipped his head out into the hallway. The TARDIS was parked outside, and would most likely be overlooked by anyone who was searching for him in the gardens. He needed to get out without being seen. He could do that; he was a master of going unnoticed. His disguise has worked perfectly at Coal Hill, no one paid him any attention at all.
The coast was clear, so he stepped out into the grand hallway, taking a last look at the luxurious interior, before dismissing it all as obvious and boring. That was the problem with greedy people; their need for extravagance overtook their taste.
"There he is!" A voice screamed out and he spun in surprise to see three guards at the end of the hallway, "Get him."
He turned, another grin appearing on his face. Ah, yes, the running. He was good at this part too.
~0~0~0~
The Doctor winced as he slammed the door shut, jogging up the TARDIS console and quickly flying himself away to the sound of bullets bouncing off the TARDIS. That hadn't gone quite as he had expected. He took a look down at his arm, with the blood slowly starting to pour from the wound. He used to be quicker, but then again he was sure he used to be more careful about his escapes as well.
He was well aware of how reckless he had become. He'd stopped trying to keep himself alive as much as just chancing it and seeing how he came out. If he analysed it further, he knew exactly the reason, but instead on focusing on the fact that he did seem to be trying to get killed, he focused on the fact that he was very much bleeding.
He gingerly pressed the hand holding the tiara he'd risked his life for against the wound, making sure to keep the headpiece out of the way, as he headed into the TARDIS to sort himself out. He'd be no use bleeding to death everywhere, but he had one more stop before he could head to the medi-bay to get a bandage. He'd need to wrap it up whilst he body healed itself, otherwise his shirts would be ruined.
He opened the door to Danielle's room, stepping inside with the tiara still in his grasp. He'd realised months ago that he wasn't going to be able to stop himself buying her things he thought she would like. It had started with a dress, and now her bedroom was becoming full of little gadgets, and cuddly toys, and clothes from all parts of the universe. If she ever came back, she'd have a hell of a time cleaning it up.
He placed the tiara on her chest of drawers, next to a lovely dragon ornament he'd found at a market in China in 2133. It was supposed to represent the Azure Dragon, but he could tell it was just a cheap little trinket designed for tourists who liked to believe they knew anything about the culture they were in. Still, it had been very pretty, and the blueness that it sparkled with would have definitely appealed to Danielle's first body.
He turned around, leaning on the chest of drawers as he looked out in into the relatively small room. Every day he thought about going back for her. Every day he wished he could call her, but the first time he'd given into that temptation it had rung in the TARDIS and he realised he had no way of contacting her without going through a third party. Surprisingly, especially for someone as smart as himself, he still forgot that she had left it behind occasionally and he'd find himself picking up the console phone only to be horrifically disappointed.
It was for the best. It felt like the 'good' part of his persona was slipping with every passing day. Now he was stealing tiaras just because he was bored, because he needed something to distract himself. A little fix of adrenaline to keep his mood up. He had to wonder if this was why River turned out the way she did; because she was missing Danielle so drastically as well. He had contemplated going to see the archaeologist, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of finding out that Danielle had left him. The clock had struck twelve, in a metaphorical sense. Danielle would contact her with the news soon enough.
But now was not the time to dwell on that. He quickly exited the room without a glance at the photos that taunted him with a happier time. He needed to fix up his arm; he was sure there was a moon on the outskirts of the 52nd century that was calling his name.
~0~0~0~
Month Seventeen
How was it that time went so slowly? He slammed his hand on the console, turning off the monitor. Seventeen months?! How had it only been seventeen months?! He could have sworn that his time on Trenzalore had passed much more quickly than this!
"What have I told you about lying to me?" He snapped at the console, "Tell me the right date, or I will rewire you until I do!" He waited a moment, then switched it back on.
Still seventeen months. Had he really only been on his own for that small amount of time? That was nothing in the grand scheme of his life; he was two thousand years old, seventeen months was barely a holiday. A vacation away from his life, a quick jaunt somewhere.
Then again his sense of time had never been fantastic. It was one of the things he was criticised most for at the academy, and it had never improved over time. Even in recent memory; a year for Rose, twelve for Amy. The twenty-seven years he'd spent waiting for his Danni-Girl to reappear after jumping away had slowed dramatically. He'd forgotten how long they'd spent on that cloud, and he knew he'd left her behind for a good few months when she had lived with the Ponds. So many random spaces of time that had all felt right to begin with.
"That's all this is," he declared outload to the silence of the TARDIS, "maybe I should read up on it."
"You really are talking nonsense now, aren't you?" He spun around, surprised at the drawling voice. He'd recognised it instantly, and yet at the sight of the man on the other side of the console, his lips turned up in a sneer.
"Why are you showing me that idiot?" He asked the TARDIS as Eleven rolled his eyes, crossing his arms.
"Because you really don't like him, do you?" He replied, "I'm not too sure why, though. He never blamed me for his own stubbornness."
"You're the one playing around with time!" He exclaimed, "Seventeen months is not long enough!"
"But that's how long it's been since she left." Eleven replied calmly, which just infuriated him more.
"No, it's not." He countered firmly, "She's been gone so much longer than that and it's all your fault."
Eleven looked affronted, "How is it my fault?"
"You're the one who sent her away!" He ranted, "You're the one who thought she wasn't strong enough as we grew older and older, and look what happened," he waved down himself, "this is what we got because she wasn't there!"
"Is that what I thought?" Eleven asked in reply, again in that calm voice that was so infuriating to him.
Mainly because the question was completely valid. That wasn't what he had thought at all. He had been so proud of her during their time fighting off the universe from their little village. She'd felt so much, but she always did her best, always stood up for what she thought was right. She rarely complained with any real feeling behind it.
He'd sent her away because he was old, and he was terrified of losing her to his old age. He'd not looked as good next to her and his temperament had worsened. He'd kept the childishness that had been one of the defining character traits of the previous body, but that was how he'd wanted her to remember him. He didn't want to drive her away.
"Why are you showing him to me?" He asked, this time addressing the time machine behind the projection.
"Because you're being foolish, Doctor." Eleven replied in her place, "Go back for your wife. You didn't the last time."
"She is better off without me," he argued back, "and you know it."
"No, I don't," The TARDIS replied, "and neither do you. You're miserable and she will be too. Go see her."
"She won't be miserable," he dismissed, "I was making her miserable. She'll be happy, she's with Clara, who will be taking her on dates and making her fall in love with her."
Eleven, and therefore the TARDIS, rolled his eyes, "Your perception of your wife is pretty shocking, I will agree to that," he shot the projection a glare, "but even you can't believe that she would ever develop feelings for the bossy girl."
He didn't reply straight away. He really hoped that the projection was telling the truth. Frankly, the TARDIS had always communicated in this manner with Danielle. And, truthfully, that was his own doing as well. He'd wanted her to be able to gain the comfort she knew he had found she gained from his tenth body, so he'd made sure that she could access a little piece of himself from the console. Of course, he'd followed it on with his Eleventh self once, when she'd been gone a few years. He wasn't sure he'd ever told her, he couldn't remember and now he couldn't exactly ask.
But, he didn't trust himself. So whatever was coming out of his mouth just sounded like a lie, "Clara Oswald has parts of our personalities mushed in with hers like some sort of…" he waved his hand like he was trying to think of an analogy, "like some sort of soup, and Danielle has noticed, whether she knows it or not. A boyfriend won't change the fact that Clara is in love with her. All she will have to do it bat those eyelashes, shoot her a look with those big, bright eyes of hers and tempt her with a trip somewhere and she'll own Danielle's hearts."
"You really think it would work on Danni, though?" Eleven countered and the Doctor shook his head.
"No, I don't," he replied, "but I can't go back for her." He couldn't go back for her to reject him again. He wasn't sure he could survive hearing how much she didn't want him again. He was barely surviving now, and the more he thought about it, the more that despair overtook him.
He shot a dark, angry look at the projection, "Go away." He snarled, "I do not want you here. My wife and my life are none of your business anymore." And he stormed to the hallway, straight through the projection of the man who had found it all so easy, his hearts aching.
~0~0~0~
Month Twenty-Two
His back hurt. It was rare, even now he was in his two thousands, that his bones ached. However, it was also rare that he fell asleep in the library like he had done the night before.
In fact, it was rare that he fell asleep at all anymore, which was probably the main reason that he found himself on the floor, leaning against one of the shelves in the TARDIS's expansive library. He'd been pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion – which, to be fair, was quite a long time – so that he would only have to sleep when he had to.
Then he'd gone to Atala. He wasn't sure why he'd picked that particular planet, other than the fact that fish swam around the dome-enclosed cities and he'd slowly fallen into travelling to places he'd wished he'd taken his Danielle when he had the chance.
But, like everywhere else he had gone, it was all just so… empty without someone to enjoy it. He had entertained the idea of getting another companion for a while, after all Clara had made it very clear that she also wasn't coming back. No one permanent, just someone to share the travelling with. A couple of trips and he'd look for someone new. But it had felt like he was replacing Danielle and not Clara, and the feeling was so horrid that he'd stopped looking before he'd really started.
She would have loved Atala though. And, as it turned out, she already had. He didn't remember taking her – yet another memory of his wife he'd lost – but he'd managed to stumble upon her first body with the big-eared one he'd had when she'd first jumped into his life. The one still called Nine even though he was technically the tenth. Jack and Rose were there too, and he'd been happy to see them, even though it had all been fleeting thoughts as he'd focused on her red-headed body.
He didn't think it would have pained him so much to see her, but it had. Like his hearts were being wrenched out, and he'd tortured himself with the feeling until he'd finally let her out of his sight. Since then he'd not stopped. He'd been to planet after planet, getting shot at and slightly burnt alive, buying gifts and learning new things. He'd gathered new stories to tell, saved a few species on the way. All in attempt to delay going to sleep, because he knew the dreams that were waiting for him.
Dreams of his wife, which taunted him as he'd eventually passed out on the library floor as he'd been reading up on the best times in the fortieth century to visit on Earth. He'd been avoiding the planet altogether because the temptation of heading back to Clara's and begging Danielle to forgive him had been too great. Then, he'd decided that as long as he stayed away from the times he knew she would be, then he'd be safe.
Now, though, he knew that just wasn't possible. Having her so close had just encouraged his dreams to taunt him with her beautiful face. They'd danced together, he remembered a visit somewhere he couldn't pinpoint with people he couldn't remember. Then it had turned to her crying in a bed, curled up on herself. It was what had woken him up; he could never stand to see her cry, and even in the dream he had known it was because of him.
It had been almost two years. Two, long, grey, dull years where he'd fought against every instinct in him to go back to her. He wanted her by his side, but he didn't know how to keep her there. But now he didn't care. He could work on that later, all that could come next. He had to see her again. He needed to find out if there was still a chance that they could save their marriage.
He just needed a plan.