Chapter two:

"Where do you think you're going?" the wall of a man blocking the entrance to the stairwell asks. His eyes are as dark and beady as the night before, but sharper now.

Standing there in a suit and tie, Billy feels even more out of place than before, and much less confident that he'll get admittance than he did the night previous. "I'm looking for Tommy Oliver?"

"Course you are." The man doesn't move aside, but he crosses his arms. "See, what I don't get is how you two got outta here last night without going by me."

Billy thinks on his toes. "I'm very stealthy. I've trained as a ninja."

The man raises one dark, skeptical eyebrow.

"I have!"

"Well, it don't really matter. What does matter, though, is Mack. He doesn't take too kindly to strange men coming in and absconding with his dancers."

Billy's too impressed by the unexpected vocabulary to reply immediately. Once his brain replays the sentence over again, he blinks. "Mack?"

"Yeah. He's the owner of this place. Don't you know that?" He shakes his head, as if disgusted. "Fool, what are you even doing here? You think that's appropriate club wear? Look like you belong on Wall Street, not Devil's Cove."

"If I had actually absconded with Tommy, do you honestly believe he would have come back here?" Billy blinks. "He is here, isn't he?"

The man nodded his thick neck slowly. "Was last I saw."

"Therefore, we didn't abscond. He really is just a friend. May I go down and see him now?"

"You go to stores and talk to your friends when they're playing clerk? Tommy's at work here. You want to talk to your friend, you see him after work or you pay the going rate."

It's strange, but Billy's starting to like this guy. "Oh? And what's the going rate?"

"Hell if I know; I'm not interested in nasty-ass crack whores. He's a favorite of Mack's, though. You'd have to discuss the price with him."

Billy's mentally counting the cash in his wallet and wondering if Mack takes credit cards. "Then, may I please go down so I can talk to Mack?"

The little beady eyes narrow to slits, but it's clear quickly that the man has run out of reasons to bar Billy's access. "You go by me when you leave, you understand? I'm the one gets in trouble you sneak past me. That's not fair."

"All right," Billy says, taking a deep breath. "I promise there will be no absconding tonight."

Though he clearly doesn't like it, the man steps aside, revealing the stairwell. Billy doesn't thank him, just hurries down into the club. It's busier than last night. There are eight male dancers on stage, one of which is Tommy. He looks even more wrecked than before, and Billy wonders how long he's been on his feet today.

His legs carry him to the bar, where he pulls off his suit coat and finds an open seat. It's so hard to watch Tommy like this, but Billy can't seem to take his eyes off him. He really is beautiful, despite the tattoos and setting.

It takes fifteen minutes for the bartender to make his way over, and his eyes when he takes in Billy in his work suit are more than a little uncertain. "Get you a drink?"

The last thing Billy wants in his system is alcohol, but he orders another vodka and tonic, just to get the man to go away. He nurses it for over an hour, until the ice has melted the concoction down to a bland, flat mess. On stage, all of the dancers cycle on and off through different routines, save for Tommy, who never leaves. Billy realizes what he'd first mistaken to be shiny oil rubbed all over Tommy's torso is actually perspiration. His hair looks weighted down with hair product too, but Billy knows it's just more sweat. It quite ruins the illusion of beauty.

A while after that, a man in a black turtleneck sweater and designer jeans approaches him. It's almost sweltering in the club, so the unusual attire alone draws Billy's eye. Billy's sweating in his dress shirt and he's already rolled up his shirt sleeves and loosened his tie, but the man is cool and collected.

"Mack Simms," the man says in an oily smooth voice. "It would seem we have something to discuss.."

Billy's eyes flicker from Tommy on the stage to Mack. The man isn't half as seedy as Billy had anticipated. He appears to be in his late-forties, and his hair is impeccably cut, dyed and styled. His expensive clothes are a shocking contrast to the rundown club he seems so proud of owning. Billy's not used to being a leader outside of his Ranger suit, and it takes a moment to slide to his feet and pull his jacket back on. "Yes, actually," he finally says, "about Tommy Oliver."

Mack's tilts his head as if surprised, but it's clear he knows exactly what he's doing. "Perhaps you'd like to step into my back office then?"

Mack's office is small, but clean and air conditioned. There's a small fountain in one corner with floating bells that chime when they bounce into each other. Behind his desk hangs a large portrait of Alexander III of Macedon that's been retouched to bear a strong resemblance to Mack.

"Have a seat," Mack says, sliding into the plush leather armchair across the desk. "Cigarette?"

"No, thank you. Carcinogens kill." Billy tries not to cringe as Mack lights up in the tiny office anyway.

"Reggie says you slipped by him last night with Tommy in tow. Given Reggie's track record, I find that quite impressive." Mack takes a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke across the desk. "You must have been quite pleased with yourself."

The man positively drips charisma, but already Billy can't stand him. "To the contrary. My only intent was to engage in a moderate conversation."

"Conversation? Right, which is why you came to his work place and took him out of the club in the middle of his shift without informing anyone." Mack's smile fades. "Do you have any idea how many people come to the Cat's Beard to watch Tommy perform? I lost a lot of money last night because of your little stunt. He has quite a following."

"I apologize for any inconvenience. I was unaware of his celebrity."

"Of course you were! I've never seen you before in my life. Tommy certainly hasn't ever mentioned you. Some friend you are!" He leans forward. "Now listen up. This is my club. If you want access to Tommy, you play by my rules, same as everyone else, understand? He's a hot commodity and doesn't see just anyone. If he's willing, you can see him by the hour, at the club, after his shift is over."

"Sounds reasonable," Billy lies. Thoughts of asking to buy Tommy out of whatever horrible contract he's mixed up in flutter out of Billy's mind. "I don't suppose you take credit card?"

Mack's smile returns. "Oh, I'm sure we can work something out." He confidently leans back in his chair, fingers steepling as he surveys Billy.

In the end, they decide on two-hundred dollars for one hour. It's ludicrous as far as Billy is concerned, but Mack refuses to believe that Billy intends to actually just talk. After payment goes through, he still has to wait until two in the morning for the club to close and Tommy to get off stage. As far as he's aware, no one ever asks Tommy if he wants this meeting and Billy tries not to think how many times this sort of arrangement has been thrust upon him before.

Eventually he's led to another room to wait for Tommy, and his sense of direction tells him it's not very near the dressing room he saw Tommy in last time. The room isn't big, and it's made decidedly smaller by the large bed dominating most of it. Billy's tired and the bed looks deceptively inviting, but knowing what horrors the bed must have seen, he sits on the lone rickety chair in the corner instead and carefully makes sure not to touch anything.

When Tommy finally arrives, he looks like the walking dead and Billy regrets keeping him up any longer than necessary. Billy's own weariness slides away upon seeing what true exhaustion looks like, and he gets to his feet almost instantly, wanting to touch Tommy and provide comfort, but not daring to.

Upon seeing him, Tommy's bloodshot eyes widen. "Haven't you caused enough damage already!"

Billy shouldn't have come without first talking to Trini or further researching the situation. He's at a complete loss for what to say or do, and helplessness gnaws at him. "Just sit down. You look dead on your feet. Mack won't get mad this time; I paid him. I could only afford an hour, but I paid him."

Tommy fixes him with a hard, long stare. After several seconds, his gaze moves to the bed and, unmindful of its obvious filth, he mechanically sits down. "What do you want?"

Relieved, Billy sits back down on the rickety chair. "Ideally, I like you to stop working in this club and come back to Angel Grove with me."

Tommy snorts and flops back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. "How many times do I have to say 'Leave me alone'? Should I learn it in another language?"

Billy watches Tommy's chest rise and fall; he's still breathing hard from his last dance. "Regardless of whether or not you agree, I'm not going to stop asking until you leave this place."

"Don't you get it?" Tommy rolls onto his side, glaring now. "I belong here. This is what I am now." His hand spreads out over his tattooed chest, fingers digging into skin. "There's nothing else. The rest of the world doesn't exist for me anymore. I'm lucky to have this much."

Tommy looks so much worse than yesterday, and Billy wonders what punishment Mack put him through for disappearing last night. Even from across the room he can smell sweat and alcohol—and cigarette smoke. "Who told you that?"

"Don't need someone to tell me." Tommy rolls onto his back again, stretching out on the old mattress. "Feel it in every bone in my body. I'm worthless. I'm less than worthless—I'm dangerous."

For the first time, Billy wonders if Tommy's done something. "Did you . . . Tommy, did you hurt somebody?"

Tommy's eyes grow lidded and his words seem to come more difficultly. "No. Not like you're thinking. Not yet. But I could."

"You can't condemn on premeditation alone. Where does this sense of worthlessness come from? You were never worthless before. You helped us. You were a Ranger; part of a team."

Tommy laughs, short and sharp. "I did far more damage to the Power Rangers than I ever did any good. I was only ever a burden to you all."

"That wasn't your fault."

"Ha, but you don't deny it, do you?"

"You were under Rita's spell, Tommy. None of us ever blamed you for anything she made you do."

"But she picked me, Billy. She didn't pick you or Jason or . . . or even Bulk or Skull. She picked me. I was the corruptible one. I was the evil one." Groaning, Tommy flings an arm over his eyes. "And sometimes I miss it. The feeling of power and belonging; being useful to an empress; being special—Rita's chosen one. I was, and always will be, a liability."

"Rita's gone now, Tommy," Billy says. "She was destroyed in the war." Despite knowing what sort of germs must be lurking on the bedspread, he wants to move closer and sit by Tommy, but he knows Tommy wouldn't like it. "And she could have picked any of us. She's put spells on me before. I know what that's like to be under her control. I know how freeing it can feel having your inhibitions removed; to feel that dark power, but . . . it's no fun to be someone else's pawn or to be turned against your friends. Your hatred of being used shows how much better than that you are. We're Rangers; we're all better than that."

Suddenly, Tommy sits up. "Enough. I don't want to talk about it anymore." His eyes focus on Billy, almost as if noticing him for the first time. One of his eyebrows raises and he leans forward on his hand, legs parting slightly. "So, Mack says he got two-hundred dollars out of you. What'll it be?" His gaze is unmistakable and his mouth curls up in a smirk. "I don't mean to rush, but you have only paid for an hour."

The sudden change in Tommy is almost palpable, and it sends goosepimples running up Billy's arm to see him like this. Even if he's mocking, that Tommy thinks Billy could ever have come to him like this for anything sexual churns his stomach. He's about to protest, when it occurs to him that deriding what Tommy does for a living is only going to increase his self-hate. "I told you," he says instead, "I just came here to talk to you."

"Then you're wasting my time. And yours." With considerable effort, Tommy gets back to his feet, swaying slightly. "Mack has a very detailed revenue report of all the income he holds me responsible for losing last night. I spent all my earnings last night on cab fare home from your place at three in the morning—without first giving him his percentage. He says dozens of regular customers left when I didn't show up for my evening performances. I'm expected to pay all of that out of pocket. This," he gestures to the room, "doesn't count. I have to work overtime and do . . . do whatever Mack says until he's satisfied."

Billy wants to scream, and that's not a reaction he ever has. He wants to shake Tommy and make him see how messed up all of this is; how the very words coming out of his mouth should be his clue to leave this place. He stays quiet, though it takes several deep breaths. He hasn't got the tools he needs to solve this yet. He's going to have to call Trini when he gets home; maybe even Jason. This is more than he can handle alone, but not something he feels ready to foist on the other Rangers. "I'm not going to give up on you," he says. "I'm going to come here every day if I have to, until I can make you realize that not only is it okay to leave, but it's the right thing to do."

"And I'm telling you not to waste your time. Or mine."

"Just . . . answer one question: are you happy here?"

Tommy stares at him. "No, but I hardly deserve to be."

Billy leaves not much later; Tommy's shut down he's wasting time that Tommy would better use sleeping. He vows to come back tomorrow, after arming himself with more information, and hopes that Tommy is in a better head space then.

The still, cold night greets him when he leaves the club, the first real onset of autumn, and finds Reggie still standing there, guarding the entrance.

"Do you ever sleep?" Billy asks, turning up the collar on his coat.

Reggie's beady little eyes register surprise seeing Billy, but he just shrugs his massive shoulders. "Time for that when I'm dead."

Nodding sadly, Billy says, "See you tomorrow," and starts the trek back to his car.

It's after four in the morning by the time Billy makes it back to Angel Grove, but that suits him just fine. It's six in the evening in Thailand, and that means Trini will be awake—and hopefully not busy with the motivational peace talks she's still doing. He starts a pot of coffee while the phone rings and, at the familiar sound of her voice, sinks into the couch in his living room.

Billy is not a social creature, and Trini knows immediately that it's four in the morning in Angel Grove and Something Is Up.

"It's about Tommy," he says.

There's a space of silence before, uncertainly, Trini asks, "Ranger Tommy?"

"Affirmative." Relaxing, Billy pulls his tie off and throws it across the room. "He's landed himself in a most unexpected predicament. His disappearance after Rita's green candle was extinguished was evidently self-induced by burgeoning feelings of worthlessness that, left untreated for years, have metastasized into an extremely unstable, volatile personality with no regard for self-preservation. Trini, I've seen him performing at a club twice now, using benzoylmethylecgonine both times, along with copious ethanol consumption. Undoubtedly there's additional substance abuse I'm unaware of thus far. He's circumvented all my attempts to retrieve him from the club, and I-"

"Calm down, Billy," Trini says. "Start from the beginning."

Taking a deep breath, Billy does. It's easier from the beginning, though he rambles on and knows his phone bill is going to be astronomical. When he's finished bringing Trini up to date, there's a long silence on the other end. "Trini?"

"I'm still here. You know, I am not a professional counselor in any capacity. Any advice I can offer is with a grain of salt. You should really talk to someone certified."

"Acknowledged, but I am at a loss for where else to turn. It isn't as though I can contact the law. Almost anyone would attempt to incarcerate him, at this point, and any therapist would need to know about his Ranger past, which Zordon strictly forbids."

"You haven't mentioned Zordon's thoughts on all this. Does he have any advice?"

Feeling the start of a caffeine headache, Billy pushes himself off his couch and goes to pour himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee. Thinking about Zordon is going to require more of his concentration that he's ready for. "Zordon is uninformed, as of yet. For now, I'd like it to remain that way. My experience with his involvement in post-Ranger affairs leads me to conclude he'll be of little assistance in this matter. Potentially, he'll even have a negative impact on the situation."

"You still don't trust him because of the way he handled the war?"

"Among other reasons. Many other reasons." Billy shakes his head, carrying his coffee back to his couch. "Suffice to say, consider Zordon eliminated from the equation. Focus on Tommy. What method do you propose would be most effective in reaching him?"

"Persistence," Trini says. "You have got to earn his trust again. His involvement with the Rangers lasted less than one year, Billy. It has been six since then, and you two were never close."

"We were friends."

"I know, but it was not a close friendship." Trini hesitates. "I suppose involving Kim wouldn't help? She did know him best of all of us."

"I've considered and rejected the notion. Tommy's so entrenched in this lifestyle that I think reintroducing them at this point would only be detrimental to both. I mentioned the tattoos?"

"You did." She pauses for thought. "Given your limitations, I would just continue to go and see him. Every night, if possible. Show him you are serious. Try to befriend him. It's like starting new, Billy. You're a stranger to him. Remind him of the good in his past, but don't rely on only that. If you can, get him out of the club on his own terms. Offer to buy him dinner or groceries. Tell him you can't afford the private chats and go to his home. He has surrounded himself with this life. He needs to see normal things again, but it has to be gradual."

The idea of spending multiple nights at the Cat's Beard hangs over Billy like an ominous, evil cloud. "For all my intelligence, it seems I've found an equation I can't easily solve."

"You always did like a challenge."

"Challenges aren't nearly so frightening as the unknown. What if I don't succeed? What if I lose him altogether?"

"You know how dangerous thinking like that can be. Self-fulfilling prophecy, right? You will succeed, and one day Tommy will thank you for it."

Billy's heart is heavy, and he sets down his coffee mug. "All the same, I'd rather not be attempting this feat on my own."

"I wish I were there, too."

He falls asleep there on his couch and dreams of swimming upstream toward Tommy, but never getting any closer. When he wakes, he finds the cordless still cradled in his hand, his face pressed against the leather couch cushion, warmed now by the sun. Despite his grogginess, Billy goes to shower and make himself breakfast. He has a lot of research to do on Tommy's past and he wants to be out the door headed for Devil's Cove by seven.

He goes through his closet twice, trying to find anything remotely appropriate to wear to a club. He finally settles on a plain t-shirt that's a little too small and jeans. It's far from trendy, but he knows it won't stand out in the way his suits have.

His hands are on his car keys when his phone rings. It's Rocky, asking where he is.

"Oh, I forgot all about your party!" Billy doesn't particularly want to go in the first place, but guilt nags him for having to tell Rocky this way instead of canceling properly. "Something's come up. I'm really sorry."

"It's all right," Rocky says, and sounds as if he genuinely means it. "I hope it's nothing serious."

"It's . . . well, it's complicated." He's not sure why he feels compelled to elaborate, but he does. "An old friend is in trouble. I'm going to try to help him, though it may not be successful."

"That sounds a lot more important than my party. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"No. Just . . . just stay safe and enjoy yourself tonight."

"You sound really down. You're sure I can't help?"

Billy smiles at Rocky's intuitive perceptiveness. "I guess I'm a little stressed and didn't sleep well, that's all. Don't worry about it, all right? This issue with my friend is a . . . very personal matter, and I don't want it to get out."

"I understand. Still, if there's anything I can do to help . . ."

"I appreciate it. Right now, what will help me best is to just keep quiet about this. I don't want to worry any of the others unnecessarily."

"What'll I tell 'em about the party, though? I mean, why you can't make it."

"Tell them . . ." Billy doesn't want to lie, or to make Rocky lie for him. "Just tell them I'm helping an old friend. It's . . . it's really not someone any of you know, anyway." Except, of course, for Kim.

"Well, all right, Billy. You'll let me know if anything changes, though, and I can help, right?"

"I will. Enjoy your party, Rocky."

"Thanks. Good luck with your friend!"

"Thanks." Billy hangs up the phone, but stares at it for a few seconds in thought.

Rocky's too simple for Billy sometimes, but his perpetual positive attitude is often contagious. He's also one of the least judgmental people Billy has ever met. He's not sure what to do with that knowledge just yet, but it seems important, and he files it away in case it becomes useful in the future.

When he sees Reggie outside the Cat's Beard later that evening, the huge man just looks him over once and solemnly steps aside. Billy wouldn't testify to it, but he's pretty sure he sees a look of disappointment in Reggie's eyes as he passes.

Rocky's party would have annoyed Billy on multiple levels, but it would not have touched on how uncomfortable the Cat's Beard makes him feel.

It's Saturday night, and the club is as full as Billy has ever seen it. Tommy's on stage, sweaty and glassy eyed, gyrating wildly to the throng of patrons at the foot of the stage. All the stools at the bar are filled, as are most of the tables. Though Trini's words echo in his head, Billy wishes he hadn't come. Tommy needs him, but he's not sure he's strong enough to do this alone. Calling Tommy's family would be easier. Bringing the law down on this den of iniquity might even be better.

It's a catcall that brings Billy out of his reverie, and his gaze is drawn toward the stage again, in time to watch Tommy stagger backward from one of his dance moves, unbalanced by the warring concoction of drugs in his system. He recovers after a moment, and his fans give another cheer. One hand snakes up and brazenly cups Tommy's Speedo before Tommy, unresponsive, returns to his dance.

"Get you a drink?"

Billy nearly jumps at the voice so close to him. He turns to find a waitress at his elbow and remembers her from the night before. She's passing much better tonight and doesn't look nearly as tired. "Uhh, I'm all right just now, thanks."

Her gaze strays off him toward the stage, and back. "Guess Tommy's gained himself another admirer?"

"Huh?" Billy's eyes are riveted on the men at the foot of the stage, unsettled by their drunken bravado, but her words draw him back. "What? No. I mean, it's not like that. Tommy's . . . Tommy's an old friend of mine." Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Billy buries his hands in his jean pockets.

"He's attractive, talented and gets a lot of admirers. You shouldn't be ashamed of it."

She seems melancholy, and something about her makes Billy reconsider his thoughts on the club. "What's your name?"

She blinks, surprised. "Cynthia. Cindy."

"I'm Billy," he says. "Have you worked here long?"

Cindy shrugs. "About two years. Why?"

Billy nods his head toward the stage. "Has he always been like this?"

"Like what? A dancer?"

Billy nods. "And a cocaine user and heavy alcohol consumer?"

"I suppose so. He was already popular when I first started coming here. That was almost three years ago, mind. Didn't get the job until later." She tucks a limp curl behind her ear. "Maybe he wasn't quite so crazy. Didn't have all his tattoos, then, either."

"Oh?"

"He had some of them, but I remember when he showed up with . . . with the 'cocksucker' one. Mack was furious at first, you know. I don't think Tommy cared, but Mack did. It wasn't until the regulars saw it that he changed his mind."

"Why is that?"

"Oh, because they love it. I think they get off on Tommy's." She looks over at Billy, her eyes a little keener. "You really are his friend, aren't you?"

"Affirmative. That is, yes. We went to high school together." Billy rocks back on his heels. "I could have saved him from this if I'd only known sooner."

"Tommy's got a lot of demons, but he's . . . he's not a bad guy. We're not close, but I know he's helped a couple of the other servers and dancers."

That's news, and Billy perks up. "Helped? How?"

A call for drinks comes in the distance, and Cindy turns toward it with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry Billy, I've got to get back to work. You sure you don't want a drink?"

"I'm all right, thanks. Another time?"

She nods and hurries off.

Almost instantly, another waitress approaches him. Her face is severe and mirthless.

"Oh, sorry," Billy says, "I uh, I don't want anything to drink."

She's unamused. "Not what I came over here for." She thumbs over her shoulder, toward the throng of enthusiastic men at the foot of the stage. "The Tommy Brigade wants you to come join them. Guess they wanna talk to ya."

"Oh." She leaves before Billy can ask any more questions, so he stares at the men there. One finally catches his eye and does a jerking motion with his head, coaxing Billy over.

Uncertainly, Billy picks his way through the tables. Tommy's still on stage, but he's moved to a different pole now. It's a little easier for Billy to approach the stage when Tommy's not right in front of him.

When he's close enough, the man with whom he'd made eye contact with breaks away from the rest of the crowd, slings an arm over Billy's shoulder and half-drags him the rest of the way. "So, I hear you've become a regular for Tommy."

"Twice is considered regular?"

"That's twice more than the majority of us!" He gestures to the rest of the admirers. "Though not for lack of trying." Once they're close enough, he releases Billy, twisting to study him. "Let me look at you." He shakes his greasy head. "T-shirt and glasses! What kind of type is that?"

"Pardon me?"

"You're new here, aren't you? You don't know this, but some of these guys have been here years, trying to get that little cocksucker to live up to his name. You come in one night and score twice in two days? We want to know your secret."

Having overheard, another man leans back. "And your stories! I hear he's the best fuck this side of town. Wild, like a stallion, but totally submissive once you're giving it to him." The man makes a very graphic visual with his hips. "Sure would like to get my fingers in that hair, give it a good, hard pull." He grins almost viciously.

Any well-being remaining in Billy flies out the window at those words. He has to clench his fists to keep his composure. On stage, Tommy's powerful legs holding him aloft as he bends backward down the pole and spins. "You'll . . . you'll just have to talk to Mack. I can't say why Tommy agreed to uh, see me."

"Ignore Tony. Doesn't matter why he agreed," the first man says. "I just want to know how he was! Are the rumors true?"

"Do the tattoos go all the way down?" Tony calls.

"We want details, man!"

Billy feels sick, and the sensation is compounded when Tommy gets a brief rational gleam in his eyes and focuses his gaze all the way across the room on Billy. It rivets him to the spot.

"Hey, he's looking at you!"

"Probably looking forward to tonight!" Tony flings an arm around Billy's shoulder, buddies up nice, and waves extravagantly at Tommy. "Maybe your luck'll rub off on me. You into threesomes?"

Disgusted, Billy shoves the man off, but Tommy's already gone back to his dancing. He disappears a short while later, to much jeering, and when he reappears at the top of a new number, Billy can tell he's taken the brief break to coke himself up even more.

"Hey, where you going?" Tony calls as Billy pushes to his feet.

How he'd ever let himself sit amongst the Tommy Brigade, he isn't sure. "Home," he says. He can't give a better excuse than that. He can't even look at Tommy anymore. He just has to get out of this club. Saturday nights are too busy. He's no good to anyone.

"Leave the stove on?" Reggie calls as Billy emerges from the stairs.

"If only that were all," Billy mutters as he passes.

Reggie makes a sad clicking noise in the back of his throat as he watches Billy go. "You play with fire, you gonna get burned."