"I'll get on it" Archer had said, unpromisingly.

It turned out that he'd meant he'd get Travis on it. Because it was Travis who called back about forty minutes later with the news that Liz was NOT an official suspect in the bombing of Phlox's building.

"It has all the same characteristics as the shuttle, embassy, and border bombings, which Liz could not have been present for," Travis reported.

It should have been good news, but Liz didn't feel terribly relieved.

Malcolm seemed inclined to argue, as well. "Well, it can't all be the same bomber, can it? The shuttle bombing was a suicide bombing."

"Are you sure?"

"Well, rather sure!" Malcolm snapped. "I mean my view was somewhat obscured by the blood in my eyes and the aerosolised flesh hanging in the air, but that is what it looked like!"

There was a slightly longer pause, long enough for Malcolm to look slightly chagrined.

Liz offered him a reassuring shrug.

"A cell, then," Travis said eventually. "Either way they aren't looking at Liz. Which is a GOOD thing." He'd then signed off, leaving Malcolm and Liz to ponder the situation alone.

They'd sat in silence for a while. Malcolm seemed to have a headache. Every so often, he would rub the bridge of his nose, or one of his temples with his left hand. Something about the way he did so suggested that, each time, he'd attempted to do so first with his right hand, and then remembered he couldn't. It was making Liz feel queasy.

"I suppose you'd like to know WHY I ran out of that building just before," Liz said eventually. "Despite not being the bomber, I mean..."

"Running out of a building of Denobulans seems like a perfectly sensible course of action to me," Malcolm answered. "I'd expect I would have been doing so constantly, if I were you."

Liz sniffed. "Phlox must think it makes me guilty, though, Malcolm. I mean he'd be here otherwise? Wouldn't he?"

"The man just lost half his family, Liz," Malcolm replied gently. "Give him a chance. The two of you have been together for years really, even if it has only been official for one. I'm sure once you explain..."

"I CAN'T explain Malcolm," Liz exclaimed, miserably. "How can I? 'No, Phlox, I had no idea about the bomb. I was just running out of the building because your recently murdered son was a terrifying creep?' How the hell can I say that to him?"

Malcolm blinked. "Sorry, WHAT happened? Liz, are you all right?"

"No, I'm NOT 'all right', Malcolm," Liz replied, tears suddenly streaming. "I've nearly been murdered twice! I HATE it here. I want Phlox, and I want to go home."

Her outburst hung in the air.

Then, quietly, Malcolm answered her. "Yes. I do too, actually. In fact, with hindsight, I think we should have gone to Kreetassa, instead. Gotton Porthos to urinate on things, gotten Archer to apologise for it in the stupidest way possible. Sounds like much more fun than any of..." He broke off, eyes widening.

Following his gaze, Liz's heart leapt in her chest.

In the doorway stood Phlox. He stood in silence for a moment, watching them. Then, still silent, he strode towards Liz.

Then, his hand closed around her throat.

Sayden moved back into the city with caution.

Hilariously, the news waves were blaming the last bombing, and lately the border bombing as well, on the little human who had pulled The Unhealer out of the building. Another human had apparently managed to incite a dangerous prisoner riot within minutes of arriving in detention. Humans were dangerous, the opinion makers were squawking. Ruthless. Evil.

It was so delightful when your enemies turned on each other.

Still, Sayden took care. Just because the opinion makers were talking themselves in circles, it did not follow that the authorities were so easily bamboozled.

And he could afford to be patient now. His prey was stuck on world, could not escape.

He ambled over the former quarantine border, past the mourners, the silent vigil, the multicoloured flags and scraps of fabric secured to every surface still standing nearby. He even offered a discrete salute to the cafe where he had lain in wait, its windows now repaired and hung with more of that same fabric, its door boarded shut.

Hezgatga Hospital the paramedic had said. That's where they were taking the dead. And the living.

It was as good a place to start as any.

But it hardly mattered, because wherever The Unhealer went, on this squalid, festering planet, Sayden would follow.

He would find him. And they would die together.

Liz was dying right in front of him, her fingers splaying and scratching uselessly at Phlox's, her face turning red.

Instinct drove Malcolm out of his hospital bed, but couldn't take him any further, because the moment he moved, the world spun uncomprehendibly. He fell heavily on his paralysed arm, which, eerily, didn't hurt at all. His ribs, which hit next, did hurt however - agonisingly so. And his head, a moment later - well that sort of pain transcended what he could bear and might have fractured his sanity had it continued for a second or so longer.

"Phlox!" He shouted, or whispered, or screamed. "Phlox, stop!"

He was ignored.

Liz's frantic scratching was growing weaker.

Do something else, Malcolm pleaded with her in his head. Go for the eyes, the solar plexus, something.

But Liz couldn't seem to think past her own closed airway. Her face darkened from red to an ugly purple, and her eyelids began to droop.

"Phlox, she didn't do anything," Malcolm begged. "Listen to me. Please!"

Phlox answered him coldly, without loosening his grip. "It occurs to me, Lieutenant Reed, that you and I are long overdue a conversation. A conversation about just WHY you were in the brig, while I was on Qu'Vat Colony."

His words, this sudden accusation, stunned Malcolm to a halt despite what was happening before him. "Phlox!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking.

"Please be patient, Lieutenant. It will be your turn in a moment."

Spurred back into action, Malcolm inched along the floor, even though he knew it was hopeless. Try something else then he demanded of himself, but nothing occurred to him, so he did the only thing he could still do and let out a guttural cry for help with the last of his strength.

Which, amazingly, seemed to work.

A young Denobulan man, appeared in the doorway, and after just a seconds pause, he ran and Phlox, knocking him away from Liz, who fell heavily to the floor, gasping for air, retching up bile, and still clawing at phantom fingers on her throat.

"Stop it," the young man shouted furiously at Phlox. "Just stop it! This isn't her fault. It's mine."

At these words, Phlox stopped struggling and stared into the face of the man who'd accosted him.

Then Phlox's face seemed to somehow collapse and tears sprang into his eyes.

"Mettus?"