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Shran had lost his crew. His best friend and lover. One of his antennae. Archer sympathized for him, even though Shran had the antennae incident coming. He refused to kill Shran, but he still had to do some sort of maiming. And he did. The remainder of Shran’s crew stayed clear.
“Taste that air!” Shran exclaims, breathing in the air of his own planet.
Shran is arrogant, deceitful, aggressive, and routinely calls him “pink skin”, but Archer can’t help it when he has some sort of fondness for the Andorian General. Perhaps a tad bit fond, thinking he looks endearing in his warm winter coat.
And, he is glad that Shran’s antennae will grow back though. Especially now since Archer’s the one who has to keep watching Shran fumble and tumble in his own homeworld. Like a cat’s tail, the Andorian’s antennae helped him with balance and coordination.
Watching him stumble and lean against the ice walls was not too much of a stressor until they came upon the steep staircase.
“Afraid of heights?” Shran asks him.
Archer decides not to respond, knowing that expressing his concerns over Shran’s balance would make him frustrated. Better to let Shran try than fight with him. The man is very hell-bent when he wants to be.
He quickly comes to realize that was not the right decision, watching Shran fall down the entire flight and landing onto icicles. Archer doesn’t even think when he’s sliding down to get to him. Infuriating or not, Shran is a friend.
“The ice gave out beneath me,” Shran lies, excusing his balance.
Archer only has enough time to give him a look before focusing his attention back on Shran’s leg. It’s not pretty, the dyed blue icicle from his blood going straight through it. It’s like Malcolm and the mine all over again.
He makes an attempt to pull it out, but Shran raises a hand to stop him. Archer let’s him pull his own leg off, a show of his own bravery and pain tolerance he’s sure, but is right there to help move his leg away from the icicle quickly.
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Archer tells him, already starting to wrap the leg.
He wraps the leg as best as he can, letting Shran collect himself. Shran’s breathing is heavy and fast, getting him through the pain. Excruciating pain, Archer knows. Archer applies the best pressure he can with the gauze. It’s the best he can do for now.
He wishes he could do better for the Andorian.
Archer is able to get Shran sitting against the wall, his injured leg perched up onto one of their bags. The bleeding has stopped, but it could start again if Shran were to move. He’s considering waiting it out with Shran until he’s reminded they’ll freeze to death if they stay put. Archer tries to call Enterprise to know avail, thinking they could get back and rethink the plan.
“We’re well inside the dampening field,” Shran tells him, sounding mostly annoyed.
“It doesn’t hurt to try,” Archer replies, returning the impatience.
Archer thought uninjured Shran was annoying.
Jhamel in the beginning was doing fairly well, not finding much discomfort, but the tables turned swiftly. Shran was the first one who demanded it to be shut down. Shran was the one who stood by Jhamel’s side as she regained consciousness. It was all this that made Archer understand that underneath that cold exterior, pun unintended, Shran cared. He cared about his crew. He cared about Talas. He cares about the girl he only met nearly a day ago.
“This experience has really opened my eyes about you, Shran,” Archer admits, walking with him to the teleporter.
“Hmm? Is that so, pink-skin?” Shran replies.
Archer knows “pink-skin” was originally an insult, but it feels more like a pet name now. Shran says it no longer with a sneer, instead it’s said as if it’s an annoying nickname. Another quirk of Shran’s that makes Archer surprisingly fond.
“I know you’ve always had some sort of heart, the way you cared about your crew and people, but these past few days have been different. You care deeply for Jhamel, a woman you only met the other day. Your kindness extends further than I believed,” Archer explains to him.
Shrans looks as if he’s been slapped. Clearly, Archer telling him such a nice compliment was not wanted. Archer almost apologizes, yet doesn’t. Why should he apologize for a kind sentiment?
“Don’t call me kind,” Shran snaps. “I’m a commander in the Imperial Guard. Ruthless.”
Archer laughs, ducking his head. “Of course. Devastatingly ruthless.”
“Or devastatingly handsome. However you want to call it.”
He chooses to play along, nodding his head. “Also that.”
Shran stops in the empty corridor, turning to face Captain Archer. Shran’s looking him over, expecting Archer to do something that says “just kidding”. It never comes.
“Come again?” Shran finally says.
“It’s called flirting, Shran. Human custom. A sign of attraction,” Archer informs the commander. No sign of embarrassment either.
Shran’s gotten a new ship. Neither of them know the next time they’ll cross paths again. If they ever will. The thought is disappointing, Archer was growing to like Shran after all these years. And now, this might be goodbye.
“Oh, good to know my Andorian customs were obvious as well,” Shran replies.
“What?” Archer demands, through completely off.
“I told you, Archer, Andorian flirting is much more aggressive! I really thought the rude name and creating of trouble for you was clear to you!”
“No! No, it wasn’t, Shran! It was more like a pain in the ass!”
“That’s the point!”
Archer can’t believe he’s arguing with Shran about flirting customs as he’s walking Shran to the teleporter, not likely to see him any time soon.
“This is terrible timing, you know that?” Archer complains.
“Indeed it is,” Shran agrees, glumly.
Archer’s trying to think of how to continue this. Walk Shran the rest of the way, say goodbye, and never see him again? Or, he could try to find a way for Shran to stay. Just for a little bit.
His thoughts are thrown off course when he’s suddenly slammed into the wall behind him. Blue hands keep him pinned, one intact antenna perked. It’s cute, really.
“Shran, what are you doing-?” Archer asks him, not knowing to call for security or not.
“Flirting,” Shran answers dully, seeming as if being pinned to a wall was obvious of his intentions.
“Got it.”
Shran kisses him then. It’s nothing like Archer imagined it to be. With Shran, he expected it to be more violent and forceful than what he gets. Instead, it’s soft and when he pulls away, it makes Archer want for more.
“I’ll be back, pink skin,” Shran whispers, almost like a promise.