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A significant amount of time passes in alternating conversation and silence. Shran finds it surprisingly tolerable despite the duration. At least he’s in his favourite company.
Nightfall is now upon them. Small, glowing insects that remind Archer of fireflies drift lazily around the tree they’re seated under. Stars twinkle overhead. Creatures of the swamp gently croak, buzz, and chirp in an even rhythm of melodic sounds.
Despite the circumstances, Archer finds their little patch of serenity rather beautiful.
Romantic, even.
There’s a lull in the conversation. Archer hesitates a moment longer before deciding to be brave and bring up what has been bothering him.
“You scared me, you know?” Archer says softly. It had been on his mind the entire time they were escaping, and with them having nothing but time on their hands, he was forced to ruminate on it, but he just couldn’t urge himself to bring it up any earlier.
“What?” Shran asks, confused by this admission. Part of him believes from what he’s seen of Archer that the man wasn’t even capable of fear, always running headfirst into danger.
“Back there, in the cell. When you were…” Archer trails off, thinking he doesn’t really need to elaborate.
“Oh.”
Shran shifts uncomfortably. He wants to apologize, but doesn’t at the same time. He can’t.
Archer notices that Shran seemingly has nothing to say.
“That’s it? ‘Oh’?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know,” Archer mumbles.
A brief pause.
“I did what I had to do,” Shran then says firmly, yet quietly.
“Did you?” Archer’s genuinely surprised by this. He doesn’t think most of Shran’s previous display was necessary. Some of it, yes, obviously, but when it tipped over into a different territory, where it looked like Shran was revelling in delivering his punishment…
Archer remembers that Shran is a soldier through and through. Raised for combat nearly his entire life. He’s fully capable of violence, torture, murder, likely more.
A grim expression comes to Archer’s face as he also remembers he’s not above resorting to those means. His record is not exactly as clean as it used to be, particularly not after the Expanse and the Xindi crisis, and many of his more difficult decisions haunt him.
But that’s one big difference he notes between the two of them. Archer likes to believe his regrets absolve him a little, that so long as he feels guilt for his less savoury actions, it makes them somewhat less severe, as it remains proof his moral compass is relatively still pointed in the right direction. So long as he doesn’t get used to making those choices, doesn’t get comfortable with resorting to the worst case scenario, he can keep his chipped and fragile humanity as intact as possible. Shran, on the other hand…
Well, honestly, Archer didn’t rightly know how Shran felt about his own choices and actions. What he did know is that Shran was far quicker to resort to torture and murder than he had ever been, even when under the pressure of saving all of Earth.
“I-…” Shran begins before cutting himself off. He grimaces.
“From what I saw, it looked like overkill,” Archer remarks.
“They hurt you,” Shran blurts, horrified at himself as the words come out without thinking. “They had to pay for it.”
Archer hums contemplatively. He feels a strange mixture of discomfort and flattery. He shifts a little so he can twist to face Shran head on, wincing slightly through the twinge of pain the movement causes. He hopes Shran will take the hint and turn to face him, too.
He eyes the other carefully, but sincerely, watching the Andorian’s expression. Shran refuses to look at him.
“I appreciate it, Shran, really, I do. Just… take it easy, okay? You don’t need to resort to that for me.”
Shran shakes his head.
“You don’t understand.”
Archer furrows his brow. “I don’t?”
“If I had… I thought you were…”
Shran hisses a frustrated sigh at his inability to speak. He pauses to gather his thoughts and pick his words carefully before trying again.
“When they brought you back, I thought you were dead,” Shran admits. “If I had lost you…”
His antennae droop nearly all the way to his hairline.
Archer raises a hand to cup Shran’s cheek and gently urges him to turn his head and meet Archer’s concerned gaze.
Shran is a little surprised by the contact, but allows it, and stares deeply into Archer’s eyes. Archer brushes his thumb over Shran’s cheekbone. Shran closes his eyes and leans into the warm touch.
The next thing Shran knows, just-as-warm lips are being pressed to his. His eyes fly open in surprise to see the human’s are closed. He can feel the heat of Archer’s closeness, taste the metallic tang of the blood on his lips, the air hangs heavy as the stars shine brightly overhead and the glowing insects dance around them.
Shran freezes. He neither pulls away nor moves into the kiss.
Sensing this, Archer quickly withdraws, pulling back, opening his eyes, and dropping his hand. He flushes red — which is nearly impossible to notice in the darkness of the night — however the embarrassment is still evident in his expression.
Shran stares at him, wide-eyed, stunned, something vulnerable in his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he shifts so he’s kneeling and facing Archer. He raises a hand to cup Archer’s cheek this time, swiping his thumb over the human’s top lip to wipe away some of the coagulating blood.
He’s leaning in again as Archer suddenly disappears, particles fizzling and shimmering and he’s dematerialized.
Shran can’t help but feel disappointed and seconds later, he, too, is whisked back to the Enterprise.