Chapter Text
The subspace communication relay had barely connected them before the words were already tumbling out of Shran’s mouth.
“Archer, I need a favor.”
“Another one?” Archer asked. “And hello to you, too.”
“You’d miss me if I stopped calling with opportunities for you to flex your diplomatic prowess.” Shran’s antennae flicked back and forth in humor.
Archer gave a long-suffering sigh that was so over-exaggerated that Shran knew it was fake. Archer liked taking his calls, and he especially liked Shran owing him. “What do you need, Shran?”
“Information. About Soval.”
“Soval?” Archer repeated. His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Don’t be so suspicious,” Shran chastised, one antennae wagging like a scolding finger. “It just so happens that I want to do something…nice for him.”
“Something nice,” Archer repeated dubiously.
“Is there a problem with your subspace comms relay?” Shran asked. “There’s this annoying echo…”
“I’m hearing you fine. Believing you is another matter.”
“You wound me, Captain.” Shran touched his chest.
“I’ve read Trip’s report,” Archer said tersely. “Torture is not a good look on you.”
Shran bared his teeth, hackles raising. “That wasn’t my fault!”
“Oh? So the Ambaassor made you torture him, is that it?”
Shran’s antennae flattened back. “The Imperial Guard demanded–”
“I don’t care what your superiors demanded. You put an innocent man’s neurons in a blender. And he was trying to help you. He was on an errand of mercy for both your worlds.”
“I couldn't know that for sure!” Shran hissed. “Two hundred years, pink skin. For two hundred years, Andorians and Vulcans fought one another. Spied on one another. Lied to one another. How could I know the Vulcans were going through a factional uprising? Much less that Soval was in on it, like some kind of rebel zealot? He’s always been as tight-lipped as an Andorian priestess, and he’d never been less than loyal to High Command.”
“I’ll admit it all came as something of a shock to me too, and I had an inside scoop.” Archer tapped his head knowingly, reminding Shran about the more fantastical elements to the Captain’s story of his adventure on Vulcan. Soul transfers? Really? Hah. “But what’s your point? What’s this have to do with doing something nice for him?”
Shran took a deep, calming breath. “The point, Archer, is that you’re right.” His antennae drooped. “Now that the dust has settled, I owe him one.”
“More than one.”
Shran inclined his head. “I want to give him something or help him in some way. But I’ve wracked my brain and I’m fresh out of ideas. You’ve spent a fair bit of time with him, now more than ever as the new Vulcan high council is forming.”
“It’s funny you should say that,” Archer mused. “They told me they’d be more hands off, yet I’ve spent more time with Soval recently than ever before.”
“I noticed.”
“Feeling neglected, Shran?” Archer teased.
Shran’s eyes rolled. “As if I’d want to spend any extra time with a Vulcan. Please.”
“Interesting that you interpreted that as me saying you missed Soval’s company and not mine. Maybe I should be offended.”
Feeling oddly called out, Shran pursed his lips. “If you’re looking for compliments, keep looking. Just tell me what I want to know.”
“Fish.”
“Is that a human colloquialism?” Shran asked, brow furrowing. “Am I supposed to guess?”
Archer laughed. “Yes but no. Soval is really into fish! Apparently he has some rather impressive tanks in his home with fish from many different worlds. He thinks they’re fascinating. So maybe you could get him some new specimens to add to his collection.”
“That’s…actually rather helpful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There was an awkward silence.
“You know, Shran, I think it’s good of you to try to make amends. But I’m not sure this is the way to go about it. I don’t think a gift basket is an appropriate apology for torture. I think you should just apologize.”
“What makes you think I didn’t already?” Shran asked, affronted. “He forgave me instantly. I didn’t buy it.”
Archer scrunched his face. “Soval forgave you, but you don’t believe him?”
“You’d better check that subspace relay again. I’m hearing another echo.”
Archer snorted. “You’re something else, Shran.”
“I can’t have this debt hanging over my head forever. Do you realize how long Vulcans live? I could owe that man for the rest of my days and then some, beyond the grave!” Shran’s eyes flashed. “I won’t have it. I’m doing something over-the-top crazy nice for him, and that’ll be the end of it.”
“Well, good luck.”
“I don’t need luck. I have skill.”
“Sounds to me like your skilled tongue already got you out of this. You just can’t accept it because deep down you’re a good guy and you know a simple sorry doesn’t cut it.”
“A simple sorry worked on you, didn’t it? I beat you to a pretty pulp the first time we met on P’Jem.” He gave his most winsome smile. “I guess I’m just easy to forgive.”
“Oh, I think cutting you down to size during the ushaan more than evened us out.”
Irked at the memory, Shran’s smile thinned. “I let you win.”
“Ha!”
Shran didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m glad my magnanimous and merciful nature impresses you.”
“Are you drunk, Shran? Too much ale?”
“Maybe I am. Maybe that would explain why I’m going to all this trouble to try to figure out how to make a Vulcan happy. They can’t even experience happiness. I’ve set myself an impossible challenge.”
“I don’t know about that. The Ambassador’s had a spring in his step ever since he was reinstated. I think you’re on the right track.”
“I’ll get him a really big fish,” Shran said. “The biggest he’s ever had.”
“I don’t think the size of the fish is what matters,” Archer said.
Shran’s antennae rotated upwards. “Of course size matters. Don’t make me come over there and prove it to you, pink skin.”
Archer laughed again and held up hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m hanging up, Shran. Goodbye.”
“Bye. And thanks for the tip. Next time we talk, I will no longer be in Shran’s debt.”