Editor's notes: Thanks very much for the lovely comments from you guys! Many thanks to Mana for beta-ing this! Thanks to Monica for looking through it and giving her opinion on it.

Nothing but Time

Part two: Confession is Good for the Soul?

Chapter 4

Archer watched Lorian and T'Pol scuttle back to their abode and hung his head against his chest. Although the boy was smarter than he, in many ways he reminded him of himself at about that age. Trip's death wore heavily on Lorian – he hadn't been the same since the accident. Actually, T'Pol hadn't been the same either, but she avoided talking about it much. Too bad. Confession, dealing with problems and talking them through, was good for the soul.

After helping with baths, reading stories and giving kisses, he tucked Henry and Elyssa into bed. He trudged into his own room, slipped into his nightclothes and stared in the dark at the ceiling, wondering how many years it'd been since Esilia had died. Was it four or five now? Must be five. Seemed like longer and just yesterday.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the way she nibbled on the back of his neck and earlobes. It was a strange thing to recall, but pleasing. The ridges that covered the bridge of her nose leaned into him, and like a fine-toothed comb tickled him where the tiny hairs at the base of his head and neck met. Squirming, he'd nearly always blurt out a boyish chortle. And then, her arms would drape around him and she'd laugh.

'Five years,' he thought with a sigh.

During and after the funeral, he didn't cry – he couldn't. His children, unlike most, understood the permanency of the situation and wailed uncontrollably at the wake, after it and for days on end, especially his daughter, despite her young age. Archer decided the best thing he could do was to be there for them. With drive and determination, he mustered up the fortress-like strength he'd used in the expanse to provide comfort and to care for his children. It was important to him they didn't see him cry, and that they knew everything would be okay.

Shoving out and locking away his emotions, he carried on his duties as father and captain flawlessly (at least he thought so), until T'Pol came to see him that one day.

He was able to conjure that memory in agonizing detail.

Archer'd been putting in more hours, hiding himself away in his Ready Room, focusing on information that needed focusing, reviewing scientific scans and the like when a buzzer rang overhead. Before he could accept or reject an intrusion, T'Pol walked in and hovered over his desk.

"Captain, may I speak with you about a personal matter?"

"Something wrong with Henry and Elyssa?" he asked with urgency.

She and Trip had agreed to watch his kids, as they'd done so many times in the past few weeks, as he poured over data from a nebulae they passed recently.

Understanding his question was that of a concerned parent, she said, "No."

Relieved, he offered her a seat, wondering what was so important it couldn't wait until their shift tomorrow morning. She declined the offer, shifted her weight between both feet and twitched her lips.

"You've seemed sullen lately," she said quickly.

"I feel fine," he said. An unconvincing smile, meant to influence her, worked its way onto his face.

From the severity of her features, he gathered she didn't buy it.

"The one year anniversary of Esilia's death is today," she commented.

"Oh? Huh. I'd forgotten."

Watching her continue to stare at him, he raised his eyebrows. "I'm fine."

"I'm not certain you are. You've been spending more hours than usual at work the past few weeks."

"I've been reviewing the scans of the class 7 nebulae …."

"Captain, we have plenty of time to examine data. I think you're avoiding something."

"Don't be silly."

She admonished him with a single raised eyebrow as he sighed. He thought this was about keeping an eye on his children so often lately.

"Look, I appreciate you watching my kids. If it's been a problem for you …," he said.

"I don't mind, I enjoy them immensely," she said. "I'm concerned about you."

"You don't need to be."

"As I said, you've been sullen lately."

"I'm okay."

Taking a deep breath, she said, "Jonathan, you've been carrying on for the past year as if the woman you married never existed."

"What?"

"Your children are distraught. Elyssa doesn't understand. Perhaps if you shared your … feelings with them …."

His face dove into his hand. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have. After all, he was their father, caretaker, guardian and protector – he'd know if something was amiss with his own kids. They'd shared their feelings with him, and he'd hugged, loved and kissed away their pain. He'd even noticed their tears had ended and smiles had popped back onto their faces again. Everything was just fine.

"Henry claims you don't like to talk about Esilia."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

T'Pol said, "It's important to acknowledge your feelings. Your children need to know you cared for their mother …."

Defensively he stood up. "I don't have to drone on about her or go into hysterics to prove I loved her, do I?"

"Of course not, but you haven't mentioned her name possibly since her death, at least to me. You've been working longer hours, socializing less … these things seem to indicate you haven't completely … recovered."

Irritation bubbled up from the pit of his stomach. Everything was fine. Why couldn't she let this go?

"You should understand and accept your feelings of loss, grief and pain …."

Exhaling sharply, he said, "I'm okay! How many times do I have to tell you that to convince you? No one knows better than I that I miss her. You think I like going home to an empty room?"

She didn't respond to the rhetorical question, but seemed to examine the comment.

"There I admitted it. I miss her."

She remained silent and still.

"You happy? Sometimes I feel as lonely as I did …," he said, ending the conversation abruptly.

She waited for him to complete the sentence, staring at him.

"All right, fine. I miss her, T'Pol," he said. "But, I don't appreciate you …."

"I'm only trying to be your friend," she interrupted.

He gazed into her eyes. Friend? She'd been more, but she'd never know it. Maybe some of what she was saying was right; he'd locked away his heart for a year letting emotions roll off of him, denying all the things she said.

Esilia didn't just want Archer to make decisions or deliver orders, she was passionate about him … and he missed that. He missed her sense of humor – the way she was able to laugh in his face when he was hell bent on acting like an ass, the way she smiled, the fact she never closed the cap on the toothpaste, never hung up her own washcloth, stuffed her dirty clothes into piles and the way she stroked Henry's hair when he came down with a slight fever. He'd loved her as much as one man could. She was a distraction, a companion and a friend. But, she was gone.

Maybe he felt guilty that she'd died in childbirth. It was just like her to give up her life to do something for him, and he wished to God that he worshipped the ground that she walked on for her sacrifice. But, frankly, he was angry that she'd kept that information from him.

Angry? He was furious. Apparently she'd known for some time, ever since she'd found out about the pregnancy, that it would be difficult. Humans and Ikarrans had compatible DNA, but Henry had been a complete fluke. Neither had any intention of being a parent when he'd been conceived.

Elyssa had been carefully planned. For their daughter, Esilia had taken vitamins, her temperature and everything she could, to boost the chances of becoming pregnant. And she did. But, the delivery had been difficult. The baby had caused a lot of internal damage and Phlox declared Elyssa would be the last child they'd have. Archer, glad his wife was okay, had been happy with two – a boy and a girl. But, Ikarrans had large families, and as soon as she was able to, she had begun planning, secretly, to have another.

When Archer had found out about their third child, he was scared, much more so than she. But, her gentle spirit and the way her eyes had filled with wonder at the news, had a way of convincing … deluding him everything was okay. It was in her last semester (Ikarrans gave birth after only 7 months) that Esilia had become ill.

One night, she'd awakened him with screams of labor pains. They'd been blood curdling and desperate. Archer'd scooped his wife into his arms and rushed her to Sickbay. Within a few minutes of reaching the medical facility, Phlox had broken the news.

"I'm sorry … she's gone."

Gone. It had sounded so simple –- like she'd walked out of Sickbay; it had taken a few moments for the finality of the situation to hit him.

"The baby?" he whispered.

Phlox closed his eyes and shook his head. The physician had said a few more words and shown him his wife's body, but Archer had entered a fog. After working through some of the minor details, leaving major decisions for later, he'd numbly wandered the corridors to his home.

As gently as possible, he'd told his children something he'd never dreamed he'd say.

"Henry, Elyssa, your mother …," he whispered, hoarsely. "She's not coming home."

His five-year old son had run into his arms and began to cry immediately and soon his daughter joined in.

While comforting his children he'd realized instead of feeling sad, he'd felt angry. She'd abandoned him with two kids to raise. And damn her – she'd always been the more tender and loving parent – kissing injuries, blowing on burns, judging drawing contests, tickling stomachs and tearing up when Henry lost his first tooth. (Ikarrans didn't lose teeth, she'd assumed the boy had a dreaded disease.) And he'd hated that he thought about the comfort she gave him. Dinner had typically begun with him fussing over details about work, and had ended with her laughing at his seriousness and smothering his lips with hers. He'd always counted on her finger to smooth away the crease between his eyebrows.

Archer snapped back into the moment, noticing T'Pol watching him curiously, waiting with her Vulcan patience for him to speak first.

"My friend?" he asked.

"Of course," she reassured.

"I don't need a friend!" he sniped. Springing to his feet, he began tapping them against the deck plating pacing, around her.

Unhappy that didn't spark a reaction from her, he continued. "You don't know what's it like!"

"No, I don't," she agreed.

"That's right."

She remained motionless.

"I'm fine!"

She nodded, without really nodding at all.

"Just leave me alone!"

She stood her ground, unblinking.

Angry she hadn't made a step toward the door, he towered over her. "I said leave me alone!"

As if her shoes were glued to the floor, she remained.

In a bout of rage he threw the PADD against the wall and shouted again. "Why won't you leave me alone?! I'm fine!!"

Then, like boy who's ended a temper tantrum, he began to shake and tears not only formed in his tear ducts, they spilled down his cheeks – gushing from his eyes. He sobbed deeply and leaned roughly again his desk, burying his face in his hand, embarrassed he'd let a wave of emotion overtake him.

And then suddenly, he felt a hand wrap around his forearm. The gesture oddly enough gave him permission to weep with more ferocity. He shook, choking outbursts into the air and felt something he thought in all his days he'd never imagine – T'Pol drew him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He let himself be cradled and dropped his head wearily onto her shoulder as he continued to blindly sob.

The saddest thing about that incident was: T'Pol assumed he was bemoaning his wife's passing, and most of him was, but a miniscule part of him was weeping because being in her arms felt so exquisite – like something he'd been wanting for years. During that moment, he'd almost wished he could've produce more sobs to feel her heartbeat against his and her breath on his neck just a little longer. And the longer she'd held him, the harder it was to stifle the idea of kissing her … embracing her in gratitude for welcoming his tears and easing his pain, kissing her in lust for the year of comfort he'd missed from his spouse and … gazing at her in love.

Strange that the first time he'd been in her arms was to relieve his suffering over a deceased wife. Ironic, really.

Even now, he conjured up T'Pol's scent and let it ruminate in his nostrils – sandalwood, ylang-ylang and myrrh … maybe a touch of vanilla. He tried not to imagine that smell under the sheets with him, curling up next to him.

Nearing sleep, he wondered whether he should erase his personal logs – just in case. Going to a metallic box for confessional was a hell of a lot easier than telling someone, especially Phlox, and made him feel better. At least, he'd convinced himself that was the case.

Chapter 5

Archer heard faint whispers darting around his bed followed by giggling. Elyssa and Henry had performed every possible test to wake their father and were probably up to no good. As his eyes finally opened, he heard squeals of delight from his daughter as she hugged his neck.

"Good morning, Daddy!" she yelped.

Being a father meant never really having a day off, despite having a day off. He grabbed her to him and growled playfully, kissing her nose.

Henry, eager to get more attention began to speak. "Dad! I got the fifth level of Zaknor where I killed the …."

The information about the child's game washed over him, but he knew the proper response. Archer squinted his eyes at his boy and grinned.

"Oh, really?" he asked.

As both children fought for his attention, he jumped out of bed and stalked after his kids making loud monster noises. The two giggled and scampered through the quarters, egging him on.

A beeping broke their merriment as Archer answered the door in his pajamas.

T'Pol greeted him with a peaked eyebrow, her eyes focused on the quarters behind him. The children, who'd been up long before him, had already done their best to destroy the place while having space battles and acting out their favorite parts of books and poems read to them by their father.

Archer looked behind him, taking in his messy quarters and weakly stated, "Kids."

"I don't suppose Lorian stayed here?" she asked, coming right to the point.

Archer raised his eyebrows with alarm. "No."

"I've been looking for him for a while. I'm sorry to bother you …."

She turned her head away and he gripped her shoulders as he'd done so many times before. Reassuring her was part of his job, a part of his job he liked.

"We'll find him," he said.

"I asked Malcolm to disable any shuttles from leaving, as well as the transporter for the time being."

He ran his hand along her arm and gave a 'we'll find him wink.' "Let's go."

Archer barely had enough time to turn to his son as he said, "Don't worry, Dad. We'll wait here."

T'Pol and Archer, still dressed in his pajamas, began looking around the corridors. Jon was about to ask the security team, when idea struck him – the Jeffries tubes. Lorian was scrawny enough to barely fit and would undoubtedly head there if he wanted to be alone. It wasn't restricted access, but needed an entry code which he gathered some of the older children knew.

"The Jeffries tubes," he said and proceeded to run down the hall.

As the two walked down the hall, Archer stopped in his tracks. His own voice echoed quietly in the tube itself.

"It doesn't seem right. I've known Trip for more years than I can remember, but … I love her. I've accepted she chose him, but he's gone. And, I doubt I'll ever feel differently."

Archer recognized his personal log taken a few months ago and nervously glanced at T'Pol. Certain she hadn't worked out what the information was or how much significance it had, he carried on as if it didn't exist. With a deep sigh, Archer stuck his head in the tube, studying Lorian.

"You wanna come out?" Archer asked.

"Maybe you can explain this first," Lorian replied.

"Your mom has been worried sick about you," Archer said.

"I think you owe both of us an explanation, Captain," Lorian insisted.

Archer frowned. "Later."

The boy was about to contradict him, when he narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils – a sure sign of anger.

"Come out," Archer said more sternly, hoping to scare him a little.

Lorian squirmed out of the tube and stared his elder down as T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"See, Mother, he's in love with you," said the boy, stupidly.

At the accusation, Archer's feet instantly became interesting and he shifted his weight as though his uniform itched.

"In fact, going through his logs, he'd been in love with you for some time, possibly even during his marriage," Lorian said.

Archer interrupted, "That's not true."

"You were eager to have my father gone. That's why you ordered him to be on that shuttle …."

"I didn't order him," Archer said. "You know I'd never hurt your father. He asked to …"

"This man, our captain, has wanted to take Dad's place for years – before you were married," accused Lorian. His finger was pointed at Archer in much the same manner his father's would've had he been alive.

"I don't want to take Trip's place," he said, looking at Lorian and then eying T'Pol.

Patiently weighing in her mind the appropriate response and course of action, she spoke.

"Captain Archer asked you not to read or listen to his personal logs." She crossed over to her son, unsure whether to hug him because she was relieved to see him again, or scold him for doing precisely what the captain had asked him not to do and confronting him about it. Deciding neither was appropriate, she rested one hand on his head and smoothed his hair.

Lorian continued to glower at Archer, waiting for the man to excuse his behavior or deny it. To the boy's surprise he did neither, instead, he worriedly looked on – both at Lorian and T'Pol.

"You should go back to our quarters and wait for me," T'Pol said.

The Vulcan hung his head against his chest and agreed. "Yes, ma'am."

As the boy wandered back to his cabin, T'Pol decided to apologize. "The boy is too curious for his own good."

"Sounds kinda like Trip," Archer joked.

"Not just Trip," T'Pol said, thinking humans, including Archer, were overly curious.

"I guess not. Listen," Archer began. "That log was a made a while ago …."

She tried to peer into his eyes, but he seemed determined to avoid them. Just searching his face she could tell it wasn't that long ago. In fact, the deeper rumble in his voice – the timbre change that came with age – indicated it was made recently. More damning, the recording indicated Trip had already passed away; it had to have been made within the past two years.

He avoided her stare and chose a spot on the wall to focus on, knowing she wouldn't buy his lame excuses. Instead he let her judge him and figure it out on her own, and there was little doubt in his mind she would.

"Perhaps we should discuss this later," she suggested.

His eyes finally met hers. "Perhaps."

With that, she headed down the hall and back to her quarters to talk with her son.

TBC