A/N: remember me? This is AgiVega, the die-hard Laurence/Emily shipper, with a new story I promised at the end of 'Consequences of Waterloo'. This story is an alternate sequel to my one-shot, 'Her Captain'. In order to read this, pretend that you have never read 'Consequences of Waterloo', because this fic has absolutely nothing to do with it (even if some of my OC's from CoW reappear here). While CoW was a light-hearted, humour-based story, this is going to be darker, more dramatic, sometimes downright angsty. But never fear, humour will occur here and there, for it wouldn't be an AgiVega fic if it didn't have some humour. :)

Disclaimer: the Temeraire universe belongs to Naomi Novik; the story's title I borrowed from that lovely comedy with Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman.

Warning: while CoW was a 'very light T', almost 'strong K+' rated fic, this one truly deserves T rating. I am sure it does not even come close to M rating, but it is a strong, firm T, involving hints at non-consensual sex and self-gratification. You have been warned.

Huge thanks to my wonderful beta Michael who not only corrected my grammar but also helped immensely with all respects of Anglicanism!

Chapter 1

Through with Women

Covert near Sydney, 5th November, 1815

It was not often that Lieutenant Emily Roland got drunk or even tipsy, but tonight, after they had received the news of the fabulous victory at Waterloo, she could not help drinking a bit more than usual. She caught herself giggling uncontrollably all evening, earning a few weird glances from the officers around her, but she decided not to care. For one single night she did not want to care for anyone or anything, especially for a certain someone and the heaps of misery he had piled upon her unawares. She deserved to be happy for once, even only for one evening, and even if that 'happiness' only came from the deep red port in her glass! However, as her glance met that of her captain, laughter froze on her lips and she hastily put down her glass of wine, feeling her cheeks burn.

She was mad at him. No, she was not merely mad, she was practically seething. How dare he ruin her evening with that unbearably stern and disapproving look of his? How dare he rob her of the small joys she was currently feeling when he had already robbed her of every other joy imaginable? He had no right, he had no bloody right to give her silent orders even across the dinner table when duty for the day was over! He had no right to remind her that she was supposed to be feeling gloomy because of him!

Because of him…

For Emily Roland had been miserable for many, many years. Years spent with futile yearning, nights of dreaming and days of daydreaming of a man who simply would not notice her for a woman… No matter what he had told her on their way to New South Wales aboard the Allegiance, she knew well he had only called her a 'young woman' out of chivalry, but he had not really meant it. For him, she was still the same child cadet who had once unknowingly deceived him into thinking her a boy. She might have developed into a woman with a recognisably feminine figure, he still would not see it, for he chose to be deaf and blind to all feminineness since…

Examining the dark red liquid in her glass, stifling a hiccough, Emily's mind raced back to the day when, about a year after having arrived at Australia, they had met the bane of both her and her captain's life: Brianna Johnson.

She remembered it as clearly as though it had been just yesterday, not seven whole years ago: Lieutenant Johnson of the crew of the Yellow Reaper Emeritus, had arrived from a smaller covert to the south in order to serve in the Sydney area. The first dinner that Emeritus' crew had spent in the Sydney covert dining room would surely be long remembered by Temeraire's crew, or at least by those who happened to be sitting near Laurence and his sarcastic friend Tharkay.

That evening Emily had been deeply engrossed in devouring some pork chops, not paying much attention to anything else, even managing to push the thought that she was sitting right next to her captain to the back of her mind, until her captain had spoken to Tharkay in hushed tones, "That woman over there… she is looking at me rather oddly."

"Oh, surely because you are famous," Tharkay had replied in a slightly mocking tone, "she, like everyone else here must have heard about your little… disagreement with the British authorities."

Emily had then chanced a sideways glance at Laurence to see him frowning – frowning, but casting surreptitious glances towards the female lieutenant. "I expect you must be right," he had finally replied to Tharkay.

"Oh, indeed?" the half-British half-Nepalese man had chuckled on Laurence's left. "I thought you noticed I was just pulling your leg…"

"What do you mean by that?" Laurence had asked innocently.

"She has just arrived, she very likely cannot have heard about you yet."

"Then why is she looking at me so… as though she had a problem with me?"

"Well, I think the only problem she might be having with you is that you have not yet visited her in her room, which you could easily remedy tonight after dinner," Tharkay had said, making Laurence blush to the roots of his blond hair. And that was when Emily had decided she truly disliked Mr. Tharkay. But not nearly as much as she had, in a single second, grown to dislike Brianna Johnson.

As it had soon turned out, Brianna was the daughter of an indigenous Australian woman and a British sailor arriving in New South Wales with Arthur Phillip's First Fleet. As a half-blood, she was dark and exotic, and most importantly, seven years older than Emily herself. Brianna was a woman Laurence had regarded as a 'woman' from the first moment on, which had irked Emily no end. Yes, at first it had only irked her, made her feel an all-burning desire to kick something – preferably Brianna herself –, but as time had passed, her childish jealousy turned into deeper desperation: an ache that threatened to consume her from inside whenever she laid eyes upon the two of them walking side by side; and an urge to cry and howl whenever she saw them retreating together to his room.

The worst had been that she had seen from the beginning what Laurence had not: Brianna did not love him. At least, not nearly as much as she, Emily, did. With her exotic beauty, Brianna had easily ensnared the poor devil, using his emotional vulnerability after the 'treason' and all that it had entailed, and he, in desperate hope of getting some warmth from someone other than just his dragon, had let himself be seduced. At the tender age of twenty-one, Brianna had proved to be the most talented temptress Emily had ever seen, her unabashed behaviour would have put Jane Roland to shame, and while Emily had somehow managed to not feel overly jealous of her captain's affections for her mother, she could not bring herself to not be jealous of the affections Laurence had started bestowing upon Brianna 'The Tramp' Johnson.

Once, only once had Emily tried to talk sense into him, and in retrospect she no longer knew how she had even screwed up her courage to go to him and blurt out, "Sir, that woman does not love you, she is just playing with you, I hope you are aware of that", and she no longer knew how she had not dissolved into tears upon hearing his reply, "I am deeply moved by your concern, Mr. Roland, but I believe my private life is no business of yours."

That was the only time since Napoleon's invasion of England that Laurence had addressed her as 'Roland' instead of 'Emily'. She had been aware he had not meant to hurt her, but he had, nevertheless. She did not remember him ever hurting her as much as he had with this line – at least, not before she had so boldly told him her views on Brianna's emotions. And when she thought back, she wondered, had he not been right to feel spiteful? Naturally, his judgement of Brianna's character had been completely wrong, but still he had been a consenting adult, who with every right could regard being reprimanded by a fourteen-year-old girl as unacceptable.

The only time he had hurt her more than this had happened about half a year later. That day she recalled just as vividly as the day they had met Lieutenant Johnson. Temeraire and his crew had been sent off for two weeks to clear land deeper in the continent, and when they had returned to the covert, Laurence had been faced with the news that Miss Johnson had fallen seriously ill. No one he had asked could tell him the details, people just gossiped and gossiped, some thinking Brianna had had a bad case of the flu, some insisting that she had had appendicitis, others firm in the belief that she had received an injury and out of sheer dumb pride had tried to conceal it until it had nearly killed her.

But none of them had even come close to the truth, and they could not have, as the doctor had not allowed anyone to enter the woman's room. Judging by the determined expression on Laurence's face, however, Emily had been sure that the doctor would let him inside. And indeed, if Laurence really wanted to accomplish something, there was no force on earth to hold him back – he had proved that when he and Temeraire had stolen the mushrooms to cure the French dragons. Emily's wistful eyes had followed him until he had entered his lover's room, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. What she would have given, sacrificed even, to have him want to see her so badly!

His visit to Johnson's room had been surprisingly short, and his face upon leaving the room shockingly pale, as though it had not been his paramour but himself suffering from a deadly illness.

"Sir…?" Emily had attempted to address him, but he had walked past her without even noticing her. She had, however, noticed the tears brimming his eyes.

As she had watched him walk eastwards, towards the sea-side, she had seen some unusual weariness in his step, as though his legs had been close to folding beneath him, but he had held himself upright.

A lump rising in her throat, she had decided to follow him, slowly and silently.

On a cliff overlooking the ocean, his legs had finally given up, and so had all his pride and dignity, and he had dropped to his knees, his body convulsing with sobs.

Emily had stood a few steps behind him, not knowing what to do. He had not even noticed her presence, for had he done so, he surely would have pulled himself together. She had never seen him suffer so before and could only wonder what had rendered him so broken. Had Brianna perhaps died during his short visit to her room, or mere minutes before it? Yes, surely that had to be it… she could not fathom any other reason that could have driven her captain into so deep an emotional precipice.

She had not been sure whether she ought to let him know of her presence, but at the same time she had felt a need to hold him, to console him, and that she could not have done without letting him know she was there.

"Sir…?" she had said once again to earn no reply. Probably he had not even heard her.

She had stepped to him, gently putting her hand on his shoulder and giving it a tender squeeze. This finally had made him look up, and her heart had sunk even deeper into her stomach upon seeing his face. His skin had been red both with tears and with nasty fingernail-shaped marks, leaving her no doubt he had clawed at himself, but the worst had been his eyes. They had been hollow. All the pain there must have been in them had spilled away in the form of tears, leaving nothing in them – no emotion at all. At that moment Emily had felt truly frightened.

"Sir… I am… so sorry. Please, accept my deepest condolences… Miss Johnson's death must surely have…"

"What… what are you talking about…?" he had croaked, pulling himself up from his kneeling position and taking a place on a flat-topped rock instead, his face deliberately turned away from her, staring at the vastness of the Pacific.

"I thought… but has she not…?"

"…died?" he had suddenly laughed out, his laughter icy and sarcastic. "No, she is doing well in the circumstances. Yes, she has nearly died, but she is over it and she will live."

"Then… it is great news, is it not, sir?" Emily had replied, sinking down on the rock next to him. Her voice had been wavering, her mind chiding herself for she had almost been happy about the thought of Brianna dead. Then again, she had reminded herself, Brianna's death would have meant horrible pain for her captain, and she would rather have seen him in Brianna's arms than suffering like this. But… if Brianna had not died, then…?

"Great news?" he had echoed her words, shaking his head. "Probably. I wonder why I cannot feel a bit of happiness about it…"

"But sir… I fear I do not understand… what has happened to her then?"

He had suddenly turned towards her, his eyes narrowed to slits. "No one even guessed, did they? Surely because Brianna beseeched the doctor to keep silent… and the doctor only let me enter because I would have been the father."

"The… what…?" she had choked, even forgetting to add 'sir'.

"Oh, that was Brianna's little secret," he had replied with an expression of disgust. "She must have known it before we left, she must have… but she never cared to tell me, never cared to ask for my opinion… she thought she had the right to play God and take the life of… oh, Emily…" Suddenly his disgusted voice had broken into sobs again and his hollow eyes again filled with emotions – sadness beyond anything she had ever seen. "I have seen people being murdered… thousands of them," he had carried on, his voice coming in shaky gasps, "but I have never… never seen anything as horrible as when people murdered innocent children! And she did just that…"

"Oh, sir…" Emily's voice too had broken and tears had sprung to her eyes. She had automatically reached out and squeezed his arm. "But… how…?"

He had swallowed and again turned his face away from her, examining the ocean. "She has learnt some… wicked practice from her mother… According to the doctor, she must have consumed the fruit of a local plant that is poisonous, especially for an unborn child. She has taken the risk of killing herself in the process just to make sure she would not have my child…" He had shaken his head. "All she had had to do was tell me… if she had not wanted it, I would have gladly… gladly raised it alone. I would have hired a nurse and even changed nappies myself if need be… it might sound completely mad, but I would have done it, Emily."

"I know you would have, sir."

"But it does not matter anymore…" he had said, his voice barely a whisper. "The child is dead. And she lives. And I never want to see her again."

Emily had not known what to say, so just tightened her grip on his arm, which only resulted in him shrugging her hand off.

"One could say I am just having damn bad luck with women… but I am beginning to think it is more than bad luck," he had carried on, his eyes and voice distant, as though he had not even been addressing her, but simply thinking aloud. "The first I loved left me when I became an aviator… your mother left me after I became a traitor… and Brianna left me through rejecting my child. Apparently I am a magnet for cold and treacherous women…" He had let out another cold laugh, and, signalling the finality of their discussion, stood up. "Sometimes I think I must be cursed… but I am not giving the curse another chance to affect me. I am through with women. For ever."

This sentence had hurt Emily more than anything he had ever said before, for with this line he had robbed her of the chance to make him happy and be happy with him – and why? Because other women had caused him pain! He had lumped her in with others, and he had no right to that! She was her own person, very different from the murderous tramp Brianna, his mysterious first love or even her own mother! How dare he close all doors to his, her, their happiness just because others had failed him? It was not fair…

Then again, when had life ever been fair? To him, to her, to… anyone?

For years and years she had hoped he would forget about his vow to avoid women, but soon enough it had become obvious that he had not. Brianna had shortly after her recuperation left Sydney, to Laurence's great relief, and after that, he had withdrawn into some invisible cocoon, letting only his closes friends – Temeraire and Tharkay – inside. He had barely formed any new friendships, and most definitely none with females.

Emily had seen women trying to approach him – no wonder: despite his being a convicted traitor, at around thirty-five he had still been one of the most attractive men in the covert – but he had politely turned all of them down. There had been a few real beauties among his 'admirers' – women with such delicate features and lithe bodies as Emily had never hoped to possess herself, and yet, he had paid them no attention. Not even to the granddaughter of a general who, who knows how, had wound up at the Sydney covert and stayed for months before leaving for England to rejoin her grandfather. Emily had once heard her muttering to him something about the possibility of pulling a few strings for him through the general, but he had kindly turned that offer down as well. Emily had not overheard much of that discussion, but could well imagine what kind of strings the general's granddaughter would have pulled for Laurence and what she would have asked for in return…

Now, at the age of forty-one, with greying temples and ever deepening lines on his forehead, Laurence no longer was one of the most attractive males in the covert, nor was he approached by any of the females any more. As far as Emily knew, the only woman around her captain who possibly had feelings for him besides her was Marian Digby, one of Temeraire's harnessmen. However, after Laurence had turned down rich, influential and beautiful women, Emily had not for a single second considered ugly little Marian a potential threat to her nonexistent relationship with Laurence; but problem was: she could not consider herself as a potential threat for Laurence's virtue either. After all, if her captain really wanted to accomplish something, there was no force on earth to hold him back, and he was set on following through his own plan of never touching a woman again.

Oh, heck, Emily thought, the memories of Brianna Johnson and her sad legacy ruining her mood even more. With a defiant glance towards her captain, she reached once more for the bottle of port and filled her glass to the brim. To your health, my sweet beloved damned tormentor, she raised it towards him, then swallowed the whole in two gulps.

Next thing she knew was that two people – she had no idea who – were carrying her across the dewy lawn, their hands beneath her elbows. Although her head felt unbearably heavy, she lifted it to identify Lieutenant Allen and Smith the midwingman.

"You must be put into bed," Allen said upon seeing her confused expression. "The captain's orders. God, you have made a real cake of yourself by the dinner table, the captain was livid but he held back from shouting, you know, gentleman as always… Here we are, the barracks. Now, we are going upstairs, Roland, one leg after the other…"

"Shut it, Allen, I'm not stupid just drunk!" she snapped, trying to throw both man's arms off herself, but no sooner had she taken two steps alone than she swayed and had to be caught by Allen and Smith once again. Swallowing her pride and hoping she would manage to keep at least a bit of it by not throwing up over the steps, she decided to keep her mouth closed for the rest of the journey, and only opened it to say thanks once they had deposited her on her bed. Sadly instead of 'thanks' her dinner left her mouth, and she was thoroughly ashamed, reclining on the bed, watching as the two men tried to clean up the floor. "Don't tell the captain… please," she croaked. "I will do anything, just don't tell him…"

"I'm only asking you one thing, Roland," Allen grinned at her, wiping the left sleeve of his cloak with his unrecognisably dirtied handkerchief, "next time do not vomit on me."

Emily vaguely returned the smile. "I shall not. Promise."

"Good. Here, Captain Jacobs pushed this into my hand as we were carrying you out, it must have arrived along with the letter that held the Waterloo news." With that Allen gave her a neatly folded envelope, the seal of Admiral Roland easily recognisable on its back. "Try to rest a bit."

Emily nodded shakily. "Do you… do you think the captain will demote me now?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Roland, what are you thinking?" Smith grunted. "Believe me when I'm telling you, you aren't the only one who got drunk tonight. Bet tomorrow's breakfast table will have quite a few empty places… Besides, the captain doesn't demote someone for getting drunk after hearing news like Waterloo… Had you got drunk on duty, he might have… but if I were you, I wouldn't worry about that. Now sleep, girl, or your hangover will be even worse tomorrow."

"Even worse than now?" Emily groaned and closed her eyes, not even realising that she, as Temeraire's second lieutenant, was supposed to snap at a mere midwingman for treating her like a snot-nosed kid. But her head was simply too dizzy for that, her thoughts sluggish and jumbled.

She barely noticed the door closing behind her crewmates with a soft click, all she saw was a hazy image of her captain glowering at her from a distant corner of the room. She groaned and turned on her bed to be facing towards the wall, but her mind refused to let go of Laurence's stern expression. Oh, to hell with you, stop appearing in my head, she begged, screwing her eyes shut and burying her face in the pillow. As though Laurence had heard her silent plea, his image slowly faded from her mind to be replaced by welcome darkness.

It was a few hours later that Emily awoke. The sky was still pitch black outside, it must have been two or three in the morning, but her hangover was already attacking her with all its might, her head pounding mercilessly. It's all his fault, she thought with gritted teeth as his disapproving look once again appeared before her half-closed eyes. Then she reluctantly reminded herself that he could only be blamed for the last glass of wine she had consumed, the former two she had drunk out of joy upon hearing of Waterloo.

Okay, perhaps not entirely his fault, she admitted, along with the fact that her previous anger with Laurence had very likely been caused by the wine. With a clear head she would never have been able to bring herself to be mad at him – he had, after all, only involuntarily and unknowingly hurt her. He had done it on more than one occasion, but still, none of them had been deliberate, for he was too much of a gentleman to want to hurt a woman in any way. Even if he did not regard the woman in question as a real woman, like he had never regarded Emily as one.

Suddenly finding her posture highly uncomfortable, Emily fidgeted a bit, freeing her right hand from beneath her stomach where she had somehow trapped it before falling asleep. Now her hand felt practically numb and upon trying to move her fingers, she was surprised to find something clutched in them.

Oh, the letter from mother…

Slowly she sat up and with a few shaky steps stumbled to the table on which the pair of candles had almost burned down by now. In the meagre light she unfolded the letter, and trying to pay no attention to her horrible headache, began to read.

My dearest Emily,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. Am I doing perfectly well, especially after Waterloo – you surely must have heard about it by now, I am sure Captain Jacobs will shout it from the rooftops once he receives my letter. But I digress.

The reason why I am writing to you is not as pleasant as I would like it to be, but I hope you will not take it harshly. Now that the war with Napoleon is over, I have had some time to think of other things, and realised that my beloved daughter is going to turn twenty-one soon. By the time this letter reaches you, you surely have turned twenty-one. Happy birthday, my dear, whenever you get the letter, and welcome to the community of us, old adults!

Joking aside, I feel a pressing need to remind you that with adulthood come certain responsibilities, such as the ones towards your future dragon. You can surely guess what I am thinking about.

Emily blinked. Had she read it right? Or was the alcohol still playing tricks on her?

She reread the last two sentences. No doubt. There had been no misunderstanding… she knew exactly what her mother was getting at, which made her heart clench with fear. How she had hoped her mother would forget about that… at least for a few more years! But she had not. After all, Jane Roland had always been a pragmatic person – duty over her own interests, a cold head over emotions. As a small girl, Emily had hoped to become just like her mother, but as the years passed, she came to realise that she were very different. Especially where emotions were concerned…

One of the candles went out with a soft hiss, and, with a lump in her throat, Emily continued reading.

Yes, my dear, I am thinking of that. I was twenty-two when I got pregnant with you and barely twenty-three when you were born. Emily, it is time for you to think of Excidium's future, just like I thought of it at your age.

Please, do not get me wrong, I am not hurrying you in any way, but let us admit, I am not getting any younger; in about ten years – fifteen at most – you will have to take over Excidium's captaincy, and it is better for you to take care of the matter of breeding before you inherit him. You are just the right age to become a mother now, I suggest you use it! I expect you will not be sorely missed from Temeraire's crew if you withdraw from duty for a couple of months.

I know I will not, Emily made a sour face. Laurence would not even notice my absence…

At this thought her earlier fear attacked with a fresh wave, sending shivers down her spine. O God, mother really, really wants me to get with child! Just like that! But she'd never understand that it's not as easy for me as it was for her!

Emily, the letter continued, I know it is not easy to oblige a request like that – it was not exactly easy for me either, but I never regretted having you, for I love you dearly. You too will love your daughter – or God forbid, son, if that is all you manage to produce – and in retrospect you will realise that it was not so bad, after all. I mean, being with a man. Your father was my first, and I had no feelings for him, but believe me, even like this, it was not unpleasant at all. Though I must admit I have had men with whom it was much more pleasant.

Like Laurence, eh? Emily snorted. As far as she knew, up till their leaving England, her captain had been the only man her mother had kept for more than one night. So there had to be something about his 'talents', for sure…

You might be luckier than me, my dear. I never managed to feel true emotions for any of my temporary mates, but you might find a nice young man to love. I am keeping my fingers crossed for you, for I only want the best for my only daughter.

Take care, and please do not be mad at your old mother, nor at poor Excidium, just keep the Corps' best interests in mind.

I hope to hear good news from you soon.

Lots of love,

Mother

For minutes and minutes Emily just stared at the crumpled sheet of paper, her heart beating faster and her head pounding worse than ever before.

'I only want the best for my only daughter'

But the best doesn't even notice me! – Emily's mind screamed, her eyes fixed on the letter, as though she were trying to convey the message to her mother across two oceans.

'you might find a nice young man to love'

He's not exactly young, but I love him… oh, I love him so much… Tears sprang to her eyes, but she wiped them quickly and angrily. In an instant she had made her decision. No matter what her mother wanted or what Excidium and the whole Corps needed – she would not sleep with a random man just to produce an heir! If she could not have Laurence's child, then she would have no one's, full stop. But how could she convince a man to get her pregnant if that man had sworn never to touch a woman again?

At that moment the second candle also burnt down. Emily propped her head in her palms, and stared into the complete darkness. "Oh, shit," was all she managed to comment.

oOo

A/N: So, opinions so far? :)