A/N: Hi, everyone, here is the story I promised you back in August. Please, remember, that this one has absolutely nothing to do with my other chaptered Temeraire stories, although my one-shot, 'Her Captain', can be regarded as a prequel to it.

Warning: This is another strong T-rated story with several hints at sexuality, although no descriptions. Some bad language also occurs. You are advised to be at least 13 to read it.

Disclaimer: I wish Temeraire were mine (I mean, Laurence, LOL), but they belong to Naomi Novik.

Huge thanks to my friend Michael for the beta again!

Now, let's get started. If you are easily moved to tears, keep a hanky at hand, you might need it. :)

oOo

LIKE MOTHER, LIKE DAUGHTER

I hate and I love: why I do it, perhaps you seek to know.
I do not know, but I feel it to be, and I am tortured so.

/Catullus/

Chapter 1

The Last Farewell

Covert of Dover, 25th May, 1811

"Are you sad, Emily?" Temeraire asked, gently nudging the girl with his muzzle.

"Just a little bit," she replied, watching as the orange, glowing sparks leapt into the air from the crackling fire. The night was pleasantly warm even without the fire, and still, Emily felt cold. Almost freezing.

Everyone around her was laughing, joking and drinking, a lot, celebrating old Berkley's sixtieth birthday, and Emily could not have felt more alienated. She felt no inclination to take part or even listen to their jokes, and did not even try to sneak herself some alcohol, even though they might not have scorned to share with her, Emily having reached the age of sixteen.

"I am sad too," the dragon admitted. "It was not very nice of them to drag us back to England just because they wanted me to give Iskierka another egg, and now they send us back to New South Wales… It has been so very nice to see Maximus and Lily and even fight a bit along them… I have so missed the fights in Australia…"

"And Iskierka too, right?" Emily gave him a crooked smile.

"Well…" Temeraire's voice trailed off, "a little bit, maybe. She was very annoying the first time around, but it was quite nice giving her that egg, and it was even nicer to find out that the egg was such a huge success… I am so very proud of my baby Gwendolyn."

"Gwendolyn isn't exactly a baby anymore," Emily pointed out. "More than a year old and almost bigger than you. But you are right… she's quite a success with both the divine wind and the ability to breath fire… no wonder the Admiralty wanted more of the Temeraire-Iskierka offspring… and you once again did well, twin eggs!"

"Oh, yes, we are very proud of them, really," Temeraire nodded enthusiastically.

"We?" Emily arched an eyebrow at him. "When have you started talking about yourself and Iskierka as in 'we'?

"Oh, must have been a slip of the tongue," the dragon said, looking away. "There has never really been a 'we', I mean, she and I are not made for each other, she is so very bothersome and so very stuck-up and…"

"…and you still like her. A lot," Emily nudged Temeraire with her elbow. "And let us admit, she is quite something. A fiery little girl. In both senses of the word."

"Hmm… yes, I think so. But pray do not tell her I said so! I would never live it down!"

"You will very likely never meet her again, so why would it be a problem if I told her?" Emily asked, but upon seeing the dragon's sour expression, so added with a sigh, "All right, all right, I promise I won't tell her."

"Not even if you are assigned to her crew?" Temeraire enquired.

"No," Emily shook her head dejectedly. "Not even then. But I don't know yet whose crew I am going to be assigned to… Mother has not cared to tell me yet. She only said she wanted me to stay, for she thought I was finally old enough to be around even at times like this and even with her being who she is… You know, I never really knew why she sent me to Australia in the first place… but I was so happy she did… and now I am so sad, having to stay… never seeing you again… I will be missing you so much…"

She blinked back a tear and sniffed, and after a long moment of silence, Temeraire spoke up, "You mean missing 'you' in the singular, as in missing me, or in the plural, as in missing… Laurence and me?"

With misty eyes, Emily looked up. "In the plural. Most definitely in the plural."

"Or rather, in the singular… in missing him…?" Temeraire said after a while, his voice unusually soft.

"Oh, no, I am going to miss you too, Temeraire! Very much! It's just that… that…"

"You are going to miss him more," the dragon finished her sentence, sympathy gleaming in his huge dark blue eyes.

Emily's shoulders sagged. "I think so. And I think… I should go and look for him and say good-bye… you are leaving early tomorrow and I seriously do not think I could bear to go and wave you off… it would be too heart-wrenching." Smothering a few tears in the corners of her eyes, she stood up from the log she had been sitting on and blew her nose. "Where do you think he might be?"

"I do not know," Temeraire shook his head. "I have not seen him for at least an hour. Last time I saw him, he was walking around the back of the covert grounds, around the cattle pen."

"Thanks, Temeraire, I shall try to find him. I will be back soon!"

o

After a few minutes of walking the noises of the aviators joking and drinking around the fire faded into a hazy murmur in the distance, while the mooing of the cows in the pen grew louder and louder.

It was full moon, giving Emily enough light to see if someone was walking around the area, but the only movements were that of the cattle inside the pen. And then, a voice caught her ears. A female voice, and a highly familiar one at that… only the way it was speaking… or rather… moaning, was unfamiliar.

Mother? – Emily's eyes widened with worry as she ran towards the barn from where she suspected to have heard the voice. She fished a small knife out of her boots, and with that held at the ready, crept to the door, even though she did not hope to see much in the darkness. It crossed her mind that she should probably yell for Excidium, dragons having better hearing than humans and being able to arrive quicker to help, but upon peering inside, the yell froze in her throat and she nearly let the knife drop. The moon shone through a window in the opposite wall of the barn, illuminating a haystack and the tangled bodies of two people engaging in something quite different from wrestling.

Emily felt rooted to the spot – it was so repelling yet so… frighteningly beautiful at the same time. Her captain, her beloved, adored captain, was moving in rhythm with her mother as though they were just dancing a horizontal dance, their silhouettes bright in the moonshine; she was clawing at his back, leaving new marks to go with the faded ones of the one-time flogging, he moaned 'wildcat', she moaned 'goddamn tormentor', and Emily was sick to her stomach and still could not look away; her knuckles were white, she clutched at the knife so firmly; and finally it came to an end, and they both cried out and melted into the hay, their panting louder than the mooing of the cattle outside.

Emily flattened herself against the wall of the barn, just outside the door, her breath also coming in gasps, making her press a hand on her mouth to stifle it; a nasty yet pleasant pulsating sensation between her legs and tears running down her cheeks.

She had thought their relationship had ended all those years ago, before or right after his treason, and now to see them like this… it was simply unbearable.

"That was… the best bloody fuck of my whole life," she heard her mother from inside.

"You and your dirty mouth, Jane Roland," came Laurence's slightly reproachful voice, answered by a deep, hearty laugh from her mother.

"Admit that you like my dirty mouth sometimes… especially when it is doing you… certain things," her mother added.

"Jane, you make me blush."

"Oh, don't be such a prude, Laurence… Now, come here… hold me."

Minutes of silence followed, and Emily supposed they must have fallen asleep, and she knew she should be leaving, she should have left long ago, but her legs just would not cooperate.

"So, tomorrow morning, is it?" her mother's voice spoke up after a while, sounding oddly hollow.

"Yes. The Allegiance is to leave port at eight o' clock, if the winds allow."

"Then this is truly our last farewell, Laurence… I doubt if I could make up another excuse to have you back, even for a brief time…"

"Oh, so making Temeraire mate with Iskierka was just an excuse to have me back?" replied Laurence's slightly surprised voice.

"Well, let's say it offered a brilliant opportunity to kill two birds with one stone," Jane chuckled.

"Then why tonight…?" he said. "Why only tonight? I have been here for three months…"

"But there have been no such excellent distractions as Berkley's birthday party for three months," Jane pointed out, "and I seriously did not want anyone to see you coming out of my room or me from yours… Those times are over when we could afford such indiscretion. But this… is our last chance, so I suggest we use it. Is Little Willy up for another go, hmm?"

"Little Willy is up already, if you have not noticed…"

This was when Emily decided she had had enough. Forcing her legs to obey the command of her mind, she broke into a run, away, away from the barn, past the celebrating crowd, ignoring Temeraire's call 'hey, Emily, where are you going?', and arriving into the barracks room she shared with another two female officers who, thankfully, were not present. She flung herself down on her bed and wept, not even noticing that she was still clutching at the knife.

oOo

Nine months later

The snow crust melted slightly and there were snowdrops poking their white little heads out from under their freezing blanket. The first heralds of spring.

Emily remembered well how delighted she had been as a child to spot the first snowdrops; every year she had run to her mother if she were around, shouting 'I have seen them, spring is here, spring is here!'

She would never again tell her mother that spring had come.

Bitter tears running down her cheeks, she placed her little bouquet of freshly picked snowdrops on the mound of earth currently serving to mark the resting place of Jane Roland. The burial had been just two days prior, and soon a flashy marble tombstone would replace the makeshift wooden cross. Emily already saw in her mind's eyes the epitaph: 'Jane Roland, Admiral of the Air, a patriot and a loving mother', admired by generations of aviators to come, as surely they would not even be able to pass by it without noticing – the grave stood under a willow tree in the Dover covert.

"I swear to you… to be a good captain to Excidium," Emily muttered, watching the drip-drip of snow melting from the willow's branches, landing on the wooden cross. "I shall never put you to shame… and I promise to be as good a sister as possible… a sister… and a substitute mother… but I am sorry… there is something I simply cannot do… please, forgive me for that…"

Her mind sluggishly returned to her mother's room of three days earlier – to her bed holding the most fragile, palest Jane Roland she had ever seen. Her mother had stretched out her hands towards her and had very feebly squeezed Emily's, a sad little smile on her lips. "Emily… promise me to take care of your brother… and of Excidium… and write to Laurence. Tell him… tell him that he's become a father. Surely… he will be happy to know. I think… deep down… he always wanted a family. Emily… I want you to know that… I loved him. I never showed… I thought it was weakness to show… but I loved him… more than any man, ever. As for your brother… christen him William. Promise me, Emily…"

"I promise you to take care of my brother and of Excidium… I promise, Mother," Emily had said, but she had been hesitant to utter the rest, and a few seconds later Jane had breathed her last without Emily having promised to write to Laurence or to christen the child after his father. And now she knew she would never do either of these things.

During her pregnancy, her mother had been set on hiding the child's paternity from everyone, even though Emily was sure that at least some must have guessed. With her death so close, Jane had obviously deemed it unnecessary to keep the secret, but Emily was intent on keeping it, therefore there was no power on earth to make her write that letter or name her little brother after that wretched man who had caused her mother's death! That wretched man whom she had loved with all her heart and trusted with her life, but who had abused her love and trust… although unknowingly, but he had done so…

The once shiny image that had lived in her head of her captain – the brave and honourable gentleman, the determined and loyal officer, the self-sacrificing martyr… all that had vanished to be replaced by the image of a man shamelessly squirming above her mother, panting in the same way a rugged sailor would in a brothel, and doing that to her mother… to… to a woman that was not her, not Emily!

Emily had never been as jealous as that night in the barn, and only once had she been almost equally jealous: two months later, the day her mother had told her with a sarcastic smile that she had suffered a little 'accident'. "At my age, can you imagine?" she had laughed dryly. "Oh, how I would like to see Laurence's face upon hearing this… But he must not find out. No one may find out. We are going to keep it a secret, Emily. People will naturally gossip, and many will guess, but we will never confirm their suspicions… a little game, and I think I am going to enjoy it… Just the timing… oh, the bloody timing… Napoleon is breathing down our necks and the Admiral of the Air is retching into chamber-pots. Talk of irony…"

All the way through her mother's pregnancy, Emily had been green with envy. She had been jealous of every kick her mother felt inside and even more jealous when she was invited to touch the funny little ripples of her mother's belly. She had been jealous of those rare but unearthly-beautiful smiles that had graced her mother's lips when she had thought no one was watching her… the pure brilliance of motherly love… and Emily had caught herself wondering whether Jane had been expecting her with such love or had it been only reserved for this child, a child given by a man her mother actually loved? For Emily had never lulled herself into the belief that her mother had ever felt anything for her father, and even this had made her jealous: her father, whom she had never even met, had not been good enough for her mother to love, only Laurence, only blasted Laurence, the bloody hypocrite!

Involuntarily a scene many, many years earlier came to her mind: the disdainful expression on Laurence's face upon seeing the blushes of shame on Dunne and Hackley's cheeks, his voice peremptory as he had said, "They had deserted their posts and wilfully risked all the success of our enterprise, all for the satisfaction of the most base and carnal impulses." Talk about base and carnal impulses… He was not better than Dunne and Hackley, not a bit, and he was a grown man, a man of circumspect decisions, not an exuberant twenty-year-old boy… and because of his carnal impulses, her mother was dead.

Emily knew she would never forgive him for that. Neither for causing her mother's death, nor for instilling those horrible feelings of jealousy into her heart. She would hate him as long as she lived, with just as fiery a passion as she had loved him. Of her love for him, she had made a secret. Or her hate, she would never make a secret, and should they ever meet again – which she doubted and hoped against – she would show him without hesitation just how much she hated him.

"Forgive me, Mother," she muttered. "I know you loved him, but I do not. Not anymore."

With that, she turned on her heels and marched back to the barracks, leaving her childhood, her innocence and all her girly little dreams beside the snowdrop bouquet on the grave.

oOo

A/N: Jane-fans, you surely hate me now. :P I must admit I wasn't very sad to see her gone (coughkillhercough) I never liked her much, her hollow relationship to Laurence always disturbed me. But at least in this chapter, I made her display some emotion for him, which, IMHO, the books painfully lacked. I think I wouldn't mind L/J in the books, if they actually loved each other, which they obviously don't. Oh well…

Nimbus Llewelyn, if you are reading this: I think now you can at least guess what was going on in the preview. ;)

Next chapter: five years later Laurence returns to England and gets surprised. And not just a little bit.

Reviews are always welcome!