Disclaimer: Characters belong to Naomi Novik, this is just me messing with them.
Warning: VoE spoilers

A/N: Thanks again, aella_irene for the beta!

Tharkay is standing outside the room, hearing faint murmurs from behind the heavy oak door. Having being summoned by the admiral, he waits for a bit, doesn't pace impatiently, but his fingers tap against his crossed arms. A part of him is annoyed to be here in England again, another is already planning a way to stay, and the rest of him is concurring on his idiocy. The door opens, interrupting his thoughts, and before he could come in, Laurence is coming out-- with a spark in his eyes and his jaw a little less tense, something that Tharkay hasn't seen since the news of the dragon plague.

Laurence is smiling. It lasts until he closes the door, then it's gone.

He isn't offended when the aviator captain strides off without a word; he hasn't seen Tharkay at all. Laurence is bound to have a lot of things on his mind, but Tharkay absently wonders what had been the cause of relief, though small and brief. Without another moment's hesitation, he walks into Roland's office to find her busy studying a map. He stares.

The name Roland was familiar, Tharkay remembers seeing letters addressed to her and the young runner in Laurence's crew, but he has never met the admiral. It doesn't bother him that she is, in fact, a woman, and he nearly smiles at the thought. The government must be very adamant about keeping it a secret.

"Laurence—" Roland begins with a smile, glances up, sees him, and blinks once to clear the playful light from her eyes, "Oh, I beg your pardon. Mr. Tharkay?"

He makes his bow, everything snapping in place immediately; the letters to her, from Laurence, had always been a bit more frequent between an ordinary captain and his admiral, and more recently, Laurence's expression as he left the office, the way Roland had said his name, utterly familiar and warm… of course.

No, it doesn't bother him at all that the admiral is a woman, not at all; it bothers him that she is Laurence's lover.

In a way, he isn't surprised. Not at all.

He recovers quickly, reverts to his calm and slightly cynical self. Tharkay admits that he may have seemed cool during their meeting, but Roland doesn't appear to notice or mind. She does, actually, offer him a generous payment for the ferals and, more importantly, a commission—his excuse to stay in England, near Laurence—and he reprimands himself for the thought.

Roland patiently waits for his reply. Looking at her, he is appalled by his growing jealousy and tries to ruthlessly stamp it out. No use. But at least he knows how to cope with bitterness; he has plenty of experience with it, after all. So Tharkay smiles instead and graciously accepts the payment. He refuses the commission though, hinting something about the prejudice of England like a petulant child with pretty words.

Roland gives him a crooked grin in return; she understands perfectly.

He glances at her triple bars, bright and shining against her dark green coat. She easily earns his admiration as well as resentment. Tharkay realizes they are very much alike in more ways than one.

Still, he was right to refuse the commission. Tharkay was sure he would go mad, confined to a place he hated, near a woman he was envious of, and desiring a… a man who was in no way obtainable.

And if the reasoning was sound, then why did he hesitate to leave the room?

Either possessing the uncanny skill of mindreading, or acting within the interests of her country, Roland suggests another commission. This one, at least, allows him to leave England and return on his own time. The idea of negotiating with and herding ferals makes him cringe inwardly-- he did once and wasn't in a hurry to do it again-- but if that was what it was going to take…

He accepts, feeling the string-- the tie to Laurence—tighten around his neck like a noose.

With time, perhaps he can cut the bond, but now there's only the cowardice of running away again.

Funny that; he has never called it running away before.

*

It's been nearly a year since he has last met with Roland. She looks older, weary, and the eyes that used to light up for Laurence dims with sadness. The quiet relief of hearing that he is alive burns away much of Tharkay's irrational feelings against the admiral. By the time she accepts his offer, the all petty loathing is gone.

She hands him the green coat and he puts it on. The double bars on his sleeve seem to burn through the cloth and brand his skin. He traces the stitches, not bothering to conceal his wry smile; he is a captain, if only a temporary one. Businesslike, Roland hands him the written orders to retrieve Laurence. The Corps need him badly, traitor or no. Tharkay wonders if a part of Roland-- the part that isn't an admiral-- needs Laurence as well.

But here Roland was, handing him orders that if he should so choose, could discard at any time. Of course, it would be entirely up to Laurence to directly abandon his country (a laughable and ironic thought), but the point still remains. Nevertheless, Tharkay takes the orders, but gives her a silent warning; he would present Laurence the option, even if the likelihood of it being accepted is low.

Roland returns his stare, unwavering, and bids him good-bye with an air of certainty that baffles him.

It is only after Tharkay leaves the covert that he realizes she has faith in Laurence and through Laurence-- faith in him as well.

*

Tharkay quickly walks into the room, hands clenched at his sides. His angry pace slows down as he sees her; Roland is exhausted and covered in blood that is at least a day old. She has been poring over the maps in front of her, but she gives Tharkay a greeting, though no smile, and gestures to the packet of letters and dispatches on her desk for him to deliver.

The top one is orders addressed to Laurence-- from Wellesley. Tharkay doesn't take it.

"He can't go on like this," he says in a calm voice; an absurd thing to say to an admiral, but she hasn't seen Laurence.

Roland looks at him, her expression unreadable. Standing abruptly, she takes Wellesley's orders and presses them gently into his resisting hand.

"I know," she murmurs quietly; she still has faith in Laurence, after all, "I know."

*

Smirking, he hands back the coat, which is no longer a recognizable shade of green, but at least the double bars are still there. Jane takes it with an amused smile. They talk for a bit, very much like old friends about to part; Tharkay knows that he will likely not return to England again and perhaps Jane realizes it too.

Later, he shakes her hand and makes his leave, but Jane stops him and gives him a sheet of paper. He looks at it, brow rising at the payment. Tharkay was, of course, expecting it, though not anywhere near the amount she was giving him.

"I believe Captain Riley will not begrudge another passenger, especially one acquainted with his wife," she explains with a hint of suppressed laughter and finishes with painful clarity, "And I'm sure Laurence could use the company."

It has been a while since her eyes lit up at Laurence's name, and the look seems to include him somehow. Tharkay pauses, unable to even guess how much she knows, or if he is fretting over an innocent statement that only speaks of friendship. He begins to say something, but Jane has already moved on, airily telling him of Australia and pouring two glasses of port.

She's grinning as she speaks, and he decides that it doesn't matter if she suspects or not.

Laughing, Tharkay accepts the drink, sits back down, and joins her in speculating his new journey to come.

End.