Disclaimer in chapter one. Last reminder, people!

Author's Note:

Musey…what about those oh-so-intriguing Locksburne bunnies you were having? What happened to them? (Hmmm, Locksburne, sounds kinda naughty) And I'm still determined to get that Viggott off you. And the banner! The Michael!Snape banner!

[cough, remembers that the Author's Note is probably not the place for this]

Moving right along, people…

The quote for the chapter title is from Three Musketeers, said by Porthos.

***

An Exercise In International Relations (in case you'd forgotten the title, despite my reminding you every chapter)

Chapter Four: "I told you I was famous."

In which Will and Elizabeth Turner attempt to celebrate their anniversary, and are interrupted by the arrival of Porthos and Aramis.

***

Norrington hadn't said a word to Rochefort since the near-infamous dinner with the Turners. Rochefort hadn't asked why he woke up in his bed,

undressed and tidily tucked in.

Oh, they'd said a few words to each other -- "Hello," "Good evening," "Get out of my chair", that sort of thing. No real conversation.

Rochefort was getting bored again. And this time he didn't think Turner was going to let him near with a sword (more's the pity, the little sod).

So when an invitation to the Turners' first anniversary celebration showed up for Norrington, Rochefort chose that moment to pounce.

Not literally. Although it was sincerely tempting. For all his irritating 'I Am An Upstanding Gentleman' nonsense, Norrington was quite an attractive man, and Rochefort, while lacking one eye, was far from blind.

"It says 'Commodore James Norrington and guest'," he argued, "I'm your guest. It's settled."

"I'm quite sure they didn't mean that!"

"Do you have anyone else to take?" he raised an eyebrow. "I assume by your silence you mean 'no'. It's not as though I've anything else to do."

"I hardly think they will want you there." One of the various signs of James Norrington losing his temper: Lack of tact.

"If I care, you'll be the first to know, I assure you."

I win, Rochefort thought, with a self-satisfied little smirk on his face.

He was going to come to regret that.

***

Porthos and Aramis finally tracked Gillette down to a 'little shindig' the Governor was holding for his daughter and her husband. The bad feeling Aramis had? Getting worse.

"Porthos, really…"

Gillette looked mortified. Rochefort looked murderous, or at least inclined to drink a lot. (This was more or less his usual expression, as far as Norrington could tell, but he thought it was a little more severe this time)

He followed their gaze to where a pair of strange men had entered -- one rather flamboyantly flirting with any woman who came past (much like Rochefort, although he was subtler, and this man did it far less skillfully. Not that Norrington pondered Rochefort's skills of flirtation of course). The second looked as though he'd rather be anywhere but there, up to and including his own grave.

"I take it you know them?" he murmured, as Gillette strode forward to head them off.

"Porthos and Aramis." It was very nearly a snarl.

Oh, dear. "I see."

"I'm debating whether or not it would be wise to get them out of here as fast as possible, or let them ruin your little friends' party."

Well. At least he's honest. After a fashion. From time to time. Norrington wasn't entirely sure how to respond to that.

They didn't have much long to ponder, as Gillette was coming back, with a 'why do I even bother' look on his face, the two musketeers in tow.

"If it isn't my favorite traitor!" Porthos exclaimed brightly. "How's the eye?"

Aramis gave Norrington and Gillette an apologetic look. "I swear he's not always like this."

"Speaking as family, on the contrary, yes he is." Gillette rolled his eyes heavenward. "Why me?"

"Because I love you, cousin!"

Rochefort, who was about to say something particularly unpleasant, was cut off. Porthos was gaping. "Dear God, Rochefort, are you wearing…white?"

The shirt he was wearing was, in fact, white. Norrington did not own any black shirts, and Rochefort had only had the one outfit with him when he arrived, on account of being kidnapped. "Not one single solitary word."

Aramis forced the smile down. "We're being terribly rude--"

There was a perfectly timed snort from both Rochefort and Gillette.

"--so I'll introduce us now. I'm Aramis, and this is Porthos…of course, Lt. Gillette and Rochefort already know Porthos, and Rochefort knows me…in any case." He offered his hand to Norrington, who shook it, albeit somewhat warily.

"Commodore Norrington, it's a pleasure to meet you."

There was an awkward silence.

But not for long. "I need a drink," Rochefort announced.

Porthos introduced himself to the happy couple. Aramis apologized for their intrusion. Rochefort and Gillette got quietly pissed in a corner. Norrington despaired.

The Turners were just plain confused. As was pretty much everybody else who met Porthos.

As far as he was concerned, it was an absolute success!

On the bright side, Aramis perfected his 'long suffering sigh', and everybody learned that Lt. Armand Gillette had the most adorable snore.

***

This was the second time Norrington had found himself carting Rochefort off to bed. At least this time he was conscious enough to undress himself. (Though Norrington did stay to ensure he didn't hurt himself in the process, as remaining upright appeared to be an issue)

"I hope Porthos falls into the ocean and drowns," Rochefort muttered, fighting a losing battle with his boots.

"So you've said." Norrington sighed, and assisted. He wouldn't do it, but the man had already taken off his shirt, and he didn't feel like putting up with the maid's giggling if he sent for her to help.

"He called me cheese," he added, with an expression that Norrington would've called a 'pout' on anyone else.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"A smelly kind."

"…"

Norrington was relieved when it appeared Rochefort had no further wish to 'chat'.

"Goodnight, Rochefort."

"G'night. James."

He paused briefly in the doorway at that, but continued on his way out, not entirely sure what to make of it.

***

Liza wasn't sure just what had happened. Her pet was brooding. She didn't like that very much, it was much nicer when he laughed and was happy. That was better.

Her other pet was sleeping again, with the funny smell. She hoped he wouldn't be ill in the morning, like last time, because that had been her favorite basket-blanket that he was ill all over.

She clambered ungraciously into her pet's lap, and hoped he would feel better soon. He looked very…what was that funny word…pensive. That's right, he looked pensive.

(Her other pet probably would've had another word for it, but he was in a very bad mood lately. Except with her. He was always perfectly lovely to her. And cuddly. He didn't look very cuddly, but he was.)

Hey!

Maybe her pet just needed a cuddle.

Her other pet was good at cuddling.

There, now. If only they'd just listen to her, then everything would be sorted out.

Liza was so clever sometimes.