Author's Note:

Don't worry, this isn't going to turn into Rochefort Does Port Royal -- if only because Will Turner is just not attractive enough for that.

Poor, poor Porthos, our token straight man.

---

An Exercise In International Relations

Chapter Six: Undead Pirates? Pah! Norrington's bloody cat!

In which Jack learns his lesson (not really), Elizabeth learns the meaning of pain, and Rochefort demonstrates again his penchant for alcoholism, this time joined by a furry feline friend.

---

Elizabeth wasn't sure about this. Rochefort had informed her that he could no longer reside with the Commodore, went on to add that it was all Jack's fault (though he called him all sorts of other things and it took her a while to work out who he was talking about), and refused to tell her exactly what had happened. Gillette, apparently, had no room for his countryman, given that he was playing host to Porthos and Aramis -- she didn't much care for Porthos, but Aramis was a very nice man.

In the end, she let him stay -- running roughshod over Will's loud objections -- because honestly, she couldn't leave him without a place to sleep, even if he was one of the most unpleasant men she had ever come across.

She wondered how someone quite so attractive could be so annoying.

(Groves and Gillette had been wondering that about her for years.)

They'd discovered, as she was directing him to the guestroom, that Norrington's cat -- Liza -- had stowed away in his case. The cat didn't seem to like her any more than he did, but completely refused to be returned home, and every time they tried it, she hissed and clawed and hid under the bed.

Elizabeth gave up before Rochefort did, mostly due to the fact she'd borne the brunt of the feline assault. Undead pirates? Pah! Norrington's bloody cat!

Thankfully, Rochefort was fast asleep -- well, unconscious, anyway. The maid had been in to take away the bottle -- when Jack arrived. Elizabeth fully intended to give him a piece of her mind he wouldn't forget in a hurry for saddling her with this unfortunate houseguest. Oooh, when she was through with him…

---

"Commodore?"

Norrington looked up -- oh yes, Aramis, one of those Musketeer fellows that Rochefort didn't particularly like. Although he'd got the impression that Aramis was 'tolerable', which was probably as close to liking anyone as Rochefort could actually get.

Unless of course they were Jack bloody Sparrow. (Or his cat, whom Rochefort had stolen, but that was not currently the issue at hand)

Not that he cared or that it was any of his business, of course.

Oh, bugger. He really was in trouble now.

"Come in."

"I wanted to talk to you about Gautier…?" Aramis hesitated a little as he sat down. "Rochefort, I mean."

"I know who you mean." The temperature in the room went noticeably downwards.

"I wanted to apologize on his behalf for whatever it is that he's done this time--"

Norrington almost smiled at that. Aramis sounded used to apologizing for other people.

"--because, well, he's unlikely to do it himself, but I'm sure he is sorry." Deep down. Really, really deep down. I wonder what it is he actually did…they mentioned something about that pir--oh, dear lord. Gautier, you idiot. And he says I'm easily swayed by a pretty face.

"Sorry that he no longer has somewhere to stay where his idiosyncrasies will be tolerated," Norrington snorted.

Well, all right. There was that, too. "I understand he's now staying with the Turners, actually."

"…would you mind repeating that, I'm quite sure I must have misheard--"

"Staying with the Turners," Aramis repeated helpfully. "Mrs Turner was very kind."

"I see."

"Ah, I believe your cat stowed away in his case…they did try to get her back to you, but she refused to be moved."

"Did she."

"Mrs Turner bears the battle scars to prove it."

Evidently Liza had been picking up bad habits from a certain one-eyed pillock. "I see."

"Well. Gautier refused to talk about it…I was wondering if you could tell me what is going on? I gathered it involved one Jack Sparrow, but other than that…"

"I hardly see that it is my place to inform you of your friend's…activities."

And there we have it. "He's not exactly my friend," Aramis said mildly. "And I was merely wondering, as it seems to be a sore point with the both of you."

"Then what is he, if not your friend, that you would come here to defend him?"

"We were friends." Well, they were friendly, that was for sure. "He doesn't have an abundance of them…" And when they weren't on opposite sides of a threatening civil war, they still got on quite well. Though it helped if Rochefort wasn't strictly sober, because he was hell to deal with when he was.

"I can see why."

"So can anyone else who's ever spent longer than about ten minutes with him," Aramis chuckled weakly.

Norrington permitted him the barest smile. Rochefort had what Groves disdainfully referred to as a 'hedgehog-esque attitude to life'. When he wasn't playing the fool for pretty ladies he evidently had no interest in. "Was there any other purpose in this visit?"

"Er…I was rather hoping this could be sorted out."

"It is sorted. Good day."

---

Jack sat quietly with a very repentant expression on his face, hoping like hell he looked sufficiently chastised. Elizabeth was beginning to repeat herself, and Will wasn't helping at all. Worse luck, the object of his dubious affections -- at least, the other night anyway -- was sleeping peacefully upstairs, and he had a feeling he'd been even more for it if he woke up.

Though, he thought mutinously, the pretty little fellow hadn't been complaining much before. If he weren't so sure Norrington would tear him limb from limb, he might…ah, best not to even think it while facing Elizabeth's wrath. He was half-sure she could read his mind by this point, and those were some thoughts he wasn't sharing with anybody. He wished he had any sort of artistic ability, so he could capture the beauty that is Gautier Rochefort bare-arse naked, but life was far from fair. (If life was fair, Jack reasoned, said Frenchman would be allergic to clothing. And Norrington, too. And that little Lieutenant wasn't half bad, either…)

"Are you listening to a word I'm saying? Jack? JACK!"

Oh, oops. "'Course I am. Don't ever bugger Norrington's little friend, it's bad. Won't do it again, luv, promise."

"…"

"What?"

---

Rochefort was having a bad day. He had had, apparently, fabulous sex that he couldn't remember, James--Norrington--was furious with him, Aramis, Aramis of all people, was feeling sorry for him, he had to stay with the Turners, and the only person it seemed that was willing to spend any time with him without either shouting or looking at him as though he were pitiful was a cat.

Admittedly, Liza was better company than most people in Port Royal, but that wasn't the point. The point was…

Er.

He was sure there was a point, and it wasn't Liza.

Yes.

Cats were not in the habit of being pointy, after all.

Much too fluffy.

What was he talking about?

"We really need more alcohol," he told Liza vaguely. At two in the morning, it seemed a brilliant idea to find a little saucer and give the cat…whatever it was he'd raided from the Turners. (He forgot. And by now, it all tasted the same.) She had stumbled about tipsily with her tail in the air for a while, now she was curled up on his foot, purring in a distinctly wobbly fashion.

"He shouldn't be jealous, you know, anyway, because it's not as though he's…or we're…and I don't even remember it, besides…Englishmen are insane…and you know this is all Porthos's fault…"

Liza went on purring. Rochefort fell asleep. Cutely. Because, you know. He had to have some redeeming feature.