disclaimer: I don't own

Author's Note: This bloody chapter has been giving me hell for months, so I do hope it's up to standard. It is very short, but I decided that quality vs. quantity, quality will always win and I think I'm FINALLY getting somewhere. So there you go. I demand constructive criticism from anyone still actually reading this bollocks, because just as I finally get to the good part of the story, our prat-ly stars decide to stop cooperating. Bastards. Okay, I'll stop ranting, you can read the actual story now.


An Exercise In International Relations

Chapter Ten: English Lunacy

In which Norrington puts one over our favourite Frenchman.


Rochefort and Norrington hadn't said a word to each other since Rochefort's charming little speech. To be perfectly honest, Norrington didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to feel, let alone think. He'd thought perhaps…no. No, whatever he had thought, it had been wrong, and he knew that now. Rochefort was…

Nothing more than what he appeared to be.

He wondered, though…

"Gautier?" he winced a little, his voice seemed so loud in the silence that had fallen.

"What do you want, James?" Rochefort sounded tired, devoid of emotion, simply tired. Empty, even. It wasn't pleasant to listen to.

"You said you'd 'seen this play before'. I want to know what you meant by that." He watched the other man carefully, trying to judge his reaction to the words.

"Aramis."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want to know what I meant by that -- that is what I meant. Aramis. A lifetime ago now, perhaps. When I was foolish enough to believe that love will save you." His accent, which Norrington would never admit to enjoying, was just that little bit more pronounced.

Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye. "And what do you believe now?"

"What I know is that…" He trailed off, closing his eye. "What I know is that while I could no more avoid loving Aramis than I could fall madly in love with Porthos, it would never, ever be enough. Nor will this." He waved a hand in Norrington's general direction.

"And what exactly is this?"

Rochefort stilled. "…very clever, James. I walked right into that."

"You're not answering my question."

"I have no wish to encourage your lunacy. Mrs Turner has taken care of that quite neatly."

"So your answer would encourage me, would it?"

Rochefort's lips thinned as he fell sullenly silent.

Norrington smiled faintly at him, and leaned back against the stone wall.

It was enough. For now.