[disclaimer: I do not own Captain Rochefort and Three Musketeers, nor do I own Commodore Norrington and Pirates of the Caribbean. I'll put 'em back all nice and neat, I promise.]

Author's Note: Well, clearly this is AU…I've fudged timelines a weedle bit (coughacenturyapartcough) to get Rochefort and Norrington in the right place, also, Rochefort is very definitely not dead. Why is he not dead? Why did the musketeers not succeed in killing him? Clearly he escaped. Why oh why did they not hunt him down? Who the hell knows and who the hell cares? Also, Gautier means 'soldier' (I think), and I had fun finding the name, so if somebody tells me he's actually got a canon first name, I shall be most displeased.

Credit where credit's due, it wasn't me that came up with Porthos being Gillette's cousin, it was one of the fine ladies over at the NDL, I'm pretty sure Angharad but my memory is all terrible and stuff. And Zath C is responsible for the title, because I got stuck. (Look out for the parody of this fic, titled "Of Frogs And Roast Beef", title given to me by the lovely Annunwilwarin of FF.net)

***

An Exercise In International Relations

By Adele Elisabeth

Chapter One: A Very Bad Day, Indeed

Summary: Former Captain Gautier Rochefort thinks things can't possibly get any worse after being kidnapped by pirates.

Poor darling. So naïve.

***

Gautier Rochefort, formerly the Captain of the Cardinal's personal guard, had never been so insulted in his life. (He was willing to overlook the 'cheese' comment in favour of this)

He had been kidnapped. By pirates.

That wasn't all, though, oh no, that wasn't all. Things just got better and better. Why was Rochefort currently sat seething in the brig of some stinking pirate ship?

They had a grudge against 'Porthos the Pirate', and had evidently mistaken him for either Aramis or Athos. As he was neither a godly man nor a drunkard with a taste for murderous whores…

He was singularly unimpressed, and imagined the godforsaken trio was having quite a laugh at his expense. (He was correct in this presumption)

Things could not possibly get any worse.

(In this assumption, however, he was sadly mistaken)

***

Commodore James A. Norrington was not having a good day. The near-rotted away bodies of the pirates that swung on the way into Port Royal had been replaced with considerably fresher ones -- much to the pirates' brief chagrin -- which was…not entirely bad, they had secured the aforementioned pirates' ship (and all of it's contents)…

However. There was an irate Frenchman pacing up and down in front of his desk, who had been cursing in his native tongue for the last…five, ten minutes…and if he judged by the grudgingly admiring expression on Lieutenant Gillette's face, the thrice-damned pillock hadn't repeated himself once.

He had, before he got distracted (perhaps it was the shiny, shiny gold on Norrington's uniform) and began to rant, introduced himself curtly as Captain Rochefort -- then corrected himself with haughty dignity, "Monsieur Gautier Rochefort". Norrington vaguely recalled hearing of the man, though he couldn't quite remember why.

"...I espoir qu'ils pourrissent dans enfer."

When it was obvious that he had finished his tirade, Norrington coughed delicately. "As fascinating as that was, would you care to enlighten us as to--"

Rochefort cut him off, his words very controlled, and his English accented. "I was taken hostage due to a mistaken identity." He gave a brief, wintry smile. "'Porthos the Pirate' has made himself many enemies."

And you among them, from that look, Norrington thought, but tactfully did not say. "Porthos the Pirate?"

"He would be very disappointed that you have not heard of him, Commodore. He is among the King's guard, and has delusions of grandeur." Rochefort's lip curled slightly as he spoke. "A particularly blind few of his enemies mistook me for his friend."

From Gillette's expression -- 'hmm, out the window or fall on my sword?' -- he had heard of the man in question. Norrington made a mental note to ask him about it later.

***

He would never be quite sure how he had ended up taking home a stray, sulky, Frenchman. (Who didn't seem any more pleased with the arrangement than he was, and muttered things about 'l'anglais' that he was sure he didn't want to hear translated)

Porthos, as it turned out, was Gillette's cousin, and apparently due in Port Royal with a friend of his one month from yesterday. Rochefort had been drinking steadily since Gillette told him. (Norrington suspected the good lieutenant had been, too)

That man defied…well, Norrington started out with the word 'understanding' in mind, but he'd come to the conclusion that Rochefort really defied everything. He was a moody and unfriendly man that could turn into the charming gentleman at the drop of a hat. He drove Norrington to near madness, while the cat he'd 'adopted' (Gillette thought the cat had adopted him, privately Norrington agreed) took to him, and could often be seen trying to eat his toes through his boots in quiet moments. (That he was jealous of this said something about him, Norrington was sure, and he was equally sure he didn't want to know what)

His clothes didn't fit the smaller man quite right, which provided vague amusement, as Rochefort was forever adjusting sleeves, and glaring at him for it, as if it were his fault they were different sizes.

"Are Englishmen not taught that staring is rude?" Rochefort drawled, not bothering to look up from where he was reading -- thieving both Norrington's favorite seat and evening pleasure read, not to mention acting as though he owned the study.

"I was not staring," he replied with dignity. "I was distracted. Would you be so kind as to pass me that book?"

"This book?" Rochefort raised an eyebrow -- arched, really -- and waved his reading material in Norrington's general direction.

"No, the one on the table." Yes, he thought, actually, I would like my damn book back. But I suppose one of us has to be the gentleman.

"Ah. Of course."

They read in more or less comfortable silence, until Rochefort declared he was going to bed (and Norrington recalled he wasn't alone in the room).

Norrington mouthed 'traitor' at the fluffy mass named Liza, who was watching him with vague amusement over the other man's retreating back.