A/N: I write this because 1)I'm bored 2)I feel like shipping Norribeth today and 3)I really love your fanfics, guys, but why are most of them so ANGST and SAD? D: Anyway, hi, I'm neither from England nor strong in history, so pleeze to be letting the mistakes slide :D Oh, and you could review because I would secretly be happy and love you loads (:

Disclaimer: Disney's Disney's Disney's ~

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Really, James, you're such an awful liar."

"That's Lieutenant to you, Midshipman Gillette."

Said midshipman made a disrespectful noise somewhere between a snigger, a snort and a cough, and James Norrington swiveled to face him irritably.

"I could have you kicked out of the Navy for that, Andrew."

"No, you couldn't," retorted Gillette with a chortle.

"I could. I'd... well, I'd..." He paused, failed to think of something threatening, and compensated by attempting a condescending smirk in Gillette's general direction.

"You should just tell me what's wrong," said Gillette, entirely unperturbed.

James sighed melodramatically.

"I had a fight."

"Were you drunk?"

"What?! No!" James took a deep breath, willing himself not to hurt Andrew Gillette. "I mean... a quarrel. With Governor Swann's daughter."

Gillette blinked. "You had a quarrel?"

"Yes."

"A... quarrel?"

"Yes."

"You and Miss Swann had a quar –"

"Lord, Gillette, YES."

Gillette paused to consider this statement.

"Were you drunk?"

James fingers began drumming a rhythm on the stone ledge they were sitting on. Push him off. Push him off. Push him off. Push him –

Gillette was still chuckling to himself.

"You, the great Lieutenant, Captain-and-Commodore-and-Admiral-to-be James Norrington, quarreled with a thirteen year old girl! And I thought that was the sort of verb you used for a lover's tiff!"

James stiffened. If there was one thing he had an obsessive-compulsive disorder about, it was handling improper comments.

"I assure you, Gillette, I have not engaged in any sort of –"

"Tryst?" offered Andrew deliberately, making the pale Lieutenant turn a beautiful shade of pink and thus exacting his revenge for being condescendingly smirked at.

"I – I – You – I –" stuttered James, completely unintelligible.

"Go on then, what did you two quarrel about?"

James adjusted his cravat nervously, suddenly sensing an ominous presence to his right and wondering why he hadn't avoided it sooner.

"James," prompted the ominous presence.

"Well, um." He cleared his throat. "She was telling me about William Turner. You know, the blacksmith lad. How he... blushes for no apparent reason and jumps like a frightened rabbit when she tries to hug him."

At this point, he glanced sideways at Andrew, who was smiling with feigned innocence.

"So I told Eliz – Miss Swann that young Mr Turner liked her, and she said it couldn't be because..."

James trailed off.

"Perhaps this is not the best topic," he began to say, but Gillette clapped him cheerfully on the shoulder.

"Come on, James, it'll be a secret. Unless, of course, you don't tell me the whole story, in which case I shall be very upset and go to the tavern to have a few drinks, and in my drunken stupor, heaven forbid I let this whole conversation slip."

James slumped back in resignation.

"Anyway, she said it couldn't be because I don't blush and I let her hug me, but I... well, I... like... her?"

The last three words were whispered as a tormented question.

"So I tried to explain that it wasn't the same sort of like, and out of desperation, I told her that I had hugged other men before and that didn't mean anything, but then she lost it and said that all boys were silly and that in fact, Mr Norrington, heroes have to like the damsel in distress before rescuing them."

James realized he'd been ranting, and stopped before he choked on his own saliva.

"The next forty minutes didn't get any better," he admitted woefully.

"Terrible," remarked Gillette, like he was commenting about the weather.

"I told her that heroes ride off with the princess into the sunset to get married and live happily ever after, and all she said was, 'exactly', and at that point I was thoroughly lost and so excused myself politely."

Actually, he'd fled in terror without so much as a goodbye, which for him was a serious case of lack of decorum.

"And that's that," he concluded.

"I suppose she thinks she likes you," said Gillette matter-of-factly. "And vice versa."

"I – I – You – I –" James felt his eyelid beginning to twitch. "She's thirteen, Andrew!"

"Precisely. It's called puppy love, isn't it?"

"She'll get over it, then," sighed James in relief.

"Perhaps," agreed Gillette. "But will you?"

"What?"

"Never mind." The midshipman stood up and James followed suit. "We should be heading back. And I won't tell a soul."

James was just about to mentally forgive Gillette when the latter spoke again.

"You've hugged men before?"

"Drop it."

"I'm your good friend, and you've never hugged me."

James felt like crying in exasperation.

"I don't have to be drunk to get into a fight, Andrew, I just have to be really, really annoyed."