Norrington frowned as the quill's nib scratched across the parchment. With a deep sigh, he watched ink seep through the fibers of the creamy page, then reached for his blotter. His ineffectual attempts with it only aggravated the problem, until he was reduced to trying to sop the ink with the ball of his thumb.

How very like you, he thought, to make such an abominable hash of so very simple a task. The ink continued to spread as he watched, consuming the few hard-fought words he'd managed to eke out that evening.

He twirled the quill between thumb and forefinger and watched the strands of feather dance. How carefree they seemed. How far removed from the bitter task he faced.

How to write and explain to his commander that the infamous Jack Sparrow had eluded his grasp again.

Behind him, someone stirred with the sound of sheets sliding off rough skin. "Come back to bed," Jack complained. "I'm bored and you're naked. Whatever it is you're up to over there, surely it can wait until after...some more of this."

Norrington bit his lip and grinned. He placed the quill neatly on the desk and stood, working the kinks out of his neck. Then he turned around and headed for the lascivious and fascinating pirate lying spread-eagled across his bed. "It can wait forever," he murmured.

Jack pulled him down against his body, sweat easing their movements. His hand found Norrington and brought them together in a slick and easy rhythm. "Quite," he panted.

The wind blew in through the open window and knocked the still-wet quill across the unfinished page, leaving a smear of illegible markings.