AN: gracias for the reviews! Te amo! *excited* Two chapters in a day! Score for no school due to what? Not snow.but the absolutely freezing numbing cold! Fun fact. Haha, don't mind me. And just so you know, I've decided to add in the days since Jack left Port Royal before each section so the timing's not really confusing. Hope it kinda helps!

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Chapter 8: A Beating And A Prayer

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Day 8

Jack Sparrow slowly awakened himself to the sensation of something cold around his feet. He blinked cautiously, taking a moment to adjust to the lightless room. Room? He almost laughed. It was a four by four cell at best, with thick iron bars and a padlock over the door. No windows even, imagine that. He winced as he felt for the back of his head. There was a goose egg of a bump there; no wonder things looked a little fuzzy. He could see across the way there was a knothole in the wood, and through it a small beam of light streamed through, the yellow and purple sky letting him know that it was morning. He must have been out cold the entire night.

He sat up, noticing immediately that he had been relieved of his pistol, sword, and money pouch. He glanced at his hands with a sinking heart but discovered that fortunately they had not taken his rings, save one he had taken from the treasure of Isla de Muerta with an exceptionally gaudy ruby and diamond design. He was also surprised to find himself still in that bloody green dress.

He attempted to unbutton it several times and several ways, ending up spinning around trying to reach a clasp in the back until he realized there was a sound of sloshing water. He glanced down and saw the hemline of the dress and its sail-type skirts was dragging in a good few inches of water on the ship's floor. "Apparently there's a leak," he muttered.

Jack finally tore off the dress over his head, popping a few seams in the process to sacrifice the dress for the sake of getting it off. Thankfully he still wore his britches and a light shirt, although without his vest or sash, he thought regretfully.

Jack heard a door clang above him and instinctively plopped himself down on the bench, looking bored. In strode the man Evans along with another burly- looking crewmember who looked on grimly, holding a large wooden club. Jack grimaced and looked at the man disdainfully. "Can't ye get a little more creative that that?"

"Shut up," Evans told him sharply. "Care to explain why you were wearing that?" he motioned at the dress with aversion.

Jack smirked at the two men, his hands wrapped carelessly around the thick iron bars. "I felt like havin' a little bit of fun with the crew, mate."

The burly guard with Evans slammed the club into the iron bars dangerously close to Jack's hands. Jack's dark-lined eyes widened and he plucked his hands carefully away from the bars.

"This is your last chance, Sparrow." Evans warned him, holding up a key so it glinted in the dim light.

Jack smirked more still. "Or what? Yeh'll let me out?"

Evans patience was through. "Bring him," he ordered. The burly guard unlocked the padlock and grabbed Jack by the arm and pushed him roughly into the narrow space between the cells.

Jack looked at all the cells lined with shackles and frowned. "What is this place?" he murmured, more to himself than anyone.

Evans and the burly crewmember brought him above They lashed his hands to rigging above his head, and tied his ankles together to barely above the ground. One of them removed his hat. "Do not lose that, mate," Jack warned the man, who rolled his eyes.

Evans strolled out in front of the captain, Jack's hat carried thoughtfully in his hands. "Sparrow, where is the slave?"

Jack rolled his eyes, "What makes ye think I know, mate?"

"She was aboard your ship. She obviously isn't any longer or you wouldn't have dressed up in such a, "he paused as if searching for the word, "disguise to try and lure us after the Black Pearl, am I right?"

Jack didn't answer. "Why are you protecting her? Why go through the trouble of disguising yourself?" Evans asked again, more harshly.

Jack smirked. "Didn't I tell ye mate that I was just having a bit of fun-"

He was cut off by the whistle of a whip through the air, landing squarely on his midsection. Jack let out a whoosh of surprised and his eyes narrowed, but he didn't cry out. He gritted his teeth. "Why'd ye do that for, mate?" he asked plaintively.

"Don't lie to me, Sparrow." Evans yelled. "I know you know where she is!"

"What profit is it for ye, mate?" Jack asked, bracing himself for the next blow which did not come.

Evans chucked. It was a very scary sound, indeed. "She has quite a reward on her safe return."

Jack shook his head, trying to stall the man for time. Time for what, he didn't know. "Who would want her this much?" Stupid question, he told himself. He himself would. Any man in his right mind would.

Evans chuckled again. "Who cares?"

Jack looked up at him curiously. "Mate, what's with the brig on yer ship? It's a wee bit large for just mutinous mates and prisoners, aye?"

The other man looked him square in the eye, the beginnings of a smirk appearing on his lean and grimy face, his blue eyes as cold as the waters north of England. "That's because it wasn't originally built for merchant uses," Evans came close to Jack, their faces only inches apart. "Ever heard of the slave trade, mate?" he asked mockingly.

Jack's eyes widened with growing horror. This was a slave ship. Who knew how many innocent souls had died in that brig and how many more had been lost on arrival to the Caribbean and Americas. Jack suppressed a shudder.

Evans stepped back and resumed his calculated pacing, a sardonic grin on his face. "Where's the whore, Sparrow?" he demanded harshly.

"Firstly, she ain't a whore, as long as we're being truthful here. And secondly, I don't rightly know where Ana is, mate," Jack told him. Well, he didn't. She could be halfway to London right now for all he knew

"Wrong answer," Evans told him, the whip lashing out again, this time catching him across his back. Jack did not cry out. On and on went the questioning, and with it on and on went the beatings.

After at least twenty lashes, (Jack had long since lost count) Evans decided it would do no more good to beat him more today and they should wait until the pain had flared and wounds were in place the next day. Jack was returned to his damp cell, sides and his whole midsection burning. He sat carefully on the raised bench and leaned his head against the wall, cautious not to let anything rub against his new wounds. Jack closed his eyes and fell into a deep exhausted sleep.

____________________ Day 8. Dawn.

Ana looked out at the rising sun, praying that the sky did not turn the blood red that sailors had long dreaded, signifying an impending storm. She lifted her compass, hoping the desperate hope seizing her yet again that Norrington knew where to go. Norrington was currently on the Black Pearl down below with Gibbs, mapping out their route and finding the bearings. Ironic, she thought with a wry grin.

The only thing that brought her much confidence in the man at all, besides Elizabeth's faith in him, was that they had passed a small fishing boat earlier that had seen the Incorrigible the day before headed north. The fishermen had sold them some fish and one sailor heard one aboard the Incorrigible mention something about "two bloody days until we get back to Wittenburg for some fun."

Ana sighed, looking at her compass and turned the wheel slightly to the right. She had not slept much and did not care. When Jack was safe, then she would sleep. She had insisted that both boats continue traveling through the night as there was even a slight chance that the Incorrigible would stop and weigh anchor. The pirate woman shifted from foot to foot, alone with her thoughts. It was a good enough time as any to face up to them.

Jack Sparrow. Just thinking about that man made her anger peak and heart swell at the same time. Arrogant he was, downright annoying, at times callous and womanizing as well. But he was also fiercely protective, surprisingly sensitive when she needed it most, and deeply committed to what he believed in. And she, Anamaria Santagio, the most bitter and opposed person to emotion and devotion, had found herself smack bottom in love with him, she thought ironically.

They better not hurt him, she told herself fiercely. They better not have-

She couldn't bring herself to think of it. Life here on the Pearl without Jack just felt wrong. Life anywhere without Jack, as annoying, egotistical, and dense as he may be just felt wrong. Ana turned her attention back to the wheel and forced the thoughts from her head.

She glanced up at the lightening sky and whispered a simple prayer to whatever or whoever was up there.

"Watch over him."