I must apologize, first and foremost, for the fact that this chapter is being posted on the 24th of August at 1:58 AM. The fact is, it should have been posted last night and you must know that it was done for said deadline. The excuse given is that my internet was being retarded and would not let me post, but the truth is that there should be no excuse. This chapter, at any rate, is dedicated to crunchcheezit in light of the fact that it was her birthday on tuesday-- Happy Birthday, sweetums. That being said, apologies for this one being a bit on the short side. The only reason is that the next idea is far too long to have attached to this one. I shall do my level best to get that next thought up in a timely fashion, but you all should be aware of the fact that I have just returned to school and am going to be rather busy for a time. Like I said, I'll try to be fastidious about updating, but no promises then, eh? Love to you all and thanks again to pookie power 2005 for this brainchild...

...TanzFieber

Kelsea Sparrow stood quite still and blinked. She didn't say anything; just blinked. The crew of the Black Pearl stood quite still and blinked. They didn't say anything; just blinked.

Jack Sparrow stared around at his statue-like men expectantly, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly. The stillness went on for a few moments, before the captain broke it with another barking command. "Duncan!" he repeated, and the man in question saluted sharply and snapped his heels together in attention.

"Sir!"

"Did ye not hear me th'firs' time, then." It was more of a statement than a question, and dangerously rhetorical at that. Every man there had heard the order, it was just that none of them could believe their ears.

Five lashes--? For Kelsea--? As in… his DAUGHTER Kelsea--? True they had rarely seen the captain so enraged, but this was far even for Jack Sparrow's volatile personality. However, the man did not seem about to back down and the choking silence stretched out even further as the singled-out crewman appeared to try to make himself part of the deck—to no avail.

Jack strode/stomped down into the hold, and appeared a few moments later with a coiled black leather lash. Dust that still clung to the fearsome instrument for the fact that it was point blank never used, floated off into space as the captain threw it to a very uneasy Duncan.

"I'll not repeat it again." Dangerously soft. Dark eyes flashing.

Meanwhile, fourteen-year-old Kelsea was having trouble grasping the situation. Sure, she knew that she had made a major mistake… but was her father really about to have her whipped--? She didn't want to believe it; couldn't believe it… but suddenly there was the whip and her throat stopped working properly. If her eyes weren't deceiving her, and although she wished they were they weren't, Duncan was now standing clutching at the lash with wide eyes as Jack stared him down.

"C-cap'n… All due respec' but…" The man tried, knowing in his heart that he would not be able to lay hands on the girl—but the mood Jack Sparrow was in was perilous indeed and certainly not one to be toyed with.

"But what. Let's put it this way: if ye choose t'throw in yer lot wiv a mutineer ye'll be twice-whipped yerself an' then have t'watch some other man do th'job anyway.." Dangerously soft. Dark eyes flashing.

The same thought was going around at this point—What the bloody Hell was the captain thinking--? And the truth of the matter was simple: he wasn't thinking. Jack Sparrow had, in his infinite agitation, finally managed to block out those pesky things called feelings. Now, he was impervious to the disbelieving stares and capable of just about anything. There weren't rumors about Jack Sparrow's madness for nothing.

And yet, the pirate Duncan was still shaking his head slowly. His hands may have been quaking, but his resolve was not—he could see the fear in Kelsea's eyes and would not harm a child for something that he knew was an accident. Unfortunately, the captain's threat was still hanging in the air and the silence settled again until—

"Alrigh', suit yerself, then." Dangerously soft. Dark eyes flashing. Striding over, Jack jerked the whip from the other man's nerveless grasp and raised it high as the other man braced himself and the crew looked away—

"WAIT—STOPPIT!" The cry rang out and everyone froze once again as the slight form of Kelsea Sparrow flung herself forward and grabbed Jack's arm. "Leave 'im alone, he didn' do anything!"

The raven-haired teenager stared defiantly at Jack, realizing that he was beyond reason. The thought of having strips of skin torn from her back was a frightening notion indeed, but she knew that she could not stand for watching somebody else whipped in her place. Therefore, it was a shaking but steadfast Kelsea Sparrow who jerked the lash from her pirate father's hands and turned back to Duncan.

"Jus' do what he says…" she whispered to her old friend, pressing the weapon back into his grip. However, the man could only stare incredulously.

"No, Miss Kelsea. Ye didn' do nuffin' wrong so's t'warrant th'cat o' nine…"

"Duncan… Please. I can't let ye be whipped yerself… Don' make me watch that, please—I'd feel bloody terrible…" she continued, and the changing expression on Duncan's face gave light to the fact that his resolve was weakening. "Please. Y'heard him… M'bound fer a few anyway, don' get yerself involved…"

Whilst this confidential conversation was going on, Jack Sparrow had crossed his arms and was using every ounce of angry determination that he had to stick to his guns.

Could he really go through with it--? YES! YES HE COULD, SHE HAD RUINED HIS PEARL! But she hadn't meant any harm—NO MATTER, SHE HAD DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED HIM! He might have done the same thing—THE PEARL WAS SCUTTLED BECAUSE OF HER! MUTINY MUTINY MUTINY!

These were the thoughts that were fighting an epic battle within the mind of the captain as he tried to squelch all feelings of uneasiness and guilt. Those sympathetic feelings wanted very badly to come through, but as luck would have it the girl spoke up and interrupted.

"M-my apologies fer disobeyin', Cap'n Sparrow. M'sorry about th'Pearl an' if this'll make up fer it, then I'll take me punishment as any other man here would." And with those noble words, Kelsea Sparrow hefted the back of her shirt and turned, exposing the vulnerable skin to whatever would come.

The captain held his breath. The crew held its breath. The girl her breath.

The black leather whip was raised. It whistled forward. It struck.

CRACK--!

Kelsea pitched forwards, knocked off balance by the force of the blow as it snapped across her shoulder blades. For a split second there was only the shock of impact and a disconcerting numbness before—Sweet Mother of God—! The fires of Hell suddenly ignited on her back and a strangled cry of untold pain found its way from her lips. Bloody Hell an' fer th'love of th'virgin mother—never in her entire life had she been subjected to such brutal pain--! Or so she was thinking desperately until the next stroke fell.

CRACK--!

God, the awful burning--!

CRACK--!

Please just let it end…

Meanwhile, Jack's gut was taking something of the same punishment. There would be the whistle and the crack and she wouldn't be able to contain the yelps of pain completely. He was sick with the sounds, he had turned away, he felt like he would vomit. His little girl was being whipped at his bidding—this was all wrong—how had it come down to this—why wasn't he stopping it--?

CRACK--!

By now tears were streaming in hot rivulets down Kelsea's face much as blood was streaming in hot rivulets down her lower back. The crew could not watch as the lash was raised one last time—

CRACK--!

And then it was over. The now bloodied leather whip clattered to the deck loudly, the only sound to mask it was the uncontainable whimpers and sobs coming from one dark-haired fourteen-year-old who had just had the flesh stripped from her shoulders on her father's command.

POST-BLOOD THOUGHTS FROM CAPTAIN JACK…

The sounds retching echoed around the cargo-hold. Jack Sparrow had just had another man whip his only known offspring like a dog. Jack Sparrow had never known such regret and guilt. Jack Sparrow had his head an shoulders inside an empty cask and was being violently sick. The sounds retching echoed around the cargo-hold.

After a few more gags, the pirate captain of the Black Pearl slumped down to the wooden planks of the floor, his head in his hands.

How could he have done that--? How could he have watched that--? How could he ever ask her forgiveness--?

Clearly, by now all of the anger that he had previously held for the girl who lay bleeding upstairs had petered out. He now knew that a million Black Pearls did not mean to him what his daughter did… But that realization had come too late. He had let his temper get the best of him and now perhaps he had lost her forever. Who could forgive such an atrocity? Jack knew with terrible certainty that he himself would never accept that kind of apology and the chances of her doing so were slim.

Despite that, he also knew that he had to try. It was not a fearsome, but a still sick and wretched Captain Jack Sparrow who dragged himself to his feet and began the stumbling climb up to his quarters.

MEANWHILE BACK AT THE RANCH—ER, CABIN…

The sounds of whimpering echoed around the captain's quarters. Kelsea Sparrow had just been whipped by her father's bidding. Kelsea Sparrow had never known such pain and suffering. Kelsea Sparrow had her head resting against the wall, was trying not to move and was praying for death. The sounds of whimpering echoed around the captain's quarters.

Tears fell hot and defeated from her eyes as she clutched at the rough paneled walls in throes of agony.

How could he have done that--? How could he have watched that--? Could she ever even look at him the same way again--?

Kelsea Sparrow was in such pain that she could not move. Blood beaded in scarlet lines across her shoulders where the skin had been shredded by leather. Her eyes squinched shut and teeth grinding together, it seemed impossible that anything could overshadow the physical discomfort—until one took into account the emotional turmoil.

When it came down to it, the girl could understand that he had had every right to be upset. She would have understood if he hadn't talked to her for weeks. She would have understood if he had forbidden her to leave the ship whilst they were in port. She would even have understood if he had slapped her—for THOSE were the things that fathers did when they were angry with their daughters-- But he hadn't done those things, she thought bitterly, gasping as new waves of heat and pain washed over her. He had ordered her whipped like some sort of lowly beast of burden. Had ordered another man to cause her severe bodily harm. Had listened and watched whilst it was being done--

It was as she was having these exact thoughts that the door swung open, and Jack Sparrow peeked into the room. In his hands were a bottle of rum and a cloth—implements to be used for disinfecting open wounds. However, the sight that met his eyes was gut-wrenching and he imagined dully that if hadn't already thrown-up every last thing in his stomach, he would have done so at that moment for the sight of his young daughter's mangled back was in full view. As it was, the bottle of rum clattered to the floor.

An angry red spiderweb of blood and tattered flesh and it was all his fault.

"Mother o' God…" He whispered, before the girl rounded on him, her tear-filled eyes flashing furiously.

"GET OUT OF HERE!" She quickly pulled her shirt down to hide the wounds, doubling over in pain as the fabric scraped the raw skin. But she couldn't let him see the damage… couldn't let him know how badly she had been hurt. Daddy how could you--?

"Kelsea—" He took a step in and had to dodge back as an empty bottle came flying towards his head.

"I DON'T BLOODY NEED YER HELP! NOT NOW, NOT EVER!" Daddy how could you--?

"Lass, Lissen t'—!"

Kelsea Sparrow turned around fully for the first time and stared levelly into Jack's eyes with such hurt and defiance that took his breath away. Very calmly and slowly, she held up one bloody hand.

"What part abou' 'I don' need you' are ye havin' problems understanding. Leave me bloody. Well. Alone."

Daddy how could you--?

Jack stood defeated and lowered his gaze, knowing that she was absolutely right in her actions. He wouldn't forgive himself either. Slowly the captain nodded his head, tears shining in his own eyes for the pain his daughter was experiencing, and backed out of the room. "S'too late now, I know… But fer what it's worth… M'sorry, Kelsea."

And then he was gone, and she was left to the agony. Carefully laying face down on the bed, the dark-haired teenager gave into the desolation. Needing more air between sobs, she breathed deeply-- it really didn't help that the sheets smelled of Jack and bespoke of betrayal. Tears and blood. Blood and tears.

Daddy. How could you.

A/N: The next chapter involves India and capture. It is quite involved and the plot is nicely twisty. Excuse the brevity of this chapter, and hold out hope that the next one will be nice and lengthy! What do we think of this one though, eh?