By Jeremy

February 12, 1998

"I'm still not sure what I'm doing here." grumbled Jeremy.

The rookie Lewis Glosshouse, who was actually only a single year younger, seemed to take that as something which needed answering.

"Why, sir, I had these places for the London Karate Tournament, and since you're the most experienced in Karate, I thought that you migh like it more than any of the others."

"I like karate." he retorted "Doing karate. Watching's not the same thing as doing." he sighed "Oh, well, I didn't have anything to today." especially since Cammy's off to Italy, he finished silently. He watched as two karate fighters took their positions on the fighting tatami. One was a big, muscular man, serious, a mean face, while the other was slighter, seemed relatively shy, and was far less muscular.

"The big one's Fred Herman and the small one's Kevin Sherry." said Glosshouse.

Jeremy nodded, and a moment later the announcer bellowed these very names as the first semi-finalists. The crowd cheered, deafening him. He wondered at how inconsequential the noise was when fighting and how irritating it was when simply listening in. He wasn't much of a watcher of fights, and so rapidly started to get bored. Vaguely, he heard people placing bets. He looked at Lewis.

"Hey, who are people betting on? Herman or Sherry?" he asked.

"Why Herman, of course. And so will I as soon as I can get there sir." answered Lewis, rising from his chair. Jeremy put an hand on his shoulder to stop him. He gave the younger man a smile that seemed to be slightly mocking.

"No, here's what you're going to do." he said lightly "You're gonna take these twenty pounds and bet them on Sherry. As for your money, you'll do the same. Sherry's going to win, he's far more in flow today, I can feel it from the way he's holding himself."

Glosshouse looked at the two fighters. "I dunno, sir, he seems pretty shy to me."

"Shyness...it means nothing. Look at the details, Glosshouse. See the way he looks, she the absence of tension in his frame. That's someone who has a plan, someone who's already found the perfect way to defeat his opponent. Believe me, rookie, Sherry's going to win. I can guarantee you that.

Glosshouse appeared completely unconvinced, but nodded. "If you say so, sir."

"Just bet my money on Sherry, at least." Jeremy sighed. As the man went for his bets, he lost all need and reason to watch the fight - he already knew who was going to win it, it was just TOO plain - and drifted back to what had been bugging him for days now: what had happened with Cammy.

He understood he had been feeling like a broken man - heck he still felt like that in the background - and that he had latched on to the affection he she had given him like a drowning man would hang on to a floating piece of wood to save himself, but hadn't he gone too far, too fast? That was what he thought. He remembered he had been lost between passion and misery and because of the strength of both these emotion, he had been unable to pull back immediately when the young woman had started to hyperventilate, as he should have done without an hint of hesitation. He hadn't, and so he had received a very nice and strong pitch in the face. He had deserved it. It was his fault, after all.

Problem was, SHE didn't think so. In fact she happened to think he hadn't deserved it at all. Well, maybe not a punch, true, but he had deserved being pushed back. He hadn't listened to sign and had received something to get his head straight. That was his argument and he had stood by it that evening and the days after.

However she said that he was wrong, that she'd wanted what was happening, that she hadn't been forced into anything and that her answer had been driven by a fear that wasn't hers - he'd agreed with that part - and that if she had to find a way to remove it somehow if she wanted to live with herself AND with him. He had found himself a little distraught. He could remember what they'd said well...

"I'm going to go see Rose." she had said softly "Let her look into my head and get that bloody fear out of me. Rip it out if she must!"

He hadn't liked the way it sounded. "Rose told me that it could be dangerous Cammy." he'd said urgently "It could damage you if it wasn't successful!"

"Its worth the risks!"

"No! It most certainly IS NOT worth the risks! Just because we can't have sex doesn't mean we can't love each other!"

She had seemed to actually angry at that. "OH YEAH? Well, I've seen the way you look at me sometimes. Oh, don't look sheepish you know its true. And I've given you the same looks. Do you honestly think we could spend all our days together, wanting everyday but never able? I don't think so."

He had found himself unable to answer that. Probably because he felt the truth that there was in what she was telling him. Yes, as much animalistic it made him feel, he had to admit that a part of the love he felt for her was made out of lust. Not the greater part, a very small one really. But it was there. Mankind was a race of animals, after all. And animals lusted. Still, he knew that it didn't matter somehow, that he could bypass the lust. However, she hadn't been finished.

"And even more importantly, I don't want to hit a man I'm in love with everytime he starts getting a little intimate with me. I just can't live like this.

And that, as people always said so well, was that. The conversation had ended with this, with both being too uncomfortable to continue it. And two days later, she had arranged for a short trip to Italy.

And now she was gone there, had forbidden him to follow, not wanting him adding to the pressure. He supposed she was right, but it didn't make things any easier for him. He still worried, worried that something would go wrong, that it would be unsuccessful or worse or that something would change in his Cammy. Strange words those. When had it started to become HIS Cammy? After they really both confessed their love? Maybe it had been it. Still, he felt weird, when he only thought them. He wondered if she ever thought like that about him. HER Jeremy. He found it not unpleasant, come to think of it. Like being a piece of furniture. Or like the sheets of her bed, which espouse her magnificent curves and forms so well that...

Okay. He needed to relax more. This wasn't helping.

He turned his attention back to the fight just in time to hear the roar of the crowd as Herman was definitely pitched off the fighting circle by a rather well-placed roundhouse and chops combo. He smirked slightly. Then he spied the disbelieving look on Lewis' face, and his smirk widened into a full smile.

"You DID bet MY money on Sherry?" he asked gently.

"Yeah." dazed voice

"But you didn't bet on Sherry." he prodded.

"Yeah." more bitter tone, now.

"Your loss."

Glosshouse looked at him for many long moments, studying him, and then finally exploded. "But how could you KNOW?!?" he exclaimed "Herman was the most experienced and the most skilled. By rights he should have won!"

As an answer, Jeremy pointed to the stands near Sherry. Glosshouse followed the finger and came two rest on two person. One was a woman of perhaps thirty years old, the other a little girl of no more than five. Both were wildly applauding and waving, and Sherry seemed to be waving back only to them.

"That's..." said Lewis. Jeremy nodded.

"His family, I'd wager. Sherry didn't have the skill, but he had the real goals, the real reasons, the most potent will." he leaned back. "And when you will something hard enough, things might just happen."

Pretty words. He hoped they were true.

For right now he was willing Cammy to come back to him alright.

* * * * * * * * * *
Two days later...

The villa was located just outside of Huelva, overlooking the beautiful white beaches of spain, with a large lawn dotted here and there by colorful flowers and fountains, all surrounded by a lightwood of pines, oaks and firtrees that cut off the place from the rest of the world. The house itself was made out of white brick and marble, with super works of art on this display around it and inside it. The villa was two-storied villa was large and its interior was magnificent - a place for the wealthy, the powerful, but mostly for the vain. It had been built under the specification of Henandros de Torres the Third, the man who had become the dangerous Spanish Assassin evermore known as Vega. He had had both the money - from his parents' extensive fortunes, now his, and the tidy sums he often obtained while working for Shadowlaw. Yes, he had been a man feared and admired - and rightly so.

But this wasn't the way it was anymore.

Not to the man sitting in a wheelchair in the morning's air, looking at the beach and the blue waters in bitterness and self-disgust. The man had been strong and muscular, blond and remarkably beautiful. No more. He had faint scars on his face now, which was gaunt and fierce, and the tonus of his upper body had lost its edge, losing the fine tone, gaining a bit of fat. As for the lower body, it was covered with a black blanket to hide the bony legs that hadn't felt anything in months. This was a wretched man.

And yet it was Vega, the Spanish Assassin, so feared and respected, now loathed and ridiculed in the underworld.

All because of that BITCH Chunli, who had sent him to the hospital, and because of that trice-damned BASTARD Giorgio Castillo, who had snapped his back and made him a worthless paraplegic. Even Bison had quit wanting to kill him, it was said, finding Vega's disgrace a much more fitting punishment for his unacceptable failure. He was left alive when he had wanted so much to die. Giorgio had given him the choice of suicide, but suicide was for the weak, not for a De Torres and certainly not for Vega. Dying at the hands of a worthy opponent, like Sagat would have killed him had the Muy Thai Champion followed through on his orders, would have been acceptable. But this - to live and become shriveled and old, ridiculed by all, when they should have feared him so much that all people in Spain would whisper his name - this was worse than death. Far worse.

With a snarl of fury, he grabbed the nearest statue of pure white marble - made on the image of a teen crush he had had - and flung it to the tiled floor, shattering it to bits. Not that it mattered. Servants would clean it up. He needed the release.

"Ah, I see you're breaking statues now." came a calm, cold voice that held that little touch of compassion and pity that Vega hated, "Be careful. These things cost much money."

He knew that voice. It belonged to one like him, one of the few like him whom he considered an equal assassin, and a man worthy of his discussion. That was before, however. Before his fall. Now that voice only brought anger.

"Everick," growled the man, "If you have nothing intelligent to say, bastardo, you can just leave and let me live what remains of my life in peace."

"Such brutal words." chided the man, coming into view. Vega's eyes widened at the sight. Instead of the black clothes, the Shadow walker wore a white t-shirt, blue jeans, elegant but practical sneakers and wore sunglasses and a dark blur cap. He barely recognized him. When he did, he almost laughed. Everick noticed the mirth immediately and gave him a friendly smile - the first genuine, friendly smile he'd sen in months. "Ah, I see you have remarked on my guise. Well, even the Shadow Walker doesn't ALWAYS wear black."

"So it seems." chuckled Vega despite himself, but the mirth soon faded away "Now what are you doing here?"

"I have two reasons. First, I was coming to see how an old friend was doing."

"I'm still not sure we've ever BEEN friends." shot back Vega caustically "But since you asked, here you can see the answer to your question. I live. I go on. Nothing more, nothing less. I have more than enough wealth to last me my lifetime in luxury."

"You don't look like a man wallowing in luxury, my friend." Everick observed. You look more like a slowly rotting corpse."

"That's all I am." was the bitter reply.

Every frowned. Obviously he didn't like the way he had responded. So what? No paint off his wall. He was in the position where he didn't care others thought of him. He knew nothing could make him feel worse than he did.

Everick looked at him with a disapproving look. "I never expected you to become such a weak-willed man, Vega."

Screw the fact he thought nothing could hurt him. This hit the exact spot. In fact, being accused of weakness by one of the few men that he had respected and even liked in his line of work made him furious. Completely, absolutely furious.

"BASTARDO!" he screamed. "IF I HAD MY TWO LEGS STILL I'D SHOW YOU A THING OR TWO ABOUT WILLPOWER. YOU AND CHUNLI AND CASTILLO!!!"

Everick gave a soft laugh. "That's more like the Vega I remember! Glad to see there's still some of that ruthless fire in you."

"Is that why you're here?" shot back Vega hotly. "To get my goat? In that case, don't bother! I'm well able to get angry on my own."

The other man nodded, as if this fact didn't surprise him one little bit. And it probably didn't Surprising Everick was, as far as Vega was concerned, as impossible as making the Moon sing. It was one of the traits that he had liked right off, even more then the powers or the efficiency. He still liked it now, even though it annoyed him. The man who walked in the shadows approached the fallen assassin he leaned toward his right ear.

"Do you still want to kill those who made you that way?" he whispered.

THAT got his attention, and he turned his eyes to meet the sunglassed ones squarely. What could the man want by asking him that? To him, it didn't make any sense that he should. Did he not see the state he was in. Vengeance against the two who did him that horror was impossible! Surely that was plain!

"What do you mean?"

"Just answer the question. Do you?"

Vega gritted his teeth. "Of course I do! But I cannot now. Can't you see I can't use my legs anymore, idioto?"

Everick gave him a cold smile. "If you regained your legs, would you be able to retrain yourself back to your peak, even past it?" he stared hard into Vega's eyes, the Spanish could feel the gaze through the sunglasses. "Could you, Vega?"

He returned the stare pound for pound. "Of course I could. I would need to surpass myself to kill Chunli, and Castillo has powerful friends. But I could. Of course I could."

The other man stood up, gave another warm smile, and tapped the man on the shoulder. Vega was stumped. What was he up to? What did he want? Everick had always been so feared because his motives always seemed to be either straight and flat or completely mysterious, with no grey in between. So why was he leading him on? The curiosity, the desire to know this was killing him.

"Very well. Consider your back wound healed. I know a person who can operate such a wound, in Toronto, a very eccentric, brilliant neurosurgeon, who happens to owe me a very big favor."

Vega was stunned. "What? You would do that? Why?"

"It would not be a free deal. There is something you will have to do for me. It will take some time away from you, but you might find it interesting. Just this condition I will name...once you accept."

Vega thought about refusing the offer, than looked at the blanket that covered his legs, looked at his wasting body. Then he thought about what he could do, with his legs back. He could get revenge. No need to attack Chunli carelessly like the last time. This time he could be far, far subtler. As for Castillo, he would prepared something the bastard would never forget.

He looked at Everick squarely, his old, smug smile returning after months of absence.

"I accept, amigo. Name your condition."

* * * * * * * * * *

The day after...

Rose took a deep breath. Although she wouldn't tell it to the younger woman - it would only make her even more fearful when if she did - she didn't feel too good about what they were about to attempt. A mind - no matter how strong, or how controlled - was a fragile collection of thoughts that defined a personality. To seep one's will into it was dangerous at best, especially if another high-level psychic had already meddle in it. But she wouldn't say any of this, wouldn't talk about the risks. They were better left unsaid. Anyway, she had the feeling Cammy knew about them, or could surmise them.

She gave the woman seated in front of her an encouraging look. "Are you ready, dear?" she asked "We can always put it off to later, if that were your wish."

The braided woman shook her head, although anyone could have seen how reluctant she was. She was also very determined, however. "I want this thing off now, before I get too scared of this and reconsider."

"So, you are afraid?" Rose asked, but it wasn't mocking, just gently establishing a fact.

"Wouldn't you be?"

The lavender-haired psychic gave off a smile at that. Touché. Even in this type of situation, the young SCD kept all her wits. Good sign. The sign of a strong mind. "Yes, Cammy. I think I would be very much afraid. But I will do my very best to insure nothing happens.

A nod. "I trust you." and then she closed her eyes.

I trust you. What a sweet yet terrible thing to say to a psychic. Sweet, because it wasn't something her kind heard often from the 'normal' people - if Cammy, with her own powers, could be considered that. And terrible, because so many who trusted saw their hopes and their lives shattered because of them. This could be the same case here. If she messed up with her mind, not only would the poor girl be different, paranoid and untrusting, if not downright crazy, but Jeremy, who was dear to her for reasons he should be coming to understand, would want to kill her. And she would want him to.

Another breath. "Very well. Let us commence." And she closed her own eyes, calling upon her powers, letting it flow.

She directed the power toward Cammy's mind, tentatively. She asked permission to the subconscious, who responded with wariness. Unsurprising, after all the attacks it had suffered before. She asked again, forming her flow to be as gentle and as compassionate as she could make it. The subconscious responded to it rather harshly, but finally gave way, just a crack. It seemed Cammy's trust extended up to her defenses, event though it was far more tenuous. She penetrated the mind of her friend without forcefulness.

And then it was like a corridor that Rose saw in her mind, a corridor that led to what seemed like a cave from which sprouted many golden, leafless trunks. The forest of being. The different aspects that made a person. She touched the first trunk, and was rewarded with an image of Cammy and what she read as Mark Culhen, deep in conversation, going over a plan of some kind. The name of the trunk was announced within Rose's mind immediately.

LOGIC.

She made her way to another trunk, touched it lightly, and was rewarded with another image, and saw the image of Cammy, her eyes devoid of emotion, standing over the broken body off a man. Her face was marked, and even in her unemotional state she seemed tired. The man had known he was fighting for his life, and few could fight as well as a human being cornered like this. But, in the end, she had prevailed.

SHAME.

She shook her head. It seemed it would take a long time, if not all her lifetime, before Cammy started to understand that what she had done as a Shadowlaw doll wasn't her fault. But she wasn't here to help in there. She'd already took too many risks, touching aspects of Cammy's personality. Now she only use her mental abilities to discern the problem she had come to eradicate. With that though, she let her mind fly through the forest, searching for something out of the ordinary.

It wasn't long before she found it.

She found three golden trunks, and attached to them was a thick, purplish vine that seemed to choke them. She observed it. Seamless, completely attached to them. Bison's work, only a psychic of his level could ever hope to achieve such a feat. She touched the first trunk, and was rewarded with an image of Jeremy and Cammy. The young man had taken one of her hands, and was kissing it lightly, his eyes closed, while Cammy shot him a rather annoyed look but was blushing all the same. The name, when it came, didn't surprise her. LOVE. She touched the trunk next to her and was rewarded with...well...an interesting image. Had she really been there, she would've turned crimson because of it. LUST. And then the last trunk, which gave her an image of Cammy hugging herself, shivering, looking to a point beyond the image with a terrified expression. FEAR. It all fit.

Bison had arranged it that everytime LUST and LOVE worked fully in unison, an enormous amount of FEAR would be released. Cruel, but very practical. Perfect to make a person suffer, JUST IN CASE that person ever broke his control. And now she had to break that with her own power, without damaging the golden trunks. She prepared a mental attack, directed only at the vine, and released it with outmost caution.

As soon as she touched the vine, she felt a resistance, a force that refused to give up any ground to her. She pressed on the attack more forcefully, using all of her abilities to keep control of the situation.

"How dare you interfere!" bellowed a deep voice she recognized, emanating from the vine. She was not impressed by it, for she knew it was only a psychic echo of Bison, not the man himself.

"Let her go, Bison!" she hissed in her own turn, intensifying her attack. "She is no longer yours to do as you wish with!"

"She will ALWAYS be mine! NO ONE escapes my power!" came the angry retort, given like it was laying down the law. And, as far as it was concerned, it was. But she had no time to waste on a mere shadow. the longer they fought, the greater the risk of damage. She pressed on again, but still the vine resisted. She knew she could increase her attacks even more, but to do that might start a devastating psychic feedback loop that could greatly damage the mind she was in. As it was, this was a deadlock.

And it might have remained so if, from the three trunks, golden branches hadn't sprouted and started to pull at the vine. She could have cheered for it. Cammy's own mind was fighting Bison too. Whether it was intentional or not, it gave her the kind of leverage she needed. Stealing herself, her power pulled on the vine in unison with Cammy's mind, and, after a long moment of resistance, the vine started to loosen.

"NO!" came Bison's furious bellow "I REFUSE TO ACCEPT IT! THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!"

But the process had started, and once begun, there was no turning back. The vine choking LOVE broke first, and then followed by LUST. FEAR was more resistant, and she actually had to increase her attack for a moment to make it let go. But, with a final boom of outrage, it did let go, and the vine fell to the mind-formed ground. There, weakened, it was attacked by brilliant spheres of light that were a human's natural psychic defense. Without the power from the trunks, the vine was unable to ward them away, and it was devoured rapidly. It was over. Rose started to come back, leaving tree leafless threes now free of any taint.

She came back within herself with a splitting headache, and actually had to put her head in her head for a moment, to steady her thoughts. When she had it rather under control, she looked back at Cammy, and saw that her eyes hadn't changed, keeping the same, intact mind behind it. The woman was shivering from the psychic shock, but would be alright.

"Did it...work?" the braided SCD asked tentatively.

Rose gave her a wan, exhausted smile, her head still throbbing painfully, yet feeling somewhat giddy. "Yes Cammy. It did. You no longer have to fear Bison."

The other woman, rose and came to grasp her hands, squeezing them with force. "Oh, thank, thank you, Rose!!" she said earnestly "I can never repay you for this, but.."

"But there is a way." she cut in "Go back to him, dear. And love him. I think you two owe it to yourselves, after going through so much."

As for she...well...she thought she owed herself ANOTHER day off. This time, she hoped that no one would interrupt it!

Ah the things one did for family...

* * * * * * * * * *

The day after...

"Belsar." said Bison in a pensive voice.

"Yes. That's the name I heard from the Elders." said Kale from the monitor screen, looking both excited and curious. "I'll tell you, they seemed spooked by the name, and by that I mean really afraid!"

Bison nodded. "They should be. I would be too, if Belsar decided he didn't like me." He saw his younger brother's look of incredulity and gave a short laugh. "My brother, the reason you seem surprised shows that you've never seen Belsar's power fully unleashed. You saw only the tip of the iceberg."

"Did you ever see it, Bison?" Kale asked politely, but intensely curious.

Bison became grave, his strong, commanding features darkening as he remembered. Seen it? Yes, he had. He had been very young then, barely a Circle Acolyte, when Belsar had come upon his Lair Lord in fury. The reason for the angry bout he never recalled, but he remember feeling, for the briefest of moment, the full might of this Ancient, without any buffers. It had been a formidable sight, but also a very frightening one. Bison had known, at that very moment, that there were things in this world one never got angered at oneself, and that the Ancients were first among those things. Even now, with of his might, with all of his influence, he knew better than to challenge these strange men that were old when the world still thought the Earth was flat.

"I have." was all he said, however. Kale was wise enough not to prod for more. "Did you hear anything else.

"Not much. Except for that word: Kel-Drashi. That too seemed to have a certain effect on the conversation."

"That's a name." Bison explained. "It means 'Citadel of the Mind', a legendary fortress, hidden from the eyes of those unworthy, supposedly the place the first Psychics and Sorcerors of power erected and taught others. It is a myth, but it is a very potent one."

"You seem to know much about this brother." stated Kale wonderingly.

Bison smiled again. This was the second time today he had smiled a real smile, and it did feel good. He and his brother should talk more. "I have read much about the Ancients and Kel-Drashi when I was younger, and kept up an interest through the years. So it is Belsar who told you to bring this wailing child to me? Interesting. She must be powerful, for the Ancients never move for the sake of someone they do not consider worthy of attention."

"About Dessara, how powerful is she?"

"Presently? She is nothing. But you were right - she has both powerful Inner AND Outer powers. For that alone I am pleased you have wisely given her to me, for, properly trained, she will become a formidable power, and raising her will ensure that Shadowlaw will have her complete loyalty. Were her parents psychics.

"No...in fact they seemed as ordinary as they could come. No powers, no strength, no nothing. Just a bunch of weaklings."

And yet Belsar had taken an interest in her. Very peculiar. An idea took root within Bison, but he could not voice it, he needed proof.

"Very good brother." he said "Thank you for the refreshing conversation and the useful information. I hope we can talk in the near future."

"As do I. Take care, Bison." and the screen winked out.

Bison took a deep breath, and as he did the darkness that shrouded his soul, which had been slightly driven back by the casual, friendly conversation, came back and enfolded him completely again. He was now the Master of Shadowlaw, powerful, feared and ready to crush anyone who would stand in his way. His face lost all of the slight pleasant edges it had had, and became the hard mask of cold that had become standard over the years. He pushed another button. Almost immediately, the image of an old man in a lab coat appeared, serious and reverential.

He wasted no time for the usual pleasantries of respect and salutations. "Doctor, I should well hope that you have the results of the tests I ask you to run on my new ward." he commanded more than asked.

The man bowed a little, not showing fear, only deep respect - one of the reasons Bison gave the old man a certain measure of trust. Those who only respected REALLY respected, and that was rare here in Shadowlaw, an organization built upon fear and power.

"Yes, sir, we have just received the analysis. As usual, you were right, this girl has amazing potential that might well make her a very valuable ally as she reaches maturity."

"Be specific, Doctor." Bison sternly interjected before the man could go on one of his usual rants. "What do you mean by 'amazing potential'."

"If these tests are correct - and we have every reason to believe that they are - this child will grow into both an eight-level psychic power and a seventh-level chi manipulator."

Bison did not show it, of course, but he was intensely pleased with those numbers. The tests divided power in ten categories both, with an eleventh for those who went outside the norm. He himself was an eleventh-level Psychic, while his chi manipulation was of the sixth level. This young girl would thus become extremely powerful. Not as powerful as he, of course, but very much so. And he would train her so that she would WILLINGLY look at him as her sole Lord and Master. Complete loyalty, immense powers and a free mind: she would be the perfect servant, and the perfect hand to deal with those who met with his displeasure. True, it would take many years - at least fifteen, perhaps twenty, but it mattered little. He had the time. Yes, he was pleased.

However, it would not do to say that. So, still with a stern face, he answered truthfully but simply. "Good. And now I would wish you to conduct another test."

There was no hesitation in the old man's answer. "Of course, my Lord. What test do you wish us to perform?"

He reflected a moment. "Have your people do a complete DNA testing on the child. Scans, tissue analysis, everything."

Was he right? He wasn't sure. But there had to be a reason for someone as chaotic - not to mention as POWERFUL - as an Ancient like Belsar to take such direct interest in a child that barely spoke a word or two and did not even know how to walk yet. His personal intuition pointed him in one direction. Whether it was the right one remained to be seen. And if it wasn't the right one, he would something else. Until he had the answers he wished.

The old scientist, for his part, merely nodded, but still looked very curious.

"We will do so at once, my Lord. However...what should we be looking for?"

Bison paused. That was a very pertinent question actually. How to phrase it appropriately. He chose his words carefully. "Doctor, you know DNA structures as they should be. I mean by that how the structures of humans are today, am I not right?"

"Why, of course sir." stated the doctor with dignity. "I have done extensive work in the field of genetics, as my Lord well knows."

Bison nodded gravely. "Yes, I do know. So here is what you do." another pause, another consideration "Investigate the child's DNA very carefully, strand by strand and then....report to me what is not there, but should be."

The old man seemed puzzled - Bison found he couldn't really blame him - but looked as determined as ever. "As you wish my Lord. It shall be done." And the conversation ended on that. Bison closed the screen, stroke his chin thoughtfully. They would soon see if he was right.

If he was...

The ramifications could be incredible!

* * * * * * * * * *

***Author's warning: this part is a bit lemony - its not hardcore or extremely explicit, but I advise you to skip this part if you're uncomfortable with sexual material. I will not be offended if you skip this part, I just wanted to give everyone a fair warning. Now that its done, back to the show! ^_^***

Two days later...

Jeremy was looking at Cammy's apartment door in some confusion, uncertain of what awaited him on the other side. It wasn't his style to simply stare at a door for a while without knocking or opening it, but he found himself more than a little befuddled by the note he had gotten at work. There he'd been helping file some important documents for better retrieval if ever needed again, when he'd received a note. It was simple and to the point.

Hi! I'm back! Come see me at 4pm!

-Cammy-

That was it. Nothing else. It had neither been alarming nor reassuring, just a fact and an invitation that nearly sounded like an order. He had stared at it, shrugged, and went back to his work as best he could. However as the hours passed, he became more and more worried about her. What had happened back in Italy? Had everything gone alright? Or was there a problem? If there had been, wouldn't she be telling him about it. Or maybe that was what she wanted to talk about. The only way to be sure was to get back to her place and see for himself. That way he'd stop worrying.

Yeah, right, so why was he hesitating now that he COULD find out?

Muttering angrily against her foolishness and even more against HIS, he firmly knocked on the door. He actually had wanted to do the usual three knocks, but had to actually stop before getting there, for the door opened at the second one, and he had to stop his hand from mechanically knock on her forehead. He blinked. Had she been waiting on the other side of the door or what? He blinked even more when he saw how she was dressed - light shorts, light blue t-short, not much else. Pretty out of character. He didn't even have time to gape, however, as he was pulled inside by her slender but strong arm. She closed the door behind him, then looked at him with an expression that made him think he was some sort of tender meat. He cleared his throat.

"Nice to see you back, love. Did it go all right, with, erm, Rose?"

She pointed a finger at his nose playfully. "The answer to that you'll know soon. Just go sit on the sofa while I get changed, okay?"

"Well...sure." he said, feeling he was in the middle of a situation he knew nothing about and had no control of. He walked to her small living room and sat down on the sofa, looking at her with a quizzical expression as she went about in the bathroom and close the door, giving him a smile. He looked at the door for moment, then looked around. He was completely lost, clueless, and gladly admitted it.

After a few minutes of waiting, he was starting to philosophize with himself. "This may well be the situation that makes men lose their hair prematurely." he muttered to himself sardonically. As he said that, the bathroom door opened. Sighing in no small amount of relief, he looked. And went as stiff with shock as a rock is hard.

Cammy had 'gotten changed', true, but that change had more with 'removing' then 'adding'. She was now dressed only in a white bra and panties, the rest of her body completely naked. What's more, she had undone her braided hair and let it go loose, cascading down her shoulders and back, something that he had rarely sen her do, even to go to sleep. With her fine curves and athletic disposition, the sight was something that would have enchanted just about any man.

Jeremy was amongst those. His blood pressure had certainly climbed dangerously high as she approached him, seemingly quite pleased with her effect on him. He was still gaping when she sat down next to him, smiling softly, but with a shy edge.

"So...how do you like it?" she asked.

He wasn't really in the state to answer that in so many words, so he simply stated the clearest thought he had. "Cammy...you're...you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." It sounded flip, it sounded cliché, but it was exactly what he meant. She recognized that, too, as she blushed slightly under his gaze.

"Jeremy...do you want me?" she asked.

"My blood pressure is reaching critical and you ask me that?" he breathed. "Cammy, the answer, I think, has been yes for quite a while."

She approached him, all gentle curves and rose flesh, and came near to him. "Then show me."

They kissed then, long and passionately, their feelings and gestures showing what words could not. Finally they broke it up, and she spoke again.

"Let's go to my bedroom." she said. "We'll be more...comfortable...to...to really do it."

He got his answer from that. It had worked! Rose had done it! He promised himself to buy a whole shop of the same plants and give them to the psychics, and that would only be the tip of the iceberg of the joy and gratitude he felt. With a joyful, sighed, he swept Cammy into his arms, walking toward the room, she cuddling against him gratefully. Rarely had he felt so good, so alive, so in love. Never, probably, since that time in Italy, when they'd told each other everything. He entered the bedroom.

Although she definitely shivered again when he hugged her in his arms and, with amorous tenderness, set her on her bed, she didn't seem to have the slightest of intention of crying out a denial or hitting him in the face. In fact, she gave a little sigh as he did. He removed his pants and t-shirt quickly, his pulse quick, his tension high, and moved next to her to lay down. She languorously moved over him, straddling and undid her white bra, revealing round,soft breasts. She then lay down on top of him.

He was scared now - this was the first time he'd ever shared this level of intimacy with anyone, even Melissa had never come close to it - but also full of desire. He put his arms around her and pressed her to him, feeling her warm body shiver against his again, as she pulled herself to him and pressed her slightly opened mouth against his. Their tongues clashed for long moments, as his hands rubbed her shoulders, her ribs, her hips, and while her own explored his chest, raking at some points. At last their passionate kiss broke, and he started to use his mouth and tongue lower, straying from the neck to the shoulder, and then started to go lower. She gave short breaths, in heat, almost lost in it, but managed to stop him by putting both trembling, sweaty hands on his head. He was himself almost lost in it, and wondered what could be wrong. Couldn't be the psychic fear acting up, or he would have died already.

"What...what is it?" he forced himself to ask. It was incredibly hard putting clear thoughts together at this point for him. Obviously she shared the same problem, for she only panted a little, then extended one hand to her bedside table, opening the drawer and rummaging into it for a moment. He was about to ask again when she came up with a square piece of plastic. He stared at it for a few seconds, uncomprehending.

Then he read what was on it. And gave off a soft, jolly laugh.

"Yes...its not...a bad idea." he breathed.

She gave him a smile, a very loving one "I want you, Jer. Oh, I want you...right now. But...I don't think...we'd want children...yet...eh?"

"You're right, we wouldn't." he chuckled, swiping the plastic square away. She moved off from him, and he took off his boxers, wondering how that thing between his legs had gotten so big and stiff, and he fought against the container, getting a lusty giggle from Cammy, but finally opened it, and slipped the thing on. He then turned back to her.

She was comfortably laid back, hands behind her head, her face red and aglow with both love and lust - right now the two were much the same thing. She had taken her panties off, and, positioned as she was, revealed to him all the startling, athletic beauty of her womanhood. On the body were a few scars, vestiges of the treatments and abuse she had suffered, but he never really noticed them. They weren't his work. She'd never suffer such terrible injuries, would never be hurt such when he made love to her. From her expression, she seemed to understand that quite well. She gave him another smile.

"Come, Jer." she said seductively. "Come take me. Come love me. Or I'll be the one who'll come.

He gave her a shy smile, and then came toward her and moved on top of the woman he loved. And they made love. A clumsy, uncertain love, but they put their heart into it, their joy and their desires. It was their love. A complete fusing of there selves.

And never in the entire night did Cammy ever seemed to show anything but love, lust and bliss.

The nightmare of fear was over.