A New Start

Chapter 2

It had been four days and they still had nothing. They had managed to collect together most of the components of the bomb that was used in the blast, but there had been nothing remarkable about it and they had gained no trace or prints from it. The bomber had been very careful. Gil climbed out of his car and looked at the impressive residence that he had parked in front of. He knew he would take some stick for this but there really was nothing to lose at this point, the trail was cold and for all they knew the bomber could strike again. And he knew that he would feel the heat for that.

He walked up to the door and rang the bell. He waited a few minutes before the door was pulled open. The blond smiled at him as if he was an old friend and that was somewhat unnerving for the CSI.

“Gil Grissom, Vegas Crime Lab.” He introduced himself, holding out one hand, he held his kit in the other hand.

Johnny smirked, “Are you sure you want me to shake that hand?”

“I have nothing to hide, Mr Smith.” Gil stated.

The psychic nodded, shaking the offered hand. The world skewed then straightened, the vision was erotic, and the man holding his hand was now leaning over him, naked, thrusting into him. Steely blue-grey eyes holding his own captive as he thrust his hips up to meet him. He tried to reach out to touch the man but he was suddenly aware that his hands were bound to the headboard. He was writhing in ecstasy. He hoped to god that he was himself in his vision because, for an older man, Gil Grissom was incredibly sexy.

He came out of the vision and coughed to cover the groan he wanted to release. His cock had responded with enthusiasm, it had been too long since he last had sex; it had been such an unmitigated disaster after all.

Gil tilted his head to the side, watching the blond man, his blue eyes were captivating, and they seemed to be looking at something beyond him. Then he was back with it and he seemed to remember that they still had hold of each other’s hands at that moment, and let go.

“You better come in.” Johnny’s voice was thick with lust as he gestured the CSI into his home and closed the door behind him.

Gil looked around the entrance hall, it was classically furnished, and he couldn’t deny that the man had taste as well as being incredibly handsome. He should have sent Nick, he knew he should, or even Greg, but he couldn’t help himself. After watching the psychic in the interrogation room he wanted to meet him, speak with him, get to know him and how he did what he did. He wasn’t a suspect anymore and so technically was no longer off limit, and his visit was very much unofficial, despite the small evidence bag that was in his kit containing an inconsequential fragment from the bomb.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Johnny offered as he led the way through to his kitchen. Some how, no matter how big the house or where he lived, he always seemed to end up in the kitchen.

“Coffee would be great, thanks. This is a very nice house.” Gil stated, leaving unasked the question of how it was funded. He hadn’t seen anything to indicate that Mr Smith used his abilities for financial gain, but he couldn’t help but wonder.

“What can I do for you, Mr Grissom?” Johnny asked bluntly, as he took down mugs and poured two cups from the pot he’d just made.

“We’ve not made any headway on the case, and I came to see if you would help us with your unique talent, Mr. Smith.”

“Johnny, please.” He looked over at the older man as he leaned his butt against the counter. His gaze took in the short salt and pepper hair, the neatly trimmed beard, and the intelligent eyes framed by spectacles, he already knew from his vision that those clothes covered a once toned physique showing signs of softening with age, and from the feel of what had been thrusting into him, he was well endowed also. He was a distinguished looking man and he could understand all to well how he could end up tied to the bed under him.

“You’ve brought something with you for me to look at?” He asked, trying to keep his mind out of his trousers.

Gil nodded and bent down to open his kit and retrieve the evidence bag. Johnny watched him, the shift of muscles under the shirt as he stretched, the hands that looked strong yet capable of carrying out delicate tasks.

The blond carried the coffee across to the table; he sat down, opposite the CSI. Looking at the evidence bag that now sat in front of him.

“May I?” He glanced up, reaching out towards it.

Grissom nodded, and pushed it across to him.

Johnny opened the bag and tipped the contents onto the table as gently as he could. It was only a small charred fragment and he was nervous about what he would see when he touched it. He’d seen a lot in his time and he was surprised that after all that he still wasn’t so jaded that the nerves still preceded a moment like this.

Taking a deep breath he reached out with two fingers and touched the fragment. A rush of noise and vision, his head span and when it settled, he was looking down on a man assembling the bomb. Music was playing in the background, a radio station, he realised as chatter interrupted the music. The man assembling the components had been singing along, he continued to hum even as the presenter spoke. Only paying it slight attention with one ear listening out for a date or some words that may allow them to identify it. Johnny looked around the room, it was dingy; old nicotine stained wallpaper was peeling from the walls. It looked like a single room containing a bed, armchair and small kitchen area. The carpet bore a dated pattern and several innocuous stains. The small laminate table that the man was working on was every bit as old and dated. Johnny felt like he was back in the sixties.

The man was wearing latex gloves, he realised as he studied the hands closely, they were working carefully, the man obviously knew what he was doing, he had no instructions to refer to. The bomb maker looked to be in his thirties; he had short black hair cut neatly. His face was non-descript, not handsome and not ugly, and while the room looked like it had seen better days, he was clean and presentable in jeans and t-shirt. He was Mr Average.

Johnny gathered as much information as he could; looking at the components on the table he was fairly sure that the man was making more than one bomb. He looked out of the window, and caught a glimpse of a red neon sign on the building opposite, declaring “Girls!” Not very helpful all things considered.

A cell phone rang and the man answered it cheerfully, “Carson.” He prompted.

The vision twisted and he was back in his own kitchen, Johnny jerked his hand back from the fragment like he’d been burnt.

“Did you get anything?” Gil asked, curiously.

“Oh yeah. I saw him. He’s an average looking guy in his thirties, dark hair and eyes, lives in a really grotty one roomed apartment; he used the name Carson, I’m fairly sure it’s his name but first or last name, I couldn’t tell. And I’m fairly sure he’s made more than one of these things, but I have no clue what he plans to do with the other.” He sighed, taking a drink of his coffee.

Grissom tilted his head, his usual ‘I’m considering the evidence’ pose. “You got all that from a scrap of burnt metal?”

Johnny smirked, “Size isn’t everything,” He let the double meaning sit there before carrying on, “it’s the psychic energy that goes into it.” He realised how dippy he sounded saying that and his forehead creased up almost in embarrassment.

The older man quirked a smile at the blond’s grimace, wondering what had caused it.

“I just realised how incredibly ‘new aged’ that sounded.” Johnny explained.

Gil laughed and the blond joined in. If he couldn’t laugh at himself then who could he laugh at? He ran a hand absently through his blond hair, mussing it up even more.

“I don’t know how much help all that is to you? I could describe the guy to one of your sketch artists.” He offered.

“It gives us a starting point, I was afraid he might have more targets in mind, there doesn’t seem to have been any reason for the last bomb. Did you get any clue as to why?”

Johnny shook his head, “He wasn’t angry though, seemed calm and relaxed, singing along to the radio while he made the bombs. There’ve been no demands or threats, right? So that rules out money.”

He watched Gil pull off his glasses and chew on the end of the arm, thoughtfully. Piecing together the bits of information they now had.

“You think it’s possible he did it for fun?” The blond contemplated as he sipped his coffee.

The CSI nodded, “It’s certainly a possibility.” He was taking out his cell phone as he took a gulp of cooling coffee. Hitting a number on speed dial, he waited for it to connect.

“Nick, I need you to cross reference a name for me.” Gil spoke into the phone.

Johnny watched him, replaying the vision that he’d got from touching Grissom and adding his own fantasy to it. He wondered how they would end up there. He remembered the disaster that he’d had when he tried to have sex last time, his visions going totally crazy; the bedroom had been full of ghosts. He wondered if that would happen this time, he certainly hoped not.

He had vagued off into his own little world and didn’t realise that his guest had finished his call until he felt a brush against his hand. The reaction it caused was not what he expected; there was no rushing vision, just a tingle that shot along his arm and down his spine. Johnny blinked and looked into Gil’s analytical gaze.

“Sorry, sometimes I wander off.” If he were prone to blushing he would have been crimson, being caught daydreaming was entirely different to being wrapped in a up vision.

Grissom’s eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly, “that’s ok.” He’d pulled his hand back as soon as he’d caught the other man’s attention. The brief contact had been strangely arousing. The man was utterly captivating and he found himself not wanting to leave.

“Nick’s going to do some research into the name, cross checking against known felons with a tendency towards playing with explosives.”

“That’s good, I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more. It’s not a great deal to go off, I know.” Johnny apologised.

“I must admit; I’m intrigued by what you can do. I was cynical at first, but you convinced me when you convinced Nick.” Gil smiled. “Of course, I read a lot about the things you’d done in Maine too.”

The blond’s blue eyes sank to study the tabletop. It was natural that they would check him out; they wouldn’t be doing their job if they hadn’t, but it was a life he’d hoped to leave behind. It seemed that had been a pipe dream.

Gil noticed the shift in Johnny’s demeanour and he reviewed what he’d said that had caused it. He wasn’t nearly as bad with people as he let on.

“You thought you’d left all this behind?” He observed, “I’m sorry you got pulled into this…”

Johnny held his hand up, “Don’t, its fine… these things follow me wherever I go, I really should be used to it. I’m happy to help, really I am. Just, life in Maine was… stressful.”

Griss nodded his understanding, “I’ll do my best to keep your name out of it. And…well, if it’s any consolation, I’m glad I met you. Despite the circumstances.”

A smile spread slowly across the blond’s face. “Likewise.”

“What did you see?” Gil asked, curiously, he took a mouthful of coffee.

“I told you.” Johnny frowned slightly in confusion.

“I don’t mean the evidence, I meant when you shook my hand.” A smirk tugged at Grissom’s lips.

“I…” How on earth could he tell him *that*? He’d seen some embarrassing things in his time but he’d never been asked to divulge them. “I saw that we’ll be seeing more of each other.” He smiled, he was proud of himself for his evasive, but truthful answer.

Gil nodded his acknowledgement, suspecting it was something he didn’t want to ask more about. He was about to say something when his cell phone started to churp.

“Sorry.” He apologised and flipped it open. “Grissom. Okay, where? I’m on my way.” He flipped the phone closed, drained his coffee and stood. “Sorry, work beckons.”

Johnny saw him to the door, holding it open for him. Gil turned towards him and held out his hand. “I’ll keep you informed.”

The psychic shook the offered hand without hesitation this time, immediately triggering a vision.

“You’re mine… aren’t you? My boy… my Johnny.” A thrusting Gil Grissom whispered into his ear as he leaned over him, thrusting again.

The blond’s head tossed from side to side. He cried out around the gag, arching up and cumming.

He came back from the vision and gasped. Inquisitive eyes were smiling at him and he had to bite back a groan. It was almost like the CSI knew what he was doing to him. Johnny wondered for the first time if it was possible for a person to guide what he saw?