A New Start
folder
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,972
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
CSI › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
2
Views:
1,972
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own CSI, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
A New Start
Fandom: CSI/The Dead Zone
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Johnny Smith
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these guys or their universes; they belong to their respective writers and TV production companys.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1
A fresh start, that’s what he needed. He had to get away from Walt and Sarah; they were driving him insane. There was an apocalypse coming, and he still had no idea what Stillson’s connection to it was. It was all too much, fame, responsibility, he’d not really been himself since those identical twins set him up to humiliate him. So, he was finally giving his ex-fiancée and her husband what they wanted… he was leaving them alone with his son JJ, so they could raise him without complications from his relationship with the boy.
The Rev’d Purdy had screwed him over but he’d managed to salvage some of his inheritance before the man was dragged off to prison for various different fraud charges. It had set him up nicely in Vegas.
He wasn’t sure why he’d picked there, it was a big city, lots of people, but he could have got that anywhere, LA, New York… But when he’d sat down with his road atlas, something had called out to him. He followed the instinct and found himself across the other side of the states, on the edge of the desert, and pretty much as far as he could get from Maine and still be in the same country, with the exception of Southern California. It wasn’t just the physical distance that made the city so different, it was a whole other world from Cleaves Mills, the small town in Maine that he hailed from. He had hoped he could just blend into the background where no one knew him.
That was the plan, however, things hardly ever go the way you want them to. Of course, you can make an effort not to go looking for trouble, but that had never helped him in the past, it always seemed to find him… and it looked like it was sticking true to form. The only difference was, now no one knew him here, they would just think of him as some crazy person.
That was how he came to be there when it happened, how he’d ended up in hospital. He sat propped up on the bed, waiting, he’d been told there was a cop wanted to talk to him about what had happened. He knew it was procedure, but he also knew that they would be extra keen to talk to him, the other’s would, no doubt, have informed officers that he’d called out before the explosion.
“Mr…Smith?” The cop’s voice was dubious as he pulled back the privacy curtain; almost convinced he’d been given a fake name.
“John Smith.” He replied, his hand pressing the pad against the gash on his arm. He nodded to it as if to explain that was why he was unable to shake his hand.
“Detective Brass.” The cop said, pulling up a seat.
******
“Is that the security tape from the explosion?” Gil asked, as he leaned over Nick to peer at the screen.
“Yeah, take a look at this.” He rewound the tape.
The film was pretty clear for security images and had sound built in. The replayed image showed a man with a walking cane calling out, and he span round covering a young woman with his own body shortly before the explosion tore through the lobby. The camera went off line then.
“He knew before it happened.” Nick stated. “You think he’s our suspect?”
“I’m not sure, why call out a warning and pull someone out of the way?” Gil pondered. He pulled his glasses off, putting the arm between his lips as he studied the paused image that focused on the man.
“Come on, Griss, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the guy who set up the explosions so he could be a hero?” Nick stated.
“Perhaps he saw something off camera, he does seem to be looking in the distance.” Gil played devil’s advocate, not because he believed the man’s innocence but because as CSI’s it was their jobs to not assume anything, but to follow all evidence.
Nick replayed it again. A man bumped the guy with the cane, and then he seemed to stare off into the distance for a moment before he moved into action. Griss frowned, rewound and hit pause as he was bumped.
“Maybe this guy said something to him?” He pointed to the man who was wearing a black bomber jacket and combat pants.
“I guess it’s possible.” Nick conceded.
“Find out who they are and go talk to them, all the injured were taken to the Desert Palms.” Gil instructed as he straightened up but didn’t take his eyes off the man with the cane that was frozen on screen.
******
“I don’t know what I can tell you.” Johnny told Brass. He wasn’t lying of course, while there was plenty he *could* tell him, he got the feeling that the detective wouldn’t actually believe a word of it. “It all happened so fast.”
“Anything you can tell us will help.” Brass instructed, his tone was not totally acidic but there was still an obvious attitude of distrust.
Before Johnny could respond, the curtain was pulled aside again. The dark-haired man that stood there acknowledged the bulldog like cop with a nod.
“Nick Stokes, Vegas Crime Lab.” The Texan drawled, automatically holding out his hand.
Johnny looked towards his injury, “Sorry.” He offered for his inability to shake his hand. “Johnny Smith.”
“So I believe.” The CSI’s tone was difficult to read, he was cool professionalism, but Johnny couldn’t help but wonder why he was here.
“I’m going to need your clothes to process them.” Stokes was slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
Johnny was still in his pants but they’d given him a gown for his top half, his shirt lay on the chair beside the bed with a bloody rip across the sleeve. He nodded his head towards it to indicate that the CSI was free to take it. He wasn’t entirely sure about giving him his pants; he had no replacement for them. He wondered if he could maybe get a set of scrubs from a nurse, as he could hardly go home in a hospital gown.
“I have a few questions for you too.” Nick was saying as he placed the shirt into a brown bag. “I’ll need your pants as well, do you have anyone who can bring you some clothes in?”
The blond shook his head, “I live alone, and I’ve only been in town a few weeks.”
“I’ll have a word with a nurse.” He stated. “Do you need help?”
He shook his head, he didn’t want the CSI to touch him, god only knew what he would see. Johnny slipped off the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, slowly. He slid them down and stepped out of them as they pooled around his feet. Reaching down he winced as it pulled the wound on his arm.
Thinking to save him the effort, the dark-haired Texan bent down to retrieve the pants from the floor. Their hands brushed just above the fabric.
There was a spinning feeling and when it settled Johnny felt trapped, looking round him he was encased in plexi-glass, he felt panic rising up in him and he was kicking and hammering on it; only he knew it wasn’t him. The hands and body weren’t his, and the voice that came from him as he yelled futilely weren’t his. As quickly as he’d found himself in the vision he was back in the hospital. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling.
“Hey man, you ok?” The CSI was asking.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Johnny rubbed his head, trying to cover his strange behaviour “Guess I just moved too quick.”
“You need a hand back onto the bed?” Nick’s voice was concerned, and the psychic appreciated that, but the last thing he needed was to be touched again.
He shook his head. “I’ve got it.” And he eased himself back on to the bed.
“Right then,” CSI Stokes pulled up a seat after sealing up the clothing in brown paper evidence bags. He took out a note pad and pen. “The security footage was quite interesting. Can you tell me why you called out and pulled that lady out of the way before the explosion?”
Johnny closed his eyes, well that was straight to the point. No beating around the bush for this guy. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone going off. He watched Nick cringe as he reached into his pocket.
“Gotta take this.” The Texan said, apologetically. He stepped outside the curtained area and flipped it open. “Stokes?”
“Nicky… I managed to get hold of some information on Mr.Smith.” Gil said, his tone neutral.
“Oh?”
“Seems he has a bit of a history, working with the Sheriff’s department up in Maine.”
“In what way?”
“Claims to be a psychic.” Grissom stated simply. The evidence in front of him seemed quite compelling, but he was the sort of man who believed in withholding judgment until he could examine the evidence.
Nick snorted his response to that idea, ever the sceptic.
“Did you get anything from him, yet?” Gil enquired.
“Not yet.”
“Just…bring him in, I want to observe the interview.” The CSI supervisor was closely eyeing footage from before the blast again. Rewind, play… pause… rewind… There was just something about Mr Johnny Smith.
“Change of plans.” Nick reappeared round the curtain as he was slipping his cell phone back in his pocket. “My boss wants you to come in to answer our questions, when the doc finishes fixing you up. I’m gonna go see how long that will be.”
Johnny didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not. At least if he wasn’t in the hospital when he told them he was psychic they wouldn’t send him straight to the psychiatric ward. He closed his eyes, holding the pad tightly against his arm, he was mentally reviewing what he’d seen when his hand had brushed the CSI’s, he didn’t know if that was a past event or a future one. Did he warn them or not mention it; he simply didn’t have enough information so he should probably engineer another of those brief touches to gain more.
Nick returned with a set of scrubs for the blond, and he handed them over. Johnny deliberately caught his hand as he took them. Things span and he was there…but the vision was very different this time. An argument… a lover’s argument. It wasn’t related to what he’d seen earlier… this was something else. This was about selling a car, but was obviously about much bigger issues. He came out of the vision, filing the information away for later.
The blond struggled to pull the bottoms on and sat back on the bed.
“The doc said he’d be through in a minute. The gash needs stitches.” Nick told both men.
Jim Brass was a curious man, he didn’t like being left out of the loop, and it was obvious that something was going on that he didn’t know about. That was only confirmed with Nick’s eagerness to get the witness…or was he a suspect now… to the station.
******
It wasn’t much later that Johnny found himself sitting in an interrogation room across from the short detective and the dark-haired CSI. His eyes drifted to the two way mirror. He held the silver top of his cane in one hand, the other hand rested in his lap. The gash had been two inches long and deep; the doctor had told him that he’d been very lucky. It would take a while to heal properly.
He picked up the plastic cup of water and instantly the room shifted.
Johnny arched up from the bed silently begging his lover for more. Silently, because of the gag that kept him so. Sure, he could moan and grunt around it but it was just incoherent noises, which was just as well, because he wasn’t sure he could form coherent words and thoughts if his life depended on it. He tugged at the ties binding his wrists to the headboard as his lover thrust in again, he hit the sweet spot repeatedly and the blond was sure he was going to die of pleasure. It had never been like this before in his life, with anyone. Even the visions were leaving him in peace while they made love.
The man leaning over him was sexy, for an older man, his salt and pepper hair, his neatly clipped beard, and the most amazing grey-blue eyes, which seemed to analyse everything, constantly. Johnny wondered how he got so lucky and as he twisted and turned beneath his lover he didn’t really care.
Then just as he was losing himself in the moment, the world skewed and settled and he was back in the interrogation room, staring into the two-way mirror, while the cop and CSI Stokes waited for him to answer their question. Johnny pulled his eyes away from the mirror and looked at the other two men. He set the cup back down without taking a drink. He was painfully aroused from the vision, and grateful that he was sat down at a table.
The question had, unsurprisingly, been asked again. “I saw it.” He told them, “A man brushed past me, it triggered a vision and I saw the explosion. At first I didn’t know when but as I looked around I realised that things were almost the same as they were in the vision. I saw the woman hit, she wasn’t going to die but she was going to lose the baby she’s carrying.”
“You expect us to believe that you’re a psychic.” Nick said, sceptically.
“You’re entitled to believe what you like, but you asked how I knew what was going to happen, and I told you. I saw what I saw.” Johnny leaned back, his tone non-confrontational.
He was used to people’s disbelief in the face of what he told them… in fact, it had been that which had disillusioned him more than anything. No matter how many times he was proven right, people would always hesitate when he told them anything.
******
Gil stood on the other side of the glass watching the questioning. Mr Smith was even more intriguing in the flesh; he had mussed blond hair that almost invited being played with, and the most startling blue eyes. It was easy to see an other-worldliness about him; especially when he looked through the mirror right at him. Grissom shuddered. He didn’t *not* believe in psychics but he needed evidence, he was a scientist, he dealt in hard facts. The information that had been faxed to him was compelling, he had quite a track record from Maine, but that remained to be seen for himself.
He put in a quick call to find out about the woman whom he had shielded.
******
“Well you see Mr Smith, either we believe that you’re psychic or we believe that you were in some way involved in the explosion.” Brass’ sarcastic tone cut in.
Johnny looked at him, unfazed. “As I said, believe what you like, the evidence… as they say… will speak for itself.”
“Give us a reason to believe you?” Nick asked him, trying to understand the cool exterior that the man was portraying.
The blond psychic raised an eyebrow, his lips tugged up on one side. “Stop thinking about selling your car, it might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a big issue to your lover. The more you push the further away you’ll drive…” He hesitated, not wanting to out the CSI if his colleagues were in the dark about his orientation, “…them.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up, he still had a stalker complex, but how could anyone possibly know about that, and how could he know that Greg was protesting? They hadn’t talked about it to anyone.
“It’s not about the car.” Johnny pointed out, “It’s about the decision making process and feeling left out. Like their opinion doesn’t count.” He knew that second vision would come in useful.
The detective was still looking completely unconvinced, of course, he knew nothing about Nick and his mystery lover selling their car.
“How do you now that?” Nick’s voice shook slightly, even as he tried to fill it with steel.
“When your hand touched mine at the hospital, I saw it.” He shrugged and stated simply. “You do realise that while you’re wasting your time on me, there’s a bomber still out there.”
“Ok. Say that we believe you.” Nick started but was interrupted by a derisive snort from the detective sat beside him. He shot Brass a look. “Just for hypothetical sake. This guy who brushed against you and gave you the ‘vision’, he would be the bomber?”
Johnny shook his head and tried to explain, “Not necessarily. Sometimes it works like that, but it could just be because he was about to be a victim of it.”
******
In the viewing room, Gil was on the phone, the nurse he was talking to confirmed that the woman that had been pulled out of the way was indeed pregnant, but even she hadn’t known she was until they were checking her out. He flipped his phone shut with a frown on his face; there really was no way for Johnny Smith to know that information. He paged Nick the information.
******
The vibration on his belt caused the Texan to check his pager; he read it twice to be sure. “How did you know the woman was pregnant?”
“It was in my vision. She’s ok, she’s going to have a healthy baby boy.” Johnny smiled.
Nick and Brass looked at each other.
On the other side of the glass, Grissom was pretty much convinced. His mind was already rushing ahead to the potential for the psychic to help them find the perpetrator.
Pairing: Gil Grissom/Johnny Smith
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these guys or their universes; they belong to their respective writers and TV production companys.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 1
A fresh start, that’s what he needed. He had to get away from Walt and Sarah; they were driving him insane. There was an apocalypse coming, and he still had no idea what Stillson’s connection to it was. It was all too much, fame, responsibility, he’d not really been himself since those identical twins set him up to humiliate him. So, he was finally giving his ex-fiancée and her husband what they wanted… he was leaving them alone with his son JJ, so they could raise him without complications from his relationship with the boy.
The Rev’d Purdy had screwed him over but he’d managed to salvage some of his inheritance before the man was dragged off to prison for various different fraud charges. It had set him up nicely in Vegas.
He wasn’t sure why he’d picked there, it was a big city, lots of people, but he could have got that anywhere, LA, New York… But when he’d sat down with his road atlas, something had called out to him. He followed the instinct and found himself across the other side of the states, on the edge of the desert, and pretty much as far as he could get from Maine and still be in the same country, with the exception of Southern California. It wasn’t just the physical distance that made the city so different, it was a whole other world from Cleaves Mills, the small town in Maine that he hailed from. He had hoped he could just blend into the background where no one knew him.
That was the plan, however, things hardly ever go the way you want them to. Of course, you can make an effort not to go looking for trouble, but that had never helped him in the past, it always seemed to find him… and it looked like it was sticking true to form. The only difference was, now no one knew him here, they would just think of him as some crazy person.
That was how he came to be there when it happened, how he’d ended up in hospital. He sat propped up on the bed, waiting, he’d been told there was a cop wanted to talk to him about what had happened. He knew it was procedure, but he also knew that they would be extra keen to talk to him, the other’s would, no doubt, have informed officers that he’d called out before the explosion.
“Mr…Smith?” The cop’s voice was dubious as he pulled back the privacy curtain; almost convinced he’d been given a fake name.
“John Smith.” He replied, his hand pressing the pad against the gash on his arm. He nodded to it as if to explain that was why he was unable to shake his hand.
“Detective Brass.” The cop said, pulling up a seat.
******
“Is that the security tape from the explosion?” Gil asked, as he leaned over Nick to peer at the screen.
“Yeah, take a look at this.” He rewound the tape.
The film was pretty clear for security images and had sound built in. The replayed image showed a man with a walking cane calling out, and he span round covering a young woman with his own body shortly before the explosion tore through the lobby. The camera went off line then.
“He knew before it happened.” Nick stated. “You think he’s our suspect?”
“I’m not sure, why call out a warning and pull someone out of the way?” Gil pondered. He pulled his glasses off, putting the arm between his lips as he studied the paused image that focused on the man.
“Come on, Griss, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the guy who set up the explosions so he could be a hero?” Nick stated.
“Perhaps he saw something off camera, he does seem to be looking in the distance.” Gil played devil’s advocate, not because he believed the man’s innocence but because as CSI’s it was their jobs to not assume anything, but to follow all evidence.
Nick replayed it again. A man bumped the guy with the cane, and then he seemed to stare off into the distance for a moment before he moved into action. Griss frowned, rewound and hit pause as he was bumped.
“Maybe this guy said something to him?” He pointed to the man who was wearing a black bomber jacket and combat pants.
“I guess it’s possible.” Nick conceded.
“Find out who they are and go talk to them, all the injured were taken to the Desert Palms.” Gil instructed as he straightened up but didn’t take his eyes off the man with the cane that was frozen on screen.
******
“I don’t know what I can tell you.” Johnny told Brass. He wasn’t lying of course, while there was plenty he *could* tell him, he got the feeling that the detective wouldn’t actually believe a word of it. “It all happened so fast.”
“Anything you can tell us will help.” Brass instructed, his tone was not totally acidic but there was still an obvious attitude of distrust.
Before Johnny could respond, the curtain was pulled aside again. The dark-haired man that stood there acknowledged the bulldog like cop with a nod.
“Nick Stokes, Vegas Crime Lab.” The Texan drawled, automatically holding out his hand.
Johnny looked towards his injury, “Sorry.” He offered for his inability to shake his hand. “Johnny Smith.”
“So I believe.” The CSI’s tone was difficult to read, he was cool professionalism, but Johnny couldn’t help but wonder why he was here.
“I’m going to need your clothes to process them.” Stokes was slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
Johnny was still in his pants but they’d given him a gown for his top half, his shirt lay on the chair beside the bed with a bloody rip across the sleeve. He nodded his head towards it to indicate that the CSI was free to take it. He wasn’t entirely sure about giving him his pants; he had no replacement for them. He wondered if he could maybe get a set of scrubs from a nurse, as he could hardly go home in a hospital gown.
“I have a few questions for you too.” Nick was saying as he placed the shirt into a brown bag. “I’ll need your pants as well, do you have anyone who can bring you some clothes in?”
The blond shook his head, “I live alone, and I’ve only been in town a few weeks.”
“I’ll have a word with a nurse.” He stated. “Do you need help?”
He shook his head, he didn’t want the CSI to touch him, god only knew what he would see. Johnny slipped off the bed and unbuttoned his jeans, slowly. He slid them down and stepped out of them as they pooled around his feet. Reaching down he winced as it pulled the wound on his arm.
Thinking to save him the effort, the dark-haired Texan bent down to retrieve the pants from the floor. Their hands brushed just above the fabric.
There was a spinning feeling and when it settled Johnny felt trapped, looking round him he was encased in plexi-glass, he felt panic rising up in him and he was kicking and hammering on it; only he knew it wasn’t him. The hands and body weren’t his, and the voice that came from him as he yelled futilely weren’t his. As quickly as he’d found himself in the vision he was back in the hospital. He shook his head to rid himself of the feeling.
“Hey man, you ok?” The CSI was asking.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Johnny rubbed his head, trying to cover his strange behaviour “Guess I just moved too quick.”
“You need a hand back onto the bed?” Nick’s voice was concerned, and the psychic appreciated that, but the last thing he needed was to be touched again.
He shook his head. “I’ve got it.” And he eased himself back on to the bed.
“Right then,” CSI Stokes pulled up a seat after sealing up the clothing in brown paper evidence bags. He took out a note pad and pen. “The security footage was quite interesting. Can you tell me why you called out and pulled that lady out of the way before the explosion?”
Johnny closed his eyes, well that was straight to the point. No beating around the bush for this guy. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a cell phone going off. He watched Nick cringe as he reached into his pocket.
“Gotta take this.” The Texan said, apologetically. He stepped outside the curtained area and flipped it open. “Stokes?”
“Nicky… I managed to get hold of some information on Mr.Smith.” Gil said, his tone neutral.
“Oh?”
“Seems he has a bit of a history, working with the Sheriff’s department up in Maine.”
“In what way?”
“Claims to be a psychic.” Grissom stated simply. The evidence in front of him seemed quite compelling, but he was the sort of man who believed in withholding judgment until he could examine the evidence.
Nick snorted his response to that idea, ever the sceptic.
“Did you get anything from him, yet?” Gil enquired.
“Not yet.”
“Just…bring him in, I want to observe the interview.” The CSI supervisor was closely eyeing footage from before the blast again. Rewind, play… pause… rewind… There was just something about Mr Johnny Smith.
“Change of plans.” Nick reappeared round the curtain as he was slipping his cell phone back in his pocket. “My boss wants you to come in to answer our questions, when the doc finishes fixing you up. I’m gonna go see how long that will be.”
Johnny didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not. At least if he wasn’t in the hospital when he told them he was psychic they wouldn’t send him straight to the psychiatric ward. He closed his eyes, holding the pad tightly against his arm, he was mentally reviewing what he’d seen when his hand had brushed the CSI’s, he didn’t know if that was a past event or a future one. Did he warn them or not mention it; he simply didn’t have enough information so he should probably engineer another of those brief touches to gain more.
Nick returned with a set of scrubs for the blond, and he handed them over. Johnny deliberately caught his hand as he took them. Things span and he was there…but the vision was very different this time. An argument… a lover’s argument. It wasn’t related to what he’d seen earlier… this was something else. This was about selling a car, but was obviously about much bigger issues. He came out of the vision, filing the information away for later.
The blond struggled to pull the bottoms on and sat back on the bed.
“The doc said he’d be through in a minute. The gash needs stitches.” Nick told both men.
Jim Brass was a curious man, he didn’t like being left out of the loop, and it was obvious that something was going on that he didn’t know about. That was only confirmed with Nick’s eagerness to get the witness…or was he a suspect now… to the station.
******
It wasn’t much later that Johnny found himself sitting in an interrogation room across from the short detective and the dark-haired CSI. His eyes drifted to the two way mirror. He held the silver top of his cane in one hand, the other hand rested in his lap. The gash had been two inches long and deep; the doctor had told him that he’d been very lucky. It would take a while to heal properly.
He picked up the plastic cup of water and instantly the room shifted.
Johnny arched up from the bed silently begging his lover for more. Silently, because of the gag that kept him so. Sure, he could moan and grunt around it but it was just incoherent noises, which was just as well, because he wasn’t sure he could form coherent words and thoughts if his life depended on it. He tugged at the ties binding his wrists to the headboard as his lover thrust in again, he hit the sweet spot repeatedly and the blond was sure he was going to die of pleasure. It had never been like this before in his life, with anyone. Even the visions were leaving him in peace while they made love.
The man leaning over him was sexy, for an older man, his salt and pepper hair, his neatly clipped beard, and the most amazing grey-blue eyes, which seemed to analyse everything, constantly. Johnny wondered how he got so lucky and as he twisted and turned beneath his lover he didn’t really care.
Then just as he was losing himself in the moment, the world skewed and settled and he was back in the interrogation room, staring into the two-way mirror, while the cop and CSI Stokes waited for him to answer their question. Johnny pulled his eyes away from the mirror and looked at the other two men. He set the cup back down without taking a drink. He was painfully aroused from the vision, and grateful that he was sat down at a table.
The question had, unsurprisingly, been asked again. “I saw it.” He told them, “A man brushed past me, it triggered a vision and I saw the explosion. At first I didn’t know when but as I looked around I realised that things were almost the same as they were in the vision. I saw the woman hit, she wasn’t going to die but she was going to lose the baby she’s carrying.”
“You expect us to believe that you’re a psychic.” Nick said, sceptically.
“You’re entitled to believe what you like, but you asked how I knew what was going to happen, and I told you. I saw what I saw.” Johnny leaned back, his tone non-confrontational.
He was used to people’s disbelief in the face of what he told them… in fact, it had been that which had disillusioned him more than anything. No matter how many times he was proven right, people would always hesitate when he told them anything.
******
Gil stood on the other side of the glass watching the questioning. Mr Smith was even more intriguing in the flesh; he had mussed blond hair that almost invited being played with, and the most startling blue eyes. It was easy to see an other-worldliness about him; especially when he looked through the mirror right at him. Grissom shuddered. He didn’t *not* believe in psychics but he needed evidence, he was a scientist, he dealt in hard facts. The information that had been faxed to him was compelling, he had quite a track record from Maine, but that remained to be seen for himself.
He put in a quick call to find out about the woman whom he had shielded.
******
“Well you see Mr Smith, either we believe that you’re psychic or we believe that you were in some way involved in the explosion.” Brass’ sarcastic tone cut in.
Johnny looked at him, unfazed. “As I said, believe what you like, the evidence… as they say… will speak for itself.”
“Give us a reason to believe you?” Nick asked him, trying to understand the cool exterior that the man was portraying.
The blond psychic raised an eyebrow, his lips tugged up on one side. “Stop thinking about selling your car, it might not seem like a big deal to you, but it’s a big issue to your lover. The more you push the further away you’ll drive…” He hesitated, not wanting to out the CSI if his colleagues were in the dark about his orientation, “…them.”
Nick’s eyebrows shot up, he still had a stalker complex, but how could anyone possibly know about that, and how could he know that Greg was protesting? They hadn’t talked about it to anyone.
“It’s not about the car.” Johnny pointed out, “It’s about the decision making process and feeling left out. Like their opinion doesn’t count.” He knew that second vision would come in useful.
The detective was still looking completely unconvinced, of course, he knew nothing about Nick and his mystery lover selling their car.
“How do you now that?” Nick’s voice shook slightly, even as he tried to fill it with steel.
“When your hand touched mine at the hospital, I saw it.” He shrugged and stated simply. “You do realise that while you’re wasting your time on me, there’s a bomber still out there.”
“Ok. Say that we believe you.” Nick started but was interrupted by a derisive snort from the detective sat beside him. He shot Brass a look. “Just for hypothetical sake. This guy who brushed against you and gave you the ‘vision’, he would be the bomber?”
Johnny shook his head and tried to explain, “Not necessarily. Sometimes it works like that, but it could just be because he was about to be a victim of it.”
******
In the viewing room, Gil was on the phone, the nurse he was talking to confirmed that the woman that had been pulled out of the way was indeed pregnant, but even she hadn’t known she was until they were checking her out. He flipped his phone shut with a frown on his face; there really was no way for Johnny Smith to know that information. He paged Nick the information.
******
The vibration on his belt caused the Texan to check his pager; he read it twice to be sure. “How did you know the woman was pregnant?”
“It was in my vision. She’s ok, she’s going to have a healthy baby boy.” Johnny smiled.
Nick and Brass looked at each other.
On the other side of the glass, Grissom was pretty much convinced. His mind was already rushing ahead to the potential for the psychic to help them find the perpetrator.