A/N: Thank you for reading! Grissom's sabbatical...

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 27

His plane was late getting in, just after midnight, and it was cold in Maine. He stepped on frost flowers as he walked to the rental car lot and found the gray mid-size Ford he'd be driving for a month. It wasn't far to the campus where he found a security guard who unlocked the front door of a small apartment that would be his home-away-from-home.

The security guard had explained the building as a one-time infirmary for students now re-fitted as small apartments for temporary visitors. Three of the six units were in use for the winter term.

In minutes, Grissom had his luggage inside and the heat turned up. The place had adequate furnishings—a wooden desk, several chairs, a small sofa in a living room. The bedroom had the same sturdy, craftsman-style furniture, a bed and a chest. The bed had been made; the place smelled clean. It had the appearance of being well-cared for and, except for the sofa; it looked like a place from another decade.

Hanging clothes in the small closet and unpacking his books kept his thoughts pushed back. Then he checked the kitchen, the bathroom, and a bookcase filled with books. A basket filled with necessities—coffee, tea, paper towels, cookies, apples, and muffins—was on the kitchen table. In the refrigerator, he found milk, juice, and jam. Finally, he sat down at the large desk and looked at files that had been left for him—his introduction to what he would be doing for four weeks. He had already worked on his course materials but now he was faced with names of students, hours of lecture, lab, a schedule of field trips, and how to include students in the online section of the course. Finally, he pulled out his phone.

Sara would be in the middle of her shift, working and unlikely to answer his call. He had left her in the locker room; she had been quiet, composed, as they had an awkward goodbye. They had already had a very passionate and intimate parting before he had gone in to work for a few hours and seeing her as he was departing had rendered him speechless, tongue-tied as to how to say a quick goodbye. For the first time, he had a flash of uncertainty about this trip, being away from Sara for a month.

And now, in his mind, he realized she had appeared pale; resigned to his leaving, which should not have drained the color from her face. Puzzling over his thoughts for a minute, he pushed the vague uneasiness away.

Opening his phone, he pressed a number but nothing happened. Looking at the screen, he realized he had no service. Shaking the phone did nothing. He walked around the apartment which did nothing. Without thinking, he stepped outside, quickly realizing how cold it was, but he kept walking until the phone finally had one small bar. He pressed a number and left a quick message.

Shivering and muttering to himself about the cold, he hurried back inside, found a blanket he used to wrap around his shoulders, and returned to the desk. He stayed up for two hours reading the files that had been left for him, making notes on the margins, and thinking about Sara. At last, he changed his clothes and crawled into bed.

He woke to a day of light snow or perhaps a heavy frost, he thought as he ate an apple and heated water for tea.

Checking his phone again to find no service, he dressed as he drank the tea, finally gathering papers he thought he'd need and headed out.

He found himself in a quiet world, a bit disorienting as he realized all the buildings around him were situated on a hill and appeared empty; the only sounds were his crunching footsteps and an occasional crack or snap from trees. He found a zigzag stairway and climbed icy-patched steps to the top. After passing through a quadrangle of brick buildings showing few signs of life, he found the administration building, all ablaze with lights from every window and a few late-coming staff hurrying up the steps.

Taking a minute before entering the building, he checked his phone, had several service bars, and called Sara. She answered on the first ring.

Hearing her "hello", he said, "I don't have service in the apartment."

She answered, "I got your message. I knew you'd be exhausted. How was your flight? How is the apartment? Did you eat?"

He thought she took a quick breath.

"I miss you already! So does Hank—and he's being a very good dog. Is it cold? Is your coat warm enough? Was it a long drive to the campus? Have you met anyone? It must be nearly nine there." Quick pause. "Have you eaten breakfast? Did you get any sleep?"

His laughter caused her to halt her questions, adding, "I'm talking too much, right?" She said with a laugh.

"No, I'm happy to hear your voice," he said. "I'll be quick—just going in to meet the dean—the apartment is fine. It's cold and my coat is warm. Thank you for getting it for me. I've met the security guard who let me in late last night." He turned his face toward the building because the icy wind had picked up; his hand cupped the phone. "No cell service at the apartment building—it's an old building in a little valley—but it's warm. I wish you could be here."

"I know," she whispered. "I wish I could be there." Her voice raised as she said, "Go meet with the dean. I can hear the wind blowing—it must be cold!" She paused before saying, "I miss you—I love you, Gil."

"I love you, Sara."

Inside the building, there was a low hum of activity. Shuffling papers, low voices, mechanical heat, and the smell of coffee filled his ears and nose. The fourth door opened to the college dean's office. And for several hours, Grissom was immersed in an academic world he had forgotten—or had not existed when he was a graduate assistant.

After lunch, served in the college's cafeteria, and eaten at a table filled with professors and deans, he was 'passed off' to the biology department's secretary; a red-haired, no-nonsense Mrs. Miller, who offered no first name on introduction. Instead of heading outside, she led him downstairs and into a parking garage.

"Short-cut," she explained. She pointed across the garage, in front of them. "You rented a car, yes? Park in here. It can be a brutal walk from the guest house."

A few minutes later, they arrived at her office where Grissom spent another hour learning the procedures—for everything from use of keys to running the copier to grade reports and a promise to show him the process for online courses.

The department chairman showed up to add to Grissom's learning process and promising that "tomorrow will bring students into the building and everything changes!" At some point, Mrs. Miller appeared and pressed an invitation to a party into his hand.

By the time he walked back to "the guest house", Grissom's head was hurting as he tried to remember all he had heard and what he was supposed to do. In the growing darkness, there were more lights in windows, more people going into buildings and three more cars were in the parking spaces in front of the apartment building.

He needed food and a few toiletries, so, instead of entering the apartment, he got in the car and drove until he found a local grocery store where he proceeded to fill a shopping basket with enough food to last at least a week—including six tamales from a cart in the front of the store. Which, he thought, as he loaded his groceries into the car, Sara would have never purchased home-made tamales, and the thought made him reach for his phone.

When her phone rang twice with no answer, he pressed a number and left a message, saying he'd call her later. However, the time change, the few hours of sleep the night before, all day learning about a new job, and the six tamales plus a beer put him to sleep, wearing his clothes, within an hour. It was hours later that he woke with a headache, a stiff back, and the need to pee. And his phone was as dead as a mosquito out in the freezing temperatures.

Swearing, he stumbled to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, he sat down at the desk, switched on a lamp, and looked at the spread of papers and books that needed organization. He plugged his phone in and started on the front corner of the desk with a stack of papers needed for the class.

The next morning after he got to the top of the steps, he called Sara. She was still working and had to find a quiet place to talk but only for a few minutes because someone—Nick, he thought—was calling her name. As they ended the call, Grissom realized he had not talked—really talked—to Sara since the day he left Vegas.

But she sounded fine—busy. They knew this separation was not going to be easy.

When he got to the biology building, it was a beehive of activity; the winter short term enrolled a few hundred students who stayed on campus and it seemed most of them were enrolled in a biology course.

In the teacher work room, a professor he had never met handed him a box, saying "Take one. I've got fifty cocoons waiting for spring!"

"What is it?"

"One of the most beautiful moths in North America—the Luna moth." The man stuck out his hand, saying, "I'm Barry Davis—general biology. We raised the moths to follow the life cycle. Students love it but I've got too many. Take this one back to—Las Vegas, isn't it? The Luna is not native to Nevada, but people love to see one."

Grissom shook hands and opened the box to find what appeared to be a dried rolled up leaf attached to a twig. He smiled, asking, "How long before it hatches?" He had no idea how long it took the moth to develop in winter.

Barry Davis was happy to explain the life cycle, explaining this cocoon would wait until warm weather—but in Las Vegas, it would probably hatch weeks earlier.

Several other people came in, several mentioned a party that night, but Grissom and Barry Davis had established a common ground of knowledge and talked until it was time for both of them to head to class. But not before Grissom closed the box with mailing tape, addressed it, and placed it on the 'outgoing' mail table.

Entering the classroom, fourteen young faces stared at him. He placed his books on the desk at the front of the room, turned to face his students, and said, "My name is Gil Grissom—welcome to 'The Seasonal Fluctuations and Observed Behaviors of the Walden Pond Swamp Mosquito'." With a chuckle, he added, "If anyone would like to—to change courses—now's the time."

No one moved.

A/N: We appreciate each one of you for staying with this story! We love to read your comments and reviews. More to come-thank you.