Across town in a new house, the perfect size for three people and a boxer, Grissom and Sara were settling in for the night. At first, Jessica was not in favor for the dog since she was a cat person. But, as soon as she found out that Uncle Gil was allergic to her feline friends, she stopped protesting the dog. Altogether they went to the Humane Society and picked out the large dog, who immediately took a liking to Jessica.

"It's weird," Sara said as she came out of the bathroom, dressed in one of Grissom's t-shirts, "for Jessica to not be here."

She crawled into bed besides Grissom and snuggled up on his right side as the boxer leaped up onto the foot of the bed.

Sigh "It's only been six months and I feel as though I've known her my whole life," she reminisced.

"Mhm," Grissom said absentmindedly, working on a crossword.

"I wish I could have patched things up with my brother, you know before this all happened," Sara continued.

"You thought you had the rest of your lives to work it out," Grissom responded. "No one could have predicted this—what on earth? What's a really long word for the musical term for a 64th note??" he suddenly interjected.

"Umm… a hemidemisemiquaver," Sara answered sheepishly. Grissom raised an eyebrow at her. "What? Jess mentioned it once."

"Yeah, sure," Grissom responded sarcastically as he put the half finished puzzle on the bedside table. He moved closer to Sara, wrapped both arms around her, and kissed her on the temple.

His nose trailed down her face and placed a soft kiss on her lips. As their hands moved—ahem—elsewhere, the dog jumped off the bed and ran out the door. Not half a minute later, loud barking issued from the kitchen. The dog ran back into the bedroom with his loud yelps and hair bristled.

Sara tore herself from her beloved's embrace and turned to the dog: "What is it? What's wrong?" Then she became rigid with fear.

"What's what?"

"Didn't you hear that? Listen."

"I can't hear with the damn dog barking! Shh!" The obedient dog immediately silenced his barks and commenced wining in Sara's lap.

Indeed, Gil heard a clunking coming from the back door of the house. Their hearts pounded in their ears. Involuntarily, Sara drew closer to Grissom and he wrapped his arm around her.

"It...could just be a...a bird," he whispered as an unconvincing reassurance. "That dog'll bark at anything."

"Or something bigger," Sara whispered back, wide eyed. "Do you have your gun?"

"Always with me, ever since all this started." He reached into the bedside table and pulled out his PD standard issue 9mm. Just to be sure he checked the magazine, reloaded, and clicked the safety off. "Stay here," He said to Sara very seriously.

"I'm not going anywhere," she replied as the dog jumped up for refuge on the bed with her.

Grissom fully opened the bedroom door. Covering himself down the hallway, he made it into the kitchen, where the back sliding glass door was. Sure enough, a person-sized dark figure loomed, trying to unlock the door.

Gil reached over slowly and flipped on the back and kitchen lights. The boy slowly raised his head and for the first time, Gil looked into the eyes of the killer who had been stalking Jessica for months.

He was no more that nineteen or twenty at most. Skinny and with a shaved head, the boy was swimming in his dark black sweat shirt during the cold night. As Gil took a step, gun drawn in front of him, the wide-eyed teen dropped the crowbar he was using and took off across the yard. Before Grissom could unlock and open the door, the boy had already hopped across the neighbor's fence and taken off.

Disappointed, Grissom secured his weapon. He bent down to examine the crowbar left behind.

Sara couldn't hear anything from the bedroom and a long time had passed since Gil left. Maybe nothing happened. But if it was just a bird, he'd be back by now… She crawled out of bed and donned a robe. Sara moved noiselessly down the hallway toward the kitchen. She stopped and peeked her head in the door way to make sure everything was safe.

Typical of the investigator, Grissom had his kit open, gloves on and was dusting the bar for prints. She never told him, and never will, that he was so cute while he worked.

"So it was him," Sara said with an air of finality stepping into the soft light of the kitchen. Grissom looked up at her and nodded sadly. He bent back down to his dusting.

She moved from the doorway to be next to him and examine the metal bar. With one hand on his shoulder she softly asked: "Did you get any prints?"

Grissom peeled the tape lift apart, stuck it to a dusted section of the bar, firmly rubbed, and with a smile, lifted a perfect thumbprint…

A/N: For me, it's just a tremolo past 16th notes; how on earth would you even count a hemidemisemiquaver?? Anyway, it was a word of the day once and I loved it enough to put it in the story.