3am ... when all plot bunnies settle ...
.-.-.
He was a termite.
A white ant.
One of those little tiny pests that got inside a structure and ate away at it, bit by bit, until only the outside remained.
She didn't actually know much about termites. No personal experience, thank goodness. She just knew that once they got in, there was no getting rid of them until there was nothing left - they'd wriggle (or scuttle, or whatever they did) around until they had taken over and demolished it. So that when you went to lean on it, the whole thing collapsed into a big pile of dust.
She knew that feeling well.
Ok, so maybe it wasn't the most romantic analogy ever. And it fell down in places - like the bit about not knowing they were there until things started to crumble - because say what you would about Castle, he wasn't exactly unobtrusive. All things considered, though, she quite liked the idea of millions of teeny tiny Castles digging (eating was just a bit too creepy) away at those walls she had built around herself, just quietly scurrying around and quietly getting on with the job. With the occasional side of Angry Birds to keep boredom at bay.
But boredom was not the crux of the problem.
The job was done. Her hypothetical walls were blowing in the wind. Only problem was, Mr Termite (surely he would call himself The Terminator) hadn't noticed. How did you drop that casually into conversation?
"Hey Termite Boy. See me, over here behind the rubble? Take me to bed or lose me forever" had a certain 80s retro appeal to it, but she wasn't sure that was quite the story that she wanted to be telling her grandchildren when they asked about her and Pop. (And when had it become about grandchildren anyway?)
She'd thought she might have found an opportunity, when he brought Royal the retriever to her apartment. There had been a Moment a real, honest-to-goodness voraciously wall-eating moment when he was stroking her hand and looking at her in that way he had and really they both knew that it wasn't about the dog anymore and oh please would he just never stop. She wanted to tell him that his drones had done their work (she thought he'd like that, having drones to do his bidding), but when she'd tried to talk to him he'd hurried out the door as though she were brandishing a six-pack of chlorfluazuron.
Anyway. Enough was enough. Termites can die when they migrate. Maybe only in Swiss Zoos, but she didn't want to test that. Because termites dying or even migrating would she couldn't really believe she was even thinking this because really, termites are NOT something you want to find in this one very special case be a Very Bad Thing.
She shook her head and re-focused on the precinct around her. This late in the day, there weren't many people left and there was nothing to keep her here, with the case closed and nothing to do but Google annoyingly destructive insects. Closing Wikipedia (because really, she didn't need to know quite that much about an analogy) and shutting off her computer, she packed up her files and locked them in her desk before reaching across to flick her ever-present shadow on the thigh.
"Old Haunt, Castle?" she asked with a smile. "I'll buy you a drink."
His answering grin met hers as he stood, tucking his phone into his coat pocket.
"Sounds good," he said and suddenly it all seemed easy.
"I've been meaning to ask you," she continued, as they walked towards the elevator. "All that wood panelling you have there. Did you ever have a problem with termites?"
