He lies in their bed, with his head propped upon his fist. His elbow rests in the mattress, and supports the weight of his head. He watches her in silence as she sleeps just inches away from him. She is covered with a sheet that is secured under her arms. He knows that underneath the covers she wears little more than his t-shirt. He watches as her chest rises and falls.

It has been three months since she has moved to D.C. Three months since they moved to D.C. They share a modest one bedroom apartment that is within minutes commute of her office. The sound of silence is what he enjoys the most. He often wakes before her, even if it's just by a few moments. He revels in the quiet moments he has watching her sleep with no interruptions.

The past months have been filled with peaks, and troughs. They have fought for every single step that has been taken in their direction. Nothing has been easy in the past three months. He misses home. Some days while he's home alone, and she's at work he sits behind his computer, and longs to be home. His soul aches for the awkward smell of his office in New York. The smell that is generated when you combine cologne, printer ink, sweat, and leather bound books.

Yet he refuses to tell her, because he knows that he belongs exactly where he is. He belongs where ever she is. He would be content to spend every single morning for the rest of his life waking up with her. The past months, and even days have been about taking leaps of faith. They have both pushed each other to do things outside of their comfort zones.

The leaps of faith, these little tests are supposed to bring them closer together. As he lies there in the silence of their bedroom he feels the distance between them. Though physically there is very little distance between them in their queen-sized pillow top, in every other way they could fill up the Grand Canyon with the things left unsaid between them. He feels her building her wall back up, the one that has taken him so long to tear down. She is colder, and quieter than before. She refuses to talk about work, and he has learned to stop asking.

She rolls from her back onto her left side. Her back faces the door. She opens her eyes, and looks at Rick. He pretends to be asleep as the light from the window that is situated in the wall behind him illuminates the room. She feels guilty for dragging him here. It is clear that he is homesick.

He chased her, as she chased her dreams, and now they're here. She feels as if they're at an impasse. She knows what she has to do. She knows that she is in too deep to walk away now. She can't walk away, despite the fact that she has realized she doesn't want to be here. This job, this life is not what she bargained for. Theoretically it was what she thought she wanted. In reality it is far from it. She's realized too late that she just wants to be with him, that nothing else matters.

She swallows the guilt of knowing that she is in over her head, and she can't tell him. She knows the choice that she must make. She has to see this through, or she will almost certainly lose herself. When she does, she will almost certainly lose him. When she gets to the other side of this black, gaping hole that has been her life since she was nineteen years old, she doubts he will be standing on the other side waiting for her. He is patient, and understanding, but no man is that patient of understanding.

She clears her throat, "I know you're not sleeping."

He opens his eyes, and looks at her, "You caught me."

"You know how I mentioned last night that things don't always work out the way that we want them to?"

"Yeah. That is what you said when I asked if you had a good day at work," he recalls.

"It applies to us, too."

"What are you saying?"

"Rick there is something that I need to tell you."

"Okay," he agrees.

"I think that I can put this thing to rest for once and all. I have figured out how to do it."

"How can I help?"

"You can't. You have to walk away."

She sees the sorrow, and pain wash over him as the words fall from her mouth. His eyes focus on hers. As he frowns she can almost hear his heart breaking in two. It takes him several moments before he can come up with any sort of response. When he finally does it is sloppy.

"Why? Why would I walk away? Why would you ask me to walk away?"

"I don't have a choice."

His sorrow quickly morphs into anger. The vein in his forehead throbs as he tries to maintain his composure. He clenches his jaw, and his nostrils flare. He grits his teeth as he responds, "You always have a choice."

"I love you."

"Why are you telling me to walk away?"

"I am about to walk into a fire, and I will not let you follow me."

"What do you mean?" his voice is laden with rage, but his tone remains even.

"I am going to have to go away for a while."

"How long?"

She shrugs, "As long as it takes."

"How long?"

"Weeks, maybe months."

"If you don't make it back?"

A lump forms in her throat, "Find someone else."

The tears begin to form in his eyes as his anger instantly shifts to hurt, betrayal, and confusion, "Find someone else?"

"Find someone who makes you happy," she begs him.

"You are the one," he allows the sentence to end there.

She blinks away her own tears, "Castle I am begging you, please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"I don't understand why are you doing this?"

"Because I have to. Your compulsion is writing, this is mine."

"My compulsion won't kill me, yours could."

"I know that. I know that I may not make it back."

He is overcome by emotion, "Don't say that."

"I have to be realistic."

"You are really going to throw away your entire life for this? You are going to give up everything you have for someone that you can't get back?"

"I am sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

"You knew my demons before you asked me..." she chokes up.

"To be my wife. I asked you to marry me. It meant something to you, and I really thought that it meant something to you, too. I thought that ring was more than just a symbol."

"It was, it is."

"Don't do this," he begs.

"I have to. And for safety purposes I have to ask you not to look for me. Promise me that you won't try to find me. Promise me that you will let me go."

"If I can't?"

"You don't have a choice."

"I'm never going to see you again, am I?"

She runs her fingers through her hair, "When it's over I will find you. I promise."

"And if you're dead?"

She doesn't answer him.