#resist

for the #castle28 project started on the castleficmentors tumblr

Prompt: "I can't believe you did this! I didn't ask you to do any of this!"

"I know," he says. His voice still sounds like it's been through a cheese grater, and the scarred line around his neck isn't fading. The bruises went from livid purple to yellow to black, and that was six months ago.

"Rick," she says softly. But the kids are coming down the tunnel after her, doing their best to be quiet, boots against corrugated metal. They'll be here in moments. "It's too much. We can't afford to waste resources."

"It's her birthday," he answers, still not looking at her. He's balancing one last cardboard box on the pyramid, a veritable rainbow tower in what passes for their living room these days. "Besides, I used coin to purchase all of the materials. Nothing that can't be reused either."

She frowns as she takes a slow look around their cramped space. These were the Prohibition tunnels behind The Old Haunt, deep in the recesses of the city's old sewer system, smelling of damp and stone, alcohol and, impossibly, old books. He has, in true Rodgers fashion, managed to create a shiny rainbow tower from an amalgamation of plastic, cardboard, and aluminum. Clean, too. All of it. From the shimmering curtains of curling plastic to the walls of reinforced stripes, not piece of their daughter's magical playland looks like trash.

Which is a miraculous step up from where they've been all morning.

Rick has reimagined their lair. She doesn't know where he got everything, so little does he travel to the surface in daylight hours, but like he always does, he's managed the extraordinary.

Streamers of blue and purple plastic bags, carefully washed by hand and tied end to end, are strung up from the wood and brick rafters. He's turned on every light source they own, strategically placing the LEDs against the walls to give it the look of an underground aurora, an otherworldly surrealism that makes it seem they're anywhere but here.

He's created a tower out of cardboard boxes, and as she peeks inside, she realizes it's a fairy tale castle, built from scraps and painted with God knows what to resemble set decoration.

Martha would be proud, she thinks, but she doesn't say it. He still hasn't talked about what happened.

"Rick," she sighs, gripping the bag she spent four hours carefully collecting just to save coin for things wholly more necessary. Like medicine for their daughter if she falls sick. Like vitamins to supplement their dearth of fresh vegetables and fruits. Her kid has never tasted a banana. "Rick, I know you want to make it special..."

His fingers twitch at his sides, but he won't look at her. "Her birthday. It was one of the last... of our good days."

Kate drops the rucksack with its meager scavenge, steps into his body carefully. He flinches anyway, but he draws his arms around her when she presses in close. She kisses the scar at his neck where they got him, held him for months, collared like an animal. "You're here. Every day you're here is one of our good days."

He grunts and tightens his arms around her. His nose buries in her hair, which can't smell that great after crawling through landfill and then the sewer system of New York.

"This was a good day," he says finally. "She was - and is - a gift. I want her know it. To feel like more than an inconvenience. I want her to have something special."

"Okay, okay," she hushes. Not an inconvenience, but how precarious it all is.

No, he's right. A day where their daughter doesn't feel her life is so precarious might be exactly what they all need.

Castle clutches at her shoulder. "Is she coming or what?"

"Alexis has her," Kate answers softly. "They were replacing the cover on the tunnel access."

"Good girls," he murmurs. "Strong girls. Glad she's yours, you know. Otherwise I..."

Raising a child in an underground world is ugly, a thing most often filled with hardship, heartache. And yet their daughter seems perfectly formed for this life.

It's a miracle she's so well-adjusted. Another miracle she loves to play at scavenge or make her clothes out of her mother's old pieces. Miracles abound in their daughter, but it won't happen again.

"It is a special day," she murmurs, drawing her arm just a little tighter. It brings her hips flush with his and he lifts an eyebrow. She resists a smile. "Which is why you'll be happy to hear I appropriated another box for our more private celebration later."

He gives a chuckle and squeezes her, but she snakes out of his grip and returns to the bag. She scoops out a box of condoms, shakes it, and gives him a lascivious grin.

Rick tsks her. "Did Alexis witness your score?"

"She's the one who found the clinic."

His face paints carefully neutral, as it always has when it comes to the efforts of the Resistance. "Great. Well."

"She invited Marco tonight too."

He winces but says nothing in judgment. It's only his paranoia, the PTSD rearing its ugly head. Marco is a good guy, strong, and he went through the same terror as her husband. If he wants to hitch his wagon to theirs, Kate is all for it.

Raising a child underground is ugly, and they can use all the adult help they can get.

She still hopes to find Ryan and his wife one of these days. And those sweet kids. She doesn't know what she'll find when she does, but-

At least Javier died for something. Saved Rick's life, and Marco's, and got them out of there. Scarred, battered, haunted - but alive.

Castle's face is a flat plane of nothing. No affect, no spark.

"Stop thinking about it," she tells him, because if she is, then he definitely is too. "It's Lily's birthday. And you went to all this trouble. Look how beautiful you've made it look for her."

They've had little contact with raiders, and minimal ingress from the outside world. Not even the Resistance has made it this far into the bowels of the old system, sticking to the subway tunnels and closed up lines common to urban legend.

But this is... beyond some hiding place behind a wall.

A little screech sends her head around. Their dark-haired Lily claps both hands over her mouth, eyes wide, as Alexis follows her out of the tunnel. The little girl is alternating between horror for her echoing noise and elation at the whimsy on display.

"You're okay," Kate reassures her. "Wasn't even close to loud enough. Besides, it's your birthday."

The little girl drops her hands with a shy, pleased smile, and she reaches for her daddy to pick her up. "My birthday?"

Rick beams - his whole face transforms really - and he lifts her into his arms, smothers her in kisses. "Your birthday, my little warrior queen."

"Daddy," she gasps, laughing and squeezing his neck, careless with Castle's injuries in a way she almost never is. Kate darts forward to unwrap the little girl's arms, her heart thudding painfully, but Castle lifts a hand from Lily's back to stay her.

He looks in control; he looks like he's more than managing.

He looks to be at peace.

"Happy fourth birthday, Lil." He buries her in a hug, cheek to cheek, the last of his words lost to Lily's ears alone.

Kate stands just outside their circle, alone. She birthed this girl, but Rick raised her. Kate nourished her, and she might now teach her the essentials for survival, but Castle is the one who builds Lily her own worlds.

And then Alexis slips up to Kate's side and wraps an arm around her waist, enfolding.

It's okay; they're okay.

This is a good day.

#

A/N: This story will be multi-chapter, but conceptual in style. Each chapter might not directly follow the next chronologically, but might be instead episodic, relating another slice of Castle and Beckett's resistance life.

If you're struggling as a writer or just need a little advice every now and then, check out a new blog I'm spearheading with an excellent team of Castle fanfic writers (who shall remain nameless). It's the castleficmentors tumblr. Submit a question and have one of the mentors answer, or peruse a few articles or previous answers regarding the writing process. Follow us for more, including the #castle28 round-up.