Ha, ha! keep time: how sour sweet music is,
When time is broke and no proportion kept!
So is it in the music of men's lives.
- Shakespeare, King Richard II, Act V, Scene 5

Beckett spent the lunch break in the orchestra's dusty music library, looking through reams of scores, selecting a few pieces for her students to work on. After half an hour she paused to gulp down her sandwich and poke her head into Howard's office, saying hello to his assistant Lois and checking in to see whether there was any new business she should know about. Everything seemed to be moving along smoothly; the well-oiled machinery of the New York Symphony's administrative department was fully prepared for the upcoming performances.

Beckett returned to the library and spent the rest of the break in peaceful silence, studying the music, making notes for herself to follow up on later.

When she began to hear footsteps and multiple voices out in the hallway, she knew it was time to get ready for the chorus rehearsal. She got up and carefully put away all the scores she had taken out, tucked her notebook into her bag, and closed the library door behind her.

"Hey, girl," said Lanie as Kate came onto the stage. "How'd it go this morning with the orchestra?"

"Oh - fine," Beckett replied neutrally. "Everything okay with Javi?"

"Yeah, just normal workplace drama." Lanie rolled her eyes. "Listen, I have to run off to a class right after this, but d'you wanna meet up for a late dinner? That Italian place? Say seven?"

"Sure. Sounds good."

"Great. I'll meet you there." And Lanie went off to take her place among the altos.

Castle had spent the lunch hour chatting with the elderly couple who ran the deli; the reuben sandwich had been, as he'd expected, enormous, and he ended up with at least a third of it packed away into a styrofoam container for later. He loved these moments of connection with the ordinary people of New York. The deli owners were interesting characters and he filed away some of their stories in the back of his mind for later consideration.

Bidding them a fond farewell, he walked the few blocks back to Symphony Hall and stepped inside. It was pleasantly warm inside the performance hall after the chill of the outdoors. He left his coat on an audience seat and made his way backstage, greeting chorus members as he went.

Coming out of the men's restroom a few minutes later, Castle checked his watch; he had about fifteen minutes until the chorus rehearsal was scheduled to begin, which meant that he really ought to be heading out to the stage now. He glanced around to get his bearings, and started off in what he thought was the right direction. The corridors in the rear of Symphony Hall all looked the same to him.

"Mr. Castle! Rick!" called a voice from behind him, and he paused, turning to see a woman approaching. She was medium-tall, blonde, wearing designer jeans and a filmy emerald-green blouse. She also wore a glossy smile and, when she got to him, clasped both of his hands with both of hers in a too-familiar gesture.

"It's so lovely to see you again," she gushed, as he flicked rapidly through a mental catalog of faces, trying to place her.

Oh god, he hoped it wasn't some drunken one-night stand, ages ago, which she somehow remembered and he didn't. But no, they were at Symphony Hall, and she had the look of - Oh. "It's great to see you too, Annabel," he hazarded, and was rewarded with a widening of her already broad smile as he gently squeezed her hands and let them go. Good, he had identified her correctly; she was the soprano soloist for the Messiah concert. "I'm really looking forward to working with you," he added, giving one of his best fake smiles in response to hers.

"That's so sweet," she simpered, as he tried to recall where or when they had met before. It was probably at some glitzy charity event, he decided, and relaxed a bit.

"I'm sure you're going to be amazing," he told her, laying it on thick as she inched a little closer, throwing back her shoulders. She was clearly inviting him to admire her cleavage, so he did, because why the hell not? "I can't wait to hear you sing Rejoice Greatly," he added, smirking a little as he slowly dragged his eyes back up to her face.

She was grinning also, enjoying his attention. "I think you'll really like it," she purred, letting her hand fall onto his forearm. She licked her lips, very deliberately, drawing his gaze to her mouth; but suddenly he couldn't help thinking of Kate Beckett and the way she bit her lip, entirely without artifice, and somehow so much more alluring than this woman's very obvious enticements.

Abruptly, the corridor grew quiet as the ambient noise from the nearby stage died down, and Castle could dimly hear a single voice calling instructions.

"So sorry, but I have to go," he told Annabel, faking reluctance, gesturing in the direction of the stage. "It was great to catch up. I'll see you at the rehearsal on Friday?"

"I can't wait," she smiled back, and sashayed off down the hall, swinging her hips, obviously well aware that he was checking out her ass as she went.

He cleared his throat, shook himself a little, and made his way quickly toward the stage door.

By the time Castle found his way back onstage, the chorus had assembled, and Beckett was leading them in some warm-up exercises. A small upright piano had been wheeled onto the stage and Beckett was standing behind it, playing chords to guide the singers' scales and arpeggios.

She paused when she caught sight of Castle approaching, but he shook his head and gestured her to continue. So she took the singers through one last exercise, and then called, "Okay, everyone, shake that out." The chorus members stretched out their arms and legs as Castle came over to put his score down on the nearest music stand.

He and Beckett had already agreed on their plan of attack, so they had no need to confer. She was already flipping the pages on her score as he turned to face the chorus and said, "Number four, please, everyone."

He already knew that Beckett was an excellent violinist, but she turned out to be a skilled accompanist as well. Was there anything she couldn't do? She played the simple piano reduction of the orchestral parts with confidence, adding in the singers' notes when she sensed they were needed. Each time Castle stopped the chorus and asked them to go back, she knew exactly where he wanted to start up again. He was impressed.

In short order they worked their way through the first few choruses, and, after the first hour was up, Castle called a break without needing to be reminded.

"Before you go off, though," he said, "if you have any particular spots you'd like to go over that we didn't get to yesterday, please come up and tell me where they are." So for the fifteen minutes of break, he was surrounded by singers wanting to explain their individual problems with this tricky rhythm or that harmonic transition.

The break time was over before he knew it, and they dove back in. Castle worked his way through the singers' requested spots, running each chorus in its entirety afterward, and before he knew it, the rehearsal time was over.

"Great work, everyone," he said enthusiastically as the singers gulped at their water bottles and put on their coats. "Enjoy your day off tomorrow, and I'll see you on Thursday."

As usual, there was another small crowd of admirers to deal with; Castle was unfailingly polite to all of them, which was a skill born of long practice. He had already sussed out which chorus members were incorrigible busybodies; which were the complainer types who just needed someone to listen to their gripes; and of course, which were the fame-seekers who hoped that some of his luster would rub off on them if they engaged him in conversation long enough. So he kept his smile plastered on and chatted with each of them in turn, until he was able to gently and politely urge them onward.

When he was down to just a few last stragglers surrounding him, he caught sight of Beckett putting on her coat on the audience floor, and with a quick "Excuse me" to his fans, he hurried to the edge of the stage to call down to her. "Beckett, hang on a minute."

She looked up in surprise, but waited while he vaulted lightly off the stage and came over to her. "Smooth moves there, Castle," she teased, quirking the corner of her mouth upward.

"Oh, your attempts to wound me with false compliments will never succeed, Beckett," he tossed off airily. "But tomorrow's a day off, so try not to miss me too much. I know it'll be difficult."

"Somehow I think I'm going to survive," she snorted, shaking her head.

"Listen," he began, more seriously, but they were both stopped in their tracks by the sound of shouting from above their heads.

"What?" he thought Beckett said, but she was mostly drowned out by the loud voices overhead, which reverberated richly in the dome of the performance hall. Castle and Beckett, as well as the last few chorus members who were still on the stage, looked around in confusion, trying to pinpoint the source of the yelling. It was coming from one of the luxury boxes in the upper balcony, Castle realized, and he craned his neck upward, trying to figure out which box, and what was going on up there.

"No!" he heard a voice cry out, laced with spine-chilling fear and desperation. "No! No, I won't! I won't!"

Abruptly, a loud cracking noise rang out, and something came flying over the railing of one of the uppermost luxury boxes. With a sharp twist of horror Castle realized it was a person - a woman. A terrible scream filled the hall as the woman's body plummeted downward, ending in a horrible, sickening thud when it hit the floor beneath.

For a single moment there was absolute silence - shocked, horrified silence. Then one of the chorus members still standing on the stage began to scream, and then another as well.

Castle yanked his wide-eyed stare over to Beckett and saw her staring back at him, appalled. Slowly, she turned, and looked in the direction of the body.

"Oh god, don't," burst from Castle's mouth without conscious volition, before his brain had caught up. But Beckett was already in motion, striding toward the place where the woman - the body - the woman - the place where it had happened.

Automatically, still seemingly without his control, Castle found his legs moving, carrying him along behind Beckett. And in a moment they were standing side by side, looking down at the - at the - at the body.

She lay face-down, completely unmoving. There could be no doubt that she was dead, not with her neck twisted like that. A pool of blood was gathering underneath her left shoulder.

Dimly, Castle could still hear screaming, and now there was also shouting, and the sound of running footsteps. "Oh god, oh god," he heard, and looked over to see a Symphony Hall security guard staring white-faced at the body. The kid looked hardly old enough to shave, let alone wear that uniform and be responsible for the security of a building like this.

"Call 911," Beckett barked sharply, and Castle startled, looking over at her. Her face was starkly pale also, but tensed with determination, even as she couldn't take her eyes off the body. "Call 911, and don't let anyone leave the building," she added, and gave the security guard a shove on the shoulder. "Go. Now."

Gasping, the young man ran off.

Castle followed Beckett's line of sight and found himself looking at the body again, and as his initial shock and horror began to fade, he noticed the dead woman's clothing; he recognized the tight jeans, the loose green blouse. He gasped and took an instinctive step backward.

"Oh shit," fell out of his mouth. "I know her. That's-"

"Annabel Matthews, our soprano soloist," Beckett confirmed with a nod, her voice low and shaky. Her brows drew down, suddenly thoughtful. "But, but what the hell is she even doing here? She wasn't on today's rehearsal schedule."

Castle gaped at her for a moment. Part of his brain was wondering how Beckett managed to stay so calm in this situation, while another part was worrying over the question she had just asked. Why was Annabel here, after all? "I saw her earlier," he blurted out, and Beckett at last pulled her gaze from the lifeless body and fastened it on him, surprised.

"Here? You saw her here?"

"In the corridors backstage," he nodded. "I just talked to her for a moment. It didn't occur to me that it was weird for her to be here."

"What time was that?" Beckett asked, and suddenly seemed to realize how odd the question sounded; she paused, frowned slightly, and added, "That's something they'll want to know. The, the police."

Right. The police. "Um, it was just before we started the chorus rehearsal," he said, trying to remember. "Like 1:45, I guess?"

Focusing on the timing of his encounter with Annabel had momentarily distracted him, but then he glanced over at the body again - remembered her smile and the press of her hand on his arm - and gulped as the bile rose in his throat. "Excuse me," he managed, and dashed for the restroom.

He just barely got there in time, and the delicious sandwich he'd had for lunch ended up in the toilet. Gasping, he flushed it down and staggered over to the sink to rinse out his mouth, then leaned heavily against the wall for a long moment. The cool tile was soothing against his sweaty face.

He closed his eyes and forced himself not to think about what he had seen. But as he got his breathing back under control, it occurred to him that it wasn't the sight of the corpse that had affected him so strongly. It was the fact that she was someone he knew - someone he had just spoken to, flirted with, a few hours ago. It was the surreality of it all, that a living, breathing person could suddenly be ... not. The eternal mystery of death, which had fascinated him for many years, which had drawn him to music in the first place.

He was also queasy at the memory of the awful noise that Annabel's body had made when it hit the floor: the gut-wrenching finality of it all. His brain, always thinking like an artist, couldn't help latching onto the irony: that Annabel's life had been spent making beautiful music, only to end with such an ugly sound. Some part of his mind was deploring what an inappropriate thought that was, even as another part was already hearing the beginnings of a new song he could write on that very topic.

Taking a few deep breaths, he grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and wiped down his sweaty face and neck. Time to get back out there and try to reclaim some of his dignity.

When Castle had abruptly bolted from what Beckett was already thinking of as the crime scene, she was briefly left alone with the body; in the background she noted the few remaining chorus members helping each other off the stage, and the bustle of security guards coming in to make note of who was here and wonder what to do.

Beckett had to swallow very carefully a few times, and take some deep breaths, but mostly she was fascinated rather than repulsed by the dead body. She stood still, looking at it, noting some of the details - like the fact that she couldn't see any sign of a wound on Annabel's back, yet the puddle of blood continued to grow slowly underneath her. If the sharp noise they'd heard had been a gunshot, Beckett thought, then there was no exit wound; the bullet must still be inside the body. She fought the urge to reach down and turn Annabel over to see where the entrance wound was.

In short order a pair of EMTs arrived, but of course they took just one look and knew there was nothing for them to do. The police arrived soon after that, and Beckett was shunted to the side while they began their work. She sat down in an audience seat and tried not to look like she was avidly watching the process.

"Ms. Beckett?" This came from a short woman in a power suit, who approached with her hand out. "Detective Victoria Gates, NYPD. Can I ask you some questions about what happened here?"

"Sure." Beckett rose and shook the detective's hand. "Um, but I'm not sure how much help I can be. I didn't really see anything."

"Just establishing the basics to begin with," the cop said, taking out a small notebook and a pencil. "For starters, where were you when it happened?"

"Um, I was right here, over here," Beckett replied, walking over to the spot where she had stood. Detective Gates followed.

"And what were you doing?"

"I was talking to Castle. Richard Castle, our conductor. He's-" Just then the man himself appeared in the door from the hallway. "He's right there."

"Tell me what you heard and saw," Gates said as Castle spotted them and began to walk in their direction.

"Okay," Beckett said, gathering her thoughts. "We were talking, and then we heard yelling. Like an argument, from above."

"Two voices?"

"I think so?" she said cautiously. "Then one of them yelled 'No, I won't!' and then we heard the gunshot - or something that sounded like a gunshot," she corrected herself scrupulously, "and then I guess the body fell. I didn't see it. I was facing the other way."

"I saw it," Castle said, reaching them. "She came from one of the upper balcony boxes." He pointed upward. "The last one on the end there."

Beckett looked Castle up and down. He was a little pale, but otherwise seemed fine. She wanted to ask if he was okay, but it felt awkward in front of the detective.

"You're Mr. Castle?" the cop asked. "Detective Gates." They shook hands. "Anything else you can add?"

"No, I don't think so," he said, "oh, except that Beckett, uh, Ms. Beckett and I were surprised that Annabel was here at all."

"Oh, yes," Beckett chimed in, remembering. "She wasn't on today's rehearsal schedule, so there was no reason for her to be here. It's a little odd."

"Hmm," Gates murmured, making a note. "Was this an open rehearsal?"

"No," Beckett replied, "but the building isn't exactly Fort Knox. People do come in and out a lot."

"I saw Annabel backstage just before the rehearsal," Castle added, "around 1:45. We just spoke briefly. It didn't occur to me until later that it was strange for her to be here."

"What did you talk to her about?" Gates asked. Beckett was interested to notice that Castle's ears turned a little red.

"Uh. Nothing really. Just hi, how are you, looking forward to working with you." The cop didn't speak, just kept her level gaze on Castle, unwavering. It only took a moment for him to break and add, "Uh, she was flirting with me, basically."

"Flirting with you," Gates repeated, in a flat voice that seemed somehow to convey that she found the notion almost incomprehensible. Castle bristled slightly.

"Yeah, I think I know when I'm being flirted with, Detective," he declared. Kate pressed her lips together tightly to hold back a small smile.

Gates frowned slightly, but all she said was, "How did she seem? Nervous, fearful?"

"No, I don't think so." Castle pursed his lips, thought about it. "No, she just seemed, I don't know, normal."

"Did she have a boyfriend? Or any rivals, enemies?" Gates asked, directing the question toward Beckett, who shrugged.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I really didn't know her that well." Castle shrugged agreement.

"All right." Gates closed her notebook and put it in her pocket. "Thank you both. If you'll give Officer Karpowski your contact info, please, in case we have further questions; and then we're going to need everyone to vacate the building."

"Right," Beckett murmured, "of course."

Moving slowly, she collected her shoulder bag and violin case. The adrenaline that had carried her through the immediate aftermath of the incident was draining out of her body and she felt weak-kneed and trembly, her hands clumsy. It took a few tries to get her coat buttoned up.

When she was ready, she looked up and found Castle standing beside her again, his coat on, his briefcase in hand.

"I've got my car," he said. "Give you a ride home? Or ... or do you want to go get a drink?"

"Yeah," she said with feeling. "A drink sounds great."