Through all the tumult and the strife,
I hear that music ringing.
It finds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
- traditional hymn, author unknown

Kate was a little surprised by the way Castle abruptly stopped teasing her and disappeared, but she told herself not to look a gift horse in the mouth. An afternoon without Castle around was a good thing, she reminded herself firmly. He was childish and annoying, and not in the slightest bit endearing. Damn it.

She returned to her work in the Symphony Hall library, though she found it hard to concentrate. After about ten minutes of studying the music, her stomach rumbled and she realized it was past lunchtime. So she put everything away and prepared to leave.

As she was putting on her coat, it occurred to her that they had never found out the last name of Daniel, the lawyer whom Annabel had met with the previous day. For a brief moment she considered going down the hall to ask Lois.

But no. Hadn't she spent the whole morning telling Castle that they shouldn't be poking their noses into the murder investigation? Practice what you preach, Kate. She put her bag over her shoulder and departed.

Kevin let her out the side door, and she managed to escape the notice of the paparazzi out front. She took a taxi back to her apartment and heated up some leftovers for lunch. By the time she had finished eating, it was time to go to her afternoon tutoring session.

Today's tutoring student was a shy, somewhat nerdy teenage boy who always blossomed beautifully as soon as he put his violin under his chin. Kate enjoyed teaching him, but it was a little painful to see how hungrily he sucked up every little crumb of praise. Sometimes she ached to tell him: listen, you know you're a good player. There's no reason to deny it or hide it. Own it; have some confidence and pride in yourself.

But then she thought about herself at that age, and how she might have reacted if one of her teachers - even her beloved violin teacher, Mike Royce, on whom she'd had a hopeless raging crush for years - had said something like that to her. She wouldn't have been able to hear it, she knew that for sure. Mired in adolescent insecurity, she would have dismissed any adult advice as useless platitudes. So now she restrained herself and just said gentle things like you've obviously been working hard and this piece is really coming along.

Thinking about it while she listened to her student make his way through one of the new pieces she had brought for him, she suddenly remembered what Castle had said to her earlier today. Something about don't hide your talent away. Uncomfortable though it was, she couldn't help seeing the parallels between what she wished she could tell her student and what Castle had told her.

Damn him, why did Castle have to be right? But it was complicated, and he didn't know. He couldn't.

Castle went home and made a beeline for his piano. He sat for a while with music paper, jotting down the snippets of melodies and harmonies that had begun to come into his head. Then, changing tack, he took out a notebook of plain lined paper and wrote down summaries of all of the characters, with their relationships and motivations and voice parts. He wrote an outline of the opera's plot and filled in some tentative song titles.

Then he pulled his little wheeled table over next to the piano, put his laptop on it, opened his music notation program, and began copying in the song he had written the night before, and the new bits of songs. Swiveling his piano stool, he turned back and forth between the computer and the piano, hearing a whole orchestra's worth of instruments in his head as well as the soloists and choruses.

An hour or two or three later, Alexis came home from school. Entering the loft, she saw her father at his piano, working on his computer, and her face lit up with pleasure. She moved quietly as she put away her coat, not wanting to disturb him; but he noticed anyway and stood up, groaning loudly as he stretched out his spine.

"Hey, pumpkin. You're home already?"

"It's probably later than you think," his daughter replied, smiling as she came over for a hug. He glanced at the clock and his eyes widened.

"Oh wow, you're right. Where did the afternoon go?"

"It's great to see you composing again, Dad," Alexis said quietly from within the curve of his arm. He smiled down at her.

"It's good to be back. This one's going to be awesome, you wait and see."

"What's it about?"

"Uh…" He paused, rubbing his forehead. "I'd rather not say yet. It's, uh, still coming together."

Alexis noted with some interest that his ears had turned pink, but she chose not to comment, saying instead, "Did you even eat lunch, Dad?"

"Um?" He looked vaguely toward the kitchen. "I think I had some, uh..."

"Coffee, Dad. You had coffee and didn't eat anything. Tell me I'm wrong." He grinned sheepishly, and the teenager sighed, shaking her head.

"Come on. I'll make you a grilled cheese sandwich and you'll ask me how my day was at school."

"With three kinds of cheese?" Castle asked eagerly, following his daughter toward the kitchen.

"Only if you come for a walk with me afterward to burn it off."

"Deal."

So they spent a pleasant half-hour cooking and eating companionably, and then they put on their coats and wandered the streets for another half-hour, chatting. Alexis frowned at Castle when he tried to hold her hand, and he pouted, so eventually she deigned to tuck her hand into the crook of his elbow as they strolled along the sidewalk.

"So, did you see your Ms. Beckett today?" his daughter said teasingly, as they turned their steps back toward home.

"She's not mine," he replied, just a little wistfully, "but yes, I did. I went by Symphony Hall for a bit and we-" He stopped in mid-sentence as a thought came to him. "Hey, we never found out about that lawyer. That completely slipped my mind after we talked to the sister."

"What lawyer? What sister?" Alexis looked at him strangely. "Dad, you're rambling."

"Oh." In an uncharacteristic moment of discretion, he decided it would be best not to let his daughter know that he had been investigating the murder. Sort of investigating. With Beckett. Kind of. "Sorry, honey. Don't mind me."

But he picked up the pace a little, and as soon as they got back into the loft, Alexis headed upstairs to start on her homework and Castle retired to his study with Beckett's phone numbers.

Beckett didn't answer either her home or cell phone, so he sat at his desk for a few minutes, thinking about the mysteries surrounding Annabel's murder. He got out another notebook and wrote down everything they knew and had found out about the case so far. He listed the potential suspects - currently Howard Grainger and Brett Donovan - and all of the open questions.

He thought about calling Symphony Hall and asking Lois to give him the lawyer's contact information, but, looking at the clock again, realized that it was too late. Everyone had probably left for the evening. Well, he would be back at Symphony Hall tomorrow for more rehearsals, so he would have a chance to identify and talk with the lawyer then.

Tapping his fingers impatiently on the desk, he dialed Beckett's home number again.

"Hello?" came her voice, breathless.

"Beckett! Did you just get in?"

"Castle?" she demanded, surprised. "Why are you calling me? How did you get my number?"

"I know people. Listen," he went on hastily, "we get comp tickets for the concerts, right?"

"What? Of course," Beckett said, sighing. He heard soft thumps and swishing noises, and deduced that she was putting things down and taking off her coat. "Why are you asking me this, Castle?"

"Just want to be sure my mother and daughter will be able to come, that's all."

"Oh?" she asked. "Doesn't your mother have shows of her own this weekend?"

Of course, Martha Rodgers was indeed performing that weekend; she was currently in the middle of a lengthy Broadway run of Blithe Spirit. But how did Beckett know that? "You know who my mother is?" he exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, of course you do. I forgot, you're my biggest fan." He grinned when he heard her scornful snort. "Tell me, Beckett, do you subscribe to my website?"

"Please. You're so full of yourself," she grumped, and his grin widened, because it wasn't a denial.

"So we do get comp tickets, though, right? For all three of the concerts? Which one is your boyfriend coming to?"

A short pause. "Subtle," she said, and now he could tell that she was smiling from the tone of her voice. "Wow, Castle, I really thought you'd have more game than that, considering your page-six reputation."

When it comes to you I've got nothing, he thought, and also So, no boyfriend then, but all he said was "Don't believe everything you read, Beckett. By the way, we never found out that lawyer's last name, did we?"

"We didn't, and it's just as well," she shot back quickly. "Need I remind you that we aren't the police?"

"No, that reminder isn't necessary, although you would look totally hot in uniform." Her indignant huff came right on schedule, and he grinned to himself once again. "But tomorrow at the rehearsal we'll talk to Daniel, right? Find out what Annabel was trying to change in her contract. It could be relevant. Maybe he'll even know what she was going to give her sister."

"Did it ever occur to you," Beckett said sourly, "that if Annabel talked about anything that might be pertinent to her murder, Daniel would have told the police about it already? Maybe they'll have solved the case before tomorrow's rehearsal even gets started."

"Don't be pessimistic, Beckett. There's no need to get discouraged."

"Pessimistic?" she cried, and then sighed loudly, and he heard a noise of skin against skin, which he imagined was her hand rubbing over her face. "Castle, did you call just to annoy me?"

"No," he said, "actually, I wanted to ask whether you've thought any more about what I said earlier."

"About Annabel giving her sister a puppy? No, I can't say that I have," Beckett replied, and he could hear the grin in her voice.

"Not that." He dropped the teasing from his voice, leaned forward in his chair as if his posture could infuse the words with extra weight. "About you being the soloist for the concerts this weekend."

Silence. She didn't respond, so he went on.

"If Chloe does How Beautiful Are The Feet and He Shall Feed His Flock, and if we cut out I Know That My Redeemer Liveth, then all you'd have to do is Rejoice Greatly and the four little recitatives that introduce Glory to God. I bet you know them all by heart already, Beckett. You can totally do this."

There was a long pause, so long that he wondered if she had just walked away from the phone. "Beckett?" he said at last, softly.

He heard a harsh intake of breath, ragged and wet. Oh shit, was she crying? What had he done?

"You don't know what you're doing," she said quietly, and her voice was completely controlled, utterly calm, but still he could feel the tension radiating across the phone wires. "Sticking your nose in where you don't belong. Poking things that should be left alone."

"Are we talking about Annabel's murder again?" he asked, although he knew the answer.

"Castle," she snapped, and then took a deep breath and was immediately back to the calm tone: "I'll see you tomorrow at the rehearsal."

"Wait! No, Beckett, wait, don't hang up," he pleaded, sitting up straighter. He needed to make this right. He didn't want her to be upset because of him - because he was a tactless idiot - because there were so many things he didn't understand about her. He wanted to understand.

She sighed explosively. "What?"

"Listen." He floundered for a moment, then seized on what she had just said: the rehearsal. "Um, the orchestra. If we're going to do the alto versions of those two arias. The orchestra members don't have the sheet music for that, do they?"

"Shit," she said, and he pictured her pulling that lower lip between her teeth the way she always seemed to do. God, that was hot. Everything she did was hot. "I should have thought of that when I was in the library today," she muttered. "I'm sure it's there."

"No problem then," he said hastily. "We'll just go a little early tomorrow morning and find it."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Okay. Yeah."

"So ... I'll meet you in the library? At nine-thirty?"

"Okay," she said again. "I'll see you then, Castle." And she hung up before he had a chance to think of another topic, another reason to keep her on the line.

He put the phone down and sat still, thinking.

He didn't know why Beckett was so resistant to the idea of performing the solos, but it didn't take a genius to guess that it probably had something to do with her mother's death. After all, that was when Beckett had given up singing, and apparently she hadn't sung anything in the ten years since then, devoting herself instead to violin.

Given up singing? Was that really possible?

He jumped up and went back to the piano.

Kate put down her phone and let out a long, shaky sigh. Not for the first time, she cursed the moment she had met Richard Castle and he had begun worming his way into her life, into her head.

She supposed it did seem obvious, from his perspective, that she should do those solos. She wasn't surprised that it hadn't occurred to her, though. She hadn't thought of herself as a singer for many years.

She was aware, of course, that she did sing. To herself, quietly, when she was alone; as hard as she had tried to stop it, she never could. She would catch herself humming or crooning under her breath, or sometimes even full-throated and full volume, while she went about her household chores; and, upon realizing it, she would snap her mouth shut, guilt and shame surging up her treacherous throat to gag her.

Her last boyfriend, Will, had caught her singing once while folding laundry; he had smiled and called it 'cute.' It was probably an exaggeration to say that that was why they had broken up, but it certainly hadn't helped.

Stage fright was not the problem. Growing up with a famous singer for a mother, and then entering the performing field herself as a young teen, Kate Beckett had been comfortable with the spotlight from the beginning. As a child she had sung duets with her mother, before audiences ranging in size from a single man in the living room - her father - to a packed house at Carnegie Hall. Later, years of being at the top of her game as a violinist had given her a self-confidence that translated into complete poise on the stage - at least, when it came to playing the violin.

But when she thought about standing up in front of hundreds of people and singing, an unfamiliar chill seized her spine; a cold knot tightened in her belly; hot moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes.

It wasn't stage fright. It was something else entirely, something she had been living with and accepting for far too long. Reluctant though she was to admit it, Castle was on the right track: it was time for her to move on.

Slowly, she walked over to the case on the wall and found her Messiah CDs. She had several recordings of it, but the Boston Baroque version was her favorite, and that was the one she reached for now.

Her hand trembled slightly as she opened the case and put the CD into her living-room stereo. She pressed the forward button to skip past all of the arias and choruses until she reached number 18.

The orchestral introduction filled the room, violins lilting through the melody, and then the soprano soloist began to sing.

Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice greatly.

Kate took a breath and, on the second phrase, began to sing along.

Rejoice, O daughter of Zion.

She hadn't warmed up, and her voice was rusty, so she kept it light, not pushing too hard.

O daughter of Zion, rejoice, rejoice, rejoice.

Long-buried muscle memories began to reassert themselves - breath control, diaphragm support, lifting the soft palate. She closed her eyes and let her voice resonate in the open space of her living room, trying to hear it the way an audience would; the way Castle had.

O daughter of Zion, rejoice greatly. Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem.

Tears began to slip down her cheeks as the music swept her up, but she didn't stop singing until the piece was finished. She sank onto the couch and lowered her face into her hands as the orchestra played the conclusion of the movement and the CD moved on to the next track.

Then shall the eyes of the blind be open'd, crooned the alto soloist, and the ears of the deaf unstopped...

Kate got up and stopped the CD. She took a deep, shaky breath, and another. She dried her eyes and cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater.

Then she went to the foyer table where she had dropped her shoulder bag, took out her Messiah score, and took it to the couch with her. She sat down again, opened the score, and began to study.

A/N: I apologize for the slight delay in posting. I hope it was worth the wait. :)
The specific recording that Kate listens to in this chapter is available on YouTube if you'd like to check it out. Enter in the search box "Messiah 18 of 53" and your first search result should be the video from user 'prhughes0' featuring Rejoice Greatly with pictures of flowers.

Finally, an enormous thanks to Cris (seriestherapy) for the beautiful cover art for this story! You can see a larger version on my tumblr (acertainzest dot tumblr dot com).