So she poured out the liquid music of her voice to quench the thirst of his spirit.
-Nathaniel Hawthorne

It was exactly as Beckett and Castle had discussed yesterday: as soon as the music began, the nervousness melted away. Castle's hand felt steady on his baton; his body felt poised but relaxed; his eyes seemed to see the whole orchestra as a unit. He loved this moment of unity, of connection, when all the disparate instruments and the widely varying personalities behind them coalesced into a single organism producing a cohesive, beautiful sound.

Castle was already bouncing on his toes well before the end of the overture, and when he gestured the final cutoff of that first movement, he was smiling. The players, for the most part, were too professional to smile back - firmly in performance mode now, they all kept their expressions serious - but he could see from their eyes and body language that they were feeling the same energy he was.

He risked a quick glance to his left at Kate, and found her poised on the edge of her seat, ready for the next entrance, her eyes glued to him, sparkling. She was enjoying his enjoyment, he decided, and his skin prickled with pleasant goosebumps at the thought.

He turned the other way to make sure that Brett was ready, and they launched into the first tenor solo.

Kate was also relieved to find that, just as she and Castle had discussed, her nerves calmed as soon as the music began. She felt so comfortable and confident sitting in her chair at the head of the violin section, with her violin under her chin, her bow in her hand, her back straight, and the timeless music flowing from, around, and through her.

The overture and the first few arias and choruses flew by. The audience was attentive and appreciative. They knew better than to applaud after each movement, of course, but after so many years of performing, Kate was adept at reading the little signs that showed whether the listeners were engaged. It was something indefinable in the air; the sense of pleasant expectation in the short silences between movements; the texture and rhythms of the little rustlings that came from the audience in those moments, as they shifted in their seats, or cleared their throats or coughed quietly, or checked their program books, or exchanged looks with each other.

From all those little things Kate could sense that this audience was enjoying the concert - that it was going well. The orchestra was in sync, playing at their best. The chorus sang perfectly, with enthusiasm and feeling; the three soloists were expressive and captivating.

Castle, too, was expressive with his body and hands, as he had been in the rehearsals. Kate found herself flushing hot again as she watched his hands moving through the air. She had to firmly push away the memory of those hands on her body; she could only hope that if anyone noticed her looking pink around the face and neck, they would attribute it to the heat of the stage lights.

Before Kate knew it, Vincent was standing again to sing For behold, darkness shall cover the earth and The people that walked in darkness. Kate loved those two bass solos, with their deep brooding portrayal of the metaphorical darkness of the world before Jesus's birth. She especially loved the interplay between the violin's melodic line and the soloist's.

Then it was time for For Unto Us, with its cheerful birthday-party lilt, and then a brief pause - Castle waited while the chorus settled back into their seats and all the little audience noises died down - and they moved smoothly into the Pifa.

Kate steadied her breathing and tried to focus her mind completely on the music she was playing, not on what was to come. She struggled a little to hold onto the feeling of complete immersion in the music that had carried her along thus far. She called up the mental image of the peaceful meadows and flowing river that the Pifa had always signified to her, and pictured herself floating calmly on that river, her violin and bow in her hands.

It seemed silly, but it helped. The mental image of the pastoral scene - or perhaps just the underlying feeling of serenity it evoked - calmed her nerves, kept her fingers steady and her mind focused on the music. The Pifa flowed through the performance hall like that same river, soothing.

Then it was over, and she let out a long breath and steeled herself once again.

Slowly she put down her bow and handed her violin to Yukiko. She stood up and moved to the front of the stage. The audience's little rustles intensified, those who had been lulled half to sleep by the Pifa suddenly sharpening and sitting up straighter, attentive. The collective weight of all their eyes on her caused her to falter slightly, but she pushed back her shoulders, firmed her jaw, and stood tall and proud at the edge of the stage.

Castle found himself almost holding his breath as he watched Beckett stand and take the soloist's spot. He could see that she was nervous, and although he had his back to the audience, he imagined he could feel their attention. But Beckett, as always, pushed aside whatever she was feeling and presented a calm, cool exterior.

Angling his head so that he could keep Beckett in his peripheral vision, he turned his body toward the cellists and cued them. The opening chords rippled out from their bows.

"There were shepherds abiding in the fields," Beckett sang, and goosebumps raced across Castle's skin at the sound of her voice. It was perfect; she was perfect. He clenched his jaw to keep still, to restrain the shiver of delight that cascaded through his whole body.

He kept the corner of his eye on her, his hands steady, calling up the accompaniment from the strings as Beckett's clear voice told the story of the angel descending from heaven to announce the birth of Jesus.

Castle had to keep reminding himself to stay focused on conducting, not get lost in the music; he nearly missed the moment when he was supposed to cue the chorus to stand up. Luckily, he had written himself a reminder in his score, using bright red pencil, and caught it just in time. The chorus rose smoothly to their feet as a single unit, just as Kate began to sing "And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host..."

And Castle was fortunate again that the trumpeters and the rest of the orchestra knew what was coming; they all had their instruments in position and ready, and he brought them in triumphantly on "Glory to God." As the movement proceeded, he realized that in his excitement he had set the tempo a little too fast, but the musicians were game, and managed to keep up with it. Fortunately, it was one of the shorter choruses.

Then it was over, and the time had come for Beckett's big aria.

Castle saw and felt the shift in attitude throughout the entire hall. The chorus members, as they took their seats, had their heads up, watching; the instrumentalists, if possible, sat even taller than they had been. From the audience Castle imagined he could feel a further sharpening of interest, a deeply drawn breath of anticipation. From Kate herself, as she stood up again from the fourth soloist's chair, he sensed nothing but utter calm, just as she had displayed yesterday.

He knew that she must look fantastic standing there at the front edge of the stage, in her simple but elegant dress, with her hair swept up dramatically and her graceful neck bared. He wished so badly that he could turn his head and look fully at her, admire her, drink her in; but that wasn't his role at this point in the performance. He took a brief moment to force himself to calm down as well, taking a slow careful breath, reviewing the music in his head so he could be sure of choosing the correct tempo.

Then he lifted his hands and cued the orchestra, and they began.

From the moment of Kate's first "Rejoice," he could feel that the audience was as captivated as he was. He could see it mirrored on the faces of the chorus members as well. Some of them had zoned out during the solo numbers that had come before, but for this, they were all paying attention. They had heard it yesterday, but this was different; this was the real thing.

And she was singing beautifully - better even than she had yesterday at the dress rehearsal. From the corner of his eye he could see the long flowing lines of her body, nearly vibrating with the powerful tension of tightly controlled energy. The runs, leaps, and trills of Rejoice Greatly were almost ridiculously complicated, Castle thought, but Kate sailed over them with complete confidence. She made it sound easy.

As he slowed the orchestra down for the bridge section, he wondered if this was how all conductors felt, when they had a truly talented vocal soloist on the stage: like they were just the background scenery - the menial assistant - the plucky sidekick - just trying to keep up, to keep pace, while the soloist did all the hard work.

Maybe not. Maybe this was just him, Castle, because he was inexperienced with this kind of conducting. But he didn't care. He was happy to follow wherever Beckett might lead.

Kate was a little surprised - but pleasantly so - that the confidence she had achieved through the first portion of the concert stayed with her as she moved from playing to singing. And her sense of the rightness of this - of belonging; of being where she needed to be - only increased as she worked her way through the aria. She felt more energized than she had at the dress rehearsal; singing to hundreds of rapt audience members rather than a vast stretch of empty seats was a whole different experience.

She knew that her voice wasn't perfect: she didn't have the strength and stamina of someone who had been toning and exercising her vocal apparatus every day for years; her lungs weren't strong enough to provide enough breath support, so she had to take breaths more often than she should, and her tone was thinner than she would have liked. But she still sounded good. She could hear her voice resonating throughout the performance space, all the way to the back of the audience seats and up into the dome overhead.

Abruptly, in the space of a few measures while the orchestra was playing and she was awaiting her next entrance, it occurred to her that her mother had probably felt this way too - maybe every time. Standing up there on the stage, with all eyes on her, producing music with her body and hearing it fill the room - it was intoxicating, and she could easily imagine it becoming an addiction, an obsession. Her breath hitched and her throat tightened momentarily as the thought hit her.

But there was no time to dwell on that now, and Kate Beckett was an expert at cramming down her feelings about her mother. So she shoved them aside and focused on taking a good, deep diaphragmatic breath for her next entrance.

Castle noticed Beckett faltering briefly toward the end of the aria, and he felt himself tense, wondering whether he was going to have to cover for her if she couldn't continue. But she seemed to shake it off, whatever it was, and she took a slow breath and resumed singing, perfectly in time. She even put a little extra roll on the R of Rejoice.

The aria came to its conclusion and Beckett stood still as a statue, regal, as the orchestra played the closing measures. The audience almost seemed to be holding its breath; everyone knew that they weren't supposed to applaud, but Castle could feel the tension in the room, as if Beckett could give them her sharp narrow-eyed look and they would violate convention for her in a heartbeat.

As soon as the last notes died away and Castle lowered his arms, it was as if the entire hall collectively let out its breath in a soft, heartfelt sigh. Beckett turned and moved smoothly back to her seat. Yukiko slid back into the second seat and handed Kate her violin.

Castle snuck a glance over at Beckett's face and got the distinct sense that she wanted to burst into tears - that couldn't be right, could it? But it was there and gone in a flash, and then she lifted her eyes to him and gave him a tight little nod, and Chloe had already stood up and moved into position, so he turned his attention back to the music.

When Kate sat back down after singing, her legs were trembling and she felt tears pressing hotly at the backs of her eyelids, but she forced them away. This is not the time, she repeated to herself, not the time, not the time. She was grateful that the concert had to continue; there was no choice but to lift her violin back into position, straighten her spine, nod to Castle, and accompany Chloe into her next aria.

A few more arias and choruses went by, and then it was time for the famous, beloved Hallelujah. As soon as the familiar opening notes rang out, the audience began to rise to its feet, at first in ragged clumps, then in waves, until the entire room was standing by the time the chorus sang its first "Hallelujah."

For the first time, Kate found herself almost wishing she were in the chorus. She had always loved playing this particular piece, but today she suddenly felt the urge to sing it as well. Maybe next year, she told herself, and the thought made her gut clench with a strange mixture of pleasure and trepidation.

"And He shall reign forever and ever," sang the chorus, "King of Kings, and Lord of Lords," and the trumpets soared with them, and the timpani boomed triumphantly.

"Hallelujah!"

The rest of the concert flew by. Castle was in his element, performing, not only for the audience but in a sense for the chorus and orchestra as well. He knew that for the most part he wasn't in control of the quality of the performance; the players and singers were professionals who knew their craft well, and he was mostly just there to keep the tempo and make sure all the parts were coordinated. But it was still exhilarating to be up there, signaling the beginnings and ends of phrases and movements, molding the music with his hands, bringing it into being.

Before he knew it, they were moving through the complex harmonies of the Amen, the four voice parts and the orchestra weaving over and around each other like a dense forest of sound. It seemed to get more and more tangled, until finally, gloriously, all the parts came together in perfect harmony and rhythm for the last two Amens.

As the final notes rang through the hall, Castle let his arms drop, and the audience at last burst into thunderous applause. He gave the orchestra and the breathless, smiling chorus a big goofy grin and a thumbs-up, then turned to smile out at the audience. Half of them were on their feet, clapping and whistling. The stage lights shining into his eyes made it difficult to pick out any individual faces in the crowd, but he thought he spotted the bright heads of his mother and daughter near the front.

He took a quick bow of his own and then gestured to the three vocal soloists, cuing them to stand and take their bows. The audience saluted them with increased applause and a few whistles.

Then he turned his smile toward Beckett, holding out his hand. The noise increased even further as the audience was at last free to express its collective appreciation. Kate's cheeks flushed pink as she rose, still holding her violin, and acknowledged the roar of the crowd with a small bow and an even smaller smile.

Castle waved his arm in a broad sweep that indicated the entire orchestra and the chorus; the instrumentalists stood to acknowledge the applause, then sat again as Castle and the three soloists strode off the stage. The sound of the clapping and cheering followed them off as the house lights began to rise.

Author's Note: Since I have been getting a lot of comments/questions about the music for the concert in this story, here is a little bit of background info.

Handel's "Messiah" tells a story in three parts. Part One recounts the prophecies that foretold the birth of a savior, and then tells the story of Jesus's birth. This part is commonly performed at Christmastime. Parts Two and Three deal with the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and the resurrection of the dead on Judgment Day; these parts are more often performed around Easter. For live performances in December, it's common to perform Part One plus the famous Hallelujah Chorus (which is in Part Two), and the conductor will often pick and choose a few other bits from Parts Two and Three according to factors such as personal preference, how long they want the concert to be, what the soloists are willing to do, and so forth. In this story, the concert program is fairly sparse in deference to Castle's lack of experience.

If you'd like to listen to "Messiah," my personal favorite recording is the one by the Boston Baroque Orchestra, which you can find on youtube by searching for a playlist titled "Messiah Boston Baroque." To replicate the concert in this story, listen to numbers 1 through 21, then 33, 38, 44, 47, 48, 53, and 54. Note that although the videos in this playlist are titled like "Messiah 4 of 53," "5 of 53," etc., there are actually 54 parts, and the Amen section mentioned in this chapter is called "54 of 53" in the playlist.

A final note about the Hallelujah Chorus and why the audience stands up. Legend has it that when "Messiah" was first performed in London for King George II, he was so moved by the Hallelujah that he sprang to his feet. Etiquette demanded that no one else could sit while the king was standing, so the whole audience had to stand. This story may or may not be true, but what is true is that it's still customary nowadays for the audience to stand up during the Hallelujah Chorus. Something to keep in mind if you ever find yourself at a live performance of "Messiah"!

Thanks once again to all readers and reviewers! Replying to reviews has been difficult since they aren't showing up on the site, so I do apologize if I've missed replying to you, but please know that I read and appreciate all reviews.

I've given up trying to estimate how many chapters this story will end up being, so stay tuned...!