Kate loves the feeling of flying through the air, of seeing the world spin around her as she flips. It's pure bliss, being able to defy gravity without wings.
What's harder are the landings, especially while acquiring new skills or relearning old ones. In her years of gymnastics, Kate's face has become well acquainted with various floor mats. Today, she's getting an up close look at the foam pieces in the pit behind the vaulting table, the one her body has toppled into each time she finishes a vault.
She's made progress. It's not much, but it's there.
Earlier in the morning, Kate had managed to successfully complete the Amanar into the foam pit for the first time in four years. She didn't stop herself, didn't put her hands out to stop her body's momentum, and instead kept going until she was flying high before gravity dictated that she land into the foam pit.
Montgomery's triumphant yell had greeted her as she climbed out, pride evident in his eyes as he congratulated her for pushing through and trying until she completed the vault. She had even noticed the wide eyes of the younger girls standing on the beam who'd seen her attempt, their own routines forgotten as they paused mid skill, slack jawed and wide eyed with awe. Even her walk back to the front of the vault runway had been interrupted by high fives from other gymnasts and coaches, all impressed that she had managed to do it.
Despite her breakthrough, all was not rosy. Montgomery had been quick to leave his praise behind, coach's eyes spotting that she had over rotated on the attempt, the same error that had caused her injury. The difference - the only difference - was the foam pit. The soft, forgiving piles of the stuff had saved her from a bad landing.
But Kate wasn't injured, and she refused to let the fear of the 'what if' win. Today she had survived the Amanar. She did it.
After her success, Kate had worked through each of the other apparatuses; uneven bars, balance beam, and floor exercise; focused on the fluidity of her routines. After a lunch break and some stretching work for flexibility, she's finally made the circle back to vault – her least favourite apparatus out of the four, but the one that is the most rewarding.
Managing to get herself over the vault without stopping has given Kate the confidence she had been lacking. Now she knows that she can do it into the foam pit, and she wants to try again. And again. And again. There is always more to improve on, and leaping that hurdle becomes her new goal. In the case of the Amanar, it's her twisting technique. Her landings aren't the best with the skill, and if she is to compete the vault in the future, she has to figure out with her coach how to do them safely on the hard competition mats.
But that will come later. At the moment, she's ready to train her body and brain to be completely comfortable with the skill by practicing it over and over again. Having a strong muscle memory gives gymnasts a sense of assuredness with their routines and helps them perform seemingly without effort.
The trick is to become so comfortable with the skill that you can perform it under any pressure situation. And, if she wants to do the Amanar in competition for the Trials, Kate has to be able to execute the vault with her eyes closed. Hypothetically, at least.
But she's not quite there yet, even though she knows it'll come. Repetition upon repetition is the only thing that will lead her to a successful vault. A successful vault will lead to higher potential scores, which will hopefully pave the path to the Olympic team. She's willing to put in the work, to spend hours upon hours repeating the skill. Anything to achieve a better result than she did four years ago.
One deep breath. Two. Three. She takes off like a shot, feet pounding towards an apparatus that grows bigger by the second...
"You know what?" Lanie's voice flows out from Kate's iPad, the device currently perched on top of a pile of training leotards. "Can't say I miss those camp days. I mean, they were fun, but man were they exhausting."
Kate gives a nod of agreement towards the FaceTime screen as she stuffs athletic tape into her suitcase. "You're telling me. Training under Karayeva's glare definitely does not top the list of enjoyable ways to spend a weekend."
By now, packing for the national team camp is routine. She's been attending ever since she returned home to train at the elite level, giving up a weekend of her time each month to fly to Texas. This trip to Huntsville will mark the last one before the Olympic Trials, and the list of things that she needs to take with her haven't changed. One glance around her room is enough to convince Kate that she's made less progress in packing and more in ensuring the space is a mess. Clothing and gymnastics gear are covering all of the available floor space, with several piles of additional stuff spread across most of her bed.
Tossing in a pair of socks, she can't help thinking about the camp and the pressure that comes with it. Though it's not the official line, the weekends in Texas are a check in of sorts, so that the National Team heads can see how each prospective gymnast is progressing with their training. All of them are important, but Daria Karayeva is the one person who holds the most power and the one every gymnast strives to impress.
Not only is she in charge of all the final decisions, including ultimate approval of the World Championship and Olympic team member selections, she also keeps a watchful eye on every camp participant and their coaches.
The golden rule is to stay on her good side by blowing her away at camp, which is an exhaustive process in itself. After strength and endurance tests, the gymnasts are put into a mock competition to perform routines on all four events, to showcase who is adequately prepared. Then, the athletes get to show off new skills, things currently being worked on to add into a routine for the future; all to show Daria further potential.
Kate is headed to down to Texas with a plan; to complete the Amanar and land in the foam pit. She'd managed to execute a few more attempts in her afternoon practice without balking, another step towards her goal. If she can do it at camp, she'll be at the center of Daria's radar for sure.
"Is it the same now as it was in the junior days? I remember being scared half to death of her," Lanie laughs.
It hadn't been that different for Kate. As a young gymnast at the junior level, she had constantly been in awe of the seniors on the national team and always terrified of messing up. She and Lanie hadn't known each other back then, Lanie hailing from Louisiana and a different gym. Stanford, of course, had changed all that, not that it stopped them from reminiscing over a shared experience.
She shrugs in answer to Lanie's question, picking up a t-shirt and carefully folding it up, "I mean, everyone still goes in with the same goal, to do the best they possibly can. I guess the stakes are just higher now, being a senior during an Olympic year and all. Though going from being one of the younger ones to the oldest one there in a couple years' time feels pretty jarring," she says, turning towards the screen beside her, "Last camp, I was standing next to a junior during the team lineup, and she was tiny. She barely passed my elbow. Do you remember ever being that small?"
Lanie laughs. "I know what you mean. It's one thing to train in the same place as the younger ones, but training with them really makes you realize how long you've been in the sport. I get to skip out on facing that unsettling feeling this summer, though."
Kate sticks her tongue out towards her friend on the screen, currently perched on a bench outside the Green Library at Stanford. Like Maddie, Lanie had stayed in school for the summer session, finishing some extra courses rather than returning to train at her childhood gym. "I wish you were doing this whole elite comeback thing too. It's going to be so weird squaring off against sixteen year olds instead of college kids," she sighs, "Y'know, they're surprisingly intimidating."
"Kate, c'mon. They're tiny. Not as much experience, either. Four years later and you're coming in with that. When things get tough during the selection process, you'll be able to hold it together much better than they can," Lanie gives her an encouraging smile before smirking slightly, "Besides, I think I'm done with elite for good. Unlike Stanford, the Olympic Training Center doesn't have any cute college boys."
Kate sits up slightly, dropping the shirt in her hand as she grins. "Speaking of college boys, any developments with that football player you were telling me about?"
Even through the screen, she can see the blush rising on Lanie's cheeks. "Okay, one, we're not really a thing anyway. But I am meeting Javi after my anatomy lecture this evening."
"Javi, eh?" Kate giggles, "On a nickname basis already. How adorable."
Kate had met Javier Esposito with Lanie back at school, at a party hosted by one of the senior girls of the gymnastics team. A defensive back on the Cardinal football team, he had spent the entirety of the night bickering with Lanie over whose sport was better. In typical fashion, her friend had left the party with his number and a grin on her face.
But now Lanie scoffs, giving her a trademark eye roll and a quick toss of her hair. "Girl, please. If we're going in this direction, can we bring up your writer? When is he publishing that first blog post anyway? You know, that you can tell a lot about how a person feels about someone from the way they write about them."
Kate squeaks at that as she stuffs a pair of gym shorts into her suitcase. She'd texted her best friend again after meeting Rick for lunch to tell her about it, pleasantly surprised with how it had gone. Lanie's only reply had been 'I told you so!'
"He still wants a couple more questions answered before he posts it. I told him about camp this weekend, that I wouldn't be back until Monday night, and he said he'd text me in the evening." She busies herself in zipping the suitcase, packing complete and thankful that the action hides her face from Lanie's careful analysis.
She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about the writer. Rick is nice, really nice. But while Kate knows that, she doesn't trust it. He's a journalist; a journalist working on a story and in need of a decent scoop to complete his assignment. She can't shake the idea that maybe the only reason he's being so nice to her is to get a more authentic story, and making her comfortable enough to convince her to open up more.
It may be an irrational fear, but Kate can't help it. The idea of her personal history being published on the internet is something she's still not completely comfortable with. Would Rick even be interested in her at all if he wasn't doing the series?
Still, she can't help the slight flutter she feels at his name, or at the memory of his rapt expression as he listened to her every word, even at his excitement over skills she practiced every day that managed to make her smile.
She's still trying to make sense of her conflicted emotions as she hangs up with Lanie a few minutes later, dragging her suitcase to rest beside her bedroom door. Kate tosses herself back onto her bed, intent on resting before dinner, when her phone lights up with a text.
One quick glance at the screen tells her it's from the current object of her thoughts, and she can feel the smile tugging at her lips as she opens the Messages app to read what he's written to her.
"Once again, I am so sorry that Sean couldn't be here today. I'll be sure to forward the list of interview questions to him as soon as possible." The sprinter's agent gives Rick a superficial smile as she stuffs the paper with scrawled questions on it into her bag, switching it out of her grasp for her smartphone.
Rick gives her a strained smile in return. "It's not a problem, as long as he gets back to me soon. Preferably in the next couple of days."
Olympic runner Sean Chambers had bailed on his interview, sending his agent to get Rick's questions instead. To say it's put him behind in completing that leg of his Hometown Heroes series would be an understatement. And, if he were to be honest, it's also insulting to provide a list of questions that the runner can prepare for in advance.
To Rick it's unauthentic; Sean could craft any sort of answer and any sort of personality that he wanted with a strictly approved line of questioning. Definitely not the ideal interview or working conditions for a man who prides himself on reading people and gleaning their story through observation and then backing it up with a thorough interview about their experiences.
But his articles are on a tight deadline, making it imperative that he operate outside his traditional parameters. Usually he'd never accept this sort of situation, always insisting on meeting face to face with ample time to analyze the story and do it justice with his words. In balking on his interview, Sean Chambers had single handedly raised Rick's stress level.
He's now at the mercy of a sports agent who seems wholly unconcerned about putting Sean out there for more media exposure.
They part outside the small café where Rick had originally planned to meet with Chambers for his interview. The woman is halfway down the street before Rick has a chance to even take a step, ear to her phone and back to work.
Turning his back on her, he gives himself a moment to take stock of where he stands. Chambers is temporarily placed back onto the shelf in his mind, as he has nothing to do but wait for someone to be in touch. But that leaves Kate, whom he still hasn't gotten to ask his follow up questions, and cyclist Rosie Buchanan.
He had completed a phone call with the veteran Olympian even though she's still out of state for a training run, a follow up to a FaceTime chat they'd squeezed in late one night. Even in the midst of a gruelling training regime, Rosie had been amiable and ready to talk about her life, providing him with plenty information to begin a story with.
Rick manoeuvres his way through the crowded sidewalk, though he's not quite sure where to go next. He's finished all of his other open assignments for the time being, and with Chambers being a no-show his plan to return home and write a rough draft from their talk isn't possible.
He can't work on Rosie's story either. Gina had already been sent the first draft, which would undoubtedly return with her comments and possibly that of one of the First Press copy editors. Personally, he was hoping for Kevin Ryan who, in Rick's opinion, was undoubtedly the best on the entire magazine staff.
Caught by the 'NO WALK' sign at a crowded intersection, he's forced to wait as traffic speeds past with the other pedestrians. Though, unlike most sections of Manhattan, the bustle of automobiles doesn't drown out the sound of children as they play in a park a few feet away. Nestled between the sidewalk and a ten-story brick apartment building, the place is filled with kids and parents enjoying their Friday evening with the backdrop of a sun that is just beginning to set.
Away from the swing sets and jungle gyms, a patch of grass holds another group of kids that all have huddled around a girl no more than ten. She's grinning as the others begin to cheer until, finally, she throws herself into a one handed cartwheel and sticks the landing with both feet on the ground and a huge, beaming grin.
Rick can't help but smile at that, remembering Kate's recollection when they met over food of being that young once and doing the exact same thing. His phone slides out of his pocket easily, one press of his thumb against the Home button unlocking the screen so that he can pull up his ongoing text conversation with the gymnast.
As he types out his message, he finds himself wondering what she's doing right now. Packing, he'd presume. She had mentioned that she would be out of town for training camp the last time they had talked, a disappointing reality since their schedules hadn't aligned for mutual spare time.
Their conversations via text were sporadic at best. Rick had sent her a link to his bone broth article after it had been published, mostly because of how ridiculous she'd found the idea during her interview. The amused reply he'd gotten back had made him smile.
He knows it's probably not a good idea to bother her tonight if she's busy preparing for camp. This time, he doesn't have the excuse of a random link to text her to initiate a conversation. But he finishes the message anyway, taking a long sigh and crossing the street once the text has been delivered.
"Any chance you still like to do cartwheels in the grass?"
He almost doesn't recognize her when he spots her coming his way from the other end of the park. Kate's in a t-shirt and jeans, hair framing her face freely instead of up in a tight bun. She looks gorgeous, though she's looked that way every time that he's seen her. After all, Rick's not blind. But it's interesting to see her appear so different from her usual gymnast persona.
He gives a wave as she approaches, casually pointing at the empty swing next to him. As he had waited for Kate to make the journey to the park the place had emptied out, all the families heading for home, to dinner, or some other unknown destination.
She's giving him a shy grin when she takes the offered seat, feet lightly nudging at the blades of grass under her feet. "You picked an interesting spot to meet up."
"Figured it's better than making you sit in front of food you can't eat," Rick shrugs in self-deprecation, "And I'm still sorry about that, by the way."
Kate waves her hand at him, completely dismissive of his apology with the gesture, "Like I said before, it's completely fine. There's plenty of time for indulgent food later on. How'd that runner's interview go today?"
He shrugs. "Bailed. Sent his agent with apologies and a request for a list of questions that he can be prepared to answer in a day or two. His first article is probably going to take longer than the rest."
"Sorry to hear that," she says, giving him a sympathetic look, before raising her eyebrows, "Wait, is that why you wanted to hang out? Since your original plans fell through?"
Rick huffs at her, entirely indignant when he glances towards Kate, "No, that's not why. You're going to be gone until Monday night, and you told me that cell service sucks down there. I figured the least I could do is say goodbye in person," he says, feeling how his cheeks have grown warm as he adds the final piece to his small speech, "And good luck, too."
Kate laughs, nudging his swing with the edge of her converse to send him swaying back and forth. "Well, that's nice of you. Thank you."
He chances a quick look at her when he's sure she isn't looking, biting back a grin as the blue cast of the street lights near the fenced edge of the park give off the deep colour painting her cheeks. At least he's not the only one blushing.
"What's training camp like, anyway?" Rick asks, voice pitched with blatant curiosity that he assumes she's used to from him by now. He's trying to picture where she's heading off to, lighting up at the prospect of Kate going down there and knocking everyone dead with her abilities. "All I can see in my head is a bunch of militant-type gymnasts all training in unison."
She snorts at his description. "Well, that's not too far off actually. Our warm ups and strength training over there are led by the national team coordinator, who could definitely stand in for a sergeant. She's scary."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Her name's Daria Karayeva, and she used to be this Russian Olympic gymnast back in the eighties. Won everything too. She's brought the old school style training here in order for us to be better than the rest of the world."
Rick raises his eyebrows. "That's a pretty hefty order."
"It really is. Not all of the coaches agree with her all of the time about training methods, but no one can say that they don't work."
"Training methods? What's she like in the gym?"
"Super terrifying," Kate says with a long sigh, wrinkling up her nose at the memory before she shares it with him, "She made a junior gymnast cry once because the poor girl forgot her beam choreography and started improvising half-way. What she expects from national team members is perfection, no mistakes whatsoever. If not, you won't get to compete anywhere. By the time competitions arrive, she's trained us all to be total robots."
He's heard enough, watched enough YouTube videos, and done enough research for his stories on Kate to recognize the results of Karayeva's leadership for the gymnasts. Compared to others around the world, the American team usually exuded confidence with the rarest display of nerves. That alone made it likely that they would avoid mistakes in competition. Truthfully, Rick was just impressed that they didn't cower under the glare the woman would sometimes direct at them from the sidelines. "She's still scary to you, even after coming back older from college?"
Kate nods, her expression comically serious. "Oh, yeah. Some gymnasts are fine with her, but those are the ones who are on her good side. Since I didn't get to compete much as a senior on the elite level because of my knee, we didn't really get to…" she trails off for a moment, scrunching up the tip of her nose as her brain spins for the right word, "...bond." she finishes with an eye roll at herself for the odd description, " But, yeah, she still watches me with those suspicious hawk eyes. Unnerving, to say the least."
Rick laughs at that, trying to imagine the fearless gymnast cowering in front of an older woman who was far shorter than Kate. "Man, that would be so interesting to watch. Training camp, I mean. To be behind the scenes, able to see how the team all comes together."
"Sometimes media came to cover stories for the senior gymnasts before big competitions when I was younger," Kate shrugs, "but they haven't come in a while. Maybe they did during the training camps prior to the London Olympics? Though I wasn't at those since I was injured and all, so I can't say."
"Really?" Rick asks, eyes lighting up. His mind is already swirling with possibilities for the next couple articles, how he'd get to write about yet another side of Kate the world hasn't seen. He'll have to book a flight right away, or arrive late since the camp starts tomorrow, and if he wants to cover everything he'll have to act fast…
"-I don't think it happens any more, though," Kate's voice cuts through his internal planning, "bet Daria banned it because she doesn't want all of her training secrets to get out," she snorts.
"Huh?" Rick looks over to her, slightly disoriented with his head still in planning mode. Judging from the look that she gives him, he obviously missed her explanation of the current status of journalists embedded at the U.S. Senior National Camp.
He takes a wild guess that it was negative. Not that he'd really be stopped by pesky things known as rules. They're more like suggestions to Rick.
"Oh. Too bad. Would have been a pretty cool thing to do," he says nonchalantly, giving her an over pronounced shrug of his shoulders that Kate absolutely doesn't buy, if he judges the way her lips unwillingly quirk in the hint of a smile.
Not that it lasts for long. All too soon, she has crossed her arms, eyebrows raised in silent skepticism, "Were you seriously thinking about coming to watch training camp?"
"I mean, just an idea!" he shrugs, maybe a bit too fast to be believable as the truth. It's definitely less a random idea and more of a full-fledged plan that he fully intends on carrying out. "Besides, the logistics probably wouldn't work out well anyway. Probably too late to clear it with the team federation by now, since it starts tomorrow."
He's pretty good at getting in places on short notice for writing assignments, so this national team camp shouldn't be too hard to access. It could add another layer to the blog posts, showing the competition between Kate and the other gymnasts from the country at her level.
Was he crazy? Possibly. But he'd long ago made a personal promise to honour his writer's integrity which began and ended with one statement: Anything for the story.
Besides, a cutthroat, competitive Kate Beckett is something he absolutely can't miss.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Extra thanks to Dee for being the best beta anyone could ask for, and Em for being a typo ninja.