Summary: Virgil is a gymnast
Characters: Virgil Tracy
Words: 798
For: JanetM74, prompt request July 30th (gymnastics) and Virgil


This was his moment.

With the floor exercise and the pommel horse behind him, the competition was almost halfway through the six events that made up the Olympic order. He'd started to trail behind his competitors in the first two, but the still rings was where Virgil shined, and he knew he could gain back the momentum he needed to carry him through the final three events – the vault, parallel bars, and finally, the horizontal bars.

Suspended from a metal frame, the still rings didn't look quite right without a gymnast performing feats of gravity-defying strength between them.

It was Virgil's preference not to watch his competitors, to focus on his own performance and not get lost in his head. That self-preservation fought with his desire to support his teammates, but it often won in the end. It would do him no good to compare himself to others – the sport itself did that enough for them.

He let Coach tell him his placement, but not the scores. Not until the end. He was glad to hear though that Alex had won first place in the floor exercises; he was a spitfire of man who worked like hell the past four years to make it back to the Olympics, and who deserved every win coming to him. And it would help Team USA immensely. They might actually be able to win this thing.

No pressure or anything, Virgil.

Virgil didn't know it, but a camera panned over him where he sat with his head bowed, eyes closed, his USA jacket draped over his shoulders but not on, and his fingers twitching in tandem with the light piano from his earbuds sending calm through his neck and shoulders where he needed it most.

The reporters were not privy to his music; that was just for him. And when asked what he was listening to, he always responded "the sound of victory" with a charming grin that the fans just adored. They all speculated he might actually share when he retired, though no one liked to think about the man leaving the gymnastics world just yet.

So Virgil didn't know when the television captured him in the throes of his nerves, but Scott did. He'd stepped out from a TI meeting that was unable to be rescheduled and turned on the livestream just in time to hear the reporters share their speculations. They were confident he would take the event, if not the all-around win, and even as they spoke over the image, their words seem to sink into Virgil as if he could hear them, the weight of the world on those broad, cut shoulders. Virgil took after him in that manner. Scott had a lot of practice putting too much pressure on himself.

He wouldn't be able to watch all of the competitors, but he could catch Virgil's part. It was his hope that he'd be able to finalize the contract with his client, then hop on a plane to catch Virgil's next event and help him handle that load he carried.

Scott knew how hard Virgil worked for this. Even if his heart clenched every time Virgil defied the laws of gravity with the sheer force of his twists and turns (and God, the vault was the absolute worst), he had every faith in his brother and his abilities.

He'd win.

The camera panned then to the stands, where in the front row Gordon and his friends on the Olympic Swim Team, also in full Team USA uniform, cheered over the call of his brother's name.

"And here we have Gordon Tracy," the reporter said. "A real contender for the men's butterfly in a few days. I don't know Jim – looks like the Tracys are a family to watch."

Back in the arena, Virgil stood, spared a few moments to fold his jacket, lay it on the bench, and placed his music player on top. His eyes searched the crowd for Gordon, who nodded once they found each other.

A breath, as Virgil checked the grips that protected his hands and added chalk.

Then Virgil was in the air, his muscles straining, the tension in his face showing just how difficult this sport was.

But his body moved like it wasn't.

He manipulated the rings like they were extensions of his arms, into the difficult swings and holds that were part of his routine.

In his ears was silence.

He lifted. Held.

For a few seconds he pushed the rings outward and held his body completely parallel to the ground.

He flipped and turned, held himself upward into a inverted cross, a handstand if he were on the ground.

And with a final set of difficult elements, he dismounted and landed on his feet.

The sound returned.