A/N: This is my first foray into the world of fanfic writing, so any kind constructive advice would be highly appreciated. This story is a response to a prompt posted to the castlefanficprompts blog on tumblr, with Kate as a gymnast and Castle as a journalist following the progress of the U.S team. Many thanks to Dee (alwayswritewithcoffee) for being an amazing beta and Emily (Oliviet) and Evelyn for the constant stream of encouragement and cheerleading while I was freaking out about writing. I hope you enjoy it!

For a spectator, the uneven bars would appear to be a mix of monkey bar swinging and flying higher than any human should without the help of a plane. To an untrained eye, it looked like lots of fun. For a gymnast, the reality was quite different.

In training, it was about the pursuit of perfection. Soaring between the bars with pirouettes, flips, and other tricks meant to allow one to stand out from the pack. It was exhausting but, for those dedicated enough, the payoff was enormous. Nothing could compare to landing a routine perfectly in competition to the adulation of a roaring crowd, the adrenaline pumping just hard enough to block out sore muscles.

Kate Beckett knew the experience well. You didn't become, nor could you remain, an elite gymnast without some sort of love for the blood, sweat, and pain caused by the sport.

Still, its something that she has to remind herself of as she prepares to mount the lower uneven bar for the hundredth time that day. Practicing drills are exhausting, but necessary. After all, they led to stronger muscle memory and better routines. Better routines led to a stronger athlete. A stronger athlete equaled bigger scores.

Pushing herself up into a handstand, Kate holds the position for a couple of seconds. In a flash, she swings her legs down towards the bar until her body is bent double, hands gripping tight against the chalky rod. She shoves her body around the lower bar, legs shooting back straight up into the air for the original handstand position. One half second pause for breath and for gravity, Kate balances her body weight on her hands and wrists, spinning them a full 360 degrees while maintaining a ruler straight line for the rest of her frame.

Then she does the entire move again. And again. And again, until her arms burn and her hands can't grip the bar anymore.

That was how it went in her chosen sport. Pushing one's body to the extreme to pull off skills that looked incredibly easy to the novice's eye.

With her feet back on solid ground, Kate wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She spies her coach, Montgomery, working with a smaller gymnast on one of the balance beams. As one of the older gymnasts, Kate was able to practice drills by herself a lot of the time, having enough experience to make sure that she was going in the right direction.

Like most days, the gym was bustling as young gymnasts in leotards of every colour started to trickle in for midday practice after finishing school. Kate could remember her own days of going from practice to school to another practice, and even years removed from that life, she doesn't envy the girls trying to maintain the delicate balance. Keeping up her school work and sport even during grade school was not an easy feat. Taking a break from university was the best decision she could have made coming back to elite gymnastics.

Brushing the chalk off of her leotard, she ignores the background noise of the others, already thinking ahead to her second set of drills. Being mentally prepared was just as important as being physically capable.

The voice that speaks up behind her doesn't seem to know that.

"Kate Beckett?"

A glance across her right shoulder reveals a man not that much older than her. He's taller than she is, blue eyes wide with appreciation after apparently witnessing her earlier drills. His shoulder bag slips as he offers his hand for her to shake, and in his haste to put the strap back into place, she slides one quick hand over her scalp to tame the flyaways that are noticeable in the corners of her vision.

That move costs her valuable time in removing her grip, the leather of her hand protection for the uneven bars sticking against her skin while she works on removing it. With her right hand finally free, Kate slips it into the one that the man is still extending in her direction; realizing a second too late that it is covered in chalk.

He doesn't seem to mind, wiping the white residue on his jeans without comment.

"That was awesome!" he says with a smile, "I mean, I've seen you do that in competition videos, but it looks much more impressive in person. I think my favorite part is before though, when you jump from the low bar to the high bar...the one with the half flip?" There's a small pause where he snaps his finger in frustration, nose scrunched up while he strains for the word, "I swear I know what it's called I just can't remember it."

"A shaposh half," Kate replies, trying her best not to grin.

"Yeah, that!" he nods, those blue eyes growing wide, "I didn't introduce myself. Rick Castle, I'm a freelance journalist, but First Press has hired me to do some stories on the upcoming Olympic Trials. One of those articles is about you."

That news takes her aback. Kate can feel her eyebrows lifting in surprise, even when the rest of her grows apprehensive. The press hadn't always been her best friend. The last time Kate had faced any media scrutiny had been four years ago during the lead up to the 2012 Olympics in London, right when everything had gone wrong.

So, how do you feel having come so close and just barely missing out? What's it going to be like watching the games from home?

An ACL tear was supposed to be career ending in any sport. For her, the timing of the injury - one week before the Trials for London - had been as emotionally crushing as the injury itself. Her life goal had been shattered by over rotating her hardest vault, and she'd been forced to watch from the sidelines while her teammates competed for the spot that had been meant for her.

That punishment had paled to watching from home in a cast as Team USA took home gold. Gabby Douglas snagging the All-Around Gold Medal had just been insult to an already painful injury.

But Kate had rehabbed, put her life back together piece by piece and tried not to dwell. She'd gone to Stanford on a full ride college gymnastics scholarship and had gained a new set of teammates, but the 'what if' had never left. That constant whisper was part of the reason why she decided to defer a year of post secondary education and come back to elite training.

She knew she was capable of getting back to her previous level of competition, and Kate refused to look back on the Rio Summer Games without knowing she'd given it her all.

This year was going to be different, starting with lowering her expectations for herself. Yes, she wanted to make the Olympic team, but this time she was prepared for failure.

"I haven't even made the team yet," she mutters, buying time by unhooking the grip still fitted to her left hand. Of all people, Kate knew just how easily a dream could fall apart when it seemed like it was a certain thing. "Why would you want to do a story on someone who might not make it?"

Rick Castle just shrugs, wholly unconvinced. "Please. There's no doubt that you'll do it this time. Everyone knows how close you came to making that team for London. Besides, people want to know the story. Where is the girl who almost became New York City's pride and joy during the 2012 Olympics?"

Kate scoffs. "I'm not the person I was four years ago."

"No one is," he counters. "Four years ago I was in my junior year of college, and trying to make myself known on the poetry slam scene. My work warranted boos from the crowd instead of the glowing praise I thought I'd get. Complex emotion was just too much for the open mic crowd."

She doesn't know what to say to that. "So um, speaking of your writing," Kate begins warily, "What exactly do you want to do?"

"Well, the plan is to swing by every few weeks to check up on your progress for a series of blog posts that we're doing between editions of the magazine. Y'know, following the tales of athletes as they attempt to make their dreams come true." He shrugs. "The public loves inspirational stories. Coming back after a loss and fighting against adversity and all that."

Kate raises her eyebrows at his summary. "Is Montgomery even okay with this?" Speaking of the man, where was her coach? Swinging her head around, a quick survey of the gym found Montgomery exactly where she'd last seen him, working with another gymnast next to one of the balance beams. This time, the man noticed her look, giving a cheerful wave that Rick Castle returned eagerly. Huh. Apparently, her coach had known the reporter was coming, not that he'd bothered to warn her beforehand. Though if he had she would have likely shut down the idea before he had even stepped onto the training floor.

"He is indeed," the writer said. "His words were 'It'll be good for her.' He seems to think that your comeback is a thing that should be shared. Though I think praised is a better term. And I believe he's concerned that you are isolating yourself; at least he mentioned something like that."

Her mouth is already open to protest all of it, a muscle beginning to tick with agitation in her jaw even as he holds up both hands. Supplication and surrender. Blame him and not me. "His words, not mine."

"You don't even know how I train," Kate sighs. "And I don't want to give anyone false expectations. Bad things happen all the time and there's no guarantee that I'm even going to make the team. I was a lock to make it last time, and I didn't. No one can say it'll be different this year."

"Nothing is guaranteed in life, I get that." he replies, "Injuries happen, obstacles get in the way, so does life. That doesn't mean you should hide out until you meet your goal." Rick shrugs at her again, one hand clutching at his messenger bag, "You've accomplished something impressive already. And, besides all that, no athlete has a guarantee to compete until they touch the floor at the Olympics."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow in his direction. Being in this gym, being back in this city after two years in California was like coming home. She knew this place, she knew these people but unlike most of the others, Kate didn't mind training alone. Besides that, her added age and additional competition experience basically required her to go at most of her work solo.

"Oh, c'mon!" Rick exclaims off her long look, "It will be a great way to tell the story from your point of view, to let the world know who you really are."

"Last time I checked, I'm not the onewriting these blog posts," Kate counters, crossing her arms over her chest, one gesture shy of tapping her foot with impatience.

"What if I let you have tons of input?" he asks, flashing her another one of those charming smiles, "I won't write anything that will make you look bad. Consider it to be journalistic integrity and all that. You'll be like my muse or something."

She can't help her snort of amusement; the sound bubbling out of her before Kate has a hope of trapping it. Thankfully, the writer only grins wider at the noise. "Muse, really? If I'm going to let you do this, you have to promise never to say that again, Mr. Castle."

"Noted," he says with a wink. "But Kate? Call me Rick."

She leaves her very determined shadow by the uneven bars with a promise of coming back with a final decision. Even if Montgomery had given the okay for a magazine story, Kate is determined to talk it over with her coach. Almost as determined as Rick seems to be in writing about her.

The same gymnast is still on the balance beam with their highly untraditional coach at her side while Kate picks her way past various other tumblers and younger girls stretched and prepping for a turn on the various apparatus. Yes, Montgomery took the training of his gymnasts quite seriously, but he always found time to joke around with them and keep things lighthearted. He also encouraged his students to find interests in their lives outside of gymnastics, so that any bad luck befalling them in the sport wouldn't tear them apart mentally.

Could that have been a reason for agreeing to this reporter's request?

Ever since deferring college her junior year to return home and train for the Rio Olympics, Kate's life had become drastically limited. She had gone from a college team full of like-minded peers to an environment that was quite different from how she'd left it. Her home gym no longer had friends her age, all of them off to colleges around the country. The remaining athletes were still in their middle school and high school years and definitely not the crowd of people that she was used to hanging out with. Not only were her social options limited; they were basically nonexistent.

She woke up, she trained, she went home to sleep and started again the next day.

Kate could concede that it was possible Montgomery wanted her to broaden her horizons a little. This was probably his unconventional way to get her to converse with people outside of her immediate, incredibly small circle. But with a reporter? She wasn't so sure that was the best idea.

Striding up to him, Kate waves at the little girl on the beam who is quick to respond with her own hand wiggle and a big smile. "Coach, can I have a word, please?" she asks, one tap on Montgomery's shoulder to grab his full attention.

The look her coach gives is one of feigned innocence; as if he hadn't noticed the wide eyed reporter standing by the uneven bars, taking in everything he could see around the gym. "Sure."

He doesn't make any attempt to move, and Kate sighs, gesturing at the little one standing near them. "In private?"

Montgomery is now the one having to concede something, leading her back across the floor to his office that is teaming with everything from bags of chalk to a pile of vivid yellow water bottles. She's grateful that he closes the door behind them, and Kate plops into one of the empty chairs, "With all due respect, Coach, do you really think letting a reporter write a series on me for First Press is the best idea?"

"Press is not a bad thing, Kate. Other than your performances at Stanford, the last image most of the American public has of you is getting injured during trials. There were a lot of people rooting for you in this city, how happy do you think they're going to be if they see that you're training again for a chance at the Olympics? Even seeing an athlete attempt to reach their goals is enough for people." Montgomery smiles at her from his spot behind a desk crammed with files and DVDs of kids all clamoring for a spot in his gym. "Besides, you need something to do besides train. That's all you do now. Speaking as your coach, I'm not upset about that at all. But keep it up like this and you're going to go stir crazy in this gym."

Kate rests her chin on one hand as she looks up at Montgomery. "I don't mind training. That's sort of why I'm trying for the Olympics again."

She loved all of it. The endless hours, the repetition, the dedication one had to pour into the sport to be successful. Kate adored it. More than that, she craved it. Gymnastics made her feel safe and powerful, teaching her that she could accomplish almost anything if she was willing to put in the effort.

"This could be good for you, you know," he begins, voice soft in an attempt to soothe the unconvinced look Kate shoots at him. "And it's not going to hurt your image either. There's no reason you can't snatch back the title of 'America's Sweetheart' from Gabby Douglas." Montgomery snorts at his own joke. Even four years later, he still finds humor in the title some overzealous journalist had saddled Kate with.

"Is there an age limit for that nickname? Can you imagine America's Sweetheart in her twenties? I can't," Kate laughs, giving a derisive shake of her head at the mental image of her photo and that headline plastered together. But Montgomery had a point. It truly couldn't hurt to foster some goodwill from a public who had mostly seemed to want her to succeed. Yes, Rick was a little overexcited and pushy, but it couldn't be any worse than the gym full of young girls training beside her and idolizing her. Besides, the Olympic Trials were only six weeks away. It wasn't as if she and the reporter would be in contact with each other for very long.

Stepping out of the office a few minutes later, Kate isn't surprised that he's standing right outside with the most expectant look on his face. She can't help but laugh a little as she approaches Rick; amusement flashing in her eyes at his slow grin.

"Okay, I'm in."