Whatever you wanted to call it, fate, destiny, a horse...
Kate Callahan didn't believe in any of it.
But she did believe in choices.
As she walked to the elevator that fateful Autumn day, smoothing down her windblown hair, she could clearly see and remember every choice that had brought her to this moment.
First, when she was seventeen, the small town she'd grown up in, Moon Lake, had been rocked on its foundations when a young girl had been found murdered; her body left on the steps of Town Hall.
Claire Thomas. Kate could remember her like it was yesterday. Cropped red hair, mysterious gray eyes, and pale skin that defied all of her struggles to tan. She had been a grade below Kate, and was remembered for how nice she was, but also how daring. She was afraid of nothing and nobody. No person could make her stand down, or defeat the woman that was already apparent in the body of sixteen year old.
Until that fateful day, when her mangled body was found by Janitor Vance.
Kate had mourned with the rest of the town, had taken a poorly baked lemon pie over to Claire's mother.
She had gone to the funeral, to each memorial service as they had occurred.
But the question she asked herself, in the dark of night when she wondered if it would happen again, wasn't how could anyone do such a thing...
It was why. What force on earth could possibly drive a human being to such a despicable crime?
It had shaken her when, in college, she realized that the force was already inside everyone. It was the human mind.
Second, when choosing classes Freshman year, she realized she needed a few fillers, and had picked Psychology at random. A senior friend had assured her that it was a 'cake' class, and she'd be able to use the unfortunate 8:00 a.m. time slot to nap.
Kate had fully planned to do just that, but from the moment she entered that class room, she had never felt more alive.
Her teacher, a vibrant woman in her fifties, had been utterly fascinating. Even more fascinating was the subject she taught.
Kate had found herself immersed in learning the intricacies of the human mind. She was getting answers about Claire's murder. She was learning a lot.
Third, in an occurrence that was unfortunately not uncommon in the large student body, her roommate was raped.
Kate had come back to their room Sophomore year, and found Xana huddled on the floor, clutching her torn clothes and weeping.
It had taken Kate three days to convince Xana to report the crime, and another long month for the Campus Police to take action.
In the Police headquarters, six weeks later, Kate had gone with Xana to identify her accuser. She had decided to enter the police force when she saw the callous way the male officers around them treated Xana.
On her way to the restroom, she had heard one comment to his friend, "I bet she was asking for it."
Her cheeks had burned and she'd flown at him, giving him a verbal breakdown of the statistics of rape.
"It's guys like you that keep women like Xana afraid of men," she had finished with. "Disgusting jerks who think that sexual pleasure is the only component to a relationship."
Fourth, her first year in police academy, 9/11 had happened.
She had watched the television footage with horror, but not even an inkling that her sister and brother-in-law had been in the Twin Towers. They lived in New Jersey, they had no reason to be there.
Her heart had frozen, when later that day, her mother had called to tell her that they had been meeting friends there, and had not gotten out in time.
She had gone to every single 9/11 memorial service they had. She had shaken President Bush's hand, when it was later realized that Abby had saved a child's life.
She had worn red, white or blue every day for a year following it.
And one day, her class went on a trip to the FBI headquarters in Quantico.
Fifth, she'd applied to the FBI academy as soon as she got home.
She studied until her brain literally hurt, and she couldn't even count her late night sessions.
When she was accepted, she had gotten so smashed, she'd had a hangover for days.
And she hadn't touched alcohol since.
Her first class had been with Jason Gideon, one of the most amazing men she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. He was describing the Footpath Killer, when a tall, thin, caramel haired...student? teacher's aide?...walked in and pulled Agent Gideon from the class.
That had been her first and last encounter with Jason Gideon. He was rejoining the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and Vera Deniston was taking over his classes.
Well.
Though Kate had always wanted to study the human mind, it was now that she dared to pinpoint the BAU as her destination.
But first...
The BAU was so hard to get into.
Sixth, a professor had approached her about undercover work.
The rest, as they say, is history.
And choices.
Kate stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. She was mentally going over the little speech she planned to give Agent Hotchner when a briefcase was suddenly, startlingly, crammed in between the elevator doors.
"Sorry," the man to whom the briefcase belonged said, breathless. "Hi."
"Morning," she said, getting over her surprise. "Which floor?"
"Sixth, pl—mm, you too," he'd replied. She didn't recognize him as Gideon's aide, but he recognized her.
"Karaoke, at the Benjamin," he suddenly said, interrupting her mental speech for the second time, and startling her almost more than he had when he'd stopped the elevator.
"Excuse me?"
"You were singing karaoke at the Benjamin, the night it closed," he answered, explaining himself.
What? "I...was. Good memory. Billy Joel might have died a little that night," she joked, suddenly remembering him as one of the tipsy group with Agent Rossi.
"Sadly, he was not the only one," he replied. "He got us started, but we went on to do a six song set."
"The eighties took a fatal hit if I remember correctly," she said.
As an awkward silence fell over them, she tried to get back into remembering her speech, but felt a sudden, desperate urge to keep the conversation going.
"Have you seen the place that took over? It's, like, techno and twerking."
"Uh, that's not really my crowd."
"What?" Kate asked. "You don't twerk?"
She'd gone too far. The awkward look on his face said it all, as he struggled to find an adequate answer to her question.
"I was just—I was kidding," she said. "I don't twerk."
She tried to laugh it off, and he smiled, but the camaraderie was not to be regained.
Kate left the elevator with the distinct impression that he was staring.
And she wanted to return the favor and stare back.
Why he'd been late and bumped into her, who knew.
She had overslept because of her late night the day before, finally catching the sleazeball who'd taken Emma Martin's picture.
Maybe his alarm clock had broken.
So, she still didn't believe in whatever you wanted to call it. Fate, destiny, a horse.
But from the moment she met Spencer Reid, she started to believe in coincidence.