Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me. No copyright infringement is intended.

The Lives We Touch

Sitting with her feet propped up on her kitchen table as she slurps on a rapidly-melting Popsicle, Anna wonders when, exactly, she had become so impulsive.

She has never been the type to do anything on a whim. As a kid, she'd had to go to every toy store in town, and ask the advice of at least a dozen people, before deciding which stuffed animals were worthy of her precious allowance money. In high school, it had taken her almost four months to decide to paint her bedroom, after looking at what must have been hundreds of paint samples in every possible light condition. Her college application process had consisted of a giant spreadsheet comparing everything from offered majors to dorm furniture, and far more pro and con lists than she really cared to admit.

So she's having a hard time explaining, even to herself, why she had stopped by her professor's office before class on Monday morning, inquiring oh-so-casually as to what he knew about the application process at NCIS. For a moment, he had only blinked at her. Then his forehead had creased in confusion. "I thought you were planning to go back to Montana, once you finished your degree."

And Anna had remembered the conversation they'd had toward the beginning of the year, when he'd asked her what her plans were, and she'd admitted that she had absolutely no idea. But then she had shaken her head. "I think I changed my mind." She hadn't explained any more than that, and he hadn't pressed her.

She almost wishes that he had. That he had told her it was a ridiculous idea. That he had said she'd have to be crazy to try. Because now, the idea won't go away. And it's getting harder and harder, trying to talk herself out of it.

Licking the last of the sticky juice off the popsicle stick, Anna flips through the brochure her professor had found for her, stuffed somewhere in the back of a cabinet with a filing system that made sense only to him. After reading it in its entirety, scanning the Frequently Asked Questions and taking in the glossy images of agents with badges, she tosses her Popsicle stick in the trash and goes over to her computer to find out more.

The website she finds details a long, complicated process. But even so, there's an idea in her head, and it won't go away. Despite everything she reads about interviews and tests, fitness evaluations and polygraphs, background checks and twenty-week training courses, she still can't quite manage to convince herself that she's being ridiculous, thinking there's any way she might be able to do this.

So she bookmarks the website, and leaves the brochure on the dining room table, and goes for a jog. If she gives it a few days, she's sure, this crazy impulse will go away.

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Two days pass, and Anna is starting to see the flaw in that logic. This idea – this crazy, out-of-nowhere, completely out-of-character idea – hasn't gone away.

She tries to tell herself that this is insane. That there's no way she should be making a career decision based on a relationship – if you could even call it that – that had consisted of a grand total of four encounters. And yet…there's another, stronger part of her that demands to know why not.

Because for years, now, she has had nothing resembling purpose in her life. She had gone to college because that was what was expected of her. She had decided to pursue a post-graduate degree in order to buy herself time, time to figure out what on earth she was going to do with herself. She had chosen criminology not because she had always dreamed of being in law enforcement, but because one of her psych classes junior year had touched on criminal profiling, and it had been the only thing she could even sort of see herself being good at.

So really, who cares what her motives are? Does it matter whether her career choice comes from a detailed, well-thought-out, five-year plan, or from a chance encounter in a coffee shop? A few years ago, Anna might have said yes. Might have said that this isn't the way it's supposed to work. Might have argued that she had never been the kind of person to just stumble into things.

But now, Anna has a hard time caring. About any of it. Because for some reason, this just feels right. And maybe it doesn't matter why. Maybe that – just that feeling – is enough.

So even as she tells herself to stop and thinkabout this, Anna knows, with a certainty she hasn't felt in a long time, that she's going to do it.

For Katie, who would be proud of her baby sister. For Kate, who will never know how big an impact four brief conversations and a silver bracelet have had on the life of a girl she hardly knew. And for herself. For a grad student from Montana, waiting for real life to start, who finally knows what she wants.

And, she promises herself, if – when – she makes it through FLETC, she'll celebrate her success not with champagne, but with a cup of coffee. With milk and sweetener.

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At the beginning of Anna's shift on Friday morning, business is even slower than usual. Apparently even in DC, a city full of people who seem to think caffeine is an acceptable substitute for actual sleep, the majority of the world has better sense than to be out of bed at four in the morning.

Mostly because she needs to be doing something, she starts rearranging the bottles of flavored syrup on the counter. She has finished organizing them by size and color, and is just about to start alphabetizing them, when at last the bells on the door begin to jingle.

As a dark-haired woman steps through the door, Anna is immediately struck by a confident, don't-mess-with-me vibe. It's not that she looks hostile, or anything. Her expression is neutral, even pleasant. But still, there's something in the way she carries herself that makes her stand out.

Anna's thoughts automatically go to her likely coffee order. Definitely something strong, she decides. Turkish coffee, maybe. Black.

As the woman approaches the counter, Anna's eyes are drawn to a Star-of David pendant, the delicate, twisted gold contrasting with her dark sweater. "Good morning!" Anna greets her, with her usual, "I swear I'm actually awake," brand of cheerfulness. "What can I get for you this morning?"

The woman eyes the pastries in the glass cabinet briefly, then evidently makes up her mind. "Just a coffee," she says, with a slight accent, one Anna can't quite identify. "With milk, and sweetener."

Anna feels her eyes widen. The corner of her mouth twitches, and she bites back a smile. Who'd have thought a simple coffee order could become so layered with meaning?

And then, the woman reaches into her pocket for her wallet, pulling back the edge of her jacket as she does so. And Anna sees the gold badge on her belt, glinting in the light from the overhead lamps. She has to turn away, under the guise of starting the woman's drink, in an effort to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter.

But, of course, she's always said:

You can tell a lot about a person by the kind of coffee she drinks.

A/N: As always, feedback is more than welcome. I'd love to hear from you!