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David Rossi leaned back in the conference room chair and looked around with satisfaction. He was a connoisseur of the finer things in life, so the room’s plush design was very much in keeping with his personal style. He had a feeling that his compatriot, however, would feel differently.
Gibbs didn’t disappoint.
“Aw, hell,” Leroy Jethro Gibbs walked through the conference room door and came to a dead stop. “This is the last time I’m letting you book a room, Rossi.”
Rossi took slow sip of his coffee and allowed the taste of the smooth Italian roast to roll over his tongue. As he did, he made a show of looking around at the room. Leather chairs. Clear glass conference table, so clean that it sparkled. The crystal chandelier might be a bit much, but it was only to be expected from a rented conference room in a five-star hotel. Neither Rossi nor Gibbs dared to have this meeting in their own offices. They both worked in government agencies and the business of this meeting was about as far from being government-related as it was possible to be.
“That’s what you said last time and yet here we are,” Rossi finally answered, letting the smugness he was feeling bleed through his tone of voice. “I’m sure we can ring the concierge and get you a jar of Sanka if you prefer instant coffee.”
Gibbs glared at him and stomped over to the coffee station. He poured himself a mug and sat down next to Rossi. Since he’d gotten there first, David had taken the liberty of taking the chair at the head of the table.
“I thought you retired,” Gibbs said after he took a gulp of coffee. If he appreciated its quality, he didn’t show it.
“The reports of my retirement are greatly exaggerated,” Rossi replied mildly. “When it came down to it, I just couldn’t.”
Gibbs grunted. “Guys like us die in the saddle.”
That wasn’t the most eloquent way of saying it, but Rossi had to agree. He’d tried retirement once, after all, and it hadn’t agreed with him.
“Heard you got married,” Gibbs looked at Rossi with a shrewd eye. “Is that exaggerated too?”
“No, that one’s true,” Rossi admitted.
Gibbs’ lips twisted in a combination of grimace and grin. “Welcome to the fourth marriage club.”
“It’s not my fourth marriage,” Rossi protested mildly. “I re-married Krystal. Only counts as three.”
“If you say so,” Gibb’s expression settled into a true grin and Rossi thought the expression erased years from Gibbs’ face.
Rossi did his best not to pout. “I do say so.”
“You sure you still want to be considered a Defender?” Gibbs was characteristically blunt. “Your wife might not appreciate it.”
“Everybody needs a hobby.” Rossi shrugged. “Besides, Krystal knew what she was in for when she married me. Being a Defender, even one not dedicated to a specific Trouble Magnet, means I won’t suffocate her by being too protective.”
Trouble Magnets were the motive for their meeting and were also the whole reason that Rossi knew Gibbs in the first place. Trouble Magnets, or TMs for short, were men that, for lack of a better word, attracted Trouble. These weren’t just men that encountered Trouble during dangerous jobs, like first responders or NCIS agents, such as Tony DiNozzo. No, Trouble Magnets attracted Trouble no matter what they were doing, where they were doing it or who they were doing it with. A Trouble Magnet might have a serial killer become obsessed with them and try to take over their life, or open an envelope and be infected with the plague, or even die and be resurrected by alien technology – more than once.
Luckily for TMs, in addition to Trouble, they also tended to attract Defenders, men dedicated to protecting them. Defenders tended to be older than the TM, most were involved in law enforcement or the military in some capacity and usually (but not always!) were in romantic relationships with their TMs.
Wanting to turn the question away from his marriage, Rossi lobbed a question of his own, one that he knew would be well-received by the other man. “How are Tony and Tali doing?”
Rossi’s question was more than well-received, it made Gibbs smile. If his grin took years off of Gibbs’ face, then his tender smile made him seem almost soft. Given Gibb’s totally deserved reputation as a hard ass, that was a major feat.
“They’re great. Tali has Tony’s energy and she got a double dose of smarts from Tony and Ziva,” Gibbs chuckled. “She keeps DiNozzo on his toes.”
With something like envy, Rossi sighed. He was loud enough to get Gibbs’ attention and the other man looked at him with question marks in his eyes.
“Does it get any easier?” Rossi asked, then clarified. “Having Tony off the team and in civilian life?”
Gibbs took a moment to answer. “If you’re asking if I miss having him on the job, then yeah. It’s like losing my right arm.” His jaw firmed with determination. “But having him off the frontline of danger? Yeah, I got used to that real quick.”
Rossi sighed and Gibbs looked at him with something unexpected in his expression. Sympathy.
“I have a couple of things you don’t,” Gibbs pointed out. “First, I know where they are and second, I see them several times every week. It’s different for you and Hotch.”
Aaron Hotchner had been a very unusual TM. Quiet, if not as stolid as he appeared, most would have considered Hotch a Defender and not a TM. Rossi knew better. There were subcategories of TMs and Hotch perfectly fit into the emotionally repressed grouping. After the murder of Hotch’s wife, Rossi had been hard-pressed to keep the younger man stable. And he’d done it, Hotch had started to lighten up, but then he’d been targeted by another serial killer and had to go into witness protection so deeply that not even Rossi knew where he was.
“He did what was best for his son,” Rossi said. “Can’t blame him for that.”
“No, you can’t,” Gibbs said quietly. “But you can still miss him.”
Rossi nodded his thanks to the other man for his understanding and then changed the subject. “Is there anything we should go over before the newbies get here?”
Being a Defender was a challenge and the Defenders had long since come together to learn from one another about how to Defend their TMs more effectively. These efforts were led by a council, of which both Gibbs and Rossi were members. In fact, they were senior members of the council since, unlike Rossi, some of the past leaders had retired for real. Jack O’Neill was out in Minnesota somewhere, fishing, while he kept an eye on Daniel Jackson. The TM had become a professor and less likely to attract Trouble then when they’d both been part of the Stargate team. Jim Ellison had inherited a boatload of money when his father died and bought an island in the pacific northwest. It was a small island to be sure, but quiet enough that his Sentinel abilities had gone mostly dormant. Surprisingly, Blair Sandburg had not gone into teaching like Daniel Jackson had. Instead, he was a successful author, even if his Sentinel writings were considered science fiction instead of science. Sandburg got a Hugo out of it, so he wasn’t complaining.
Gibbs and Rossi had been leading the council for a while and things had been running smoothly. A casual observer would think two such disparate men wouldn’t work well together, but the very differences in their natures worked to their advantage. Rossi was the well-connected one who did the planning and smoothed everything over. Gibbs was the one everyone was afraid of and could push things through out of sheer obstinance.
The purpose of the meeting at hand was introducing new Defenders to the concept of Trouble Magnets and giving them their first pointers on how to cope. Because of their protective natures, Defenders were always on the alert for a scam. That’s why both Rossi and Gibbs were at the introduction; both of them exuded airs of authority, even more than the average Defender.
“First one is Evan Buckley, a firefighter in LA,” Gibbs tossed a manila folder onto the shiny conference room table.
Rossi stifled a smile. Most Defenders would have a PowerPoint ready, but Gibbs still wasn’t on speaking terms with modern technology.
“We screwed up with this one, Rossi,” Gibbs scowled, but Rossi didn’t take it personally. Gibbs hated mistakes, especially if they were in his area of responsibility.
“Why’s that?” Rossi said, picking up the folder and quickly scanning the contents. “Never mind, I see it. How could he be under the radar for over two years with all the Trouble he’s gotten into?”
“Damned if I know, but I’m gonna find out.” Gibbs stated. The tone of his voice made it clear that whomever was responsible was going to get an earful – and maybe a kick in the ass. A head slap wasn’t good enough for this mess up.
“The other two?” Rossi asked, glad that it wasn’t him that Gibbs would be targeting.
“Another firefighter, this one from Austin, TX,” Gibbs continued as he slid another file folder to Rossi. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.”
“Says here that he likes to go by TK,” Rossi commented as he perused the information. “You should sympathize with that, Leroy Jethro.”
Gibbs snorted, but didn’t rise to the bait. “And the last one you’re familiar with because you suggested him.”
“Former FBI turned NYPD consultant,” Rossi didn’t need to open the last folder. “Malcolm Whitly; one of the brightest profilers that it’s ever been my pleasure to train.”
“Is that why he goes by Matthew Bright instead of his real last name?” Gibbs asked. “Because he’s bright?”
It was Rossi’s turn to snort. “You would change your name too, if your father was a serial killer.”
Both men were silent for a moment as they contemplated that fact. While they were sitting quietly, someone else cleared his throat.
“Excuse me, I’m Owen Strand,” an attractive, very tan man with amazing hair stood in the doorway. Two other men stood behind him. “Is this where me and these other fellas are supposed to be?” He took a deep breath. “And, more importantly, is that Italian roast that I smell?”
Rossi shot Gibbs a quick, smug smile, appreciating that Strand’s comment was proof that Rossi wasn’t the only one who appreciated good coffee.
“You are and it is,” Rossi answered concisely. “Please help yourself before you take a seat.”
The three newcomers all availed themselves of coffee, although Strand seemed to be the only one enthusiastic about it. Rossi was at the head of the table and Gibbs on one side. Rossi was amused to see that the other three all sat across from Gibbs.
“I’m SSA David Rossi from the FBI,” Rossi introduced himself. “And this is Special Agent Gibbs from NCIS.”
“Alphabet agencies,” Arroyo grumbled, looking at first Rossi and then Gibbs. “And clearly working together. I didn’t think the FBI worked well with anybody.”
“You’re thinking of the CIA,” Rossi corrected him. “They don’t play well with others.”
“Excuse me, but why are we here?” Nash asked. He was polite, but clearly confused. And worried, if the frown line on his forehead was anything to go by. “Captain Strand and I are firefighters, but I’m in California and he’s in Texas. Detective Arroyo is police, but from New York. We don’t have anything in common other than being first responders.”
“Not true,” Gibbs said bluntly. He pointed to each man in order and said, “Evan, TK, Malcom.”
Rossi stifled a smile at Gibbs using TK instead of Tyler Kennedy. An old dog, it seemed, could be taught new tricks.
As one, the three newcomers straightened in their seats and glared at Gibbs.
“What does this have to do with my kid?” Strand asked, all traces of geniality gone.
Nash’s frown deepened. “What would federal agencies want with Buck?”
Arroyo’s glare disappeared and he sighed. “What’s Bright done now?”
And this was exactly why Rossi had been included in the meeting. No one was better at settling a TM down than Gibbs, but not so much with other Defenders. Rossi sighed internally and prepared himself to explain.
“You’re here because you are father figures, or in Strand’s case, an actual father, to a young man who attracts Trouble,” Rossi said, and then went into the explanation of what Trouble Magnets and Defenders were. There was some resistance to the idea.
“No way is TK is a troublemaker,” Strand scoffed. “He’s a good kid.”
“Trouble Magnet, not troublemaker,” Rossi clarified. “And of course he’s a good kid. Nobody’s saying he’s not.” His gaze encompassed the other two men. ”All of them are good kids.”
Gibbs jumped in. “In the last nine months, TK Strand has proposed to the man he loved, only to find the bastard was cheating on him. He overdosed that same night and it’s questionable if it was an accident or not.” Strand opened his mouth to say something, but Gibbs just talked right over him. “TK moved from New York to Texas, which was your choice, Strand, and not his; almost died in a grain silo; got arrested for a bar fight; and is currently dealing with the news that his father’s battling lung cancer. And he got shot in the chest while on duty. By a child.” Gibbs stared pointedly at Strand. “Still think he’s not a Trouble Magnet?”
Strand deflated.
Rossi took up the narrative for Captain Nash, but he started out far differently than Gibbs had with the other firefighter. “We’re sorry, Captain Nash. Evan Buckley should have been identified as a Trouble Magnet far sooner than he was. We’re looking into how that happened.”
“I’m not convinced of this Trouble Magnet thing,” Nash replied. “Buck’s a first responder, close calls are part of the job.”
“His first year was rather slow, I’ll give you that,” Rossi conceded. “But even then, he was addicted to sex. . . .-“
“Self-diagnosed,” Nash interjected.
“He had sex with his therapist,” Rossi countered. Gibbs made a growling sound, so Rossi temporarily turned his attention to the other Defender. “The woman no longer works with the LAFD, that was taken care of as soon as Evan was identified as a TM.”
“She should have been behind bars,” Gibbs snarled. “Or six feet in the ground.”
Rossi nodded. “Agreed.” He turned back to Nash. “Evan also needed an emergency tracheotomy in the middle of a fancy restaurant, just from eating a piece of bread. He finally found a stable romantic relationship, only to have the woman use him and leave, ghosting him the process.”
“I . . . –“ Nash started to say.
“That’s just the first year,” Rossi wasn’t ready to let the other man speak. “The second year, Evan couch surfed while trying to get over a broken heart; dealt with the return of the sister who’d cut off contact years before; the sister was later stalked and kidnapped by her husband, leaving Evan to feel fear for her life while also feeling guilty for not protecting her better. Then he was pinned under a ladder truck in a bombing attack that was aimed at you, Captain Nash.
Nash squirmed in his seat, while the other two new Defenders looked a bit stunned.
“Let’s go on to the third year,” Rossi continued. “Evan had finally gotten his own apartment and found a new girlfriend, but she broke up with him when the ladder truck incident happened because she couldn’t handle the danger of his job. Evan experienced a lengthy rehab process involving multiple surgeries, only to develop blood clots in his lungs after working too hard to recertify for the job that was practically his whole life. He was placed on blood thinners to keep another embolism from happening and that’s when you, Captain Nash, decided that Evan wasn’t ready to come back to work, only you neglected to tell him that it was your decision.”
“Don’t forget the tsunami,” Gibbs said.
Rossi frowned at him. “I’m getting there, Gibbs.”
“What about the tsumani?” Arroyo asked. “We heard about that, even in New York.”
“A tsunami hits a major metropolitan area, the whole world knows about it,” Rossi nodded. “Evan was on the boardwalk with his best friend’s son when it hit. He saved the kid, then lost the kid and spent the whole day looking for him instead seeing to his own injuries. Evan saved a lot of people, even off duty and even on blood thinners. Then after the tsunami, Evan found out that Nash was the reason he couldn’t come back to work because Nash was worried about him.”
“Blood thinners and firefighting aren’t a good mix,” Strand defended his fellow fire captain.
“Worse than a tsunami? Because Evan managed to survive a tsunami while on blood thinners and even saved other people.” Gibbs asked. He nudged Rossi under the table with his foot. “Tell them about the lawsuit.”
Rossi upped his frown into a glare. “If you’re unhappy how I’m explaining Evan Buckley’s background, you could always do it yourself.”
“No, you’re doing okay.” Gibbs sat back in his chair with a smirk and Rossi figured he’d just been paid back for correcting Gibbs earlier on the whole TK vs Tyler Kennedy thing. There was more than one reason why the second B in Gibbs’ last name was for Bastard.
“Thank you,” Rossi stripped the sarcasm out of his voice before continuing. “In order to get his job back, Evan was forced to sue the city, the department and you. During the deposition, his friends became upset at the personal information that was released. It also became clear that you were treating Evan differently than the others who’d been hurt on the job, but when he refused the settlement money and the LAFD allowed him to come back to work, he still wasn’t completely off the hook. Your initial coldness influenced the other fire fighters. His first couple of days back on the job were pretty rough.”
“And no welcome back party,” Gibbs added. When Rossi looked at him in disbelief, he looked sheepish. “Not that a lack of a party would bother me, but TMs are sensitive about that sort of thing.”
Captain Nash was sitting ramrod straight, as though a stick actually was up his ass. “Since you know all of that about Buck, I assume you know what happened to my first wife and kids?”
“We do,” Gibbs’ voice softened. “I know what it’s like to lose a child, but overcompensating with Evan will just hurt both of you. That’s part of what the Defender program aims to teach you.”
Seeing the resistance fading in Nash’s face, Rossi turned to Gil Arroyo, but the detective put up his hands in surrender before Rossi could start speaking.
“You’re preaching to the choir; Bright’s a Trouble Magnet all right.” Arroyo stated.
Nash looked at him, frowning. “You were aware of this Trouble Magnet/Defender stuff?”
“I didn’t know there was a formal name for it, but I’ve known for a long time that something was different with Bright,” Arroyo explained. “Not bad different, but special different.”
“He was in a couple of classes that I taught in Quantico. I had my suspicions, but it can be more difficult to identify TM tendencies in those that are highly intelligent,” Rossi told the group. “Their foibles are sometimes assumed to be the social awkwardness that those with genius-level intellect can have.”
“Translation,” Gibbs said to the new Defenders. “He messed up.”
Rossi sighed, but had to admit that Gibbs was right. “I messed up.”
“So what did this Bright kid do?” Strand asked. When Nash gave him a disapproving look, he shrugged. “We heard a list of the trouble that TK and Buck got into, it’s only fair that we learn his story too.”
“It’s Trouble,” Rossi corrected him, emphasizing the word so that the T was clearly heard as upper case He glanced at Arroyo. “Do you want to tell them or do you want me to.”
“I’ve got it,” Arroyo took a deep breath. “First of all, his name isn’t actually Malcolm Bright, it’s Malcolm Whitly,”
Strand whistled low and long. “Whitly? As in Martin Whitly? The Surgeon?” When Arroyo looked at him in surprise, he shrugged. “I’m a recent transplant to Texas, originally I’m from New York City.”
“Well, I’m from Minnesota originally and I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Nash stated.
“The Surgeon is a serial killer that lives and operated in New York City,” Gibbs answered. “He had 23 known kills before he was caught.”
“And he’s Malcolm’s father,” Arroyo added. “Martin Whitly, a prominent NYC surgeon.”
“That’s a hard dad to live down,” Strand said. “I thought TK had it bad, following his old man into firefighting.”
“Malcolm didn’t follow his father,” Arroyo corrected him. “In fact, he was ten years old when he figured out what his dad was doing and turned him in. I was the police officer assigned to check it out and if Malcolm hadn’t warned me, I would have been victim #24.”
“That kind of childhood has to leave scars,” Nash commented.
Arroyo snorted. “That’s an understatement. Bright’s been in therapy since he was a kid; still insists on seeing the same therapist, even though she specializes in kids. He has night terrors so bad that he chains himself to his bed and he takes more medications than my grandmother, all to help with anxiety.”
“And that’s what makes him a Trouble Magnet?” Nash asked, still uncertain of the whole Trouble Magnet idea.
“That’s part of it,” Rossi answered. “But Malcolm’s adulthood has been what’s defined him as a Trouble Magnet.”
“The kid is the smartest person I ever met,” Arroyo continued. “And he wanted to make up for his father had done, so he joined the FBI. Became a successful profiler.”
“Profilers aren’t in the field as much as normal agents, right?” Strand asked. “That was probably the safer choice.”
“We’re in the field more than you think,” Rossi answered mildly.
“Well, Bright was in the field more than was good for him,” Arroyo stated. “He was talking a serial killer down and some local yokel sheriff shot the guy, like he was a trophy deer he could strap onto the hood of his truck. Bright got mad and hit the sheriff. I don’t know the details of other incidents, but that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The FBI cut him loose after that.”
“From what I remember, the Whitly family is old money,” Strand commented. “He probably didn’t need to work.”
Arroyo glared at him. “Yeah, right. Like a highly intelligent, educated young man in his prime wants to sit home and twiddle his fingers. I recruited him as a consultant for the NYPD.”
“And that’s when the real Trouble started.” Gibbs interjected.
It looked like Arroyo was going to protest, but instead sagged in his chair. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”
Rossi glared as his fellow Defender. “Malcolm was always going to attract Trouble, detective,” he told Arroyo gently. “At least as part of the NYPD you were there to mitigate some of it.”
“Was that it?” Strand asked. “I mean, that’s pretty bad, but was hitting a sheriff enough to get him labeled a TM?”
“Not exactly. On his first case with the NYPD, Malcolm saved a man who was strapped to bomb,” Arroyo admitted.
Nash’s face brightened. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Hediditbycuttingtheguy’shandoff,” Arroyo muttered.
Strand figured the jumble of words out first. “Did you say that he saved somebody by cutting their hand off?”
“There was no way to diffuse the bomb in time,” Arroyo came to his TM’s defense. “Stavros wouldn’t have survived the blast. Bright had to cut the hand off to get him away from the bomb.”
“Better alive with one hand than dead with two,” Gibbs pointed out.
“That’s what the judge said when Stavros sued the city,” Arroyo admitted.
“That’s. . . . that’s pretty extreme,” Nash said. “Is that the only Trouble that Malcolm’s been in?”
Arroyo shook his head. “Not by a long shot. He’s been bitten by a poisonous snake, was accidently dosed with cocaine, during a violent nightmare he almost killed the first woman he’d had sex with in years, was kidnapped by a serial killer and forced to break his own hand to escape, created a blackout across a portion of New York, jumped out of a window to save himself from a pressure-triggered bomb, and was arrested for murder.”
Sighing, Arroyo rubbed his forehead. “Not to mention that Bright found out that his father had planned on killing him as a boy. And that girlfriend, the first one he’d connected with in years? She was murdered too.”
“Wow,” Strand looked at Nash. “Makes our boys look like amateurs.”
“It’s not a competition,” Rossi addressed Strand’s statement.
“Hearing it like that,” Gibbs addressed Rossi. “Do you think we messed up again?”
Rossi frowned, not sure where his colleague was going with his statement.
“That amount of Trouble in a short amount of time?” Gibbs gestured at Arroyo with his head. “Could Malcolm Whitly be a Trouble Instigator and not a Trouble Magnet?”
“What’s the difference?” Arroyo sat up straight, eyes dark with worry.
“A Trouble Magnet is just that, they attract Trouble,” Rossi explained. “A Trouble Instigator, on the other hand, courts Trouble. Actively seeks it out.”
“Lures it in with warm milk and cookies,” Gibbs added. “And then sits back and watches the results like they were binging Game of Thrones.”
All three of the other men looked concerned, so Rossi was quick to reassure.
“Thankfully, they’re rare.” Rossi turned to Arroyo. “Does Malcolm seem to revel in the Trouble? Does he enjoy it?”
“No,” Arroyo shook his head. “Mostly he’s just confused at why his actions caused something, but if someone other than him is affected as a result, he’s upset about it.”
Rossi exchanged a knowing look with Gibbs. “I think we can safely rule out Trouble Instigator then. They usually are gleeful about the trouble they cause, not upset about it.”
“Trouble Magnet, Trouble Instigator,” Nash said, a frown on his face. “Let’s say I believe these categories are true and that Buck is a Trouble Magnet – what does that mean? How can I keep him safe?”
“That’s why Defenders banded together, to give each other tips and tricks on how to best defend our TMs,” Rossi stood up and stepped over to the table beside him. He’d brought three books with him and he handed one to each of the new Defenders, being careful to match the right book to the right man. “But meetings don’t always happen at the most convenient times, especially when you’re just starting out, so we’ve developed this manual to help.”
Strand looked at the book he’d been given with an expression of doubt. “Mine’s titled ‘Skin Care for the Cosmopolitan Man.” He looked at Nash and Arroyo. “What did you get?”
“'History of Hockey in Minnesota,'” Nash looked equally dubious.
“'NYPD Human Resources Rules and Regulations,'” Arroyo grimaced at his. “What good is this going to do?”
“Open them,” Gibbs said. He didn’t say, dummies, but Rossi knew him well enough to hear it anyway.
“Oh,” Nash’s frowned smoothed out. “'The Care and Feeding of Your Trouble Magnet.' That makes more sense.”
“TMs tend to be naturally curious,” Rossi explained. “That’s why we’ve masked your manuals to subjects that seem like something you’d be interested in, but not so interesting that your TM will want to explore it.”
“Shit will hit the fan if your TM finds the manual,” Gibbs warned them. “You want to avoid that at all costs.”
Arroyo had opened his book and was looking at the table of contents. “'Big Emotions Mean Small Appetites or How to Get Your TM to Eat When He Doesn’t Want to.'”
“'The More Confident He Seems, the Less Confident He Is,'” Strand read off.
Nash frowned as he looked at his own book. “'Preventing Hide and Seek with Injuries and Illness.'”
“Do any of those sound like topics that might be useful?” Rossi asked.
Nash nodded slowly. “With Buck it isn’t usually hiding an injury as much as it is totally ignoring it.”
“Same difference,” Gibbs retorted. “The challenge is getting them to admit they’re hurt or not feeling well. They think that’s letting us down.”
“That’s bullshit,” Arroyo exclaimed.
“No, that’s a TM for you,” Rossi corrected him. “That part of their nature is also something we need to Defend them from.”
“Wait a minute,” Strand’s tense voice cut through the conversation. He was looking at his manual in dismay. “'Don’t Weaponize Sex?' What the hell is that about?”
His comment got the other two new Defenders looking further into the Table of Contents of their own manuals and soon all three of them were glaring and him and Gibbs.
“Explain,” Nash said curtly.
Rossi refused to be ruffled. “There are many variations among the Trouble Magnet/Defender archetype. You three are a little unusual in that you’re all fathers or father-figures to your Trouble Magnet. Most are romantic couples, although some are unrequited.”
“Isn’t that problematic?” Strand asked. “Romantic relationships are hard enough without adding this Defender layer to it.”
Gibbs snorted. “When you were younger, who were you more likely to listen to, your dad or your lover?”
“Oh,” Strand blinked. “When you put it that way, makes perfect sense.”
“So why not give us a manual specific to the type of relationship we have with our TM?” Arroyo asked. He’d already picked up on the lingo.
“You’ll probably be handing it off at some point,” Rossi replied. “That’s the hope anyway.”
Nash relaxed. “Oh, so Buck will be cured or outgrow this whole Trouble Magnet thing?”
Rossi and Gibbs exchanged looks before both men busted out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Nash asked.
“Once a Trouble Magnet, always a Trouble Magnet,” Rossi told him, recovering from his laughter quicker than Gibbs. “Although it does tend to slow down a bit as they grow older.” He thought about Hotch for a moment and then temporized his answer. “Usually.”
“Besides, who said anything about curing it?” Gibbs asked with a mischievous grin. “Life would be too dull if Tony wasn’t getting into Trouble.”
Arroyo didn’t look amused. “I could use a little dull.”
“Me too,” Nash sighed. “If they’re always going to be Trouble Magnets, why did you say we’d be handing our manuals off?”
“There is a reason that father/son Defender/TM pairings are relatively rare,” Rossi explained. “The dynamic of a romantic pairing works better. Most likely a Defender will come into your TM’s life that is a match romantically and it’ll be better for your TM to be handed off to him.” Strand opened his mouth to complain, but Rossi beat him to the point. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you fully vet anyone before that action is made.”
“Like we did with you before today,” Gibbs stated. “We take the appropriateness of Defenders very seriously.”
Arroyo looked at them pointedly. “Do you ever get it wrong?”
Rossi met his gaze. “Rarely, but we’re human. It happens sometimes.”
“Murtaugh and Riggs,” Gibbs grumbled.
“That pairing failed on a number of levels,” Rossi agreed. He turned back to the new Defenders. “Don’t worry, if a romantic match comes along, you will not be expected to walk away from your TM. You’re always going to be part of his life, but your role might change a little.”
“Doesn’t sound that different than any parent with a kid that’s grown up,” Strand said. “The trick is to know when to let go.”
“It’s good you understand, because you’ll be doing it first,” Rossi told him. “A potential Defender has been identified for TK. We’re almost done vetting him.”
Stand looked thoughtful for a moment, then his expression cleared. “The Reyes boy.”
“Officer Reyes,” Gibbs emphasized the young man’s profession, “has already been a good influence on TK.”
“He has,” Strand agreed. “But TK really hasn’t known him for very long.”
Rossi made an open gesture with his hands. “We’re aware and we’re still looking into him, but it looks promising. Like we said, Defenders are often in law enforcement and that definitely is the case here. However, Officer Reyes is very close in age to TK and that can sometimes be a challenge.”
Strand sighed. “I’ll admit that it would be nice to have another pair of eyes looking after TK.”
“You,” Gibbs pointed to Nash. “Are going to be waiting for a while.”
Nash frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“He means that we thought there was a promising Defender for Evan that was of the romantic variety, but now we’re not so sure,” Rossi explained.
“Wait a minute,” Nash’s eyes widened. “Are you talking about Eddie?”
“Edmundo Diaz, yes,” Rossi confirmed. “He’s former military, thinks things through more than Evan and is usually more risk avoidant. Until recently, he seemed like an ideal choice of Defender.”
“The street fighting,” Nash said. “I’m confident, though, that activity was an aberration for Eddie; a reaction to the death of his estranged wife and Buck’s accident.”
“Not just the street fighting,” Rossi pointed out gently. “There was the well rescue that he nearly died in. There is some question on whether Eddie is a Defender – or if he might be another TM.”
“Damn Winchesters all over again,” Gibbs complained. “We need another pairing like that like we need a hole in the head.”
“Who are the Winchesters?” Nash demanded.
“A pair of brothers we’ve been watching for 15 years,” Rossi explained.
“And we still can’t figure out which one is the TM and which one is the Defender,” Gibbs continued. “If, that is, one of them is actually a Defender. And don’t get me started about the damn angel.”
The new Defenders looked totally baffled by Gibbs’ statement and Rossi sighed mentally at Gibbs for bringing the Winchesters up. The brothers were not a good subject to bring up for someone newly introduced to the Trouble Magnet idea.
“Detective Arroyo,” Rossi switched topics, hoping the others would follow. “I’m afraid that there’s no end in sight for you. A romantic Defender hasn’t shown himself for Malcolm yet.”
Arroyo nodded. “I’ve been wracking my brain pretty much this whole conversation and I hadn’t come up with any candidates either.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to Defend your TM on your own,” Rossi pointed out and then widened his gaze to take in the other two newcomers. “None of you do. It’s not all unusual to enlist helpers along the way.”
“Athena,” Nash immediately said.
Rossi nodded. If Defenders weren’t exclusively male, she would be Evan’s Defender instead of her husband.
Gibbs addressed Arroyo. “Leave Mrs. Whitly out of this.”
“She’s his mother,” Arroyo bristled. “She’s been protecting him from the fallout of his dad’s crimes even more than I have.”
“He’s in his thirties and she made him wear a seersucker suit,” Gibbs retorted. “He’s at least three decades too old or five decades too young for that. Not to mention, you’re either boinking her or you want to.”
Rossi glared at his counterpart, not that it would do any good. “What Gibbs is trying to say that a romantic relationship between a TM’s Defender and the TM’s mother comes with some side issues that make it difficult to maintain a good Defender/TM working relationship.”
“It isn’t just the colleagues in your TM’s life that can assist,” Rossi went on to explain. “But you’ll each be assigned a seasoned Defender who’s located in your general area that will be available for dispensing advice and being your mentor. And, of course, Gibbs and I are always at your disposal too. My job, in particular, allows for a lot of travel and so I can come to you if necessary.”
“Who are these Defenders?” Nash wanted to know.
“For Los Angeles, your mentor will be an NCIS agent by the name of Sam Hanna,” Rossi told him. “He’s a former Navy SEAL, so if Edmundo Diaz turns out to be a TM too, Sam has the military experience to help out there too. Since you’re potentially looking at two TMs, we have Sergeant Dan Harrelson lined up to assist. Hondo is with LAPD’s SWAT team. Ask your wife and you may find that his reputation proceeds him.”
Rossi turned to Strand. “You have a real legend mentoring you, a Texas Ranger by the name of Walker. That way, if Reyes does end up stepping in as TK’s Defender, he’ll have another law enforcement professional to help him adjust.”
“And it’s the original Walker too,” Gibbs clarified. “Not the new one. The new Walker’s not established yet, although given how much he looks like Sam Winchester, I’m not going to hold my breath that he turns out to be a Defender.
It was Arroyo’s turn, but Rossi hesitated before speaking, a fact not missed by the detective.
“What?” Arroyo asked. “What’s wrong with my mentor?”
“Nothing.” Rossi sighed. “In fact, you most likely know him already, although perhaps just by reputation. Having him as a mentor will be a real plus for you, because like you, he’s a father-type of Defender rather than a lover-type.”
“Spit it out,” Arroyo said, voice tense. Rossi’s reluctance to name his mentor had clearly raised his suspicions. “Who is he?”
“Frank Reagan.” Rossi waited for inevitable reaction. Not for who Frank Reagan was, but what he was.
“Frank Reagan?” Arroyo sputtered. “New York City Police Commissioner Frank Reagan?”
“That’s the one,” Gibbs wasn’t impressed by Arroyo's reaction.
“My boss’s boss’s boss,” Arroyo went on. “Tall guy, big mustache, looks like an older Magnum PI? That Frank Reagan?”
“Yes, but more importantly, he’s the Frank Reagan that has three children involved in the criminal justice system,” Rossi pointed out. “I think you’ll find him a good source of information.”
“Don’t worry about how high up in the chain of command he is,” Gibbs advised. “When it comes to being a Defender, you’re on a level playing field. He just has a little more experience.”
“All right,” Arroyo settled back in his chair, but he didn’t look entirely convinced.
“We’ve given you a lot of information to digest,” Rossi told the new Defenders. “Your flights home aren’t until tomorrow morning. My suggestion is to spend the afternoon perusing your manuals, to see if you have any immediate questions. Then I’d like to invite all of you out to my place for dinner, give you a chance to ask questions in a more personal venue.”
“He wants to show off his mansion,” Gibbs clarified.
Rossi shrugged, not rising to the bait. “I have a comfortable home, there’s no reason not to use it.” He shifted his focus to the other three. “I’d also highly recommend that you lean on each other for support, in addition to your mentors. You’re all going through the same adjustment at about the same time. You can learn from one another and I suggest that you take advantage of that.”
Arroyo, Nash and Strand knew a dismissal when they heard one. After setting the details on where Rossi lived and how they’d get there, they left. Rossi waited until he heard the ding of the elevator before he turned to address his colleague.
“What do you think?”
“I think Strand spends too much money on hair product,” Gibbs replied.
Rossi waited.
“They’re solid,” Gibbs gave a more serious answer. “I am worried, though.”
“About what?”
“Buckley and Whitly got into too much Trouble before we spotted them, especially Buckley. We should have identified him in Year 1, not Year 3.” Gibbs said. He looked at Rossi seriously. “Have we gotten complacent?”
“I wouldn’t call it complacent. The word I would use is distracted,” Rossi answered after thinking about for a few moments. “There have been some retirements, Tony had a child and left your team, Hotch attracted another serial killer and left my team – and that’s not even mentioning the cluster fuck that the Avengers became.” Rossi was a former Marine. He could swear with the best of them; he just chose not to most of the time.
Gibbs met his eyes. “We have to do better.”
“We will,” Rossi got up from his chair and patted Gibbs on the shoulder. “If nothing else, this new blood we’re seeing now will help keep us on our toes.”
Gibbs got up too, but before he followed Rossi towards the door, he went to the coffee maker and poured himself another cup, this time in a paper cup he could take with him. When Rossi lifted an eyebrow at him, Gibbs actually blushed. “Just one for the road.”
“If you say so,” Rossi replied, stifling a smile; apparently Gibbs hadn’t burned his taste buds beyond all possible redemption.
Rossi let Gibbs walk out first and then turned back to sweep his gaze over the conference room, remember the conversation they’d just had. The names of the individual TMs and their Defenders changed over time, but one thing was crystal clear.
There would always be Trouble Magnets and men whose privilege it was to Defend them.