Summary: "I'm just ... hanging out, y'know? I like to meet new people." After a moment's hesitation, the boy leaned over and put his hand on Gavin's knee. "How 'bout you?" he asked like there was a gun to his head. "Do you like ... meeting new people?"


Author's Note: I just wondered what might happen if certain characters from 'The Closer' and 'Major Crimes' who never met each other in cannon did in fact actually meet. Not a cross-over, exactly, because both shows occupy the same universe. The story is set about mid-way through The Closer's final season. Rating is for mentions of underage prostitution and very mild cursing.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Never was mine. Never will be mine.


"Hmph!"

Gavin dropped heavily onto the bar stool with exaggerated fatigue. "Chablis," he commanded.

It had been a crappy day. He'd kept his cool, of course, but Goldman and this wrongful death suit were really starting to irritate him. And Brenda was a dear, but defending a guilty conscience was very draining. Taking his drink, he exhaled and pushed it all from his mind. He was off the clock now and looking forward to a nice gourmet dinner with fine wine and intelligent conversation. Not in this dreadfully pedestrian dive, of course! But it was a convenient place to meet and decide which of the new "in" restaurants they wanted to try.

He sipped the surprisingly adequate Chablis and surveyed the crowded room as if he owned it. So where was she? Gavin checked his watch – exactly 8 PM. He looked over his left shoulder towards the door. Ten more minutes and the meal was on her.

"Hey," came a slightly squeaky voice from his right.

Gavin turned in his seat with his mouth already half opened, ready to cut off whatever inane chatter his would-be bar buddy had to offer. Instead, he abruptly closed his mouth in surprise. It was a kid! Pale. Cute. Badly in need of a haircut. He couldn't be more than 16.

"That must be some fake I.D. you have," Gavin quipped. Not that he was going to do anything about it. Just because he worked with cops all the time, that didn't make him intolerant of harmless pretty blond tarts in tight jeans. Gavin was a conservationist – he conserved his energy for winning cases, making money, and socializing with a small and select group of friends. The rest was just the absurd parade of life. Besides, he was off the clock.

But the boy didn't know that. His jaw tightened slightly and his eyes flashed. Then he forced a grimace that approximated a friendly smile. "Don't turn me in, okay?" His voice was high and anxious. Definitely underage. "I'm just having a coke. See?" Gavin glanced at his drink and nodded. "I'm just ... hanging out, y'know? I like to meet new people." After a moment's hesitation, he leaned over and put his hand on Gavin's knee. "How 'bout you?" he asked like there was a gun to his head. "Do you like ... meeting new people?"

Gavin glanced down at the stranger's hand, then back up to study his face. Underneath that fake grin, the kid looked scared and sounded pissed. It was fascinating, the disconnect between his inviting words, his frightened expression and his hostile tone.

"Listen, little man-child," Gavin said in the soft, patient, condescending voice he used on obstinate clients, "if you're going to hustle in here, you absolutely must develop better acting skills."

The boy withdrew his hand abruptly. "I'm not a child, I'm 18." He nervously pushed his overly long bangs off his forehead. Gavin raised his eyebrows and shot him an unspoken 'if you say so' smirk. "And I wasn't... doing th-that. I was just trying to make conversation!"

"Yes," Gavin replied dryly. "The kind that only involves body language." He drew in a big breath through his nose and exhaled loudly. God, he was old enough to be this kid's father! That was depressing. This kid was depressing. He twisted around to look again at the bar's entrance.

"Anyway, some guys like being with younger men," the boy said bitterly, the fake smile a distant memory. "It's a power trip for them or something." He slouched and stared at his drink. "Or maybe they're acting out some sick incest fantasy, fucking me instead of molesting their sons."

Gavin wasn't sure the boy was still talking to him. He ventured another look. It was impossible to say for certain, but the youth seemed too coherent and way too depressed to be high. He wasn't drinking alcohol. So probably not an addict, just homeless. A runaway, maybe. Gavin chose to ignore the pin prick of concern in his gut. Not his client, not his problem.

Gazing deeply into his cola, the boy achieved enlightenment. "Some guys are real assholes."

"When you get a little older, I think you'll find that most people are assholes. It's rooted deep in our DNA."

The kid looked unimpressed. "Is that supposed to be profound or something?"

"My, don't we have an attitude!" Privately, Gavin was amused by this hooker with a heart of coal. The kid seemed bitter and angry (not a big surprise considering what he was doing), and was playing to his strengths. It was a type of come-hither strategy, he supposed, treating potential clients like dirt. Gavin knew some guys got off on bitchy, but that wasn't his thing. Even if it had been, Gavin Q. Baker, III did not pay for sex. Brooches, yes, but not sex. Besides, there was still that distasteful odor of statutory rape clinging to the child.

Gavin sighed. "I've had a long day, my friend is offensively late, and I'm not interested in what you're offering. So I'm going to walk over there now. Bye-bye." He raised his chin and turned towards the tables behind them.

"No!" The boy grabbed his arm but it seemed to be a spontaneous gesture this time, backed by some urgency Gavin didn't understand. "I mean, I'll stop talking. We don't have to talk at all." He looked around nervously. "Just, you know," his squeaky voice dropped low, "just take me somewhere. Your car or whatever. We can be quick if you want."

Gavin looked at the reluctant prostitute's hand laying tense on his forearm. He should just get up and leave. As a general rule he wasn't given to championing lost causes, cooing over newborns or feeding stray cats. But he felt compelled to do something for the boy, to make himself feel better about the fact that he wasn't going to do anything for the boy.

So he pulled out his wallet. "Here." He extracted a fifty-dollar bill and placed it next to the hooker's drink. "Obviously I can't tell you what to do, but I suggest investing in a proper meal or two. Maybe somewhere safe to sleep. Take it. No strings, I promise."

The boy picked up the money cautiously, suspicion written all over his face. "And you don't want...?"

"No. I'm quite sure I don't want."

The boy exhaled, obviously relieved. "Thanks. That's... that's really nice of you." He looked more guilty than grateful as he slipped the bill into his skinny jeans. Then he offered his hand. "I'm Rusty."

Gavin made no move to shake it. "I'd say it was nice to meet you, Rusty, but I'm not sure that's entirely true." Giving him the fifty hadn't brought as much relief as he'd expected.

The kid – Rusty – just stared at him awkwardly and slowly lowered his arm. "I'd promise to pay you back, but ..." Rusty shrugged.

Gavin waived his hand dismissively but said nothing. What was there to say? They both knew the score. He'd been appropriately noble and now he really wanted this sad encounter over and done. So he focused on drinking his Chablis as fast as possible without seeming to be in a hurry.

But the boy persisted. "S-so, what do you do for a living?"

Gavin sighed again. This was becoming tedious. "Excuse me, why are we still conversing? I don't want your company and that's all the money I intend to give you."

The boy – Rusty – looked embarrassed. And very young. Gavin felt that pin prick again, but he'd had years of practice at ignoring it. And by and large, he was largely successful.

"Um, it's just... I haven't... just talked to somebody in a while and –"

Gavin caught a flash of long auburn hair out the corner of his eye. "Ah, my friend is here." He rose slightly faster than he needed to and flashed his own insincere smile. "Take care of yourself, Rusty."

If Rusty said anything after that, Gavin didn't hear it. He crossed the restaurant with his usual firm, confident strides, passing through the thick crowd, his mood improving with each step. By the time he reached her, the boy at the bar had already ceased to exist.

"Gavin!" she exclaimed, holding out her hand. "I am so sorry I'm late!"

Even though she'd kept him waiting, it was worth it to spend time with one of the few people he actually, genuinely liked, so he decided he wouldn't stick her with the check. He'd just exchange a few words with her about the Baylor case and write it off as a business dinner.

Ignoring her hand, he moved in for a hug. "Now that you're here, Sharon darling, all is forgiven."


Author's Note: So I hope people didn't think I made Gavin too callous. It's hard to get a fix on Gavin's personality from the show. He's only in a handful of scenes and we know absolutely nothing about his personal life. I don't think he'd be okay with the situation Rusty is in, but I also don't think he'd step in to do something about it because of his "not my client, not my problem" approach to the world.