[personal profile] singerdiva01
Title: A Doctor & A Gentleman
Word Count: 2200
Rating: Teen
Characters: Dr. Morales, Rusty Beck, Sharon Raydor, Andy Flynn
Relationships: Hints of Shandy
Summary: Set just after Rusty comes out to the squad in 3x05. He visits the morgue to try one more time to surprise someone with his coming out. Dr. Morales finds himself thinking on the many different definitions of family. (Hints of Shandy, Raydor, Morales friendship, and Raydor's bisexual identity.)
A/N: Was inspired by the return of canon tonight to post my first Major Crimes fic. It goes back a bit and is mostly fluff bordering on crack but I also indulged my desire to tease out Raydor and Morales' friendship, Sharon's bisexual identity, and the camaraderie that might exist between queer identified folks in and associated with the LAPD.

“I’m not really in the loop on everything but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be in the morgue, Mr. Beck.”

Morales tried to look stern but he had to look back down at the sample he was currently studying not to be caught grinning. It was true he wasn’t in the loop on everything but the youth branch of the LAPD and Co. gay caucus had an active grapevine and he was entrenched enough to have it on good authority Raydor’s pseudo son awkwardly came out to the whole Major Crimes squad not thirty minutes ago.

“Yeah.” Rusty shuffled his feet hesitantly but, Morales noted, barely spared a glance at the half dissected body splayed on the center examining table. “Sharon got caught up with something. Anyway. You’re, um, well, like, I don’t wanna to make assumptions but…”

Morales rolled his eyes and fixed the teenager with an exasperated look.

“Am I a fairy? A queen? The word’s gay, Rusty,” he said with a smirk, “you should probably get used to saying it out loud.”

The boy’s cheeks went red and Morales softened despite himself. He was this kid, in a way, ages ago, and the bravado he’d developed when he moved to LA might have helped him then but he’d matured enough to recognize biting sarcasm wasn’t what this lost, queer little soul came all the way down to his scary lair to find.

“I’m sorry, Rusty.” He put down the slide he was holding and took off his gloves. He hadn’t meant for the action to be menacing but he caught the kid’s wince anyway. “I am gay and you can ask me anything you want. Within reason.” He glared when the kid opened his mouth immediately, a question dancing in his eyes. “No names, though.”

Rusty chuckled nervously. “Yeah. So, I’m gay,” he muttered. “I’m gay too, I mean.” His head was tucked so far down into his neck the doctor was surprised he was able to understand him at all.

Morales tried to look surprised but he knew he failed when Rusty slapped his hand to his forehead dramatically and leaned against the wall.

“Really? This is news to really no one?” He heaved a huge sigh. “I mean, I guess everyone knew from the, well, what I was doing in the park but…” He trailed off, a pained look on his face.

Morales was only in his forties -- ok, almost fifty but no one except his dear, departed mother knew that for sure and not even the finest CIA interrogation techniques would ever be able to get that truth out of him -- but suddenly he felt older than a grandaddy in a twink dive. He said a quick, silent prayer he didn’t fuck up whatever the gay God was asking him to do on this day.

“It was Rios,” he blurted out after a long moment. He cringed when Rusty raised a menacing eyebrow. The kid might not have been blood related to Raydor but at that moment he wore her patented death stare like a birthright.

“What does Creepy Emma have to do with this?” Rusty’s sneaker hit the wall behind him and his blond curls bounced on impact. “She’s, like, one of the worst people I’ve ever met. Ever. And trust me, man, I’ve known some pretty shitty human specimens in my life.”

Morales smiled and shook his head. Inwardly he thanked Saint Aelred for leading him down this particular line of conversation rather than any other he might have accidentally stumbled upon.

“No, no. It’s more that she’s one of the hottest pieces of straight bait around here and you never even looked. Not once.”

Rusty paused, seeming to consider that.

“Straight bait?”

Morales laughed at the look of consternation on Rusty’s face. His innocence was endearing, really.

“Yeah, hot woman, legs, boobs, the designer wardrobe, the heels. If you weren’t one of us, you’d be thinking she was the shit rather than a shit specimen, as you say.”

Rusty nodded slowly but his face was contorted into a pained grimace. Morales took it as a great sign for the tribe the kid was disgusted by the mere thought.

“Ah, ok,” Rusty said hesitantly. He tapped his fingers against the wall a few more times and bounced on his heels. “Well, Dr. Morales, thanks for this.” He waved his hand grandly around the morgue like he’d just been privy to a briefing. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

Morales nodded a goodbye at the boy’s back and grinned. He’d been a gay Good Samaritan today and he was proud of himself. He’d just started humming “I’m Coming Out” under his breath when he heard a commotion in the hall. Sharon Raydor’s familiar, strangely punctuated alto drifted under the door. The former Ice Queen of FID did not sound happy.

“What are you doing in the morgue, Rusty?”

Morales rolled his eyes and put down the fresh set of gloves he was about to put on. It seemed the heavens wanted a lot from him this particular Wednesday.

He walked out the door and was greeted by the sight of not only the Wicked Witch and her kinda kid but also Major Crimes’ resident hangdog lieutenant. Andy Flynn wasn’t touching the Captain but looked like he might have dared had he not been too busy staring, none so discreetly, at her shapely legs.

Straight men and pissed off women. He’d never understand that. Morales filed away another lesson for young Rusty and stepped forward to selflessly intervene on behalf of the LAPD’s newest gay adoptee.

Before Raydor could register the doctor’s entrance, her phone trilled loudly. Morales bit back a groan as he watched the gray haired lieutenant help her retrieve it from her pocket and then lead her by the forearm to the bench. With just a few sharp words it was clear whomever was on the other end of that call probably wasn’t feeling very blessed right then.

Morales moved further into his waiting room and caught Rusty’s eye. The kid looked at him like he’d just been spared a meeting with the Inquisition. He rolled his eyes and his neck toward his foster mom and her devoted sentry and used her distraction as an excuse to make his way over.

“We, um, we don’t do that, right?”

The doctor chuckled and ran through appropriate, offensive, and downright fireable responses in his head. Flynn chose the moment he’d settled on one in the middle to openly leer down the slit in the distracted Captain’s blouse.

“Remember what I said about straight bait, Rusty?”

The boy looked at him first with a confused expression but Buzz hadn’t been lying. The little padawan was smart. Rusty’s eyes widened and then clenched shut. It was the first time Morales thought someone might puke in or near his lair without a rotting corpse to blame.

“I think this is the part you race your little butt back upstairs, Mr. Beck.” He shot the teen an exaggerated wink. “You know you’re not supposed to be in the morgue.”

Rusty chanced a weary look at Raydor and nodded hastily. He still looked a little green around the gills to Morales’ eyes but none of that impeded his quick trot to the elevator. He offered an awkward little wave at the wall just before the doors shut and Morales wondered if the kid knew how many of his foster mother’s mannerisms he’d adopted.

The medical examiner turned his attention back to the LAPD officers littering his hallway. Raydor had handed her phone to Flynn and was silently motioning him in the direction Rusty had just fled. Only after the elevator dinged and the older man entered with a pitiful, longing glance back did Morales chance an amused look at one of his first queer friends in the force.

“Jesus, Shar, am I witnessing the stone cold dyke going soft with age?”

“How did you corrupt Rusty tonight, you dirty old man?”

Morales barely understood the captain’s words that perfectly overlapped his own but since it seemed to be some semblance of the question he’d been expecting, he didn’t bother repeating himself or asking for clarification.

Sharon started giggling first, as usual, but Morales’ hooting laughter wasn’t far behind. Their bodies came together like the good friends they were and they both had tears in their eyes by the time the humor had run its’ course.

Sharon pushed them back to the bench together and clapped her hand on the younger man’s knee. Her hard, practiced mask had been replaced by a motherly expression, one he’d been privileged to see only a few times, in the office at least, over the years.

“Really, why did Rusty come down here?” She looked at the elevator like the subject of their conversation might jump out at any moment. Her voice pitched down to tenor range. “He came out to my team today. Sorta.”

Morales nodded and patted her arm reassuringly. “I know, I’d heard before he got here.” Her raised eyebrow reminded him of her son this time rather than the other way around. He liked that and thought she would too. “Buzz texted. And I think Rusty wanted to try one more time to see if he could surprise anyone with his breaking news.”

Sharon hummed and tilted her head. It worked on him the same way he’d seen it work on suspects.

“I didn’t pretend to be surprised because who has that ever helped?” He waited for Sharon’s soft smile of agreement before continuing. “But I did reassure him it was mostly because none of us had ever seen him bite on any of the straight bait around here.”

Sharon’s eyes widened and Morales felt her body tense against his shoulder. He raised a finger to stop her impending protest. “He thinks we all know because of what he had to do. You know, before. I wanted to make it clear that wasn’t it. At all.”

He’d been the recipient of a few hugs from the infamously tough captain and the one he received was no less warm and long than the ones he’d come to expect. When she finally let go -- he’d long ago learned Sharon Raydor must go first, always -- he knew she’d moved on to the next order of business. She nodded at him to go ahead and give her his worst.

“Andy Flynn, Shar? Really?”

Morales was surprised to see a blush creeping up his friend’s neck. She looked away, training her focus on the metal hanger of bodies awaiting his services.

“I don’t know. Since when do I have to explain my taste in men to you, Doctor?” She was glaring again but there was also a smile pulling at her lips. “Maybe I needed a friend a little too much. Or maybe I am just getting soft.”

Morales let out a chuckle. He doubted anyone on Raydor’s team would agree with that analysis.

“Oh, it’s not necessarily a bad choice. You bisexuals are just so damn frustrating, you know? Never can make up your damn minds.”

Raydor’s look turned fierce again and she punched him in the shoulder, none too lightly. She was laughing, though, when she spoke.

“My friends in FID know your IA people too, you know. Maybe some sensitivity classes would do you some good.”

He raised his hands in submission and stood, motioning Raydor toward the autopsy room. She had a hungry kid and lieutenant waiting somewhere and his boyfriend was probably wondering if it was gonna be another lonely Lean Cuisine night.

“Alright, fine. Let’s wrap this up quick. Not even your case yet, Captain.”

She nodded, all business once more. But when she put her hand on his shoulder, Morales allowed himself a moment of nostalgia for that time in his life he’d first learned ‘family’ could mean more than what showed on a DNA test.

Maybe, when the time was right, he’d add Rusty Beck to the infamous LA crime stoppers gay boy texting chain. Long after he’d left the Captain’s custody, of course, and not before he could convince the guys they had to change the name.

After all, not all the gay karma points in the world would be able to save him if he had to explain to Darth Raydor why he’d introduced her son not only to the term ‘straight bait’ but into a group that called themselves the ‘Backdoor Bandits.’
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