TEARS OF A CLOWN

A/N: This is a one-shot that takes place in the middle of Season 8. I just couldn't help wondering how Adam would cope if it was his father that passed away. And who he would talk to - but in the end, that was easy. In fact, to be honest, this story almost wrote itself. So, I hope you like it.

Disclaimer: Sadly, still not mine.

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A rumour was flying around the crime lab. Detective Mac Taylor was on the warpath. And the person in his sights this time was Adam.

After circling the corridors twice with no success, he frowned and changed direction. Lindsay was working in Trace, and she looked up as he entered. "Still not found him?"

"No." Mac looked around. "Shouldn't he be here?"

"He didn't break protocol," Lindsay offered hastily. "He asked me if I could run this test for him. I assumed there was somewhere else he needed to be, but I didn't ask. His business, not mine."

"And how long ago was that?"

"Ah... maybe two hours?" A dubious look crossed her face. "It could have been longer."

Mac was holding a folder in his hand. He slammed it against his leg in frustration. "I told him I needed these results an hour ago. Another lab tech passed them to me just now - said he'd asked her to do it instead. And yesterday he came in late, without an explanation. Or an apology."

"Mac, you know that's not like him." Lindsay's tone was soothing. The more irate Mac became, the worse it would be for Adam when he found him. "Maybe there's a reason."

"I'm sure there is," said Mac drily. "And if I knew where he was, I could ask him."

"Okay." She considered. "Do you know if he's still in the building? Where have you looked?"

Mac shook his head. "Everywhere he's supposed to be."

"Then what about somewhere he shouldn't be?" Lindsay glanced around for inspiration. "The locker room. The vending machines. The stairs?"

Looking at her hopeful face, Mac had to concede that Lindsay may be right. Taking a deep breath, he turned to leave.

"Mac? Don't be too hard on him," she said quietly. "Just take a look at his face before you speak."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, exactly. Call it a hunch. Will you do it?"

He folded his arms. "Lindsay, I'm not an unreasonable man."

"I know that," she grinned, with unexpected fondness. "Now, go find him."

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As it turned out, Lindsay's third guess was correct. Pushing open the door to the stairwell, Mac peered down over the handrail. Halfway between the two floors, a lonely figure was sitting hunched up, his head in his hands. Adam's hair was rumpled and his shirt was sadly creased. Mac didn't always approve of the lab tech's style, but he knew that the little man usually took pride in his appearance. Maybe Lindsay was right about his state of mind as well.

The door closed with a bang, and Adam jumped. Glancing up, he caught sight of Mac's solemn expression.

"Oh," he said dully. "Hey, boss. I was just coming."

That, in itself, was enough to set alarm bells ringing. Mac had already steeled himself for the nervous flow of words and the over-effusive apologies. "Adam. Something wrong?" Moving down the stairs towards the lab tech, he kept a surreptitious eye on the little man's face. Adam kept it lowered, but there was a definite pallor to his skin and a glimpse of deep black circles around his eyes. Now, why didn't I notice that earlier?

"What? No, I guess not. I'm fine, boss." He looked at his watch. "Oh. Crap."

"Not what you expected?" Mac asked, reaching his side. He gestured to the space beside him. "May I?"

Adam nodded, looking slightly more guilty by now. "Think I just lost a couple of hours," he admitted. "That's why you're looking for me, isn't it...?"

"It may have something to do with it." Mac placed the folder behind him. Suddenly, test results weren't the issue any more. His colleague - no, his friend was sitting all alone, with a terrible weight on his mind, and there was only one question Mac really wanted the answer to. "Adam, if something is bothering you, why didn't you come to me?"

The lab tech flushed. "It's personal," he said softly. "And..." And I didn't think that anyone had noticed.

Mac watched him calmly. "Go on," he insisted. "Talking helps."

Not me, thought Adam. Talking usually gets me into trouble. But he couldn't refuse Mac anything, and suddenly Adam found that the words came tumbling out, like a river bursting its banks.

"I had a phone call yesterday morning from my mom in Phoenix. She... I haven't really spoken to her in a while." He looked at Mac sideways. "Guess you know why that is?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued. "Anyway, she told me my dad had died. Can you believe it? I didn't even know that he was sick. Turns out he's been ill for months, and she's been looking after him. Didn't think I'd be interested in seeing him, I suppose..." He trailed into silence.

"And would you have gone?" asked Mac.

Adam lifted his tired blue eyes and stared at his boss without speaking for a moment. "That's the thing," he said at last. "I just don't know. I don't know how I feel and I don't know what to do. I didn't know what to say to her, when I knew she needed comforting. I've been wandering around in a daze ever since. And I haven't cried for him once."

There was a look of understanding upon Mac's face. He had seen the depth of Adam's emotions, and he knew the scars his past had left upon him. To be bereft of feeling when your conscience is demanding grief - no wonder the man felt stunned.

Knowing that his next words would be important to Adam, Mac weighed them carefully in his mind before speaking.

"When I came out of the corps," he began in a quiet voice, as if he were telling a story to a child, "my father was sick too. In fact, he'd been sick for a while." The sudden memory threatened to overwhelm him and he paused - but Adam's eyes were fixed upon him by now, silent and hopeful, begging him to help. He cleared his throat, and continued. "Small cell lung cancer. He spent the last eight months of his life in bed, struggling to breathe. It was... frightening to me."

"You loved your dad very much," guessed Adam. His voice was low, but he didn't turn away.

"Yes, Adam, I did."

"I... I don't know if I loved mine."

Clearly, the confession cost him. Mac shook his head. "The guilt for that lies with him, not you." He laid his hand on Adam's shoulder. "Listen. When my father died, I couldn't cry for him either. Part of me felt so sad that he had gone. But part of me, the larger part, was glad that his suffering had ended. I was happy that he had died - and so afraid that my feelings were wrong. Does that sound familiar?"

Adam nodded. "A little. I mean... I know I'm meant to be sad because he's dead. And... I'm sorry for my mother. But..." He blinked and looked down at his fingers, which had twisted into knots. "He hurt me. And I've tried to forgive him, really I have, but it's hard, Mac, and I haven't quite got there..."

Mac stood up and the little man rose to join him. "Give it time," he suggested. "Everyone grieves in their own way. Sometimes it takes you quickly. Sometimes, it surprises you years later."

"Did you ever... did you cry for your father in the end?"

The older man nodded. "I did. One night, about a month after the funeral, my mother was in the kitchen making a pot of tea. Without even thinking, she poured a third cup for my father. We looked at each other - and that was it. Afterwards, we held each other for a long time; just being quiet, and remembering..."

"I like that," said Adam, simply.

"I liked it too," said Mac.

"Perhaps I should visit my mother..."

"Perhaps you should."

Together, they moved slowly up the stairs. Mac passed through the doorway and then turned back to look at Adam. The little man had paused with his fingertips resting on the handle. He gazed at Mac in mute surprise, as a single teardrop welled up in the corner of his eye and trickled gently down his face.

Mac smiled.

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A/N: (later) Thanks for all the reviews so far, including the constructive criticism, which was very helpful. I've fixed the factual mistake (which was totally stupid because of course I know that Mac was a marine!). One comment questioned my use of the phrase 'little man', so I thought about that one carefully as I know I use it quite a bit. Adam is much the same height as Mac, of course (I looked it up, just to check), but I find that, like Greg, he often gives the impression of being smaller, even when he isn't. Does that make sense?

Second note (even later): I'm really grateful for the comments in your reviews - particular thanks to Mahala. Well explained! And I have definitely taken them on board, as I want to improve in my writing. At first, I wanted to edit this whole story and repost it, but that would be wrong - mistakes are important. So I'm leaving it as it is, and just thinking far more carefully about how I use descriptive phrases in the future. Keep the good advice coming!