Robert Cath is sweeping his room when he hears it. Thoughts skipping idly over nothing in particular, nothing he can wrack over later for meaning, or any reason why he should hear, clear as a bell, an old, familiar voice asking:

Why don't you make it sing?

* * *

As it turns out, auditory hallucinations aren't uncommon in bipolar disorder.

* * *

Easy to dismiss as a fluke after a frantic call to his doctor.

The strange cold spots; the intense feeling that someone is crashing on his couch or that he's being watched over the next few days aren't half as easy.

Watching his long-dead best friend saunter in through the front door, throw his hat onto the sofa and casually greet him like it's been eight minutes instead of years is quite another thing entirely.

* * *

He was as close as a brother to Cath. They shared rooms in college. They schemed, dreamt, joked, and lived together.

His name is Tyler Whitney and he was killed on a train while brokering an arms deal between the Germans and the Serbians three days before World War I broke out.

He's now prowling around Cath's kitchen cabinets while Cath stares on, looking for things to put in a stew he's concocting.


* * *

He's sitting on the floor; Tyler's sitting on the couch. He's resting his cheek against Tyler's knee with his head thrown back far enough to see the man he's missed for so long. "And the hemlines on women's skirts... Barely touches their knees..."

"Lord in heaven!"


* * *

He is, quite obviously, either having his first full-blown manic episode or some sort of psychotic break.

It doesn't take him long to realize he doesn't even care.


* * *

He works all day Monday, but his heart's obviously not in it. He keeps his head down and only speaks when he's spoken to, and shortly at that.

Come four o'clock, when all his clients' houses are clean as whistles, he hurries back home.

* * *

They're halfway through a conversation on the nature of radio waves when he just happens to glance over at that computer thing they gave him.

He might have missed his session with his psychiatrist.

Ask him if he cares enough to even check the time.

* * *

There are pills in the bathroom cabinet.

There's Tyler in the living room, stretched out on the loveseat, waiting.

He hasn't told Tyler about them yet.

He wonders if he should bother with them at all at this point.

Randomly, there are points scattered throughout his day--during breakfast, at work, at home, when Tyler's just told a joke that should have him laughing his head off--where it's nearly impossible not to break down and cry.

* * *

He still hasn't told Tyler about the pills, or the hospital, or what it meant. Silly, really, considering he's all in Cath's head anyway.

* * *

"It's called a 'computer,' I think. Except Renfield and Scotty call it a PADD. When they're not calling it a computer. It's all very confusing."

"Oh? And what's that when it's at home?" Tyler runs his hands over the confusing device. It's such a strange incongruence.

"I don't know. No one's ever really been able to explain it." Cath taps the screen. "It functions as a telephone; I know that much. One where you can see the person at the other end, as well."

"Oh...what does it hook into?"

"That's the strange part. It doesn't."

"Oh..." It's odd, the way Tyler's running all over it, turning it about in his hands. Almost lecherous, in a way. "Can we call someone? Try it out?"

He hesitates. "Maybe later, all right?"

Tyler looks disappointed, but he puts it aside. "All right."

* * *

He figures it's only a matter of time, at this point, before he's taken back to the hospital. But he'll do what he can to delay it as long as possible.

* * *

A friend calls out to him and waves as he's heading homeward for the evening. He puts his head down and pretends he doesn't see her.

* * *

He still tries to practice his mindfulness exercises, if nothing else. And, in what he considered a moment of weakness when he was completely alone, he did take his pills last night.

* * *

Tyler's playing solitaire when he gets home. He asks him where he got the cards, but Tyler just smiles mysteriously--and almost smugly.

* * *

He tries to remember the last time he saw Holly. One week? Two, at most?

* * *

He has the urge to go all-out for dinner. Like he hasn't in ages. Does the best he can with the little he's got.

Tyler helps--which in this case involves leaning up against the counter, cracking wise. Cath wonders if he can manipulate any of the food at all, but it seems rude to ask.

He ends up with some sort of steak and chip thing, with carrots on the side.

He's almost surprised when Tyler actually steals some.

* * *

"You know I'm crazy, right?"

"No you're not. C'mere."

"No, really. V'got pills and a diagnosis and everything."

"You do?"

"Yup. Manic-depressive. And they want me to take lithium salts to cure it."

"Doesn't sound like crazy to me."

A pause, while Cath buries into Tyler's shoulder.

"I hurt someone. A couple someones. And myself. All because I can't control what I'm feeling."

"I'm sure that's..." Tyler trails off as Cath starts sobbing uncontrollably. So he just sits and holds him, silently rubbing his back, while he lets it all out.

"...Mike. His name's Mike."

"Ahhh. Thought I recognized that smile. He treat you well, or do I have to go all big brother on him?"

Cath splutters.

"What?"

"You knew?"

"Cath, boy, you're mooning over a photograph. You ain't exactly subtle when you fall in love."

"You knew?! I didn't--I didn't know. Not for the longest time."

"Never were subtle, as I recall. Remember Robert Sylvester?"

"What? No! I never--oh my God, really? That was--"

"As big a crush as I'd ever seen you have, Robert-boy."

"Oh my God."

* * *

"They've got a name for it now. Bisexual. Means I'm interested in both."

It's easy to fall back into routine. The back and forth banter; the division of chores; the slow, easy rhythm of their lives. Right now, Cath's filling up the sink and Tyler's pulling together all the dirty dishes. (Tyler doesn't seem to need to eat, but he likes to.)

"Huh. Seems like a good workhorse of a term. Fits you all right, does it?" Tyler sets the pile of china down on the side of the sink and studies him.

"Yeah. Think so. Feels right."

"Good. I'm glad for you."

"Thanks." Cath gives him a blinding, happy smile as he grabs a plate. "And you never...?"

"Nope. Just ladies for me, I'm afraid." Grins back, and leans against the edge of the cabinets, completely comfortable.

"You're missing out."

"Pssht."

Cath snorts.

"You never said, though. Is he treating you well?"

"Oh...we're not...together."

"Oh."

"Not anymore."

Tyler reaches out an arm and snags him around the shoulder. "I'm sorry." He squeezes, then gestures outward. "But don't worry, there's plenty 'f other fish in the sea. We'll find you someone."

"Tyler!"

"What? I know it's pretty dead out here in the boondocks, but there's got to be a couple good nightclubs in the city proper..."

"Tyler!"

"What?"

* * *

"Pools of sorrow, waves of joy are drifting through my opened mind, possessing and caressing me..."

Now they're sitting on the living room floor, the PADD between them with John Lennon's soft voice flowing out of it.

"I like it."

Cath ducks a grin. "Me too."

"And you're going to sing this? In front of a room full of people?"

"Not...exactly. Sing with my hands. Rhy'dinian Sign Language. RSL. ...Look." Cath shuts his eyes in concentration, then opens them and begins signing to the beat of the music. Hesitantly; he's not totally sure of his translation yet and his movements aren't completely sure. But there's a strange flowing grace to it that's sort of hypnotizing.

"Huh. Wow."

Cath grins sheepishly. "I need a lot of practice, though."

"No, it's good! Really something else. I like it."

And Tyler decides, right then and there, no matter what happens to him, no matter when or how or if he's supposed to go back, he's sticking around for that performance. No matter what.

* * *

"That's Renfield."

"Uh-huh."

"Nice fellow. Extremely nice fellow. Don't think there's a mean bone in his body. Tough, though. We were stranded in the wilderness together for months on end, Mike and Renfield (and later Holly and Artemis) and I, and I don't think there's anyone I'd rather have at my back."

"Huh. I like him already. Sounds like there's quite a story there..."

"Oh, there is. I'll tell it to you later, okay?"

"I'll hold you to it!"

"Oh, don't worry." Cath pauses, and then taps the screen a couple of times, accidentally bringing up a couple of menus and making him swear until he can figure out how to dismiss them without hurting anything. Looks up again after he's done. "He's also Mike's lover."

"Oh. Should I not like him...?"

"No! No no no no no! He's still a friend. It's just...awkward, sometimes."

Tyler smiles sadly and claps him on the shoulder again. "Nightclub. You n' me. Sometime soon."

"Er...and this is Artemis."

"Nice kid, looks like."

"He is. Troubled, poor boy." Brushes the screen again with his thumb-- "God dammit!" And then he has to pick up the PADD and poke at it, frowning, trying to undo whatever it is he's done.

"Is he, now?"

"Mmm. We're seeing the same psychiatrist." Still poking frustratedly at the screen.

"Poor thing. Are you close?"

"He's like a son to me." Distractedly. Then Cath stops, looks up, and says with his full attention, "Don't tell him I said that."

Tyler looks back at him, mix of wistful emotions on his face. What finally comes out of his mouth, jokingly, is, "You're old."

The PADD gets flung in Tyler's vague direction; not intended to hit. He ducks easily, laughing.