The party had been going for several hours, but somehow the enjoyment had gone out of it for him some time ago. He'd been in a restless mood all evening. As his uncle's affairs went, this wasn't a particularly bad one; some visiting dignitaries from Mantua to be impressed, and if there was one thing Escalus did well it was to throw a lavish evening's entertainment together and ensure his guests would remember their visit long after they had gone. There'd been fire-eaters, jugglers, stilt walkers, a woman with three white tigers (he wasn't entirely sure he cared overmuch for that part) - it certainly rivalled the extravagant do at the Capulets' he'd gatecrashed (again) only a few nights before. He'd enjoyed the Capulet's hospitality then more than his uncle's this evening however - possibly due to the eternal amusing possibilities for twitting Tybalt under his own uncle's roof. The invitations had stopped coming after the second such incident several months ago but Mercutio had never let the lack of an invite bar him - and besides, Lady Capulet had always been most welcoming and generous with her affection.

There'd been some sort of incident involving Tybalt at the last one - not of Mercutio's instigation for once, to his own surprise; he presumed that that was why the dark-haired nephew of Lady Capulet hadn't shown up this evening even though Lord Capulet were present with his daughter Juliet. Certainly Mercutio knew Tybalt had been invited; he'd made certain of it; and besides, it was unthinkable that his precious cousin should attend an event and Tybalt's looming brooding presence not be felt. Mercutio had been looking forward to it, truth be told; he couldn't resist the chance to bait Tybalt on his own territory for once. But Tybalt had not shown his face, and Lord Capulet had made no mention of him. Juliet had only smiled weakly and shook her head before being tugged away by her hawk-eyed uncle on the one occasion he'd managed to corner her and ask.

The party was noisy, rowdy; Mercutio glanced around but couldn't see any sign of Romeo or Benvolio. He frowned and moved towards the garden where it was a little quieter. Escalus sure knew how to throw a great party but it was too loud to even hear himself think. As he made his way down the stone steps between the lines of shady plane trees he felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out.

"Please come get me."

Mercutio stared at his phone in disbelief. The text sat there, gold letters against the black background, stark and plain, no word of explanation - just the simple plea.

From Tybalt Capulet.

Of all the people he might expect a message like that from, Tybalt Capulet would have been right at the bottom of the list. Oh, he knew how Tybalt had gotten his number - he'd jokingly programmed it into the irritated Capulet's phone himself only a couple of weeks before when they'd both been at some boring trade function Mercutio's uncle had been holding that involved a lot of standing around being polite to visiting functionaries they'd never see again, a complete contrast to this evening's extravaganza; Tybalt had been dragged along by his own uncle to that one, and Mercutio had cornered him reading a book on the phone's large screen. Romeo had been out of town for a couple of days so teasing Tybalt by snatching the phone and insisting on putting his name in Tybalt's contacts had relieved his boredom for - oh, all of thirty seconds at least. Tybalt had snatched the phone back quickly enough but not before Mercutio had sent himself a text from Tybalt's phone to grab his number.

He'd enjoyed winding Tybalt up over the past couple of weeks by sending him random texts and the occasional picture. Oddly Tybalt hadn't bothered blocking his number, and some of his replies seemed to hint that maybe Tybalt even found the game mildly amusing. The last thing he'd expected was to get a text like this from him though.

He found a quiet corner and leaned against a statue in the garden behind an overhang of wisteria.

"Sure you haven't gotten the wrong number, o Prince of Cats?" His finger skimmed lightly over the touch screen and hit "send". He waited, expectantly - Tybalt was nothing if not swift in his responses, irked though they may be - but there was no reply.

Mercutio's frown deepened. He bit his lip unconsciously as he pondered. He could go back to the party, find Romeo and Benvolio and forget all about Tybalt's strange request. He could show them the text and they could all three go and take the piss out of Tybalt for whatever predicament he may have gotten himself into - he had no doubt they'd both be more than up for a little Capulet baiting.

Or... he could indulge his wild curiosity over what could possibly have possessed Tybalt to reach out to him, of all people.

His fingers skipped over the touchscreen. "Where are you?"

Once again, there was no answer. Mercutio chewed his lip thoughtfully, his curiosity now thoroughly piqued. If Tybalt were deliberately trying to arouse his interest, he'd certainly succeeded; he'd have to concede that the raven-haired Capulet was almost as good at this game as he was. Which would never do of course, and he'd have to find a way to up his game. He grinned, his earlier boredom forgotten.

His fingers skimmed over the touchscreen of his smartphone, switching on bluetooth then skimming through the app menu until he found the one he wanted. A moment later he was studying a map with a glowing blue arrow indicating the location of Tybalt's phone - and it was only two streets away. He grinned then pocketed his phone before heading towards the wall of the garden. One foot pushed off the back of an ornate bench, the other pushing off the ivy-covered wall and then his hands grasped the smooth stone coving of the wall and he was up and dropping down into the quiet street outside and away, none the wiser. He doubted anyone would miss him; Romeo and Benvolio were both more than halfway drunk when he'd last seen them an hour ago, and his uncle would be too busy to care. The night was his.

His long legs carried him swiftly through the darkened streets, and it wasn't long before he was on the road where the map had identified Tybalt's phone. His eyes scanned the deserted road then fell upon a dark figure sitting hunched over on a bench a few feet away. Mercutio bounded over triumphantly and he stood in front of the figure.

"You could have made it a challenge at least!" he taunted.

Tybalt straightened slightly, his eyes lifting slowly from the ground at his feet to stare at Mercutio's knees. His movements were slow and hesitant and his gaze seemed distant and vacant, and Mercutio wondered if he was drunk. The raven-haired Capulet frowned. "What are you doing here?" he said irritably.

"You sent me a text, remember?" said Mercutio.

"Why on earth would I have done that? Go away," said Tybalt, his frown deepening, not lifting his gaze.

Mercutio pulled out his phone, calling up the text. "'Please come get me.' - it's your number, Tybalt." He read out the number, and Tybalt's expression gave way to confusion.

"No, I didn't - I don't -" He put a hand to his forehead.

"See for yourself!" said Mercutio, thrusting the phone in Tybalt's face. Tybalt slapped his hand away clumsily, his ire growing.

"I can't!" he snapped, and then turned his face away.

"What do you mean, you can't?" exclaimed Mercutio. "Really Tybalt, you're being -" He broke off and stared at the slender man who was staring blankly, head turned a little away, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead as he swallowed hard. Something was very wrong here. He shoved the phone into his pocket then reached down and pulled Tybalt to his feet, all thoughts of teasing him forgotten for the moment.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice serious.

"Don't touch me!" snarled Tybalt as he tried to pull away. "Why should you care? Just leave me b-" He broke off with a gasp and then threw his head back as his eyes rolled back until Mercutio could barely see a sliver of white between quivering dark eyelashes. His back stiffened as he arched backwards, and he would have fallen if Mercutio had not already had an arm around his shoulder. Tybalt's arms drew up towards his chest, hands curled inwards and he made an odd clicking sound in the back of his throat before suddenly his body spasmed convulsively, his legs kicking out uncontrollably.

Mercutio swore and hastily lowered Tybalt to the ground as his body continued to jerk and tremble, his hands shaking as he clutched them to his chest. Mercutio was at a complete loss as to what to do. He'd heard rumours that the young blade of the Capulets suffered the falling sickness but he'd never seen it for himself; all he could do was kneel on the hard ground, cradling Tybalt's head loosely, uncertain if he should try to restrain him or simply watch to be certain he didn't hurt himself. He didn't appear to be conscious, which perhaps was some small mercy.

The fit lasted perhaps two minutes before Tybalt went limp, hands resting laxly upon his chest, legs sprawled upon the ground where they had fallen. The heels of his boots were scuffed where he had drummed them against the concrete in the throes of the seizure, and a little blood trickled from the corner of his slack mouth where he had evidently bitten his tongue.

Mercutio stared down at the unconscious Tybalt, more than a little shaken and unnerved. After a moment, he reached down and cautiously shook Tybalt's shoulder.

"Tybalt?"

There was no response at first; he shook Tybalt's shoulder again, then patted his cheek.

"Tybalt, can you hear me?"

Tybalt groaned and turned his face away a little from the touch, his eyelids fluttering.

"Tybalt?"

Tybalt opened his eyes slowly, blinking in confusion. He lay still for a moment then tried to lift his head. "Where... where am I? What..."

"Hush, lie still a moment," said Mercutio, his voice gentle. "You had some kind of fit."

Tybalt groaned and closed his eyes. "Not again," he sighed. After a moment he opened his eyes again and glanced round. "Where am I? How did I get here?"

"Two streets away from the palace," answered Mercutio. "I guess you walked."

"I did?" said Tybalt, confused. He stared up at Mercutio, seemingly too dazed to be irked at his presence for once. "Help me up."

Mercutio helped him sit up then steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Tybalt seemed quite unlike himself, disoriented and quiet. For once, Mercutio felt no inclination to tease or torment him; it was evident the young Capulet was not himself, and it would have been unsporting to take advantage. The evening had taken quite an unexpected turn, and whatever Mercutio may have anticipated when he vaulted the garden wall this certainly was not it.

Mercutio got to his feet, hauling Tybalt up with him, then pulled Tybalt's arm around his shoulders as Tybalt swayed but said nothing as Mercutio slipped a hand around his waist. Mercutio nodded in the direction of the palace, and Tybalt obediently stumbled forward, leaning into Mercutio as he let his head droop.

Yes, Tybalt Capulet was decidedly not himself.