Oh, well, of course she'd caught it. Newt supposes he should have known better than to hope she wouldn't, but it's not like the psych asshats at the PPDC had ever been successful in smacking a legitimate diagnosis on him, so he figures he might as well share. "Okay, so... When I got recruited to the PPDC, I had to take a psych eval, right? Whatever, fine, I already told you that I hate psychiatrists, but this team, I don't know. I think I pissed the guy in charge off or something because every time another eval came up, they tried to say I was manic-depressive, which I'm so not, okay? I'm a little hyperactive sometimes and I talk a lot and I don't sleep for days when there's stuff to get done sometimes but that doesn't make a person manic. You don't slap a label like 'manic-depressive' on someone just because a few signs are there."

He takes a deep breath, realizing that he's gone into ranting territory and picks up a dusty pair of binoculars only to put them right back down. "Anyway, they never made it past saying I was just borderline manic, so whatever. It's a thing and now you know it, not even a big deal, right?" He'd never thought so, had never sought help or anything like they'd suggested because he hadn't needed it, but he's also used to people trying to drive-by diagnose him that who don't even come close to having a psych degree. Which is totally a bullshit degree anyway. He doesn't think Kate will do that, but the fact that it's out there now is giving him just a little bit of anxiety so he gives her a big smile before zeroing in on a vintage music box.

"How 'bout I get this and then I can hang that flower girl on my wall. Maybe get some cracked porcelain dolls. Creepy enough to make the girl crawling out of the TV right at home."