Thank Christ. Fitz rolled his eyes as he sorted out the bacon into neat strips (probably the only neat thing he'd ever done in his life, other than maintaining his cab) and readjusted the heat. "Yeah, yeah, I know. S'why I'm living in your house, eating your food, getting you drunk. Because I'm such a good friend," Fitz had no illusions. He was a terrible friend. And would never tell anyone that he loved them, even as a friend, which made him worse.