Fine, fine, definitely. Yeah, I gotta life an' a party to get back to soon anyway, what with the not bein' dead an' all.

[As a testament to how much Skye has changed, he drops his cigarette into a room-conjured ashtray to dart forward and kiss Harvestman on the cheek, grinning, before he returns to lounging and picks up the cancer stick.]

Take care, an' all that shit.