Protection like what, like an extra t-shirt to protect your scrawny ass if somethin' blows up in there? [ Jesse sneers the line out, slapping his hand off the box with a clench of his teeth and his hands in the air, all submissive and placating. Fine. ]

[ He punches Finch's arm instead, mildly offended by the implication that he'd use the guy as some kind of meat shield. Come back? Whatever. If they're blowing up, they're blowing up together. ] Like hell. I ain't some little bitch. [ As he leans over Finch's shoulder to put his face first to the grindstone and maybe catch a glimpse of what's inside. ]