Fuck-ups, sure. Because Jesse knows, consciously, that Finch has plenty, but who the fuck doesn't? He's gotten some of them aired to him personally - right off the bat, actually, it was hard to miss the weight Finch carried when he'd gotten to know him as well as he had in so short a time. They'd both gone through plenty and he knows that what he knows is hardly what Samuel is getting at here, it's not even anything to which he's been held privy. And maybe that's what's getting Jesse riled.

He doesn't know what Finch was like as a kid, doesn't know his shortcomings and whatever it is that Samuel's been seeing in him, fine. But he thinks, pretty confidently, that he knows Finch. He knows what the guy's like and he, yeah, sometimes, he sees an awful lot of similarities that lay there between the two of them. Which adds a whole new defensive edge, sure, but that's not all.

There's this protective thing there, he thinks. And maybe it's under the conditions that they met in the first place, that night in the lighthouse, and maybe it's their friendship or maybe it's just the fact that Finch is standing before him as a teenager right now, a kid, just a kid and he's being knocked around by this guy twice his size, his own fucking father. Jesse watches Samuel pour himself a drink and he watches Finch smudge blood on his face and his expression falls into something uncharacteristically calmed, more mild than it was before.

Actually, he laughs a little. He looks to the side and he cracks into a grin and nods his head along to what's being said and wanders a step or two towards Samuel, glass crunching under his sneakers. "Girls and faggots," he repeats with a smirk like it's the best joke he's heard on a long time, and he looks at Finch when he says it, pointedly.

Of course, that's just before he draws back his fist and punches Samuel right in the face.