It's - probably the first time that Pinkman has gotten in his face this way, and Finch isn't expecting it. Sure, maybe he wasn't expecting Pinkman to put up with that bullshit, and he's always hoping someone's going to call him on it, but this is different. After the shit he's been through tonight, the anger and the slap to his chest makes Finch startle badly and flinch sharply.

Reel in your whiny, self-deprecation bullshit. It bounces around in his skull and settles, echoes in that familiar nasty voice in the back of his head. Right. Right, don't let yourself get too comfortable, this isn't - it's not okay. Jesse falls silent, looking back down at the floor and not at Pinkman. Flinches awfully again when Pinkman puts the bottle down, leans away, like he's expecting something very different to happen than a bottle being set on the floor. He sucks in a quiet, shaky breath, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm quickly - curls away from the punch and Pinkman entirely. He keeps his eyes on the ground carefully and holds his mostly empty bottle tightly.

His voice is small. "Got it." Sir.