Every instinct, cultivated over years and years of time and being forced to fight for pride, survival, and less, told him to deck Bones in the face. Bones wasn't a trained fighter. He'd go down easy. He'd pay for it. Bones was pushing him on purpose. Bones knew what set him off.

He felt his fist tighten and come up. He watched Bones' eyes flinch shut.

What are you doing, Jim?

He turned on his heel and walked out of the door, letting it hiss closed behind him as he walked down down the hall.

He needed to think.