[Jim doesn't like to think of himself as a paranoid person but he's getting that way in his old age, because twenty five is ancient, and he blames Bones for all of it, really. He wasn't like this before he met that cranky bastard.

He suspiciously eyes the Marquis for a few moments before moving to take a seat, slouching in the chair in only a way that he can manage. Confident, completely at ease, comfortable in his position of power, like he owns the chair and anyone is stupid for question that.]

"So what'd you want to talk about?"