Jack wasn't quite as intent on getting completely hammered, but then again, he'd never been much of a drinker. It helped that with his ability it was hard for him to stay drunk for more than forty-five minutes or so, before his body noticed the subtle toxin of alcohol in his bloodstream and purged it. No hangovers, but no blinding benders, either.
He walked into the bar as Adam was throwing back his third shot, and looked up in time to watch him do it. It would be nice to think about more normal problems than his own for a night. He didn't intend on confessing the details of his own various issues - from the Bat to the growing urge to go back to his old way of doing things, to the restlessness of no progress made toward finding the man he'd come to Humanity to look for. For a few hours, at least, he was going to tuck those things away.
He slid in next to Adam. He was back in his regular clothes, worn dark jeans and a dark, long-sleeved shirt with a somewhat battered wool coat shrugged over it all against the Seattle cold. Autumn was well on its way into winter, and while the wind didn't bite at him the way it did most, it kept him more comfortable.
He looked at the shot glasses lined up on the bar. "You started without me," he said, ordering a whiskey for himself.