Ah, home sweet home. Kind of. Jack's moved around quite a bit recently, and really hasn't felt at home anywhere. The bachelor pad is no different, but at least it's miles away from the Tower, and the cause of the frustration which is rattling around inside his head as he enters the living room. Sand caught up with him as he was about to blast back to Opal, and convinced him to come hand at the pad for a little while, if nothing else but to cool down before heading back. Jack acquiesed, begrudgingly. The drive back wasn't necessarily unpleasant, but Jack was sulky, saying little, and answering any questions posed to him in an attempt to talk with one syllable answers. That might continue, unless Sand can snap him out of it. He stomps over to the couch, tosses the Rod down, and collapses, holding his head. "This is exactly what I didn't need." The Starman still looks thoroughly miffed. Eyeing Jack, locking the door behind him, the only Sandman who counts heads over to - where else? - the 'bar' that's sort've grown up on the counter between the fridge and the stove. "Well, sorry it's not the Waldorf-Astoria, but you know me and fundage, brah," he says lightly, deliberately misinterpreting the comment. He begins pulling bottles from the lower cabinet and takes out a couple of lager glasses, as he hasn't anything better at the moment. "It all goes into chemicals, video rentals, equipment, books, and my gym membership." He pauses, looking at the array before him. "Oh yeah, and having the best-fucking-stocked bar on the Lower East Side. What's your poison?" Still holding his head, Jack let's the comment go, not attempting to correct his friend. Ah, alcohol. It's caused him much trouble before, and honestly? Since Donna's been around he hasn't touched a drop. Hasn't needed to...but something about tonight really calls for a celebration. Or, maybe the reverse of that. "Gimme Whisky. Straight." Damn. That's hardcore. It's said you can judge a man's mood by his drink, and Jack's feeling anything but Martini-like tonight. Standing up, Jack walks over to the kitchen. "I should go back, right? I should go back...and clean his clock." Nodding agreeably, Sandy gets out a shot glass - if only so he can keep track of exactly how much of the 'hardcore shit' is going into Jack's system. Ah-haha, and it's the good stuff, too - Jameson's. He holds the shot up to his friend, keeping a solid grip on the bottle, and leans against the counter. "You should," he says, watching Jack. He continues without even the tiniest hint of irony, completely deadpan, "Absolutely. Even though Donna can beat all three of us senseless, blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back, she's still just a girl and can't be trusted to make emotional decisions. Especially not about Roy Harper, who did her wrong and also managed to completely fuck up his own life. Especially when she also has a kid to worry about the welfare of, and most importantly, when she has a Big Strong Man to take care of her." He pauses. "You didn't want a chaser, did you?" Jack slams back the drink and gags in response. Ow. Hurts so good. "/NO/" His voice is hoarse as the liquid fire scours his insides, but Jack just grits his teeth and bears it, holding out the shotglass to Sand. "Another." He pounds on his chest a few times and continues. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm not supposed to buy into this macho horseshit, but I can't believe he's back, and he's even standing there with her...we /just/ talked about this the other night. I thought it was settled...and /Wally/...jeezus. I just feel so damn betrayed. They need to show him to the door, and be done with him. The guy's a total loser...I have no idea why they keep putting up with him. Unless..." Jack doesn't dare continue the thought. He's really /not/ a jealous guy...at least, mostly...there's no reason why he should suspect that Donna could have been anything less than straightforward with him. "Family," says Sandy quietly, pouring Jack another shot. "The Titans are family, like the JSA is. I don't particularly get on well with a lot of them - the JSA, I mean - and I'm still not happy about the fact that Wes didn't ask for help with me and the All-Stars didn't look into my disappearance...but when everything came to light, they were falling over each other trying to make life easier for me. They looked out for me for years. And now, even though I don't particularly trust your girlfriend's mom, -I'm- going head over heels trying to protect the JSA from this phantom menace." He pauses, putting the Jameson's down and reaching into the fridge for the milk, and begins to make himself a White Russian. "At any rate, my point is, Roy is like the prodigal son. No matter how many times he fucks up or gets hurt or hurts them, they'll take him back if he asks forgiveness. You're gonna have to trust Donna. She trusts you, after all." Jack glowers. "This is not what I wanted to hear, Sand-man. You're making sense, and I don't want you to make sense...I want you to give me permission to go back there and smash his face in." With a smooth motion, Jack downs the second shot. "Gah!" Incredibly sour face,a nd a few coughs. "It just gets worse, doesn't it?" Sighing, he slides the shot glass forward. "I'm just going to get blitzed until it hurts, throw up, pass out, and think about things logically and painfully in the morning. "The JSA thing is different. I don't think we really have any fuckups on the team" The irony of that statement is completely lost on Jack. Mmming quietly, Sandy gives Jack a skeptical glance and takes a sip of his drink. He pours the other man another shot and shakes his head. "I'd love to incite a riot, man, but I can't let you foul up this thing you have goin' with Donna. And you know as well as I that smashing Harper's face in wouldn't sit too well with her." He lets the hand holding the bottle drop to his side and takes another sip, savoring the taste. "And the JSA, and the All-Star Squadron...oh, they certainly had their share of fuckups. Their fuckups generally didn't seem to make it into the media or into the history books, which is why you don't hear about them. It's the ones that saved lives and the ones that created proud legacies that the kids learn about in school." He pauses philosophically, then eyes Jack again. "And talk about fucking up. I never told you what a racist little bastard I was during the War, did I." Grumbling, Jack knows he's right, but this warm feeling suddenly rushing through his body makes him feel less like caring, and more like going right back to the Tower and making an ass out of himself. And then he thinks of Donna. "Oh. She's great...you know that? Really, really great." He leans against the counter heavily, eyeing the whiskey on the table. "Hit me again, barkeep. Then you can tell me about even more reasons you're a bastard and a fuck-up." This makes four; Sand's going slow on his own, making sure he's able to count. "Yeah," he agrees, "You two are great together. Just like salt and pepper." He finishes carefully pouring that there shot, there, and grins lopsidedly. "More reasons? Okay...um, I beat up on Dan the Dyna-Mite all the time and picked fights with Neptune Perkins, and hit on Fury, and I almost broke Gernsback, and I almost set the Perisphere on fire, and I was always rushing into things without thinking. And I lied to Arn Munro about getting it on with Tigress." He lowers his voice. "I'm still a virgin, see. And I'm only telling you this because you'll be too snookered to remember it." Jack takes the shot in the midst of Sand's revelation, and nearly coughs it all back out. Now, /that's/ painful. "Ow. Jeezus!" He coughs and sputters, and nearly doubles over because he can't help it. "You...*cough*...you did that on purpose, you...*cough*...bassard!" Jack is down on the floor, on his knees, clutching at his throat. After a few seconds, he regains his composure and reaches up to grab the counter and lift himself. Still sputtering a little, he looks incredulously at Sand. "You gotta be kidding me." Sandy Hawkins looks irritated. "Goddammit, don't cough that shit up, I don't want you to remember this." He pours another shot and pushes it over to Jack, grimacing. "And no, I'm not kidding you." Ooo. Irate Sanderson. He downs a good half of his Russian, scowling, leaning back on the counter again. "C'mon. Drink up. Go. Chug." Jack places a hand on the glass and pushes it away for a second. "Wait. Wait, wait wait. You've never-..." Jack can't help it...he has no sense of tact at this moment. He falls directly backwards and laughs loudly and insanely. "Bwa-HA-HA-HA-HA!" He's having spasms of mirth. "You mean you...you never! Ha ha ha ha. You're like, 70, and you haven't....*chortle chortle chortle*...I mean you...you...*guffaw guffaw guffaw* That's too /rich/!" Jack holds his stomach and grimaces in pure joy, completely forgetting all his troubles, for the moment. Sandy stands there, glaring down at Jack. "Seventy-two," he says icily, then finishes off his drink. He pauses a second for effect, then adds, "Are you quite finished?" Rolling back and forth, Jack doesn't look like he's done. After a few more chortles and giggles, he seems to run out of breath. "Okay, okay..*pant pant*...I'm done." He starts to stand up, when it hits him again. "72! BWA-ha-ha-ha!" He's back on the ground again, a quivering mess of mirth. "You'll be senile before you get laid!... *chuckle chuckle chuckle*...learning to wear depends before you learn to wear a condom!...bwa-ha-ha! *laugh laugh laugh*...Oh...*pant*...that's just too...*titter*...too much...*pant*." Jack's nearly got it all out now, but he lays on the floor, looking up at the ceiling, stil chuckling a little. "Woo! If you wanted to cheer me up, you certainly did." He breathes in and out heavily, trying to catch his breath. Sandy Hawkins crosses his arms, not looking particularly amused. At the last comment, though, he shakes his head and his expression lightens; he looks more like the Adonis that he is. "You uncle-fucker," he says affectionately. "I don't -really- have to remind you that physically, I'm something like twenty-four? Depends before condoms, my -ass-. I'll be a hundred and fifty before I die, man-o." He reaches over and picks up Jack's shot glass, then tosses it back effortlessly, with no visible reaction. "Besides, I have a girlfriend." Jack looks up at Sand still with a mirthful expression. "Yeah, for all the good it's done ya." He can't help but titter a little more before he regains his composure. "Um. I suppose this is a little uncomfortable for you ta' talk about. Guess I shouldn'ta been so rude." Still holding his mouth with one hand, Jack smiles. "So...uh...that's why you were confused when I asked if you and whatsername had...er...done it." "Feh. You didn't ask if we did it, you asked if we hooked up," replies the golden age sidekick a trifle disgustedly. He holds the whisky up again and scratches his nose. "Did you want any more, or are you okay now?"