What do you mean, non-verbal not bad, it's awful, and Bruce's flat look says so. But it's something to brush up against the concept of taking the edge off, which is about where Bruce is on the path of wrestling with an addiction. He has the physical ability to go cold turkey, he knows, the dangers of it not as immediate for someone who does the kinds of things he can do, but he's grudgingly accepted the wisdom in a kinder, slower path. Not just for him. He and Alfred enable each other, and badly; a measured pace allows him the breathing room to see what can be done in that direction, too. His 73-year-old father figure can't hold his breath for ten minutes or regulate his own heartbeat.

So, he is drinking the rest of this freezie machine margarita, and maybe he won't have a headache. He can function with headaches, his behavior and performance levels indistinguishable, but he doesn't like them.

Would the dramatic thing tell Clark how he is. Or would he use it to build a cathedral around an answer, the empty space within beautifully lit and protected and enshrined, but still empty. This qizza is pretty bad. Part of the crust on his is burned, and it helps the texture, miraculously. Maybe he and Lois can cook for Clark sometime. Jam on toast and a kale smoothie, and scotch.

Bruce watches him, but doesn't answer. Undecided on how to. In the pond, a large koi breaks the surface with a zig-zag splash, brilliantly colored body zipping back from capturing a gnat.