It matters, thinks Clark, and its written on his expression in the pause after that gentle denial. Not so urgently that he feels the need to shoulder through to that conversation—still following Lois' advice, a little—but he pauses over the pause, maybe in hopes that Bruce will elaborate, give him something to work with.

He might. Wilder things have happened.

But what he does say is enough of a swerve that Clark goes with it, an immediate twitch of his eyeline that indicates a quick and effortless scan through Bruce, skeleton deep. The outlines of metal pieces, all familiar in a way that hadn't been for a while. Changes that are possible now clicks into place.

The first thing Clark had done when they realised what had happened, that they'd come back, was make sure Bruce wasn't about to bleed out all over again. It hadn't needed much investigation, Bruce on his feet, and the jumpsuit signalling something validating. And yet—

"That's not fair," he says, quiet as normal, sympathy plain.

It makes sense, that if nanites had achieved something beyond what their current worldly reality could accomplish, that those changes might get rejected. Like surgery, like programming. But fair, it is not.