Being a pair of hands is not too intensive, at least, where putting a man to work in her kitchen is more a social occasion than anything else, something to do while she chats. Arrange some breadrolls, getting a salad bowl off of somewhere high, could he take that out of the oven and put it over there, throw this towel over it to keep it warm. The food more or less exclusively comes in glass dishes with lids, heavy and warm and far too much of it, even if it's all getting loaded onto the table for them to enjoy. There will be a lot of tupperware filling, later, with much intended for Clark to take with him when he goes.

Clark handles table setting, as he'd done since he was tall enough to do it. Setting out enough for more than two people is oddly nostalgic in a way he's not about to rest into for very long, and chooses the distraction of glancing at where he can see his mother gently directing Bruce around her kitchen. It would be cool if his heart could stop doing inexplicable, unverifiable things in his chest, or at least pick one thing. What's it about this time of year that makes everything so sentimental, anyway.

A lot of his adult Christmases have involved watching TV and guilt, mainly.

At the table, Martha leads a toast to having her son back with her for the holidays (and she keeps a steely grip on her emotions as she says it) and to Bruce, comin' all the way out here and sharing his Christmas with them.

Clark dings beer bottle to glass.