Frost and snow crunches underfoot. Truck parked somewhere empty, Clark's stride is lazy, hands tucked into pockets of a wool lined coat. He did not take the time to laser hair off his face, so there is something slightly more human about this morning's grown in grain around his mouth and being dressed against the bracing cold.

And something human also in the hiking up of his eyebrows as the topic of mom enters the conversation.

"On the porch, too," he agrees, after a beat, a sideways look that borders on bashful. "I think. I had too much going on with me to notice at the time."

His elbow nudges Bruce, idly.

"Good thing she likes you."