for perilicious: Do do do do do... do do do... do do do do doooo SUPERMAN

[stands_for_hope]

It wasn't how he'd planned on doing things. He'd planned on telling Ilya about his idea, breaking it to him gently along with the news of his new job in Metropolis. He'd planned on showing him the costume, letting him see how it looked, warning him so that he didn't have a heart attack when the intel got to him.

And then a plane had nearly landed in the middle of Metropolis and he hadn't had the time.

So now he looked at the news cameras and the excited cellphone snapshots with a vague wince as he let out a deep sigh of relief that he'd managed to balance the weight of the plane just so to bring it down without any casualties...

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[perilicious]

It was the conversation that attracted his attention first. UNCLE's central office in Manhattan did not often buzz with random gossip, so when he kept hearing snippets of can't understand it and impossible, he glanced up. When he heard caught a plane with his bare hands and is that a cape?, he joined the smattering of personnel gathered around a television turned to the news.

And promptly dropped his coffee mug. He ignored the startled inquiries around him and the coffee soaking into the industrial carpet as he stared at the face smiling sheepishly at the cameras.

"You know this guy, sir?" asked one unfortunate, and nearly withered under the force of Illya's stare before Illya turned and walked back to his office, and clocked out for the day, and walked back to his small walkup apartment, up the stairs, past his door, out to the roof.

He took a deep breath, then a second, realized they were not going to calm him down, and spoke aloud through his teeth. "If you have a moment. When you are finished. With your interviews."

[stands_for_hope]

There was the sound of a single pop of thunder, someone breaking the speed limit, or rather, someone dropping off from it within the city limits. A moment later, the man who'd been on the news not five minutes before in Metropolis was floating down to the roof of Ilya's building. He wasn't wearing the bright red and blue uniform, but the awkward duck of his head was the same as it'd always been.

"I was going to tell you when we got together this week," Clark said to start as his feet touched the ground. His usual sneakers, under his usual jeans, below his usual plaid and t-shirt. "I really was. And I wasn't going to do anything for another couple of weeks since I wanted to settle into the new city. But then there was a plane and I had to do something about it and Ma already made the costume so--"

He tilted his head.

"...I wasn't looking for news coverage. I mean. Considering."

[perilicious]

Illya stood with arms folded, in that same battered brown jacket that had seen work hauling hay bales on the Kent farm and now carried a burn mark from a failed attempt to slide down a zipline. Stone-faced, he listened until Clark trailed off, managed to keep his silence for a few moments longer, then let out an aggrieved sigh and shook his head.

"Now I cannot object or it sounds like I am disappointed you saved lives," he muttered as he dropped his arms and took a few agitated steps across the rooftop, then back. He couldn't quite decide if he was angry, or worried, or scared, or proud, and settled on being all of them at once, loudly.

"They saw your face," he said at last, whirling and storming back up to Clark. "What were you thinking? Everyone in Metropolis wants to know who this is. Soon it will be everyone in the world looking at this, at you. Including my organization, and everyone else's. And they saw your face."

[stands_for_hope]

That, he knew, he'd always known, was going to be the biggest sticking point. But he'd spoken to his mother, they'd decided this together while making the costume. That was when he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small case. He didn't open it, though.

"I know that," he said quietly as he stepped closer to Ilya with a sad little smile. "But they need to see my face. They need to know I have nothing to hide."

He held up his empty hand, curled his fingers into a fist.

"You know what I can do, Ilya. You know the kind of power I hold. It's going to be hard enough convincing them that I'm here to help as it is. It'd be impossible if I was wearing a mask, if I hid my face."

He looked him in the eyes, let Ilya see.

"They need to be able to see my eyes. They need to see my eyes to know not to be afraid."

[perilicious]

The case attracted his attention immediately—any small movement like that attracted Illya's attention now, even if it was the man he trusted more than anyone in the world—but that was not important right now, or it would be the focus. He watched Clark's empty hand, looked back at his face.

That open, earnest face, and those beautiful eyes that still, after all these years, left him stunned for a moment. A million people had seen them today. Millions more would see them in the next week, as news agencies picked up the story. Who was that masked man was easier, so much easier than this.

He reached out to trace his fingers over the fist, then wrapped both hands around it, stroking his thumb over the back of Clark's hand. "Some of them will still be afraid," he said quietly. "Is this what you are doing now?"

[stands_for_hope]

"They will be," he agrees quietly, "but I'll just have to work that much harder to prove it to them."

He pulls Ilya's hand up to his lips to press a kiss there.

"But yes, this is... part of what I'm doing. This is the other half."

Which was when he opened the case and pulled out a pair of glasses. They were opened and plopped on his face, cutting the blue of his eyes and making his face appear flatter, wider. Less attractive.

"It's a work in progress," he admitted with a little blush, "but I took some of those lessons you learned and tried to put them to work."

Now he smiled, just a little.

"I can't wear a mask then, so I'll wear a mask the rest of the time."

[perilicious]

If he thought he looked less attractive in glasses, he was mistaken, but they did make his face look...different. Less like himself. Illya couldn't help but approve of that. And that Clark was taking what Illya had learned about making himself unnoticed in a crowd and using it to blend in when he was not being...himself.

But which one would be the real him? The man in a red cape, or the man in glasses?

"Still do not like this," he said quietly, but took a step back to evaluate the overall impression. The glasses helped take attention away from his striking eyes, and they changed the shape of his face, but that was not enough. "Let me see the rest of it."

[stands_for_hope]

He frowned a little before changing the curve of his spine a little, slouching and reducing his height a few inches. He let his shoulders drop, let his stomach pouch out a little, and adjusted his clothes to make him look bulkier and less fit than he was.

"This was the best I could do," though to his credit, his voice was significantly different. Higher, lighter, and not as smooth. Still pleasant, but definitely not the same.

[perilicious]

"Huh." It was a thoughtful, impressed little sound. Illya walked slowly around Clark, taking in the image of a quiet, rather nervous man, a bit taller and broader than he wanted to be and who tried to be small to make up for it. The voice was good.

He finished his circle and faced Clark again, hands behind his back, head tilted to one side, looking uncannily like one of his old trainers in Russia if only he could see himself. "Not bad," he said. "Better than expected. Looks like you were listening after all."

[stands_for_hope]

He looked past the glasses to smirk a little at Ilya.

"I always listen, Ilya. You should know that."

Then the glasses were pulled off, put back in their case, and returned to his pocket. His slouch disappeared and his voice was normal again.

"I could change my voice more, but I don't want it to feel unnatural. The best lies are always based on truth, after all."

He grinned and shifted his voice until it was an exact duplicate of Ilya's.

"Though if you think it needs to change, I can change it more."

[perilicious]

"Smart-ass," Illya growled in Russian, stepping closer and reaching out to skim his fingers beneath the edge of Clark's t-shirt, over his side.

Martha had made the costume. They had decided on this together, then. That Clark would help the world, and not only that, he would do it as obviously as possible.

No wonder they had decided against consulting with him. His objections would have been audible in Moscow.

"New city," he murmured. "Finally you have finished your wandering, then?"

[stands_for_hope]

He nodded before leaning in for a soft, sweet kiss. It's was as much of an apology as he could really give for saving people.

"I like Metropolis," he admitted quietly. "And it's close to New York but not close enough to get in your way."

He would be too close to Ilya's work if he was in New York.

[perilicious]

"Would not have minded you being closer," Illya admitted. In fact, he had sometimes thought that once Clark had decided to come home again, he might ask if he wanted to...

He let himself have a moment resting his forehead against Clark's before straightening again. "Do you have cover established?" he asked more briskly. He wasn't happy about this, but it was also a decision that had been made, and once Clark had decided something, it took a great deal to change his mind. This, Illya could tell, was too important to him.

And he knew that if Clark was going to begin doing...doing this, it would only be more difficult for Illya as UNCLE began to investigate this mysterious flying man. They would need to keep their distance. Continue keeping their distance.

[perilicious]

Despite the distance, despite Illya's uncertain schedule and Clark's full-time job—both jobs—they were making it work. Illya had insisted that if they were going to pretend this was an ordinary long-distance relationship, they stay long-distance, and Clark only cheated once a week or so. They talked every day, even if only for a few minutes. They wondered how the other was doing. They missed each other. It had surprised Illya, how much he liked the little bittersweet pangs. It was easy. Surprisingly easy.

So of course something needed to become complicated.

When he was going on mission, he told Clark so that he would know Illya would be gone from New York, but that was all, no details. He was still a covert operative, after all. This mission had been sour to begin with, not enough intel, too many details missing, and now he and Solo were pinned down. Their covers were intact, but that wouldn't last much longer. The missile was locked and armed and one of them needed to disarm it and that wasn't going to please the men around them.

Solo stared at him, glanced to the missile. Illya could get to it more quickly. Illya huffed, annoyed, but nodded and tensed himself for the sprint as Solo shifted position to cover him from any surprised fire.

[stands_for_hope]

Except, as they watched, a red and blue blue started zipping around as the sound of startled operatives erupted from one side to the other before they saw the culprit, Superman himself snatching the missile out of the launcher to toss it far enough that even the explosion was only a twinkle in the sky. The missle launcher trigger man watched as his weapon was curled into a pretzel and the Man of Steel scooped him up and leaned in to whisper something low and unpleasant sounding that resulted in the man shaking hard enough that it was visible from their vantage point.

Then he was turning to look at the two agents he'd--

Oh.

Oh damn.

[perilicious]

Illya had almost made the leap when the red and blue blur swished through the air, and then he almost stumbled as he took cover again and stared. This could not possibly be happening.

Solo took advantage of the confusion to scuttle into Illya's cover and murmur something about a living deus ex machina, but only received a growl in return. When Superman had finally finished their mission for them, Illya unfolded slowly to his full height and folded his arms. "Waverly said to collect computer drives," he said to Solo without looking away from Superman.

Solo looked from one to the other, acutely interested, and tossed Illya a two-fingered salute before drawing his gun and sauntering toward the office.

Illya let him go before his stony expression turned just a little exasperated. What now? What now, Clark?

[stands_for_hope]

Clark looked back with an almost comic spread of his hands. He hadn't done this on purpose. There'd been explosions! It was his city! He'd shown up because he was supposed to show up! Why hadn't Ilya told him that he'd be in town?

Finally he skittered over to Ilya, leaning in so that hopefully no one would hear them as he started speaking in Russian, specifically the dialect he'd learned when they'd been teenagers and he'd been visiting Russia. Hopefully the dialect would at least make it a little harder for them to be overheard.

"...I didn't do it on purpose."

[perilicious]

There hadn't been time. He hadn't known the final destination of the missile until he and Solo had both wormed their way into the upper echelons, and he didn't think ducking out to send a quick text to his boyfriend would have gone over very well. Illya let out a quiet, irritated sigh. "I know. Did not know we would be here until this morning."

But now that Clark was here, Illya couldn't simply shoot the man over Clark's shoulder who was crawling toward one of the discarded guns. He jerked his chin absently in that direction. "Do you mind? We have cleanup, but you would not like our way."

His mind spun, at least half of his whirling thoughts dedicated to keeping this secret from his very interested and sharp-eyed partner.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark blurred for a second and the man flew back from a blow that neither of them saw before dropping unconscious.

"You could always let me do it. I'm here, after all. And if you don't have to do it your way..."

[perilicious]

"That is probably for the best," Illya admitted, holstering his gun and slipping his hands into his jacket pockets. "Will be neater that way."

And then he was entirely at a loss for what to do next. If this was his and Solo's mission, their responsibility, he would know their next step. But now it wasn't. As soon as Solo finished acquiring the data they needed, they could simply walk out. No need for extraction.

He wasn't at all certain he liked the idea. It felt like leaving a job half finished.

[stands_for_hope]

Clark watched Ilya for a moment, noting the lack of satisfaction in his stance before breathing in deep and disappearing in a blur. There were a few more grunts and even a cry or two before every single one of the assailants were strung together with twist ties around their wrists and left in a line.

"You two can handle the rest, I take it?"

[perilicious]

...maybe there would be some small amount of cleanup to do after all. Illya didn't smile, but Clark knew his face well enough to see the softening around his eyes. "Should not be a problem," he said casually, glancing over to where Solo was reappearing. "UNCLE thanks you for your assistance, Superman."

[stands_for_hope]

Superman threw off a salute and a faint smile to Ilya before turning to add Solo. Then, floating up, he turned and disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared. Within roughly ten minutes, Ilya would get a message on his personal cellphone.

Hey, handsome. When're you in town next? I finally found a Russian tea room I think you might like.

[perilicious]

When he felt the little buzz, it took a lot of willpower not to check it. Luckily Illya had quite a lot of willpower. It was two hours later, after UNCLE agents and local law enforcement had effectively swarmed the scene, before he managed to reliably shake his partner for a few minutes of privacy.

Good thing, too. Texts from Clark always made him smile a particular soft smile that no one else got to see, and this was no exception.

Have just finished up an on-site job outside the country. I will be back in a day. Not tomorrow, but the next day, then we will see if this tea room is up to my exacting standards.

[stands_for_hope]

Sounds perfect. Missing you.

And it was the truth, even if he'd shown up in the middle of Ilya's work. He still missed him, because he hadn't actually gotten to spend any real time with him. And Ilya had been on this particular mission for a while. Too long, to his mind, even if he did really understand.