Superman had too much power to kill, to play judge, jury and executioner. Not to mention the fact that killing was... not something he was built to do. What he saw in the world, how he saw the world... it didn't fit for him.
But he wasn't human. Agents, police officers, soldiers, even everyday people sometimes had to kill. He didn't approve, but he also couldn't disapprove in some ways because of the power that he held. Ilya, he was reasonably sure of. And he'd heard some of the conflict before he'd swooped in.
"Then we are fine." It was said simply, and honestly. They both had secrets, and they would both keep them. In Illya's world, that was all the assurance he needed.
Then, because he felt he ought to, he added in English, somewhat wryly, "UNCLE thanks you for your assistance in keeping their agent from falling to his death."
"I didn't do it for UNCLE," he said with a small, warm smile over at Ilya, one that was a bit more personal this time. Ilya was a good man. He liked him.
And that was just. A challenge to respond to. As a rule, the people Illya dealt with and the people he knew, the friends he'd made, they were closed off. Things were said in carefully-worded roundabout ways with layers of meaning, both at UNCLE and before, in the KGB.
The sound of police sirens had him taking a step back after too many moments of silence. "I think that is my sign to be going," he said, cool and professional once again.
Clark's expression didn't change but he nodded and stepped back, turning to leave Ilya to the shadows of the street as he went to face the police. He was there to help, after all.
"...thank you." The little whisper managed to prompt an answering little smile as he faded back from view and tucked his hands into his pockets and became just another idle bystander eventually wandering back toward UNCLE's local station.
Of course the secret would be kept. Keeping secrets was his job, and he had been doing it far longer than that. But it likely would not matter particularly. He doubted he and Clark would cross paths again soon, in any of their guises.
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But he wasn't human. Agents, police officers, soldiers, even everyday people sometimes had to kill. He didn't approve, but he also couldn't disapprove in some ways because of the power that he held. Ilya, he was reasonably sure of. And he'd heard some of the conflict before he'd swooped in.
"Yes," he said quietly.
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Then, because he felt he ought to, he added in English, somewhat wryly, "UNCLE thanks you for your assistance in keeping their agent from falling to his death."
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The sound of police sirens had him taking a step back after too many moments of silence. "I think that is my sign to be going," he said, cool and professional once again.
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"Get back safe."
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Of course the secret would be kept. Keeping secrets was his job, and he had been doing it far longer than that. But it likely would not matter particularly. He doubted he and Clark would cross paths again soon, in any of their guises.