Did he think me a fool? That I wouldn't notice?
From the moment Deidara showed up that morning, Sasori knew something was off. When it came to work, he valued systematic efficiency above all else. Every member of the operation knew that. Anyone falling behind would be a liability, and he's certain he had mentioned before that he did not tolerate dealing with dead weight.
And there Deidara was, their verbal exchange kept shorter than usual with the blonde being uncharacteristically quiet. It was subtle, but Sasori observed from the corner of his vision, at the one hanging around by the wall, likely hardly paying attention to a word he was saying.
As if the skewed efficiency in the plan wasn't already obvious enough then, it showed clear as day from the outcome of the mission. Sasori, naturally, addressed his displeasure. His words were biting, scathing - more so than usual, his piercing gaze mostly on Deidara. Perhaps the added venom in his review stemmed from the annoyance by the lack of response. The usual snarky comebacks missing. It's like he was talking to a wall.
The silence truly was deafening.
The rest of the crew left, and Sasori expected solitude at this time. But Deidara stayed. He paid no attention at first, going about his own business - until he noticed that his partner hadn't moved at all for some time. Finally he let his gaze drift towards the other, slumped in the corner.
He did not know when, but somehow, he had walked across the room, standing over the sleeping (or so he believed) figure with an intense unwavering gaze. The brat was almost unrecognizable like this; sluggish, subdued, vulnerable. Who would've thought there'd be a day when he'd witness that face devoid of the ridiculously smug grin. Those blue eyes too, were dull and glassy, the typical fiery glint absent.
As if derived from unbidden urges, a hand unwittingly went to feel at Deidara's forehead. A ghost of a touch that left as quickly as it came, but enough for him to confirm. A fever... just as he thought. How bothersome it was... the mortal dilemma of having something as trifling as the common cold or similar get in the way of productivity.
"...Pathetic." Sasori tore his gaze away as he turned on his heels, leaving the ill to deal with the repercussions of his ineptitude.
The artist would not be deterred from his work. So as Deidara would sleep it off, he'd be accompanied by the soft sounds of Sasori tinkering with his crafts nearby. Plus it was subtle, but there was a mild scent of eucalyptus in the air.
The brat had better get up at some point in the day. This was no clinic or bed and breakfast after all.