It was a dark night, quiet and almost inviting. Deidara sat cross legged on the hill, above miles of sand and bare rock faces. It was... nearly artful. Windswept and barren. The moon was a grudging sliver, casting so little light that it stirred something deep in Deidara's mind... Something made of red eyes and unbreakable binding... He tried to forget things like that. With a frown he started to sculpt, even a flash was light.

He was starting to drop the spider in his hand when it was taken from him. He drew back with a startled gasp, but even in the scant light knew the face. His partner has abandoned his puppet armor and settled beside him, tucking the explosive into the folds of his robe. Fearless. He knew Deidara didn't dare set it off now. Too deep a respect.

Deidara frowned, knowing what Sasori was saying. A flash, even a few words might betray their watch. It was too close to Mission Clear to risk it on a childish show of fear. And fearing the dark was childish... Deidara was beyond that. He told himself that, in hopes of it coming to be true. The two sat in silence, the odd lighting continuing to pick away at the barriers in Deidara's mind. His trembling was nicely hidden by the bulk of his robe, there was no chance that the dim light allowed Sasori to see clearly.

But after a moment, Deidara felt cold polished wood slip into his hand, clockwork joints pinching his skin slightly. The mouth in his palm tasted palm wax and paint. His partner had no need for comforting gestures, sensations being dulled due to his self-inflicted alterations. The puppet hand laying in his mouthed palm, the fingers that fit snuggly between his, all of this was for Deidara's benefit. Sasori gained nothing from it.

In the dark, Deidara held on a little tighter.