He didn't take a lunch break. That probably wasn't the best for him, given he had mostly skipped breakfast, but he was losing his appetite of late. Despite his doctoral nature, he never stopped to bother and think that there might be something wrong with him. He didn't see it as a symptom, just as something that was, and he lived with it. He continued on his rounds, checking on the clinical trials, the studies that ran simultaneously in the base's experimental wing of the medical ward.

The last patient on his list was one who had just gone through intensive chemotherapy. From his chest, a central venous line protruded. He was weak now, his immune system hindered and his bone marrow destroyed. Kabuto remembered when this one was selected. He had been taken captive, oddly enough, during the siege of Rice Country as one of the only suitable shinobi for the job. He was a sturdy bodied tai jutsu user, his muscles strong and dense. They had taken him into the prison system with no real intent set out as to just what he would be used for other than the fact that killing him would be a waste of a good body. After that, the man was unimportant for years.

It was only in recent times that his prison number came up. His DNA just happened to be the best match for the purposes of their most recent experiment. He was scheduled this evening for a bone marrow transplant, not to cure any disease that he was carrying, but to help another important string of DNA escape a disease riddled body. It reminded Kabuto of parasites fleeing off of their dying host before the body was even cold, a mass exodus.

He was always thrilled for his evening job. He could shed the guise of a common doctor and take on what he felt was closer to what he really was at heart, a scientist, and experimenter, a tinkerer upon biological tissues. He and Orochimaru shared this inclination towards experimentation, and they always worked as partners upon these projects, wracking their brains and staying up late into the wee hours on nothing more than a pot of coffee and the restlessness that comes with knowing you are only inches from the answers that you seek. It was brilliant, the pair of them rattling off theories, the other always playing devil's advocate. They would continue on back and forth, defending and rebutting their claims against one another until a best course of action would become apparent to them. It was the only time he felt that there was a true bond between himself and his Lord, seeing companionship in their debate.

This particular event would be much less extravagant. There was no real, immediate mystery going on. There was no need to plan the next course of action. It was a simple, straightforward, and rather dull BMT. The procedure would be quick and not even a surgical matter. Everything was already prepared for this day. A baseline of readings had been drawn up for the patient to compare after the introduction of the new tissue, though the genetic similarity was likely to be close enough that risk of a graft rejection would be minimal. The chemo had gone as planned, and the bones were now empty and ready to accept new material through the bloodstream. With time, the marrow would be accepted by the body. After that, it was a waiting game. They would watch the subject closely for signs if infection while waiting for his immune system to recover. Once well again, they would try to see if the kekkei genkai would be expressed in the subject.

If it worked, Kabuto could finally pull the damned plug on the waste of space in the ICU, and Orochimaru would have another host, one of equal caliber to the previous, possessing the same rare trait he was seeking to preserve. The thought that Kimimaro would become useless if this process was a success filled Kabuto with the blackest of joys. No more would Orochimaru be able to leave flowers for him on the counter top. His attention would never again fall on that boy, and could be turned back to what was important.

Kabuto recalled the first time Orochimaru had ever called for a new body. It was a terrifying experience and still was despite how used to it he had grown over the years. He always let himself go so far, always held onto his bodies far longer than he should have. Too often he ended up bedridden and knocking at death's door before being placed in another host. The first time Kabuto witnessed it, he was certain that the man who had represented so much to him would be dead. He was so afraid of losing him, of being left alone once again with nothing, no guidance, no purpose. He had, towards the end and after helping Orochimaru through a particularly terrible bought of fever induced delirium, offered up his own body.

He was stunned at the man's reaction. He had laughed at the thought. Kabuto at first had thought it some kind of insult, that he wasn't good enough to be a host. Then, Orochimaru had told him he was of much greater use to him alive than as a host. Again, that was a baffling statement, but as the years have passed, he came to understand just what the man had meant. What Orochimaru really needed from him wasn't his body; it was his mind. He needed someone else to think things through with, he needed an assistant, someone to bounce ideas off of. He needed Kabuto as a whole person, another separate being to take some of the strain of running Sound Village off of his shoulders. And it was in this that he took the most pride.

Now, Kabuto knew that Orochimaru's grappling with death was simply due to his own stubbornness. He didn't want to jump bodies until the last minute, to push for every second he could get out of each host. He did things on his own time, his health be damned. Kabuto often wondered if he got some sick kicks out of being so near death, maybe from the care that he received, from the helplessness he took on? Maybe it allowed him an excuse to be mother the way he was, not to dissimilar from a boy sick in his bed, his mother bringing him soup to ease his stomach.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard the door to the patient's room opening. In stepped his partner for the evening, Orochimaru. In the man's hands were two thick syringes full of the deep crimson bone marrow. Kabuto remembered what a pain in the ass those were to collect from the pelvis of the boy, fending off the bones that came after him as he plunged a needle far stronger than what was typically needed into the thick tissue. It had to have taken hours.

"Kabuto-san, good you're here. How is he doing?" Orochimaru looked as he often did coming into the medical ward: stripped of his uniform down to the turtleneck and pants he wore, his hair tied back in a half-assed bun. It was a good look for him. Black was always more flattering than most of what he chose to wear. Oh, if Kabuto were the one in charge of this man and hoe he dressed in public...

"He's still weak from the chemotherapy, shouldn't pose a threat to us during the procedure, but I went ahead and strapped him down anyway. We don't want any incidents, right?"

"Oh, but incidents make for better stories later." There was the usual slight purr to his voice, an edge of mischief that hinted at danger in any situation.

"Well, a lack thereof is more likely to produce successful test results."

With a slight chuckle Orochimaru agreed before approaching the subject. He took the marrow samples and attached them to the central venous catheter, the slow dribble of the samples starting to flow in, the procedure starting. "If this works, do you know the implications it could have on any and all new hosts for me?" Kabuto knew the implications very well, but simply listened on, knowing Orochimaru liked to go on about things that fascinated him. "It could mean that this kekkei genkai, once thought to be unique to only one individual, could be passed from host to host, the greatest tai jutsu weapon could be something I could hang onto forever!" There was a light in Orochimaru's eyes that Kabuto admired, the light of true passion the light of hope and excitement. It was rare that, even in these experiments, he became so animated in expressing his joy.

"The simplicity of this idea seems almost too good to be true, a simple BMT could be the answer to a years old problem."

"Oh, Kabuto-san, don't ruin my fun with talk of 'too good to be true.' It was a sound idea from the start, something that was at least worth attempting...I only applaud your bravery for being the one to collect the marrow."

"It should go on my record as at least an A rank mission. I'll be pushing for S though, I almost died on more than one occasion." He poked back, deciding to try a subtle joke.

The joke earned him a smile passing over those pale lips as a hand reached out, creamy and elegant, to run down his cheek. They were cool against the soft flesh of his face, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He could feel the callouses on the pads of his fingers, not gnarled but present from sword use. They glided smoothly from just below where his glasses rested to his chin. He could fall into that arc of touch, lean against the man and be consumed by sensation.

"What would I do without you?" came the words that accompanied the touch, so distant that they were barely heard. Kabuto met Orochimaru's eyes, noting a knowing smile on his face, a wicked gleam in his eyes. His face felt hot, and that look told him that he was aware of why. Upon realizing his understanding, the blush worsened and Orochimaru gave a soft laugh.

The BMT soon came to a close as routine as ever, thus drawing the end to another day in Kabuto's life. It was time to retire to his room and start the process over again. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. But this time, he decided he might not need to pull a book from the shelf. No, this time, he already had the memory of those sweet fingers on his cheek, still so fresh he could feel ghosts of the trail they traveled on his cheek. It would be a good night, if nothing else.