Author's Note: I know this is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt finished. Next one should be up soon. As always, reviews are absolute love.

Warnings: Non-invasive autopsy.

EDITED 1-9-13

Chapter Three: Scars

When Yoko Kurama next woke, night had fallen. They hadn't moved far from the field they had sparred in earlier and Hiei had started a fire. (This had to be for his benefit, seeing as Hiei had little need for the heat it provided and neither of them needed the light.) Speaking of the little demon…

It took but a moment for golden eyes to scan the other side of the small camp and find Hiei seated, one leg tucked under his chin and an arm around it, red eyes staring at him in glazed boredom. Yoko sat up, shaking his head and flicking dirt from sensitive ears. Taking stock of himself he came to the conclusion that a) he wasn't injured (not that he had expected to be, but a check never hurt) and that b) the little voice was still desperately whispering in the back of his mind. Slowly, he sat up, one pale hand running over the side of his face and into his hair.

Across the fire, Hiei blinked and refocused on his partner, "Kurama. What was that earlier?"

Taking a deep breath, the old thief thought about how to explain without bringing up bad memories, "How much do you know about Issei?"

Hiei's expression didn't change, but he did seem to be thinking about it. Finally, he answered, eyes narrowed, "It's a word. In Japan it can mean a voice, a cry, a shout, an existence, a generation, or a lifetime. I don't think that's what you mean."

How astute, "No, that's not what I mean." His head shook, trailing silver hair over his shoulders. Trying to dislodge the voice. "Among some of the clans in Makai, Issei refers to the cry a child makes when there is no one to take care of it. When a child has no caregiver, it cries out to its closest living relative. It can be…painful at first, for the one who hears it."

Narrowed eyes widened, "Are you saying…" A child. Well doesn't that just fuck everything up?

"It would appear so." I'm sorry.

"I wasn't aware you had children." When did this happen? Did you betray me?

"Only one. A very long time ago. He must have had children…" I wonder what happened? It had been centuries since he had visited his kit and his mother. Not since the child had reached majority.

"Then he's dead. And his mate. And any closer family." Because that's what it came down to. Kurama wouldn't be called if there was anyone else.

Kurama shot him an exasperated look, "How very blunt of you, Hiei." Couldn't he bother with tact? Just this once?

"Hn. When will you be leaving?" Because you will. That's just how it works.

Yoko sighed, "I should leave now. I don't know what the situation is. The kit could be in danger. If I wait, anything could happen."

Hiei closed his eyes. Of course, there could be no hesitation in this. The Fox would do anything for family.

"But I won't. I'll leave tomorrow, at first light," There was warmth in his eyes.

Hiei opened his eyes, "Hn. Whatever you say, Fox."

When Hiei woke early the next morning, Kurama was already gone.

When the senior M.E. had assigned Astor the latest corpse to autopsy and told him it was a victim of a fire last night, he had expected a charred piece of meat and bone. What he got, however, was a teenaged boy with pale skin and messy black hair. He hadn't died of smoke inhalation, hadn't been burned, in fact, there was nothing to tell the M.E. that he had been involved in a fire at all.

What he did have was blood in and on his mouth, a painfully thin physique, and a bruise that covered the left side of his chest that was so big that it made the doctor suspect cause of death. But he wouldn't know for sure until he got him cleaned up and into x-ray.

That would have to wait, too. First he would have to document the body. The camera was in a bin on the other side of the room, but it didn't take more than a few paces to reach it and return to the autopsy table. He started with a wide angle of the whole body, then zoomed in to work on the face. And such a thin face it was. Had he eaten poorly? His skin was clear, oddly so for a teenager, but pale and his cheekbones were more clearly visible than would have been healthy. There were dark circles under his eyes, had he been sleeping poorly? The camera flashed again and in its aftermath the examiner noticed something.

"What's this now?" A gloved hand brushed back the lank fringe, exposing a scar just off center on the forehead. Grey eyes narrowed and were covered by a camera's lens. Flash.

Disconcertingly, there were quite a few injuries to this unknown boy that didn't coincide with a ten foot fall. They looked far more like abuse. Astor would have liked to rub a hand over his face, but he couldn't, not gloved as they were. He sighed anyway, brow furrowing as he bit the inside of his cheek. This wasn't going to get any better, was it? Shaking his head, he continued with his work. Photograph every inch of the corpse (he had to remember this was not a person, not anymore), from every angle. Try not to think too hard yet on the scars on his back and sides, or the bruises, or the cuts that never healed, or that one scar on his right elbow that looked so painful. There would be plenty of time later to think about all the horrible implications.

When he had done this, from the crown of his head to the pads of his feet, the camera was set down, its film canister placed in an evidence bag and both placed on a nearby countertop. He brought back with him a file and a tape recorder. Now he could think all the horrible things he had tried not to before.

Name: John Doe

Age: approx. 15 years

So young. Too young to be on his table.

Race: Caucasian

Gender: Male

Height: 1.77 m

Short for his age. Genetics or malnourishment?

Weight: 53.99 kg

Too light. More evidence for abuse and neglect.

Hair Color: Black

Hair Length: approx. 20 cm.

Eye Color:

The pen stopped moving. He hadn't looked at the eyes yet. The young man stood and walked back to the table. Two gloved thumbs gently pulled back the membranous eyelids. Oh my… such beautiful eyes. A pity, that their owner should be dead.

Eye Color: Green

Tattoos: None

Scars: Lightning bolt, 5.09 cm, forehead

Puncture, 8.2 cm, inner right elbow

Laceration, 17 cm, inner left forearm

Laceration, 24.06 cm, upper back

Laceration, 23.8 cm, upper back

Laceration, 18 cm, middle back

Laceration, 21.1 cm, middle back

Laceration, 16.7 cm, lower back

That was the very abbreviated list, and Astor was sure he would add to it as the autopsy continued. Such was the nature of the beast. He set the pen down and returned to the corpse, carrying with him a sample kit. The blood around pale lips was swabbed, along with the dirt on small hands. He was printed and a blood sample was taken. A pair of steel scissors cut a lock of the messy black hair, which fell into a sample bag, sealed and placed on the counter with the others. There was not much of a nail, so the ME made do with a few thin slivers from a few fingers.

"Astor," the voice startled him badly enough to miss with the nail clippers and cut the skin on one finger. He whirled to see a taller man standing in the doorway. His hair was long and black, tied into a tail with a fringe that hung down on each side of his face. He was dressed much as Astor was scrubs and a lab coat. Green eyes stared down at him, but there was mirth there. How different, these eyes and the pair on his table, so very different! "It's time to go. Your shift's over." Was it so late already?

"Eh? Oh, alright. I'll clean up here and meet you out front, ok, Gabriel?" It felt good to be able to smile at him after today.

The older man nodded and pushed away from the door, padding down the sterile hall with a swish of long hair. Astor smiled again and began to pack away his materials. A tiny flash of red caught in the corner of his eye before he turned away completely. On the floor beside the autopsy table there was a small drop of blood, another fell to join it as he turned fully to focus on it. Tracking up, Astor watched as the small cut on the body's finger slowly closed, leaving only a trace of blood on the skin to show it had ever existed.

A shaking hand reached out to lift a colder one, fingers placed on the wrist to check for a pulse he knew would not be there. The young man leaned down and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. What he found surprised him and his eyes flared open, "Gabriel!"

In a moment, the tall man was in the doorway, and then at Astor's side as he crouched bedside the drooping arm, "What is it? Why is there blood on the floor?"

"He's not dead. Gabriel he's not dead!" there was an excitement to his voice that Gabriel rarely heard this late in the workday.

"What do you mean, 'he's not dead?' He's on your table."

"No, Gabriel, Gabriel, he's not human. He's something else."

There was a hush to his partner's voice now, "Not human? Is he like you?"

"No…not yet," Bright grey eyes glinted in the harsh light, "We can't leave him here. Help me get him to the car. We're going to have a guest for a few days."