"So Karen, why don't you tell me a little more about how you got your wings?"

Karen sits ram-rod straight in the padded chair, ignoring Black Canary's earlier entreatment to relax and staring at the carpet studiously. Each team member gets a day of the week to discuss anything that might be bothering them, to maintain the collective mental health of the Young Justice League, and today is Thursday; Karen's day.

"We've talked about it before," Karen says carefully. Back in the lab she used to make a sport of it, being disrespectful to the behavioral scientists that would ask "So how do you feel?", but now she's a little afraid of what might happen if she angers Black Canary. Could they kick her off the team? "My father was a genetic engineer who discovered the possibility of introducing a foreign element permanently to the body, and he tested his theory by surgically implanting me with wing-like structures. The experiment was a success. What else do you want to know?"

"You told me the scientific procedure, but I'm more interested in the emotional effect it had on you. It couldn't have been easy, undergoing such a monumental change at only nine years old."

Karen looks uncomprehendingly at her. "If they had waited until I was older my spinal column wouldn't have been receptive to the sensors."

The older blond woman sighs, leaning back in her chair.

"Karen, we've been having these session for almost four weeks now and I still don't know a single personal thing about you. You've told me that your mother left when you were very young, and that your father signed you up for an extremely invasive surgery soon afterward. That had to have triggered some feelings of fear or unhappiness."

A bitter taste rises in Karen's mouth, and she realizes after a moment that she's unconsciously biting down on her tongue. She forces herself to stop.

It had been a Friday night, the last night she'd seen her mother. She could remember the smell of a busy kitchen as her mother chopped and cooked, singing along to a CD playing. Karen had sat at the table coloring. She had slouched easily, in the way that children sat; she had not yet felt metal between her shoulder blades.

Then her father had come home from work and the memory became shuddery, like an old film reel missing a few pictures. There was masculine laughter, the pop of a champagne bottle. Karen had clapped her hands and laughed too, excited by her father's good news (even though she did not comprehend the nature of it). Then, oddly, her mother shouting. Pushing away from the counter. The champagne bottle falling and spewing bubbly yellow liquid onto the rug. Fighting. Karen's mother had strode angrily over to the table and grabbed Karen's hand, as if to drag her away. "Mama!" Karen had cried. Her wedding ring bit into Karen's wrist.

Then, nothing. Her mother disappeared from her life as if she'd never been a part of it, and the only explanation her father had given was that she'd never wanted to be a mother in the first place. She was too weak.

A few days later she was sent to live at her father's research facility, and when she finally walked out of it at ten years-old the metal monstrosity came with her.

"I wasn't scared." Karen says, pausing to choose her words carefully. "My father explained everything to me- it was an opportunity to be a part of something revolutionary."

"Then why does it say in your medical records that at eleven you made an attempt to cut the wings out with a surgical scalpel?"

Karen closes her eyes briefly and says nothing. She knew Black Canary would bring it up eventually, but she didn't expect her to say it so abruptly. It hurts more than she anticipated.

Why did you do it, little bird? Don't you like your wings?

"I was still a kid." Karen finally replies. "I was adjusting."

You've hurt my feelings. Now the punishment.

"It was a stupid thing to do. I knew the wings were permanent. I was still just a kid."

Shh. It's okay. It'll be over soon.

Karen stands suddenly, almost violently. Her wings twitch in agitation. She can feel the mouth at her neck again; she has to get out of here.

"Look, can I go? Are we done?"

Black Canary appraises her from her seat in the chair. Karen has to fight the urge to lunge at her and claw the concern off her face.

"Alright. We can talk about it more next week."

"Right," Karen snaps, already turning and striding quickly from the room. "Thanks."