Hey guys! Sorry for the long wait, I've had sooo much going on! Florida, then Comic-Con (which was amazing), then my cousin from Italy (can you believe she's never had a pancake?), then summer homework (my price for being good at English), then Running Away. So, I've been super busy! I really should be doing my homework…

Please go read Running Away! I love writing that fanfic! (Well, I love writing this one too, but that one is a little bit easier)

P.S. I named this chapter after the hospital my brother was born in two years ago.

P.P.S I really, very highly recommend this soundtrack that goes well with the chapter: Dark Knight Original Soundtrack-Like a Dog Chasing Cars.

P.P.P.S. It took me forever to figure out where this story would go next. Then I saw Kung Fu Panda 2 (awesome, by-the-by) again, and a scene from it inspired me.

Chapter Three

Memorial–Part I

That night changed my life. I know it sounds pretty cliché, but it's true. That night, I stopped being just Brooklyn Riyadh; I became so much more.

Most heroes you know lead just two lives; their hero one, and their secret identity "normal" one. I'm living three.

My hero life, which I choose, my "normal" life, which I need, and my political life, which is forced.

That night, I cried my heart out, because when I was finally alone in the dark and everything was quiet, I felt the true fear and understanding of what it meant now that I was an orphan; I would never see my mother again in my life. It stung, and it hurt, and it ached, and then tears would wash it away temporarily. But I'd jolt awake and it'd start all over again.

In the morning Bruce came and made me promise (I refused to swear) never to tell anyone about what I'd found out; identities, locations, everything. It all had to stay secret.

Dick was my best friend. Asia was gone, and Koleah and everyone else; far away in New York, so it was me and him. We went to school together, trained together, and when the time came, fought together.

There are three days I'll never forget at the Manor.

The first day was my first Christmas Eve there. I'd stopped singing, because every time I sang I heard my mother's voice. So, when Dick asked me to go caroling with him, and I said no, he didn't ask me why.

That night, I got up because I couldn't sleep. It didn't feel like Christmas to me; Christmas in New York with my mother was loud and bright and noisy and everything that Christmas should be! Christmas in Gotham was dark and mysterious and quiet and the opposite of my Christmases. Christmas in Gotham was not right.

I wandered around the Manor, feeling sorry for myself, even though I knew I shouldn't have been. In the one room, there was a piano. It was never used. Old, grand and dusty, it stood gleaming in the center, waiting for a bright Christmas, like me.

I'd never played an instrument in my life.

I sat down at the piano, for some reason, and I pulled up the cover, so the ivory keys shone in the moonlight. And I played. I pounded the keys till my fingers ached at midnight on Christmas Eve; and I didn't play badly either. This was really weird, now that I think about it, but it wasn't to me when I was playing.

I just kept playing "Carol of the Bells" over and over; the melody was in my head, and my fingers knew just what to do on the piano. I wasn't really in control.

I cried while I played. My throat hurt. And then I started to sing, softly at first, but it grew louder until my voice blew the piano out of the water.

One seems to hear

Words of good cheer

From everywhere

Filling the air

Oh how they pound

Raising the sound

O'er hill and dale

Telling their tale

I choked out the last part and stopped, and my fingers felt cramped. I sobbed quietly, wishing that my mother was here.

Gaily they ring

While people sing

Songs of good cheer

Christmas is here.

I turned around and there was Dick, singing softly in the threshold.

He ran and hugged me, and I hugged him back. We cried together. We both knew each other's stories; I'd lost my parents in Afghanistan and a hospital, he'd lost his in a circus tent.

And we fell asleep the piano bench in each other's arms, bro and sis already.

The second day was in January. Me and Alfred were alone at the Manor when he got sick, and that's when I discovered my talent for medicine.

You see, Endeavour had been training me even though Bruce didn't like it. Between fighting and flying, he showed me ways to heal wounds and stuff like that, stuff that birds were good at. Ten years old and I knew how to remove a person's appendix. Kind of. (Well, it was a very messy job but in the end I could do it.)

So, when Alfred got pneumonia, I put him to bed, and remembered the herbal recipe for fevers and breathing problems. I mixed it in the Cave, and gave it to him, praying to dear God that it would work. And, surprisingly, it did. So, now, whenever I'm out patrolling the city, my utility belt is full with vials and needles and surgical tools; you'd be surprised how often I need to use them.

The third day was the best, and the worst.

I called Bruce "Dad." I'd never called anyone "Dad" before, but it just seemed to fit him. It was an accident.

We were in the pool; it was the middle of summer vacation. You can guess what happened next. I slipped and fell in the deep end. Now, I wasn't a bad swimmer, just not a very good one in deep water, so yes, I started screaming and coughing, like the little, terrified ten-year old I was. The ten-year old who kicked bad guy butt almost every night and strategized war against the invading nation of Asphur, was afraid of getting her head wet, I'll admit it. I don't think "penguin" wasn't on the list of bird genetics I got.

Bruce dove and in and got me out. I was choking and spluttering and somewhere in my babbles I shouted "Dad!" and hung on to him like a spider monkey. I don't think he minded.

Then that night, everything changed again. Right as I found my new family; my brother, grandpa and dad. I lost them all.

Because that night, L.Y.C.A.N. showed up.

Don't ask me what any of the letters stand for, because it makes my blood curdle when I think about them. And I honestly don't know or care.

They found me. Old believers of that dead scientist, Karo. They wanted me, so they could examine me and "take humanity to the skies." Basically, I was a genetic gem, a rare, irreplaceable gem. There was no other like me; I was the last and only one.

By now, L.Y.C.A.N. was more of an extremist cult than a scientific lab.

I had to be hidden; they couldn't find me. So Bruce told the world that his foster daughter was dead, and I went to live with Hal Jordan under the name, "Harper Ferris." I wasn't Brook anymore.

And that hurts; the fact that I'm not Brook anymore, I'm not even Harper Ferris anymore. I'm always someone new.

Now, I'm Allison Rheas, in Chicago Illinois, I'm thirteen and I live alone. Once in a while, Hal or Dinah will show up so the landlords won't throw me out until I move somewhere else and start again.

Tomorrow's a big day for me. Tomorrow's Independence Day.

Tomorrow, I join the Justice League as Valiant.

Tomorrow, everything's gonna change.

Meh, I didn't like this chap very much. Oh well, tell me what you think guys, AND I'M SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT!