A/N: Please read and review!

We would always be asked the same questions: How did the two of us meet? And, when did we become friends? All were very good questions, and we knew we couldn't tell the full truth because no one would've been able to believe the actual truth if we would have said it.

My mom grew up in deep in the bayous of Louisiana, and she was definitely a true French blue blood at heart, thanks to the efforts of all of the older women in her family. Before the War (the Civil War as the North would call if for some reason) the ancestors of her family were the landed aristocracy in New Orleans with connections to the French nobility, and they would still raise that nobility and grace within the children and grandchildren throughout the different generations. French was still spoken at home among the family, no matter how tenuous their ties to their ancient homeland had been. Her father's family were the complete opposite in every way, knowing the French but Cajun and Creole would always win out. They were not of the landed aristocracy and no ties to the French Nobility, but they still possessed that Southern pride and nobility that would've rivaled even the blue bloods.

Her childhood was a mixture of the high class of Southern society and the "low class" of her father's family. She could shoot better than her father, and she could clean any of her prey with ease. When a brother couldn't handle moonshine, she finished it without even grimacing. My grandpa would proudly proclaim she could survive in the wilderness with a shotgun, some flint, and a knife. Grandma was proud to say she could walk with grace, dance with ease, and be a renowned conversationalist. Not to mention her kind heart and intelligence that one would realize the longer they would speak to her.

She was the oldest of eight, and she was more like a mother than older sister for some of the youngest siblings, but she never minded that. She loved children. Her family had become very close.

It tore at everyone when she had to go to school up in the North. No one was ready for or expecting that kind of a separation, and lots of tears had been shed as she boarded the plane.

My dad grew up in a heavily German household. He knew German because it was the only language allowed to be spoken at home. They grew up in a small community close to Gotham City for business to be done without becoming a logistical nightmare, but was far enough away that the horrors of the city would never descend upon them. It was the closest thing Gotham would ever get to having suburbs.

My dad went to Gotham Academy because it was deemed to be smaller and safer than any of the public schools within that city, and he was smart enough to be allowed to have a scholarship to pay for the very expensive tuition. The same thing was allowed for his two younger brothers. He was quiet and very studious and kept to himself, mostly, but he did show off his dry humor and sarcasm on occasion.

There was a day when he noticed that Bruce Wayne, not too long after the death of both of his parents, was largely left alone by children who had no idea what to make of him, so he had decided to make friends with the boy understanding that maybe it wouldn't be so bad if a fried was close by being sarcastic and trying to lighten the mood without even being too obvious about it.

It had created a friendship that spanned their whole lives, and it was through that friendship that had allowed my parents to meet each other.

It was some kind of charity event, and my dad was chafing at having to wear a tuxedo. He would always say he stopped dead when he saw my mom make her entrance into the large room. She was not considered to be very beautiful in the traditional sense, but it was the way she would smile. My dad said you could tell she was a very good woman, and it shone through her smile, making her look truly beautiful.

She kindly spoke to the host, Bruce, but he wasn't the person she had eyes for. My mom, from the moment she heard my dad make that first sarcastic remark, only focused on my dad, and it was pretty clear she could match him wit to wit. Bruce understood that and didn't try to get in between the two of them, and on their wedding day, only a few months later, he was my dad's best man.

When I was born, Adelaide Maria Fritz, he became one of my godparents.

The whole family only called me Baby because to them that's what I was. I used that to my advantage when I was growing up.

I loved running around the countryside to fish, swim, or play adventure games in the med. In the summer, It was not an uncommon sight to see me running around barefoot in a dingy summer dress with a tangled mess of blonde hair. People would always joke if they would see me limping while wearing shoes the first couple weeks of school, they knew my mom cleaned the dirty soles of my feet and forced me to wear those shoes. They weren't sure if it's from getting used to wearing my shoes or from my mom scrubbing my feet clean. Probably both.

This childhood made me very independent and slightly strange, and I really didn't care about convention or what people had thought of me. Even at a young age, I would always choose doing my own thing over whatever everyone was doing.

That's why no one could believe I became close friends with Damian Wayne, the son and heir of Bruce Wayne and the most violent of the Robins.

From the very moment I was born, I was raised to believe the world as my own. I was beyond royalty as my mother was the only living child of Ras al Ghul, and I was raised as such.

I received the best education because my grandfather believed I would become greater than Alexander the Great and conquer the whole world. I knew many languages, learned how to command large armies, and rule different countries with different peoples and cultures. Because I was to conquer, I was trained by some of the greatest of my grandfather's men to fight from a very young age. Weakness was never tolerated.

I was a fast learner.

My mother was only rarely in my life during those early years of my childhood. She only wanted to know of my progress before rewarding me with some small amount of affection or punishing me by withholding that small amount of affection. I still looked up to her when I was much younger. She was a saint in my eyes, and from the stories she told me about my father, I saw him as more than human. Almost gold like.

I knew I came from great blood on both sides of my family, and I had carried myself accordingly as was proper for someone of my position.

My father had no idea what to expect from me. I was the complete opposite of his two wards. They were not as arrogant, aloof, or cold, but my father never held that against me. He knew my mother and knew how she had raised me.

Grayson always felt I never acted like a child, and he was concerned he never once saw me smile or heard me laugh. Not even close. He decided he was going to become something pretty close to my big brother and try to help me become normal. It was going to be very hard work for him, but he was patient.

It took almost two years before he was able to see me act like a normal child.

The whole family was not sure what to make of my friendship with the young girl everyone felt the need to call Baby, but after awhile, they were not complaining. I was becoming normal.