[This is a work of fiction, written for fun and not for profit. All DC Comics-related characters are copyrighted by DC Comics; all rights reserved and no permission was granted to use them. This work may not be reprinted without the written consent of the author and must include this disclaimer.]
Wally, obviously a sheltered little Mid-Western dweeb suffering from rampaging xenophobia with a touch of stupid to go along, merely folds his arms and stared at me. "Mark my words, Robin, those two are weird. I'm watching them. I watch everyone."
"Ooooo....I'm shaking," I said, folding my arms in a similar threatening manner. NOKD. That's what he was doing to those aquatic heroes, in a sense; he was NOKD'ing them. I've learned all about that at the private school I attend, and it's no fun being the subject of that kind of treatment. The snickering, the sneering, and then the remark: "...he's not our kind, darling." Nah, I'm not their kind. I'm just a "circus freak" who "got lucky," like my parents' deaths made for some sort of windfall, with my safety net being Bruce Wayne's millions. Even worse, I get this treatment from Bruce's too-rich-for-their-own-good house guests too, the ones who look upon me with such mock "poor thing is out of his element" pity. It's the same thing Wally was doing, putting down Aquaman and his friend and devaluing their worth and their assistance to us based on where they are from. I've been on the receiving end of that kind of attitude a number of times since moving to Gotham City, in general, and Wayne Manor, in particular...and I hate it.
Realizing this is a useless thing to fight over, I decided to direct my attention to other things. "If you'll excuse me, I've got some REAL sleuthing to do," I growled as I turned to leave. "And, just as a tip, you really should stop getting your political views from cows and the guys they keep warm at night." I didn't care what he did or said after this; I just didn't want to be in his company, and, for his part, he seemed to feel the same about me, though I figured he'd be asking lots of questions about me to anyone who would listen to him. Somehow, I'll bet Wally really does watch everyone else. As fast as he can move, he may as well do. He's certainly got time on his side.
As I roamed the beach, a bright golden glint hit my eyes, and I ran a few feet to see what I'd found. I knew it wasn't part of one of the robots, because they were made of a chromium steel alloy and, thus, had a silver-gray finish. I dug my fingers into the sand and yanked at the sharp metal piece. A golden "A," the symbol of Aquaman. It must have been dislodged from his belt during the battle, I figured. I noted there was a tiny communicator button on the back; I assumed it to be S.T.A.R. Labs technology. I could feel a subtle vibration coming from the button as I pressed my thumb against it; it was my guess that it emits a sonar pulse signal that Aquaman could pick up on no matter where he traveled in his vast domain. I'd always wondered how the JLA got in touch with a man who lived at the bottom of the Atlantic. Clever bunch, they are.
"Robin! To the Batboat!" the gruff voice screamed to me. Yikes! I'd been so busy contemplating my find that I'd forgotten where I should have been----back at the Batboat. I heard cackling from nearby from the two yellow and red suited red-heads, who laughed loudly as I ran by. "Fly, Robin! Fly!" Speedy yelled. I considered a rude hand gesture, but the Batman was watching me as he stood there at the boat mooring, his massive arms folded across his chest as he leaned against his testosterone-powered speed bucket. He glared at me through narrowed eyes, and his down-turned mouth indicated he'd been waiting a few minutes too long for his taste. I overheard a sympathetic Speedy as he lowered his voice and said to Kid Flash something that included, "...gives me the total creeps..." I didn't have to hear the rest. There's probably no one on Earth that the Batman doesn't spook. He could make Superman blink.
The Dark Knight and I rolled and rocked home, cushioned in the black inner sanctum of the Batboat, with him giving me the silent treatment most of the way. It wasn't really that Batman was angry with me; it had been a horrible day all around. Though Brainiac's legion had been defeated, it had been at a fearsome cost. Beyond whatever injuries Aquaman had suffered, Green Arrow had received several nasty-looking cuts and bruises for his trouble, and even the lightning-fast Flash had experienced a bad blow to the head, a hit so strong that it had flung him across the island like a rag doll. Batman hates surprises, and the robot legion had certainly been different from anything we'd come up against back home in gritty, grimy, decaying Gotham City. For all of his frigid aloofness, he didn't like seeing his friends hurt . Although his expression never varied from one end of the day to the next, the concern he had for his fallen comrades was evident to my seasoned eye. I shifted my gaze elsewhere as he bristled with my scrutiny of his features, so I busied myself rearranging controls on the onboard computer. The last thing I wanted was to have Batman's temper directed at me. As we flew through the causeway on the rocky waves along the shoreline route to the outskirts of Gotham, I hoped with all my heart that, just for once, all was peaceful and calm in my adopted hometown tonight, and that its two busiest guardians could just go home and get some rest.
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"A bit late for a full course dinner, Master Richard," Alfred said as I came downstairs following my bath. I'd had sand in my hair, my boots, probably even my shorts, and soaking in soapy water while answering Jeopardy questions blaring from my bedroom TV seemed just the thing. Alfred, Bruce's trusty and spit-spot butler, gets rather fussy when his meal plans are thwarted, but after several years of Bruce's nocturnal adventures, he's learned to cope. "I have, however, prepared some light comestibles for your consumption. Your choice from the larder includes slices of Virginia ham, fresh fruit, chicken salad, digestive biscuits, Major Grey chutney, piccalilli and several aged cheeses. Be sure to eat your apple, drink your milk, wash your plate and glass and return the platter to the refrigerator when you're finished." "What about Bruce? Is that for his dinner, too?" I asked. "No, Master Bruce is presently having tea as he works downstairs on the computer. I'll be straightening up in the study if you need anything. And by the way, an impatient young man from Nebraska called you several times in rapid succession. He said something about a flash, left a number and asked you to call him. And don't be long at it; long distance bills set Master Bruce's teeth on end." With that, Alfred folded the tea cloth he held, placed it neatly on the counter and left for other parts of the manor. I ate alone in the kitchen, which isn't at all unusual in this massive, stuffy old household. Alfred does his thing, Bruce does his, and I'm left alone to do mine, except for when I'm in training...sometimes. Heroics can be a lonely life, and being the ward of a man obsessed with it only compounds the hurt.
Later, here in my bedroom, I called the number Wally had left with Alfred. Our rapid-fire conversation lasted all of ten minutes; hard to believe anyone could tell me the story of his life in that short time, but leave it to someone called Kid Flash to manage that! We agreed to get together sometime, maybe a Saturday when his mother said it was okay for him to take a day trip to somewhere close to home...which he would, of course, make up a lie about. I hated the thought of him having to lie to her, but there's no way to explain him coming to Gotham City for a few hours when the train alone would take him half a day.
A bit later, with my ears still buzzing from Speed-Talk, I curled up under the blankets and pulled the comforter over my head. Nothing on TV to keep me awake; no old movies to soothe me from the traumas of the day. Damn infomercials anyway. I sure miss late-night black and white Mae West fests, those cool ancient comedies I used to watch with my mom while we settled down in the early hours of the next day after a night of "oooo's" and "aaaahhhhs," swinging high above the awe-struck townies in the thin air at the top of the big tent. I miss Mae West, I miss the laughs, but mostly...I miss Mom. And since there was nothing else of interest on the tube and I felt like crying, I figured I might as well crash. Sleep...the great equalizer, for asleep I don't have to please anyone, jump through hoops, fly off of rooftops or pine for the good ol' days.
I could have sworn I closed one of the double French doors of my balcony, while leaving the other slightly ajar, but I was soon awakened by a sudden chill and a breeze which blew the homework papers from my desk and into the trash bin next to it. Good; it was as if I'd planned it that way. Reluctantly, I kicked off the bedcovers and threw myself out of bed. I hate to walk the cold floor in my bare feet, but if I had opened my eyes to look for my slippers I'd have never gotten back to sleep. I'm like that: once awake, I'm wide awake. Stumbling across the floor, I reached out almost instinctively when I figured I was in grasping distance of the door knobs, and I fumbled in the dark, running my fingers along the wooden moldings to find the ornate handles.
My room is on the second floor with an outside balcony which overlooks the pool, so I never worry about securing the doors at night. No one would think of breaking into imposing, stately Wayne Manor---that's why there's no burglar alarm. This place screams murder mystery from the outside, so no one would try it. Besides that, just beyond the grassy property line that my doors face, there's a steep, treacherous cliff that ascends from the depths of this inlet of Gotham Bay. Only the seagulls can manage a trip from the bottom to the top.
"It is over there," I heard a light, strange voice say, the sound of which immediately sent my body into attack mode. I assumed a martial arts position and prepared to defend myself, and through squinted eyes I peered around the area of the double doors and used the moonlight to my advantage. "Come out, whoever you are!" I yelled as my eyes began to adjust to the dim light. "I am right here; can you not see me?" the lilting voice said. I detected no movement other than feeling my heart racing, but since the figure made no move toward me, I began to back up and to reach for the light fixture next to my bed. Remembering that my guitar was leaning against the headboard of my bed, I figured I could do an "El Ka-bong!" on my assailant if I needed to, so I instinctively grabbed its neck and prepared to swing it. I flicked the light on in the same pass as grabbing the guitar, and, as light flooded the room, a familiar form standing next to the French doors began to take shape. "Aqualad?!"
"Hello," he offered in a timid voice. "Do you remember me?" I loosened my grip on my guitar, leaned it against the nightstand, and straightened up. Not wanting him to think he'd gotten the drop on me, I pushed my drooping black bangs out of my eyes and shrugged my shoulders. "Of course I remember you. I...I was just startled, is all..." "Oh, because you looked as if you were going to hurt me," he said cautiously, as he scanned my room with an expression of awe. "I like your dwelling very much," he added, and I noted that he still hadn't moved an inch from the spot where he first planted himself, near the outward opening doors. "You can come in, you know. You'll catch cold standing there...and I'll get a towel for you. Alfred will kill us if he finds water all over the place." Dumb-bell! Cold? What's wrong with me?! This kid lives at the bottom of the sea! If he can survive freezing cold temperatures down there, Gotham City in the fall is a cinch.
"Towel?" The funniest expression broke out on his face as he fingered my offering, a big plush bath towel from the bathroom. "Ummmm....you dry yourself off with it," I instructed him, "...it'll take the water off of you." "Oh...and why would I want to do that?" he asked as he rubbed it against his face. Then the answer came to him without any further assistance from me. "Ahhhh...this is...very nice. Ok...I'll try..." My goodness; amazing how something I take for granted would seem so strange to someone like him. But then, what does he know of my world, I wondered. Probably way more than I know about his; that's for sure.
Politely as I could, I searched his features for whatever might give him away as an Atlantean if I didn't know him to be one. Using my best-learned detective skills, I started from the top: normal-enough looking hair, ears, nose, mouth---we're not going there eyes-wise! Pretty much the same build as me, no fins, no scales, no dorsal appendages, no gills that I could see. Nothing that would conjure up images of mermaids or creatures from the deep as seen in old horror movies. He looked harmless enough---cherubic to a fault, in fact, and, judging from the events of this afternoon, I figured him to be only vulnerable when out of water for a while, not that I'd assumed him to be a danger anyway. After all, he's on our side. Though Batman had mentioned the words "maverick," "loose cannon" and "royal pain in the...backside" in terms of Aquaman, I don't think any of that applied to this boy. He seemed to be quite the opposite.
"How the heck did you get up here?" I pondered aloud, scratching my head as I leaned through the doors to see what he might have used to climb up. He couldn't possibly have climbed the sheer, forbidding cliffs protecting Wayne Manor from the sea. Sir Edmund Hillary couldn't have managed a climb that treacherous. "I did it in a leap from the cove," he replied, not looking up at me or stopping his water blotting. "Then I did the same from your water pond onto your ledge."
"Ooooo-kay....geez, you must have legs as mighty as a grasshopper's, pal." He looked puzzled at me, but I caught him before he could even begin, "Never mind. I'll explain that some other time. There's an easier way up via the waterway through the underground caves, by the way. I'll have to show you that before your next visit. Errrr....Why did you come here---and how did you ever find me?"
"I came because you called me, only I thought it was Arthur...the one you call Aquaman...calling me. I am just as surprised to see you as you are to see me. Where is he, then?" He looked around my room, the enigma of it all written on his face. I didn't know what he was talking about; how could I have..."I....I didn't call you. How could I?...oh no!"
Then I remembered! The "A!" "Oh no----was it this thing?" Reaching for my tunic and belt dangling from the back of my desk chair, I pulled the golden icon with its mini-transmitter out of one of the compartments on my belt. "When I touched the button on the back, maybe I set it off. Is that it? I sure didn't hear anything." "I'd be puzzled if you did!" he giggled, taking the icon in hand. "It's not at a pitch your ears would recognize, but I could hear it plainly, even many leagues away from your shores. I did think it was strange, though, because I normally can sense things about Arthur, even from a long way away, and that feeling did not come with the distress signal. Maybe that was because I am already worried about him."
"That's pretty deep, kiddo," I grinned at him. He and his mentor must have an amazing friendship; they must be the type to complete each other's sentences. "Sorry to drag you all the way up here to Bristol on a wild goose chase, Aqualad. But maybe I can make it up to you by getting some information on how Aquaman is doing. I can hack into S.T.A.R. Lab files anytime I want to and..."
Before I had even finished the sentence, I knew I'd lost him, so there was no need to complete it. No worry; he'd understand it later as I'd show him how to navigate the system to do some covert sleuthing. Some days I just love my work, and hacking my way into lab files is one of my favorite challenges. Hey, it keeps me off the streets...
"I don't sense him to be in danger of death, but I am worried for him," mused Aqualad quietly. "Sense? I thought he was only a telepath where fish are concerned." I had to ask; see, I thought I knew everything about the Justice Leaguers. Batman studies them all and keeps files on them, and I learn a lot leaning over his shoulder as he types away. He hates it when there's an unsolved mystery or any sort of unknown quantity, and the normally tight-lipped Aquaman poses a bit of a conundrum to the great detective.
"This has nothing to do with telepathy," Aqualad said, stopping his towel blotting to take a look at me. I noticed that each time he had done this, his eyes purposely never met mine, but stopped just below or to the side of mine, his thick, kohl-black eyelashes acting as concealers. "I share a sort of link to him, and I always seem to know when he is in pain or in danger. It is a type of .... well, extra-sense."
"It must be interesting to live with a man who can talk to sea creatures, though I can't figure what a flounder would have to say to anyone," I giggled, thinking myself quite clever for a moment as I flung my body back onto my bed. My humor was lost on my guest. "Most of those creatures have ancient souls; they know much about the rhythm of life from learning to survive in the seas from generation to generation, and these stories they impart to Arthur. And then....some of them just babble. Well...a great many of them do."
"Must make for some great tales, then, huh?" Fish tales, mostly, I'd figure, like how they got away from fisherman. I tried not to laugh at the thought; he wouldn't understand the humor in my play on words, and I wouldn't want to insult him in any way.
"Arthur...errr, Aquaman...tells wonderful tales of the sea and her struggles with man." I smiled broadly at this remark, which piqued Aqualad's interest; as an eyebrow raised, he boldly searched my face for an answer. "You laugh? You believe we of the seas have nothing of value to say?" "Oh no--not at all!" I corrected him. "I guess it's just that we on land always view it the other way 'round---you know, like in the documentaries, like 'man and his attempts at conquering the sea, harnessing her power' and all..."
"But in the end, she must win, Robin" came his thoughtful reply. "For if she loses the battle, then all is lost---for your kind and mine." And, of course, he's right.
Finished with dabbing at beads of water on his body, Aqualad fumbled with the towel, unsure as to what its function is after having served its purpose. "I'll take that," I offered, lifting the towel from his hands and depositing it where I usually leave such things...in a heap on the floor. Alfred would take care of it sooner or later, delivering the same sermon he does each time he enters my junked-up room: the one about neatness, about cleanliness being next to godliness and all. I usually do my own laundry when he lets me get to it first, so I don't see what the big deal is. If Alfred had his way, no one would ever dirty anything, and what fun would that be? Sometimes he can be a cranky old pain; it must come with the accent. But he's the closest thing I've had to a father since I lost mine, so I try very hard to please him...in moderation, of course. I am new at being a teenager, after all.
On invitation, Aqualad decided to have a look around my room, and he developed a new fascination with all things electric. It was cute in that corny "caveman meets spaceman" sort of schtick, but I swore if he turned my nightstand light on and off one more time...I'd bean him! Out at sea, it must have appeared that I was sending coded distress signals from my bedroom window. "Maybe I ought to introduce you to television, huh, pal?" I figured this would keep him busy for a few minutes, so I handed the remote control to him, pressing the button to turn the TV on, and lowering the volume so as not to alert Alfred, wherever he roamed about the house, that I was still awake. "This button changes channels. Are you hungry? I can sneak down to the kitchen and get something for you---maybe a sandwich or some crackers?"
Pensively, he eyed the remote, then shifted his attention to me as he took a seat on the floor in front of my television. "Do you have any kelp, Robin?" "Errrr...no, I don't think so, 'cept Bruce might have some in capsule form as an health food supplement." Kelp?! Help! "And the name is Dick; I'm only Robin when I'm wearing the mask. So, do you want to try the capsules?" "Oooo...No, I have no real need of food, thank you...I ate yesterday, but I will need water fairly soon. I did not like the water in your pond, though. It was painful to breathe and made my gills itch. Is all your water of that sort?"
"The pool water is chlorinated, and...ewww, that had to hurt trying to breathe it! Yeah, no problem; I can get spring water for you from the kitchen." Just as I was saying this, a rumble in the heavens above the house stopped me in my tracks. One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three...I counted aloud and searched the ceiling as if I could see the clouds through it, and then...a mammoth crack of lightning flashed outside! My balcony doors suddenly blew in, and the light flickered and dimmed to a brown out. Poor Aqualad; the flash frightened him so that the remote control for the television jumped from his hand, and, as the light brightened, I could see him curled up in a fetal position on the floor with his arms covering his head. The poor Minnow; life's tough above the waves!
"You can skip the 'duck and cover' drill, kiddo---it's ok now, " I comforted him. "I...think...I had better...go home now..." came the hesitant reply, and he gestured toward the doors. "Oh no, you can't go out there! You heard that thunder! There's a big storm off the coast and it's already raining heavily outside. You can stay here tonight!"
In my generosity, I'd forgotten that this wouldn't be an easy task, to make suitable accommodations for what's technically a two-legged mermaid. He couldn't sleep in my bed, for one thing. I remembered Batman saying that Aquaman needed water at regular intervals. These people have to breathe oxygen filtered through the hydrogen bond in order for it to be of any use to their bodies; otherwise, they slowly and painfully suffocate. If he fell asleep in bed, neither of us would remember to make sure he was getting proper hydration. I figured he'd need at least a bathtub's worth of water in the hours until morning. Hey.....bathtub! That was the answer!
"I've got it, Aqualad!---hey, don't they call you anything besides that? Well, anyway, I've got it! You can sleep in the tub overnight, and by morning the storm should have passed over us. Then we can find out how Aquaman is. I don't dare use the computer now, what with the electrical activity overhead; it's too dangerous. In fact, I shouldn't even have the TV on, because the electrical storm might blow out the cable box." Reaching down, I picked up the controls and turned the TV off, returning the room to the amber glow of the small bronze-colored Tiffany table lamp.
"Garth," he said quietly, forlornly surveying the blank TV screen. He'd been seriously getting into a rerun of "Lassie;" said it made him homesick for his pet walrus. WALRUS?! "Sorry?" I asked, as I reached for the light dimmer on the wall and turned on the fluorescent tubes which are shelved along the upper walls of my room, allowing for various tones of dramatic lighting. Kudos to whoever designed, or more likely remodeled, this museum piece of a house. "Garth," he said again, shyly, "My name is Garth."
I stopped in my tracks, perplexed by his demeanor. He seemed almost ashamed to say his own name. "Oh...that's a neat name," I replied, mostly fumbling for something to add to this revelation. "How come you and Aquaman have such normal names? I guess I figured with you two being from some place so exotic, you'd have names that were pretty hard to pronounce."
"Arthur told me he received his name from a landsman who cared for him for a time, when he was younger. I don't know why my mother called me Garth; I don't know why she called me anything at all, since she would not keep me. The authorities had decided I must die soon after birth; it could be there just had to be a name on the birth and death records, I would suppose. The death order record is how I found my name. One of Arthur's friends, a city official, was able to find it for us."
"Wait wait wait wait wait!" I jumped in. "Death?! They wanted to kill---a little baby?! What kind of nuts run that place?" "It is the way," he said, slowly, sadly shaking his head. "My eyes told them all they needed to know; they give me away. They say I am mentally and physically deficient; my mind and body may never develop properly. At least that's what the authorities believe. The high priest of the Shalakites---one of our religious groups---says I was born evil, the reincarnation of an evil wizard; my eyes prove it. He believes I will bring bad luck and danger to his people because I live."
"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard, and that includes the ravings of the Arkhamites. You're no more an evil wizard than...than I am! You ask me? You're better off away from those people. They're loonies."
Sighing, he stood in front of my dressing table mirror and stared at his reflection in the dim light. "But I am, you know. There's something wrong with me, but I just can't figure it out. Funny things happen to me, things that don't make sense at all. Sometimes I wake up surrounded by freezing water. Then, sometimes it's just the opposite---the water directly around me is boiling hot---yet I remain unharmed. It only seems to affect me as I sleep; it's a kind of curse. And I don't dare tell Arthur; he might send me away, and I'd be all alone again. I wouldn't want to live like that again. You won't tell anyone about this, will you? Please...?"
"Of course not," I reassured him, "It's probably nothing at all---there could be any number of explanations for differing water temperatures. Kind of a 'gulf stream' sort of thing, maybe." I didn't know what I was talking about, but as long as it made him feel better about himself, that's all that counted. "You shouldn't let other people's superstitions make you feel badly about yourself. You're lucky---you have no idea how many people wish they could swim underwater and view the oceans as you do. I bet those folks inside that city are just jealous of you because you're on the outside and not cooped up in a glass bubble like they are."
"But you have never seen the wonders of their city as I have. As an exile, I am not permitted to go into the city, but I wish I could someday. It looks so beautiful; it shimmers like a giant jewel in the dark of the ocean. I look in through the dome sometimes and dream that someday I might travel their streets as they do, but I suppose that is stupid. I will always be an exile..." As his voice trailed off, his eyes were drawn to a framed picture on my nightstand, the one of me smiling in triumph between my parents, John and Mary Grayson.
Picking up the photo, I handed it to him. "That was taken after I had completed my very first aerial routine, during training for our act. I was so thrilled that I'd done something so tremendous that my folks could barely hold me down long enough for the picture to be taken. Man, look at me! My teeth pretty much fill up the picture---I look like an Osmond!" Well, that was a pretty silly analogy to make to a kid like him, I thought after the fact, so I tried to fix it, albeit quickly and clumsily. "Ummm....they're a family of singers with...well, never mind." Garth laughed quietly, "I know...the 'One Bad Apple' boys with the big grins, yes?" He knew from The Osmond Brothers?!
"Because I often come to the surface with Arthur, I find out about many things. He has acquaintances on sailing vessels and island research facilities. Some of them teach me about music and games and all sorts of things. This is how I know."
"Forgive me," I began, feeling rather foolish, "I didn't mean to make it sound that you're out of touch, but I figure if you don't have radio or television down in the ocean, you probably don't know a lot about pop culture and stuff. That's all I meant."
"Oh yes, and you are right, but I learn very fast and I learn from everyone I meet. I like what music I hear...and 'Green Acres' and 'I Love Lucy.' I do not understand all of the words said, but people talking to farm animals is funny in any language." I laughed out loud at the thought that somewhere in a cave at the bottom of the ocean, this kid was, on some cold, dark night, keeping himself entertained by recalling lines from American-made sitcoms created decades before his birth....much the way I recall those classic lines as I lie here in the dark of my room on nights when sad memories try to force their way into my brain. Realizing how much we have in common, I became certain of one thing right there and then: Garth will become a dear friend of mine. No doubt about it.
Since we hadn't seen lightning for a good half-hour and the thunder echoes seemed to have moved on for the time being, I turned the television back on and found a nostalgia shows channel for Garth to watch, then I began to rummage through a box full of items under my bed. Comic books, a few old promotional posters for Haly's Circus rolled and rubber-banded, a baseball cap Bruce got for me at a Gotham Knights game---we sat in his box with his date, the swimsuit model, that night. That was the night I swore that when I grow up I'll never let a girl's whining and boredom interfere with me staying for a double-header, because we, of course, had to leave before the end of the first game, thanks to Delphine. The humidity of the late afternoon air was making her hair frizzy and her yawning and complaining was annoying people several boxes away. Bruce bought me the cap as a token of apology. Whoopee. But I digress...
So, let's see, what was I looking for...? Oh yeah---got it! At the bottom of the box I found the thing which jogged my memory, for hidden under the other junk was an air pump fit to service up to an one hundred gallon aquarium tank. Surely that should create enough oxygen bubbles to keep Garth quite happy during the night---that is, if I could ever drag him away from reruns of "The Patty Duke Show." From the moment he saw Cathy, he was enthralled; something about that British accent just did him in. I hope he never asks if he can meet her; I'd hate to have to be the one to tell him she isn't real.
"Does it ever scare you," he looked up at me from his position of being much too close to the TV screen, "what you do with the Batman, I mean. It is...dangerous. You must be very brave." "Don't you think what you do with Aquaman is dangerous? Aren't you ever afraid?" I asked, rather surprised at his comment. "Oh no," he replied, "Arthur always tells me it's just fun and games, even when we got captured by pirates. He told me it was just like 'Peter Pan,' a story the lighthouse keeper---his pretend father---told him, and he, in turn, told to me to make me go to sleep when I did not want to...." He pouted like a little kid for a moment, then brightened up again. "I knew he only told me that so I would not worry. I wasn't sure we'd be able to escape that time, and, to be honest, neither was he, but we did with the aid of the sea creatures who came to our rescue. They love Arthur. Some of them gave up their lives to help him. So I know we are never in any real danger because our friends will always be there to aid us, and we do the same for them. Strength in numbers, as your people say. Do you have such friends?"
"Errr....no, it's just me and Batman out there...but...but...we have a cave. I call it The Batcave! It's kind of creepy...but it's pretty cool, too. Lots of scientific equipment...and bats." Well, it's about all I could come up with; I don't have anything cool like a pet walrus to brag about. The word "cave" had a strange effect on Garth; he began to grin wildly. "Yes, I know! We have a cave too! I found it and made it our home, and I named it the Aquacave, in honor of the stories Arthur told me of you and the Batman. You see, I want to be just like you."
Imagine that---he wants to be like...me? Wow! I've only been that proud a couple of times in my life, like that night when a little kid at the circus begged to take his picture with me and my folks. I had promised him I'd complete the nearly impossible quadruple somersault just for him; no one else in the business had ever completed that move before an audience before. This was never a sure thing, and I'd only done it in practice, but he wanted it so desperately....and I did it. The look on his face was priceless, and I couldn't believe that something I did could make someone else so happy. Of course, that was the last thing I did professionally, because my folks died only a few minutes after that.
That poor little boy's emotions went from elation to devastation in a matter of moments, just as mine did. But for a few minutes that night, I was that kid's hero, and looking at Aqualad right then, I knew it wasn't just a one shot deal. I really do have something to offer, especially to other kids. I like heroics...I'm just not used to being told I'm a hero. That's deep, and probably more responsibility than any kid my age should have. But as I thought about the events of the day---being out there fighting along side other kids like me---it occurred to me that there could be something to what Garth said, about there being "strength in numbers." Something to think about...but for later.
By 3:45am, both Garth and I were pretty tired. My new pal had gulped several sixty ounce bottles of spring water, his eyelids were drooping and he was giggling at things that weren't even funny, so I knew it was time for bed. Ushering him into the bathroom, I basked in the glow of his fascination as I plugged in the air pump and hooked up the clear plastic line that wound feed oxygen into the bath water. But what about that hard porcelain surface?
"What do you usually sleep on back home, Garth?" I asked, looking around for a soft solution to our problem. "Sponges and woven sea grass. Do you have any?" he answered, flashing those big, innocent lavender eyes. "Errrrr....no. But there's a feather down comforter in my closet that'll pad the bottom, and that and a pillow should do. I've got a night-light that'll make it a little friendlier for you, and we'll leave the door open. I'll only be a few feet away. Do you want some pajamas? You can use a pair of mine."
His curious look turned curiouser. "Pajamas?" I pulled on the bedshirt I was wearing. "I have either another bedshirt like this or a cotton set with a top and bottom." Still curious, he answers, "I don't wear anything when I sleep. Do you want me to?" "Ummm...that's up to you, Garth. It's ok with me either way." No point in making him feel uncomfortable, especially when he's already in a foreign environment. While filling the tub with tepid water, I checked the air tube to make sure it was working and dropped it into the bath. While I pulled the comforter from its drawer, Garth pulled the sheer, skin-like red tunic he wears up and over his head. Pushing the bedding down into the tub, I adjusted the tube to make sure it wasn't going to be clogged by the bed cover, and then I dropped in a pillow I'd brought along from the closet.
Smiling brightly, Garth climbed into his cozy makeshift bed, tested the water and settled into it. His gurgling voice let me know that he was quite comfortable; he sounded like a fugitive from a cartoon show as his voice rippled through the water with every word. After saying a final goodnight to my guest, it was time for me to crash as well. The happy little hum coming from the air pump let me know that my new friend would rest comfortably, and, jumping into bed, I pulled the covers up and sank down into the mattress. With one final look at the bathroom door, I grinned at the wonder of it all once more. I just hoped that Garth wasn't the kind to thrash about in his sleep, because that would send water cascading out of the tub and onto the floor. I could just see me having to explain a mess like that to Alfred.
----DB
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