"Better Life"

One thing I love about Aqualad is how straightforward he is, and how opinionated. Sometimes a little too opinionated, but he's so passionate when he argues about something.

Like a few days ago, when we were out shopping—Bee made us get some things for her to keep us from getting violent with the ever-more-annoying twins. We had finished getting everything, of course, and were walking back to the coastline when Aqualad just stopped and stared. I nearly ran into him, but caught myself and asked what was wrong.

He didn't answer, so I repeated the question, slightly worried. With every passing second he looked more furious.

"Aqualad?" I followed his eyes to the big, orange sign at the top of the building and let out a sigh. "Just let it go," I muttered, pulling on his elbow. "You can't help it."

It was a pet store, one of those generic ones that are everywhere. But next to the sign was the picture of a fish in a plastic bag, with a little boy holding it and looking happily at the fish. When I said 'help it,' I meant 'help the fish.'

"She," he spat, shifting his glare to me. "It's a she."

I almost laughed, knowing that he would kill me if I chuckled aloud. "What do you want to do, then?" I asked, shaking my head. "Throw them into the ocean? Don't be ridiculous—the only kind of food they know how to catch are little flakes of who-knows-what that are fed to them by hu—"

"I know," he sighed, his shoulders drooping. He started walking again, eyes on the ground, and I felt disgusted with myself for making him look like that.

"Don't get all sad about—"

"I'm not sad," he laughed, quirking a brow at me. My pulse sped up in my veins with that look. "Just… frustrated. Like I can't do anything to help them. We save people all the time, and some people don't need to be saved. Why can't we help living things that do need our help?"

"Maybe they don't know that there's anything better." I shrugged. "I mean, if you stick something in a cage from the first day of its life, how will it know that there's a better kind of life for it?"

He stopped walking, looked out over the bay, and then turned to face me. "Do you think there's a better life for us, Speedy?"

I froze where I stood, unable to look away from him but unable to find an answer. "Well," I began, desperately trying to form an opinion out of the blank space in my head.

"I mean, could our lives be less stressful, or more fun? Could we make better friends or keep from making enemies? Could we learn to open ourselves up a little, instead of keeping secrets from each other?"

I swear, time froze. The question might've been just another in a long line of thoughts, but it seemed purposely directed at me. The only thing I could think was a panicked Does he know I love him? and then an even more panicked, How?!

The eternal second passed, and he began walking again, probably with a clear head instead of my jumbled, guilty, doubting mind.

I still wonder what he meant by that. I suppose I should ask him.