Fun And Games

by Aqualad

Before there were Titans, there were 5 kids who just wanted to help the world. From DH Brooks, the author of "A Legacy Of The Pacific," from Cedar Grove Books.

FUN AND GAMES

by Daria

[The following story is fan-fiction, written purely for entertainment purposes. It may not be reprinted in any form without my permission and may not be reused for profit. I don't own any of these characters; copyrighted hero names belong to DC Comics.

Prologue:

A limp, lifeless-looking, ashen body lies listlessly at rest at the bottom of the cold porcelain ball-and-claw footed bathtub, tiny oxygen bubbles streaming from partially opened lips. The tub is filled to within an inch of capacity, and the icy cold water is as still as the small frame which lies beneath the water line. This silent scene is shattered by the sudden shriek of a man gone berserk with rage, revulsion and fear.

"Oh, my word! Master Richard! Master Richard! What have you DONE?!"

As the butler's scream awakens me this strange morning, I'm immediately aware that I'll have to come up with a good explanation for my behavior. With the sound of a gurgling aquarium pump in the background, and, in my room, the cloak and dagger goings on of a few hours ago, the events of the last day almost seem like a dream. Of course, it doesn't help that I only went to sleep four hours ago, a fact which explains why my mind is the human equivalent of mush right about now. If Alfred's accent were Cuban instead of English, I could only expect that his next words would be "Dicky---you've got some 'xplaining to do!"

Alfred, the world's most "veddy veddy English" butler, always summons me for breakfast by 7:30am if I don't show up at the table by then to have breakfast with my guardian. But, like I said, I only just went to bed a couple of hours ago, so I'm pretty tired and not thinking about food, and I sure didn't set my alarm. And I was having such a lovely dream, too, but then the dream was a continuation of my great adventure from the previous day and especially from the night which followed it. I want to pinch myself for a reality check as I recall how all of this started, for I barely believe it---and I lived it. Funny as it all seems now, it sure didn't start out that way, but then I guess that's how a lot of great stories begin.

It was one of the biggest, messiest skirmishes I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of them. Not that I've been at this all that long; heck, I'm only thirteen! But acting as aid and partner to Batman for a couple of years has exposed me to some pretty insane situations, about as insane as a lot of the crims we corral and send back to either Stonegate Prison, or, if they belong to that whacked-out fraternity of freaks, back to Arkham Asylum. But this...this was something other than else, man.

There we were on a small island in the Bay, due south of Stryker's Island, outside of Metropolis, and there was debris and huge hunks of metal strewn all over the sand. An army of tripod-legged robots under the control of Brainiac---a computer entity who is one of Superman's losers---had been on the attack, and it took the combined might of members of the Justice League of America and numerous other heroes to put them down. These fantastic heroes had drawn the fight to this island to avoid any civilian casualties, for if the onslaught could be repelled out there, the robot raiders would never breech the shores of the coastal USA. It was amazing to be in their company, what with the combined forces of the Man Of Steel, the Green Lantern and that amazing ring of his, Aquaman---the man from Atlantis, The Flash---fastest man alive, and the Green Arrow, the world's finest archer, all of them ready for action. Don't get me wrong---this isn't the first time I've been able to work with so many of these marvels, but it was the first time that I wasn't the only person under 5' 5" fighting along side of so many of them!

To my amazement, there was a boy who could travel just as fast as The Flash. He was a streak of yellow and red, accented by an ample-sized bouncing swatch of red hair to match his costume, and I heard him referred to as "Kid Flash." During the fight, I heard him bantering back and forth with his mentor, though I didn't understand a word of it, for only they, and apparently Superman as well, can understand the pitch and timbre of a high-velocity voice while in motion. It made me want to get to know that boy---if we survived the mania of this encounter, of course. It sure impressed me that another kid would want to put his life on the line to fight for justice. And then, there were three of us.

The other boy was so intriguing to me that he had my keen detective senses tingling right away. He was a little shorter than I am, and a little thin---but not to the point of being too frail-looking. With an olive complexion dotted by tiny freckles across his cheeks, and that set off with jet black curly hair, he made for a striking vision. Kind of reminded me of me, sans the freckles; maybe, like me, he's of Romany stock, producing that swarthy, southern European look. Unlike Kid Flash, he was silent throughout almost the entire encounter, so quiet that at first I couldn't figure out just who he was there in tandem with. And that "near-frail" look to him? That was as deceptive as the mask I wear, something he, unlike most costumed heroes, didn't sport. That kid had a punch that could have kayoed a pro boxer with one hit. Pound for pound, this boy managed to hold his own against a couple of those tin monsters, and that was without any weapon other than his hands. I wanted to get to know him as well, and even though I'd fought beside him for more than an hour, I still didn't know his name. It took a while before I noticed the gold "A" on his belt; it matched the one I knew Aquaman to wear. This boy was an Atlantean too. Whoa.

When I finally saw that golden "A," it was from the ground up, while lying on my back on the warm sand. Having come so close to death just a few moments before that, I needed a breather and a moment to get my head together. And I owed someone a big "thank you." The shadow of death, as personified by those cyber-robots, loomed over me, one in front of me, one behind me, but at the time, the Tinman in front of me had my attention. A well-placed batarang had done major damage to what I assumed to be a hydraulic cable, yet this hulking ton of metal was still advancing toward me.

A scarlet streak had begun to circle around the legs of the robot before me, and in a glance I knew that The Flashes had things under control. With the two of them running at lightning speed around the base of this behemoth, they created a vortex which sent this monstrosity falling backward onto the beach. Meanwhile, behind me, a second metal giant was beginning to reel from the drubbing it received from the combined blows of a dainty yet dangerous flying girl, the Atlantean boy and the Green Arrow, who had used a lariat arrow to tangle the robot's legs. I had seen the shadow of the girl on the sand as she came between me and the sun, and the boy from the sea had run past me to join the attack, but I didn't find out about the Green Arrow's work until these events were recounted to me later in the day. His well-placed arrow was effective in helping to topple the giant; unfortunately, between the listing robot and the ground on which it would fall stood this little Robin who was preoccupied with that robot's kin in front of me.

As the shadow created by the falling robot grew all around me, I was lifted off of my feet and pushed clear of the soon-to-be-wreckage. I tumbled and rolled sideways, getting wrapped up in my cape. A bit of an embarrassment if you're meant to be a professional at this game, because handling your cape is learned on day one of the job. As I finally came to rest on my back, the sun shut my eyes for me. Bringing my hand up as a shield, I looked around to see who my benefactor had been and prayed it wasn't Batman. There's surely nothing worse than having your boss, partner and mentor find you laid out on the ground during a take-down. Really ruins any shred of self-confidence a junior partner might have developed; take it from me, 'cause I've got first hand knowledge of this and then some.

The clouds above rolled in and provided a light relief to all below, but not before the sun betrayed the hero standing next to me, for the rapidly departing sunlight glinted off of the metal symbol on his belt.

"Thanks for the save. Aqua...boy, I presume?" I fumbled for a name as I panted, still short of breath. He simply stared at me with a mild look of concern on his face. Then a second shadow joined his, much taller and far more imposing.

"It's AquaLAD, actually, Robin. Now get up; there's still work to do."

Oh great. It's that familiar low grumble of a voice that always reminds me of what my stomach sounds like when I'm really hungry, the same voice which always reminds me of what more I could do and how much better I could do it if I "really" tried. As if I don't "really" try. It just had to be the Batman, didn't it?

He stalked off without another look at me, almost as if he couldn't stomach another look at me, but not before he gave an approving pat on the shoulder to the "lad." My face must have shown my self-loathing, because it, in turn, evoked a grief-stricken look on the boy's face. That didn't last long, though. This kid had a certain something about him---a kindness, a gentle nature...I don't know what to call it, but I could see it plainly right away. And then he proved it.

A blue gloved hand extended down to me, then a second one, and Aqualad took my hands in his own and pulled me to my feet. I was about to thank him again when he suddenly turned with a start toward the beach. A screeching sound of metal hitting metal caught the attention of most everyone on the shore, and, out in the water, the orange and green garbed Aquaman seemed to be getting the worst end of a tangle with yet another of the metal beasts.

"Minnow! Minnow----get out here and take the other end of that net! What are you waiting on? HURRY! "

The brawny blonde king of all the oceans barked his commands, sounding for all the word like a cross between an angry Russian sea captain and a New England fisherman, a curious accent indeed for someone who is supposed to be from the fabled sunken lands of the eastern Atlantic. He bellowed like the winds of a hurricane at that little boy, who seemed all the more small because of the litany of diminutive names leveled at him by his mentor.

"Minnow." "Tadpole." "Sardine." "Squirt." "Shrimp?!" I didn't hear "Guppy" in the minutes which followed, but I certainly expected to. And, for his part, the Minnow did work equal to the force of a whale, thrashing away at the lower end of a metal monster, while his mentor bashed away at the head and shoulders. That lasted until the tin freak was able to maneuver a claw around the golden-haired hero and flung him to the sands of the beach.

Superman swooped in, moments too late to catch Aquaman but just in time to stop some hefty debris from finishing the job on him. Next, the Man Of Steel picked up the steel man that the king and his young page had been attacking and hurled it what seemed to be several miles out to sea. Even in his haste, he was careful to toss the giant far beyond the shipping lanes and the sportfishing areas and out into deep water. Always impressive to watch, the quiet dignity of Superman shown through all of his efforts. Before he flew off to another end of the battlefield, I saw him lift the aquatic boy out of the water, and, deftly holding him around the waist, the mighty man sailed him gently to the side of his fallen comrade. That kid fell to his knees next to his mentor in a vision of grief I hope never to have to equal with my own. He gave what comfort he could to his wounded friend in the midst of the mayhem all around them, and shielded him from the scorching sun, the heat from which caused them visible pain as their exposure to it continued. Maybe the other heroes would have done more to help them had the needs elsewhere not been so great. Sadly, these maritime marvels seemed to be on their own for the time being.

By the time the super-rumble ended, there were shreds of Spandex costumes and Kevlar capes in a myriad of colors littering the beach, and lying among the metallic lumps of smoldering robot parts were the limp forms of several heroes. With the defeat of the robot soldiers came a hushed silence.

I took a few moments to survey the cost of the battle, scanning the glittering sands, taking stock in what remained of the afternoon's mayhem. The first area my eyes hit was a spot near the edgewater where two now familiar figures lingered. There, huddled together, the strikingly virile-looking Aquaman lay gasping in the sand, with the small boy who had come to aid him hunched over him, using his body to shield his friend from the sun. I saw him cupping his hands to gather water from the surf to pour it over his fallen mentor. It was such a sad scene, and it seemed of little comfort to either of them when Superman went over to examine Aquaman's injuries. I was suddenly hit with a great desire to stand near Batman, if only to reassure myself that I had survived...and so had he.

As I walked in the shadow of the wind-swept red cape of Superman, I bent down to the ear of the frightened boy as he leaned over his partner.

"Don't worry," I said with as much hope as I could muster up, "he's going to be all right. I know it."

As his head slowly turned to face me, I was startled beyond belief by his eyes---he had lilac-colored irises, of all things. My face never hides my emotions---something I've got to work on---and my feeling of shock must have been written all over it, like a graffiti artist covers the side of a building. As the boy faced me and he noted my expression, his eyes dropped and he lowered his head. I sure didn't expect that, and I felt ever so badly for staring. I put my hand on his shoulder, patting it gently as my mentor had done not so long ago.

"If you need any help, I'm here, ok?" I reminded him, and he nodded without looking at me again. I could tell I'm not the only one who has freaked over those eyes, and I felt like a real rat for making him feel badly.

Before I could say anything more, Superman leant down to me. "I'll see to Aqualad, Robin. Meanwhile, find Batman and ask him to contact S.T.A.R. Labs immediately. I'll be flying Aquaman in for observation within a few moments."

"Check, Supes---I mean Superman...errr...sir!" I blurted out.

Man, I've just got to check my mouth at the door before the next mega-rumble, but it's so hard to put a lid on it , what with what Batman says about his compatriots when we're alone. He always refers to this super-strong alien as "Supes," or "The Big Blue Boy Scout," and it's usually said with a scowl. Superman is hardly his favorite person, especially since they tend to clash on their theories of criminal justice. That's only to be expected, I suppose, since they deal with totally different kinds of felons, and their views of the world come from two completely different kinds of upbringing---farm boy vs. rich boy, "The Real McCoys" vs. "The Untouchables." Batman knows a lot about this secretive man; to Batman, no one is above suspicion, and everyone's past must be available for inspection. I don't know what Superman knows about Batman's alter ego, but there's not much about Superman that Batman hasn't managed to find out.

Something else which separates them: Superman's rogues gallery can be from anywhere and do most anything, while the crims Batman and I end up chasing are mostly generic nuts without alien superpowers or anything. That doesn't make them any easier to apprehend---it just means they usually don't fly or shoot eye beams at us. Big deal. A rocket launcher aimed correctly does the same or worse damage, and we've sure seen our share of those.

As I walked across the sand to get to the Batboat anchored in the surf, a will-o-the-wisp sprang up on the sand in front of me, flinging the granules up and into the air to form a dusty cloud. I drew my arms up and covered my eyes to protect them, as, just then, the turbulent air suddenly came to a halt. The blur turned into hazy yellow and red, and then into the image of Kid Flash.

"Hey there!" he said, flashing a mouthful of pearly white teeth framed in a devilish smile. "You're..."

"Robin," I volunteered before he could say it, and I offered my hand in friendship. "I saw you out there working with The Flash. That's amazing---I didn't know there's a 'world's fastest kid' as well."

"Yep---and I'm it, kiddo," he laughed as he, to emphasize the point, ran circles around me faster than my eye could follow. I felt as if I were a cartoon character with my eyes rolling around in my head uncontrollably. As he at last came to rest in front of me, I put my hand out and grabbed his shoulder, mainly to steady myself from the dizzy feeling in my head he had induced.

"Errrrr...don't do that ever again, Kid...Flash..." I warned him, and I tried, laboriously so, to walk away.

"Wally!" he called after me.

"Excuse me?!" I asked, indignation causing my shoulders to go rigid. Feeling my adrenaline rise as I massaged my forehead, I readied my fists to belt him for name-calling.

"The name's Wally, Wally West. Call me sometime and we'll get together, ok? I can be in Gotham City within a minute or two. You can get in touch with me through the JLA."

Too dazed to turn around, I flung out an arm and waved back to him. "Yeah...I'll call you...Wally."

I heard him suck his teeth as he giggled, "Huh? That's what I said. Call me Wally. Spaz."

"Dick!" I yelled as I continued away from him, and I turned slightly, only to see his fists clenching. A sudden gust of what at first seemed to be a breeze stopped abruptly behind me, nearly slamming into me; it was actually the red and scarlet streak of Wally West, covering more than thirty feet in a nanosecond.

"Wha'd you say?" he grumbled.

"It's ok, Fleet Feet!" a third voice entered the picture. "Dick's his name, Flasheroo," said a taller boy with Wally's same color scheme, only dressed like his senior archer, Green Arrow. I'd seen Speedy before today. We were recently involved in a caper with our two mentors, and I'd noted his amazing abilities with a bow and arrow, coupled with a rather surly demeanor and a wickedly clever tongue.

"My, my, we're being rather informal for a public display of super-hormones, aren't we Birdy Boy? Betcha Bats won't like that!" Speedy quipped, and of course Roy---as I knew his name to be---was quite right. He motioned in the general direction of the Batman and cocked his thumb. Winking his eye with bad boy flair, he mock-whispered in a loud manner, "If I tug on his cape, do you think he'd have a fit? It'd be lots of fun, huh, Dicky-boy?"

I shook my head violently in disagreement, shooshing him to lower his voice---a lot. "Knock it off, Roy," I said, trying to be quiet, yet assertive, "I'll get it if he finds out you know who I am! And hands off his cape!"

"Awww, cool it, my four-sided brother," he drawled, using his index fingers to sketch out the shape of an invisible square in the air. "I won't blow it with your boss...I can keep your I.D. on the Q.T., A-OK, amigo. Besides, he's just creepy enough to rip my arm off an' feed it to me if I make like a moth on the cloth."

Hanging around with Roy for even a few minutes, it was easy for me to guess why Batman always said the name Snapper Carr with such a scowl on his face...

Unlike my rampant, Bat-induced paranoia, Kid Flash was simply bursting with self-assuredness; he's so proud of his high-velocity abilities that I could see him strutting into school for "Show And Tell" in that junior-Mercury get up. I gave him my phone number as we left the beach after our encounter and he called me almost immediately after returning home; he left five messages with Alfred within ten minutes! I guess he forgot that it would take me much longer to get home than the six or seven minutes it took him to run from the East Coast to the mid-west. And I was amazed to find that he talked almost as fast as he runs! I knew more about him after five minutesof conversation than I'd have thought possible, and he kept talking so rapidly that I felt slightly dizzy and was tempted to attach my language translator to the phone receiver!

Wally's certainly a happy-go-lucky sort, though he didn't mention having lots of friends or activities to keep him busy way back there in Blue Valley, Nebraska. Still, it would figure a kid like him from a small town would have to keep quiet about a sudden change from "normal" and "average" to being a meta-human. People have funny ideas about things like that, and no kid on Earth wants to be thought of as a freak. It must have been so cool to one day be the president of The Flash Fan Club and then the next day find out that not only can you do the things your hero can do but that he's also your own uncle. Wow; that's some luck! They referred to each other as "Flash" and "Kid" or "Kid Flash" while in the presence of the other heroes, but I did hear Wally slip once, referring to The Flash as "Uncle Barry." They seemed so close and caring of each other that it made me envious.

Not so for the Green Arrow and Speedy, sad to say, for they seemed far more independent of each other than any mentor/junior partner tandem I'd ever witnessed. That's not to say that they aren't close, by any means---just that they don't necessarily rely on each other's abilities to be good at what they do. They do have similiar personalities, though, with Roy acting so much like his guardian that he's pretty much a "GA Lite." The blonde and dashing Green Arrow comes off like the brash, boisterous, reckless type, just like a 1930s movie matinee idol, while the redheaded, cocky and wildly arrogant Roy seems to worship the ground his mentor walks on. Despite their similar behavior, they appeared to me to be two people simply pushed together by the luck of the draw due to having the same yet unique skills, and I recall noticing that they never even spoke to each other during the fight. That surprised me, since the other seniors like Batman and Aquaman were endlessly giving us juniors direction, shouting orders or, in the case of The Flash, passing along encouragement and motivation. That man always seems to have a smile for Wally, and for everyone; nice to meet a hero who isn't as serious as a crutch for a change.

Roy, for all his posturing, is pretty tight-lipped about his non-hero life, at least from what I'd witnessed in our previous encounter, though I'd gotten the impression that his mentor was not all that secretive about his own dual nature, at least among his heroic peers. I'd heard Speedy was brought up by Native Americans, though I don't know why that was since his appearance screams red-Irishman. His upbringing showed in some of the things he said---not so much a matter of an accent , though I detected a slight one, but more in the way he had of putting things into an earthy, humanistic perspective. 'Course that was whenever he wasn't shooting off his mouth bragging about his dead-eye aim or his prized set of Pearl drums, the ones his guardian "paid a fortune for." On this occasion, he seemed to be on the loud side at all the wrong times, which visibly irritated Batman to no end. Strangely though, at times when he was quiet he seemed very much to be a loner, almost to the point of brooding; he seemed starved for attention. I recall noticing when we first met that his expressive, cat-like greenish-blue eyes appeared to be clouded by some kind of inner demon, as if he tried desperately to be happy on the outside but hid something tragic behind them. He wears what my mother used to refer to as a "please like me" expression on his face, yet he unwittingly gives the impression of being a little boy who's cognizant of being lost.

As for me, my mentor would probably kill me if he had any idea that I'd told either of these guys my real name. The Batman has no sense of humor and detests familiarity, and I'd doubt that any member of the JLA no matter how mighty would ever think of calling him "Bruce." Bruce Wayne is a character he plays by day; Batman is his 24/7 reality.

As I called out to my shadowy partner on my wrist communicator and conveyed Superman's message, a shapely shadow passed overhead and all the talk from the two teen heroes behind me screeched to a halt. Wonder Girl's lithe frame lifted into the breeze, and I saw her look down at the three of us boys. Her take-off from the ground was like that of an angel who suddenly floated aloft via the kiss of a breeze, so unlike, by comparison, Superman's leap into flight, an action that is more akin to a rejection on his part of the authority of Mother Earth's gravitational pull, for it has no effect on him. The sun behind her clawed at my eyes as I tried desperately for a better view of her heavenly-borne body, but I was sure I saw her wink...at me. Wow. Imagine my disappointment a moment later when I heard the whooping and cat-calls coming from behind me.

"Aw, man! Did you see that babe lookin' at me?! Holy mother-of-pearl---she loves me! Hey, doll! Down here, baaaay-beeee!" screamed Roy, laughing, jumping up and down and waving at the lovely Amazon girl as she floated above us.

"You?!" Wally yelled as he smacked Speedy's red-feathered yellow cap off of his head, betraying a massive amount of long, stringy, unkempt red hair. "Get outta town!" screamed Wally, "She was looking at me!"

I could only sigh to myself. Maybe she wasn't looking at me at all, but I sure wished she had been. I remember thinking that she seemed like a nice girl and she certainly was amazingly formidable in a fight. I hope I'll get to know her one of these days, but then I'd guess that every guy she ever meets must feel that way.

In a moment, the young Amazonian warrior was passed in the sky by the imposing red and blue shape of Superman, who now effortlessly cradled an unconscious Aquaman in his arms as if the Sea King weighed the same as a feather. As I looked back down the sand, I could see the slight figure of Aqualad walking into the waves, head hung low as if the world rested on his shoulders. I remember wondering if he had anyone to go home to, since it occurred to me that he was most likely an orphan, seeing as he lives with Aquaman. I thought about how far away Atlantis must be---too far for a kid to have to go the distance alone into the dark water of the bottom of the ocean. I couldn't help but think about the night I walked out of the big top into the evening darkness after I was suddenly left orphaned and alone in the world. The thought made me shudder as if hit by a sudden cold chill, as if my name were being spoken in a graveyard.

Thinking about my parents' deaths and the horrors I went through following them---being locked up in the Gotham Youth Home, a hotbed of violence and juvenile delinquency---always does me in. My only crime was being left with no living relatives, allowing the uncaring legal hand of fate, the Gotham County Child Welfare Services, to step in to remove me from the "corrupting influence" of the circus---people who loved me and wanted me---only to place me in the Home, where I was immediately and savagely victimized. The one thing that awful experience did for me was to make me more sensitive to the plight of kids who are lost, alone, abandoned or trapped within the system. There's a lot of it about, and one of these days I hope to be able to do something about it.

As I watched the boy disappear into the foamy waves, I thought about the beatings I took inside GYH and the relief I felt after a few days of getting used to my new life in my benefactor's home, and I hoped Aqualad had some place nice, cozy and safe to retreat to after the day's catastrophic events. My memories of those vulnerable days I'd lived through not long ago always bring tears to my eyes. But heroes don't cry, at least not in uniform, so I hung my head and combed the beach for clues, evidence---anything to get the hurt out of my mind. And I said a silent prayer for that kid to get home safely, wherever the heck "home" is for him.

"He shouldn't be in the Justice League of AMERICA, you know," I heard Kid Flash say to Speedy, easily loud enough to carry to other ears, maybe even Superman's, the one considered by most folks to be the "main man" of all super heroes. Superman's super hearing ability probably allows him to hear teenage girls whispering secrets to each other in the next state, a fact Wally is perfectly aware of, so this was more likely an attempt on his part to see how Roy and I felt about such an "issue" than an effort to influence JLA membership. I stopped in my tracks and turned to the two red-heads.

"Who shouldn't be?" I asked.

"The fish," Wally said, snobbishly, "He's NOT American. He's got a funny sort of accent...sounds like a Ruskie...and Atlantis isn't an American state."

"Not yet it isn't," I snarled back, "but I'm sure if LexOil drills deep enough around that place and strikes crude, it'll suddenly be the 51st state of America. Those robots weren't attacking Atlantis, were they? Still those two heroes came from that far away to help save our American butts. I'd say they were acting as Americans, even if they aren't. We should be praising them, not trashing them."

Wally raised a suspicious eyebrow and then lowered both, glaring at me. "Have to be careful, that's all. They aren't Americans no matter what else they do. Who knows what their motivation is? Isn't Atlantis near Cuba?"

Speedy began to laugh, adding, "Yeah, and since we can't make out what accent they've got, Carpman and Tunaboy could be communist spies, right? And, errr...Wally? Speaking of things "red," doesn't The Flash wear an awful lot of red? Errrr, and then there's your hair...?"

Roy snickered loudly while walking away, raising his hand to his head and rotating his index finger to demonstrate the international symbol of idiocy. "He's all yours, Bird Boy, and you can HAVE him!" he called back to me. "Gimme a 'holler' sometime and we'll pow-wow, my musical bro.' I'll bring the skins, you bring the g'it-box---that's if the big black bat'll let you come out to play," he yelled, sounding like a goofy drive-time radio DJ, which is probably from where Roy got most of his hero-patter. It seemed to me that he tried very hard to sound hip and tough, as if he were covering up something about his past, or trying to reinvent himself. Whatever it was, it seemed conscious and obvious, but I liked his cockiness from the moment I met him. It gave Roy a level of coolness a kid like me could only aspire to.

Wally, obviously a sheltered little Mid-Western dweeb suffering from rampaging xenophobia with a touch of stupid to go along, merely folded 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 Wally 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, flapping his arms like a pair of wings.

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.

"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 accountant's teeth on edge."

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, in my bedroom, I called the number Wally had left with Alfred. Our rapid-fire conversation lasted all of ten minutes. It's 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 ok 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.

"Come out of what? 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. 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."

Listen to me: what a 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. It's 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, a little more thin and shorter, 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?" I asked in a panic.

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 the Bristol District 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're like the others. 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 suggested to him.

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 at this moment, thank you. I ate yesterday, but I will need water fairly soon. I did not like the water in your pond, though. It made it 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."

"I don't really breathe water," he spoke in a apologetic voice. "Atlanteans have to filter oxygen through water is all. I just thought I'd...say so."

"Oh, ummm, I didn't know that," I replied, scratching my head for lack of a better response. "So the pool isn't the best place for you then, and I'm not so sure that gulping down water is going to do the job either."

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, pal---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. Bruce wouldn't mind, if he knew you were here, and it'll be ok with Alfred...I guess."

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. As Aqualad had said, their 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's 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'll be too dangerous. In fact, I shouldn't even have the TV on, because the electrical storm might blow out the satellite receiver."

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" and 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. The authorities say I am mentally and physically deficient; my mind and body may never develop properly. At least that's what our authorities believe to be true. 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. Arthur and I will always be exiles..."

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 your '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, and it reminds me of Arthur talking to sea snails."

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: Garth will become a good 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...that sort of junk. At that game, we'd sat in his box with his date for the night: the swimsuit model. 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...

I put the cap on Aqualad's head and he giggled like a little kid at the sight of himself in "human clothes" in the mirror, as if he's not a human too. 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." He learned the theme song right away, and 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---we were tightly tied up out of water---and, to be honest, neither was he, but we did with the aid of the sea birds which 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 named Tim 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 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 would 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 asked, 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 even more curious. "Pajamas?"

I tugged 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. Gently 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.