I'm sure everyone is shocked that I don't own seaQuest, espcecially Lee Goldberg.


It was kind of funny, if he thought about it the right way.

The whole situation was kind of funny.

Everyone always talked about how disgusting the East River was, but it wasn't so bad, if you could ignore the smell. At midnight, it reflected the night lights of New York City beautifully. It wasn't just the silvery moonlight that managed to find it's way through the city's heavy cloud cover, either. The unnaturally orange street lamps, the yellowish fluorescent lights coming from office buildings where people were working late, and even the red and blue neon signs declaring the brands of beer that the local bars carried added to the shimmering effect. It was like a thousand candle flames, flickering on the surface of the otherwise deep black void that was the river at night. It was beautiful, in a strange, dark way.

Funny, how most people only ever saw the worst in things, instead of finding their beauty.

It was December in New York City, and unseasonably warm. Of course, that didn't by any means mean that it was actually warm. In fact, if anything, it seemed unnaturally cold. That in and of itself was a little strange, because he had been through cold before. He'd been born and raised in Buffalo, and he'd seen more than his share of snow. It was just that he'd become used to warmer climates, and had forgotten entirely about the biting winter wind of New York.

Funny, how easy it was to get used to things.

As intelligent as he was, it was probably for the best that no one had ever considered him a great source of common sense. For some reason, it hadn't ever occurred to him that standing in the same place for hours on end would make his feet go numb. He had noticed when they had started to hurt after an hour or so, but had ignored it, heavier things than a little pain weighing on his mind. After a few more hours, the feeling had gone away completely, and he had hardly noticed.

Funny, for all that people thought of him as one of the great minds of the twenty-first century, he could be amazingly ignorant and naïve.

It had only taken him an hour or so to dismiss the ridiculous notion of suicide. He was either too brave or too cowardly to commit suicide. Regardless of how hopeless the situation was, he had too much that he still wanted to do, to be able to just quit.

Not that he would be able to do any of it.

No, his dreams had just become fantasy. Wiped away in ten seconds flat, with no hope of retrieving them.

The captain hadn't known about 'it' when he had left the ship that afternoon, but it was only a matter of time. It would probably happen when he got back. The captain, all dramatic and sad, asking to speak to him privately, taking him aside and telling him that he had to leave. Asking him to pack his things, and make as little fuss about it as possible, to save embarrassment all around.

It wasn't as if there was another option.

Yeah, funny.