His hands carved the familiar shape belonging to the Robot. The brown, collapseable mass landing on to his fingers was a more placement of his hand in the Robot's destruction than making his artificial intelligence. The Robot's figure was spinning at a low speed on the stool. Smith's trembling hands kept the figure up in place moving along in ease to the speed. From beside him were replicas of the Robinsons. Smith could overhear the Robot's laughter from behind him. The brown form's head was starting to fall so he quickly slid his fingers up keeping the rounded head up then moved along down to the treads. The simple, cold smooth touch of the Robot's treads that were larger than it echoed in his mind.

"Mr Smith, you're doing good so far," came Lieutenant Audrey.

Smith looked up, tiredly, toward the woman.

"It's going to fall, madame," Smith said, then turned his attention down.

"Oh, no it won't," Audrey said. "Not as long as you hold on. I admit, this is very small and easier to lose."

Smith turned his attention back on to the object.

"Yes, it will," Smith said, attempting to keep the form in place with a visible struggle as the object spun out of control the tipped on to its side and fell into a clump splattering him at the face.

"Next time you'll do better," Audrey said, patting on his shoulder stifling back laughter.

"B-9's are really hard to do!" A man with the Robot's voice remarked. "Certainly to form with clay."

Smith placed his hand on his shoulder closing his eyes feeling the hair all over raise.

"Are you alright?" Audrey asked, sounding concerned.

"I am not," Smith said, raising his head up toward the younger woman. His eyes were brimming with tears. "May I use the restroom, madame?"

"Go ahead," Audrey said, with a smile then left him be.

Smith picked up the rag from beside him on the counter, cleaned the clay off his face, and cleaned his hands off then dropped it back where he had picked it up. He moved toward the restroom door with his shoulder sliding it open instead of using his hand feeling more tears ready to come out. He came toward the wall and sobbed. His body trembled between sobs. Hearing the Robot's voice had opened the wound up again. He raised his head up closing his eyes with a shaky breath. He used the sink as his support to get up to his feet then flushed the toilet. Where did all that confidence go when it came to the Robot? Every time he heard the Robot's voice, it was another stab to the heart and his feelings intensified in ways that couldn't be held back. He had to find a way to cope with it, adapt to the reminder, and live.

Depression was nasty and it really hurt.

He looked toward the window, sadly, then turned away and headed out.