True to Burnfield's word, he passed away away in the next month in his bed. Smith felt empty at that point watching the body bag be strolled down the hall heavily guarded by security officers by both sides. Months had passed since the return to Earth. It felt longer than that to Smith. It felt like it had been a hundred years ago instead. He was escorted back into his cell after his daily chores were completed. The counter had more books that were stacked against the yellow unopened packaging. He tried to carry a tune in these walls that were light hearted and happy but they always fell flat without soul. If he were with the Robinsons, they would be capable of putting a soul back into the song and lifting his spirits up simultaneously. A quality about them that he had missed dearly.

He slipped out the medical book from the counter then leaned against the wall and opened up to the last page that he had stopped on. The words didn't carry the same weight or the same mind boggling interest as they had before. He didn't enjoy life as he used to. But he had to carry on and do what he loved the most: reading, learning, and being alive the best that he could. The pain from the drastic loss had grown softer, bearable, the depression had adjusted to the new reality acting as a old friend that tried to help him feel not alone. That was still hard to accept his feelings as companions. He had no companions to help him navigate this life just books and what belongings that he had acquired in his voyage home. Smith lowered the book to his side then walked over toward the packaging. He had perfectly avoided being demeaned by several of the inmates and he can feel his luck was running out. Smith enjoyed the prospect of the beginning. Everything was very fluid and constant for the time being. Something that he never had a year in space alone. He slid aside the book then picked up the package in his hands feeling the crinkly, hard surface that crunched when his fingers pressed on it. He came over to the cot where he tore the packing into pieces until all that was left was a box that had a neatly folded purple fabric over something small.

Smith unwrapped the fabric then stopped once he saw what was inside.

"Where did . . ." Smith picked up the silver watch then flicked it open.

On the side were a photograph of the Robinsons minutes before they had boarded the Jupiter 2 with smiles.

Except it lacked the Robot as part of the group. It looked like the photograph had been resized to fit inside the watch.

"Everyone is capable of doing good, Doctor Smith," Maureen's comment echoed in his mind.

"Yes, madame," Smith said. "What I have done. . . so far is making small statues of your family and what you faced in the last few years."

Smith tossed the wrapping into the trash including the box leaving the photograph behind.

"And even more," Smith said, softly. "my dears."