Waltercoth's eyes remained open facing the direction that Don had been held. The camera moved into the darkness then into a wide, large cell that lacked bars. Don was tossed into the cell with a loud rough thud. The young man rolled until he hit the wall from across. Smith was gently placed into the cell against the neighboring wall to balance him. Don charged toward the opening with a shout but then long wide purple glowing bars got in the way shocking him and sent him back onto the floor leaving behind the visible imprints of bars along his face. The bars changed from purple to dark gray matching the dark aesthetic of the prison room. Don grunted, standing up to his feet placing his hands onto his knees and cracked his knuckles. Smith rubbed the back of his neck lowering his head down with closed eyes taking out his pocket watch from the pocket with a slowly loosening grip.

"I am going to kick their asses once I get out of here," Don said.

Smith turned himself around toward the wall then leaned his head against it.

"And after I kick their asses, I am going back to Earth," Don said.

Smith placed his arm against his forehead.

"This is the worst day I had since my first mission," Don said.

Smith was silent as the man paced back and forth.

"Because of that I am going to make her face overkill,"

Smith's eyes were closed.

"That is going to be for Krystal,"

There was no reply.

"Afterwards, I will tell them what happened," Don stopped in the middle of the room. "Are you listening to a word I am saying?"

Smith didn't move a inch.

"You're shunning me? Coming from someone who likes socialization, I think you can't do it. I am the only man in the room."

Don walked back.

"What do you expect me to say, Don?" Smith asked, turning away from the wall with hurt in his eyes.

"Sorry for sabotaging the Robot would help," Don said. Smith shook his head. "As a start."

"Thank you?" Smith started. "How could you? HOW COUULLLDDDD YOU?" came as dramatic and over the top. "That I forgive you?" his words were heavy in disgust and sarcasm. "I thought I knew you. I thought we were friends. I thought you were better than me in every way." he combed through his hair. "The good man who foiled against my cowardly, mean charade. Always the hero, but you're not! The best pilot in space! The best man to be stuck with in a tight situation! The best man to trust with my life even when it came to missions where we were expendable. EXPENDABLE! EXPEEENDABLE!" he threw his hands into the air. "You're a stack of heavy dynamite that can explode and leave a crater that no one can come back from! You were always a mine that could go off at any moment and send people flying a bit hurt but that could be healed over. This," he shook his head. "This cannot be healed! THIS CANNOT BE HEALED OVER BY A MERE APOLOGY, Major!" he gestured toward the bars. "How can I be your friend in the last few hours that we have left? I can't. I would be but I don't know you anymore," he shook his head, disappointed. "It's like you're not even Don West."

Smith moved himself over to the corner of the cell then slowly plopped down bringing his hands onto the top of his knees.

"I am not. I am his son," Smith looked up. "It's me, Franklin West."

Smith grew shocked and surprised as he looked on toward the bars as it hit him.

"Oh dear," Smith said.

Don had a son.

"Why don't you remember that?" Franklin said.

Smith shrugged.

"If I forgot you and remembered everyone, there must be a reason," Smith said. "I assume it must be good."

"What do you remember?" Franklin asked.

"That a complete stranger who looks like my dear friend marched into my life, took my hand, and brought me here claims to be his son," Smith said, his resentment hanging in every word. "and made me watch a very dear friend of mine die grimly before my eyes."

"Good," Franklin said, clapping his hands together. Smith flinched at the echo in the cell. "Just what I wanted to hear."

"When you die; I want you to remember something," Smith said.

"What's that?" Franklin asked.

"You could have refused," Smith said.

"They made a offer that I couldn't refuse," Franklin knelt down toward the pocket watch. "Unlike you."

"Unlike me?" Smith asked, raising his eyebrows placing a hand on his chest with a insulted look. "I accepted it out of greed, West," his eyes watched the younger man pick up the pocket watch. "My Achilles heel," he lowered his hand down into his lap. "It was a offer I could refuse."

"But you didn't," Franklin said, opening the pocket watch. He gazed down then turned his gaze on Smith with a disgusted look. "I don't walk around everyday with a trophy that showed all the members of the mafia. You're proud of it."

Smith shook his head.

"No," Smith insisted, sadly as Franklin took the photograph out of the pocket watch. "I am not." Alarm became present on his features watching the young man fold the photograph carefully into a square. "What are you doing?" Franklin lifted his attention up on Smith and back down onto the folded paper. "Put that back!" the younger man twisted the fold of paper forwards while turning the other half backwards that it started to tear. "Put that back where you got it!" Franklin tore the photograph into pieces. "Stop!"

"Wasn't that his last word?" Franklin said, dropping the small pieces of paper. "Stop?" Franklin's eyes stopped on Smith. "When you were busy killing everyone?"

Smith's gaze was full of hurt when he looked up toward the young man.

"No wonder I chose to forget you," Smith said. "You are the worst kind of spawn that I have ever seen. You don't deserve to be known."

Franklin hymphed making his way from Smith going toward his side of the cell.

"Neither do you," Franklin said, as the older man was glaring hard at him.

Smith lifted himself to the small pile of paper. He carefully placed piece by piece into the pocket watch rearranging them in the correct order. He used his finger tip to pick up the smaller pieces then delicately slide it off using the tips of his fingernail so that it fell back into the pocket watch. His eyes turned toward the very well aging photograph that hadn't faded a day. The golden and bright light gray color shined against his face. It was odd how the photograph hadn't aged. After so many times opening it in the last two decades one would expect to find the color had fade. He hadn't been betrayed by Don after all. But why did it still feel like he was betrayed by Don? The warm, kind smiles from the Robinsons eased Smith's mood. He moved back into his corner of the cell and pressed his back against it.

Smith entered his long drawn out fantasy. The Robinsons were concerned at this point regarding his sudden disappearance and were offering prayers to his safe return. General West was butting into the newly forming investigation and putting together what pieces there had been dropped by the investigators regarding what had happened then he use all his resources ransacking the business for Smith using loopholes or a matter they hadn't dealt accordingly before then. If they couldn't find Smith and Franklin on Earth then Don would go to Stargate Command and request for a rescue mission to be launched but they wouldn't have the slightest clue where to find them leaving him right back at square one. Will would have a vision, conveniently, and tell West about it. They would attempt to pull off the rescue mission on their own, get thrown in, and be trapped just like them. He would have heard the sounds of electrical blasts carried in the large room. Then the Robot would come to the bars informing them that he was going to disarm the cell. Will would go on to explain they put their old friend Robot back together in a new model that was old but the inside was entirely new and he had been hidden in Smith's quarters. Don finishing the story by explaining they got a hold on the old Jupiter 2 and used the hyper drive to bring them to the station. Afterwards, they escape the facility and return home aboard the Jupiter 2.

Home again.