This is my little one-shot about Dr. Smith—a silly idea I had for a brief moment as I sped-read through GG4 (I'll read it again later to make sure I got everything). It's not a spoiler in the sense that it'll spoil anything for you, but it does include a few direct references to a conversation. Nothing huge.

So. Dr. Smith. Why do I always imagine him as an older gentleman? Now he's in limbo, in terms of age, in my brain.

He had an appointment. With who? Himself.

No, he was not crazy.

Here was where he proved himself vigilant, faithful. It was instances such as these, when he demonstrated the very picture of cautious behavior. In the wee hours of the morning (Not 6. Not even 4. Prowlers typically did their work a little earlier. He would know. Dr. Smith had done his research).

He crawled out of bed at the insistent sound of his classic alarm clock, vintage digital. Its design was born out of a grad school side project. He glanced at its near twin, thirty years younger, and a trim white clock of similar 'modern' design. One was a traditionally noisy LED contraption, while the other was read using binary. He silenced the older device with a push of the button and a sharp slam on the table, for a moment attempting to remember just which 'friend' had given it to him over the years (the one whose name he could never seem to remember). But never mind. It would come to him eventually.

He slid his feet into custom black flip-flops which he had designed with a special function: the ability to resist the transferal of DNA. In short, anyone who would try to gain information on Dr. Smith's person, with possession of these shoes, would be back to square one. He felt almost giddy at the thought as he walked toward his closet. It would not do to be seen in his actual bedclothes while performing his nightly strolls.

Dr. Smith glanced once more at the clock before returning to the task at hand. What was his mission? …To do the unexpected at an unexpected time in order to best monitor the Gallagher premises and ensure the safety of all involved. It wasn't that he did not trust the updated school security; he simply did not trust their strategy-savvy opponents.

He parted the doors to his on-the-small-side-of-average closet after putting in the twelve-digit long key (personally installed, involving an initially random series of letters, numbers, and symbols that shifted according to a particular algorithm upon a 'friendly' fingerprint scan) and stood back to appraise his everyday wardrobe in the moonlight. The 'special' items were in a more 'covert' location (accessed by a twist of his bedstead's knob, and a correct combination of keys upon the mini-panel beneath).

His hands ran over his practical ones, his beauties, specially formatted, all of them. His fingers brushed over his lab coat, his lab coat, his other lab coat, yet another lab coat, all twelve of them: white, crisp, and they smelled-he breathed deeply—absolutely wonderful. He knew the formula by heart and could, in fact, say it in his sleep (which could be a problem, come to think of it). Wait. Oh, dear. Flammable. He frowned. He would have to do something about that later.

But first.

His hands continued to travel along the line, resting upon dress shirt after dress shirt, pair of dark gray slacks after dark gray slacks. There was a reason why he was not nominated for "Most Highly Creative Costume Award" while working in a foreign office under a different name (if he bestowed any more specifics, he would have to serve you a special serving of freshly-squeezed orange juice first thing in the morning. If you're allergic, there is surely something else that can be done for you.) on a completely different continent. He stumbled upon the occasional khaki. The lone pair of cowpoke jeans. He hadn't worn that in ten years. Hm.

He searched further into his closet. What would be 'unexpected'? His typical look was very routine…Very routine indeed. And while that may have been appropriate for instructing students with a degree of clearance, routine simply would not do if one were readying oneself for an unexpected walk in search for the unexpected.

For that was how people stayed alive. Truly.

After all, who survived apocalypses? Cockroaches and the 'paranoid' people crawling about in little-known caves. It paid to be cautious and cautious Dr. Smith was. Cautious Dr. Smith would be. Always.

He looked down upon the clothes he was wearing. He saw a bland pajama shirt, fading plaid pajama pants, and his bedroom 'flops. He pursed his lips and set to work.

Soon, a small pile of clothing was mounted onto his bed, a much larger pile of rejects on the floor. Those would be dealt with tomorrow (by his prototype maid-bot Rex).

The first object in the pile: a Santa suit, red, white, and large as life. No. Drastic break from routine. Very unexpected, but also very likely to make him an easy target for enemy fire. Who would hesitate to shoot a midnight hall-wandering Santa?

Second: Business suit. No. Somewhat expected but also unusual. For this environment, at least. Mainly because of the time. Besides, what if he were mistaken for some misplaced mafia king?

Third: Cinderella costume. Absolutely not. He had to do something that would be natural, but…a little unexpected. Plus, the ensemble required too much work for a simple night patrol.

Fourth: Candy-striper suit. No.

Fifth: A stretched-out t-shirt.

He held it up to himself and appraised its baggy, knee-length look before the mirror. No. Too tacky. He would not stoop that low. Not for this cover.

Sixth: Suit of Armor. Hm…this could work. This could be just the ticket! But, alas, it was unwieldy, loud, and somewhat inconvenient. And uncomfortable. No.

Seventh: A night shirt. A good old-fashioned night shirt. An old relic from the forties or fifties. It also reached down to his knees, but appeared…natural…and was relatively unexpected in the 21st century.

He glanced at the time and realized that there was no time left to change his shoes. He would have to hurry in order to wander at the time during which Gallagher was at its most vulnerable: the guard shift change. Flip flops would have to do.

He did not have a jet pack; he did not have a cape. He did not even have absolutely amazing multipurpose shoes (although one could light a match from the strip on the side…) but he could save the world. Their world. He and every other unexpected, cautious person. Let a man live and have his dreams.

He looked around the room, setting the video cameras to 'record' and his thermal scanner to a more sensitive degree. He did a quick scan, activated the final stages of surveillance (which took all of thirty seconds) and departed with a quiet but firm lock of the door and a few steps away from his end of the carpeted teachers hall. Step by step he assumed his patrol…until he found one in need of advice on the unexpected.

It was probably the worst of my work, but it was interesting to think from Dr. Smith's perspective Sort of. Haha. It was fun. NO regrets!

Tell me what you think.