Caprica brings Sharon to the nursery, where Hera is screaming. Boomer stands at her crib, uncomfortable, immediately scowling at them, sick of listening to the kid cry, sick of feeling like the copy. Sharon crouches and looks at Hera, smiling through tears, as Caprica watches lovingly. "It's me. It's Mommy. Yes." She looks up at Boomer: "What's wrong?" She shakes her head, angry and out of her mind and hurt. "We tried everything. She didn't respond." Caprica -- never one to shelter Eight from the harsh realities of life -- is on fire with joy as Hera quiets down: "Look at that! Hera knows her. That's amazing." She stupidly reaches out to clasp Boomer's arm, thinking this is joyful for her as well. Six's smile was never as beautiful as the day she learned about Hera; Chip Six's smile was never so beautiful as when she was spinning her Crazy Math. "You and she are biologically identical, [but] Hera recognizes her mother!" Like it's a science fair project, and not Boomer's life, Boomer's failure, in 3-D living Technicolor. Boomer's lip curls, spitting again on Sharon Valerii, one last time: "Well, good, because you can have her. I'm done with her." Sharon, full of love for her sister, confused by this new side of her: "You don't mean that. I know you still care about Tyrol and Adama." Boomer shakes her head, almost shivering with rage: "No. I'm done with that part of my life." She means it as much as she's ever meant anything, as much as anybody's ever meant anything is how much she means this. Doesn't make it true. Caprica sees this, and more, and her grin falls. "I learned that on New Caprica. Humans and Cylons were not meant to be together," Boomer says, breaking Caprica's heart. "We should just go our separate ways."
For those of you keeping score at home: This is now the second time Cally's killed Boomer. This time I think it'll keep. I almost hope it does. I wanted to reach through the screen and save her; hold her, find her in there and rescue her, and say I was sorry. I was sad when Ellen died; this is worse. This is hate, returned upon hate. There's no love here. This leads nowhere.
Sharon puts the baby down in her crib, smoothes her layette, notices her belly's gone hard. "Have you noticed that before?" Boomer's stricken: the thing she was supposed to do, the thing that made her okay: turned on her, she fucked it up. Thought like a robot, even in the places she felt human. You just got Cavil'd. Caprica gets worried and asks what it could mean; Sharon says "blocked intestine" like she's from Vancouver, rhyming it with "end of line." Boomer folds her arms, petulant: "Our doctors examined her." Sharon points out they've never even seen a child, and pulls Caprica away for a private talk. "Hera needs to be seen by a human doctor. I need to take her back to Galactica." Caprica shakes her head, sympathetic: "You know that can't happen, what this child means to us. What she means to every living Cylon." As Sharon puts her hand on Caprica's arm to beg, Boomer interrupts hatefully. "I should have known. She's been planning this all alone." Sharon tells her to feel Hera, and Boomer -- her skin crawling at the unending screaming, if you've had a kid you know this feeling, how much it makes you hate yourself, what a failure it makes you -- and nods. "She's right. Belly's as hard as a gourd." Sharon pushes Caprica's buttons -- always a sore point, but especially today -- talking about how God will never forgive her if she lets the first of the new generation die. Caprica's the only one who loves Hera as much as these two, the only one capable. She softens; Boomer gets harder.