Nine days after the world ended, Bill Adama wakes up with a cramp in his neck, paperwork across his lap, glasses still on, bed lamp shining down. He checks his watch and curses; he takes a pill and groans. He turns on the shower while he brushes his teeth, thoroughly, somehow both absent-minded and single-minded at once. His uniform is perfectly pressed. He sits alone in his quarters, signing documents, the very model of an Admiral: very quiet, very alone. When the morning's paperwork is finished, he coughs and strides to the library shelves to choose a book at random and hear what it is saying.
The old prophecies don't work anymore, if they ever did; the Gods aren't talking. Or when they talk, they lie. Best to just listen at random, spin through the dial like Kara, looking for a frequency. Maybe today the books will offer a little bit of hope. He chooses a book, an eight-sided volume of Dickinson, turns a few pages, and reads. It's not comforting.
There is a Languor of the Life
More imminent than Pain --
'Tis Pain's Successor -- When the Soul
Has suffered all it can --
It's about death: about the sleep and darkness that comes over you when you've been hurt too many times to stand, about all the different freedoms that arise when we give over our need to survive. It's not comforting, but at least it's not a lie. The most heartbreaking part about the story of the foxes was the implication that they had a choice. That they were acting logically, not moved by grief and loss and pure animal terror. That it wasn't just three different forms of running away. Bill moves through the corridors of Galactica, picking up mute garbage and paper trash as he goes, welcoming the day.
Something moves in the deep, and they can't see it. Characteristically, Saul grumbles while Caprica thinks she can see it, clearly, for a moment, before it goes away again. Ishay thought she saw it, but now she can't. Cottle tells them all to shut the frak up for a second, and the image goes still. "Got it." Ishay can see it; Caprica can finally see it. Her eyes go wet with joy, and tears speak in her throat: "I can see it! Oh my God, there it is. It's so beautiful." Tigh still can't see anything, so Cottle tells him to try looking with his eyes... "Eye." Never gets old, does it? The four of them stare down at the ultrasound machine, smiling and happy for a moment. "Here, Colonel," says Nurse Ishay: "See, this is the head... shoulder... and there's a little hand..."