"I'll be damned," says Saul, and takes Caprica's hand in his. She wears a white gown, under the harsh lights of sickbay she looks like an angel. "It's our baby, Saul. Our baby!" She's always loved children most. God and children. "I need a drink," Tigh grits, for lack of a better response, and Cottle offers him a cigarette. They light up together. Ishay shoots them a look, protective of the young mother, the old woman; of the oldest person in the room, and the youngest.
"Look at that, Saul. Do you know what that is really? That's the future of the entire Cylon race." That's how young Caprica is; Ishay looks up and everything changes. She stops being a mother and starts being something altogether more troubling. Tigh flirts: "Kid doesn't even have a name yet and already loading up on the expectations..." But Caprica shakes her head. "All he has to do is be born. No Cylon-Cylon pairing has ever produced a child. Ever." She grins up at him, sexy: "Believe me, it's been tried." What he means, then, is that it's possible for the Cylon nation to survive without resurrection.
When they gave up the Hub, they thought the clock started ticking its 33 for them all, but this child means they have the same chance as the Colonies. Not better, like before, and not worse, like lately. Finally, equals: they gave up immortality, and have been rewarded with reproduction. Saul sighs with the enormity, as Ishay gets more and more uncomfortable, to the point that Cottle sends her off for a fetal monitor. "I want to work up a complete biophysical profile on this, uh ... savior." She toddles off, bewildered.
Ishay opens one curtain, then another, to reveal Felix Gaeta sitting angrily on a cot, stump hanging out like a finger. She apologizes to him, promising the doctor won't be much longer. "No problem. At least the Cylons are having fun, right?" His hate, now, spreads anywhere it can, like flowers looking for the light, like Laura's ugly, spiky earth flower. He stares at the new family as they laugh, and Cottle shakes his head: "I mean... Earth's a cinder, Dee's dead, suicides are up, Fleet's a mess, President's missing in action... But hey, gotta make sure the Cylons are taken care of." She gives him an ointment for his prosthetic, and he complains that the armature itself needs to be refitted. It rubs against him all the time, with every step.
Ishay promises that he'll get in as soon as she can do it, but it's been crazy. People keep running in with crazy problems, like right now: Chief, with little Nicky in his arms, terrified. "He's peeing blood!" Ishay directs him to another bed, and Gaeta gets bumped again, and Cottle shouts for the fetal monitor, and Gaeta rubs his head. "Can't keep those toasters waiting!" he says, and she shrugs and takes off; when she's gone, even the bitter mordant smile on his face is erased and turned to naked, broken hate.